#(Cast: Control Water - Whirlpool)

[keepitdreamin]

yeah Technically dnd isn't players vs dm but Sometimes you fuck up an encounter so bad and then Also the backup encounter that your dm goes quiet for two minutes and i think that's a win

shoutout to the banishment and control water spells that let us just speedrun that encounter lmao

[liswee]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ REDEMPTION IN FLESH

❀ synopsis.. in which toji, a man who has spent a lifetime believing himself undeserving of love, is confronted by the presence of someone who chooses to stay. between silence and survival, he learns that tenderness does not demand redemption—and that being human, with all its cracks and contradictions, might be enough.

wc. 8,2k

warnings. mdni, toji fushiguro x f!reader, angst, eventual fluff, hurt/comfort, this is an alternate universe where toji is still a hitman, but there are no curses here, mentions of alcohol, gambling and cigarette addiction, friends to lovers?, fwb to lovers?, smut (although not super explicit), kissing and etc, fingering, oral (f! receiving). be aware that this is a more toji-centric story and doesn't have much dialogue, since it aims to delve into more sensitive issues such as addiction, cycles and destructive patterns, among other things that may be pointed out throughout the reading. there are mentions of death (of mamagumi) and possibly of child neglect, at the expense of the observer. megumi here is around 10-12 years old. if you feel like i missed adding any more warnings here, just let me know!

notes. okay, so… i’m clearly super easy to convince, and it only took two people asking and a few likes on the post to get me to translate over eight thousand words. anyway, this story means a lot to me—it took about two months to actually finish—, and it was originally written in brazilian portuguese, with an OC who i decided to turn into a reader insert for this version. i’ll be posting on ao3 later on. i hope you enjoy it! just a reminder that english isn’t my first language, so there might be some mistakes. <3

The water pours down in heavy jets, but it doesn't bring the purity expected of the liquid. Blood mingles with it, trickling and gushing in thick, dense rivulets over all his angles and hard lines, staining the floor in pinkish whirlpools that pool in the cracks between the darkened grout lines. It does nothing to wash away the red that’s already spread, almost dry and crusted in some spots and revived in others, mixing with the new blood, this one still warm, vibrant.

Toji stands there, motionless under the warm jet, burned by the inertia that numbs and deadens the skin. The cuts at his joints burn in protest. Around him, dim, lifeless light escapes from a flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling by exposed wires. It casts amorphous shadows on the walls of dark green tile, damp and moldy, that seem to close in like a stifling, sterile confessional. Steam rises in slow spirals. With every drop that condenses, it adds to and accumulates on the layers of violence freshly carved into his flesh, as he has his back turned to the shower stream, his broad shoulders held up in a state of painful rigidity, solidified into marble. The rusted edges betray years of neglect. Fushiguro clasps the base of his neck with his left hand, large and rough, the knotted fingers pressing and pushing the skin as if trying to bury something lodged there, in a gesture that wavers between self-control and a final effort to contain what he buries inside. He lets the heat bite his skin without complaint. The pose is familiar.

Slowly, he lifts his face, letting the water run down to his lips and drip into the slightly parted space in a moment of disorientation. The thin scar tearing the corner stands out, the only interruption in his resolute expression and an cursed mark. It curves downward through the outline of the mucous membrane, giving him a perennial expression of cruel indifference, though his eyes—now a dulled green, muted, seeming not to belong to the violence he embodies—gleam with a drowned torment or a buried anger that pulses with the frantic rhythm of his heart.

In mockery, the old scar stretches slightly with the irregular breathing, an involuntary smile in the stretched flesh.

Toji's gaze is unfocused, even with his jade irises fixed on some point on the stained ceiling. He notices his own blurred reflection in the patches of moisture pooling overhead. There's a fatigue in his expression that ages him beyond his thirty-some years, an organic pain that reverberates through tendons and bones, like a chronic fever. His thumb presses against his nape like an anchor, holding him in a kind of violent equilibrium. His mind spirals like the smoke from the cigarette he stubbed out before stepping into the shower, his dry mouth refusing to rid itself of the bitter taste lingering on his gums.

With that, his tongue slides across the roof of his mouth but finds no relief. Not that there could be.

Smoking after killing is a habit he doesn't bother to quit. An automatic gesture, without reflection, as intrinsic as pulling the trigger or gripping the blade. He never thought much about it.

For some reason, his brain still wanders over those small details, fixing on minor annoyances, almost like a distraction from what he doesn’t want to admit to himself. Toji thinks he hasn't seen his son since the school semester started at the boarding school. This doesn't show on the surface. There are no tears, no complaints. He’s sure it’s better this way. Since then, the letters he receives are short, dry, lacking details, as if the boy himself had already learned not to say more than necessary. He knows he doesn’t worry precisely because he knows what his own presence could mean in his son’s life. Megumi's absence is an edge he brushes aside with the same violence he uses to push away any other weakness.

Like a shot in the dark, his expression contorts. In an open wound, Fushiguro feels the throbbing absence of where you once were, but he swallows it down the path of his trachea the same way a drain swallows bloodied water.

Because those thoughts no longer refer to his late wife. It’s a strange feeling, to care for someone else after so long.

He remembers how you used to be a distant idea when you first saw each other months ago, in that dying bar he frequented. A figure he might never touch, yet so corporeal. Even seen from afar, from some dark corner, you had this quiet way of making your presence known, a calmness of someone who doesn’t rush to take anything, but also doesn’t hesitate to occupy the space that’s rightfully theirs. You were beautiful in a way Toji couldn’t recall ever noticing in any other woman. You wore your beauty like a dense yet subtle thing, something that expanded around you, made time dilate. Your mere presence made everything else feel transient, while you—you seemed eternal.

Your gaze met his for the first time like a reflection, unintentional. He noticed how your pretty eyes narrowed, pupils dilated like black ink. Toji had expected you to make the first move; he wasn’t used to initiating. Women approached when they wanted something, glances converted into tangible desires, and he gave them what they asked for, with no complications or questions. Casual sex was easy, as routine as smoking. That night, when you didn’t make a move, he didn’t think much of it until days later. There was nothing beyond the slight frustration of the unconsummated.

The second time you crossed paths at the bar, it seemed coincidental. Again, no words were exchanged. By the third and fourth time, perhaps it was something more. The encounter became less improbable, more like inevitability, as if fate had bent in your direction, building bridges Toji never thought to cross. It was the fifth time that you approached him. Not in a hurried motion, nor with the expectation of something immediate. You simply sat beside him, as if you’d already decided he wasn’t someone who would easily be pulled away. You looked at him with a small smile, a barely-there lift of your lips, and said something that sounded like the start of a conversation he hadn’t known how to begin. Toji noted the absence of the familiar—the impersonal gesture, the raw form of seduction used to ward off intimacy. He quickly realized you weren’t someone who fit the type of easy encounter he expected. And yet, you ended up together a few weeks later—not through promises or plans, but through a series of encounters stitched together by chance, in no hurry to define themselves.

Over time, Toji began to notice these small things that, little by little, seemed to weave themselves into his routine without intention, a breath he could no longer disconnect from—the way you curl up in the blanket, your bare feet dragging across the cold floor while you search for your things scattered around the apartment. The way your brow furrowed, focused, when digging for the right thing to say, or how you let the water run for minutes before stepping into the shower. Without noticing, he started doing things for you, things he never imagined doing for anyone ever again. Taking your clothes to the laundromat without being asked, arranging your coat on the chair, preparing coffee while you were still asleep, tidying up some of the mess you left without even knowing you were leaving it. It was as if, suddenly, he had become responsible for your absence, for your presence, for everything you brought with you, even when you said nothing. Each gesture seems small, but Toji knows it isn’t.

It is an irrevocable fact that Fushiguro never tends to do anything without a reason, even if no one knows exactly what truly goes on in his mind. He is too shrewd to cause irrational chaos, because the resulting mess would then be uncontrollable, unpredictable.

And Toji doesn’t like things out of control.

How ironic.

He inhales, but the air feels stuck, as if too stagnant to be processed. He forces himself not to think of you. In his parched mouth, saliva seems like a foreign substance, clinging to the walls, making the act of swallowing something distant, impossible. The smell of iron and sweat clings, a presence as physical as the bruises covering his torso. Fushiguro extends a hand to the tiled wall in front of him, leaning as if his own body were too heavy to keep upright. The cold texture of the wet tile is the only solid thing he finds, and he lets his fingers slide slowly while the water still streams down, indifferent. His muscles tense, every exposed, pulsing fiber reacting to the almost imperceptible pain of the liquid touching open wounds, reminding him how much he is made of flesh and deviations, of a voracious desire for survival mingled with a hatred so deeply embedded that sometimes, it feels like the only thing keeping him standing.

He feels the throb of each scar as a sign he’s still alive, that he’s immortal to his own sins. In the end, he seems like a corpse that can’t manage to die.

Toji is not a man who knows regret the way others do. He has no right to want redemption, and he knows it. For him, pain is currency, an exchange for survival and a bargain he accepted without question. Violence, a language that speaks to the world when words fail—fragile little things, always subject to interpretation.

It happens frequently.

On the floor, near the drain, the blade waits, so close he’d only need to lean his torso slightly to reach it—the reflex of a violence addiction. Toji knows that’s all he is. The water, tinged red, swirls down until it disappears into the metal mouth. The knots of the chains beside it seem nearly forgotten, the marks left on his wrists still tingle with a familiarity that no longer bothers him. He feels the warm, humid air press against his skin, the droplets merging as they run down the line of his throat, over the Adam’s apple that rises and falls in a dry, almost involuntary swallow. His breath comes out in a muffled, swallowed sound before it gains any trace of vulnerability.

Vulnerability—an insignificant word. He bites the inside of his cheek, the metallic taste of his own blood mixing with what isn’t his. It’s just the price, he repeats internally, and there’s no regret, because regret never put food on the table, never stopped an attack. It never sustained his vices either. Regret is for the weak, for those who have something to lose.

Toji tries to pretend he doesn’t. He destroys himself because he was destroyed first.

The last time, he gambled enough to pay the rent for months, but lost. Whatever little he had slipped through his fingers like the water now running endlessly over him. With the same urgency, he sought a substitute; the glass cup and the cheap alcohol that burned his throat brought him that familiar, numbing pain, the bitter taste of loss and addiction trapped behind his teeth. The drink dulls him, but at the same time, strips his inhibitions, brings him closer to a brief, fleeting oblivion. Toji knows it’s a lie. If it doesn’t end, it always comes back in the end.

The silence is punctuated only by the sound of the shower splashing, until the bathroom door opens slowly.

You approach him without a sound, without asking permission, as if you knew he’d never let you get close if he noticed first. You don’t care about the blood or the weapons, you’re used to them, but your toes still curl at the cold touch of the wet floor. Without warning, you wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your face against his back, your soft mouth brushing along his spine. Toji’s body reacts immediately, muscle tissue contracting as if resisting contact, jaw tight, shoulders rigid in a harrowing constriction. The first impulse is to repel, to hurt, to push away.

Then, he recognizes.

He didn’t think you would come. Not like this, not now. He’s an undead weapon; his hands, accustomed to killing, don’t know how to handle a gesture so vulnerable, so sudden. What does one do with something like this when he only knows the void that precedes it and the blood that follows? There is no violence to contain, no flesh to cut. Your hand slowly rises up his chest to his collarbone, but Toji doesn’t move, merely absorbing the touch like someone watching a ghost approach without understanding if it’s real.

The initial defense instinct dissolves like skin in acid.

He unhooks his thumb from his nape, his posture now slightly slackened. A minimal, treacherous relaxation that takes his body by reflex. It’s instinctive, involuntary, a physiological response. The veins in his arm pulse beneath the skin, the heat of the water is no longer the reason his skin burns, and his heart accelerates to a rhythm he can’t control. He doesn’t need to see your face for this. His arms stay immobile, but his fingers tremble slightly. You whisper something Toji doesn’t comprehend; the words are muffled by the sound of the shower, and he understands the intention anyway. You are there for him. He feels it. That’s all he needs.

Gradually, he allows one hand to rise and cover yours, interlacing trembling fingers. He says nothing. Toji is not a man of words. He doesn’t intend to be now. His breath hitches, as if something is rising to the surface, only to be immediately swallowed by pride. His shoulders yield a little more, and for a moment, he lets himself lean towards you. There are no promises there, no complete surrender. There can’t be. But his body speaks before his mind has the chance to shield itself. His chest swells like a balloon, his lungs struggling to fill the hollow of air with something he barely feels. His abdominal muscles draw in and his ribs press against wet skin. You remain there, quiet. You observe the scar at the corner of his mouth, as much a part of him as the steel blade at his feet.

Your exhale is a warm current mixing with the humid steam enveloping you both. He realizes you don’t pressure him. Toji’s jaw remains locked, teeth pressed together until the bitter taste of blood fills his mouth again. It’s the only flavor he knows. The warmth of your fingers slips over his soaked epidermis and his hand follows, tracing the scars. You don’t let go of him, nor do you hold him captive; you leave him free to pull back, to step away, to flee, if he wishes. Toji stays, body momentarily suspended. He keeps feeling the texture of your digits between his, a sensation that feels almost excessive, too human, until his own fingers detach, twitching to disperse the feeling across his palm.

As if he still needs to touch you in some way, Fushiguro’s arms stretch back, trailing down to your sides, pulling you towards him until you stand before him, his short nails digging into the flesh of your hip. Bare torsos press together and both of you tremble at the contact. Like a flower growing towards the sun’s warmth, you curve into his touch, half languid, half eager, your chin lifting to lock your gaze with his. Fat droplets adorn Toji’s face, and several disheveled strands of short black hair dance along his forehead, partially obstructing his vision as he looks at you through thick, furrowed brows.

“I thought you wouldn’t come back.”

When he speaks, he tries to read your thoughts in the contours of your face, in the way your lips part slightly, but all he really knows is where to touch you. Fushiguro's unkempt beard grazes the skin of your neck as he leans in, and you tilt your head back, making space, almost a silent plea, as his mouth slides along the curve of your shoulder. In those words, there is no denial of what he felt in the space you left during the weeks you were gone. The doubt lurking in his mind isn't about what he wants, but about what he fears you’ll see in him.

Toji always believed that the absence of a body was also the absence of a soul, that the distances created over time were merely geographical. Yet, the last time he saw you, you only left physically.

Your nails find Fushiguro's shoulder blades and dig in, holding him with a strength that communicates both sensation and the transience of the moment, but the eagerness is muted. Fushiguro lets five of his fingers travel upward again, tracing the side of your back in a slow, almost reverent touch, stopping only where the nape meets your hairline. His other hand remains on your waist, torso against torso.

“I always come back,” you reply.

A pause.

Toji smiles faintly. A vein pulses at his temple.

It’s true. He always knew you would come back, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure; he just forced himself not to think about it. Not after you left that night.

“Everything has a last time.”

The sentence comes out torn; it’s the first time he admits to himself that he felt maybe the last time had come. Worse, that he feared it. Even so, Toji keeps his face close to your neck and, beneath his lips, traces the pulse of your blood, that erratic rhythm mirroring the flow within his own ribs. It’s familiar in a way that frightens him, like something he should never have allowed himself to feel.

It’s good. It’s more than good. It’s a sensation he’d almost forgotten how to recognize after the days without your presence, since you asked for time alone. A warmth he swore no longer existed, now filling gaps he himself dug.

You don’t respond immediately, letting the phrase hang between the two of you. You could have said something comforting, but you know that kind of solace is useless. Toji never allows comfort. He’s all sharp edges, calculated chaos. He rejects anything that seems easy or light, as if carrying the certainty that everything good in his life comes with an expiration date.

