#we know that bones is the only thing keeping that ship afloat at this point lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

agoodfictitle-shadowban · 9 months

Text

From Vormir, With Love - Part 1

Summary: As you're being chased you crash on Vormir. So far, so bad. But things take a turn when you come face to face with a marooned Black Widow.

Tags: strangers to lovers, love in space angst on earth, slavery mention, alien abduction, post Endgame, will add as we go on

Word count: 3.4k

A/n: I hate tumblr and its stupid shadowban function, but i love you guys too much so here you go! Hope you like that one

Taglist: tbd

You look up from the helm, where the lights are flashing warnings. Shit, that's bad, you think, the thrusters are about to die.

"Y/n! You need to finish that shit NOW!" You hear the voice coming from behind you, a metallic clang the only indication that your co-captain is trying to keep your spaceship afloat. "The thrusters are gonna crash in two minutes, top!"

Definitely bad, you remarks uselessly in your mind. You almost look back to tell her that you're doing your best but the ship shakes under a new hit from the enemy, and so, you keep your mouth shut for now.

"Alright, alright…" you mutter as you navigate closer to the planet.

It's a barren rock with bodies of liquid across the land, and a sun constantly eclipsed. You'd never been here before, but as you approach, you feel a profound dread knot in your stomach. You ignore the feeling and focus on the descent.

You feel the winds change around the ship as the resistance increases, and you find cover from the next burst of lasers that breaks some rocks clean off. You're far from it already when the rumble of the mutilated landscape reaches your ears. You fly through a narrow pass before the opportunity you were looking for presents itself. You shot two blasts towards the ground where steam escaped from rocky cones. The crusty dirt flies around you and heavy plumes of steam escape from everywhere under the sudden pressure and destruction, offering you cover and scrambling the heat sensors of the enemy ship. You make a brutal turn to face them once you reach the other end of the geysers' field, and as it appears in front of you, you fire, destroying it and flying through the debris it leaves behind.

"Hell yeah! June! Have you seen that?!" You turn around, and your eyes go wide when you notice black ashes appearing in the cockpit. As it happens, the thrusters start to fail.

"We're gonna crash, Y/n, look at the damn road!"

"There are no roads in the sky!"

There is screaming, and you manage to stabilize your ship before it finally crashes. You groan, feeling like every bone in your body is about to break, and you look around you.

"Everyone okay?" You ask, and you're answered by various sounds and confirmations that no one is hurt. "Perfect. Now." You get off your seat and unholster your blaster, pointing it at the head of one of the newly appeared people. "What the fuck just happened?"

The newly appeared people you don't recognize, but you know what they are. Aliens. Slavers. And now the question is: will you have to fight for your life, because those assholes look very well equipped, better than you and June after you spent years in space with little resources. You look in the fully black eyes of the alien with long saber-tooth cats-like fangs.

"You tell us, human," he answers. "We're just the maintenance crew."

"Very well armed for a maintenance crew," you sass and he growls.

"This is just a vacuum." As he says that, he reaches for the weapon strapped to his back. "Look." He pushes a button and the very distinct sound of air being aspirated resonates between the walls of the ship. Your brows knit together, but you put your weapon down.

"Weird place to keep a vacuum but okay…" you mutter as you look at the rest of the crew in overalls. They seem harmless enough, besides from the predator teeth guy. You offer him a hand and he takes it to help himself up. "My name is Y/n."

"I'm Tim," he says in a rumble, and you frown.

"Tim? That's a very human name."

"Don't insult me. It means great warrior in my language. Tim."

"I swear, it's a human name."

"Are you sure your translator isn't broken?" He groans and shows his teeth, his ears falling flat against his cranium, so you decide to drop the subject. No need to antagonize your new guests.

"Anyway, guess you were taking care of the ship when you got dusted."

"Dusted?"

Oh boy. You had to catch those aliens about everything that happened, that was going to be a pain in the ass, so you decide your best course of action. "JUNE!"

There, that should get you out of trouble. Your best friend and crewmate finally emerges from the ship's entrails and looks around. "What the–"

You shrug. Her problem now. You let yourself fall back on your seat while you consult the star map.

LMC-H 13g.

Or at least that's what the translation is giving you. In any case, it clearly isn't Earth. You let out a deep sigh, and it gets the attention of someone in the ship that you barely noticed until then. One of the aliens that reappeared stops listening to June's explanation and approaches. She's less threatening than the others, with a tall body but frail members with three joints, like those of a praying mantis. She also sports the features of an insect on her face, and you suspect she might not be as frail as she appears. You eye her suspiciously, her fully black eyes staring at you with a chilling intensity. You can't help but put your hand on your weapon.

"I don't mean any harm," she reassures you with a raspy, almost tantalizing voice, mandibules clicking around her mouth. "I just want to know where we are."

You still your hand, but don't move it away, simply orient the arm on which the coordinates' screen is suspended to show it to her. You don't even want to attempt to pronounce it.

"Vormir…" she whispers. You feel the fear in her voice, see it in the way her mandibules move nervously.

"Vormir?" You ask back, looking for information. During the last few years, you learned that information held lots of power. Before that, you thought it was a saying that only made sense in books while you lead a peaceful life on Earth.

Her black scleras and irises turn back to you. Her lateral lids close in a microsecond. "It's a bad place, I heard whispers of people disappearing around this system, or weird frequencies coming from here. We should go as soon as we can."

"Wish we could, but the bastard after us fried our thrusters. We're gonna need to get them working again."

"Are people after you?" You wince at her question, but nod. The insect-like alien nervously rubs her eye with her arm as she looks away. Not the most disturbing sight you witnessed before. "Who?"

You point at the insignia on her overall, a circular patch with a blue 'x' with a white star on each bronze section it makes. It's the flag of an alien race living on the edge of known space and civilization, nomads slavers with barely anything to scrap by because they are chased around by most known authorities.

"Those guys." You decide to keep the reason why to yourself, since you know nothing of your stowaways for now. "We bought something under their nose and they didn't like it," you lie. The alien's mandibule seems to nod at the explanation.

"Explains why you threatened us. But we're nothing like them."

You adjust your position and the screen you moved earlier as a sign that you were getting back to work. "We'll see about that."

The conversation is over, she understands, and you look at the star chart. This was supposed to be your last mission before you could get back to Earth, so of course you had to get unlucky. You let out a new sigh and got up to grab your exploration material. The ship already told you outside was safe to breathe, but the gravity was slightly higher than on Earth. Seems like I'm getting my workout in, you think and giggle to yourself before covering it with a cough.

With that, you equip your toolbelt and your protections, in case an enemy survived your attack and subsequent crash.

"I'm gonna check the enemy crash site," you tell June who is recounting to the others what happened the previous five years. The door's pneumatics hiss when you press the button to open it, and soon you have a platform to get outside. When you touch down on the ground, you look around. This place really is just a rock with a few big puddles. That's going to make walking around a lot more annoying.

You set out into the unknown.

Walking around the planet is hard, but you quickly get used to it. You find a good rhythm and settle into it, which allows you to arrive only after twenty minutes to the other crash site. Bits and pieces of the ship litter the ground around you, some on fire, along with some body parts. You approach a charred body and give it a small kick, almost to make sure it's truly dead, before you keep walking around. It's easy to find an opening inside the ship through a hatch. The metal floor resonates under your feet when you land inside, and you look around. The dying lights flash like a gas station neon tube about to surrender, so you get your flashlight on before you set to look around the silent ship. You see a few more bodies around, and after taking anything useful they have on them, you keep walking. You're quick to find the command room, and once there, you approach an operating workstation. It takes a few minutes for you to get it running - after working with that technology for five years you're used to it now - and you navigate the applications, where you find the one giving you the general state of the ship. You save that information so you can bring it back to June, and if you're lucky, it will save you time on repairs.

After a quick round on the ship and no enemy in sight, you go back to your own ship.

"A week," June announces, her eyes on schematics you can't even begin to comprehend.

"We don't have enough resources to survive a week here," you whisper to her. "Not if we have to take care of those guys too." You point your finger to the sleeping aliens in the ship. They had to find whatever spot was available, as there were five of them, and only four beds - two belonging to June and you.

"Why are we even helping them? You've seen their uniforms, they're the enemy," she comments and finally looks at you.

You look at them.

"I mean, they're not really like them, so, they were probably slaves too. And they haven't been hostile."

Your friend sighs, and you shrug. She always says you have a soft heart, and maybe she's right, but right now what else were you supposed to do? Leave them there to their own device? They would die.

"I looked at the other ship's schematics, their rations should have survived the crash. At least their water."

June opens a plan for you to look at, and you lean closer to get a better look. You remember walking by the door she's showing you, but it was locked and you had no way to open it.

"Alright, I'll go back tomorrow to open it." You declare. "Or at least try to," you add, less assurance in your voice while the plan disappears in favor of some ship's part.

But as you discuss repairs with June, you fail to notice the slitted pupils staring at your back.

The feeling of dread never goes away, no matter how long you're staying on the deserted planet, no matter how hard you try to ignore it, it stays at the back of your mind, like an itch you can't scratch.

The good news is that with some of your new friends you manage to salvage enough resources to repair your ship. The bad news is that you keep failing at opening the food compartment, and your rations are dwindling way too fast. After three days, you're starting to see the end of it and the urgency to open that damn door is weighing heavily on your shoulders. You kept working on it the last few nights, and tonight you're going back to it. You're now used to the small trek across the wasteland and can do it without any trouble, but as you do this time, you feel like someone is staring at you. No matter how much you look around, you don't see anyone, so you put it on the account that you're tired and walking at night. You reach the crashed ship, then the door, and to your surprise you find it open. Immediately you reach for your weapon. The now familiar weight in hand, you take a step inside the room.

Packages of dehydrated food litter the room, with some jugs of water. They probably fell from the shelves during the crash, but they still seem intact. You look around, your heart beating against your ear and your breath heavy with adrenaline despite your attempt at not making any noise. You reach a corner at the end of a line of shelves, putting your back against the left one before you surge in the corner, weapon pointed in front of you to look both right then left. No one is there, and you let out a sigh of relief.

"Guess whoever was there already left," you tell yourself in an attempt to regain your composure, letting your weapon lay low. You briefly wonder who else could be there. Was the planet inhab–

You swallow hard when you feel the cold metal at the back of your head.

"You guessed wrong," the cold, feminine voice rings in your ears. Fuck. You should have been more careful, now you're fucked. But not dead, you think as the firearm recedes. "Put your weapon on the ground, your hands up, then turn around, slowly."

You do as you're told, slowly reaching to the ground where you put your weapon, before you stand up and put your hands in the air. With fear in your guts, you turn around. The stranger is in the shadows, and you can't see her beside her silhouette.

You finally gather the courage to speak. "Who are you?"

Despite your best efforts, your voice shakes slightly when you talk. The woman steps forward, out of the shadow, and for a second you forget all your fears. Not only are you surprised to see she's human, but she's also gorgeous. Her red hair is tied in a braid, the strands degrading to blond towards the end. She has the bluest eyes you've ever seen before, and her face is perfect, with a pretty nose and full lips - too bad she is frowning and pointing a gun at you currently. You can't help but feel like you've seen her somewhere before.

"I'm the one asking the questions," she says, and you're not in a position to negotiate, so you nod. "What are you doing on Vormir?"

"I was on a retrieval mission, but I got tailed and now I'm grounded here," you answer, leaving out the small detail that you aren't alone. "I'm just here to get some supplies."

You know you have to look as little of a threat as possible if you want to get out of here alive. You see the cogs turn in her head before she speaks again. "What happened to the ones who were after you?"

Your eyes wander away from the woman. "They're a bit everywhere around us," you answer with a grimace. So much for looking harmless. She squints her eyes at you.

"Does that mean you have a ship with you?" You can see where she's getting at, and you frown. You answer with a simple nod right before something moves at the corner of your eye.

Suddenly, a massive form tackles the woman in front of you and pushes her against a shelf in a roar, her gun being thrown away in the impact.

Tim. Did he follow you here? Shit. You don't have the time to say or do anything, the woman is throwing Tim away with barely any difficulty. One of the shelf topples and you have to jump away so you don't get crushed. You look around and see she's reaching for her weapon. By reflex, you jump on it and grab it before she can reach it, pointing it at her. She kicks it out of your hands in the air and her hand reaches up, but before she can catch it Tim is back up and charges at her. She has to put one hand on his shoulder before she jumps above him and falls back on her feet gracefully, almost like a dancer.

You flap your hand once or twice, to shake off the pain, looking at Tim and the mysterious woman having it out. She clearly has the advantage, but if Tim manages to actually hit her even once he would probably do a lot of damages. You have to find a way to stop them, because you were pretty sure the woman just needed a ride, and Tim intervened only when he saw she was a threat - but was she, really?

You grab your own weapon while no one is paying you any mind, and fire a round to the ceiling. It bounces back, almost grazing you. You manage to keep your face calm and barely avoid a yelp, but still you clear your throat.

"Okay, that's enough you two!" They pause, Tim his claws up in the air, ready to strike, the woman in a low, close to the ground fighting pose. You point at Tim. "First, what are you doing here?"

"I followed you. You were acting suspicious," he explains, and you sigh.

"I was looking for food, trying not to have people panic."

"You did so good…" he mumbles sarcasticly and the redhead snickers. You send him a glare.

"You, do you need a ride? Cause if so, no need to threaten me. Sheesh." You roll your eyes, and she arches an eyebrow.

"I had to make sure you wouldn't try to kill me."

That makes you groan and you pass your hand on your face, bringing your loose strand of hair back only for them to fall around your face again.

"I think I can try to contain myself," you say with a hint of sarcasm while you holster your weapon. "Tim?"

He groans and crosses his arms, ears still halfway flattened on his head. "I won't attack you again." There is a growl coming from the back of his throat, but it seems to be more out of annoyance than a threat.

"Perfect. Everyone grabs as much food and water, and we're going back to the ship."

You turn your back to the both of them and start throwing everything you can in your backpack and pockets. The other two follow suit while they avoid each other. As you're stuffing your pockets, you feel a presence next to you and then hear the woman playing with a crackling packet.

"What's your name?" She finally asks, and you scoff.

"An apology first would be nice," you mumble, then sigh. "Y/n Y/ln. What about you?"

"Natasha," she answers simply, and that's when it clicks.

She's Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow. Shit. Fuck. You decide to play it cool and not reveal right now that you know who she is.

"What are you doing on this rock?" You decide to ask, even though you feel she won't give you an honest answer. "It's not exactly a great holiday destination."

"Tell me about it." Something flashes in her eyes and you barely catch it before it's gone. "I was trying to find something here."

"What were you trying to find?" You find yourself pushing.

"Solace." Her eyes navigate the darkness in front of her, but you feel like she's contemplating a very different one, something inside of herself. That makes you tilt your head, and you decide not to push much more. You close your now full backpack.

"We should head back now. Tim, you got everything you could?" You ask when you find him between two rows of shelves. He linked a few jugs of water together and is now carrying them around with his muscular arms.

"Water for weeks." He eyes the redhead. "What about you, humans? Found anything?"

You nod. "Let's get back to the ship." You start to walk towards the door. "June really won't like what I'm going to tell her," you mumble to yourself as you exit the ship.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha imagine #idk how to tag #FVWL

180 notes · View notes

sirthisisa-wendys · 1 year

Note

Hey, can I request Taiju x fem reader angst?

Taiju and reader are married and reader had first helped Taiju with his behavior. He became a better man because of his wife. He got close again with his siblings and learned how to control his anger. They we’re even planning on having kids. All was good until his wife ends up dying because a bad gang ended up killing her. That was Taiju’s breaking point. He ends ups as his old self not being able to control his anger, fighting and back in gang related stuff wanting to kill the ones responsible for his wife’s death. His siblings hurting knowing that they don’t know how to help him because the person who helped him is dead.

YES I HAVE HAD THIS ON MY MIND SINCE YOU SENT IT ANON

Everlasting Love: Taiju Shiba x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.1k

tw: angst, angst, more angst, death, mentions of dying, the dark shit, bby

masterlist

"Tell me what you see." Taiju's face is pressed into your hair, and he inhales deeply, relishing the moment's peace with you.

"I see..." You pause, looking over your shoulder and smiling at Taiju. "I see a handsome man doing his best to survive." You chuckle at Taiju's bewildered expression and lean in to kiss his lips. "You may not see it yet, but I do."

If there was a moment Taiju wished he could go back to, it would be that moment on the balcony of the cruise ship. You'd finally gotten him out of the hellish city of Tokyo, dragging him out of his home where he wallowed in guilt and self-condemnation.

"God wouldn't want you to continue to live in shame," you told him confidently, holding your luggage close. "Pack a suitcase for a few days. We're getting the hell out of here."

Taiju's mind flits between those memories of your stubborn face, your sweet embrace, and how he cradled you against him in the night while he'd traveled far away from what used to define him. Those picture-perfect recollections carry him through the darkness in his mind; they keep him afloat when the storms rage against his better judgment.

