#Details: Ship on Rough Seas

[baby-girl-aaron-dessner]

evermore & ocean imagery

#evermore is an ocean album #original art: Ship on rough Seas by Max Jensen #i forgot to add closure & marjorie too #guilty guilty reaching out across the sea that you put between you and me #long limbs and frozen swims #Max Jensen #Details: Ship on Rough Seas #taylor swift #evermore #taylorswift #ts #willow #bon iver lyrics #lyrics #gold rush #long story short #taylor swift lyric parallels #lyric parallels #art #painting #oil painting #oil on canvas #art history #my edit #taylor swift lyrics #tswiftlyrics #lyric edit #tswiftedit #mine #parallels

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

FROM FAR DISTANT WATERS

PAIRING: Merman!John Price x F!Artist!Reader

SYNOPSIS: There’s something in the water - you're going to figure out what it is, and why it chose to save you.

WORDCOUNT: 16.8k

WARNINGS: Blood, murder, death/near death, assault, injury, gore, mystery, mentions of suicide, angst, protective!John, pining, sickness, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The little boat rocks as it slips through the expansive water, a thin hanging of mist in the air. The curtain-like film it leaves makes it nearly impossible to see the dark rocks of the shore a far distance away, and the dip and push of the oars through the chilled waves leaves splashing droplets connecting to your cheeks. You touch the flesh delicately, brushing away the spray as your eyes slide over dark, lapping water—deeper than anything. 

In your lap, sitting below the high waist of your skirt, was your sketchbook; the tweed material was all the rage these days, though you never focused much on that. The thick item kept out the chill of the, very, early morning, and that was all you cared about, though, it seemed you lacked the foresight to pack a proper coat. A large woolen shawl sat over your shoulders, hiding the plain white blouse but not its cuffs; not the slight poof of the bottom part of the sleeves. 

Your numb fingers fiddle with the pencil in your hands, your open sketchbook filled with page after page of images ranging from the common sea-bird to great ships and shorelines. 

“I still have to ask why you feel the need to tag along,” is the voice that breaks the silence, and you blink away from the cloud of condensation from your exhalation. Your ear twitches, but only a small flick of a smile pulls your lips at the older man’s garbled words. “So cold my damn hands are going to fall off. Why am I always the one bloody working the oars?”

Otto Whitworth was a man far into his later years—one who entertained your fascination with the raging waters and the need to immortalize them on paper; that draw to the sights and sounds. Graying, covered now in a large coat and his boots, with the long fishing rod knocking around by your feet, he grumbles more than he speaks sentences, content with only the pipe in his breast pocket and the promise of fresh fish for breakfast. 

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” you chuckle, glancing over at his wrinkled face—the glare of dark eyes set into a deep browline that’s more for show of annoyance than genuine emotion. “Gets the blood pumping harder, Mr. Whitworth.” Your vision slides to the shadows of the black rocks, and your pencil finds your palm before the sound of it meeting parchment echoes over the nothingness. “Isn’t it lovely? Listen to the Gannets.”

“Don’t need my blood pumpin’ harder,” the old man grinds out, scoffing. “Gonna make my fuckin’ heart stop, Girl…” Otto sighs, shaking his head as you chuckle. He growls under his breath. “And, no, I’m not listening to the birds—they’ll be trying to steal my fish soon enough. Greedy bastards.”

Your eyes roll in their sockets, pencil shading in the rough shapes of misty rocks, your face cold but still eager for something. There was a type of magic to this place—to Southern England and the small coast town you had settled in nearly a year ago: Redthorpe. 

It seemed your talent for the arts was appreciated here, you had a shop to your name and friendly compliments from the locals every time the door was pulled open. People here liked the attention to detail in a place where they had most likely lived for a good ninety percent of their lives.

You tilt your head at the paper as Otto lets the oars drop back into the water, grasping for his fishing rod that you kindly move closer with your foot. 

The man takes up the item and sets the line, whipping back the pole and snapping it forward with a wizz and a grunt—a cracking of old bones. 

“Now hush,” Otto sighs, settling back. 

You send a silent look upward, and at the same time as he does, you say out loud in a soft voice.

“You’ll scare away the fish with all that blabber.”

A heavy glare is leveled at you, but you raise a hand innocently and laugh under your breath. 

“I’m as silent as the fish, Mr. Whitworth.”

“Cheeky Bird,” Otto sighs loudly, shifting in his seat until he faces the water, eyes glinting. “You’re too wild for this place, then, eh?”

“For most places,” you breathe, smiling as you study the rocks again before going back to your work. It’s only after there were the wiggling bodies of three fish set into a fisher’s basket that the oars are taken back up and the silent water is again forced back by ripples. 

Pencil finding the middle of the spine, you close your sketchbook, the routine is as simple as it always is. Otto will complain about having you at his dock, he’ll begrudgingly invite you in and cook three fish: one for him, the second for his cat, Harriet—older than England itself and missing most teeth; as blind as a bat—and then, finally, you. After that you’re back in your shop finishing up your piece of the misty shoreline, working until the candle burns through both ends and the oil paints are swirling colors as your eyes bug. Bed, and finally, repeat. 

A splash of water makes you blink quickly, your head jerking over at the slide of movement from the corner of your vision. Eyes wide, you swear a fin had cut the surface of the water like a knife through butter. 

Your body moves closer to the side of the boat immediately, leaning over eagerly. 

“Hey!” Otto barks, steadying himself as the vessel shakes back and forth. Your eyes shimmer, a smile overtaking your lips. “Watch yourself—you’ll send me overboard!”

“Did you see that?” Your eyes dart over the water. “I think I saw a fin.” 

“You got excited over a fish?” The older man’s voice is unimpressed, hissing in the crackling of age. “Hell, I got three in the basket if you’re that bloody impressed.”

“Shh,” you wave one of your hands, unblinking. “It was bigger than a fish, Otto!” 

Your ears twitch to his scoff, his hands grasping the oars harder before he shoves the boat forward. Body looming, the intense pull of adventure dims the longer nothing happens, and after a minute or two of dead mist and water, you hum under your breath like a fool and sit back.

“Lost it,” your numb lips murmur, breath puffing out softly. “Damn.” You shake your head as the wooden dock gets closer, more boats tied and shifting with the waves. “It was strange,” you admit. “Like a deep navy color—with specs of silver along the spine.”

Otto pauses, his hands tight over the oars. He blinks over at you, face for the first time showing an emotion other than annoyance. You barely notice before the sheen of crafted blankness is back. 

You smile down the length of the boat, curiosity plain to see. “Do you know of any animal like that around here?”

“No,” Otto grunts out quickly, and your excitement dims sharply, blinking through shock. 

Your brows furrow after the silence falls stiffly—the boat had never been uncomfortable to you, the atmosphere quiet, of course, but always easy to charter. Now the air was…muddy. Something had changed as fast as a fish being yanked out of water. 

Fingers twitching, you sit back slowly onto the plank, pulling your sketchbook the tiniest bit closer to your abdomen. Face open, Otto continues to row and the entire ride is silent until the boat is docked and tied to the pole by calloused hands. Your digits grasp your shawl and wrap the fabric harder, shifting down to hide your chin into the wool as you shiver. 

“...Need help?” You ask, eyes still shifting back to the water like always. 

There’s something now that makes your attention drift like the waves themselves—and it wasn’t only the shadows of the rise and fall, it was Otto’s strange behavior. The man wasn’t one to just say one word and nothing more. He could bounce off you like it was a game; you often thought he enjoyed your company just so he could insult someone. Jokingly, of course. It was the companionship he craved, it was why he always let you on his boat in the mornings. 

Otto lived alone. You never asked about it. 

“Don’t need any help,” he grumbles out, tying off the last knot to the pole and stepping back with a smirk of satisfaction. “M’not in the grave yet, Girl. Been working the boats since I was out my mum’s womb.”

“Feel sorry for her.” Your mutter meets the air as light streaks through the mist. Breathing hot air into your free hand, you rub it over your arm repeatedly and sigh, fingers of the other limb tightening over your book. Absentmindedly, your head turns back to the open water one last time, for one last glimpse of anything you want to commit to memory while you paint—

The fin is back. 

“Otto!” Feet swiftly dart to the end of the dock, you stop only an inch away as your skirt whips over. “It’s back! Look!” 

A hand grasps your wrist and yanks you away. 

Gasping sharply, you stumble until the harsh bark of, “Get back!” echoes across the dock just as it does through your ears. 

“Whoa!” You’re quickly let go of, a shadow shielding you from the view of the water as you scramble to make sure your sketchbook won’t slip from your hold. Head jerking to stare in shock at the middle of Otto’s curved spine, your heart stutters in confusion and a bit of hesitation befitting one who was just manhandled. Standing up straight again, your tight face pulls in, the pound of your heart telling you something is wrong. 

Glancing past a still frozen Otto, the water is utterly devoid of life again—only ripples to show there had ever really been something there at all. 

“You go back to the ocean,” Otto yells, spittle flying from his mouth, fishing boots stomping against the wood as he moves forward a step, pointing. “Go back to the bloody hole you swam out of! There’s nothing for you here! Nothing!” 

You watch, struck dumb. 

“...Mr. Whitworth?” Your lips mutter out, eyebrows shifting from the waves to the man—utterly confused down to your chilled bones. Who was he talking to?

Perhaps time had caught up to him—was he mistakenly taking the rocks for people? The waves for whispers? All you had seen was a fish’s fin, nothing more, nothing less.

“Otto,” you call again, concerned. You should get the man inside; get him warm and let him cook his breakfast. “Let’s just go.” Your eyes blink lightly, fingers twitching over your book. “Alright…? My eyes must have been playing tricks on me, it’s nothing important.”

His form waddles past you, more in tune to his sea legs than the ones on land, and under his breath, you hear him snarl out a low, “You’ll not take her like you did Eleanor. Mark my words, I’ll be stringing you up by the tail first.” 

Withered hand connecting with your shawl’s edge, you’re dragged back with more force than you’d anticipate Otto still having, but you go with him nonetheless. 

Looking at the water, there’s nothing to see beyond the stretch of nothingness.

—

You dare to ask when you’re pushing the fish bones over to the side of your plate, slipping some mashed-up scraps to Harriet who lays in your lap purring. The rough scrape of a tongue licks your fingers, and deep gray fur caresses your palm.

“Who were you talking to back there?” Your voice carries over the small hut that Otto calls his own, the sounds of the water meeting the rocks plainly heard seeing as his property was as close to the cliffs as you could get without going over them. “I never took you for someone to believe in spirits.” The joke was a small jab, but even your own amusement was dim in the situation. Your hand puts down the fork and moves to rest along Harriet’s back, lightly petting the old cat as her half-missing tail flicks in satisfaction.

The man’s back over at the sink tightens. 

“You watch yourself near the waters, Girl,” Otto grunts, dark eyes glancing over his shoulder. “By God, you watch yourself. There’s things out there—terrible things.” 

“What kinds of ‘terrible things,’ Otto?” Your head tilts, sketchbook resting still on the table, your gaze flickering to it. Terrible had a nice ring to it. But something else was swirling in your gut now, a hesitation of a special sort that only comes out with the unknown paths of life. 

What could make a man born and bred on the waters so reserved when speaking about them? Your interest had been piqued—your curiosity unsated until you were given a clear answer. You’d only been here a year, that wasn’t enough time to know the secrets of Redthorpe; to be let into those deeper circles. 

Otto licks his cracked lips, the wrinkles of his face leaving behind something akin to a scrunched dog’s visage—worn by time and improper care from the damage of the sun. He’d been at work on his boat for decades, and while you took his advice with a grain of salt usually,  this time he carried himself differently: you wanted to know why. 

He glares with no venom, taking out the scrubbed pan from the soapy water and barking, “What’s it with the younger generation and their bloody pushing? Listen to what I’m telling you and take it as it is, Girl. You don’t go on the water,” he blinks, face grim, “unless I’m the one ferryin’ you through it, eh? That’s the end of it. I’ll say no more.” 

Frowning heavily, you sigh under your breath and shake your head. Letting your eyes slip down to Harriet, you scratch under her chin and stare into her milky eyes as she lets out a little chirp.

“So much for answers,” your lips mutter. 

But a fire had been lit in your breast now—a low simmering pull like a rope had been tied to your wrist, drawing you closer and closer to the rocky shore, to a boat tied on the dock which you knew was steadily rocking to the deep, dark waves of this isolated place. 

To a navy-colored fin in the water, and a shape far larger than any you’d seen before. 

Blinking to look out the window of Otto’s home, your eyes find the ocean, and the longing that you’d always had for it grows ten times larger as your sketchbook begs to be filled.

—

It was only fate, you guessed, that you had come to Redthorpe—a tiny, unimportant dot on the map—when the way of life you’d chosen had led you astray. This place was a way to start over. Fix yourself. You’d picked the least-known town in all of Europe, and that was exactly what you wanted.

One trait, though, that could never be squashed from your psyche was the lust for the unknown. It was an obsessive lover; a toxic hand on the back of your neck that dragged you back over and over, until there was only yourself to blame for the repetition of disappointment. 

It was the reason you found yourself on the shore two days after you sighted the dark fin that cut the water. 

Your lace-up boots were atop a large boulder, shifting as your body turned from left to right, eyes patiently dragging the expanse of nothing. Waves lap only inches below, spraying up to get absorbed into your skirt, shawl whipping with the wind. The breeze is stuck with the sounds of birds, the very beings darting above your head, playing their games with varying cries that sound like throaty groaning. 

Bending, your arms wrap your waist, lips flickering. You were cold, limb-numbingly so, but even if you saw nothing today, or tomorrow, the push and pull of the ocean was enough—the call of the birds, the hypnotic sway of water. Calling to you, even if it had no lips to do so. 

Taking down a lung-shaking inhale, you chuckle, sketchbook sitting in the small purse around your shoulder. 

“What am I doing?” You ask yourself, shaking your head. “It was just a big fish—that old man was just being paranoid, anyways.” Eyes caressing the line where water meets the sky, your smile pulls your chilled cheeks. “There’s nothing out here worth my time. I need to finish my work.” 

Leaning back, you rub your hands up and down your biceps, nonetheless enjoying your time despite the burning of something in the back of your head. A knowledge that the fin was nothing documented before? A hope of discovery? A need for adventure? Oh, who can really say—what can be known are only three things: 

One, the weather was getting worse, two, the water was getting wilder, and, three, you had forgotten the way the rock you were standing on had shifted when you stepped up to it. Shuffling, your boots connect to the right corner, and your hands extend to keep your balance as you hiss a low breath, purse beginning to slip. 

There’s a gruff call from the water.

“Careful, then.”

Your head snaps up to the sound of a man’s voice, and you startle sharply, gasping as your foot slips. A quick cry is all you get out before you’re suddenly plummeting downwards headfirst into the frigid water. 

The feeling of liquid is all-consuming as it seeps into your nostrils and ears, all sound muffled entirely beyond the roar of it leaving you so stupendously—a flare, and then nothing. Eyes bugging, limbs slashing through the waves, the chill hits you in the chest with the force of a stone, smashing through your ribs to weigh you down with concrete stuck in your lungs. It was entirely a bodily reaction to gasp. 

Through the blue and the bubbles, you start to drown. 

Fingers twitching, you claw at nothing as the darkness settles its hands over your panicked eyes, not for a moment thinking about who had called to you in the first place—or who was poking a head out of the water before you’d gone over. Obviously, it was a trick of your senses; no one could survive being out in water like this.

You certainly weren’t going to. 

Legs slashing, something is darting in the corner of your eye before your vision fails, but the rapid fear in your heart masks the hand gripping at your shirt’s collar. It hides even the feeling of strong arms until the point where you’re yanked upwards with little effort as one curls your waist. It doesn't hide, however, the way you vomit up water as you’re heaved to the rocky shore moments later.

Choking, you hack up salt that burns your esophagus until your lunch quickly follows—all spilled with little care for your hands caught in the crossfire. Spine arching as if a cat, air can’t come sweeter as it is drawn in rapidly; nearly hyperventilating on the ocean-smooth stones as your clothes are utterly ruined. 

Panting, gasping, shivering violently, your head pulls itself weakly upward. It doesn’t take long for your mind to scream at you, and your head snaps behind you in a panic.

But there’s nothing but the raging water and the splash of a large navy-colored tail as big as your entire body disappearing back into the depths. 

Your fear can only stay for so long before the threat of a frigid death becomes more and more probable. In your race back up the cliff face to your shop, your purse is completely forgotten, trapped on the top of that shaky rock where it had fallen from your shoulder before the great plunge. 

Your shawl is seen floating out to the open water before it’s grasped from below and suddenly plucked—vanishing without a single trace.

—

The fire rages with the inferno of a million suns, and it’s not nearly hot enough. Wrapped in every blanket, sheet, and warm item available, you still can’t stop shivering hours later. A teacup was stuck in your hands, the liquid sloshing over the edges to slip over your quivering fingers and absorb into the cocoon of heat. 

Breathing through your shaky lungs, you keep the rim of the cup to your lips, eyes wide and horrified. In the still moments after you’d stripped and tried to stop the onset of sickness that you could already feel coming, there was a flash of realization from your strange and fantastical ordeal. 

There had been a man. 

The sensation of hands around your waist—the gruff voice that had spooked you so violently. A man. In the water. Every time you blink, you see a shadowed image, a tiny glimpse as you’d turned to the sound of human speech above the shriek of birds. 

Short brown hair and narrowed blue eyes set into sockets of pale skin. A bearded face, mustache…square jaw…

“What in God’s name?” You stutter in question over your tea, shaking your head. “That isn’t possible.” 

Outside your shop, the wind screams, pushing against your exterior shutters as night sets in. A storm was coming; there’d be no other adventures for you. Sipping your drink, you shiver again, curling in tighter to yourself as wood crackles. The light dances over your easels and side tables, piled high with jars of brushes and pallets—bottles of linseed oil and liquin, labeled with little pieces of hanging paper at the necks. 

There are paintings in the tens—in the twenties—hanging on the walls and set to the corners, all blue and gray; misty and clear. The water is a staple in all of them, and the cliffs as well. Perfect imitations of this place, as if you could reach a hand through the canvas and enter a mirrored world. Great ships are in some of them, or little fishing boats, with the birds overhead. Sometimes, it’s only the water itself, and to you, those were perhaps the best of your work. 

There was a beauty in the nothingness. A mystery. Who knows what’s under that thin surface? Well…apparently, it wasn’t human. 

You swallow down saliva and your lips thin. 

The thing in the water wasn’t… unattractive, you had to admit. Beyond the waterlogged hair and dripping beard, a large nose sat—full cheeks with an odd mole over them. The more you thought about the brief flash of a visage, the more you grew to hang onto it, strangely. And that navy tail? It had been incredibly unique. 

Spiney, nearly—four thin bones going down on both sides, branching out from the tail starting with the shortest that was perhaps only as long as your hand until the final was as lengthy as your entire arm. There was webbing between each spine to help the thing through the water quickly, it spread to the end of the barb until it sunk back in a ‘U’ movement, before once more arching out again to connect with the next spine. Small gasps in the caudal fin calling to either battles or a natural state of being—for show in it…his?...species. 

Could you even assign it a human gender? 

You close your eyes tightly in your shop, trying to will the image away from yourself. “What in the hell is going on?” Your voice is scratchy and low. 

Yet, the undeniable truth was that the fish-man had saved you. It couldn’t be overlooked. Not by you, who now can sit in front of this very fire because of it. Like a moth to the flame, the surge of cautious confusion is burning your wings. 

Deep blue eyes like the ocean. A navy tail. A gruff, hard voice.

You open your eyes and glare into the fireplace. 

“What has this place been hiding in the water? And why did it bloody save my life right after it nearly ended it?” 

More importantly…you had to think of a way to get your sketchbook back without getting on its bad side.

With a heavy chest, and more than a little fear in your heart, it was resolved to do something about all of this tomorrow. There was no use leaving the shop now. Glancing at the shaking window, you could hear the ocean rampaging over the cliffs; hear the slam of the rain hitting the roof like pounding feet. 

But that voice played in your ears like a gramophone's bleated chorus. 

You shiver again, not from the cold.

Careful, then. 

—

There was no question if you’d gotten sick because of your impromptu bath in the ocean—the evidence was in your salt-covered shirt and the stockings that were still drying on the hearth. 

Pressing a handkerchief to your mouth as you cough haggardly. You’re bundled in a nice fur dress coat, walking along the street with a skipping heart, a simple cloche hat over your head to protect you from the elements; dark blue in color.

The irony was not lost this morning when the hue had a striking familiarity to a fish-like tail, but it hadn’t stayed in your hand. A small drizzle slapped the fabric, and you were thankful you had brought the hat and coat along with you on the move from the big city. 

You weakly smile and nod to the locals you consider friends—at the very least acquaintances. But before long, you’re at the place you feel you need to be to gain answers, too nervous to go back to the shore immediately.

The library.

Something Otto had said came back to you last night, in the throws of insomnia. The two sentences he’d called out on the docks that day—You’ll not take her like you did Eleanor. Mark my words, I’ll be stringing you up by the tail first.

Eleanor? Who was that and how did it correlate to the beast in the water that wears a man's face? Maybe, the local records would tell you the answer—there had to be something about this person, ‘Eleanor,’ in them, right?

If not, there was only one option left, and that was going down to the shore and getting the results first hand…you’d rather exhaust all of your resources on solid land first. 

Slipping into the library with a deep breath and a cough in your throat, you sigh and nod slightly. Time to get to work.

“Oh,” the librarian looks up from her desk, standing as you shuffle over. “Hello, Dear,” she breathes through a chuckle, eyebrows pulling in softly. “My, you look a bit under the weather, don’t you? Would you like me to get some tea going…?”

“No, thank you,” you wave an easy hand. “I’m here on a bit of an errand, actually, and I was wondering if you could help me with something? I need to ask about your records.”

“Records?” The woman’s face shifts to confusion, her body slipping out to stand next to yours, you bring back up your handkerchief and sneeze into it, groaning. “What kind were you thinking, then?”

After you can push away the sheen of sickness to your eyes you take a breath and clear your throat of the stuffiness. “Births and work records? Addresses?” You make a small noise in the back of your mouth. “I guess I don’t know…anything that might help me?”

The librarian chuckles a bit, amused. “How about you tell me what it is you’re looking into, and I’ll try and grab any public knowledge that I can find. We’ll work together, then.” 

Weight is loosened from your shoulders and you nod appreciatively. “Deal.”

“Go on then,” she walks over to a shelf on the far side of the room, standing as her fingers run the spines. “Occupation I can start with, Dear?”

“Well…” you pause, shuffling after as your head looks from one sizable book to another. “No, unfortunately. Only a first name.”

“You’re lucky Redthorpe is small,” the woman laughs. “Otherwise I would have told you you’re lacking your senses with only something like that to go off of.” 

“Eleanor,” you comment, licking your lips and staring at a spine labeled ‘1890-1900 financial records - Redthorpe’. “E-L-E-A-N-O-R, or at least that’s the common spelling, I believe.” 

The librarian’s body is stone-still. Comparable to the immovable rocks of the shore as the waves bash against them; the raging of the wind. When you glance over, confused at the silence that infects the building, you’re reduced to a meek hesitation at the blank eyes that dig into your face. 

“...Or…maybe it’s N-O-R-E?” 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you,” is the hurried answer, and then the woman moves past with fast feet, heels clicking over the hardwood rapidly. “There hasn’t been an Eleanor in Redthrope. You’re mistaken.” 

“Wait,” you follow, stuttering. “I don’t understand, there has to have been—Otto was talking about her not days ago!”

“You’re mistaken,” is the repeated, firm answer, the librarian’s body swirling to face you again, pointing a finger at you. “Go back to your shop. Mr. Whitworth is old, he sees things that aren’t there. Don’t take what he says to heart—”

“I saw it!” You bark, fed up. Your mind was sick of these games being played, left out of the loop like you hadn’t formed a relationship with the people of this town. 

The woman’s mouth locked shut with a clack of teeth, something darting over her expression…fear?

She backs up slowly. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dear.”

Your lips twist, a threatening sneeze in the back of your nose. “I’m done with the word games! It dragged me out of the water like a sack of flour and tossed me to shore! It saved me!” Her hands are held in front of her as you stalk closer, trying to brush what you’re telling her aside as she struggles to string words. 

“It…it wouldn’t do that—that’s not how it acts. You’re just imagining things; you’re under the weather!”

“Who’s Eleanor?” You huff, stubborn as you cross your arms in front of you. “And what in the hell is a man with the tail of a fish doing living just below these cliffs?”

Wide eyes meet glaring ones, and the librarian’s lips move up and down in a panic. 

“I…” she begins, feet tapping the floor nervously as the rafters creak above the both of you. “I can’t talk about it. It’s not something to be said out loud—especially so close to the water.” 

You bark incredulously, “There’s a bloody monster that lives down in—!”

A hand is snapped over your mouth and you startle, blinking through the twitch of your body. 

“Shh!” The librarian panics, shaking her head, with flaring eyes. “Stop it or you’ll end up being dragged down to the ocean floor like Eleanor was!” You tense behind the hold, shoulders pulled in. It’s a quick spit of whispered words like a fast breeze. “Do you want your body showing up on the rocks?! Stay away from it!”

Your heart pounds in your chest, vision darting back and forth before she finally lets you go in a quick jerk of her body. The woman backs up, quivering as her eyes go to the window, nearly panting from fear. 

She looks back at you, blinks, and mutters out a quiet, “If you’ve already seen it, it wants you. Don’t go back to the water,” before she rushes into the back room and slams the door shut with the slipping of the lock. 

Left standing in the open library, the shelves sit stationary as if sentinels to your raw distress—this had only left you with more questions and a handful of jumbled answers. 

“Careful, then.”

You shake your head harshly and pivot to leave the library in a stupor, shoving your chin back down into your coat’s collar as the wind slaps your face once more. The call of the ocean is like a knife to the back of your neck.

—

Call you whatever name in the book, but you wanted your sketchbook back.

No one in town was giving you anything that was of use, and Otto was tighter-lipped than a lockbox. There was only so much you could do—could speculate—before the need for your belongings was too strong to ignore. It took two more days of pacing your shop before it was decided. 