You never told him you notice these things. Never put into words how much more he is than he believes himself to be, because you know he wouldn’t listen, even though you see the humanity in what he tries to bury. You don’t believe in easy healing. You know he doesn’t, either. There’s no need for convincing. The truth in your gestures has always been clearer than any sentence.

“Why does it have to be like this?” you ask. A crease forms between your eyebrows. “Why do you always have to convince yourself it will end?”

Toji bites his tongue.

“When you start feeling, you forget everything has an end.” His voice is a broken murmur, the tip of his canine sinking into the muscle. “That’s what humanity does. And I don’t want that shit.”

He forces himself to stand upright, to maintain his posture. That’s all he knows how to do. Every piece of himself he hides is armor, and if he loses it, what’s left? A soft mass of memories, of feelings. When the words come out, he tries to hide them from himself, but the truth is already in the air, tangible as bone. The fear, in his quickened pulse and widened eyes. The fear of getting lost in something he can’t control. Of unraveling and not being able to piece himself back together.

Being near you is dangerous. It reminds him he is flesh. And flesh hurts.

You, in turn, breathe what he doesn’t say, feel the shivers in the subtext of the tension he refuses to break.

“It’s too late for that, Toji.”

It’s too late because you already look at him as if he were human. Maybe he is. But you don’t say that. You don’t need to.

The sigh that follows is muffled, no longer by water, but by the lack of space to breathe inside his own ribcage. No matter how much he refuses to say it, you’ve already become something beyond what he thought he could accept. You feel this and smile, as if you know exactly where to press, where Toji’s line of resistance is thinnest, most fragile. You’re aware of the exact moment you need to push. You move closer, touching Fushiguro’s face, drawing him to you, as if wanting to melt the barrier he puts around himself, piece by piece, with no room for retreat. You touch his cheekbones with your thumbs, that cursed scar, and the pressure of your fingers on his skin feels like a silent instruction: look at me.

No. Not now.

“You hurt yourself, Toji,” you say. “You kill yourself slowly. And still, you think that’s going to save you. That it’s going to protect you.”

For a few seconds, he stops. His body halts, like a machine with disconnected circuits, unsure what to do. Something tightens in his throat. He couldn't. He shouldn't. His teeth meet with slight pressure, making a hollow, uncomfortable sound. He takes a step back, as if his muscles had their own will. His eyes fall, searching for anything to focus on. You're there, still so close, trying to pull him toward you, undoing his resistances like unstitching a seam. Every second feels like an eternity. Toji isn't one to make concessions, doesn't yield to anyone. He knows how to keep himself whole, even if by sheer willpower alone.

The knot in his chest tangles, his heartbeat pounding like a muffled drum. Blood feels stuck in his arteries, pooling against his hot skin in a forced sensation of oppression. He needs to pull away, needs to protect himself. The resistance in his body is a Pavlovian response. There’s nothing there worth saving, nothing that justifies the softness in your gestures.

“I know what I’m doing.”

You don’t give up. The pressure of your fingers on his cheekbones increases slowly, as if you can feel the tremor in his joints, as if trying to anchor him there, forcing him to face you, not to pull away. You don't use words. And something inside him begins to yield. Even as he refuses to admit it, his heart is already racing ahead of him, thumping against his chest like a cornered animal. He almost feels ashamed of how much he feels.

“You're stubborn.”

The smile tugging at the corner of your lips betrays the seriousness in your voice. In response, Toji lets out a soft laugh, a hoarse, humorless sound, more out of reflex than anything else.

Because he is. Stubborn. Inflexible. And he doesn't try to deny it. There are no words he can use to deny what you already know.

“I don’t know how to be anything else,” he says, a spastic contraction running through his hunched back. “You know you can’t fix me.”

“I don’t see anything that needs fixing.”

Toji falters. His rigid body still tries to fight, but cracks form in the concrete. He hesitates for several seconds before finally surrendering completely. His forehead rests against yours, and his eyelids tremble, long lashes heavy with droplets. The contact is simple, gentle, nearly intoxicating, and the shower water creates a warm veil around both of you.

How fragile is desire, he used to think, and how delicate. How easy it would be to snap it between his fingers, crush it in his palms.

He's no longer sure he still believes that.

Now, he watches your face before him, but what he sees goes beyond skin. Water streams down your cheeks, small currents carving paths across your face, and he feels a strange urgency, something nesting deep, like a relief he would never admit. He runs his tongue over his teeth, licks his lips, and whispers your name warmly, like crystal water pouring from a pitcher. The name is sugar dusted over his cupid's bow. Toji says it like a prayer, and you seem satisfied with that.

For the first time, the taste of blood in his mouth seems less bitter than he remembers. When he allows himself, he can see you as an almost unsettling perfection. A blessing, though so human. Redemption.

But you’re not. You’re just as much flesh as he is.

Fuck, she’s beautiful, he thinks.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Toji pulls you in, and your lips meet in a way that defies explanation. It isn't the hatred in his teeth. It isn't just the want in his thighs. It's a tormented longing for something he doesn't know how to name or understand. Simultaneously, your tenderness makes him seek more. The kiss transcends what he can translate into words or thoughts; Toji feels the heat of your mouth warming him from the inside out. He's losing control, and for a moment, that doesn't feel like a mistake, because running this time would be far worse than burning.

It's a gesture initially slow, but it rises with the urgency born of restrained need. He lets his tongue slide along the line of your lower lip. The sensation is dense, unmistakably muffled, as if the whole world had shrunk, reduced to a capsule. Toji no longer knows what to think, no longer knows where flesh begins and soul ends—whether the yearning lives in muscles or spirit. Everything blends and blurs into the same urgency. He only knows that, in that moment, his tongue grazing yours, he doesn't want to let go. His fingers, previously hooked on your hips, slip along your wet skin down to the middle of your tense thighs, retracing familiar paths and deliberately storing them again in the depths of his mind, to retrieve whenever he inevitably thinks of this exact moment.

Like he did during the nights of the weeks you were gone, and Toji couldn’t conceive of another presence other than yours.

His face is a landscape of hard lines, but his tightly closed eyes betray him, revealing something he's trying to smother. The humanity he always tried to deny, to reject, is what now consumes him, what pushes him forward, into you, into a vulnerability he'd never permitted. The thought that you—or what you bring with you—is a weakness no longer drowns him. The truth escapes, hides between swallowed sighs and the heat spreading through his throat, his chest. He wants you, and not just from a craving of the flesh. Even with his eyelids pressed shut, you feel this in the weight of his hands, in how he holds you, how his thumb brushes your center of nerves in slow, torturous circles, drawing infinities. A familiar, palpable heat rises up your neck, spreading across your flushed face in a deep shade of red.

Fushiguro breaks the kiss for a second to observe you. Slowly, he guides your back to rest against the cold wall. Your bodies meet, slides, melt into each other. He can barely stop the way he’s subconsciously replicating your little reactions, as his swollen lips parts in sync with yours and eyebrows subtly draw together like ocean waves. At the same time, he shifts the angle, lowers his face further, letting his lips trail across the corner of your mouth, then down your jawline, where he places a sequence of slow kisses and bites that descend to your neck, to the valley of your breasts, licking the whitened stretch marks. Toji tastes your desire in his own mouth, seeping into his teeth, and it intoxicates him more than it should.

He doesn’t seem in any hurry to reach his destination and, conversely, savors with an incomprehensible calm for the moment the perverse path being drawn. Lips sucking on sensitive skin, the corner of his gaze drops downward, capturing the way two fingers now enter and disappear easily inside you up to the knuckles, curling tentatively upward amidst wet contractions. Captivated by the sight, he lets his legs give way.

Your lips part slightly, but beyond sounds, no words come out. Toji takes that as enough.

His knees touch the floor, near the chains, and he feels the warm water slide down his nape, over the curve of his back. The position, contrary to what it might seem, carries no involuntary submission. It’s a deliberate choice; the gesture speaks for itself. Kneeling, the bridge of his nose rubbing against the flesh that coats your iliac bone, he looks up at you with something that could only be described as devotion; an arterial desire to place himself exactly where he knows you want him—or where he wants to be.

His green eyes darken like damp cloth, the irises swallowed by dilated pupils. Seeing you above him makes desire bloom and stretch beneath his skin. He realizes that, now, you occupy all his spaces and all his thoughts.

Two fingers slowly withdraw from inside your pussy, feeling the gentle resistance that seems almost a lament from your body. He brings the same digits to his open lips. Fushiguro tastes them unhurriedly, a flavor that invades and clings to his tongue, so intimate it seems to permeate the muscle before he removes them from his oral cavity. His hands then make space for him between your legs, his gaze still locked with yours as he moves his face forward. His mouth finds the point where the inside of your thigh begins, and the touch is reverent. You take a deep breath, as if wanting to fill your chest with the moment.

Your nails dig into the skin of Toji’s shoulders, scratching hard enough to leave red lines that the water tries in vain to erase. In that same instant, your inhalation wavers and breaks, your chin trembles, and he notices. Toji notices everything—from the involuntary spasms under his touch to the nearly inaudible gasp that escapes when he reverses the pattern, his teeth now grazing softly the skin he once kissed. Fushiguro doesn’t rush, because that would be a waste.

His mouth absorbs every fragment—the taste, the sound, the sensation. In response, your head falls back, dark hair sticking to your nape. You feel the stability of your body being tested, as if gravity, in its insistence, were trying to lift you off the ground.

Involuntarily, your hips move, push forward, undulating slightly with the anticipation you can’t contain. Despite the shower, you feel the subsequent sweat pooling at the small of your back, your legs spreading wider to seek more contact. Toji, attentive to every breath and gesture, grips your flesh firmly, preventing you from moving more than he allows. His fingers sink into skin, a steady pressure, as he anchors you in place. His tongue finally slides inside, replacing where his fingers once were. He traces and licks the organ in open, elongated semicircles and sucks your inner lips with the delicate precision he knows you love.

You grow dizzy with pleasure, your eyes rolling back in their sockets. The sense of direction is ripped away from you, legs buckling, and the bathroom dissolves into euphoric minutes. A tingling spreads in your belly, and you press your hand against your mouth to stifle the moans that follow. The action is more instinctive than anything, and the sound, muffled by the pressure, resonates throughout your warm palm.

Fushiguro observes the movement through his lashes, his tongue busy with your swollen clit. A low noise escapes his throat, a grumble of disapproval, an involuntary reflex at the attempt to hide the pleasure he himself is creating, that he loves to hear. He pauses for a damned second, long enough to let cool air replace the heat of his saliva. As a consequence, one of your hands moves to his hair, fingers tangling and pulling him back by the scalp, forcing him not to interrupt the rhythm, not to let you succumb to frustration. When you tilt your head to look down at him, your furrowed brows show confusion at the interruption.

“Take your hand off your mouth.” The tone comes out hoarse, more command than request. He palms his own erection, throbbing painfully and neglected. The scar stretches at the corner of his wet lip, which lifts in relief at the brief contact. The sight makes your fingers twitch. “I want to hear you.”

You lower your arm, now hovering above your collarbone, but can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. Your vocal chords are freed to vocalize the desire replicated in the wetness between your thighs.

“And what if I wanted you to beg for it?”

“I would beg for you. But I don’t need to,” he whispers. His breath tickles your flesh, revive every nerve. You lift one leg, your thigh against the shell of Toji’s ear, almost resting on his shoulder, inviting him back to you. Fushiguro can’t hide the pleasure he feels seeing you like this; a reaction he knows well, but that, paradoxically, still excites him. The proximity of this, of anything, buzzes in his veins. “You have no idea what wanting you this much does to me.”

You unload all the air from your lungs. Your chest caves in, and the world caves in with it. The lack of oxygen leaves you suspended, floating in something that isn’t emptiness but filled by it. You feel the words numbing you like a drug, dulling your senses, leaving you at the mercy of a liquid kind of perception. In months, this the first time Toji admits something so intimate. The physical spirituality of the moment is overwhelming, inevitable, and transcendentally human. You feel your soul blossoming in the pathways expanding alongside your ribs, all of them pointing toward the man in front of you. When you look at Toji’s painfully beautiful face, certainty pierces deep.

You don’t regret coming back.

By this point, the watered-down blood has flowed away and escaped through the drain grooves. The weapons remain on the floor. What Fushiguro doesn’t say stays jammed behind his teeth. He clings to the cold, cracked rock of his heart, to the carnivorous mind that chews thoughts and importances. No one ever felt all this without destruction. Empires have fallen like this, he thinks.

Toji doesn’t quite understand what made him speak; the confession tears through his jugular, empties the cavern of his throat. Still, it doesn’t bleed. It doesn’t make him feel smaller or weaker.

You don’t make him feel that way, he realizes.

He looks at you, and the little distance between you disappears. The geographical, the spiritual. You’ve done this so many times over the months spent together, but today feels different. His thumb draws lazy circles on the inside of your thigh, his chin nearly resting against your stomach. You allow him to lose himself a little in your irises, in the curve of your cupid’s bow, as long as he comes back to you. You see in his eyes that surfacing the words was costly. The fear he won’t admit still throbs like an open wound, but he realizes he no longer feels the urgency to control his body, to remain impassive, as he always did. This realization comes as a subtle reverberation. It’s not an explosion, not the breach of violence.

Toji gives in a little more, just enough to understand that, however much control he’s lost control, he isn’t sinking. He isn’t shattering or falling apart. You won’t destroy him by being who you are, and perhaps he doesn’t need to destroy what’s left of himself to live this moment.

Your leg, still near his ear, twitches in a spasm, sliding down slowly. You want to give him the time he needs, but anticipation warms your arteries. The relief you need and crave is within reach, and he knows it—knows how to make you feel it. He knows you deserve to reach Eden’s gates and collapse.

So when he brings his face forward again, that’s exactly what he does.

. . .

You’re lying against his chest.

The light from a yellowish lamp, hanging over the nightstand, sways gently, its glow reflected in the water still dripping from the strands of your hair and on the open liquor bottle atop the wooden surface. Shadows crawl along the worn-out walls. The smell of mold, mixed with the cigarette smoke he can never quit, fills the cramped space. The bed you both lie on is small, disordered—clothes scattered on the floor, a jacket he abandoned on the chair, the stopped clock on the nightstand; the only things that still seem to be his, among so many others that are borrowed, disposable, stolen, things that he never tried to claim. Toji never bothered to make this place a home, after all—he didn’t believe he deserved one. Beneath you, the mattress is old, its corners sunken by the sheer gravity of years of careless use, and the sheet is crumpled, its creases drawing lines reminiscent of the marks left on your body.

You’re relaxed, arms and legs still loosely tangled with his, your body warm. The sound of your breathing is the only one Toji hears now. A rhythmic beat like a distant heart, yet somehow still connecting with his like a cathedral within his ribs. One of his arms, resting around you, sinks a little deeper into the curve of yourback.

The tension inside him bursts and retracts, like a muscle that knows it will tear if forced to continue. You sleep, but he can’t. Not after everything that happened.

He goes over the last few months. What existed between you never had a name. It couldn’t be called friendship, nor anything more defined. It was what happened between the dragging hours that became lighter as you drew near, like someone entering a room without making noise, without asking permission. You didn’t even sleep together in the first days, not even after the five meetings at the bar. The same place, the same stifled, dimly lit corner, until you bumped into each other on the street, until you had lunch together. It seemed like a delicate, harmless desire, perhaps a fragile kind of friendship, at least in the beginning. You were easy to talk to, still are. Besides Shiu, Toji has few friends—or none at all. When he realized it, he already knew more about you than about many people he’d known for years. He didn’t understand what you could possibly want from him. But gradually, you slipped in almost without him noticing, defying any notion of situational control Toji thought he had. You started coming to this rented apartment (sitting on his sunken sofa, legs crossed as if it were yours), you slept together for the first time. What he knew was that, over time, it was the closest he’d come to happiness in nearly a decade, even as he reinforced to himself, like a worn-out mantra, that it was fleeting.

