sink beneath the waves

So our Alchemist has this magic knife enchanted to be really good for harvesting materials from creatures we fight, which she puts to good (read: giddily excessive) use. She had to miss our previous session, which ended immediately after the party defended a port city from an army of fish men and a giant eel monster. After catching her up we picked up right where the last session left off.

Alchemist: (ooc) So the eel monster is lying dead on the docks right? I’m going to go harvest its skin.

DM: You want it’s skin? The thing’s the size of a train!

Alchemist: Good point, I’m not that strong and that skin alone probably weighs more than I do. (ic) Hey, does anyone want to help me lift this thing?

Witch: (ic) What do you even want the skin for? 

Alchemist: We can give it as a gift to these villagers, to help them rebuild their destroyed homes!

Witch: First of all, we’re in a city, not some backwater village, and I think they’d find it really condescending of you to call them ‘villagers’ and gift them with fish skin. Second, these are the docks, all the buildings around here are warehouses, not peoples’ houses. I think the rich bastards who own them will be fine. Third, and this one is out of character, (turns to DM) I think it’s really unfair for her to get to harvest stuff from monsters she didn’t even help kill. Are you seriously letting her do this?

DM: Probably not. [Alchemist], only the front portion of the monster had fallen on the docks, the rest of it is still in the water and the weight of it has started pulling it back into the sea. I’m going to need you to make a strength check. -fails- As she tries to dig her heels in and keep the sea monster from sinking back beneath the waves [Alchemist] gets pulled along with it. Does anyone want to try and help her?

Witch: No.

Rouge: No.

Wizard: -shrugs- I’ll cast a water breathing spell on her.

Fighter: I’ll help! -rolls poorly- I will not.

Alchemist: Seriously guys? Come on, I’m getting pulled into the water!

Wizard: I know, that’s why I cast the water breathing spell on you, so you can do your harvesting once it’s in the water. (Thinks for a moment) Wait, we haven’t had a chance to rest yet, have we? I already used that spell last game so I can’t use it right now. Sorry.

Alchemist: You all suck. Fine, I let go at the last minute before it drags me down.

Rouge: Don’t worry, we’ll let you skin the next thing we kill, okay?

And she did.

excentricanthropologist  asked:

Sea dragn Hanzo saving pirate McCree from a shipwreck and adding him to his hoard :)))))

When he awoke, all he could taste was salt and blood.

Jesse coughed hard, curling on his side as sea water poured from his lips, gagging hard as he struggled for air. His body burned and ached all over as he sucked in breaths, mind shaking and numb as it struggled to come to its senses. All he could register was the cold and the pain, until slowly the ringing in his ears faded as his lungs began to work again. He continued to breath hard, though he tried to take in his surroundings and remember his situation.

What had happened? He tried piecing together the night before until suddenly it all came back to him, jerking upright. Captain Reyes, that son of a bitch. He was McCree’s number one enemy on the seas, a sea bandit hired by the Crown to put an end to the piracy problem that was running rampant in His majesty’s oceans. The mother fucker had smashed into Jesse’s ship and set the thing on fire, leaving her to sink beneath the waves with Jesse stranded along with it. He had barely been able to leap overboard in time before the whole thing exploded and disrespected into the dark water, the Deadlock forever gone to the sea. He remembered floating for hours, calling to his men who never appeared, in the blackness that was the open ocean at night, before giving into exhausting and embracing death.

Though death had never come, it seemed. Where he was now was a mystery, and how he got there even more of one. The pirate rose to his feet wearily, his long coat and clothes still soaked, and did an inventory check. He still had his Peacekeeper, but his hat was missing, which made him curse in annoyance. His jewelry, the heavy gold rings he had a habit of wearing on each finger, were gone as well. When had that happened, he wondered as he checked his surroundings. He appeared to be in a cave of some sort, on a rocky outcropping in the center of sea water. Only a few tiny streams of light shone down from above, breaking through the rocky ceiling in thin beams that made the whole room glow gold. The golden glow made him raise an eyebrow, and as he ventured to the edge of the rock on which he stood, he saw its cause and nearly fell into the water from shock.

