Summary: “No matter the endeavour you were on, no matter the storms you
encountered on rocky seas, or the possible threat of encountering blood-thirsty
pirates, no one intrigued you or intimidated you more than the thought of him,
of Park Jimin, the most notorious of pirates, the most brutal of men,
the devil incarnate.”
❝ Everything became much brighter, and after a few steps they found themselves at the edge of the wood, looking down on a sandy beach. A few yards away a very calm sea was falling on the sand with such tiny ripples that it made hardly any sound. There was no land in sight and no clouds in the sky. The sun was about where it ought to be at ten o'clock in the morning, and the sea was a dazzling blue. They stood sniffing in the sea-smell.
“By Jove!” said Peter. “This is good enough.”
Five minutes later everyone was barefooted and wading in the cool clear water. ❞
Pairing: Jungkook | Reader Word Count: 34.8k (ooops someone’s got a bit carried away hehe) Genre: PrinceJungkookAU, Angst, Fluff & Smut.
A/N: This is the first story of the five “short” (if you can call them short lmao) stories about Greyria that I’ll be posting during summer. Probably I won’t be posting the next one until a couple of weeks from today, because I have the idea of them all, but none is completely written yet. I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think of it! Because It’s really long, I fear you won’t be able to read it from your phone or tablet, sorry :(
Summary:After all, he was her red rose, while she was just
another one of the many blue roses that grew in the dying gardens of Greyria.
“The best stories - those that speak about past lovers, about untold
stories and broken hearts, about beautiful promises of future and happiness
that got lost in the wind; those that make you feel happiness, loss, hurt,
love, hate, fear and sadness all at once; those that live in your heart for the
rest of your days - always have sad endings, my love,” her grandma had always told her
when she was just a little girl in a baby pink dress.
a fresh cup of mint tea, the sound of a xylophone, labrador puppies, the warmth of the sun at 5pm, two women holding hands, laying in uncut grass, watching the sky turn pink, the smell of the person you love, clear sea water, journalling about happy memories, forehead kisses, the first day of summer, dimples, small palm trees, comfortable silence.
Your grandfather was a fisherman. Your father and aunts and uncles worked the waters and the docks in the coastal town you hail from. It’s not glamorous, and nobody in the family had made it into college before. You grew up in a tidy little house that always smelled a bit of fish with a huge extended family.
Nobody expected the scholarship letter when it arrived, praising your performance in the local high school swim team, and nobody had ever heard of the school. Your parents were thrilled, and so were most of the aunts and uncles. Your grandfather was suspicious, making vague noises that sounded like “tricks and bargains and that kind of business.” What he said out loud was: “Don’t ever leave the sea. It’ll break your heart, girl.”
You were excited and optimistic and exuberant, and you packed your competition suit and a bag of things from home and you went off to college, not listening.
Freshman year was odd. You knew you wouldn’t really fit in, given you were a scholarship kid from the back end of the east coast, but it was more than that. You were, of course, on the women’s swim team, but some of the other athletes were … you couldn’t put your finger on it. A couple of the girls seemed too tall, and they never quite got the green from the pool out of their hair. One of the boys was much stockier than the others, a bit like your dad, but he could swim as fast and powerfully as you. He wouldn’t ever speak to you. Some of them were hard to look at, and kept to themselves. Some of them were just ordinary, but they kind of steered clear of you too. It seemed the only thing holding the teams together were the coaches. There were practices, and competitions and your team always did amazingly, but never made it out of state.
Your classes were … classes. Like high school but more interesting. Your managed to keep a decent GPA to hold onto that scholarship, but some of it was a chore. Sandy the RA gave you a list of rules and warned you about some of the other students. There was some superstition about, but given your heritage, none of that seemed off. Fishermen are superstitious folks.
Your roommate was snooty and complained constantly that you still smelled of fish, especially after winter break. You finally told her to go suck a clam and she stopped speaking to you. That was fine with you. You weren’t much for socializing with people who didn’t know the ocean.