It’s hard to accept that the inside of his chest is more than just storage space.

Then, you asked for time alone, space to think. You had gotten too entangled in each other’s lives for a nameless relationship. And he, with no shred of hesitation, accepted. He believed, in some dusty part of his bones, he was respecting your wish. It wasn’t like he expected permanence; he already knew the cycles. Knew life dissolved between fingers, that good things died from being lived too much and too deeply, that the intensity of something fades once it becomes routine. He thought, cynically, that it was the end of the gift you’d both cultivated, that it would end like flowers wither. It always does.

You left a coat near the bed. Dark blue, soft fabric, still carrying your scent. Maybe out of distraction, maybe as a remnant. He didn’t ask, didn’t insist, didn’t click on your name in the little box that could barely be called a phone. Just left it there, tossed where so many other things of his piled up, without real value or meaning.

Toji didn’t blame you. There was no room for blame left in his mind. He was aware he deserved nothing more. How could he? He is the reflection of everything people want to leave behind. Heavy baggage, full of vices and worn paving stones, marked by broken corners and years of misuse. Corroded by time and his own disdain and neglect. You knew that, he thought, or perhaps intuited it, like he intuited the lack of meaning in his very being. Fushiguro believed he was no good for you, as he was for no one, not even for his late wife or his kid, and that’s why you had left. Convinced of this, with the same coldness of someone who has had to bury bodies and feelings, Toji told himself he was indifferent. It had been nothing more than indulgence, a momentary lapse that lasted months longer than it should have.

He didn’t allow himself to question whether it was true, didn’t give himself the right to miss you in the details left behind. Pushing you away was, after all, the only decent thing he could do. But this dishonest consolation only served to mask the void growing like a thorny, knotted nuisance stuck deep in the back of his throat. When he lit a cigarette, he didn’t think about how you always complained about the smell, even though you never directly asked him to quit the habit. When he cooked, he didn’t think about how you used to hum around the kitchen, wearing only his shirt, your pretty thighs on display. When he caught sight of the coat, he forced his eyes to ignore it, like it wasn’t there. As if it wasn’t yours.

In the first few nights, he didn’t even look at it. He couldn’t decide if you had forgotten it on purpose or if it was just carelessness. Later, he threw it onto the chair in the corner of the room, as if placing it on the margins was also a way to silence the thoughts. Yet the coat remained there, motionless and unmoving, while he moved in tired cycles—leaving, killing, smoking, drinking, returning. On the sixth day, he almost put it in a donation bag, but backed out at the last instant.

Toji had lived so long believing he didn't deserve love that the idea of being seen differently made him feel like he was cheating fate. Love is a house, a mortgage, and the promise of permanence. A place to return. And Fushiguro can recall only a handful of moments in which he had somewhere to return to or someone who wanted to return to him. To return is a verb that demands roots, but his were always shallow, ready to be torn out at the first blow. He has always been what’s left behind, what dissolved into the black hole of everything life had taken. When you get used to losing, even the idea of winning feels like a threat.

It’s as if love itself were a debt he could never afford to pay.

He thinks of Megumi, of how the boy had long ago learned not to expect anything from a father who never knew how to be one. Maybe that’s his fault. It’s hard to remember the last time he replied to a letter with anything other than an instruction, a reminder, or a belated excuse. Toji keeps telling himself it’s better this way, that his absence is the only thing he can offer without causing more harm. Pain is the only legacy he knows, the only one he passes on. Even when the world stopped trying to shape him, he’d already assimilated the role he was given. Especially after his wife’s death, when he closed himself off so tightly he no longer dared to seek anything that could hurt—or bring life. To love is, above all, an action, a living thing that pulses, grows, demands something beyond survival. Toji never felt like a man capable of handling anything that breathed too close. Loving requires vulnerability, and vulnerability is a language he unlearned before he even had a chance to speak it.

But why condemn his son to sail the same boat had been built for him?

Toji’s eyes fix on the ceiling, and he studies the peeling imperfections of the paint above. His throat tightens, and he swallows dryly, the gesture as mechanical as the routine of dressing, smoking, or going out to kill.

Memories pile up in his cortex, clinging to the walls of his mind with the insistence of something that can’t be swept away. He thinks of what he lost, what he destroyed, and what he chose to leave behind because he believed it was for the best. Fushiguro never learned how to be needed in a way that wasn’t brutal or functional. Need was always tied to what he could offer, to what he could do with his calloused hands and tense muscles. He always believed the world was made to consume men like him, chew them up and spit out only the useful parts, discarding the rest. He knows how to fix a broken sink, take down a man with one blow, handle the grime of life that no one else wanted to touch. But being needed in a way that doesn’t involve strength or utility is unexplored territory. What you extend to him is something that expands him. Makes him small and large at once; it can’t be measured or traded with the same units he used to quantify everything he ever had or lost.

For an moment, Toji thinks of leaving the bed. The thought isn’t new; it’s an old instinct, something that blooms from a life lived on the threshold of flight. Leave, like he always did. Escape before the weight of what he can’t offer or give crushes what lies hidden between his ribs. He can almost feel his body preparing for the movement, muscles coiled, ready to yield to the muscle memory of disappearing, of becoming nothing again. Before the thought takes shape, you move. It’s a simple gesture, almost insignificant. You shift, lips slack, the curve of your forehead sliding deeper into his chest with a sleepy sigh that warms the space between you. Your arm loops around his waist in an unconscious reflex, as if Fushiguro were the right place to be.

Toji hesitates.

You know who he is. You know his silences, his vices, his inability to say the right things. And yet, you came back. You are here. You look at the useful parts and the discarded ones, all sharp-edged and hard to touch, and cradle them in gentle fingers. This is more than Toji ever thought he’d have again. Deep down, he knows: the only reason for it is because, somehow, you believe he’s still worth something. And, no matter how much he tried to fool himself, he also knows now: if he had the chance to hold onto something real, something that wasn’t just pain or survival, it would be with you.

The room feels so small, so full of your presence, that he realizes there’s no more room for lies. The epiphany comes slowly, like morning light through a window coated in old dust. Maybe deserving isn’t the point, because Toji realizes he can stay. And, more importantly, that he wants to stay. For you. For himself. For something that, after all this time, seems and feels possible again.

The mattress creaks softly as Toji shifts position, trying to ease the weight of his body under yours without disturbing you. His fingers trace absentmindedly along the curve of your waist, moving up to your bare back where moisture still lingers in forgotten spots. He watches the slight movement of your body, your breasts rising and falling with each peaceful breath. Looking at you, seeing you here, Fushiguro feels a strange lightness take hold of his body. It’s something foreign, something human. He reaches out, free and hesitant. Runs his fingers through your hair, tucking a damp strand away from your face. Toji feels the concept of permanence as something that doesn’t scare him quite so much anymore.

There is hesitation, yes—there always is. But it doesn’t stop him anymore.

The idea that he might be worth something, at least to you—maybe to his son, maybe to himself, eventually—begins as an discomfort, a splinter lodged beneath the skin, but it grows, insinuating itself into places he thought were dead, like roots invading the cracks of forgotten concrete. The carnivorous mind, so accustomed to devouring and destroying, now finds itself forced to harbor and shelter a thing that grows.

He doesn’t believe in redemption, not in the way people usually think of it. The metallic taste of blood in his mouth is still there, a remnant of his own vices. There is no salvation for the soul, no forgiveness for the sins he’s committed, no more time for apologies. He doesn’t know if he’s ready. Doesn’t know if he ever will be. But maybe there’s redemption for the flesh. For the flesh that still feels, that still bends to touch and to pain. For the flesh that moves, that curls up and departs, that still remembers what it is to be alive, even if it’s through small, almost involuntary gestures. And maybe that is enough. Maybe being human is enough.

Slowly, as if the act itself were a concession to something he won’t admit, Toji kisses the top of your head.

[anonymousewrites]

Pearl of the Sea Chapter Twenty-Six

Found Family! PoTC Cast x Teen! Reader

Platonic! Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann, Jack Sparrow, Tia Dalma x Reader

Chapter Twenty-Six: Battling the East India Company

Summary: (Y/N) fights for their seas and their family.

            (Y/N) hit the water with a splash, and they swore they’d never felt so alive. They’d thought sailing and fighting with freedom had been perfect, but this was better. They were in their waters, their scales free, their mind aware of who they were. And (Y/N) was damn well aware of what they were capable of.

            Ready to fight? whispered the storm.

            (Y/N) grinned, and the current swept them forward. Always, Calypso.

            They swam through the water, and they felt it turn. The current constricted into a whirlpool, and (Y/N) was quick to avoid it. The seas were turning on those that tried to tame it. Now it was only skill that let people sail.

            Not that I need skill. The seas were (Y/N). (Y/N) was the seas.

l

            “Maelstrom!” shouted Gibbs, warning the Pearl about the oncoming storm and whirlpool.

            “Where’s (Y/N)?!” shouted Will, searching the murky waters below for any sight of them.

            “They disappeared!” said Elizabeth, equally worried.

            “The lad is a nereid!” said Barbossa, at control of the helm. “I’ll give my hat to Beckett meself if they ain’t just fine!”

            Will and Elizabeth exchanged worried looks, but they had bigger issues at hand. They were skirting the edge of the whirlpool, and the Dutchman was following.

            “She’s on our stern and gaining!” warned Will.

            “More speed!” shouted Barbossa. “Haul your wind and hold your water!”

            Cannon fire began, and the crew of the Pearl ducked.

            “Take us out!” said Will. “Or they’ll overbear us!”

            Barbossa grinned. “Nay! We’ve got the faster waters on our side.”

            Elizabeth stumbled to the rail as the ship listed, and she saw a flash of silver beneath the waves. Her eyes widened as the Pearl lurched forward faster. As she raised her gaze, she saw the East India fleet itself battling impressive waves as the pirates sailed closer. She could swear the water didn’t seem to be moving naturally.

l

            “Think like the whelp, think like the whelp, think like the whelp,” repeated Jack as he paced. He froze. “Double-barrel hinges.” He turned to the door, grabbed a slab of wood, and pushed down. The cell door fell, and Jack gleefully walked out of the cell.

l

            (Y/N) swam towards the Dutchman. If they managed to take it down, the most important pawn at Beckett’s disposal would be gone. Their hand went to their sword, and they grinned as they reached the ship.

l

            Jack froze as he held Jones’s chest and faced Jones’s himself. Davy Jones had killed the last of the East India Company, which meant it was just him versus those that had wronged him—like Jack.

            “Lookee here. A lost bird,” sneered Jones. “A lost bird that never learned to fly.”

            Jack put his usual smile on his face. “To my great regret. But never too late to learn, eh?” He grabbed a rope, tugged, and was swept off his feet. He swung through the air and landed on a sail.

            Unfortunately for him, Jones was able to move like a supernatural creature on his hip, and he was at Jack’s level in a moment. Jones drew his sword and advanced on Jack.

            “The chest. Hand it over,” he ordered.

            “I can set you free, mate,” said Jack, drawing his own sword.

            “My freedom was forfeit long ago,” said Jones. He raised his sword.

            And a giant wave swept up over the Dutchman. It rocked to the side, and all the pirates struggled to stay standing. Jack and Jones stumbled and fought for balance. The wave splashed over the deck and sails, and they blinked the seawater from their eyes.

            Jack’s eyes widened. “Pearl!”

            (Y/N) stood on the rail between him and Jones. Scales shone in the lightning flashes, and they were soaking wet yet seemed stronger than ever.

            “Sorry I’m a bit late, Jack,” said (Y/N).

            “Perfect timing,” said Jack.

            “You,” said Jones, staring at the scales.

            “Me,” said (Y/N). They grinned and twirled their sword. “By the way, Calypso’s pretty mad at you. I’d be a little worried where you sail nowadays.”

            Jones let out a roar and swung at (Y/N). They blocked him, ducked under his arm, grabbed a rope, and swung to the side. He kept attacking towards Jack, who stepped back with he chest.

            “Jack!” said (Y/N).

            Jack tossed it through the air, and (Y/N) caught it. Jones spun to face them, but Jack stabbed at him, forcing his attention to go back to him. Jones pressed his sword at Jack.

            “You can do nothing without the key,” said Jones.

            “I already have the key,” lied Jack.

            One of Jones’s tentacles lifted the key from his own neck. “No, you don’t.”

            “Oh, that key,” said Jack.

            (Y/N) stabbed at Jones, who pivoted to dodge and reach for the chest. Jack took his chance, swung, and cut the tentacle holding the key off. Jones completed his pivot in anger and grabbed at (Y/N). They tossed the chest back to Jack and blocked with their sword. Jones grabbed it with his crab hand, squeezed, and snapped the sword.

            “Huh,” said (Y/N). “I wish I had those.”

            Jones growled and surged towards them. They stumbled back towards the edge of the wooden bar. Jack held his sword in one hand, the chest in the other, and advanced. He refused to leave (Y/N) to get hurt or worse. He raised his sword.

            Crack!

            The masts of the Dutchman and Pearl crashed into one another. The spin of the whirlpool had finally pushed them together. Jack stumbled and fell back. (Y/N) slipped, grabbed a rope, and swung haphazardly away. As Jack fell, Jones grabbed the chest, and Jack held the other end. His eyes went to (Y/N) upon instinct.

            They had swung out over the whirlpool but were swinging back towards the ships. Jack breathed a sigh of relief that quickly turned nervous as Jones lifted him. He gave a weak smile. Jones narrowed his eyes, lowered his down, and pulled him up. Jack went flying through the air and lost his grip on the chest. He let out a wild yell as he flew through the storm.

            He promptly crashed into (Y/N). With one hand, he grabbed the rope, and the other pulled them securely to them. He wasn’t letting his kid fall to the fight below anytime soon.

            “Shoot him!” said Jack over the wind.

            “Right!” said (Y/N), grabbing their pistol and aiming as they swung around.

            Bang!

            Jones roared as the bullet hit his hand. The chest dropped to the deck below. Coincidentally, it hit the ground just in front of Will, who had swung aboard (after marrying Elizabeth). Instantly, Jones dropped himself to the deck.

            “Drop us,” said (Y/N).

            “I’d rather not break my head on the Dutchman, thank you very much,” said Jack.

            “I’ll catch us,” said (Y/N).

            Jack looked at them and trusted them. He let go of the rope, and the pair fell down. A wave rushed up and hit the Dutchman. It heaved to the side, knocking everyone to one direction. The spray of water caught (Y/N) and Jack, and the pair were pushed safely to the deck below.

            Or, well, not so safely since they landed in front of Jones. Jack reached for his sword, but in the swinging and falling, it had disappeared from his hand. (Y/N)’s was still broken. Jones grinned and held his own sword tighter.

            “Damn,” said (Y/N).

            Jones lunged, and Jack and (Y/N) split up. Jack grabbed a piece of wood and spung at Jones. He was shoved back and received several hits to his face. Finally, he grabbed the wood and snapped it. Jack’s eyes widened. A small wave rose and slammed into Jones. He stumbled to the side, leaving Jack to stare at (Y/N) from behind him.

            “I’m a big fan of this new thing you’ve got going on, laddie!” said Jack, grinning.

            “I am, too,” said (Y/N).

            “You’re not the only one with magic,” snarled Jones, melted through the helm and running at them.