You'd thrown him a lifeline in the middle of his darkest hour. Your voice in that small, unkempt church had been the only thing that could reach him.

"What if I told you forgiveness is the cure for guilt?"

"My family would never--"

"I mean you," you began, turning to him in the candlelight with a solemn expression. "You need to forgive yourself, Taiju Shiba. Then, and only then, can your rage be pacified."

Taiju leans forward in his bed and places his feet on the cold carpet. His phone is ringing endlessly, vibrating against the wood of the cheap motel nightstand. He snatches it up and looks at the name - Hakkai - and then places it back down where it was before. He couldn't answer his brother at the moment. He couldn't even answer Yuzuha, who he'd worked tirelessly to make reparations for. Neither of them could call him out of the low lands, now.

It's much too late.

The clip slides neatly into place, making a soft snick as Taiju finishes cleaning it.

"You're really going to do this?" Koko wonders, leaning on his desk and observing Taiju carefully. "We could hire someone to--"

"It has to be me," Taiju hisses, looking up at the mirror on the opposite wall. "Only me." Taiju can't bear to look at himself for more than a few seconds at a time. By all accounts...

"Boss," Koko mutters, using the old title affectionately. "You look like hell." Dark circles run under Taiju's eyes, his cheeks are gaunt, and this morning, he found a new pair of pants that were too loose. "Have you been taking care of yourself?"

Taiju wants to snap at Koko; he wants to tell him losing a wife is nothing to sneeze at; that, of course, he looks like birdshit splattered on a hot car, but weariness gnaws at his bones. "I just need to finish this. Then things can go back to normal."

Taiju leaves the ornate building without so much as a glance back, but when he gets behind the wheel, tears run down his face. He swipes at them angrily - he was so sure he shed the last few when he knelt at your shrine months ago - but now, as he looks at the gun, more tears replace the old ones.

"We should decorate," you whispered excitedly one night, your warm hand on his chest and eyes full of life. "The nursery would look so nice with a mural, wouldn't it?"

"I can't say no to you," Taiju began, snuggling closer to you and humming the notes of a silly song while he pressed kisses into your skin.

The last time he kissed your skin, you'd been so cold. He wanted to wrap his jacket and scarf around you, but that would've been pointless and delusional. You wouldn't thank him or kiss his hand or give him any loving gesture in return.

You were already gone.

With a firm grip on the steering wheel, Taiju drives away from his past and wipes his face with his sleeve.

This would be the last thing he did before disappearing.

"Tell me what you see."

Fear courses through the trapped men's faces as Taiju stands in front of them, holding the gun and the picture.

"I-I s-see a girl!"

"Me, too," another man chimes in. Taiju sneers at them angrily, his hair falling out of its proper place where it was slicked behind his ears.

"You remember this girl?" Taiju roars, and the warehouse echo repeats his words back to him.

"No, sir; we don't--" Taiju pistol whips the men without mercy, beating each and every one of them with as much force as he can muster. When he's done, all of the men are on the floor, and Taiju is huffing with the exertion of his power.

"Now, do you remember?"

"Yeah, yeah!" One of them perks up - he's wearing a baseball cap backward like an idiot - and Taiju's face softens. "Didn't she die in one of those... when we did that thing--"

"The drive-by," Taiju grumbles, tucking the picture into his pocket.

"Was that your sister? Taiju, we didn't know--" Sister? Taiju's foot connects with the idiot's balls, and the cry of pain comes back to him in an echo, too.

"That was my wife." Taiju's words cut deep, and all four of the men seem to sink even deeper into the concrete floor. "She was innocent."

Innocent, innocent, innocent, innocent...

Four shots complement the echoed word, and Taiju staggers back, holding the gun aloft.

"Death," you began, holding the incense stick close before putting it in the shrine. "Is the great equalizer. We all must die in due time."

Taiju hadn't known what you were talking about then, but as he staggers to his car, his mind repeats the memory back to him with so much clarity.

"Death isn't so frightening." You take his hand and squeeze it once. "I like to think what's on the other side is much better than darkness. Perhaps it is our fear of finding out that pushes us to avoid it."

The car is only a few steps away, but Taiju can't bear to open the door. He slumps against the cheap used car and sobs violently, still holding the gun in his hand.

"Only five bullets left in that one," Koko muttered.

"That's more than enough for me." Taiju's hand raises, and for a brief second, he can hear your voice, clear as day.

"But life isn't really so bad that I'd want to find out the truth about death sooner than planned."

"No, my love," he warbles pitifully, finger on the trigger. "Life really is that bad."

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #taiju shiba #taiju shiba x reader

187 notes · View notes

blackresin75 · 3 years

Text

The Heart of My Sea

TW: Choking, virgin reader, rough sex, loving sex, bondage, nipple play, oral (fem receiving), and overstimulation.

A/N: Hey so this is my first fic like this so please tell me what you think. My roommate did help me out a LOT @violinwizard thank you so much. This is for the Mythology and Folklore collab so please check out the others here. I have the masterlist reposted.

***********************************************************************

Dad always tried to control where you went. He wanted you to stay in his sight when you weren’t with the others luring sailors to their deaths. You’ve never wanted to kill but it was your only saving grace from your fathers grasp, but maybe that was what makes the Captain of the Midnight Rose so alluring.

The main crew looked to be about the same age as you and your friends, they also looked more content in their place on deck. Your feelings of jealousy grew more and more as each ship passed by and sank. Maybe that’s how you ended up in this position, stuck in a net blinded by jealousy and rage.

You feel the coarse net grind against your skin as you struggle to get free. The thrashing around causes the net to scrape up your arms and your tail. No matter how much you squirm, The coarse fibers don’t budge. You feel the water sink below you as you rise up. Panic starts to set in your chest as the light from the surface grows brighter.

“Shit, shit! No no no no fuck!” The ropes cut deep into your skin as your thrashing grows desperate, you feel the salt water flow around your body. You break the surface gasping frantically, thinking of all the stories of sirens before, kidnapped and left for dead. You've seen the aftermath, but you never dreamed it would happen to you.

Your breathing soothes but the panicky feeling in your chest doesn’t leave. You can hear gruff voices, but you can’t hear anything outside of the beating of your heart and the surge of the waves. The panic becomes so immense that by the time you’re set down on the mahogany deck you are already too far gone

When you wake up, all you can see is the shadow of a man on the far side of the deck. At first, his eyes are all you notice, deep and black as the ocean on a new moon night. There’s a scar running under the left one, giving him a dangerous and rugged appearance. He is dressed as many of the sailors you’ve taken to the deep, loose shirt with a deep cut, betraying a strip of an almost well defined chest. His tight pants leave nothing to the imagination, while his long coat makes you wish there was more to see. A scarf hangs around his neck, the end just dipping into the V of his shirt. “I wonder what he would look like in the ocean, all wet and mine for the taking.” The thought comes unbidden and you quickly scold yourself, a blush forming on your cheeks . Someone clears their throat, taking you out of your daydream and you look around at the rest of the crew. Their glares make you look away, and you quickly turn your eyes to the man in front of you. He walks towards you, taking off his trenchcoat and drapes it over your naked figure.

“I’m bringing her into my quarters, if you need anything.” .He stares daggers at the crew, while his hair flies up and eyes turn red, “Don’t.”

With that the roguishly handsome man picks you up and takes you to a cabin below deck. He lays you back on the mattress in the corner of the exquisite cabin, then he leans up against the desk in front of the neat bed. “So, you got a name?”

“Y/n,” you hesitate, “are you going to hurt me, sir?” His eyes go wide, his body stiffens a little, and he bites his lip. Bringing a strong callous hand up, he gently takes a piece of hair and tucks it behind your ear.

“You think I’m going to hurt you?” His whisper carries straight to your heart, the amount of care in his words sends a shiver through your spine. “Well, y/n, I’m Shota Aizawa, I own the Midnight Rose. I know you’re not human, so what the fuck are you exactly? We caught you in the sea, maybe a Kraken, or mermaid, or perhaps a siren.”

His voice gets lower and his face gets closer, you’ve sung songs to sailors that promise their dreams. A lot of sex, but there were a few of just pasta; those songs are your favorite. You can now see the allure of sex and love just by looking into this man’s tired eyes. Instead of answering him, you opt to stay quiet. “Not talking? That’s okay, kitten. I have ways to make you talk.”

Your face darkens even more at his words, why is calling you kitten? What are his ways to make you talk? The panic returns in full force, he sees the fear and panic on your face and he walks over to the bed and puts a loving arm around you. You freeze, and he decides to rub your back, “shhh, kitty, it's okay. I’ll protect you now. I want to know what you’ve been through.”

His gentle reassurance surprises you, it's not everyday that you see someone so handsome and gentle. Someone who doesn’t want to treat you like a toy, but maybe that’s what made you want him to treat you like a toy. Just to see if he still would want you after or throw you back to the sea violated.

“You didn't answer my question, are you going to hurt me, sir?” You lean in closer to Shota. The tension starts to thicken, with just five words.

“Do you want me too?” Shota looks at you differently, he wasn’t malicious or terrifying. He pulls you closer, looking into your eyes, his breath taking up your air. The different songs flew through your head but only one thing felt right.

“I want you.” You lean forward and kiss him with your entire soul. You’ve never felt this way before, and from what Aizawa was reciprocating, he feels it too. The kiss deepens and a heat starts to form in your pussy and gut. He groans into your mouth and he pulls you on top of him. Feeling his hard cock against your pussy sends a shock that jolts through your bones. He grabbed your arms and started kissing where the net cut into your skin.

“I’m sorry y/n, I did this to you. I’m so sorry.” He kisses you everywhere he can touch, soft, loving kisses. When he reaches your neck, it sends shivers down your back, and a moan bubbles up in return. The shivers soon travel to your stomach, where his hands are caressing in full circles, slowly heading upwards. You can feel the rough texture of the coat on your nipples driving the sensitivity to new heights. Suddenly he slips the coat from your shoulders, and you hear it hit the ground at the same time his hand finally hits the swell of your breast.

His lips leave your neck, a whimper escaping your throat at the loss, which is immediately followed by his moan as his mouth closes on the peak of your breast. You feel his tongue circle your nipple, caressing it slowly, and you are awash with heat, striking to a forbidden place in your core. His tongue is soft, and wet, giving you a pleasure never felt before. He grabs your backside possessively, pulling you impossibly closer, you moan, grasping his shoulders in an attempt to keep yourself afloat in the rushing tide that is him.

In your state, you barely manage to gasp out a “Don’t stop”, and you clutch harder as he slowly starts to suck on the breast he is tethered to, his tongue still making tortuous movement. One hand lightly caressing your other breast, his other starts to slowly head downwards, mapping your skin, which has started to gather sweat. He gently nudges your thighs apart and begins to descend further into uncharted territory. Before he can reach his destination, he pulls back and meets your eyes.

“Is this ok?” He asks. Frustration hits you at the loss of his ministrations, and you grab him by the scarf, pulling him back to you, “Please, keep going”. You feel his smirk before he begins, this time on the other breast. His hand continues in your depths, to circle around a single point that opens a floodgate. You grasp him tighter, your hand going into his hair in pure joy, as his fingers continue at the same pace, tracing a whole new alphabet on your center.

You want more pressure, you begin to move with him, trying to encourage him to go faster. “Kitten” he admonishes, his voice low, “Do you need more?” You can only moan in response. His hand is suddenly grasping the back of your neck, pulling you away from him, the breath leaves your throat, and you feel as if you're floating, pleasure filling the space of total awareness.

He laughs, “Cat got your tongue?” You want him, want more, you reach out blindly, catching his shirt in the process. You want it gone, you tug, and it floats down beside you. You see his smirk turn sinister.

“You shouldn’t have done that. Do you know what happens when the Kitten gets the cream before she’s meant to?” He slowly takes the scarf off his neck, and before you can comprehend that you can see the sweat coating his neck, he has lowered you to the bed, the scarf wrapping around your wrists, tying you to the bedpost. Panic rises inside you, before it bubbles over, he slowly kisses you, passionately bringing the softer feelings from earlier back into the game. It calms you, enough to notice both his hands have pressed your thighs back to their open stance, and he is moving down your body, his chest heaving. You feel his breath on your lower stomach, his tongue taking just enough time to dip into your belly button before working further down.

The heat is back, flooding your senses as you feel his breath on your thighs where his hand is, you feel his tongue, followed by his teeth, lightly nipping, moving towards the place you want him most. You want to tug him close, but you are restrained from above, you consider thrusting closer, before he is there. You feel his breath on the most intimate part of your body, sending shivers to your very soul, and ripping the part of you wanting to escape away. He sits there making you wait, before you finally feel his tongue on that same spot from earlier.

It is somehow both cold and hot at the same time, and impossibly wet, adding to the sensual feelings bubbling up from inside. The soft tongue is a stark contrast to the nails on both your thighs. With each swipe of his tongue you are brought to new heights. Just left to moan and writhe on the bed, with no hard body to soothe the shivers. Finally his lips close over the nerves, and your soul is drawn from you and into him, you can’t stop moaning, arching off the bed, your feet finding solace along his muscular back. Your thighs crushing the head between them. He groans out, possessively grasping your thighs to pull you closer to the torture that is his mouth. You feel something else on your folds, one of his fingers, gently prying the opening to your depths, which you have just realized is dripping liquid.

His finger sinks deep just as his tongue passes over the top of the nub, and you almost scream, your breath rising, your vision gaining spots. His finger is joined by another as they twist and scoop, scraping against a part of you that sends pure heat to your heart, and your heart to the heavens above. He keeps striking the place inside as his lips pull your very being into him. Once you take a breath, twice, you rise from the bed. Thrice, you are screaming. And then you are falling grasping at the headboard above. You have spots dancing in your eyes and a fire in your belly. As a tsunami of pleasure ripples through you, starting and ending with the man who is still milking you into him.

“Shota, p-p-please” You moan, as you ride out your intense first orgasm. The pleasure comes in waves as Shota cleans you the mess you made with his insatiable tongue. As you come down from your high, he comes up by you and he kisses you with hunger. He slowly pulls away from you, bringing both hands up to cup your beautiful face. One hand gently caresses your cheek and soothes your heated face. He let his thumb wander to your plump lips and let it drag down slowly to see your bottom teeth. With your mouth wide open, he brings his hand, still wet with your juices, to your open mouth.

“Clean, Kitten.” You stick your tongue out a little and lick a small amount of your essence off of him. Shota groans as you lick his fingers coated in your slick. You love the feeling of falling off the edge for him, the world melts as he takes his fingers away and kisses you with full force. He puts the fingers back into your sweet, sticky spot, pumping in and out, until you could feel the heat return. You let out a small whine, “‘s too much, sir.”

He takes his fingers out and you whine again, not wanting his fingers to leave your heat. He lets out a small chuckle, “Do you want me or not? I thought you wanted me, we’re not even close to being finished.”

You let out another whine as he places his fingers back in your pussy. This time he starts with two fingers and quickly slips in a third, stretching you out. He kept pumping you full, hitting the spongy part in you multiple times. He takes out his fingers, hitting your swollen clit on the way out. You feel so close to the edge again. Not wanting the pleasure to stop, you try to bring your hand down to give some much needed friction to your neglected area. The headboard clicks against the wall of the cabin, reminding you of the scarf that ties you up. You glance down and see Aizawa pumping his full, slightly curved, cock, dripping with precum. The engorged tip is a flushed pink, you watch as he mixes your essence with his pre. Satisfied with the prep work, he comes up and grabs your hips, coaxing your legs to wrap around him. He lines up his length with your pussy, and looks at your panicked face.

“Kitten? Are you okay with this? Have you done this before?” His questioning is endearing, you’ve haven’t had sex before, but you know a lot about it. With all of his ministrations on your body, you don’t want it to stop.

“No, but I don’t want you to stop.” You share a breath with Shota, both of you not wanting to break the silence. He looks at you lovingly and whispers a kiss over your mouth.

“Okay, I’ll try to be gentle, Kitten.” His kissing gives you reassurance. He lines his swollen cock to your folds and slowly lets himself into you. The pressure is painful at first and the pain slowly changes to pleasure. You look down to where you are joined and see that only his tip is in. How is that possible? Is he even going to fit? You feel so full already but there is still more? “Shhh, it’s okay Kitten,” he wipes away a stray tear from the pain, “You’re so beautiful.”

He slowly puts more of his large cock in you, pain makes you cry out and squeeze your eyes shut. He caresses your hair, petting you and giving you praise as you take his entire length. As he bottoms out in you, you let out a wail that would put the banshees to shame. You both wait for your tight cunt to adjust to his size. Your chest heaving as you tap on Shota’s shoulder signaling him to start moving.

“I need actual words, Kitten.” You gather your breath and whisper a small yes in his ear. With that small yes, Aizawa kisses you temple and starts to move in your heat. You feel his cock move at an antagonizing pace, and you need more.