That one guy, though, the one who asked you out after the first week of Comp 102 in January. That one, he was great. He was some kind of surfer kid from California. Not a college athlete, but Surfer Boy skated everywhere, talked constantly about the beaches and waves. Somehow tan even in winter.
The third week you were dating, he got you that steel ring for “safety” and you thought it was sweet. It said “always yours” on the inside and got stuck on your finger.
And then - your swimming performance dropped off. They threatened to bench you. There was an uncomfortable conference with the coach and the dean. The rest of the team avoided you even more, and Surfer Boy got … weird. Possessive. Mean.
He thought it was fine that you weren’t competing for a while. He could have you all to himself outside of class time. Isn’t that great? Maybe you could come to California with him for Spring Break. You didn’t want to, though. You wanted to go back to the cold water of home.
Then, about a week after you got benched, out of the blue while you were studying together, he asked you where your skin was. You had no idea what he meant, WTF was this serial killer shit he was asking you? You suddenly remembered Sandy’s warnings, and took off without your books to ask her for help, maybe how to get a restraining order? And maybe to help get this ring off, too.
Sandy the RA (short for Cassandra? Because nobody ever listened to her, not because it was her name) halfway listened to you, nodded tiredly, grabbed a form from a file for submitting to the dean of students and campus security and had you fill it out. Then, as you were both reading the forms over for errors, she looked up sharply, said, “Wait. A ring? Let me see that.”
Sandy took one look at it, got out a saw, and before you could even react, cut it off your finger, in two pieces. One piece said “always” the other said “yours” and she shook her head. “I thought I told you to never accept gifts?”
“But he’s just human, Sandy. Normal, even. More normal than I am.”
“Yeah, nobodyever listens to me.”
Under where the ring had sat for two of the worst weeks of your life, was fur. Sleek, short, dark fur. You yelped.
Sandy blinked slowly, somehow looking completely unsurprised, and said, “That stocky guy on the men’s swim team? The one they call Lion? GO. Talk to him. Show him your hand, he’ll talk to you now. I think he can help.”
As you left, she said, with her back turned, “I don’t think your grandfather was completely honest with you. Have you ever seen any photos of your grandmother? Do you know where she was from?”
A spell jar to hold the energies and essence of the ocean for use when one is away from the ocean. Good for charging, meditation, sea grounding, spell strengthening, and general ocean witchcraft.
You Will Need:
🌊 A Jar with a tight sealing lid or cork (preferably one that won’t rust) 🌊 Beach Sand 🌊 Sea Salt 🌊 Sea Water (or storm water if you can’t get sea water, tap works if really needed) 🌊 Dried Kelp or Kelp Powder (small amount)
🌊 Sea Shells or crushed shells of choice
🌊 Driftwood (small)
🌊 Sea glass
🌊 Twine or Rope or Blue Ribbon
🌊 Make sure your jar is cleansed and yourself before beginning spell. Have all items prepped and your area cleansed and prepared as you see fit.
🌊 In your jar add the sand covering the bottom. On top of the sand add your shells, driftwood, and sea glass
🌊 In a separate bowl or cup add your water and in it mix in your kelp and your salt, stirring clockwise focusing on the smell it emits (which will be salty and kelpy like the sea) and how the waves and currents of the ocean churn and move. If you desired you may play sounds of waves on a device to add to the visualization. As you stir focus on this visualization and putting those images into the water as you stir it.
🌊 Once thoroughly mixed pour it carefully into your jar, visualizing how the waves rush onto the beach during high-tide, covering the sand and shells on it.
“Water of salt and brine, upon the sand and bits of shell, the ocean I capture into this jar, so I may draw from its energy like a well.” While saying this focus on your intent to capture the energy of the ocean and have it with you when you need it, and keep visualizing the ocean and beach.
🌊 Once you have all of your water in the jar seal it tight with the cork or lid.
