#endless ocean fanfiction

[heavenbloom]

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𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒊: 𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒏

knight!abby x princess!reader

summary: your plans to usurp your despotic brother are halted when he assigns one of his strongest knights to keep an eye on you. what will wither and what will blossom in her presence?

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, political elements, fem afab reader, princess reader is manipulative, extensive descriptions of blood and violence, graphic depiction of murder, subtle enemies to lovers (more so in next chapter), degrading terms used in a non-sexual manner, insults, profanity, probably ooc?, not edited, reader discretion advised

a/n: this is HEAVILY inspired by The Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri. this song is the atmosphere i was going for if you wanted to listen while reading!! dedicating this to @catfern, love you <3

wc: 4.7k

The corpse-quiet hours before dawn settled over the world with the languidness of dripping wax. There was a tenseness to it, beneath the silence, the twinings of a tautly strung instrument. You could smell it on the breeze too, a lick of disturbance carried sharply on the air alongside the fragrance of jasmine and rose. This night was a thing too tender for imminence, you thought, as you watched off-white petals scatter across pristine marble.

You felt it in your bones first, as it reverberated through the night. It felt like rolling thunder across the mountainside, but it was far too regimented to be birthed from mother nature. No, you knew this sound as intimately as your own heartbeat. 

Hoofbeats. Steadfast, almost urgent, as they ascended towards the palace. Through your balcony, you could see a sea of them, clad in the pure white of moonlight and the gold of dawn. At the very front jostled a garish carriage swathed in the same colours, flying your nation’s flags. You stepped further out onto the balcony. A retinue, a homecoming. Your brother has returned.

Of course, ease slid through your veins at the fact that it was not a darker reality encroaching, but it curdled instantaneously, soured by the notion that you would merely be a marionette tugged upon and prettied up in order to appease him. A dutiful princess, you would play the part of orator, musician, perhaps finally bride to a stranger if the King and all his attendants had his way. What were you but a flower with an endless array of malleable petals to be arranged this way and that? 

You drank in the perfumed scents that swirled around you, a sigh passing your parted lips. The silk curtains of your suite lifted like a breath, the solid colour broken apart by somebody familiar, whose chest rattled for the solace of fresh air.

Your features did not falter as your eyes remained fixed upon the retinue fast approaching. The girl, one of your many pairs of watchful eyes,  strode towards you, sweat upon her brow, a worrisome crease at the youthful corner of her lips. You remained fixed as you felt the brush of rough parchment against your smooth palm.

Politics was a game played by degrees, after all. It demanded quiet, the slithering of a black-belllied snake in the grass, waiting for the perfect moment to coil around its prey and squeeze. You let the paper unfurl against the wind, let it flap in the air as you read word upon word scrawled onto the page with an unsteady hand.

You knew what you hungered for, the prey that dangled just out of reach above your open maw. It glistened deepest oceanic blue cast in gold, and it sat safely atop of your tyrannical brother’s head.

Like all noble daughters, you knew that patience was a virtue. Things did not fall easily into your lap, so you would have to work for it, a dog searching ceaselessly for a single scrap of bone. You would let the meat of the empire simmer, wait until it was your turn to have your fill.

The parchment began to crinkle under the ferocity of your grip as your brother flashed through your mind. His smile, all canines. The cruelty that lurked just beneath the surface of that untarnished exterior.

With a fiery savagery singing in your veins, you silently declared that his crown would be yours.

        𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

The day’s last light was beginning to wither away, its last breath sweeping across the courtyard below and setting it ablaze. The air that seemed like an extension of your own lungs the night before was cloying now, pollen stuck in the crevice of your throat and tightening it with fist-strength.

There were certain things you expected of your brother, but this…

Your eyes flitted from the balustrade to the woman who stood just behind the gauzy silk draped across the doorway. She had a straight spine to match the strength in her features. Slight aquiline nose, plump lips, and those eyes, crystalline blue but honed from years of slinking, silent observation.  There was no denying the touch of regality woven throughout her being. If somebody had said she were an empress from some distant land, you would have believed them.

It wasn’t such an extravagance that granted you with her presence, though. A white cape threaded with gold was draped around her armour-laden shoulders. There was a sword at her hip, but the breadth of her body alone was enough to make anybody hesitate.

This woman, whose body was carved for the gruesomeness of the battle, was to be your watchful knight, under oath to quash any harm that may arise. 

A bitterness rose from the pit of your stomach to the back of your throat. Sworn protector. The words thrummed in your skull like jailer. It was clear from her unbroken gaze alone where her loyalties were placed, at the feet of your brother and your brother alone.

You were the first to break your eyes away, demurely, subtle but unerringly feminine, and more importantly, inferior. Your spine was straight, but you hung your head slightly, letting your eyes wander along the outline of lush greenery below. Your hands skimmed along the finery that swathed your body. You appeared reticent and meagre, but every minute movement was deliberate on your part, a dance in which you knew all the steps.

Her shadow of a presence was a setback, certainly, something to keep you at bay, but if you wove the right tale, spun an intricacy of honeyed words and laid syrupy sweetness upon her… this one, like any other, could be used, moulded and rolled like clay with the right pressure. All you had to do was locate a chink in her armour. 

You gave a hesitant pause, counted to three, until you walked the expanse of the balcony, back into your quarters, the tinkling of weighty jewellery sounding with each step you took. Even closer, she appeared much more powerful, the jagged lines of her face schooled into sternness. The refusal to drop her gaze in the presence of her new lady sent a shiver down your spine.

“Abigail.” Your voice was gentle, the lulling of a flute. “I am grateful for your service. To my dear brother, of course, but especially to me.” You stepped closer to her, but remained at a polite distance, a benevolent smile gracing your lips.

Her face remained the same, but there was a slight quirk to her thick brows. She was used to doing bloody work for the King, but you could tell that she was unused to interacting with royalty.  “My loyalty is to the crown. I would do anything His Majesty asked of me, princess.” Ah, what a well trained response. As expected of one of the most renowned weapons in your brother’s arsenal.

“Yes, and it warms my heart.” You ensured your smile widened, your eyebrows softening in tandem with the lovely upward curve of your mouth. “I have heard stories of your bravery. To have such a hero protect myself alone… well, it feels rather a waste of talent, does it not?”

Her lips parted for a moment at the steer in conversation. You could see the hardness melting from her face like butter, replaced by an expression unreadable. It was too early to tell whether there was now a weakness to strike at, but it was better than talking to the righteous facade of her. “My talents can be just as useful in the Royal Palace as they would be on the battlefield.” Her words were as certain as solid stone, unmoving in their conviction.

“Such a noble heart you have.” You let the distance close between the two of you, then, your body just a few mere inches away from steel. Your hand met the one at her side, soft fingers grazing across leather, the cool hilt of her sword brushing against your knuckles. “But you do not need to protect me. Guards swarm this palace, after all.”

You expected abashment, the averting of that steady, unbreakable gaze, but not so much as a twitch of her fingers was drawn out of her. Still, you pressed on, as a thumb circled a spot on her gloved hand. “You would be better suited to attacking any threats at the root, dear knight. I could arrange you to be back where you once were. Not here, not with me.”

These lies, this faux flattery, left your tongue with the ease of second nature. You had none of the power you wished to possess, and you could not fulfil any such promise to her, but a few sweetened words could at least put you in her good favour, string her along for at least for a few moments outside of her obstructive gaze.

Something flashed across her features, but it was not the distant yearning for battle, not even the consideration of your hefty offer. You felt her thick fingers slip, gently, out of your grasp. Shock burst in your chest when her lips curled into a smile. Not completely unkind, but belittling all the same.

“The way we view honour differs greatly, princess.” Her mouth shaped the words slowly, deliberately and they hung in the air like an accusation. The last of the sun filtered through the balcony, causing the stray hairs framing her face to shine gold, the dust of freckles on her cheeks to appear like a smattering of starlight. You were once again struck by the wondrous beauty of her, a blow to the ribs. 

You urged the swell in your guts down hastily.

“Is it so dishonourable,” you started, choosing to focus instead on that same jagged ambition that ate away at you, “to desire glory for oneself?”

The eyes that you thought resembled a pristine shoreline now darkened with the implications of your question. You watched as the storm passed across her face, as the act of noble knight swallowed her whole once more. 

“Glory means nothing if it is not for the sake of serving the King.” She finally averted her gaze to the rolling gardens below. 

“Our King.”

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

Thunder rippled across the charred night sky, the rain beating against the earth with the ferocity of a thousand rapid heartbeats. Your quarters burst white and fizzled with each lightning strike, and you could see the dozing face of Abigail each time. She laid, with one arm cradling the back of her head, in a cot at the foot of your bed, her golden-brown lashes long enough to cast wispy shadows on the apples of her cheeks under the inconsistent light. Even in her sleep, she seemed to be withholding herself from you, despite the stretch of days you had spent together thus far.

Beneath the writhing rage that clawed at your insides, you felt a soft pang, something faint and unfamiliar, for this woman. She was forced to live her days, in utter numbness, waiting for an attack on your life that would never come. She was here to intimidate you into compliance, at your brother’s whims, and she was completely unaware of it. To be a pawn in such a twisted game unwittingly… It was cruel. But weren’t you attempting to do the exact same? The hypocrisy was completely not lost on you.

You watched her sleeping figure for a few more moments until you were certain she was asleep. Then, soundlessly, you slipped out of the embrace of your bed. The air was cool but heavy with humidity as you walked on the balls of your bare feet, your nightgown brushing your ankles and sending an anxious tremble up your body. You tried to move as swiftly as you could. Your spies and confidants were loyal enough, but even they would not wait out the entire night for you when there was other work to be done at dawn.

 An electric thrill jolted your being when you clasped the door handle. Was evading her watchful eye really so easy? Was all you had to do is slink around in the deep hours of dark?  You bit down a smile as the heavy door gave way . Freedom, for a few mere minutes at least, was just beyond the door…

“My Lady?” Something glacial hardened in your veins. The voice was hoarse with the remnants of slumber, but there was no doubting the razor-edge awareness of it. 

For a beat, you were too stunned to face her. When you didn’t turn, she spoke again. “Princess, what are you doing out of bed?”

What was the safest way to avoid her suspicion? The crashing of thunder sliced through your thoughts like a knife, offering you an escape route on a silver platter.

You whorled around, your eyebrows high-strung. Abigail was sitting upright, her head tilted and her unbound blonde hair dripping over one shoulder. There was no armour covering the wide expanse of her chest, a rare exposure of bare collarbone and surprisingly soft skin. You would perhaps never get used to the sight.