            (Y/N) rolled to the side as he sliced at them, but he pivoted, sliced through a rail, and the wood fell down onto (Y/N). They yelped and fell back. Jack quickly grabbed them and pulled them back as Jones slashed down.

            Before he attacked, Elizabeth swung to the Dutchman and landed to face Jones. He narrowed his eyes as he saw her.

            “Harridan! You’ll see no mercy from me,” said Jones.

            “That’s why I brought this,” said Elizabeth, drawing her sword. She and Jones clashed.

            Jack helped (Y/N) to their feet before freezing. A tiny tentacle holding a key was inching by. He dove for it while (Y/N) ran to help Elizabeth. Jones had just struck her across the face, and she’d fallen against the stairs.

            (Y/N) jumped at Jones and stabbed the broken end of the sword into Jones’s back. He roared in anger, grabbed them, and flung them from his back. They hit the ground, and their head slammed into the wood. They groaned.

            “Did you think that would do anything?” sneered Jones. “I’m a heartless wretch, remember?”

            “Yeah, but it still hurts, doesn’t it?” said (Y/N), groaning.

            “Don’t touch them!” said Will, trying to stab Jones.

            Jones pivoted, blocked him, and slammed him back. He hit the ground, and Elizabeth gasped as she lifted her head. Jones huffed, held his sword tightly, and looked back at (Y/N), whose eyes widened as he loomed over them.

            “(Y/N),” breathed Jack, freezing from where he was trying to catch the key. All the adults froze as (Y/N) was placed in danger. No one could move closer for fear of Jones ending their life.

            Jones raised a brow and look at Jack, Will, and Elizabeth before looking back at (Y/N). “Ah. Love.” This was a family. “A dreadful bond. And yet so easily severed.” He looked down at (Y/N). “Tell me, (Y/N) the Nereid, do you fear death?”

            “Do you?” said Jack, standing up and holding a knife in one hand. It rested just above a beating heart. “Heady tonic, holding life and death in the palm of one’s hand.”

            Jones took a step away from (Y/N) and towards Jack. “You’re a cruel man, Jack Sparrow.”

            “Cruel is a matter of perspective,” said Jack calmly. He was protecting his kid, his pearl.

            “Is it?” said Jones.

            He turned. Will lunged forward. Jones stabbed. (Y/N) gasped. Will collapsed to the side, sword through his back and heart.

            “Will!” cried (Y/N).

            “Will!” shouted Elizabeth, running to his side.

            Jones turned and laughed at Jack’s shocked face that his kid had nearly died and now Will was dying.

            “Will, stay with us,” said (Y/N).

            “Look at us!” said Elizabeth, crying. “You’re alright.”

            “William?” A man made of coral and barnacles stood and looked at them. “My son…” He blinked. “My son!”

            He lunged at Jones, and the two began to battle. (Y/N) held Will’s hand tightly, and the waves began to heave. The Dutchman rocked back and forth as (Y/N) lost control of their emotions and the sea did with them.

            They looked up at Jack, tears in their eyes. Rage and pain was reflected in their eyes, and they were caught between remaining by Will’s side to support him and taking out their fury on Jones.

            “Jack,” said (Y/N). “Help him. Please.”

            Jack would never deny his kid. He moved to their side and knelt. He took Will’s hand and placed it around his knife. He stabbed down, into the heart. Will stabbed Jones.

            Davy Jones gasped as his heart was pierced. He whirled on the group—the family—as they stared back at him defiantly.

            “Goodbye,” said (Y/N), raising their hand.

            The waves rocked the boat again, and Jones stumbled to the railing.

            “Calypso,” he whispered before closing his eyes and tipping backwards.

            He fell into the whirlpool and Calypso’s clutches below.

            Elizabeth held Will’s face tightly. She shook her head desperately as he pushed her hair behind her ear fondly.

            “Why?” said (Y/N). “Why did you sacrifice yourself? I would have been alright.”

            Will shook his head. “No. You wouldn’t have.” He smiled. “But you’re family. And family doesn’t leave each other behind.”

            “Oh, Will,” said Elizabeth sadly.

            “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to smile at her. “I love you, wife.”

            “I love you, husband,” choked out Elizabeth.

            “I love you, (Y/N),” said Will.

            “I love you, Will,” said (Y/N), wiping away their tears.

            Jack took their shoulders and steadied them as they cried. He held them as they buried their face in his clothes. Will’s head fell back, and he went limp.

            “No! No!” cried Elizabeth.

            “Part of the ship, part of the crew,” whispered the crew of the Dutchman, coming out from every corner to observe the situation. “Part of the ship, part of the crew.”

            “Don’t leave me!” shouted Elizabeth.

            “Part of the ship, part of the crew,” chanted the crew.

            Jack grabbed Elizabeth and (Y/N) and dragged them away from Will. They fought against him, but Jack pulled them back. Behind them, Bootstrap Bill knelt with a knife, and another crewman opened the chest.

            “The Dutchman must have a captain,” said Bill.

            Jack grabbed a rope and prepared an escape. “Hold on,” he said to Elizabeth and (Y/N).

            They grabbed him, he fired the pistol, and they all rocketed into the air. The sail-parachute caught the winds, and they flew towards the Black Pearl. Below them, the Dutchman plunged into the depths of the whirlpool. (Y/N) closed their eyes and felt the waters close over the Dutchman. The whirlpool disappeared, and Calypso’s storm began to clear as they landed in the water by the Pearl.

            A ladder was quickly let down, and Jack, Elizabeth, and (Y/N) climbed back aboard the Black Pearl.

            “Thank goodness, Jack,” said Gibbs. “The armada’s still out there! The Endeavor’s coming up hard to starboard, and I think it’s time we embrace that oldest and noblest of pirate traditions.”

            “Never actually been one for tradition,” said Jack. He looked out at Beckett’s ship as it approached. “Close haul her!” He turned to business. “Luff her sails and lay her in irons.”

            “Belay that, or we’ll be a sitting duck!” said Barbossa.

            “Belay that ‘belay that,’ ” said Jack.

            “But the arma—”

            “Beckett’s meddling got Will killed,” said (Y/N), voice low.

            Everyone paused and looked at them. They stepped onto the rail of the Pearl and looked out at Beckett’s ship.

            “He tried to kill everyone I care about. He tried to control the Caribbean. He tried to control the seas. He tried to control me.” The sun glinted with pearlescent light off (Y/N)’s scales. “And I told him he’d pay for it with his life.” They raised their chin. “I’m keeping my promise.”

            “Uh, what?” said Gibbs.

            “Give him hell,” spat Elizabeth.

            “Have fun, Pearl,” said Jack, grinning.

            Barbossa raised a brow at the nickname, and (Y/N) took a deep breath. They focused on the familiar pull of the ocean and tugged. The waters rocked around them. The sea obeyed their will. It swelled, and the ships began to rock.

            Near them, a familiar ship exploded out from the water. The Dutchman floated on the water, whole and powerful once more. The crew was human. Will stood at the helm, healthy and determined.

            “Will!” said Elizabeth in shock and relief.

            Jack grinned. He hadn’t gotten his immortality, but a part of his family was alive. “Looks like he made it. Good on him.”

            The Dutchman and the Pearl floated side by side as (Y/N) stood at the front and faced the Endeavor. (Y/N) grinned as the waters rose. They had their family. They had the sea. They had their freedom.

            (Y/N) had everything they ever wanted.

            They raised their hands, and the waters rose. Aboard the Endeavor, Beckett’s eyes widened. He could see Will at the helm of the Pearl. He could see Jack alive and free. He could see the nereid standing before him.

            “Fire!” shouted Jack.

            “Fire!” shouted Will.

            “Welcome to my sea!” (Y/N) dropped their arms.

            Cannonballs shot into the Endeavor, and a large wave crashed down at the same time. As the cannons fired, the ship began to sink, and its crew was thrown to the ground, dead, while the waters rose. As the wave swept down over them, the mast broke, the sails crashed to the deck, and men were swept overboard. Those who could stand opted to abandon ship.

            Beckett was given no such choice. His eyes met (Y/N)’s, and the last sight he saw was their scales and their power. They smirked, and the waves crashed over him once more. He was dragged to the Caribbean Sea, and as he tried to gasp for air, all that met him were the waters he sought to conquer.

            He drowned in his own fruitless ambitions.

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@elliottheidiot2007

@paastaboi

@urlocalsabito

@speckle-meow-meow

@dmitrytherat

@vanessa-boo

@ohimjustagirlidrathetnotbe

@snowy-violet

@ceridwyn3

@heil-nah

@idonthaveanameforthisacc

@roo024

@rory-cakes

[tired-reader-writer]

Finally— FINALLY THIS PIECE IS DONE. AFTER A MONTH AND A HALF (technically almost two months if we count the previous version whose file corrupted but we'll get to that in a bit). I'm SO proud to finally finish this, the ordeal of my surface pro repeatedly crashing when I was first working on the previous version of this piece, so being finally able to finish it now feels like overcoming a particularly annoying demon that's been haunting me for a while. Hurrah!

(look, I know I said I'd try writing today, uhhhhhh plans spontaneously changed, bear with me)

This is my Naruto OC, and the protagonist of Foxes, Pillars, and Sea-salt Rust: Uzumaki Hoshiori! She's a granddaughter of Mito and Hashirama, only four months younger than Tsunade. Her father, Kazuma, Hashirama and Mito's son, married Uzumaki Tsurue, a priestess of the sea, and Hoshiori is their only child.

So in this AU, shinobi are part of the burakumin caste, aka an underclass regarded as “impure” and “untouchable” due to their dealings with death, and they are kept under control via things such as poaching laws, being banned from owning land, being barred from pursuing higher education, etc, and are utterly reliant on mission money and wars to survive. There were some exceptions, which I won't get into here, but the Uzumaki were part of said exceptions— enjoying a fair bit of autonomy due to their island being difficult to get to. They were partially pirates who menaced anyone who wished to traverse the Fuchi sea, aka the sea between the Continent and the Kiri archipelago.

This is what the prologue of the fic (sadly the only chapter that's up right now) had to say about the Uzumaki and their island, narrated by Tobirama:

Off the coast of Toyonabe city, Niezaki region, in the midst of treacherous waters of the Sanzu strait, there lies the island of Uzunoshima. Mighty as it is small, buildings of local stone that appear as though they'd been carved directly from the island or burst out of the ground fully formed, kawara tiles the same red of their coral reefs, the same red of the people's hair. A clan of roguing pirates— fuuinjutsu masters peerless in their craft.

×

Home to the world's strongest and most violent tidal waves that form deadly whirlpools, the aptly named Sanzu strait makes the eastern shore of the Continent impossible to traverse. Impossible, that is, to all but the Uzumaki.

The island, Uzunoshima, went without a Daimyo to oversee it, instead being led solely by the matriarch of the Uzumaki clan. They are matriarchal in this AU.

When the Founders sought to change things, improve the world for shinobi, they turned their gaze to Uzunoshima, in hopes that it would become a strong support for Konohagakure when the latter would negotiate for better and better terms, such as raising the graduation age for shinobi, pushing for shinobi to be able to pursue other careers, for them to be able to own land, and so on— The Uzumaki and the Senju in this AU shared a close bond, and they had hoped it would be a foundation for a long-standing alliance between Uzunoshima and Konohagakure. Tobirama in particular, was also concerned about the future safety of the Uzumaki:

To say many fear the Uzumaki would be no exaggeration. Unconquerable, untouchable, a thorn in the world's side, shinobi and civilian alike.

Nobility does not tolerate insurgents.

The extermination of the Sabi clan, and others before and after— it only serves to prove this fact.

Exterminations pay well, and while they might have been able to withstand individual lords, with the establishment of Hidden Villages, many clans under one banner and country…

If he cannot broker a solution, if he does not help quell the discontent—

He fears for Uzunoshima. He fears for the Uzumaki, their sister-clan, the clan from which Senju came.

There was, however, a catch. Uzunoshima would adopt the Continent's way: install a Daimyo, create a Hidden Village, and follow the system that the Founders had designed. A granddaughter of the current clan head (Uzumaki Haine, Mito's niece) was chosen to become the Daimyo, and she would wed a son from the court of Hi no Kuni to signify an alliance. And so Uzunoshima became Uzushiogakure.

However, things went south pretty fast.

Hashirama and Tobirama both died in quick succession during the First Shinobi World War, leaving behind a successor who did not pick up where the Founders had intended— you see, Tobirama picked a successor in the middle of a battle, and because the choice was made without the oversight and approval of the Hi no Kuni court, the nobles are rather unhappy, and so to preserve the Hidden Village, Sarutobi Hiruzen bent over backwards to appease them, leading to the deterioration of the system that got to the point where young genin were sent to war, and where mere six-year-olds could become genin.

Kokuen, Haine's husband, the “import groom” as he was referred to by the Uzumaki, also held the Uzumaki in contempt, and repeatedly tried to impose more and more arbitrary divisions between “civilian” and “shinobi” in the veins of mainland customs onto the island and brandished the power of the Hi no Kuni court, much to the disdain of the islanders. Haine, the Daimyo, was in love with Hoshiori's mother Tsurue, and Kokuen felt threatened by it because:

And though two women may formally join their households for love, and raise their children together as though they washed ashore from the same waters, that is, born from the same womb, the same cannot be said for men— even though there lies a bond-oath not too dissimilar to the one women may swear, unite two households into one it does not.

*“to wash ashore” here is an Uzumaki metaphor that means “to be born”

Which means, once two women wed each other, their two households combine into one, and any children they may have had independently are now counted as part of the same household. If Haine were to successfully bring Tsurue to her side, Hoshiori would be counted for a legitimate heir to the Daimyo seat just as much as Kokuen's own daughter with Haine is. Considering the close bond the Uzumaki shared with the Senju, and Hoshiori's blood ties to the Founders, and the fact that the Uzumaki are very unhappy with Kokuen and the current system, there would be a chance of Hoshiori being used as a rallying point for the Uzumaki to take the reins and try to pick up where the Founders left off.

This would spell bad news for Uzunoshima, because the Hi no Kuni court would try to squash that rebellion, which in turn would endanger the Uzumaki, so Tsurue always declined Haine's advances. This didn't stop Kokuen from trying to put down harsher divides between the two “classes” though.

Despite the fact that she technically should've counted as a “civilian” due to the fact that lineages are traced by the mother's line and Tsurue being a priestess, Hoshiori was nonetheless pushed into being a shinobi because Kokuen had wanted to weaponize what is basically the clout given by Hoshiori being Hashirama's descendant. This was not helped by the fact that Tsunade became a genin at age 6 and became known for being a prodigy.

(Hoshiori is also not counted to be part of the line of succession to the Uzumaki clan head position, because Tsurue is not part of that line. Basically she got locked out of both sides. Yeesh.)

WHICH IS ALL TO CONTEXTUALIZE HER POSITION IN HER HOMELAND. UGH.

So Hoshiori was a soft, gentle child unsuited to combat and the shinobi lifestyle. She did great at theoretical stuff, had great chakra control, but when it comes to sparring? Hoo boy.

She hesitated a lot. She chickened out of blows and stuff because she was afraid of hurting people. She would always lose at spars. She hated, hated being made to be shinobi. She wanted to be an apprentice priestess instead. Or, well.... there's another thing.

Hoshiori and Haine have a... strange dynamic. Basically they pretend and play house. They both want to be each other's family, so they pretend. After Hoshi became genin, Haine would stick her on “baby-sitting missions” where Hoshi (and her team, but mainly Hoshi) would be made to accompany and “guard” Haine's daughter, Gyokuen-hime, and being kinda “allowed” to be with Gyokuen when the latter was receiving lessons and stuff, enabled Hoshi to take an interest in things such as poetry, literature, even a dash of politics.

