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blindmagdalena · 1 year

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This headcanon/fic hybrid has been updated and partially rewritten to have a proper beginning, more fleshed out middle, a new ending, and better perspective. You can find it here! Anonymous asked:

Lionlander?! Idea!

What if I'm some way somehow S/o ran into Homelander and a whole scenario played out like the Lion with the thorn stuck in his paw and Homelander being the lion of course and little s/I bring the mouse lol. I can imagine it now! Homelander being in some situation where he can't believe he actually needs help (not sure what kind of situation that would be lol) uhhh how could the great Homelander get himself stuck in this mess?! Then little short adorable s/o comes along just ordinary and minding her own business and notices poor Homelander in his situation she doesn't laugh or get scared despite his grumpiness towards her instead she just smiles sweetly and comes over and helps him... Being completely warm and friendly wanting to make a new friend rather than run away...

OOHHH you know, I've been pondering the repercussions of a possible "kryptonite" for Homelander being discovered. An Anti-V, if you will. Imagine he's soaring through the sky and hears something whistling through the air behind him. Some kind of projectile? a small missile, maybe? It's nothing he hasn't handled before. It could blow up in his hand and he would be fine.

In that split second he has to react, he decides to forego dodging it, and see where it's coming from, honing in his vision, except as it gets nearer, his vision begins to tunnel. What the fuck? His reflexes slow, and before he knows it, the projectile strikes him in the chest, fumes filling his lungs and coating his skin. He feels like he's been turned inside out. Suddenly he's plummeting towards the ground, and crashes directly into your backyard, an eruption of snow and yard furniture.

He's out like a light, and when you muster up the courage to approach him, he's not moving. Oh god, he's not breathing. In your panic, your brain shuts off, and you act without thinking.

When Homelander comes to, he's being shaken. No, compressed, hands over his chest, pulsing again and again in a rhythm. Warm lips press against his, and a rush of air fills his lungs. His eyes snap open, and out of pure reflex, he shoves you away from him, sitting up with a frenzied look in his eyes.

You should have flown back thirty feet with a shove like that. Instead, you only fell back onto your ass. Homelander's hands are shaking as he looks at them, and he can feel blood dripping from his ears, taste it in his mouth. He's disoriented, his whole body feels heavy. He's having trouble breathing, and his heart is pounding.

"Someone tried to kill me," he rasps in disbelief. Not surprised that someone tried, but that someone very nearly succeeded. "Someone... Someone tried to fucking kill me," he says again, growing more hysteric the more the pain sets in.

He's wild-eyed, breathing erratic, and you're afraid he's about to put himself into cardiac arrest. He may not have his usual strength, but the brutal way he punched his palm into your chest was still no joke.

"Homelander!" You address sharply, trying to rein in your own bubbling panic. What if whoever tried to kill him is coming for him? "I can help you, okay? Let me help you."

Maybe it's something in the tone of your voice, equal parts authoritative and compassionate, or maybe it's the degree of his vulnerability sinking in, but after a second of dumbfounded staring, Homelander nods.

It's pure adrenaline that gives you the strength to help him into your house. He's practically dead weight in your arms, barely keeping himself on his feet as you both stumble into your living room. The height difference does neither of you any favors.

You get him down onto the couch before fetching a wet rag and a first aid kit. As you lean over him, he sees a mottled mark blossoming darkly across the center of your chest, just under your collarbone, approximately the size of his palm.

Without thinking, he reaches up to touch it. You startle, looking down where he touches. You now notice the beginnings of the bruise, too. "Don't worry about me," you tell him, as comforting as you can muster. It stings where he presses his fingers in, the skin tender. You grasp his wrist and gently lay it back down at his side.

I'm not worried about you, he thinks numbly. "That should have caved in your chest."

"Guess it's my lucky day, then," you say absently, more focused on using a wet cloth to wipe away the blood from his temple, up into his hairline, seeking the injury. You're meticulous but gentle in the way you handle him, cupping the side of his face to turn him one way, then another. "I think these need stitches," you say, brows furrowed. Homelander's gaze lingers on your lips as you speak.

What kind of person sees someone fall out of the fucking sky, and then thinks to give them CPR?

"I'm calling an ambulance," you say, moving to stand. Homelander catches you by the wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

"No, no, not... Don't do that," he says, screwing his eyes shut briefly. No one else can know that this happened. Besides, if those psychopaths are still out there, it will draw them right to him. "Too much attention, I just... give me a fucking minute," he says, flexing his hands. They still feel weak, tingling like they've fallen asleep, but the pain is beginning to abate.

Whatever was done to him, it doesn't seem to be permanent.

Thank fucking Christ.

"Okay," you say tentatively. Instead, you continue wiping the blood from his face, gently rubbing it from his temples, down his jaw. Homelander watches you like a hawk, rolling his fingers in and out of fists, gradually feeling his strength return to him.

He's unaccustomed to the way you're handling him. One hand cupping his jaw, ginger in the way you move his head, though only when you absolutely need to. The concern wrinkled between your brows is so palpable, so sincere, he almost forgets you're strangers.

"What're you doing?" He asks, voice low, nearly a growl.

You pause, looking down to meet his eye. "Oh, I just... There's still blood, and I didn't want to leave you alone."

Your response tightens something in his chest, like a steel coil wrung too tight. It's uncomfortable. He feels small, vulnerable, and the tenderness of your touch is doing nothing for the feel of it.

"I don't need you," he snaps defensively. "I'm fine."

"Okay," you respond, aggravatingly calm. Still soothing. "What do you need?"

Homelander opens his mouth, but hesitates. Your earnestness is infuriating, waiting on baited breath for what you can do for him. He closes his mouth, jaw tight. His gaze flickers back down to the bruise on your chest. It's darker now, varying shades of purple and yellow fading into one another.

Looking back up at you, Homelander evens his expression. "Close the blinds," he says, gesturing with his head to the window, where you have twinkling white Christmas lights strung up. "I need to lay low awhile." Though he can feel his powers steadily returning, it would be foolish to fly before nightfall. Whoever shot at him could have another round loaded and waiting. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll find out who it was, and rip out their fucking spine.

You've already gotten up to do as he asked, drawing the blinds down, and then closing the curtains over them. Afterwards, you turn to leave.

"Hey," Homelander calls, frowning. You stop in the doorway. "Where are you going?"

"The kitchen," you answer, hand on the doorframe. "You can call if you need something."

"Stay here," Homelander says, ignoring the bit of petulance he can hear in his own voice. He doesn't care if you're confused. He doesn't care that he doesn't entirely understand himself. He just wants you to stay.

Homelander watches you take a seat at the end of the couch, near his feet. He exhales, closing his eyes. It isn't as though you could do anything if proficient killers did appear, but for whatever reason, no matter how useless you would ultimately be, he feels better for having you near.

After half an hour, his senses begin to sharpen again. It begins as a dull, irritating buzz at first, but grows gradually more clear. Of all the commotion he's becoming aware of, he fixates on your breathing to drown out the rest.

After an hour, he learns your name, that you work from home, you like decorating for Christmas, even when you spend it alone, and that you've lived a thoroughly dull, ordinary little life until this very moment.

From his observations , he's learned the rhythm of your heartbeat, that you touch your face when you're nervous, and that you would rather laugh than take any of his disparaging remarks about your mundane life to heart.

"I think it's very lucky for you that I am so boring. I might not have been here otherwise," you counter. Your smile is so utterly charming, Homelander forgets to refute your point. Instead, much to your alarm, he sits up.

"Oh, steady. Are you sure you're okay?" You ask, standing as he does. Homelander stretches his hands out in front of him, and then curls his arms back in. Exhaling, his eyes flare crimson. He likes the way it makes your heart jump when he looks at you through the red glow.

Homelander's lips quirk, lasers fading out. "Good as new," he says confidently, though the aches of his fall still linger in his joints. He takes a few long strides across your living room, pausing in the doorway to your kitchen, where he can see through to your yard, and the absolute crater he left in it.

"Vought will... take care of that," he says, gesturing vaguely to the destruction.

You can't help but laugh, crossing your arms. "I appreciate it, but really, I'm just glad you're alright," you say honestly, staring out into the wreckage of your yard.

Homelander purses his lips slightly, glancing at you from his peripheral. Above him, he feels something brush the top of his head. When he glances up, what he sees hung in the doorway makes him smile deviously.

Without warning, Homelander puts his hands on your waist, and pulls you to him, lips landing warm and firm on yours. He absolutely devours the surprised little noise you make against him, halfway tempted to see what other sounds he can wring from you. He hears your heart begin to race, and much to his delight, you kiss him back. You even surprise him by grabbing the back of his neck, sinking deeper into the kiss.

When Homelander pulls back, you're flushed prettily from the tip of your nose to the tips of your ears.

"What... was that?" You ask, dazed.

"Mistletoe," he purrs. You look up when he points, and huff a gentle little laugh, nodding at the aforementioned ornament dangling above you.

"Is this your way of saying thank you?" You ask playfully, your shoulders relaxing. "I hope you're still going to pay for my yard."

It's Homelander's turn to chuckle. "Oh, no. I haven't said thank you yet," he says, hands lingering on your hips. He'd only meant it to be a quick thing, but now you're toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. He licks his lips.

There's still a couple more hours until sundown. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll figure out exactly what the fuck he got blasted by. For now, he owes you a proper thank you, and himself a little Christmas treat for his trouble.

#hahaha I CHEATED and made it christmas themed!!!!!#this got WILDLY out of hand it was too long to post as an ask lmao #homelander x reader #homelander x you #my writing #depowered homelander #gonna have to go back and make that a proper tag since it's a running theme now #this definitely started as a headcanon and then went off the rails #ask and you shall receive #darling anon

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a-very-tired-jew · 22 days

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Finally got an anti-Zionist definition of Zionism

An Israeli was brave enough to pop into the Dropout Discord’s Palestine channel today (May 5th, 2024) and ask what definition of Zionism they were using. While most people all had the same base of “Jews having their own state in their homeland” every single one of them goes off the rails with their own respective definition and conspiracy.

The first person said this:

Fig. 1. First person responding to the Israeli gives their definition of Zionism.

Notice that they say Zionism is the idea that Israel is uniquely and solely the rightful homeland of the Jews. This implies that there’s a malicious intent in Zionism towards non-Jews within Israel. This person has likely never heard of Kahanism, but in their mind Zionism and Kahanism are likely the same.

Here’s the second person to respond:

Fig. 2. Second response uses refers to anti-Zionist. Jews and their supposed definition.

Now, I know a bunch of anti-Zionist Jewish groups and people and I have never heard this particular definition. I’ve only heard this from extreme antisemites who hide behind the guise of being anti-Zionist progressives and actual terrorist groups trying to create a false antisemitic conspiracy narrative. However, this is my own personal experience and this could be the case, as the user says this is what is said in their circles. And if it’s true then it’s a conspiracy driven alt reality version of things as it denies all evidence to the contrary. There are whole levels to this that ignore the non-Jewish Israelis, the rights that they have in Israel, their representation in the government, and so on.

and the third person to respond is someone I’ve talked about before. This is the Jew who claims they were indoctrinated and all their elders are brainwashed and just need to “open their eyes to the truth.”

Fig. 3. Third response from a user who expands on Fig. 1. User’s definition and adds their own conspiracy.

I want to point out that this token Jew who believes others are indoctrinated actively believes the Israeli is making it so only Jews can be citizens. This is not any policy I can find, nor is it something I’ve seen even talked about outside of the most extremist elements. I think they’re referencing the 2018 stuff about Jews having the right to self determination, setting Hebrew as the National language, and government endorsement of settlers. But that’s far from the Israeli government and Zionism stating that Israel is for Jews and only Jews, and active programs to remove non-Jews. It’s something that, once again, would only come from antisemitic groups who want to generate strife through a particular narrative.

These are the definitions that they’re working with and/or believe. It’s no wonder you can’t actually talk to these activists because these definitions are laced with rhetoric from terrorist groups and antisemites. There’s traces of Jewish supremacy, world control, and other tropes throughout, and what’s sad is that a self confessed Jewish person believes it. Not only do they believe it, they’ve been extremely vocal in the server about it. They have so much to unpack that I can’t imagine what brought them to this level of conspiratorial thinking regarding Jews and Zionism.

It takes a lot of work to get people to see their conspiracy theories for what they are and that they’ve been misled. It’s easier to fall into them than to crawl out of that hole and realize you’ve been radicalized. That takes time, self reflection, and often a big “oh shit” moment, which may or may never happen.

At this point I’m just documenting how radicalized the people in the Dropout TV Discord are and how many of them believe in antisemitic conspiracies and downright falsities. Maybe they’ll do something about it one day, but I doubt it.

#jumblr #leftist antisemitism #dropout tv #Dropout tv has an antisemitism problem #Antisemitism activists #Antisemitic conspiracies

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mydearlybeloathed · 7 months

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Helloooo! I enjoy your stuff a whole lot and I was wondering if I could ask for a scenario where a rescued reader is on the sunny/merry feeling really homesick so she shyly asks sanji if he could cook her up a meal from her homeland. Then when she bites into it she starts crying cause shes so happy? Im in a fluffy sorta sentimental mood (*⌒∇⌒*)

𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after being rescued by the strawhats, you find yourself homesick one morning, and sanji has a foolproof cure.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sanji x fem!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: food, smoking

Your thoughts were being more of a bully than usual. You suspected it was because of how you stood at the edge of the Going Merry’s afterdeck, staring out at the water with an air of melancholy about you.

