#Sometimes the sailors get a little out of hand on dock days... And one must negotiate their release from jail.

[ffxivaltaholic]

Vierapril 2024 - Prompt 13 - Release

"A few gil to look the other way?"

#zhira rhune #vierapril24 #Sometimes the sailors get a little out of hand on dock days... And one must negotiate their release from jail. #One to many drinks #A little negotiating to garner their freedom from the drunk tank

[rorywritesjunk]

No longer locked upon the land but free on the rolling waves

You and Buggy come face to face with himself from the past, and while you're fully accepting that this is your husband as a child, Buggy doesn't want to accept it.

Rating: PG-13ish, but just due to some swearing.

Warning: Upset kid, upset husband. Reader is way too nice, doesn't necessarily take husband's feelings into account as well.

A/N: A combined request. I did a few versions of this story before feeling like it hit the marks I was wanting to hit. Also, I'm just trying to vibe off what I've seen of Kid Buggy. I'm no expert. I'd protect that kid with my life. He's so adorable. I also like the trope of "Meeting your self from another time" and "gets turned back into kid-self". This is the former, and I know shit about time travel but I just kind of made something up. Also, kelpies. Are they in One Piece? I honestly don't know but I love kelpies and needed an excuse to mention them.

Title comes from "Sailing Song" by S.J. Tucker.

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6/Epilogue

Chapter One

You would have thought you drank the pub dry the night before and were still drunk with what you were seeing in front of you. Except you very much didn’t drink. You stayed back on the ship, wanting a quiet night while the rest of the crew and captain went to drink the pub dry. You were perfectly sober, no hangover in sight, but you really weren’t sure what you were staring at.

Blue hair, red nose, and a scowl you knew all too well was in front of you, clutching something in his little hands while looking you up and down. “What?!”

“I… don’t know.” Which was true, you didn’t know. The kid in front of you looked every bit like the captain who was currently sleeping back on the ship, having managed to find his way home without falling off the docks and into the water to drown(this time). He never mentioned having a kid, ever, and considering how long you knew the captain and your relationship with him, and guessing the kid’s age, you would have been having a very serious talk about infidelity and why keeping your love child a secret? Seriously? wasn’t good for relationships. 

“Why are you staring at me?!” The kid snapped. “Don’t stare at me!”

“Sorry!” You smiled and knelt down in front of him. “You just look so much like someone I know, I was confused. I promise I wasn’t staring.”

The kid was on guard, tense, and looked ready to bolt, but you were curious. He just looked so much like Buggy that he had to be an offspring or some kind of relative, but the scary thing to you was how much he really looked like Buggy; he had kept some photos of his childhood onboard the Oro Jackson, and you knew what he looked like as a kid. He would show them to you on nights when he was drunk and reminiscing about the good ol’ days, singing shanties and drinking heavily. Last night was one of those nights before he passed out asleep in bed. 

“What’s your name?” You finally asked. The kid didn’t seem sure about telling you, but he must have felt brave because he straightened up and smirked at you.

“I’m Buggy!” He told you, puffing his chest out proudly. “I’m an apprentice under Captain Roger, y’know, and I’m one of the best already!”

Oh.

Oh shit.

Yea, no, something weird was going on. Why was there a kid who looked like Buggy, had the same name, and was talking about Captain Roger like he was still alive? Was this an elaborate make believe game the kid was playing, or were you staring into the eyes of your husband’s childhood self?

Weirdly enough, the latter made more sense to you. You heard of this happening, stories from sailors and pirates alike, but the stories were overheard at the bar after too much alcohol was consumed. Stories of children appearing for several days on a ship, like ghosts from a distant past, only to disappear again without a trace, but sometimes it happened the other way around, with the storytellers insisting that they met themselves as a child in the past, got to relive some memories, good and bad, before coming home again. 

“Yea?” You grinned. “That’s impressive, so where’s your crew? Your ship?”

The smirk vanished and he deflated a bit, looking around with the smallest bit of worry. “I don’t know. I was in front of them and there was some kind of flash of light, and… I don’t know where I am.”

“Oh, well, want me to help you look for them?” You asked, knowing all too well that his crew was nowhere around, he was not where he thought he was, but you didn’t want him getting into any trouble (which you knew was difficult because as an adult he managed to get himself into enough trouble). “If we don’t find them, you can stay with me. I’ll keep you safe.”

“I-I don’t need to be kept safe!” He snapped. “I’m tough, okay? I can take care of myself!” 

You made sure not to laugh, but it was hard not too. He was so cute as a kid that saying those things with such passion and intensity just made him even more adorable. Instead, you nodded, agreeing with him as you held your hand out to him to take.

“Well, how about something to eat? I’m just finishing up a supply run for my ship.” You said. “I’m happy to make you something before we find your crew.”

He looked at your hand, looked at you, then back at your hand before hesitantly taking it. Whatever he held in his hand he put in his pocket, making you wonder what he stole before coming here. You decided not to test the waters yet, he was feisty, proud, and if you treated him like a kid then he wouldn’t be very happy. You needed to treat him like the apprentice that he is, proud, determined, and passionate. Once his hand was in yours, you gave it a gentle squeeze and smiled at him as you started walking back to the docks.

“I have fresh apples and peanut butter, if you’d like that as a snack.” You said, eyeing him with a grin as his face lit up. That was the same snack you’d promise the captain whenever you wanted something from him. It wasn’t fancy by any means, just a simple snack, but you kept the peanut butter hidden from him so he never knew where to find it. The way the kid’s face lit up told you all you needed to know that this really was Buggy as a kid.

Oh, it was about to get fun on the ship.

~

“-and then I stole it!” Buggy exclaimed with a laugh, holding up the pendant for you to see. He had just finished telling you of his latest act of piracy, stealing some necklace from a vendor on the streets. You had fed him, given him something to drink, and you couldn’t help but walk over to him once he finished talking to wipe some of the food off his face with a dish towel. He was caught off guard and made a face at you when you did that.

“Pirates with food on their face scare no one.” You chuckled as you slung the towel over your shoulder before clearing the dishes in front of him. “And then what happened, Buggy?”

He fell silent, brow furrowed as he thought of your question. What did happen? He took off running, met up with the crew, and then a flash of light and he bumped into you-

“Buggy?” You tapped on the table in front of him, bringing him out of his thoughts. “You okay, sweetie?”

“Yea, yea.” He mumbled as he looked down at the pendant in his hand. “Next thing that happened was I ran into you.”

He quite literally did. You had just stepped out of a shop when he walked right into you, and you had been in shock of seeing him that you weren't bothered that a kid was yelling at you about being in the way.

“Oh!” You nodded and went to refill his glass. “Well, you can stay with me until we find your crew, okay?”

“Are you a pirate?” He asked. “I'm on a pirate ship, but you don't seem like a pirate.”

You laughed softly at that, shaking your head. “I'm not, no. I don't do piracy, just help with the upkeep of the ship. My husband, however, is a pirate.”

“What?!” 

“Yea, he-”

“It's too loud in here.” Someone grumbled from the doorway. You both turned to look; the kid’s eyes widened and you grinned. And there he was, groggy, a little hungover, and obviously needing food and coffee if he was going to start the day. You went over to him and led him to the table, helping him sit down before you started on the coffee. “Time?”

“Lunch time.” You chuckled. “That's what time it is, honey.”

He glared at you, oblivious to the guest that was staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. Buggy was a little hungover, having had his fair share of alcohol the night before. Normally you had the coffee ready for him before he woke up, so he was confused and unhappy that it wasn't readily available for him at that moment.

“It's too early.” He grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “What's for lunch?”

“Wake up first.” You brought him a cup and kissed the top of his head. “But I need you to look across the table before you drink that coffee, honey.”

Buggy looked up at you, eyes squinting in confusion. You took hold of his head and turned it in the direction you wanted him to look, and a few seconds later he pushed back from the table while you still held his head. Swearing, you popped it back onto his neck.

“W-What is going on?” He shrieked upon seeing the kid. Thankfully Kid Buggy remained seated, but you could see the confused look on his face. The two were staring at each other, mirror images except for the age difference. Before you could explain, your husband got up, marched over to the kid, and picked him up by the back of the shirt, carrying him out of the kitchen.

“Buggy-” You went after him, not sure what was happening.

“Hey! Put me down!” The kid shrieked, fists swinging and legs kicking. 

Buggy didn't respond and before you could stop him, he tossed the kid over the side of the ship and into the water. You couldn't believe he did that. You rushed to the side to look over, relieved you saw the kid treading water. So this was definitely a young Buggy, pre-Devil Fruit, otherwise you would have thrown your husband overboard after the kid. You threw a rope down to him while your husband went back to the kitchen, rambling on about curses and bad omens. 

You wanted to know what the hell that was about.

~

“I’m fine!” The kid insisted as you wrapped his hair up in a towel. His clothes were soaked and you did not have anything that would fit him, so he was currently wearing an old shirt of Buggy’s until his clothes dried. They were draped over a chair in the bedroom, the pendant he stole earlier sitting on your shared dressing table. 

“I don’t need you getting sick, sweetie.” You sighed as you used another towel to make sure his face was clean. You were mindful of the nose, touching the towel to his face except there. “I’m sorry he did that.”

“Why did he do that?” He grumbled as he crossed his arms, glaring up at you.

“Because pirates are superstitious fools.” You told him. “And… seeing you scared him I guess. I don’t know, I’m going to talk to him.” Carefully, you unwrapped his hair, making note that he needed to have it brushed to keep from tangling too much. You got up and set the towels aside before grabbing your hairbrush. “Buggy, I’m going to tell you something and I don’t want you to get scared, okay?”

“I don’t get scared!” He insisted. “Not like that guy! I’m braver than him!”

“Okay, here’s the thing about my husband-”

“Don’t tell him anything!” Your husband suddenly appeared in the doorway, glaring at the two of you. “Where did you find him? Who is he?!”

You weren’t bothered by his mood, but you wanted to make sure the kid felt safe. Without a word you moved between the two, keeping Kid Buggy behind you as you crossed your arms.

“We ran into each other, Buggy.” You told him firmly. “He got separated from his crew.”

“Crew?!” Buggy shook his head. “No, get him off this ship. He could be… a kelpie or something. Get him out of here!”

“He’s not a kelpie.” You sighed. 

“You don’t know that!”

Rolling your eyes you looked down at the kid. He had grabbed hold of your pant leg, gripping it tightly as he stared at the man in the doorway. This was a lot for both of them but you needed the captain to calm down. You knelt down and touched the kid’s bare toes. He took a step back and gave you a weird look.

“Human toes, no hooves.” You pointed out. “He also mentioned the Oro Jackson and being an apprentice…” You looked back at your husband. He paled and shook his head. This was too much. This was not him, this had to be some form of trickery, or a shapeshifter. “Besides, I’ve spent enough time with my husband to know when I’m with him as a child.”

Kid Buggy’s eyes widened, looking between you and Adult Buggy. Child? Was… this supposed to be him in the future? As an adult? His jaw dropped, he couldn’t believe it. You smiled at the expression on his face, pleased the kid was in awe of this.

“I turn out to be a drunk loser?!” The kid shrieked. “Why?!”

Okay, that was not what you expected. You slapped your hand to your face while your husband looked ready to throw the kid overboard once again. Kid Buggy just shook his head, not believing this. Was this an alternate reality of some kind? He wouldn’t be like this. Was this guy even a pirate? He didn’t seem like it from the little bit the kid had seen already. He was not impressed in the slightest.

“I want him gone.” Buggy snapped. “No kelpie or bad omen crap is allowed on this ship!”

He stormed off after that. 

#buggy the clown #sunny x buggy #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x you #one piece #one piece oc #one piece fanfiction

[nxrdist]

Remember||True Blood Fic

Story Summary: Different faces, names, and places, but she was the same soul and so was he.

A/N: This will be a multi-chapter 'prequel' of sorts to another work I'm planning. Cross-posted on FF & AO3. Also this is not beta read, but only once over eddited by myself so apologies for any mistakes.

Pairing: Godric/OC

Words:3169

NASSAU

1712

Tucking a flyaway hair behind her ear, Katherine fixed her gaze on the tavern door with a sigh. She’d been waiting on Charles to visit her when she’d heard his ship had come to dock; however, it had been two days now and she’d seen hide nor hair of him which, while she wasn’t really surprised, shouldn’t have bothered her. Still, she couldn’t help a small sinking feeling in her gut every time it went like this. Who was she besides one of his surely many port girls? There wasn’t proof per se, that he’d been with other women while he was away, but she’d worked at the tavern long enough to know sailors. Charles wasn’t just a sailor though, he was a pirate, and a handsome one. He’d come stomping through when he was good and ready with no explanation as usual.