(The irony was that Gyokuen would've done numbers as a marauding pirate on the sea, while Hoshiori was made for softer stuff, but, y'know, things turned out Like That™. And that introduced... complications into the dynamic between Hoshiori, Gyokuen, and Haine.)

After Kokuen finally railroading things to send Hoshiori's genin team into a mission on the Continent, into the throes of war, though...

Things went very sideways.

Hoshiori tried to save a pair of civilians and it cost her her teammates. In the end, even the civilians were killed.

The experience caused Hoshiori to... dissociate from the world. Detach. Not process anything she ever does on the field emotionally, just doing whatever fits the mission criteria so that she can go home and be “real” again. She stops perceiving anything outside of her life in the shrine as real life, just obstacles she must overcome in order to resume her life in the shrine with her family.

Things change again, years later, when Kushina gets picked to be the next jinchuuriki. A young child among many who are tutored in fuuinjutsu by Hoshiori.

She chooses to try and take Kushina's place, despite the fact that it would've been easier for her to think to herself, “that's none of my business”, and continue to live her detached life.

I won't spoil you with the details, but when Hoshiori eventually gets to Konoha, accompanying Kushina with the plan to convince Konoha to send Kushina back... Mito passes the crown she used to wear onto Hoshiori.

Hoshiori at first doesn't realize why Mito would do this, but... Well. I shan't spoil it. It's tied to a lot, a lot of things— Uzushio politics, the larger world politics, Mito's own personal reasons, etc etc etc. I'm saving all that for the fic.

Hoshiori doesn't wear the crown during her stay in Konoha. She doesn't dress like an Uzumaki there at all, instead seeking to blend into the Konoha populace.

She'd only reclaim these things once she breaks free of Konoha's hold and basically becomes a leader of... something. Which will happen, but I won't say how or why yet, not in this post anyways. I might in future posts.

So that was one lengthy character intro post! What do y'all think about it?

Some close-ups for bonus:

I really wanted her hair to look like copper rather than a more vivid red. I tried to shoot for a metallic look with the rendering!

The silk was so fun to render. One day I wanna draw a full-body portrait of Hoshiori in Uzumaki clothing like she's wearing here. It's heavily based on ryusou— the traditional dress of the Ryukyu Kingdom (Okinawa)! Not so much the patterns bc, uh, I don't think I'm equipped to draw those yet, but the general silhouette and styling!

The pearls were SUCH a pain to draw. Also the scribbles were traced from this one... I think document? from the Ryukyu Kingdom.

Me: drawing pearls was such a pain! I'm never drawing pearls again!

Also me: how about we try drawing iridescent mother-of-pearl?

Flat colours!

Aaaaaand the only remnant of the previous version where I lost my file to corruption, which was FUCKING ANNOYING as I was already trying to render the fucking crown. Ugh T_T

As ANOTHER bonus, here's a quiz result of something I nabbed from @/woodblxssomcrowned's blog:

What kind of herb are you?

Cardamom

You're lonely but it's okay. It's okay. It's okay. You've always been okay except you're not and somehow you've made yourself and everyone else around you believe that too. Connection to anyone is harder than you could have ever dreamed when you were young and unloved and invisible to everyone who was supposed to care about you and save you from the voiding hollowness in your chest, in your throat. You smile and say you're okay and you are, or at least you tell yourself you are, but is anyone even worried? You tell yourself that they are or maybe that it's good they aren't. You'll be okay, one day. One day.

(the mention crossed out so that I don't bother the blog! we're not mutuals and we don't know each other so I'd rather not be overbearing. I am however shameless with friends.)

OH and the AU has a playlist!

[bogbees]

Iruka's parents used to tell him stories of the whirlpool walkers of uzushio. shinobi with such mastery of their chakra they could stand on the vortexts and not be dragged deep into the sea by the raging currents.

he of course was awe-inspired by it. being so strong that he could face down such a danger, know he could come out victorious.

especially after. when he's chilled to the bone by the ache of missing them, and he quietly mimics their voices late in the night, repeating the stories they told him.

when he finally graduates the academy, after growing bored of studying his father's fuuinjutsu references, he comes to think about the old whirlpool walkers of uzushio. he figures them to be fairytales, bedtime stories now, but, he's interested in trying, testing his own on chakra control.

so he designs a seal to make a whirlpool when activated in water. it's not that strong, he has to account for the durability of the inflatable kiddy pool and his own inexperience.

the first couple tries, his feet slip under the waves, getting caught into the current, dragging him until he's standing shin deep in the middle of the pool. once he gets the hang of it, his feet remain dry, atop the water's surface, but he still gets pulled along the current.

it takes him a week until he manages to stay in spot.

then he makes a stronger seal, with a stronger current. repeats his training until he stands tall in place. designs an even stronger seal, trains with the stronger currents, and a much more real threat of death.

he thinks it might not be too bad if he drowns. at least he'd get to hug his mom again. hear his dad's voice boom. he wouldn't be so lonely anymore.

eventually, he's figured out how to add timers to his whirlpool tags. though, it might be a moot adjustment if he's too exhausted to swim back to shore.

especially if he's throwing the tags into ponds out in the training fields nobody likes using. nobody there to act as a lifeguard in case he goes under.

and of course he does. tired genin, exhausted from labour intensive missions, thinking too hard about the logic of fuuinjutsu, of course his training would result in an accident, dragging him under.

he just wasn't really expecting to be rescued when it happened.

the teenager who pulls him out is all but hissing at him for his reckless stupidity. and there's another teen there too, all dressed in green with an intense look of concern on his face.

"you're too weak to be training like that—" his rescuer reprimands.

Iruka opens his mouth to retort but all that comes out is pond water.

"ooohh, that's unfortunate," the other teen says, "I'm pretty sure people piss in that pond."

"among other things," his rescuer mutters, "as well as the fish shit and bird poo."

Iruka's stomach lurches. he groans pathetically.

"should we take him to the hospital?"

"consider it your punishment for taking on things outside your ability to."

iruka thinks, had he the energy, he'd ignite in a brilliant shock of indignant rage at that. who was this stranger to tell him what he could and couldn't do. so instead he grumbles.

Iruka groans, shaking his head, "n-no. no, i should be fine."

the two teens shrug and leave him to it, after the green one offers to make sure he gets home alright by walking him home. Iruka politely declines, there's no need of that.

he seems convinced, but his rescuer, the teen with the wirey frame and messy shock of white hair and a gaze similar to that seen on a dead fish, seems reluctant to let him go alone.

so Iruka's not entirely surprised to feel like he's being followed. he casts his family's jutsu, finds the world around him spring up with life, with chakra, and sees two familiar bodies creeping after him.

he allows himself a small smile, a small stupid feeling of not being alone.

the next morning, he wakes up well after his team was supposed to meet up, feeling feverish, and finding he's caught swimmer's itch. bleugh.

most surprising, is that there's medicine and a few bottles of pocari. a strange notecard that simply consists of a henohenomoheji.

he frowns, insulted his wards were too weak so that someone could get in. he hopes it had been an ANBU agent on request of the hokage, but he knows better and flips the notecard to make his own note to improve his wards.

the rest of the day is a haze of naps, guzzling down the drinks, and pissing.

by the time he's back in mint condition, he's forgotten all about the weird teenagers that had helped him — until he finds them training in the field he wants. he frowns at the sight of them, it's clear as day that they're strong, stronger than he probably will ever be. chews his lip, and decides to cast the family jutsu, to familiarize himself with their chakra signatures, so he can use the field when they're not there. and sense when they're coming, scurry off out of their sight, before they even know he had been there in the first place.

he starts using the strong whirlpool tags in his bathtub for a bit, until he figures out their pattern. the tub handles the raging current well, and Iruka is fairly certain he's in much more danger doing it like this than he was in the pond. but he gets the hang of it.

and when he returns to the pond, the field empty, utterly alone, he finds he's pretty much mastered walking on whirlpools.

[meeravandaseera]

Similarities of Folklore in H2O: Just Add Water

Previously I did a post on Cleo's bathtub transformation and how it's a previous motif in some legends. I now want to dive into the rest of the folklore that can be fished out of the show. Many parallels are not directly the same, but still share some interesting origins. First, let's look at the powers.

Edited and cropped "Sous la Vague" or "Les Baigneuses" by Nicolas Auguste Laurens in 1898.

1: Cleo's hydrokinesis can be found in many waterpeople. Almost all humanoid water deities across the world are able to bend water to some extent, many of would would be countless to name in one post. For instance, Poseidon/Neptune was said to be able to control the seas. Triton could calm and raise the waves of the sea with the blow of his conch shell. Aside from water deities themselves, other waterpeople were able to control water. According to "Scaled for Success: The Internationalisation of the Mermaid" on page 108, the Filipino sirenas were said to be able to control water "by manipulating water levels and/or create whirlpools to swamp their prey". According to "Mermaids: The Myths, Legends, and Lore" on page 180, the Filipino kataws control the waters around the Philippine Islands, namely its "tides, currents" and even the "movements of the aquatic creatures". The Asturian xanas were in charge of keeping rivers and fountains calm according to: Mitología Asturiana - Marsellaviana on Freehostia under the llavanderes or washerwomen entry http://marsellaviana.freehostia.com/mitologiaasturiana/seresmitologicos.html

One xana in particular was able to flood as she supposedly flooded the town of Gayangos and created an entire lagoon and the lakes in the area according to: La leyenda de la Xana de Gayangos - La Cantabria Burgalesa https://lacantabriaburgalesa.wordpress.com/2016/12/03/la-leyenda-de-la-xana-de-gayangos/

Asturian llavanderes, basically mythical washerwomen, were able to summon floods and create whirlpools according to the aforementioned Marsellaviana site.

Another mermaid is the seewief or seewiefken of German folklore in Minsen. She once got caught in the net of some fishermen and got tormented, yet she eventually escaped. In revenge, she cast a curse and created storm floods in the years of 1164, 1362, 1717 and 1962 that hit Minsen. This is told according to: The Minsen Mermaid Statue - a Seewief from the Middle Ages https://mermaidsofearth.com/mermaid-statues-mermaid-sculptures/public/minsen-mermaid-statue-seewief/ (This sourced some other sites, but they are gone), Die Sage from Minsener Seewiefken - NAKUK https://www.nakuk.de/wiki/seewiefken/, Seewiefken - Wangerland https://www.wangerland.de/poi/seewiefken and Das Minsener Seewiefken Vom Fluch der Meerjungfrau - NWZ Online https://www.nwzonline.de/kultur/minsen-das-minsener-seewiefken-vom-fluch-einer-meerjungfrau_a_50,6,796560382.html

Yet another is the zeemermann of the Saeftinghe legend in the Netherlands. A zeemermin once got caught by a fisherman who refused to let her go. Her husband swam after the boat, yet to no avail. He cursed Saeftinghe and flooded the land. It was said that only Saeftinghe's towers would remain. Now, the land, it's called the drowned land of Saeftinghe. This is told according to "The Mermaid Atlas - Merfolk of the World" by Anna Claybourne on page 31 and Wandelen in het verdronken land van Seaftinghe - JNM https://jnm.be/nl/activiteiten/wandelen-in-het-verdronken-land-van-seaftinghe

~~~

2: Rikki's fire power: Waterpeople can be associated with fire, the sun or warmth despite inhabiting the water. (Added note: Originally, I did not acknowledge that). In Thai folklore exists the so-called Phi thale ผีทะเล sea spirit who is able to appear as a mermaid or a beautiful woman who can lure sailors to their demise. Sometimes a Phi Thale takes form as a St. Elmo's fire, basically a weather phenomenon caused by electrical discharges during thunderstorms. It seems to appear like faint luminosity or "fire" and in context of the Phi Thale it might, for example, take place on a ship's mast as shown on the illustration, but one is not absolutely shore. St. Elmo's fire also appears in many other forms like on church towers. Phi Thale description is from: What is a Phi Thale (ผีทะเล)? - PAHUYUTH https://pahuyuth.com/en/glossar/phi-thale/ and information on the Saint Elmo's Fire - Britannica https://www.britannica.com/science/Saint-Elmos-fire

Illustration from "The Aerial World" by Dr. G. Hartwig in 1886 on page 310.

Sulis is a Celtic water goddess from the United Kingdom who is still associated with the sun and is thus both a water and solar deity. She was also associated with the hot springs in Bath according to Sulis, Goddess of Celtic Mythology | Characteristics & Depictions - Study. com https://study.com/academy/lesson/sulis-celtic-goddess-mythology-history.html?srsltid=AfmBOopQslCH2QEArMfaq5VE7QDgXuMQS3z55jnppUGbVGlpA3E7ldu2.

The lakes of the Catalan freshwater-maidens called the dones d'aigua were said to boil if a stranger would dive into them, yet this is only said on Wikipedia without a source and until I do not have found any good source for this, please do not claim it as fact.

The Portuguese water-maiden Maria da Manta meaning "Mary of the Blanket", Maria Gancha namely "Mary Hook", Maria Ganta meaning "Mary of the Grid" or as in the Miranese language, Mariamanta, was said to live in wells. While her appearance varied a lot, some would say she possessed eyes made of fire despite living in the waters of wells according to: Maria Gancha - Portuguese Creatures and Legends Galore https://portuguesecreaturesandlegendsgalore.wordpress.com/2020/02/14/maria-gancha/

 Illustration for "Las Supersticiones De La Humanidad" by Jose Coroleu in 1881.

Melusine from French folklore is sometimes said to grow wings when she flies away in the legend and therefore is sometimes considered to be a literal dragon-maiden either with one or two fishtails and sometimes only with a serpent tail depending on the version. She is both considered a watermaid and a dragon-maid in different versions because of that.

Illustration from "Le Roman de Mélusine" in ca. 1450-1500.

An enchanted xana could also turn into a cuélebre, namely a snake-like dragon, in order to be disenchanted. Her savior must perform some tasks so that she would be able to be free from her spell, turn back into a xana or a normal human being and be freed from being bound to her lair. This disenchantment is really complex and one can find a wide sea of different methods. One source of mine is: Some thoughts on Asturian Mythology - David A. Wacks https://davidwacks.uoregon.edu/2014/12/12/asturian/. In spite of that, both of these dragon-turned watermaids didn't emit fire from their mouths. I still included them because it shares a little of the fire aspect due to their dragon forms.