You clutched the fabric of your nightgown and widened your eyes, fawn-frightened. “Abigail, I…” you let your voice taper off into a quiver.

She was up in an instant and striding towards you, brows knitted together. Despite the urgency vibrating every cell in her body, her large hands cupped your shoulders with a gentleness you thought so disjointed for a woman of her size and profession. You doubted she would have touched you if it weren’t for the haze of confusion that overpowered her usual meticulousness. 

“What is the matter? Speak to me, princess.”

“I-it’s absurd, I…” You trembled ever so slightly and could only pray that you were convincing. “The storm… well, it frightened me. I apologise. You mustn't be used to such frivolity.”

The tautness of her bow-strung body seemed to drift away all at once. Her shoulders drooped and she smiled, this time a thing of pure relief. “Is that all that this is?”

You nodded once, pulling yourself inward more and silently thanking whichever god had just granted you quick wits. She tsked softly and brought you closer to her. The warmth of her body was comforting, as alive as the spark upon a coal. 

“You can wake me when you’re frightened, my lady,” she breathed out, her breath rustling the hair at your ear. 

“I thought– I didn’t wish to burden you.” For once, there was a distasteful speck of truth in your words. She was a thing too gentle and straightforward for the ugliness of court politics. How could you ask her to help you usurp a throne she adamantly kneeled at the foot of?

“Princess,” she sighed, her hands trailing from shoulder to elbow. “Your brother has tasked me to protect you.” A lie, and yet she believed it so wholeheartedly. A loyalty as steady as a heartbeat.

“You cannot salve for every little thing that ails me.”

“There’s a sort of protection in comfort, is there not?” Such naive words, ones a child could have spoken, but they rang throughout your entire being.

She was diluted ink in the dark of the storm, but the whites of her eyes and teeth shone with the sheen of pearl. Your lips parted, drinking in a shaky inhale. You should have kept playing the delicate flower  in distress, but you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous and curious, a hunger that gnawed at the very marrow of your bones. A hunger that you had no choice but to satiate.

“And how do you intend to comfort me, dear knight?”

A moment of something heady passed, and you could practically see the churning of her mind, the weight of precariousness at her throat like a glinting blade. You knew then that the same starvation engulfed her own being, your hands slithering down to her wrists and clutching them. 

“I would do whatever you ask of me, My Lady–”

“No,” you cut her off, tracing a sliver of puckered flesh that outlined her bare wrist. A quaint shiver wracked her shoulders at the abrupt stone of your voice, unbidden. “No, Abigail. How do you wish to comfort me? Speak plainly.”

“I want…” Her voice was strained, the word leaden and fumbling on her tongue, her own will now foreign to her. Her hands tightened around your elbows. “What I want… what I desire, is not so easily spoken, princess.” 

Even in the dark, her eyes were the bottomless wells of a carefully guarded vulnerability. You wanted to chip away at that wall she had between you and her, between anyone but her fiery devotion and her own self.

You cupped her cheeks with the soft, uncalloused palms of your hands, watched as her reluctance dissolved with the touch. 

“Then show me.” 

Perhaps all that was needed was an uttered confirmation that you felt the same infuriating emotions. You had torn through the neat little bow of restraint that kept her being together, and now it was uncontainable, this ever-swelling.

There was a moment of hesitation, shared breath mingling sweetly, before she pressed her lips to yours. She cradled your waist as if you were porcelain, but her kiss was a beast of want, all teeth and tongue. Your back melded with the carvings of the door as she nudged you back, wooden jasmine blossoms and orchids keeping you tethered to the moment. You kissed back with just as much viciousness, astonished by your own affections welling up like crimson from a finger pricked.

It was with the ebb and flow of ocean waves that she let you go just as promptly as she had kissed you, her face a hazy mass of surprise in the semi-dark, leaving only the remnant of her warmth against your skin, the phantom of soft lips and tongue.

Her fingers scraped her blonde locks away from her face, chest heaving. 

“Princess,” she spoke through the ragged edge of her breath. There was a singed quality to her voice, raw and crisp. “Princess, it would be improper to continue.”

Disappointment, to your dismay, pooled in the pit of your stomach. You turned your head to the side and gave a feeble nod, swallowing at the thick knot lodged in your throat. Letting her warm your bed would be unwise, you reminded yourself now. It would serve no purpose to your goals, and a lovesick knight trailing you around was the last thing you needed. And yet... 

“We cannot cross that line,” she whispered. You felt the gentle snaking of arms around yours as you were pulled close to her chest, your ear snug against it. “But I am still here.” Her heartbeat was hummingbird-rapid, a reflection of your own.

She led you back to the bed and watched intently as you laid down beneath the smooth blanket. You stared in return. How was a person sharpened for such luridness able to wield tenderness the way she did a weapon? It was more frightening, you silently mused, than any tale of her violence could offer. It did little to divert the ache that seeped to your very bones, the craving for it.

Lightning still ruptured the heavens, followed dismally by a cacophony of thunder.

“Abigail.” Your hand drifted into the air, toward her. She held it gently in both of hers.

“Are you still frightened?”

Your plan for the night had been uprooted, and you had no choice but to remain here in this room. You traced each feature of hers with your eyes, lingering on the worrisome crease of her brow. Perhaps… “Yes, a little.”

Perhaps, this once, sweet selfishness was justified. Perhaps you could let this sordid business of trickery and usurpation float from your mind. This once…

“Will you lay beside me?” You sat up, peeling the blanket aside. “It would help me a great deal.”

“My lady…”

“Innocently, of course,” you reassured. “To know someone is beside me, to share that warmth… it would ease my nerves greatly.”

A beat passed, then another. “I think… It's something I also need. For tonight.”

“For tonight,” you echoed, patting the empty space of the bed next you. 

She clambered in beside you without another word, a slow exhale escaping her when her head softly hit the pillow. You could feel her breath fan over your face gently, followed by a soothing, steady hand on your arm.

“Will you hold me?” There was a waver in your cadence, something unbearably soft puckering to the surface. “Is that okay?”

 You were encircled by her arms, so gently that you felt, something swirl inside of you, just to then sink. 

Consciousness left her almost instantly at the feel of your body against hers. The comfort of someone to hold in the eternal stretch of night elleviated the quiet ache that thrummed and tugged at her own being. 

You listened as she slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep, until the sky stopped its tears and the only sound that could be heard was the rhythmic thump, thump, thump of her heart at your ear.

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

The marble was icy beneath the soles of your feet, each footfall echoing softly through the desolate, cavernous halls. The lanterns flickered low, the walls cast in leaping, ravenous shadows. 

Wait for me at the entrance to the orchard, you had told your spy, an inconspicuous place for business made in the night, but as you reached the intricately designed archway, you were met with the absence of the living. The sharp smell of damp earth and overripe fruit wafted through the open space, yet it did little to calm the eerie feeling in your blood. 

Perhaps you were too late, or perhaps she had appeared conspicuous. A fist of disappointment twisted at your gut, but relief flooded your veins with it. There was silence, at least. Stagnance was a better ordeal than disruption. You turned away from the trees, feet almost silent without the usual finery adorning your ankles.

A whisper against the precious stone. Something scratching and picoting, until you felt the brush of it at your leg. Frozen, you peered at what had touched you. A piece of flimsy paper, the uncertain handwriting that you had come to know so well. Between the looping letters of secret after secret unfurled, vermillion stained the thin sheet. Vibrant. Fresh.

A man at the very first tree, the shimmer of the whites of his eyes furious and expansive. You knew this face, these pompous clothes, the cruel, all-knowing scowl on his lips. Your brother’s confidant and his closest advisor. If this man could stretch himself as thin as a carpet to soften your brother’s steps, he would have.

His movements were rigid, yet quick as he lunged in your direction, teeth bared and motivated by his sweltering rage alone. His cheek was streaked with the same shade of red.

“You treasonous whore!” He swiped his hands at you, but you scrambled away at the very last moment. “Traitor!”

“My Lord–” Your heart thrusted against your ribcage, your breath coming out in uneven, shattering breaths. There was no cajoling such a blind beast. His voice was much too loud, his body propelled by something untethered to reason.

You were going to be found out. He had the evidence and his screams were enough to alert any guards patrolling the slumbering palace. You had to do something, you had to–

He lunged forward again, forceful yet sloppy. Your body began to react on its own accord.

The blade was an ugly little thing, stolen from beneath Abigail’s pillow weeks ago and fastened in a makeshift sheath of torn silk and ribbon, held steadily enough by a bangle at your wrist. It was in your hand, slipping from the snugness of the material and clanging against the jewellery with the same delicate ring of anklet bells chiming in the midst of dance and song. A song of retribution, thrumming, awake and unabated, in your veins.

The moment was a blur, the contact of iron to skin one you could not even comprehend until a surprised, wet sound bubbled forth from the nobleman’s lips. He slumped forward against the blade, his eyes glassy. Lifeblood trickled down the hilt of the blade and down your fingers. The warmth of it made your stomach churn. 

Before you could pull the blade out, he swayed to the side, toppling to the ground with a sickening thump. Crimson bled across the stark white of the floor, pooling beneath his now motionless body.

The bile of pure panic rose to your throat, face leached of warmth. What have I done? What have I done? What have I–

“Princess?” A voice of honeycomb, even when it wavered with such uncertainty.

No.

You stared ahead, the bulky outline of her blurring only to refocus as she got closer. There was a look that had never graced her face before, one of confusion mixed with something akin to horror. Had she known this man? Taken orders from him?

But she did not look down at the grim image at her feet, but rather at you. Your stained fingers, the way your face had grown ashen and fear-stricken.

Her fingers ghosted over your cheek, but stopped short of making contact. “What…” You could hear the thoughts that knotted in her mind. How could such a sweet thing – you – do this?

A shout sounded down the hall, and you flinched, eyes darting in the direction as a new wave of bone-rattling fear crashed down upon you. There was a clamour, the sound of swords against urgently moving legs. 

Abigail pulled her hand away from you as if seared. Hardness seeped into the cracks where her moment of bare emotion shone. A moment ticked by, voices growing closer.

With a flash of movement, she yanked the blade out of the lifeless body beside her, a sickening squelch that did not seem to rattle her, and turned her back on you. Surely she had to be more selfish than this?

“Abigail–”

“Be silent and stay behind me.”

Your voice sank down into an urgent whisper. “Your recklessness is going to get you killed.”

Her head turned toward you then, her gaze meeting yours. Blue flame, a flicker of pure torment. 

“You have already made me your accomplice.” They should have been sweet, simple words, but they held the acrid tang of rotting fruit, bitter and wilting despite their saccharine nature.