She knew she didn’t love him, not really. Who could love a man like that? Not a pirate, but one whose only true love was the sea. No, Katherine knew she could never compete with a force of nature, but it brought her a small comfort to know at least it wasn’t just her that Charles couldn’t love.

Doing her best to put Charles, the Ranger, and the sea from her mind, Katherine went back to wiping the bar. It was past midday, but not quite late enough for the usual crowd to start trickling in, so the place was fairly empty aside from a table of men playing cards and a few drunks still passed out in the corner. She still had time to finish her other tasks before evening came and the real work started. Pouring drinks, fetching food, snarky back talk, and swatting overly friendly hands were all part of her nightly routine. Sometimes she missed those few years after the shipwreck when she was too young to work in the tavern proper according to Mr. Guthrie. She’d worked in the kitchen for her room and board then only dreaming of being able to save enough to buy herself passage out of Nassau to the colonies where she might be someone else. Now, at seventeen

Katherine had been working in the tavern for just over a year and still, that dream seemed far away.

A creek of a floorboard just behind her had Katherine turning sharply only to see Kit the kitchen boy. He hated that nickname though so Katherine did her best to keep it just to Kit -even if no one else bothered.

“Didn’t mean to startle you miss Kat.”

He had a soft quiet demeanor which usually allowed him to pass unnoticed when he wanted to -creeky floorboards notwithstanding.

“Oh, it’s alright Kit. How are you this afternoon?”

Kit surveyed her with a slight frown on his lanky face. “Mr. Le Goff is in a temper.”

Knowing how the cook could get, Katherine gave a little nod and pulled out a stool for Kit.

“Clean some glasses out for me?”

“He’ll be expecting-“

Katherine arched a brow pointedly. “I’ll speak to him.”

That made the youth huff and grumble as he took the seat. “I don’t need nobody fighting my battles for me.”

“I won’t. I’ll just tell him I called you out here to give me a hand,” said Katherine in a diplomatic way. “Does that serve?”

Kit just picked up a glass.

The rest of the afternoon passed with ease and by sunset, it seemed Mr. Le Goff had cooled down because he came to get Kit. He gave Katherine an earful about appropriating his help, but his heart wasn’t in it. Mr. Le Goff loved her. Katherine had a feeling she must remind him of someone, but she’d never asked and he never said. It was just the soft way he treated her ever since she’d shown up at the Guthrie tavern. Katherine wasn’t able to dwell on it though because by then business was really starting to pick up. Men were flooding in from the docks and ships hooting and hollering for drinks as usual so she got to work.

Everything was moving along apace for a time in its usual way. Until a pair of strangers came into the tavern; a blonde blue-eyed man who was quite a bit taller than his partner though the shorter auburn-haired of the two hardly seemed to mind as he took the lead upon entering the room. Katherine, who was behind the bar at the time, paused in pouring a draft to watch the men as they took up a table together in the far corner.

She had the stray thought that it was odd no one else found them as interesting as she did. On the surface, she couldn’t see anything about them that really stuck out (aside from the sheer size of the blonde) or that ought to have caught her eye, but there was something.

Perhaps it was just how handsome they were in comparison to the regular clientele. Of all the men she’d seen while working at the tavern Katherine couldn’t say she’d ever laid eyes on a pair like them.

“Kat!” Snapped a voice at her side causing Katherine to fumble slightly with the pitcher.

She shot a glare at Emelie, one of the other barmaids. The older woman just scoffed and snatched up another mug.

“You better get Billy and his boys their drinks now or I’ll have to do it. And if I do it, I’m taking half the tip.”

Rolling her eyes, Katherine snatched up the mugs and scampered off to Billy’s table. Billy, a tall man with a dark tan and thickly muscled arms, grinned at her as she placed down the drinks. He wasn’t like most of the other pirates. Billy was a good man, Katherine thought. Better than Charles at least and she always found herself wondering why it hadn’t been him she’d let herself get entangled with.

Billy slipped an extra silver into her palm and thanked her as he handed her the coin for the drinks. A quick sweet smile was all Katherine could offer as a thanks before she had to move on.

She really should’ve paid Billy more attention.

Only a short while later, Katherine noticed the two strangers still had an empty table and she glanced around for any sign of Emelie. Not having spotted her after a minute of looking, Katherine made her way over to the pair herself.

They had been speaking in a hushed tone when Katherine approached, but they both stopped when she reached them.

“Can I get you, gentlemen, something?” She asked.

The blonde gave her a contemptuous look which would’ve easily earned him a sharp word had it not been for the interjection of his companion distracting her.

“Wine?” Replied the younger of the two. His accent was unfamiliar and exotic. “Or mead perhaps? Which would you recommend?”

“The wine is cheap and the mead is alright.”

He caught her eye as she spoke and for a moment she almost forgot what she was saying. His eyes were stormy and deep. The sort that were easy to become lost in and she almost did. “…but the ale is the most popular. It’s locally made.”

“Mead,” grunted the blonde.

His monotone brought Katherine back to herself and she nodded to him before glancing back at the auburn-haired man without directly meeting his eye.

“I think I’ll try the ale. Good to sample the local flavor, isn’t it Eric?” His question was directed at the blonde.

A smirk crept across Eric’s lips. “Of course.”

Discomfort swirled briefly in Katherine’s gut at the sight of that smirk, but the moment passed when the other gave a short laugh.

“I’ll be right back with that.” And she quickly made her way to the bar.

When Katherine returned with their drinks the men stopped talking again and paid her promptly with a gold coin. Her brow shot up at the sight of it.

“This is too much. It’s only-“

“Keep the rest.” The auburn-haired man locked eyes with her intently. Katherine felt a strange draw to him, but this time she couldn’t look away. “When are you finished working?”

“Midnight.” She didn’t know why she told him. He was a stranger. She didn’t even know his name.

“When you finish work you-“

But he was cut off by a bottle shattering nearby causing both of them to turn sharply toward the cause of the ruckus.

There was Charles, holding a broken bottleneck and scowling at the three of them. His gaze narrowed in on the pale hand Katherine hadn’t even noticed resting on her forearm. Immediately she snatched her arm back and withdrew from the table as Charles stormed over.

“What do you think you’re doin?” He snarled at the man. “And who do you think you are?”

“I was thanking the lady for her kind service,” replied the auburn-haired man. His tone was icy. “As for who I am, it’s not your concern.”

“Not my concern when you’re getting hands with my woman.” Snapped Charles.

Katherine could’ve laughed. She could’ve if she couldn’t tell how far gone Charles was and if the tension in the corner hadn’t been so thick you would’ve had to cut it was a knife. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Eric seemed to be squaring for a fight, but the other man was not.

“My apologies, I wasn’t aware she was married, but I was hardly being inappropriate.”

His cool tone was overshadowed by the absurdity of his words and Katherine couldn’t help herself. Her hand flew to her mouth in an attempt to stifle the giggle, but it was no use.

All three men turned to her then. Eric’s sullen expression showed a hint of amusement, Charles was confused, while the auburn man only raised an eyebrow.

“Godric,” said Eric, followed by a sentence or two in an unfamiliar language.

Godric nodded to Eric and turned to her.

“My apologies for the trouble. We’ll just be on our way. Have a nice evening Katherine.”

And as they left Katherine couldn’t help wondering how he had known her name.

She didn’t have much time for the thought though as Charles was shooting her an annoyed look and she needed to get back to work. Telling him as much Katherine saw his frustration bubble, but he just rolled his eyes and went off toward the bar.

He’d end up at the whore house tonight she knew, but a part of her couldn’t be bothered with caring. For all that she’d missed him, Katherine supposed she hadn’t realized how surface-level their relationship was until the moment the stranger, Godric, had implied she was married to Charles. What a ridiculous notion. He’d stormed in there, almost caused a fight, and would likely be gone again for who knew how long soon.

She glanced at Charles a few times as she went about her work the rest of the evening. He never met her eye though he did look her way from time to time almost to check if she was looking at him. After a while, presumably, when his temper had cooled down, he did start chatting to a few ladies Katherine knew to be of low character. Seeing it set her teeth on edge and she resolved not to so much as glance his way again that night.

When it was time for her to go the tavern was still open, but less crowded and easily handled by Emelie. Pocketing her tips, Katherine shot the older woman a quick wave which was returned as she made her way out into the cool spring night. There was a slight breeze that rustled the loose pieces of her hair as she glanced up at the clear sky. For a moment or two, she just stood there staring up at the sky wondering what her life would be like if her ship hadn’t been wrecked.

She would be living in Georgia with her aunt, uncle, and cousins. Perhaps her brother would’ve come to see her at some point, their relationship might’ve had a chance to improve. Their father… wouldn’t have died in the wreck, but just the thought made her sigh and that made the dream disappear. If she did ever save the money for passage from here all the way to Savannah how could she prove who she was? Surely her family had thought her dead for years now.

Looking away from the sky, Katherine was startled when she noticed she was not alone. Godric leaning casually against a nearby building and hidden partially by shadow. She gasped, a hand flying to her chest involuntarily as she stepped back. He stepped into the lantern light.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

A small part of her somehow doubted that from the amused glint in his eye.

“You didn’t…frighten me.” Said, Katherine.

Godric just smiled lightly, but there was still that glint in his stormy eyes.

“May I walk you home?”

Ordinarily, she would have said no, but when she met his gaze again she felt that same something drawing her in. Katherine hesitated. He stepped closer, his gaze intent. She felt at that moment she couldn’t deny him anything.

“Of course.”

Without any prompting, she took his proffered arm and they set off.

“Where’re you from?” Katherine couldn’t help asking after a few minutes of silent walking.

“I am from many places,” Godric answered cryptically. Then he asked. “Where are you from?”

“Scotland,” she replied vaguely.

He nodded and they lapsed back into silence.

A little while later they turned onto her street and Katherine slowed her pace as they approached her home. She felt compelled not to lead him to her home for some reason -like if she did then something bad would happen. As she came to a halt, so did Godric beside her and he gave her a quizzical look.

“Is everything alright?” He asked.

She turned to him feeling anxiety building in her chest as she remembered.

“How did you know my name?”

He raised a hand to her cheek resting it there gently though she stiffened at the touch. Something told her even if she tried to run, she wouldn’t get away. Godric turned her to face him looking up only slightly to meet his eye.

“I know you. You know me. We’ve always known each other.”

The words immediately released the anxiety she was feeling. It was strange. She hadn’t known it until he’d said it, but now Katherine knew it to be true even though she couldn’t remember how.

“Oh, of course.” She reached up to touch his hand, smiling. “How did you find me?”

Godric’s bros furrowed momentarily.

“Did my brother send you?” She asked. “I thought he never got my letter…he never wrote back.”

“No, I’m sorry Katherine. I was not sent by your brother.” Godric brushed his thumb lightly over her cheekbone.

Her breath caught in her throat. “But how do I know you?"

His face which up until then had been mostly unreadable to her showed a flicker of emotion and Katherine felt rather than knew it was sadness.

“It is not important. You won’t see me again.”

Katherine’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”

“My Childe and I are leaving this island.”

She frowned. “I’d like to leave too.”

Godric smiled. “You will.”

The moment he said it, she knew she would. She would leave. The indecision she’d been feeling over whether or not she could do it seemed to evaporate instantly. Whether or not her family believed her, she would still leave this God-forsaken pirate-infested island. But-

“Charles.”

Anger appeared in the furrowed brow and downward tug of Godric’s lips. “Is not worthy.”

“He isn’t.”

“No. He’s beneath you.”

Katherine nodded.

“You are beautiful,” Godric whispered. He removed his hand from hers and stroked her cheek with his knuckles.

Katherine hadn’t really thought of herself as a great beauty but she’d known she was certainly pretty and had her charms. With Godric’s words, she felt it truly as she never had before and believed it.

“So are you,” Katherine responded without thinking.

“I am not.” Said Godric flatly.

Katherine frowned. She didn’t like that he couldn’t accept her compliment. Truly he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. When she opened her mouth to retort Godric brushed his thumb over her lips and Katherine fell silent.

“I must go.”

