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just-some-random-blogger · 7 months

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Bright Eyes | 1

Part 2

Prince Aemond's marriage was borne out of necessity and political advantage. Let it never be said that he did not know duty, for duty was what kept Aemond Targaryen grounded. But in truth, the prince felt cheated by the match, for he felt his wife was getting scraps as her dowry. After all, she was chosen for him because of her family's wealth and resources. It was then rather scandalous when the icy prince became temperate to his bride.

Aemond Targaryen x Reader | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, arranged marriage au, smut (virginity loss, vaginal penetration), reluctant lovers ig, typos, etc.

A/N: HIIII THIS IS PART OF THE HOUSE OF THE DRAGON BIG BANG CELEBRATION 🎉🎉🎉 I split mine into 3 parts but I can only post the other 2 parts here on Tumblr after the whole event has ended to respect and give way for the other submissions. It will be available on AO3 to read though so yeah! Thank you so much to the love of my life @ewanmitchellcrumbs for making the art for me (and in such short notice too cos my artist unfortunately deactivated their Tumblr). I'm so luv youuuu Also i haven't written anything for hotd in a while so i don't remember who I'm supposed to tag so kejhshs surprise! And enjoy ig!!! HIHIHI

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @thebullship @sa3losa

"Perhaps," I extend a hand to him, "you ought to hold my hand."

Aemond straightens from where he stood, lone eye darting from his feet, to my hand, to my face. He finds offence in this offer, a line threatens to dig deep between his brows.

"The-" I trail off and look away, my gloved hand, however, does not retreat, "-terrain is quite bumpy." I look back to him expectantly, "I know the land well. It would be easier for me to lead you through-"

"Then lead me," Aemond cuts, both hands going behind him, "skip the fussing."

I purse my lips and watch him for a moment.

The wind strengthens. It blows past me yet I do not move with it, even with my thick dress pulling me back. In contrast, Aemond shuffles in his spot, his coat catching the gush of wind and his hair raking his skin. I had offered to braid Aemond's hair to keep it out of his face and he said he could manage because what was the breeze on a meadow compared to the ripping air at the back of a dragon?

He realizes meadow was too kind a term for this patch of land I was showing him. It was a hellscape, not lush or flowery like a meadow at all. The field stretched out to a cliff, and below it laid viscous waves that added to the horrible weather.

I nod and bring my hands to my skirts instead, "please watch your step. A few more paces, we'll reach the area that has many-"

Aemond grunts when he steps on a hidden divot. His heel digs into the mushy surface and he nearly twists his ankle.

I whip my head back and look at him, finally completing my thought, "-holes in the ground."

He clenches his jaw and yanks his foot out of the muck. I silently turn away and continue walking.

The prince mumbles to himself as he follows me.

Finally, I reach the top of the slope. I situate myself atop a rock and look down at the land. I clasp my hands together as I feel the man walk up beside me. I make it a point to really just let the silence simmer, to let him take in the view, though in truth, there really wasn't much of it. It was just-

"Dirt as far as the eye can see."

I turn to Aemond when he says this.

"How good," he purses his lips and brings his hands behind him, "I've always wanted a hill of dirt all for myself."

I slowly step down from the rock and lift my eyes up to my husband-to-be.

"Vhagar might even like it," he says, lone eye scrutinizing me then the land, which was part of my dowry.

It was the worst pickings from my family, that much was clear. But with my three older brothers set to inherit much of my house's estate, I couldn't really complain, after all, I was the youngest... and a woman.

Aemond, of course, would do the complaining, as he has been.

"I am glad to hear that, my prince," I offer a smile.

The look Aemond gives me is one of astonishment. I can practically make out how his covered eye widened underneath his eye patch. He mutters under his breath, "gods, she's fucking thick."

I pretend I don't hear it and follow after the man when he begins to walk away.

The long haired blonde struggles yet again against the uneven terrain. I no longer make the mistake of offering my assistance. For his sake, or perhaps my own, I leave a good distance between the two of us, so that if he were to topple, even if I did instinctively reach out to him again, he would be too far to reach.

I mirror his steps, right leg moving only after his did. Of course, I did not step in the holes and bumps that were so obvious to me. Still, I tail him diligently.

This was why I froze when he turned back and scowled at me.

"What are you doing?" asks the prince with furrowed brows.

I part my lips, "I-"

"Come here," he reaches out, "I have things to discuss with you."

My eyes turn to his extended hand. I look at his large, ruddy palm and feel my belly swirl in reaction. Apprehensively, I place my hand in his, and he rather discourteously snags me close to him. It nearly costs me my balance, but I'm glad it doesn't.

I watch as Aemond links our arms together before he walking off. My eyes dart from his bicep to his profile. I take in the shape of his nose and think about how our children would inherit it. I press my lips into a line at the thought.

"Our marriage is that of convenience," he turns to me, "and duty."

When Aemond does not continue, I tighten my lips together and nod.

He looks away and walks at a slower pace, "we are to be married in a few days time, and after that, you will no longer belong to your house, you will belong to mine," I notice how his expression hardens, "you will belong to me."

"I understand this," I retort.

He tilts his head, "do you?"

I nod, "I do," I tighten my grip on his arm, "my whole life I have been groomed to be the perfect wife. Once I am yours, everything that I am will be for you."

Aemond's face is blank when he looks at me, and yet I can tell he wishes me to clarify.

So I do, "I will be your wife, your princess, the lady of your house, the mother of your children. I am for you... and you for me."

"Mmm," he looks away and adjusts my grip on him. He loosens it, "yes."

For a moment, we both simply walk on the rocky ground.

Aemond draws a deep breath and turns his head to gaze upon the façade of what would be his castle after our marriage. It was a shabby little thing, run down and without servants, but it was situated in a strip of land that would prove to be beneficial if, say, war came.

"Your father is character," Aemond starts, "a rather ambitious man, wouldn't you agree?"

"He is," I chew my lip, "if he could, he'd take the stars and put them on his walls."

The prince hums, "do you share in his ambition?"

"I-"

He squeezes my arm. He throws a look, as if displeased that I would answer so quickly.

I raise my brows, retaining what I meant to answer, though saying it much slower than I would have, "I have no other ambition than to be a dutiful bride. My ambition is your ambition."

Aemond does not respond nor speak up until we make it back to the carriage.

There, both our mothers are waiting, both equally pleased by our return.

"There they are," my mother says with a smile, "I trust you enjoyed your stroll, my prince."

Aemond eyes my mother as he breaks away from me to walk over to his. Queen Alicent smiles at his son and brushes the hair that was flying to his face.

"The walk was too aggravating to be enjoyed. There was not a single patch of leveled ground," the prince say, "I doubt even sheep would enjoy it here."

I play off my agitation while my mother laughs, "you needn't worry about the ground being level, prince Aemond. You'll have peasants to do that for you."

I walk towards my mother when she reaches out to me. She smiles and takes my hand, "come, my daughter. Today will be your last day as my baby."

I lock gazes with Aemond as my mother kisses my temple.

I feel embarrassment creep up my cheeks.

The honest truth was, I don't remember what happened between that moment and when my husband was undoing the back of my dress. I vaguely remember the wedding, sharing dances with my brothers, with Aemond's brothers, with Helaena. I can recall King Viserys retiring early because of his headache, but then again, he did this often, so it could simply be a memory from another day.

All I know was that Aemond's fingers were hard, hot, and nimble. What would have taken me ages to take off my dress, he did so in a few seconds. I do my best not to breathe heavily, but even though I was not facing him, I couldn't seem to keep from heaving.

It was quite dark. The few candles that were lit did not really help in illuminating the room, but that did not make the idea of being naked in front of a man any easier for me.

My hammering heart commanded my eyes shut as the feverish dragon stripped me bare before him. I swear his touch burned my shivering skin as he slowly revealed my body to himself. I feel him brush his palms down my arms as he pulled my dress down my shoulders. Soon enough my entire body prickled as my shift dropped to my feet.

I cover my breasts with my arm and block my sex with my hand.

"Would you like to undress me, wife?" he mutters.

I feel the hair on the back of my neck raise when I feel his hot breath hit my skin. It was such a plainly worded question, yet it made me want to jump out of the window.

I slowly turn my head, opening my eyes to steal a look of him from over my shoulder. I don't know why, but I say, "yes."

The fact was I didn't. I didn't want to undress him. I would like to think it was quite apparent with how I slowly turned and apprehensively uncovered myself to be able to undress him.

I did not know why I was so shocked that he was unabashedly eyeing my body. I did not know why I was so shocked when his hands reached out to my waist, when his fingers pressed into my flesh, and his nails left marks on my skin. I let out a squeak and fidgeted with his shirt as he did so.

He only releases me when I pull his top off. I step out of my shift, bunched by my ankles, and walk closer to him to undo his breeches. I do not look at his face once, but I know he is still looking at me.

Once his ties were loose, I ghost my fingertips by his waistband, uncertain and hesitant of what to do next.

Recognizing this, he takes my wrists, but he freezes the next moment, clearly not expecting me to do what I did next.

I kissed him. I tilted my head and pressed my lips against his. It was chaste-- probably how I kissed him when we were proclaimed man and wife, but gods did it make my body burn.

I lick my lips after pulling away. I think about clutching his face, and so I do. I reach out to his cheeks and shift on my toes, leaning in for another peck.

I whimper when he pulls me flush against his chest. The contrast of my softer, colder body on his leaner, warmer one was something welcome. Apart from his hands tugging me close, it was like his very essence was drawing me into him.

We do not break our kiss even as he pushes me towards the bed, not even as I topple back and land on the mattress. There is a desperation in his kisses, as if the act of ending it would cause him harm.

He guides me underneath him. He parts my legs and makes room for himself between them. He rubs against me, and it is then I am reminded that I had failed to strip him fully naked. He immediately moves to remedy this, which is then when he pulls away.

When he does so, he rips at his trousers, hell-bent on freeing himself in as little time as possible.

Aemond gets on his knees and gracelessly pulls his remaining clothing off. It may have been dark but I could see him. I could see all of him now. It made my core pulse with excitement, dread, anticipation, and apprehension all at once.

I sigh when he sinks down and presses against me. He kisses me again and I feel his hardened length press against my belly.

I mold my body against him, curling myself in a way that fit snug with his form. I bring my thighs against his hips and feel encouraged when his hand squeeze and pull them closer to him.

He breaks our kiss to draw in a much needed breath and the haze that built in my mind grows thicker when Aemond begins to trail his lips down my jaw and neck. My nails find their way to his spine when he begins to buck his hips into me.

My skin prickles and my heart pounds when he whispers something into my ear. I did not know what he said, but I was certain it was High Valyrian. I was also somehow certain it had something to do with the way I felt.

Aemond hums and sinks his nose behind my ear. I whimper in response, arms tightening around him. I embrace him like I did not intend to let him go, and it truth, I really didn't.

"You make such pretty sounds for me."

I feel embarrassment creep up my cheeks. I am glad he does not see it.

I make another sound when I feel Aemond's hand trail between my thighs. We both hiss when his fingers find my sensitive center.

He pushes himself up on one arm and lifts his body. Aemond grabs himself and makes me yelp when he rubs his cock against my folds. It was then I realized how wet I've become.

He does this for a while. He coats himself with my dampness. He continues until I feel my body drip with sweat and arousal, until the arm keeping him up tires, and then I feel him slowly push into me.

When he does so, he sinks down and fits into me oh-so perfectly. The intrusion was not at all uncomfortable, in fact, it made my belly burn with need.

I find myself kissing the crook of his neck as he laid atop me. I feel him sigh in response.

"Please," I whisper, thighs rubbing against him, "I need more."

Aemond wastes no time in attending to my plea.

I mewl when he begins to thrust his hips. His movements are short and tight; he barely pulls out. He continues like this then changes pace when he grabs the back of my knees and pushes them close to my ribs. His movements grow bolder, more deliberate and harder.

He, himself, makes pretty sounds as he moves into me.

I feel sweat begin to build on my skin. I feel a pressure begins to tighten in me.

"Take my seed like a dutiful wife," he kisses my jaw, "I'll put a dragon in you."

My back arches, "Aemond."

"I wish to see you full of me," his one hand comes up to my breast and squeezes it, "I wish to fill you with me."

"P-please fill me," I respond with a shaky voice.

Aemond grunts, "I will."

My heart nearly stops when I feel burning pleasure break into me. My mouth releases the remaining air in my lungs as it calls out my husband's name.

Aemond makes gutteral noises as his movements grow rough and eventually stop.

I bury my face into his shoulder and catch my breath. Aemond follows suit but takes only a few breaths before lifting himself up and rolling off me.

He brings my legs together and covers my form with a blanket. I tense when he stands and walks off, feeling a panic come over me when he disappears. It only intensifies when he does not come back quickly.

I am about to sit up but then I freeze when I see him walk over to me. He is now clothed and had something in his hand.

"Clean yourself up," he places something on the bedside table, "you will not enjoy it when you wake," he turns to me, "I suggest you get dressed as well. You are rather cold."

I feel my body burn as Aemond walks off, circling the bed, coming under the sheets on his side.

I do as he says, slowly pushing the blanket off, feeling a chill run down my spine when my bare feel touch the cold ground. I stand and see that there was a wash basin on the table, as well as a towel.

I take in a deep breath and wipe myself down with warm water that was prepared for me. Once I was done, I examine the floor and pick up my shift. I put it on and put out the candles.

I climb into bed and do my best not to touch Aemond. My voice breaks when I call out, "good night."

He does not respond so I tell myself he was asleep. It takes a while for me to do the same.

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buckets-and-trees · 1 year

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Out of These Waters

Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Mer!Bucky x Princess!Reader Word Count: 7.6k

Summary: Fathoms below the surface, the tales of merfolk aren't mere tales, but a reality - a society sworn to secrecy, protecting themselves from the dangers of humans. But one of them with a yearning for what's out there keeps being drawn further and further into the places he should not go. A gender-bent adaptation of The Little Mermaid to be told in two parts.

Content/Concept Warnings: liberties taken with Hans Christian Andersen and Disney source materials, pining, magic

Additional Notes: Written for the @buckybarnesevents Connect4 Alternate June-iverse to fulfill my C3 "Gender Bend" square, looping in a number of dialogue prompts for Navy and Roo's May Challenge over at @the-slumberparty (designated in bold), my second square of @buckybarnesbingo B2 "Hidden," and MERMAY (shush, I know it's coming in at the absolute last seconds before the whistle blows). Thank you @navybrat817 and @rookthorne for letting me shout at you and go on at length riddling out this plot! A/N 2: This is part one of what needed to be split into two halves of a thorough adaptation/retelling. I had NO INTENTION of doing anything mermay. But a few weeks ago mermay art started surfacing on my dash... and I was enamored. And then some of Mindy Lee's art was shared in this post, and I thought... but what if Bucky were a merman with ridiculously long, dark, flowy hair like that... And then there was this merBucky art by @haflacky, and @navybrat817 sent me this one, and, and, and... and I realized the square I had been most perplexed about how I would find something to inspire a muse for could work if I made Bucky the protagonist of The Little Mermaid. So if you've noticed that I leaned heavy into the reblogging of mermay art, NOW YOU KNOW WHY.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Steve shook his head. “I can’t keep saying the same thing again and again, Buck.”

“Then don’t.”

“You know you’re supposed to guard from below, not above. The whole point of our guarding is to maintain secrecy, ensure humans never get too close.”

“Is it not better to know exactly what’s going on than to wait and react?”

Steve’s tail lashed quickly forward and back again, a further show of the frustration already written on his face. “But we both know that’s not why you sit at the surface.”

“There’s a wide balcony built into the side of the cliff the castle rests upon that’s only just above where high tide hits with a stairway that leads straight into the waters,” the words rushed quickly out of Bucky’s mouth. “It’s old. Why would they have direct access into the sea at the royal palace if not to interact with us?”

“How do you – no, I don’t want to know how you know that.” Steve planted his hands on his hips, just above where his dark blue scales spread down below his abdomen. “If I don’t know, I don’t have to lie for you. Your shoulders are darker than they should be, and your face is too sun-kissed.”

With that, he turned and began to swim away. Bucky looked at the tiny octopus resting on his left shoulder, tentacles wrapped around his bicep and stretching over his chest and back. He stroked the top of one of the tentacles and the beast slipped one of its arms underneath its body and slid out the three small trinkets Bucky had hidden there. “If humans are so bad, why do they make and collect such interesting trinkets?”

Instead of following straight after Steve, Bucky headed further west instead of south to the kingdom, and it wasn’t long before he reached a cave near the reef on the edge of the kingdom he’d discovered long ago during his patrols of the outer regions. It was in an undisturbed area on the outskirts of the underwater kingdom of Asgard, a place of complete solitude for Bucky. He shared the existence of this place with no one, using it as an escape, then a retreat, and now a regular spot to not only be away from duty and his ties to others, but also a place to keep his growing collection of human artifacts.

A cautious visit to the surface to observe humans as a point of reference was part of ritual tradition for all Asgardian merfolk as they reached the age of adulthood. Many used it for what it was – the point of reference for the life they were not a part of, knowledge of the dangers of the surface world, and were happy to have it over and done with.

Not Bucky.

He wasn’t the only one who the visit struck a chord with. Many of the merfolk found a call to join the royal guard after their visits – some out of fear to keep the sea safe, some out of a reverent respect for what lay beyond the safe border of the underwater. Others were struck by their habits – so similar to the merfolk, and yet different – and became collectors of the oddities that sometimes found their way into the sea either by shipwreck or simply being tossed overboard.

Bucky had yearned for his visit to the surface for years before it was his time, spurred on by a fascination that had sprouted from hearing about humans and the surface from his father who had served in the royal guard for many years before Bucky was old enough to join. His visit split the curiosity from a small crack to a chasm of questions and desires. He wanted to know so much more about the people he saw, how they lived, and yearned to even experience it himself.

Joining the guard and taking regular rotations of duty for protection monitoring allowed him the opportunity to breach the surface and observe as long as he was careful, and he was. As Steve had rightly surmised, today had been another of those days. He kept to every other part of the code and did not speak or interact with the humans on any level, the directive put into place by Bor Burison early in his reign, maintained throughout the entirety of Odin’s reign, and continued by his son Thor, their current king.

But it wasn’t the only reason he had joined the royal guard. Bucky was an explorer by nature, so he also took satisfaction in the standard undersea outskirt patrols, mapping and surveying different parts of the kingdom, and – most importantly – felt a deep sense of duty to the kingdom and serving the king, whom he felt a great amount of loyalty and friendship toward after growing up on the same training grounds together and fighting alongside on a few occasions.