~~~

3: Emma's ice power: Plenty of waterpeople live in colder waters, but do not possess the power to manipulate water and turn it into ice. The only mention one ever heard of are the Filipino kataws who can also turn water into ice according to this Wikipedia article https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kataw_(Philippine_mythology) that sourced "Mga Engkanto: A Bestiary of Filipino Fairies. Philippines: eLf ideas Publication. 2003". It's probably a privately published book as I can only find a Blogspot post about its concept idea. Would like to confirm the source, but as of now one does not have the book.

~~~

"The Last of the Fairies" by Ida Rentoul Outhwaite (1888-1960)

4: Simply the moon or the full moon: Waterfolk has a relationship to the full moon. There is no moon pool or a direct moon spell affecting waterfolk, yet Catalan dones d'aigua tended to only show up on full moon nights where they would come out of their caves to dance, to comb their hair and to wash their laundry. Some would only sing on full or new moon nights, maybe they got spell-bound by the moon? Who knows. This is told according to: Les dones d'aigua - Elisenda Vilaró Móra http://www.elisendavilaromora.com/2012/03/les-dones-daigua/, Llegendes del riu i les done's d'aigua - Turisme Les Planes D'Hostoles https://turismelesplanes.cat/localitzacions/el-riu-i-les-dones-daigua/, Llegendes: Dona D'Aigua - Generalitat de Catalunya Departament d'Educació https://agora.xtec.cat/ceipcamins/4t/llegendes-dona-daigua/, Llegenda de les Dones d'Aigua - Mapes de Patrimoni Cultural https://patrimonicultural.diba.cat/element/llegenda-de-les-dones-daigua, Les dones d'aigua en la tradició popular - Mitologia Catalana Blogspot https://mitologiacatalans.blogspot.com/2016/09/les-dones-daigua-en-la-tradicio-popular_23.html and Mitologia Catalana - Isaac Baley https://www.isaacbaley.com/mitologia-catalana.html

One xana was said to be only present on full moon nights, dancing in the forest. This is said according to: La leyenda de La Xana: una historia de amor en Asturias - Crónica Asturias https://cronicaasturias.es/blog/la-leyenda-de-la-xana-una-historia-de-amor-en-asturias

Atargatis is one of the earliest waterfolk deities aside from the kullulû of Mesopotamia. She's an Assyrian fertility and mermaid goddess, yet was also described to be a moon goddess according to "Mermaids: The Myths, Legends, and Lore" on page 78.

The selkies were also said to go ashore on full moon-lit nights to shed their sealskins and dance at the seaside.

~~~

Illustration by Hugh Thomson for "Highways and Byways in Devon and Cornwall" in 1897.

5: The granting wishes ability from episode 5 "Hocus Pocus" on season 2: In the Cornish legend of Lutey Curry and the merry-maid, the merry-maid was said to have given Lutey three wishes as he had helped her go back into the water from being beached ashore. He wished for the power to heal the sick, the power to "defuse wicked spells" and to have his powers passed on after his death according to "Mermaids: The Myths, Legends, and Lore" on page 102 and Curses, Vengeance, and Fishtails: The Cornish Mermaid in Perspective https://www.academia.edu/31865439/Curses_Vengeance_and_Fishtails_The_Cornish_Mermaid_in_Perspective

The Scottish ceasg or maid-of-the-wave was also said to grant one three wishes if one caught her and then released her again according to #FolkloreThursday: The Ceasg - Steampunklibrarian Blog https://steampunklibrarian.blog/2021/09/30/folklorethursday-the-ceasg/ and Gaelic Folklore (5): Ceasg - Nicovleeuwen https://nicovleeuwen.blogspot.com/2019/06/gaelic-folklore-5-ceasg_7.html

~~~

6: The shapeshifting from mermaid to human is something prevalent in folklore, but not at the simple touch of a water drop. Instead, primarily only if the lower half is fully submerged, basically when fully going into a water body. Most waterfolk only have a fishtail that they can discard and wear later on again like a piece of clothing, but some do fully shapeshift like the mermaids of the show do. According to "Mermaids: The Myths, Legends and Lore" on page 181, the fishtailed yawkyawks from the mythology of the Kuninjku people in Australia could go ashore and "sprout legs and seem to be wholly human".

~~~

Edited “Unter-Wasser-Philosophie” by Erich Schütz for Mocca in 1934. Yawkyawks were said to have green hair resembling green algae in freshwater streams and rock pools, called man-bak in Kuninjku according to Yawkyawk (Ngalkunburriyaymi) - Maningrida Arts and Culture https://maningrida.com/artwork/683-23/.

As the show is set in Australia, the waterfolk of Australia is another part to consider. Here's a list of the Indigenous Australian watermaid ones. I won't skim through the entirety of their lore due to the fact that there are barely any parallels between them and the show, aside from the yawkyawks who could shapeshift into humans:

< Yawkyawks (other terms: ngalkunburriyaymi, ngalberddjenj (both possibly from the Kuninjku people) ngalworreworre (Wugularr community) from the book "Mermaid and Serpent - A Story from Wugularr Community", and ngalkodjek (Darnkolo people) as from: Owen Yalandja: Ngalkodjek Yawkyawk 2019 - ARTKELCH - Contemporary Aboriginal Art https://www.artkelch.de/en/artists/owen_yalandja_216/works/ngalkodjek_yawkyawk_1827

< The pearl-givers or the mermaids of the Keppel Islands of the Woppaburra people are found in "Among the Mermaids: Facts, Myths, and Enchantments from the Sirens of the Sea" on pages 98-99.

< The Ji-merdiwa from the Burarra people near the Blyth river can be found on: Mermaids tales appear in myths across the world- Arnhem Land included by Anna Whitfeld - ABC News https://www.abc.net.au/news/2018-06-11/mermaids-across-the-world-arnhem-land/9846210

< Wíwa spirits (mermaid spirits) from the Kunibídji people and Djómi and Bábbarra, and the other successor Djómi spirits: Our Bedtime Stories Episode 8: Djómi (Mermaid Story) - ICTV Play https://ictv.com.au/video/item/5508?lp=1, Djomi ( Fresh Water Spirit) Bábbarra Women's Centre https://babbarra.com/design/djomi/

< The karukayn of the Gurindji people as told in “The Penguin Book of Mermaids” on pages 224-225

< and the Muli Kanybubi from the Marri Ngarr Yek Dirrangara people as told in “Muli Kanybubi Tjitjuk Kawuny Na Yagatiya - The Two Mermaids’ Dreaming Place”. 

More resources on the Indigenous Australian watermaids: Mermaids in Folklore & Australian Indigenous Culture - troublemag https://www.troublemag.com/mermaids-in-folklore-australian-indigenous-culture/ and H2O: Just Add Water and myth of mermaids in Australia - Anglophone Literatures Blog https://blogs.phil.hhu.de/anglophoneliteratures/2022/04/04/h2o-just-add-water-and-myth-of-mermaids-in-australia/ 

Whether intentional or not, the lore is pretty deep.

(If any sources are not able to be viewed, consult an archival site)

Re-published and re-polished from the edited original entry on reddit via r/JustAddWater: https://www.reddit.com/r/JustAddWater/comments/1f934vx/similarities_of_folklore_in_the_show/

In the original entry, I had wanted to include these depictions that can be seen here, but it got removed. I am not shore what the culprit was, but it may have been the second or latter depiction of Melusine as I did not edit it back then since I thought it would be tolerated because no chest was directly visible. On the un-edited version of the depiction, her chest was already obscured by a light spot that looks like as if the paper had been ripped.

[thegameslave]

Crazy Geek Theory - "Moana" and "Gurren Lagann" Share a Universe

Yes, you read the title correctly. I think that both Moana and Gurren Lagann exist in the same universe. Why do I think that?

First things first: SPOILER WARNINGS for the following:

Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann: an 18 year old anime

Moana: a 9 year old movie

Moana 2: This one is just a few months old, this one is acceptable

Let’s start with what we know about Gurren Lagann. Gurren Lagann’s main point is the power of the spiral. Simon discovers the spiral drill and Lagann which kicks off the whole thing. We discover through the series that the power of the spiral is one of the greatest powers in the universe. We also discover that the anti-spirals have been restricting the spiral races from procreating by ensuring their populations remain under 1 million per planet. For Simon’s planet this was done by keeping them underground. Lordgenome killed off humans with his Beastmen in order to control the population and keep it below the required number. Eventually, in the last part of the series, the anti-spirals are defeated and the humans start making contact with other planets that hold spiral races.

This brings us to one of those planets. An unassuming planet that is almost covered entirely by water. One that might be looked over by other spiral races due to the low technology level. Here the human race was not restricted by being forced to stay underground, but instead by have very limited landmass. Sure there is some crazy demigod running around creating more landmass, but it there is still not much. On this planet one of the greatest powers, an item that is rumored to create life itself, is a stone heart.

Not only does this stone heart have a spiral one it, but when they are returning it to its original host it has to be returned “to the spiral”. OK, this does sound pretty far fetched. But with Moana 2 having been released the proof expands. In it we have 3 more events of spirals showing great power.

First off there is the Passage of the Gods. It looks to be a magical cloud whirlpool that sucks in our cast of characters and save themselves a lot of travel time. What does a whirlpool resemble? That is right, a spiral.

Next we have the battle against Nalo. He defends the island and attacks mainly with lighting, but that is all coated in massive tornadoes, which again are giant spirals. Sure he could just throw the lightning, but by encasing them in spirals he enhances and controls their power.

Last we have the point where Maui is mourning Moana’s sacrifice to break Nalo’s curse. We see that Moana’s ancestors gather around her. This does not only bring her back to life, it made her into a demigod! What shape do the ancestors take around her? Is it is a circle? A Square? No, the shape they take to BESTOW IMMENSE POWER AND IMMORTALITY is a spiral!

I believe, that after all this, we can confirm that spiral power is the life blood of the magic that exists on Moana’s world. On the Gurren Lagann Earth spiral power is used to make robots do things that they have no right being able to do. In Moana’s world it takes the form of the Gods, Demigods, and other magic.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[danika-redgrave124]

If my Yuu has Unqiue Magic, what will it be?

"House of Cards"

A magic slot machine that determines which Villian Recruiter's abilities Yuu will use.

Mechanics of House of Cards  

Activation: Yuu summons a large, holographic slot machine that they pull to spin. The reels display different symbols related to each Villain Recruiter they embody.  

Result: The combination determines which abilities Yuu temporarily gains. The stronger the ability, the harder it is to land on.  

Cooldown & Duration: The ability lasts for a set amount of time or until Yuu spins again, but excessive use could cause drawbacks (fatigue, stress, sleepy status, and simple illusions)

Ability Breakdown (Villain Recruiter Powers) 

Each result on the slot machine corresponds to one of Yuu’s Villain Recruiter inspirations:  

💛Jack Heart– Royal Flush

Yuu gains the ability to manipulate playing cards like enchanted weapons, turning them into razor-sharp projectiles or shields.  

The cards can also be used as portals—Yuu can "cut" through space to teleport short distances.  

Status Effect: Can impose "Obedience", making an opponent momentarily follow a command (like a game of cards).  

🦁Pretty Scar– Predator’s Gambit

Yuu's body enhances physically, gaining increased strength, agility, and heightened senses (especially sight and smell).  

Their nails sharpen into claws, and they gain a feline-like reflex for dodging attacks.  

Special Move: "Savage Roar"—lets out a deep, echoing roar that temporarily stuns or intimidates enemies.  

🐙Eight Foot Joe– Deep Deal

Yuu can create magical contracts, forcing people to agree to a trade-off in exchange for power.  

Gains water manipulation, allowing them to summon tidal waves, whirlpools, or shape water into solid objects.  

Special Move: "Davy Jones’ Grip"—tentacle-like water binds the target and drains their energy.  

✨️Farja– Sandstorm Mirage

Yuu can create illusions that deceive the senses, making enemies see what Yuu wants them to.  

Gains control over sand magic, able to form sand barriers, weapons, or quicksand traps.  

Special Move: "Desert Wrath"—summons a scorching sandstorm that blinds and disorients opponents.  

🍎Apple Poison– Enchanted Brew

Yuu can brew magical poisons or enhancements instantly, coating weapons or casting status effects.  

Gains a hypnotic voice, able to charm or subtly influence others’ actions.  

Special Move: "Crimson Apple"—creates an apple that, when bitten, induces a strong curse (poison, sleep, or hallucinations).  

🔥Miss Hades– Underworld Wager

Yuu’s body is surrounded by blue flames, and he gain fire control (heat-resistant and able to manipulate hellfire).  

Can summon shadows of the Underworld, which act as temporary assistants in battle.  

Special Move: "Soul Contract"—Yuu can momentarily borrow someone’s strength but has to offer something in return.  

🐲Malfie – Cursed Legacy

Yuu’s magic power increases greatly, allowing him to cast stronger and more advanced spells.  

Gains dark energy wings for limited flight.  

Special Move: "Thorned Fate"—curses an enemy so that misfortune follows them temporarily.  

Drawbacks & Risks

Randomized Abilities: Yuu doesn’t have full control over what ability they get, making battles unpredictable.  

Cooldown System: Once an ability is used, Yuu has to wait before spinning again, preventing spamming of overpowered moves.  

Jackpot Mode (Rare Occurrence): If Yuu lands on a rare combination, they get a fusion of two abilities, but it consumes a lot of magic.  

Glitch Malfunction (Critical Failure): If the spin glitches (bad luck or interference), Yuu might get a weak or useless effect (e.g., an illusion that backfires, a weak puff of flame, etc.).  

Visual & Aesthetic Details

The slot machine is themed like a magical roulette wheel.

When an ability is activated, Yuu's outfit slightly changes to match the Villain Recruiter they embody (e.g., glowing blue flames for Miss Hades, card symbols appearing on their clothes for Jack Heart).  

The sound effects when spinning could include a ticking noise, casino jingles, or echoes of villain laughter.

Best Combination

For the best combinations, we’ll want a balance of offense, defense, and utility while maintaining the unpredictability and risk factor of House of Cards. Here are some three-option slot machine combinations that could create powerful fusion abilities when landed on together:

Jack Heart + Miss Hades + Malfie → Royal Inferno

Abilities Gained:

Card manipulation (weapons & teleportation).

Fire control with blue flames.

Magic power boost + limited flight.

Special Fusion Move: "Burning Fate" – Yuu throws a flaming card that explodes on impact, cursing enemies with bad luck while surrounding them in hellfire.

Weakness: High energy cost, and if misused, the flames can backfire.

Farja + Apple Poison + Eight Foot Joe → Phantom Deal

Abilities Gained:

Powerful mirages that can alter perception.

Poison-making + hypnotic voice.

Contract magic for power exchanges.

Special Fusion Move: "Serpent’s Bargain" – Yuu tricks an enemy into taking a cursed deal, making them momentarily obey or suffer hallucinations.

Weakness: Requires persuasion and setup; won’t work on those immune to mind tricks.

Pretty Scar + Miss Hades + Jack Heart → Shadow King’s Gambit

Abilities Gained:

Enhanced physical strength, agility, and feline reflexes.

Fire resistance + control of blue flames.

Card weapons & portals.

Special Fusion Move: "Blazing Claw" – Yuu slashes with flame-covered claws, cutting through both magic barriers and physical defenses.

Weakness: Weak against water-based attacks and magic-draining abilities.

Farja + Eight Foot Joe + Malfie → Eclipse Tyrant

Abilities Gained:

Sandstorm illusions + sand manipulation.

Water-based energy draining.

Cursed energy enhancement.

Special Fusion Move: "Twilight Chains" – Yuu summons a dark whirlwind of sand and water, trapping enemies in an illusion while draining their stamina.

Weakness: Limited offensive power; strong opponents may resist illusions.

7️⃣7️⃣7️⃣ All Seven Recruiters (Very Low Chance) → House of Chaos

Effect: Yuu gains a fraction of each ability for 30 seconds, causing unpredictable but devastating effects.

Weakness: Overwhelming energy drain, extreme fatigue afterward.

[scoldingdarjeeling]

Instinct

When Tempest, a human touched by the Feywild's haunting beauty, crosses paths with Halsin, the Hierophant of Silvanus, more bear than elf, something ancient stirs. What begins as quiet kinship soon blazes into fierce, consuming passion. Both carry echoes of the fey in their blood; she, marked by survival; he, born of wild groves. Each awakens the untamed heart in the other, a humming beat beyond planes and reason. On a night conjured by magic and vines, they offer each other the most primal of gifts: a glimpse of wholeness, where souls entwine in sacred abandon.

Excerpt from Stormcaller

When Halsin found her at the foremost point by the rocks, his heart sank. The haunted call of the dire bear was drowned out by a whirlpool of golden light as Halsin returned to his body once more.