The entire sea floor of the cave was coated in gold; gold coins, gold statues, chests over flowing with jewelry and goblets and gems that shined through the crystal clear water. McCree could make out suits of armor, gloves, rolls of tapestries, all growing lichens and mollusk, but still shining brightly beneath the waves. It was almost too much for the Pirate to take in; in all his years and all his adventures, Captain McCree had never seen this much gold. He had just a mind to strip off his clothes and dive in, until he heard the splash from behind him.

He spun around in an instant, drawing Peacekeeper and firing without a second thought. Yet the weapon only gave a resounding thud as the hammer fell on wet gun powder. Jesse was glad it had. For before him, peaking out from the water, he could see two dark glowing eyes. A pool of long dark hair flowed around them, hindering his view of what was beneath it, but he didn’t have to see to know. He’d been a sailor long enough to know eyes like that; eyes with slits for pupils that glowed like the moon.



Whatdo you think y'all? Should I keep going?

“Tace,” I tell Aphrodite. “Praecipitare means to cast down headlong. In the middle sense it can mean to cast oneself down headlong. In this case it means the light casts itself below the water, or, more idiomatically, the light sinks beneath the waves.”
“That’s a lot of English words for one Latin word,” Athena points out.
“Well, Latin is an economical language, especially when it comes to destruction.”
Athena gives me a smile that chills me like a rush of lake water. “That’s exactly why we like it,” she says.
—  Carol Goodman, The Lake of Dead Languages
There Is No Escape - Part 1

Summary: You are rescued from the waters around Neverland by Captain Hook and his crew with no memory has to what happened to you. But when you return to the island you soon find out.

Captain Hook/Peter Pan x Reader

Warning: None

Words: 1345

Your body is cold… very cold. You don’t know how you ended up in a vast ocean of water, or how long you had been in it, all you know is that you couldn’t swim any more. There had been no sign of land when you had first found yourself in the water and after swimming for however long you had been there was still nothing around you. Nothing but deep, dark, water. Every muscle in your body is aching beyond belief from the constant shaking as the cold temperature begins to affect you down to your very core.

This is it. This is how you were going to die. It’s a depressing thought but it is the only one that seems to be so very clear in your exhausted mind.

As your eyes begin to lose the fight to stay open and your face sinks beneath the gentle waves of the ocean you feel something wrapping itself around your wet hair, gripping it tight, before pulling you up and out of the water you’d been convinced was going to be your grave.

“Got her Cap’n!”

The deep, harsh, voice that now fills your ears is unrecognisable but you simply don’t care. All that matters now is that you are going to live another day. The hand that had pulled you out of the water now places you onto a hard surface and it is only now, as your eyes slowly fought to open a little, that you can make out several figures standing over you. Your vision isn’t as sharp as it would usually be though so there are no details on them that you can pick out….aside from one.

Keep reading


Drarry Mermaid AU where Draco is out fishing and his net gets all caught up in something. When he’s finally able to pull it up its not full of fish but a man.

A very handsome man with tan skin and messy hair who looks disoriented and confused as he tries to untangle himself.

But Draco jumps out of his small fishing boat into the shallow water reaching out to help untangle the net, and the man looks up at him and Draco feels like he’s drowning, not in the depths of the deep blue sea but in this mans impossibly green eyes.

And when they’re all done Draco keeps talking and talking but the other man never says a word just watches him until Draco is gesturing towards land, trying to get this man who is now shivering and cold to come home with him.

And when they’re back at Draco’s small cabin by the sea Draco offers him what comfort he does have; a warm meal and a soft bed. And that night Draco falls asleep in a chair by the fire watching him sleep.

And when he wakes up the bed is empty, the blanket pulled up tightly across the bed and so many beautiful pieces of green sea glass left on the white pillow. It takes him a moment to realize they were left to spell out a name - Harry.

For months Draco dreams of green eyes and a soft voice, of diving into the sea and never returning. He feels the sea calling to him like never before. Sometimes he even swears he catches a glimpse of a green tail splashing in the sea.

He spends weeks searching, fingering a piece of the sea glass he now wears around his neck. Until one day, when Draco is caught out in a storm and his boat begins to sink. And as he slips beneath the torrent of waves crashing around him the last thing he thinks before he slips into unconsciousness is that he never found him. His Harry.