They were encircling you in an instant, guards wearing the colours of the sun and the moon. Their swords were raised, but they waited for something…

The guards parted, roiling ocean waves. You watched as your brother stepped his way to the front, head held high.

Without a single word, Abigail dropped to her knees, the blade clanging against the floor and skidding away from her to rest at his feet.

Your brother did not spare her a glance. His eyes pinned you in place, cold and measured. He did not ask about the commotion or point grieving eyes towards his closest advisor. No, he already decided on what truth in this he would spin and alter in order to squash you beneath his bejewelled hand. 

As he stared you down, you gazed at the back of Abigail’s neck, peach-toned skin peaking beneath the cascade of blonde waves over her shoulders. You wanted to reach out, to touch her one last time if only to bid farewell.

Such a rotten heart you had. You felt it thump mournfully, greed winning out in the end. 

Your lips remained tightly locked as she took the fall for your turpitude, an act of the foulest betrayal.

As you watched them drag her away, you may as well have been clapping the chains around her wrists yourself. 

Who knew that even a blade of the soul could be double-edged?

[moonlit-midnight]

TWST Imagines: Dating a Book Lover

Characters: Octavinelle (separately). With a partner who’s a huge fan of the Percy Jackson series.

Warnings:

GN!Reader, fluff, crack, very self indulgent.

Percy Jackson is one of my fave male protagonists in a book series, and I randomly got inspired to write this since he’s related to the ocean.

—

𓈒❀. Azul Ashengrotto:

– Lowkey gets jealous when you gush fondly about Percy Jackson aka one of your beloved book crushes.

– Despite his teeny tiny jealousy, he doesn’t mind your constant fangirling/fanboying.

– As long as it makes you happy, then he’s happy too.

– He loves buying you blue things because it’s Percy’s favorite color.

– He thinks it’s heartwarming that one of the reasons why you adore Percy’s character is because of his unconditional love for his mother and his unwavering loyalty to his friends.

– Endless praises and sweet compliments when you show him your fan arts and illustrations.

– “Wow, so this is how Percy looks like! I think he’s so handsome.”

– “And so are you, my darling Azul.”

𓈒❀. Jade Leech:

– Is fascinated by how enamored you are with your favorite character.

– “You seem so in love with him, my dear. Is he perhaps the love of your life?”

– “No, you silly merman. Percy Jackson might be my book crush, but you’re the love of my life.”

– He absolutely loves seeing you in your element, like you literally shine when you talk about your most-loved book series.

– Teases you when you get caught writing fluff fanfictions.

– Has a big mischievous grin on his face when you mentioned Percy’s underwater kiss with his girlfriend.

– “Would you like to be kissed underwater, my dearest pearl? I could take you on a beach date right now.”

– Comforts you when you tell him that you miss reading the series since it doesn’t exist in twisted wonderland.

– He once dressed up as Percy and you were absolutely smitten.

– *screams internally* Jade Leech with SEA GREEN EYES and MESSY JET BLACK HAIR.

𓈒❀. Floyd Leech:

– Gets adorably jealous whenever you mention Percy’s name.

– “Shrimpy, don’t ya get bored talking about this Percy guy?”

– “Never! He’s my darling book crush.”

– “AND I’M YOUR DARLING BOYFRIEND!”

– Is amused with the sea-related nicknames you give him: Sea Boy, Seaweed Brain, Captain Salt Water.

– Gets annoyed when you tell him that they're Percy’s nicknames.

– He finds it cute when you call his magical pen Riptide which is the name of Percy’s pen weapon.

– When he’s in a good mood, he indulges in your interests and actually listens.

– “Hey Shrimpy, if me and Percy were drowning, who would you save?”

– “NONE of you would drown! You’re a freaking MERMAN and Percy is the Son of Poseidon!!!”

– He kinda reminds you of Percy and he’s quite smug about it.

– “He’s unpredictable, sarcastic and has a troublemaker smile. He’s also brave, good-looking, kind and has a smart sense of humor.”

– “Ooooh, I didn’t know that your book crush is a cool guy.”

– He secretly gets excited whenever you ramble about your book obsession because he loves listening to your voice.

[snowthornes]

FANFICTION | @uroboros-if

When the light disappears

You are not used to seeing them like this. Lights and shadows dance over them in the flickering firelight, warmth and darkness staining their serene form. It is odd, how it seems to lend them the breath of life: an oil painting come to life, a distant dream come to being. You’ve become accustomed to seeing them within the eternal daylight of Lucidio: so gentle, so kind, and yet so far away. Now, Luciel sits by the fire as shadows play over the planes of their face, falling into the depths of eyes that gleam like water in a pool. Like this, it is as if they are within reach; like this, it is as if they are mortal.

Their eyes are fixated on the flames. Quiet, gentle, like the veil of night that adorns mortal skies. You wonder what memories they see in them. You wonder if you will ever know.

And when this world’s insincere

They smile. Sharp and wanton, rich and beguiling, dark eyes gleaming with a mischief that can only mean nothing good. In this glittering ball of mortal aristocrats, they flit from noble to noble with unfettered ease, donning the mannerisms of a human with perfect fluidity. Like this, Ciocana seems to be in their element; their every word a dance of gold and honey, effortlessly working the hearts of mortal desires.

So beautiful. So impossible to ignore. When you see them like this, you can almost forget the way their existence feels like tainted rot to your divinity, the way your every instinct howls at you to stay away. Deity of Misfortune, the phantom shadow that lingers among the divine; their title is a shroud that follows them wherever they go. And yet– and yet–

You cannot help but wonder at the moments when something sharp and dark and cynical shines through their laughing eyes.

When nobody hears you scream

The wind dances through your hair, blowing it away from your face and bringing the scent of ocean spray to your nose. You laugh as you dangle from the net that spans the length of the ship's mast, holding one hand out to Luciel, who looks at you with wide eyes.

"Well?" You grin encouragingly, though there's no hiding the teasing light in your eyes. "Are you coming?"

They look at you. Although hesitation glistens in their green eyes, there's also curiosity — and a sparkling excitement.

"...Are you sure?"

"Very," you say. "I'll be right behind you all the way. Promise."

There's a pause.

And then they take your hand, and hoist themself up to the net. The net sways for a moment at your combined weight, but then holds firm. You pull them to your side, then nod, gesturing for them to climb up. "I'll follow you!"

They nod, determination set on their face. They climb up, and true to your word, you follow behind them, watching them carefully. The wind gets stronger as the higher up you get, tugging at your clothes and whistling through your ears. Your eyes are set on your destination: the crow's nest at the very top of the ship's mast, high above the rest of the world.

Luciel is the first to reach the nest. When you climb from the top of the net and into the nest, they're already looking out at the view unfurling before them, eyes glowing with wonder. Below you, the ship's crew bustle past each other, reminiscent of the toy dolls the children of Lucidio often play with. Around you, miles and miles of endless ocean stretch on until they meet the line of the boundless sky, encapsulating you in a world so vast and yet so free.

"Well?" You have to shout to be heard over the wind. "What do you think?"

They say something, but the wind drowns out their voice. You grin impishly, tapping your ear. "What? I can't hear you!"

They look at you, a flash of hesitation crossing their face, and then–

"It's beautiful!" And you think this is the first time you have heard them raise their voice. Wind streams through their long, flowing hair, making it dance like flames in the breeze. And their eyes, they glow: flashing with excitement, like sunlight in a pool. Like this, they seem so free; like this, they seem so near.

You grin, and don't hesitate to respond.

"Like you!"

And when a flush stains their ears, when a smile bursts into their eyes, you laugh, your heart soaring — and you can't help but marvel at how beautiful they are.

I’ll scream with you

They run behind you with an uncharacteristic gracelessness, their feet slipping and sliding on the rain-slick ground. You grin and tug them along, paying no heed to their laughing inquiries of confusion. You merely laugh, and it is wild, carefree, singing with the thunder that rumbles from the skies.

Dark clouds gather in the heavens, obscuring the light of the moon and the stars. Rain pours down in a merciless torrent; lightning splits the skies every so often, bathing the world in a blinding white. The sound of the rain thudding against the earth is a melody, one that shakes and thumps and rushes and rattles. 

You spin around on your heel and face them, your hand still in theirs, taking in their appearance: drenched from head to toe, their elaborate clothes lopsided, their hair clinging to their face. And yet their eyes are bright with laughter, face alight with a smile that matches yours, and when they look at you, it is with nothing short of breathtaking exhilaration. 

You hold out your other hand, yelling to be heard over the storm, grinning uncontrollably. “Would you do me the honor of giving me this dance?”

They stare at you for a moment and then they break out into laughter, piercing through the cacophony that rumbles around you. “Why, is this to get back at me for that dance?”

“At least I had the decency to ask!” You shoot back, and amidst the sounds of your laughter you’re sweeping them into the most ridiculous dance you can manage, all flying limbs and spinning flourishes, the world blurring all around you. 

The skies weep above you, and all you can see is their smile: bright, unguarded, the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

You’ll be safe here

SONG: You'll Be Safe Here, by Rivermaya.

— May you all be safe and sound in the embrace of eternity's dream.

[oneshotnewbie]

Could you do me a favor and write an Addison Montgomery x Reader fanfiction where Reader is a bit more drunk than addison (Addy had one glass of wine, Reader a bit more) and Reader tells her that she can't do it any longer and Addison doesn't know what she means and then it gets all angsty? You can decide why and what. Thank you, ily ❤️

𝐴𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒: 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑔 "𝐻𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑂𝑛" 𝑏𝑦 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑂𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑑𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐴𝑑𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑛'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑜-𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑑𝑣𝑜𝑐𝑎𝑐𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑢𝑏𝑠𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑢𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑣𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑟. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑎 𝑔𝑦𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑠𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑝𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑢𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙.

ᕚ---ᕘ

A warm spring breeze washed over the beach in Los Angeles, while the setting sun painted the atmosphere in a warm golden light and bathed the sky in a kaleidoscopic play of colors. Addison Montgomery sat on one of the empty loungers in front of her house, her gaze fixed on the gentle rolling of the waves. The salty breeze played with her reddish curls, ruffled by the wind, as she played barefoot with the fine sand beneath her feet, deep in thought.

You sat next to her, your gaze also focused on the ocean, but your thoughts seemed even further away than her own. Your posture was tense, shoulders hunched slightly forward as if they were about to crush under the weight of your own thoughts.

The silence between you two was oppressive, with only the gentle sound of the waves and the occasional squawk of a seagull breaking the silence. But despite the silence that lay around you and the shackles of the red wine that sparkled between you in a slim glass and was supposed to loosen you up, the redhead felt the tension that hung between you like a concrete wall that separated you from each other.