“More, sir-” Aizawa growls in your ear, it is already so difficult for him not to lose control and he doesn’t want to hurt you. When you keep calling him sir, the difficulty increases. He picks up speed slowly, moans coming freely from your throat and tears from your eyes. Every now and then he kisses the tears from your eyes and sings your praises.

“My good kitten, doing exactly what I need.” He starts to go faster and harder. Words and moans mixing in your mouth bubbling up to the surface, coming out as much of a mess as your cunt. You feel a coil of heat rise in your stomach as the tip of his cock pounds relentlessly into your cervix. Something was different about this edge, no longer was it the tsunami of pleasure like you knew it. It’s like being sucked into a whirlpool that doesn’t end, the feeling growing larger and larger until you let go.

You hear Shota shouting, “Fuck, I’m cumming, Kitten,” He kisses your lips, as you fall back into the whirlpool of pleasure. You feel thick ropes of cum coat your fluttering walls, you let the whirlpool take you completely. A clear liquid coats both you and Shota as you let out another wail. He looks down at the mess and back to your face. You both let out a little laugh, and he pulls down the covers of his bed. He grabs a blanket from one of the wardrobes and drapes it over you. He clambers into the bed and pulls you close.

“You’re so beautiful. I think I’m falling for you.” He kisses you. You’ve never been the one to believe in love at first sight, but with him, how else could you explain it? You have totally fallen for him since you landed on his deck.

“Shota, I think I love you.” You whisper.

“I think I love you, too.” He kisses your nose lovingly.

“Even if I’m a siren?” He looks at you and brings you into a hug.

“You’re the Heart of my Sea, I will always love you, y/n.”

#bnharem collab #aizawa shouta #pirate #aizawa smut #aizawa x reader #bnha smut

208 notes · View notes

lilhawkeye3 · 3 years

Text

Find Your Way Back Home- Ch 3

Riyo Chuchi x Commander Wolffe, Riyo Chuchi x Commander Fox

Rating: T |||| Word Count: 1.9k |||| Set Post Order 66 |||| AO3 Link

previous • next

Riyo gripped the kitchen countertop tighter than anything in her whole life. The loud pounding of her heartbeat in her ears threatened to drown out the pounding of her heart as she sought a tether point in her whirlwind of emotions.

She couldn’t do this.

How could she do this? The ghosts she’d left on Coruscant were now seeking shelter in her bedroom.

She’d looked at Wolffe laid out on her bed, and some sick part of her expected him to be Fox. She used to bandage her lover’s wounds on their bed in her old apartment. What had she done to deserve this cosmic taunt?

“Riyo?”

Riyo’s hands flew to her mouth to hold in her startled shriek at Ahsoka’s appearance just to her left. Her friend’s lips twisted into an apologetic smile, and she patiently waited for Riyo to come down from her sudden rush of adrenaline. Her rusty hand cupped Riyo’s elbow to help ground her.

“I’m so sorry,” Riyo murmured, blinking rapidly to hide her brimming tears before she met Ahsoka’s gaze.

The Togruta’s eyes were sad as she searched for the right words, despite them both knowing nothing would ease Riyo’s pain. “You see him.”

Riyo tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a gasp for air after so long underwater. “How can I not?” Her tears stubbornly refused to fall now, despite clamoring at the floodgates only moments ago. “I can’t… I can’t focus on this right now.”

“You can’t go back in there right now either,” Ahsoka calmly pointed out. “Wolffe needs to heal.”

And so grew her guilt. “I know.” She needed to do something to keep her hands and mind busy. “I’ll get some more juvan ready so I can make a cold pack and show Rex what to do. You’ll both need to know how for when you go back.” She tried to ignore the predatory way Ahsoka’s eyes followed her around the kitchen as she gathered supplies.

“I find that talking helps sometimes,” Ahsoka quietly suggested, once Riyo stood back at the sink with her items gathered around.

“I’m not sure I remember how to do that after so long on my own,” Riyo muttered, grabbing a bundle of leaves from a jar more harshly than they deserved.

“No time better than the present.”

Riyo paused to stare calculatingly at her friend. She wasn’t lying about not knowing if she’d be able to speak of her nightmares after so long bottling it all in. “I propose a trade.”

One of Ahsoka’s painted brows rose in interest. “A trade.”

“I will tell you if you update me on your… situation.” She’d tiptoed around the circumstances of her guests’ arrival– and unlikely survival– for the past few days.

“Alright, deal.”

Riyo’s hands hovered uncertainly as she tries to steady her breathing before she begins. Where to even start? She’d tried so hard to forget that night six months ago. Now she had to relive it in full.

“I… I was home for the night.” Riyo doesn’t even recognize her voice with how vacant it sounds. “Everything was normal, even when I got a call from Co– Thire.” She didn’t want to relegate them to their titles. Those men– her friends– were worth much more than that. “He’d call sometimes if Fox was too busy to come home.”

Breathe in, one, two, three, breathe out.

“There’s– there was a code phrase Fox had me agree to. Dusk is falling soon. If one of us used it in a communication, we knew it was from the other.” Her hands began to shake as she ground the juvan up. “Thire said it to me that night. He said I had to flee Coruscant while I still could, before I was marked as a traitor by the Chancellor. That Fox needed to know I was safe, because… because he didn’t think he was coming home.”

“Oh, Riyo…”

Riyo tried to laugh but she choked on her voice. “No, no it’s fine. Please don’t feel sorry for me, not after–”

Not after what you’ve lost. It hangs in the air like a shadow, chilling the two women to the bone.

She could feel Ahsoka’s eyes on her for a long moment before she conceded. “Alright. So you fled Coruscant?”

Riyo nodded. “Yes. I waited for him, but… then I gathered those I could and had a trusted pilot shuttle us off. It wasn’t just those from my office, though. There were several other members from Pantora’s allies that we also safely evacuated. It was beneficial in the long run, since the number of hyperspace jumps we needed to make ensured that we weren’t followed.”

“That was wise of you,” Ahsoka confirmed. “You most likely had been tailed. The Empire has been interrogating anyone they view even as having a potential to be rebellious.”

Riyo dipped her head in a gentle nod. “And I never was one of the Cha– Emperor’s greedy followers,” she added.

Her friend’s lips quirked up in a humorless smile. “No, you weren’t.”

“Anyways, I timed my resignation to autosend sometime during our flight, and I contacted Bail, who gave us directions to follow. That’s all there really is to tell,” Riyo sheepishly shrugged, relieved to be finished and able to turn her attention back to the juvan leaves she’d laid out. They needed to be diced and then ground with water into a paste that could be either frozen and saved, or wrapped in a damp cloth and held to the wound.

“So, my turn then?” Ahsoka asked, faux-cheer evident in her voice but appreciated.

Riyo nodded, thankful for something else to focus on. She beckoned her over though, waiting until the Togruta was looking over her shoulder. “Just make sure to watch how I do it, so you’ll be able to on your own. The leaves have to be separated carefully, or you’ll negate the medicinal qualities.”

Ahsoka observed quietly as Riyo worked, nodding along to each specific task that Riyo pointed out. It was quite simple, but an untrained eye would still mess it up. It was nice to have someone at her side. She’d been so used to being alone.

“We agreed on a trade?” Ahsoka prompted, once Riyo stepped aside and handed the knife over for her to try. “Would you still like to hear what we’ve seen?”

Riyo bit the inside of her cheek to try and keep herself afloat in the surge of stress that threatens to sweep her away. “Yes, please.”

Ahsoka nodded sharply, and then the knife made its first clean slice. “We were on our way back from Mandalore after apprehending Darth Maul– the Sith Zabrak,” she elaborated for Riyo’s sake. “And an order went out to all the clone troopers, everywhere in the galaxy: execute Order 66, to kill the Jedi.” Her fingers clenched around the knife handle to the point that Riyo thought it’d snap. “Somehow Rex… he fought it long enough to warn me to find a file about Fives, an ARC trooper that–”

Riyo could feel the blood drain from her face at the mention of that name, one she’d long forgotten. “I remember. Fox… he shot him, to protect the Emperor.” It felt like lifetimes ago.

In a twisted sense, it was. It’d been during Fox’s lifetime, when he still came home to her every night.

Ahsoka hummed in agreement. “Right. Well, Fives had told Rex that the clones all had control chips in their heads, and that a damaged chip had caused another trooper to shoot a Jedi. No one believed him.” Her shoulders drooped. “I was able to capture Rex and take the chip out of his head, and he was back to normal. I… I let Maul out of his cell though as a distraction, and he damaged the ship so it crashed into a moon. We lost the whole battalion,” she finished in a whisper, head bowed.

“Oh, Ahsoka,” Riyo gasped. She wasn’t sure how a hug would be received, so she placed a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

Ahsoka’s eyes were teary when she looked up. “Thank you, but please don’t be for me. I took a risk, and it was Rex’s brothers that paid the consequences.” She shrugged half-heartedly. “I’m glad we found Wolffe. There have been other clones that escaped, but Wolffe was always one of his closest brothers.”

A small smile slipped onto her face unbidden. “I’m glad for the both of them as well. How did you find Com– Wolffe, though? You all barely made it here,” she pointed out.

The Togruta sighed. “You know Bail’s been coordinating a lot recently. We were sent out on a mission to try and contact a defector from the Empire. They’re a medic, and they’ve been treating several troopers sent to them for abnormal behavior. We arrived to get them out, and Wolffe was their latest patient, but they were being watched.” She stopped talking to peer at her work cautiously. “Is this correct?”

She stepped out of the way so Riyo could observe her work. “This is very good for anyone’s first try,” Riyo praised her. “Now we just need to grind it with some water to get a thick enough paste.”

Ahsoka waited for Riyo to set up the next step before continuing. “We had the freed men escort the medic onto our waiting ship, but we couldn’t take Wolffe back to base because of his chip. I followed their instructions to try and deactivate it, but we had to leave in a hurry. It took us a few days and several firefights before we lost them well enough to get here.”

“Had no idea you’d gotten that good with a blaster, either.”

Riyo bit back a shriek as Rex’s voice piped up from behind them. Good thing she’d been using the mortar and not a knife, otherwise she might’ve cut herself. At least he had the decency to send her an apologetic smile once she whirled around to face him.

“Gee thanks, Rex,” Ahsoka huffed, reaching out to playfully slap his chest. The two of them shared a grin, and Riyo decided to study the wooden floor beneath her feet until they snapped out of it. She wouldn’t dare disrupt their small moment of joy.

“I came out to let you know Wolffe is asleep again,” Rex finally explained his presence after he shook himself free of their little bubble. “We spoke some, but he tired quickly.”

That was good. He clearly was suffering from some form of head injury, so any amount of time Wolffe was able to be awake and coherent was a step in the right direction.

“Alright, that’s wonderful news. We should be able to apply this compress despite that.” Riyo picked up the bowl of ground javun and gestured at a clean cloth folded on the counter top. “Would you grab that and come with me? I’ll show you what to do, so you know how in the future.”

A quiet grief crept up her spine with each step she took back towards Wolffe’s room. He needed her help. She could pull herself together for him.

Riyo entered the room alone and took the seat beside Wolffe’s still form. Rex would be along in a minute.

Until then, she studied the still man’s face, finding and cataloguing each unique feature of him and hoping it wouldn’t come back to haunt her like before.

#find your way back home #commander wolffe x riyo chuchi #riyo chuchi #ahsoka tano #captain rex #post order 66 #fanfiction #star wars #the clone wars #commander wolffe #snowwolf

34 notes · View notes

seadeepywrites · 3 years

Text

Stormborn

Character: Fathom Tidechaser Words: 2345 tw: drowning, death of a parent, graphic depiction of blood

In Fathom’s scattered memories of that night, it begins with the railing. It tears like wet parchment, giving way with a shriek. Lia and Fathom tumble after it into the raging sea.

A single bright flash of lightning illuminates the tableau: Lia’s tangled hair around her head as she struggles to stay afloat. The tattered ship tossing and heaving above them, its sails rattling, hissing. Splintered chunks of wood around them in the darkness, and his mom’s hand reaching out to him, pale against the night-black waves.

Fathom’s chest clenches with fear that isn’t for himself. Even amid the howling power of the storm, he knows the roll and pitch of the waves. He is plunged beneath the surface, and it doesn't matter — he can breathe in saltwater like air — but Lia can’t, and she is floundering.

Fathom strikes out toward her, desperate strokes with trembling arms through frigid water that is whipped into spray by the gusts of wind. He knows better than to cry out — saves all his breath for swimming — and he is the fastest swimmer onboard — and it is still not enough. The waves are as tall as the ship’s prow, throwing him up and plummeting him down, and even when he knows where Lia is, he can’t seem to get any closer.

The wind screams in his ears and the thunder rumbles and between one moment and the next, his mother is gone.

Fathom ducks underwater, taking in heaving lungfuls of the sea, wriggling downward away from the seething chaos above him. It is quieter here, but dark as sin, and the relentless currents are far too powerful for his small body. And Fathom’s heart calls to his goddess, begging Melora for her aid, but part of him already knows — Melora takes away as much as she gives. One boy’s hopes are nothing, when compared to the furious power of her storms.

Fathom swims through the darkness, straining his eyes and his muscles until he’s lost track of which way is up. Dizzy with fear and exhaustion, he isn’t even sure what he’d do if he saw his mother. If he could do anything except embrace her and sink to the ocean floor by her side.

At some point, he collides hard with the side of the ship, knocking himself half-senseless. His limp body spins away from the hull, only to meet in the next wave trough with a jagged spar of wood that rips through his neck and shoulder with an all-consuming pain that Fathom is almost too numb to feel. It is excruciating, but his mind has drifted away from the part of him that still swirls bonelessly in the sea. Lia is gone. He has already lost. What else can the water take from him?

When Fathom finally loses consciousness, it is a sweet and alluring relief.

***

Fathom feels like he’s been cast in iron, every limb too leaden to move. He can’t even open his eyes far enough to focus them. He is lying on a deck — that much he knows. Flatter and steadier than the abyss of the ocean. Beyond that, everything seems — hazy.

So Fathom just lies there like a stranded jellyfish, unable to string together a complete thought. There are hands. They grab and prod at him roughly.

“Kid’s alive!” someone shouts from far, far above him. The first half of their next sentence is snatched by the wind. “...very long if we don’t get that cut closed up.”

Oh. Right. The blood, swirling dark in the puddles around him. It’s from the gash in his neck. The stains spilling over his chest are— bad. Something will happen. Something like that last glimpse of Lia between one wave and the next.

Fathom lifts one shaking hand to the wound, his fingers slipping in his own slick blood. He can feel the way his shoulder is separated, the muscle and bone in ridges and valleys. He explores the terrain with his fingers, and some dull instinct reminds him it shouldn’t feel this way. It should be smoother. Connected. Whole.

More sounds from above him. Exclamations. His eyelids flutter, and all around him he can see light. A teal the color of his skin, bright as the sun-sparkle on the water at dawn.

As Fathom’s eyes roll back in his head, his hand drops away from his shoulder to flop on the deck at his side. A warmth swells up from everywhere and nowhere, surrounding him. His shoulder wound burns even hotter, scalding through his fragmented consciousness. The pain and the heat intensify.

Fathom passes out again.

***

The next time Fathom wakes, it is quiet. As quiet as things ever get at sea, which is to say that the waves shush softly against the hull and the ship groans. But the rocking movement of the waves is gentle, and there is warm sunlight on his face.

Fathom rolls toward the light, cracking his eyelids open. The grimy porthole shows a gem-blue sky, unmarred by clouds.

“You’re awake,” comes a gruff voice from the other side of him.

“Hearugh,” Fathom says. His voice is an indistinct rasp. He swallows against a parched throat and tries again. “Harry?”

A grunt of acknowledgement.

Fathom tries to roll back over, twisting his head to look for the sailor, but a crushing pain grips him like a giant fist. He gasps, seeing stars. Breathing shallowly, he waits for the agony to subside before trying again.

“Careful there,” says Harry. The rugged face he was expecting materializes above him. Calloused hands help Fathom turn onto his right side, facing away from the porthole.

Fathom lies there for a bit, awareness of his surroundings spreading slowly outward from him like widening ripples in still water. He is swaddled in rough gray blankets on a padded bench, in a cabin on the ship that he only recognizes from a few brief trips. An enormous chest bound with brass locks is shoved in the corner, dried bunches of herbs hang with twine from the rafters, and Harry is chewing on the end of a pipe as he squats on a nearby stool, staring back at Fathom with a contemplative expression.

“Lia,” Fathom whispers, squeezing his eyes shut as another bolt of pain lances through his head. He keeps his eyes closed, afraid of what he’ll see on Harry’s face.

Harry’s hand rests heavily on Fathom’s shoulder, rubbing small circles. Fathom can feel the edges of his wound pulling against each other, an agony sharper and brighter than his throbbing headache, but he doesn’t object.

“She’s gone,” Harry says, voice rumbling low in his chest. He doesn’t say it tentatively, or softly, but there’s a blunt kindness to it. He doesn’t apologize, and Fathom doesn’t ask him to explain. They both already know the way these things go.