Later, though Draco will never be sure how much later, he wakes up in his own bed, the fire crackling and the smell of soup in the air. And Draco sits up quickly, his breath catching in his throat when he sees the man, his sea man, his Harry, sitting beside his bed.

“I couldn’t find you,” Draco whispers.

But Harry only smiles, reaching out to take his hand. “But I found you.”

anonymous asked:

Goodluck with your new blog!!! may I have a scenario for Dazai finding someone about to commit suicide and talking them down from it?? Thank you and I hope your blog goes well!

Thank you for the well-wishing!! God this is from the blog was fresh ;;; Now that exams are over, I have more time for scenarios, so they’re coming much more often, I promise! So sorry for all the scenario requestors that have to wait approximately three billion years… 

Keep reading

It’s like you’re on the shore of an isolated island in the middle of nowhere. You see the ocean, you know there’s land out there somewhere – civilization, but you have no idea how to get there or where to even begin looking. So you start swimming aimlessly, assuming you’ll find something somewhere. But then your legs fall limp and you can’t feel your fingers or your toes and you start sinking. No sandbar, no life preserver. Just you and the open sea angrily pulling you into its grasp. You want to tug away, but you can’t. After all, you’ve been on an island all on your own for who knows how long. You’re tired. So, you let yourself lose this fight. You fall to the floor of the ocean, and you’re still alive (barely). Your body is running on low oxygen and you begin to see the world around you in a heavy blur and your eyes are burning from the salt and you’re fading in and out of consciousness trying to make sense of your entire existence in that one moment. Like in a way, your life is flashing before your eyes and you can’t get a grasp on whether or not that moment alone is even real or if you’re in an out-of-whack dream. You think to yourself “If this is real, why can’t I feel it?” You can hear your thoughts, but they are so far away. You’re listening to them, not living with them. Like you’re sitting in the story of your life, a third person biography by some unknown author, and you have absolutely no control over the plot and what you say or do. You have no idea what they’ll write next, but you’re now just a body without the feelings doing every motion the author tells you to and you can’t fucking turn it off. Your mind tells you to wake up and you desperately want to, but if the author wrote a paragraph describing you as being “so entirely hopeless that they took a huge gulp of water and ended their life entirely under the chaos beneath the sea,” well, you’d do it without thinking twice. You’d have to do it because you are just a puppet being pulled in every different direction but straight. You can’t fucking wake up. You’re on autopilot. You fade out entirely and whatever happens then is soon a blur. You’ve lost yourself. You can’t rememeber how the fuck you felt before you disappeared and where exactly you went when you did disappear. You’re not sure of anything except that whatever you just felt has left you with a kind of hangover aftermath, without the migraine. You’re home now, a place filled with all the people you know well. They’re there. They’re real. You’re real. You can feel your toes, your fingertips, and you’re waking in the same hazy fog you left in. Your thoughts begin to collide and you have become a single human being again. You can’t help but ask yourself though, “What would happen if the next time I sink beneath those fucking waves, I let myself drown?”
—  Depersonalization, Brittany Hottmann (theneuroticlesbian)

Despite everyone moving further inland to make camp and look for supplies, Rick often found himself looking back the way they had come, towards the coast. He didn’t even have to close his eyes to see the blackened, broken husks of Zenan’s ships slowly sinking beneath the waves - that image was burned into his mind forever. Their only way home, the one lifeline he had that connected him to Zenan, to Dracborough and to his family, completely obliterated. Even though the campsite was constantly flooded with people, Rick had never felt more isolated. A lot of people were comforting each other since everyone was in the same situation, but Rick had never been comfortable showing his vulnerability to others, and so he had walked some distance away from the campsite and slumped against a tree. He hadn’t thought anyone would disturb him, but he soon heard the cracking of twigs underfoot and he looked up to see who else had needed some time away from everyone else. “I know why I’m away from the campsite, but why have you come out here?”


Skull Domes, Cape Romano, Marco Island, Florida

Bob Lee constructed a prototype of the Skull Domes in Tennessee as an experiment in sustainable living. The domes were designed to allow rainwater collected from the curving roofs to run down into giant cisterns underneath.

In 1981, Lee built a permanent version of his prototype at the water’s edge in Florida. He lived there for 10 years. But hurricanes and rising sea levels eventually destroyed the vision, and the domes are currently sinking beneath the waves.