Taking up the heavy cast-iron pan above your fireplace, you slip the thing into your coat, shove on your hat with a defiant grunt, and force the front door open. It’s a ten-minute walk to the shore, and all the way there, dread fills you up like soup until you’re bloated with it by the time your boots hit black rocks. Yet, there’s a point where a woman’s courage outweighs the sense of caution, and today was currently that day. 

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you grab your skirt and hike it up, placing your boot carefully on the first of the larger stones leading out to where you’d been previously. 

“Don’t look at the water,” you mutter quietly as you move, not shuffling forward until you know the rock isn’t going to topple this way or that. “Don’t even think about it.”

But that tail…that face…

With a growl under your breath, you grind your teeth and continue on. 

The weather today was much more agreeable, but cold. It was always chilled in Redthorpe—dreary as if the clouds never left far above. You didn’t mind, and in your coat pocket, the reassuring weight of your pan left you much warmer than you’d like to admit. 

The heat of protection, so to speak.

“Even a fish-man can die, I’d wager,” you utter, grunting as you ascend a larger rock, palm slapping the wet stone before you heavy upwards, slamming your boot to the top much like a schoolboy as your skirt bunches. “If I hit him hard enough in the skull. I wonder though,” you sneeze, shuddering, “if he even bleeds? If I crack his head open…will blood seep out, or salt water?” 

You shiver, and it’s not from the cold. “Fucking hell, you do like making it harder on yourself, don’t you.”

Lightly panting, you brush down your coat on the top of the rock and turn to look at the boulder where you’d fallen previously, blinking. Pausing, your eyes find not only your sketchbook sitting there…but also your shawl. 

Struggling for a moment to try and justify your actions, you swiftly look over the surface of the water, seeing the gentle push and pull of waves. No fin. No tail. 

You aren’t sure if the feeling in your chest is joy or disappointment.

Licking your lips, you take a large breath before your face turns grim.

“Grab it and run,” your voice echoes in your own head, heart pounding with adrenaline the more steps you take to the boulder, water sloshing at the sides. You had thought perhaps that the rain—the storm—would render all of your lost belongings null, but as you bent and snatched your items to you, shawl hanging from your arm, you were pleasantly surprised. It was all dry; impossibly so. 

Amid your shock, your slack jaw, and the weight of your pan in your coat, your shaky fingers open your book with bated breath. 

Everything was in pristine condition, if not only slightly curled at the corners due to…your eyebrows pull in, expression struggling to take on the emotion of anything other than pure awe.

“Fingerprints?” 

Eyes slipping from one page to the next, flipping them only to see the press and pull of a long gone thumb, shiting the paper to gaze at the back, where a forefinger would have been. A hand laced in water had been turning the pages, just as you do now—and, yet, there wasn’t an inch that was damaged; nothing smeared. 

Shoulders loosening from their tensed position, your wide stare is utterly transfixed as your digits rub the material softly, feet shifting. 

Lowering your sketchbook, your small huff of amazed laughter, mind running. 

He’d been going through your drawings—he’d somehow protected these items from the rain and salt. How? Why? But another question wrapped its hands in your skull.

Did he like them?

Shuffling the book into the crook of your arm, you carefully wrap your shawl over the material to further keep it safe, not able to find your purse, though the only thing it ever held was your sketchbook in the first place; it wasn’t too important. 

Rising your head again, you gaze openly outward, lips opening and closing in a small stutter. Was he out there, this strange creature with a strong face and those deep eyes? That navy tail, looking like a beautiful imitation of kelp…was it just under where you now study the waves?

So many questions, so few answers. 

You clear your throat, holding your items tighter. There’s magnetism in your blood, and it sits on your tongue like salt.

“Thank you!” Your voice calls high, joining the chorus of birds far above on the cliffs. Eyes skating the rocks, the shore, the ocean, everything. Call you prideful, but perhaps the best way to gain your favor is to know that someone, whatever bit strange and fantastical, had enjoyed your work to the smallest degree. 

The way your eyes spark is still embarrassing, though, but it comes naturally after the heat that simmers over your face. 

“Truly,” you shout to the wind. “You have no idea how much this means! If you’re listening, I’d like to extend my gratitude…” Your face is beaming, and you can convince yourself that all of your fear over this is gone, even if that would just plainly be untrue. “My artwork is everything to me, I do hope you enjoyed it!” 

A creature so easily curious about your skills wouldn’t drag you to the bottom of the ocean…right? 

Hell, he’d already had a chance to do that—a perfect one—and yet, here you are. What the Librarian had said had to be false, it made no sense otherwise.

Seeing nothing, and knowing that you were needed back at your shop, you chuckle under your breath and back up swiftly, walking the distance back to the surrounding rocks and slipping off softly. Grunting under your breath, your boots hit the stone, and you carefully begin back-tracking. 

“You’re good at it,” you halt in a fraction of a second. “The images. Where’d you learn to do that?”

It’s a long moment before you turn with a cautious tilt to your head, and find the very same visage as you had a glimpse of days ago. You fight a fast inhale, but your straightening spine tells all the story it needs to. Like a fool, you lose the words in your mouth, as if trying to catch a bird of prey with a butterfly net.

A strong face is poking out of the water only a mere five feet away.

Your eyes slip to the soaked beard, the peak of bare shoulders—broad, of course—and the prying orbs that you feel will never leave; he wades there, arms under the dark water only a flash of pale skin before they’re gone again. 

“I…” you lick your lips, blinking through the moment of animalistic panic. You were on land, there was nothing to fear. The sight was still something to be remembered, though. “I was self-taught, Sir.” 

Blue eyes blink, serious face only made more so by the twitching of his large nose, which water drips from periodically. Droplets stay stuck to his dark lashes, and you’re near bursting with questions. 

But silence persists long after your sentence filters out to nothing.

“You pulled me from the water,” you state slowly. “And I don’t even know your name.”

The man looks you up and down, not arrogant, no, but in a way that is comparable to how you did the same to him. Studying you as if your body was strange to him. The realization almost made you laugh—perhaps it was strange to him.

You want to see that tail of his again. Your fingers itch to sketch its likeness and commit it to muscle memory. 

“I scared you,” he grumbles, sighing. “It wasn’t my intention to send you over.” Eyes still stay stuck. “My own fault.”

“I won’t deny you there,” you huff, gaze shifting away for a moment before filtering back. A slash of amusement curls in the thing’s eyes, and he hums. “Forgive me,” your breath wafts out over the air, face going what you can assume to be sheepish. It astounds you, though, that the conversation comes easily. “But I haven’t the faintest bloody clue as to what to call you.”

“John,” is the reply. Accent like gravel. He doesn’t waste his breath, seems. 

“John?” You lick your lips, legs shuffling over the stone. The name leaves you holding back a loud laugh. “Well, I suppose I could have guessed that, then. I’ve met more than enough ‘Johns’ so far.”

“Funny, are you?” The response, however dry, is tinged with something you can’t name. 

“I try,” you nod jokingly, motioning with a hand. “Just didn’t expect a man with a fishtail to act so….human. Certainly not be named like one, either.”

“Hm,” John grunts, blinking slowly. A hand slips above the water, and you watch it flex and drag to itch at the back of his neck, hair over the arm slick to the flesh. Your face heats, and your eyes dip to see the small shadow under the water almost graze the surface, rippling the waves intimately, as if tail and liquid were of the same sound mind. 

It wasn’t out of the question to say you longed for a glimpse. 

What would it feel like to touch it?

“You live here?” Your voice is hoarse before you clear it quickly. “Right below the cliffs?” 

“You’re the woman that goes out in the boat,” John firmly interjects, and you blink, taken aback. 

“Yes, that’s me.” You explain, pulling at the lip of your hat to force it down further over your head. “Otto goes fishing in the mornings—I like to sketch the shore. He isn’t the worst company, of course. He’s kind enough to let me along with him.”

But you won’t be kept down. There’s magical curiosity in your chest now.

“Your tail,” you take a step forward, boots being licked by icy water. John’s eyes widen a smidge, not expecting you to actively move closer. His head tilts as if a bird, confusion brimming though he hides it expertly. You imagined he considered you a bit mad. “Forgive me, Sir, but I must know,” your uttered rambles make his hidden lip twitch, a little twist to your expression that shows wonder. “Is it attached to you, or do you slip out of it like a pair of pants? O-or even like wearing a stage costume? Oh, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

John can’t find the words for a moment, only able to watch and assess as he always did in times like these. You were…different, he supposed. But he knew that the moment you had shifted your body over the side of that old man’s boat—looking for a glimpse of something unknown. He could see it in your eyes. 

The water calls to you. It lives in your veins already, waiting. More salt and seaweed than earth and grass. Sand, rock, gulls, they all cry in the back of your mind, and your fingers itch to catalog them into immortality in a way that John was fascinated over—the skill of parchment and memorization. Mastery over detail.

He doesn't know why he’s speaking to you, truly. He’d done his penance; saved your life. But he knows he doesn’t dislike it, and that in and of itself needed to be understood. John couldn’t leave his analytical brain lacking an answer to a question as big as that—a woman of all things? A human one? 

Blue eyes can’t seem to slip from yours, as you await a gruff reply.

“No.” You blink, pulling back a smidge when John’s voice is low and graited. “Go back to your home. It’s late.”

“Hey, wait—!”

But he’s already gone under the waves, and you’re left with a waterlogged boot, a cast iron pan, and the two items that had survived because of a grizzly creature's compassion. Your lungs heave, and the cloud of condensation rises into a gray sky.

You stay there far longer than you’d like to admit.

—

You struggled, slipped, and climbed your way back to that point on the rocks every other day, and yet, there was nothing more to be seen of the man with the tail. You knew he was out there, felt it in your bones, and still…you were left here staring out at far-off boats and half-hopes. Wondering. Waiting. 

In the days that passed, you would explore the shore further, going in nooks and deep bends that extended into the cliffs during low tide, cringing away from the slippery fingers of kelp stuck to the walls. Dead fish, mucus-lined snails—you had made the important decision of leaving your sketchbook at home, the pages already filled with the perfect reflection of a man’s face peeking above the water. 

Taking off your hat, you huff on a similar day to those others, this time slipping inside a cave with a direct connection to the ocean. There wasn’t any wind in here—and you sigh in relief as your breeze-bitten cheeks can finally get a rest. You didn’t know what you expected to find doing all this fruitless searching, but it didn’t erase the fact that you enjoyed it; looking for a glimpse of something out of the ordinary. 

Brushing your hat of sand and other such items, your head swivels softly, a delicate smile on your face as water drips from the rock ceiling, stalactites like broken fingers reaching for the ground. A pool of sorts takes up most of this place, the thing extending to the ocean through a medium-sized opening in the stone.

You turn in a half-circle. 

“Beautiful,” your lips murmur, voice echoing. 

Walking forward, every so often your body stoops to carefully grasp shells and smoothed shards of colored glass, beaten down by waves and reduced to harmless trinkets. Continuing, you care little about your boots or your coat, only for the pull in your chest that tells you to keep going until your legs are weak and weary—shaking from a day long spent in selfish adventure.

When you find the pile of rings, sitting in soft kelp, you nearly walk right past them until the glint of metal takes you by surprise. Pausing, your pulse warms as your eyes slash to the side, getting sucked in as easily as cookies to a child. 

Only hesitating a second, you slowly walk until you’re inches away, seeing different styles and gems like starlight sitting as if unaware of their raw beauty. 

“What are you doing in here…?” You ask yourself, your own voice responding from the walls as it bounces. 

Picking up one of pure gold, you shift the band to stare openly at an emerald nearly the size of your knuckle set into it. Lips parting, it’s as if your breath is stolen by a quiet thief. But the sudden arrival of splashing snaps you out of your stupor quite quickly.

Dropping the ring immediately back into the pile, your hand jerks to your chest as an increasingly common face shows itself once more from the water. 

You clear your throat, face burning as John raises a slow brow, glancing at the stash of rings silently. 

“One day you’re going to make me keel over,” your voice berates, pointedly avoiding his blues. So the items were his. 

“A thief as well as an artist?” John asks after a moment, tilting his skull as his body drifts closer to the rocky side of the pool. The next sentence is no question, only a statement. “You’ve been looking for me.”

You take a long breath, sighing, before you shove your hat into your coat’s pocket, glaring lightly. “You left so abruptly, I never got to ask my questions. Quite rude of you to keep a lady waiting, John.”

As you say his name, he glances over, but not before his sizable hands slap to the side of the rock and he hoists himself up with a single push of his forearms. The man grunts, lips pulling, before you’re left breathless. 

Eyes stuck on the upper half of his body, the water dripping down the hair-layered bulge of visible muscle, your wide vision skates from one point to another, flesh on fire the more you stay mute. But the tail—that was something you could never describe. 

The beginning was all you could see; scales of dark navy and a spread of muddled silver-like dots, nearly impossible to make out except at this distance. They began at the top of where hips should be, the scales, smaller and blending into the skin easily, only becoming larger the more the tail extended down; the appendage was far larger than legs would be, that you can tell easily. You can’t see all of it, as perhaps a little less than half still sits swaying in the water…but even this was enough for now.

This moment would be stuck in your sketchbook for all of eternity. 

It’s only after your jaw is slackened that you realize John has been watching you the entire time.

Forcing it shut with a tiny clack of teeth, you try to regain any composure you can. The being’s beard curls in a smirk, cheek pushing to show the lines near his eyes. 

“If someone’s avoiding you, Sunshine,” he grunts out, voice low. From the corner of his eye, he watches as his hand rises to itch at his beard. “They usually don’t want to have a conversation.”

“I think it’s fair,” you huff. “You can’t just disappear when I have so many unanswered questions.”

John blinks, attention not moving for even a second. Your own is less than firm, fighting to not dart down to openly study every dip and bend of his bones. He was so…stoic. Gruff. But there were moments of amusement—even annoyed interest. 

“I don’t have time to fuckin’ entertain others,” he thins his lips. 

Your arms crossed, face dripping into seriousness. “And what else is so much more important, then?” You raise a brow. “Scaring other women into the water?”

He huffs under his breath. “It was an accident—wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so jumpy, eh?” 

“It’s not like I expect to see fishmen pop out of the water,” you defend. 

“Mer-man, Love,” he licks his lips, sighing, as his eyes shift to glance at the opening of the cave. Your face bleeds into a slight expression of satisfaction, arms over your chest tightening as your feet rock back on their heels.

“Well,” you chuckle. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” 

An emotionless glare is all you receive. 

It was no surprise that you ended up blurting out inquiry after inquiry—what does having a tail feel like? How do you breathe underwater, or do you only hold your breath like a human? Do you have gills somewhere, or lungs? What other creatures are out there like you?

You have no idea what time it ends up being, and you have no intention of stopping soon. It’s a pleasant surprise, then, that John answers all of your quick words with full answers; giving slow, but not condescending explanations. 

A few times there had been tiny chuckles, and the little conversations amounted to you sitting on a rock right near the water, only feet away from where the tail drifts in the waves; John’s hands keeping his upper half straight as his palms meet slippery stone. 

“And the rings?” You breathlessly wonder, attention darting to the pile. “Do you find them out there? Keep them?”

John tilts his head in an affirmation. “Shipwrecks. There’ll be hundreds of them—I’m not one to keep many belongings, but the bloody things were nicely made.” He sighs. “Seemed a waste to leave them down there.”

You huff a sound of amusement. “I see. Fascinating.”

In the small pause, your eyes once more study the cave, seeing little breaks in the walls where cubby-like indents are. In them, your focus drifts from one glimmering object to another, all previously missed by you when you’d first entered. 

You blink. “You live here?”

“Affirmative,” John stares. His body shifts, tail flickering as your focus snaps back to it, almost lost in the way the ends so nimbly slice the water. Like wispy fabric. Your eyes soften like molten metal. You look back at him and find his eyes already locked to yours. 

Breath caught in your throat, you chuckle meekly to dispel your embarrassment. John’s face minutely relaxes, stern brow loosening.

“And…” you lick your lips, knowing it was time to leave. The sun no longer shines through the crack in the rock. “If I were to come back, would I be able to find you here?” 

There’s a flash of that same indecipherable emotion as before over his bushy face. 

The man was anything but small—everything to the swell of his tail; body hair for, what you assume, is to keep out the constant chill of the water. You’d never imagined that you’d find it all so attractive down to the navy scales that shimmered above the push of his side. That healthy layer of meat was eliciting far more of a physical reaction than you’d care to admit to anyone, let alone a priest of any religion during a confession.

Perhaps that fall into the water really had killed you.

“I’ll be here,” John responds lowly, gravel in his throat.

Swallowing down saliva, you push back the ravenous smile that threatens you.

“...Okay.”

—

And this affair became such a constant, that most of the people in town had begun asking about you as you snuck to the waters. Otto was largely concerned, but would not say anything more for some unseen fear—nor the Librarian, who avoided your eyes any chance she got. 

Dragged to the ocean floor. Body on the rocks. 

The sheen of discovery could be a powerful vice, and for those first two months, you never asked John about the woman named Eleanor or who she might be—what correlation she had to beasts of the water. Then again, you didn’t have to ask. He managed to get around to it himself. 

Your eyes blankly stare at the page of your sketchbook, the merman’s rough shape chicken-scratched with small lines into the parchment, and your pencil stays still to it, immobile. From across the cave, John’s face tightens as his eyelids narrow. You’d been quiet today, he had noticed. Usually so bright with your words, the walls had barely echoed with the symphony of your speech, and, more importantly, John’s ears hadn’t twitched to it. 

He had become fond of your company, he admitted to himself. A strange human woman with her fur coat and hat, the little sketchbook that held such wonderful imitations of life. John was anything but dull—he knew you drew him, and he entertained the activity. In fact, the thought at one point or another may have made the brute of a man blush a bit. So, when you were as still as the stone you sat on, he had concerns. 

He liked it when you spoke, even if it was only a tease. And the tightness of his chest when you don’t look his way is enough to leave his tail twitching in confusion as it sits in the water.

“You’re quiet today,” he starts, frowning. 

Your fingers jerk, sending a line over your paper as you blink, looking up as your heart skips a beat. Glancing at John’s face, the thoughts inside of your head slip until you can understand what he said. 

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, and the man’s face pulls. “You can speak if you want. I'm just a little distracted.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Love, yeah?” John grunts, hands shifting over the stone. He looks you up and down, tail sitting still below him. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” your lips mumble, and you shake your head. “It’s one of my questions again.” You pause, closing your book. “A difficult one.”

John’s lips flicker. “Well, we’ve been at this for ages. Can’t see how this one is more difficult than the others.” He nods softly, voice a low and somewhat smooth mutter. “Go on.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you huff, standing and placing your sketchbook in the driest part of the cave before walking closer. Bending right in front of John, your face is tight. The man likes it like this—having you closer. He can feel the heat roll off you, and his eyes flutter even when nothing on his face gives away the pull he senses in his chest. 

John hums and swallows stiffly.

“Why not?” His head tilts, and he clears his throat to get rid of the raspy scrape of his vocals. “Something going on up there?”

Up there. 

The Merman had asked about Redthorpe, as well as the rest of the people who lived there. The atmosphere, the way of life. Your meetings were more of an exchange of information and stolen glances than anything else, the other none the wiser to this magnetic attraction. It was a delicate thing, knowing that there was something more and yet unable to fully express the way it makes you feel. Neither of you knows what to call it.

“More so in here,” you smile tinily, pointing at your head as your cheeks grow hot. 

“Then speak to me,” John frowns, trying a low smirk. “Think we both know I’m a good listener then, Love. There’s time,” he glances at the entrance. “Won’t be near dark for a few more hours—don’t want you climbing at night.”

“Awe,” you breathe, beaming suddenly with that glint back in your eyes. John hides the sagging of his shoulders, only offering a hum under his breath as he looks over at you. His kelp-like fins twitch, and he wonders what it would feel like to have you touch them. It was obvious you wanted to.

Not yet. 

“Hurry up, Sunshine,” John grinds out, that accent all the more sandy. 

There’s a small grunt and a shuffle, and, soon, a warm body is plotting itself next to his own, arm touching his, and a pair of bare feet slipping into the pool. Blue eyes widen in surprise, head darting to where your form rests so simply—so near the crook of his shoulder that he could reach over and draw you to him if he so wanted. 

Your feet shift as the hem of your skirt gets soggy with water, and John barks out a firm, “You’re going to get cold.” 

“It’s not as cold here as it is out there,” you shrug to him, smiling with a side-eye. “Besides, I’m right next to you—you’ll keep me warm, won’t you, John?”

“Fucking hell,” he puffs out, shaking his head as he rips it forward once more, clenching his jaw. Your scent seeps into his nose, and when your leg slips along the side of his scales under the water, he all but goes a blank-faced scarlet. 

You hide a chuckle, shivering at the chill but more so at the unimaginably smooth sensation of John’s tail over your flesh. Your legs move through the water to cross at the ankles, your right hand resting to directly touch John’s left. With every pump of your blood, his own mirrors.

Yet, your mood sobers, and the joy leaks. 

“There’s a woman that no one speaks about in Redthrope,” you begin, and John settles to listen, brows furrowing in concentration as your skin sits so well next to his own. “Eleanor.” 

The man pauses abruptly, and you keep talking.

“And for some reason,” you sigh out a low breath, turning to look at John and his still face; emotionless. “Everyone seems to blame you for whatever happened to her. I don’t know if she’s missing, or…”

Your words trail off, insinuation clear.

Not noticing any chance on John’s face, you lightly bump him with your elbow, expression going concerned. “Hey, are you alright?” Your opposite hand raises, moving out between the two of you. “I didn’t mean to insinuate anything, I would just really appreciate anything you might know about it.” Eyes imploring, your heart pours itself. “I don’t think you’d do something like that.”

John blinks slowly, finally opening his mouth. “What makes you say that?”

“If you were some murderous creature,” you shrug, “I don’t think you would have tried to pull me out of the ocean in the first place.” Lashes caressing your cheeks, you smile. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” the man huffs, quirking a brow. “No, you’re not wrong.”

“Knew it,” you whisper, eyes crinkling as you side-eye him.

John chuckles, half rolling his eyes as he leans to your ear as he grumbles. “Gettin’ cheeky, are you?” 

If you were a bird, you’d be preening your feathers, eyelids narrowed. “Perhaps, John.” 

It is a wonder, then, that the two of you don’t lock lips that very instant—long fins curling around legs and shoulders stuck together, pinkies unconsciously sitting atop the others as if pieces of parchment. Blue eyes shift smoothly to your lips, but before you can register that they have, John’s head is already moving back and his spine is straight. 

The man flattens his lips, tilting his skull. 

“I knew of a woman named Eleanor—she would come down with her husband, Noah, and they would walk along the shore. Got close to this place a few times.” Dark brows tighten. “Found her body in the water after a storm about two years ago; brought it back to the rocks so someone could retrieve it.” Your face loosens as the information settles in. John makes a noise in his chest. “Interesting that I’d be roped into it, but it’s understandable. Always someone to blame, eh?” 

“I don’t blame you,” you whisper. “That must have been horrible.”

Blue slips over to you silently, and it’s a long moment before John only hums under his breath, blinking away softly. 

“Scared me when you fell in.” Listening, your heart clenches in your ribs. To think about what must have been going through his head at that instant was sad to you, and even worse so when you know he would have blamed himself if you might have ended up seriously hurt.

“Well,” you lean into him, face on fire, “it was a good thing you were there to drag me out, then. A little water never hurt anyone, so long as a handsome merman is there to take them back to shore.” 

John huffs out a laugh. “Handsome?”

“Oh, very,” you joke. “The tail is a bonus.” Your expression lightens, eyes glinting. “Since when did you know that navy is my favorite color?”

The feeling of the cold water is only a back-drop to the way John’s fins twitch against your bare legs intimately, and you chuckle as the beard can only hide so much red skin. 

“Bugger off,” he grunts. 

You’ve never heard a smile so clearly before in your life.

—

Your paintings were selling far better than they ever had, and you had to thank the new muse of them for that fact. 

John’s appearance in your work had started small—a glimpse of a fin, the presence of a shadow in the water—and had steadily grown. Now, hidden like a present, there was the image of some fishtailed man somewhere in all of them, a steady injection of magic into the veins of cerulean blue and ivory black. It showed you that fewer people knew about John than you had previously thought. 

Initially, you had imagined that everyone knew and the reason you didn’t was because you were relatively new here, but no. Most had been enamored by your work when they found the ‘strange fish-man’ in one, pointing and chucking to themselves, talking about how adorable it was. No one was shocked, no one sent looks. 

By the end of the week, you had been convinced that it had been narrowed down to Otto and the Librarian—

The bell of your shop dings.

Looking up from your easel, you smile and stand automatically, thinking about closing soon so you can go and see John. Nowadays, even the thought of him makes your blood pump heavy. 

“How can I help you today, Sir?” Your brushes find the side table you had set up, locking eyes with a tall, thin man in his late thirties. He wears a suit, and in his breast pocket, there’s the gleam of a gold chain attached to a pocket watch. 

“I’m here to ask about a detail in your paintings, Miss.” He’s well-spoken as well, and you’re shocked to know you haven't met him yet if he lived in Redthorpe—he doesn’t seem familiar at all.

“Of course,” you nod, perplexed. “I’m sorry, I think I missed your name.”

“Noah Moore,” is the even response. Noah is already walking around, bending to look into some of your work which hangs on the wall. “My neighbor brought home one of your pieces; I found I liked it very much. Had even considered commissioning.”

Noah? You blink slowly, watching. Wasn’t that Eleanor’s husband?

“Thank you,” your lips move, thinning. “That’s very high praise, Mr. Moore.” 

“This creature,” Noah stands, and dark eyes set on you. For some reason, the hair along your arms stands on end. “The man with a fish tail. Have you seen him?”

Your instant reaction is to lie, and that in and of itself is a telltale sign that something is wrong. Noah makes the alarm in the back of your head go off for no reason other than the way he’s trying to pry with that unblinking gaze of his. The rich apparel; the attitude. He isn’t right.