Her frown deepened.

“We will see each other again.”

“I’d like that,” said Katherine.

Her lips quirked upwards slightly.

“As would I.”

Godric considered her for a long moment. His eyes scanned her features thoughtfully. Then slowly he leaned in nuzzling his nose against her cheek gently and sniffing her. It wasn’t until then that Katherine realized Godric’s skin was quite cool or rather cooler than it ought to be even with the chill. She shivered and he withdrew slightly to look at her.

“Relax.”

And she did. The worry over his chill seemed to float away on the next breeze that swept gently through the street. As Godric leaned forward again, Katherin’s eyes fell shut. He ran his nose along her jaw inhaling deeply when he reached the spot just below her ear which caused Katherine to shiver.

“I will not hurt you,” Godric told her.

“I know.”

“You won’t remember this,” he said. He sounded detached as if he was also telling himself not to remember.

“I won’t?” Katherine asked.

“No. I walked you home.” She nodded. “You invited me inside. We had a drink and talked.” He paused to withdraw from his nuzzling below her ear. “Then you got tired. I left and you went to bed.”

“Oh,” said Katherine. She was starting to feel sleepy. “Yeah. I’m getting tired.”

Godric suddenly leaned in and kissed her hard on the mouth. His fingers knotted themselves into her hair as he pulled her to him. Her shock prevented Katherine from responding and just as she started to he was pulling away.

“Tomorrow you’ll pack your things, get on a boat, and never come back here.”

“I never wanted to stay here.”

“You don’t have to. You can make a home somewhere else. You’ll have a family. You’ll grow old and you’ll be happy.”

A beat of silence passed.

“And you won’t think about Charles ever again.”

Katherine sighed. It felt good to let go. Charles was holding her there.

“Will I remember you?” She asked.

Godric hesitated.

“Maybe someday.”

It wasn’t part of his glamor, but a wistful mutter before suddenly Godric was gone and Katherine stood alone in the street wondering why she was out there. Frowning, she wrapped her arms around herself and turned quickly to return inside. She must’ve walked….someone out. A flash of stormy eyes, auburn hair, and soft lips came to mind. It was strange though because she couldn’t remember who had been visiting her and it was so late. She was tired.

#trueblood #trueblood fic #trueblood ff #godric the gaul #godric fic #godric ff #godric

[cherryusa]

Welcome back to hell, Sonny Logan. Hope you’re ready to pay for your sins! xoxo 

THE RUNAWAY:

Emerson Lee “Sonny” Logan. OWEN TEAGUE, PLAYED BY COCO, 24, EST.

“WHERE DO YOU SPEND MOST OF YOUR FREE TIME AROUND HERE NOW THAT HALF THE TOWN IS BURNED DOWN? I’M TOTALLY LOOKING FOR A NEW SPOT TO HANG.”

“Alright. So there’s this itsy-bitsy piece of beach I found in the sixth grade, when I swam out way too far and got lost, and washed up on this shore that was like, just big enough for a few people to camp out there without the tideline becoming an issue. I kept going back there, ‘cus I thought it was cool. You can find it if you swim past the buoys and then go out like twenty minutes north-west of the docks. It’s the best place to watch the sunset and get a long look at the boats coming to and from the harbor. Every time I brought a friend out there, I’d have ’em help me come up with stories about like, where they were going and how their lives were gonna change when they got out of Cherry.

“That turned into my place, man. That was where I daydreamed about the future and stuff. Going into seventh grade, I arranged a bunch of big rocks into a Jolly Roger and started calling it Captain’s Cove. That was where I’d bring a friend if one of us had to tell the other guy a secret or needed to feel like we were away from our tacky little neighborhood without actually having to skip town. That was where I held a girl’s hand for the first time. And it was where I hid stuff I didn’t want my mom to see when she was snooping through my room.”

Like those magazines that he got from that ninth grader, in exchange for letting him see Sabrina’s underwear drawer that one time. The magazines did, tragically, get waterlogged on the swim over, so it was all kind of a waste, but he figured he probably deserved that. He took that one on the chin, confessed and apologized to his sister, and learned that he was going to have to bring luggage, sleeping bags, and paraphernalia over on a raft if he didn’t want it getting damaged on the trip.

Incidentally, Captain’s Cove was also where he buried his most secret “pirated treasure.” He never thought any of his friends would find the Freeses’ money in the crack between rocks that you had to climb halfway up the cliff to get to. But he’s got a hunch that whoever sent him Lux’s letter must have stumbled upon it.

“It was where I had my first beer, and where I ralphed for the first time. Me and a buddy of mine brought a twelve pack of Red Dogs there on a boogie board and drank the whole fuckin’ thing between the two of us.”

It was a six-pack. At 90 lbs., and thirteen years of age, and very little to eat that day since his mom accidentally sent him to school with Sabrina’s unappetizingly healthy lunch, he chugged two and a half beers before he got a tummy ache. But to match Sonny’s mouth of a sailor, he also shared their tendency to spin tall tales to land-lovers at a portside pub, stretching the truth in the interest of telling a better story.

“Haven’t been there since I came back to town, but I still know how to get there, if you want to check it out sometime.” He hasn’t been there, because it was also where he buried a time capsule that he badgered all of his friends to contribute to on their middle school graduation, and he wasn’t ready for the temptation to dig it up.

“WOULD YOU, LIKE, CALL YOURSELF POPULAR? BECAUSE YOU KNOW, CHERRY CAN BE A TOTAL POPULARITY CONTEST SOMETIMES.”

His mood doesn’t dull as quickly as it should. He really hit his stride in San Francisco; he’s gotten more confident and is used to having friends without much baggage (albeit without much depth, either, despite the enlightened new age posturing). It takes a minute for him to realize he’s not among his metropolitan bohemians anymore. But he’s not that alone around here, is he? He has his sisters, but… Well, alright, maybe that bridge is burned, big time, and its ashes fell into the sea and drifted far away, long ago. But what about— Hm, no, yeah, Cris openly wants to mount his head on a pike and tout it around like a picket sign at his next protest performance art piece against recreational hunting. And sure, he’s using Mac, but that doesn’t really count, right? Since Mac doesn’t know it? Yes? No? Okay, what about Zahra? She doesn’t look up from her nail file whenever they’re in the same room together, but she’s not actively hostile. Doesn’t that count for something? …Oh, don’t look at him like that. In a pinch, if he’s really desperate, he can always beg… Ah, nope, Virginia’s in jail. Nuts.

“I mean…” He pauses, and loses control over the urge to shake his leg up and down, suddenly antsy with this conversation. He agreed to this interview because Clarissa was a middle school crush and he was excited to see her again, but suddenly she had him regretting it. “Nobody likes a guy who calls himself popular.”

He holds off the urge to slouch into himself, and shifts positions to get comfortable again.

“Think about the people who get called popular around here, anyway. It’s never anybody, like, genuinely cool. Being popular in Cherry doesn’t mean being fun to hang out with. It means being rich and powerful and not having any weird or interesting personality traits that could plausibly leave you open to get picked on. I mean, does anyone really like spending time with Kitty Maddox or Elaine Archer?”

There’s a casual omission of one Zahra Jackson from this discussion. He’d never admit that he’d hang out with her again in a heartbeat if she could leave her Lux-isms and foul friends behind.

“If you mean popular in the non-Cherry sense, like, as in, you’re just the kind of person a lot of people want to have a beer with… I think I still have those Red Dog bottle caps to prove that I’m that kinda guy. Like, there’s, uh… Just for one example, there’s that guy Ted who’s always trying to hang out with me.” It’s the one example he has. “I can ditch him today, though. If you want to get some beers after this. Gimme the scoop on that, April O’Neil.”

“YOU CAN BE HONEST WITH ME… WHO DO YOU THINK MURDERED LUX?”

“Jeez, morbid much? When did this town go from Baywatch to Twin Peaks?” He exhales, and his smile gets weak before he can look back up at her again. “Alright, wanna know what I think? Honestly?”

He knows one thing: it wasn’t Libby. And his brain will do whatever Zahra Jackson-tier gymnastics it has to to find a reason why anybody and everybody else could have done it. (How do people suspect Libby when there are three Russell brothers right there?) Sonny’s main focus is Elaine, and not because his sister has always hated her, and, deep down, he always kind of felt like she stole Zahra from him. That’s all ancient history, and he doesn’t care anymore. In fact, he just decided he completely forgot about that. No, he doesn’t even remember why he knows how underhanded, power-hungry, and status-mongering she is. But that conniving personality of hers probably points to a she-devil who would want to usurp Lux by any means necessary. She’s just a sociopathic black hole that ruins everything, speaking in terms perfectly objective and unbiased.

He’s not so sure what to make of Zev, either. It’s always the quiet ones, right? Zevvy did seem kind of obsessed with Lux, didn’t? Sonny would never forget that one time he spotted Zev taping Lux fixing her annoying hair when Miss Maddie Wilson was three feet away, rapping along to “It’s Tricky,” word for word.

Maybe Zev was devastated because Lux started dating some jock like Parker Pantone. It could have driven his sensitive artist heart to madness, and maybe he——

No, no. This sucks. Sonny doesn’t really think that. He doesn’t know who to suspect, yet, but he’s not gonna have an epiphany here. He certainly shouldn’t give any tips to a cop’s daughter — no matter how adorable — just in case she accidentally lets something slip that could get any of Sonny’s old pals in trouble. He has to be careful here. For once in his life, he has to think before he says something stupid or makes any bold moves. He has to change the topic.

He leans forward, and utters with the intensity of Astrid Van Allen telling him about the immense spiritual connection between twins and their responsibility to look out for each other:

“I think it was you, Clarissa Teller.”

And just like that, all of the anticipation leaves the room like the long fart of a deflating balloon. Our punk-ass hero continues, “You did it all to get a dynamite story for your paper. You knew no one would suspect you with that button nose. But you’re in luck. I’m the one guy who knows how to leave this place and never be found. You know the only reason I came back? It was for you. I came to bail you out. Let’s blow this pop stand, baby. We set sail from Captain’s Cove at dawn.”

THE CONNECTIONS

THE ACTIVIST.

“Cristiano, man. That… that was the coolest friend I ever had. Like, we used to sit in the back of class and just play that Exquisite Corpse game back and forth, and some of the stuff he made blew my fucking mind. Even his tag looked sick. I remember making him carve it into the bottom of my nightstand back at my mom’s place, because I knew she would never find it until I was long gone, but I wanted him to leave his mark on her stuffy fuckin’ house. But, I don’t even mean like, he’s just cool in the ‘talented and interesting’ way. I remember the last great day I had in Cherry was with him. Frankie was kinda upset, ’cus she had, uh, somethin’ going on, with her family, um, financially… So we had to cheer her up and snuck her in to see a screening of fuckin’… Dumb and Dumber, and I just remember leaning over to Cris when the song “New Age Girl” was playing and being like, dude, they wrote this song about you. And just… even after Frank went home to be with her folks, I was still trying to hold his hand and call him my new age girl. And he’s swatting me away and being like, ‘dude, that movie was the stupidest piece of crap I’ve ever seen in my life,’ of course. He’s like, ‘we could be making movies about the Iraq disarmament crisis’ or something. But he didn’t say anything like that ’til after Frank left. He let the whole revolutionary intellectual schtick take a backseat so he wouldn’t rain on Frankie seeing a slapstick movie that could lighten up her shitty day. He’s wasn’t just volunteering at food drives and demonstrating against IBM ’cus it made him look good. He really cares about people. Like on a big scale and a small scale. That’s the kind of guy he really is. Or– was. I don’t… really know what’s up with him now. It’s like, all that empathy for those endangered lizards in Australia, but he can’t understand that maybe his friend was going through some stuff and didn’t want anyone to talk him out of taking a risk that would save his fucking sanity? Maybe all that talent got to his head. Like, he got high on his own supply and now he can only think about himself and it’s ruined his ability to reflect right on anything else. …He’s not even that good, honestly, now that I think about it.”

And yet, he still hasn’t gotten a tattoo on his body, because he always has and always will want Cristiano to design his first one. It’s the only impulsive decision he’s ever held out on making, despite multiple opportunities in San Francisco.

THE BITCH.