So Bucky’s cave was more than just a place to keep the trinkets and artifacts he found during his excursions, it was a place where he could be himself, think, rest, or just be without any distraction. The alcoves held his treasures, which included some maps of his own creation on the sheaves of seaweed, and some things made for him or given to him by his younger sisters.

This place was some three or four leagues from the coast, and Bucky often saw the shadows of boats sailing above it. It was growing dark, so tonight he wouldn’t lay and look up at the passing shades. It was only his intention to stow away his new findings – a silver ring with jade stones and another instrument, either a tool or an ornament, with a thin silver shaft a little longer than the palm of his hand holding a row of teeth with more jade embedded into the smooth back of the shaft. As he studied it, running his fingers over the smooth back and the bumps of the dull teeth, wondering what purpose it could serve or if it was purely decorative, it began to collect hues of muted but colorful light. He smiled and looked up through the hole of the roof of his cave.

“The booming fire lights,” he murmured to his shoulder octopus, placing the object on a shelf, and shooting quickly up and out of his cave for the surface. Within just a few moments he was near the surface, and so he slowed abruptly, knowing it was always safest to emerge slowly into the air rather than burst forth from below, even if he did benefit from the darkness of the night sky. With the booming fire lights flying above, Bucky knew there was an even smaller chance for any humans to notice him, but his adherence over the years to very basic strategies made his venturing beyond the established boundaries sustainable.

The wind danced across his face as he emerged from the water, cool and swift, but not unpleasant. Wind was such an anomaly to him, he wouldn’t have thought it unpleasant anyway. He watched the colorful lights dancing against the intensely dark sky, seemingly darker than others he’d seen before, but his attention was drawn by something else as well. Not far off from where he was treading at the surface a large sailing ship was gliding along with loads of music and laughter spilling over the sides. Ships in this area making their way to and from the docks of the surface kingdom were frequent, but not usually at the leisurely pace and with such clearly joyful revelry. His heart swelled just a little, and he couldn’t deny the pull toward the celebration. He slunk back down just below the surface, low enough he knew the rapid movements of his tailfins wouldn’t emerge or even disturb the water and swam toward the vessel.

Bucky had seen the ship on approach earlier during his surface patrol. It’s one that usually sat in the harbor, had been gone for a few weeks, and only returning now.

A few moments after he resurfaced, just at the base where the ship met the water, the booming fire lights in the sky ceased, and a shortly thereafter the music died down. The ship was not far off from land, so Bucky assumed the crew had stopped to celebrate with the fire lights and was now starting to make final preparations to conclude their voyage, but his curiosity was not disappointed in venturing closer. Two humans were at the side of the boat conversing directly above him, one leaning a little over the railing, looking out over the waters, and their voices rang out clearly for his ears.

“The people will be proud,” a male voice said.

“I hope so,” your voice drifted down to him.

“They will,” your companion insisted. “Your first royal tour, and you were able to make tremendous diplomatic overtures in many of the kingdoms we visited. In particular, the resurgence of a more active alliance with Wakanda and opening a trade route with them – we hoped for the former, but no one expected the latter. Wakanda hasn’t traded with other countries for generations!”

“With Shuri as the new queen, she was ready to make new inroads, I just happened to be the first delegation they received.”

“I’m sure that was by design.”

“Do you think they’re using us?”

“No, your majesty, as I told you before we set out, I think they were receptive to our diplomatic overtures because as a new queen, she saw you on equal footing as a princess who will soon inherit this kingdom.”

You didn’t respond immediately, and Bucky heard you heave a heavy sigh before speaking again. “Less than a year.”

“You will be ready. You are ready. Shuri initiated the trade negotiations only after she had judged your character, your intelligence, and your tenacity – characteristics noticed by her brother T’Challa, as well.”

“Are you my Prime Minister or my match maker?” you chided.

Your companion laughed, and replied, “As your Prime Minister I do know that the people would certainly rejoice at the prospect of a royal wedding, but I don’t think there will need to be any interference on my part, Princess.”

“The people would certainly rejoice?”

“They would, and of course a happy people makes doing my job easier, but I would also rejoice. I would not have you face the prospect of the crown alone, your highness.”

“I don’t need a husband to rule.”

“No, I know that – only a moment ago I just affirmed how strong your diplomatic skills are. I only say that because I believe you deserve to have a partner to share it with – the weight of the burdens as well as joy in the successes. I’ve always been grateful for my companion in those ways, and your kingdom has benefited from their wisdom as well, for they set me straight when I need to see something differently and everyone else will tell me what I want to hear and not what I need to hear.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Bucky imagined you may have been sharing a look of some sort with your Prime Minister. “T’Challa was someone who gained my respect very quickly and,” you hesitated for a moment, “he was also perhaps someone I began to grow fond of.”

Something burned in the back of Bucky’s throat. He didn’t like hearing you speak of this Wakandan prince. He didn’t like it because your voice was not that of a stranger to him. He had heard you – only a few times but heard you all the same – when he had ventured near the palace on the cliffside, discovering that sunken balcony with steps right into the sea, and other places along that part of the shore. He assumed you were part of the royal household, but this was the first conversation he’d heard indicating you were the crown princess and due to take the throne. He wanted to know more about everything on land, but he was particularly intrigued by what he was learning about you.

“I left with many indications that the Wakandans were interested in reciprocating a royal diplomatic visit presently, and that although Queen Shuri would be unable to leave in the near future, this was a priority moving forward to put stock in the alliance, and there is no one the Queen trusts more than her brother for matters of importance.”

“How conveniently fortuitous for your romantic hopes,” you responded, bracketing it with a soft, warm laugh.

The wind suddenly picked up, there was a deep rumble in the air, and then the sky began to release water down on them. A storm. Bucky had encountered a storm at the surface before, but never with such a heavy pelting of water. The folk on the boat began shouting, and he could hear a bit of their hustling about above the sounds of the storm, but only just. His ears began to buzz, and there was a sharp metallic taste hitting his tongue. Bucky put his hand on the side of the ship to steady himself, starting to feel a little dizzy. The next second there was a blinding light that engulfed everything, with a sharp crack, and an even larger almost deafening crash at the end of it, and then a roaring sound unlike anything Bucky had ever heard before, followed by screaming and shouts from the ship’s crew. Bucky’s heart beat erratically for a few moments, and though the brilliant white light had disappeared, there was now a red and orange glow radiating from the front of the ship.

The splintering of wood, more shouts, and then a boom as the mast of the ship tumbled over, and then fell over the side, and into the water, Bucky just swimming out of the way in time. The whipping of the wind increased even more, bringing big waves that began to beat against the side of the ship, causing it to rock and creak.

Bucky retreated below the surface, and looked up seeing other things beginning to fall into the water, boxes, row boats, a body swathed with swirling skirts. Bucky’s body was full of adrenaline already from that wicked flash of destructive light, body feeling out of sorts, but he was horrifically transfixed on that body, waiting for the limbs to react, to move, but they didn’t.

Someone from the ship’s crew would see, they would leap in after to retrieve the displaced human.

Any second.

But what continued to appear at the surface, after another flash of light, were more object, planks of wood, and the body remained motionless, continuing to sink.

He couldn’t leave the human helpless.

Surging upwards, Bucky snaked his arm around the torso of the human, tucking it against his side, and then rushed to the surface. He looked around, scoping out the situation, but found nothing but more chaos. The human crew on the deck of the ship were distracted entirely in what was happening immediately around them, no one seeming to look over the side at all in search of a missing body because now the small boats were being cast into the water and all the crew were calling out, “Abandon ship!”

Bucly looked down at the head that had lolled back to rest on his shoulder and his heart stuttered because though it was dark and stormy and he’d never been anywhere near this close, he was certain it was you, the crown princess in his arms. Bucky groaned in distress. He was already in a compromising position, he couldn’t leave you here with little assurance that you would be rescued – certainly not without him helping you in your unconscious state – and each passing second mounted his concern over if you were even still alive. He brought a trembling hand to the side of your neck to see if he could feel a heartbeat. Do humans have heartbeats? he wondered, but assumed they must since merfolk like himself did, and humans and merfolk seemed to share near identical bodies from the waist up. Detecting a heartbeat seemed futile at this moment, tossing about in the sea, with his own hand unsteady.

Without another thought, he tightened his hold beneath your arms, swirled to face land, and franticly beat his fins to take you away from the wreckage, realizing there was nothing left to do but swim you to the shore himself.

Bucky knew the shore too well for a merman, far better than he knew ever to admit to anyone in Asgard, but his extensive familiarity meant in this instant he had no question of where he needed to go, and time was precious. Grateful for the hightide of nighttime, Bucky had to make very little effort to get the two of you up onto the balcony that lay at the bottom of the cliffs just below the palace – the very one he had spoken to Steve about only an hour before. Bucky gently shifted you onto your back on the smooth granite, cradling your head in one of his large hands. His other hand furiously brushed his long hair out of his face, then came up to your neck, seeking signs of your heartbeat again. It was faint, but he could feel it consistently pulsing under his fingertips.

Tension he didn’t realize he’d been carrying released in his chest.

You were still alive.

He’d felt dizzy with that streak of violent light, so perhaps you had been affected as well and may have also hit something in the water when you fell off the ship. He brushed his thumb softly over your cheek. “Come on, Princess, you need to wake up.”

Still unresponsive, he rubbed your cheek a little more firmly, then moved his hand down to squeeze your shoulder. He continued murmuring softly, trying to coax you back to consciousness. After a few more minutes, he finally felt you beginning to come around, noting the moment when instead of your head lying dormant in his hand, your muscles started to move and adjust. “That’s it, Princess,” he cooed.

You groaned and pressed your cheek into Bucky’s palm. His heart ached and raced, realizing the reality of his situation.

He hesitated for a split second, loathe to leave you, but he carefully eased your head onto the ground, removed his hands from you, and slipped away and back into the sea before you could see him.

As he swam as fast as he could, his heartbeat roaring in his ears, and he did not stop until he was home, only slowing to a speed that would not draw attention when he neared the outskirts of the underwater kingdom, knowing he could never even hint at his involvement in saving the life of a human. His mind raced with the enormity of what he’d done, and the only reason he slept at all that night was due to the exhaustion from maintaining such a high-speed swim over the long distance to return home.

His body was refreshed in the morning, but his mind was not. Bucky knew he had a day ahead of him filled with his duties as a royal guard, but every fiber of his being yearned to rise to the surface and seek you out – only to ensure you were safely recovering from the shipwreck ordeal.

“You’re not tricking anyone always taking the assignments to investigate new shipwrecks, patrol the outskirts, and monitor security near the surface,” Sam said as they left the command post for the guard in the golden palace of Asgard after the morning briefing and assignments.

Bucky shot him a sidelong glance. “What did Steve say to you.”

“Steve didn’t say anything to me,” Sam chuckled. “I know you, and this is becoming more frequent.”

“If someone has to take care of these responsibilities anyway, why not me?” Bucky tried to keep his tone casual, adding a shrug.

Sam didn’t respond. Bucky looked over at him.

Sam put up his hands nonchalantly. “If you say so.”

Bucky stopped and turned to face him. “Say what you feel so compelled to say.”

“I don’t think Thor will be as angry as Odin would have been about your human obsession, but he won’t be happy about it. The laws are there for a reason. You know that.”

Bucky shook his head in irritation. “I’m not in any danger.”

“I’m not scolding you, Buck, but Odin would have had your fins nailed to the floor.”

The little octopus on Bucky’s shoulder squirmed. Bucky stroked it soothingly. “Thor’s not Odin, but no one is going to tell Thor anything because there’s nothing to tell.”

“Just be careful.”

“You also volunteered to mapping part of the uncharted reef with me today,” Bucky reminded him.

“Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t get lost or lose track of time,” he said with a grin.

Bucky laughed. “Come on then, morning light is best for scoping out the reef.”

The day was spent adding to the empty edges of the map of the reef. Thor had commissioned further exploration and completion of the maps of their land and the surrounding seas, placing great importance on better knowing the kingdom and her neighbors. Scratching the new lines and shadings into the sheaves of seaweed brought its own sense of satisfaction, and it did fill his mind for the day and distract him for the most part. He returned to Asgard with Sam at the end of the day, no detours. He ate with other members of the guard before returning home. He slept, but then he woke before dawn, leaving in the darkness, and began swimming to the shore. Would you be at the seaside balcony at the crack of dawn? He didn’t expect so, but he would scope it out all the same, and he was sure if he did not see you he could safely sneak to the port docks and hear news of you – now that he knew you were the crown princess, any word regarding the return of a royal after a shipwreck and her wellbeing would be the gossip of the morning.

Merfolk and humans were no different in that way, Bucky thought with a smirk.

The sun was only just sending its rays over the edge of the horizon when he reached the shore. You were not at the seaside balcony of the palace, and he only lingered for a few minutes, eyes fixed on the spot where he’d held your face in his hands.

Two mornings after the shipwreck, the docks at the port were still busier than Bucky normally saw them. He had to stay further below and only came up to the surface twice, but that was all he needed to hear that the people’s princess was recovering without anything more than a nasty bump to the head and exhaustion.

He swam past and surfaced near the balcony again before heading back for another day of Asgardian life and duties. You weren’t there, of course.

But that night, you were.

He watched you watch the stars until you retired for the night.

Three mornings later Bucky was off for the day, so he ventured back to the shoreline mid-morning, hoping he would catch you at some point during the day. He had encountered you there a few times after all.

And you did not disappoint.

You sat on the top step that led from the balcony down into the water, pulled up your skirts, and began loosening the laces of your shoes. Soon you had them off along with whatever fabric was covering your feet beneath the shoes – he wondered what those were called. They looked delicate. Then you scooted down to sit a few steps lower, letting your feet dangle in the sea. Bucky dipped far below the surface and swam closer to the wall of the cliff. When he came up again, he slipped up onto an outcropping of rocks out of your view, leaning his bare back against the cliff face. He was only meters away from where you were still sitting. He could hear you idly raising and lowering your feet out of the waters as it was a very calm day for the tide.

After a long while, he heard you sigh. “Everyone thinks I’m crazy, but I know I didn’t make it up. You aren’t a miracle or a myth, you’re proof the merfolk aren’t extinct and that they’re not dangerous.”

Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat. He thought he’d been silent or quiet enough with the other sounds of the sea.

“You’re out there somewhere. I’ll find you.”

He did not move until he heard you leave, then he slipped into the deep blue, a rushing in his ears, heart pounding, resolved to keep his distance.

Only that resolve didn’t last long. He was drawn to you as much as he was to everything above water, and within a week he was back, but he came at the end of the day. You weren’t there, but he hoisted himself back up on the same outcropping of rock at the base of the cliff near but still out of view of the steps. The view of the sunset was stunning, steeped with deep reds and oranges, and sitting there taking in the sight you might have been able to see was enough.

And better.

This was safe.

Then he heard the faint sound of voices far off, steadily growing, then footsteps descending on the stairs. Two sets of footsteps, and then finally he could make out the voices, recognizing both – yours and that of your Prime Minister.

“Everything is ready to receive the royal envoy. Prince T’Challa sent this letter ahead for you.”

“Oh.”

Bucky registered a hint of something in your voice even in just that simple sound alone that pricked at him.

“Oh,” your tone was even warmer.

“A good letter?”

“That is not really your business, Prime Minister,” you laughed, and he chuckled.

“A royal alliance in absolutely my business,” he said, though the Prime Minister’s tone was clearly in jest, ultimately content in deferring to your rank and privacy.

“I will say it is certainly a letter anyone could be fond of,” you offered in a gentle voice.

That consumed Bucky immediately. He didn’t want this prince to lay claim to your heart and draw this kind of affection from you. He wanted that chance. His tail twitched with his impatience, splashing up some water. Bucky instantly stilled, pressing back against the cliff face.

But neither of you seemed not to notice.

The conversation turned to more business about the visit, and Bucky continued to listen, wanting to hear your voice, but none of the words registered in his head.

After a while, Bucky realized the voices had stopped, but he had no idea when that had happened. The sun had disappeared completely, the celestial bodies of the night sky had come out and were shining brightly against the darkness. The position of the moon indicated it must be near midnight. Bucky groaned, his shoulders and back a little stiff after sitting so long in one attitude against the rocks. You must have gone away and to sleep ages ago, and he ought to follow suit. He pushed up and off the perch, making a small dive into the sea to return home.

What he did not know was that you had stayed long after dismissing the Prime Minister, watching the sky until the very last rays of the sunset, but as you were about to retire had heard the twitching of fins against the water close at hand and out of curiosity climbed down the steps to the water’s edge to investigate. You had seen only the end of a set of large, shimmering black and gold fins and the lower part of a black-scaled tail. Your breath had stopped, and you’d had to stifle your sound of shock. You hadn’t dared to get to the bottom of the steps and look around the edge, certain that if it was one of the merfolk you’d heard the myths of your whole life that they would retreat immediately if they knew you’d seen them, but you had moved as far to the other end of the balcony as you could to see more of that glorious tail – but still not revealing much more to your view – and waited.

And all your patience had been rewarded when you saw the arms, head, shoulders, and torso of a man dive into the water, magnificent black and gold tail with intricate and powerful fins following him in all his glory.

Now you knew they still existed.

No, Bucky knew none of that.

Bucky’s mind is singularly fixed on all the things he can’t have – things he’s wondered about since hearing about the human surface world as a merchild, things he saw during his observatory rite of passage visit when he turned sixteen, things he’s seen over the years since then through his own exploration above and below the surface, and the everything just out of his reach now with you. He goes first to his grotto, and here the number of things he’s collected from the human world far surpass the number of things he knows about you, but he can’t deny the draw he feels. His chest aches, and yet he’s forbidden from doing anything – if there even were anything he could do.

Being among the relics of the human world only serves to agitate him more, and so he leaves and makes his way to his home cavern in the city of Asgard. Sleep is impossible. He swims short, agitated lengths back and forth within his humble dwelling.

He has a few relics here, too, but these are things passed down from his parents, including his grandfather’s combat spear. The royal armory holds weapons and all manner of protective outfitting for his majesty’s armies, but long past are the days when the kingdom issued gear to every soldier and officer. Many under the early days of Odin’s reign were issued personal pieces as a standard, but that ebbed away as the need and dangers faded or were conquered. The height of need had been in the early days of Bor Burison’s reign – Bor who had enacted the stringent regulations against fraternizing with the humans or spending any significant amount of time at the surface.

Bucky had naturally collected many pieces of the history of their people in relation to the humans, but he had never visited the royal archives. He’d always made at least a modicum of effort to keep his interest in everything looking exactly like that – an interest and not an obsession – and a visit to the archives to read and study the records of their interactions with the humans would not be seen as an idle interest.