You’re much too sad for a woman rescued, your thoughts would taunt.

But you couldn’t help it! Of course you were more than grateful to have been rescued from your captors by the crew of pirates known as the Strawhats.

You thanked them every chance you had, asked what you could do to help at every turn—most of the time they just smiled and told you to relax. I can’t, you would say. I’ve forgotten how.

So now you stood on the deck of the Going Merry, grateful even through this terrible sorrow washing through you.

The sea breeze reminded you of home. The gull’s cry reminded you of home. The sound of Zoro and Sanji’s bickering reminded you of home. Everything was a reminder of the little village of your childhood… and how you’d never get it back.

It was burned—slaughtered—by the very pirates that took you away from it.

There was nothing left to return to. So yes, you snapped back at your thoughts, I’m homesick. If that made you ungrateful, so be it.

“You,” said a charmingly familiar voice, “look like you could use a friend.”

Sanji leaned on the railing of the afterdeck, nudging you with his shoulder. You ducked your chin and let your hair fall around your face, if only to conceal your grin.

“I could use a cigarette,” you mumbled, receiving that smooth chuckle of his in reply.

He complied, slipping his lighter and cigarette box out of his coat pocket, lighting one with practiced ease and handing it off to you. You didn’t try to ignore how he watched you take that first puff, something almost fond in the way he looked at you, before he followed suit in lighting his own.

He’s very fond of you, said your thoughts, to which you replied, He’s Sanji. He’s very fond of everyone.

That didn’t stop you from being very fond of him in return.

After some time in silence, he posed a question. “What’s on your mind?”

You didn’t have the heart to lie. “Home.”

“Oh.” He knew what had happened to your village. He was the one you’d sobbed to on your first night on the Going Merry, after he’d caught you trying to slip out on a dinghy in the night. Sanji had taken your hand and led you to the kitchen, letting you get out all your worries as he made you some food.

“Yeah,” you sniffled. “It’s fine, though. I’m okay.”

He stared at you for a long moment, before he turned his face away and said, “I know a cure for homesickness, you know.”

Skeptical, you side eyed him. “You do?”

“Mhmm.” He leaned into your ear and whispered, “Food.”

You laughed softly as he gently took your wrist and started to lead you away from the railing. Though confused, you didn’t fight, walking beside him as his hand slipped perfectly into yours. “Sanji?”

The man took you all the way into the belly of the ship and right to his workshop: the kitchen. You stood in the center of the room as he rounded the counter and turned to smile at you. “C’mon. What do you want? Let’s make it.”

Something about that let’s was powerful. Sanji didn’t just let anyone use his kitchen, especially with him. He had his own rhythm, and there had been countless times he’d snapped when anyone so much as slightly disrupted it.

He’d never snapped at you though, and you certainly had a knack for disruption.

For a good solid moment, all you could do was stand and stare. Sanji kept on smiling, the expression growing warmer and softer with each second. Softly, you told him your favorite dish from your hometown, glancing up through your lashes to find him already fishing around for pots and pans.

“I think that can be arranged, madam.”

Some time later, the kitchen was thick with smells of a superficial kind of home—no matter how you closed your eyes and focused, you couldn’t bring yourself to believe you were actually there. You were always drawn away from your fantasy by the sway of the ship and the song Sanji hummed.

And now you sat side by side at the table, the fruit of your joint labor plated before you, yet you could barely even look at the food.

Your thoughts called you a coward while your heart mourned something you will never have again.

But Sanji was so kind, and the food smelled really good, so you closed your eyes and took that first bite, all too aware of how Sanji eyed you like a hawk the whole time.

You melted as the flavors filled your senses—in an instant you were catapulted back to a simpler time, seated at the counter with your mother, grinning over a plate of food so similar to this. That countertop was gone now. She was gone now. Everything was gone, yet you remained.

You were the last reminder of the home you loved.

Tears had started to stream down your cheeks before you could stop them, swallowing down the food as your fork clanked onto the table. You crumbled in your seat and prayed with everything in you that Sanji somehow wouldn’t notice.

It was a foolish wish; Sanji noticed everything.

“Love, what…” he couldn’t find the words, his whole chest seized as he caught sight of glistening tears. “Is it that bad?”

You laughed, though it was a broken sort of sound. “Please. Everything you make is ambrosia.”

Wiping at your cheeks and turning away, you didn’t expect it when Sanji reached for your hand and wrapped it up in both of his. You met his eyes instantly, your own wide in question, and wondered how a person’s hand could be so warm that it sent a wave of heat throughout your entire body.

Or maybe it wasn’t his hand. Maybe it was the way he lifted one hand to hold your cheek, thumb swiping away the last of the tears, allowing you to clutch his other hand so tightly.

He observed you a little longer, then sighed. “Home?”

You squeezed your eyes shut and turned into his hand, another wave of tears spilling down. And then you were drawn forward, enveloped in his arms, hidden from the world. For some time, you sat there, awkwardly leaned into him as you both remained in your chairs, your hands ruining his neatly ironed dress shirt, his hands rubbing circles into your back.

That’s when you found your thoughts to be unusually quiet, and you weren’t going to start complaining. Now all you heard was your own heartbeat racking through your ribcage. Your face was dry, though, and you felt very warm.

“I know we haven’t talked about it,” said Sanji, rather out of the blue. “Other than the offhand mention of the best port to find work… what if… I mean, we all enjoy your company—some of us more than others—some of us being me—and I think…” He took a breath, pulling away with a little smile. “I think you should stay.”

A sniffle. A blink. A very long hesitation wherein Sanji felt more panicked than he had in a very long time.

“Okay.”

Sanji huffed a chuckle. “Really?”

“I have nowhere else to go,” you shrugged. His head tilted just slightly, eyes prodding at you. “And I might enjoy everyone’s company too.”

Sanji wondered, “Anyone in particular though?”

You leaned back and cast your gaze back to the plate of food, probably cold by now. “Zoro isn’t too annoying.”

He scoffed. “Hate to disagree.”

“Liar,” you teased, barely able to conceal your grin. “Zoro’s also kinda boring after a while. I like talking.” Your cheeks dusted pink then, but you didn’t back down, looking up at him through your lashes. “I like talking to you.”

His smile could have kept you alive in the darkest winter storm. “Lucky for you, I’ve been told I never shut up.”

You rolled your eyes and shifted on your seat, taking up your fork and admiring the food. You’d made this together, and you could only hope it wasn’t the last time you joined him in the kitchen. There was something so softly domestic about it. So softly home, whispered your thoughts, back again for a fleeting moment.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

He nudged you gently, inching his own forgotten plate toward him as well. “For what?”

“Being here.” All was still, contentment filling the silence, before there was a soft pressure on your temple; a kiss, you realized, turning a dark crimson as you whipped your head around to stare at the man beside you.

A thousand words threatened to spill from your lips, some incoherent and some so flirty you paled to think of them, before you let out a deep breath and felt your lips tilting up at the corners.

“Always,” said Sanji. His blue eyes bore into you and right through to your heart, which thundered once more.

Your thoughts were silent, for all but one, a very loud and frightening and lovely thought: Sanji is starting to feel like home.

#sanji #opla sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #black leg sanji #one piece sanji #strawhat pirates #sanji vinsmoke #vinsmoke sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #sanji vinsmoke x reader #one piece live action x reader #one piece live action sanji

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particular-one · 10 months

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I noticed ur request are open I just have to request something aslo had this idea for awhile now I tried my best to explain it detailed hope this ok

May I request a crossover fic fan heng x Genshin impact reader where reader based of electro archon Raiden shogun and maybe reader gets transported to astral express /honkai star rail universe and Mets the team I Aslo wanted to elaborate on raiden past and how she is very closed off perosn due to her past experiences with people and is very hard to make Friends

Until she Mets dan heng and they grow close bond and maybe helps reader try return her homeland . You know how raiden has two forms maybe her body is unstable like in honkai universe (like how in story quest for Genshin Ei (Reader) body want able to be in control due to shogun and she had battle her puppet self in like the boss fight verison in game maybe she unlocks this form in Plane of Euthymia to keep herself from the effects of erosion. So Reader created the puppet Shogun to ensure immunity from the decay of her physical body.While in the Plane of Euthymia, maybe reader loses control of herself like in her new form shogun and Dan heng and the team have to reason with her I hope this makes sense I was trying add shogun past best I can plus I desperately wanted crossover idea like this Dan heng since I adore him I hope this request is ok fill free to ask questions and I hope this request idea makes sense 💕I just adore Dan heng sm and love ur work plus raiden shogun Ei is my fav so YEY

pairing. dan heng x raiden ei!reader author’s note. i had to revisit shogun’s story quests cz it’s been a while i’ve gotten invested in the storyline of genshin but i enjoyed writing this (i hit the word limit with the text block too😭). i took a little creative liberty around the story of hsr so i hope it’s to your liking. :]

◇ — before you were recruited by the astral express, you were a lone drifter with a mysterious past. this universe was very much different than your own, so it was only natural for you to close yourself off with anything foreign — which is, pretty much everything. ◇ — it had been welt that located you in a nearby planet, but sent both march and dan heng to investigate. you were classified as an anomaly, and truthfully, welt had his suspicions about you at first — it was clear you did not belong to this world (but neither did he, hence why his curiosity was stoked. ◇ — to say that dan heng was merely intrigued by you is an understatement. he was downright mesmerized, that march kept teasing him on the way back. still, you were waaaaay harder to crack than anyone they’ve had on the express. you only agreed to stay with them because himiko had sensed that you were looking for your home, and promised to find a way to help you safely return. ◇ — despite the fact you’ve been with the astral express for a month, you seemed to just pop up with your presence undetected around the express, sometimes even scaring pom pom. since you did not have a permanent room on the express, dan heng offered to let you sleep in the archives. yet, during one night, he found you sleeping on the couch of the express instead. whenever he found you like that, he grabbed the singular blanket he had in his room and draped it over you. ◇ — among all the members, dan heng was the first one you warmed up to. you were always grateful when he seemingly checked up on you to make sure you were alright at night (though you had pretended to be asleep, you could always see him checking). you ended up trying to cook for him… but despite the rock hard bread, dan heng felt touched at the gesture. though he had a hard time swallowing after that. ◇ — somehow, you slowly started participating around the express. you returned march’s very chirpy greetings, you sometimes made the occasional remark that always turned everybody’s heads towards you and you sometimes shared a serene smile with dan heng, which .. made march envious because she wanted a smile from you too! dan heng knew how much returning back to your home meant to you and had stayed up in the archives trying to look for a way to get you back home — though he sometimes underwent a slight cognitive dissonance on helping you to get home, since he didn’t want you to leave the express this sudden. ◇ — due to your powerful nature, welt and himeko assigned you to go trailblazing with march and dan heng. you could easily demolish your enemies which march always finds cool and remarks on it every time. dan heng finds it cool as well but he isn’t as expressive as march about it. however, as you engaged in more battles and rumours of your god-like powers spread across the universe, it was only a matter of time an enemy faction took notice and decided that they wanted to take you for themselves. ◇ — the astral express fought to keep you safe from them, but amidst the struggle, dan heng protected you from a fatal blow which resulted in him getting severely injured. seeing him injured because of you drove you to guilt and made you remember the grief of losing everyone you loved to erosion. you went berserk against the enemy faction and successfully wiped them out, but you suddenly disappeared from the astral express. ◇ — when dan heng recovered, he was worried sick when himeko mentioned how you suddenly distanced yourself from the express and disappeared without a moment’s notice. he took it to the archives yet again to figure out where you might be, and not long after, he and welt surmised where you might possibly be — the planet they first found you in. ◇ — you were different than how they remembered you; since the fight, you had withdrawn back into your plane of euthymia and allowed raiden shogun to take full control of yourself outside. the astral express fought against your puppet to not only try and crack your shell again, but also to get one of their beloved members back.

“she’s so strong—!” march yelled from the back, just as dan heng deflected another hit from the shogun’s spear. he had always admired your strength; it had always been a delight to fight side by side with you, but never against you — that was for sure.

he knew this … puppet was not you. in truth, dan heng had sensed for a very long time that you were grappling with some sort of internal conflict, but he didn’t expect to be validated like this.

nor did he really expect that he would be fighting you as another you, that is.

still, dan heng had been extra careful not to land a devastating attack on you — well, puppet you. he didn’t really know how these cases work, but in the event that that was still you, he didn’t want to hurt you by accident.

that would be the last thing he had wanted to do.

every inch of his body was aching, his muscles felt like they were burning with how much dan heng was pushing them. he still hadn’t fully recovered, but he jumped right into this mission with only you your safety in mind.

“dan heng! behind you!”

he had been too tired to notice that the shogun was right behind him, sword raised up and ready to inflict an attack. dan heng could feel his body freeze up as he tried to get himself away — though, to his surprise, the shogun moved past him to unleash a lightning strike on …. the shogun?

was he that tired that he was now seeing double of you?

you — the you with the sword — looked back at him with a confused expression, before going back to engage with the other you. but the fleeting look you gave him was a look he could always recognize a mile away. “that’s y/n!”

immediately, march was by his side as he stepped outside the area where you were fighting the shogun puppet. “they’re both y/n, dan heng— but they’re fighting each other???” he shook his head. “no— the one with the sword. that’s our y/n.”

march didn’t seem all that convinced until welt nodded. “right. we have to stay out of her zone so we don’t block her line of sight.” dan heng’s hand gripped cloud piercer tightly just as he watched you jump right back into fighting the puppet.