“I would be totally unrecognizable if I never met Zahra. She was always so tough and ballsy as a kid. She just like… refused to let anybody control her or talk down to her, and she made me decide I wanted to be a free agent, too. I woulda been Glenda’s meek little gentleman if I didn’t see the way she chewed that one ginger kid out for saying she was too tall for a girl. “It sucks that she wound up spending more and more time with that catty cheerleader side of the gang. I was kinda hoping she would outgrow them, but I guess even Zahra Jackson wasn’t strong enough to withstand the gravitational pull of Elaine’s big head.

“I always thought it was a drag when she would bring them along to hang out. Not even because they were prissy and boring, but they just felt so…” So much like his frigid mother.

“…So snide and snooty. And it sucked to see that rub off on her. ’Cus she always had that snappy lawyer brain and she definitely had what it took to play their game better than any of them if she wanted to, I just hoped she wouldn’t, y’know, want to. It was like, the more she hung out with them, the more it felt like she was using that Jackson moxie less to stand up for herself, and more to put other people below her. I don’t think that woulda happened if she stayed closer with, like, Zev and Frankie and Rocky or anybody more down-to-earth. I always thought it’d be cool if her and Libby buddied up, y’know, ’cus then her independence could’a rubbed off on Libs, too. But instead she took to those snobs like Alice and Lux, and now Libby’s always gonna associate assertiveness with the American Psychos who made her life hell, and she’s always gonna see people like Sabrina getting rewarded by Glenda for being a boring little angel who fell in line.” And maybe there’s some truth to that, that he’s trying to avoid. After all, he looked out for himself instead of following Glenda’s rules, and he turned out to be the most reprehensible man in California.

  “I dunno. It’s fine, I guess. We basically drifted apart way before I left. I guess I’m happy for her if she’s happy being the don of the pom-pom mafia. Seems like a stressful scene to be in, if you ask me, but I’m over it. Anyway, why’d ya ask? Does she ever talk to you about me? What does she say?”

THE ROMANTIC.

“Man, this fucking bites. How was I supposed to know Mac is the best? We’re talking Sonic Youth every day, man. He knows The Brian Jonestown Massacre and Slint and Mr. Bungle.(*) He’s telling me I should give the drums another shot. He likes so much cool shit. He’s got such a stupid, dorky, nice sense of humor where he doesn’t have to make fun of anybody to crack a joke. He’s so… Lovable? …Dude. I can’t do this.

“It’s like I’m this shitty little kid in a Michael Myers mask I found in the street, and he’s like the nicest widowed old man on the block who’s just so excited some young whippersnappers came to his crazyass neighborhood, and he’s talking to me with this fuckin’ twinkle in his eye about how much he loved trick’r’treating as a kid, and stuff, and suddenly we’re bonding about John Carpenter movies and having a great time, and then finally it’s getting late, and bugs have been getting into his house the whole time I’ve been distracting him, and he finally, finally offers me the candy bowl… And I just yank it from his hands and dump the whole thing into my pillowcase and slam his own door in his face, and then I TP his house and take a big steamy dump on his lawn and skate away. Like, ‘hey man, thanks for the genuine human connection, I got what I came here for and you can shrivel up and die now.’ It’s like, I couldn’t be a phony for my mom’s sake, how am I supposed to be a phony for— alright, I’ll try to be a phony for Libby’s sake. But it’s fucking killing me. It’s like. Am I convincing myself we’re becoming friends for real just ’cus I’m trying to make myself feel less guilty? There’s always gonna be that ulterior motive, you know. And then it’s also like, I dunno… Imagine I throw away my soul to do this whole Glenda Logan fake-nice act and in the end all he has to give me is like… Raisinets. Y’know, just a total waste of a trick-r-treat. What if these letters are just ‘Lux’ telling him that I’m the guy who killed her? And maybe he’s got some faked photos, and he’s trying to investigate me? What if we’re both just schizophrenic, or something? I wish I could just ask outright, but it’s like… Prolonged exposure to this stupid town breaks people’s humanity, man. Everyone turns into a sicko eventually, no matter what. You seriously can’t trust anyone around here.”

Once upon a time, everyone thought that they could trust that upbeat clown Sonny Logan. And in the end, he egged everybody’s house. He knew better than anyone how underhanded a friend could be underneath a goofy, golden-hearted personality.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m going full Flagpole Sitta here. Ignore me. I’m just feeling kinda twitchy and paranoid after this weird conversation I had with Ted yesterday.”

[golden-wingseos]

“would you be so kind as to fall in love with me?”

them pining after you hcs.

featuring —

✧ childe, chongyun, albedo (separate) x gn!reader

warnings ―

✧ not proofread, one swear word in childe’s

notes ―

✧ childe rerun! gl childe rollers!!

childe is a man of painfully obvious glances and lovesick gazes

as if the world had stopped for you—he cannot tear his azure eyes off of you. you and your beautiful smiles, you and your heart wrenching laughs and words

he will make sure you know he likes you. if the bundles of flower bouquets weren’t enough, then don’t be surprised when he pulls up with an entire band!

now, childe obviously doesn’t want to make his love too... out there. he knows his title as a harbinger is dangerous for you to be involved with, so he may resort to some sweet and simpler acts of affection

like breaking into your house in the middle of the night to cook you a midnight snack

how sweet, right?

“childe what the fuck are you doing here?”

“making you midnight lunch!”

“. . .”

all jokes aside, childe might just throw away everything for you

okay, maybe not everything— i mean, his family exists. but... you’ll be a part of his family, right?

do you have any commissions? look at that! childe is free! wow! let’s go adventuring!

do you want to cry? well, his shoulder is always free! and his arms do need to do some hugging!

he always seems to be... free when you are there. both literally and figuratively. his job as a harbinger is so, so taxing and all he wants to do is sit back and relax like how he used to

and you. you bring him a happiness like no other, you bring him an opportunity like how the sun rises each morning

he loves spending quality time with you, and, uh, making you fall in love with him. hah. 

but even if you don’t like him, that’s okay! he’s okay with being just your friend

(of course, as a man of ambition, childe won’t settle with that for too long. it’s either love him or love love him baby!)

chongyun will definitely pine for you, but he will do it in a reserved manner

look, he doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of you! 

he gets some assistant from xingqiu, that ‘liege’ has more knowledge in this field than chongyun could ever have

buuut that doesn’t mean he’ll listen to xingqiu when the hydro-wielder tells him to “serenade you at dawn”

what kind of books has he been reading?

anyhow, chongyun will just like to spend some time with you. please spare him from flirty remarks, though. his brain can’t take it and his popsicle stash is shrinking rapidly

he’ll let you tag along with him during his exorcisms, but he may be a little embarrassed because he doesn’t really—do much—during them. and he wants to make you impressed!

he definitely overthinks every little interaction with you. chongyun just wants to be... someone to you. he wants to make you proud!

but, if you want to hang out with xingqiu and xiangling? chongyun is out of there! he doesn’t want the two to feed him something spicy and then he goes haywire with you there

nope! that’s a thing reserved strictly for his nightmares!

chongyun finds himself drifting off like the boats at liyue harbor. his gaze somehow finds you, it picks you out amongst a crowd and latches onto you like an itch

so he scratches it. he scratches the need until he comes so close to you he could probably make out each individual feature you may have

chongyun wants to love you. he wants to hold your hand like those sailor couples he sees at the docks, he wants someone to talk to and someone who understands his problems

ah! just thinking of the thought already makes him red

why must you be so amazing?

albedo takes a very direct approach to his feelings about you

he definitely deducts the fact he’s in love, though. he’s not dumb, just—inexperienced. he holes up in his camp in dragonspine to just, think. to think about what he’ll do about these festering feelings

and once he comes to a conclusion, he’ll head back down to mondstadt to seek you out. to prove his hypothesis of whether this truly is love. he’s a curious soul, seeking for answers that he can solve with his masterful brain

but love is a subject he never really cared much for—until you

he asks for your presence more often when conducting research up at dragonspine. albedo is used to the howling winds and eerie silence, yet now, he can’t help but feel lonely up there

well, not particularly lonely. just—yearning. yearning for you.

ghosts of smiles wisp across his face, blink and you’d miss. his enchanting teal eyes observe you like another one of his alchemy experiments, but you are so much more than that

he listens intently to everything you have to say. of course, he drones off sometimes, but during those moments he’s probably thinking about you anyway

and when he goes to sleep? he fantasizes about scenarios with you. embarrassing, yes, but albedo may reenact those one day! those cecilia flowers you said you were fond of, he likes those too!

he’s not shy about his crush, but he certainly won’t tell you either. everyone in mondstadt knows about how the alchemist is pining for you, and everyone in mondstadt knows that he is waiting for the right moment to confess

at cape oath? at windrise? at starsnatch cliff? not even albedo knows. but based on his record of being strange, he’d probably confess while you two are freezing up in dragonspine

how romantic!

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin scenarios #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact scenarios #childe x reader #chongyun x reader #albedo x reader #genshin albedo #genshin chongyun #genshin childe #childe #albedo #chongyun

[gildedmuse]

Hey, everyone.

So recently I've (predictably) very not well. Actually, whenever I don't post for long periods, just assume my body is trying to kill me. But I've gotten messages from three people asking if I. Okay, which is super sweet. I am actually trying to work on the next All Hearts, a really long ZoLaw post and two request fics, but mixing chronic kidney pain and capitalist society's mandate to work 40+ hours is not recommended.

But to prove I'm okay and still me, here is some Shanks antics with him being a total slut while Mihawk and Beckman just roll their eyes and go along with it. [Shout out to @jhaernyl who not only listens to me ramble about this stuff, but actively encourages it]. I also have many thoughts on the latest episodes and so many screenshots it's embarrassing. Hopefully, when I'm in less pain, I'll get around to actually posting those. Otherwise I just look like an insane person who literally takes by the second frame shots every time Zoro is on screen.

.... What is that? I look like that anyway? Fair.

Shanks Is A Bad Influence

It feels like Buggy and Shanks split up after Roger's death (the crew was told to, and they are the only ones who went to his execution) and I find it impossible to think Shanks didn't immediately set out and find a crew; like, pirating is the only thing this kid knows in life. This means two things:

He set out from East Blue. Also, he seemed at ease and familiar with the East so it's possible he spent like a year there getting everything together. Maybe he even played around in the other blues for a while before heading back to the Grand Line. I say this because his crew is from all over so either he found and recruited them in the Grand Line or visited various blues. Either way, I'm gonna say it took him about two years before getting a 'proper' start. In that case, he would have started out properly at the age of 17 and we know One Piece likes it's parallels.

That still puts Shanks at 17 to Benn Beckmen's 28. How the fuck did Shanks manage that? I'd call it grave robbing, but let's face it, the little tyke probably got up to some actual robbing of graves as well.

My point being everytime Shanks teases Mihawk about keeping this 19 year old kid on his personal island, mostly shirtless, Benn Beckmen just lifts an eyebrow.

Excuse me, captain, who had prefected the 'opps still don't have my sea legs' trip-and-fall into their first mates lap by the age of 17?

Shanks: Beckmen, you caught me! *Shamelessly nuzzles up* Thank goodness! I could be a devil's fruit user after all and - Ahh!

Benn: *Drops Shanks straight over the side of the ship into the water*

Shanks: *Sputtering* What what that!?

Benn: Checking to see if you had eaten a devil's fruit on us, Capatin.

Benn: You didn't.

Smart ass. But he can't resist Shanks forever. Shanks will wear him down eventually.

Next time Mihawk tracks him down for another match - because you know he gets bored way quicker than he'll ever admit and Shanks is at least amusing a challenge - Shanks makes a big deal out of how Mihawk follows him around, "accidentally" revealing they slept together, sighing about how it's so hard to resist him.

Benn Beckmen is just leaning against the side of the ship, sipping his booze.

Shanks: -and I can't stay for hours like last time!!

Mihawk: Are you quite done?

Shanks: *whispering* Does Benn look jealous?

Mihawk: He looks bored. Much like I am. Is this some strange attempt to get out of my challenge, Akagami?

Shanks: What? No, come on I told you I was game. But, hey, could you do me a favor? Maybe like try and kiss me or something? Like take a swing like your going to hit me but then stop shot and grab me by the waist instead.

Mihawk: .... Trickery is beneath you. Besides, you're absolute rubbish at it.

Shanks: Oh, come on, I would totally help you get laid if you asked!

Mihawk: .... *Sigh* I want a proper match afterwards.

Mihawk: *In a forced, monotone voice* After this I will take you to my lair and have my way with you, Akagami.

Mihawk: ... My lair? Really?