Now he didn’t care. He needed to know everything; perception be damned.

He swam off some of his anxious energy making laps around the borders of the city surrounding the palace until dawn when the elders would open the archives. It was a collection that spanned art, statues, treasures, and artifacts, in addition to the records of the merfolk of Asgard. Some of their history had been created in murals along the walls of this hall, but there were also panes of etched glass and titanium for important long-term records, as well as various scrolls and sheaves of tough seaweed for maps and other documents. One of the elders pointed him to the area most applicable to their past dealings with the humans, and he started from the most recent records and started to make his way back through Asgard’s history. Bucky collection of events even more complex than he’d known began to coalesce as he combed through the accounts of things that played out over a few years, ending in a bloody battle between Buri – Thor’s great-grandfather – and the human king and his navy with many lives lost on both sides, including Buri, leading to Bor’s untimely ascension to the crown at an age earlier than anyone expected, and Bor instituting all the laws, principles, and practices to eliminate any contact with the surface world, deeming too much had been lost and that humans had become too dangerous to continue any dealings whatsoever if they wanted to keep the people of Asgard safe.

But Buri’s had inherited peaceful ties – positive ties even – with the folk on land, ties that had been forged by his father and grandfather before him. To say this was intriguing to Bucky would be an understatement. These ties were entwined with the selkies of Jotunheim.

Odin had beat back the selkies from their waters.

All except one.

Bucky knew of a selkie still in existence.

Exiled, but Bucky was fairly sure he knew where he could find the long-forgotten adopted brother of Thor, rumored now to be the warlock of the seven seas.

Bucky was questing for information, for answers, but tales of the things the former prince who had embraced his magic had done since leaving the gleaming halls of Asgard were whispered, and Bucky began to wonder if perhaps he could get more than he set out for by paying him a visit.

He need not have worried about finding him. As one of the pre-eminent cartographers on the royal guard, Bucky knew where to begin his search, but once he got to that point on the fringes, there seemed to be a myriad of elements to point him straight to Loki’s dark cavern.

There must have been enchantments to alert the sea warlock of his approach because Loki was waiting for him at the entrance to his lair. Bucky took in the sight of him as he drew near. Odin had invoked powers to conceal Loki’s true nature as a selkie and disguised him as a merman when he brought the infant into the royal family, and though Loki’s rebellion came during the early years of Bucky’s service in the king’s guard, Bucky had never seen him in his true form.

He was not that different from what Bucky had known him as before. The marked difference was that instead of scales and fins, his lower half was covered in the pelt of a seal, still beautiful and shiny in its own way, but with flippers instead of fins, and it was a skin that he could shed – for legs above ground. That and his flesh skin seemed sallow, but his eyes were still sharp.

“James, after all this time, and now you come to visit me,” he crooned. “You must be truly desperate to come to me for help.”

Bucky furrowed his brow, not anticipating this direct nature, and he was wary of what it meant.

In Bucky’s half-second of hesitation to answer, Loki’s face took on a dark grin and he continued his overture. “For that’s why you are here, is it not? No social calls on your part since I left the palace – not that we were particularly close. I didn’t expect overtures of our continued acquaintance since leaving Asgard, but seeing you swim into my waters at any point was certainly not something I ever predicted would happen.”

Bucky hovered near, but not within reach of the warlock. “It’s true I come to you with particular needs, but I harbor no bad blood for the past.”

Loki nodded, then turned and swam inside, calling, “Come in,” over his shoulder.

Bucky followed.

The circumstances surrounding the final confrontation that took place between Thor, Odin, and Loki during the latter’s rebellion were not public knowledge, and though Odin died that same day, Loki’s departure from the kingdom was a self-exile, and Thor and the then Queen Frigga maintained that Odin did not die at Loki’s hand and forbade anyone pursue the fallen prince. Thor had assumed the throne, Loki had wandered in mystery, as yet not returning to his once-home, and had settled now in this place.

They swam through a tunnel toward a faint glow ahead. Something continually reached out, whisping across Bucky’s skin as they passed, and he was unsure if it was plant or creature, but he had the distinct impression these were sentient and intentional touches. Bucky was forced to endure at the pace at which Loki progressed ahead of him.

They emerged into a massive cavern aglow with filtered light streaming in through gaps in the ceiling and glowing plants that cropped up in patches along the walls. One of the cavern’s faces was riddled with nooks and alcoves that were packed with bottles, pots, artifacts, tools, supplies – it was all an eerie collection Bucky imagined had been clearly amassed with meticulous obsession, knowing the habits of being a collector himself. Each spot his eyes darted to held both familiar and unfamiliar items.

Loki stopped, floating near the middle of the lair, and Bucky followed suit. The selkie swirled languidly around to look at him, and though his posture appeared relaxed, Bucky could see the true scrutiny in his eyes.

He kept the silence, eagerly sowing the anticipation, before he spoke again. “Know that I entertain you only for the sake of my own curiosity.”

Ah, he understood, at least I know the approach. He opened his mouth, ready to unfold his explanation, but Loki abruptly raised his hand, and Bucky thought it was only to stop him, but then something entwined both of his arms out of nowhere, gripping him and drawing him nearly chest to chest with the warlock.

“No, no. this will be more satisfying for me than your words,” Loki said, then put his nimble fingers to Bucky’s temples, and closed his eyes.

Bucky winced as almost immediately he wasn’t in physical pain, but he swore he could practically feel Loki sifting through his head, extracting what he wanted from the memories that flashed rapidly across his mind – Steve, maps, the records, conversations with his father, pieces of his artefact collection, his trips to the surface, the shipwreck, and you. So many thoughts of you. Bucky tried not to move, not wanting to show any weakness.

“Mmm, I see,” he said, finally releasing him both from his own touch and from the grip of the enchanted seaweed.

Bucky was only too glad that Loki retreated. It was only a meter, but any inch of distance was relished after feeling so exposed. There was no taking back the flashes, but at least most of the concentration had been on the human things, a few moments of you, but not every memory he had of you.

He let the quiet permeate the space between them again. Then he turned around, a smile on his face, and it was nothing but unsettling, too relaxed for Bucky’s liking.

He knew he was being toyed with, but he had to play whatever game Loki was setting up.

Finally, he spoke again. “Clearly the way to get what you want is to become a human yourself.”

“And you can do that?”

“I fortunately knew a little magic, and my talent and knowledge have only grown in my exile, so I could, but what in the vast ocean is in this for me?”

“The challenge,” Bucky responded, employing a slight incline of his chin – a tactic he had used with others to inspire or sway them over the years.

“Oh, but I want more than that, and so do you, you want this with everything in your soul.”

Bucky could feel how much Loki was enjoying this. Loki literally had the power, but that put him in a position that Bucky still knew he could use in this game.

“Here’s my offer: you’ll get your legs, you’ll be able to breathe on land – so not under the sea – and by the time the sun sets on the third day, if you haven’t procured true love’s kiss –“

“True love’s kiss?” Bucky interjected.

“But, of course! That’s what you want anyway, is it not?”

The smirk on his face riled Bucky even more, but he was determined to appear as unaffected as he could, even though he knew they both knew Bucky was keyed up to great heights.

“Yes, you are intrigued by the life on land, but you’re here because you want the heart of that princess.” Loki pauses and tilts his head, demanding the admission.

Bucky nodded.

That kindled a spark of something more in Loki’s eye.

“You said I have until sunset on the third day. What happens if I don’t succeed by then?”

Loki shrugged. “You turn back into a merman and you serve me for thirteen years.”

Bucky blinked before responding. He thought he would say for life, but only thirteen years?

Loki chuckled. “I know exactly what you’re thinking, but I may not want you longer than that. Now, if you succeed, you remain a human and live a human life up there with your beloved princess for the rest of your days,” he concludes, almost bored by the end.

“No interference from you in the future?”

Loki waved his hand as he replies, “No interference from me. But,” and his tone switched, fully engaged again, “we haven’t discussed the matter of payment.”

“You can have any of my gold or treasures.”

“I have enough of my own. I want something more unique. I’m not asking for much, just a token really, a trifle.

He paused.

“What I want from you is your voice.”

“My voice?” Bucky’s mind worked quickly, trying to work out what he was missing if he agred to give up his voice. Aside from the logistical inconvenience and disadvantage it would present on his part, he can’t imagine what Loki would gain by having it – it seemed to be an eccentric choice.

“Your voice.”

Why ask for that? Bucky’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Clearly it was something to further taunt Bucky and entertain Loki.

Then Loki unexpectedly seemed to soften, relaxing his posture. “I understand perhaps more than you anticipated. I empathize with your unrest, the way you yearn to know a part of you that’s been denied.”

They didn’t have the same circumstances, but Bucky sees where they could draw parallels with each other.

“What you’re asking would enormously alter your destiny. Your voice is almost nothing if what you truly want is to become human and live out your days with that princess your soul longs for.”

Those words were spoken without flair. Bucky only needed to agree to get what he wanted – he couldn’t have crafted a better scenario considering what any of the alternatives could have been. It was a bizarre barter – his voice for a chance at life out of these waters – but it did seem to fit the weight of what he was being offered.

“Now, do you agree to the terms?”

“I agree.”

Loki’s wide smile reappeared, and he turned away to fetch and summon different items from his wall of endless supplies, and soon there was a round glass jar between them, just larger than the size of a head with a small spout meant for pouring things in and out. Vials, jars, and some loose elements hovered near Loki’s shoulders, and he waved his hand twice in a circular motion beneath the glass jar. The water there continued to stir, and Bucky could feel the warmth it generated. Loki began to add ingredients into the spout, and they swirled in the orb. Loki murmured a few short incantations, and there were cracks and rumblings from the concoction.

“Put your palms against the glass and hum until you can’t hum anymore,” Loki instructed.

It was yet another peculiarity, but Bucky didn’t question. He placed both hands as indicated and started to hum. He could feel the heat immediately, and as he continued to hum, he could sense the exchange as his voice was drawn continuously from the depths of his chest and magic slithered through his veins. Once he felt it seep into every inch of him, the energy surged suddenly. His throat seized, there was a searing pain through his lower half, and he wanted to withdraw his hands to clutch at his neck, to kick away, but whatever magic was brewing prevented him from pulling back at all. His chest tightened painfully. There was a flash of light that rivaled the violent flash in the sky that struck the ship the night of the shipwreck, the searing pain burst in his tail, and then all at once he was released.

The discombobulation was overwhelming. His powerful tail and fins were gone, and he realized how unsuited for this setting he was, the new limbs altogether inadequate, and his lungs were desperate for air. He kicked and surged upward, but he’d even lost the slight webbing between his fingers that had helped him glide more quickly through the water.

Loki’s laughter followed him as he made his escape from the depths of the sea.

The octopus companion that had peculiarly clung to his shoulder on one chance expedition and rarely let go unfurled itself and diligently aided Bucky in swimming to reach the surface where he burst into the air, gulping in lungful’s of air. It was crisp and immediately quenched all of the dread and desperation that had filled his being.

Then the next breaths soothed and then invigorated him. He laughed with relief.

Only there was no sound.

For he had no voice.

to be continued...

A/N 3: SHUT UP, YOU GET A THIRD AND FINAL NOTE FROM ME TO YOU! This - clearly - is part one of two. I dove DEEP into this (shush, puns) and to tell the story I know I will feel satisfied with in the end, I got to this point and joked that maybe I should just stop here - who needs to resolve any plots, he got his legs, right? - but then the joke became the option I genuinely liked because I was getting overwhelmed by how this story had grown. And so, dear readers, keep a weather eye on the horizon for merBucky to reappear with the tide.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #merbucky #bucky barnes x reader #mermay #bucky barnes x female reader #navy and roo's sleepover #buckybarnesbingo2023 #bbb2023 #connect4au #female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barnes x y/n #mer!bucky #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x reader

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whencyclopedia · 6 days

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Medieval Castle

Medieval Castles were built from the 11th century CE for rulers to demonstrate their wealth and power to the local populace, to provide a place of defence and safe retreat in the case of attack, defend strategically important sites like river crossings, passages through hills, mountains, and frontiers, and as a place of residence.

Whether a permanent home for a local lord or a temporary one for a ruler embarking on a tour of their kingdom, medieval castles were converted from wood into stone and became ever more impressive structures with more and more defensive features such as round towers and fortified gates.

The Evolution of the Castle

A good location for a castle was on a natural rise, near a cliff, on the bend of a river, or where older fortifications such as Roman walls could be usefully reused. Castles needed their own water and food supplies and usually a permanent defensive force, additional factors to be considered when choosing a location.

Castles were an expensive undertaking which could take years to finish. A master mason, who was, in effect also the architect, led a team of hundreds of skilled workers ranging from carpenters to blacksmiths and dyke specialists to common labourers. The transportation of materials was the highest cost of all so the proximity of a local quarry was a big plus.

The earliest form of castle was a simple wooden palisade, perhaps with earthworks, surrounding a camp, sometimes with a permanent wooden tower in the centre. This then evolved into the motte and bailey castle - a wall encircling an open space or courtyard (bailey) and a natural or artificial hill (motte) which had a wooden tower built on top of it. These were especially popular with the Normans from the 11th century CE.

In the next stage of development, an outer wall was built of stone on top of the motte and then known as a shell keep. Finally, in the 12th century CE, the outer wall and main central tower also came to be built of stone, but not usually on the motte itself as that was not stable enough to use as a foundation for such a heavy structure. Indeed, entirely new locations might be preferred or required, and the foundation of choice was bedrock which prevented any undermining by an attacking force. The keep became a staple feature of castles, although they were called a donjon (from the French word meaning 'lord') prior to the 16th century CE. Usually with three or more stories (tower keeps); some were lower and are called hall keeps. The keep was the heart of the medieval castle and the last point of refuge in case of attack or siege. Before they got to the keep, though, attackers had to negotiate a long list of defensive features.

#History #BeaumarisCastle #CaernarfonCastle #CaerphillyCastle #WHE #[#]

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valleyof-goldenlilies · 10 months

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Se Zaldrizoti’ Prumia - Chapter 4: The Orange Lily Bends Its Head In Grief (Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader)

Chapter 4: The Orange Lily Bends Its Head In Grief

The time comes for mourning, old memories and harsh truths.

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

Warnings: Extreme slow burn, angst, mentions of Aemma’s traumatic birth scene, Y/N kinda being a headass, Daemon being an ass, Viserys hate club

Word Count: 2.8k words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: I’m sorry this chapter was later than expected 😭 i got a bit sick after the concert I attended yesterday (1975 was great but goddamn the crowd was inactive asf) I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

wonderful dividers courtesy of @firefly-graphics !

The day was beautiful. The sun hung bright and brilliant in the blue sky, and the smell of salt and sand permeated through the air, along with a slight whiff of smoke from the magnificent dragon situated at the top of the hill, its beady eyes cast upon the crowd of mourners clad in black.

You stared numbly at the raised dais where Aemma’s embalmed body laid. Little Baelon was next to her, and you couldn’t help but wonder how Aemma would have reacted, had she known the life that had been taken from her in the hopes of letting her babe live, was now naught but sand scattered in the wind: utterly useless.

Rhaenyra stood next to you: the both of you keeping a fair distance from Viserys. Tears were welled up in her purple eyes, but she did her best not to let them fall, attempting to maintain her calm countenance. She reminded you much of yourself when you had lost your mother, mourning, and unsure on how to express your grief.

Daemon spoke to Rhaenyra hushedly, the both of them conversing in High Valyrian. You did not deign to translate the faint snippets of their conversation that you overheard in your head, despite your decent grasp of the tongue. You barely noticed as Rhaenyra inched forward gingerly.

“Dracarys!” You kept your eyes fixed upon Aemma and Baelon’s funeral pyre as it was set alight.. The hot whoosh of flames fanned across your face, and everyone took a step back unconsciously to avoid the heat, but you didn’t feel anything, not as you watched the body of your dearest friend and her ill-fated son burn away to naught but ashes.

Daemon did not know what to make of today. Grief was a stranger to him: even though he had seen the deaths of his mother, father and grandfather, the depth of the feeling eluded him. Mayhaps there was something wrong with him: given how much death there had been in the later stages of his grandsire’s reign, it was a wonder he was unfeeling at funerals. Still, he found no sense in dwelling over the dead. The dead were the dead, and sorrow would not bring them back.

He was about to depart from the cliffs, and mount a horse back to the Red Keep, when his gaze befell upon a most strange scene. His brother, and…Y/N?

Rhaenyra had already ridden off on Syrax back to the Dragonpit, and most of the royal retinue had already retreated back to the Red Keep, unable to stand the sweltering heat, but his brother was here, talking to Y/N, who by now, was becoming ostensibly more and more like she would rather hurl herself off the cliffs than suffer in his brother’s presence for any longer. Viserys’ expression was earnest, mournful, and any man would have softened at the pitiful state the King was in, but Y/N seemed to have none of that. He wondered just what was going on, considering how Y/N was always close with his brother. ‘At least, she was always much more jovial with my brother than with me,’ Daemon thought darkly.

“Brother,” Viserys turned to face Daemon as you breathed out a sigh of relief, glad to no longer be the centre of Viserys’ attention anymore. Try as you may, you could not shake the lingering sensation of disgust in your gut whenever you laid eyes upon Viserys. Your mind constantly kept flashing back to that horrific scene on Aemma’s deathbed, of the incisions and the realisation of what Viserys had ordered dawning on you when he couldn’t quite meet your gaze. What affection you had for your childhood friend was slowly dispersing into rage and grief, as you struggled to reconcile the jovial and amiable man you once knew with the reality of a man who was callous enough to sacrifice his wife to gain a son.

Startled when you felt a hand placed firmly on your shoulder, steering you away from Viserys’ bewildered form, you glanced up at Daemon, but he said nothing as the both of you walked away from the King. After a while, when you had both reached the ends of the cliffs, he finally let go of your shoulder. The both of you were silent, staring out at the blue sea, as you both awaited for the other to break the silence.

“Why did you pull me away from the conversation?” you murmured. “I could tell how uncomfortable you looked,” Although his gaze was directed towards the bay, Daemon’s voice was soft. “You were practically begging to get out of the conversation.” “And here I thought my many years at court had made me better at veiling my emotions.” “With how long we’ve known each other, byka zaldrizes, it would be an insult to me if I couldn’t see past your facades,” Daemon remarked dryly. He began strolling along the length of the cliffs, and you quietly followed suit.