“but we can’t just leave her alone—” march started, but welt placed a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. “we won’t. we just have to find that opening.”

━━━━━━━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━━━━━━━

it was a constant back and forth. with the express supporting you at the back but never directly interfering, you were the one who directly battled the shogun. you withdrew back to your plane of euthymia in shame for endangering dan heng, so you were surprised to see him and the others here.

they care more about you than you had initially thought.

the shogun was relentless in battle — but you had instructed it to be like that. the shogun was meant to be flawless and firm; yet, here you were: battling against it for full control of yourself, and to be able to reunite with your friends.

with your newfound will, you pushed yourself to the limit to finally face your fears head on. it was time to put an end to this.

“dan heng, now!” the voice sounded like welt, but at his command, you watched as dan heng leapt in the air and into the battlefield. his cloud piercer raised just as he timed his attack on the puppet just as you unleashed another lightning strike. the impact had been enough to send you back, that dan heng immediately dropped back down to catch you in his arms.

you could see the shogun lower their spear, it’s form no longer in pristine condition as it once was. your own puppet was staring at you, its eyes glancing at dan heng, who still had you in his arms, and to the rest of the astral express. without another word, the shogun turned back and disappeared into the plane of euthymia, but not before giving you a nod.

“are you okay, y/n?! what was that? where are we?” you never thought march bombarding you with a million questions would comfort you as much as it did now, but you really did miss her, and the rest of the crew.

“you guys… came back? for me?”

dan heng helped you up, but his arm never left you. “of course we did.” he had a furrowed expression in his eyes, but they shone with the brightest concern. normally, you didn’t want anyone taking pity on you, but you simply relaxed in his arms.

they did care. he still cares.

the thought of home and eternity had always staved off the cold in your heart, but the feeling of being in dan heng’s arms had sent enveloped you in a warmth that you’ve frankly never experienced before.

you could hardly suppress your smile, and seeing dan heng return it to you made the warmth in your chest spread even further.

you could definitely get used to this.

written by carlyle (@particular-one) copyright: all content belongs to particular-one on tumblr (2023)

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vamprisms · 2 years

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as the new season of the boys comes out i'm obsessed with all the little articles that are like 'woa is homelander finally going to go off the rails??' my good bitch he commits child murder in season one episode one

#the boys

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thehollowwriter · 1 month

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The Official Bio of Blaze Dugal

Basic Info:

Name: Blaze Dugal

Nicknames: Triggerfish (Floyd)

Homeland: The Coral Sea

Species: Sunshine Chromis mer

Birthday: 19th February

Age: 17

Height/length: 168cm

Dominant hand: Right

Class: 2-D

Dorm: Savanaclaw

Besf subject: Practical magic

Club: Film club

Unique magic: TBA

Family:

Unnamed mother

Preferences:

Hobbies: Studying movies, dancing

Likes: Music, movies, doing his makeup, anything he deems cool, swords

Dislikes: Anything he thinks is cringy or boring, Finn, Vil, students that are too quiet

Favourite food: Stuffed crab

Least favourite food: unagi

Appearance:

Blaze has bright yellow eyes and short, fluffy purple and yellow hair, like this:

In his mer form, he looks like your generic mermaid. He's rail thin. Human upper half, fish lower half. In his human form, he treats his appearance with even less care than Floyd (he thinks it makes him look cool), so he usually looks scruffy. His casual clothes usually consist of black edgy outfits. He hates how bright his hair is and thinks it's childish, but his mother won't let him dye it black like he wants to. He has a purple heart-shaped birthmark on his forehead.

Personality:

He's a bully, to put it simply. He's violent, aggressive, and easily set off. Think of him as the guy who's always like, "You talking about me???". He constantly picks on and demeans anyone he finds cringey, weird or lame, and thinks of himself in high regard (no, actually, not at all) His mother said he was a star, after all.

Although, there's this deep sinking feeling that he's simply not enough. Around his mother, he's much more meek and very quiet. He's very protective of his friends and dormates, and is quick to defend them.

For a guy so seemingly bullheaded, he is hyper aware of his surroundings and quick to react. If you saw him flinch when you raised your hand too fast, no, you didn't.

Some Fun Facts/Extra Info

•"Fun" Fact his mother is both physically and verbally abusive toward him, and he's immensely afraid of her. He feels weak and helpless whenever he's with her and makes himself feel stronger by terrorising those around him.

•His mother is a local actor for small productions with an alcohol problem, but likes to describe herself as a film star, and expects Blaze to be one too, often telling her that he'll leave a "blazing trail of greatness".

•He is very efficient at being quiet

•He doesn't eat much at all because "stars aren't greedy and fat"

•Blaze was one of Azul's bullies and the only persisting bully of Finn. He often, and still does, calls Finn a parasite and other demeaning names

•He's very jealous of Finn tbh

•Really, he wants to do something outside of the entertainment industry, but what else is there for him?

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @am0nline @1dont-really-know

@kazumirambles @minteasketches @officialdaydreamer00 @whspermy-name @elysia-nsimp

@skrimpyskimpy @casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @the-banana-0verlord @skribleskrable

@quartztwst @ramshacklerumble

#blaze dugal #savanaclaw #twisted wonderland #twst oc #tw abuse #tw fatphobia #tw alchoholism

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mommy-mortis · 3 months

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I'm not trying to alarm anyone but it's been several days with me locked in my room with a vibrator and I'm getting... I'm getting worried this man won't get up off my mind and I don't know what to do anymore.

I'm pretty sure I've lost weight all I can put in my body is a salad every 12 hours and I've tried to stay hydrated by having a bunch of water bottles around this Man is going to be the death of me and I'm not sure if I'm kidding anymore.

UPDATE

Feeling better thinking about posting Homelander fan art once a week.

UPDATE

Feeling extremely horny again I'm not sure I'll be able to make it out of my room I'm going to try to nut once and then try to get some art done but if that doesn't work pray for me.

I was supposed to go running today running usually starves off my horniness, but it was under 30° and fuck that I don't leave the house under 45° maybe jumping on the treadmill will help idk.

Honestly I feel like I've become one of those stupid horny housewives, honestly I just want to be railed to an inch of my life and it's so frustrating cuz I didn't used to be like this.

I have no idea why my mind and body are basically fighting against me.

#this is about #homelander #I haven't left my room in 7 days since I've stumbled upon this man's smile ☺️#homelander x reader #yes ive been reading fics #hornyposting

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chickenparm · 8 months

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Tradition - Part Seven

Check out @drawlypsy’s full version of the header that can be found here!

“Sn-Snezhnayan tradition dictates in a traditional battle, the winner is allowed to request one thing from the-” another cough, born from phlegm in his throat that rattles wetly, “from the loser.” (or, You accept a bet and despite not winning, you’re not sure if you’ve actually lost.)

Previous Part | Next Part AO3 Link

Childe/f!Reader 2,123 Words - SFW Bamboozled into marriage, awkwardness, fluff, future smut

---

Once, perhaps the second or third rematch, Childe made small talk as he sprawled across the floor, leaned back on his hands behind him. First, he mentioned his brother that you’d helped; Teucer. Then, he slipped aimlessly from one topic to the other.

A comfortable cottage made of stone and well-made roof thatching, settled at the edge of a little fishing village tucked along the coastline of Snezhnaya. Its shores protected from battering waves by slow-moving icebergs that create an ever-shifting wall from the outside world.

And in that cottage, in that village, is his family. Siblings who are genuinely happy to see him, parents that put smiles on their faces and tension at the corner of their eyes. A backyard with a ruin guard, its core removed. Farmland that had once been worked by his family to sustain them that lay barren now thanks to Childe’s flow of cash.

Childe paints a pretty picture of rigid mountains, forests of pine trees that would be a deep green if not for the layers and layers of snow covering each individual needle. Frozen lakes that are sturdier than the earth itself, protesting as he drills holes to fish through. The sky stretching into the distance, clear and cold and blue.

Snezhnaya is as beautiful as he describes it to be.

The ship was forced to wait in the small harbor for the night. To approach Morepesok without the guiding light of the sun would be to openly invite the vessel to go ahead and sink. The icebergs don’t move quickly, but they do move, and the village is small enough that the light can’t quite reach out to where you prop your chin on the cold, frozen wood of the ship’s railing.

The moon is just passed new. A thin little sliver, squinting down at the way your breath pushes from your nose in a sigh, the cloud drifting up and away. The stars here are no different than the ones in Mondstadt, or Liyue, or Sumeru, but they seem somehow both brighter and more far away. Like even they are afraid of the chill that’s just barely being fought off by the thick cloak and clothing you’ve procured for the trip.

On your left hand, the ring is warmed happily by your body heat.

It’s getting late, and you should return to the bunk room to get some sleep before you try to piece together Childe’s descriptions to find your way. Before, not so long ago, you would have been endlessly irritated that you could recall such descriptions with picture-perfect clarity. It’s as if he’s dreamily reciting memories of his homeland to you right now, at your side.

But now, it’s comforting. Soothing enough to lull you asleep with the rocking of the ship and the quiet thudding of your heart in anticipation.

Sumeru was - is - arduous. Scaramouche is spirited away somewhere by Nahida, but that’s still a mess that needs to be cleaned up. There’s still so much to do, so many places to explore, every little rock and ruin to pick through for even a trace of your sibling. Even Dainsleif would be a welcome arrival; it’s about that time again where he shows his face and says things that only leave you more confused and frustrated.

Maybe it’s actually better he stays away for a little. Your life is complicated enough as it is.

You awaken to the sound of the crew on the deck, of orders being called out. It takes only a moment for you to blink at the ceiling and decipher the fact that there isn’t the sort of urgency that suggests an emergency. It’s alright to lay in your bunk a little longer.

Hands laced over your stomach as you look upward, you think about Paimon. Dunyarzad had been plenty happy for Paimon to stay with her family - god knows they’d be able to foot the bill for an appetite like that. But Paimon had been adamant she come with you in case you do find your wayward fiance.

“Who knows what will happen! You’ll come back and you’ll be… be… Mrs. Tartaglia, or something! Paimon has to make sure you don’t get swept off and married before Paimon can be there!”

But of course, by “being with you”, she meant tucked away in the nice, warm teapot that sits in your inventory. Close enough that you can call on her if the time for nuptials comes, but far enough away that she doesn’t have to deal with the cold of Snezhnaya.

“Paimon is… cold-blooded! Once Paimon gets cold, it’s all over!” And that’s okay. As much as you appreciate your companion, it’s nice to have a little time alone.

You’ve never really been alone before.

A bell rings somewhere up above, signifying the final approach to the docks. The ship is small enough that you can get to the deck in a few short steps and prepare to disembark. Leaning against the same railing from the evening prior, you look out on the village in the light of day. It’s not exactly as you imagined, but it fits perfectly as it had been described.

As a fishing village, you expected it to be a little more gray, a little more dreary. As a Snezhnayan village, you expected it to be less populated, a little less busy.

It subverts your expectations in all those ways. There are already people on the dock ready to help moor the ship. Not so far away, you can see the square of the village, lit with a crackling bonfire to warm those who seem to be doing shopping at a morning market. Food must always be fresh, if it’s colder than an icebox all the time.

And the fish. Childe wasn’t lying about the size of the fish. As you walk past one in the square to enjoy the bonfire for a moment, you swear its eyes seem to follow you. But surely it’s dead, and you’re just feeling odd being in a place so new without anyone else to comfort you.

Right, you tell yourself, holding your mitten-clad hands out to accept the fire’s warmth, a moment longer here, and I’ll start that search in earnest.

A moment turns into two, then three, and before long you realize you’re simply wasting time and stalling. You’re better at recognizing it now, after scrutinizing your behavior toward Childe and this situation. Diversion after stall tactic after excuse to drag things out. And then you took long enough that the two of you were separated before you could make any further headway.

Though, he’s already an indeterminable amount of distance away from you, so what’s a few moments longer?

If the fire was a finite resource, it would be accurate to pin you with the sin of greed. Snezhnaya is so cold, colder than it would be if you had another form by your side that would let you snuggle into his cloak and press yourself against him to leech his warmth.

Instead, a different body slams into you, almost knocking you off balance and into the wet slush on the ground made of melted snow.

Your name, chanted in a cheerful voice with the slightest lisp of a child missing their front teeth. Over and over as his arms squeeze tighter and tighter, only loosening when another voice pipes up, “Wait, this is Ajax’s-?”

The voice cuts off and a third voice says, only in somewhat of a whisper, “Yeah! But don’t say anything, remember? Mama and Papa don’t know yet, and you know Teucer can’t keep a secret for his life.”

Teucer is who clings to you with giggling laughter and a cacophony of words that you can’t quite make out beyond his happiness at seeing you here. The other two would be unmistakable as his siblings - as Childe’s siblings. A girl with long orange hair in a braid, and blue eyes that have the same shine as Teucer’s. A boy with a darker shade of auburn, cropped short and looking far too serious for someone his age.

Still bewildered, your mind wanders in the chaos as you contemplate whether a younger Childe was more similar to Teucer, or the pre-teen boy that you can only assume is Anthon. It’s difficult to imagine Childe with such an expression on his face; he seems far more suited to wide smiles and laughter and freckles on his cheeks.