Fathom just lies there. He doesn’t say anything in return, but Harry doesn’t pressure him to. After a few minutes, Harry stands, clomping over to the chest. Fathom hears its lid creak open, and the clinking of glass bottles.

“If you can,” Harry says, returning to Fathom’s side, “drink this.” He nests the potion bottle in the crook of Fathom’s elbow, and returns to his stool.

There might be tears slipping sideways down Fathom’s face to dampen the pillow, but then again — it might just be his always-damp skin. Wherever the seawater comes from, it never stops flowing, no matter how thirsty or tired or cold he gets. Just another one of the questionable gifts from his birthright as a genasi. And what fucking good did that do him, if he couldn’t save her?

Fathom cries himself to sleep, and when he wakes up he does it all over again. He eats the food Harry brings him and pisses in the lidded bucket under the bed and shambles around the cabin like an undead creature. Days pass, and sometimes Fathom’s wound shimmers with teal light and knits itself together a little further, and Fathom doesn’t care in the slightest.

***

Eventually, Fathom leaves Harry’s cabin. He doesn’t return to the bunk he shared with his mother, preferring to sit at the prow of the ship for hours at a stretch. The wound at the base of his neck is healing much more quickly than should be possible, leaving behind only the faintest traces of irregular scar tissue.

On deck, he can hear the crew whisper to each other, some in tones of compassionate concern and others in superstitious fear. Fathom can’t explain it to himself, much less speak to any of them — he has no words inside him in those days. Just a quiet, boundless grief, as all-encompassing as the horizon he stares out towards in the same way his mother does — the same way she did.

At the prow, wedged in the narrow triangle of boards, Fathom can feel every rise and dip of the waves like he weighs nothing at all. Like a bird riding the long currents of wind, traveling between continents. He falls asleep there most nights, rocking up and down, hearing the familiar symphony of sails snapping and wood creaking.

When his aimless thoughts do coalesce, he finds himself thinking of religion. Some sailors on board scorn clerics and organizations of that sort, while others use their precious time during shore leave to donate money and make offerings at even the shoddiest of local temples. When thunderclouds gather on the horizon, however, there is not a man among them who will not murmur at least a word or two to the goddess of wilderness and the sea.

Fathom himself believes as his mother believed — without question and without any particular reverence. It’s not a crisis of faith that fills him, as he watches the wake trailing endlessly outward and backward from the ship’s prow. It’s simple truth that Melora exists, that she lives inside him, that he was created a genasi by her strange providence. The only thing Fathom wonders is why.

It doesn’t take long after that to recognize that the teal light which heals him at odd intervals is connected in some intimate way to the parts of him that thrum with the song of the sea. As a water genasi, Fathom has always been able to perform some simple magic, no more exceptional than the tiefling cook who can make his voice boom over the clatter of the galley or their elven captain who lights campfires on shore with an incantation and a gesture. Fathom might be young, but he can already tell: this is different.

Is it prayer that he offers to Melora over those long weeks sailing toward the old continent? Fathom has recovered a few words, mostly to refuse offers of comfort or company from his crewmates, but he does not use them for this. He holds the shell his mother kept inside her pillow — Harry retrieved it for him, since he has not entered their bunk since the storm — in his palms like he’s cradling a wounded animal, like he’s safeguarding pirate treasure, like it will whisper answers.

Fathom learns to concentrate when his shoulder throbs and aches, to call forth light from the depths inside him. He traces the spiral painted on the shell from scalloped edges to swirled center, over and over and over, until he is lost in a trance where thought escapes him entirely. By the time the crow’s nest spies land, Fathom can rotate his shoulder without any pain. He can also cause a coin to shine as brightly as a lantern for up to an hour, and stitch together tiny rips in his clothing simply by concentrating. Keeping the shell in his clammy hands at all times, even when he sleeps, he shares none of this with another soul onboard.

When the ship docks in Aranth, Fathom talks briefly to Harry, and then to the first mate. He slips down the gangway on the second night of their stay, carrying nothing but a heavy satchel in one hand and the shell in the other. He knows he won’t leave the sea for long. He also knows he can’t stay on board with a ship full of people that know him as Lia’s funny-colored son.

Fathom works for three weeks on the docks, hands as calloused and quick with sailing knots as those of creatures twice his size and age. The most exceptional event during that time is when he swears at another kid in fear and fury, after the kid’s stupid mistake almost capsizes a small rowboat holding a mother and her infant twins. As Fathom clenches his fist and grips the shell in his pocket for reassurance, ghostly flames lick across the other kid’s skin. At first, Fathom is just as confused as everyone else — the flames look like the strange luminescent glow that sometimes flickers upward from ships’ masts during a storm, but the night sky is clear and this kid is less than five feet tall. And then he recognizes the cold shock of power in his gut for what it is, and he runs.

When the fuss dies down, the cleric at the temple tells him to travel to Talok and swear himself to a life of service there. That actually sounds boring and terrible, but Fathom nods and packs his bags and boards the next ship that plans to make the crossing — well, the next ship that will sail there and will also accept a small teal-skinned boy with white curls who is clearly lying about his age. Fathom proves himself quickly, and none of his shipmates ask any questions, and when he stays on board after they reach Talok, nobody cares one way or the other.

It is the beginning of nearly a decade that Fathom spends on the water without his mother, but most of the time he doesn’t feel lonely in the slightest. Beneath his feet and all around him, there is always the sea.

#Fathom #Fathom backstory #here it is lads #the only moment of angst in Fathom's entire backstory

3 notes · View notes

mirrorfalls · 3 years

Text

Lego Liveblogs ST: TOS, part 3 (of who-the-hell-knows-how-many?)

So in recent years, the Trek franchise - and TOS in particular - has gained something of a reputation for taking two steps back on women for every one step forward on race. Mudd’s Women is not a title that bodes well in that department, but who knows - maybe it’ll be a pleasant surprise...

* Well, we’ve seen the Enterprise as Space Rescuers and Space Explorers... guess it’s time we got to see how a Space Cop plot goes. * So this is Mudd Leo Walsh - a cowboy who talks like the Lucky Charms leprechaun. Musta put all his Charisma points into that mustache. * What’s the matter, ya dopes, never seen a pretty girl before?! ** Anyway - maybe I’m just not the swishy-dresses type, but the actresses don’t do much for me and the camerawork and music add nothing. I feel every bit as 'meh’ as Spock. * Ever the gentleman, Kirk. ** And ever the bullshit-detector, too! Throw the book at ‘im, Captain. * A lie-detector for a stenographer! What a lovely century. ** ... buuut one where mail-order brides are apparently still a thing. * “Only heaven's own truth.” “HEAVEN HAS NO PLACE WITHIN THESE WALLS. Fifty years hard labor!” * Well, I guess we needed some way of filling out the next 30 minutes, but really, doesn’t the Enterprise have a section for civilians-slash-“civilians”? * “I’ve never met a paragon.” “Neither have I.” Ahh, just skip forward a couple decades and you’ll meet this kid called Jean-Luc... * Ahh, the sudden but inevitable Female Conscience. I was wondering when you’d show. * So... I’m still fuzzy on what exactly the conflict here is supposed to be. Harry wants to marry off some miners, let him. Is it that we’re supposed to be worried the girls aren’t acting of their own free will after- ** APPARENTLY THEY’RE NOT * So I guess this is what don’t-do-drugs stories looked like before Nixon really kicked the War up a notch. Mudd’s reasonably imposing in the pusher/pimp role, which should make him a natural foil to Kirk... * Except someone apparently decided that’s not a strong enough conflict, so enter the MacGuffin holders, who want wives so badly they’ll demand all charges against Mudd be dropped(?!?) ** Guys, if you’re ruthless enough to blackmail a Federation ship you oughta know you can just grab the wives and leave their “handler” out to dry, right? * Spock, now would be a good time to sell one of your “Violence seems the most Logical solution, captain.” brainwaves. * ... well, that wasn’t quite the violence I was thinking of, but I’ll take it. * And now her conscience is back, so it looks like we’re ending this episode on Kirk vs. The Merciless Wilds... * ... except not, because... everyone else beamed back up to the Enterprise off-screen?!? Guys, at this point you’re just stalling for time. * Oh, I guess we’re going for a “It’s what’s on the inside that counts” Aesop... except wait, the beauty pills were a magic-feather the entire time? What? * I give up. Just get the MacGuffin onboard - ooh, the first Spock-Bones zinger! - and let’s get the hell off this planet.

Sorry to report, folks, this one was just a giant misfire in every direction. It’s not as poundingly dull as last episode, but it doesn’t seem to know what it wants to be about, not even at the very end. Hell, it can’t even seem to decide who the antagonist is supposed to be. Maybe it was just counting on Mudd to Charisma the whole thing afloat, but that was a fool’s wager; Mudd’s actor isn’t that good, and he gets beaten too quickly and often to rise to any kind of genuine threat at the script level. His women threaten to be interesting here and there, but the script’s too eager to shove them off-stage whenever convenient.

(If it’s any consolation at all, I suppose the script’s zig-zagginess keeps it from being as sexist as it could’ve been - but I really hope we’ll run into an episode soon where we don’t have to choose between that and a functional story.)

Next: What’s better than one Shatner? We’re about to find out...

#Lego Liveblogs Star Trek #Star Trek: The Original Series

2 notes · View notes

sworn-unbeliever · 4 years

Photo

12 - Tooth and Nail

wc: 1,371

Leviathan appeared from out of nowhere.

A simple ship ride between Kugane and Limsa Lominsa had gone all too swimmingly. Any road to a greater destiny had to have some bumps on the road. What better path to have the Itsubishi family’s supposedly improved financial success than to have the Lord of the Whorl himself test their resolve? While Useless Tia lived up to his name and vanished without a trace, everyone else donned their arms and prepared for battle. Aunt Jocelyn and her gunblade. Mother Yoshiko and her fists. Younger brother Jeremy with his chakrams. And elder brother Teremy with his knives. Punching. Cutting. Slashing. Fire. Water. Lightning. All remaining on deck defended against Leviathan and his minions with their lives.

But none so much as the moment Teremy looked back to see Leviathan dive down directly towards Jeremy. The serpent’s mouth opened, ready to swallow up the younger brother in one single gulp.

“Jer, watch out!” Teremy cried at the same time he dashed forward. His body moved purely on instinct and shoved Jeremy out of the way.

Then darkness. Leviathan’s jaws snapped shut, taking Teremy inside. Whole.

After that, Teremy had no idea what happened as his body reacted before his mind caught up to speed. The miqo’te felt Leviathan descend and found his body sliding away. His twin cinquedea stabbed the closest thing they could latch onto. Sharp metal sank through flesh and pierced what felt like bone. And from there, Teremy’s ears nearly shattered from a deafening roar that shoved him back into his knives.

His ears rang. The stench made him want to throw up. But he clenched his mouth shut and clung onto the handles of his short swords. He had no thought. He had no plan. Just clenched hands, clenched teeth, and a clenched will to survive.

Suddenly, the Lord of the Whorl shot straight up. Teremy felt himself slipping back down, but he tightened his grip. No way did he want to slide further down the serpent’s body. He never wanted to descend to that kind of hell. Another dive down and Leviathan opened his mouth again, not as an opportunity for his very unwelcome guest to leave, but to have water shoot inside. A tidal wave of water threatened to shove him down further. Teremy clamped his eyes and mouth shut. He felt his grip slipping. Again, the miqo’te held steady. Up again. Then down again. Another roar. But Teremy clung to the handles of his twin blades to the point he felt his hands begin to indent in the metal. He couldn’t die. He had to live. He had pushed his brother out of his way to live… so they could live together. Not trade one brother for the other.

Finally, one last rush upwards and Leviathan opened his mouth again. Teremy swung back and forth as the serpent shook its head. One last desperate toss and Teremy’s cinquedea finally loosened its hold on bone and flesh. Teremy went sailing into the air, still holding his short swords like his last lifeline.

‘I am but the hummingbird. I spread my tiny wings and fly away,’ he thought as he sailed up, then down. With no idea what laid underneath except water, he changed trajectory in midair to move his body into a vertical position before his body dove into the water.

Thank Aunt Jocelyn, who had the foresight to teach the brothers useful life tricks like swimming.

Once Teremy fell as deep as his momentum carried him, he swam back up as fast as he could. His head pushed above the water first. He took a deep breath, then exhaled.

He was alive. Somehow, still alive.

Gently kicking his feet to keep himself afloat, he wiped the water away from his eyes with a few extended fingers, and looked over in the distance. He still held his cinquedea at ready in case Leviathan wanted round too. To Teremy’s surprise, he saw the King of the Whorl’s distinct figure swim away in the distance. A shattered, abandoned rowboat became the last known proof of Leviathan’s existence.

Teremy put his cinquedea away and tried to swim after Leviathan, but the struggle to keep himself alive inside Leviathan’s jaws had taken away all the energy he had. Or his adrenaline fervor had subsided. Or both. His body refused to move and Teremy soon found himself lying on his back, his arms spread out, staring at a starry sky.

Bump.

A wooden plank gently knocked him on the head. He forced his body to turn around and take refuge on part of the wood. Somehow said wood acted as a life preserver, allowing him to lean his weight on it safely. Now the rest of his energy left him. And the only glimpse of said starry sky he had left was a shimmering reflection in the water. So much for impromptu sightseeing after a life or death chase. But at least he wouldn’t eventually sink into the water.

Hopefully.

‘Where am I? … Shit, Levi ain’t coming back for round two, is he? My parents, my aunt, Jer, they’re still on there…!’

He saw no sign of Leviathan. But he saw no sign of the boat either.

‘People do good, they do a solid. Me, I did a liquid. Headline: I’m in it now. Hah.’ Teremy thought bitterly.

His eyelids felt heavy. Teremy closed them. Then opened them. No, he had to stay awake. No telling if he fell asleep, he would surely drown.

‘Did I do the right thing? Did I save Jer? Or did I make even more trouble for everyone…’

Nothing but gentle waves brushing against the wood plank answered him.

‘At least… should I die at sea, I’ll go out knowing that at least Jer’s alive.’

He closed his eyes.

Plish. Plash.

He opened his eyes again.

‘The sea is so vast. A hidden world underneath. But above the surface, all anyone can see is more of the same, hoping to find the something else that may not even be there. Do they ever look up to see the stars? Their wisdom? Their guidance? If you can hear me, guide my family to Limsa Lominsa safely.’

He closed his eyes.

* * *

“Stay with us, lad!” cried an unfamiliar voice.

Teremy felt a sense of danger and grabbed onto something. When he opened his eyes, he saw that he had latched onto the wrist of a rogedayn. He saw the sailor’s surprised expression and released his hold.

“Quite the grip you got there. Thought ye’d take my hand off fer a second there.” The roegadyn wrung his hand. “That any way to thank your rescuers?”

Teremy opened his mouth to speak but only unintelligible gargle spat out.

“Anyway, we happened t’find ye driftin’ out like all that other flotsam. Didn’t think ye’d wanna spend t’rest of yer life out at sea.”

Sputtering a few more times, Teremy finally found the words to speak. “Thank you,” he said slowly.

Talking had always been more of his brother’s forte. Teremy’s piano… in more ways than one. But right now, Teremy only had words. Thankfully the roegadyn’s face softened with said word.

Teremy sat up straight. He rubbed his eyes, noticing that he now wore some hempen-spun attire rather than his own wet robes. His previous garments fell on top of his head before he had a chance to ask. He looked around. The area looked unlike Kugane, but unlike anything he imagined Limsa Lominsa to look like, either. Instead, a scorching hot sun bared down heat upon brown and beige stone of building and ground alike.

“Where is this place?” Teremy asked.

“Ye from across the continent or somethin’? Ain’t often to hear a miqo’te speak with a Hingan accent.” the fisherman asked. “No matter. This place be Vesper Bay, part of the region of Thanalan.”

“Thanalan…” Teremy repeated.

Lady Luck had sent sailors to bail him out of his own stupidity. As thanks, rather than send him north, she sent him south for a laugh.

‘Thanks, Lady Luck. Not to sound ungrateful for saving my life or anything, but... what the fuck?’

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2020

3 notes · View notes

frobin · 4 years

Text

astolfobia

hat auf deinen Eintrag geantwortet

“I can totally understand the Jinbe/Robin ship, it does make sense. But...”

>> What... do you mean about not being sure if Zoro reacted correctly or not about Usopp?

Hey hey,

okay this has nothing to do with FRobin and is more about Zoro, Usopp and the crew dynamics but since you asked I decided to answer. And I try to make myself clear because it’s probably VERY, VERY, VERY subjective and also comes from my female and very European point of view.

I read the scene again (in german bc I don’t have the official translation at hand) but I also looked if kaizoku-ni-naru has it translated and here it is: https://kaizokuou-ni-naru.tumblr.com/post/190464807603/thank-you-so-much-for-your-wonderful-blog-im

Also many of it is from memory because of course I’m missing the volumes with the beginning of Water7 More behind the read more:

Let’s do a little recap:

Usopp left the crew. Why? Because to him it seemed like they were leaving Merry behind because the ship wasn’t strong enough anymore.