Ancient Egyptian underwater treasures to be exhibited for the first time

Spectacular ancient Egyptian treasures are to be exhibited for the first time having been discovered underwater in the submerged ruins of the near-legendary cities of Thonis-Heracleion and Canopus.

A finely sculpted statuette of a pharaoh and a golden-eyed depiction of god Osiris are among antiquities to be unveiled in a major exhibition in Paris from next month.

The cities were almost erased from mankind’s memory after sinking beneath the waves in the eighth century AD following cataclysmic natural disasters including an earthquake and tidal waves.

Across a vast site in Aboukir Bay near Alexandria, the seabed has been giving up secrets from a lost world in an excavation led by Franck Goddio, a French marine archaeologist. Read more.

After watching the finale again, I realize I haven’t seen many headcanons or fics about Stanley’s mindscape, as Bill puts it “a perfect calm orderly void”. Stan had to disguise himself down to his very MIND as his brother.

Ford explains to Stan that, “This won’t work, Stan, he’ll know the moment he enters your mind who you are. It will take a perfectly calm and clear mind to pull this off. I’ve done it before but…” Stan looks at his brother seriously.
“Teach me how.”
“We don’t have much time, Poindexter. Use that nerd brain of yours to teach me how to empty mine.”
So Ford does. He begins to quietly walk Stan through the meditation he’s used to clear his mind. Stan closes his eyes, trying to follow ford’s words, but he’s shaking. He’s shaking badly. He feels ford take his hand. His brother’s voice is somehow soft and calm despite Ford’s own fear, an anchor in the chaos.
“You can do this Stanley…Think about when we were kids. Think about glass shard beach….the ocean… the waves. Breathe with the waves… Let them be the only thing in your mind right now. Breathe in… Breathe out…”
And against all odds, and the backdrop of chaos, Stanley does it.
Stan breathes in time with Ford, his brother’s words filling his mind, until the words become his own. Thirty years of false reflections, masquerading as someone he was not, rise from his unconsciousness. He puts the mask on one last time, and lets the last part of himself that was Stanley Pines sink beneath the waves.
He wonders, belatedly, if Stanley Pines will ever resurface.

No one tells you that your first real heartbreak isn’t your first real heartbreak.

Your first real heartbreak isn’t when it’s over.

It isn’t when the door slams or the phone call ends, or when you see them walking away and you can’t seem to move.


Your first real heartbreak isn’t when it’s over.

It’s when you see them again, for the first time after it’s over. It’s how your stomach clenches and you paste on a smile and say things like “how are you” when all you want to say is “love me, love me, love me.”

Your first real heartbreak isn’t when it’s over.

It’s when people say their name and you’re just supposed to pretend like it doesn’t cut through you like a knife and you just keep nodding your head because you can’t figure out how to breathe for a while.

Your first real heartbreak isn’t when it’s over.

It’s when you no one pulls you aside and gently tells you that the one you want has moved on, that they’ve found someone new. It’s how you gasp a little and tears threaten to flood your room when you had to find out through Facebook that you’ve been replaced.

Your first real heartbreak isn’t when it’s over.

It’s when you see them again, when they have no regrets and you are drowning in all of yours and they say “what’s new with you” and you have to fight not to scream out “why couldn’t you love me more???”

Your first real heartbreak isn’t when it’s over.

It’s harder and more real the more time goes on. Because you’re haunted by the loss and the pain comes in waves threatening to sink you like a stone beneath its weight.

Your first real heartbreak isn’t when it’s over.

Your first real heartbreak happens over and over and over again and the hard thing about your heart breaking that many times is that nothing seems to hold it together anymore.

—  Heartbreak. (Sheltered Willow)
Wrecked! (Shipwrecked AU! with beloved-anikii)

Hahari wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting in the boat.

The cruise liner had enough passenger boats for the whole ship and then some…but no one anticipated that two people would be in the wrong place at the wrong time…with the ship going down and the boats all gone…that only left one measly inflatable raft with limited provisions…and only one radio.

Hahari, in her defense, had been trying to find Shani. And in the panicked confusion…she’d been trapped in a locked down part of the ship with another passenger. It was only through brute force that they managed to open the only door…but it was too late to join the others by then.

They watched the ship…and everything on it, sink beneath the waves as they began to bob further and further from the others, caught up in a different current.