“Seen him?” Chuckles echo off the walls. “Who? The beast? No, Sir, that…thing…is just something I made up.” You wave a hand, but back up a step, trying to create distance. Your hip lightly bumps the side table, and your materials jerk. Gasping under your breath, your head snaps down, catching your brush before it can fall. “Oh my, clumsy me.” you laugh stiffly. “Apologies, Sir, but that’s the truth. I wanted to create something that all of Redthrope might enjoy; a local legend of sorts, see.”

Your eyes had siphoned back with a dread in your heart. The man mutely stares, a deep frown pulling his lips. As if the conversation had never happened, after a long stretch of tension, Noah smiles widely. 

“Ah,” he huffs, “of course. It was silly of me to ask.” Dark eyes are emotionless, and the pull of his eyelids is not there. Spine so tight it could snap in half, and your fingers curl around the brush before you place it down stiffly. “Though,” Mr. Moore clicks his tongue, taking one step closer. 

Your eyes widen, but you say nothing. Your mind flashes to John, and there’s a longing for the ocean so strong, it seems a good idea to you, to rush out the door right now and sprint for it; hurl yourself to the waves, if need be. He’d find you—you know he would.

“Though,” Noah continues, tilting his head. “There is a striking resemblance to a creature I recall seeing from the cliffs, the day my wife’s body was found at the rocks.” 

Backing up another step, your muscles ache with how you hold them like a shield to your organs. 

“As far as I know, only two others were searching at my side that day. And in it I am certain,” he hums, “you weren’t even here.”

Otto and the librarian, you think quickly, mind a mess of information and fear. It’s why they’re so spooked. They think John actually killed Eleanor and left her—they saw him bring her body to shore.

It’s a lack of foresight on your part, that the next bark is more of a reaction to the panic than proper knowledge, cracking under pressure. 

“John would never kill an innocent woman!” 

It’s as if a switch goes off, and, suddenly, there’s a ruthless hand grabbing at your throat. Yelping, you stagger back and snap your fingers to Noah’s wrist, clawing until there’s blood under your nails; air is sucked in with a wheeze. In the back of your head, there’s wild screaming, and you can’t tell if it’s the pounding of your blood or the internal sensation of primal fear. 

Raging eyes shove themselves right in front of yours, faces so close you can feel Noah’s hot breath moving over your burning face. You try to cough but find you can’t as one of your hands struggles to slap to the side table—searching fruitlessly. 

“John?” Noah sneers, holding tighter. “The thing has a name?”

Your easel clatters to the ground, back being shoved right into it. Mouth opening and closing, the cut of oxygen reduces your mind to acting purely off instinct—breaking down like glass to fracture to only one thing: survival.

“It was perfect,” Mr. Moore growls, eyes ablaze. “I had it all planned out, only to be ruined by a freak of nature at the last moment!” 

Your nails gouge the wood, dragging, searching, slapping. Anything—anything at all to help as your boots scrape from under you. You can’t even comprehend the words being said; all of it is a blur as blackness peels the side of your vision. 

Tears splatter down your cheeks.

“Two years, and then you had to come along and fucking speak to it! What did it tell you? Eh? What did it see that night?”

Your hand curls the glass bottle where you store your brushes and without another thought, you slam the side of it to Noah’s head. 

Shouting, the man releases you in an instant, glass leaving long lines of blood splattering out to sprinkle your face as it shatters, collapsing into itself. Connecting to the ground, your hacking can only take place for under two seconds before your boots scramble for purchase, stumbling and flailing at least once; lungs gasping. 

Shoulder connecting with the side of the door frame as you bang it open, an enraged scream follows you into the rainy afternoon, the rumble of deadly thunder far overhead. 

Running, you don’t know how to stop, and it’s even harder to catch your breath by the time you’re down to the rocks, looking over your shoulder as if Noah would be right behind you. He wasn’t—but the fear was enough to keep you going until you were bathed in sweat and barely strong enough to fall into the entrance of John’s cave, fingers cut up and raw from grappling over stone.

There’s a quick call of your name from across the enclosed space, but your ears are ringing too loud to hear—whipping around to stare at the entrance as you struggle back on your hands, legs shaking. 

“Love!”

Your eyes slash to the side, and through the quivering of your lashes, through the blur of tears, you lock onto the desperate slash of grayish-blue that’s a near-perfect reflection of the ocean itself. Painting, the realization comes a moment too late, as pale fingers touch your cheek and you flinch back with a deep pain in your neck. 

Pulsing veins echo along your entire body, but there, at the point of where hands had wrapped your flesh, it burned with a horrible fire that made thin noise escape your lips.

“Hey,” John breathes, having dragged himself at a moment’s notice across the floor of the cave. “Hey,” he repeats slower, eyes slashing you up and down for any sign of injury. 

His hand is outstretched, but he doesn’t try to touch you again seeing how you’d jerked away. The man’s heart had stopped at that—his concern shooting up similar to how he felt when you’d raced through the entrance as if a fire was on your heels. A near panic at the fear on your face, leaving his body on high alert; eyes skating the surrounding quickly.

But the splatters of blood on your face were something to reduce him to an enraged beast.

“What is going on,” he tries to keep the rough anger from his tone, attempting to leave it soft and smooth. There’s only so much he can do, though, as you shake and pant. 

Your body gradually slows itself, attention seeping back to allow you to take control of your limbs. The first thing you see clearly is John’s outstretched hand, and, then, the clench of his jaw—the eyes that follow every teardrop down the flesh of your cheek.

Openly gazing, when John sees you’re back, his blues slip to a softened caress. 

“Love,” he mutters, face tight. 

You shove yourself into his arms and let off a sob that echoes louder than any laughter could. Curling into his chest, water seeps into your shirt, but the all-expansive hand that keeps you close is worth every clothesline you would have to hang. 

“Shh,” John breathes, knowing that he’d get an explanation when he calmed you down, even if his mind was breaking itself to try and understand. “I’m right here, Sunshine. Breathe, then…I’m right here, yeah?” 

His nose pushes itself into your scalp as your head hides away, quivering body curled like a cat around a fish—no air between the two of you, chests running across the others. So little space, and yet this breathlessness was one you could welcome time and time again.

John watches, eyes always open as he glares into your hair, grip tightening the longer you cry; a feeling so potent brimming in his chest, he would be a fool to ignore it.

You were more precious to him than any ring, than any trinket he could stash away and forget about. The way his heart bent to yours was stronger than any storm. 

Breathing down your scent, John sighed, kissed the top of your head, and lightly rocked you back and forth. 

He’d wait as long as it took.

—

When it became apparent you couldn’t speak beyond broken little coughs and wheezes, John was quick to bring you to the water of the pool.  

Now, perhaps hours later, you sit with the burn and fatigue of crying eyes, sniffling as you shove away the stain of red on your cheeks. 

“Careful,” John lightly comments, grasping your hand and pulling it away. His own replaces it, wet from the water he now wades in to help. “Let me get it, eh?”

Your eyes stay stuck to his nose as fingers push away the crimson of blood easily, firm but still utterly delicate. 

“I’m not glass,” you croak, one hand near your throat. 

Blue eyes blink at you. “Never said you were,” he grunts, frowning, and you see his Adam’s Apple bob. “Don’t like seeing you with blood on your face, Love.”

Like it had never happened, the fingers return, and a moment later, he grumbles out, “And stop talking—you’ll make it worse.” 

You hadn’t explained, not yet, but by the utter rage you see John trying to hide from you, you know he understands how you might have gotten the swelling now present on your neck. His heart had been visibly pumping the entire time you’d been here; you could hear it when he was holding you, a relentless, thump-thump-bump, thump-thump-bump in your ear.

The brunette had been clenching his jaw more as well, grunting as if a boar after every sentence, a nervous habit, perhaps. He was trying to mask it for you, but you weren’t blind. 

John pauses his cleaning, glancing at your throat. 

He studies your face after he hums under his breath, having to dart his gaze away for a moment. 

“...Can I?” You pause, swallowing as the burn persists. 

Nodding after a minute of slow contemplation, cold hands shift to press carefully—not tightening, not holding you there—resting to give relief. You only tense a little, but as the seconds draw, John watches you sag forward with a large sigh through your nose. 

He lets a small sliver of calm enter him.

“Easy,” John whispers, blinking. He keeps the chill of his hands at your neck, fins shifting the water to keep him still. “When you’re ready, explain it to me, eh?” His head tilts, voice a low tease. “Glass or not.” 

Your lips twitch, and the way your eyes melt could only be compared to safety. You open your lips, and John mutters lowly as your fingers brush over his own, “Quietly, now. Can hear just fine—don’t push yourself.” 

Blue flickers to your touch, fingertips trailing his knuckles as the man grunts, attention fluttering back. 

All you say is one name. 

“Noah.” 

There’s a moment of confusion on John’s face, skin wrinkling, before the understanding settles swiftly—he wasn’t a fool. From there, his expression changes ten times over; that rage, then fear for you, confusion, and stubbornness. It’s of little surprise to you that a man so loyal was reduced to a dog. 

A dog with scales, that is.

Your body is still running hot—your heart still pumping, though the adrenaline has left with all of its stimulation. You’re tired, yes, that much is obvious. But you want John to hold you again. 

When you shift your body, the man’s eyes widen, and he blinks quickly in shock as your legs then slip into the waves inch by inch.

A noise exits the back of his throat, and John’s mouth moves in serious question. “What are you doing? Fucking hell, would you just stay still and let me have a look at you—”

Arms grapple around his waist, and a warm head burrows into his neck. 

You rest against him, body suspended in the water of the deep pool, a merman’s tail swishing to shove you the tiniest bit closer unconsciously. John’s chest bounces with every emotion, but all he does is stop you from sinking by holding you. Your eyes close at the dig of his hands, and, letting the water move the both of you, the smooth scales along your legs feel as if the finest silk. A thumb caressing up and down your spine; breath at the top of your head.

You both say nothing, and it’s a long while before either of you takes any action to leave.

—

When your words could be strung together and not broken every other sentence, you explained all of it, and the hunch you’d strung together in the meantime.

You fiddle with one of John’s rings—the emerald one—as you glance up and speak softly, voice still delicate. The pain still blossomed, but some things needed to be explained.

“I think he killed his wife.” 

By the way John stops massaging the flesh of your neck, letting you rest your head in the crook of where his tail begins and skin ends, you knew he already pieced that together a while ago. Your clothes were still heavy with water, and a puddle had formed around the both of you on the rocks.

“Hm,” is all John says, fixing the position of his lips as he looks away.

He shakes his head, growling out, “You’re not going back up there. Not while he’s still walking the streets.”

You frown, but John glares without any venom. “It wasn’t a question, Love.”

“What will you do,” you whisper, voice hoarse. A brow quirks. “Run after me, John?”

The man stares, not taking it as lightly as you. “If I have to.”

Your breath hitches, hands resting numbly over the ring as John’s fingers once again continue their touching—as if he can rub away the swelling; the damage of the veins. 

“You don’t have legs,” you utter, having to pause in the middle of the sentence to breathe deeply. 

“I’ll crawl,” he grunts.

“The rocks are sharp.”

His face is immobile. “Then I’ll bleed.”

Your mind memorized the stubbornness of his expression—the pull of the crow’s feet beside his eyes. There wasn’t an ounce of a joke in John’s eyes; no lie. Watching him, your face is loose with wonder, and water drips from your temple to connect with those dark navy scales, glinting with the light from the outside sun growing low. 

The ring in your hands is frozen, stopping its turning as your pulse soars.

John licks the corner of his mouth, glancing at the item of gold and green. 

“Keep it,” he mutters, tilting his head to the ring. “More of a use to you.” 

Larger fingers capture yours, and in one deft motion, the elegant item is slipped onto your digit, sitting comfortably as if made just for you. 

John shrugs. “The rest of ‘em, too, if you want the damn things.” His blues card over the view of your hand, and imagines fingers filled with every bit of gold and silver obtainable to him, brought up from the ocean just to sit pretty atop your flesh. Necklaces, bracelets, belts, and accessories; the things he’d seen from far distant waters. 

Oh, but they’d pale in comparison to how you would wear them. 

A muse to a song. A painter to a portrait. 

A women to the water.

He’d seen your latest sketches—you’d brought them down to him here—and when you were exploring this cave, he had taken a peak. Unlike him, yes, but there was a pull to it, that parchment bound by leather. He’d not seen anything like it, and as he had watched you work on occasion, he was entranced as he’d listened to you explain it. You’d told him that you could even manipulate color, and that had left his eyes widening in awe.

You were incredible, and when he saw his own likeness littering page after page, John had been unable to take his eyes off of you. A silent appreciation—a voiceless devotion. He’d never been…captured like this, so to speak. A mirror image. Details he didn’t even know himself, and yet there they were. 

Beauty marks across his cheeks and nose, the scars that littered his flesh that he’d all but forgotten about, the list was endless. 

But he looks at you now, and he can understand why there’s a draw to immortalize the mortal. 

His fingers stay at yours, and they brush skin as they dip along your hand, falling to your wrist. You stare up into his eyes, he stares down into yours. There’s little air to be taken in between the two of you. 

“John,” you utter, blue gaze stuck to your lips. 

He hums, tilting his head, his body looming over yours like a shadow. By the time his face is so near to yours, you don’t want to fight it, you don’t want to think about the strangeness of this predicament you’ve found yourself in—a creature living in the cliffs, handsome and half-inhuman.

When smooth lips brush over yours, and your eyelashes begin to flutter, the shouts from outside break whatever spell had just started weaving itself. 

Head snapping up, John’s body tenses as you push upward quickly. Attention slashing to the cave entrance, it’s not long before you realize what’s going on with a sharp breath and a leap to your pulse. 

The smash of something connecting to rocks echoes like a feral killing song. Yells. Yowls. 

“John,” you say hurriedly, flinching from the pain in your throat. Your eyes dart to his tension-ridden form, his arms wrapping above your body. “You need to run,” you choke out. “Go! Quickly!”

You only get a glance, and the clench of his jaw is as stubborn as it always is. Your brain already knows it’s fruitless. He won’t leave you here alone.

“They’ll kill you!” Your hands push at his chest, finger grasping at the bristle of hair to try and shove at an iron will. 

“Stay under me,” John mutters, voice low and nothing more than a chilled order. Yet, even he knows there’s little that he’d be able to do. His eyes flashed to every trinket and bauble he had collected, the new ones he’d yet to show to you, but there was few in the way of weapons. A dagger or two from a trench, a sword from under a ship—a spearhead. All too far away and rusted for it to even matter. 

There was a sharp feeling in John’s chest. A need. An oath that he gave to himself the moment he’d seen the way your little stick could breathe his image onto a sheet made of fibers. 

He was to watch over you whenever you were in his sights, and that had extended itself to gliding through the water as he watched you climb and grunt your way to his cave; a careful eye that he had no need to tell you about. That was just how he was. 

“John!” You try to bark again, growing desperate. 

Yet, it was already too late, and the merman hadn’t shifted even an inch before Noah, Otto, and the Librarian burst through the entrance like bats from hell.  They hold all manner of weapons, though the more you blink in a panic, the less afraid of them you seem, at the very least, the older man and the woman.

Otto held a cut-up and dented club, nothing more than something you’d keep for a home invasion beside the bed—the Librarian, a heavy book that seemed to contain every bit of information available to the world, so large it strained in her hands. Noah, though, was a different story. 

He had a sharp, long knife and eyes that could cut flesh by themselves. 

Half of Mr. Moore’s face was sliced up, cuts leaking blood to the ground—skin hanging and an eye completely poked with glass; shards in its gentle makeup. 

You swallow saliva and stutter through a shaking breath, and John’s glare could burn cities as he feels it reverberating against him. 

“There!” Noah shouts, balking closer. “See! I knew it was here—seducing the next woman to take to the ocean!” 

Your wide eyes try to take it all in, hands slapping the ground sending droplets of collected water flying. John’s face hones in, digging in like how the glass from your brush container had into Noah’s visage, and, somehow, you think that dead stare can cause more damage. Grasping the merman’s waist, you attempt and silently urge him to go. 

“Girl!” Otto calls quickly, eyes darting from you to John and back. Even if you could yell, you’re not sure you would. You wouldn’t even know what to say. “Get away from it!”

“I’d put that down,” John grunts to Noah, disregarding the old man and the librarian entirely. He clenches his jaw. “‘Fore you end up hurting yourself. Leave.”

“Otto,” you start, glancing at the woman beside your friend who looked like she was about to pass out when John had started to speak. The man in question’s face pulls, wrinkles thinning. “You have to listen to me, please, it’s not how Mr. Moore told you—”

“It speaks!” Noah barks, pointing his knife harder at John. “Freak of nature, it already has its hold on her.”

“Oh my,” the Librarian gasps. “Noah, it’s horrible—look at the tail.”

Your eyes flare with rage as John doesn’t react.

“Hey!” You shout, but instantly slap your free hand to your throat, coughing raggedly until your spine hunches. The merman brings you closer, but you’re already pushing until you’re on your feet, stumbling for a moment as John gives you a sharp look.

“You watch your bloody mouth,” you grid out, glaring, whipping your hands to get rid of the water droplets. Noah licks his lips as John grabs onto the back of your knee, fingers resting firmly. Sending a look down to him, your shoulders loosen at the expression he levels. You can almost hear the words.

 Steady. Keep your head on.

Though, a slash of silent pride made your heart stutter a small bit.

Your eyes glint. “Drop your weapons,” your sentence is crackling but nonetheless sharp. “Leave. John is innocent—he told me all of it.” You turn to Otto. “Mr. Moore attacked me in my shop, I smashed a glass container into his head so he would release me.” Otto tenses, club getting strangled by his fingers. 

“Noah killed Eleanor,” you breathe, John’s grip pulling a bit tighter as if sensing something you have yet to see. Noah shifts quickly, boots squeaking along the rock as he growls. 

“Absurd—!”

“He pushed her over the rocks and blamed John when he saw him bringing back her body,” you interrupt as fast as you can, pain bouncing off your throat. “You all saw it on the shore, the lie was simple enough for a man like him. Saying she drowned to a creature.”

It didn’t surprise you that John was quiet, that he was studying more the stance of men instead of talking or trying to defend himself. While he could be hard-headed and stiff, he was never dull—he never missed ques. So when Noah launched himself at you, Otto and the Librarian more confused and concerned than anything, there was only a heavy push on the back of your knee that left you buckling with a gasp, and then the explosion of water as John sent you both quickly to the water.

Hands whipping to snare around the merman’s shoulders, you’re only able to get a quick breath in before you’re completely enveloped in water, with John’s hand setting itself over your mouth just in case. The sudden rush is comparable to a heavy wind, yet far more cold and nearly like a slap to the back of your spine. 

You both disappear into the deep with a spray, Noah’s muffled yells of terror seen far above near the surface, arms captured by the Librarian and Otto—held at his sides. There’s a flash of those dark eyes, horrible things, and then John’s fins hide the rest as they slash through the water. 

When you both resurface, retreating far back near the watery entrance of the cave, John keeps you firmly behind him, your arms around his waist as you gasp for air. He keeps his head slightly turned to the side—always having you in the corner of his vision. Above the spread of his shoulders, you peek softly, legs suspended below. 

“Lier!” Noah screams, face contorted. “She’s lying!”

You look at Otto and see the grim way he’s already looking back, struggling to keep the younger individual from breaking free. He was sensical, but stubborn in his ways. Otto had a choice just as the librarian did—believe a woman who’d been here a year or someone they’d known nearly their entire lives.

“Noah,” Otto grunts, gritting his teeth. “Breathe, boy! Stop spitting, let her speak—”

The knife in Noah’s hands slashes the air, and suddenly there’s a yell from the librarian and a spray of blood. 

“Otto!” You scream, fingers flinching. 

The old man stumbles, hoarsely crying out as he grasps at his neck. Your eyes widen, mouth ajar as John pushes his hand into your head, shoving it into the back of his hair as he watches blankly, eyes glinting with a deadly hate. 

“Don’t move,” he utters quickly, sternly, to you as your breath breaks, mouth slack to stare at nothing. Scales skate your legs, great kelp-like fins curling your ankle. “Keep still. Focus on my words, Love.” Under his breath is a tight, “Fuck!”

John speaks above the gargling—the spillage of blood to stone. He mutters through the screams of the Librarian as Noah slips trying to run to the entrance, scrambling with bulging eyes. 

“Don’t look,” John says to you lowly, shifting his body as he keeps your face hidden away and let him hold you like a corpse to the earth. The sounds…oh, the sounds were horrible. 

But the man holding you tries very hard to hide them.

Your body quivers violently as the slam of a body hits the ground, the frantic calling of the woman still here with the both of you; the loud calls from the fleeing murder outside the walls.

“That’s it,” John’s fast lips are on the top of your head, muttering and trying to make his voice as even as possible. “That’s it, then. Doing good, don’t move until I say so, alright?”

When you don’t answer, only shoving your visage deeper into his neck, his spine-breaking-hold squeezes once, and his pounding heart bounces opposite yours. You don’t have to say you know him to understand that he’s only holding onto a thread of good manners, and that was certainly only for our own sake.

Otto was dead.

John leads you out, the gold and emerald of your ring glinting in the moonlight as he holds your body to his, the powerful make of his tail doing the work as it shines in the water. He leaves you outside, where the still running form of Noah is visible, yet the only person noticing is John himself. Your hands are so shaky that it would be impossible to hold your sketchbook, let alone a pencil. 

John takes one of them as Mr. Moore gets too close to the shoreline, slipping and getting his foot caught in between two stones. He panics, yelling loudly, as water is lapping up to his knee.

“Hey, hey, you hear me?” John asks, uncaring to the man, as he sets you down softly on a flat rock shelf. Fingers move to sit at your chin, and, through tight sniffles, you make delicate eye contact. He blinks, trying a tight smile—a flash nothing more. “There she is. Good...I need you to listen one last time, yeah? Just like before; don’t look until I say so.” Your face creases lightly, blinking through a haze of senses and horror. Otto was dead. 

The man that brought you out on his boat—the man that cooked you fish and acted as if a guardian to you. His cat, who would take care of her? It seemed a silly thought given the circumstances, but you can’t stop your mind from running. The house, the boat, the cat. The blood. 

“There’s nothing out here that can hurt you,” John grunts, grasping your hands and holding them, letting calluses and scars speak. “So long as I’m here, I won’t let it.” 

He nearly growls out the words. In one movement, he puts your hand to his heart, and your brain latches onto the rhythm as your own rampages in your ears. 

Noah is still screaming, but now it’s for help.

John’s voice lowers as he utters, “Hey,” the man licks his lips, eyes dancing to the side every once and a while. You stare, swallowing down bile. He says as fluidly as possible, keeping constant locked gazes. 

“Stay here. I won’t be long.”

Fingers glide down your neck again, feeling that swelling, and just as you register the kiss that’s leveled to your hand, to that gifted ring, John’s already away; his tail slipping over your flesh, fins gripping, writhing with their film. 

Yet, you have no trouble following his advice. 

The rising screams from Mr. Moore are numb to you, and the following wave of water that swallows him is only accented by the hand that grapples for his neck. 

John always seemed the one for revenge.

—

With the Librarian's newfound cooperation, the story became simple. 

Mr. Moore, distraught over the death of his wife, had finally lost it all when down on the beach with Otto, yourself, and the local Librarian—attacking and killing the old man in response to being so near to where he and his wife always traveled to. Afterward, he’d walked into the sea and had taken his own life. 

The authorities weren’t going to dispute it. 

You sold Otto's house a week after his death, seeing as he’d named you the sole inheritor of his estate and belongings. There was no need for two properties, and sitting in that small place was akin to torture. After all, he’d been doing what he thought was right, and dying for a lie is nothing short of cruel to those left behind who knew the truth. 

Harriet stays in the shop with you, where she’ll probably live out the rest of her nine lives peacefully. She’s quite fond of the fireplace. 

Most days, people find you near the water, and it’s something that wasn’t going to change even after Noah’s body was found in the rocks—freakishly close to where Eleanor’s had been. Some were calling it poetic and you’d have to agree…but for different reasons.

“You shouldn’t be giving me all of these,” you huff months later, sitting on the rock looking out over the water. A large collection of John’s trinkets is piled high in a wrapping of seaweed, shining bright as you mess with your pencil, leaning to stare at him.

John’s lips flicker into a smirk. He hums, content to watch you, from where he rests not an inch away. You lean into him, sighing, as the innumerable glinting rings on your fingers shimmer. 

“Want to,” he grumbles. 

Rolling your eyes, you look back down to your book, three of four replicas of the man’s scale pattern sitting, shaded and duplicated—lifelike. His tail sways with the water, half of it lost below. 

Your hands reach for them now, the scales closest to you, and you lightly poke and prod as John grunts above you, silent but willing in a way that speaks volumes. He’d let no one else touch him like this for the rest of his life—the softness of your fingers and the care on your face more precious than gold. You revered that tail of his; as if it gave over magic like a wishing well. 

Shivering, John’s breath hitches as your exploring moves, pushing lightly at where the top of his hips would be.

Your talent was fascinating to him, just as you were. If you wanted to ‘paint’ him, he’d allow you to do all the studies needed. Not only to give you a distraction….but because he can’t bear to be away from you anymore. It makes him nervous, and that in itself is an incredible feat.

“Where do you come from, John,” your question moves the air, and the man moves to pull your jacket higher up your body to stave off the chill. You glance at him, smiling, before your attention returns to your drawings. Sketching more, John resets his lips and tries not to stare at your face. It was getting harder to deny that pull. 

That near kiss.

“No answer, Love.” You stare as he quirks a lip, voice lowering. “I won’t be going back to distant waters anytime soon.”

John glances down at your sketchbook, seeing every scratch and bend of care. The both of you were strange creatures, perhaps. Unique—made for one another despite the obvious. 

He nods his head to it softly. The water laps at your boots from below, but you care little before John shifts your feet carefully further up with a push from his tail. You chuckle at him breathily, face heating.

“Getting water on you, Love,” he breathes. “New painting soon?” John asks when the silence settles once more, with you shifting your legs to sit under you. He still isn’t sure what painting entails, but you had told him that you would show him soon, so he knows to be patient. But yearning for anything regarding you is ingrained into his mind now—instinct.