A sigh escaped Addison's lips, her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out what was going on in your head. But no matter how hard she thought about it, the right ideas eluded her, and so she remained silent, her gaze still fixed on the endless blue of the ocean.

It wasn't until you turned your head to the side and your eyes met hers that your eyes seemed to communicate for a fleeting moment what your silence couldn't express. A hint of desperation hung like a haze in your vision, mixed with a stab of hope that Addison could understand what was going on inside you.

"I can't do any of this anymore," you gasped, heavy and sombre as you scratched at the wine glass with your fingernails, your words swallowed by the wind as you continued to look at her. You seemed significantly more drunk than Addy, your movements slow and slightly wobbly and yet the words came clearly as day from your mouth.

The redhead frowned, her blue-gray eyes full of concern as she tried to process the words. She couldn't fully understand or contextualize the meaning behind the words, could only feel the heavy weight of desperation that resonated within them.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of fear. But before you could answer, a more oppressive silence fell between you than before, the thoughts of the gynecologist and your best friend deep as the dark waves rolling gently onto the shore.

"The living and the fighting, the constant accusation and denial," you finally murmured, your words ponderous and laden with a weight that didn't just come from the effects of the wine. Your voice was broken by the weight of your own thoughts and you shook your head as if you were trying to clear the mess inside of it.

Addison felt a lump in her throat, tears threatening to well up in her eyes as she realized the truth behind the words, and she knew that you were caught in a dark web of fear and despair. She wanted to say something, something comforting, but the words got stuck in her throat as she endured your desperate look. "I can't imagine a world with you gone," she spoke, her words a desperate whisper in the night, trying to hide the chill in her bones from the shock. "The joy and the chaos, the demons we're fighting.."

The night grew darker, the shadows longer, when you suddenly burst into tears, your shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. Addison immediately stood up, bridging the inches that separated her from you and wrapping her shaking arms around your body as the cold breath of fear blew between you.

Tears were streaming freely down her cheeks now too, her own despair mixing with yours and for a fleeting moment you were two lost souls who wanted to change the world but held on to each other in the darkness. "I'd be so lost if you left me alone, y/n." She continued, the redhead's heart clenching mightily as she gave you a look full of empathy and warmth.

You sighed, the inner struggles raging in your chest. You looked away, unable to bear Addison's helplessness and overwhelming fear of losing you. Addison, on the other hand, struggled to understand, your words resonating deep in her own heart. She knew the feeling of being tossed back and forth by the currents of life, of losing one's identity in the vortex of change.

But she couldn't understand why exactly you, a confident, smart and more self-assured woman who only seemed to defy with inner strength, were staring at one of the deepest abysses imaginable. The worrier, at least that's how she described herself, was caught up in thoughts about what would happen next and the fear for your life was now more pronounced than she was fearing for her own life since the beginning of her mission to give woman a choice about their own bodies.

"Please don't leave me,“ she spoke again in a hoarse whisper before lowering her gaze, unable to control the intensity of her racing thoughts revolving around you and the words you just said. The silence between you stretched, an invisible bond that trapped the two of you in an embrace. „Hold on, I will always need you.“

And as the sun slowly disappeared behind the horizon and the darkness completely took over the sky, Addison worried about how to get you out of the deep hole of selflessness and self-destructive thoughts before it was too late. It was a long endless highway and she was helplessly praying that the light in your soul wasn't fading.

[cawyden-gaming]

For my fanfiction Immortalium, I have written a poem - it is meant to be written at the end of the story by Heinrix himself.

I am not that far in my story but I wanted to share it already. It is also voiced by Christopher Tester (Heinrix's VA) thanks to Cameo.

Here the full text:

In my life, I have sailed through an ocean of pain, seeking refuge on an island of duty. If only my soul had been without a sorcerer's stain, could I have lived a life adorned with beauty? At times, I find myself dreaming of what might have been - living as a valiant knight, piloting my noble machine.

All my lonely travels across the stars, in devotion to the golden throne's mastery. Unspeakable horrors deepened my scars, as I braved the unknown and endured the agony. Yet my sky remained an endless expanse of remorse. In the God-Emperor's name; my rosette - a symbol of force.

Then you came and my walls began to fall apart. The ice broke with talks at the fireside, you appealed to the kindness in my heart, and we grew closer over regicide. You helped me to deal with the misery of my past. I tried to keep my distance, but I fell for you so fast.

You show me the beauty of love's embrace, your touch heals me and soothes my soul, revealing a world of wonder and grace. Your love completes me and makes me whole. You saved me from myself, it's true - I never knew happiness before I held you.

The cold was dispelled and with it my doubt. You always see the good in me. The warmth embraced, hope throughout. Now united, we can both truly be free. Nothing matters as long as we're together. I pledge my love and loyalty to you, forever.

Please note:

I know that love does not miraculously heal trauma, that is not meant here and does not happen in my story (in addition - my girl Venria is a biomancer and can actually heal at least the body with a touch).

While it is based on in game dialog (you will recognize it surely) some things are unique to my story (like the fireside talks - in game we only have the date there later).

I also understand if people might find it cringeworthy (sorry, I tried) - I am really no poet. But I am still happy with it and like to share it anyway.

[preciouslandmermaid]

quiet fury in your head [viii]

Dream of the Endless x F!Reader!Goddess / Sandman Fanfiction

Note: I am still alive. Here is some angst, but then finally some progress with these idiots relationship lmao.

No use of Y/N. See part 1 for all the tags tbh.

Warnings: none !

Rating: 18+

(Read on AO3)    ||   (masterpost for other chapters)  

In the years that follow, it rains often in the Dreaming. You are grateful for your cloak to keep the rainwater from your face and hair. The rain reminds you of Dima and it tastes like regret. If only I had not asked for the storm. I could have driven the man to madness without her help. But you wanted the mortal’s punishment to be swift and absolute. You wanted him dead for the crimes he enacted against his child. I don’t regret what I did, I regret that Dima was banished for it. You are, despite everything, the embodiment of rage, and rage is not gentle. It does not deter from its destined path due to human definitions of morality. In your eyes, in your heart, the man deserved to die.

Dream is true to his word and does not speak to you. Sometimes, however, you think you see his shadow between the library shelves, through the birch tree trunks, and among the fields of golden wheat.

My time here must be ending soon. It must. You kick a pebble aside and settle on a damp rock overlooking the churning gray-blue oceanic waters. Dream cannot keep me here forever. He could. Technically. But that was beside the point. You crack the spine of your book and lay it open like a slaughtered offering on your lap.

Once I’m free, I’ll find my way through the fabric of the universe and reunite with Dima. You had two oaths to fulfill: Return to the Otherworld and bury your sister’s tokens and then travel through the various realms and find Dima. She’s the embodiment of storms. She won’t be too hard to find. You trusted your faithful friend would answer your call once you were free of the Dreaming.

You lost your goddesshood, your worshipers, your sisters, and your friend. Yet in the light of what you’ve lost, you haven’t lost your life. You won’t take that for granted. You pull the hood of your cloak a little tighter around your face, ignoring the pinpricks of cold rain, and begin to read.

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

“Sister,” Dream says, “what do I owe the pleasure?”

“What, I can’t come and visit my brother?”Death maneuvers around one of the marble pillars. “It’s rather dreadful out there, you know. Couldn’t you make it a bit more cheery?” She tilts her head to the rain surging across the stained glass windows.

He bristles. The argument with you and Dima’s banishment...it doesn’t matter how much linear time passes...the Dreaming continues to rain. He doesn’t regret banishing Dima. It was necessary. Your unhappiness was collateral damage. Death must pick up on a shift in his expression. She lightens and loops her arm with his. Dream finds he is pulled along by the cosmic gravity of his sibling.

Death is like that, you know. When she takes your hand, you don’t have any other choice but to follow her.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” Death says.

“I don’t know who you mean,” he murmurs. He can’t be that transparent. He isn’t.

“I get it, you know,” she continues, heels clicking over the tiles, “she’s the embodiment of your favorite siblings.” She smiles. The Dreaming sings in response. “Death and Destruction.”

The song of the Dreaming rapidly cools at the mention of their wayward, lost brother. You are not like Destruction. Firstly, you don’t have his sense of humor.

“Why are you here, sister?” Dream tries again to dissuade her from poking into his life and his realm. He is sure she means well, but he doesn’t need a keeper. The situation with you – it’s his realm, his business, and his priority. In time, you’d eventually forget your bond to Dima. He’s sure of it. You’ll eventually grow bored of his silence. You used to be such a restless creature, running through his Dreaming, and he doubts those instincts have vanished in the past few centuries. Time in the dreaming is infinite and he has all the time in the world to wait it out.

He’s certain you will seek him out before he ever seeks you.

Death says, “Are you going to keep her here forever?”

“No.”

“Good, that’s all I wanted to know.” Death smiles again and vanishes. He sighs.

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

There is a city in the Dreaming made of light sandstone and glossy jade. A glass palace is suspended in the sky and anchored to the city below by great iron chains. On sunny days, the light reflects from the castle, and a thousand rainbows illuminate the city, and the fabric merchant stalls are removed, lest they catch on fire from an acute ray of light. The city functions like those in the waking world, with politics, drama, festivals, and ruin. The Dreaming is not a utopia but, its’ inhabitants live lives with intrinsic grooves and patterns like those of a mandala painting.

Today is the ‘Night of a Thousand Lights,’ a decennial tradition within the city. You’ve missed the last two...or was it three? Time. Meaningless to a would-be God. Either way, the last time you were here was with Dima. You see her in every swath of cobalt cloth that’s folded and shelved, in every bright laugh, in the droplets of sparkly water from the fountain where several children are kicking and playing with their loose pants lifted to their knees.

“Kimiyah!” A pregnant woman wraps her arms protectively around the swell of her stomach as she calls for her child.

In a flash, you see Macha, her eyes blazing, her hair shiny copper and fanning over her face. Your memory is a vice. You can remember your sisters as easily as breathing. You simply...choose not to dwell on it. You will dwell when you can act. So long as you are trapped within the Dreaming, you cannot bring them back, no matter how much you wish it. Soon, you promise yourself. The Dreaming will not be my prison forever. You shelve the thoughts like the merchants shelving their dyed fabrics and wander through the narrow, dusty streets.

A pair of massive purple peacocks strut through the street as a leash leads them. Their owner, you presume, holds up a bundle of ribbons for patrons to tie to their lanterns. Your heart aches. You recalled that Dima’s lantern had seven dark blue ribbons tied to it. You hail the gentleman and his dark, bushy eyebrows lift as you pluck three ribbons from his fingers.