The two others don’t introduce themselves to you. It doesn’t seem necessary, considering they’re obviously aware of who and what you are, and you’ve heard more than your fair share of stories about Childe’s siblings. But still, you do your best to give them a smile before looking down at Teucer to pry his arms from around your waist. He’s letting the warmth out from inside your cloak, after all.

“It’s good to see you, too. What happened to your teeth?”

“They fell out-”

“He slipped on the ice face-first and knocked them out.” Anthon says, stepping forward to scrutinize you better. “They’re still in the snow somewhere, we couldn’t find ‘em. Is Ajax with you?”

It takes a moment for you to process the mystery of Teucer’s missing teeth, immediately followed by a question that answers an unspoken one of your own. So he isn’t here. Unfortunate - that ticket cost a lot of mora, considering the vessel wasn’t meant for passengers. Who takes a Winter trip to Snezhnaya, anyway? Much less to a little fishing village more than a day of travel from the capitol.

Anthon asked a question, and you shake your head to answer, “No, he isn’t. I was actually hoping he was here, with you. We’ve been… apart for business, and I’m not sure where he’s stationed at the moment.”

“Well, the last letter he sent didn’t say where, so we dunno either.” Tonia explains, stepping forward as well. “It’s a good thing we found you before anyone else did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your question sounds a little guarded. It’s probably not necessary to be defensive around the children who will inevitably be your in-laws, but they’re giving you the answers to questions you weren’t even aware of, and suddenly the snow feels a little too bright, the fire too warm, your cloak too heavy.

Breathe.

Sumeru took a lot out of you, put a lot into you that you’re still working through. A fear of too much happening at once - one-hundred and sixty eight defeats against a metal monstrosity of elemental power would burden anyone with an anxiety they can’t quite shake.

In the midst of your swirling thoughts, Tonia interjects, reaching down beside her to a basket that had carefully been tucked into the snow. “Teucer, why don’t you run this back to Mama? She’s waiting on these and you’re the fastest runner. We’ll bring the Traveler, so don’t worry!”

The boy doesn’t even bat an eye. He accepts the basket with a look of determination, “I won’t even need a break!”

“Watch your footing, don’t slip again-”

“Yeah, or your bottom teeth will go next.” Anthon’s teasing could be construed as rude, but there’s a smile on his face, a smile on Teucer’s, and maybe that’s just a thing between them you don’t quite get. Surely your twin has made jibes like that in the past, but it feels like a lifetime since you last held their hand in yours before dispersing into golden light and stardust.

Once Teucer is far out of earshot, Anthon no longer withholds information.

“Ajax hasn’t said a word about your engagement to our parents.” He says with a seriousness that makes you wonder if perhaps his parents are some sort of abyssal beasts that would have their transformations triggered by the mention of holy matrimony.

Tonia further clarifies, “Don’t be mad at him about it. It’s like.. a Snezhnayan tradition that the mother of the groom plans the wedding. And she said Ajax is old enough that he really should start looking-”

“Anyway, he obviously had a reason for only telling Tonia and me, so-”

“So, you shouldn’t say anything about it for now. Did you come here looking for him? Where from?” Tonia’s voice goes from trying too hard to seem grown-up to having that childlike inquisitiveness that Teucer still enjoys. Her gloved hand wraps around your arm to start guiding you along Teucer’s footprints in the snow. Anthon follows behind, listening as you do your best to answer her questions and ignore the unsettled feeling in your stomach of once again having no direction.

There’s a suspiciously Teucer-shaped indent in the disturbed snow on the path, a footprint skidding longer than the others. You ignore that, too.

#childe #tartaglia #genshin impact #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #childe x reader #childe/reader #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia/reader #genshin #multi part #multi chap

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slavic-roots-western-mind · 4 months

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My top Russian Tv-Shows

Despite this being mainly a mandarinblr, I still try to practise my other languages so here are some of the most interesting tv-shows in russian for my fellow russian-learners and speakers and anyone interested.

Kitchen - Кухня This show has several spin-offs including Hotel Eleon and Grand which I will not mention as by the end of the last spin-off there are literally no characters from the original cast and the plot slightly goes of the rails. The actual show is set a french restaurant in Moscow where Max Lavrov, who just finished his military service decided to work at. The show follows the various challenges that Max faces at his new workplace, including the foul-tempered but very talented Chef Viktor Barinov who has a drinking problem and other interesting characters. It's quite funny and heart-warming, and it's a must-watch imo.

Youth - Молодёжка A pretty standard sports series tv plot. The hockey-team "Bears" are a meh team at best, but that all changes when a former National Hockey League player turned coach shows up to make a proper team out of them. I only watched the first season because after that the plot got a tad boring for me, but as far as sports series go, pretty good.

Law of the Lawless (Not the 1964 film!) - Бригада A cult-classic staple of only 15 episodes. The plot is a bit over the place at the beginning, as opening episodes sequence is a flashback to the start of the final episode but after that it's chronological, with the first episode w english subtitles here. 4 best friends start out as youths from early 1990s to 2000s, with one returning home after finishing his army service with plans for uni and the others just starting their lives. However, the Perestroika had significantly changed their lives, so eventually the gang turns from racketeering and petty crime to slowly becoming the mafia. The opening theme is worth watching alone, but then again I'm biased.

How I became Russian - Как я стал русским This comedy show is quite dear to me, as it follows an American journalist with russian and slavic roots navigating life and work in Russia as he works on a story about life in Russia for a major newspaper back home. He's back in his homeland but as a foreigner who finds his heritage utterly confusing. This series resonates with me, as despite having a good grasp of my cultures languages and customs, I still feel disconnected from my heritage at times, and this show has been a reassuring reminder that not being 100% attuned with your heritage is okay, and that there are many different ways of re-connecting with your culture.

Closed school - Закрытая Школа I was slightly tramuatized by this show when I first watched it 4ish years ago, in part due to how unhinged and off the rails the plot slowly but surely becomes. A descent into madness. Andrei and his sister are sent to study at the Logos boarding school, but are then informed that their parents have perished. Andrei doesn't believe this, so he sets off to investigate with his new friends and investigate he does. There are also some other background shenanigans going on, but the unraveling of the schools mystery remains the main interest, including its odd passageways and deeply disturbing history. As a thriller series, it honestly deserves that title.

Here are some shows that came out more recently that I think deserve a mention.

The Boy's Word: Blood on the Asphalt- Слова пацана кровь на осфальте I've only seen a few episodes out of the 8, but it's very Brigada-esque so far. During the mid-late 1980s when Perestroika is going on and the USSR is soon to be no more, 14 year old Andrei is trying to survive as he's constantly bullied at school and by gang-members. He makes friends with one of said gang members Marat, as he slowly descends into the world of street life. I'll finish watching this series sometime probably.

The new guy - Новенький 16-year old Max moves from his glamorous life in Moscow to a small-town Yurovsk due to his parents constant arguing, where he immediately doesn't get along with his clasmmates who think him stuck-up and start bullying him. One day Max goes missing and his classmates are the obvious suspects, as slowly but surely secrets start to emerge revealing everyone's lies. A pretty good suspense/thriller show, which covers the topics of bullying, coming of age and what it means to be an adult pretty well, despite the 4th and final season being kind of lackluster.

Central Russia's Vampires - Вампиры средней полосы Where to even begin with this show. I don't know whether I should introduce the trailer or the opening theme song mv. Basically the life of a small and unconventional vampire family living in Smolensk, presumably in central Russia, who get disturbed when bodies with distinct bite marks are found nearby. This results in the Guardians (aka the guys keeping vampires a secret and ensuring that no one acts out) taking over and investigating with the vampire leader Svyatoslav Vernidubovich given a week to find and punish the culprit. My odd plot description aside, the cast is why I adore this show. The recently turned Gen-Z wannabe blogger Zhenyok, the thousand year old grandpa Svyatoslav, the constantly annoyed Dr. Zhan Ivanovich (who is actually french and decided to hang around after Napoleon was defeated) and his ex-wife The Countess who honestly should have a spin-off show and many more characters.

Doomsday - Конец Света Satan decides to come back to Earth and start the apocalypse, for which he needs his son Dimyan who should become the Antichrist but to his dismay, Dimyan doesn't really care about world domination and money, he just wants to get married to his fiancee Galya and live happily ever after. Chaos ensues as satan tries to persuade Dimyan to join him, whilst Angel vs Demon shenanigans occur in the background. I honestly had no idea that this type of show could even be produced due to the censors and yet it was. It's kind of slightly similar to Good Omens with all the apocalypse stuff and the Angels and Demons eventually teaming up? Good Omens adjacent. Except more gritty with much darker humour. The actor who plays satan is Yuri Kolokolnikov who actually starred in game of thrones so if you're a fan of his acting, do try this show.

Alisa can't wait - Алиса не может ждать Alisa is a 15-16 (don't remember her exact age) year old girl who is going blind and she decides to do something really drastic to ensure that her life will be comfortable after she loses all sight. There's a noticeable build-up to what she's actually planning during the episodes, as her homelife is less than ideal, with her older sister stuck in an unhappy marriage and a turbulent relationship with her parents. This is one of the few shows that really left a deep impression on me but it deals with some very sensitive and potentially upsetting topics so be aware if you're giving it a go.

This list may be updated in the future, so if there are any other shows that I may have missed do share them!

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matan4il · 2 months

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Hi!

Ah, how do you argue with a rabid antisemite who won't even consider for a second that they're wrong? 🙃

Someone I followed posted something about Israel being a "settle colonialist project", so I tried to give them the benefit of the doubt that maybe they're just ignorant and don't know the history of the land and/or Judaism. I sent them a message basically saying that considering Israel a settler colony is super problematic and antisemitic as it entirely erased the deep link between Jewish people and their ancestral homeland.

Well this person then went OFF the rails, spouting some of the most awful rhetoric I've ever read. You know, like 95% of Israelis are just white Americans playing dress up as middle easterners and have no historic claim to the land, Jews aren't the only Semites so she couldn't possibly be antisemitic (🙄🙄), Jews and Israel are the new Nazis and white supremacists, evil murderous baby killers etc.

She insisted that she was incredibly educated on the subject (!!!) and that I was the ignorant one, and I just don't understand how we're supposed to handle people like this, who are so full of hate that they can't be reasoned with. I guarantee that if any other minority told them that they were doing something offensive or racist they'd stop immediately and be incredibly apologetic. What makes us Jewish people so different?

😔

I just really needed to vent and for someone to confirm that I'm not the crazy one.

Thank you! 💞

Hi, lovely!

Let me start by assuring you that you are absolutely NOT crazy. And I am so sorry that you, and so many of us, have had to go through this experience, of encountering someone being that awful. I'm sending you lots of hugs, I know it's not much of a comfort, but you are not crazy, and you are NOT alone.

"She insisted that she was incredibly educated"

I've seen that happening so much. I wish they'd realize this is so false and condescending. No, reading lots of anti-Israel propaganda does NOT make them educated on this. No, using the propaganda to de-legitimize and silence the people most affected by the conflict, way more than these people are, is not okay, it is NOT the sign of an educated person (those truly educated can carry a debate about it, they don't need to silence others. In fact, many times they want to have a debate, because they're secure enough in their knowledge and information, that it does not threaten them. They don't need to block out challenges in order to be sure that their narrative won't fall apart) and it is INCREDIBLY patronizing. It's like a straight person lecturing me on what it's like to be gay, except only presenting the most homophobic idea one can picture of it. It's condescending on top of being hateful.

And I say this as someone who has lived this conflict her entire life, but also works at a Holocaust museum, which researches the Holocaust in particular, genocide in general, and Jewish history, including this specific chapter. You think any of these Israel haters care that they're lecturing someone with way more knowledge and experiences of this conflict than them? With more real life Israeli AND Palestinian friends than they have? Who has probably done more in her line of work to combat hate and the path to genocide than their keyboard fighting ever will? Do they stop and listen when we talk about the actual definition of Zionism, genocide, or even just some basic facts about the current war, like how many Palestinian terrorist organizations Israel is fighting? Nothing gets through.

So the most important thing I wanna tell you is to PLEASE not feel bad if you don't get through to this person. I think it is noble and brave to try. I have with some people who I mistakenly thought there was a chance they'd listen. And I never do it from a place of hate for Palestinians, because I do not hate them. I know enough of them who are great people, and I sincerely want the good people on both sides to have a better life. I always speak from a place of looking at the facts, current and historic. I believe it matters. We can't solve a conflict that we don't understand, and we aren't promoting any understanding (we're not helping in solving it) by spreading intentional lies about the essence of the cnflict. I've been translating the docu about Amin al-Husseini, because he's someone who infused the conflict with religious hate and antisemitic thinking. If we don't understand that, if we pretend this is just about land and liberation, we will never be able to address the true core issues of the conflict, and we won't be able to solve it, and provide the good people on both sides with this better life they deserve.

That's what I can offer to you, to speak about your experiences, the experiences of those you know or have heard of, who are affected, to speak from a place of care, and to insist on truth and facts.

That said, as you can understand, it doesn't always work. Some people I've tried with, they were just not willing to listen. When they stated something wrong, and I gave them a correction linked to a fact checked source, and they still ignored it and repeated their ignorant claims, that means they don't want to listen.