“Mhm,” you smile softly, sending a look at your paper and the images. A huff escapes your mouth. “I think I’ll make this one a portrait.”

John blinks, tilting his head slightly. “Portrait? Why’s that?” 

Your lips find his, moving back up in an instant. 

For a second, the man’s surprised eyes pull back; only lowering as he hums moments later, fingers curling up under your chin as he sags. Lids flutter closed, and his tail twitches lightly.

“I have a subject that’s caught my eye.” You mutter into his flesh when you pull back, face burning as deep blues sear your mind, turning it into mush. Your skin tingles as chilled digits trail your chin, dripping water down your healed throat.

John watches, lips parted, as you continue on. 

“And I’d be a fool if I let him swim off.”

The both of you were going to be perfectly fine.

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@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #x female reader #call of duty x you #cod mw22 #mw2 #mw2 2022 #john price cod #john price #captain john price #captain price #cod mw2 #cod john price #john price call of duty #john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price x you #x fem!reader #cod price #price x reader #john price x female reader #captain price x you #captain price x reader #cod x female reader

[lumosatnight]

23 Fic Recs 2023!

This year has definitely been a year. I've devoured so many wonderful fics by so many amazing authors. Thank you @hprecfest for the super fun rec categories and for some fic inspiration! Here are 23 fics that I read and loved in 2023 (although some are quite a few years older) ordered by ship.

🌼 - fluff | 💔 - angst | 🔥 - smut

—

💫 DRARRY 💫

1. A post-canon fic

The Discreet Gentleman's Connection by pluto (gayrights420) [Drarry, E, 80.4k] 🌼🔥 I had the absolute pleasure of beta-ing for this fic, so when I say it is amazing, it truly is just that. Fast burn on the smut via Floo sex, slow burn on the in-person falling in love. Satisfying in all the best possible ways.

2. A fic that made me laugh

AITA for being "obsessed" with my childhood nemesis? by @rainstormradish [Drarry, M, 4.3k] 🌼📲 Draco on a reddit forum is hilarious just on its own, but the banter and formatting really bring this fic to life. Amazingly creative, had me in stitches!

3. A comfort fic

The Eighth Tale by @letteredlettered [Drarry, E, 12.0k] 💔⏳ An oldie but a goodie. I constantly find myself coming back to this fic and having my mind blown every single time. Time travel timey-wimey angst.

4. A fic with art

Dating Draco - A Visual Game by @itsphantasmagoria [Drarry, M, Video Game] 🌼🎮 This is a fic in video game form!! Amazing art and lovely story where YOU get to make the choices for Drarry's happily ever after.

5. A favorite series

The Journal of Dreadful Things by @lilbeanz [Drarry, G, 112k, WIP] 🌼📖 Hilarious, witty, AND COMES WITH ART!! Lilbeanz draws and writes a wonderfully delightful series starting from Draco's First Year. His characterization had me in hysterics. Book 4 is starting soon!

—

💫 COMMON SHIPS 💫

6. Fic with the hottest smut

Moonstruck by @prettyremus [Wolfstar, E, 3.8k] 🔥🐺 Found this gem while scrolling through the werewolf smut tag (don't judge me). I love the switch in dynamic with Sirius taming Remus's wolf through, ahem, rough sex.

7. An unreliable narrator fic

Sea of White by @dividawrites [Harrymort, E, 8.6k] 🔥🤍 Deliciously hot, creepy, and strangely sweet. Love their dynamic here, the unrestrained lust. Harrymort "die" and lose their memories, so, of course, then they bang.

8. A fic that made me cry

Far Apart, Far Away by @unmistakablyoatmeal [Hinny, minor Drarry, T, 1.6k] 💔💍 Infidelity angst has never been this good. I love the layers of emotion in this fic. Quick punchy sections that really pulled me in.

9. A Muggle(?) AU fic

Pleasant Hope by @ac1d6urn, @sinick [Snarry, E, 41.6k] 💔⛪️ Pastor Severus!! The angst, pining, and self-discovery in this fic is superb! I love the interwoven magic and detailed world-building of this little town.

—

💫 RARE PAIRS 💫

10. A fav amongst faves

The Last Trial of Peter Pettigrew by @sleepstxtic [Prongstail, M, 20.8k] 💔 🐀 Holy moly, this fic!!!! Is this my new favorite fic?? Possibly. The concept is brilliant, so creative and nuanced. The Peter character study using outsider perspectives is genius. Seamlessly balances canon and new scenes.

11. A pre-canon fic

Careless by @tax-onomic [Luther, E, 1.5k] 🔥🪞 Lucius/Arthur my beloved rare pair!! I am captain of the Luther ship, and Tax's fic hits all the right spots. The pining, the sniping, the prickly personalities with emotional vulnerability underneath! And all in the middle of a hot smut scene. Perfect.

12. A canon-compliant fic

Scottish by thepadfoots [Chedric, G, 749] 💔🌟 Lovely Cho character study focused around her Asian identity and the boy she loved.

13. A fic rated G (more like T though)

Lion-Hearted Girl by MinnieQuill (odainath) [Minmione, G, 4.5k] 💔🦁 I know the large age gap might scare some, but their relationship feels very organic in this fic. The setting is grim, but there is always hope in the darkness!

14. A fic rated T

You're So Vane by @patriceavril [Romelina, T, 6.8k] 🌼💄Romilda is so delightfully characterized, I was smiling through the entire fic. Angelina is the perfect foil (and love interest) to Romilda's attentions.

15. A rare pair fic (less than 2000 fics on AO3)

Snakeskin by @cntrl15 [Bellastoria, E, 3.7k] 🔥👠 Talk about a rare pair! Astoria/Bellatrix only has 2 tagged fics on AO3: this fic and the drabble I wrote based on it. But read this fic, and you'll see why I felt the need to write more in this universe.

16. A fest fic

Master of None by @nanneramma [Snormac, G, 5.5k] 🌼🧘 Severus is so wonderfully cranky, and Cormac is fine AF. The surprise pairing of 2023 that I never knew I needed and now I'm obsessed with!

17. An under-rated fic

Sun, Shadow, Shade by @naomijameston [Snuna, G, 700] 🌼☀️ Post-war fluff. Sunshine Luna is the perfect match for sullen Snape. A short and sweet fic for this underrated ship.

18. A canon-divergent fic

but somebody's gotta do it by nocturn [Pangulus, T, 920] 😄🧟‍♂️ This fic will make you say WTF but also huh, okay that totally works. The concept is WILD but Lyra executes it wonderfully. Pansy drags Regulus out of the inferi lake and they flirt a little while he gets de-corpsified lol.

—

💫 POLY SHIPS 💫

19. A dark fic

In his embrace by @loneamaryllis [Snarrymort, het!Snarry, E, 48k] ⚡️👀 Dark and dirty but so so good. A Voldemort Wins AU where fem!Harry is taken as prisoner. Snape's mindset as he tries to save her (and is forced to rape her) is so twisted and mesmerizing. Mind the tags!

20. A thought-provoking fic

Icarus by @thistlecatfics [Millvansy, M, 20.0k] 💔🍾 War trauma, addiction, codependency! This fic is messy with emotions but has a strong, beating heart underneath. I am in love with Parvati as she deals with Pansy's addiction and Millicent's denial — three beautiful, imperfect girls.

21. A holiday fic

A Time, Dark and Divine by @moonflower-rose [Dronarry, E, 17.0k] 🔥⛱ HOLY FREAKING FUCK!! The sexual tension in this fic is off the freaking charts. Drarry seducing Ron while on vacation in Portugal. Sign me the fuck up!

—

💫 GEN 💫

22. A favorite fic under 5k

The Scrunchie by @saintsenara [Lightning Era Girls, G, 4.5k] 💖👭 Such a lovely look into some of the female background characters, all following the path of a single scrunchie. Lisa, Padma, Parvati, Hannah, Sally-Anne.

23. A fic with an ending I can't stop thinking about

Through the Middlegame by @sandervansunshine [Astoria & Peter, T, 6.6k] 💔♜ Devastating, heart-wrenching, tragic. 10000% would recommend. Kylee has already heard me screaming in the servers about this fic. If I could get a fic tattooed straight onto my brain, this would be it.

—

💫 BONUS RECS! 💫

A podfic

Plenitude by @wilfriede, written by eldritcher [Amelmione, M, 14 min] 💔🥀 Amazing voices, amazing music, amazing ambience. Wilfriede really brings one of my fav Hermione/Amelia Bones fics to life in this podfic!

A comic

War Prize by @mrviran [Snegulus, Reggiemort, M, Comic, WIP] ☠️🐍 The panels are awe-inspiring. I am HOOKED on this comic. The murder and the TENSION. Ughhhhh so good. I am so invested in Severus's arc!!

A self-rec (completely self-indulgent)

For I Have Found Salvation by @lumosatnight [Snarry, E, 7.1k] 🔥✝ My first time writing Snarry! Priest Kink, church sex, and blasphemous religious imagery. Priest Severus is oh-so-tempted by Teen Harry. So fun to write and even more fun to go back and read as a guilty pleasure.

—

⚡️ Want more fics to read? ⚡️

Try my rec tag: #lumosinthelibrary

Year in Reading, b-day oneshots, WLW Library

#2023 fic recs #hprecfest2023 #year in reading #hp rec list #drarry #wolfstar #harrymort #hinny #snarry #prongstail #minmione #snuna #dronarry #lumosinthelibrary #2023

[tainted-liquor]

𓇼𓈒ㅤׂHow Curious... 𓆉 [4.11.23] - ft. Miles G. Morales 𓆡 genre: fluff, part 2 of Sea Grillz!

What a liar.

Two years ago, you met a human. A beautiful, beautiful human who promised that he would come back and visit you. You waited around the coral for months, breaching the surface of the freshwater haven every now and again to see if the familiar red metal cargo ship ever showed up again. You kept that piece of soft cotton fabric wrapped tightly around your gills in hopes that one day the boy would remember you and come back. What was his name again? Prowler?

You zoomed through the warm currents of the 'Big Lagoon', otherwise known as the Caribbean Sea by the surface dwellers in search of some new findings at the bottom of the ocean. Your tail eagerly jerked through the waves, propelling you forward with the force of a bullet train as you scanned the ocean floor for any new finds. You had somewhat of a collection; a brass hand mirror, several giant beady 'pearls' of some sort, silky gloves, and a plethora of coins from all ages and times. It was dark, barely visible as your eyes struggled to pick out every minor detail due to the lack of sunlight. But truth be told, you only had one thing in mind as you glided through the pure water.

You breached the surface, hair falling along your shoulders as your beautiful coral and shell necklace rested against your collarbone. You looked up at the warm skyline, losing yourself in the vibrant shades of orange, pink, and yellow that decorated the world and illuminated your skin. You raised a hand out of the warmth of the ocean, watching as your skin morphed from a pale blue to your natural melanated tone. Your jewelry consisted of pearls, small shells, your swamp blue scales that you lost along the way, and solid diamonds that shimmered on the horizon. It was perfect; no humans to disturb the mesmerizing crash of the waves or the blue tint of the water.

You felt for your cold neck, grazing your soft fingertips over the ripped piece of cotton wrapped around your neck. A sense of melancholy suddenly filled your mind, missing the man that appeared before you and swept you off your fins. You looked around the bare ocean, whispering a silent prayer to whatever may be listening. Oshun? Ikatere? Whoever ears it fell upon, you'd hope they'd hear you.

"Please come back tomorrow..."

You bowed your head before darting back under the deep blue, blazing through the current with no other goal than to get home safely. It was hard to describe this feeling of grief. Maybe it was the promise he muttered that remained broken, or maybe it was his sense of style with those iron-clad claws and shiny teeth. He hadn't left your mind since he sailed away, but you sure left his. You cozied up next to the soft pink anemone, allowing its tentacles to flick and wave at your nose.

The ocean surface went from gentle pinks obscured by ripples of water to pitch black. The inky sky glowed with speckles of stars as you laid back on your lively 'pillow', gently running your fingers through the rough nylon of the rope attached to your waist. You thought to yourself for a moment, dancing over the buttery kapa fabric that covered your chest. It was just like every other night, staring at the water's edge while you attempted to lull yourself to sleep. But there was a sudden urge for you to get up and swim out far east.

You gasped, hopping up at the speed of light, tail twitching with an unfamiliar sensation. Your iridescent scales glimmered under the moon...something was nagging you to swim east. So what did you do? Swam as far right as you could.

"Tú en mi cama..." Miles muttered, deep purple Prowler mask glimmering in the moonlight as music flooded his brain. He knew he was stupid for sailing out in the middle of the sea for no reason, but he had to see that pretty little mermaid again. The one with the big beady eyes and the baby-soft skin, yeah. That one. It had been two years since he last saw that face, and you've been burned into his brain ever since. So now here he was, out in the middle of the sea as his new watch spewed out coordinates for him to follow.

Still in that same red cargo ship he stole two years prior, he sped out into the uncharted waters in pursuit of the woman with the blue skin. and the perfect scales. It was a dark and eery atmosphere as he voyaged forward. The ghostly hue of the moonlight led him forward, serving as his candle in the abyss. The ocean shimmered, each wave highlighted by the fluorescent white as Miles put the engine in reverse and allowed the boat to bob above the water.

He stepped away from the helm of the ship, his heavy-duty boots making a loud thudding sound against the deck as he swung both legs against the railing. He hummed along to the reggaeton music that was blasting through his headphones and took another glance over the sea line. His twin braids swayed gently with the low whistling of the wind, as the cold air kissed every inch of Miles' exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Everything seemed to follow a pattern; the waves would flow and crash against the ship, and the wind would puppeteer his braids. Until there was a familiar deviation in the water.

You darted forward, ducking and weaving between corral, debris, and anything that stood in your way as judgment guided you forward. You passed by the little crabs and gave a couple pats to some adorable Mahi-Mahi before you saw it; the strange shadow you were met with long ago. Your eyes widened with hope and adoration, making no effort to conceal your presence as you breached the surface. "Hey!" You shouted upon seeing the familiar purple glow from some sort of mask. The small white eyes widened, glitching from their regular slits to tiny hearts as you swam closer towards the ship.

"Oh, shit-...Chiquita! ¿Cómo has estado? I missed you!" He shouted, lowering down some sort of boat attached to some ropes that he gestured for you to climb into. You held on to the edge of the smaller wooden boat, lifting yourself up with all your strength as you plopped down onto the rickety oak. He hoisted you up, using all his strength to pull you up on the deck with him. The floor of the ship was freezing cold, floorboards creaking under the added body weight as you flopped on the ground. You lifted yourself up on the palms of your hands, coming face-to-face with the strange 'prowler' once again.

"Where have you been! I've been waiting for you for...for...forever! You said you'd be back!" You shouted, wasting no time as your sopping hands grazed over his exposed arms. His skin was cold to the touch and littered with goosebumps as you attempted to take off his mask, earning a low chuckle from the boy in front of you. He grabbed your wrist, gently moving your hands away from his face as he went to speak. "How often do you think I can boat out to the middle of the ocean? Hmm?" He asked, his tone laced with gentle sarcasm and slight heartbreak. He really did want to come back sooner, but time has never been a friend of Miles.

"I see you found more jewelry," he commented, gently taking your glimmering hand in his as he examined the diamonds, aquamarine, gold, and blue calcite that decorated your knuckles. You were worth millions...fins or no fins, you had a killer jewel collection that could fund an entire generation's college ride. Miles sat on the floor so he could be at eye level with you, pulling you in his lap as he collapsed his retractable mask. "I got jewels too," he mumbled, before opening his mouth just enough for you to see the shimmery glint of...teeth jewelery?

Your eyes widened, pupils dilating as you leaned forward to get a good look at his mouth. His sharp canines were covered by a silver outline, while his bottom teeth were lined with what looked like pure diamonds as you ran your fingertips against the smooth metal. "This is...wow," you sighed, admiring the sparkling gems as Miles smirked at your reaction. "This is called a grill," He muttered, closing his jaws before you made an attempt to put your head in his mouth. You nodded, still processing his flashy sense of style as he scanned over your ethereal garments and figure.

"So what y'all be doin' down there? What's it like on the ocean floor?" Miles asked, gently kissing the thenar of your palm as your hand came to caress his face. You thought for a minute, letting the cold wind blow against your frostbit skin. "It's dark...I mean, I have angler fish! But other than the dark, it's very cozy," You shrugged, hands dancing across his black cotton turtle neck. "It's got a lot of cool things, and a lot of coins. Definitely a lot of coins..." You chuckled, feeling the soaked fabric trickle water down the nape of your neck.

"Damn...New York is never dark," Miles laughed. His laugh was cold and hollow, but oddly comforting as he fixed your makeshift 'waist beads' made out of a piece of rope. He took your face in his cold, and rough hands as he admired your perfection. He'd never seen such a pretty girl in his life, and she was miles away out at sea. Your button nose perfectly complimented your full, two-toned lips. Whoever invented that fuckass 'Phi' system was wrong, YOU were the most beautiful girl in the world; with your glimmering scales, flashy gems, and gorgeous eyes.

He wanted to take you back with him and keep you all to himself, so the greed of the world could never reach out and take from you like they took from him. But deep down he knew there wasn't a place for you in his world. He placed a cold, comforting kiss on your collarbone as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "C'mon, tell me about what you did while I was gone," Miles chuckled, hoisting you up as he waltzed toward the helm of the ship. He wanted his conscience to narrate his thoughts in your voice, that thick islander accent and velvety tone talking to him about his own moves.

You talked his ear off for hours, sitting pretty on his lap while he learned all about Aycayia culture, what you eat in a day, and how prevalent 'rare' gems are in the deep blue sea. He didn't care that he was soaked from head to toe, or that he was losing feeling in his legs the longer you stayed on his lap. He just wanted to hold you for a little bit longer as you mindlessly fiddled with his silver chain. His hands gently caressed your hair before reaching into his back pocket to pull out a small pinkish purple metal 'watch'. "I gotta go, I'm so sorry..." he muttered, attaching it to your wrist as the futuristic bracelet emitted a soft glow.

Your head cocked to the side, trying to make sense of the strange device. "This will show me your coordinates. Don't lose it. I'm gonna bring you with me one day, I promise," He mumbled, holding you as close as possible. The wind sang a song of melancholy, the ocean coming to a still as you felt your heart shatter into a million pieces. You wanted him to stay, to tell you more stories of his life as 'The Prowler'. You hated the idea of not seeing him for another two years, tears pricking at your waterline as you smushed your cheek against his.

"I really...really love you. Please don't take too long...?" You whispered, the top half of your body hanging off the rim of the ship.

"...I love you too."

@ashsostrange @chessbox @janaeby @faeriesoiree333 @fivestardior @an1bara @bachirasegoist @milesnanana77 @niaurluv @sp1derw1re @ban-al3x  @we-loveebony @kae2kaee @dxrlingcc @al3xwqz @l0starl

#atsv #across the spiderverse #miles morales #miles morales x reader #into the spiderverse #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles #e42!Miles #e42 miles x black!reader #e42 miles #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #prowler miles #miles 42 #miles g morales #miles g

[thevirtualvalentine]

005. ONE PIECE, VINSMOKE SANJI.

content warnings: readers gender isn’t specified but they are wearing a dress, terrible tooth rotting fluff (author is in love with sanji), morticia and gomez energy, smut author writes fluff (rough).

plot: it’s your anniversary with Sanji and it appears he has something to tell you.

authors note: me x sanji but in the form of x reader fanfic. this is how he confessed to me btw if u even care. Also, the accompanying song is Mio Amore by the Flamingos.

Such beautiful days on the water, it’s been a few months with him already; he only makes your experiences feel that much more sublime. You admit it was risky having relations on a sea bound ship, but you could tell Sanji was different. Not like men who only valued your physical attributes, but one who sees you for your most bare and essential parts.

He asked that you meet him in the kitchen tonight, just the two of you. You expected a fancy dinner and to most likely be interrupted by your Captain who was going to inevitably be hungry and plead with your date to make him a third dinner. However, that was not what you were met with exactly.

Stepping into the kitchen there he was, clad in a black suit with a button up in your favorite color. Pots simmered on the stove as the kitchen was shrouded in ambient light with low jazz filling every corner of the space. The dining table only set for two with bouquets of fresh flowers, where could he have even gotten those? You’ve been at sea for two weeks without stopping at an island.

He turns to you, dropping his knife before cleaning his hands on a towel. “And don’t you look beautiful,” he says, taking your hand while guiding you deeper in his set up for your anniversary date.

“Sanji, what’s all this?” He’s always like this, overly romantic in his affections for you. It’s like he’s never heard of the word subtle. Honestly, it’s what you love about him. His extreme attention to detail over you, the dedication it shows. No one in your life has ever been so thoughtful.

He doesn’t find your words to be critical, learning early on in your relationship that you’re eerily similar to him; posing questions as a means of guarding your own heart. “For you my sweet, happy anniversary.” He places your hand over his heart, allowing you to understand exactly how he feels in this moment. Nervous but calm, excited to be with you anywhere.

“Oh! Before dinner, I wanted to do something.” When he begins to speak, his heart rate picks up the slightest bit. His hand that was placed over yours let’s go before he’s swiveling on the heel of his foot over to where the record was playing. “There’s this song, it reminds me of you,” only softness is found in his voice as he tries to give context to his actions.

The music he listens to always brings a grin to your face, Sanji is quiet the romantic you’ve come to find out. Despite his womanizing first impression, you’ve learned that above all he loves with every fiber of his being; down to his finger tips and toes. He loves his crew, he loves his mom and sister, he loves the Baratie, he loves his true dreams; but you’ve wondered, does he love you?

When he places the needle down on the disc, an old sounding tune fills the air. He rushes back to you asking, “May I?” Ambiguous. You’re unsure what he means but you just nod. You’d give him anything he asked of you.

“𝐌𝐢𝐨 𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦.”

As the song begins to play he plants a soft and sweet kiss to your lips, pulling away all too soon before taking your hands in his.

The dress you’re wearing matches the setting so well, of course it would be like him to ask to dance. You can’t help but smile. It’s one that lights up every corner of your face, showing all the care you have for him in your heart. A small laugh escapes you as your eyes meet his.

“𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦.”

He’s nervous, you can tell in the tension in his shoulders that his posture is abnormally rigid. You’re both keenly aware of each other, intuition a gift and curse you both were blessed with. “You’re sweet dear, this is perfect.” You try to encourage him, settle any anxieties he may have about this whole set up. “No one’s ever done something like this for me.”

He can’t tell you just how much he likes hearing those words come from your mouth. Something instinctively within him wants to be your first for many things. He wants to show you a world where you’re the sun he revolves around, yet that you can also depend on him with any worry or qualm you may have.

“𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬, 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.”

You’re both now swaying on the wood floors, the occasional creak of the Thousand Sunny’s can be heard as your heels clatter against it. “Everything for you, always.” It sounds like a promise, something similar to a code he means to live by. A set of values that he refuses to break as his tone is serious.

“𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬, 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮.”

“Sanji…” you say softly, he always manages to make butterflies erupt within you. Your hands are placed on his shoulders while his find your waist.

“𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮.”

Your head is tucked into his chest as he holds you close. You can hear the erratic beat of his heart clearly. “I mean it. I would kill for you, I would die for you, do you understand that? I would give up the all blue in your name if you asked me to.” At that you gaze into his eyes, they always seem to tell a depth of truth about him that words can’t. The intensity you’re met with is almost frightening, dark eyes that refuse to waiver. His words go against all that you know. His loyalty to his crew should be first, not to you…

“𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.”

“Anything you could ever want, I would do my best to give it to you.” It’s tender and raw, his feelings always end up that way. You’re all he’s ever wanted and he’ll be damned if you don’t end up the person he wakes up to every day.

“But Sanji, why? What about everything you stand for?” You can’t help the rise of anger in your voice, he’s prone to sweet talking but this is flat out too much.

His face is unreadable, you’re looking for something; anything that could explain his irrational thinking right now. “Because, I’m in love with you.”

“𝐎𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞? 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞.”

Well, that could definitely explain his ‘irrational thinking.’ Your face screams “what” as your jaw is left agape. “I’ve been in love with you.” He corrects himself. “It feels like I was made for you, and you for me.”

His confession leaves you speechless. Stunned that a man could have such profound things to say about his feelings.

“𝐎𝐡, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞.”

He drops to one knee in front of you, taking your smaller hand in his while his thumb rubs against your knuckles. “I promise you that y/n,” he leaves a kiss on them while awaiting your response.

“𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥.”

Those damn eyes, the ones that see you for who you truly are. The ones that rip you to bits and can pick apart your essence, almost as if he can see past your physical being and into something more.

It’s trust that he places in you, handing his fragile and vulnerable heart on a silver platter that you could break into tiny pieces. He’d glue them back together and still love you. He’d rather be a fool that doesn’t learn his lesson than turn away from you.

“𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝.”

Sweeping his blond hair that covers half his face, you’re met with a man who wants nothing more than to love you and to be loved by you. Down to his core, that’s all he could ever ask from you.

“I love you Sanji, more and more every day.” Bringing yourself down to his height, you kiss his forehead, holding his face within your hands.

You swear you could hear him gasp in surprise. Whether it be your confession or action, he wasn’t prepared for it to be reciprocated in the same way. Just as you’ve never had someone to care this much, the same goes for Sanji. While he’s had Zeff, this is far different. A love that is romantic and unconditionally given, all consuming and devoted. You are better than anything he’s ever lusted after, and now that he has you he will continue to make you his.

“𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.”

He stands back up to wrap his arms around you, dragging you into a bear hug with a swirling storm of kisses that don’t seem to stop. “I’m yours, always,” he says to you. Carding his hands in your curls as he tries to meld your forms into one. “Yours, yours, yours,” he repeats. In the way that you need him, he needs you.

If it wasn’t for the food continuing to cook, you could have stayed right there with him forever.