One dark green, for Macha, for the fields she so lovingly tended, the green isles of your home.

One silver, for Badb, for the color of her hair, the quicksilver of her tongue, and the shiny pieces that laid upon the burial mounds.

One dark blue, for Dima, for the clouds she pranced through and in remembrance of the storms she wrought.

You are grateful in this moment that Dima is not dead. She is merely banished. It is a fate kinder than the one given to your sisters and the rest of the Gods. You keep wandering, smelling spice, listening to the thousand tongues of mortals and dreams, and stepping through iridescent slices of rainbows that warp around the buildings.

You don’t see Dream, but you feel him. He is inside every inhale. Every speck of dust that clings to your shins. You rub your fingers over the silk ribbon and your eyes linger on the beautiful mosaic architecture of the city. How could someone so infuriating create something so painfully beautiful?

You hug your lantern close to your chest and follow the procession as the sky softens to purple. You nod in gratitude after someone lights your lantern for you and watch the tiny flame dance within.

“Tonight, we release a thousand lights,” a woman said, wearing a ceremonial dress, “and we wish upon them like stars.”

The first lantern is released and swiftly followed by a dozen others. You close your eyes. Reunion. It is the wish that matters. Your freedom is an inevitability, but your reunion with your sisters and Dima is not. You open your eyes and Dream stands before you, less than ten paces away, a pale-faced shadow in a city of golden light and jade and twilight.

Your brow furrows, confusion mixed with anger and desire churns within, and you pointedly turn your face away from him as you release your lantern—the silk ribbons trail after it like a jellyfish’s tentacles.

“Do you need me, Dream Lord?” you ask coolly. He wounded you. You serve him, as Desire willed it, but no more and no less.

The lanterns behind him create hazy, golden starlight as they drift lazily into the sky.

“Will you walk with me?” He offers his elbow.

You slide your hand into the crook of his elbow and fall into step through the throng of dreamers and mortals alike. The children are clapping, and giggling, and pointing to their lanterns as their parents and caregivers hold one another close and smile. There is an air of camaraderie and comfort...and joy. A blissful, and hopeful joy as the Night of a Thousand Lights is a celebration to invite fortune into their lives. A wish made on this night was destined to come true – or so it was said.

“I believe I said I did not wish to speak to you unless it was to release me,” you remind him.

“Yes, I recall.” He steps smoothly and the crowd parts like river water curving around a stone. “Have you made your wish?”

“Does it matter to you?” Your jaw clenches. “Perhaps I wished for Dima’s return, but we both know that will not occur. Are you releasing me or not?”

“When you leave the Dreaming where will you go?”

“To the Otherworld, not only to fulfill my final task to Desire but to see its ruin for myself.” There is no point in lying because there is no victory to be won by keeping your future a secret. You are a creature with ambition if nothing else. “Perhaps to the mortal world for a while. I’d like to see the changes for myself.”

“Will you ever return?”

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

His question remains suspended in the air among the lanterns. He has stopped the idle walking and now faces you, aware that his expression is beseeching. He cannot help it. He cannot help himself. He thought his stubbornness would overrule yours, but he has failed. You are within his Dreaming, but not a part of it. They call you the Queen of Nightmares, but he wishes…oh, how he wishes...for more. A Queen of Dreams and Nightmares.

You slide your hand away from his elbow and cross your arms. Defensive. Strong. Your eyes alight with that inner fire – the fire he saw on your first meeting, the eternal passion that burns within you. He could stare forever into your eyes and never tire of it even if eternity passed he found himself at the end of all things.

“I would return if my friend Dima could return alongside me.”

“Is that so?” he murmurs. “Your affection for her has not waned.”

He traces the shape of your smirking mouth.

“Do I seem a fickle Goddess to you?”

“No,” he replies, “you have shown stalwart loyalty.”

You tear your gaze from him and look up into the sky – no doubt searching for your lantern among the others. Dream finds it. He coaxes it downward with gentle wind and a soft hand until the lantern is floating between you. The ribbons wave and flutter, waiting for its next journey into the dark sky. He can guess your wish. You wish for freedom. A wish that he – and only he – can grant. But indulging in your wish will leave him...in a world without you.

“One ribbon for each sister,” he guesses.

“One for Dima,” you lift the dark blue one, “and two for my sisters.”

He feels the ribbon slip from your fingertips and Dream nudges the lantern back into the sky with a small flourish of his arm. “She was my first friend,” you say quietly, “I didn’t consider myself friends with the other Gods. Not really. And my relationship with my sisters...it was close to friendship, I believe, but still...different. Dima chose me.”

The music and sounds of revelry dull around him.

“She worshiped you and she served you,” Dream says, “we...Gods, Endless, we don’t have friends nor do we need them. I am not friends with any of my subjects.” He is close to his ravens, he supposes, but the word ‘friend’ doesn’t fit correctly. It hangs like an overly large coat.

You wave him off in a flippant gesture. “You don’t understand, Morpheus.” You watch your lantern float into the sky among the pinpricks of flickering orange and gold. “And I do not expect you to. I am neither God nor Endless, as I live between worlds.”

Dream takes a step closer. “If it’s friendship you desire, then I can create a hundred friends for you, each more wonderful than the last.”

“I don’t want creations, Dream.” You frown. “You could create an identical twin to Dima, but it would not be her...and I would miss her all the more for it.”

You were happier when Dima was here. He knows this. But, his decision cannot be so quickly undone.

“In time,” he begins, “I will allow Dima to return. I will lift her banishment.”

You shrug and your expression...closes. He feels it like an icy wind at his back. You are withdrawing and retreating. A protective shell encompasses you instead of the bright, white-hot, and righteous anger that he is familiar with. It is at this moment that Dream realizes he misses you. You stand a foot away and yet he cannot reach you. You may as well be on the other side of the Dreaming – if the Dreaming bothered with meddlesome things like directions and width. He has caused you pain and suffering beyond the grief and agony that you dutifully hide.

A raindrop lands on his cheek. He steps closer. His hands are trembling. He wills them to close, to stop. Your head tilts to the side – and he knows that there is some part of you, no matter how weakened or buried, that senses his fear. He is afraid to lose you. He is afraid to let you go. Another step.

“You have done your duty, Morrigan.” He exhales.

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

You scan Dream’s face for deception, but he is unsmiling and serious. There is no humor to him. He is all dark angles and dark hair and keen, sharp eyes. Your heart trips inside your chest. You lick your lips and step closer as if drawn by an invisible string to him, and your breath shudders from within. Is he saying what you think he’s saying?

“Am I free to leave the Dreaming?”

Dream’s hand cradles the side of your face. The Dream Lord is to be my undoing. You remind yourself of your sister’s prophecy, but it no longer holds weight. If Morpheus was your death and your doom, then surely it would have happened by now. Your older sister was never wrong, but maybe her death rendered her prophecies obsolete. You inhale sharply as Dream’s thumb skates across the delicate skin below your eye.

“You are,” he whispers, “and you are free to return as you wish. The Dreaming will be open to you…and to Dima as well.”

Your fingers crawl along his chest and grip the lapels of his woolly coat. “Do you promise?” Be it God, or Endless, their word is their bond.

A heavy weight presses into your chest. You have dreamed of your eventual release a million times, but you never imagined it would look like this surrounded by flickering paper lanterns and twirling ribbons beneath a palace made of glass. His eyes widen imperceptibly, but otherwise, his expression remains grave.

“Yes.” He rests his forehead against yours. “As long as you promise to return.”

“Very well,” you say and the words come out choked, congested with relief and euphoria. Freedom at last. Freedom. A chance for a reunion just as you had wished. Dream collects your hands and joins them with his at the center of his chest.

Dream whispers, “Until next we meet.”

[privatepixiestrove]

A Home Within Shadows

This is a quick, family and resilience fanfiction about Rolan from BG3 Nothing spicy, just a moment of peace for once.

The view from the window was abhorrent. Nothing but warped darkness spanning further than he cared to let his thoughts linger on. But he couldn’t help as his mind wandered back to it. Just yesterday he was out there, adrift amongst the shadows, so blinded by his desperation to rescue his siblings that he refused to see just how in over his own head he was. Nowhere felt safe, but he had managed to make matters worse when he stumbled into a swarm of those demented shadows, holding them off only just barely. Until they had arrived.

The alluring strum of a lute drew his attention back inward to the bustling sounds of the inn. The mood was nothing if not somber, a gray cloud had seemed to seep in and saturated the survivors with a melancholy so deep it would stain their thoughts and memories for the rest of their lives. They were alive for now, but how long until those shadows breached their tiny slice of salvation?

Rolan’s siblings had tucked themselves into a corner nearby. They had been rescued, but it wasn’t because of him. He had been so focused on saving the children, it wasn’t until he heard Lia’s screams dissipate into the darkness that he even knew they had been seized by the cultists. It wasn’t until he had made it into Last Light Inn that he even uttered a word. Drinking to excess, hoping that anyone close enough would assume it was his beer furiously sloshing around in his tankard and not tears rolling down his cheeks.

By the time the adventurers had arrived once again to ‘save the day’ he was dangerously intoxicated. Riddled to the brim with guilt and grief, pouring over and taking it all out on anyone within an ear shot. Desperate, he thought. You’re always so desperate without a damn plan to do anything about it, you fool.

Even the children sat in silence now, circled around the bard to listen to her tune. She was normally the expert at bringing a smile to their faces, but even a light as bright as her was dimmed by the curse. As quickly as the lute began its next cheerful tune, Alfira struck a sour note, causing him to furrow his brows.

A flash of light had illuminated the entire room, causing every occupant to look toward him. He straightened his posture out of some strange sense of duty or responsibility, but they were looking past him, out into that endless blackness. Or, at least, what had been endless. Rolan snapped his attention back out the window to stare at something altogether new.  A beam of silver light shot through the sky like a comet, dodging its way through the stars like a persistent battleship on a rough ocean.

They did it.

He thought he had spoken those words aloud, but the air had been sucked from his lungs, perhaps sucked from the room all together as the awed silence remained. His jaw slacked as he watched the beam of light continue past the inn, through the dreaded lands of rot and decay, straight for Moonrise Towers.

They did it.

Like a great thunderous wave, every single person found their way to a window, or ran out the front door, watching that same streak of light. Some began to cheer while others immediately began drumming up a plan to go and assist at the towers. But Rolan just sat there, bathing in the radiance of whatever that was, but more so, he was overcome with a warmth that spread from his chest up into his cheeks, down into his stomach, wiggling its way down to his toes. His cheek twitched as his lips came up into the slightest grin. He stretched his fingers before lifting one hand to support his chin, continuing to stare almost obsessively into the light.