That might seem weird since Merry is just a ship right? But we know that Merry had a soul, that manifested in the Klabauter. Merry was part of the crew but as soon as she was too weak (Usopp did not know that Merry was beyond repair), as soon as there was something better, Merry was replaced.

That hit Usopp hard because Merry had not only been a present from his friend Kaya but this ship had been with them through so much and who knows how strong the bond between Usopp and the ship had really grown (he had been the one to see the Klabauter and the first to hear Merrys voice) so of course for him it felt like they were abandoning not only a ship, a thing, but a friend and even a crew mate. Now, Usopp has a lot of problems. He feels weak, especially compared to Luffy, Sanji (who is also the cook) and Zoro who are The Monster Trio for a reason. Nami is a Navigator and so essential to the crew. Chopper is a doctor (also essential) and a literal monster!

But all Usopp can do is shoot. He is probably going to be the best sharp-shooter in the world but he is not aware of that. Not back then and not now. Even after all the amazing things Usopp did in the recent arcs, he still considers himself weak.

His self-worth is low and he loathes himself, probably feels like he is worth nothing. The only thing that he is good for is keeping Merry afloat, a memento to his island where he was important. Maybe the only thing that keeps him afloat too.

So, the crew is willing to abandon Merry. Who tells that they won’t abandon him? Right after he lost a part of the money that was supposed to be used for Merry, right after he had to be saved by his crew, because he is weak!

And you can bet that Usopp has abandonment issues too. After all, his father left to have adventures. Usopp lost his mother to sickness when he was still a small child. The village was annoyed by the child that ran every morning along the road to shout “Pirates are coming!”. Not as a threat but because he hoped that it would be true, that his dad would come back for him one day. Instead he grew up alone until he found some kids that thought he was cool enough to be their leader. He somehow managed to befriend the sick girl, and told her lies, like he did for his mother. And then Kaya was willing to renounce, to abandon him for Kuro.

Merry is important and they want to leave Merry - him - behind.

Usopp was afraid, got angry and he attacked Luffy.

Was it smart? No. Was is it understandable? Yes. Could they have handled all that better? Fuck yes!

But they are both teens who are stubborn and hot headed and in a tough and loaded situation. So I understand why it happened.

And Usopp again is beaten, even with his smarts and his knowledge of Luffy’s weaknesses. He could not win. Because he is too weak. He lacks. He is not good enough. Luffy not only destroyed Usopp’s (already beaten) body, but also another part of his self worth.

(I’m not crying you’re crying!)

Then, we all know that Robin was caught, while Usopp fixed himself up and then later met Franky. It was only then that Usopp learned that the ship was beyond repair but also learned that Merry had a Klabauter. And then more shit happened. What we also know is that Usopp had a very, very large role in the rescue of Robin and that he was one of the people who talked sense into her. Without him they wouldn’t have saved Robin and Luffy might have given up. He pep-talked him to continue fighting.

(It’s still you who is crying! Shut up!)

Anyway, let’s get to Zoro telling the rest of the crew that they can only accept Usopp back when he apologizes. Which, let’s be honest, makes sense.

Usopp should apologize. Because he was in the wrong. But his decisions came from a very specific place.

So yeah, Zoro is right. But I get a bad feeling at the whole display of aggression and that Zoro expects Usopp to live up to his (Zoro’s) also very specific views and values of a warrior and the honor associated with it, without caring for Usopp’s. Again, a boy who grew up alone without any role model except that vague idea of an amazing pirate that was sailing the sea.

And the whole “Either it is like I say or I go!” stroke me as especially harsh.

Because I’ve been confronted with that sentiment so often, that I felt that deep in my bones. When I read it first, I didn’t even realise why that scene shook me. But it was that exact sentiment that poisoned my club and ultimately made me leave it, because I gave the ultimatum right back “You will go if things don’t go your way? Then go or I leave!” I’ve been part of that club since I had been seven years old. I left it with 25 because I had more balls than that fucking asshole and I’m still pissed about it, ten years later. And I’m very forgiving.

What Zoro said was that everyone has to know their place or they are no material to be a pirate (which is kind of weird since some people become pirates to be free, if you want to follow and know your place, maybe you should become a Marine). Ultimately you have to know whom to follow and that is - in this case - Luffy and no one else. You have to trust his judgement because he is the captain or else he is not much of a captain.

And again this can make sense because if you don’t trust your captain or know your place on a ship it can be a death sentence at sea.

Then there is this thing that this is ‘no playing pirate’.

We still don’t know all of Luffy’s reasons why he wants to be pirate king but he often hints that he just wants to be free and have fun with his friends. That sounds a lot like ‘playing games’. At that point he only slowly learns that being a pirate is often way more serious and dangerous and filled with tough decisions than he thought. Playing games and have fun, that is why he was so delighted when he heard that Usopp wanted to come back. But playtime is over that is why he agreed with Zoro. Time to grow up they are at war after all.

We know why Usopp left the crew, went against his captain and friend, because Usopp felt like they were abandoning ANOTHER FRIEND.

But whatever reason there MIGHT BE does not matter for Zoro. He even says he does not know why all of it happened, does not care who was wrong or right.

I think that is a dangerous sentiment! Because personally, I feel like it’s important to try to see outside of your own perspective and I think you should never judge before you know all the facts. If you then still come to the same conclusion that is fine and if you come to another that is good too.That is what it means to make an informed decision, because the world is not black and white. Many things have reasons that are so layered that you can’t just expect everyone to come to the same conclusion when they don’t have the same information. That is why communication is important.

Usopp waited for the very last moment to reach out to his friends. The longer he waited the longer he could imagine that everything would be fine in the end. He gave himself to that illusion. Zoro would have never done that and so no one else should do it. He is not exactly empathic. I feel like Zoro can’t look farther than his own ideas.

But I can agree with Zoro to some amount. I understand where he comes from.

Do I like it? Absolutely not.

So, to slowly come to an end, we all know how this went. And I have to give it to Zoro, he also did say “I hear nothing” whenever Usopp tried to handle the situation like nothing had happened. He wanted him back too, after all.

And shit, it worked. Usopp cried out to his friends, he apologized and Luffy reached out to him to reel him in.

But I can’t help but think that it absolutely destroyed Usopp after all. He saw his friends leaving him behind in a foreign city without any support. He just got a bounty and so would get in the focus of the marines, especially them thinking he is still part of the Strawhat crew.

The crew, his friends, would leave him because he is weak and not worth anything and he would have no friends and be alone forever.

I don’t even want to start to imagine the pure despair he felt that moment. And it stayed with him, as we learn in Thriller Bark. And again and again.

So yeah.

It worked in the end but I think it could have been handled better.

Well, that is easy to say as a grown up with some more years under my belt and from an outside perspective. But even back when I first read it, it gave me a strange feeling.

I think at least one of the crew should have talked to Usopp and given him some clues. And I’m sure Franky would have if he knew what was up but he hadn’t been part of the crew. Robin didn’t for whatever reason talk to Usopp, but she also never agreed with Zoro, looked almost angry about it. Nami also didn’t want to go against her captain, I guess. Sanji agreed with Zoro, maybe also with a bad feeling and Chopper is even less experienced than any other of them.

Oda is an amazing storyteller with a lot of characters that have an incredible amount of layers but that does not mean I agree with him all the time and so I don’t agree with his characters all the time.

And that is what I meant. XD Sorry for the long text.

#astolfobia #One Piece #analysis #not frobin #aks #text #long text #Zoro #Usopp #Pirate Hunter Zoro #god usopp #meta #my opinion #kon #personal #the things you read and how you interpret them is always influenced by your own experiences #1900 words #damn

4 notes · View notes

moccahobi · 5 years

Note

Here's the prompt! BEEN WAITING TO GET THIS OUT OF MY WIP LIST! An A.I Android stuck under water with no legs and gets daily visits from an atlantian/mermaid/seirin. The A.I. was abandoned and has many malfunctions which include it resetting its memory everyday. Choose any BTS member to be any of the two characters and the other is the reader. Go all out my Queen!

Under Da Sea

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.4k

Genre: Mermaid/Siren Au!; Andriod/A.I. Au!

Summary: You’re just an abandoned android made to take care of passengers on a plane with less than a week to live and Jimin is just a merman keeping you company

Alert.

Air pressure is changing rapidly. Passengers are in danger.

Alert.

Your eyes shot open, the emergency alert telling you that some type of crash is happening and you need to help your passengers. You try to flail your arms and legs but you only sense your arms moving. You try to look around and your eyes only see the dull blackness of night. It starts to come back to you; you retired five years ago after the last airplane was serviced out, supposedly you are working on a yacht for some bratty rich teen… not a plane. Why is air pressure changing rapidly?

Before you can even process another thing, ice cold water seizes your circuits, freezing you up. When you would have normally struggled to stay afloat, you simply sink into the water. Now seeing sea life pass by you quickly before, you finally find the ability to move your head slightly and see the yacht you were supposed to be on sailing away, your legs nowhere in sight. You felt an itch in your shoulder as it involuntarily twitches over and over again.

You were made for the air, not the water, and your body was not taking lightly to the liquid.

Once again the water seizes your circuits and everything fades to static, a warm fuzzy feeling enveloping you as you drift off, finally feeling weightless.

“Are you ok?” You hear a voice asking distantly. It was soft and soothing and you clung onto the voice as it reverberated through your head slowly.

“Seriously Jimin, I think the human is dead. I have never seen one sink so quickly… nor have I ever seen one without their lower halves.” Some other voice says once again distantly. In fact, the whole moment feels very distant, as if you were living behind the static, watching two humans watch a show.

The original voice chimes in again,“I saw them move earlier,” The voice was just as soft and soothing as before and you stirred slightly from the static in response.

Was there something about this voice? Probably not, but you still tried to talk, the static clearing slightly.

“Wha-” Water surges into your mouth the moment you tried to fight the static, forcibly flooding your wiring and sending alarms blaring in your head once again. Your body heaves and spazzeses, trying to forcibly remove the liquid from your body, not that it mattered.

“See! It just spoke! You’re alive! Let’s take it to my abode! We can help it!” The soft and soothing says once again and you start to sense some sort of movement.

Alert!

Body is contorting in possibly damaging.

Contact mechanic.

Alert!

The static grows stronger, once again taking over as you try to figure out how your body was contorting.

“I am not helping. You can do that yourself.” The other voice slips in between the grains of static filling your mind as you feel cold water surging back into you from your waist wound, and for the second time in that day, the static envelops you whole and you lose yourself.

You groan and rub your head, the water around you making your movements slow and tense. You are sitting on something plus and soft. The thing seems to be keeping water from flowing freely into your exposed circuits, something you were very grateful for.

The same soft and soothing voice from before graces your ears, “Ahh! You’re up, human! I am honestly surprised! My hyung was sure that you would be dead by now! I told him wrong! Humans are much stronger than he gives them credit! How are you feeling? Do you need something to eat? Is there something I can do for you?”

As you open your eyes, the… thing the voice belongs to surges towards you… almost excitedly. It shocks you and you jolt (not that you move much with your lower half missing). The creature is very handsome, coal black hair flowing with the water as he smiles broadly at you, sharp teeth staring you down. Your database says that its top half is the same as a human’s top half… but his bottom half?

You have no idea. It matches nothing in your system.

Nothing at all.

You open your mouth to try to speak to the creature, feeling as if it was something you could trust and could talk to, but the result is the same as before: water flows into your body, shocking your circuits. This time the shock leads to your hands twitching angrily.

“Can you not speak, little human?” The thing asks, moving closer to you and looking into your eyes with a sense of focus that you cannot ever recall seeing before.

It is as if he was really looking at you and trying to understand you. With your hand twitching, you try to point at the water and your mouth with a shake of your head, as if to say that water can’t go in there. Of course the movement has its flaws but it is the best you can do without being able to speak.

“Water isn’t supposed to be in your mouth?” His eyes widen as he asks the question, as if this is new information that he had never even considered before, “Well how are you supposed to… drink water… that’s something humans do right?”

All you feel as if you can do is nod your head. Drinking water is something humans need to do, but you aren’t human and can’t drink water. He seems curious about humans though (if his large eyes and excited questions are anything to go by) and, for the first time since you remember, you feel bad for being an android instead of a human. The creature looks like he really wants to meet a human.

He swims around the space you two were in, following the walls around the building before stopping in front of you once again, “Well… do you want something to eat then? I have raw fish, kelp, some plankton, really anything you want, I can get.”

You shake your head again.

Helplessness washes over you, there is literally nothing you can do to better the situation if you can’t communicate. You were literally created to be able to communicate with everyone so in theory, you shouldn’t have an issue with communication (plus, this man is speaking a language you know), but you are having trouble communicating. This should be easy for you to solve but it isn’t. What can you do? There is nothing you really can do. No spoken language can work if you can’t open your mouth… But that still leaves written language and any sign language if he knows it…

You shakily raise your hands as best as you can and sign out “Do you know sign language?” It is a long shot, but you are willing to take it. What harm can come from trying anyways?

“Do I?” He looks excited, swimming closer to you with a large grin, his pointed teeth on display again.

They alarm you some, but he was your only hope of survival and you wanted to take it. “Well I am not human.” You sign out before he quickly interrupts, “But you look human and feel human! How are you not human?”

“I am a machine that humans created for their comfort. If I were human I would have died when I lost my legs.”

You continue signing and for once the… thing seems to listen, “I don’t know how I got here, but I am not human. I rely on electricity and will be useless if I don’t get some every once in a while. I can’t drink water or food. In fact, water inside of me will actually hurt me. I was not made to be wet.”

It is hard to sign underwater, the liquid resisting any and all movement. It makes you even more amazed that the thing in front of you is able to move so gracefully through the water.

“If you aren’t made to be wet then how are you underwater right now?” He asks, eyes wide as he seems to swim a little closer.

You can’t fully tell though because the water had started warping your ability to see. That or the thing’s home was circular.

“I have no idea, but I don’t think I will live long down here. I think I have a week max before I lose power and essentially die.Will you please help me get to the surface? It is the one way I will survive. I don’t want to die.”

You almost tell the thing about how much the idea of death scares you. You are supposed to be some immortal being made by mankind to serve them and here you are, possibly dying soon.

“I am sorry, little non-human. I can’t go to the surface. I will die if I do, but I am happy to show you around! I don’t like the idea of anyone or anything dying and can help you have fun before you might!” He scowles, some of his… teeth snagging on his lip as he shakes his head, “I would really love to get you back to a safe place, but you sink. I’d have to surface and if I did that I could put my entire community at risk as well. I hope you understand.”

It make you sad, but at the same time, something resonates in you. This thing was so caring that it is willing to stay with you through your death. It is so caring that it is promising to do what it can in its limitations.

“I do. Very much so. If it wouldn’t be too much of burden, I would love to explore this area before my death. Company makes everything better.”

You sign, smiling at the thing, “What is your name?”

“Oh! I am Jimin! What’s your name?”

It was smiling as you signed out your name, “Well Y/n, I am glad to meet a hu- machine like you!”

It is really, truely, so kind. If you were in a similar situation, would you be as kind as him? You don’t know. Jimin smiles at you and picks you up, the two of you moving away from its abode. No water flows into your lower torso which confirms your theory that it had sealed it up somehow. The area Jimin lived in was this majestic area that has ruins of old ships, dead coral, and bones all around. The area is super calming with colorful fish, plankton, and other sea creatures like Jimin lazily swimming around. Occasionally you see a sea creature eating one of the other animals that live in the area, but over all every living thing seem relaxed and happy, nothing like anything you had ever seen with humans. You are actually seeing nature in its original habitat instead of trapped by humans for their own pleasure.

Soon enough, you find yourself sitting next to Jimin, looking out on some sort of field of bobbles. They look like what your database would call underwater heat vents, but seeing as you are seeing them from underwater, you couldn’t be sure. It is nice sitting in front of the vents with Jimin, the two of you laughing and talking about your lives, strange interactions you have had, and so much more (turns out that Jimin is a merman and sex/gender works very similarly… it is a he). It is honestly amazing. The last time you remember having such a long and great conversation was when you had to calm a passenger down from a panic attack.

Jimin swims up to the vents and starts weaving in between the two, laughing and smiling while showing off. You took the time to think. Jimin is sweet, caring, and kind, and he makes you feel normal. Not like some sort of humanoid android who is ment to serve humans, just you. Even if you can’t open your mouth and actually speak, you feel as if this day is the freest you have ever been. That thought made you a little sad. Jimin comes back before you can think about sadder things and he takes the two of you back to his abode for a small nap, him talking and you listening the whole while. It is so nice to talk to Jimin for all the time that you feel a pang in your mechanical heart stutters when he tells you that he is going to take a nap. You but want the merman to leave you alone, but apparently mermen need as much sleep as humans.