“...thank you. I…he may be my king, but I am of the opinion that if I had to suffer in his presence any longer, I might punch him.” you admitted, gratitude and exhaustion tainting my voice. Daemon let out a soft snort, “I thought you would have learnt that assaulting a royal never does you any favours.” “You’ve known me for so long, Daemon, in the face of anger, I never did seem to possess the ability to think rationally. What’s more, I think Viserys is deserving of it.” You could feel your heart starting to pound furiously again, the scene of Aemma laying in bed, covered in blood…brutally slit open, her eyes opened wide in death and her expression of agony flashed repeatedly into your mind, making your stomach roll unpleasantly. Tears prickled at the corner of your eyes, and. you bit your lip in an attempt to stave them off, tilting your head away to obscure Daemon from the view. He said nothing, only offering you a handkerchief. You took it, dabbing at your tears lightly, trying to calm yourself by inhaling the salty scent of the sea air.

Daemon watched her with inquisitive eyes. He had heard rumours of how close Y/N was with his sister-in-law, but with the weight of her grief becoming increasingly apparent, he finally understood the extent of their bond. His heart filled with a strange tugging sensation, but he dismissed it as just the oddity of seeing Y/N cry. In his boyhood memories, he always regarded her as this strong-willed, fierce and irritable little girl. To see her cry was…it made him feel strange. The Y/N of his boyhood seemed so contrasting from the Y/N in front of him now. He had seen Y/N’s physical changes since girlhood, and now he was witnessing the emotional changes. Uncomfortable, he fidgeted with his fingers, about to offer his condolences, but he remembered how much she hated it when he professed his grief at her mother’s passing, and stopped himself. The sight of Y/N dabbing at her tears however, became more and more excruciating for him to bear with every passing minute. He longed to do something, anything, to lighten the tension between them, but what could he say? It wasn’t like comforting his niece, with the Queen that she was serving dead, Y/N might as well have been a sailor lost at sea, with no compass. So instead, he had to bite his tongue as he waited for Y/N to snap out of it.

You clasped the handkerchief tightly between your fingers, suddenly feeling the traces of embroidery on it. You glanced at the handkerchief, and saw a familiar pattern of lily flowers across the fabric, in your stitching. “I didn’t know you still kept it,” you turned to Daemon, surprised. “I thought you would have shredded it years ago.” “Well, it would be rude of me to intentionally ruin a gift, especially one made of a gesture of goodwill, my lady.”

Your fingers traced the orange lilies, biting back a smile at the memory behind this handkerchief. Once, in your childhood, you had been most wroth to discover Daemon had stolen your favourite doll and ‘accidentally’ ripped it. In retaliation, you had snuck into his room one night and emptied the contents of his chamberpot on him. Aghast, your mother had ordered you to make a truce with him by sending him a gift. Reluctantly, you sewed him a handkerchief, but to add insult to injury, you didn’t embroider a noble or rare flower on it, such as roses or carnations, but rather, you had chosen lilies. Although it was considered a flower of elegance, the colour of the lilies conveyed otherwise. To put it plainly and unpleasantly, they were one gigantic “fuck you” to Daemon. You couldn’t help but snigger as you recalled his reaction to the handkerchief: his face had twisted most unpleasantly, and he’d looked downright murderous, but since Prince Baelon and your mother were in the room, he could only swallow whatever insults he wanted to churn out and grunt out his thanks, much to your triumph.

The lilies had turned a little yellow with age, regardless, the handkerchief looked well kept. You returned the handkerchief back to him, his fingers brushing against yours in a lingering touch as he took it back. “For what it’s worth…I am truly sorry for your loss, Y/N,” Daemon offered gallantly, “I know how close you are…were…with my sister-in-law, and she was a great woman. She was always kind to me, at least.”. Normally, you would have teased him for his uncharacteristic politeness, but Aemma’s death had drained all the fight left in you. “I thank you, my Prince,” your voice was hollow.

Your next few moments were spent in silence, as awkwardness ensued. Daemon was nigh close to throwing himself off the cliffs. He was thoroughly unaccustomed to dealing with grief. He wonders if he had made the right decision when he chose to spirit you away from Viserys. At least the royal party had departed now, but it made it all the more difficult for him to leave Y/N alone on the cliffs.

“Do you know…what he did?” your voice was tremulous, barely a whisper, but it anchored Daemon back to reality once more. His forehead creased, he said quietly, “I’ve heard. It was…dreadful to say the least.” “Truth be told, I do not know if I could ever…bring myself to forgive his act of cruelty.” “He is your king,” Daemon said, an uncharacteristic gentleness in his voice. “And your friend of many years.” "As was Aemma, Daemon,” you said, your voice tinged with sadness.

Wishing to broach on this topic no more, you turned your conversation to something else. “Now that he killed both his wife and heir, what do you suppose would happen to the succession now?” Daemon notes with intrigue that your tone has taken a sharper tone toward Viserys, and he couldn’t fight the small sliver of smugness he feels at your distaste. Perhaps it was childish…but he always disliked it when you spoke about Viserys with such reverence, like he could do no wrong in your eyes.

“He still has an heir,” Daemon reminds her, “Me.”

You scoffed slightly, “I think you’re forgetting Rhaenyra. She is the King’s only trueborn daughter.” Daemon was annoyed, “A brother’s claim triumphs over a daughter’s.” “You’ve never paid any attention to the laws of Andal succession then.” “We are Targaryens, byka zaldrizes, what regard have we for those fucking laws?” Daemon snorted, “Moreover, Rhaenyra is but a child, besieged with grief. The right choice of heir for the stability of the realm should be me.”

“You’re just using Aemma’s death as a way to further your own ambitions,” your tone was accusatory, and Daemon wanted nothing more than to shove this infernal woman off the cliffs. Why did everyone always think the worst of him? “I can assure you, that contesting the heir to the throne is the least of your worries right now.”

You narrowed your eyes, “And what is that supposed to mean?” Daemon let a smirk play out on his face, “Now that my sweet sister-in-law is dead, what do you suppose will happen to you?” You blinked, confused by his sudden mention of your future. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Daemon.”

“You are well aware that since your tenure as lady-in-waiting to the Queen is at an end, you will most likely be sent home to the Reach, do you not?” Your voice grew annoyed, “My focus now is on mourning Aemma, she was my friend, Daemon. As for what the future holds, I do not care about that.” Daemon let out a snort of laughter, “Are you sure about that, Y/N? It might not be the wisest course of action, you know.”

You stopped in your tracks and gave him a frosty glare, “And since when did you care about my wellbeing, Daemon?” Daemon chuckled mirthlessly, “I do not. However, since my late sister-in-law harboured a form of affection for you, however of an annoying little brat you may be, I believe it in my responsibility to give you a warning.” “I have no need for your warnings,” you said brusquely.

Daemon leaned forward, his violet eyes gleaming with savage delight, “Perhaps you should think again then.” He drew back, circling around you as his eyes watched you like a hawk. “With the Queen dead, it would be inevitable before you are summoned back to Highgarden. Tell me, what are you to do when you are ordered to wed by your father, hmm?”

You bit your lip, disconcerted. But it was all the answer Daemon needed to carry on. “You no longer have any reason nor power to retain your status at court,” he mused, looking down at your stiffened form. “And when it comes, your father will summon you back to Highgarden. And you shall be wedded off like a prized pig to some lord, who could be balding, old, or ill-tempered. Or all three. Who knows?” He hears your sharp intake of breath, and he could see it clearly now. Your fear for this sort of fate.

“Whether you like it or not, you must worry for your political standing. Even if you hate to make merry with my brother, you will have to stomach it.” You finally snap, your eyes ablaze, “I will not. Why should I give a damn about my political standing anyway? Should I refuse to go home, my father will not force me. The King will not force me.”

Daemon laughed, the sound bouncing off the cliffs. It was a rough, jagged laugh, more out of dark bemusement than of any joy. “Byka zaldrizes, it seems you’re even more of a fool than I imagined. You might have matured in terms of your visage, but I see your immaturity still shines through.”

Hurt by his words, you could only keep silent. Your mind was racing. You didn’t want to admit it…but you could see some truth in his words. Viserys could heartlessly give the order for his wife to be cut open, he would not defend you from something as simple as marriage. He was after all, a father, and a king to boot. He would sympathise with your father’s claims of duty to your house.

Daemon’s voice was chiding as he spoke. “There is no doubt my brother will take a new wife after this. After that, there will be a new queen in court, a shift in power. And you?” he reached out to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ears. “Will be naught but a speck in the past. The new queen might be someone you are not acquainted with, and she will surround herself with an entourage she is familiar with. One which you will not be a part of. Who will protect you from your father’s will then? Certainly not my brother, if I know him.”

You saw the sense in his words, but a certain sort of rebellion still blazed in you. “I would never allow myself to be used by my father this way,” you said, lifting your chin defiantly. “I am a grown woman now, and I can make my choices.”

Daemon looked down at you, something akin to pity on his face. “If that’s what you think,” Daemon’s voice was soft, “Then you are a naive fool, my lady.” Abashed by his words, you could only look down, feeling lost. It was too much for you to deal with: mourning Aemma and Baelon, your newfound disgust and fear for Viserys, and now, terror for your future. You couldn’t deal with this. Not right now, maybe not ever. You weren’t used to this sudden weight of realisation, of burden on your shoulders, and Daemon could tell. He always could.

The two of you stewed in despondent silence, before Daemon sighed, “Come, my lady. I should escort you back to the Red Keep.” You have a great deal to think about, his violet eyes seemed to whisper to you, making you feel even more unsettled. You nodded hesitantly, and he offered you his arm, before the both of you walked back to the remaining wheelhouse in a silence that was much colder and contemplative than before.

Taglist for Se Zaldrizoti’ Prumia: @drwho-ess @graniairish @urmomsgirlfriend1 @thelittleswanao3 @animelover18 @llovinjoonie @gracielikegrapes @salembridger

Daemon General Taglist: @aiyaiy

those who are bolded are the ones that couldn’t be tagged! let me know in the comments or through this form

and that makes chapter 4! chapter 5 should be released in around 2-3 days time! do let me know what you think in the comments! if you liked this chapter, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated 💗 thank you for reading!

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instant-destinations · 1 month

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Explore the Beauty of “Tukad Cepung Waterfall” in Bangli

Bali🇮🇩, a place known for its beautiful beaches and vibrant cultures, has much more to offer than initially meets the eye. Beyond the tourist trails and well-known attractions lie hidden gems just waiting to be discovered. One such example is the Tukad Cepung Waterfall in Bangli – a natural treasure that remains relatively unknown to most visitors. The Hidden Gem in Bangli Located in the Bangli…

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imagine-darksiders · 1 year

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Fish out of Water - Chapter 4

Imprint.

“Figures,” you huff, grunting as the curve of a chin scrubs gently behind your knees, “Most people are followed home by a lost dog, or a stray cat, but oh no – Not me! I get whatever you two are!”

-------------

Helplessness is, in a word, paralysing.

There have only been two moments in your life where you've faced the unrelenting, near-crushing pressure of true helplessness - the kind that freezes a deer in the headlights of an oncoming truck, the kind that a diver must feel when he's run out of oxygen and he's still three hundred feet from the ocean's surface.

The first instance occurred not so long ago, when the doctors lifted your hospital bedsheets and showed you the empty space where your right leg should have been.

The second moment, interestingly enough, is right now, sitting stiffly astride the chest of a Lovecratian sea monster as it carries you over the sea, each immense tentacle working in tandem to push its bulk lazily up the coastline, parallel to the chalk cliffs.

The clammy skin beneath your backside offers little relief from the bone-deep chill that's settled over you like a wet blanket. You're soaked through. Even your newly-acquired, wax coat has been exposed to the sea, and now, every inch of your body is drenched to the touch.

Both of your arms are circled around your one remaining knee and you stare blankly at the space where your prosthetic used to be, eyes wide as saucers and unblinking despite the raindrops that frequently settle on your lashes.

You're frozen, literally and figuratively. The tops of your fingers and toes have gone numb, and you're too petrified to lift your head up to acknowledge the blood-red stare that's affixed to the top of your sodden hair.

The mer with a face so pale and large that it could replace the moon in the night's sky hasn't once allowed its gaze to stray from you, not even, apparently, to check where it's going. You suppose that somehow, it must be able to sense the environment around it through other means, not that you're anything like an expert in marine biology.

For the last five minutes, ever since it hauled itself from the beach with you in tow, you've been sat shivering like a bedraggled idiot on its sternum whilst it floats upside-down on its eastward journey up the coast, moving back alongside the path you'd taken earlier this morning.

Once, it had brought its colossal hands up to its chest and angled them as if it meant to cup each palm around you, but when you nearly scrambled sideways into the icy water to escape, its appendages has quickly retreated, and since then, you've been subjected to its unwavering stare instead, trapped beneath the soft glow of red that lights up the pale skin all around you.

Any ounce of control you thought you'd retained had swiftly evaporated back on that beach.

Perhaps it's the act of sitting directly over an immense, powerful heart that reminds you of how much smaller you are in comparison to the creature swimming below you.

Smaller, slower, weaker.

Prey perched upon a predator's belly.

While neither creature has actually caused you any harm - save for almost giving you numerous heart-attacks - right now, you're painfully aware that they could do whatever the hell they want to you, and you have no way of stopping them. This beast could carry you anywhere it cares to, leaving you stranded out in open water, miles from sight of land, or worse... it could drag you to the bottom of the cold, dark ocean and watch you try to struggle your way back to the surface.

Helpless.... You hate this feeling.

A loud chirp twitches your eyes to the right, out towards the water, where you immediately lock gazes with the other mer, whose fins so closely resemble the rays of a clipart sun that it'd be funny if they were sported by any smaller creature.

As soon as it notices you looking its way, the beast's mouth surfaces and it grins over at you, showing off the wide expanse of baleen that pushes its cheeks up until they're round and pronounced.

After a moment, you blink, give a wet sniffle and eventually drop your chin down to your knee once again, breathing hard as you try to resign yourself to whatever far these things might have in store for you. If you're going to die, you may as well pretend to be dignified about it.

In the corner of your vision, you see the mer's fins flop backwards against its skull and its grin falters until it collapses entirely and the beast sinks back into the waves, disappearing from view with a thick, oily 'gloop.'

Golden scales flash briefly for a second before the creature dives deeper.

You wonder if it's offended by your refusal to interact with it.

Choking on a scoff, you swipe bitterly at the rain in your eyes and try to duck down further behind the collar of your coat.

It's only seconds later that a noisy splash plucks at your attention, to the left this time.

Tossing a glance in that direction, you find yourself once again peering over at the sunny mer, who throws its mouth up into another grin when it sees you looking.

Then, in a strange display, it begins to flap the orange fins surrounding its head back and forth, flinging them upright, then laying them flat against its skull before repeating the motion in quick succession.

It's an absurd behaviour, seemingly benign, and so entirely unexpected that you don't know how else to react other than to offer the beast a half-hearted quirk of your lips, the distant relative of a smile. You can't find the energy to put any real genuineness behind the action.

Apparently however, this is more than sufficient for the mer's agenda, as its entire expression lights up like a sunflower splaying its petals, big, pale eyes pinch shut.

The creature unleashes a series of chirrups and whistles, overcome by what you can only assume is delight.

As it continues to warble over at you, you grow increasingly perturbed. Dropping your mouth into a downturned line once again, you shuffle away from its gaze, turning on your rump to stare down at your kidnapper's clavicle instead.

Over the sound of rushing waves, you catch a despondent whine.

Underneath you, a sudden rumble passes through the moon beast's chest like a seismic wave, travelling up the column of its throat until it peels its lips apart and unleashes a deep, resonant murmur that vibrates your ribcage and rattles the teeth in your skull.

Risking a glance at it, you find that it has lifted its head out of the water to peer over at its ilk.

Something must have passed between them. A word. A conversation, perhaps... because all of a sudden, the sunny behemoth barks out a response and ploughs to an abrupt halt in the surf.

Startled by the sudden displacement of several thousand gallons of ocean, you twist your head over a shoulder to gape after the mer as it spins its vast bulk around, using its arms to move great swathes of water past itself.

And just like that, with a flick of its substantial fluke, it jets off, vanishing below the waves once more, leaving behind nothing but ever-expanding ripples that mingle with those created by the falling rain.

It's headed back in the direction of the beach you've just been swiped from...

You're not even going to pretend to understand the indecipherable conversation that had just happened between those two leviathans.

Sniffing quietly, you clutch your knee to your chest, peering bleakly out in the direction the yellow mer had just disappeared, shuddering like a leaf in a hurricane.

It's only the dark shadow falling over you that snaps you from your trance.

Instinctively, you gasp and duck, throwing your hands up to cover your head as the presence of something huge and heavy looms just a few feet above your fragile skull. Heaving in a lungful of cold air, you tilt your head up gradually, your face pinched in anticipation.

You nearly pass out at the sight of the colossal, webbed palm hovering over you.

Flinching again, you screw your eyes shut and feel your body solidify like a wooden board, expecting a blow that'll crush you flat...

… Seconds pass...

The rain continues splashing against the vast expanse of flesh surrounding you, yet even through the incessant pounding of water on skin, you still register that not a single drop falls upon your head.

And neither does the sea monster's hand.

As the waves slosh and surge around your captor, it gradually starts occurring to you that you haven't yet become a red stain on its sternum.

With all the reluctance of swimming out over a black, oceanic trench, you emerge from behind your raised arms, lowering them slowly until you're once more gaping up at the underside of that enormous hand.

Each claw-tipped finger has to be longer than you are tall.

Stretched wide, the translucent webbing stitched to the side of each digit forms a better umbrella than the one you'd left behind on the beach, keeping you dry from the worst of the storm's deluge. A sudden rumble of thunder booms somewhere off in the distance, out over the open water, reminding you of the tempest's approach.

Despite the remnants of rain that trickle off your chin to get lost beneath the collar of your coat, your lips feel tremendously dry as you level your gaze down, away from the palm hovering above you until your eyes eventually land on the face of your cephalopod captor.

It, in turn, is staring back at you, eyes still wide and glowing ominously in the grey light.

The hand above you doesn't move, but the tentacles continue to propel you both along the coastline, methodically undulating beneath the deep, dark water.

You can feel their motion with every flex and twitch of the giant's abdomen.

A question bubbles at the back of your throat, yet the effort it takes to peel your lips apart is tremendous.

“What-” You immediately cut yourself off when the mer's blue sail perks up a little, hyper-attentive to the sound of your voice. Lips stuffed together, you wait, once again expecting it to make another move.

But after a long minute has passed, you realise it isn't going to. Instead, it only looks down at you, head cocked to one side, almost as if it's waiting for you to continue speaking.

Wetting your lips, you pry them apart again, tasting salt spray on your tongue.