Among the cheers and scheming that had quickly filled the room, Rolan didn’t hear as Cal and Lia walked over, each of them wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He froze, that small grin still plastered on his face, his eyes not moving from the sky, but he felt his shoulders relax, his entire body releasing the tension it had bottled up. His own arms came up to wrap around each of his siblings, drawing them even closer to him.

This was home. Even as they ran from darkness, huddled in this inn with only a thin shield of light to protect them from the shadows. No, they hadn’t made it to Baldur’s Gate yet, they didn’t have a house, or any type of roof over their heads to call their own. But it was there, wrapped in their arms, watching as that single burst of hope streaked the night sky with light, the rot and decay somehow bubbling back to life in its wake, this was truly home.

[metvmorqhoses]

Hi! I never read the original trilogy before watching the show, only the crows books, but I agree with a lot of what you’ve said about Alina & Aleksander. It’s obviously a cruel and poorly fitting match. May I ask what kind of person you think would truly match Aleksander better?

So, here is the deal: while the right answer to this question might appear pretty obvious, since pretty much everyone in the fandom agrees that Aleksander deserves an equal, I have to confess that I've always found a big flaw in this otherwise, well, flawless reasoning.

Albeit I obviously agree with everything you said about Alina's (especially show!Alina) lack of... personality (to express it kindly), I think dismissing the general concept of book!Alina, at least in the way she should have been written had her writer any sense of artistic potential, might actually be a dire mistake in the proverbial grand scheme of literary things.

I'll explain.

It's indeed pretty easy to sketch out Aleksander's ideal match. He himself would tell you he'd need a mirror image of who he is in order to finally, finally, feel complete: someone to match him in power, but above all in his understanding of power; someone to match him in immortality, but above all in his experience with it; someone who shares his predatory eagle-view on existence and therefore sharp-sighted enough to look in his same direction and see the same clash of colors in dawns and sunsets turning morality and philosophy unforgiving black.

In short, Aleksander would need someone who shares his unique condition, but most importantly having already lived through each and every single stage of it (the same despair, the same fear, the same loneliness) and therefore being someone who just gets what it means, what it feels, to be him.

There's no doubt in my mind this is what the Darkling dreamt about in the dead of night, what he prayed for before actually finding the Sun Summoner. He prayed she had been out there all along somehow, each year he himself had existed, going through the same centuries of unforgiveness, of solitude, of horror, through the same desperate quest for an equal, for him, just as he had been looking for her, all that time, all along.

I've seen many amazing people believing this very same thing while exploring the possibility in both meta and fanfiction, and I absolutely get where they are coming from. But I'm afraid I have to disagree. As poets say, there's a huge difference between what someone thinks they need and what they actually do need.

Aleksander's perfect match should indeed be his mirror image, but the mirror image of the boy he once was (the boy who was in love with "all the colors one cannot see in the dark", the one who was moved by the mere idea of companionship and intimacy, who was brave enough to risk his own life for the sake of a little girl he had just met), and not of the eternal and lost creature he had become, no matter how shocking the mere notion would be to him.

Aleksander would need a person who reminds him of the unspoiled self that was torn away from him, of his original unmarred idealism, his profound appreciation for living before he became a mere stubborn and bitter habit, of the humanity he was forced to shed. And, above all, Aleksander would need to be able himself to perform this act of saving, protecting and cherishing this twin heart for the sake of that heart of his no one had cared to save in time.

I think seeing himself, his truer, unspoiled self, in his equal and being able to shield her from everything he endured, as a single beam of light in endless oceans of darkness, would be virtually the only thing able to save him in turn, finally giving his life a meaning no war nor time could steal away from him.

And this is precisely why I think the concept of Alina had real literary potential, had it been used wisely, because Alina was supposed to be exactly that - an Alexander who can still, materially, be protected, saved, someone with the strength of not treding her own humanity for comforting numbness and disillusion, not even while crushed by the weight of eternity, and, in doing so, allowing him to be human and bearably so for the first time in his eternal detached yet still excruciating exististing.

It's a pity, because at fleeting times both books and show did touch on this very topic, almost giving in, only to idiotically shy away from it for reasons that will always be beyond me.

[sundove88]

DBZ: Waves of Freedom AU FAQ + Q&A:

Btw, these are just for fun- but feel free to submit any asks about my AU and the fanfic in the ask box!

Q: I’ve noticed many similarities to The Little Mermaid. Is this an actual adaptation or just a modern retelling?

A: Yes and No! I actually took inspiration from both the Disney movie and the original tale by Hans Christian Andersen. I also got inspired by DBZ, Brother Bear, and maybe even Mermaid Melody Pitchi Pitchi Pitch to make the story. Instead of going with the straightforward plot of the mermaid going on land to find love, I decided to have the main protagonist become a merperson and escape a life of surpression and shape their own destiny. Also, it’s basically the TLM but told from the POV of Eric, who is now promoted to the main character instead of the secondary one. And let’s be real here, the original story’s been almost done to death (No offense), and I wanted to do something fresh and new.

Q: Frieza is incredibly different in this story. How did the Emperor of Universe 7 end up being adapted into a tyrannical CEO in the fanfic?

A: I actually took elements from Triton (The authoritarian figure) and Ursula (The manipulative antagonist), as well as elements from his own character, like his charisma and merciless demeanor, especially when he drops more work on Vegeta like a bombshell in Chapter 2. Btw, his design is his Society Survival Saga design from Super Dragon Ball Heroes, but more elaborate to reflect that he’s a controlling CEO. Bonus points if he’s stroking a kitty cat.

Q: A detail I’ve noticed in the fanfiction is that it also centers on environmental themes, given that the company in the story is called Empire Oil Drilling Corps. Are there any other moments of this?

A: Yes! Frieza’s company claims to be helping the environment, when they’re really not- they’re actually planning to drill for oil and possibly harm the ocean, while the merpeople care for their home and take great joy in seeing it happy and healthy. It’s called Empire OIL DRILLING Corps for a good reason.

Q: What made you want to design the dual land and sea forms of the characters?

A: I wanted the characters to traverse worlds without being bound to a singular form, and I got inspired by H20: Just Add Water for this! To put it simply, duality is a massive theme in the fanfic, and so is balance. The land forms reflect the roles of the cast and are often comfortable to walk in and wear, while the sea forms take inspiration from various sea creatures from beneath the waves- or the Disney version of The Little Mermaid for Goku and Vegeta! In short, duality and balance are two sides of the same coin- one can’t exist without the other. Darkness and light, good and evil, black and white, and of course, Land and Sea.

Q: How did you develop Atlantis and the underwater + land worlds?

A: I took pages out of The Little Mermaid’s Atlantica, Aquaman’s version of Atlantis, Abzu, and Endless Ocean to get a feel for the undersea world. Each district in the now reborn city beneath the waves is named after a water deity in mythology, like Mazu (Chinese) and Chalchiuhtlicue (Aztec). But there are tons more, and the ocean dwelling part of the cast resides in homes across the city. And as for the land world aka Scalefall Bay, I got inspired by stories of various totalitarian regimes, such as 1984 and The Hunger Games, to get a feel for what Vegeta’s life on land is like. Monochrome and drab colors are used to convey a life of uniformity and oppression, as opposed to the bright and colorful realm beneath the surface of the ocean, where merpeople are free to be who they want to be.

Q: Did you have anything planned for the fanfic that sadly got cut?

A: Ohhh boy, do I have a ton for you! Let’s see, we have some scenes like an undersea race across the coral reef between Yamcha and Krillin, a flashback to Kid!Vegeta when he got the abalone from his dad, an entire subplot involving The Pride Troopers (Who are part time anglers and conspiracy theories who believe merpeople are real @thunder-jolt for the idea), another subplot in which Chi Chi’s worries come into play, you get the idea. Heck, I even had various ideas for the transformation Vegeta undergoes in Chapter 5 (Including one inspired by when Majin Vegeta did his Final Explosion to take out Majin Buu) before I settled on one I was satisfied with. Also, he was going to have more accessories in his merman form- jewels, pearls, armbands, pendants, earrings, tail anklets, and maybe even a tiara of sorts. But in the end I chose to just give him the water lily hairpin and the bracelet- both from Chapter 3. There was even a subplot where Zarbon became a siren after being all like “I’ll take the treasure instead!”, when he’s asked by Frieza to bring Vegeta back.

Q: Are there any cameos and Easter eggs sprinkled throughout the story?

A: Yes! When Goku is explaining about merpeople society and how that every time they breach the surface, they always see something that was never there before; you can see Caulifla, Cabba, and Kale resting on a sandbank gazing out at a massive seaside city, Videl perching on a rock in the sunset, Yurin swimming up a river to see the various foundations lining the banks, the Kamikaze Fireballs (Ribrianne, Kakunsa, and Rozie) on the back of a whale gazing towards the clear night sky, and Broly, Cheelai, and Lemo watching the aurora borealis on an iceberg- and they’re all in their Mer forms. And it’s not limited to other characters from the Dragon Ball universe; too. Chris Sabat (Current Dub Vegeta) and Brian Drummond (Ocean Dub Vegeta) both make cameos in a cafe, and some of the Easter eggs are like when in Bulma’s lab, you can easily see a snowglobe with the Atlantica castle in it.

Q: Do you have any sequels or spin offs planned?

A: Not really, for now. But then again, you can always and I mean always insert your OCs and maybe some other characters into the story and see the world of Waves of Freedom through their eyes. It’s totally up to you. And like the ocean itself, the possibilities are endless, with the expansive world building, the cut content, and the diversity of the cast; your ideas can reach as far as the depths of the ocean and as high as your own imagination.

[sanityshorror]

the julius redraw of my beloved patrick led to julius becoming my other beloved. they're both so.....😍*chef's kiss* 💋could you please write a scenario about these two pretty boy psychos meeting each other for the first time? thank you❤️

Awe thank you so much, I'm glad you love Julius! I put so much work into him and I'm working on soooo many projects about him 👀 As for the scenario, I apologize but I really don't have time and I don't write fanfiction involving my own characters (I created Julius, to be clear; he's my character 😭) BUT I can tell you my silly HCs of if somehow their different universes collided and they met!

Given Patrick's personality and knowing Julius' like the back of my hand, unfortunately I do not see any sort of friendship ever forming between the two. Neither of the men are prone to form a genuine bond with anyone. Now, I can confirm that there are a few exceptions for Julius but it's very, very, very few. As for Patrick, it's up to one's interpretation of if he can/does form a true bond, I personally interpret him to be similar to Julius: no, with extremely rare exceptions.