Shanks: *Holding up cue card with quickly scribbled line* What? That is how you talk.

Mihawk: I can't believe I wasted precious hours of light tracking you to this atrociously rural port.

Shanks: See? Now, read the next one.

Benn: Captain? If this is going to take all night, I am going to go join the rest of the men in the tavern.

Shanks: Huh? Wait! Benn! What if Miha really stabs me this time!?

Benn: *Salutes Shanks with his bottle* Sounds like that is his plan captain. Have a good 'challenge'.

Shanks: What? No... *Reaching out hand, like he might die if Benn leaves, looking completely devastated* Not even a little jealous...

Mihawk: You couldn't have thought that pantomime would actually work.

Shanks: Benny, don't leave me.... *Turns to Mihawk, immediately brightening* Oh, well, there's always tomorrow. Hey, Miha, guess whose free all night and horny as a pirate in the calm belt?

Mihawk: .... *Sigh* Very well.

Mihawk might as well get something for the trip he made. Although, he's reconsidering if the sex was actually worth the trouble after he ends up listening to Shanks worry half the night that Benn is shacking up with someone else (after a couple hours of rough and raw fucking, admittedly).

Is it the hat? He likes his captain's hat. Miha, you think his captain's hat is sexy, don't you?

Mihawk: It's utterly ridiculous.

Shanks: ....

Shanks: ....

Shanks: *Smile* Ahh, Miha, I knew you liked the hat!

Shanks: What do you old Northerns find sexy?

Mihawk: I am only four years older than you.

Mihawk: And silence.

Trying to convince Mihawk to go spy on Beckman for him. Shanks doesn't actually care if he does sleep with someone else, it's more that Beckman didn't immediately turn angry and jealous like Buggy would have that has him paranoid.

Mihawk is going to fuck this annoying red head again just to shut him up.

Mihawk: Maybe he doesn't like red haired boys who don't know when to be quiet?

The next morning Shanks is pacing among his poor crew that's gotten stuck listening to Shanks obsess about Beckman again. IS IT REALLY THE HAIR!?

It's not even a matter of Shanks's age (or obvious immaturity). I mean, Beckman got on board and stayed, didn't he? Beckman just enjoys watching Shanks try so hard to get his attention. Like Benn's attention isn't constantly on Shanks. He had to when his captain is always one step away from disaster.

He only left him with Mihawk because it was clear Dracule is not a real danger to Beckman's captain.

Except maybe insulting him to death. But Beckman is pretty sure Shanks can handle it. He's met Buggy. He's suspects Shanks LIKES it if anything.

It gets to the point where when they dock somewhere and see Mihawk waiting, or come back to the ship and spot his familiar silhouette, most of the crew goes off somewhere for another drink (sometimes the newer kids will stay to watch such an awesome fight, everyone else is like... Look, you'll have plenty of opportunities later. This is not a one off.)

Benn just takes a look around, nods to Mihawk (a silent signal for, "he's all yours, do with him as you please, if anything happens to him I will track you down and make sure your last few hours on this blue world are as painful as humanly possible") and heads off.

Oh, it's just the Hawk boy.

That's fine then.

Benn use to be a sailor on a trade ship between the North, East, West and Grand Line. He's seen it all.

They called him The Gun Slinger BEFORE he joined Shanks's crew and became a pirate.

So this young, broke ass kid from the streets of some near artic northern island trying to pass himself off as a Lower North rich type has a thing for his captain? Not really enough to keep Beckman up at night, no matter how good at swords he's supposed to be

Besides, he's pretty sure for the kid to keep tracking down Shanks, he must be bored out of his skull. He's not going to do anything to endanger their captain.

Not if Shanks is the only thing he can find to keep him entertained.

One day, Mihawk is going to be waiting on the dock when a bunch of Red Haired pirates are stumbling home, laughing and chattering amongst themselves (Shanks's crew always seems to be in a good mood). One of them will catch sight if Mihawk and walk by with a smile, patting him on the shoulder.

The captain's occupied. Seems likely he'll be 'occupied' for a good while, too.

Mihawk won't smile, but he will think "So you finally warmed him up to you, Akagami?" and snort lightly.

Poor Benn, though. Mihawk could never imagine being with someone so much younger than him. Shanks is only four years his junior and already it strains Mihawk to put up with his occasional moments of "youthful whimsy" (aka being an annoying, immature child)

"A young, cocky pirate with strangely colored bright hair"

Mihawk just putting that on his Not To Do List.

That lasted until Roronoa.

(Mihawk just looking at Zoro knowing this is bad news.)

Mihawk: *Takes list from Benn*

*Cross out, scribbles*

*Hands back to Benn*

Do Not Do:

- A young, cocky pirate with strangely colored bright hair a silly hat, who is overly dramatic and in any way, shape or form related to Gol D Rogers.

Ace: Hey what's up?

Mihawk: *Takes list from Benn*

Go ahead, Benn, laugh it up. Mihawk is aware he has a type. Young, pretty, and utterly insane.

After that night where Shanks was otherwise 'occupied', it's over six months before Mihawk sees his friend his rival again. He is, as expected, far too smug and proud looking.

Shanks: Oh, Miha, so sorry you came all this way, I'm-

Benn: Well, I'm off, captain.

Shanks: What!? But we, you, I... Benn, hessoeexyarentyouworriedforyourcaptain?

Benn: *patting Mihawk on the shoulder* Have fun with him. Don't forget to return him by noon tomorrow, we have a schedule. Oh, but if you can babysit him for at least four hours? That would be great.

Shanks: BABYSIT!?

Mihawk: I suppose I can be troubled to do so.

Shanks: TROUBLED!?

Benn: Thanks, Hawkeyes. I owe you.

Shanks: *Fake tears clinging to his lashes* You two are so mean!

No, don't feel bad for him. Shanks is just trying to guilt the two of them into bed at the same time, and they both know it.

Thanks no thanks, they're not into that. But Shanks can be pretty cute when he's trying so hard (Benn) and at least he's not as boring as everything else in this world (Mihawk) so they allow him to keep up the act

Shanks: *looking at Zoro's wanted poster over Mihawk's shoulder* But I feel like you'd gladly go to bed with him and his captain if he asked. That doesn't seem fair to me. You'd never go that far with me and Benn.

Mihawk: *Eyes Benn*

Mihawk: *DEAD. ONLY.*

Mihawk: I have my reasons.

They can and do agree on plenty of things, including reciprocally not being that attracted to each other.

Shanks: Sounds fake to me

Shanks: But guys!

Shanks: This isn't about you

He's gonna need you guys to drop the egos and focus on what HE wants. I.E., being in the middle of two sexy Northern men.

Honestly, so mean to poor Shanks!

#I LIVE #here have some #shanks x mihawk #shanks x beckman #shanks x buggy #mihawk x zoro #and you know there is some Law x Zoro goong on I just didn't cover it #I like my men like I like my civil war sides #Northern #idk but here you go #Shanks #akagami no shanks #dracule mihawk #benn beckman #DEAD ONLY #roronoa zoro #one piece #one piece fanfiction #but not really #just random fun #I jump between time periods like a game of hopscotch #what you gonna do about it #get lost probably

[anthemxix]

Fierce deity wars aftermath? :o (I'm sorry if this comes across as demanding or rude, was just excited to see the fic and was curious how what happened after might go, it was really good!)

this isn't rude at all, my friend! i'm flattered you enjoyed my fic enough to ask for a follow-up! thank you ;w;

this picks up right where the previous one left off (here's the first part)

"Injuries?"

"Nothing major."

Voices drift through the dreamless void, which clings to Warriors like cobwebs: wispy, malleable, adhesive.

"Is he awake?"

"Maybe. Not aware, at any rate."

The words seem insubstantial, impossible to grasp, like specks of light.

"Captain? Can you hear me?"

"Time to wake up, Pretty Boy."

Like a borealis, the voices shimmer above him. Though tangible, they shy from his reach.

Warriors concentrates on forcing his eyes open, and his lashes scrape against red cotton.

"Hey, Captain? You with us?"

The stench of death saturates the air, so he must still be on the battlefield. He tries to lift his head, to see his surroundings, but all he glimpses is red.

"Hey. Pretty Boy. You awake?"

Still, he pieces it together by feel. His side is pressed against someone. His head is lolling on their shoulder. Their arm is around his back, fiercely gripping his sleeve.

"Captain, can you look at me?"

He's being held. Huh. That's a nice feeling, being held. Safe. His eyes begin to slip closed again.

"No, Captain. Stay awake. Look at me."

Always one to obey orders, he drags his head around a fraction, searching for the source of the voice. His vision is blurry, but he can see a green tunic, brown hair. The Traveler.

Something cool brushes against his hand. Glass. A bottle. His fingers automatically hook around it. Something warm wraps around his hand, affixes it in place.

"Drink this for me, okay?"

Warriors' bones are infused with lead. He watches the Traveler guide the potion to his mouth, but his body won't cooperate. His throat muscles seize, and he coughs out the liquid. It speckles across the red tunic he's cuddled up against.

"Don't make him choke!" someone outside his line of vision squawks. That's the Sailor. He knows the little Sailor's voice.

"Sorry," Hyrule laments, and cups a hand under Warriors' chin, tilts his head back. Tries again with the bottle.

This time, Warriors downs two gulps before his throat locks up and he coughs out the rest of it.

"You're getting my tunic wet." A gripe, but the grip on his arm tightens, protective. The Vet. That's the Vet, holding him. Red tunic. Right.

A thought emerges from his mental haze. Twilight. Hadn't he been with Twilight? Warriors wishes he could ask, but he's so tired. He closes his eyes again, sinks back into the void where his friends' voices echo around him. It reminds him of being trapped in the Great Fairy's bottle, the way everything is muffled and obscured and looming.

Warriors lets their voices wash over him, idly picking out words when he can and examining them like puzzles in need of solving.

"There's caves that way, half a mile or so."

"He can't walk."

"I can carry him."

"No. Traveler's magic may have stitched your wounds up, but your body still needs time to recover."

"Here, I can do it."

There are hands on him, and he's getting shifted around, and he wishes he could move. Instead, he completely retreats to the empty dark space in his head.

Then the concept of time becomes as ephemeral and elusive as his friends' voices around him.

Sometimes when Warriors opens his eyes, there's sunlight, and sometimes there's only the hazy glow of embers or the flicker of a lantern. He can't shrug off the mental mire that pins him down, can't ever keep his eyes open long enough to fully process where he is or what's going on.

That would feel more disconcerting if not for the constant, comforting presence of his friends. One of them is always right at his side when he wakes. The little Sailor, snuggled against him. Sky, carving wooden figurines. Four, polishing weapons. Even as he slides back into the dreamless dark, he feels safe.

That is, until the dark stops being dreamless.

Memories begin to unravel before him, unspooling into formless shapes and colors. At first, all he can see is blood-drenched chaos; he hears dying screams and clanking weapons, smells copper and iron. Slowly, the memories come into focus, draw together into distinct scenes. He can distinguish certain moments: a lizalfos sliced in half at the waist; a darknut's chopped-off head thunking to the dirt; a bulbin slipping on spilled moblin guts as it tries to run, then shrieking as it gets skewered.

These memories aren't his, per se; they belong to his body. His body, which he can see morph into someone else's. His hands, which are someone else's hands, brandishing a double-helix sword that cuts through monsters with no resistance.

Although Warriors has witnessed much more gruesome atrocities, these memories steep him with burgeoning unease. The violent images burrow under his skin like termites, boring tunnels into him from the inside out, as he watches them play in a loop, over and over. They continuously reignite in the dark like poe lanterns, haunting and undead.

Oblivion shifts from a refuge to a prison. Warriors starts to jolt awake with startled gasps, his terror wrenching him back into consciousness. In these moments, he often finds Time next to him, stroking his hair, murmuring soothing platitudes that Warriors can't hear over his pounding heart.

Once, he lurches awake with a shout, wide-eyed and shuddering as detailed visions of massacre still float through his head. Time gently shushes him, tucks him back into his bedroll, and pulls out the banged-up wooden ocarina he used to play as a child.

Warriors curls up on his side, hearing the distant whispers of rainfall beneath the unfamiliar melody that Time plays. The tune is wistful and haunted, layered with tragedy, like its player. But it massages away the tension rigidifying Warriors' muscles, calms the frantic adrenaline buzzing through his system. When he falls asleep, he doesn't dream anymore.