#sanji #my lover boy #he’s so … perfect #I usually don’t write fluff but I only do it for him bc that’s my man #yk #vinsmoke sanji x reader #sanji x reader #sanji fluff #vinsmoke sanji x y/n #sanji x y/n #sanji x you #one piece x reader #one piece fluff #one piece #I feel like I dead name him when I call him ‘vinsmoke sanji’ like thats just sanji but —

[thewitchandtheassassin]

A Pirate’s Life for Me Part Nine (Wanda M x Reader x Natasha R.)

Summary: It all ends here.

Words: 1709

Warnings: Heavy violence, language

A/N: We have one more chapter to go, friends. We're almost there. Eat good.

Taglist: @natasharomanoffswife​ @natasha-danvers​ @aaron-despair​ @username23345 @xjiasx​ @nowthisisliving27 @higherfurther-romanova​ @summergeezburr @imnotasuperhero @miscmarvelwritings @captain-josslett @onlyafewfindtheway @hayleyokami @b-5by5 @lostandsearching @evilcr0ne​ @nightingalexx​@suki-is-a-queen @kaosrsing

-X-

The waves of sea licked the side of Rumlow’s boat, the salty spray splashing across your skin. Watching the ship begin to travel with the wind at a hurried pace, you couldn’t stop the smirk upturning your lips. They were coming for you…

And now you could finish this charade.

Strolling up to the helm of the ship, you studied the helmsman for a moment before glancing at Rumlow with a charming smile.  Adding an extra sway to your hips and a demure expression, you barely forced away a snort as his walls crumbled into dust at his feet – hypothetically. The tension of his jaw went slack, stiff spine relaxing as a smarmy grin curled at the corners of his mouth. You nearly shuddered; he truly thought he was appealing.

I’ve never met a more disgusting human in my life.

“I was never allowed to helm… their ship. Would you teach me?” Batting your eyes at him, you could see the conflict in his eyes and, in hopes of pushing him into compliant, pushed your bottom lip out into a soft pout. “Please?”

The gentle tone shifted his posture and he uncrossed his arms, shoving the helmsman from his post with a grunt.

“Of course, my lady,” he husked, gesturing for you to stand in front of him.

Nearly rolling your eyes at the blatant proposition, you settled in front of him, ignoring the subtle push of his hips into you as your hands gripped the wheel. His rough hands fell atop yours as he explained the intricacies of steering the ship.

(It took everything in your power not to point out every lie and idiotic statement he made, having been taught long ago by Yelena how to navigate and steer the ship. It was clear his intention was to sound intelligent but the words he dared to speak only confirmed your beliefs that a starfish was smarter than the man behind you.)

Carefully, you began to tip the wheel to the left. It wasn’t much, but opening up the side might help your partners in their endeavor. Too distracted by the close proximity, Rumlow was ignorant of the change – and it felt like a grand victory.

You waited until you were certain there was no way to stop the ships from meeting, you twisted out of his arms playfully. A quick peek around the deck, most of the men had scattered to other places along the ship and the two on the deck were staring at the floor, refusing to look up for any reason.

As though they’d been warned not to look if something like this happened.

Swallowing a noise of fury, you winked at Rumlow.

“Thank you for the lesson, captain,” you purred, fighting the sickness bubbling in your stomach.

His eyes danced along your form, lingering on your chest before drifting down your waist. “I believe I deserve some payment for such a detailed lesson.”

Tilting your head, you hummed teasingly. “Get your men off the deck and you just might.”

Eyes going wide with surprise and excitement, Rumlow was bellowing before you finished. “Head down below! Now! And fuckin’ stay there until you are called for!”

Both men scurried to the hatch, heads bowed and steps heavy as they disappeared from sight. There was an eerie silence that befell the deck for a second before Rumlow stalked towards you with intensity in his gaze. The glint was predatory, as though you were a deer trapped in the forest, but he seemed to forget that you were a pirate.

And you’d learned to fight dirty.

Backing away from him, you beckoned him over to the hatch - though he didn’t seem to notice, brain too fogged over with lust. Delicately nudging a crate onto the door with your foot, you ran a mischievous hand over his chest before shoving him onto the makeshift seat – and, more importantly, keeping his back to the approaching ship.

Settling on your knees before him, you blinked up at him shyly.

“I have always wanted to do this,” you cooed, touching his cheek softly, letting your digits tickle his beard for a moment. “I believe this has been inevitable from the beginning.”

His lips stretched into a cocky, pleased grin as he reached for the buckle of his belt.

Peering around him, your bashful expression fell into dangerous glee.

“Well, get to i –”

The impact rattled you to the very bone but you rolled out of the way as the vessel rocked dangerously, sending the crate – and Rumlow – sliding towards the side of the ship. He tried to catch his footing, but the momentum of the weighted box slamming into his legs and the unbuckled breeches sent him careening over the side, the crate following close behind.

There was an odd silence before the cheers and shouts of your friends filled the air, their steps echoing along the damaged floor of the ship as they boarded the halted transport. They looked geared for war, pistols and swords at the ready as the angered thumps of steps up the ladder below grew brash.

The hatch flew open but you didn’t care, hurrying to the pirates flooding the ship. Yelena tossed you a rapier, nodding as you passed her. It felt right, having a sword in your possession once more, the familiar heft a comfort.

Metal clashing rang out behind you but all you could see was your waiting lovers, standing on the edge with matching passion in their eyes and wrath painted across their features. Dropping the rapier, you cupped Wanda’s cheeks and slammed your mouth into hers. Your hand slipped away from Wanda’s face, though your lips continued to meet hers repeatedly, and reached out to tangle in Natasha’s hair. Releasing Wanda’s mouth, smirking at the shine on her lips before glancing at Natasha, you yanked the redhead close, swallowing her noise of surprise as your tongue met hers.

Startled by the sudden onslaught of your mouth, she was oblivious to the hand snaking the dagger from her hip.

If we live, I will return this.

It was hard to let go, being so close to them after being stolen away and trapped with Brock Rumlow, but you separated from the stunned pirate, retrieving your rapier from the deck.

“We end this. Today,” you declared, steeling your face as you peered over your shoulder to study the chaos brewing around you.  

You turned and pushed into the fray towards Yelena, blocking a blade as it carved down towards your head. Shoving your assailant away, your boot met his chest with an audible “thump” as you sent him tumbling off the ship. His scream was lost in the madness but you took satisfaction in knowing he’d find a watery grave.

All of them would, if you had anything to say about it.

You could hear Kate’s screams of rage as she tore through a handful of Rumlow’s men, her shirt splattered with crimson and torn around her midsection, though it was apparent the blood was not hers. Yelena was at her side, fending off another group of men, but she was clearly smitten by the brutality and fury inside the brunette.

I want to officiate their joining, you mused absently, yanking a wooden shield from a man’s hands before slapping him across the face with it. The wood splintered beneath the impact, his skull crunching as he crumpled to the floor of the ship.

Smirking, you twisted around – only to come face to face with an enraged, bloody Brock Rumlow. Gasping softly as a blade slid into your belly, you watched the triumph glitter in his eyes, red dribbling down the handle of the dagger. Dual screams echoed above the pandemonium but you couldn’t stop to think about it as he ripped the metal from your stomach, feeling the blood begin to pour down your flexing abdomen.

He lunged at you again, the dagger aimed at your chest, and time slowed to a creep.

Even if you died, either by his blade or by the fates’, you were determined to take him with you. Screaming in agony and hatred, you sidestepped his outstretched hand and slammed your thigh into his stomach. As he tipped forward in surprise and pain, you gripped his face and dug sharp nails into the flesh beneath his eyes, raking downward. Your fingers grew slick but you didn’t care, slipping deeper into his skin as you led his thrashing, screaming body to the side of the boat.

He would die by your hand and yours alone.

Grabbing at your wrist, he tried to dig his heels into the deck but the determination of your rage kept your steps steady and grounded. “You fucking bitch! I will kill you and your whores!”

“You tried that once and failed,” you snarled, jerking him around so you could stare into his burning eyes. Ripping the nails from his skin, your hand dropped to his throat and squeezed while the other retrieved the dagger from your side. “You will not get that chance again.”

Unable to stop himself from tipping over the edge as you pressed, he instead held your upper arm in an iron grip and wrenched backwards. “I will see you in hell, bitch.”

Feeling him drag you along, your lips twitched into a cold, numb smirk as you embedded the hidden blade into his chest with a finality before following him overboard. “You first.”

His eyes widened as you both plummeted towards the water, his hands releasing your arm as realization dawned on him. His arrogance was his downfall, expecting you to simply shove him off again. Never believing you were smart enough to outwit him, he never thought he’d lose. To you.

  For a moment, there was only peace. The wind was howling in your ears and the water was fast approaching but all you could see was a panicked Rumlow pulling the dagger from his chest as he crashed into the sea and disappeared below the dark, thrashing surface. Closing your eyes, the pain overtook your senses and at the first touch of icy water, the world went dark.

But you were happy– and you were free.

This really was a pirate’s life for me.

#reader insert #avengers imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow imagine #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanov x reader #reader imagine #mcu imagine #marvel imagine #scarletwidow x reader #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch imagine #scarletwidow #black widow x reader

[molllsprple]

Strictly business

Part 1

Well howdy.

This is my first ever written piece of fan fiction so I welcome constructive criticism, but please be kind 🥹 I tried by best.

I am simply a thirsty girl indulging in her mihawk fantasies.

Pairing: Female reader x Mihawk

Description: Sometimes the line between business and pleasure can get a little blurry.

Rating/warnings: Explicit 15+ (Swearing, injury detail, may get smutty in later chapters) Mihawk is a bit of an ass, who doesn’t love a good enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut in later chapters, stubborn mihawk, stubborn reader, no use of y/n.

The life of an assassin can be rough, and somewhat lonely sometimes. Although, you didn’t mind the solitude so much.

You had been roaming the streets from a very young age since becoming an orphan, and you were grateful for the skills and tricks that you had picked up along the way.

You had learnt to be invisible, silent, and deadly if it came down to it. You could handle yourself, and rarely had to rely upon others.

You liked it that way.

Berry was hard to come by as a child, but as you grew older you found ways of making a living, and being the contracted assassin for a certain warlord was one of them.

It was for this reason that you were currently scaling the side of his coffin shaped vessel to retrieve the fruits of your labour.

Silently, you slipped through the opening of one of the windows, feet meeting the ground without a sound. Inaudibly, you moved through the ship in search of its captain.

Peeking around the doorframe of his quarters, you finally caught sight of the warlord in question—back turned, wine glass in hand.

Typical. you thought with an eye roll.

He was seemingly oblivious to your presence, and so you took the opportunity to scowl into the back of his head a little longer.

“You took your time” Mihawk sighed, tone low and uninterested as he remained with his back to you.

You pouted underneath the mask that was covering your face, as you realised that you had been discovered. It pissed you off that you could never sneak up on him.

“I thought something might have happened to you, it’s been two weeks” he continued, taking another sip from his wine glass, voice lacking in concern.

“That asshole gave me the run around for five whole days before I could find him. Maybe you should get your own hands dirty if you want it done any quicker.” You retaliated, emerging from the shadow of the doorway and into the centre of the room.

With that, mihawk slowly turned his body around to face you, his golden eyes meeting your own.

If looks could kill.

The look he gave was soul piercing, and it made your hair stand on end with a mix of adrenaline and something primal pooling in the pit of your stomach. It gave you a strange thrill, antagonising someone so dangerous.

Maybe if he didn’t possess the arrogance that came with being the worlds best swordsman, you might consider him attractive.

The angular structure of his jawline, and the way his beard was so carefully groomed to complement it.

The annoyingly perfect dark curls peaking out from under his hat.

The hard contours of pure muscle that his shirt tried so poorly to disguise.

Shit. So maybe he was nice to look at.

But you weren’t here to ogle the warlord, you were here for his deep pockets.

You agreed to help him with the large bounties assigned by the marines in exchange for a generous cut. These bounties were only for the most skilled and damn right crazy pirate hunters, but they brought along a hefty pay check, more than you could ever imagine of making on your own.

Most of the missions he assigned were just track and retrieve, meaning you only had to get intel to pass back to mihawk, aiding in their capture. Only rarely would you have to engage with the bounty, which you were thankful for as these were some of the most dangerous pirates sailing the seas.

“This one is on Karai Bari island. It looks like he works alone so it should be an easy catch.” You said, as you ignored the daggers he was sending your way, sliding the bounty poster onto the desk in front of him.

Beneath the hard expression his face was sporting, you noticed that his eyes were dull and lacked their usual vigor. There were slight bags beginning to form underneath them—Had he not been sleeping?

Mihawk’s back straightened, as his eagle eyes flicked down to the piece of paper.

Without a word he reached below the desk and flung a bag of berry onto the table with his usual flare of sass.

“Good” was all he uttered in response, shifting his imposing form to face away from you once again, continuing whatever it was he was so occupied with before you interrupted.

You picked up the bag, and started towards the door assuming that was the end of your incredibly enthralling conversation.

“Be safe on your travels”

Mihawk’s words stopped you in your tracks, taken aback by the sudden and unusual expression of concern.

Just as you were about to turn your head, he continued.

“It would be an awful inconvenience for me to have to come after you if you got into any trouble”

There it was. The true intent of his words.

“Prick” you muttered under your breath before disappearing into the night.

Mihawk downed the rest of his wine glass to stop the corners of his mouth from curling up into a grin.

————————————————————————-

Well shit.

This was bad… Really bad.

You were in the process of trailing your current bounty, lacking the knowledge that he had already clocked onto your presence.

As you turned down the next alleyway you were met with the static silhouette of your target facing back at you.

As your eyes finally adjusted to the darkness they widened in horror, realising that he was wielding a pistol initially obscured from sight by the dimness of the back passage.

By then it was too late.

You heard the gun fire before you even had chance to reach for your knife.

Unbelieving, you dropped your head to affirm your worst fears.

He had shot you in the leg.

Your mask did nothing to muffle the shrill scream of agony that was ripped from your lungs, as your hand instinctively moved to shield your wound.

The man simply let out a huff of laughter before bolting off in the opposite direction. He clearly didn’t see you as enough of a threat to waste time finishing you off.

You tore off a piece of material from your shirt to use as a bandage, and patched yourself up as best as you could with shaky hands.

Stumbling, you set off back in the direction of the harbour.

Thankfully, there was no one around this time of night, as everyone was either asleep or down the local bar spending their life savings on getting royally inebriated.

Finally, the bobbing flagships in the harbour came into view, as you just about threw yourself onto the dock.

You were almost there. You could see the ship, you just had to move—why.. weren’t you moving?

By now blood was streaming from the lesion on your leg, and your sight was beginning to blur.

If I just…one foot..in front of..the other.

Finally, you began to move forward again, only it wasn’t your legs that were in motion, it was your body falling like a sandbag onto the wooden planks of the dock.

Then everything faded into darkness.

————-

You slipped in and out of consciousness briefly over the next hour, each time catching snippets of words spoken by a low, honey toned voice, each fragment sounding more desperate than the last.

“Careless girl, look what you’ve gone and done”…

“You’re lucky I was docked on the same island”

“I told you to be careful….why d-“….

“Can you hear me?….. hey, you need to stay awake”…..

“you can’t die on me now, I haven’t—“….

You looked around through the narrow slit of your eyes to try and make out who the voice belonged to.

Your brain was foggy and you felt as if you were drunk, room spinning at a hundred miles an hour.

Dark hair, broad shoulders.

Your eye lashes fluttered as you continued to observe the figure looming over you. Pale skin, soft yellow eyes….mmm…Hot?

Regrettably, you were not aware that you vocalised that last thought.

Far off somewhere in your mind, you formed the vague notion that it was amusing how you were thirsting over this alluring stranger in your dying moments.

That was until the familiar scent of wine and musk surrounded you as your body was consumed by sleep once more.

Part 2

#dracule mihawk #one piece mihawk #mihawk x you #mihawk x reader #mihawk smut #enimies to lovers #kinda #smut #opla #opla mihawk #opla smut #opla fanfiction

[hyperfixatedonthisnow]

Siren's call

*not my GIF I know, I know, I suck at titles, but I’ve come to accept this about myself and therefore so must you! Summary: A Siren and a privateer fall in love, but how will he react when he finally learns what she is? Requested by: Anonymous - Sturmhond/Nikolai finds out his girlfriend is a siren. How will that go? - Dearest anon, I am *so* sorry that this took me so long to put out. I fell down a bit of a rabbit hole researching Sirens and found your request so interesting that I honestly could have written much more. I started out with Sturmhond, then switched to Nikolai after reader learns his real name, and I went with Sirens as shape-shifting mermaids, rather than the Greek version of bird like creatures, mostly because it was easier to write in but also because birds freak me out a bit tbh, I’m hoping you don’t mind. Also there’s smut at the end, but if you don’t like that then feel free to stop reading when the kissing starts 😉 I realized way too late that I probably should have asked you for more details 🤦‍♀️ So I can only hope that this is something close to what you wanted! Word count: 7.5K ish - because much like our favorite prince/privateer, I prefer to use several words when one will do 😅

Warnings: NSFW - 18+ only. Mild peril, mild angst, a touch of fluff, minor OC’s who exist only to further the (minimal) plot, a very brief mention of non-con (but not with Nikolai), smut, fem!reader, P in V sex, semi-rough sex, marking, unprotected sex (not recommended in real life!)

You had been following the ship closely for weeks, watching the crew, learning their habits, and charting their course to figure out the best time to take them. Amalia preferred to wait until they were close to land, though it was easier and safer to simply lure them into open water out at sea. She liked the challenge, but more than that, she liked to be the last thing the men saw before they died. It made her feel powerful- to know how much they wanted her and could never have her.

If it was up to you, you would wait until nightfall and sing from a distance, letting your enchanting lullaby guide the men from their beds straight into a watery grave. You didn’t take pleasure in their deaths, even if you knew it was necessary. Unnatural your sisters teased, for a Siren to have such a soft heart. Amalia never joined in with the teasing, though you knew she didn’t really understand you either. Still, she indulged you by allowing you to act as scout, and that meant you could mostly narrow down the targets to pirates and slavers, offering the fishermen and other sailors some small semblance of protection.

Whenever possible, you would scout several ships at a time, so that you could choose the one you wanted and hopefully sway Amalia towards it when you returned to discuss your findings. Unfortunately, only one ship had passed through your waters in almost a month, and although you felt it was worth saving, there was no second option.

When you met with Amalia, you thought carefully about what you had found before you spoke, deciding on the major details you should share with her and filtering out your own more personal observations.

At first glance, it had seemed like a Pirate ship, but further investigation proved that it was not. The crew was an eclectic mix of men, women, and Grisha, of various ages and races. The captain - who went by the name Sturmhond and insisted he was not a pirate, but a privateer - was young, barely out of boyhood, and yet it was clear that he commanded their respect.

He ran a tight ship, but he always treated his crew warmly and he worked alongside them often, doing his fair share of the hard work. He was rarely angry and never cruel, as far as you could tell. At night the crew would gather on the deck to drink and play cards, and he usually joined them. He didn’t seem to think himself above their company as some captains would. You watched him dance and laugh along with the others, and when he lost at cards, he always took it in good humour.

In the conversations you had overheard, the captain’s responses were measured and kind, free from judgment or scorn. Although they carried an impressive arsenal of weapons, you had witnessed no violence from him, nor any of his crew. No prisoners taken, no poor souls forced to walk the plank, no slaves bound in the hull of his ship.

He spent most of his hours working on some flying contraption and after several failed tests, you saw his joy when it actually worked. He was a good man, you had concluded. Intelligent and funny, and handsome, too. You tried to imagine Amalia’s face if you admitted that last bit out loud - she would probably think you had taken leave of your senses completely.

You bit your lip, wondering how you could persuade her to spare them, to spare him.

“Actually, I was thinking… maybe we should… let this one go,” you suggested tentatively. Might as well just be direct.

Amalia stared at you as though you had grown an extra head. “Let them go?” She said after a moment, her nose scrunching in disgust. “You think these men should live?”

“They aren’t just men,” you rushed, trying to justify yourself. “There are women on the crew, and Grisha too.”

“And?” Amalia prompted.

“And, they don’t deserve to be punished for the sins of men,” you argued, “they’re innocent.”

Amalia rolled her eyes, “They’ve chosen to take up with a pirate, have they not?”

“Privateer,” you corrected, but the moment the word was out you wished you could call it back.

Amalia narrowed her eyes suspiciously at you. “Privateer?” She echoed.

“Yes?” You squeaked, and it sounded more like a question than an answer. You cleared your throat. “Yes. He’s not a pirate, he’s a privateer, and he’s a good man, Amalia. I’ve seen it.”

Amalia laughed, “There is no such thing as a good man,” she muttered, “They are all the same. Weak-minded, arrogant, selfish creatures. They live only for violence and destruction.”

“Not him,” you said firmly. “He’s not like the others.”

“He’s exactly like the others,” she snapped, “If you gave him the chance, he would kill you without a second thought.”

“No,” you argued, “You’re wrong about him. He’s smart and kind, and good. I swear it.”

She studied you for a long moment and you tried not to fidget under her disapproving gaze. Your cheeks felt hot, and you knew you were probably blushing.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve gone and fallen in love with him!” She exclaimed finally.

You said nothing, but your silence was answer enough. You looked away, pressing your lips together. It was out there now, no point in trying to deny it.

“Foolish girl,” Amalia said, shaking her head. “There is no future for you with him, surely you must see that?”

“Of course I do,” you whispered, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill over. “But I won’t watch him die Amalia. Not this one. I can’t.”

Amalia sighed, and then she surprised you by pulling you in to a tight hug.

“Please,” you begged, voice breaking.

“There’s a storm coming,” she murmured into your hair, “I suppose we could wait it out.”

“We could?” You questioned hopefully.

“If they can survive it, on their own, then we will leave them be. That’s the best I can do.”

Relief flooded through you, and you hugged Amalia tighter. “Thank you!” You cried.

She pulled back to look at you, her expression troubled. “I know you don’t want to believe it, but men are dangerous. All men. Even your privateer,” she said seriously, hands gripping your shoulders, “So if I do this, if I let him live, it is on the condition that you agree to stay away from him. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation. You would do anything to protect him.

“You must never see him again. Not ever. Promise me,” she insisted.

“I promise,” you said, the words bitter on your tongue.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The sea was rough, waves cresting 30ft high only to crash back down, as loud as thunder. You watched as the ship rose and fell along with them. You weren’t supposed to be here, had promised to stay away, but you couldn’t help yourself. You had to know that he would be ok. Amalia had agreed to wait until the storm had passed, but if the ship ran aground her small act of mercy wouldn’t matter.

You moved closer, letting the current sweep you towards the ship. It had to be taking on water, but so far, the crew seemed to be holding on. Once you were close enough, you watched them carefully. The Grisha who usually guided their sails spread his arms wide, fighting a losing battle against the ferocious winds. He was just a boy, and not nearly powerful enough to tame such a storm alone. A woman jumped from the lookout, rolling across the deck, and landing gracefully on her feet beside a tall man with similar features. They moved to secure the main sail, working in perfect tandem. A man in a teal coat ran from post to post, tightening the rigging and testing the knots before making his way to the helm to take the wheel. Sturmhond. His hair was plastered to his face, his clothes soaking wet. He took the wheel with both hands, pulling hard to the left, and though his expression was determined, you could sense his growing desperation.

The ship slowly began to turn, forcing the bow away from the storm. Trying to outrun it. For a moment it looked as though his plan might actually work, but then suddenly the ship listed dangerously starboard. Sturmhond struggled to right it, but it was too late. A wave crashed over the now tilted masts, snapping them clean away with a force that rolled the entire ship on to its side. It bobbed precariously for half a second, sailors clinging to the railings, before another wave hit, cracking the hull. If they weren’t taking on water before, they certainly were now. Finally, a voice called out, “ABANDON SHIP!” and the crew began leaping into the sea, frantically trying to escape the wreckage before it capsized completely.

Your eyes scanned the chaos, looking for Sturmhond. You found him clambering up one side of the railing, the ship already beginning to sink beneath his feet. He was looking around, searching for something. Checking all his crew had managed to get out. And then you saw it, at the same time he did - the Grisha crewman, hanging upside down, tangled in the remains of the rigging. The boy struggled, desperately trying to free himself, but he was stuck. Jump, you urged the privateer silently, leave him, but you already knew he wouldn’t. He turned away from the water and began climbing towards his crew mate instead. Stupid. He would never make it in time. The ship was sinking rapidly. In just a few precious seconds it would go under, and when it did, anyone still on it would be pulled under along with it.

You wanted to help him, but you knew you shouldn’t. You thought of your promise to Amalia. She would be furious if she found out you were here, even more so if you interfered. You hesitated, still watching from a safe distance as Sturmhond reached the Grisha with barely a moment to spare. He tugged a knife from his boot and cut the boy free, allowing him to drop safely into the water beneath them. The boy didn’t wait for his captain, he immediately began swimming away from the wreckage. But before Sturmhond could follow, another huge wave swept over the ship, dragging it - and him - underwater, just as you had predicted. He was going to drown.

You made a split-second decision, diving under the water to search for him. The weight of the sinking ship acted like a vacuum, sucking everything downward to the sea floor. You followed it down, but you couldn’t see him anywhere. Panic clawed at your chest. Had he made it to the surface by himself? You turned, ready to go back up, when a flash of teal and gold below you caught your eye. There. You dove back down, looping your arms under his and hauling him against you. He was limp, a heavy weight in your arms. You held him tight, swimming away from the wreckage and towards the surface as fast as you could.

When you reached the surface, you pulled him above the water line, working hard to keep you both afloat. His head lolled back on your shoulder and his eyes were closed. You weren’t sure if he was breathing, and you felt panic building again. You tried to ignore it as you headed for the shore, where you shifted quickly into human form. Once you had dragged him onto the wet sand, you laid him on his back and pressed your ear to his chest. There was no sound, no movement that suggested breathing. Maybe he swallowed too much water?

You turned his head to the side and then placed your hands over his stomach and pushed upwards, hard. Was that the right thing to do? You weren’t sure, but you thought you had seen it done before, once… maybe. Nothing happened. You tried again, and again… and again. Were you doing it wrong … or were you just too late? But then, suddenly, he was coughing up a lungful of water and gasping for breath as he came round. After a few moments he blinked his eyes open, finding you still leaning over him.