While I do not see a genuine bond being able to form between the two, I absolutely do see them both as having a mutually beneficial fake-friendship. They're both east coast, coked up, sex addicted, rich white men who lead double/multiple lives and are deceptive as all hell. They both are also very obsessive over image, appearance and social status/perception. Now what I absolutely do believe would happen is Patrick forming an obsessive infatuation but intense jealousy towards Julius due to multiple reasons.

I'll explain:

Julius was born in a working class family during the Victorian era who immigrated to America and became a mainly self made multi-billionaire (being married to the Boss of the Boston Irish Mob brings in a lot of money on top of his own very successful business). Patrick on the other hand, despite being born into wealth still doesn't hold a candle to Julius' riches. Patrick may own a Manhattan penthouse but Julius could buy the entire building if he wanted to, and without batting an eye at the price tag given the multi-millions that roll in weekly for him.

That brings me to another reason: sheer status and power. Julius is so elite that brand names mean nothing to him and he sees brand names as something for the poor. Julius owns a very popular, top of the line, extremely expensive dress shop and boutique. Everything is hand made by him (he doesn't even use sewing machines), one of a kind and the man is talented. His shop is so revered you need an appointment just to get in and people will save up for years and fly across the country, even across the ocean to get a dress. (Of course, only the lucky actually leave the shop....) Basically, Julius' wealth and god like status (he can literally have anything he wants, whenever he wants and gets endless attention) is something Patrick would, though be very jealous of, lead Patrick to suck up to Julius. Our boy Patrick would set his homophobia aside in a second if it meant being seen going into Doherty's Dress Shop without needing an appointment.

Julius would look down on Patrick. He would find him annoying and pathetic. However Julius loves attention and loves people sucking up to him (and loves cocaine-murder buddies) so he probably wouldn't kill Patrick as long as Patrick played his cards right and didn't challenge him. I see Julius using Patrick as a verbal punching bag and forcing him to smuggle drugs and traffic humans and other shit, and probably also just make him do degrading things like "I'll let you enter my store wherever you want if you suck my boot until you jizz in your pants hahahaha nasty bitch" just for shits and giggles. And Patrick probably would because oh that sweet sweet sweet status.

Julius also would make fun of Patrick for being 'short and fat'. Patrick is said to be 6'0 and 190lbs whereas Julius, who is anorexic, stands at 6'5 (in the human leather boots he always wears, he's 6'2 without them) and horrific mere 135lbs (please seek help if you struggle with eating, you deserve it/gen). I think they would both feed into each other's body issues and obsession with perfection.

It would be interesting to see them meet, I must admit that lol.

[modrzewek]

fanart for amazing fanfiction "Found in the School Library" by greevianguy (@hezek1ahwakely )

spoiler for chapter 15

"Martin climbed over the railing before he had even realized he’d made a decision or had control over his body again. He pushed himself off the edge without a second thought towards the cold, anticipating grasp of the ocean, intending to find Jon and pull him out of it and back onto the safety of dry land. Instead, the white foam below him turned out to be a bank of fog. He crashed through it and he felt a cold shock before his nerves turned to ice. As if he had plunged into the ocean, schools of unnervingly elongated silver fish with humongous deep-sea eyes swept past him, like macabre children's kites—and he fell down and down and down; and his descent became slower,  and slower,  and slower— until everything was gone. Until it was just him, and only him, on and on, forever; and he had no hope left of ever finding Jon or seeing another soul ever again; until he knew for sure his mother wasn’t looking for him and had never even thought to; until he felt the world running out around him, suffocating him and leaving him truly alone in a dull blank nothing space—a similar but infinitely distant parallel to the endless swallowing hunger that had claimed his friend."

I can't properly express it, but this fanfic and "Lie down with me, my dear" from the same author are so close to my heart,, just read them, please

[duchessdepolignaca03]

Thanks @priincebutt for the tag! This is an open tag, because I don't want to tag anyone specifically as some of these questions are a little sketch, so the answers below are a little obtuse/long-winded. This was SUPER FUN though!

Are you named after anyone?

Yes - a pop star and a jewelry company/type of diamond cut. 

When was the last time you cried?

During Totality of the 2024 Solar Eclipse, genuinely one of the most beautiful and awe-inspiring moments of my life.  I was struck by the beauty of the corona which shimmered like diamonds in the sky, struck by perfect randomness of the universe that that gave us a sun that’s 400x bigger than the moon and 400x as far, creating the perfect symmetry to allow for a solar eclipse, and how this same random perfection gave me my daughter, loving husband and all the privileges I have in my life.

Hours before, I also shed frustrated and sad tears that my enjoyment of a fandom that has given me so much joy and creative inspiration has soured over being soundly, but unexpectedly, rejected. Frustrated and sad that I may have to bow out and give up something I thoroughly enjoyed giving my free labour to and through which I have made some wonderful friends that have buoyed me over the past year.  

Do you have kids?

See above.

What sports do you play/have you played?

I was never a sporty kid, but as an adult I discovered running, which has both been a lifeline and a source of endless frustration and pain. I’ve run a marathon, about a dozen half marathons,  innumerable 5ks and 10ks and kicked the butt of a 30k once in a winter storm. I can’t wait to rediscover running again and start my running journey from scratch.

Do you use sarcasm?

Not as much as I wish I would like. I’m not as spicy as I think I am, haha. 

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

How they are treating me, which tells me how they want to be treated back.

What’s your eye color?

Dark like my soul! You can hardly see my pupils, and its not because I’m high! 

Scary movies or happy endings comedies?

Neither! I love a good story, I love a drama. My favourite films recently have been films that felt simultaneously satisfying and unsatisfying at the same time. Both feature Paul Mescal (Aftersun and All of Us Strangers), and focus on parenthood and the relationships we have with the memories of our parents.

Any talents?

Not really? I suppose I have a talent for seeming more enthusiastic about things than I really am. 

Where were you born?

In a city in an archipelago in the Pacific Ocean. 

What are your hobbies?

Motherhood and full time job life doesn’t leave a lot of time for hobbies, but I l have love engaging in the RWRB fandom, and reading and writing and making some amazing friends. Before writing  and posting fanfiction, I did a lot of roleplaying on IJ, Tumblr and Discord. I enjoy broadway musicals and watching too much British television. I also love riding the Peloton and a good strength session!

Do you have any pets?

Yes. But I see you with this revealing security question, potential fraudster :P

How tall are you?

I grew up in poverty in a developing country, subsisting mostly on rice and coffee and white bread with mayonnaise (yes, mayonnaise), raised by a loving but chain-smoking mother. There was no hope for me to become taller than an oversized hobbit. Let’s just say my husband and I have to toggle the Peloton back and forth between the most extreme settings possible.

Favorite subject in school?

History and Politics. The great loves of my life, if its not already obvious.

Dream job?

My current job is nominally my dream job. However, I would like to serve a government that genuinely cares about the public, that thinks beyond myopic and cynical politics and actually wants to improve the lives of ordinary citizens, uplift the vulnerable, tax the shit out of the rich and - at minimum - not support genocide. 

[saline-coelacanth]

I posted a new chapter for Lightning in the Storm where nothing bad happens by the end of it, trust me.

Also, man today has been a wild day for me, because not only is it fanfiction posting day, but we got a new DR clip AND new Endless Ocean game revealed today. I don't know how I'm functioning from all of that, but I am pretty tired so maybe I will try to take a nap or something idk.

[edgelordfinalboss]

🌊OF SHARP STONES🌊

SECTION ONE: OCEAN

Chapter: Introduction//Prologue

Fandom: The Lost Boys (1987)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Blood, Violence, Witch hunting, Witch burning, Witchcraft, Trauma and Character death.

Summary: A coven of witches living on the beach of Santa Carla have to deal with the death of their leader after a lethal witch burning that leads to the bounty hunting of both them and their romantic partners, the notorious lost boys of Santa Carla. Yet, something more terrifying lives in Santa Carla and it's the spirits of those killed by the hunting, begging for revenge.

Note: Please Like and Repost! It would be much appreciated. Thank you so much!!!

Fanfiction playlist:

🎠Kimora🎠

Night has long fallen.

Upon the pier sits a gathering of birds, crying out my summons within their own strange language. The beat of their wings, silvery and onyx along with the song of their caws once had filled me with awe. Now it's only a nuisance and a reflection of my shortcomings.

A witch without her familiar is as dangerous as holding a wild viper, no protection in her craft or against those who seek to harm her. The birds call out to a familiar seeking a witch but it seems that all of them are too far from earshot.

"Maybe they're dead, Kimora." The blonde lays across my lap, his blue eyes tinted with flecks of gold. "Or deaf."

"Don't speak of misfortune." I'm quick to hush him. "Paul, you know what happens when a witch loses her familiar or worse, never finds them."

"Maybe you have found them." Paul reaches for my hand, his bracelets shimmering and clinking against mine.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Star has David. She lost her familiar but with him, she seems quite fine." Our hands intertwine, the cold of his fingers becoming less bothersome with the passing of months. They cling on to the warmth of a recent feeding, but it's quickly passing, leaving the warm tone of his skin to pale to his unique silvery gleam.

"But she's not. You can't be my familiar, Paul. That doesn't even sound right." I lean back and listen to the magic below, the blue and turquoise waves crashing on the shore of the beach. It sounds much like electric currents, shifting through the waves, up and under the crash in the way that fish do.

"Oh, am I far too lame, not magical enough?" The dramatic part of him itches to push at my core but I can barely hinder my laugh, the true me that all the harsh training and shadow work could never bury away for good.

"No way."

"Then what is it?" Lifting himself, he throws his head back to slap me in the face with his golden hair. His beads and bangles chime softly, even the hook of sapphire stone and vibrant sea glass I hooked in his hair creates their own song.

"You don't understand witches. Our familiars can't be humans."

"You talk about witches like you're some kinda secret club, much like us vampires but witches always have to be superior, you can't sit with us types." Paul jokes around. "Well, I'm not human."

"Familiars have to be ancient spirits in the form of animals," I say, pretending to be tired of going back and forth with him. "Not human, not vampire, not werewolf, not witch."

"I know." His breaths slow. "But what about us? When that animal comes, cat, dog, or whatever you'll have less time for me. Less time for our jukebox dinners, less time to play records or shred a guitar with me. I'm scared that I'm gonna lose you."