He muttered an oath to Silvanus under his breath before taking off in a sprint. His leg muscles pumped, propelling him forward, kicking up sand. Halsin was just within reach of her when he stumbled to a halt, wide-eyed. His fears were realized — the trance had overtaken her completely.

Tempest hovered in the air above him, stiffly. Her silver-white hair flowed softly as if suspended in time. Ever so slowly, her body turned in the charged air. He could see her eyes, upturned, glowing brightly. She was gasping for breath, chest heaving, her toned stomach flexing. The color of her lips — a deep shade of purple — told him how close she was to hypothermia. Her clothes, a flimsy top and shorts, offered no protection. Halsin had to squint against the sharpness of the lightning scars that cycled and changed color like the beat of a pulse. Above, he sensed — more than saw — a roiling vortex of energy spinning out of control. A beacon to any malevolent force seeking to exploit her vacant state.

He had seen her like this only a few times before; an otherwise fearless fighter with a radiant, full-bodied presence, now ripped open, vulnerable, exposed, and in unimaginable agony. He wanted to shield her, protect her, pull her into his arms, and hold her tightly.

The rumbling thunder grounded him. And just as he had theorized, she was drawing the lightning, which speared the water’s surface and scattered erratically across the sky. Stones of varying sizes, smoothed by the currents, hovered in the air around them. Then he felt it — the clash of hot and cold air as the torrential downpour approached from behind, soaking them in seconds. Halsin had to act fast; any longer exposed like this, and her condition would become critical. Risking a collapse — or worse.

Just as he reached for her, climbing the top of the boulder, sudden gusts of wind whipped up sand and rippled the water’s surface, like a cauldron about to boil over. Something was there...

Halsin froze mid-motion, registering the immense presence keeping him from her. His hackles rose in response.

“Tempest, can you hear me? Nature has made me aware of what has befallen you. As Great Druid and Nature’s Chosen, I am tasked with preserving order and restoring balance.”

Tempest gave no response, but Halsin carried on, undeterred.

“This vortex you unintentionally opened has thrown the scales of darkness and light ascew. I need your help to close it. Do not worry — I will remain with you every step of the way. Follow my voice!”

Just as Halsin ascended the rock to remain level with her, he became aware of a third presence — something slight but swift, almost whimsical in how it presented itself. Studying Tempest’s suspended form, he noticed the fey aura enclosing her, a faint rainbow shimmer sparking at the edge of his vision.

So, Halsin thought, that explains why I couldn't find her dragon companion.

Moxie was the physical expression of Tempest's soul, and Halsin became aware of a struggle — a reflecting spell cast upon them in response to the greater threat. The brave little dragon played the part of a mongoose dancing around the cobra’s fangs. Moxie must have been banished sometime before Halsin’s arrival. Images flashed through his mind, fragmented and unclear due to the magical disturbance. As best he could tell, they had been banished to a place of shadow, not their home plane of the Feywild.

Seeing the window of opportunity this momentary distraction afforded him, Halsin heaved himself over the first shelf and scrambled to Tempest’s side. When he was about to touch her knee, however, Halsin experienced firsthand just how unpredictable, painful, and dangerous an erupting force field could be. He recoiled, breathing hard, the current searing through his bare arms and upper body. Halsin, being 350 years old and having recently been promoted to the Elder Circle of Three, had learned how to re-target, granting him elemental absorption and greater resistance. Any younger and he would've been violently repelled and charred to a crisp. Although he wouldn’t have called it pleasant, feeling his heart stutter and beat out of rhythm from the high voltage, he would endured it all — if that was what it took to close that damn vortex and rescue his companion from her possession.

Halsin snapped his jaw shut, muscles cracking like stone, growling with stoic defiance as he pushed forward — until he encountered a wall. Of course, Halsin thought angrily, it wouldn’t be as simple as plucking her from the sky and expecting whatever force holding her consciousness hostage to just hand her over. This required patience. And a gentle hand.

Halsin eased off, hands held out to his sides in a placating manner.

“Tempest, whatever-or whomever has you locked out of your mind won’t keep me out forever. Already I can feel its grasp slipping.”

That was when a faint voice answered him: “Halsin... I'm...sinking...”

Her face was turned, but he could see Tempest’s neck tensing — her consciousness fighting its way back.

Seeing this, Halsin murmured a word of thanks in Elven on an exhale. Tempest wasn’t as far gone as he had first believed.

“I am here. Stay with me.”

Halsin wished he hadn’t left his herbal apothecary satchel behind at one of the woodland outposts before he ventured out. He could’ve used some dried sage to stimulate Tempest’s senses. In truth, he would’ve appreciated the assistance of an apprentice to better focus on the task at hand — to vacate the unknown energy occupying Tempest’s body and end her trance. But all he had at his disposal was his voice.

Halsin closed his eyes, his feet firmly planted and legs spread far apart. From his hands, a golden light emanated. A green aurora appeared — as if written by an unseen hand — in the language of the elements. As Halsin recited the Psalm of the Old Oak, though its true purpose was known only to Archdruids, the words unfurled their hidden meaning. Just like a Remove Curse spell, it held restorative properties, offering guidance for displaced energies:

“The leaves are His, and the trees are Him. To nurture this is our duty. To neglect them is to neglect our very Father..."

Tempest made a harrowing sound: “I can’t... too weak,” stopping Halsin mid-sentence.

“Yes, you can! Y-”

Something dark and sinister took hold, shattering his focus. Like a dreadful dome of silence, it killed the wind and stopped the rains. Tempest flinched, her face hidden in wild curls. Her scars glowed an angry vermilion. A keening noise followed — and then:

“LEAVE!”

A thunderous wave of compressed air, like a thunderclap, stole the very breath from Halsin’s lungs, leaving him staggering and gasping in place.

White eyes, blazing in a face wrought with fury and pain, pinned him where he stood. Something about this felt chillingly familiar...

“You have no power over me, Nature’s fury and Silvanus’ Chosen!”

Halsin’s eyes sharpened at that. He held his ground and pressed closer.

“Power is bestowed by nature; it is the Oak Father’s will.”

Halsin’s magic rose in response, a golden mirror spreading, covering his arms — before he remembered:

The eyes of an apex predator...

“You are 300 years too late, DRUID! I am trapped no longer! And I will exact my bloody vengeance!”

Just then, Tempest shut her eyes and turned away from him, her arms and legs straining against invisible chains. She called out to him, her voice strong. “Halsin!” Before the unknown force pulled her under again.

Halsin’s rugged features deepened, growing harsher in an expression of stern authority. He stood tall now, resuming his recital:

“The grass is His, and the blades are Him. It soothes our senses and softens our fall. To touch it is to know Him.”

As Halsin’s voice boomed, the domed pressure around them dissipated — and the full onslaught of the storm took its place. The sky ripped open by rods of heavenly spears striking at them. Hitting the very stone, igniting its impact points. But Halsin had found his momentum, spurred on as Tempest’s body began to descend, the vortex above them narrowing:

“The fire is His, and the flames are Him. To fear them is to know His might. To stoke them is to shun His words.”

Yet the malevolent force shouted out against his words, like an eagle fighting to remain on its burning perch:

“They slew Akadi’s Chosen! Stole my eggs! Thieves and murderers all! Monsters with bows, hounds, and liquid fire!”

Hearing this made Halsin’s world stop for an instant. His mind reeled — finally recognizing who, or what, was manifesting through Tempest.

Of course... Halsin told himself. How could I have been so blind...

A painful truth. He admonished himself for not putting the pieces together sooner. He lowered his hands and relaxed a tick, watching everything unfold with sobering clarity. Sorrow seized his heart.

This was not a possession caused by a malevolent spirit, elemental, or undead...

This was a tempestuous rupture...

A residual memory...

This was caused by no other force of nature — but Tempest’s very own.

[fictionkinfessions]

I still see you wanting to take the path of least resistance. The frustration of trying to send that massive surge of energy upstream against the gravity that keeps trying to push you downhill over those rocks again. When it feels like the gods expect you to always do the impossible. When you keep getting snagged and pulled under and yet by some miracle you're always able to breathe even below the surface, where the ebb and flow of those currents keeps churning and swirling all those complex thoughts around in that fantastic mind of yours. I know I keep wanting to cast my line out and see what I find in the multiple whirlpools of your emotions, and sometimes it means having the line snapped and having to wait until those waters settle first. I can't control your tides, I know. I don't want to control your tides though. I may have the sign of the water bearer in this life but there is no way in Olympus I could ever hope to contain the entire ocean in one tiny cup. I'm throwing the cup away. I'm coming to you instead. I want to dive straight in, and maybe you're scared of pulling me into those currents too and seeing me drown in my feelings for you. Rest assured though I don't want to stir up the sand for you when you're already trying to process everything else going on. I'm wading in slowly. I'm waiting for the tsunamis to turn to ripples. I'm patient, or at least trying to be for your sake. And the truth is this. I still see the power you may have thought you lost. I still see the very life force of the planet I currently exist on with you, and I see that coursing through your veins. I still see your father's strength in you even in times when you feel you may doubt yourself. You used to doubt yourself so much. But you've slain monsters, taken on immeasurable battles. With the world and with yourself. And every time, it fills me with wonder and awe. You were beautiful and powerful to me in ways I can never hope to ever fully convey into words, at least not without sounding completely infatuated and head in the clouds about it. You know my love for you is electric though. It just builds and builds and I guess I'm battling my own currents, trying not to see those clouds break and add even more volume to your oceans just yet. And maybe it could end up being a hurricane either way, because those elements are as primordial and untamed as ever, but maybe, when the timing is right... we can both find dry land again. Together.

- Not tagging this one. You'll hopefully know who it is when you read it.

x

[paperanddice]

River King

The River King is a powerful looking elfin figure, wears cloaks trimmed in a style of river foam and a vest of woven reeds and willow. His Rippling Majesty, Defender of the Pearl Tower, and Master of the Arbonesse, the current river king is named Ulorian. An influential figure, his realm exists in the river's reflection, found in many places along its bank where he so chooses to appear. Invasion is near impossible, and his power ensures the safety of the Arbonesse, his forest and the surrounding area.

Stern, with a great temper for those who threaten his people, the River King is in many ways unreliable. His promises are often broken as he changes his mind, "the river may change its course when it wills," as his reason. These changes of heart are expected by his fellow lords and ladies, but those unfamiliar with the King and his fleeting interest may suffer greatly for their ignorance.

Inspired by the Tome of Beasts 1. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as access to my premade adventures and other material I’m working on, consider backing me there!

Pathfinder 2e

River King Creature 16 Unique, Medium, Amphibious, Fey Perception +27; wavesense (imprecise) 60 feet Languages Common, Elven, Jotun, Thalassic Skills Athletics +28, Diplomacy +27, Intimidation +27, Nature +29, Stealth +27, Survival +29 Str +6, Dex +5, Con +6, Int +4, Wis +3, Cha +5 Items +3 greater striking greater shocking longsword AC 40; Fort +30, Ref +29, Will +27; +2 status to all saves vs. water HP 280; Immunities electricity; Resistances cold 15, physical 15 (except cold iron); Weaknesses cold iron 15 Reactive Strike [reaction] Redirect the River [reaction] (primal, water); Trigger A creature within 100 feet casts a water spell, or a water spell otherwise comes into effect from a source within 100 feet. Effect The River King attempts to counteract the effect (counteract modifier +26, counteract rank 8). On a success, the River King makes all the choices to determine the targets, destination, or other effects of the spell, as though he were the caster. Speed 30 feet, swim 40 feet Melee longsword +33 (electricity, magical, versatile P), Damage 3d8+16 slashing plus 1d6 electricity Melee fist +30 (agile, magical, unarmed), Damage 3d4+14 bludgeoning Ranged flood blast +31 (magical, range 120 feet, water), Damage 3d8+15 bludgeoning plus Improved Knockdown Primal Innate Spells DC 37, attack +29 ; 8th chain lightning; 5th control water (×3); 4th water breathing (at will), hydraulic torrent (at will); 1st create water (at will); cantrips (8th) electric arc Constant water walk Flow The River King's doesn't trigger reactions from Swimming. Grasping Whirlpool [3 actions] (concentrate, manipulate, primal, water) The River King can cast the whirlpool spell, except the duration is sustained up to 1 minute, or until the River King uses this action again. The River King can't use Grasping Whirlpool again for 1d4 rounds.

13th Age

River King Double-strength 10th level caster [humanoid] Initiative: +14 Current Blade +15 vs. AC (2 attacks) – 50 damage. Natural Even Hit or Miss: The River King can pop the target free from one enemy they’re engaged with. Natural Odd Hit: 20 lightning damage. R: Flooding River Wave +15 vs. PD (one nearby or far away enemy) – 70 damage and the River King can pop the target free from any enemies they’re engaged with. Natural 14+: The River King can choose to move the target to engage a nearby creature of his choice. If that creature is one of the target’s allies, the ally takes 30 damage. Miss: The River King can make a second flooding river wave attack against a different target. He can’t make a third on the same turn. C: Grasping Whirlpool +15 vs. PD (1d4 nearby enemies in a group) – 65 damage and the target is stuck (save ends). Until the target moves or the River King uses this attack again, the target takes 20 damage at the end of each of their turns. Limited Use: 1d3 times per battle, never two turns in a row. Blade Current: The River King has a +2 bonus to hit and a +10 bonus to damage with opportunity attacks. Flow: The River King has a +5 bonus to disengage checks. Perfect Swimmer: The River King can’t be intercepted while swimming, and can automatically pop free from any enemy that doesn’t have a special reason to be an expert swimmer (a magic item, appropriate background, One Unique Thing, Icon benefit, or similar). Ripple: 2/battle, as an interrupt action, the River King can force a creature that attacks him to reroll the attack and take the new result. Resist Lightning 18+. AC 25 PD 23 MD 23 HP 400

[wovengoldindia]

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Ergonomic Comfort – Designed for maximum relaxation with deep soaking capabilities.

Customizable Options – Choose from a variety of colors, sizes, and features to suit your preferences.

Advanced Features – Some models include hydrotherapy jets, LED lighting, and digital controls for an enhanced spa-like experience.

Popular Corner Bathtub Models by Woven Gold India

1. Classic Corner Soaking Tub

Perfect for minimalist and modern bathrooms, this bathtub features a deep basin that allows for a relaxing soak. Its compact design ensures efficient use of space without sacrificing comfort.

2. Whirlpool Corner Bathtub

For those who love spa-like experiences, this luxury model comes with powerful water jets that provide a soothing hydrotherapy massage.

3. Freestanding Corner Tub

A perfect blend of style and comfort, this bathtub features a sleek, standalone design that adds a touch of elegance to any bathroom.

4. Jetted Corner Bathtub

Equipped with advanced jet technology, this tub is designed to relieve stress and provide a therapeutic bathing experience.

Tips for Choosing the Right Corner Bathtub

Measure Your Space – Ensure the bathtub fits comfortably within your bathroom layout.

Consider the Material – Acrylic tubs are lightweight and durable, while cast iron provides a classic, long-lasting appeal.

Decide on Features – If you enjoy luxurious baths, consider tubs with jets, LED lighting, and heating options.

Check Water Capacity – Choose a bathtub that suits your water usage preferences.

Match Your Bathroom Aesthetic – Select a design that complements your interior style.