“Am I dead?” He mumbled.

“No,” you assured him. Thank the sea goddess! Overcome with emotion, you flung yourself at him, sobbing in relief. His arms closed around you hesitantly, though he surely thought you were insane - a perfect stranger, crying over him and hugging him without invitation.

The storm was over and the sea eerily still by the time the rest of his crew managed to make it to shore. You had calmed yourself, and Sturmhond was sitting up, chatting amiably with you, as if he hadn’t almost died mere minutes earlier. You learned that he had another ship, the Volkvolny, and he cheerfully informed you that really, the storm had done him a favour, because he hadn’t liked the other one all that much anyway. It was nothing short of a miracle that everyone had survived the wreckage with only minimal injuries, and that put them all in a remarkably good mood considering the circumstances. Sturmhond introduced you to the crew, and casually insisted you join them at the local tavern, to dry off and have a strong drink, or two.

As you got to your feet, you caught sight of Amalia at the far side of the shore. Too far away to really make out her features, but you could imagine the look of disappointment on her face. You had broken the promise you made her, and worse than that, here you were walking and talking with humans as though you were old friends. To top it all off, you had committed a cardinal sin amongst Sirens - you had saved a man’s life. You had chosen a man over your sisters, and no matter how much Amalia loved you, this was the one thing she could not forgive.

At the tavern, you quickly discovered that Sturmhond and his crew were a lively, friendly bunch. You were treated as the guest of honour since you had saved the captain’s life, and they welcomed you with open arms. So, when they planned to move to the Volkvolny, and asked if you wanted to come along, you agreed to go with them.

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It was far easier than you would have expected for you to adjust to your new life aboard the Volkvolny. You found that you had watched enough Sailors over the years to pick up some of the basics and luckily you hit it off with Tamar, who quickly took you under her wing, teaching you the more advanced skills. You listened to endless hours of poetry readings from Tolya, and in exchange he offered to teach you how to fight. In fact, most of the crew accepted you readily. In truth, a lot of the men had just been so enthralled by your ethereal beauty that they were half in love with you at first sight, and the fact that you had saved their captain’s life had been enough to endear you to the rest.

All except for one woman, a young Grisha heartrender named Laila who seemed set on hating you no matter how hard you tried to befriend her. Tamar said it was jealousy - Laila wanted to be the captains favourite but he had never shown any interest in her, and now with you around, he likely never would. You tried not to let it bother you, but you were worried that she might sense something was different about you and early one morning she confirmed your fears when she cornered you in the galley, pushing you up against the wall.

“I’m on to you,” she hissed, “you’re hiding something and I’m going to figure out what it is.”

You played it cool, pretending you had no idea what she meant, and though you briefly considered throwing her overboard, you ultimately decided it was too risky. Instead, you did your best to avoid her at all times, at least as much as you could avoid someone living in such close proximity, and you became an expert at hiding in plain sight.

The bond you had formed with Sturmhond as a result of saving his life grew into a fully-fledged friendship, and then, into something sweeter. Over time, you found yourself sharing his bed as well as his company, and once he trusted you enough to reveal his true identity - Nikolai Lantsov, royal spare to the Ravkan throne - you were moved into the captain’s quarters permanently.

You missed Amalia and being on the sea everyday but never in it, was its own special kind of torture, but you had made your choice and you would do it all over again in a heartbeat. You would choose him, always, whatever the cost. So, you vowed never to use your power again, if it only meant you could keep this new life, if it meant you could keep him. But of course, nothing was ever that simple.

You had been on the Volkvolny for almost a year when it finally happened…

The crew were gathered in a loose circle on the lower deck, chatting and sharing several bottles of liquor, relaxing after a long day. You followed Nikolai down the steps to join them and when he took the only empty seat, you didn’t hesitate to drop yourself into his lap. A chorus of wolf whistles and hooting erupted from the crew around you.

“Perverts,” you muttered, giving them the middle finger and they all laughed.

Nikolai looped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You leaned against him, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, content to just be close to him while the crew drank and talked around you. You joined the conversation only when spoken to directly and luckily no one noticed your contemplative mood, as they all got steadily drunker and rowdier as the night went on. At some point, someone started singing a sea shanty and one by one the rest of the crew joined in, happy and loud, and painfully off-key. You smiled and clapped along, but otherwise stayed quiet. Laila was watching you carefully from across the circle.

“You’re not singing,” she said suddenly, and you were sure you weren’t imagining the accusation in her tone.

“Oh, no one wants to hear my singing,” you laughed nervously, waving her off, “honestly I’m terrible.”

She narrowed her eyes at you. “You can’t be that bad. Come on, just sing a few lines,” she pushed.

You shifted uncomfortably on Nikolai’s lap. His hand tightened on your waist, and you knew he was listening. You struggled to think of another excuse. “I- umm…”

“Leave her alone,” Tamar interjected, and you flashed her a grateful smile for coming to your rescue. “She doesn’t have to sing if she doesn’t want to.”

“But she never wants to sing,” Laila muttered petulantly, “don’t you think that’s odd?”

“What’s odd is you insisting she does,” Nikolai said, an unmistakable edge to his voice. “Let it go Laila.”

Laila flushed at the reprimand. She reluctantly fell silent again, but she was glaring at the drink in her hands, her expression murderous. Silence stretched awkwardly for a few seconds, until Tolya thankfully broke it by producing a deck of cards and starting a game.

You declined to play, and as the cards were dealt you turned your attention away. Through the gaps in the railings, you could see the miles of deep blue sea that stretched all the way to the horizon, and you felt a familiar pull, calling you home. You closed your eyes as you inhaled deeply, letting the salty air fill your lungs. Home. You would never be truly at home here, on this ship, and that thought filled you with sadness. You thought of Amalia, and you wondered if she missed you, the way that you missed her.

You were pulled from your reverie by Nikolai shifting beneath you. He leaned over you to throw his cards down on the table, declaring he was bowing out of the game and then he sat back, pulling you further into his lap.

“Everything alright, my love?” He asked quietly, his lips brushing your ear. You pushed away your melancholy, turning your head so you could look at him.

“Yes,” you murmured, and you meant it. You wanted to be here, with him, no matter how much you might miss home.

“Thinking about how absurdly handsome I am?” He waggled his eyebrows at you, and you laughed.

“No, but I was thinking about you,” you admitted, “about how I ended up here.”

“Ah, so you’re thinking about the time you saved my life then. No wonder you looked so serious.”

“Which time?” You mused, teasing him, “There are so many, I think I’ve lost count.”

Nikolai gasped, all faux outrage. “Once.” He insisted, “It was one time.”

“If you say so,” you smiled indulgently as he leaned in to kiss you, slow and deep, his hand cupping your jaw. The whistling and jeering immediately started up again. You pulled away, rolling your eyes at the crew’s antics.

Nikolai sighed. “For Saints sake,” he grumbled, but he sounded more fond than angry.

When you looked up, Laila was glaring at you. She fixed a smile on her face as you met her gaze, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’ve been thinking,” She said loudly, gaining everyone’s attention, “what exactly happened, the night you joined us? We’ve never heard your side of the story.”

Had she figured it out? You tried to keep your expression as neutral as possible, but you had stared at her for a beat too long, and now everyone was looking at you, waiting for your answer.

“There’s really not much to tell,” you said carefully.

“Don’t be so modest,” Laila said, her smile sharp, “you saved the Captain’s life after all, and I want to hear every detail.”

Your heart pounded. You should have pushed her overboard when you had the chance. As you tried to come up with a plausible story, the ship was suddenly engulfed in a thick fog.

After that, everything happened so quickly that you barely understood it. One moment you were sailing in open water, the night clear and still, and the next, you were dodging gunfire in near blindness, as men appeared from nowhere and swarmed the ship. The crew fought valiantly, but you were outnumbered and outmatched by a pair of the most powerful Grisha you had ever encountered. You had heard rumours about the drug jurda parem, and now it seemed you were seeing it’s effects first hand. All around you was chaos and you couldn’t keep track of anything. Before long, most of your crew were injured and eventually, all of them captured.

The fog dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, and then there was Nikolai - bleeding, gagged and bound - forced to his knees on the deck of his own ship.

A man grabbed you from behind, holding you against his body with an arm around your waist and a hand twisting painfully in your hair. Nikolai tried to call out as he caught sight of you and your captors laughed.

“Looks like we’ve found the captain’s whore,” one of the men chuckled.

The one holding you ran his hand up from your waist to roughly grab at your breast. You held perfectly still, you weren’t going to give these animals the satisfaction of a reaction, but Nikolai struggled against his bonds, and the man standing over him backhanded him hard across the face. He swayed on his knees, the force of the blow almost knocking him over, and blood trickled from the fresh wound at his temple. The men began talking amongst themselves, loudly detailing all the disgusting things they would enjoy doing to you later.

“Don’t worry,” Nikolai’s captor taunted him, “we’ll let you watch.”

Nikolai struggled again, cold rage clear in his eyes as the men laughed. For a brief moment, he managed to get to his feet, but that only gave his captor an excuse to hit him again, and again, until he slumped to the floor, and when you screamed in protest, the men laughed harder, enjoying your misery.

These men were going to die today, you decided, and you would not show them the mercy of a quick death.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and started to sing. At first the men only looked at each other in confusion, but as your melody continued, they gradually fell under your spell, their eyes glazing over. You tried your best to focus only on them, but it wasn’t an exact science, so your crew also felt the effects. Conveniently, they were all bound and so had little chance of hurting themselves.

You concentrated on the Grisha first since they were the biggest threat, followed by the rest of the men. At your instruction, they turned as one, and forming an orderly line, walked to the side of the ship before binding their own hands and feet together. Then they clambered up onto the railing, and one by one, threw themselves into the water, like lemmings leaping off a cliff. You saved the man who had smacked Nikolai for last, and before he jumped, had him stab himself with his own blade several times, just for good measure.

Once the last man entered the water, you stood at the railing, feeling a perverse sense of satisfaction as you watched them trying, and failing, to fight against their bonds in an effort to return to you. You watched each one slowly begin to sink beneath the water, and only once you were sure there would be no chance that any of them might survive, did you stop singing and move away. When it was done, you set about releasing your crew from their bindings and tending to their wounds as best you could. They were groggy from the after-effects of your song, and it took some hours for everyone to fully come around. No one could really remember what had happened, and you pretended not to know either. You could only cross your fingers and hope that no one realized the truth of what you had done.

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Nikolai was quiet in the aftermath, and though he put up a good front for the rest of the crew, you could tell he was shaken by what had happened. Once everyone was attended to, he announced he was going to his office and he took your hand, pulling you along with him. You followed him to the captain’s quarters in silence.

He let you enter first and you heard the soft click of the lock as he closed the door behind him. You perched yourself on the edge of his desk as you waited for him, but when he turned, he leaned back against the door instead of coming closer. His face was set, his eyes hard, and you knew that he had finally figured out your secret. Honestly, you were surprised it had taken him this long, you had always known it was only a matter of time. You watched him carefully, but you said nothing, waiting for him to speak first.

“You’re a Siren,” he said finally.

You nodded your head in answer, even though he hadn’t phrased it as a question. He stared at you for a long moment, and you could almost hear the cogs turning in his mind, mulling over the many questions he must have. Eventually he seemed to settle on one.

“How many innocent men have you killed?” He asked.

“Innocent?” You huffed, “None.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, “But you have lured men to their deaths, haven’t you?”

“I have.” You conceded. He knew what you were now, there was no reason to lie.

“So? How many?” He pressed. “You must have some idea.” He crossed his arms over his chest, closing himself off to you.

“I didn’t exactly keep a tally,” you muttered.

“Tell me,” He demanded, “Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, suddenly unable to meet his gaze, “I can’t remember them all.”

“Those men had lives and families,” he said, outraged, “they were someone’s father, brother, son, and you don’t even remember them?!”

You felt your own temper beginning to rise and you struggled to keep your voice even. “They were Slavers. Murderers and Pirates. They were the worst kind of men.”

“You don’t know that!” He argued, “What right did you have to judge them?”

“I’m a Siren,” you reminded him, “It’s what I was born to do. I followed them first, watched them, saw what kind of men they were with my own eyes. I only ever took the bad ones.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “So now you expect me to believe Sirens follow some kind of moral code?”

“Not all Sirens, but I expect you to believe that I do.”

“How am I to believe anything you say” he scoffed, “You’ve been lying to me since the day we met.”

“I didn’t lie to you, not really. Everything I told you about myself was true. I just omitted one small detail.”

He laughed, but there was no humour in it. “I think we have a vastly different understanding of the word small,” he muttered, “and a lie by omission is still a lie.”

He wasn’t wrong, but … “You lied to me too, Sturmhond.”

He straightened, no longer leaning against the door, but still kept the distance between you. “That’s hardly the same!” He protested.

“Isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” he huffed, “besides, I told you the truth once I thought I could trust you. Although clearly, I was mistaken.”

“You can trust me,” you insisted. “In case you’ve forgotten, I saved your life - twice. You’re welcome, by the way!”

He didn’t look convinced. “That first night, when you rescued me, were you watching the ship? Just waiting for an opportunity to kill us all?”

“No! I mean, yes - I watched you for a while, but I was never going to lure you. I convinced my sister to let you go,” you rushed, desperately trying to explain, “I promised to stay away from you and in return Amalia agreed that they wouldn’t go after you, if you survived the storm on your own.”

“But we didn’t,” he said, brow furrowed in confusion. “The ship sank and I almost drowned.”

“I remember. I was there when the storm hit. I saw you save the boy who was trapped in the rigging, and when you went under, I came after you.”

“I don’t understand. If you promised to stay away from me then why were you there?” He asked, frown deepening.

“I just needed to be know you would be alright,” you admitted softly, “I wasn’t supposed to help you.”

“I don’t suppose many Sirens would go out of their way to save a man from drowning,” he said, mouth curving into a wry smile.

“No. It goes against their nature. But you decided to act the hero and almost got yourself killed in the process,” you muttered angrily, “so I had to choose, and I chose you, even though I knew my sisters would never forgive me.”

“So, you really did save my life? That was real?”

“Yes. Everything between us has been real for me, I swear it,” you said earnestly, “I gave up everything for you.”

He moved towards you then, coming to stand over you where you were still sitting on the edge of his desk, and you widened your thighs to allow him in between them. He was so close that you had to tilt your head back to look at him. You closed your hands in to fists, fighting the urge to reach for him.

“And tonight?” He asked, “Did you kill those men?”

You could have lied, or pretended not to remember what happened, but you didn’t want there to be anymore secrets between you. “I did,” you confessed, meeting his eyes. You weren’t ashamed of what you had done. “and I would do it again if I had to. They would have killed you.”

“You’re not sorry,” he said, and you wondered if he wanted you to be.You thought about it for a moment, but when you closed your eyes, you could still see him on his knees. No. You weren’t sorry at all.

“They got what they deserved,” you hissed, “and the world is a better place without them in it.”

He gave a short, sharp nod of his head in agreement, and you smiled. Whatever he thought of you, he understood this at least.

“Tell me why,” he said, lifting a hand to brush your hair back from your face. “Why did you save me?”

“Because I love you,” you answered honestly, leaning into his touch when his hand lingered. “I loved you then and I love you now, even if you don’t feel the same.”

He dropped his hand, taking a single step back and you had to stop yourself from swaying forward, chasing the physical connection.

“How do I know that my feelings for you are truly my own? That you’re not influencing me somehow?”

“In what way?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “by using your Siren powers to manipulate me? To seduce me? How do I know you’re not just making me think I’m in love with you.”

“Are you?” You asked hopefully, “In love with me?”

He looked away. “Maybe,” he hedged.

“Well, Siren power doesn’t work that way. My song inspires lust-addled obsession, blind desire, unwavering obedience - not love.”

He stared at you for what felt like an eternity, considering your answer. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he studied you, and suddenly all you could think about was how much you wanted to kiss him.

“Okay.” He said finally. He stepped closer, into your personal space again, but frustratingly kept his hands to himself.

“Okay?”

“Yes. I believe you,” he said, “but you still should have told me. I had the right to know that the woman I’m sleeping with, the woman I fell in love with is a-“

“A monster?” You finished for him. You knew what men thought of creatures like you.

He glared at you. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“That’s not what you were going to say?” You asked, feigning innocence.

“No.” He said firmly.

“Mmm,” you hummed skeptically. “So you’re not afraid of me?”

He blinked at you, as though the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Should I be?”

“Well, a little bit couldn’t hurt,” you teased.

He shook his head exasperatedly, but he was smiling now, that perfect crooked smile that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. He put his hands around your waist, finally, pulling you into him and you fisted your hands in his shirt to keep him there. He lowered his head at the same time that you tilted yours up, and your lips ghosted over each other, close enough to share a breath but not quite touching.

“I have one last question,” he said, and you bit back a sigh. For saints sake, what else could he possibly want to know?

“Have you ever used your power to seduce me?”

You squinted at him, trying to decide if he was saying you might need to use your power to seduce him. You felt a flush of annoyance at the suggestion. “No,” you said carefully, “should I?”

He shook his head, no. “I already want you,” he admitted.

“Good,” you smiled, “because I want you too. All the time.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up into a pleased little smirk. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, leaning into him, and this time he kissed you for real, his lips soft but insistent against your own, not pulling away until you were both breathless.

“I’m still angry with you,” he said, when he finally succumbed to the need for air, “for lying to me.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, and you meant it.

“I know,” he said and then he dipped his head to kiss you again.

He brought his hand up to cup your face, the other still gripping your waist as you opened your mouth to him. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tangling his tongue with your own and every time you pulled back, he only allowed you to draw a single, ragged breath before he claimed your lips again.

One of his hands ran up your side from your waist, until his thumb grazed the swell of your breast over the thin cotton of your shirt, and you shivered, leaning into his touch. You could feel his growing arousal against your thigh, and you were suddenly overwhelmed by the need to feel his bare skin against your own. You tugged his shirt free from his breeches, pulling it up and off over his head before he could protest.

He immediately slanted his mouth over yours again, as if he couldn’t bear to be parted from you for more than a few seconds, and you let your hands roam over his broad shoulders and chest, before you worked on removing your own shirt. Your fingers slipped over the small buttons, and you growled in frustration, breaking away from his kiss so that you could see what you were doing. He made a sound of irritation, ducking his head to nip lightly at the curve of your neck and you gasped, your shirt momentarily forgotten as you grabbed a fistful of his hair instead. He groaned low in his throat when you pulled him closer rather than pushing him away, and he nipped at you again, teeth grazing your pulse point, this time hard enough to leave a mark. You moaned as his tongue flicked out to sooth the sting and you felt his lips turn up into a self-satisfied smirk against your skin.

When you finally succeeded in unbuttoning your shirt, you reached around your back to unhook your bra and removed that along with it, and then you dropped your hands to the laces of his breeches before he could distract you again. He finally realized your goal then, and began to help, rather than hinder you, pushing his breeches and underwear down to his ankles so that he could kick them away. You stood so that you could do the same and once you were both naked, he lifted you back up, so you were sitting on the edge of his desk again.

You leaned back on your hands, and he dipped his head, capturing one pebbled nipple with his tongue. You arched your back, pushing your breast further into his mouth as his fingers skated along your inner thigh towards your centre. He gave a small grunt of satisfaction when he found you slick and ready for him and you threaded your fingers through his hair, tugging him upwards until he released your nipple with a soft pop.

He slipped two fingers inside you easily, and when you clenched around him, he let out a distinctly strangled sound. You met his gaze as you sat up, so you could hook your legs around his thighs, locking your ankles behind his ass to keep him there, and you enjoyed the way his eyes fluttered closed and his breath hitched as his cock settled between your thighs, so close to where you wanted him. You tilted your hips up, and he took the hint, guiding himself into place and filling you completely with one quick, hard thrust that had you crying out.

You clutched at him desperately, barely able to do anything but hold on as he set a punishing pace, driving his hips forward fast and hard, only to retreat, again, and again, until you were both panting. His hands gripped your hips so hard that you knew there would be finger shaped bruises there tomorrow. The desk creaked loudly, almost drowning out your mutual sounds of pleasure, the sturdy wooden frame rocking beneath you with the force of his thrusts.

His face was buried in your neck, and you tugged impatiently on his hair as you felt the first tendrils of your impending orgasm began to creep up your spine, until he lifted his head so that you could capture his mouth with yours. He slipped his hand between your bodies as he felt you tightening around him, his clever fingers finding your clit and tipping you over the edge into climax with just a few precise movements. You cried out his name, convulsing around him as you came, your hand tightening in his hair so hard that it must have been painful, and you felt his rhythm falter. He thrust harder, pushing as deep as he could possibly go, once, twice, three times, then he stilled and shuddered, spilling himself inside you.

You all but collapsed against each other, both boneless and breathing heavily in the aftermath of your orgasms. He was the first to recover, and he pressed a sloppy kiss to your temple as he straightened, retreating from your body. He moved over to the basin near the bed, dipping a clean cloth into the water and wringing it out before returning. His hands were gentle, in stark contrast to how rough he had been minutes before and you tried not to wince as he carefully cleaned away the sticky remnants of your shared release, but his observant eyes caught it anyway. He pressed a finger under your chin to gently tilt your head up.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked, face creased in concern.

“No,” you answered, much too quickly.

He raised his eyebrows at you, his expression disbelieving.

“I’m a little bit sore,” you reluctantly admitted.

His face dropped into a scowl, and you knew he was angry at himself for being so rough with you.

“I’m ok,” you assured him, brushing your fingers across his forehead to smooth away his frown.

He searched your face, looking for any sign that you might not be telling the truth and you met his gaze, your expression loving and completely open. He rested his forehead against yours, peering down at you through his lashes.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said after a moment, and you knew he wasn’t just talking about right now.

“Never again,” you promised.

“Okay.” He said softly.

He leaned in to kiss you, sweet and chaste, just a slow glide of his lips over yours before pulling back to slide one arm underneath you and the other around your back. You squealed as he scooped you up, bridal style, so that he could carry you over to the bed. He pulled back the covers with one hand and then lowered you down and crawled in beside you, immediately curling his body around you.

You tried to relax into his embrace, but you couldn’t, not when there was still so much you needed to talk about. You were afraid to bring it up, too scared to hear him say that this was the last time you could be together, so you waited until his breathing began to even out and he was almost asleep before you forced yourself to speak.

“What happens now?” You asked quietly.

“Huh?” He mumbled sleepily.

“With us,” you elaborated, “do you want me to leave?”

“What? No.” He said, suddenly sounding much more alert, “Of course not.”

He rolled on to his back and you turned to face him, propping yourself up on your elbow so that you could look at him.

“What will you tell the crew?”

“Nothing,” he said simply, and though you should have been relieved, you only felt more anxious.

“But Laila is already suspicious,” you pointed out, “and Tolya and Tamar are too sharp not to figure it out eventually.”

“Then we’ll tell them the truth.”

“They won’t want me on this ship when they find out what I am, Nikolai.”

“Last time I checked, I was the captain,” he smirked, “I decide who I do, and don’t allow on my own ship.”

“Don’t be stupid, it doesn’t suit you,” you grumbled, “You’ll end up with a mutiny on your hands.”

“Then we’ll leave,” he said easily, as if it was the most obvious solution.

“Leave?” You repeated, not sure you had understood.

He shrugged, seemingly completely unbothered by the idea. “I was always going to have to go home eventually.”

“You can’t just leave. You love this ship!” You protested.

“I do,” he said, turning on his side so that you were face to face, “but I love you more. It’s my turn to give something up. If it comes down to it, I’ll choose you, always.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest. Hadn’t you just been thinking that very same thought earlier? He leaned in to kiss you, slow and achingly sweet, and all of your protests died on your tongue. He nudged you gently to turn over, pulling you back against him and wrapping his arm around you, so that you could be the little spoon as you finally went to sleep.

#nikolai lantsov #grishaverse #shadow and bone #nikolai lanstov x reader #smut #my writing #i wrote this #patrick gibson #i love him so much #zoya is my queen but not in this fic

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Francis Drake Main Story

This is simply a fan translation and is not intended as a replacement for the game.

This is a rough translation, so expect several inaccuracies and mistakes. I'll add the screenshots later.

After that, the seasons changed, and a year had passed.

Mitsuki: "Phew, what do you think, Mozart?"

Jean: "Are you satisfied with how it turned out?"

Mozart: "Hmm."

Mozart smiled at Jean and looked around the beautifully polished music room.

Mozart: "It looks like you cleaned every detail meticulously. Not bad."

Mozart: "I appreciate your help. Thank you, Jean, Mitsuki."

Mitsuki: "Hehe, yay! It's nice to be praised by a clean freak like you, Mozart."

Mitsuki: "Well then, I'll go clean the other rooms."

Carrying the cleaning tools, Mitsuki left the music room with a smile.

Jean: "........."

Mozart: "Jean, is something wrong?"

Jean: "Mitsuki still occasionally cleans Drake's room, right? I wonder if, deep down, she's still waiting for him to return."

Mozart: "Could be."

As the two contemplated, Shakespeare appeared.

Shakespeare: "A year has passed since then. Sir Drake was quite the stormy character."

Shakespeare: "He was like the Flying Dutchman, endlessly sailing while wishing for destruction."

Shakespeare: "Forgive me for overhearing your conversation."

Jean: "What's this 'Flying Dutchman' you’re talking about?"

Mozart: "It's a ghost ship legend among sailors. There are operas based on it."

Mozart lightly recounted the story, and Jean nodded slightly, perhaps reminiscing about a year ago.

Jean: "I see. It's just like him to leave after causing a commotion."

Shakespeare: "In opera, the Dutchman sailed alone, and the maiden threw herself into the sea to show her love."

Mozart: "Shakespeare. You're not wishing for Mitsuki to have a tragic story like that, are you?"

Shakespeare: "Of course not. But it was a bit insensitive to compare them."

Shakespeare: "Will Mitsuki's story return to normal, or is there still a climax waiting ahead in the future?"

(The cleaning was finished in no time.)

The room, which will probably never be used again, was always tidy because I occasionally cleaned it.

I sat on the bed, lost in thought.

(A year has passed since then.)