Which means that this false narrative serves some sort of need they have. Otherwise, if the facts that someone is presented with undermine their narrative, that should make them stop and question it. Stop and reevaluate why, if their narrative is true, do they get so many facts wrong? I'm not talking here about something like was this specific tweet or that particular vid true. I'm talking about basic facts, like denying that Jews are from Israel, are native here, and therefore have native rights here, that can't be erased with it being antisemitic.

What's the need that it serves? There are different motivations, one person can have more than one reason to choose to ignore the suffering of Israelis and Jews, but at the end of the day, what they all have in common, is that they're enabled by a certain degree of either antisemitism, or ignorance, or both. Antisemitism can be a sense of indifference regarding Jews, our well being, our safety, our rights, and it can also be based in a certain distorted view of Jews. And I just have to say that a certain lack of knowledge can lead to the latter even among Jewish people, even when it doesn't lead to antisemitism and hatefulness. It's just... Jews are so misrepresented, so... under-discussed. You will not believe how many times I've asked American Jewish visitors to our Holocaust museum how many Jews there are in the world, and they greatly overestimated the number. It doesn't point to anything bad about them, but it does reflect that they're a product of American society, where Jews are (even culturally) misrepresented as being far more omnipresent than we are (while also barely giving us our own voice).

Sorry, I know this got long. I guess because my answer to your first question, regarding arguing with a rabid antisemite is... you try you best, with care, and with facts. But you also mustn't feel bad if it doesn't work. If people have a vested interest in not listening to you, they won't. And it is not your fault. And also, you have to take care of yourself, too. So it's okay to stop and ask yourself every once in a while, whether a specific fight is one worth fighting. If it's someone that matters to you, and that you wanna stay in touch with, it may be even when things don't look hopeful. If it's a public argument, and there's a chance that this person won't listen to you, but a third party might read your replies and get something from them, then it may also be worth keeping up the debate then. But there are also times when, if you tried, and the person is insistent on not listening, and the odds of anything positive coming out of it are slim to none, it's also okay to take care of yourself, to disengage, and stay the hell away from someone that antisemitic.

IDK if this helps, but I really hope so, and I am sending you a lot of hugs, love, support and encouragement! And if you ever wanna ask me anything in order to have that as help in confronting antisemites, I will do my best for you. Take good care, lovely! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

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blue-jisungs · 9 months

Note

HI! QUESTION

What is your opinion on rival pirate reader x rival pirate woozi???

:)))

enemies to lovers speed run.

sea salt flavoured kisses

author's note. hehe i feel like this was inspired by the hoshi pirate thingy i wrote….. and my opinion on that is: smash. would write. 10/10 would and will recommend. like. this is my jam, i love writing fics in those settings + WOOZI? E2L? he’s perfect for that. i have another e2l planned with him lmao bye anyway, i hope you enjoy this :D

also tagging @l3visbby bc i promised!! u deserve a gift for working so hard and i hope this can make u feel a bit better teehee

summary. while visiting your hometown, jihoon gets you in trouble. and luckily for him, he (somehow) gets you out of it too

word count. +- 2.9k

warnings. umm swearing, alcohol consumption, blades (dagger), blood, violence (people get slapped and kind of hurt but uh it’s not specified if they’re dead or not 😇), ment (?) of being hung ++ lots of cameos :D

stepping out of your cabin, the smell of sea filling your nostrils and warm sunshine hugging your skin; you stretched lazily, trying to shake off the rest of slumber in your body.

“oi, captain! you’re finally awake!”

you turned your head and sent yunjin a sleepy smile. her and chaewon giggled at you. nodding, you decided to take a stroll on your deck and observe your crew.

the girls who greeted you were fixing the ropes and gossiping. as usual, but at least they did their job well.

sakura, the oldest (after you) on the deck and your quartermaster, was sailing while you were asleep. you sent her a wave and she waved back. eunchae and kazuha were listening to taehyun as he walked them through the usage of canons. well, of course they will have to only clean them at first but later on they’ll be able to fix them if necessary. and shoot, like taehyun or yeonjun. they just needed the training.

beomgyu and soobin were out of sight, probably scanning the maps for the next journey. kai wasn’t near, so he probably sat with them and observed them curiously (like he always does).

the youngest members of your crew were cleaning. you all’ve been there so it was nothing strange. sure, they complained but due to their youthful nature and vigour they did the job fast. and fun.

riwoo, jaehyun and leehan were mopping the floor while splashing each other. sungho alongside taesan and woonhak were in charge of food today… which means it might be interesting. and hopefully not burnt, like the last time yeonjun and beomgyu cooked together.

walking up to the railing of the upper deck, where sakura was navigating, a smile spread on your lips.

“we’re close” you breathed out, heart swelling in your chest. your homeland…

you fixed your hat and leaned a bit, admiring the land from afar.

“do you think the boys will be happy?” you asked, turning around. sakura took a deep breath and shrugged.

“no idea… they wanted to leave but it’s been a long time, so maybe they won’t mind a quick visit” she hummed

“it’s been a long time for them, huh? then i wasn’t here in ages” you whined and sakura just let out a laugh.

“you’re ancient, captain”

you were born and raised in hybe, one of the biggest islands. growing up in a poor household, a neighbourhood filled with thieves and poverty made you adapt quickly to such environment. at the age of 6 you started pickpocketing. by the age of 10, you were a quite good – you’d say so yourself – thief. your parents didn’t really care, as long as you brought money or food home.

because of that you wanted some freedom, to start a new life. stories about pirates always fascinated you and you always sneaked into the docks whenever a bigger ship would arrive.

and one day you just snuck on a ship… and stayed there, thanks to the pirates’ kindness. this made you realise they aren’t always the bad guys.

during one of the visits back home, you met the young boys on a street. doing exactly what you did as a kid. you knew how can it affect them negatively so you decided to offer them a somehow better future. and of course they agreed, because y/n of hybe became a famous yet mysterious pirate known here and there. they heard about you; hell, who wouldn’t? besides, you remember when they were born – or more like dropped off by the orphanage next door.

so will they miss their hometown? they weren’t there as long as you… and you… you missed the town, not the people.

arriving at the land, you stepped almost hesitant.

“we’re leaving tomorrow, this time. go have some fun, rats” you grinned and ruffled woonhak’s hair.

you let out a deep sigh and started walking. no, you let your legs lead you.

you found yourself walking amongst the old, sketchy paths of your old town. memories flooding back, too deeply in the nostalgic feeling you failed to realise that another ship docked.

visiting a bar at the end of your small journey when the sun has set, you ordered a glass of rum and sat back at the dark corner of the room. thinking about your next trip, you watched the people there. most of them were just drunkards or hazard addicted people.

then you frowned upon noticing – or thinking you noticed – a familiar face. it was a quick movement so you weren’t sure. maybe it was someone else…? but still, you had to remain cautious. you need to return to the ship tomorrow anyways.

playing with the dagger that you stuck into the wooden table, you took a sip of the alcoholic beverage.

you’ve come to a conclusion this may be your homeland, but certainly not your home. your place is on the ship, with your crew–

“well shiver me timbers, who do we have here?”

you looked up lazily, knowing the voice too damn well.

“jihoon” you sighed, meeting the man’s gaze. he sat down in front of you, placing his own glass. also filled with rum. you pointed at it “amongst all those things we disagree on, at least our alcohol taste matches”

he tsked and took a look around.

“what are you doing here?” you hissed, leaning forward. jihoon observed the gold coin dangling on the necklace on your neck.

“what are YOU doing here?” he back fired, ebony irises almost black due to the faint light.

“it’s literally my island. you’re not from here, so stop acting like a local” you grunted and tightened your fingers on the wooden grip of your dagger.

“we agreed not to cross paths ever again” he said, voice low. you let out an amused huff, looking away. the door from the bar were constantly opening and closing.

“i remember. i said i’ll kill you when i see you next time” you said through clenched teeth. jihoon swiftly grabbed the dagger and started sticking it between his fingers, palm flat on the wooden table.

“i’d like to see you try. from what i know, you rather barely visit your home. so why you’re here?” he asked.

jihoon was your… enemy? any other pirate was your enemy, technically. but he… he was a real bastard. always stealing your treasure, almost as if he knew where exactly are you heading to next. and he’s cocky about it to – leaving notes and visible tracks. last time he went way too far.

he sunk your ship.

luckily, no one got harmed but the damage was done in your heart. the black cat, your beloved ship has kissed the sea’s bottom. since then you promised yourself to get revenge – and that’s why you may or may not insisted on visiting hybe.

because apart from you being the island’s hidden gem, there’s also illegal but very effective gun powder and explosives business. bang sihyuk, the driving force behind it owned you a favour so–

wait. if jihoon’s here, then he must have discovered it.

your eyes snapped back at him just when you felt the cold metal tip poking at your exposed throat. the dangerous glint in jihoon’s eye and handsome smirk made you even more angry. because he just played you and read like an open book.

“hah… oh, y/n. you’re real cute sometimes” he cooed, tilting his head. your dagger in his hand pointing at your throat. for seven seas, this is humiliating. you felt a trickle of blood run down your skin “i could easily kill you right now. quietly and quickly, but where’s fun in that–“

before you said anything, someone pulled jihoon back. and you as well. cold metal suddenly making contact with your wrists made you gasp.

“well, well, well… who do we have here… y/n l/n, lee jihoon. the two most wanted captains”

you turned around and if looks could kill– well, jihoon would already be dead months ago. and this man too.

“i’m the chief of city guards, kim namjoon. and you two are under arrest. with no way out.” the man crossed his arms and grabbed your chin, tilting it up.

namjoon. you remember him. he was…

“by tomorrow you will hang, together. and i’ll get a promotion. oh woah, who knew this day will end so well…” he smiled.

“namjoon?” you breathed out. your partner in crime, quite literally. he helped you steal when you were younger.

“officer namjoon to you. i’ve cut ties with you, y/n the moment you ran away. and now, look at me and look at you. you’re a shame to the society” namjoon huffed and let go of you harshly, causing you to stumble and fall onto jihoon. then he spat, right in front of your shoes “fucking pirates… take them to the arrest”

“this is all your fault, moron!” you grunted, kicking the metal bar of your arrest.

of course they had to put you in one cell with jihoon.

“mine? wha– this is ridiculous!” he scoffed, hands crossed on his broad chest.

“if you minded your business, you wouldn’t draw attention to me or you” you pointed at him and were met with silence. he knew you’re right “great. we were supposed to leave tomorrow? or today? there’s no bloody light in here”

“my crew will save me” he snickered.

“as if mine won’t. i bet they’ll be here soon” you mumbled and sat down on the cold floor because he was sitting at the bench. or something that was supposed to be it. he tsked and stood up.

“you should go to sleep” he murmured quietly, awkwardly standing next to the bench.

“no”

the man let out a deep sigh, eyes tracing the walls. the only source of light was a small lamp lit on the corridor wall.

“go to sleep” jihoon said, voice more stern this time.

“why? so you could arrange me in my sleep? no thank you” you huffed, pulling your knees closer to your chest and resting your chin on them.

“no. so you could finally shut up” he mumbled. obviously. it’s not like he cared. certainly not because the floor was cold and you would be cramped if you fell asleep on it.

you let out a small sigh, eyes observing the moths that gathered next to the lamp.

“i can’t believe i’ll hang in my hometown with my enemy” you muttered, closing your eyes.

when you woke up, you were laying on the bench. immediately sitting up straight, you startled jihoon out of his slumber. on the floor.

“why did you do move me? i’d cut–“ you started

“my hands off. yeah, yeah. that’s why i did it while you were sleeping” he yawned, arms shooting up to stretch lazily “i figured you’d want to get some sleep for the last time in your life”

you were about to say something when you heard footsteps. in no time five guards arrived.

without saying anything, they grabbed you out of the cell and handcuffed you both. sending jihoon a confused stare, he shook his head.

your legs weren’t really cooperating, so the guards dragged you along. after a long, monotonous journey in the dungeons you finally stepped outside.

the sudden sun blinded you both, especially after so much time spent in the darkness. then you realised you’re being walked down to the platform with hangman’s noose already prepared for the both of you. one walk downstairs and you’ll die because of a public hanging… and bloody hell, that’s a lot of people–

you halted your movements, digging your heels into the floor and pushing back.

“i refuse to believe this” you let out an airy laugh and caught jihoon’s shocked expression.

the guard suddenly slapped you; the impact so powerful that you fell on the floor. you felt your eyes water and cheek sting.

“yah! what do you think you’re doing?! you’re a guard and you hit a woman?! pathetic scum” jihoon hissed and nudged the guards that held him.

he kneeled down, pressing his head against yours. before they lifted him back up, you felt his breath fan over your skin

“i have an idea, just trust me” he whispered “are you alright?”

you nodded and jihoon got dragged away. then you heard another slap.

“she’s a pirate, i don’t see a reason why i shouldn’t hit her–“ the guard started.

you got lifted by two men and watched jihoon spit on the man in front of him. a smirk of satisfaction painted on his lips as the guard’s eye twitched.

“next time try punching someone your size, eh?” he cooed and the guard slapped his other cheek. his face turned to you, eyes squeezed shut.

“jihoon!” you yelped, jumping to him. before the guards could yank you back, jihoon turned around and spat at the man in front of him again. then he kicked the man with full force, so he fell down the stairs. using the distraction, he swiftly (almost as if he had experience) put his handcuffed hands in front of him by bending his knees and quickly moving them to the front. you did the same, definitely less gracefully and almost losing your balance.

then you felt his hand awkwardly grab yours and–

“go!”

you ran down the stairs with him, jumping over the man at the bottom. the rest of the guards followed you, shouting and screaming.

jihoon ran through the crowd, pushing with no hesitation whatsoever. his grip on your hand remained steady, scared to lose you.