🌊 Take your rope/twine/ribbon and tie it around the jar just below the lip of the jar. “I seal the power of the sea inside, I capture the beach at high-tide.”
🌊 Keep refrigerated to prevent from getting gross though contents may have to be regularly replaced (excluding the shells and glass that should be reusable).
I’m a type of person who loves to be alone especially when traveling. It gives me time and particular space from this crowded place. A resting point. A haven. Away from everything. It makes me feel invisible to the naked eyes. And with music, I feel the whole world shut down in front of me as if I’m living in a different horizon. It gives me an ultimate freedom from this world. I want to explore new things and visit unfamiliar places all by myself. I want to try and experience a different culture and meet a different kind of people. I want to take risks, learn new languages and talk to strangers. I love being in strange places that I’ve never been before, the feeling of anxiety excites me. It makes me feel happy and alive at some point. It gives chills on my spine, and it satisfies my hunger from excitement and exploration. I love the smell of mountains and deep sea in the morning. I love the way my clothes smell the day after the campfire. I like the sound of peace and quiet. Traveling alone creates a lot of opportunity for me. Room for improvement and personal growth. A day to replenish my soul. It teaches me how to become independent and confident. It gives an infinite space of possibility, where I meet myself. And little do you know, we all have this kind of person living inside of us.
Percy Shelley: fields of wildflowers, unruly hair, the sound of children at play, abandoned houses, crystal clear creeks, the creaking of old floors, sudden bursts of laughter, mismatched clothing, haunting legends.
Claire Clairmont: rosy hues, distant singing, white sunshine washing over the floors, fireplaces, sudden thunderstorms, old journals, the melancholic feeling of first love, the white froth of the sea, the relieved feeling after crying.
Lord Byron: late lunches, semi-lit rooms, the sound of sails snapping in the wind, the light breeze coming off the water, the smell of old books, the drop of the stomach when seeing an ex lover, balconies overlooking gardens.
John Polidori: the gleam of fresh metal, cracking the spine on a new book, voices carried through the wall, fresh dew on the morning grass, shifting shadows, suffering in silence, the rush brought on by a bet.
Mary Shelley: the smell of damp moss, fresh linens, the scratch of a pen on paper, feminist manifestos, the cold comfort brought on by graveyards, the fresh smell of fall, foreign lands, a blank journal, painful nostalgia.
Kant - You are in a town in Prussia. A frail looking man accosts you. He knows you know who he is. And he knows that you can see the glint in his eye that says the beating that he’s about to deliver unto you is going to be universalised. 8/10, it’s gonna get Copernican.
Hume - A jovial looking Scottish man approaches. Despite his large frame and somewhat soft appearance you… you… uh, what? Is he here? Are you here? Is this, is this just a bundle of sense data? Somewhere,
however in some small recess of your brain - if that’s a thing, you know he’s barrelling towards you at incredible speed. 9/10, this is going to hurt. Without doubt.
Camus - You’re in a café. You think. It sounds like one, but all you can see is smoke and all you can smell is (other than smoke) deep thought. A man approaches. He smiles. Fighting you would be absurd, he explains, in beautiful floral French. You talk a while, about life, love, his work and honestly he just melts your heart. Fade to black. You awake the next morning refreshed and ready to continue fighting. 2/10, he left money on the sidetable. How rude.
Sartre - You make your way onto a bustling Parisian street. You think. Again, it sounds like one but there’s a still strictly ludicrous amount of smoke. It parts like the red sea. A bespectacled man approaches. He looks at you, and you know that while this man may not know himself, he knows how to fight you. The smoke envelopes you once more. He’s coming. 9/10, hell is this fight in particular.
Žižek - You’re in a fast food restaurant car park in Slovenia, and so on. You are bizarrely aware of the nature of society as you sniff. You don’t have a cold. For some reason you keep thinking about batman. The Soviet national anthem begins to play as a bedraggled man emerges from a bin and lurches towards you and so on. 7/10, the ideology may be pure but this fight is going to get dirty.