“What.... are you guys?” you ask in a whisper, so soft that you wouldn't have thought the creature had heard you were it not for the quirk of its sail and the expansion of its pupils, each growing enough to nearly encompass the red of its irises.

Irrationally, you fear they could easily turn into a pair of black holes that might swallow you down into their depths if you peer at them for too long.

“Can you, uh... can you understand me?”

Again, the question is only a decibel away from being utterly silent.

For a long moment, the creature only stares back at you, its chin crooked forward onto its chest to keep you within its sights.

Mouth slightly agape, you wait...

And wait....

And wait...

But when no acknowledgement follows your question, you find the heart to ask another, one that's perhaps more pressing than its predecessor.

“Where are you taking me?”

This, at least, emerges from your throat as a louder sound.

It's just a shame it comes out as a sob.

Your theory that the beast can't understand you is suddenly scuppered however when, as if in direct response to your query, it tilts its head back until it's upside down, facing the direction you're headed.

Underneath you, vast muscles shift and contract, and with just a flick of its tentacles, the creature adjusts the course, turning its body effortlessly to face the towering cliffs.

Giving a gasp of alarm, you drop your leg to lay flat across its chest and plant both hands into its spongey flesh, keeping yourself steady when the movement nearly sends you toppling sideways.

Following the mer's gaze, you allow yourself a second to wonder why it's turned towards the cliffs, only to feel your heart suddenly careen forwards to smack against your ribcage as you register an all too familiar sight.

“That's-! That's the cottage!” you exclaim, briefly startled from your existential fear as the sea monster surges cleanly across the ocean on its back like an immense dreadnought cutting the waves in two. For just a moment, you forget yourself, drinking in the sight of the old fisherman's cottage that sits upon the cliff, plain as day, a beautiful splash of white shining out through the gloom of the storm.

You would have never thought that the ramshackle, little place could almost reduce you to tears of relief, but... here you are.

“I-I don't understand!” you gasp out, craning your neck back to gaze up at the cliffs looming over your head as you approach, “Why have yoU~OU-HEY!”

All at once, the familiar slickness of a gigantic tentacle slips gently, but quickly around your waist and you're pried from the mer's chest, flailing wildly for a moment before you remember that there's little to no point. Struggling hadn't helped you escape its clutches before, why should it now?

Gulping audibly, you stare down at the churning waves far below you as the creature rights itself and reaches six of its eight, writhing appendages towards the cliff face.

Powerful suckers crash into the solid rock and adhere themselves to it, and you can do nothing but hang from its grasp as the giant begins to crawl its way up towards the grassy plateau overhead.

It doesn't take much, just two immense pulls from its tentacles working in tandem and suddenly, you're being lifted over the lip of the cliff.

Bracing your hands on the slippery flesh wrapped around your waist, you watch the ground sweep by under your dangling leg as the beast hoists itself up after you, it's breaths coming in great, heaving swathes like a set of bellows intended to coax the sun to rise.

Without prompt, the mer carries you right up to the cottage, just as it had yesterday, almost to the back doorstep before it lumbers to a gradual halt, and, to your mounting confusion, it begins to lower you towards the ground.

The sole of your foot touches down on the sodden grass, yet the tentacle remains around your waist, holding you aloft where you'd likely collapse without the aid of your crutch or prosthetic, both of which are still lost to the sea by now, placing you at an even greater disadvantage than you already were. Not that it'd make a lick of difference, you suppose.

Once again, warmth and potential safety are only a few, hobbling steps away, but this time...

“You brought me back...” you murmur softly to the giant behind you, feeling the ground tremble as it settles its weight onto its arms, “Just like I asked you to...”

This time, something foreign and strangely familiar floats above the lay of fear bobbing inside your belly, something you'd almost forgotten you could feel. You hardly even recognise it for what it is at first, not until you use your arms to pull yourself around in the tentacle's loose grasp, slowly bringing yourself face to gigantic face with the mer.

You've turned towards potential danger, instead of trying to get away from it.

How could you have forgotten the tantalising lure of curiosity? Has it really been lost to you ever since the accident, only to return now, when you're standing on the precipice of something huge and unknown?

Still, the horror and disbelief attempts to force its way to the surface, howling at you to listen to your baser human instincts and continue fighting to escape. But rationality, at last, has found you. The mer is only blinking down at you, its pale chin hovering just a foot or so above the grass and its sail flickering around in the air behind its head, buffeted by the ever-strengthening gale. Behind it, the extensive tentacles stretch towards the edge of the cliff. All bar one.

You've only just realised that the tendril holding you is the same one you'd freed from the net.

Releasing a long, somber breath, you pinch your brows together and rove your gaze over the cross-hatch of pale, pink lines that have been left behind in the otherwise indigo flesh.

Your fingertips press down on the tentacle surrounding you in a quiet offer of sympathy.

The wound looks as though it'll scar, but the creature hasn't lost its limb entirely.

For that, you suppose, you can at least say you've done a good thing.

…

“Huh,” you murmur aloud, a tiny sound of surprised realisation.

When was the last time you did a good thing?

Blinking the rain off your lashes, you draw in a trembling breath and raise your eyes to meet the leviathan's stare.

It lays on its stomach, peering back at you with a curious tilt to its head, twitching the gills on its neck when you open your mouth to speak.

Before you can so much as utter a word, you're almost immediately interrupted by a loud, unexpected warble drifting up to your ears from somewhere below the cliff.

Your stomach flip-flops when you spot the sunny mer's head rising like its namesake over the edge, its fins perked towards you.

With one, almighty heave that sends sediment skittering down into the sea far below, it hauls itself up onto the plateau and starts dragging itself eagerly up towards the cottage, covering several dozen metres in the span of mere seconds.

Even with the storm dulling the landscape around you to deep, oppressive greys, somehow, the mer's golden tail manages to gleam like a solar flare bursting through the darkness of space.

With enormous effort, you drag your eyes from its undulating tail and try not to press yourself backwards into the tentacle's grasp as the second beast careens to a halt beside its counterpart, planting its massive palms in the grass and churning up the soil in its wake.

To your relief, it stops before it can bulldoze straight over you. The tremors rolling through the ground cease, and you're left gaping up into that wide, round face as it beams back at you, bending at the waist to bring itself closer, rainwater cascading off its rays and splashing against the dirt whilst it settles on its forearms in front of you, mirroring the pose of its ethereal friend.

Heart in your throat, you try to slow your breathing, warily eyeing it when its chin finally brushes the tufts of grass underneath it.

If you were to stretch out an arm, you'd wager you could touch the slippery surface just below its mouth.

Slowly, ever so slowly, those baleen teeth peel apart right in front of you, giving you the jarring impression that it might be seconds away from swallowing you whole.

Peering down that damp, cavernous gullet would have your knee collapsing out from underneath you, were it not for the tendril still keeping you aloft.

Before the panic can steal what little body heat still remains in your extremities however, you see it.

A flash of white, sitting slap-bang in the centre of the pink, fleshy tongue.

“No way,” you breathe incredulously, overcome by the disconcerting gnaw of deja-vu.

But sure enough, only a second later, the familiar, shiny plastic of your once-thought-lost prosthetic comes tumbling out from between the leviathan's jaws and lands with a dull 'splat' in the mud at your foot.

Mind reeling, you rove a daring look up the length of its body until you meet its pale stare again. “You... went back?" you croak, releasing a shuddering exhale, "For this?”

By way of its own, unusual reply, the sunny mer trills noisily, clicking its baleen together and shifting its weight until there's enough room for a colossal arm to creep forwards along the ground. Then, extending one, long finger, the beast nudges at your prosthetic, sliding it a few inches closer to you before withdrawing its hand and flicking its gaze between the lump of plastic and your face a few times, as if to silently convey a message it can't communicate through speech.

For a long moment, you can do little else but blink numbly at the limb in front of you as your brain tumbles over itself piecing together bits of information that have, until now, been nothing more than fleeting thoughts.

They brought you back. They brought your lost prosthetic back. Neither mer has caused you any real harm, barring the admittedly dicey incident where you thought you were about to be crushed under a gigantic fist for the crime of producing a blunt knife.

Even now you can feel the gentle pressure of a tentacle around your waist, just enough to keep your standing upright on the ground, yet never once does it grow tight enough to cause discomfort. You've seen the power behind those limbs. The strength they'd have to possess just to heave such a gargantuan body up over the side of a cliff. The control it must be exerting simply to keep itself from hurting you is...

Well. It's substantial, to say the least.

What monster would extend such a courtesy?

What monster would allow you to free its injured limb from a suffocating net, and return you to a place of safety?

Just what in the world have you stumbled upon?

Or perhaps, more fittingly, what in the world has just stumbled upon you?

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you drag your gaze up to their faces, each hovering so close to you now, you can feel the warmth of their combined breaths chasing away a bit of the chill in your muscles.

What you wouldn't give for a nice, hot bath right about now...

When you open your mouth, they immediately perk up, a twitch of their fins alerting you to their attention. You only hesitate to gather yourself before you manage to say anything that won't come out as a squeak.

“... Maybe I'm just going insane,” you begin, listening to the yellow mer croon at the sound of your voice, its smile stretching ever wider, “But I'm starting to think you guys aren't gonna hurt me...”

For several seconds, the only movement around you comes from the rain pelting rythmically against the wet earth.

But then, at the pace of a vast, white glacier, the moon-faced beast pushes its head along the grass until it's hovering right in front of you, so close that you can see a reflection of yourself gawking back at you from deep within its eyes.

Two slitted nostrils flare and wink shut several times near your face, blasting your hair back off your slick forehead.

Your trembling hands uncurl themselves from the fists they'd squashed themselves into.

“Maybe I really have gone insane...”

A shaking hand tentatively peels itself from your chest, and before you can think to come to your senses, you start reaching out across the meagre space separating you from the mer's head.

“Please don't bite me,” you whisper under your breath, mouthing 'please' over and over again and screwing your expression up into a tight ball until, with a soft gasp, you feel your hand make contact with the spongey skin on the creature's nose, just between its eyes.

Breathless, you open your mouth to try and draw in a trembling inhale, easing your brows apart and staring up at the sight of your fingers pressing tiny divots into the pale, malleable wall of flesh.

“Oooh~ my god,” you half sing, half whimper as the beast's eyes slip shut and it emits a contented rumble, sending quakes up your arm and into your chest, “This is crazy. This is... I mean... Shit, I don't know. But it's huge!”

Evidently taking umbrage to the fact that its friend is receiving attention and it isn't, the sunny mer warbles a loud complaint. The next thing you know, your moon friend's face has been bunted aside to make room for a grinning beast of equally epic proportions.

Taken aback, it's tentacle jerks open and you're dropped, landing on your backside in the mud with a startled yelp only to find your space thoroughly invaded by that same insistent, yellow snout.

A swift reprimand is dealt by the larger mer, who snaps its sharp teeth perilously close to the offender's orange fins, though the latter either doesn't care, or doesn't notice, too preoccupied with gazing down at you with a hopeful chirr.

“O-okay,” you hum, swallowing your heart back down into your chest and reaching up with a quivering arm, “Just... just steady, all right? You're a lot bigger than I am, remember...”

Where the first behemoth had waited for your hand to find its nose in your own time, the second seems a little more impatient, and before you know it, the warm, squidgy tip of its snout has all but shoved itself into your palm.

It takes every ounce of courage you have to spare to keep yourself from recoiling.

Instead, you force down the lump of nerves in your throat and allow your fingers to splay out across the yellow skin. At first, the mer's eyes grow wide and round at the sensation, as if it's overcome by wonder.

“There,” you utter, biting down apprehensively on your lower lip, “Happy?”

Yes, apparently.

The behemoth's immense chest expands and contracts around a sigh that nearly bowls you over onto your back with the force of it. The strong stench of fish doesn't help to keep you sitting upright either.

“Eugh,” you cough, flapping your free hand in front of your nose whilst you give the creature's flesh a steady pat, earning yourself a pleased hum in response, “Sorry I asked.”

If it's at all put out by your mild repulsion, the mer doesn't show it.

Gradually, the seconds tick over into a minute, and all the while, you keep your hand pressed against the curious nose, feeling the apprehension drain from your heart with every passing moment, and in spite of the cold, in spite of the terror you've felt over the past few days, even in spite of the twinge of your missing limb, your lips twitch up into an unmistakable, albeit tentative smile. The first, genuine smile you've plastered on your face since the accident.

The muscles in your cheeks bunch and ache a little, as if it's been just a little too long for them to remember what they're supposed to do.

There, at the very bottom of your chest, just below your thrumming heart, a tiny spark of wonder ignites.

But as soon as you notice its presence, your smile wavers, falling at the corners of your mouth.

“I don't know what you guys are or how the Hell you haven't been discovered yet but... whatever this is, it's big.” Slowly, your hand drifts away from the yellow mer, much to its apparent dismay as it opens its eyes and utters a petulant whine.

Shaking your head at it, you add, “It's too big for me...”

Perhaps if you were a marine biologist or... or an adventurer of some kind, you'd be beside yourself with excitement right now.

But as it is, you're neither of those things.

This is... They are someone else's discovery. Someone who would have half a clue of how to approach this from a sensible, level-headed point of view. This kind of thing doesn't happen to people like you.

You just want to be left alone.

“I don't know what you two want from me,” you sigh, raising a hand to scrub at the back of your neck, “Or whether you even want anything, but... but I don't think I'm... I'm not what you're looking for... Okay? I have to go home...”

Your statement doesn't seem to have much of an effect on either of them. The yellow behemoth keeps sending fleeting but pointed glances down at your hands whilst its counterpart remains still and silent, its eyelids dropping into a lazy blink.

“I have to go home,” you repeat, gesturing behind yourself at the house before pointing a finger between the two mer, “And you... you have to go to your home.” You lean sideways and indicate the ocean, prompting them to twist their heads around to follow the line of your finger.

“Do you understand?”

Apparently not, given the blank stares you're receiving.

Heaving out a sigh, you throw your hands up before leaning forwards and grabbing the prosthetic, grimacing when your fingers slide against the sticky, cooling saliva that clings to the plastic.

All of a sudden, the sky above you seem to grow darker, and at first, you assume the storm has taken a turn for the worse, but a quick glance skywards reveals that it's only your two new acquaintances looming closer, each watching with wide-eyed fascination as you begin pulling the prosthetic liner inside out and tug it over your stump, squeezing the air bubbles out of it as you go.

It'd be easier if you were standing, but with the mud still slick beneath you, you don't trust yourself not to simply slip over as soon as you attempt to get up.

Your audience continues to observe closely whilst you stick your residual limb into the socket and wriggle it around, ensuring the pin hasn't come loose in its journey from the beach back to you.

Once satisfied, you plant your feet against the ground and try to rise, but almost instantly, you realise it'll be a little more tricky than you first anticipated.

Your shoes slide jarringly across the wet grass as you try to gather purchase.

“Dammit,” you curse, making a second attempt, failing to notice the mers raising their heads to look at one another. You only realise they've moved when they both utter some kind of warbling croon, drawing your attention up to find them once again engaged in a back and forth of watery sounds that you have no hope of ever learning to decipher.

For a moment, the pace of your heart quickens slightly, wondering if, by some miracle, they understood you earlier and they're about to depart.

But that brief hope is extinguished almost a second later.

With no prior warning, the blue mer dips its head in the eerily human gesture of a nod before it returns its focus to you, shifting onto one elbow and reaching a mammoth hand out towards you.

“Woah, woah, wait! Hang on!” you blurt, waving your arms about as if you could deter it, but your efforts are all for nought.

Scrambling backwards only gets you a few inches of distance before you're promptly scooped up by smooth, cautious fingers and gently tilted sideways until you find yourself nestled safely within the cup of its palm.

Disoriented, you throw out a hand to grasp the creature's immense thumb and hold yourself steady, giving your head a rough shake to dislodge the hair plastered to your forehead.

No sooner have your regained your bearings than a soft pressure lands upon the crown of your head, pushing a yelp out of you at the jarring presence.

You instantly try to duck away from the pressure, lifting your hands to shove against cool skin, but it only follows your head down, nudging persistently into your hair.

“Hey-!” you start to complain, only to stuff your lips together and screw your face up when, of all things, the mer drags its entire, pale cheek across your nose and mouth.

Cracking open your eyes, you have to slam them shut again because the leviathan turns its head and slides its opposite cheek back across your face once more, further baffling you with the seemingly innocuous yet undeniably bizarre behaviour.

What in God's name is it doing?

Gasping out a breath, you're only slightly relieved when the mer lowers its attention and begins to nose at your chest instead, bowling you over onto your back as it rubs its chin very deliberately over the top of your leg and prosthetic.

“Gah! Stop that!” you complain, rolling over onto your stomach in an effort to escape the unwarranted attention, yet all this accomplishes is presenting your back to the mer, who wastes no time in giving this side of you the same treatment. A wheezing breath is pushed out of you as it squashes its cheek into your spine, and – to your mortification – starts to nuzzle into the fabric of your wax coat.

“Come on, man,” you whinge and reach out to grab at the webbing between its fingers, hoping to pull yourself away from the uncomfortable weight on your back, “You're gonna make me stink of fish!”

Just then, you pause, raising your head and squinting in disbelief through the mer's digits at the cottage, and the other behemoth lumbering towards it.

“What the-!? What the Hell are you doing!?”

Trapped by the face of the giant behind you, you're helpless but to watch on in disgruntled bemusement as the sunny mer flops its way right up to your grandfather's cottage and promptly drags the length of its body along the crumbling, eastern wall, not unlike a giant, slippery cat rubbing itself fondly between the ankles of its owner.

Lacking any apparent shame, it circles the cottage slowly, hauling itself along on its arms and exposing each wall to a rough scrape. You grimace when the poor, old stone creaks and groans in protest.

Struggling to raise yourself onto your hands and knees, you aim a shout at the yellow beast, trying to hear yourself think over the sudden croon of the mer nosing at the back of your neck.

“Oh, great! That's just great!” you yell, “Now the whole place is gonna reek of you guys! Do you mind!?”

Completing one, full circle of the cottage, the sun-faced giant finally peels itself from the walls and replies to you with a shake of its fins, slapping its fluke against the ground and giving you a smile that makes it look entirely too pleased with itself for your liking.

As if in response to your grumbling, a slick, wet tongue laps gingerly over the seam where your prosthetic is attached to your stump, pulling a shrill squeal from your lungs.

Indignant, you whip yourself over onto your back and address the enormous face hovering over you, jabbing a shaking finger at it and hollering, “All right! Enough! Put me down this instant!”

Slitted nostrils suck the air from around your head as the mer gives you a good, long sniff before, at long last, it obliges, though you imagine this is due to mere coincidence rather than any acknowledgement of your squeaky demand.