Due to Jimin needing so much sleep, you find yourself watching him as he sleeps. It is less creepy than it seems, you literally have nothing else to do. He was sleeping, an arm lazily thrown over his chest as his chest rises and falls slowly, his hair lazily floating in the water all around his head. Nothing moves as you watch. No fish, no plankton, nothing. It feels serene as you stare at the merman.

It is serene as you fall asleep, once thought left in your mind:If you will to die, you’re glad that your dying with Jimin present to keep you company.

Alert.

Water is flooding the cabin.

Passengers are in danger.

Alert.

Your eyes spring open, trying to jump up and help those who you can from the crash, but you don’t move.

Your alarms are going crazy, but you don’t move.

You can’t move.

Something is wrong.

Where are you? Where are your passengers. You must’ve been out for a while if some shelter formed over your head. Quickly after you wake up, some… thing swims in front of you. It is scary. It has the upper half of a human but nothing else is human-like. Nothing else is familiar to you. It was smiling at you and saying something that you couldn’t hear. You try to open your mouth and talk but water floods your insides and you immediately feel as if you are going to seize up. You don’t, but the thing is now looking at you worriedly.

Only that worry doesn’t last long as you sign something that makes his face go sour and look sad:

Who are you?

___

I am so glad that @it-is-dana gave me this prompt! I think that for now we are trying to keep this on the dl, but we are planning on doing a June writing challenge! They are a great writer and I love them (as well as many of my other mutuals) and can’t wait to see what we create! Also, I haven’t read what Dana did with the prompt that I gave them, but I can promise you, IT’S GOOD! Imma cry when I read it. Lol. Kill me? But don’t I want to read Dana’s work.

#bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #btsguild #bts jimin #bts jungkook #bts taehyung #bts namjoon #bts yoongi #bts jin #bts hoseok #bts angst #bts fluff #Jimin fluff #bts mermaid au #bts andriod au #bts robot au #bts siren au #jimin angst

76 notes · View notes

rho-kassiopeia · 5 years

Text

The Sea of Midnight Excerpt

Have an unedited and poorly written excerpt of SoM! I hope y’all like it. I’m still insecure about my writing.