Diogenes of Sinope - You’re in a barrel. Masturbating. You reckon you could get used to this. Maybe you’ll go and interrupt a lecture later. Suddenly, the barrel is rolling. Someone yells at you in the most vulgar greek to stop cramping his fucking style. Oh, right. You get up, out of the barrel and lock eyes with the also masturbating Diogenes. In his free hand he wields a plucked chicken like a flail. 9.5/10, behold, a boss battle.
The Trinity - The notion of disrupting a lecture still appeals, so you head down the road to the academy. Before you arrive, you are manhandled into an alley and out and up onto the acropolis. It seems all of Athens has assembled. As you are shoved into… a wrestling ring, the crowd begins to roar derision at you. From the opposite corner approaches a man they bill as the Macedonian Menace. Zeus alive, you already know that syllogistically he’s going to beat your ass. The crowd roars even louder for some reason, and a second man enters the ring. It’s Plato. He roars and cracks an amphora of oil over his head. The crowd goes ballistic. He screams something about the form of the ass whooping. You cower. As if that weren’t enough, a third much older and frailer man approaches, and the two assembled part deferentially. Hovering about a foot above the floor of the ring is Socrates. I was wrong, he says - but more as a thought in your head than a vocalisation, I know one thing. He pauses for effect. The crowd is still. You’re fucking dead. 30/10, good luck.
So all of us roleplay here, but how many of you wish to truly improve your skills, gain a better style, learn and drive yourself to be better? I know that’s something I’ve always wanted to do no matter how well I write, I always strive to be better.
One thing to understand is that in roleplaying, there is no end. Even if you meet the end of a thread, it doesn’t end there. There is so much to realize. So in a sense, there is no goal in roleplaying, you are simply here to write and develop. Just like you develop as a person, you are developing your writing AND your character.
Another is to understand that you ARE your character. Let go of yourself, let go of everything you are and dive into your character. Become one with that person, see from there eyes. Don’t take the 3rd person point of view, standing above like god watching his children, join the heart and soul of your character .
How to Write
First and foremost, remember that role playing takes effort, time, and dedication. This shouldn’t, however, make writing any less fun!! But as writers, one thing we are all striving to do is improve, develop, and define our own writing style.
Let’s start with the basics. These are questions and comments you should think about when writing a post.
- The time frame. You need to know the date, it will determine what exactly happens to your character and what has happened before.
- The Season. This will determine what your character is wearing, what is going on around you, the environment and more.
- The Situation. What is going on that day? Is it changing your characters emotions? Could there be conflicts?
- The overall attitude. Your characters personality is going to shape how they look. If they are angry, it’s obvious they should appear that way. If they are happy, why are they happy? Write all this in.
- The appearance. People can’t read your mind, so state in some way what your character is wearing. How is their hair? Do they have anything odd about them that day?
- The Area. Again, people aren’t mind-readers. Describe the area you are in. Is it night or day? Is it wet? is it hot? this goes hand in hand with your season as well.
Please, do not be afraid to get descriptive, get in there, place yourself there and let people see what you have. If you barely give the minimum what you see in your mind the other play can see completely differently.
Do not get this confused with having to write a lot. Word Count is not important. Your beginning post can be pretty lengthy but do not let this intimidate you. If you give a good basis then the roleplay will become more enticing, allows a story to unfold and you will find yourself addicted to the scene.
So you have reach a point and you don’t know what to do, do you? How do you keep a thread liquidity moving so that you don’t feel stagnant and bored?
Don’t linger in the same spot. This means that you want to reply to what a person has given you but also add a little more to the end. Always go with the Who, What, Where, When, and How. Maybe someone interrupts you? Maybe you move to a new spot and it makes your character think of something? Maybe you find the time is short and suddenly you are late. Always keep a thread moving in some way. This will help you move a thread on for many posts.