“which way? you know the city better!” he asked, turning his head back.

“this way!” you ordered, leading him to the right.

even if the guards will follow you to the poorest place on whole town, there’s a plenty of good hiding spots. running through the houses and dirty streets, people watching you and pointing fingers.

you arrived at the local market. it wasn’t too sanitary but that wasn’t the most important thing right now.

you ran up to the butcher whom you knew, distress all over your face.

“yah, hoseok! would you mind?” you asked, putting your hands on the table. he gave you a weird look but without hesitation – and with terrifying force and speed – cut your handcuffs with his chopper, covered in blood.

“your lover boy too?” he asked unbothered, almost as if he was trying to sell one more pound of meat instead of helping the prisoners escape. you nodded. once your hands were separated there was a sudden noise

“they went that way!”

jihoon turned around and saw the guards in armours that shone in the daylight. you were about to bend and dive under the stall when he dragged you away, next to the stall with flowers.

“i deeply apologise” he breathed out, the guards’ shouts becoming louder. they’re approaching rather rapidly and…

“about my ship?” you furrowed your brows. the men will walk directly next to you and he’s…

“no” he scoffed and before you could realise, he spun you around and leaned against the wooden bar supporting the stall “about this”

the men ran next to you as you felt jihoon’s lips crash on yours. one hand cupped your cheek, the other was resting next to your head. the kiss was chaotic yet somehow soft, his lips rough and teasing like sea salt.

you kissed him back, realising what was his plan. you pulled him closer, trying to hide your faces as much as possible.

the kiss turned more passionate, your fingers tightening on his linen shirt. the steps and shouts started fading away.

jihoon stopped and leaned back but not too far. head buried in the side of your neck, hot breath fanning over your skin. your stomach was making flips, almost like you were sea sick.

“they’re gone… i think” you breathed out, scanning the market.

the sellers chatted between themselves, fixing the products that have fallen due to the rapid movements of a bunch of men in armour.

“what… uhm, what was that?” you whispered. he rose his head up, boyish smirk blooming on his lips.

“dunno” he shrugged “i just wanted to kiss you”

“oh fuck off” you grunted, trying to walk away. but jihoon had you caged between his arms and the wooden bar. you stared at him – partly in disbelief, partly in amusement… and slightly in participation.

“are you alright though? that bastard slapped you pretty hard” jihoon asked, worry in his eyes. your fingers lingered on the cheek you were hit on and then you shook your head.

“it’s fine. it’s been worse, like having a dagger pointed at my neck” you snickered and hesitantly brought your hands to his red cheeks “what about you?”

“been worse” he repeated after you “although…”

you suddenly pecked his cheek, then the other one. using his taken aback state, you escaped his hold by walking under his arm.

“hope it will soothe the pain. thank you for helping me escape” you hummed “even though i take back what i said about killing you next time i see you… be on guard, jihoon. your ship will sink”

“yeah. we could kiss next time” he smiled nonchalantly and watched you walk away.

some part of him wanted to stop you but he knew you’ll cross paths anyway. and then he’ll make you stay, maybe for a little longer. and maybe his heart will stop fluttering like sails on a strong gust of wind.

wait.

his ship will sink?

[ masterlist <3 ]

taglist. @geniejunn ,, @luvhyun3 ,, @starlostseungmin ,, @elviransworld ,, @jnks6r ,, @sieunsgf ,, @ethereallino ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @duolingofanaccount ,, @slytherinshua ,, @stxrseungs ,, @ka-ni-ma ,, @iliveforlixie ,, @ameliesaysshoo ,, @dazzlingligth ,, @mark-geolli ,, @l3visbby ,, @w3bqrl ,, @ddeonudepressions ,, @yourfavoritefreakyhan ,, @mirxzii ,, @kazmura ,, @primoppang ,, @nfrgirl ,, @crxzs

118 notes · View notes

blindmagdalena · 22 days

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Hi!! Have you seen the s4 trailer yet?? 👀 Homie looks even more unhinged. Will you still be able to write him the way you do even if he goes completely off the rails in the show? I love him so (no matter what and I can always pretend what I don’t like doesn’t happen 🤪) and I love the way you write him. I’m just curious if it will affect how you write him in the future?

i have indeed seen the trailer!!! i agree, our boy really seems to be, uh... in a state. i'm hoping we get more nuance to him than what the trailers have so far implied. i've yet to see a single frame where he doesn't look manic.

rest assured that either way i'll continue to evolve my own characterization of homelander. if there are aspects i like in s4, i'll utilize them. if not, i won't. i don't see myself ever completely abandoning the homelander i've established in my works so far or anything. tbh, i think i already align myself a lot closer to his s1 characterization than anything, but i'd be curious to know how other people view that.

thank you so much btw! i'm glad you like my take on him. 🖤

#homelander has been a little guy living in my head for almost two years #and that particular version belongs to me lol #i see the s4 anxiety is getting to everyone #ask and you shall receive #darling anon

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dilemmaontwolegs · 2 years

Text

Midnight Blades {14}

Aemond Targaryen x princess!reader (Dark!themes) Summary: After leaving Red Keep for hopefully the last time, your journey takes a detour as Vhagar ignores the command of her rider. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, grief, fluff WC: 2072

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine || Part Ten || Part Eleven || Part Twelve || Part Thirteen || Part Fourteen || Part Fifteen || Part Sixteen || Part Seventeen || Part Eighteen || Part Nineteen || Part Twenty ||

The sun set while you stood transfixed in the window overlooking the city that had given and taken so much from you. You wanted to scream, you wanted to tear the curtains from their rails, you wanted to run through the streets with a torch and burn it all to ash. But you stood still while Aemond became a maelstrom, whirling around the room packing what essentials he could fit into the satchels that had arrived with you.

At some point Aemond disappeared, leaving you with Ser Negan who stood at your back after failing to elicit any conversation from you. Though you didn’t talk, you still listened. Ser Negan spoke of Nate’s courage and how he would be proud to have given his life for his family, for his sister and his niece he would never meet. Instead of making you feel better it only made you feel worse.

“We are leaving now,” Aemond said as he rushed into the room, waves of rage rolling off him.

“They are here?” Ser Negan asked as he picked up on the tension pricking the room, Aemond’s eye searching the shadows for foe.

Aemond blinked and you dreaded the words there were to follow the thick swallow took, nothing good followed that. “Jaehaerys is dead,” his pause was heavy, “a son for a son.”

You felt his guilt knowing it was retribution for Lucerys dying by his hand, just as Daemon had died by yours. Now you had both lost people you cared for.

“We need to leave, princess,” Aemond repeated as he cupped your face, turning you away from the blood red streaks on the horizon.

“My brother.” Panic suddenly filled your chest as you realised you had left him behind, the return trip from the docks to Red Keep still a blur like a nightmare that you couldn’t quite remember but innately knew it was terrible. “What about my brother?”

Ser Negan dropped a heavy hand on your shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “He is being prepared for his final journey to the homeland. I will return with him and keep the death watch.”

“You have my gratitude,” you said with a quiet voice that was unfamiliar to your ears. “I shall have need of a personal guard as heir,” you choked over the word and took a moment to regain your composure, “if you so choose, I would appreciate your continued loyalty.”

Ser Negan bowed his head and thumped his fist to his chest. “You never have to ask, little sparrow, my sword is yours to command.”

Aemond curled his arm around your back ready to lead you from the room but you stopped and looked back at Negan. “Will you escort us to the Dragon Pit?”

Aemond’s men had already failed to stop one child assassin so he did not argue with your request, letting the commander fall into step behind you with his hand ready on his sword.

“Aemond, please,” Alicent cried as she blocked the way to the gates, the wails of a broken mother echoing down into the courtyard. “You need not leave, not when your family needs you, your brother needs you here. Think of them.”

“I’m sorry, mother,” Aemond said with a detached voice as he watched the wide open space warily. “Until this day, the Red Keep was silently under siege and you knew about it, turning a blind eye to the spies within the walls. I am thinking of my family, that is why I must do this. My child comes first, though that might be something you are unfamiliar with.”

“That is not fair,” Alicent said as she slapped Aemond, the harsh sting stirring you from the stupor you had slipped into. “Everything I have done is for you and your siblings. I don’t even recognise you anymore.”

The light in his pale eye faded at the insult. “Because I am no longer a pawn for you to use in your machinations?”

Her hand rose to slap him again but you caught her wrist in a tight grip that left her wincing. “I am no longer just another princess, Alicent, you would do well to remember that before you strike my future consort.” You shoved her hand away and caressed your fingertips over the red hand print burning on Aemond’s cheek.

Aemond caught your hand and brushed past his mother to march the stables where the horses were waiting, their saddles already prepared. Just as quickly as you had been swept from your home, you were rushing back. It was a cycle that you hoped would not repeat as you could not stomach the emotions that each journey stirred.

The guards, and Ser Negan with them, had left after safely delivering you and your husband to the dragons’ den, their faces forlorn as they saluted Aemond and bowed their heads to you. No one had offered an escort into the heart of the pit but you did not fault them for it, merely thanking them and hugging Negan in farewell.

The mouth of the dragon pit was gaping maw that descended into darkness, the lit sconces not enough to see more than a few yards at a time. Aemond’s boots confidently carried him down the ramp that he had walked a thousand times and you followed him, trusting him not to let you trip and fall.

“Prince Aemond,” the elder dragon keeper greeted, stepping out of a cove in the stone. “The hour is late.”

“Tis, how is Vhagar’s wing?”

The man pursed his lips, turning and leading the way deeper into the cavern, past the slumbering forms of Sunfyre and Dreamfyre. “There is only so much healing for a dragon of her great age but she will take to the skies for a while longer. It is her temperament that need concern, my prince.”

The torches on the jagged walls cast long shadows like sharpened teeth ready to close around your throat, the red and orange flames flickering in a macabre dance as you moved past and disturbed their air. The two men watched as you continued without them into Vhagar’s lair, concern only on one of their faces.

“She has been discontent all afternoon,” the dragon keeper said nervously as Vhagar unfurled from the coil she had restlessly slumbering in. “I have not seen her behave as such before. I think it best to call your wife away, my prince.”

Vhagar stared down her snout at you, her jaw opening and a gasp tearing from the dragon keeper fearing he was about to see a princess turned to ash. A soft whimpering mewl washed over you and you didn’t even complain about the putrid breath of the she-dragon as she felt the pain that cut your heart and laid her head to the floor at your feet. Dust blew over your boots with each breath she took and you stared at your reflection in her eye before falling against her and weeping.

“Impossible,” the dragon keeper whispered with shock. “Vhagar has a heart bond with you, my prince.”

Aemond watched you release the emotions you had kept to yourself, freeing yourself of the sobs that rocked your entire body and the pain that ran deeper than any mortal wound could give. “And my heart belongs to her.”

The night air left your teeth chattering and your clothing was damp from breaking through the clouds, not even the deerskin blanket could warm you as Aemond wrapped it tightly around you both. He had not said a word as he encompassed you in his arms and adjusted Vhagar’s heading with tugs of the reins, there was no comfort he could offer that would take away the pain and you could offer him no more for the loss of his nephew.

More and more you felt Aemond pulling at the reins, but the dragon remained steadfast in her heading over the Narrow Sea until Aemond stood behind you and looked down at his dragon. “Naejot Scythe. Dohaera!” [High Valyrian: To Scythe. Obey me.]

“No,” you said through the shivers that erupted as his movement pulled the blankets free. “Let her be free a while longer.”

Aemond settled back into the saddle behind you and rearranged the blankets to fight the chilly winds. You could feel his eye burning a hole in your back as he breathed down your neck but he finally got the courage to talk after a few more moments, “You or her?”

“I am a coward,” you admitted quietly. “I cannot bear to break the news to my father. How can I look him in the eyes when I am the very reason the rightful heir is dead?”

“I have met many cowards, you are not one. It is not cowardly to wish for ignorance and innocence a little longer, but we do not have the luxury to dwell for long.”

“I fear my father will call to arms our people and the Narrow Sea will turn black with our sails. It will be the very thing I was trying to avoid by accepting your proposal.” You tipped your head back to stare at the stars and wondered which one was Nate, and if it was near his mother who had died with his birth. “Sometimes, I wish you never came to my shores.”

The silence dragged for so long you were certain he wasn’t going to answer but when he did you almost wished he hadn’t, “It was Helaena who pushed for me to return after that night, not that she knew where I had been - only that I was different, she said. Try as I might, I could not stay away.”

Vhagar subtly shifted her wings and descended back into the clouds that stole the starlight. The expanse of dark water spread as far as your eyes could see and it was impossible to tell north from south without the land or stars to guide you, but the old dragon knew where she was heading.

A small speck in the water grew until the small island rose up to meet her heavy landing that brought a groan of pain from Aemond’s healing wound.

“Do you know where we are?” you asked as you climbed down the netting and your feet touched dried earth.

Aemond shook his head with a frown as he scooped up a handful of the stoney soil and sniffed it. “Brimstone.”