TRIGGER WARNING (I’m not sure if this is one, but I’d rather be safe than sorry): There’s one character in this chapter who’s absolutely awful. Don’t think that he stays in the story for long.

~~~~~

As children, we hear fantastical stories. No one cares to correct children when they claim they’re mermaids or fairies. They’re children. They learn that those things aren’t real. But they never do learn. They die pretending that one day they’ll swim underwater without a need for air.

My parents believed in these myths as well. My mother often called me a “child of the ocean”. She was a special woman: never believing I could do wrong. My father was the same way. They were good people; always patient and optimistic until the end.

I think of them now. They must be disappointed in the person I’ve become. A woman who is never free from her own expectations. Someone who has turned to immoral acts to provide for herself.

I run down the streets of Arobet, a small city-state in the empire of Sodian. A place that I call home. The streets I walk are strange. The roads are paved, people of a higher class than my own stare at me, scoffing at my appearance and my obvious desperation. The women’s dresses are brightly colored and make the wearer look regal. The men point jeweled canes in my direction, tugging their coats tighter around them. They act like just looking at me would cause them to drop dead. In some ways, I envy these people. They’ve never had to work too hard to keep themselves afloat. I can almost guarantee that none of these women have had to sell their hair to make a few extra coins.

Have any of them lost family members to disease? Have they ever worked a day in their lives? Do they even know what it’s like to not sleep in a bed, but instead on the cold ground as it rained? I highly doubt it.

I can feel each bone in my body growing bitter because of my thoughts. I push them away. I hate being bitter or angry. The people who are closest to me often tell me I’m too sweet to be angry about anything. I don’t believe this to be true, but I try to keep their image of me positive.

My destination is a large house with chipped white paint. The house itself isn’t in wonderful condition, but the garden in the front is magnificent. Besides what’s inside, it may be the best part of this house. I knock on the door, fiddling with the fabric of my dress as I wait for an answer. A maid answers the door. She shakes her head and sighs at the sight of me. We know each other. Not well, of course, but we’ve encountered one another many times as I would rush out of this house on early mornings. I haven’t seen her in quite some time. She can’t be happy to see me back here. But this time, I’m not being led to the bedroom by her employer.

“He’s in his study.” She says once I’m stepped inside. She doesn’t say any more. She hurries away from me, disappearing up the wooden stairs.

I know where the study is. My feet take me there without me having to think too much about it. The door is shut and I open it without knocking. He sits at his desk, surrounded by books and pieces of parchment. He hears the door open and he looks up, his eyes finding me immediately.

“Hello, Mathilde,” He says, smiling. “How’s my favorite hussy?”

I sigh, looking at the floor. “Don’t call me that, Amias. I just need a bit of help with something.”

Amias stands, walking towards me. His smile never fades, only twists to be more frightening. I shrink back, almost regretting my decision to come and see him. But he’s the only person who knows of my plans that’s able to help me.

“Are you planning to leave now?” I nod. Amias laughs. “No one will take you! You’re a woman and I can confirm that you’re bad luck.”

There’s the foolish rumor that women are bad luck when sailing. This is causing a problem. I want to get away from the people of Arobet and the only way I can do this is by joining a crew of sailors. I’ve tried sneaking away with merchants; that got me beaten and left back where I started. Buying my way out of Arobet isn’t an option. What money do I have to spend? None.

My last option is to sail away, leaving my life on the shores of Sodian; in a town where people are sent to die.

“Someone will. People are desperate for companionship.”

“Darling, you won’t survive a day with pirates. You won’t even make it onto a ship.”

I snort. “Who said anything about pirates, and why won’t I make it onto a ship?”

He puts one hand under my chin. With his other hand, he twirls a strand of my red hair around his finger. He lowers his lips to my ear. “Because what would I do if my favorite left? I can assure you, if I don’t want you gone, you won’t be going anywhere.”

“I’ll go where I want.” I jerk away from him. “All I need's a bit of money. That’s it.”

Amias nods and walks over to his desk. He takes a purse out of a drawer, letting a few coins slip through his fingers. He stands in front of me again. Taking a gold coin from the purse, he holds it in front of my eyes.

“You will get your money, but you’ll have to work for it.”

“You know my terms,” I say, my gaze falls to the floor and my voice softens.

“Oh, no. You’re not doing that yet,” He presses the coin into the palm of my hand. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I hate you.”

He laughs. “I already know that, darling. Try again.”

So, I find something he doesn’t know. I talk until he’s out of gold coins. Amias refuses to give me any of the silver ones. He thinks they have more value. I hate that I know that about him. That’s what happens when you have a regular customer, I suppose. You get to know each other a bit too well.

Amias gives me a bag, urging me to keep track of the coins. The only thing more important to him than a familiar prostitute would be his money. And his money is mine now.

“Now, go buy your way out of this place. Not that it’s at all possible for you.” Amias waves a hand dismissively. “You belong to the men of this town, Mathilde.” He lowers his lips to mine, kissing the corner of my mouth. “But, I will see you tomorrow because you’re mine. As long as I have money, you belong to me.”

I shiver and fight back the urge to shove him away.

Amias walks to the door of his study. “I have to go get my wife. The woman’s decided it’s a good idea to waste away my fortune on frivolous items. My brother is in town, as well.” Amias smiles at me. “Maybe you can provide him with the same services that I get.”

He leaves, laughing to himself. I don’t understand how that’s at all humorous. Amias is a vile man; only concerned with matters relating to his money and his reputation. If there was a way that I could refuse to be in his presence, I would have never met him. But like Amias said, I belong to the men of this town.

I exit the study. Seeing that Amias is nowhere in sight, I make my way to his wife’s bedroom. The door to the room creaks open. Light filters through a window, highlighting the dust that’s settled on every piece of furniture in the room. I know his wife is almost never home, he wouldn’t need me if she was, but I didn’t realize how long she’s been gone until now. Do the maids ever clean this room?

I open the wardrobe that stands across from the window. Extravagant dresses hang inside. I pick the simplest one, swapping my dirtied clothes for this dress. The dress is maroon and comes down to my elbows. I don’t like to steal. I despise it, actually. Strangely enough, taking this dress doesn’t feel like stealing. Is that something a thief would say? Perhaps it is.

I walk down the hall to Amias’ room. I open the door, find the satchel I know will be resting against it, and pull that over my shoulder. Amias has a desk in his room and I don’t understand why he needs it. He has a perfectly good one in his study that he uses more than this one. Regardless of why he has it, that desk is helping me now. There’s a brown leather coat on the desk chair. I grab the coat, knowing that it’ll be too big for me. I don’t mind that. I tend to like clothes that aren’t my size.

After pulling both the coat and the satchel onto my shoulders, I make a dash for the door. My footsteps echo loudly and I grab the attention of every person I pass. All the servants here know and detest me. They’ve all seen me run out of this house before. They never stare. Maybe they know this is the last time I’ll be seeing them. I really hope it is.

Taglist: @insearchof-solace @metaphors-and-melodrama @thescribesloft @yearlyaquariace @inexorableblob @this-is-a-username-haha @katekyo-bitch-reborn @mastery-in-procrastination @adventuresdooccur @kaigods @fallenonespoetry @leicawri @livvywrites

#SoM #The Sea of Midnight #original writing #OCs #WIP #original story #writers #writing #writeblr #writeblr community #writeblr connects #creative writing #fantasy #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #amwriting

27 notes · View notes

dr-gloom · 5 years

Text

The Makings of Greatness: Chapter 2

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: platonic logince, platonic moxiety, platonic anxeit, familial ThVi

Tags/Warnings (for this chapter): minor character death, violence, fire, loss of a home

Ko-fi

AO3

Masterlist

Prologue Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10 Ch 11 Ch 12 Ch 13 Ch 14 Ch 15 Ch 16 Ch 17

Virgil sits on the roof of the Mind Palace Inn, leaning back against the chimney. The sky darkens overhead, thick lilac-grey clouds blocking out the sun. Virgil flicks a pebble, watching it bounce down the metal-and-wood roof only to disappear as it tumbled over the edge. He flicks another one and watches that one, too, fall. One of the round windows of the restaurant is turned slightly in its frame, open just enough to let the voices inside the building filter out. Virgil tunes the noise out; it’s not important, and besides most of the customers are gone.

A voice catches his attention, and he turns his head slightly to hear them better.

“-don’t know how you do it, Thomas. How you manage to keep the inn afloat and raise a felon- fellow like Virgil is… beyond my understanding.”

“Manage it? I’m at the end of my rope. Ever since his pa left u- left, he… hasn’t recovered. And it’s not like- you know how smart he is; he built his first solar surfer when he was eight!”

Virgil lets out a small huff; a mockery of a laugh.

“But he’s still… He’s failing in school. He’s constantly getting in trouble, and I try to talk to him, but- he’s just… he’s like a stranger, Logan. I just… I don’t know. I’ve tried everything.”

Virgil doesn’t hear Logan’s reply; right then a small craft flies overhead, the sound of a failing engine drowning out all other noise. It’s not very big; an orb with fins to stabilize flight, only big enough for one person. Virgil watches it shudder and crash at the end of the dock, on the other end of the cliff, smoke billowing out of it. It rests precariously on the edge, and despite his better judgement Virgil finds himself slipping off the roof, landing in a crouch and running to help whoever just crash-landed on his proverbial front lawn.

Virgil reaches the craft quickly and knocks a little frantically on the door, his heart fluttering and pounding in his chest anxiously. “Hey, anybody in there? Hey! You okay?”

A reptilian hand presses against the window and Virgil flinches, taking a couple cautionary steps back. The door opens and an old greying salamander with four sharp incisors stumbles out with a small chest, wearing a coat and captain’s hat. He grips Virgil by his hoodie, pulling him close and looking up at the sky, looking around as if searching for a threat.

“He’s coming. Can’t you hear him?” He rasps out. “Those gears and gyros clickin’ and whirrin’ like the devil himself-!” He lets go of Virgil to pick up his chest, coughing roughly. Virgil swallows.

“You uh- you hit your head?”

“He’s after me chest.” The salamander grouses. He tries to pick it up but settles with dragging it alongside him. “That cyborg and his band of cut-throats…” He tries once more to pick up the chest, grimacing as he settles it on his shoulder. “They’ll have to pry it from old Billy Bones’ cold, dead fingers-!” He grabs at his chest, letting out a strangled cough and falling to his knees, dropping the chest. He continues to hack and cough, and Virgil steps forward, frowning with concern.

“Ah shit… Come on, gimme your arm.” He lifts the salamander’s arm and gets underneath it, helping to support his weight and helping him towards the Inn. “That’s it, come on…” It’s hard, and it takes longer than Virgil would have liked, but this salamander man is easily two or three times as big as him and he’s just grateful the alien hasn’t died or collapsed on top of him. Rain starts to pour as they leave the dock and reach the base of the walkway up to the Inn.

“Dad’s gonna love this….”

Mr. Shae observed the rain pouring outside for a moment with a frown. He moved to a dial by the window and turned it one notch, watching as the window shimmered before becoming a sandy beach at sunset. He turned it once more and let it settle on a bright field of wildflowers, glancing over at Logan as he pulled his coat on.

“Thanks for listening, Logan. It helps.” Thomas lets out a heavy sigh as he sits at the table the other had just vacated. Logan glances at Thomas with a slight frown before walking over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s…. It’s alright, Thomas. It’s going to be okay, I’m sure of it.”

Mr. Shae looks up at him and smiles, the image of a worn and weary single parent, hand idly playing with a locket around his neck. Logan takes a step back, picking up his books and preparing to leave.

“I keep dreaming that one day I’ll open that door and… He’ll be back to the way he was. A happy, smiling little boy, holding some animal he’d found and begging me to let him keep it.”

Logan frowns and opens the front door, revealing Virgil, who’s just barely holding up a nearly unconscious Billy Bones.

Mr. Shae gasps, standing as Virgil enters the Inn, practically dragging the salamander inside. “Virgil Alexander Shae, we-!”

Virgil gently let go of the salamander so he rests on the ground and Logan rushes to shut the door. “Dad! He’s hurt.” Mr. Shae frowns with concern and rushes to his son’s side. The salamander lets out a ragged breath, looking at Virgil.

“Me chest…”

Virgil grabs the chest and pushes it over to the salamander, who starts punching a code into the buttons with alien writing. “He’ll be coming soon…” The chest opens, and the salamander takes out an orb wrapped in a dark cloth. “I can’t let them find this!” He rasps out, holding it close and inspecting the cloth for signs of damage.

Virgil’s eyebrows furrow. “Who’s coming? What are you-”

The salamander grips Virgil’s shirt and pulls him forward, whispering in his ear. “The cyborg… Beware… The cyborg....” He lets go of Virgil and slowly slumps to the floor, letting out a final breath as his eyes close. Thomas gasps softly as his hand relaxes its hold on the orb and it rolls out onto the floor.

A low wailing, the telltale sign of a ship passing over, invades the air as a spotlight dances across the Inn’s windows. Virgil snags the orb and stuffs it into his pocket, looking up to see if he can spot the craft from any of the windows. His palms start to sweat and his heart beats faster. This isn’t good; if the salamander was right, that was probably some blood-thirsty maniac hell-bent on getting… whatever this thing was in his pocket. He couldn’t let that happen. He didn’t know why, but he had a bad feeling about it.

He moved over to one of the windows - all of which still held the illusion of a bright field of flowers - and turned the dial ever so slightly to create a small gap in the image. He glanced out, catching the silhouette of several large aliens as lightning flashed overhead. He let the field restore itself and grabbed his dad’s hand, pulling him up the stairs.

“We gotta go. Now.”

Thomas let out a sound of surprise, but followed him nonetheless. Logan reached for the door handle, ever the curious one, just as a light canon blasted right through it and burnt a hole in the door. Logan’s heart skipped a beat and he turned to race up the stairs, following Virgil and Mr. Shae.

More light canon blasts shot through the Inn, damaging furniture and severing the ties to the light fixtures. The large chandelier fell to the ground, knocking a lantern over in its descent which caught the floor ablaze. The front door burst open and men flooded in, throwing destroyed furniture out of their way in their search. The cyborg paused over the body of Billy Bones and scowled at the sight of his empty chest.

Logan pushed the window to Virgil’s room open, the sound of the rain hitting stone echoing in his ears. He looks down at his cart, calling out to the creature strapped to it.

“Delilah!” The creature looked up - a strange likeness to an armless dinosaur if it had frog’s skin - and made a sound of happiness, jumping slightly to reach her master. “Delilah, don’t move!” He called out.

Down below, pirates were tearing the Inn apart, searching every drawer, cupboard, and room for their prize.

“Where is it?!”

“It has to be here somewhere!”

The cyborg growled. “Find it!” He pointed up the stairs.

Virgil looked over his shoulder at the sound of the cacophonous war cries coming from the crew, their shadows caught in the growing fire’s glow and dancing across the wall behind him. His eyes widened and he gripped the open door with increasing strength and rigidity, his fingers going numb.

“Don’t worry Thomas, I’m an expert of physical science. On the count of three, jump. One,” Virgil heard his dad give half-hearted protests, observing the jump with hesitance. “t-” Virgil took a running leap at the pair, pushing them out of the window. “Three!”

Logan and Mr. Shae landed in the front seat, Logan immediately grabbing Delilah’s reins. Virgil crash-landed in the back, turning over to look up at his bedroom window engulfed in fire. Logan pulled on the reins and Delilah took off, leaving the sight of the fire-engulfed Inn burned into Virgil’s retinas.

Taglist: @the5thcoy @dailysandersidesaudoodles @hungry-red-panda @neonb-fly @chemically-imbalanced-romance @punsterterry @dead4sevenyears @metaphoricalpluto2 @tanyatoloni1334

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #logan sanders #thomas sanders #treasure planet au

2 notes · View notes

authorellenmint · 6 years

Audio

Hawke entertains three children who approach her doorstep with four stories to scare the pants off 'em. And who should she use for characters in her horror stories but those companions she knows so well? Just a bit of fun and scares for this season of ghosts and goblins.

By the flickering of a blood red candle, three children approached the altar. Their traditional cloaks fluttered by an unnatural breeze as they focused upon the bowed brow of a woman. She was shadowed by not only the creaking eaves of the crumbling ceiling but a hood of darkest night pulled to the middle of her forehead.

"Come in," a voice cawed from below the cloak, and a hand gnarled like a bone chewed apart by wild dogs extended towards them. "Step closer, step closer," it continued, waving them onward.

Now these children were not afraid. No, they came prepared, their fingers holding tight to the bulging bags shared between the three. As one they stepped forward to the haggard witch. "What are your names?" she asked, the voice cracking like a hanging tree split by the Maker's lightning.

"Snips," the first said, wearing a mask of ocean blue that cut off to reveal his lips.

"Snails," the second answered, donning a mask the color of dried blood that shielded his nose, and circled the eyes and chin.

The hooded woman turned a moment to the last, her voice rising with a laugh, "Does that make you puppy dog tails?"

"No," the last stuck out her chin. "I'm Lyrium!" she crowed, her head tossed back to reveal her purple mask, that covered her entire face save the eyes, glittered like stars.

"That's a new one," the woman chuckled to herself.

"And who are you?" Snips asked.

"Me?" she jabbed a thumb back into the cloak that seemed to ring a bit as if it struck something metal. "I'm the witch." Suddenly, she coughed and lifted her voice back up to the cackling range, "I mean, I'm the witch of the woods, dearie. I assume you've come to try your luck?"

All three children nodded hard, their masks twisting upon the cheap twine their parents knotted on.

"Then..." the witch extended her hand over the table before her, "pay the tribute."

Reaching into their hard-won stash, Snips, Snails, and Lyrium each laid a piece of candy before their spot. A grin white as a sliver of moon rose below the cowl. Twisting her gnarled fingers around, three gold Sovereigns appeared out of thin air wedged upon her knuckles. The kids gasped in surprise; normally best they could hope for was a copper. But a whole sovereign each?

The witch laid them down before herself, each candy piece waiting to be exchanged should the bargain be met. "I assume this is an acceptable payment," the witch crowed before waving her fingers back and forth over the glint of gold a few more times for emphasis.

Nodding madly, the children all threw their shoulders back and stood tall. They were prepared to stand firm against anything this witch of the woods could throw at them.

Drumming her nails on the table, the woman mused, "Let's see. Where shall we begin? Ah, I know," her grin lit up stronger than Lyrium's namesake as she honed in on the children. "It was a dark and stormy night..."

~ * ~

Though, it didn't begin that way. Young master Bran, a man who likes to berate people because he thinks he's better than everyone, got it in his head to take his sweetheart out for a little boat ride on the Waking Sea. Few things more romantic than a gentle crest of the oars while beside the one you fancy with the shore full of people miles away. Or so Bran planned.

"I don't like the look of those clouds."

"Come come, Serendipity," Bran patted the wooden seat beside him, "there's nothing to fear. I'm here."

Serendipity raised an eyebrow at the young man's assurances, but gave into his pull. After all, he was paying for...er, he was wealthy. Sure, let's go with that. Wealthy. For a time the pair were too enthralled together, paying no heed to the rising rock of the waves, or the encroaching darkness of the skyline.

Why? They were playing a game of...Wicked Grace. Very cut throat too. Bran lost his shirt and Serendipity had him deep in the hole. Why am I laughing? Stupid joke for old people. Anyway...

By the time they both looked upward, the entire sky was blotted out. It seemed as if the shadows of death itself wrapped around them, the once soothing waves increasing to a thrashing rate. When the rains opened up to drench the pair, Serendipity cried that they needed to get back to shore. Bran, certain he knew what he was doing -- because he always thinks he knows what he's doing -- snatched up the oar and tried to paddle.

But this was a storm of cataclysmic destruction. The waves crested higher and higher, the caps white as an old dwarf's beard, rising to such a point the ocean itself could slap against the moon. Each pounding of the vengeful water sent the little boat skittering further and further into the endless void of the sea. Poor Serendipity was crying for them to come up with a plan, but Bran, he clung to that oar. He was certain it would get him back home.

Digging the scrap of wood through the water, he turned the boat around to face where Kirkwall should be. Only shadows and mists floated on their edges, leaving the poor souls unmoored from their surroundings. Serendipity wondered if they were even going the right direction, but Bran couldn't be stopped. He paddled with all the muscle in his body, which isn't much let me tell you.

Anyway.

Through the sheets of rain drenching Bran's clothing to his body, he spotted something on the horizon. A bolt of lightning zipped through the air, parting the shadows to reveal a glance of black sails fluttering like storm clouds upon a sequoia-like mast. But when he shook his head, the vision was gone. Only the endless sea circled them, certainly no pirate ship caught in the same storm.

With a laugh, Bran continued to steer the tiny boat towards Kirkwall. Wiping the downpour out of his eyes, he spotted a single lantern whipping back and forth in the winds. "There!" he shouted, struggling to rise his voice over the winds, "Land!" They were almost home.

A great crack thundered apart the very air, the taste of metal splintering Bran's world as the boat below him exploded. Screaming in his brain as his tongue fell slack, his eyes burned from the flash of white that swiped right before him. Pain overwhelmed his tender body and the lightning strike flung him up through the air. With a great splash to rattle his bones, Bran struck the vengeful seas and began to sink into the briny depths. Pain sundered his limbs from him, unreachable to his brain as he drifted ever further from life-giving air. The man's sight faded to darkness as he watched the shrapnel of his boat bob on the surface above.

When Bran awoke, he gasped in a great breath as if his lungs had been deprived of air for hours. Whipping his soggy head around, he found no more storm, not even a sign that one had been in the area. The sky was cloudless, all of the Maker's stars shining down on the man lost at sea. Clinging in his hand was the oar, which must have been what pulled his lifeless body up to the surface.

Where was his boat? There wasn't even a single plank left floating on the waves, only his weary soul. How far did the waves pull him? Twisting through the eternal chill of the sea's waters, Bran tried to get his bearings. All that surrounded him was the eternal, ever looming threat of death. Blackness to the left, the right, below, and above. If he guessed wrong, any attempt, any choice to move this way or that could end in his death.

He was truly damned to the sea.

Shadows shifted deep within the indigo horizon, a great grey mass cresting through the waves. Bran squinted, trying to get whatever it was into focus, when the mass turned and began to bear down upon him. "Oh Maker," Bran cursed, his arms struggling to paddle out of the way, but he couldn't compete with a massive ship coming to destroy him.

It moved unlike any other ship he'd seen, almost as if it floated above the waves and required no wind to fill its always bursting sails. He had no prayer to escape its wake, which was certain to drown him and batter his broken body upon the passing hull. Terrified of the future before him, Bran froze in place -- his entire body falling limp while the only thing keeping him afloat was his trusty oar.

Cresting closer, the great ship filled all of Bran's vision. His entire world was nothing but black planks of the hull beating apart salt water on its mission to rip and drown him. Gritting his teeth, he bared down for the inevitable.

Suddenly, the ship's ice-white, almost glowing against the backdrop sails shifted direction. Turning as if it followed no rules of nature, the great galleon twisted to the side, pulling up right next to Bran. "Hello there," a woman's voice called out from the darkness. "Looks like you need a hand."

"Yes!" Bran shouted, already swimming his way towards the bobbing ship. Hooking a hand onto the ladder, he scurried his way higher. Step by step, he felt the pull of the sea dripping off him. You failed in dragging another man to your depths, sea serpents, he laughed to himself while stepping onto the deck of his saviors.

A dozen men glared at the bedraggled man plucked from the ocean's heart and deposited at their feet. They snarled from jagged teeth, beady eyes glaring out beside pitch black patches, tattoos of every unseemly image that burned the soul were embedded deep into their flesh. Bran gulped deep as he stared at the assembled crew of brigands, his finger worrying the oar clutched in his hands.

"Welcome to my ship," a woman's voice reverberated from the perch beside the wheel. With a great smile, she eased her way down the stairs towards Bran. "I am Captain Isabela," she winked while doffing her mighty captain hat and taking a bow.

"Caw!" a bird called from high above their heads. Feathers flitted from the top mast onto the deck as the bird circled down to land upon the woman's shoulder. "All Souls Belong To The Deep."

She smiled at the bird with plumage as black as midnight, "This is Polly. He's a bit of a chatterbox. And look at you," she turned to Bran, "soaked to the bone and parts beyond, I imagine. Here, we should get you a change of clothes. Maybe something of the tattered knee and sleeve variety." Her ravenous eyes hunted over Bran's body while he kept glancing around the mysterious ship. None of the captain's crew were speaking, each eye shifting from her back to him. The night was silent save the creak of wood propelling itself above water.