Be Flexible. Allow for change, get into things you don’t expect. Don’t be firm on what you think will happen, roleplay is a fluid movement and if you don’t allow yourself to bend then you won’t get anywhere and the post can easily be killed.
Don’t be a dictator. You are not going to control the other person’s character or decisions nor will they to you. Play your character how you see fit for the coming post. So maybe things will end there, or maybe something crazy will happen!
Don’t focus on size. Word counts, the number of paragraphs, this doesn’t mean anything. What is most important is the fact that you give what you receive. If you give very little, do not expect much in return. This is where the effort comes into play. You want to give people something to work with. The more you give the more you receive!
Take a step in their shoes. Become your character. I can’t say this enough, get in their shoes, their body, their mind. Think of all those questions!!! There is so much that can happen within in a five minute period and you should touch base on it all.
I need the FEELS!
You see so many people writing these feelys threads and you want to do one too but you don’t know how?
Feels engulf everything. Happiness, passion, sadness, pain, hurt. These are just a few of those words that can touch on the feelings of people. So how do people cause others to feel such emotions. Like I’ve stated, you must BECOME your character.
Think about these questions. What is their heart saying? What is their mind saying? How do the feel? Are they scared? How are they showing they are scared? Why are they scared? What caused such fear?
These and more will help you develop the emotion and drive of a certain feeling. Dive into the questions, don’t be afraid to think of them and to really feel them.
Connect with your other readers/players. Let them KNOW how you feel. Metaphors and similes make for great ways to connect. Bring to view history that has caused these emotions. Don’t be afraid to get into the meat of the emotions. Just what is drawing out these feelings that could cause such a deep rooted emotion.
But how do I describe?
Description is a major part of the thread, and as I’ve stated above you need it. But just HOW do you describe? The best way to describe anything is to think of the five senses. Many would think this is obvious by thought, but in truth you have to active think on it, not just realize it.
Sight: What are you seeing? What colors, people, trouble,s dangers. This makes up most of what is going on in the roleplay. If you don’t know the set up how can you reply? Set it up.
Hearing: This is probably the second easiest way and usually always in the thread. What do you hear? Any conversations? Fighting? Crying? Is there a crash somewhere. What sounds are around so that someone else can react.
Smell: This is one sense I rarely seen used unless it’s obvious. Think about what is around. The scent of the forest, the smells of the sea, is there food cooking or do you smell something rotten? This will help you better know the role play and what to expect.
Touch: Touch is one that is obvious yet so unused. Just think about everything you touch, from what someone wears to the things around them such as grass and trees. Clothing, armor, there is so much to go about. Uses this sense will make you ‘feel’ it and become more connected to it.
Taste: Taste is probably the hardest sense to try, but if you think about it, you do taste the world around you. It’s not just when eating, but you can also taste things like the dirt in the air, the taste of smog and the stenches. Smell and taste can go hand in hand as your nose is connected to your throat. Expect the detail of the taste.
Be sure to be descriptive, but not OVERLY descriptive. Don’t talk about a flip of your hair for three paragraphs, that’s outrageous. This is known as 'floof’.
Describe the meat, but don’t overcoat it with gravy.
Words, So many words!
Sometimes words and word count can be intimidating. But the beautiful think about this site is there is no demands on how much or how little you can write. This is known as relative word count. You write what you want, but I think it would be respectful to also, like relative word count, to give what you received. This doesn’t mean match word for word, or match count for count.
You should give the quality that you received.
First off, read the post. Don’t think about writing, just read it. Afterward, go back to the top and read the first paragraph and respond to that. Sometimes you can’t respond to the paragraph, and that’s okay. Sometimes when you respond to that paragraph you write two paragraphs. All that matters is that if you can respond, do it.
Ignore how long the post is. Like I said, count isn’t important, its the quality.
When writing, try not to reuse words over and over. Try to expand on them. The thesaurus is a wonderful tool for this. Connect with your audience as well as bring in things they may know.