Still, it seems this mortifying and undignified ordeal might finally be coming to an end as you're lowered to the back step of the cottage and tilted gingerly from the behemoth's palm.

Back on solid ground, you stumble away from the hand, uttering a belated, "Thank you," and letting your spine hit the doorknob.

You were right. The entire house and your clothes are now saturated with the salty stench of the sea with a rather unpleasant, fishy undertone. You can only hope this rain will wash off the worst of the smell.

The dinky, little shower at the back of the cottage is suddenly seeming more and more like a good idea, and you're reminded of just how long it's been since you had a good, long scrub.

Sighing rigidly, you aim a hesitant glare between each of the giants, fumbling with the doorknob and twisting it open, kicking the door inwards with the back of your heel. “Right... This has been...” You hesitate, trying to find an adequate word to sum up the entire experience. Eventually, you can only settle on, “Weird.”

It isn't a lie. Not entirely. Terrifying would be another word you'd use.

“Thank you for bringing me back,” you add, nodding at the blue mer before flicking a quick smile at the yellow one, “And thanks for returning my prosthetic.”

The pair of them seem to preen, either because they've earned your attention, or because they can at least comprehend a word of gratitude when they hear it.

With slow, shuffling steps, you edge backwards through the threshold of the cottage, keeping your eyes trained on the giants outside. “Now... Uh, go... go home,” you tell them, once again pointing out at the sea beyond the cliffs.

They don't follow the line of your arm this time, apparently far more interested in keeping their eyes glued on your face, so you drop your limb to your side and take another step, grabbing the edge of the door as you pass.

It's odd. You actually feel awkward closing the entrance on them, especially given that they're still staring down at you in total silence, their fins pricked to attention as if they expect you to continue engaging with them in some undisclosed way.

Swallowing thickly, you offer one last, uncertain smile that comes and goes as swiftly as a blink, and at last, you close the door, listening to the subtle 'click' of the latch sliding into place.

Spinning around, you let your back thud into the wood behind you, sagging like a deflated balloon.

Being inside, unable to see the marine giants, your brain starts trying to convince you that they hadn't even been real in the first place.

Out of sight, and all that.

But as you shuffle unsteadily to the bathroom at the back of the cottage and pass by a window on your way, you happen to glance through a gap in the curtains and catch sight of a single, enormous red eye peering in at you.

“Okay,” you mutter to yourself, reaching out a shaky hand and tugging the curtains closed, “Where the hell did granddad keep the towels...”

#fnaf #Mermay #Sunnydrop #Moondrop #Daycare attendant #daycare attendant x y/n #reader #giant merman #g/t #gentle giants #Moon: We're going to make you and your nest smell like us #Moon: So everyone will know you're part of our territory #Y/n: I need to shower this smell off immediately #Moon: Wait

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skyward-floored · 6 months

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“Hero, what ails you?” - Chapter 2

Here’s chapter two! The third and final chapter will probably be put up tomorrow at some point.

First | Chapter Three

———————————————————

Kakariko wasn’t too far away, but the Shade and Midna, who retreated to Link’s shadow, were silent nearly the entire trip, the quiet only occasionally broken by Link’s worsening cough.

He’d obviously been hiding how ill he truly was for some time now, and his brief stint in the Shade’s realm seemed to have been his last desperate attempt to soldier through it. But Link’s guard was completely down now, and his sickness was horribly evident by the raging fever and continual coughs that wracked through him.

All the Shade could do was hope that the man the twilit princess had spoken of was truly as skilled as she claimed.

They were in the middle of Hyrule field, just in view of the sunset-colored cliffs that supposedly bordered the town, when Link mumbled a little and cracked his eyes open. He hadn’t spoken at all so far, and had mostly dozed, interrupted only by his coughs and the occasional sneeze.

He stared around uncomprehendingly for a moment, then his murky gaze landed on the Shade’s face.

“...R-Rusl..? Who...”

The Shade blew out a slow breath, then brushed some hair out of his descendant’s face, feeling his forehead. Still much too warm.

“Go back to sleep Link,” he said, and his descendant frowned.

“...Dad?“ he murmured, and despite the situation, the Shade couldn’t help but let out a surprised huff of amusement.

“Not quite.”

Link furrowed his brow and studied the Shade’s face further, still looking dazed.

“Thn’ who?” he asked, and he looked so horribly confused that the Shade felt rather bad for him. He glanced up at the sky that was steadily turning orange in the light of the setting sun, and let out a small hum, looking back down at Link.

“Someone who cares.”

Link stared at him, then let out a small huh, which gave way to the same wheezing cough that continued to make his entire frame shake. The sound of it spurred the Shade into a quicker stride, his thick boots cutting through the long grass.

They made their way across the field quickly, the Shade purposely steering around any monsters as soon as he saw them. He couldn’t very well fight while holding an entire person, and the last thing Link needed was a wound on top of all this. A kargarok did swoop at them once, but the Shade managed to dispatch it quickly with his blade, and glared so intensely at another one that drew near that they weren’t bothered again.

They’d come in sight of the rock bridge that lead to the village when a strange sound came from the boy in his arms.

The Shade looked down at him in confusion. Link wasn’t coughing at the moment, but his chest was shaking in a way that seemed like he was trying to, and the Shade only realized what was happening when a wheezing noise suddenly escaped the boy.

Link was having trouble breathing.

The Shade immediately stopped walking and dropped to his knees, frantically studying the boy in his arms. Rapid, choking gasps interspersed with coughs shuddered through him, and he kept making the strange wheezing sound. Midna leapt out of his descendant’s shadow with an unparalleled speed, and immediately flew to his side, eyes wide with panic.

“He can’t— he can’t breathe, he— what’s wrong with him?!”

“I don’t know,” he said in a panicked voice, propping the boy up and rubbing his chest, hoping it would help somehow. Link’s face had begun to redden, and if the Shade had had an actual heart still it would have stopped when he noticed his lips were faintly blue.

“Breathe Link, c’mon stupid wolf breathe!” Midna shouted, smacking her fists against his chest.

“You can do it Link,” the Shade murmured under his breath as he tried desperately to get his descendant breathing again. He loosened Link’s shirt collar from around his neck, as well as the belt across his shoulder, then sat him up slightly, not having any clue what else he should, or even could do to help.

“Please Link, breathe.”

He must have done something right, as moments later Link suddenly managed to take in a deeper breath, his frantic gasps starting to slow to a more normal speed. He broke into another coughing fit, his coughs thick and wheezing, but he was definitely breathing again. He was already looking marginally better.

The Shade felt the fear squeezing his chest fade slightly, but it still lurked there, even as he shifted his descendant back up into his arms.

“There you go, you’re okay, just focus on breathing,” he murmured as Link’s coughs started to ease into more level breaths. Link shuddered once and pressed his face against the Shade’s ragged sleeve, breathing still wheezy.

The Shade turned towards Midna then, who was still floating where Link had been lying, looking shaken.

“He’s all right for now,” he directed towards her, and she nodded a little too quickly.

“I know. He’s tough. H-he—”she cleared her throat and turned away from the Shade, crossing her arms. “Let’s just get him to Kakariko.”

And he nodded and stood up, holding Link as gently as he could while still keeping a tight grip on him.

(...)

It was long after nightfall when they finally arrived outside what Midna claimed was Kakariko, and as they passed over the bridge the Shade couldn’t help but wonder how this place had gotten the name. It was certainly not the same village of his time.

Following her directions, he strode quickly through the quiet town, avoiding the few gorons still up. Fortunately nearly all of the residents were already inside for the night and didn’t notice him walk down the street. He was sure the sight of a stranger cradling their hero would cause a bit of a stir, and while he was passable as human from a distance, he wasn’t exactly normal.

After much too long in his opinion, he finally reached the house Midna pointed out. A huge wave of relief washed over him, and he sighed.

Link would finally get the care he needed.

Stepping up to the door, he gently shifted his descendant in his arms and made to set him down.

But he paused suddenly, looking down at Link’s face.

He’d never had a opportunity before now to really look at Link, and was struck now at their similarities. The hero was dozing again, his face pale but calm, and despite how he knew he should just knock already, the Shade couldn’t help but take a moment to study the features of his descendant.

Blond-brown hair brushed over Link’s forehead, the strands damp with sweat from his fever. His eyes were closed, but the Shade knew them to be a similar shade to what his own once were, only paler. His mouth didn’t spark any sort of similarity to him, but his nose and the shape of his face...

A sharp ache settled in his chest as he looked closer, seeing less of himself the longer he stared, and instead, more of his wife.

He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d last seen her.

Taking an enormous effort to shove his thoughts down, the Shade set his descendant down against the wall as gently as he could. There wasn’t any use on him dwelling on such things.

He made sure Link was in a comfortable position before drawing back, and the boy mumbled something as his head rested against the frame. But he didn’t stir, the fever still holding him tight in its grip.

Midna poked her head out of the shadows, glancing around and raising an eyebrow in his direction.

“You know he needs to go inside the building, right?” she snipped, but there was a genuine confusion behind it.

The Shade let out a slow exhale.

“I may look human, but this form does not hold up well at close-quarters to those who aren’t meant to see me,” he said in a low tone as to not be heard. “Were I to go in, those inside would be able to tell I’m not... like them.”

Midna crossed her arms, but she nodded, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. The Shade then raised his hand up to knock on the door, but she floated up and stopped him before he could.

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she cleared her throat.

“I... I just wanted... to thank you,” she muttered, arms crossed. “For dragging Link here. And teaching him all those skills too. They’ve saved his life more times then I can count, and I’m... grateful.”

The Shade gave her a small smile. He could tell this was killing her.

“You’re welcome.”

She huffed and waved an arm at him. “Okay whatever. Let’s get on with it, Link certainly isn’t getting any better here.”

The Shade gave another nod, then running one last careful hand through his descendant’s bangs, he knocked sharply on the door.

Midna zipped back into Link’s shadow, and the Shade himself immediately moved away, slipping behind some discarded crates where he could easily watch.

The door opened moments later, and a girl of maybe fifteen took a few steps out, her eyebrows turned with confusion when there was nobody immediately there. She glanced around, then startled, finally seeing Link slumped against the wall. Calling behind her into the doorway, she immediately crouched next to Link and felt his forehead, then put an ear against his chest.

Seconds later a man came out of the building, robe sweeping behind him as he strode quickly to Link’s side. He and the girl exchanged quick words, then she helped him get Link into his arms, the man carrying him inside so carefully that any fear the Shade might have had to wether he was trustworthy or not was instantly quashed.

The girl paused in the doorway as they entered, and scanned the area near where the Shade was watching with an odd look. He quickly ducked down a little more and waited a moment, and when he cautiously raised his head, the door was closed and she was gone.

The Shade sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion. Link was finally safe.

He stood and was about to walk away, but paused, instead slipping carefully towards the window on the side of the building. He needed to make sure Link was okay one last time. Just to be sure.

He peered in and saw the man with the long hair had already settled Link into a cot, and was placing a wet cloth on the hero’s forehead. The girl was helping him, and it seemed to him that Link already appeared less sickly.

The hero looked to be well taken care of, and the Shade knew that worrying about outside his window wouldn’t be useful in any way. It was tempting to merely sit and watch every move the healer made towards his descendant, he knew it would only end badly were he to linger and be seen.

Despite this, he found it harder then it should have been to turn away from the window.

He sighed. He would go and wait for Link to come find him once he was healed, then teach him his next hidden skill. That would be the best way to help him now; prepare for when he was better.

...and possibly hunt down a cloak for the boy so this would not happen again.

Scanning the quiet street one more time, he carefully faded back into wolf form, glancing back just once at where his descendant lay with a warm look in his eye.

“Rest up my child,” he whispered, then padded carefully out of the village.

#legend of zelda #twilight princess #loz tp #hero’s shade #midna #tp midna #link #legend of zelda fanfiction #sickfic #hurt/comfort #writing from the floor #purposely left the Shade’s wife vague #it could be Malon or Zelda... pick your favorite lol

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afewfantasies · 1 month

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🏔️The Retreat 🏔️- Chapter III

Prologue | Chapter I | Chapter II | Misc references & details

Summary: A threat to Lorena's safety leads to Gales assessment and acknowledgement of his complicated feelings for Lorena. Lorena tries her best to make peace with her past and what she's willing to accept in her future.

Pairing: Gale Cleven x Lorena (black fem oc)

Warnings: Spiking of drinks and gender based dangers relevant for the times.

Tropes: Slow Burn, opposites attract, forbidden love

Word Count: 2K

Chapter III - In Care of Gale Cleven

Another month has passed....

“Hey boss?” Kurt asks as Gale reviews the ledgers. “I think we have trouble, some guys came in flirting with Lorena pretty hard. They look like bad news” Kurts words alert Gale.

“Who’s in there now?”

“Jeff and Andy” Kurt responds as his boss grabs a pistol. He knew bad news and a beautiful unmarried woman in the middle of nowhere would be easy pickings for some. Locking up his ledgers he heads into the Lodge. He finds Lorena behind the bar like they’d practiced just in case of emergency. All four pigs are hanging on her every word they look and smell like trouble. Gale gives Kurt a hand signal telling him to call in the guys in the case of more trouble and sits to the bar not as an owner but as a patron. It gets the attention of the patrons and Lorena who gives him a soda. Gale never looked for fights but since the war sometimes he found himself seeking them out. Men who rejected the notion of peace needed to know some horrors and he would be the one to hand out that dose of reality for them.

“You alright?” Gale asks Lorena just above a whisper.

“Yeah” she nods. “Brown hat has a knife and denim jacket has a pistol” she whispers. A shrill whistle cuts through the air.

“Come on back over here darling, leave old blondie alone” One of the four trouble makers shouts.

“She’s no dog you don’t whistle at a woman!” One of the regulars says from his table as Jeff rids it of his dishes.

“Mind your business senior” One responds and the others laugh.

“Just apologize, you don’t whistle at women” Lorena says topping them back up.

“Sorry love more whisky” the loser in denim winks. Nodding she heads into the back feeling the promise of a brawl. Rose had taught her the unethical practice of drugging certain patrons. Reaching the glass viles she pours the necessary drops into the bottle of whisky swishing the bottle around. When she emerges more familiar faces have taken their seats. She pours four fresh whiskeys and in ten minutes the trouble makers are knocked out on the pine.

Gale takes point leaving Jeff with Rose and Lorena. He and the guys rid the troublemakers of their possessions getting their identification and car keys. He loads them up onto his flatbed truck covering them with a tarp like their dead men. Kurt and Rainey hop in the two cars they arrived in. Gale is in lead driving to the other side of the mountain. They’d wake up lost and with a serious headache. When he’d purchased the lakehouse from Rose she’d been forthcoming about all the dangers about being away from civilization. The sleeping drafts had been something her mother suggested after her and her husband had been attacked. He’d been engaged then to his dream girl. It was only supposed to be a cottage then. Rose and her boys would run it but then the war came and he left and when he returned home single he couldn’t bare to frequent the places he once had with his fiancé. He couldn’t stomach the noise and bustle of the city. He needed peace, he needed quiet and a simple life. The mountains weren’t without issue but simplicity served him well. Arriving at his favourite spot to dump miscreants he pulls into a cliff. Kurt and Rainey behind him. They put the guys in the cars leaving the keys in the ignition. They leave a can of petrol for them and one bullet in the chamber of their gun. They were so far inland that they could drive in any direction for an hour before finding a way out. That’s what Gale was banking on.

In five months Lorena had come to belong to him in a sort of way. She was his responsibility, she lived in his home, under his roof and anything she needed he provided. They shared breakfasts together and he checked on her every night before settling in. Whatever she wanted she got, he’d spent the equivalent of days chopping down trees and using wood to make her custom furniture for her books and her plants and for shelving. Her’s was the only room in his home expertly decorated. So much so he could hardly recognize it. Although he grumbled often about her frilly ways he enjoyed nothing as much as her smiling and happy. Nothing he hated more than her melancholy. With every new letter came a day of tears and sulking. No matter how he tried to consider the facts he couldn’t fathom a scenario where leaving Lorena for another woman would be feasible. The way she handled patrons he could tell she would make a fine mother and wife. After what Egan had said he knew Lorena had loved her ex-husband more fiercely than most men could imagine and she was still loyal to him.

Gale found himself thinking about her on some nights. Thinking of heading into her room and holding her all night and studying her soft features in the morning light. Waking up bathed in the scent of her perfume with her in his arms and not spending the dreadful hour before she woke up downstairs waiting to hear her footsteps pad across her bedroom into the bathroom. But she never looked at him the way the other women did. She didn’t stare longingly or even coyly. She’d never let looks linger with desire and he’d never heard her call a man like him handsome, although everyone else seemed to think of him that way. He thought of what it would be like to come home to her regularly and since their trip into the city he’d been unable to solicit discreet widows for carnal pleasure.

They’d make a handsome couple he thought often but she would never be his in that way. So he put the thoughts away as quickly as they came and his charge would be her protection and preservation like anyone else under his care. If he had to dump four scoundrels in the middle of bear country in the summer he would. Without regrets or remorse because nothing would ever happen to Lorena under his watch.

Back at the lodge he heads up to Roses place and finds supper has been prepared. Lorena sits on the sofa mending one of his shirts as she hums along to the record playing. He watches her in the doorway.

“All settled?” Rose asks.

“Mhm” he nods looking back to Lorena.

“She’s fine they were talking to her filthy but she’s not shaken up” Rose explains.

“Good, I’ll need more of those sleeping drafts” Gale mumbles.

“Mail came after you left” Rose notifies him. He swallows puzzled. Looking at Lorena it’s easy to see she’s in good spirits and not in her usual funk.

“She read the letters?”

“No, one from the ex that was pretty thick and one from the sister” Rose discloses missing nothing even at her old age. Nodding Gale looks up to see Lorena is now aware of his return. She snips a thread and stands draping his shirt over her arm.

“Everything alright, no one was hurt right?”

“No” Gale affirms looking her over.

“Come here, let me see it” Rose says holding up the shirt. Gale smiles seeing the rip gone but a mangled stitch replacing the gaping hole.

“Lorena” Rose tsk’s disapprovingly.

“It’s wearable still” Gale defends with a mocking smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow sweetheart” Rose tiptoes kissing Lorenas temple.

“Tomorrow” she nods following Gale back to the house. They walk side by side as he uses a torch to light the way. “Thank you” Lorena whispers.

“You don’t have to thank me”

“I do you all take great care of me, let me do as I please and don’t judge me for it” she whispers sticking close. “Only loose and abandoned women work” she says as her mother and other society ladies did.