Until finally-

“Hey! Hey!” She shook the mystery passenger awake. “Look over there! It’s an island!”

As the world turns toward winter and the nights grow long, people begin to wake in the dark. Lying in bed too long cramps the limbs, and dreams dreamt too long turn inward on themselves, grotesque as a Mandarin’s fingernails. By and large, the human body isn’t adapted for more than seven or eight hours’ sleep—but what happens when the nights are longer than that?

What happens is the second sleep. You fall asleep from tiredness, soon after dark—but then wake again, rising toward the surface of your dreams like a trout coming up to feed. And should your sleeping partner also wake then—and people who have slept together for a good many years know at once when each other wakes—you have a small, private place to share, deep in the night. A place in which to rise, to stretch, to bring a juicy apple back to bed, to share slice by slice, fingers brushing lips. To have the luxury of conversation, uninterrupted by the business of the day. To make love slowly in the light of an autumn moon.

And then, to lie close, and let a lover’s dreams caress your skin as you begin to sink once more beneath the waves of consciousness, blissful in the knowledge that dawn is far off—that’s second sleep.

I came very slowly to the surface of my first sleep, to find that the highly erotic dream I had been having had some basis in reality.

“I’d never thought myself the sort who’d molest a corpse, Sassenach.” Jamie’s voice tickled the tender flesh below my ear, murmuring. “But I will say the notion has more appeal than I’d thought.”

I wasn’t sufficiently coherent as to respond to this, but thrust my hips back toward him in a fashion that he seemed to find as eloquent an invitation as one written in calligraphy on parchment. He took a deep breath, a firm grip on my buttocks, and brought me to an awakening that could be called rude in several senses of the word.

I squirmed like a worm impaled on a fish-hook, making small urgent noises that he interpreted correctly, rolling me onto my face and proceeding to leave me in no doubt that I was not merely alive and awake, but functioning.

I emerged at length from a nest of flattened pillows, damp, gasping, quivering in every engorged and slippery nerve-ending, and thoroughly awake.

“What brought that on?” I inquired. He hadn’t pulled away; we lay still joined, washed in the light of a big golden half-moon, riding low in the sky above the chestnut trees. He made a small sound, partly amusement, partly dismay.

“I canna look at ye asleep without wanting to wake ye, Sassenach.” His hand cupped my breast, gently now. “I suppose I find myself lonely without ye.”

There was an odd note in his voice, and I turned my head toward him, but couldn’t see him in the dark behind me. Instead, I put back a hand and touched the leg still wrapped halfway over mine. Even relaxed, it was hard, the long groove of the muscle graceful under my fingers.

“I’m here,” I said, and his arm tightened suddenly round me.

—  A Breath Of Snow And Ashes

anonymous asked:

Sasusaku 29 :)

29. going away to war AU

if you’ve ever seen this video, it was on my mind while writing it.
(and if you’re thinking it’s mcr’s “the ghost of you” video, it absolutely is.)

((this may or may not be triggering for anyone with family in the service. just thought i’d mention it.))

She dreams of his back as he leaves.

She dreams of him sinking beneath the ocean waves, stained red with his heart’s blood trailing away from his cold, bullet-riddled body. She dreams of the battlefield, littered with corpses and what’s left of his innocence, of his sightless eyes upturned toward the merciless sky, and the boom of canonfire. 

She dreams of him coming home, safe in a box draped with a flag. Or sometimes not at all. 


Sakura does not know which is worse: the dreaming or the waking. Her dreams terrify her, show her nightmarish images of scenarios that are all-too-possible. When she wakes, she is screaming. Beside her, Sasuke pulls her close, soothing her with quiet words and warm touches. The tears and the fears don’t stop, and she begs him not to go. 

But in this he will not relent, will not back down, not even for her. 

He has to leave, he tells her, to make up for his failures. To prove to his father that he is a worthy son, to prove to prove to his brother that he does not live in his shadow, to prove to her that he can protect her. He slips a ring on her finger amidst her protests, his kisses doing nothing to quell the ache in her heart. 

The day is here, and he dresses in his freshly pressed uniform. Sakura’s fingers tremble at the silver buttons, quaking with the frantic beating of her heart. She cannot take her eyes off of his, in what may be their last moment alone together, but she fights the tears for his sake, fights as hard as she can. 