- - -

Sighing with relief, Warriors slumps back against the door. The past few days, he's managed to stay awake for longer and longer stretches, but constant fatigue still holds him hostage. Finding a town with an inn feels like a miracle, and even though he could easily collapse right here on the floor, he is eager to finally sleep in a real bed.

With effort, he straightens and shrugs off his shield, sword, and bags, depositing them by the nearest bed. The weight of his equipment has never felt so burdensome before; he's concerned that this debilitating exhaustion is atrophying his muscles and permanently docking his stamina.

But like every thought lately, he can't keep hold of his concerns for too long. They slip away from him, and he gladly lets them go, concentrating instead on the unnecessarily arduous task of shucking all his armor.

As he loosens the leather bracers on his arms, Warriors absently scans the compact rented room, which only contains two twin beds and a shabby dresser. He blinks at the dresser mirror, freezing as he registers his reflection.

Armor temporarily forgotten, Warriors strides across the tacky rug and splays his hands on the dresser. Most mornings, he spends what the others consider an unreasonable amount of time fawning over his hair in his hand mirror—personally, he thinks none of them spend enough time on making themselves presentable—but lately, he's forgone that ritual, only casting cursory glances at his reflection to ensure he's not overwhelmingly unkempt.

He hasn't gotten a proper look at himself in days, which is why the sight of the mask's red and blue brands give him such a shock.

Though their colors have already begun to fade, the sharply angled lines remain prominent. No wonder the other heroes, who have been treating him delicately, like he's liable to break, can't look at him without staring at those marks. What do they think, when they see them?

Warriors find them abhorrent. Finds that looking at them triggers unease and discomfort and nausea.

He turns away from the mirror and resumes removing his armor, gracelessly dumping it on the floor and topping the pile with his sloppily folded scarf. As he flops onto the bed, he sighs again, the relief of getting off his feet immediate and encompassing. The mattress is thin and there's a rogue spring jutting into his lower back, but goddesses, does it feel good to lie down.

Lazily, he drapes an arm over his eyes to block out the afternoon sunshine filtering in through the flimsy curtains. He doesn't feel sleepy, exactly, doesn't feel like he'll get dragged into unconscious oblivion like he was for several days right after donning the mask, but he truly is exhausted.

Physical exertion, sparse as it's been, contributes to Warriors’ fatigue. Progress across this Hyrule has been slow; the distance the heroes have covered over the past few days could be crossed, under normal circumstances, in half the time.

Warriors didn’t even walk for much of that distance. He couldn’t. Along with his sluggishness, his legs wobbled like a newborn deer’s and his sense of balance was skewed. Wind continually remained next to him, catching him when he stumbled and preventing him from toppling over.

When walking became too infeasible (and he was too tired to care about pride and dignity), he'd ride Epona. By that point, he'd usually feel so weak and shaky that he would require a boost from Twilight just to mount the horse, and from there it was a perpetual struggle to stay upright.

Fortunately, he's steadier now, able to walk without feeling constantly on the verge of collapse, but the fact that he is not okay is tremendously self-evident.

He hears the door to his room open and close, but he doesn't bother uncovering his eyes. He's certain it's just whoever decided to room with him this time—probably Wind or Legend—dropping their belongings off before venturing into town.

A lengthy moment passes before he recognizes the sound of heavy plate armor clinking. Moving his arm a fraction, he peeks out to see Time shedding his armor, setting it aside with more care than Warriors had mustered.

Warriors blinks in surprise. Time is the last person he expected to see here.

The other heroes' behavior around the Captain is subdued, and they speak to him quietly, like he's an animal prone to startle. They act so sad, he thinks now. Like they're grieving. Like they've lost something.

But Time... He was there for those horrid days when Warriors was drifting in and out of consciousness, trapped in nightmares, but ever since then, he's kept a distance. He won't even look at Warriors most of the time.

It would be unfair for Warriors to be bothered by that, though. Like a coward, he's been reciprocating the cold shoulder treatment, because he can't bear it.

He can't bear thinking about his little Sprite using that cursed mask. How old was the kid when he first used it? And what was the aftermath like for him? Was he alone? Did he have someone to comfort him through the nightmares? To help him walk or tend his wounds?

How many times has Time used this mask for those marks to permanently smirch his face?Is the aftermath of using the mask always this dreadful? What if it's not, because Time has gotten used to the effects of the damn thing?

And if Warriors feels so strange after what must have been mere minutes with the mask on—if he feels like his very essence has been ripped apart and reassembled—if he feels like some of his pieces are missing, or that now there is something new inside him, something he can't quite identify or describe—then how must Time feel, having used the mask for decades?

How does it feel to sacrifice yourself over and over, to let an inconceivable power destroy and rebuild you however it pleases, and then carry that weight alone?

With his armor off, Time turns around and catches Warriors' gaze. His neutral expression doesn't change. "I thought you'd be asleep by now."

Warriors breaks eye contact, repositioning his arm over his eyes. Coward. "I thought you'd be making sure the kids don't set the town ablaze."

"I'm sure the Rancher can handle it."

For some reason, this statement pricks at Warriors' heart. "I know he's your favorite, Old Man, but don't misplace your faith. He can be as much of a troublemaker as the rest of them."

After a long stretch of quiet, Warriors feels the thin mattress sink. He peers under his elbow to see Time sitting at the foot of his bed, leaning forward, elbows on knees. Hands folded, he's looking at the opposite wall, expression still deliberately blank. "Is that what you think?"

"Yeah, I do. Didn't you hear his arson story?"

Time huffs a soft, startled laugh. "No, I meant...you believe he's my favorite?"

Warriors shifts, pulls his arm away from his face. "Well, yeah? It's not up for debate, is it? It's obvious."

"Hmm." Time looks down at his hands, and his mouth flickers between a slight smile and slight frown before settling on the latter. When he speaks again, it's stilted, like a formal recitation. "Captain, I owe you an apology. I've left you to deal with the mask's effects by yourself."

Dragging himself to a sitting position, Warriors says, "That's not true..."

He's suddenly struck by a vague memory of a recent night where he fell asleep as soon as the heroes found a campsite. Tired beyond caring, Warriors had promptly slid off Epona and settled in the dirt a few paces from the horse. Prone on his stomach, he pillowed his head with his arms, despite his bracers digging into his cheeks.

Later, Time roused him, herding him upright. He was still half-asleep, struggling to keep his eyes open, as Time worked on taking off his protective gear piece by piece. Warriors' chainmail had pressed grooves into his torso; it was a relief to have someone else guide the heavy armor over his head and set it aside.

"Come to your bedroll," Time had said softly, and he ushered Warriors into his sleeping mat, which lie ready and waiting. Exponentially more comfortable now, Warriors had dropped off to sleep almost instantly, but still, he registered Time gently tucking the blankets around him.

Weary, Time sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. "It is true. I've been selfish. I shouldn't have left you to figure this out on your own. I know how it feels. How...confusing it is. How strange it is, like your body isn't quite right anymore, or like you're not quite the same. How..."

He flexes his fingers, searching for his words, and a mournful look breaks through his stony facade. "How...broken it makes you feel."

After a silent, somber moment, Warriors shifts to sit next to Time, dropping his bare feet to the warped hardwood. The mattress creaks. He feels another damaged spring jabbing into him.

"I'm sorry that you've always had to handle this alone," Warriors says. A lump hardens in his throat, and he swallows. "I'm so sorry, Sprite."

Time looks at him then, really looks at him. Slowly scans the red and blue lines before re-locking eyes. He smiles, sad and small but genuine, and sets a hand on Warriors' shoulder. "I'm proud of you, you know. I've always been proud of you."

Warmth blossoms in his chest at the unexpected words, and Warriors has to turn away.

"Perhaps you should get some rest." The smile lingers in Time's voice. "We can talk when you wake up."

With Time's hand still on his shoulder, Warriors says, "I can stay up a little longer. I think we have a lot to talk about."

#catch me once again only hinting at emotional closure but not actually providing it :D #i gave time and wars a cute moment though #oh yeah ps. i like the idea that wars is a lil jealous of time and twi's relationship #like idk how true to character that is #but i like it #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #lu warriors #warriors #lu time #time #fanfic #anthem answers #anthem writes

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

A Tail for Two

Summary: You often seek solace in the form of the most unusual of company. So one day after you find out your father pawned you off to marry some rich man’s son, you release your woes to one of your closest friends. Thinking you had no way out, you never expected your life to take a complete 180.

Warnings: Very mild and brief mention of n.udity, otherwise this is some adventure and fluff.

Word Count: 6k exactly

A/N: Second prize for my giveaway for @nuvoleincielo​! I apologize for this one taking so long - I had trouble figuring out what to do plot wise for this. I also didn’t want to surpass 5k words, but it happened anyway and I’m pleased with how this turned out. Enjoy!

Damp sand sifted with your footsteps, a trail soon washed away from the gentle lapping waves of Flat Iron Lake. A steel toned mist settled heavy amongst the surface, giving no leeway to dry land. The bleak atmosphere obscured the sinking sun. It was early evening, and soon you’d be engulfed in total darkness.

Yet you didn’t care. The tears flowing from your eyes didn’t allow much for sight anyway. Running aimlessly across the shore, you didn’t stop until your lungs burned for air, struggling to breathe properly from the exertion and crying combined. Slowing down to a walk, you breathed in the humid air and finding no physical relief.

You cast your gaze at your surroundings for the first time, though spotting hardly anything in this dense fog. The shore stretched before you, reaching into the endless depths of the lake. The calm waters lapped around the soles of your boots, dampening the leather.

Water always calmed you in the darkest of times. Staring into the murky depths instilled a sense of serenity, an escape from this cruel world, even temporarily. Swallowing the painful lump in your throat, you bent down to sit on the sand. It was cold, except you couldn’t care less. It felt soothing.

Wrapping your arms around your knees, you allowed your vision to focus on the turbid waters in front of you. Fish darted beneath the surface, occasionally jumping up to catch a bug. Oh how it must be so simple to live like a fish, not having to conform to society and just relying on basic instinct.

Even without much light, their scales held a certain iridescence to them. On a sunny day they glittered like freshly polished jewels, inviting you in for a swim amongst them.

A flash of movement caught your eye, a glance of color amongst the opaque green, brown and silver. A much larger object swimming amongst the smaller schools of fish. You heard the water surface break, and something splashed. You squinted your eyes to see a figure amongst the dim. Who was swimming in this weather, while the air was this chilly?

The figure drew closer to you, and your muscles tensed. You weren’t sure what to expect, until a familiar face appeared through the thick curtain of mist. A face you hadn’t seen in a while.

“A-Arthur?”

The being known as Arthur rose halfway from the surface, exposing his drenched, naked torso. Strings of lake weed adorned his neck and upper arms, some strung with clam shells. Beneath the water lurked a shimmering presence, the lazy treading of his beautiful thick tail.

Sailors often told the cautionary tale of these creatures, though many people put it off as hogwash and silly dreams. Once as a young girl you dreamed about mythical creatures, and what it would be like to meet them. You supposed that wish would never come true.

Arthur was a merman you met some years ago, after an argument with your father had driven you to seek solace in this very lake. You’d come across a lonely dock that you sat upon, letting your tears fall into the waters below. Somehow your crying had been heard across the lake, attracting the most unusual of company.

From countless tales, you knew merfolk would generally avoid humans, unless they were seeking blood. However Arthur was a different sort, his curiosity plain as he spoke with you. Somehow it was easy to converse with this stranger, openly admitting your woes. He couldn’t offer a solution, though you found yourself comfortable to unload to someone who wouldn’t judge.

You hadn’t expected to call that same merman your friend. After that night you ventured out again in hopes to see him and to convince yourself it wasn’t a vivid dream. At first unsuccessful, he appeared just as you gave in, and thus kindling your friendship with him. Often sneaking out at night to call upon his company, away from the eyes of the curious.

Though as these past few years went by, you’d see him less and less. At no fault of either of yours, he had his life to live and so did yours. He didn’t tell you much about his life beneath the waves, other than he traveled frequently. Though his accent was heavy, indicating he must’ve settled somewhere ages ago.

Now the merman before you smiled in recognition. “It’s been quite a while,” He mused.

You nodded in response. “Yes, over a year since we last spoke,” You responded, though your voice thick from crying. You sniffed in attempts to sound clearer.