Paul has always been the small feeling of warmth that lasts in my heart through the lonely nights, the reason I would sneak away from the coven's beach house at twilight. When I had first met him I was far different, plump with pecan tan skin and a hunger for familiarity, a hunger for the snow-capped mountains and the endless wildness of home.

Now my muscles have formed from straining the magic within my blood, dancing with it, and burning my skin under the scorching Santa Carla sun. My body, one I was unhappy in had grown consistent in muscle mass, yet, still, I've found no peace in my self-perception. Paul was a force to be reckoned with on his own but still, somehow he'd remained playful and carefree.

It was what drew me to him amongst other listable things, of course.

He was the cool water on the scorching sand.

"Do you really think a familiar will change things?" I lift my hand to his face, cupping his cheek.

"You'll be doing much more magic." He whispers. "You and the coven might disband."

"Never."

"Star left the coven and joined us." He looks off in the distance as a ship rings its bell across the waves. The chime echoes in my head, ringing as I try not to get lost in my thoughts.

"She lost her familiar. It was no way that we could convince her that she was still one of us. She was also terrified of her family's judgment." I hold his hand tight.

We both sit in silence as the ship passes below us, heading towards the boardwalk. Leaning against his shoulder, I wonder if he truly believes it. Lines of bright gold lights up a clear path through the ocean as the blue and white hunk of metal slices through the waves.

"And you know how much Darla loves Marko and Dwayne has the hots for Angel."

"Yeah."

"Your uncontrollable powers and my hunger for blood." He chuckles. "We make one deadly duo."

"And none of us will age." I say. "We'll always be young."

I stand up, called to the trees by something that rings through my blood like the bells of the ships docked. I know it isn't that though because this sound is far too strong. It isn't tangible or has a source I can pinpoint. Though, it's personal.

Paul stands with me, the metal decor of his jacket jingling softly as we leave the wooden pier and head toward the beach. He silently follows close, not questioning my reasoning as he used to. It's our ever-growing trust combined with the little things that my magic has found that keep him from stopping me. Antiques and small trinkets, sometimes trespassers on witchland that made him a nice blood snack, and another picture on the missing board.

The lights of the ferris wheel and the millions of attractions splayed out across the boardwalk catch my eye but the feelings running strong through my veins keep me on my path, strengthening it so that if I wanted to break away from it, my attempts would be in vain.

The wood of the pier disappears into metal gates, chain link fences, and sand as we cross the threshold, the waters fading into golden sand stretches and shrubs. The salty smell of the water fills my nostrils, a smell that took nearly six months to get used to.

My eyes stay on the trees swaying in the wind, the shadows that dance on the forest floor through the space where light pierces through the veil of darkness. The birds on the pier, the servants of the witches lift and fade into the night as flashes of black.

Maybe it's my familiar. I doubt it though.

My feet don't stop as Paul steps to my side, his eyes filled with worry and a silent plea to turn around. It's unclear if he can sense that something is wrong. If even the vampire feels the stillness in the air, I know I should note.

The tree branches poke into my sides as I slap them away, moving farther and farther through the forest. They leave scars on my face, drawing blood as the pines reach out. The ground thins but my feet are dragged along by a sensation burning through my body, seeping into every part of my being. The sweet smell of pine hangs on the leaves, getting stronger with each step.

"No!" I fall to my knees as the earth slants downward, leaving me without a foothold as Paul does the same. Shocked, even he's not fast enough to hold us both up as we plummet down into the earth's pore.

Through the crashing and thrashing, nothing holds me. With every rock that my feet touch, they simply fall with me and the awkwardly twisting branches snap.

I dislodge pieces of the earth as I grapple at stones, slippery with what feels like ocean mist. My feet kick up stones and gravel as I fall. Paul calls me as he half floats, half falls through the space.

"Blood!"

Halfway through calling me, he stops.

With one last slam into the earth, it all gives away and I hit the ground with no warning. Pines cones and needles lay under my back with the occasional stone ripping into my skin.

The sky hangs above dotted with thousands of blinking stars, twisting and twirling in the night sky. They fall around the moon as if in mourning, a sign that had only happened during the final witch trials, the symbol that marked the last burning, never happening before or again in history.

Crunching on the leaves breaks my eyes away from the sky, the panic of Paul reminding me that this isn't some weird dream. That this is real and my blood, the life of me led me here.

"Kimmy." His hands find my face.

I look up and see his fangs and the tremble of his body, the attempt to keep himself from vamping out.

"What?" I lift my eyes to the circle of sticks that surround me against the trees, each stick only a few feet away from the other in the clearing with charred lumps attached to them with the smell of magic and blood in the air. I can barely make out what they are, but like some ancient connection that ignites the primal fear of all witches, I scream loud and guttural.

I gasp, dragging myself up despite the pain in my back and arms. My feet threaten to drag me back down as Paul fights against his hunger and true nature.

"No. No. No!" I scream to the poles, to the bones that remain, and the blood that seeps from the pine wood to the earth. Small crosses litter the earth, poking up from the litter of dried-out pine needles.

My magic threatens to burst from my veins and set the entirety of Santa Carla's forest ablaze but Paul's grip on me keeps me restrained. Not that could but I would do anything to calm my anger and fear.

The memories of this place go straight to my head with a hazy fog as I touch a torn piece of fabric from a frilly young witch's blouse that hangs on the splinters of the partially burnt pole.

The scene comes to me. It smells of sage and warm cinnamon pies, the dinners of the witches of the bluff, a coven far from the boardwalk but within walking distance of the beach. They had always been rather kind but different from my coven.

The witches of the bluff were far more open with magic as the sight of tarot cards, wands, crystal balls, and herbs come to mind, attractions to bring in humans, to make money.

The scene shifts to darkness, of the blue-tinted sky of the evening shifting into the night, of the first stars blinking around the moon. They're alive.

Screams come next and magic, oh, glorious magic. Gold and pink, cobalt and deep green as men dressed in black march with each witch carried and dragged with rope, their powers subdued with flames upon wooden sticks wrapped with cloth.

A young hippie witch, much younger than me, dressed in pink falls to the ground as a man pulls on her ropes with a cruel laugh that boils my blood. Pieces of sleeves rip as she fights against a pole, her magic, a flash of bright yellow flares from her palm so bright that the man who holds her rope shrieks.

She's so ferocious and strong but in the face of hatred, in the face of terrified men, she's nothing but a weak attempt.

I gasp, my lungs burning as life returns to me and the past fades away. The witches are no longer fighting for the last bits of life. They're long gone, burnt corpses above us like angels of death.

Paul holds me tight, suppressing his hunger. His claws dig into my skin as I linger at the foot of a pole.

My head twirls again and I hear her voice. The voice of our High Priestess calling in my head, her cries strained by sobs and gasps for air. Between her screams for help is the sound of leaves crunching as something heavy drags across the earth.

Her life flashes away like smoke, the scene of ropes binding her hands as magic the color of fire spills from her fingers as she tried to do what was right fades.

I know her intentions as if they're my own. She gave her life as the ropes of death snatched her noble existence away in little more than a few seconds. Now our coven is without a leader. Without a teacher, without a figure to keep us strong.

She's dead, snatched away from my coven when I should have been right at her side, even if that meant death.

And I'm without a glimpse of the faces and the bloody hands that took her away from me.

[autumnbrambleagain]

Is there a lore primer for your work on FA? Your worldbuilding is fascinating. Also, proselytize is so good, please write 5000 more chapters

first off thank you proselytize is really fun even if fanfiction is not normally my jam. proselytize has been planned out mostly unchanged for a long time now and it's just the matter of oh my god romance scenes are fucking hard people wanting to kiss is weird and that's the hold up in writing more chapters right now

i have a lot of settings i do stuff with on FA ngl. one of my most obnoxious inspirations was Dune, and one of my worst traits as a person in this world is creating content with 0 effort to explain itself and it's on the reader to figure things out through context because that is, personally, my nonsexual fetish and i am subjecting everyone to it constantly

my most stable and prolific settings are Under Watchful Is and Auroral Oceans and if anyone's visiting my gallery those are the folders i suggest you poke into primarily

there used to be a pastebin for Under Watchful Is setting document but pastebin apparently banned like all its content so uhhh fuck it HERE'S A DROPBOX of the UWi setting notes

UWi is a world that largely knows it's a story and it began as a tumblr game that died off really fast due to player derails. it's where knicknacks (the giant cotton beast guys) are from! there's like ten kinds of magic and you can alter reality just by trying hard enough and that's normal for everyone there. it remains one of my favorite settings to draw little snippets of life from

to get a good sense of UWi i would recommend Yhelm's story , just, just kinda go into her gallery and start from the back and work your way up. a lot of the context of her story explains a lot of the setting, and her story is super situated in how her setting works b/c honestly worldbuilding should exist to serve the story mostly i think personally

note that a lot of the posts are images WITH text stories beneath so look at the description in the image pages for like the majority of the actual stories

i'm SLOW in working on Yhelm's stuff but i'm not given up on it! it's an awkward journey of romance and family relationships and race and identity and magic and poly romance and crime

Auroral Oceans is going through a ton of reworks because it's my most granular highly-detailed setting with very specific rules. so far the only real kinda-ongoing story is Sasfsets' but heyyo content warning there's a lot of bad people in that story and there's a lot of full on sexual abuse and murder. her story's kinda stuck because i wanted to redo some of the visual style of the setting to move away from them feeling like furries and making them feel more like weird aliens in a world of endless rainbow and void

these are ALL part of a giant fucking metasetting linked to the City in the Middle, with each of the settings and worlds all having the same kind of lifespan and reproductive system and underlying fundamental rules, and there are drifts like Tabrix and Sabhaxlia who can go between worlds or who are worlds

Sabhaxlia herself also started life as a tgchan quest

[starchasersunseeker]

9 people you want to get to know better

Thank you for the tag @emlovessid

Last song: Keep Your Friends Close from The Ocean Saga of the musical Epic

Favourite colour: red and purple!!

Last film / show: Saltburn / Ginny&Georgia {I think, not sure tho since I haven't had time to watch any series in a while}

Sweet / savoury / spicy: sweet {but spicy is a very close second}

Relationship status: painfully single lol {very much ready to mingle}

Last thing I googled: translate because I had to translate the word savoury 🙃

Current obsession: jegulus and Barty

Last book: Vampire Academy - Blood promise

Looking forward to: fanfiction updates 😅

No pressure tags: @beautyoftheships @my-castles-crumbling @gay-mirrorball @tripably @thebibutterflyao3 @whoopsiesnodaisies @theres-an-endless-starry-sky @pickinglilahs @kirinthepotato