My life returned to normal after Drake disappeared.

The only thing that changed was that Karen later started working in a nearby store. They hired her because they were short-staffed, even though she's just a child.

------------Flashback-----------

Karen: "They treat me like family."

Mitsuki: "I'm glad you found someone you can rely on."

Mitsuki: "If you ever need help, just let me know."

Karen: "Thank you, sis. I won't do anything bad anymore. I won't lie or break promises. I'll live a proper life so that people can trust me."

She said that and smiled.

---------Flashback Ends--------

I still frequently ran into her as she moved on with her life.

While thinking of her, I suddenly look back at myself.

(The people in the mansion aren't saying anything, but I'm sure they're worried about me.)

(Karen is taking a new step forward, but I...)

I'd been standing still because I didn't want to forget my love for Drake.

(Drake still has my heart.)

In loving him, I experienced sparkling excitement, sadness, and even pain that could shatter a heart.

Through the suffering of love, I found the strength to believe.

No other love has ever hit me with such full force.

Maybe I stepped into this room to retrace those marks left by that love, but...

(This love will never start again.)

(I have to keep these feelings in my heart and live without Drake.)

In that way, I would be able to step into the future without causing worry to everyone. However, I feel like I am betraying both my feelings and Drake.

------------Flashback-----------

Drake: "If it's really important, even if you're apart and even if you can't meet, those feelings won't change and will remain just as strong."

Drake: "You should be proud that you have many important and irreplaceable things."

Drake: "It's your life. No matter how you choose to live, it won't be a betrayal."

---------Flashback Ends--------

(----!)

Those were the words he gave me when I revealed my guilt about returning to my world.

Even now, his words and smile still reach me.

Mitsuki: "You're right, Drake."

(These feelings won't disappear. They won't betray me.)

(Rather than being consumed by guilt, I will cherish these feelings.)

I will keep my feelings for you in my heart.

Mitsuki: "I won't betray this love."

A few days later, I remembered what Drake had said when I came to the Seine River.

------------Flashback-----------

Drake: "I just had an idea. Why don't we throw some bottled messages in the ocean next time?"

Mitsuki: "A message in a bottle? The one where you put a letter in a bottle and throw it into the ocean?"

---------Flashback Ends--------

I smiled back at Drake in my memory and took a bottle from my bag.

(Even though this isn't the sea, this place is the most memorable one for me.)

Inside the clear bottle was a letter I wrote to Drake.

(Even if we never see each other again, I hope my unchanging love will reach you someday.)

As I was about to throw the bottle with my endless wish—

???: "Heh, a message in a bottle? I've received something similar before."

(Huh?)

Someone smoothly snatched the bottle from my hand and chuckled.

Startled by the familiar voice, I turned around in disbelief.

Drake: "Look, a palm-sized ocean given to me by a cute little fawn. Beautiful, isn't it?"

Mitsuki: "Drake!"

Drake was smiling as he held the letter and bottle I had given him.

Mitsuki: "Drake? Is that really you?"

Drake: "Haha! The one and only Captain Drake."

Drake: "Believe me, Mitsuki."

Mitsuki: ".........."

Happiness and the desire to meet again flooded over me, and I jumped into his arms.

Mitsuki: "I believe you, I believe you. It's really you!"

Mitsuki: "I've wanted to see you for so long."

Drake: "Yeah, me too, fawn."

When I raised my head, beyond my teary vision, Drake's aquamarine eyes reflected me.

The longing that had filled my chest was replaced by an overwhelming sense of happiness, and my world lit up again.

Mitsuki: "I never thought you would come back."

Drake: "Ah, about that..."

Drake: "Well, I was left behind in a stupid way."

------------Flashback-----------

Galileo: "It looks like you found a place to stay other than this trip."

Galileo: "I'm going on ahead alone. You can dream for a while until I destroy this world."

Galileo: "Francis Drake, the pirate who moved the world. If you want something, steal it."

---------Flashback Ends--------

After leaving through that door a year ago, Drake and Galileo seemed to have continued their journey. However, after returning to their hideout, Galileo left Drake behind and closed that heavy door.

(Galileo brought Drake back?)

Drake: "It's a bit annoying to be set up like that, but I didn't back down."

Drake: "Pirates take everything they want. That's what we do."

Drake: "That's why it wasn't like me to not lay a hand on the most wanted treasure."

Drake lightly shrugged his shoulders and cupped my face, looking at me with intense, piercing eyes.

Drake: "You're the one I want the most. I want to obtain you as much as I want to destroy the world. You're my ultimate desire."

Drake: "That’s why I came to steal you."

Mitsuki: "Drake."

Drake: "I love you, Mitsuki."

(Ah, I can't resist him anymore.)

Even though he left behind this love in me, he appeared again and stirred my heart.

I love him, even though he's cruel.

Mitsuki: "Yeah, steal me, Drake. I love you too."

(I could finally express the words I never had someone to tell.)

(To Drake...)

Drake: "Mitsuki."

His face slowly moved closer to mine, and our lips touched, overflowing with emotions beyond words.

I hugged Drake's chest again, and his arms embraced me in return with a force that felt like I might truly be taken away.

Drake: "By the way, little fawn. Who is this message in a bottle for?"

Mitsuki: "Fufu. Well, he already received it."

Mitsuki: "To my beloved pirate, the only one in the endless sea."

With my luggage in my arms, I turned around at the gate and looked at the mansion.

Parting is always bittersweet, so I decided to bid farewell at the entrance.

(I came to the mansion from the Louvre Museum in the 21st century and met everyone.)

(I'm here right now, thanks to everyone's support.)

I cannot thank each and every one of them enough for understanding my feelings and decisions.

(Okay, Mitsuki, don't cry.)

I blinked my eyes to stop the tears and put on a smile.

Mitsuki: "I'm off."

With these words, I bid farewell to the many memories I had made here and turned my back on the mansion.

Then, before I knew it, the person of my chosen destiny stood before me.

Drake: "I'm here to pick you up, Fawn."

Mitsuki: "Drake."

Drake: "Did you forget something at the mansion? Anything unfinished or left undone?"

Mitsuki: "I'm fine. I'm just feeling a little sad."

Drake: "That's understandable."

Drake: "Should I give you a hug? Don't worry, I'll take care of you in their place."

Mitsuki: "I'll pass for now."

Drake: "You sure? Well, maybe later then."

(He says such things so casually.)

I took a deep breath and quietly suppressed my racing heart.

He looked at me for a moment and then extended his hand, just like before.

Drake: "Miss, how about a boat date with me before we leave?"

Drake's boat glided gracefully along the beautiful Seine River.

I couldn't help but gaze at him as the wind mischievously tousled his tied-up hair.

Drake: "Honestly, I thought you might hesitate about betraying everyone in the mansion."

Mitsuki: "The old me might have felt that."

Mitsuki: "But now, even if we're apart, I know my feelings for them won't disappear, so I'm okay."

(He made me realize this.)

I left the mansion to set off on a journey with him.

I've decided to follow him through that door and into a world I have yet to see.

------------Flashback-----------

Drake: "I want to live in this world with you and make you happy, Mitsuki."

Drake: "I want to make you happy with my own hands because that's what matters most when I think of you."

Drake: "But..."

(He's hesitating.)

Mitsuki: "You're concerned about leaving Galileo alone, aren't you?"

Drake: "..........."

Drake: "Man, you're pretty sharp."

Drake looked slightly embarrassed and sighed.

Drake: "Galileo's got his own thoughts, and he left me behind."

Drake: "Thanks to that, I reunited with you. But it's not a fair deal if I'm the only one benefiting."

He lowered his gaze for a moment before looking at me directly.

Feeling a bit nervous, I returned his gaze.

Drake: "I don't want to owe anyone anything. If someone does something to me, I'll do it back to them."

Drake: "Pirates get everything they want; that's our way of life."

(Yeah, that's who you are.)

He was the kind of person who would boldly set sail into the endless sea.

Drake: "I said I'd go with him on his journey, and now I've betrayed him."

Drake: "I'm planning to go against Galileo's intentions and chase after him through that door."

Mitsuki: "Okay."

Drake: "And you, Mitsuki. You're coming with me."

(Huh?)

I stopped thinking for a moment after hearing the exact opposite of what I was prepared to hear.

(Is he saying he won't let me go?)

I stared at him blankly, and Drake, who had a faint smile on his lips, quickly turned serious again.

Drake: "What Galileo and I are doing—our desires—might contradict the hopes you believe in, but..."

Drake: "Even if you say you don't want to, I'll still take you away."

Drake: "A year apart was enough to make me ache with longing. I don't want to let you go anymore."

Drake: "You can blame me if you want. Just think that being loved by me is the end of your luck, and let yourself be stolen."

(Drake...)

I couldn't simply be happy with the fact that he wanted me.

(If Galileo, like Drake, has time-traveled with despair in his heart, then the two of them may be plotting something that will drastically change the future of this world.)

If that happens, what will I do?

Mitsuki: "I'll go with you. I'll follow you wherever you go."

Drake: "Mitsuki."

Mitsuki: "And I'll see with my own eyes what the two of you are thinking and what you're trying to do."

Mitsuki: "I'll choose the path I believe in."

(I might end up facing Drake again at that time.)

(Still, by confronting him head-on, I will uphold my feelings for him.)

A love without lies or deception.

Drake: "Ah, as expected."

Mitsuki: "As expected?"

Drake: "You're still going to chase after me."

Drake: "I believed you would say that, Mitsuki."

(Believed me?)

Drake's word "believe" resonated in my heart as strongly as the words "I love you."

He smiled at me defiantly, almost provocatively.

Drake: "Mitsuki, shall we continue the bet from that day?"

Mitsuki: "Sure."

I nodded without hesitation anymore.

---------Flashback Ends--------

Drake: "What are you thinking, Fawn?"

Mitsuki: "Huh?"

Drake: "You were looking a bit distant."

Mitsuki: "I was just thinking about when I decided to go with you and our endless journey."

Mitsuki: "And also the outcome of our bet."

At the end of this journey, we might see countless futures of destruction, but among them, we might find even just one hopeful future.

(Even if we don't know what the outcome will be, this bet is a promise that we will be together forever.)

Holding onto the promise of no betrayal, I smiled and looked at him.

Then he squinted his eyes as if reflecting my feelings in a mirror.

Drake: "Hey, Mitsuki."

Mitsuki: "Yeah?"

Drake: "In our bet, I wish for the world to be destroyed, but..."

Drake: "I'm starting to think it wouldn't be so bad if you won."

(Does that mean...?)

Even Drake, who once wished for despair and the world's destruction, is showing a glimmer of hope.

Mitsuki: "Yeah. Even if I win, I'm sure there's a future you'll like waiting for you."

Drake: "I hope so."

In the depths of Drake's heart, there is still a dark, frozen sea.

(I will continue to shine the light by your side.)

Until the end of our never-ending journey.

Drake: "Hey, but that doesn't mean I'll give up halfway, okay?"

Mitsuki: "Hehe, I know. Both the bet and the journey are far from over."

Mitsuki: "So, will you steal me all the way to the ends of the sea, Mr. Pirate?"

Drake: "----!"

Drake: "Ah, geez, if you're going to say such cute things out of the blue, then I'll have to retaliate."

Mitsuki: "Huh? Kyaa!"

Just as I thought he was only putting a hat on me, I felt my body lift as the boat rocked.

Draco: "Captain! Heave-ho! Heave-ho!"

Draco, flying in from somewhere, chirped overhead as if cheering.

With me on his lap, Drake flashed a mischievous smile.

Drake: "Yes, Your Majesty. As you wish, I will steal you to the ends of the earth."

Drake: "You're the woman of my destiny. The greatest treasure I found while I was wandering endlessly."

Drake's eyes shone like a clear sea filled with radiance.

At this moment, there was no shadow of a despairing sailor, only eternal love.

Mitsuki: "I will follow you from now until forever. No matter what happens, I won't betray you."

Drake: "Yeah, I believe you won't betray me."

Drake: "You make me believe that."

Drake: "I love you. Even if the world falls apart someday, I want to see the future you believe in."

Mitsuki: "Hehe, isn't that contradictory?"

Drake: "Yeah."

We playfully touched noses and laughed together.

Drake: "Well then, shall we go? To the beginning of our grand voyage."

Nobody knows what lies ahead on this journey.

Still, I'll go anywhere as long as it's with you.

(We embraced, believed, and endured love even when betrayed.)

(You are my destiny.)

Previous Part ╎ Masterlist ╎ Romantic End

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp drake #ikevamp jp #francis drake #ikevamp francis #ikevamp translations #cybird

[jisungsdaydreamer]

No Man’s Land

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

SYNOPSIS After a disastrous shipwreck out at sea, Changbin should have died. But you saved him.

Pairing: Changbin x gn!reader Genre: mermaid au, pirate au Warnings: swearing, slightly suggestive, violence, death, nudity but not sexual World Count: 3.6k

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

Changbin is accustomed to the folk law of sea creatures, monsters with tentacles and suckers that rip the skin clean off your bones. When he’d first set sail with a captain whose lucrative business involved bloodshed, cannon fire, and rare visits to dry land, Changbin was fifteen. All he possessed were the tales his grandfather had received countless times. A sword was always strapped to his hip, but it was some time before he learned how to use it. Piracy is a crime punishable by death. But Changbin doesn’t intend on getting caught.

It’s the stories of creatures half-human, half-scaled, that Changbin can recall in greater detail. Shivers ripple through his body as he recounts the brutal cruelty these beings are capable of; known to prettily coax ships to the rocks. Some say they physically transform for each victim, your own personal siren, beautiful and nigh uncatchable in the water.

But the tales are not of much concern at the present minute, as the ship is hosting a rather bloody battle between the crew and those that have swung aboard, uninvited.

“Changbin!”

The warning almost comes too late, but Changbin turns, carving his sword into the man’s waist. A fatal red seeps into the clothing around the deep wound, mouth wide and breath punched. The man falls back, his dead weight hitting the hard deck.

There’s not much time to relax before another opponent chooses Changbin to pick a fight with. Changbin’s aim is weak when holding a pistol, and he desperately hopes the man aiming at him is just as poor. The bullet clips Changbin’s arm, a flesh wound that doesn’t cause much discomfort. And that’s particularly useful, because his attack is a surprise to the man he charges at. He could take an arm or a leg, but a blade through the left of his chest is something Changbin finds kinder, when ending a person’s life. Not that he’s ever had it happen to himself.

Changbin’s sword is slicked with crimson as he withdraws it from the torso. Sweat trickles his neck and back, as he discovers flames that lick up the stairs to the raised deck which holds the wheel. One of the vast sails has just caught alight, and despite the endless water surrounding them, it will be difficult to put it out. Steering has been abandoned in favor of fighting off the enemy, and Changbin’s judgment tells him the ship is careening towards a reef just barely visible above the ocean’s glassy surface.

He’s forced to scale the splintered wood to the side of the stairs in order to reach the wheel, but even then, he’s burnt from the heat. Alas, Changbin is too late. The belly of the ship crunches, shredded by the unforgiving rocks, and any effort to stop the consequences are rendered fruitless. Changbin’s limp body is catapulted forward, his hip slamming into the outer edge of the vessel as he is thrown over the side.

Changbin’s vision is blurred when he cracks his eyes open. It’s uncomfortable. Changbin is used to sleeping in rough conditions on the ship, but this doesn’t compare. Attempting to roll to the left jabs more sharp rock through his thin shirt. Wincing, Changbin moves to sit up instead, but soon wishes he didn't. Desperate eyes scan the surrounding water, but there’s nothing but a few floating planks and barrels. If anything was burning, the flames have been extinguished and everything is oddly still. The ship is gone and Changbin’s heart lurches at the possible whereabouts of his home.

The next sight his eyes are troubled by has him grabbing for the sword on his bruised hip but his hand clutches at thin air. Instead, a small dagger is drawn and thrust out defensively in front of him. Changbin sees that you look frightened, but the stories he has heard of mermaids has his fingers tighten around the handle of the blade. Your head bobs up again, and Changbin draws his legs further into him. He’s defenseless if you decide to drag him into the water.

He’s breathing heavily now, eyes never straying from the source of his fear. You curiously circle the rock he’s made residence on, coming a little too close for Changbin’s comfort. It’s a pathetic attempt, but he still wrestles off his one remaining boot and launches it at you. The pulsing waves make good cover as you duck. You seem more curious about the wriggling of his toes rather than his efforts to keep you away.

The movement triggers a sharp pain to the right of his forehead. The dagger has dropped from his hand, teetering on the edge of the stone, but before Changbin can reach it, the blade is swallowed by the ocean. He clutches at his temple, and as he withdraws his palm, blood mixed with water drips down his wrist.

“I’m sorry about that. You’re heavy and the sea is rough.”

You are much closer now, clinging to the rock on his left side with your hands, and it’s difficult for Changbin to mistake the regret in your sparkling eyes. The rest of your body past your bare shoulders is concealed within the inky waters and your dark hair cascades in waves around your delicate features.

“I pulled you onto the rock,” you continue as Changbin stares. “Because you can’t swim, can you? That’s why you sail on those big wooden arcs.”

“Ships.”

It’s the first word he’s spoken to you, and it seems apt for the situation he’s in.

“Ships,” you repeat, locking the information away.

He doesn’t correct her— Changbin’s a strong swimmer— but it doesn’t seem important now. He has far greater concerns. “Where is my ship?”

“Sunk.”

“And the men?”

“Sunk with it.”

You don’t hold an ounce of remorse, just inquisitively tilting your head. Your lack of sympathy reminds Changbin that you are a creature that isn’t human; you might as well be from a far-off land.

“Why did you put me here?”

It’s accusing. He should have died with his friends, not alone on a fucking rock. Changbin knows you both are in the middle of the ocean, he’d seen the maps a few days prior. They were sailing into open water.

“Because I found you.”

“There were plenty of men you could have captured,” Changbin bites back.

He’s not frightened of you anymore; he’s just incredibly pissed off. Stupid fish. Why couldn’t you have just left him to die?

“But I didn’t want them. I wanted to keep you,” you emphasize.

“Why?” He shakes his head.

“Because you’re beautiful.”

Your answer flushes his cheeks with color. He had expected a reply to run more along the lines of, ‘because I think you’ll scream the most when I rip you from limb to limb’ or perhaps, ‘you’ll taste the nicest when I wrap you in seaweed and feast on your flesh.’ You smile at his embarrassment, an emotion you’re probably unaware you have caused him to feel. No one has ever called him beautiful before.

“Are you a pirate?”

So apparently we’ve moved on, Changbin thinks. He shifts a little in your direction, and with the unparalleled view of his very own siren, he is secretly astounded with your beauty. It’s delicate in a fragile way, bringing a certain sadness to him.

“My ship’s gone, the crew… I’m just a man on a fucking rock now,” Changbin speaks in defeat.

He lays back on the jagged stone, heavily sighing and staring up at the clouds floating by.

“A boy.”

Changbin’s eyes harshly target you. Your eyebrows are raised in question to his challenging frown.

“I’m nineteen,” he states defensively.

“Is that old enough to be a man?”

He doesn’t miss the sharp gleam of your teeth. You could probably rip him to shreds, but he doesn’t think that will happen, now that you’ve called him beautiful.

“I think I’ve had enough life experience to merit me a man.”

“Oh,” you reply.

“How old are you?”

“I don’t know,” you retort with a shrug.

It’s off to see such a human gesture on something that Changbin knows is swimming around with a tail. It’s as though you can read his mind, flicking your lower half through the opaque water before coming to rest on his other side. He sits up.

“Why do you slay your own kind?”

The fighting. You’re talking about what happened between the two vessels. Changbin’s memory is fuzzy, and he accounts it to the knock his head received. The enemy ship must’ve gotten away unscathed, unless it’s wrecked like his own and lying beneath him. You were watching then.

“We had to protect the cargo,” He eventually replies.

“The shiny coins and pretty rocks?”

You smile in appreciation, and Changbin is certain you’re innocent to the worth of the stolen treasures. They wouldn’t be as good to you, as you spend your life solely below the surface of the sea.

“You’ve seen them?”

“Yes, I went down to have a look while you were sleeping. Your ship has holes in it, I don’t think it will float anymore.”

“No,” Changbin sadly shakes his head.

“Where have you been on your ship?” you ask, genuinely taking an interest in the stranded boy.

“Everywhere.”

You laugh, and the sound makes Changbin want to move closer. His grandfather’s words still ring in his head, the most malicious predator wears beauty as a mask, beware of the sealed splendor that inhabits the ocean, Changbin.

“You can’t have been everywhere.”

He’s going to die anyway, why not let it be at the hands of his own siren?

“Even if I haven’t, there are thousands of ships; man has conquered the ocean,” Changbin replies with assurance.

Your smile drops, fingers slipping from the side of Changbin’s rock, and you create space between you both. You float as he shuffles down, feet dipping into the water. When you make no move towards him, Changbin lets his legs hang over the side. The water is cool.

“You’re naive, pirate,” you speak in such a harsh tone, Changbin finds it difficult to accept that those words have come from something so lovely.

“My grandfather slayed a monster of the sea, it was forty feet long,” He challenges.

Changbin thinks you ought to be impressed, his grandfather was a legend. But his pride sinks as you coldly stalk him. The once pretty shimmer of your tail has taken on a darker tone. Changbin braces his hands behind him, leaning back slightly and away from you.

“I’ve seen bigger,” you finally reply with a small smile.

If Changbin didn’t know any better, he’d say your words were laced with suggestive air. It’s a manner he’s only ever heard of in the bedrooms of women he visits when making an occasional port stop. You’re either unaware of your affect or playing with him on purpose.

“Have you?” Changbin laughs, not in a questioning way, but with a genuine interest.

You swim closer back to the rock, your shoulders rising above the water for the first time, exposing your body to Changbin for the first time. His eyes traced over all of you, your delicate but strong arms, the graceful arch of your neck, the soft curves of your hips. And when Changbin realizes that your torso is bare, save for the gorgeous curls of your hair, he immediately looks away, his face colored with his sudden bashfulness.

It is not as if Changbin has never set eyes on someone’s naked form, but the gorgeous creature in front of him is no human- no, you are ethereal, exquisite, a kind of loveliness unknown to man. Looking at you feels new, somehow; you are only a fantasy, a being of old sailor tales, and up until now, everything about you was a mystery to Changbin.

“You and your ships have barely explored the surface,” you state, amused, as you rest your chin upon your forearms, propped up on Changbin’s small, probable death, a stone island. “There’s so much more.”

You’re kindly smiling now, friendly demeanor in place of whatever manifested a short time before.

“More?” Changbin speaks without thinking, leaning closer to share the secret.

“I could show you.”

Changbin shakes his head with a shy smile, looking down and observing the way his legs swing back and forth in the water. He should feel cold, but he doesn’t. Changbin doesn’t have time to go exploring with you, his life on the rock must come to an end soon; he has no drinking water, no food, no nearby shore.

“Will you sing to me then?” you ask quietly. “I heard you before the fighting. You have such a pretty voice, will you sing to me, pirate?”

Changbin indulges the bewitching mermaid and recites an old song his mother used to sing to him. You are so enthralled, requesting that he repeat the tune and then sing a new one. By the time he’s finished, Changbin’s voice is tortured with thirst. You are laid partially on the rock, tail dipping in and out of the water as you praise him for such a wonderful performance.

“Your eyes look like the deep ocean,” you keenly observe. Changbin has never heard of a more poetic way of describing his murky brown eyes. “It’s one of my favorite places.”

He’s tired now, hungry and possibly a little sunburnt. With his eyes closed, Changbin is free to imagine himself anywhere he pleases. The sun is still beating a warm glow in what he believes to be late afternoon. And Changbin can’t seem to envision himself anywhere but here, on a rock in the ocean, with a sea creature for company. A beautiful one. Changbin’s glad that they haven’t exchanged names, because hearing you say his might in fact be a massive obstruction in his plan of not getting attached and wanting to stay. Learning yours would swell his heart.

You are lovingly gazing at him when he opens his eyes. He’s had time to think and he’s made his decision.

“I’d like to see. Will you take me there?”

Changbin is slipping down the rock before you even confirm your answer. Your eyes are bright with joy, excited that the boy would accept your offer. You’ve never been this close to a pirate, or a human, for that matter. And now, your heart flutters because you get to hold him again. He’s not asleep this time.

Once he’s fully submerged, your arms wrap Changbin’s torso, pressing you into him. He’s not expecting you to be so gentle, conscious of the fragility of his body as you cradle him away from the inevitable danger of the rock.

“You can’t swim, I’ll hold you.”

Your smile almost makes Changbin want to confess he can’t be yours. There’s no hope for him, Changbin understands that. And maybe this won’t be such an awful conclusion. He’d imagined his life to come to an end at the tip of a blade, sea air spraying his face, not in the arms of a creature who inhabits the ocean he sails. Changbin almost wishes his grandfather could be here to witness the ‘monster’ he’d painted into his grandson’s young mind. To see that you’re not a ruthless predator, not a vicious, inhuman monster. You saved his life.

“Are you ready?”

And now, you’re unwittingly going to take it from him.

Changbin’s lips fall to yours. It’s a surprise for you, because it’s a soft pink. Warm. Their noses brush as the angle transforms, and the boy presses his mouth to the corner of yours. The laugh that escapes is musical, and you squeeze his injured hip.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s a kiss,” Changbin breathlessly explains.

Your eyes dart over his face, absorbing the boy’s striking features, and you playfully tug at the end of the black scarf tied around his head.

“What’s it for?”

The mermaid smiles innocently, questioning about a subject that he’s never been asked to analyze before.

“It— it doesn’t really have a purpose.”

He’s not going to delve into the logistics, because all Changbin can think of is to explain a kiss like that is love. The situation doesn’t need to last longer. He’s ready to go with you now.

“Then why do you do it?”

“It feels nice,” Changbin’s voice descends in volume, embarrassed to be called out.

He looks at the length of your hair falling over your shoulders and down your back, before tracing his eyes upward again, over the strange gashes in your neck.

“Do it again,” you breathe.