However, be aware of the word, use the dictionary as well. There is nothing wrong with the word said! or fingers, or anything like that. The theasaurus is a great way to find a variety in a word but you also need to be aware of what that word means. Just because two words are synonoms doesn’t mean they will mean the same thing in your sentence. Don’t be afraid to research up words and expand your plane of knowledge. This is what makes you go from good to excellent.
This is where metaphors and similes are so useful. This allows you to write something that may not actually be in the time period but not expressly state in character.
Being Pro-active, not Re-active.
I GOT A POST!
Awesome! But remember, when you a replying to a thread, you don’t want to just reactive. This style is bad form, being just a reactionary type person. This will definitely kill your thread, causing people to just stare and go 'nope’ cause they have no real reason to reaction.
So what I mean by proactive. You need to actively engage the thread. React to what happens, but push it forward as well. Like I’ve stated above, there are things you should do and reply to, but always give a little nudge at the end of the post.
Now, as it is, I do not mean 'shove’ the thread. This can always kill a thread, sending something so off the wall people are just going to go 'WTF?’.
Don’t be afraid to close the thread if you think its done. You can always start a new thread, a new plotline and more. Some threads can last for only five post, others for twenty, and even more. The joy of roleplaying is you never know what will happen! You don’t have to involve everything in the one thread, so simple react how you need to and move on.
🌙 Figure out your intent or goal and what corresponding planets, stars, constellations, etc are to your intent/goal. You may also use herbs, crystals, essential oils, etc along with the celestial bodies of your choice. Choose which ones you think or what your gut thinks is best for you. If your gut says you don’t need that, then don’t use it.
🌙 Get in a comfortable position. Normally sitting criss-cross or laying on your back. Surround yourself with the herbs,essential oils, or crystals of your choice.
🌙 Close your eyes and take deep breaths in and out. Try your best to clear your mind.
🌙 Now for visualization, a large hole in the ceiling appeared or the entire ceiling is gone. Your celestial body(bodies) glide over the open hole or ceiling. If you chose more than one CBs, they can glide over in one at a time, in small clusters or one large cluster. Imagine that the CB(s) stop directly over you and that they start to send down their energy in a beam of light. Now, your body starts to fill up with light near the third eye chakra (in between the eyebrows) and the crown chakra (the top of the head) then from those chakras, energy starts flowing through your body, making your entire body glow brighter and brighter over time. While all of this is happening, thank the CBs for their energy,
🌙 This next step of visualization is imagining what would happen after your goal. What does it look like? What does it sound like? What does it feel like, emotionally and/or physically? What would it smell like? You can think of any smell that fills your intent. What would it taste like? You can think of any flavor that fills your intent. After you’ve visualized all of your gaols’s five senses, you can stop meditation.
pairing: sehun x reader, jongin x reader, yixing x reader genre: fuckboy!au, college!au, smut, angst, series summary: there was good in the world to balance the bad, but when it comes to boys are they good for anything except breaking hearts and causing trouble?
A/N: I WROTE THIS IN A RUSH COS I WANTED TO POST IT alSO NO YIXING IN THIS PART
Stumbling through the bodies of countless people pushed together in a sexual manner really was a struggle but once you pushed past the lone girl leaning against the wall, you got into the hallway and began walking to the bathroom.
You were aware of how big the apartment was but you didn’t know it could fit this many people in. It was a wonder you and your friends could even make it into the living room. You hadn’t told them who invited you to a party hosted by the most hyped up party throwers on campus, the thought of spilling your hidden secrets still scared you; especially after seeing the anger Sehun held over God knows what, you weren’t wiling to tell anyone you liked him because what if he didn’t want you to?
It had only been a week since you heard the rough encounter between Sehun and Jongin. It was surprising to you that a party was being held when it was clear there was tension between the boys, you just assumed it was a regular occurance. It wasn’t like you knew much about them any way.
At no other time than autumn does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost.