“Well you’re neither” Gale corrects in a clipped tone.

“Next month would be my sixth wedding anniversary” Lorena confesses slightly over the sound of gravel under their feet. Gale can’t make out more than her figure in the darkness. “My sister Fefe, has spent the day with me since the war. Last year we threw this big dinner party since Reggie was home. I got a letter from both of them today. I bet Fe wants me to come home” Lorena says sounding solemn.

“Why can’t Fefe come here?” Gale asks making her smile. He was a man that didn’t do nicknames ad the silly childhood moniker sounded silly coming from a grown man.

“Felicia” Lorena corrects. “She’d tell daddy who’d come here and make a big stink about me living in the woods with a man. He’d say he didn’t pay for my education and indulge my interests in fashion and hosting to have me stay here” Lorena explains.

“I see and my colour won’t help either will it?” Gale asks.

“My folks aren’t prejudice, maybe my daddy is a little but that’s cause his grandfather was a Native American” Lorena explains.

“So they want you remarried?” Gale asks.

“They do but all the suitors remember me as this happy young beautiful person. The young woman I was before the war” she whispers in reflection.

“Lorena I think anyone would be happy to have you as their wife” Gale says frankly.

“Gale I’m spoiled” she swallows heading up the stairs to their home.

“Why’s that?” He asks lighting the home as he looks down at her.

“I’ve already been in love, I know that that’s like. I’ve had a loving marriage.” She says. “I know what’s like and I’d know the difference and it’d haunt me” she confesses leaving Gale to nod I understanding. “And you and the guys spoil me rotten, there’s nothing you all wouldn’t do for me and you want nothing in return” she smiles. “I can imagine having to bat my eyes and be sweet for some pocket money or a new dress. Or sing the praises of a man who feels he owns me because of the marriage certificate” she says having thought through her options throughly. Raking his hands through his hair Gale thinks a moment horrified by the prospect himself.

“Any son of a bitch mistreats you I want you to send a letter here about where he spends his days and nights. I’ll take care of it for you doll” he says seriously. Lorena often wondered how such a gentle man found violence so natural to him. Smiling she shakes her head.

“It’s better I stay so I don’t damn either of our souls” Lorena smiles. Gale does too reaching out for her. She walks into his arms appreciating the hug and his care of her.

“Tell your sister to meet you in the city and I’ll drive down with you and bring her up here. You can have the house”

“My room is big enough for Fe and I”

“Well if Felicia’s a respectable woman her husband may not like her sleeping in the same house as a single man” Gale concludes.

“He isn’t like that, Felicia can do as she pleases. But I’ll send for her, thank you Gale” she says heading upstairs. It went without saying Gale was beginning to arrive at the place where there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep Lorena safe and comfortable. Stopping halfway up the flight of stairs Lorena turns around stopping him in his tracks.

“Really, thank you” she smiles getting only a smiling nod in response. “Take me shopping tomorrow?” She asks only to receive the same gestures. “Goodnight Gale”

“Goodnight Lorena” he says and she pauses before finishing the ascend and heading to his room. Her smile had been infectious since the first day he’d seen it. Lorena had been laughing at Jeff’s clumsiness, the fool had been half performing for her attention but as long as anything wasn’t too broken Gale let it go on appreciating the unfamiliar sounds of woman’s laughter as he sat in his corner numb to it.

Authors Note: Thank you for reading :) Let me know if you all want this to continue. The next Chapter has Lorena's older sister coming into town. She doesn't hold back and see's Gales feelings for Lorena.

#austin butler imagine #austin butler #austin butler x black reader #gale cleven x oc #gale cleven #major gale cleven #masters of the air #masterlist #black authors #austin butler x oc #austin butler fanfiction

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thegreenleavesofspring · 8 months