He does as told, closing his eyes and melting into the last kiss he’ll ever have. You follow the only lead you have ever had and shut your eyes. It seems strange to you, to blind yourself when commencing in an intimate act. Surely you’d want to see the other person. Your mind flutters as the boy performs magic with just his lips. And you come to realize that ‘kissing’ is more to do with how you feel, rather than what you see.

Changbin is startled as you pull away, hiding your face and giggling. Your shimmering tail floats back and forth under the water beneath them, your hands still firmly holding his waist.

“What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, water droplets trickling down your neck and over your chest.

“Your tongue touched mine,” you exclaim, blushing.

It’s enormously endearing and Changbin finds himself wishing that he’d met someone like you on land. You would have convinced him not to leave, not to climb aboard the ship proudly displaying black flags. He would have a respectable job and thrive on the knowledge that everyday, you’d be home waiting for his return. He could have loved someone like you.

“I’m ready.”

You beam a smile at him before helping his arms around you. His fingers skim the hardened scales on the small of your back, tracing the gradual boundary between ocean dwelling and human.

“Hold on to me,” you whisper, the last words spoken between you both before you submerge.

The saltwater stings Changbin’s eyes. His instincts tell him to fight the hold and break the surface, but he overcomes reflex, letting you cling to him as you dive further down. You’re more powerful than he’d expected, and they descend quickly. The pressure is starting to burn, pressing down on his chest as he holds the last of his breath. Three more beats of your tail, and Changbin can’t put off the inevitable any longer. Water painfully invades his lungs, body convulsing with the onslaught before succumbing to the ocean, and the pretty creature who cradles him.

He knew he would drown, but you didn’t.

They come to a slow halt to admire the surroundings.

“Look,” you smile.

These waters are your favorite, pretty fish and deep water coral. It’s a wash of colors that most don’t get to see, perhaps that’s what makes it so special.

The boy’s head rests in the crook of your neck. You hold him away from you slightly so you can see his face, see the awe you hope his features will express. But his face is blank, eyes shuttered closed, hands no longer seeking you for guidance.

You shake him, as much as the dense water allows. The hair not trapped beneath the bandana floats around him like a halo.

“Why won’t you open your eyes?” Your voice trembles with a cry.

He can’t swim. Your hands settle a small distance away from his waist in hopes that he’ll reach out and clutch you to him again. But he doesn’t. The boy begins to drift, and you snap from your despair, taking handfuls of his shirt and dragging him into your arms.

“Sing to me,” you desperately say into his ear. “Please.”

You’ve seen men like this before, but you had accounted for their unresponsiveness to the wounds to neck or chests. They were already dead before they hit the water, thrown over the side of ships that flaunted those black sails. Your boy has no such injuries. You check, hands smoothing over his defined chest under the tattered shirt. There’s no wounds, no blood. Delicate fingers inspect his shoulders, and your frantic searching dies when you reach his neck. A distraught cry frightens the nearby fish, as they seek cover in the nearby coral. The three gashes that you have on either side of your throat are absent on his.

The boy couldn’t breathe.

“No.”

You receive odd looks from your siblings, but you pay no mind. The boy is yours; you’ll look after him.

Others of your kind have gathered around the wrecked ship settled on the ocean floor. It’s not too far from the surface, light still penetrating from above. With practiced skill, you carefully navigate the vessel’s interior, an area you’ve previously explored after rescuing the boy you now protectively embrace. The cargo he’d talked about spills over the chewed up wooden floor.

There’s not much of a current, especially as they’re sheltered within the ship’s hull. You allow his body to float down upon a bed of shiny coins and pretty rocks: a fitting resting place for your beautiful boy.

You stay with him until the waters are cold and looming with the promise of nightfall. Normally, you’d spend this time above the surface, sitting on the boy’s vacant rock to watch the sun go down. It is possible to cry underwater, and your sorrowful tears wash with the ocean.

Your lips press to his, but you don’t linger because he’s cold. The once pretty pink is now a stony blue as you run the tip of your finger over the curves of his mouth.

“Forgive me,” you plead.

One last look and you’re gone.

But you should have stayed with him though, as now the boy’s eyes are wide open. There are gashes on his neck, and he’s breathing the oxygen in the water…

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I wrote this years ago. I just love mermaids & Changbin!

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

#changbin #changbin imagines #seo changbin #stray kids #stray kids imagines #angst #fluff #jisungsdaydreamer #skz #skz changbin #skz fluff #imagines #scenarios #skz fic #changbin fic #changbin x reader #skz scenarios #stray kids fic #stray kids changbin #mermaid #mermaid imagines #mermaid au #gender neutral reader #pirates #pirate x mermaid #stray kids au #non idol au #kpop fics

[palettepainter]

I’ll be posting a little writing WIP for Hired Sparky later today, but for the Undertale fandom, may I propose an idea with Siren Horror?

I’m a shameless fan of HTTYD and the Sea Beast and 2024 I am dubbing my year of self indulgence so I’m posting this. I might write this if it’s popular enough or if I get the confidence too, but imagine: 

Y/N as a newcomer to a seaside town, neatly nestled on a coastline in the middle of nowhere. It’s bitterly cold nearly all year, and the people are about as sweet as vinegar. But the housing is dirt cheap, considering the looking threat of sirens that infest the waters. Y/N is nearly dirt broke and is looking to build a life outside of their family home, so the unwelcome seaside town it is! Not many people are willing to go fishing in waters popular for siren sightings, so the pay is pretty impressive (even if the work field is a bit competitive at times)

They’re hired onto a boat crew of hardened fishermen who all retell gorey tales of siren attacks in great detail fairly quickly, after doing a bit of research on sirens. The crew are at the point where they’ve learnt to laugh a little, they’ve worked the job long enough that they’re pretty relaxed despite the looming threat of danger on the water. Y/N is not so eased. They’re hired purely as a second hands on the boat: tending to nets and sorting fish once they’ve hauled onto the boat, nothing else. But the captain still hands them a rather heavy harpoon gun with permission to fire if need be. 

They set off into deeper waters where few fishing boats are given the clear to fish, meaning it’s basically free game for anybody with a net to catch fish of all kind. The weather is rough, but the crew bat their hands and say they’ve faced down worse storms 

But then a siren is spotted breaching the water a little ways from the boat. They’re not in immediate danger, and so reader assumes they’ll simply sail out of its line of sight, but the crew already fire a warning harpoon into the water to try and scare it off. For a beat, there is nothing, before the siren attacks the ship - a kraken of all things, one of the most dangerous species, considering its ability to grasp at the ship 

The harpoon has wedged itself into the creatures skull, piercing through the top and dimming it’s eye lights. It screeching, in confusion or anger, maybe it’s the panic coursing through their system, but the protagonist thinks that maybe, their might be fear mixed in with that shrieking. More harpoons and swords are fired at its heaving body, chipping at already injured and cracked parts.

When Y/N is ordered to shoot they instead aim for the rope attached to the end of the harpoon wedged in the creatures head, it grazes the rope, but it’s enough for the creature to snap is with a violently throw of its head. The creature sinks back into the water, the boat tossing from the loss of its weight, sending many of the crew overboard - including reader 

They try to swim back to the boat, but swimming in the confines of a pool to practise swimming in the sea proves that the sea is far more ruthless. They end up being dragged out to sea, climbing to a part of the boat railing that had been snapped off during the attack. Reader wakes up in some kind of enclosed cavern like structure, obviously forged overtime from the waves chipping away at the rocks. They’re cold, hungry, terrified…but alive. And they learn quickly they’re not alone. The siren is nearby, confused, disoriented and greatly weakened from the spear still stuck in their head. They can barely keep their head upright before they topple back into the shallow water with a grunt of exhaustion 

It takes a bit of effort, and gently coaxing, and a hell of a lot of stupid bravery, but when the siren has tired itself out enough and after several failed attempts at trying to swat them away (missing mostly each time thanks to their vision being heavily impaired from their injury) but eventually, the reader dislodges the spear, and is then promptly smacked *hard* and is sent flying into the sand 

Reader is certain they heard something snap as they fall back onto the sand, but miraculously, they don’t collide back onto any rocks. Feeling sore, they sit up, the siren is supporting itself on an arm with laboured breaths, the other clasping at the eye socket on the injured side of its head. Gradually, a red, focused eye light burns to life, focused dead on them. The siren looks at them curiously, as if they’re only just realising it’s alone - Y/N expects an attack, for it to pounce, so something…instead, the siren snorts, shakily hobbling off to the were the water is deepest 

Basically: what if Reader was THERE when Sans got that injury on his head?? The two have been washed into a cove by the tides: Sans is too exhausted to climb out and the water is dangerously shallow, there isn’t enough food for him to sustain himself, and without it, he won’t heal. Reader goes through the whole “Maybe these monsters are only monsters because we chose to see them that way” and overtime the two form a somewhat bond, reader bringing Horror food and such while he heals and Horror showing them that sirens are far more intelligent than what silly books have documented about them 

I’m a sucker for enemies of two separate tribes or species breaking the generational hate and learning to be friends it is SUCH a good dynamic and it scratches my brain the perfect way 

#2024 the year of self indulgence #Undertale #Jusr a tiny bit obsessed with horror siren sans now #Just an idu-bitu #Jk I love him and his design so much #horrorsans #sirentale #Siren horror #Horror sans

[leiawritesstories]

swords and sea breezes

written for @throneofglassmicrofics with the prompt "Voyage," if you're noticing an ocean theme no you're not lollll

word count: 795

warnings: none!

enjoy :))

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

To say she hadn't wanted to be on this ship would have been a gross understatement. There was not a single molecule of Aelin's being that had not resisted this journey, but despite her valiant, violent attempts to stay off the ship, there she stood. It had taken a powerful sleeping drug and four armed guards to transport her while she slumbered, but apparently her parents would stop at nothing to force their only child into a marriage alliance with a foreign prince.

Damned politics.

When she awoke from her drugged sleep, she had locked herself in her cabin for three days, only emerging when the growling in her stomach threatened to wake the whole damn ship. She immediately discovered a rotating patrol of soldiers posted outside her door, and it took her all of a week to convince the blue-jacketed young men that she was perfectly capable of relieving herself without supervision. It had taken her two weeks to convince her guards that her daily walk was not enough fresh air, and they had finally allowed her to roam the ship, provided there was at least one guard tailing her at all times.

Aelin stood at the starboard railing of the deck, basking in the glow of the setting sun and the whispers of sea breezes that ruffled her loose hair and her skirt--simple gray cloth, since her fine dresses were useless on a ship full of stone-faced sailors. She closed her eyes, leaning into the last embers of sunset, and whispered her plea for freedom to the thrumming waves.

Please, gods above, save me from this fate.

"My lady, GET DOWN!" Her guard's sudden, sharp yell was punctuated with the weight of his body slamming into hers, all but tackling her to the deck in a graceless heap.

A flaming cannonball screamed across the deck, inches away from where Aelin had stood, blasting through sail cloth and lines and the opposite railing before it splashed into the sea.

The ship burst into a flurry of shouts, orders, and scrambling sailors everywhere. Aelin's guard helped her up and practically yanked her belowdecks, ignoring her slew of questions as he pushed her into her room and barred the door. He gave her only a salute as he whirled om his heel and ran back up to the deck.

Aelin pounded on the barred door. "Ass!" she yelled, fuming. She stalked over to her window and peered out, scanning the rapidly darkening ocean for--"Oh gods."

Pirates.

Swiftly, she stuffed some clothes, her journal, her sketchbook, and her jewelry into a simple canvas bag. She tugged on a pair of fitted trousers beneath her skirt, strapped her precious set of knives to her thigh, tucked her only dagger into her left boot, and grasped the handle of her window, pulling at it with all her strength. "Bloody....hell ...MOVE!" With an almighty yank, the glass groaned and opened with a boom, leaving a gap just large enough to squeeze through.

"Resourceful," drawled a deep, amused voice from behind her.

Her spine stiffening into steel, Aelin turned around--very slowly--to find a tall, broad, tattooed man with stormy emerald eyes leaning against the ruins of her door, smirking despite the blood staining his torn shirt and trousers and the bruises forming on his skin. Two smoking pistols filled the holsters on his hips, a leather brace of bullets slung across his chest, and far too many blades for comfort were strapped to his limbs.

She narrowed her eyes into a glare. "You're too late." And she leapt for her window, only to be abruptly stopped with a rough, calloused hand around her throat.

"I don't think so, my lady." A needle pricked at her neck, and her vision went black.

~

Aelin blinked awake to the unexpected luxury of soft linen sheets and a feather mattress beneath her. Groggily, she rubbed her eyes and rotated her stiff neck and shoulders as the details of the surprisingly large, well-furnished cabin came into view.

"Good morning, my lady." Her peace splintered with the sound of that infernal voice. The pirate who'd taken her lounged in a chair opposite the bed she sat in. He'd cleaned away the blood and changed into clean clothes, but the weapons still bristled off of him. "Welcome to the Queen's Cadre."

Her jaw dropped. She snapped it closed. "What do you rotten lot want with a minor noble lady sailing to her arranged marriage?"

He chuckled. "Rotten lot. I like that. As for what we want, my lady, it is simple."

"Do share, sailor."

"Rowan Whitethorn, at your service, my lady." He bowed, that smirk of his gracing his face. "Now. Take us to that island that your fiancé is hiding. We know it's not a myth."

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@aelinschild

@renxzs

#my writing #prompt fill #throne of glass microfics #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass fanfic #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin fanfic #oh look another ocean-based prompt

[ltwilliammowett]

A clay pipe with silver rim, mounted on a rough piece of wood, originally from the 1845 Northwest Passage expedition led by Sir John Franklin. The bowl of the pipe still contains tobacco and is covered with a glass lid. On the front of the wooden bowl is a plaque with the inscription "First traces of Franklin's Expedition found at Cape Riley 23rd Augt 1850".

The pipe was found, along with other relics, by Captain Erasmus Ommanney and his party when he landed HMS Assistance at Cape Riley on the Isle of Devon on 23 August 1850. These were the first tracks found by the Franklin expedition. The note he left in a cairn at the site states that he "found traces of a camp and collected the remains of materials which evidently prove that a party belonging to Her Majesty's ships were examined in detail at this place. Sherard Osborn recalled: "Numerous traces of English seamen who had visited this place were discovered in various pieces of rags, ropes, broken bottles, and a long-handled instrument designed to rake things up from the bottom of the sea; traces of a campsite were also visible…" Ommanney kept some of these items and after his death his widow donated them to the Museum of the Royal United Services Institution in 1905.

#naval artifacts #clay pipe #franklin expedition #1850 #naval history #age of sail #arctic exploration

[anangelwhodidntfall]

Hi! I was wondering if you can do headcannons of what dating prince eric would be like? Or even being married to him would be like? But in detail?

Thank you! 😊

A/N: I'm sorry this took so long, had some irl stuff and writers block happen <3

Dating/Being Married to Prince Eric Headcannons

-After a few dates, Eric finally asked you to be his girlfriend during a boat ride while looking at the stars and you said yes of course!

-You two always holding hands wherever you went, it was something simple but it was also a way for you both to know that the other was there

-Him always seeking you out when he had a rough day from his royal duties, and then you took head down to the beach where he could lay his head in your lap and tell you about what was troubling him while you played with his hair and offered him advice

-You two constantly planning out your next adventures, you loved the stars and the unknown and he loved the ocean and the unknown so you two are always exploring

-On the of chance you can't join him on his trips, he always writes you letters and brings you back small gifts that he knows you'll love which always warms your heart to know that he is always thinking about you

-you two constantly pulling pranks on each other, or one the rare chance you team up together, you guys pulling pranks on the staff and the villagers

-Dates by the sea or boat rides where you two can be alone with each other without any interruptions.

-Not being able to keep your hands off of each other, if you two even see each other, you are making your way towards the other where hand holding, lap sitting, hugging and more occur just because your so in love with each other

-Him always surprising you little gifts from the market even if you told him a bunch of times, he doesn't need to constantly show you with gifts, because he is more than enough but he still doesn't because he loves the smile on your face and the growing collection in your room.

-Spontaneous picnics! You'll be work and then he'll show up and pull you away from your work despite your protests which die on your lips once you see the picnic that he set up for you two.

-Going out and watching the stars on the beach, where you tell him about the constellations and different stars and he just watches you with a smile on his face while you two hold hands.

-Sometimes you have difficulty sleeping, so he will come to your room or you will go to his, and there he will cuddle you to sleep while he sings to you where you eventually fall asleep to the sound of his voice and the warmth of your arms.

-Grimsby pointing you out to him and Eric just blurts out that he loves you which makes you smile and blush and he looks at you with a wide grin before making his way over to you. 

-After dating for sometime I wanna say maybe two to three years, Eric finally decides he is gonna purpose to you, I mean the boy I wanted to marry you from the moment he saw you but didn't want to scare you off. 

-So he planned to take you to this beautiful island where you could see the stars so clearly and brightly and then after a picnic dinner he would ask you the question.

-You knew Eric was up to something but couldn't quite figure out, so all through the voyage, you would ask him questions which he gave you some made up answers which you pretended to accept.

-Each night on the voyage you two would have dinner and then go out and look at the stars 

-He also let you steer the ship with his help of course, but he really just wanted to see and hear that beautiful smile of yours when you did something

-You guys finally arrived at the island and you were in awe at how beautiful it was, as Eric docked the ship before helping you down off of it.

-What are we doing here? You asked him. Well I know how you've always wanted to come here, so I figured we could spend a few days here." He said smiling at you as you guys walked towards the bungalow where you would be staying. 

-After eating some dinner you two settled in for the night, pretty exhausted from traveling

-The next morning you two ate breakfast and explored the island while Eric calmed his nerves for what he was planning on doing later today

-You were exhausted from your morning exploring so you decided to lay down for a bit and rest and while you were napping Eric began setting everything up for proposal. 

-You woke and realized sunset was happening and your stomach growled making you go look for Eric and when you walked outside you were greeted with the most beautiful picnic ever and Eric walked over placing a flower in your hair and kiss on your lips. 

You two ate dinner where you talked about what you were gonna do for the last two days here, when you saw Eric stand up making you confused and you watched as he pulled something out of his pocket before kneeling.

-he asked you to be his wife in the most beautiful way possible and you said yes of course and once that ring was on your finger, you two shared the most passion kiss and more under the stars.

-Once you two got home you two shared the news with everyone who was happy for you, and you two ended up having.a two month engagement where you guys got married on the beach and ended up honeymooning on an island that you two wanted to explore. 

-Being married to Eric was absolutely wonderful, you two radiated happiness where you went.

-You two sharing the royal duties making sure the other doesn't get to stressed or overwhelmed about work 

-You two constantly sneaking away for alone time 

-You two always going on adventures together or in the case when you got pregnant and had to stay back you waited anxiously for his letters and his return

-Him being the best husband ever making sure you always woke up to fresh flowers, always making time to have meals with you 

-making sure you two have date nights to keep the spark alive 

-when you told him that you pregnant with ya'lls first child he cried tears of happiness because something was made out of the love between you two.

-constantly having your hands all over each other, never being far apart from one another 

#prince eric #prince eric x reader #prince eric headcannons #prince eric x you #the little mermaid live action #the little mermaid x reader

[toothbrushfingers]

Can we talk about how literally everything about How to Train Your Dragon is just absolutely perfect.

An analysis…. an ever-so-slightly bias analysis

The animation? Stunningly beautiful. Even the shows aren’t awful. …not including Nine Realms… The water is gorgeous, the detail in simple background things like the mountains, sea stacks, trees, clouds, and even dragon scales and the IRISES of both dragon and human eyes is amazing. Not to mention the way they’re able to convey flying as both high energy and scary, yet also slow and relaxing is so incredible to me.

The characters and their designs? Couldn’t have done it better my self. Not only are the character designs for each character perfect for their unique personality’s, but they stick out from each other while simultaneously fitting together so well that you can instantly tell they belong together even if you the never seen the movies. And the way each character mirrors their dragon both in design and personality is also perfect.

On the same note, the characters are just… SO well written. The female characters each have their own unique design, goal, personality. AND they’re STRONG! You know how rare that is?! And the character growth of even background or side characters (snotlout for example) is impeccable and so realistic. Each and every character truely FEELS like they are their own person. Just another way you get so immersed in this world.

One of my biggest pet peeves of animation is the over the top voice acting. They always sound too cheery or dumbed down for younger audiences. Not httyd. The delivery of the lines is just so natural. The characters mutter to themselves, they interrupt each other, they raise their voices, they STUTTER and stammer. It’s relatable and it puts you IN their world, because I can guarantee that you’ve done all those things yourself.

I also love that’s there about a MILLION different dragons, dragon types and classes. You can really tell how much thought and care was put into it. And not only that, but each dragon has their own unique look, ability, class, personality, and VOICE. The fact that each dragon has their own voice is an amazing detail that blends in so well, it tends to go unnoticed.

The background noise and music make a beautiful and easy to recognize ambiance. There’s always some sort of background noise, even when there’s no music or speaking to fill dead air. Whether it’s birds chirping, fire crackling, wood being walked on or rocking on a ship, or the sound of giant wings beating through rough wind. It’s always there.

And the music? It makes me cry. No matter the context. There are so many video analysts you can and should watch talking about just this and the amount of care and thought John Powell put into even the smallest of ques is amazing. Each theme has a purpose. You wont hear a character’s theme just because they’re on the screen, no. You’ll hear the STORY theme that fits best in that scene. For example the Lost and Found theme from the 2nd movie. I recommend watching Film Score and More’s videos about it on YouTube.

And of course, last but MOST CERTAINLY not least, the story. Although I’m not a big fan of the final movie and definitely have my own headcanons that contradict it, the rest of the story is one that I will NEVER tamper with. While each movie, special, and TV series has their own story that takes place, there’s also the over arching story. One of growth, acceptance, and learning to let go. And it carries over even through the mini story’s that take place along the way. It’s just… beautiful. And gut wrenching. I’m a good way.

In conclusion, httyd is the perfect series and I will forever die on this hill. Except for the Nine Realms. Never the Nine Realms.

#httyd #how to train your dragon #httyd rtte #httyd movies #httyd race to the edge #race to the edge #snotlout jorgenson #hiccup haddock #httyd 2 #hiccup #toothless #fuck spitelout #astrid hofferson #rtte #fishlegs #headcanon #httyd 1 #httyd soundtrack #httyd valka #httyd dagur #httyd fandom #httyd 3 #httyd rob #httyd dob #analyst #analysis

[garnettfox]

Miracubots AU: Bits and Pieces

Thought about doing a vague timeline for the AU, but this one was niggling at me more.

So I've detailed about the main Rescuebots, but what about the others and the Autobots? Mostly the main Rescuebots want them to STAY. OFF. GRIFFIN. ROCK. They are having a rough enough time with just the four of them, they don't need to be worrying about other Cybertronians getting Akumatized. Hightide is mostly the one taking care of that. The moment he get's told about Swallowtail he pretty much goes 'Welp, I'm staying out to sea because I'd be a weekly Akuma' And agrees to help wrangle the other Bots and especally Optimus to keep them off the island, and offers his ship for the others to come to, to let off steam without worrying about Akumas. We've actually joked that he pulls a Swerve and just opens a fucking bar XD

I vaguely made mention of my OC Dusk who's this universe's Evilistrator and becomes Graham's boyfriend, he also has a little sister Claire who's the OC of my friend @beesquared whom I made this AU with. We go back and forth on it quite a bit because we play about with different versions of this AU but we typically agree. Dusk ends up with the Rooster Miraculous becoming Asmodeus and Claire the mouse becoming Pinkie.

Taking some Inspiration from Lady Luck, the Miraculous if you hold them for long enough have a physical and minor psychological effect on the holders. Not much but enough that if you know what's happening it's pretty obvious. The physical is pretty much just that no matter what the animal related to your miraculous is, you end up growing fangs. Even the Kwami don't know why and are confused when this ends up being true for the bots as well.

Food cravings relating to your Miraculous also start to happen. Cody develops one hell of a sweet tooth thanks to Tikki, and discovers he's gotten a taste for rarer meat as Ladybugs are voracious predators. Frankie and Plagg bonding over using science to make more camenbert and her also developing a hunger for meet, Doc Greene (Who despite not getting a Miraculous is let in on the secret) has to stop keeping mice in the lab for experaments because it is a constant test of Frankie's will power. Chase's to.

Chief, Kade and Graham end up developing a slight aversion to meat. Not too much in Chief and Graham's case as horse and goat meat are hard to get, though Graham can't stomach goat milk, and find themselves drawn more to vegetarian options. Poor Kade though starts getting nauseous at just the smell of beef cooking and the family agrees to stop stocking cow milk completely. Dani is just laughing at them slavoring anything she can get away with in honey

The bots *also* develop cravings, mostly for meat as most of them are carnivores, though Boulder when he's using his holoform is usually happily noshing on mushrooms and the vegetarian options the family starts having.

Other ways the Miraculous effects them, Cody and Dani end up accidentally making a flower garden together, they both enjoy unwinding by taking care of it, though Cody trys to make sure he never does it on an empty stomach as the aphids on the flowers look....*way* too tempting when he's hungry.

Graham starts chewing on anything and everything, especally when thinking, to the point where exasperated with him destorying some of his paint brushes Dusk as a joke gets him some baby's teething toys...Only to notice it's actually helping Graham and more seriously getting him chewlery he can wear all the time.

Other effects are a bit more subtle, Kade snorting like a bull when angry, Dani having the urge to move constantly when she's trying to explain or give someone directions.

And others are the bots literally starting to purr (Heatwave) Yipp (Blades) or snort (Boulder) when happy and hiss (Chase) when upset/stressed. Chase get's whammyed by Sass's miraculous quite a lot, if the familys ever on the beach and not on a rescue, Chase will just flop on the sand and bask for a while. And when he starts getting grumpy in winter the other bots set up sun lamps for him.

The snake miraculous literally gave the guy seasonal affective disorder.

#rescue bots #miraculous au #black cat miraculous #ladybug miraculous #miraculous plagg #miraculous ladybug #miraculous sass #tf #rb #cody burns #chief charlie burns #kade burns #graham burns #dani burns #heatwave rescue bots #boulder rescue bots #blades rescue bots #chase rescue bots #frankie greene