Renisance paintings, fields of wildflowers, old abandoned mansions with overgrowth, Greek mythos, old decorative bibles, the smell of hot herbal tea, early mornings, fresh dew on a spiderweb, makeup, large elaborate fountain sculptures, and the sound of the wind rustling leaves as they fall
Emerson Lake and Palmer:
smashed guitars, large cities at night, dusty church organs, metropolis movie posters, elegant gilded swords, old sifi novels, old alcohol bottles, the smell of cinnamon, bruised knuckles, sunsets, the smell of summer air, and the sound of a forest in winter
the ocean, iridescence, mountain air in the early morning, water lilies, greenhouses, the smell of the sea after a storm, holding hands, glittery capes, fae, ripples in a cup of water, elegant lace dresses, warm raspberry tea, daisies in the early morning sun, and grainy mermaid footage
large abandoned castles, old music books, smeared crimson lipstick, crowns made of gold and rubies, velvet robes, gold flakes, the smell of autumn, the sound of leaves crunching, baroque shattered mirrors, elaborate gilded daggers, red candle wax on a skull, the smell of insense burning, shattered crystals, blood soaked books, torn midevil tapestries, and empty parlor rooms with nothing but old broken furniture and paintings on the floor
Light shows, prisms, torn up money, the smell of old cigarettes that linger years after one was ever smoked, mushrooms, silhouettes, vintage postcards, erupting volcanos, broken walls, abandoned factories, the smell of an old book, dusty rooms, big fuzzy wool sweaters, and decorative tobacco pipes
the night sky, old science textbooks, silk kimonos, skeletons, the desert, the smell of new technology, dusty Ayn Rand novels, the sound of music through an old radio, the smell of an old maple table, the Canadian tundra, apples, smashed synthesizers, gears, grandfather clocks, and carved statues of trees
The rocking of the boat made you sick. Your wrists ached from the tight bonds that also latched around your ankles, holding you in a hunched position that made your lower back throb. The man tied next to you was still as stone, skin pale.
“Jonathan,” You whispered, nudging him with your shoulder. “Jonathan, wake up.”
He didn’t move, a new ache appeared. This time in your throat as you swallowed down the urge to cry.
“Jonathan, please,” You whimpered and pushed against him harder.
He remained still. Dead. Cold. Destined to be thrown in the sea when the pagans realized he no longer breathed.
The back of your neck prickled in discomfort. You twisted your neck to find yourself caught in the glare of two startling blue eyes. The cripple. You immediately turned away, staring straight forward, trying not to think of Jonathan next to you.
The shuffling behind you caused an anxious shudder to roll up your spine and lodge in your throat. The sound of dragging drew closer until it situated itself next to you. The smell of tangy blood filled your nostrils, the urge to vomit was strong.
“He’s dead?” The crippled pagan asked.
You turned your head away from him to look at Jonathan. The quiver in your lip was answer enough for him. He spit out a harsh command in his native language and nodded towards Jonathan.
You watched helplessly as two more pagans grabbed his legs and arms, swinging him overboard with chuckles and words you didn’t understand. A splash from the body hit your cheek making you flinch.
The cripple watched your reaction with a cruel smirk. You fixed your eyes on the ground in hopes he would grow bored.
“You knew him?” He asked, accent heavy.
“Yes,” you said shortly, clenching your jaw in disgust.
“Was he your father?” The man raised an eyebrow.
“Who was he to you?” He asked curiously.
“Why do you care, heathen?” You spat angrily.
He chuckled lowly, shaking his head softly. He mumbled something to himself before raising a hand to your cheek. You stared in fear at the first touch of his cold fingers. He watched your reaction, pulling them away and dropping them to the wood boards of the boat. He dipped two fingers in a puddle of blood next to him and brought the fingers back to your cheek. He drew a thick line from the top of your cheek bone to the corner of your lips. Your throat bobbed as the urge to sob built again. The pagan admired his work before one of his companions shouted something, making him crawl away.