"Madam..." Bran began, which she chuckled at.

"My friends call my Isabela," her eyes sparkled like gimlets and she seemed to smile as deep as a skull, "and my crew...well, you'll learn all about them soon enough."

"I, please, I need to return to Kirkwall."

The woman whistled to her men and shouted boaty talk to get them to haul anchor and do things to the sail. When she glanced back at Bran, Isabela chuckled, "Why would you want to head to Kirkwall?"

"It's...it's my home," Bran struggled to explain, when he felt every man lean closer. Their eyes never shifted off of him even as they pulled up ropes, and tugged on lines.

Polly broke into flight, black feathers tumbling from the sky as the bird flitted up to its perch. While trailing the vision, Brand spotted the flag wafting in the breeze. Dark as a heartless ribcage, the black sign of allegiance to no man, no shore whipped against the night air.

Pirates! He was rescued by the dreaded pirates who stalked the seas.

But Bran wasn't stupid. No, not our old Bran. He wasn't about to be keelhauled into some pirate gang, because he had connections, you see. "I am grateful for your assistance," he began, trying to not shuffle out of the Captain's unblinking view. Showing weakness was just as likely to get him killed. There was only one thing these pirates answered to, and that was gold.

"And, the Viscount is liable to be grateful as well. In fact, if you return me post haste I dare say he will reward you immensely."

He expected the Captain's eyes to gleam with avarice, but she cackled instead. With her head thrown so far back it was a wonder her hat stayed on, she laughed towards the night sky. "Gold? What do we need with gold, boys?" she shouted to her crew who all began to laugh as well.

Pirates who cared nothing for gold? What madness is this?

"Don't you worry your pretty little head there, sweet thing," Isabela purred at him. "We get you into a proper outfit, strap a dagger to your thigh, and you'll settle right in."

"You are not listening to me," Bran thundered, "I am under secretary to the Viscount! He requires me at all times." The Captain twisted her head at that, her arms crossing against her heaving bosom. Stomping his foot in annoyance, Bran shouted, "I am very important!"

"All Souls Belong To The Deep. Caw."

The Captain tipped her head down, only the rim of her hat visible as she whispered, "Where do you think you are, sweetie?"

Bran stumbled backwards, his eyes darting around the deck, "A ship..." The eyes were staring, eyes of butchers and murderers, eyes that glinted like the coins on a dead man's lids, eyes that never moved, that never blinked. Maker's breath, why weren't they blinking?

A breath hitched in his throat, causing Bran to whip his head around anew. None of the snarling crew's chests were rising, none took in a breath. Almost as if-- As if they were all....

"A ship," Isabela smirked, her grin growing more toothy with each word, "of the dead." As she lifted her head the skin and muscle dripped off in oily rivulets revealing a smiling skull below. Black hair clung to nothing but a bleached skeleton, the clothes -- tattered to rags -- dangling off cracked bones.

"Andraste's Blood!" Bran shrieked, his feet scattering him further and further away from the monstrosity. His eyes whipped around to watch as all the other pirates shed their flesh to become a crew of skeletons, bones clacking through the air while they hefted the mainsail and raised anchor. A caw drew his eyes skyward and a skeleton without feathers tumbled out of the night's air to perch upon the clavicle of the Captain. She roughed a bony finger over the bird's beak and laughed, turning Bran's blood ice cold.

"This is a-a cursed ship," he cried, his eyes turning towards the sea waters below. He had to leap off, to risk the freezing cold and drowning, or else... "I will not die here!" he shouted, his hands digging into the sides of the ship. The oar that saved his life clattered to the hull while Bran tried to prepare himself.

He expected the cutthroat crew to rush towards him, for bony hands to lash onto his flesh ready to devour it, but no one moved. All of the eyeless sockets twisted towards the captain, who took one rattle step forward. "Sweet thing," she purred, the macabre smile never leaving, "you're a bit late on that."

"What?" Bran cried in confusion. They were going to kill him, slice out his organs, use his skin to make a sail! He had to defend himself. Fumbling down, Bran hefted up the oar he abandoned, when his eyes finally registered the shattered ends.

Lightning struck the paddle, ripped through not only his boat, but his body. The pain was immeasurable, like his veins filled with acid, his muscles were each diced into pieces inside his body, before he plunged deep, deep into the sea. And that's where he hung, his corpse bloating with salt water until the ship appeared and raised him out of the unforgiving depths.

Water erupted out of the Bran's mouth, a continual spray drenching the deck as he tumbled to his knees. His lungs, frozen inside his dead chest, forced out the last of the sea it tried to steal away. Watching in horror, Bran stared at his bloated fingers, grey as the grave. He tried to listen for a heartbeat, to feel a warm breath grace his lips, but none would come. None would ever come again.

"You're one of ours now," the Captain crowed, her hand once against coated in flesh landing upon his back. "And ours never ever leave because..."

The twisted bird, a raven of death itself, cracked open its beak, "All Souls Belong To The Deep."

#halloween #creepy #pirate #ghost ship #dragon age 2 #isabela #bran #soundcloud #scary #spooky #haunted #pirates

4 notes · View notes

spring-emerald · 7 years

Note

I'm never gonna miss this chances.... USHIMONI FOR THE SHIP THING *goes back to the rareship hole where she belongs*

My beautiful UshiMoni enabler! ^^

Because this shipmeme is quite angsty, then some angst it shall deliver. ;)

who is more likely to hurt the other?

Ushijima. Restassured that it’s unintentionally though. He really doesn’t know how to mincehis words and would really say what’s on his mind, unaware that what he’ssaying are quite hurtful. When he realizes it though, he immediately apologizes.

who is emotionally stronger?

Moniwa. He kind ofhas to. He wouldn’t have gotten far if he isn’t emotionally strong, especiallywith all the criticisms he’s faced ever since they’ve been together.

who is physically stronger?

Ushijima, without adoubt. (Moniwa had jokingly asked if he could ride Ushijima’s back while he’sdoing push-ups. And well, you know how jokes usually goes over Ushi’s head, sohe actually thought Moniwa’s serious, and he didn’t begin until the other issitting on his back, and well, yeah. He was able to do 15.) He offhandedly says it’s a good challenge and that they should do that again, much to Moniwa’s embarrassment (but he didn’t say no…)

who is more likely to break a bone?

I think they bothhave decent chances of breaking bones, one way or another, but as it is, it’sprobably going to be Ushijima. Only because the one with an active sportscareer, and accidents can happen. Moniwa is clumsy, that’s for sure, but the injuryhe usually gets are cuts/burns.

who knows best what to say to upset the other?

It’s not that he knowsit would upset the other, but Ushijima just has this uncanny ability to say thingsthat really hit some of Moniwa’s sore spots.

who is most likely to apologise first after an argument?

Moniwa breaks the ice first, but more oftenthan not, it’s Ushijima who says ‘I apologize’.

who treats who’s wounds more often?

Moniwa treats hiswounds more often. Ushijima is prone to more serious injuries, but he knows howto take care of himself. Not that Moniwa doesn’t but yeah, it’s him who gets ‘injured’most of the time.

who is in constant need of comfort?

Not constantly, butMoniwa definitely needs it more than Ushijima. Although, it’s more of reassurance,rather than comfort. Doesn’t mean that Moniwa doesn’t comfort Ushijima,especially when the other needs it. (Ushijima usually needs it when they’reseparated long enough, because of his commitments.)

who gets more jealous?

Ushijima does. Well, hedoesn’t think that someone is going to swoop in and take Moniwa away from, notlike that. He’s jealous of Moniwa’s friends because they get to spend more timewith him. He’s quite jealous of how close Moniwa is with Tendou, because he cantell how comfortable Moniwa is with his friend, and how easily Tendou can makeMoniwa laugh. Well, he wishes that he could do both of those effortlessly.

who’s most likely to walk out on the other?

Ushijima is moreprone of walking away from Moniwa.

who will propose?

Ushijima! Talk about how.

who has the most difficult parents?

*sob, telenovela-esquebackstory ahead. You have been warned*

Ushijima. Becausethey are traditional and matriarchal. His mother and his grandmother had adifficult time accepting their relationship, and actually threatened to disownWakatoshi if he continues his relationship with Moniwa. It didn’t bother Ushi,because he’s already set for university, what with his numerous sportsscholarship offers and all. It’s a good thing that he’s had foresight of havinga separate bank account for all his allowance as member of the U-17 team, andhe thought of using that to keep himself afloat, until he can fully play pro.

Moniwa isn’tconvinced, and thought about breaking up with him because he’s not worthloosing family for. So he did….break-up with him. and how… (and this is to be explored more on a storythat I will eventually write when I have the motivation to…someday…) BUT, it’s allbehind them now.

who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public?

Ushijima does. Moniwais shy about public display of affections. Ushijima, true to his nature, doesn’t mind about what others think, as long as he and Moniwa are together.

who comes up for the other all the time?

Moniwa does, becausehe has the leisure of having more free time, or a rather flexible schedule thanUshijima.

who hogs the blankets?

Moniwa, because hegets cold easily and he’s used to sleeping with a lot of blankets. Ushijima isa good natural heater though, so sometimes, he settles for cuddles.

who gets more sad?

He doesn’t show it,but it’s actually Ushijima. He’s sad, and well, quite guilty, because he thinksthat he’s not doing enough for Moniwa, especially with all the ‘bad’ things theother had gone through just to be with him. He’s regretful because he thinkshe ought to do more for Moniwa.

Moniwa doesn’t knowit, but he’s got a vague feeling that Ushijima thinks like this, so he makes ita point to tell Ushijima how fortunate he is, and how much he loves him andthat he won’t leave Ushijima (again). (so cheesy but RIP ME I HAD ACTUAL TEARS:’(( )

who is better at cheering the other up?

Moniwa is better atcheering Ushijima up. Although, Ushi had his moments.

who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the timeafter they make silly jokes?

Moniwa does, once he’s more comfortable around Ushi.

who is more streetwise?

Ushijima actually. Whilehe’s not particularly good with socializing, he’s actually quite a keenobserver, and he’s learned how to be streetwise from his regular jogging, as well asfrom travelling.

who is more wise?

Moniwa is. The thingshe’s been through are humbling experiences and are rich with valuable lifelessons, that if asked, he wouldn’t trade for the world, despite the hurt it hadcaused him.

who’s the shyest?

Moniwa is shyer thanUshijima. And again, Ushijima can’t even be classified as shy because he simplyisn’t bothered, you know what I mean?

who boasts about the other more?

Moniwa does, ofcourse. But not like he needs to, because they all know.

(“Guys, have you seen the perfect service ace?? OMG Toshi is just…so amazing!”

*sighs*

“We know,Moniwa. We were there too. WE SAW.”)

who sits on who’s lap?

Moniwa sits onUshijima’s lap. And why…

*joins you in the ushimoni rareship hole* Thanks @tanakaryuu ^^

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#ushimoni #ushijima wakatoshi #moniwa kaname #ship asks #tanakaryuu

16 notes · View notes

quickfics · 7 years

Text

Questline - Part Three

Where the Twilight Span touches down on the western bank of the Ringil River, Nazca takes on a noticeable change. Old World ruins give way to buildings built by our own hands. At the foot of the Span, warehouses group together like the discarded shells of some long-forgotten brood of monsters, the lingering remains of when travel up and down the Ringil served as the city’s chief trade route. When trade took to the seas, the aristo-merchant elite moved into the towering Old World bones of what’s now called Center City. Artists took their place west of the river and converted the warehouse district into a sprawling salon, inside and out. Every surface of Artist’s Garden is splashed with bright colors, blanketed with murals, populated with sculptures, or otherwise adorned in every imaginable artistic expression its denizens can dream up.

Always one with an eye for opportunity, Nevan Raffie came in after the artists and secured a fruitful enterprise as the go-between for Nazca’s nobility and the more illicit services provided on the poorer side of the river. The aristo ruling class aren’t without the same unbecoming habits the rest of us possess, and it’s Nevan that caters to those needs. Slavers, drug peddlers, black market business, just to name a few. In exchange, Nevan establishes patronages for his colony of artists, scraping a generous amount off the top and calling it a finder’s fee, making the whole arrangement seem like an act of philanthropy.

People tend not to look beyond the surface.

Theda having situated himself next door to Nevan told me two things: that there was most certainly some connection between the two, and that Theda was considerably more dangerous than Amral indicated.

I considered my options. Visiting Nevan at the Shattered Sky and having him set up a meeting would be the sensible thing to do, but it might also scare Theda into selling the sword sooner. I could slip in unseen and steal the sword, but it would just send Theda right back to Amral’s doorstep. I briefly entertained finding Case, Sorandra, or even Naph to help take the unsubtle approach, but that risked provoking Nevan and bringing a weight of trouble tumbling down on me I didn’t want.

In the end, I settled on speaking to Theda directly. It didn’t take much effort to determine which warehouse north of the Shattered Sky was his. A few artist-looking types high on hinas happily pointed me in the right direction, and before long I stood outside Theda’s operation, eyed down by a bouncer clearly bored by his duties.

“The fuck you want?”

“To speak to Theda.”

“He expecting you?”

“That’s very unlikely.”

“Then fuck off.”

I pressed thumb and forefinger into my eyes. Tried to rein in my frustration for playing the next card.

“Tell him the soulwalker’s here to see him.”

That earned me a familiar look—some mix of disbelief and amused dismissal. The bouncer banged on the door with the back of his heavy boots. When it cracked open, he exchanged a few whispered words with whoever was on the other side, then the door swung shut again. The guard and I stood there, pointedly looking past one another. When the door finally cracked back open, a hand beckoned me.

Inside, the warehouse was crowded with shipping containers someone had somehow managed to drag down from the rail yard, the space between them forming a labyrinth of corridors. The guard who waved me in led me through narrow space without a word. We eventually emerged in what remained of the warehouse proper, where a patriarchal man in his mid-fifties sat behind a utilitarian table littered with parchment. He gestured to the battered wooden chair opposite his desk. I tried not to roll my eyes as I sat down.

“The soulwalker, huh? That’s a pretty good line. You’re a lot more...plain-looking than I expected.”

“I take it you’re Theda, then?”

“That’s right, but between the two of us I’m the one who’s not a myth. How do I know you’re not some drunk trying to hustle me?”

“You don’t. But I’m not about to summon angelfire out of the sky just to show off, so how ‘bout the benefit of the doubt?”

He chuckled.

“Alright. I’ll indulge you. What is it that brings the storied soulwalker before me?”

“A sword. I imagine you know the one I’m talking about. The owner would like it back.”

“Would he now?”

“Theda, whatever business rivalry you and that snake-tongued aristo fuck have going on is none of my concern. But a weapon fashioned from Amata remnants is not something I can let fall into the wrong hands.”

Theda leaned into his chair, grinning.

“What did that scumbag merchant sell you, soulwalker?”

“I prefer Kuran.”

“Alright, Kuran. Tell me. What did Amral sell you?”

“He seems pretty convinced you broke into his home and stole the sword, and that you’ll likely sell it and use the profits to buy out his family’s business. Which, as I said, I don’t give a damn about. I’m only here to make sure the sword doesn’t wind up sold to the Malrain. Or worse.”

Theda guffawed.

“Amral Jeyn sold you lies, soulwalker. Kuran, sorry. You’re wasting your time here. I’m not Amral’s competitor, I’m his banker. I deal in debt. And Amral is in the hole for quite a bit. He gave me the sword, you see. Put it up as collateral to keep his family business afloat.”

Well, shit.

#sci-fi #science fiction #fantasy #flash fiction #fiction #quests #RPG #role-playing games #sidequest #swords and sorcery #narrative #storytelling #dialogue #prose #open world #bethesda #bioware

1 note · View note

linkario-blog · 6 years

Text

Sea of Thieves: Thoughts

One of my friends is a great source of inspiration when it comes to encouraging me to break out of my shell and lay out my unedited thoughts on a subject. I like to keep it in good spirits with him so nothing controversial. His latest was picking at my thoughts in regards to Rare's "Sea of Thieves." In this swashbucklin' title you play a pirate, recruit a crew and sail your way around the infamous sea of thieves in search of treasure and prestige.

In a series of texts, I let him know what I've come to think of the game with a couple days of play. I came into the game with a negative viewpoint, but lets "sea" how it turned out.

"Where to begin? First off: is the game worth $60? In its current state, i would say not. There are a number of reasons I feel this way despite having played it for probably a total of 20 hours or so by now. Lets start with the big one: lack of varied content. There are essentially 5 things you are guaranteed to do in this game. Sail. Explore. Fight. Plunder. Collect.There are slight variations in terms of quest interaction but it boils down to that.

Now its not all as simple as it sounds. Sailing, of course, is the reason [our mutual friend] and so many others have been enthralled by this game and its easy to see why. This is the most polished and well crafted part of the whole package. The mechanics are responsive and easy to grasp, with layouts lending well to many functionalities ; hoisting sails, steering at the helm, callouts from the crows nest, repairing damage, or shooting cannons. Its all well designed and feels intuitive. Its an experience rarely grasped in a modern game and is exptionally exhilarating. This all of course ties into how you decide to play the game.

Ships are built in what feels to be an authentic part of the era. Sloops (the 1 to 2 man vessels) are fast, responsive, and are easy to handle, with many actions able to be performed by 1 person without too much trouble. They are small however and suffer well from the lack of firepower to fight off the larger of the ships, the galleon.

Not only can you have up to 4 on a gally, but your towering size, 3 masts, and 8 cannons can be quite an intimidating sight for the small sloop. This beast requires at least 3 at a time and is a handful to manage with all that mass. Coordination and teamwork are the best, nay perhaps only way to survive on the open seas. They can be quite the target for any overaggresive player or group and can be seen quite well on the waves.

With a group of friends using effective communication, most situations can be handled quite well and can be extremely rewarding when things turn out well. Settling into roles and knowing your comrades really seems to push the winds into ones favor. From our experience, out of probably 15 fights, weve lost once, stalemated once, and have "won" every other engagement. Winning by our vocabulary would be sinking the ship, holding a ship (effectively a spawn camp), and/or plundering their supplies and treasure should they have any while also keeping our vessel afloat. We then leave the fight ship intact. Out of these, the sloops weve attampted to engage are either ambushed and killed or able to outrun our gally.

The best pursuits have been with other frigates as the skill needed by a crew to properly handle such a vessel is put entirely on display. Tactics and cunning plans to shake off pursuers begin to take fold. Skills such as the subtle art of maximizing the amount of wind going into the sails, predicting turns, lowering the anchor at opportune moments and using momentum to turn on a dime; calculated risks of boarding vs cannon fire, sail length for maneuverability vs speed. There is a lot of depth to these mechanics and it shows.

But what good is the sailing if the world is no fun to be in? Well luckily the next thing it seems to have gotten the most attention is the world. The art style is absolutely stunning. Clouds form in the sky, storms show up in the distance, the water behaves in a realistic way. Waves crashing and shifting our vessel with a weight and force that seems consistant with the visual presentation.

Islands range from tropical paradises with white sands, clear blue seas, and vegetation to sheer rocky cliffs with jutting stone spikes rising out of the waves to form a stoney shore. It all feels natural and only slightly gamey in how divided they are from each other and the placement of ports speckled just within reach of any given point.

Each place has a chance to spawn various collectibles ranging from boxes of exotic goods to treasure chests to even small critters such as chickens or pigs that can be captured and sold. Well what if I told you that was pretty much the extent of it? A tad disappointing by the sounds of it I thought. Though i still feel there is so much more potential for this system, the sight of a rare treasure chest or random good still fills me with some excitement. And thats because of the chance for pvp.

Having the chance to encounter others increases the fulfillment of getting back to port with goods to sell and items to turn in. Its like over coming an obstacle thats very nature is shrouded in secrecy. Were we followed? Are there others at port? Is someone coming towards us and if so will they engage or chase? Its a small thrill and is very engaging in terms of keeping things fresh. The reason i bring this up as well is for what seems to be the ultimate prize in terms of booty: Cursed Islands. These places are broadcasted throughout the server to anyone who can see it; a skull cloud in the sky with flashing green glowing eyes.

These places are no joke and are thrilling to take on. Not only must we coordinate as a team, we must also engage others who may wish to start trouble or ambush us as the event ends.

Now how can this be a problem? Well, waves upon waves of skeleton enemies will fight and will vary in 1 of 4 forms and sometimes weaponry. After fighting these within a certain time period, a boss will spawn. When defeated (which btw will also erase the skull in the sky, alerting other players), the boss will drop a skull that can be used to open a treasure chamber where the name of the game becomes: how will we haul this horde to the ship, who will we encounter while attempting this, where is the best place to store it on the vessel , and where can we go to safely unload. All thrilling because of the pvp undertone that permeates the exploration of this game.

This is where some of the problems begin to arrise. This all sounds fun and engaging (because the core ship mechanics work and work WELL), however youve seen me describe fights so far in very vague terms. As it just so happens, i feel this is a big flaw in engaging players to the content beyond ship combat. Right now there are four weapons that can be used by characters engaging on foot: Sword, pistol, blunderbuss, and sniper rifile. You can hold two weapons at any given time and each of the guns have around five shots before you must reload them at an ammo box either on the ship or sometimes inland. The combat is as simple as can be.

Sword has the only variety. A slash (left click), block (right click), "dodge" (hold right click + move) and charge (hold left click). You can cheese some of these moves to do some "strategy" but its VERY bare bones. Guns are a standard aim and fire with blunderbuss having knockback, pistol with decent range and aim, and sniper with superior range.

As far as ship combat goes, cannons are the only form of damage beyond an actual powder keg that can sink a ship, which just so happens to be the only way to defeat one. There is a serious lack of tools to launch or engage anyone beyond just sending that round metal ball. Tools such as a chain shot or swivel guns would be a welcome addition. Ships also have no other variants beyond cosmetic upgrades either. No moving cannons to the front/back or having a ridiculous volley below deck. Its all static, and though that levels the playing field, it throws out variety and customization.

Which i suppose leads into...

The cosmetic progression(!) and what all this fine work leads into as a reward. So youve braved the islands, you've either explored or selected from a list of quests that the NPCs for the 3 factions provided for you. Youve collected the objective. What now?

At port, the 3 faction npcs will also buy whatever relevant loot you have for them. This will provide rep and gold for your character. The rep is used for better quest selection and some unlocks that coincide with the number. The gold is used for cosmetics.

Thats it.

They look neat; sets that match, good models, great to passable designs.

But...

its.

just.

swag.

I had no desire to buy anything but a hat because even though i could spend money on clothes or accessories, i really never see my character. This led me to wanting to buy an upgraded look to our ship and some "skins" for my weapons and tools. They look fine, sure, but once i have them i wont have much desire to pursue other "upgrades" thus defeating the gold purpose.

They have time to correct this, but as it stands now, its use as a motivation is timed. The best reason i have for coming back is just as a chill/exciting environment to engage with our friends.

............................................................................

I havent explained all the great moments we shared or the little things i liked about the game yet nor the glaring bugs and glitches that have plagued our travels but Im starting to drift off so ill have to cut this short.

As a gamepass game, its an excellent way to re-engage with friends and just have a pirate themed adventure, with all the overtones that the mystique entails. As the game evolves, it may reach a point where the $60 gets you something great and worthy of the price. As it stands, it feels like a well crafted big budget indie or early access title that has nailed its core theme but lacks polish in areas beyond the main scope.

The feeling youll have while sailing can be breathtaking and full of little moments that make the game shine. Sailing into the sunset after a particulary taxing mission while listening to the crash of waves, the subtle atmosphere of ropes stretching and pullies clinking, and the sound of our instruments playing a somber shanty towards port will never leave my memory.

The moments can be magical, but it sometimes comes at a price. Regardless i have enjoyed my time with the game so far and will continue to do so for this next week and a half where, with a heavy heart, i will wave farewell to this mystical sea till she lowers her toll of entry. (The end)"

Well there you have it. I wrote all this after a 10-hour binge of the game around 2 am so forgive me for the lack of editing or any mistakes. Thanks for reading and I hope that if you had any fuzzy ideas about the game that this perhaps was able to help clarify them for yourself. Till next time! -Linkario

0 notes