“Seems something’s troublin’ you again,” he rumbled, swimming even closer. “I heard you.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. Taking a shuddering breath, you spoke again. “My father… he’s trying to force me to marry this man. I didn’t want any part of it.”

Arthur frowned at this news. “Why is that?”

“Some stupid debt he has to settle,” you explained while shaking your head in disgust. “He drank his savings away and took a loan from a rich businessman. Well when it came time to pay, he had nothing to give, except me.”

Arthur’s thick brows furrowed in concern, the frown deepening. “That don’t seem right, what kinda father would give up his daughter over a debt?”

“Mine,” you grumbled, glaring down at the sandy ground. “We had an argument, a bad one. I couldn’t change his mind.”

The merman let out a sigh, shaking his own head. “Not even my people do that, no one would be happy.”

“Unfortunately it’s common up here on the surface,” you continued, toeing at a shell half-buried in the sand. “Women aren’t respected.”

“So I’ve seen,” Arthur mused. “Humans are a strange breed, pawnin’ off their young over money, yet they call us monsters.”

A bitter smile crossed your lips. “Well, your kind also eat sailors, or so I’ve heard,” as you spoke, a darkness crossed his eyes. “Ah, I’m sorry.”

A smile of his own appeared on his face, though rueful. “S’okay, I can’t blame you. Those stories are as old as time.”

You’ve since learned that tales like that were more hogwash. Sure, Arthur did imply that perhaps other mer-tribes would hunt down humans, but far and few in between if normal hunts were unsuccessful. Merfolk would prefer to stay away from humans, as their curiosity would cause more harm than good in sparking hunts of their own to bring one or more back for money and show.

Though out of the multiple times you’ve met Arthur, by some miracle you were able to avoid the company of others. Usually you two were in your own little world until other obligations called either one of you back home. Sometimes you wished you could join him, hoping one day your legs would mesh into a beautiful tail and you’d swim after him, letting him bring you to his home far beneath the surface.

Dreams would remain dreams. Hell, if God himself would grant you the impossible, you’d leave with him right then and there.

“Couldn’t you run away?” Arthur asked, breaking your train of thought.

You blinked in surprise, wondering if he somehow could read your mind. If that were the case, would he have heard your thoughts from times previous? Your face flushed at the mere consideration, and you were glad it was slowly getting darker. “I couldn’t survive on my own,” you finally answered. “Mama always told me it weren’t proper for a lady to be outside.”

This seemed to confuse Arthur, as he cocked an eyebrow in bewilderment. “That don’t seem right at all, how are you s’posed to learn anything?”

“I learn how to be a wife. To cook and clean, how to make my future husband happy,” you sighed heavily. “Guess I’ll be good for one thing.”

“Don’t talk like that, maybe there’s hope for you,” Arthur said quietly.

You shook your head slowly, your vision blurred once again with a fresh bout of tears. They fell freely, soaking into the already dampened earth. “Unless someone could whisk me away, there’s no hope.”

---

That night, you succumbed to a restless slumber. Your subconscious seemed to be on a loop, playing the same tumultuous argument between you and your father. The warped face of your future husband loomed from the depths of your mind, standing before you with a smirk. Then, you there next to him, staring at yourself in a mirror. A wedding dress bound to your figure, nervous hands clutching a wilting bouquet while your spouse held an iron grip on your waist.

The waking world served no enlightenment. A few days have passed by with no offer of escape. One mid-morning, your father sent you out into town for groceries (and alcohol), a chore he’d usually do himself if he wasn’t already waist deep in inebriation.

Iron-clad hooves tapped against the worn cobblestone street of Blackwater. Dark clouds overcast the sky, and the smell of rain hung heavy in the air, deterring most other citizens. You were nearly alone in the street, aside from the occasional wagon passing you by. You weren’t in a hurry regardless of the impending storm, your mind too wrapped up in your own thoughts to shift focus on nature.

Within the next week, you were to be wed. You’d met your future husband only a handful of times prior to the agreement – he was a few years older than you, outwardly handsome though seemed to have an affinity for gambling. Coming from wealth, money was merely a secondary thought for him. He’d flirt with you, flash a charming smile and run his clean fingers against his neat hair, slicked back with pomade.

Any other eligible woman would be keen to marry such a charming man. Those who congratulated you were ignorant of the true reason, and you didn’t have the heart to remedy that. You supposed the truth would show itself sooner or later, especially since your father’s poor financial decisions were somewhat of a known issue.

Drawing closer to the general store, you slid from the saddle just as the first few drops of rain began to fall. They felt unseasonably cold, which only indicated a miserable ride home. You sighed and hitched the horse before hurrying onto the sidewalk and pushing open the glass door of the general store. You were greeted by the smell of coffee beans and dried goods, shortly followed by a verbal welcome of the shopkeeper. You nodded to him in response and turned your attention to the shelves.

Out of the corner of your eye, another patron partially caught your attention. He was on the opposite end of the shop, back facing you as he perused the shelves. He was tall and broad-framed, with long sandy hair flowing like water to just above shoulder height.

Something about him seemed familiar. Perhaps you’ve come across him before in town? It wasn’t smart to dwell however, and you didn’t want to get caught staring. You instead turned your attention back to the tiers of canned fruit.

After a few minutes of picking through the shelves, you paid for a crate worth of goods and stepped out just in time for the drizzle to turn into a steady rain. You peered over at your horse, the old stallion shaking his head as if to rid of the droplets falling into his ears. You approached him, placing the crate on the ground to transfer everything to the saddle bags.

Behind you, the door opened again. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the man from earlier. He was too out of view to see him clearly, and it would be too impolite to look over.

Within a few minutes the groceries were tucked into the saddlebags, thankfully transferred over without becoming too wet. You wiped away a layer of precipitation from the saddle and mounted, casually throwing a glance the man’s way. He was leaning up against the building, his head turned away from you. He had no coat nor hat on, nothing to shield him from the ever hastening downpour. You shook your head and steered your horse the opposite way down the street.

Later that day, the rain failed to lighten which confined you indoors for a few hours. However, it was nearly time for the animals to be fed their dinner. Wrapping yourself in a thick shawl, you stepped outside of your back door and hurried toward the run down barn on the far end of the yard. The horse nickered in response from his small pasture, knowing exactly your destination. Chickens pecking restlessly at the ground ruffled their feathers and scattered away from your footsteps, only to follow you just a few feet behind.

Stepping through the threshold, the surrounding dampness increased the musty, stale hay and bird dropping aroma trapped in the old wooden walls. Your nose wrinkled as you approached an opened bale of hay, first grabbing a few flakes and making your way back to the pasture. Stepping into the shallow mud and focusing over to the horse, you noticed his back was turned – his attention on a person petting his neck.

It wasn’t a strange sight to see, as you lived right next to the road and the ever so friendly old stallion would attract children and urban tourists for some affection and treats. You didn’t mind; they weren’t hurting him and he was happy regardless.

You could only partly see the visitor, and with a prick of surprise you recognized him, somewhat. You sidestepped for a better view, thus confirming your suspicion. It was the man from the store. Your movement caught his attention and his head turned toward you.

Wait…

You frowned and furrowed your brow. This man seemed too familiar. A face you’d only associate with certain times, surrounded by murky water.

No, that wasn’t possible.

A small smile formed on the man’s lips, a very familiar smile you’d seen countless times when greeted by a friend.

Truly this couldn’t be reality.

“Arthur?”

The smile widened and he gave a small, single nod. “Hey, Y/N.”

Your body seemed to be rooted in its place. Aside from your slacked jaw of shock, your muscles seemed to be frozen. How could the merman you’d come to know stand in front of you, on dry land? You must be dreaming, perhaps you fell off your horse and hit your head somehow –

“You alright?” he asked, breaking through your mental attempts to make any sense of this.

A million words flitted through your mind though none were able to pass your lips. Finally after ten seconds of silence, your mouth moved to utter a singular, “How?”

Arthur gripped the fence and hopped over with such ease it almost seemed like he floated, crossing the pasture to come closer to you. Your breath hitched, watching him move so fluidly as if he walked his entire life. This simply didn’t make a lick of sense. He stopped just before you, mere feet from your placement. Your eyes refused to leave him, wide and unblinking despite the rain softly splattering your cheeks.

“I’ll tell ya later,” he dropped his voice to a murmur. “Right now, I want you to get ready.”

“Ready?” you repeated, your throat choking on the word. “Ready for what?”

“What we talked ‘bout the other day,” he reminded you.

You blinked in confusion, your mind still attempting to process the sight before you. With a short moment you recounted the conversation, explaining to him about your arranged marriage, how you can’t run away, and how you wished –

Oh.

“Arthur, you can’t just show up and take me away!” you hissed under your breath.

Confusion settled on his handsome face. “Why not? You said you wished for someone to do just that.”

“I wasn’t being serious!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms in the air and turning around, running your palm across your damp face. It was a wishful thought, yes, though you’d come to terms with this marriage knowing you had no other options. Perhaps you were dreaming after all, your subconscious mind attempting to reach for your deeper desires to further harp your emotions.

“Wasn’t you, though?” Arthur said quietly. A gentle hand reached to rest on your shoulder, a small action that caused you to flinch. “I saw how miserable you are, you couldn’t have jus’ changed your mind in the span of a few days.”

You pursed your lips, head tilting to give him a sidelong glance. “I didn’t change my mind, I just accepted my fate.” You sighed.

A frown crossed his lips. “Why?”

“What else have I got?” you said with a shrug. “I’ve told you before, I don’t have the skills to live outside of…this,” you raised your arm and gestured to the small house before you. “I could never – ”

“Why do ya think I’m here?” he interrupted. “You wouldn’t be alone.”

His words halted your next response. Turning to face him again, you narrowed your eyes at him, a frown of your own forming. “And where would we go? Are you gonna take me to the lake? I don’t have a fin, you know.”

His shoulders shuddered with a deep chuckle. He shook his head and grinned lopsidedly in amusement. “I know, Y/N. We ain’t goin’ to the lake, I’ll tell ya that much.”

This only further befuddled you, and more questions arose in suspicion. “So where the fuck – and why do you have – ”

“I ask you to trust me here,” he spoke again, his voice soft and even. “If you come with me, I’ll answer any question you have.”

You simply stared at him, a small part of your brain still attempting to make any sense of this. You have to wake up if this was a true dream, mentally willing yourself to open your eyes. “I must be asleep,” you grumbled to yourself, shaking your head.

“You ain’t.”

Your eyes met his, seeing his ever so patient gaze. What other explanation would you have other than a trick of your own mind? Maybe you’d fallen off your horse and hit your head on the ground. Holding your hands out in front of you, your fingers flexed and curled. Everything seemed the same.

His own hands appeared in your field of view, taking yours rather gently. Wet from the rain but warm and calloused, your skin tingled where he touched. It wasn’t the first time you’d had physical contact with him, though you were used to the sheen of lake water covering his skin accompanied with a texture that reminded you of the surface of a fish. Even though he was damp, his skin was dry. “I know it’s strange, Y/N. I ain’t lyin’ to ya here, I will take you elsewhere if you really want. And I know you want that,” he stated plainly. “But if that ain’t true, then I will go back to the lake.”

You’d fallen silent then. The logical process would be to turn away, to tell him that he was wasting his time and go back to his home. However, the tiny part of your brain you’d tried to suppress throughout this ordeal was screaming. Clawing its way from the mental rocks of which it was buried beneath. Yearning for that chance to live as your own woman.

And possibly living with Arthur?

Your chest expanded with a deep breath, shutting your eyes as drops of water fell from your lashes. He promised he’d tell you the questions burning in the back of your throat as long as you’d come with him, and what reason did you have to not trust him? He wasn’t a stranger, had always been nice to you, never gave you any indication you’d be in danger while in his presence.

It still however was a huge risk. What if your father or fiancé came after you? What if either of you ran into danger? What if you would be turned into a mermaid in some way?

“Listen,” you nearly jumped when his voice sounded closer, opening your eyes to see he leaned in. “I don’t got much time out here, I’ll be back by midnight. You can give me your answer then.”

Before you could say anything, he hopped over the fence once again, leaving you gaping after him.

---

As the cloudy day transitioned into night, you relentlessly mulled over what you’d just witnessed. Arthur the merman walking and speaking to you, offering a way out. After multiple pinches and other obscure ways to convince yourself it was a dream, turns out this was very much reality. Afterward, you weighed your options over and over. You weren’t the first to be forced into marriage and certainly wouldn’t be the last. Concurrently, you wouldn’t be the first to flee from an unpleasant lifestyle. Marriage would mean financial security and a fixed, mundane duty. Running away would unlock a door to a world full of secrets and adventure, though can be proven dangerous.