Conclusion: The Best Place to Buy Corner Tub

If you are looking for high-quality corner bathtubs that combine style, comfort, and durability, offers an impressive collection to suit various needs. Whether you prefer a simple soaking tub or an advanced whirlpool model, Woven Gold India ensures superior craftsmanship and modern designs that enhance your bathroom experience.Transform your bathroom with a luxurious, space-saving corner bathtub today. Explore the exclusive collection at Woven Gold India and find the perfect bathtub for your home.

athtub Solutions

[cagemasterfantasy]

DND Monsters: Riverine

From: Journeys through the Radiant Citadel (In the Mists of Manivarsha)

Large Fey, Any Alignment

AC 14

HP 204 (24d10 + 72)

Speed 30 ft., Swim 60 ft.

Str 20 +5 Dex 19 +4 Con 17 +3 Int 12 +1 Wis 16 +3 Cha 21 +5

Saves Int +5 Wis +7 Cha +9

Skills Insight +7, Nature +5, Perception +7

Resistances Acid, Fire

Senses Blindsight 60 ft.

Languages Aquan, Common, Sylvan

CR 12

Traits

Amphibious. The riverine can breathe air and water.

Legendary Resistance (3/Day). If the riverine fails a saving throw, it can choose to succeed instead.

Actions

Multiattack. The riverine makes two Flood Strike attacks.

Flood Strike. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 10 ft., one target. Hit: 14 (2d8 + 5) bludgeoning damage plus 10 (3d6) cold damage.

Spellcasting. The riverine casts one of the following spells, requiring no material components and using Charisma as the spellcasting ability (spell save DC 17):

Spells can be found in my tags

At will: control water, fog cloud

1/day: greater restoration

Bonus Actions

Whirlpool Step. The riverine magically teleports to an unoccupied space it can see within 30 feet of itself. Both the space it leaves and its destination must be in or on the surface of water.

Legendary Actions

Legendary Action Uses: 3. Immediately after another creature's turn, The riverine can expend a use to take one of the following actions. The riverine regains all expended uses at the start of each of its turns.

Whirlpool Rush. The riverine uses its Whirlpool Step. Immediately after it teleports, each creature within 5 feet of the riverine's destination space takes 5 (1d10) cold damage.

Raging Deluge (Costs 2 Actions). The riverine unleashes a torrent of river water in a 30-foot line that is 5 feet wide. Each creature in that area must make a DC 17 Dexterity saving throw. On a failed save, a creature takes 11 (2d10) bludgeoning damage and is knocked prone. On a successful save, a creature takes half as much damage and isn't knocked prone.

Lair: Some Riverines enjoy reverence akin to worship. Their likenesses are cast as statues and housed in temples and worshipers act as agents between the river spirits and the people who revere them. These temples often become the home of the Riverine itself serving as its lair though other nexuses of power along the river's path such as its source or a significant waterfall can also be used as lairs by a riverine. A Riverine encountered in its lair has its Challenge Rating increased to 13

Lair Actions

On initiative count 20 (losing initiative ties), the riverine can take one of the following lair actions; the riverine can't take the same lair action two rounds in a row:

Phantasmal Mist. The riverine creates fog around a creature it can see within 120 feet of it. The target must succeed on a DC 17 Wisdom saving throw or take 5 (1d10) psychic damage and be frightened of the riverine until the end of the target's next turn.

River's Fury. The riverine conjures swampy ground that briefly covers the ground in a 20-foot square the riverine can see within 120 feet of itself. That area becomes difficult terrain until initiative count 20 on the next round. Any creature, other than the riverine, that enters the affected area or starts its turn there takes 7 (2d6) cold damage.

Regional Effects

The region containing a riverine's lair flourishes under the magic of the riverine's presence, which creates one or more of the following effects:

Clearwater Sight. The waters of the river serve as a conduit for the riverine's consciousness. As an action, the riverine can cast the clairvoyance spell, requiring no spell components, targeting any point along the river it's connected to.

River's Bounty. Freshwater fauna and flora reproduce rapidly and thrive in the waters within 1 mile of the riverine's lair. Foraging in these waters yields twice the usual amount of food.

Spirit Guidance. Tracks appear along the banks of the river within 6 miles of the riverine's lair. The tracks lead to potential shelters and safe passages across the river's waters, while also leading away from areas that the riverine prefers to remain undisturbed.

If the riverine dies, the flora and fauna return to normal levels, and its river dries out over the course of 1d10 days. All other effects cease immediately.

[shrutijadhav2139]

Bathtub Market Dynamics and Forecast: Analyzing Emerging Trends and Growth Opportunities

The bathtub market has witnessed steady growth in recent years, driven by changing consumer preferences, technological advancements, and an increased focus on home wellness. As the global economy continues to recover and consumers focus on enhancing their living spaces, the demand for high-quality bathtubs has surged. Analyzing the dynamics of the bathtub market reveals key emerging trends, growth opportunities, and challenges that are shaping its future.

One of the most significant drivers of growth in the bathtub market is the increasing consumer interest in home wellness. Bathtubs, once seen primarily as a functional fixture, have evolved into essential components of luxury home designs. The desire for relaxation and self-care has led to an increased demand for bathtubs that offer more than just bathing capabilities. Today’s consumers are seeking features like built-in jets, whirlpool systems, chromotherapy, and advanced ergonomics, which create a spa-like experience at home. As a result, the bathtub has transformed into a symbol of personal well-being and relaxation.

Freestanding bathtubs are particularly popular among homeowners and interior designers. These bathtubs are designed to stand independently in the bathroom, often serving as a focal point of the room. They are available in a variety of materials, such as acrylic, cast iron, and stone resin, which not only enhance the aesthetics of the bathroom but also offer durability and comfort. Freestanding bathtubs, with their modern and stylish designs, are driving a shift away from traditional, built-in models. This trend is especially prominent in high-end residential markets and luxury developments.

Another key factor contributing to the growth of the bathtub market is the increasing number of home renovations and remodeling projects. As more people invest in upgrading their bathrooms, bathtubs are one of the main items being replaced or enhanced. The demand for bathtubs that match contemporary interior styles has driven manufacturers to innovate. Customized designs, advanced materials, and energy-efficient features are becoming more common in new bathtub offerings. Consumers are also looking for sustainability in the products they purchase, prompting brands to focus on environmentally friendly materials and water-saving technologies.

In addition to residential demand, the bathtub market has also seen growth in the commercial sector. Hotels, resorts, and spas are incorporating high-end bathtubs into their facilities to meet the increasing expectations of their clientele. This trend is fueling the demand for luxury bathtubs with advanced features, such as steam functions, heated surfaces, and intelligent controls. With the rise of wellness tourism, businesses in the hospitality industry are investing in top-tier bathroom fixtures to offer a memorable experience to their guests.

Looking ahead, the bathtub market is poised to continue its growth trajectory, with several opportunities and challenges on the horizon. Technological innovation will remain a key driver of the market, with smart bathtubs featuring voice control, temperature regulation, and personalized settings expected to capture the attention of tech-savvy consumers. Furthermore, the demand for sustainable products will push manufacturers to adopt eco-friendly practices and incorporate water-saving technologies. However, competition in the market is intensifying, as more players enter the space, and price sensitivity remains a challenge, particularly in regions with economic constraints.

In conclusion, the bathtub market is evolving rapidly, driven by changing consumer preferences for luxury, wellness, and sustainability. With new trends and growth opportunities emerging, the market is expected to experience continued expansion in the coming years. As manufacturers innovate and adapt to consumer demands, the bathtub market will remain an essential segment in the broader home and lifestyle industry.

Get Free Sample and ToC : https://www.pristinemarketinsights.com/get-free-sample-and-toc?rprtdtid=NTA1&RD=Bathtub-Market-Report

[bathandkitchenshowroombroomall]

Understanding Plumbing Supplies: A Homeowner's Guide to Choosing the Right Products

When it comes to home improvement and maintenance, understanding the various plumbing supplies available is crucial. Selecting the right products, from new toilets and sinks to bathtubs and faucets, can significantly impact your home's functionality and aesthetic. This guide will help you learn the essentials, ensuring you make informed decisions for your specific needs.

Toilets: Modern Innovations for Comfort and Efficiency

Choosing the proper toilet involves considering several factors, including water efficiency, comfort, and design. Modern toilets have various features aimed at enhancing both comfort and water conservation.

Water Efficiency: Look for toilets with the WaterSense label, which use 20% less water than standard models. Dual-flush toilets offer two flushing modes to save water and are also a great option.

Comfort and Height: Comfort height toilets are taller than standard models, making them easier for adults and individuals with mobility issues. Ensure the toilet you choose offers adequate comfort for your household.

Design and Aesthetics: Choose a toilet that complements your bathroom decor from traditional to contemporary. One-piece designs are sleek and more accessible to clean, while two-piece toilets are more conventional and often more affordable.

Sinks: Versatility and Style for Every Bathroom and Kitchen

Sinks are a focal point in bathrooms and kitchens, so choosing the right style and material is essential.

Material Options: Popular materials include stainless steel, porcelain, cast iron, and composite granite. Stainless steel is easy to clean and durable, while porcelain and cast iron offer classic looks. Composite granite is scratch-resistant and available in various colors.

Mounting Styles: Consider how the sink will be installed. Top-mount (drop-in) sinks are easy to install and replace, while under-mount sinks offer a seamless look and easier countertop cleaning. Vessel sinks sit at the counter, adding a modern, stylish touch.

Size and Depth: Ensure the sink size fits your counter space and meets your functional needs. Deeper sinks are ideal for kitchens, making washing large pots and pans easier. Choose a size that complements the vanity without overpowering the bathroom space.

Bathtubs: Relaxation and Functionality Combined

Choosing a bathtub involves considering your bathroom size, preferred bathing experience, and the material's durability.

Freestanding vs. Built-in: Freestanding tubs are luxurious and stylish, becoming the centerpiece of any bathroom. Built-in tubs, such as alcove and corner tubs, are practical and space-efficient.

Material Choices: Acrylic and fiberglass tubs are lightweight and affordable, while cast iron and porcelain-enameled steel offer durability and a classic look. For a high-end feel, consider stone resin or copper bathtubs.

Features and Comfort: Modern bathtubs come with various features such as whirlpool jets, air baths, and heated surfaces. Consider these options to enhance your bathing experience with therapeutic benefits.

Faucets: Function Meets Fashion

Faucets are vital fixtures in bathrooms and kitchens, providing functionality and style.

Design and Finish: Choose a faucet design that matches your overall decor. Popular finishes include chrome, brushed nickel, oil-rubbed bronze, and matte black. Ensure the finish complements other fixtures in your bathroom or kitchen.

Functionality: Consider faucets with single-handle or double-handle designs, depending on your preference for temperature control. Pull-out and pull-down sprayer faucets are ideal for kitchens, offering flexibility and ease of use.

Water Efficiency: Opt for faucets with the WaterSense label, which ensures they meet EPA standards for water efficiency without compromising performance.

Additional Tips for Homeowners

When selecting plumbing supplies like an energy-efficient shower, always consider the quality and reputation of the brand. Visiting Weinstein Plumbing Supply can allow you to see and feel the products before purchasing. The staff at these plumbing supply stores can offer expert advice and help you choose products that meet your specific needs and budget.

Furthermore, it's essential to consider the long-term maintenance and repair of plumbing fixtures. Opt for products with good warranties and are known for their durability.

Understanding the different plumbing supplies available and how to choose the correct fixture can significantly enhance your home's functionality and aesthetic. By considering factors such as water efficiency, material, functionality, and design, you can make informed decisions that will serve your home well for years. Whether renovating a bathroom or upgrading a kitchen, the right plumbing supplies are crucial for creating a comfortable and stylish living space.

[aesthetichomerenovations]

Aesthetic Home Renovations: Elevate Your Bathroom with Luxurious Upgrades

Welcome to the world of aesthetic home renovations, where elegance meets functionality, and every detail is crafted to enhance your living experience. One of the most impactful areas to focus on when considering home renovations is the bathroom. This space, often overlooked, holds immense potential to transform your daily routines into moments of relaxation and luxury. In this blog, we explore the finest bathroom luxuries that can elevate your home and bring a touch of opulence to your everyday life.

The Essence of Aesthetic Bathroom Renovations Aesthetic bathroom renovations are not just about installing new fixtures; they are about creating a sanctuary within your home. The modern bathroom is a place where style and comfort converge, offering a retreat from the hustle and bustle of daily life. Here are some key elements to consider when planning your bathroom luxury upgrade.

Spa-Inspired Showers Transform your bathroom into a personal spa with a luxurious shower system. Consider installing a rainfall showerhead that mimics the soothing sensation of natural rain. For added luxury, incorporate body jets that provide a full-body massage, or a steam shower system to create a sauna-like experience at home.

Key Features: Rainfall Showerheads: Large, overhead showerheads that provide a gentle, rain-like water flow. Body Jets: Multiple jets installed on shower walls for a therapeutic massage. Steam Showers: Enclosed shower systems that generate steam for a spa-like experience.

Freestanding Tubs Freestanding tubs are the epitome of luxury and elegance. These statement pieces come in various shapes and sizes, from classic clawfoot designs to sleek, modern silhouettes. Positioned as a focal point in the bathroom, a freestanding tub invites relaxation and indulgence.

Key Features: Design Variety: Choose from traditional, contemporary, or eclectic styles. Materials: Options include cast iron, acrylic, and stone resin for different aesthetics and durability. Functionality: Some models offer whirlpool or air bath features for added comfort.

High-End Fixtures and Finishes Elevate the look and feel of your bathroom with high-end fixtures and finishes. Opt for brushed nickel, matte black, or polished brass for a sophisticated touch. These finishes add a layer of refinement and can seamlessly tie together the overall aesthetic of the space.

Key Features: Faucets: Elegant designs with single or double handles. Hardware: Coordinating towel bars, drawer pulls, and light fixtures. Custom Vanities: Tailored designs that incorporate luxurious materials like marble, granite, or quartz.

Smart Bathroom Technology Integrate smart technology into your bathroom for a modern, convenient experience. From smart mirrors with built-in lighting and defogging capabilities to toilets with bidet functions and heated seats, technology can significantly enhance the luxury of your bathroom.

Key Features: Smart Mirrors: Touchscreen controls, integrated lighting, and Bluetooth connectivity. Advanced Toilets: Bidet functions, heated seats, and automated flushing. Temperature Control: Smart thermostats for maintaining the perfect water temperature.

Ambient Lighting Lighting plays a crucial role in creating a luxurious bathroom ambiance. Incorporate layered lighting solutions to achieve a balance of functionality and relaxation. Use a combination of task lighting, ambient lighting, and accent lighting to highlight architectural features and create a warm, inviting atmosphere.

Key Features: Task Lighting: Focused lighting for grooming and makeup application. Ambient Lighting: Soft, general lighting to create an inviting atmosphere. Accent Lighting: Highlight design elements like artwork, niches, or architectural details.

Luxurious Materials The choice of materials can make a significant difference in the overall aesthetic of your bathroom. Natural stone, such as marble or travertine, exudes timeless elegance. Porcelain tiles offer durability and versatility, while glass and metal accents can add a contemporary flair.

Key Features: Natural Stone: Luxurious and durable options for countertops, flooring, and walls. Porcelain Tiles: Versatile designs that mimic natural materials. Glass and Metal Accents: Sleek, modern elements for a polished look. Conclusion Aesthetic home renovations, particularly in the bathroom, offer an unparalleled opportunity to enhance both the beauty and functionality of your living space. By incorporating luxurious elements such as spa-inspired showers, freestanding tubs, high-end fixtures, smart technology, ambient lighting, and premium materials, you can transform your bathroom into a personal oasis.

Investing in these upgrades not only increases the value of your home but also provides a daily escape where you can unwind and rejuvenate. Embrace the luxury and elegance of a well-designed bathroom and experience the true essence of aesthetic home renovations.