Vhagar dug her talons into the ground as she slowly crawled forward toward the mouth of a rocky craven, a gap too small for her to fit through. Turning her head to you, she puffed smokey tendrils before turning back to the cave with a quiet keening that urged you to step inside.

“She wants us to go in,” you mused aloud as Aemond placed a hand to her snout and whispered calming words to her before drawing Dark Sister and keeping you an arms length behind him as he entered first.

For the dark of night outside, the cracks in the stone emitted a glowing orange hue that was just enough to see your foot falls ahead. The glow only grew the deeper you tracked, Aemond’s ears listening for any sign of life ahead and the sword taken from his uncle balanced in his grip.

“It is warm,” you whispered in surprise as you realised the shivers had ceased and a drop of sweat beaded on your brow. “Are we to find the heart of the mountain?”

“No,” Aemond said a little breathless as he came to a stop at the hallow ahead, the curved edges carved by talons to create the nook and nest. “It’s a clutch.”

He sheathed his sword and you stepped to his side to find an egg resting on a small mound of rock. The scaled orb was mostly a pale grey much like Vhagars colouring but veins of shimmering black wrapped around it and you pressed your hand to the little swell of your stomach. “For a true-born Targayen, like her father.”

A small smile curled at his lips and the longer he stared at the dragon egg the less haunted he seemed by the day, as if this made his choice to leave more palatable. Perhaps this was the blessing you both needed to move forward. For every choice from here out would be for the greater good of your family, for better or worse.

Click here for Part Fifteen.

Taglist: @hopebaker , @xcharlottemikaelsonx , @eddiemunson17 , @ninjabritches , @solacestyles , @hideing , @missusnora , @marrianena , @jonsncws , @dudfahsn , @queenofterrasen418 , @naeviahope , @averagethottie , @evilcherries , @delusionsofnostalgia , @le-who-zer-her

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im-not-corrupted · 6 months

Text

Part 1/6 of my merman Hob au (also on ao3 here!), of which I previously posted a snippet of here. Chapters two and three are half done so far so updates may take a bit? I’m not sure but we shall see!

Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Merman!Hob, Human Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, the fantasy is very vague but like. mermaids., Dream of the Endless | Morpheus has Depression, Grief/Mourning, deals with the death of Orpheus, and Dream and Calliope's divorce, Brief suicidal ideation, Near Death Experiences, Drowning, Touch-Starved Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, POV Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Arranged Marriage, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Saves Hob Gadling, Developing Friendships

—————

The first time Morpheus de Endeles steps foot on a ship, it is with the intention of sailing to his wife’s homeland—the place of her birth, the place her parents rule, the place their son once knew far greater than he does now.

Ex wife, that is. They are no longer married now, because he had thoroughly ruined whatever the two of them had. The divorce had been a swift affair, and he is glad for it, despite the uproar it caused amongst his parent’s court and the disappointment his parents expressed in the face of such disaster. Last they saw one another, Calliope’s parting words had been scathing things, weapons made to kill and maim and cause the most damage possible while doing so.

She hates him now. This he acknowledges distantly as he steps on board the ship, feeling a little like he walks towards his own death. More than once, he bore witness to the end of a criminal’s life with the distinct impression that justice had been served, brutally and efficiently. Now he wonders if this is how they felt, facing their own end.

A bleak thought to start the trip off on, but that seems appropriate. If the knowledge of Calliope’s hatred for him is a distant thing, that is only because his mind remains occupied by other recent events. Namely, his son’s death.

The first time Morpheus de Endeles boards a ship, he does so with the intention of sailing to his son’s funeral.

Calliope insisted—over letters, written in elegant, swooping hand that did nothing to hide the sharp edges to her words—that Orpheus be buried in her homeland. And though the knowledge of her hatred is a distant thing, and has been since she spoke her last parting words, there was room inside him even then for the ache that arose as he read that letter.

There was more than enough room inside him for the guilt, too. There still is. You sent our son off to his death, Calliope hissed at him. This, he knows, is true. It is a different kind of agony, this knowledge. To know his son is dead is one thing. To be the one to blame, to have Orpheus’s blood stain his hands however indirectly—well, that is another thing entirely.

It was also this knowledge that prompted him to grant his past wife this wish and agree that Orpheus should be buried in her homeland. It was, he figures, the least he could do. He had subjected her to the same pain that currently sits inside his chest, an agony he thinks he won’t be rid of for as long as he lives. If this would soothe some of that agony for her, then he will gladly make that sacrifice for her.

On this ship is Telute, too. As Morpheus stands by the railing, looking out at the sea and the sky with a sense of detachment he has not felt since dear Del’s death, she stands beside him. She is dressed similarly to him, in mourning regalia. This is not so different to either of their typical styles—black suits them both well, and they each prefer the darker, drearier colours to those Epithumia tends to don.

She places a gentle hand on his shoulder. It is a comforting weight. His shoulders bow underneath it. He does not deserve this comfort—She is dead, he told Orpheus, unsympathetic as he wept for his lost love Eurydice, and yet you live. So live.—but he is a greedy thing, and therefore does not push her away.

She does not speak. She does not move away, either. Not as the sails are raised, commands shouted across the deck of the ship. Not as they begin to leave the harbour, and any sense of familiarity. She remains there, standing beside him, in a show of solidarity as the ship begins to move.

The swaying motion leaves him feeling ill. He pushes it down insistently. It is a feeling he must bear—a punishment, for all he has brought upon both his own family and Calliope. The disappointment in Nyx’s eyes, the rage in Cronos’s, and Calliope’s final words are not things he is likely to forget. He holds them close to his chest, a reminder of his own failures and regrets. Perhaps this way, he will not make them again.

A foolish thought, that. He has always been particularly resistant to the idea of change.

”It’ll be alright,” Telute tells him softly.

It is not a comfort. He nods stiffly anyway.

The two siblings remain standing for a while, silent and still as statues, and the feeling of dread doesn’t leave him for the duration of the trip.

+++

It is a quiet affair, the funeral. The hushed air, the grief that seems to live in it, do not disguise the looks he receives from both Calliope and her sisters. They hate him too. He does not begrudge them this, and tries his best to ignore them.

They are not his concern. His concern is Orpheus—his dear son, whose eyes were the same lovely brown as Calliope’s, whose raven hair curled at the nape of his neck. Orpheus was a joy, with a grin made for laughter and a voice made for singing. His affinity for music made things all the brighter back at home—there was no way to be miserable, even under the shadow of his parents, when Orpheus sang or played the lute. It was his own joy that made it so lovely, Morpheus thinks. It had been infectious. He had been made for music, and that became apparent with every string he plucked and note he hit.

This reminder made the funeral all the more painful. It is spent mostly in silence, broken only by the weeping of immediate family members and speeches made by Orpheus’s Calliope’s family. Not himself—he adamantly refuses when Calliope offers him the chance. It disappoints her, he sees it in her face, but how is he supposed to put words to the grief he felt over his son’s death? How is he supposed to speak and remain composed while reliving the death of one he loves more than he has loved anything or anybody before?

The silence is a mournful thing, sorrowful and weighing heavy. He thinks, for a moment, that he should’ve liked to hear Orpheus play at least once more before his death.

He does not cry. He is too scraped raw for that, for tears to come to his eyes. (Later, Calliope admonishes him about it. They are the last two standing before his grave, the sight o the name Orpheus carved into his headstone a knife in his chest. You did not even cry, she murmurs, her voice a terribly brittle thing. And Morpheus stands there and wishes he could turn back time, that the names they were given meant something more than abstract concepts. You do not even care.) He wants to cry. He wants to shed tears over his son’s death, to rage and agonise and scream at the sky. It all seems terribly unfair.

Telute remains by his side. Their arms are interlocked, now, his sister’s hand on his arm, and he is glad for her. For the steady, comforting presence she offers—for the ability to lean on her, to let himself succumb to despair while she remains the strong one. He has always looked up to Telute, to his dear sister Death, and he is more grateful than he thinks he can ever put into words for the fact that she didn’t leave him to face this by himself. He does not know if he would’ve coped otherwise.

She leaves him eventually, as those gathered begin to disperse. “You should say your own goodbyes,” she tells him, head tilting towards Orpheus’s new grave. Calliope sits before it, a motionless study of sorrow and mourning.

She is wise, dear Telute. He knows this. He knows this well. Always, she has had the answers, the right words to say. She is right about this, too.

But he stares after Calliope and yearns. Yearns to reach out, to offer a comforting hand on her shoulder or his own shoulder to cry on. Neither of those are things she will welcome. He does not blame her for this, but the yearning does not follow any kind of logic he knows of. They are nothing now, their relationship little more than ashes between them. His memories of their time together is soured by grief, by frustration and rage aimed at this entire damned situation, the hopelessness he feels so keenly.

He loves her still. Would offer her comfort despite it all, if he knew she’d accept it.

”I should,” he agrees softly. He doesn’t move. He isn’t sure he can. Grief has made his heart a cold, hardened thing. He is chilled with it, his blood like ice in his veins.

Telute offers him a terribly sympathetic look. It grates on him, makes him clench his jaw. He does not need pity.

Yet he would not dare say such a thing to his sister, and so she ignores the affronted expression he knows he wears and urges, “Go.”

He does. Calliope speaks to him only once, and it is as painful as the funeral itself. (I care, he wants to tell her. He wants to scream it, wants to make sure she knows. I care. He was my son, too.) She leaves him standing by their son’s grave.

He does not cry even then. He leaves a flower atop the gravestone instead, knowing it will be a while until he sees it again, and returns to Telute. (His eyes sting as they make their way back to their accommodations. He cries then. A single tear, but it is something.)

+++

The second time Morpheus de Endeles boards a ship, it is to return to his own homeland. It is to turn his back on his son, on the woman he once called wife and still loves as one despite her thorough abandonment of her. (There is a slowly rising anger there, too, as he thinks of her hardened eyes, once so gentle, as she accused him of not caring. Does she not know him better than that? Did their five years of marriage amount to nothing, for her to know him so little?)

It is also to face his first storm at sea, and to nearly drown.

It happens after a week and a half on the sea. They are nearly home, the captain tells him. He is a prideful thing, this captain, sure of himself and his abilities. I have not steered this ship wrong before, my Lord, he says, and this is enough for Morpheus, who only wishes to return to his home and immerse himself in the library so he might escape the horror of the last couple of months. He finds himself too tired to ask further questions, and simply leaves to return to his own cabin. His body has mostly acclimated to sea travel now—his stomach no longer feels like it is about to betray him at any given moment, and he is able to walk steadily.

A day later, they are hit by a storm.

It is a brutal, savage thing. At first, it is just the rain—the sky opens up above them to drench them in rain, the event so sudden it comes as a surprise. The skies were overcast before this, yes, but not bad enough for a storm so terrible, surely.

The sudden winds rip at them fiercely. The tides, which had been gentle for their journey so far, turn violent, larger than he ever imagined the sea capable of. His own fault, that—there are many stories about the brutality of the ocean, the fury that hides within its depths. He simply forgot about them, distracted by the beauty of the sun glistening on its calmer waves and the knowledge of why he stands atop a ship on the sea. He chose to see the beauty instead of the danger—he knows, in that moment, that he will not do the same a second time.

If he lives to see a second time. He is suddenly unsure he will—both sea water and rain drenches the deck. The crew hurries to obey the captain’s shouted, panicked orders, only just heard over the roaring winds. The ship tips and rocks and sways precariously. Morpheus grips onto the railing, tight enough his palms ache, and finds himself filled with a loud, insistent fear.

People die in the ocean all the time. The sea is not kind—it is full of rage and it is vengeful, determined to drown those who try to conquer it. He knows this. He knows this and yet he had let himself be distracted. And now he will die here, so soon after his son’s own death.

It is not that idea that terrifies him. Death does not scare him. He does not think it ever has. He believes not in any kind of afterlife—death, he believes, is simply nothing. To die is to no longer exist. There is beauty in that, he thinks. He is tired of existing already, and the grief that only swells within him makes that exhaustion all the more unbearable.

He does fear for his sister, though. His sister, whose eyes shine brightly, who treated his son kindly. Who had been there for him during his younger years, when misery clung to him like a parasite and sucked him dry of all desire for life. She does not understand him properly and often says the wrong things, but Morpheus doesn’t think that’s the point. She tries. She cares, offering him soft, fond smiles that are sometimes exasperated. She loves him, and even made this journey for him.

He thinks she does not deserve to die. He thinks, too, that he would do any number of things to ensure she makes it out.

There are shouts on the air, growing more urgent by the second. This is, surely, proof that this storm is far stronger than the rest of them, and he grits his teeth. Insistently, he surveys the crew as they rush back and forth, only—only he cannot see Telute anywhere. She doesn’t seem to be on the main deck, or perhaps he isn’t looking hard enough. The ship rocks and sways and his stomach lurches with it—he is not used to so much violent movement, and it is distracting.

But he steels his spine and stumbles across the deck, shouting as loud as he can, “Telute!”

”My Lord,” somebody says behind him, and he whirls—too fast, for his stomach lurches and he fears then that he will throw up, which would certainly be a reaction to have here and now—to find Lucienne standing behind him, her expression panicked and concerned. “My Lord, we must get you onto one of the boats.”

”No,” he denies immediately. The worst of his nausea dissipates but his voice still feels weak. He looks past Lucienne, ignoring the rain drenching his clothes and his face and his hair, and tries desperately to find Telute. “No. I must—I must find my sister.”