“Come home,” she whispers, “come back to me. Please please please." 

Sasuke cups her face in his hands and presses their foreheads together, promising fiercely that he will return. He kisses her hard, stealing her breath and her heart all over again. She wants to believe, wants it so badly it’s a knife in her heart. But she’s a nurse, she’s seen what bullets do to people, how one hit from the enemy’s canons will render him in half. 

At the shipyard, he must pry himself from her steel grip. The women around them quiver with pride for their men, eager to see them becomes war heroes. But Sakura knows what becomes of heroes; they come home in caskets, in pieces, or as a pile of unsent letters. 

There is time for one last kiss as the whistle blows, one last promise that he will come home to her, one last time where she will hear her name from his lips. He lightly taps her forehead as he turns, one of his rare smiles gracing his beloved face. 

He will not write, she knows. Sasuke is not a man of words, he is a man of touches, of quiet reassurance in the strength of his arms as he holds her at night. His lingering kiss and the touch of his fingers are all she has to keep her warm until the war is over. 

Sakura watches from a distance as his blond best friend throws an arm around him, grinning and eager for action. She wonders if Hinata is here in the crowd, but she has no will to move or search. 

If she closes her eyes, this will only be a nightmare. She won’t have to see him board the colossal ship, won’t have to see his back as he walks away, as she has so many times in her dreams. But she also won’t see the way he looks back at her, eyes full of regret. 

So she forces her eyes open, drowning in tears as they are, searching frantically for his dark head. She finds him quick enough, his pale complexion and dark hair a beacon among the other recruits. He nods once at her, and then they are shuffled away to their bunks and duties. Sakura clutches her coat tightly to herself as the cold wind cuts through her.    

It is the last time she will ever see him alive.


Spec fic for the episode coming up in several hours :/.

Anyway, I barely even read through it again, but I really wanted to get this out before the episode beat me.

Also, the only real spoiler is a quote from the promo. So not much.

The kiss they shared… both could have probably agreed that it was the most passionate either had experienced.

It wasn’t rough or harsh - not passionate in a desperate way.

Rather, as they moved in tandem with each other, and as their minds conjured only images of the other and the love that they held for them, it was passionate because it was real. It was true.

Every piece of the kiss was dedicated to the other. There were no wandering thoughts or movements made simply in a calculated attempt in order to fill some quota, nor was there any room for the hatred of self both had been facing. Instead, all movements and thoughts were controlled by what they truly wanted, or by the instincts that took over in places they had no ability to address.

It was perfect.

In all ways it was perfect.

However, perfect does not mean that it worked.

For however true and meaningful that it was, there was a reason behind it, and it was obvious that their hopes had not been fulfilled.

No flash of light filled a hopeless world to the brim with bright hues.

No magic flowed through their veins and allowed them to smile mindlessly into a kiss they hoped would never end.

Beside the burning beneath their skin that seemed to have become a pleasant, normal reaction to the other, there was nothing.

They broke apart.

And at that point they were sure that their dreams had too.

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Beneath The Waves; Part 5}

Malik’s fishing bomb was sinking lower and lower into the ocean… falling slowly against the sea. Intruding to kill the innocent life. What’s sent from land brings no good to the waters and many of the mer-people despise us humans because our toxic creations. Our ability to ruthlessly kill life in the sea for our own desires is causing mayhem amongst the sea dwellers and a war is brewing. But how can a war begin between two species when one doesn’t even know another intelligent species exists underwater?
         Malik’s bomb is deadly one and as soon as the concoction of explosive chemicals hits the sea bed It will explode! Malik’s fishing bombs were made to explode on impact delibratly to rip the marine life to pieces. The beautiful and innocent fishes of all shapes and sizes and colours swim away alerted at the contamination emitting from something man made. The sea creatures know It’s here to harm them but will they escape It’s explosive radius?
        The mermaid or merman moves fast like a shadow. It’s hard to see It’s gender but It wants one thing: to survive. The blue tail withers up and down gracefully through the water to gain acceleration. Brushing past coral and rocks in desperation to escape. The exposed creature is following the fishes morals and takes cover in a cave hoping to avoid the incoming explosion but It’s to be to late

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