Text

The Time Sea

@inklings-challenge I hope this fits the requirements because I have bullied this into its final form.

~~~~

Gritty sand beneath her, and she dragged herself higher up the strand, the waves lapping greedily at her sodden dress. Tiny rippling wavelets washing up to pull out again with a dizzying feeling of the ground itself rushing from beneath her. She shivered there awhile, barely conscious of the lightning limning the roaring sea behind her in silver, painting the cliff above her white. The thunder blended with the noise of the waves, none of it touching her consciousness as she drifted.

The heavy black of night slithered into the dark grey of a stormy dawn. She came back to herself, shivering violently in her wet dress. The waves that had deposited her on this shore retreated down the sand, now. Her fingers were numb, hair clinging to her face like seaweed between sand grains. She brushed ineffectively at her face with shaking hands and blanched fingers. Hypothermia, her mind supplied helpfully, and then, get up and walk, it will help warm you up and you may find shelter.

She stood and looked at the cliff rising above her. It was a very small cliff, as cliffs went; only five or six times her height. The thought of trying to scale it in yards of drenched material and with numb fingers made her quail.

The storm had not passed over, though the rain had ceased for the moment; a sudden crack and roll of thunder made her jump. She glanced out at the tide – starting to come in again, now, but not quickly; she had a few moments – and backed up to look up at the top of the cliff.

Lightning flashed very helpfully in that precise moment, drawing her eye up towards the castle crouched atop the hill above the cliff. It seemed a very vampire’s lair, all sharp spires and sheer black stone and cramped window slits with no light in them and flying buttresses spiderwebbing between the towers. She rather fancied she saw bats dancing around the top of the tallest tower as tiny black specks.

It was the least inviting building imagination could conjure, but she was of a very practical turn of mind, and even the least inviting building with all its imagined horrors would be less dreadful than waiting on this narrow strip of cliff-bottom beach to be sucked back into the hungry waves behind her, or dying slowly of cold.

The castle’s inhabitants, it seemed, enjoyed trips to the beach, at times, for a thorough exploration of the bottom of the cliff revealed a narrow twisting path up the rock-face. Perhaps, she thought to herself as she hoisted her bundle of skirts – all shape lost in the ocean to a formless mass of heavy cloth, crusted stiff with salt – they came down on finer days than this, when all was sunny and the sea was calm and glass-green. Or perhaps, she thought humorously, they were vampires indeed, and descended only on the full moons to dance gruesome dances upon the strand.

The castle was further away than it had appeared from the beach, and rain started sheeting down just as she attained the grass at the top of the cliff. She heaved a deep despondent sigh, her hair slicking down around her face and shoulders all over again, shivering uncontrollably now, and started her forward slog, clutching her stomach to try and keep warm. Thunder shook the skies and ground around her, rattling through her bones. Lightning shot white and violet and indigo from sky to ground, and she peered forward at the castle each time, orienting herself off those jagged spires. A pebbled path ran from castle to cliff, but now it ran with water, a miniature rapid rushing along and tugging at her feet.

She was too tired to fight the current, slight as it was, and stepped off into the grass beside the path. The water rose to her ankles as she splashed through puddles, washing the salt and grime of the ocean from her feet and replacing it with tiny blades of grass and fragments of leaves and one very startled frog that rode on her arch for two steps before leaping away with a disgruntled cro-oak.

Her stomach had ceased its growling complaints and her mind was nearly as numb as her extremities by the time she fetched up against the rough stone and wood of the castle. She took a stumbling step back from the unyielding wall and looked around and realized that the path had widened into a drive and swooped right up to a broad shallow front step and a niche with imposing double doors. An unlit torch was set in an iron bracket to the side of it; if it had ever blazed with fire the wind and rain had long since snuffed it.

She considered sheltering in the door nook for all of half a second before another gust of wind sent her stumbling forward a step. Her mind made up, she mounted the stairs, wadded her hand inside a length of her voluminous sleeve, and lifted the massive iron knocker.

It fell with a boom that echoed through the house and faded into the thunder a half-second behind it. But the door was not even latched; the weight and momentum of the knocker pushed it ajar a few inches. She took a hitching breath and peeked in through the crack and then pushed the door open a little farther and slipped inside, leaning back against the rough wood on her hands to close it as she took in the hall.

It was long and narrow and soared to heights she could not see in the dark; the lightning coming in the windows insufficient to show the ceiling. At the far end of the hall – a mile away, it seemed – a tiny fire glowed in a massive fireplace that entirely dwarfed it. Open, doorless entryways to other rooms gaped cavernous to either side, black and opaque as pitch. The walls were bare and carved into sharp pillar motifs, climbing high out of sight. Everything was sharp and spiky and looked deeply uncomfortable and unhomelike, but there was a fire at the end of the hall and she was so cold…

Her footsteps echoed across the bare floor – marble perhaps; it was hard to tell in this dimness – rising all the way to the distant unseen ceiling and reverberating off all the walls over and over before whispering away into silence. But she did not let it stop her; she lightened her footfalls as much as she could and hurried over to the fire, whimpering in gratitude as she held her hands into the hearth itself to stick them over the anemic flames.

A bang from behind her startled her badly – she jumped and turned, scanning the hall. A staircase she had hitherto not seen, set back where the wall had fallen away – she had not seen it in her rush to get to the fire – rose to split into opposite directions. A thin wavering light hovered on the balcony of the second floor (she supposed it was the second floor) – a torch, held aloft in a hand cast deep into shadow. A tall figure held it; she caught a glimpse of a large hooked nose and robes the color of blood beneath silver-streaked auburn hair, two black eyes glittering like moonlight on a forest pool deep beneath craggy brows.

“Welcome, traveler,” the figure rumbled; a man’s deep voice. She shivered, staring up at him, caught in – not fear, precisely. He did not sound hostile or threatening. Unease, perhaps. Awe. Mind-numbing exhaustion.

When she did not respond he continued, “A room is being prepared for you. I… did not expect visitors tonight. Perhaps I should have,” he added lower, as if to himself, but the vast chamber caught his voice and carried it to her clearly. “My hospitality is not what it would usually be. Nonetheless, you will find water for washing, and food, and a change of clothes – though they may not be precisely what you are used to, they will serve for tonight.”

She found her voice at last, tongue heavy and throat sore with salt; her voice came out in an unfamiliar rasp. “Thank you, kind sir.”

His robes shifted; she caught a glimpse of a pale strong hand as he waved it dismissively. “It is my job. When you are ready, ascend these stairs and come down here where I am standing. There is a torch in the bracket beside your room.”

The promise of a wash and warm dry clothes and food was enough to send her scrambling for the stairs upon the instant. But she paused a moment at the top, looking up at the massive diamond-paned windows that rose before her. She had not seen them from the beach, nor approached from an angle that permitted view of them. But now she stood a moment, gazing out upon the storm-lashed ocean, the sun hidden behind frothing masses of grey-black cloud. Arcs of lightning speared down from the heavens to the water below, showing for just a minute waves high as buildings and hills and black as tar, shining like obsidian for fractions of a second.

She shivered, so very grateful to no longer be adrift in that furious sea, and turned to go up the staircase to her left. There was no sign of her host, now, but his torch had been left, as he promised, outside an iron-chased door.

It looked more like a dungeon door than a guest’s bedchamber, but she did not take time to worry about it, pushing the door open. A gasp of utter relief from her chapped lips – a fire, much larger than the one below, roared in the cozy little fireplace. The stone floor here was covered with a thick sheepskin, and a giant brass tub sat waiting and steaming before the hearth. Covered dishes sat on a small table in the middle of the room with a single chair drawn up; a four-poster bed stood against the far wall, buried under layers of quilts and blankets. A small heap of folded clothes lay atop it, and a single fluffy towel.

Part of her wished to take forever in the heavenly hot water, but cramping pains in her stomach alerted her that this would not be a good idea. She stepped out and wrapped herself in the towel – warming by the fire during her bath, soft as a summer cloud and almost as white – moving as close as was safe to the fireplace for a few moments. Her shivering had finally subsided in the bath, but she still basked in the heat, her skin prickling as it slowly warmed back up.

The food was simple and heavy – stew with beef and potatoes, some kind of green leafy vegetable, rolls split in the top with pats of butter pushed in to melt into the bread. A large mug of tea sat beside the plate and bowl. She scarcely paused to give thanks before falling on the food, devouring it down to crumbs and smears of gravy.

For all she knew, the master of this castle was indeed a vampire. But he had yet to offer her harm, and indeed had been very kindly and welcoming to the waif that had blown in his front door. The sheer exhaustion weighing on her now annihilated any reasonable caution. With no concern that it was, beyond the storm, still broad day, she hied herself right into that inviting bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was broad daylight when she woke up again, too, the storm passed at last. She lay a minute, looking out at the azure-washed sky. Not a cloud to be seen anymore, but only an endless blue as deep as the ocean beneath it.

Out from beneath the heavy blankets – a drab dark green, but warm and cozy and slightly scratchy – and over to the window. The surf still ran high, the waves topped with foam as though the clouds had fallen from the sky to the sea. She stared, oddly mesmerized, for far too long, until hunger pangs reminded her that it would perhaps be prudent to seek breakfast.

She turned. The table had been cleared of its dishes, a single folded piece of strange parchment left in its place. She opened it and stared blankly at the script within; nothing she recognized.

She shook her head and set it aside, lifting the dress hung carefully over the back of the chair. It was nearly as strange as the writing on the odd parchment, with thin sleeves that clung to the arms and a bodice that laced almost up to the neck and a severe lack of ornamentation. But it was a delicate rose-pink that pleased her much more than the deep purple of her own dress, and it swept modestly all the way to the floor. Perhaps even more importantly, it was easy enough to get into without assistance.

The castle was nearly as intimidating by daylight as by thundering dim, severely plain without any relieving decorations. Dark blue-grey walls and black marble floors swallowed light, returning only a reluctant polished shine. But the vast windows at the stairs had an even better view of sea and sky and horizon than her own window had had, and she found herself arrested once more by the eternally shifting palette of blues and greens and greys.

She stood, lost a moment in time, as she watched the ocean, before turning and descending the stairs. A table had been set up before the massive fireplace with its comically small fire, and a hearty if simple breakfast laid out across it. Two chairs were pulled up before the table, and she assumed her mysterious host would be joining her.

She sat down, resolutely ignoring the tempting smells wafting up from the food spread across the table. Her stomach growled and she dug her fists into her gut to silence it, looking around at the stark hall and the sunlight sliding across the floor rather than the meal spread out.

The silence was oppressive. There was not even a clock to show the time passing, only the black stone walls and black marble floors and the bright yellow sunlight creeping back towards the near wall and the slowly cooling food.

The bang of a door upstairs startled her badly and she jumped before twisting in her chair to look over at the staircase. Her mysterious host was joining her at last, it seemed, his footfalls heavy and brisk as he descended the stairs towards her. “Good morning, lady.”

She rose at his approach. “Good morning, my lord.”

She studied him now, in the bright morning light. Grey-streaked auburn hair and a great curved nose, deep lines chiseled in his face around a heavy brow and kind dark eyes. He was truly absurdly tall, towering over her head and shoulders, a shapeless mass of deep wine-red cloak. It was quite impossible to judge his age; he looked perhaps middle-aged, save that there was some indefinable ancient air that hung over his shoulders like his garments.

He stood examining the table with a faint frown that looked rather forbidding on his heavy-featured face. “Did you not receive my note, lady?”

“I… could not read it,” she admitted, brushing nervous fingers down the thick material of her borrowed dress.

He turned that intense frowning regard on her person and she stilled. “Untaught,” he asked slowly, “or the script was unfamiliar to you?”

“It was… unfamiliar to me.”

He studied her a moment longer before sweeping a long hand, bones and sinews standing out beneath the skin, towards the table. “Please, sit and eat.”

He sat opposed to her and for awhile they both broke their fasts in silence. Only as their concentration lapsed into dallying did he brush his lips with an old ivory napkin and query, “And the dress. Was it also unfamiliar to you?”

She looked down at herself. In the bright morning light, it was truly lovely. But… “Yes, my lord, it also is unfamiliar.”

“My goodness,” the man murmured to himself. “I must be slipping. I have not misjudged an origin in… quite some time.” For some reason this last comment made him smile grimly.

She plucked up her courage. “My lord, I beg you to forgive my impertinence,” she began.

He gestured again, the craggy face settling into kindly lines. “I am no lord,” he interrupted. “You may call me… the Keeper, if you wish. Ask whatever you will, child.”

She squared her shoulders. “Where is this place, pray, sir? And do you live here all alone?”

“I do.” He reached languidly for his tea cup. “I am the Keeper of this castle, and of the shore below. The ocean below us is the Time Sea – people who are lost to the ocean are brought to my shores. It is my job to assess their original location and time, and send them home.”

This seemed entirely reasonable, but she had a concern. “And how do you do that?”

He smiled slightly. “Well, I am afraid you will have to cross the Time Sea again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The boat was small and unprepossessing and she regarded with with deep wariness and distrust. Her dress was remarkably clean – the Keeper had put it in something he called a Washing Machine, deep in the depths of the castle – and returned to its old familiar shape. She lifted the bundle of her skirts, took a deep breath, and stepped into the rocking little shell of wood.

“And this will bear me home?” she asked nervously.

The Keeper brushed long slender fingers over the gold-embossed runes carved into the rim of the boat, the wood around them stained the same black that was between the stars at night. “It will bear you where I have told it to bear you, and I have told it to bear you home.”

Hours spent in a library taller than the hall downstairs, the maze between the shelves miles long, the domed arch of the ceiling made almost entirely of glass so that sunlight would pour in no matter the time of day. Maps and books spread out across the heavy oaken tables, dusty tomes that weighed as much as she did and were nearly as tall. Gadgets and gewgaws in crystal cases and on shelves and sitting upright on the thick forest-floor green carpet, gold and brass and silver and many other metals she did not recognize, amazing and incomprehensible. A map of the heavens all along wall that one could study for ten years and not examine all of it.

She wandered in awe-struck exploration while the Keeper consulted his books and his maps and his gizmos. It was, perhaps, hours that they were in that wondrous library, or maybe days; time seemed to pass differently here.

She could have spent ten years there without losing interest.

But amber light was stretching towards the far wall, the sun plunging towards its own brilliantly multi-hued setting, when at last the Keeper stood upright. “I believe I have found your time and place,” he announced. “It may be less fearsome for you to cross the Time Sea by daylight, so you will depart tomorrow – such as it is.”

The food that night was the food of her home – the sleep-clothes laid out for her were the old familiar type she wore every night. Her own dress awaited her the next morning, laid out carefully across the chair. The same breakfast on the table in the hall that she ate every morning.

It felt like having a piece of home with her here in this strange place.

It was jarring.

She sat very carefully. The rocking of the tiny boat made her uneasy, an instinct hissing that it would tip and dump her out again, that those waves were dreadfully large and rough.

“Are you ready?” the Keeper asked where he crouched on the slick wet boulder, holding her boat securely.

Her heart quailed, anxiety seeping up her throat like bile. “Yes.”

“Then may the Lord of All Creation return you safe home.” He shoved her tiny vessel out into the ocean and she suppressed the urge to clutch the sides by clutching her skirts instead, swallowing a nervous shriek.

“Farewell!” he called behind her, and she dared to carefully twist and look back. He stood still on his pile of rock some yards into the ocean. His shapeless robe wet to the thighs and clinging, even as spray and sea-wind alike whipped his hair. The spires of his dark castle behind him stabbing the sky, their secrets well-hidden behind the thick stone.

She rode the waves, the swells cradling her fragile boat like a mother cradling the soft head of her newborn, watching until the very tallest tower-peak sank out of sight. She sighed softly and settled into facing front again. For a long second, she was surrounded entirely by ever-shifting blue-green water, before another wave caught and lifted her high towards the cloud-daubed heavens above.

A strip of pricklingly familiar coastline ahead of her – docks and quays and shops and houses and ships and sailors and darting urchins and dogs. She gazed at it a moment in wonder and awe but no surprise at all.

The wave dropped her into a trough that propelled her forward quickly enough that she swayed back with a startled squeak. Another wave rose beneath her and crested and slung her forward like a stone from a boy’s sling, her boat overturning and vanishing under the waves behind her.

She thrashed amid bubbles rushing through the emerald water. Garbled shouts came to her submerged ears as she struggled to reach the surface. A hand seized the back of her dress and she was yanked up into open air, and then over the rough side of a crude wooden boat to land in a slippery pile of fish. Two bearded grizzled men stared down at her in considerable astonishment. “Where’d ye come from, missy?” the older one demanded. “An’ how’d ye get way out here?”

She blinked up at them. She had not realized how much she had missed the familiar accents of her people over the last two days. “My ship was wrecked in a storm.”

“The storm last night?” the younger, taller man asked, nodding. “The flotsam has been coming in today. But where have you been all this time?”

“All this time,” she murmured to herself. A dark pointy castle rose in her mind’s eye. “I was lost in the Sea of Time. But I am home now.”

#inklingschallenge #team Tolkien #genre: time travel #genre: secondary world #theme: food #theme: drink #theme: clothing #theme: shelter #finished #further tags:#fantasy #castle #ocean

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blackboxfaxes · 9 months

Text

Battle Report: House Kurita vs Word of Blake, Rematch

For the second campaign turn in a row, Kote Lance came under attack by the Blakists' lead Assault element - a Highlander, an Awesome, and a Crab, all heavily customized. Kote Lance was busy repairing after their last engagement with the Blakists - Raine's Marauder was already active, but Kimiko's Blitzkrieg, Casey's Black Knight, and Heather's Blackjack had to make rolls to emergency start. None of them booted up turn 1, as Raine moved her Marauder up, the other side of the field covered by the Raiden squad usually assigned to Heather.

The Tonbo at the bottom of the image is just set dressing, and the clear acrylic circles are all woods.

>[Reactor online. Weapons online. Sensors online. All systems nominal.] Heather's Blitzkrieg was, true to form, the first mech to activate, rolling a 10+ on turn 2, and she immediately set out to punish the Blakists' Crab for pushing forward, loosing a pair of Ultra AC20 shells on it, neither of which connected, but they certainly let the Blakists know she was there. Raine exploited a heavy woods, keeping her covered as she traded PPC blasts with the Blakists' custom Awesome. It also mounted a Gauss rifle, which she had only one answer for...

>Glad you ladies joined the party. Now, let's deal with our uninvited guests. That answer was the Gauss rifle mounted on Heather's Blackjack, as she leapt to the top of her repair facility, relying on the Jumping Jack ability to keep her accurate, she joined Raine in pouring fire down on the Awesome. Casey, as always, ran her Black Knight out of her mech bay on MASC, screaming the Coordinator's name, daikatana held high.

>Hey, Kimiko, how's your uppercut? With the enemy Crab having moved to the very cliff's edge, and wanting to avoid taking fire from the Awesome and Highlander, Heather saw an opportunity, and ran directly under the Crab, blocked from the other two mechs by the cliff's edge, and fired a pair of shells straight up into the Crab's forward-protruding fuselage. One shell connected, shredding the armor on the Crab's left torso and staggering it, while Heather, Casey, and Raine focused the Awesome.

>I'm gonna getcha Combined fire from those three mechs knocked the Awesome flat as it reached the cliff. The Crab retreated, and Kimiko, seeing herself threatened, pumped the breaks and streaked halfway across the field, aiming to flank around the Blakist formation. The Raiden squad, almost forgotten, saw a golden opportunity, and jumped for the Awesome.

>Alright, let's do this The Battle Armor weren't the only ones to see an opportunity. As the Awesome lurched to its feet, Casey's mech kicked its MASC in, for once not failing the roll, and reached point blank with the Awesome. The only problem with this idea was that it left her in full view of every enemy mech, and all of them focused fire on her exclusively. This put enough firepower into her to knock her flat, costing her her chance to use her hatchet, and getting the Awesome to stomp on her arm for good measure.

>Think we can handle this on our own? Kimiko's Blitzkrieg steamed and buttered the Crab with a second AC20 shot in the left torso, disabling its XL engine and leaving her open to move on the enemy Highlander. Meanwhile, Casey got up, and once again took all the fire from the Blakists, and then fell over AGAIN despite her piloting skill of 3. This time, however, the Blakist Awesome also fell. Now it was the Battle Armor's time to shine, and they jumped on their victim, going for the swarm.

>[deranged screaming that suddenly cuts off] Casey, having failed to connect with a melee attack and lost ninety percent of her armor, decided discretion was the better part of valor. The Blakist Highlander, under attack by a Blitzkrieg, contemptuously swatted it away with a gauss rifle and a PPC shot to the same torso section, taking it from untouched to disabled in two shots. The Awesome, however, tried to stand up. Perhaps struggling because of the battle armor clinging to it, it rolled a 3 when it needed a 4, fell on its arm, critted its arm, detonated the gauss rifle mounted there and electrocuted the pilot, who blacked out. The Raiden squad were of course delighted, and moved in for the kill. At this point, the Blakists conceded. While I was down to essentially one untouched and two half combat-effective mechs, he was down to one, and called it early rather than lose his Awesome. Each of us salvaged our own mechs and rescued our own pilots, leading to no lasting material changes to either side.

#battletech #mechwarrior #battletech battle report #battle report #miniature wargaming #house kurita #word of blake #comstar #tabletop wargames #tabletop wargamging #tabletop miniatures #miniatures

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dominimoonbeam · 7 months

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Bite to Bruise - 22

This work is mine and I do not give consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted without my permission. I am sharing chapters as I work on this story but it is copyrighted material that I plan to rework and publish when completed.

story tags: modern-fantasy mashup, werewolves, witches, monsters, romance, learning to trust, hurt/comfort, blood, violence, explicit sex, explicit language

The earlier parts can be found under the tag or over on patreon. <3

BITE TO BRUISE - CHAPTER 22.

Bellamy ducked her head when he carried her into the house. The snow was coming down hard and fast outside. It happened like that every year. Winter fell on the woods and the valley like it meant to make the death of autumn quick and final. It would spread from there, burying them all in thick snow for months.

Usually, Bellamy was in her cabin when it started. She could watch the snow fill her meadow until it was higher than her porch before retreating through her portal to another land.

But there had been shades in her cabin. They had broken things, touching and tossing her belongings. It was hard not to feel like the whole place was ruined—hard to convince herself that she could fix it and stay.

Ever kicked the heavy door shut behind them, muffling the storm. It whistled gently against the windows.

He carried her down the hall to his bathroom and she watched the tracks his boots left in melting snow and blood.

It had been easy to open the portal but tiring to hold it for so long.

Ever put her down in the bathroom. With the pale light and the white tiles, it was impossible not to see the red that drenched him, smeared over skin and soaked into clothes. His eyes were still yellow, still impossibly bright. He palmed the side of her face again, staring right back at her. “Bath or shower?”

Bellamy smiled a little. Was he asking if she could stay standing? She was tired and everything ached, but she wasn’t that far gone. “Shower,” she decided, because together they would turn the tub red if they tried.

He huffed agreement and then peeled off his shirt.

She watched him kick off his boots and start on his jeans.

He eyed her, realizing she hadn’t moved to undress, and stopped with the fly of his pants open and the denim clinging low on his hips. “Wren?”

She jumped a little at her name on his lips. It was still strange to hear it outside her own head, let alone from him. She swallowed and nodded. It had been a long night. Her skin felt gauzy from magic and everything hurt like she was bruised from head to toe. She had lost her house, been in a car crash, been bitten by a shade, and helped a pack invade Ceres. She felt wrung out and uneasy, like she was leaning over the edge of a cliff and not sure if it was safer to jump or stay put.

Ever watched her with those wolf eyes like he could see her thoughts—see her soul. “If you want to clean up separately, I can—”

Bellamy pushed forward, leaned up onto her toes, and grabbed the back of his neck. She crushed her lips against his, tasting blood that was neither of theirs. His arms came around her, careful but strong, pulling her chest up against his.

His skin was tacky with blood and sweat, and she wondered if hers was the same. It looked clean, but that was just an illusion.

When the kiss broke, he was rolling her top up and off of her, careful of her injured arm.

“Bellamy…” Ever said gently, watching her unzip and pull off her boots. “Drop the glamour?”

She almost fell over, putting the second boot next to the first. They were filthy. So were her clothes. She looked at him, but her gaze slid off his shoulder to catch her own reflection in the big mirror behind the sink for the first time. Bellamy. She looked strong and healthy, no injuries and no weaknesses. No history on her skin.

She forced a smile and wrinkled her nose. “You’ll kill the mood if you keep talking like that, wolf.” She pulled her gloves off and tossed them to the side. He was still watching her. Still waiting. Bellamy rolled her leggings and underwear down her hips and thighs, hoping to distract him from whatever had him thinking he wanted to see through the glamour. She didn’t even wince when she peeled the blood-soaked cotton off the scrapes and cuts on her shins.

She straightened, expecting his gaze to roam now that she was naked, but those yellow eyes were waiting for her. He touched her shoulders, his fingers ghosting over her upper arms. “Bell… You were in a car crash.”

She stared back at him, her heart pounding.

“Your arm was still healing. At the very least we need to change the bandages.”

She swallowed. Her arm did hurt and the gauze around her skin felt loose and hard from dried blood.

One of his hands traveled up her shoulder, stopping short of her neck, his thumb stroking her collar. “And someone bit you.”

Bellamy exhaled hard, a little sick at the memory of teeth in her skin. “You definitely killed the mood.”

Ever smiled gently. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Drop the glamour for tonight. I promise no one is getting in here. No one will see you.”

“You’ll see,” she mumbled stubbornly.

Ever leaned back to look at her again, brow creasing. “You know I’ve seen you before, right?”

She hesitated. She hated this. Maybe she should have kicked him out of the bathroom and cleaned up alone. She was tired and everything ached. She just wanted to clean up and go to sleep. But she also knew he was right. She had to clean her wounds and wrap them.

“What are you scared of?” he asked gently.

Bellamy huffed and stepped back from the comfort his contact offered. “I’m not scared of anything,” she lied.

Ever watched her. He wasn’t going to call her on it. He would probably try to find a way to compromise.

Bellamy closed her eyes and took a deep breath, when she let it out, she let go of the glamour. It felt like dropping a shield in the middle of battle.

Ever wasn’t sure why she was so worried about letting the glamour go when they were alone. He had seen her true face before and he knew who she really was. He had almost reminded her that she’d been without the glamour the last time he’d patched and cleaned her up in her cabin, but she had been unconscious then and reminding her of a time when she’d been completely exposed seemed like the wrong move.

And then she closed her eyes and let the glamour go.

It was sort of like she dropped down to her heels after standing on tiptoe, her hair turning dark and tangled. She was badly bruised over the left side of her body, including the side of her face, and her neck was crusted in blood around that bite.

He realized she wasn’t looking at him anymore, her dark eyes focused on a spot on the wall. The same dark eyes as always.

Ever touched her ink-black fingertips, gently lifting her injured arm away from her side to start peeling the bandage off. It was tattered and stained through with blood and dirt. He walked them into the open shower while he worked, twisting the nozzle toward the wall and turning on the water.

She sighed and leaned back against the tiles.

Ever stripped off his pants and grabbed one of the little washcloths before joining her behind the glass wall, in the rising plumes of heat off the water. He turned down the heat a little, soaked the cloth, and then gently cleaned her arm. It looked better than he expected. She must have done something to help the healing process before coming back to the valley.

She’d only come back because he’d asked her to. She’d only been hurt because she’d come back.

But if she hadn’t…

“What are you frowning so hard about?” the witch asked, jarring him from his thoughts.

Ever shook his head. “Some of the cuts opened but they’re not bleeding anymore. It looks good.”

“Then why the frown?”

He sighed, ringing out the washcloth. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Wren. You saved me again…but you always get hurt.” He touched her jaw, lifting her chin to gently clean away the crusted blood from the bite on her neck.

She jumped a little when he brushed the wound, her hand on his hip. “To be fair… I get hurt without saving you plenty. At least this way we got something good out of it…”

The bite was already a thick ring of bruising around the scabs. It would be worse by morning. That biter had been overeager, or maybe just angry about the car crash. Ever’s gaze wandered, catching on a faint, curved scar on her shoulder. Another bite. Something older.

He washed her face, erasing the tear tracks through dirt and blood splatter. Her glamour had hidden everything. He traced the cloth down the bridge of her nose, feeling that little bump where it had been broken and never set right. Or had it been broken more than once?

He suspected she wore the glamour to hide tears and wounds, to look like nothing had or could ever hurt her, but he thought she was underestimating the power of her own face. She was breathtaking, her scars screaming of struggle and survival, each one a testimony to her strength. Ever knew humans didn’t always see scars the same way as fenrir, but Wren was no human.

He moved them both a step to the side, into the spray. “Tell me what happened tonight?” he asked, when really he wanted to ask her to tell him everything from the beginning of her life to this moment. He wanted to know every story about every scar and every wound that hadn’t scarred.

She turned to soak her hair, closing her eyes for a moment. His hand stayed on her back, ready to catch her if she fell asleep on her feet.

She sighed when she opened her eyes and he was still watching her, still waiting.

She turned to pick the body wash from the other bottles. “I was about to leave my cabin when I felt the shades in the woods and the little wolf… She was scared.” Her hands shook.

Ever took the bottle from her. He could soap them up while she told the story.

“She’s okay? You found her?” It wasn’t the first time she’d asked.

Ever nodded. “She was scared but she was okay.”

He brushed her hair over her shoulder and started lathering her back, feeling her muscles relax. “I wasn’t sure how many there were or why you weren’t in the valley… So, I put her through the portal and took her shape.”

He didn’t let his touch halt, rubbing smooth little circles up her spine to the back of her neck and then stroking soap over her shoulders. “I didn’t know you could do that. I suppose I should have. I’ve seen you in two shapes already.”

She shook her head a little. Her breathing had evened out. “It’s not the same. Bellamy’s glamour is something I constructed based on myself, on my own design. It’s me as much as this skin is me. Imitating someone else…their look and sound and scent… It gets confusing. I think I forgot who I really was in the car. I was just scared.”

He nuzzled the side of her head, kissing her cheek when she turned it toward him. He rubbed soap down her good arm, to her hand, between her fingers. She twitched when he touched the base of that missing digit but didn’t pull back. It was more like she expected him to. He was much more careful about the other arm and all the lines of cuts. Would it scar? Yes. He supposed it would.

“How did the car crash?” he asked.

Her mouth twitched and he knew the answer even before she said, “I made it crash. I heard you on the phone and knew you were back in the valley. The pack would be safe. So, I opened a portal. Or, I guess, started an opening and then lunged into the front seat and grabbed the wheel. The rest is what you found. I got out but I didn’t get away…” Her voice tapered off and his gaze flicked to the bite on her neck.

She’d still had the glamour of Piper on when he got there. Had the shade thought he was biting a wolf the first time? He would have known by the second ring of cuts.

“Thank you,” Ever said, not just seeing but feeling the way her whole body tensed, like words of gratitude had been a shock to the system. How could she not understand? “Blackwell was going to use one of our kids to force us to give up territory.” And it would have worked.

Wren huffed a tired laugh. “You would have come back and ripped them apart once you had her home safe.”

Ever’s hands stopped on her hips, a jolt of pride shooting through his spine and then settling in his heart. She had said it like a fact, like she believed in him and what he would do. He nodded, kissing her shoulder before crouching to rub his soapy palms down her legs, one at a time, from the top of her thigh down to her ankle, cautious of all those scrapes and cuts. “I would have, yes, but being taken even for a day could have hurt Piper in ways that would take much longer to fix.”

When he rose again, she was looking at him.

Bellamy was beautiful, alluring and dangerous, but the true face of Wren was full of menace, tempting in a different way. Just as beautiful, with the same dark eyes, like a sky without stars. “You should tell me to leave,” she said. “You should run me off your lands and never let me back.”

Ever growled deep in his chest at the thought.

Her hand came up to settle against his heart, never breaking eye contact. He felt the electricity in the touch of her ink-dipped fingers, an unknowable power humming in her skin. Those dark eyes looked up at him, begging him to reject her for his own good, and he calmed because he realized what it meant. She wanted to stay. She wasn’t sure she’d leave on her own.

Wren sighed, pretending to be annoyed when she saw the pull of his lips. She shook her head a little. “Fool,” she said, but he saw the sad relief in her face before she turned from him to get more soap.

Ever watched her shamelessly. His witch. Was she the only living witch? He hadn’t heard of any others and, after having seen just a glimpse of what she could do, it was hard to imagine any others were out there unnoticed. Although wasn’t that exactly what Wren had been until this week? The pack had known she was there, but they’d had no name for her and not laid eyes on her in sixteen years. And Baron had been searching all this time and coming up empty handed.

Whatever that first altercation had been that forced her to spill her blood and led to Ever discovering her truths, everything since had been on him. She had saved his niece and put herself in the clutches of a shade. She had been in that car crash and been bitten. The shade buried in his yard knew what she was. And then he’d asked her to open and hold a portal to Ceres. How long now until someone realized Ever had a witch?

How long before someone came for her?

How long before Baron came himself?

She soaped him up, making pink foam of layers of red.

Blood rolled off of them into the swirl of water at the drain, and Ever wondered, not unhappily, how many times they would be washing the blood of their enemies off together.

#Bite to Bruise #werewolf romance #werewolf x witch #monster romance #modern fantasy world #own world #own characters #house of teeth series #<3 #dominimoonbeam #clover down

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