”My Lord, Jessamy is looking for her,” Lucienne informs him. When he returns his attention to her face, there is a quiet devastation there, and he regrets how harshly he spoke to her. She is a patient advisor, dear Lucienne. She does not deserve his harshness. Not now and not ever. “You must come with me now.”

He would trust Jessamy with his life, if it came to that. There is nobody more steadfast, nobody more loyal, than her. If she searches for Telute, there is little chance that she will stop until she inevitably finds her. Her stubborn streak runs bright, as does her loyalty to the Royal Family.

It is enough to inspire relief. Enough to make his shoulders slump for a moment—and as he says, “Very well,” he sees Jessamy escort a rather worried-looking Telute, who glances over her shoulder frantically, desperately. She will be safe, then.

“This way, my Lord,” Lucienne urges him, and he makes to follow.

He takes nothing more than a single step before the ship crests another wave violently, the winds driving them in the wrong direction, and it suddenly tips.

There is nothing for him to grab immediately, save Lucienne. Only, as he loses his footing and watches as Lucienne quickly regains hers, he doesn’t think that would be fair. If he falls—and he is, he realises belatedly, he is falling and falling and the violent, beautiful sea has never seemed quite so close—if he falls, he knows he would only drag her down with him. He is unaccustomed to this, to being upon the sea like so. He was not made for this. He was made for a throne to sit beside his parents’, and then beside his elder brother when his time eventually comes, just like the rest of their siblings. If not that, then marriage to another kingdom, to keep their ties strong, to keep trades between countries going. His fate was never supposed to be this.

He loses his footing and he falls and there is railing behind his back, digging in, and panic flares inside his chest. The ship is righted quickly, only to be assaulted again, and he does not cling tightly enough to the railing behind him to stop himself from falling overboard.

Then he is in the ocean. It is frigid, freezing, and he gasps loudly when he breaks the surface. It is the kind of cold that could seep through to bone, that could freeze him all the way through until he is nothing but ice.

He never really learned how to swim properly, but he knows enough to keep himself afloat. The winds whip his hair, soaked through with rain and sea water both, into his face, and he is not sure how he can make it out of this. The ship he fell from is being pushed away from him, the winds terrifyingly strong, despite efforts of the crew and the captain. With some deep-rooted instinct, he tries to swim forward, cursing inwardly at himself and his younger mind’s insistence on finding pleasure in things other than his lessons.

For a moment, it seems like he may be capable of making it back. It seems like he could truly do it, could make it close enough to the ship they could help him back up, or close enough they might be able to pull him back up.

Then a wave crests behind him, shadowing him, a great, looming giant, and falls atop him without a care in the world.

He is pulled under the surface of the ocean and holds his breath intently. It is dark down there. The sea pushes him from seemingly every direction, with the same ferocity as the storm, and try as he does to push against the currents, he is unable to do much at all. The surface remains terribly distant, and that distance seems suddenly insurmountable. He knows, with abrupt and perfect clarity, that he is not making it out of there.

Morpheus de Endeless does not often contemplate death. Not truly.

There are thoughts, of course, that sneak past his own defences. They boil down to this: If I were to die today, I do not think I would mind. Ultimately, that is easy to ignore, to push away. He does not truly want to die, the way he knows some people do. He has his duties to his family, after all. He simply would not mind if death caught him in its clutches.

Now, with his lungs burning and his frantic struggles against the damned ocean proving futile, he thinks this may be preferable. Beneath all the pain of oxygen deprivation as he stubbornly refuses to try to take in a breath only to swallow the ocean into his lungs lies the grief, the ache, the knowledge that he so thoroughly ruined everything good he somehow managed to make his own. His Calliope. His Orpheus. His loves. One hates him now. The other is buried in the ground at only nineteen, hardly an adult and far too young to lose. His parents’ disappointment is an easy thing to conjure up in his mind, and he hates that just as much as he does his losses. What is there left for him, above the surface? At home?

When he frames it like that, he thinks—he thinks it would not be so terrible to face death. He thinks it might be better than rising another day only to remember his son is gone, to see another sunset and acknowledge the fact that Orpheus will not get to see one again.

When he thinks about it like that, it is remarkably easy to stop struggling. Involuntarily, he tries to suck in a breath only to choke on ocean water, and now he is stuck in an endless cycle of pain as he slowly drowns. His head feels…fuzzy, his vision full of little black spots. Distantly, he knows this isn’t good. Knows if he doesn’t do something, he will not make it out of this alive.

He does not want to. The ocean is not violent, he realises now. It is kind, and offers him a reprieve as his body slowly sinks, weighed down by the rich fabrics he wears, as his vision grows hazy and dark and keeping his eyelids open seems like an insurmountable task.

Before he closes them properly, he thinks—he thinks he sees something in the water. A figure, moving towards him. A person, perhaps, only—only that looks like a fish’s tail, fins and all.

Then his eyes fall shut, blocking out everything around him, and he loses himself to the void and the cold and the blissful, welcoming nothing that waits for him beyond.

+++

He awakes with a gasping, heaving breath. His lungs are greedy things, sucking in air with desperation, and he presses a hand to his chest. Beneath his palm, his heart races. Adrenaline and panic both fill his veins and his hand shakes. His lungs feel full, but as he coughs mostly involuntarily, nothing comes up.

It takes a bit for him to calm down. When he does, when his lungs stop heaving and he stops coughing and he is left with nothing but an ache in his lungs, his head and a rawness in his throat, he looks around himself.

He sits on a beach, the sands golden and kissed by the sun. It shines down on him, blessing his face with its light. His clothes are soaked through and no doubt ruined, and before him—before him is the ocean.

It holds none of the fierceness he saw earlier, and he stares at it blankly. It looks as welcoming, as lovely, as it did the day he stepped on board the ship. His mind had been occupied then, yes, but he had enough awareness to acknowledge the sea’s beauty.

Not enough awareness to acknowledge its dangers, though. He remembers in startling clarity the coldness of its waters, the ferocity with which it drowned him, the storm that waged and threw him overboard.

He should’ve been more careful.

It is not just the ocean that lies before him, he realises after a moment, but a man, too. A man, staring at him with honey-eyes that catch the sunlight as though they were made for it, with a curiosity on his face that, if it weren’t for the sudden anxiety twisting his all-too empty stomach, would’ve endeared him immediately. His skin is tan, golden like the sands, and some distant part of his brain wants to press his lips to that skin and find out what it tastes like for himself. Like ocean salt and sweat and the sun itself, he thinks, and then considers the possibility that he may have suffered some brain damage due to oxygen deprivation.

It takes him a bit to find his voice. During that time, the man—sitting in the ocean as though he belongs there, ignorant of its gentle waves lapping at him—continues to stare, head tilted like a particularly curious bird.

“Who are you?” Morpheus asks, wincing at the hoarseness of his throat. It feels scraped raw, and he thinks he would like to simply not speak for a while, only—only this is rather strange, isn’t it?

The man’s shoulders shake with laughter. He is a beautiful creature, this man, with chestnut hair framing his joyful face. Laughter, and amusement, becomes him. Distantly, Morpheus is aware that he should probably take offence at the man’s laughter, only—only he doesn’t really have the energy. If anything, he thinks he’d much rather sleep. “The one who saved you, obviously. Or did you forget you nearly drowned?"

He has half a mind to scowl at the strange man in the water, but only just has enough energy to narrow his eyes. "You saved me," he repeats dumbly. In his defence, he did nearly drown, and sleep calls to him now, an alluring song. Nearly drowning is, apparently, rather exhausting. "We were in the middle of the ocean. We weren't even close to any land. How did you—"

Come to think of it, he can't recall whether he has seen this man's face before. Though perhaps that's explained easily. He was distracted on the ship, after all, and it wasn't like he went out of the way to remember the entire crew. Both Telute and Lucienne always said he should try to interact with people a little more than he does, but he thinks recent events made him exempt from that rule these last few months.

Still. The man's statement doesn't really make sense. They were in the middle of an ocean, and in a storm no less. It would've been impossible for the man to save him then, at least not without a boat or ship of his own.

Thinking of it makes his head hurt more. For a moment he feels ready to simply shrug and accept the nonsensical answer as truth in the hopes that maybe the man would leave him to rest. Logically, he knows that isn't what will happen at all. If this man knows who Morpheus is, if he recognises him, then there will be some kind of demand. A boon for saving Prince Morpheus de Endeles’s life.

He can't do anything about that now, though, and the idea of laying on this beach and letting himself wither under the sun's heat seems very appealing. He doesn't even know where they are, or how close he is to his kingdom. How he's supposed to make it back in this condition, he doesn't know. The task seems impossible, in all honesty.

The man does not leave him to rest, not even when Morpheus simply nods stiffly and says, "Sure. Saved me. Alright." He remains in the ocean actually, the waves lapping at his torso, and continues to stare at him expectantly as though waiting for something more. Eventually, he rolls his eyes—Rude, Morpheus thinks, but hardly cares in the moment–and moves a little closer. It looks almost like the ocean parts for him, but that's ridiculous.

Then—well, then things get even stranger. Which also seems impossible, but—there they are. The man shifts in the water and brings what looks like a tail out of the ocean, all golden scales and fins. Beautiful, he thinks, knowing he's staring but unable to help it. Of course the man's tail would be golden. That only makes sense when the rest of him could've been carved from sunlight.

A little belatedly, he realises just what he's staring at. Which is the man, who has a fish's tail instead of legs.

Hallucinating. He is hallucinating, then. That makes sense. Still, he can't help but laugh quietly—it makes him wince, his lungs still raw and tender, but the pain is temporary and certainly doesn't matter much if he's hallucinating—and says, "You're a merman."

The statement is ludicrous. Morpheus wonders just how much damage nearly drowning can do to a person, and then figures he doesn't want to know at all, actually.

"That is what you call us, yes," the man agrees easily.

Sure. Why not? "Why did you save me then?"

He shrugs softly. “Too pretty for death,” the—the merman, of all things, tells him. It sounds almost petulant.

He is losing his mind. He had swallowed a lot of water. A merman. “One can be too pretty for death?” he asks weakly, his throat hoarse and his chest tight with pain. The ridiculous nature of the question at least makes that pain easy to ignore. It will get him later, he knows that much, but he lets himself be distracted by his amusement at the situation for a while.

The merman blinks at him, expression ever-serious. “You are.”

”Right.” Right. Of course. Too pretty for death. That makes sense. As much sense as a merman fishing him out of the water does, anyway.

Whatever energy allowed him to carry this conversation leaves him suddenly and he falls onto his back on top of the sand, his elbows failing to hold him up any longer. The sun glares down at him and he gazes back up at it blearily. Exhaustion clings to him just as the beach does to his sea-soaked clothes. Sleep seems like a wonderful, bright idea.

He let his eyes fall shut. It isn't very effective for blocking out the sun’s rays—it remains insistent, and closing his eyes doesn't give him the satisfaction of darkness that he dearly wants. Still, while that would’ve been a problem any other time, his body yearns for the void, to let the dark take him. It would be easy to simply lay here and wither, until either the tide takes him or someone finds him. Whichever comes first. He doesn’t mind either way.

Then the merman speaks again. “Are you dying, pretty one?”

It takes a great deal of effort, but he grunts, “No.”

”Are you sure?”

He is not, actually. But that is no concern of this mermaid, and he merely answers, “I am certain.”

Silence follows that statement. Morpheus lets himself relax, lets himself hope this is it. He can sleep now, he thinks, and the thought is almost blissful—and then he is quickly proven wrong, for the merman states, “You look like you’re dying. Does anybody look for you?”

He hardly cares. Distantly, though, he thinks Lucienne might be. Jessamy and Matthew, too, maybe. “Perhaps,” he says after a couple of minutes pass, when he realises he has not yet replied. "I would like to sleep now."

The merman makes a considering noise. "I do not know much about humans," he says slowly, and Morpheus can practically feel the concern in his voice now, "but I'm pretty sure that's a bad idea. I'll stay and talk to you until you're found."

"Must you?" he asks, a desperate edge to his voice. The merman's voice is pleasant enough, yes, but rest is the preferred option here, regardless of what he says.

"Yes," he confirms. Morpheus's eyes are still closed so he can't actually see but he can imagine the smile on his face easily enough.

He sighs heavily and wonders what he did to deserve this. Then figures this is some weird, twisted kind of punishment for all that happened with Orpheus and Calliope and resigns himself to his fate. "Very well."

The merman talks, almost endlessly, until the sun is low in the sky. It is truly an impressive amount of talking. Morpheus doesn't remember much of that afternoon. At some point, he regains just enough energy to sit up, to listen more attentively. The merman, whose name he doesn't learn, seems to appreciate that. And just when despair begins to eat at him—I will not be found, he thinks and despite his inaction while he sank into the ocean, the idea panics him, I will die on this beach—there are calls of his name from behind him. They are voices he recognises and his heart picks up its pace when he turns around to see Lucienne, Telute and Jessamy walking down the beach towards him, each of them looking a little rough but all of them alive.

When he turns back to the ocean, the merman is no longer there, and Morpheus wonders if he dreamt the whole thing up. He does not mention it as Jessamy helps him to his feet, as Telute pulls him in for a hug, as the three of them begin to make it back home, to their duties, but he does not forget the kind eyes of the man who saved him from death at the hands of the ocean.

#the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #morpheus dream of the endless #dreamling fic #the sandman fic #merman au #eris writes things #death of the endless

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