You knew you shouldn’t have fallen asleep among these ruffians but your eyelids had been so heavy you’d given in. Now having jolted awake, you blinked in the darkness that loomed over the boat. The only sounds on your boat were the occasional splash from the bow as it cut through the glasslike water. Some of the boats around you had torches lit and the sounds of talking and distant laughter made it an oddly homey feeling. And then your muscles practically shrieked in protest as you moved to get slightly more comfortable, the brief comfort gone.
You sighed softly and dropped your head back against the pole you were using to keep propped up. You stared at the sky, looking for familiar star constellations. There were none. The sudden realization that you’d never see England again was like a large weight on your chest that made it difficult to breath.
“Are you praying to your god?”
You startled at the thickly accented voice. You whipped your head to the left to see the blue eyed man from earlier. He smirked at your reaction before sliding off the bench he was sitting on to crawl next to you.
“Were you? Praying to your god?” He asked in confirmation again and gestured to the other captives. “The one you all worship.”
Hot anger burned in your chest as you slowly turned your head to see all of your fellow townspeople in such despair. Some were so still you were certain they’d soon be at the bottom of the sea.
“I do not worship a god who lets his people suffer like this.” You spat.
The pagan nodded slowly to himself at your words. He scooted a bit closer, leaning in close enough so his breath, which reeked of mead, fanned across your face. You refused to move away, to seem weak like earlier.
“So you no longer believe?”
“I did not say that. I said I no longer worship. I don’t worship a god who lets monsters like you slaughter entire towns. Infants, children, women, parents in front of their little ones.” Your voice cracked and you swallowed, furious with yourself for it.
“Monsters,” He mused and tilted his head with a wolfish grin, teeth glinting. “Would you worship other gods?” He pulled out a knife and stone and began sharpening the blade methodically, waiting for you answer.
“At this point I wish to worship no gods.” You whispered.
He nodded again at this, as if he actually understood. He continued sharpening the knife in silence, asking no more questions. His hair was out of the braids you’d seen before, it hung in loose waves above his broad shoulders. His eyes gleamed in the low lighting of the stars. You looked back at your grimy hands before he noticed. He tilted his head to look at you, sinking his sharp teeth into his bottom lip. When you didn’t reciprocate he grabbed your jaw and forced you to look at him. He studied your face for a tense moment before you ripped your jaw from his grip, taking a shaky breath.
The heathen let it slide, focusing back on his knife before he put it and the rock back into his coat. He then produced a chunk of bread from his other pocket. A rush of saliva hit your tongue at the sight and scent of it.
“Hungry?” He asked and pressed it to your lips. “After all, I don’t want my slave to starve before she gets to see Kattegat.”
Your stomach dropped, you were to be his slave. He pressed the bread harder to your lips. You hesitantly opened your mouth and took a bite, not breaking eye contact as you chewed. You hated the sudden intimacy of this, him feeding you like you were helpless. When you swallowed he encouraged you take another two bites before he crammed the rest into his mouth. His cheek bulged as he chewed, washing it down with a swallow of mead. You watched his throat as he swallowed, eyes trailing after a drop the slid down his skin. He noticed and held it up for you to take a sip. You licked your lips when he pulled it away, unable to tear your eyes from it as he tipped it back again.
“You should rest, don’t wanna end up like one of them.” He said suddenly, nodding at a body currently being thrown over.
“I’ve already slept.” You responded shortly.
“Yea, for maybe an hour.” He retorted. “Sleep, it’s an order.”
“I said no,” You snapped.
He growled in frustration and dragged his fingers through his thick mane of brown hair.
“I’ll make sure no one rapes you, just.. sleep.” He insisted. “I’ll sit right here.”
“I don’t trust you either, Heathen.”
He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest.
“What are you doing?”
“Well if you won’t sleep, I will.” He didn’t open his eyes.
“Fine.” You mumbled, looking back up at the stars.
Well, this got deleted twice. Fuck you very much tumblr.