You could be safe for potentially the rest of your life, yet bound by societal laws and left to be only dreaming of what your life could have been.

Your father’s lumbering sounded from the floor below, accompanied by a sharp bang every once in a while. Since your mother died, he was never seen without an amber bottle in his hand. He was simply a mere shell of what he used to be, no longer the man you grew up with. Perhaps this arrangement was his way of caring, assuring you’d never come across any trouble.

But you were tired of bargaining with yourself, trying to make sense of this decision other than the most obvious. He was a stranger to you now, as he has been for years. Should you continue to subject yourself to his wishes, to be miserable until the day you die?

No, not anymore.

When the sounds downstairs finally quietly, you began to pack your essentials. You kept an eye on the time, grabbing a few days’ worth of clothing and a few coveted trinkets: some jewelry and a photo of your mother, along with whichever else you could fit into the old leather sack. When you’d finished, the time was 11:30.

Arthur showed up on the stroke of midnight exactly. You’d spotted him in your backyard again, keeping to the shadows of the barn. You snuck downstairs as quietly as you could, giving a sidelong glance to your father, who was passed out at the kitchen table with an empty bottle dangling from his hand. Silently, you bid him a goodbye as a bittersweet wave overcame you, blinking away a hint of tears. Maybe you will see him again someday, if he were to ever sober up.

Passing through the back door and closing it as carefully as you could, your heart pounded loudly. Arthur’s dark figure became clearer as your eyesight adjusted, along with an unfamiliar horse on the opposite side of the fence. You met him halfway. He eyed the sack slung over your shoulder, and a small smile appeared on his face.

“Seems like you’ve made your decision,” he stated.

Nodding enthusiastically, you replied, “Yes. It took me a while to figure it out, but yes. I’ll go with you, I’m trusting you.”

Arthur nodded quietly, his eyes leaving you to sweep across the landscape before turning his attention back to you. “I found a place we can stay for a while over in New Austin, ‘less you got somewhere else in mind.”

This piqued your interest. You weren’t too far from the state border, although it would take a substantial amount of time to reach it. There was no way Arthur had gone there within the time slot he allotted, unless he’d been on the surface previously.

More and more questions grew in the back of your mind, though you had to staunch your curiosity. You couldn’t dawdle for long, in case some night owls nearby grew curious of your conversation. “Then let’s go,” you finally said, glancing at the horse you assumed was Arthur’s ride. However you paused, turning your attention toward the stallion resting in the pasture.

Arthur followed your gaze. “Somethin’ wrong?”

You looked at him again. “Is it alright if we take him with us? I don’t wanna leave him behind.”

Without hesitation, Arthur nodded. “Sure, you won’t hear me complainin’.”

---

The clear full moon cast a silver hue along the tan landscape of Great Plains, illuminating the paths perfectly. The two horses loped quietly along the rolling hills. Arthur assured there was no rush, and so you had to quell your anxious excitement.

However, this didn’t stop the questions. As soon as you’d exited the outskirts of Blackwater, the first question was, “How are you here on land?”

He explained that merfolk had the ability to grow legs, though not many of them truly took advantage of it due to the fear of humans. It’d been at least a century since any notion of them stepping onto dry land, with Arthur being the exception, only he kept it a secret.

“So…how often do you come onto land?” you asked next.

“Been on n’ off since I was a boy,” he answered. “Truth is, my mother used to do the same. Loved humans, came to shore often. She met my father that way, he was human.”

This news surprised you. Who knew that merfolk and humans could have children together? And if that was possible, how many others out there were like Arthur?

“I spent a lot o’ time on land, lot o’ time in the water. Learned how to live as both, but my father was killed when I was young, so I took to the waters, until my mother passed.”

“I’m…so sorry,” you said automatically, your heart falling to your stomach.

To your surprise, Arthur chuckled. A small, humorless laugh. “Never understood why humans say that, they ain’t the cause of a particular tragedy, so why apologize?”

You couldn’t really answer that question yourself. It was ingrained into your mind that you never had any further consideration. It was an odd thing to say, really. You shook your head as if to clear those thoughts, wanting to focus on him again. “Where do you prefer living?”

You could see his broad shoulders shrug. “Can’t really say, I enjoy both since I can live jus’ fine on both. Don’t take too much to adapt since I’m already familiar.”

“So…what does that mean for me?”

He turned his head toward you.

“Are you going to live on land with me for the rest of your life, or are you gonna leave at some point?” you reiterated.

Arthur slowed up his horse, falling in step with yours. “I’ll be around for as long as ya want me,” he answered seriously. “But I couldn’t leave knowin’ you had no options.”

Those words tugged at your heartstrings. Arthur had been your friend for years, perhaps your only true friend. He left the waters for you, with no second consideration for himself. A small smile tugged at your lips.

---

Within a few hours you’d reached your destination: a small shack on the edge of the San Luis River with a dock. At the bottom of a cliff and surrounded by scrubby brush, it was enough to deter any unwanted company. Even though the shack was fully furnished, Arthur mentioned it had been abandoned for a little while now. He would swim here with the intention of cleaning it up for you, assuming you’d go along with his idea. It was cozy; one small bed in the corner and a furnace on the opposite end. Only fit for one person. Arthur insisted he was just fine sleeping in the water when you mentioned there was no room for both of you.

The first few days were a strange adjustment. You’d never been on your own, at least like this. You were used to preparing hot meals for yourself and your father with purchased goods. Arthur provided the food, bringing in fish or venison for either of you to cook. He didn’t wander too far from you in concern to leave you vulnerable, and you weren’t keen to wander out into the wilderness. Some nights you definitely heard the howl of a wolf or the snarl of a cougar in the distance.

After the first week passed, you were almost accommodated to this new life. Arthur offered to teach you how to hunt and fish, both in and out of the water. He was already swimming around one morning whilst waiting as you approached the glistening surface from the docks, his beautiful tail gleaming in the rising sun.

But what surprise you had when he made it to shore completely, naked as a newborn baby. You hadn’t seen him transform officially yet, and he seemed to lack modesty when he asked you why you were suddenly flustered in his presence. He was certainly nice to look at, even though you had to quickly shoo him inside to get dressed, for your own sake.

Within a month, Arthur turned you into a wilderness expert. Soon hunting for the dinner table, learning to track and cover, you were no longer nervous to step past those surrounding shrubs. You kept busy by picking herbs and catching game to sell to passing merchants, though avoiding coming too close to West Elizabeth.

One evening, you’d come home from hunting to find Arthur sitting on the end of the dock. Only half-dressed, lacking a shirt. His damp hair indicated he’d been in the water recently. You curiously approached him, wondering if something was on his mind.

At the creak of the boards, he turned and smiled at you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you responded, taking a seat next to him. “What’re you up to?”

“Ah, just thinkin’,” he responded, casting his gaze across the river as the last of the sun’s rays shone across the surface.

You tilted your head. “Of?”

“Lot o’ things, these past few weeks,” he said lowly.

“Why’s that?”

“Well,” he slowly turned his head to look at you. “You were sayin’ that you didn’t know how to live like this, now you do.”

You nodded in agreement. Many times he’s expressed how proud he was for you to learn a new skill, and you were proud of yourself to adapt so quickly. “Thanks to you, Arthur. If I’d attempted this on my own, I’d probably be dead within a week, or somehow found and dragged back home.”

“It won’t come to that anyway, least from how far you’ve progressed,” Arthur pointed out.

Smiling at him, you said, “I’ll be forever grateful for taking me away.”

He half-smiled at you. “I’m grateful you agreed,” he replied, his eyes suddenly falling to the structure beneath you. “I jus’ hope that…” he murmured so quietly you had to strain to hear.

“What?”

He sighed deeply. “It’s silly, but I hope you still want me ‘round. You’re more than capable of livin’ on your own now, you don’t need me.”

You blinked in surprise from his confession. “Why wouldn’t I, Arthur? You’re my friend, you’ve done so much for me already. Why would I just toss you away like that?”

“You don’t need me,” he repeated. “You can go on n’ do whatever you want with your life now, ain’t fair to stay here n’ –“

“Arthur,” you interrupted so sharply he stared at you. “I…I don’t need you, I but I want you here. You gave me this opportunity, and now I’m choosing to do this. Do you know how much you mean to me?”

He didn’t answer, only giving you a look of faint surprise. You stared back evenly, your words still fresh. You and Arthur had gotten so close since arriving here, having opened up in new ways toward one another.

Perhaps even closer than friends.

Those lingering glances, those quick moments of affection, a light touch here and there. The weight of his words when he bid you farewell for the day. Little moments that would make your heart soar. A new emotion arising within you every time you woke up to see him.

What you said next flowed from your mouth without hesitation. “I…I think I love you, Arthur.”

It surprised you how easy you admitted it. His blue eyes widened in his own shock, his lips parting as if to say something. Instead his mouth sat slack, eliciting no sound. You waited for a reaction, a change, a word, something.

A full moment passed and nothing, your heart dropped. Have you misinterpreted his signals? Maybe they meant something else to the other half of his world. Either way, you started to feel foolish. You took a shuddering breath and looked away, beginning to move. “I’m sorry, I’ll just – ”

A calloused hand grasped yours at an instant. An automatic flinch suddenly swept away when Arthur’s other hand cupped your chin, a firm yet tender hold to keep you in place. You turned your head back to him, observing the soft smile on his lips, and the gentle hooded gaze he gave you.

You relaxed in his touch, allowing your body to shift closer to him. The hand that held yours wrapped around your waist, tugging you closer and meeting no resistance. He leaned toward you, placing his lips upon yours.

Kissing him seemed natural. Your previous suitor was forceful and hard against you, but Arthur, as large and solid as he was, melded to you. Your hands reached for him, tangling in his damp hair, wrapping around his thick neck. He moaned slightly against your mouth, a low sound rumbling within his chest. Finally, he pulled away from you, the smile still remaining.

Fire licked at your cheeks, your mind in a haze as your smile mirrored his. You almost couldn’t believe it happened. No singular phrase passed your tongue as you mentally scrambled for your next words. “I…” you finally uttered, unsure how to continue.

He chuckled, smoothing his thumb across the ridge of your upper lip. “I think I love you too, sweetheart.”

Your smile only widened, the heat brushing against your face only increasing. This was a first for you, a rush of excitement and a whirlwind of emotion overtaking you. “Well, what now?” you bashfully asked.

Arthur glanced out at the water with a look of contemplation. Only a short moment passed before he stood up, and held his hand out. “Wanna go for a swim?”

You blinked, not expecting this response. But you took his hand anyway, allowing him to help you to your feet. “Now, here?”

“Only us out here, ‘sides, I wanna show ya how beautiful it is from my eyes…” he said, quickly shedding his pants. With nothing else on, he dove into the water with a graceful arc. Even in the dying light you watched as the skin of his legs slowly began to shimmer and mesh together into his tail beneath the disturbed waters. He surfaced just seconds later, peering up at you expectantly. “It’s nice n’ warm in here, you’ll like it.”

You were hesitant and admittedly a little nervous as you hadn’t swam in years. “Um, I don’t have a swimsuit…” you weakly pointed out.

“Neither do I,” the paper thin edges of his fin appeared, splashing playfully. “That don’t matter.”

You opened your mouth to argue, except you knew he was right. No one was around to see you, and you would be submerged if some random boat decided to pass by. Besides, you were itching to see how Arthur viewed the world, or at least his world. “Alright, you convinced me.”

It wasn’t too long before you too were bare, though Arthur was kind enough to not stare. Peering down at your reflection, you took a deep breath and plunged in.

#Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan x reader #merman!Arthur #merfolk AU

[chaseatinydream]

treasure: your name || k.hj (atz)

Steering the ship had always been second nature for Hongjoong.

It was such a contrast to when he was in battle, hand gripped tight around the handle of his cutlass and the other around his musket. No, steering the ship required a more fine and delicate touch, one that most warriors didn’t possess.

His hands seemed to be be made for it, delicate when it came to feeling for the ship. He could sense the power of the sea as it rushed against the rudder of the Treasure, every tiny shift in the wind, the beginning of a storm when the sky was still clear and devoid of clouds. The Treasure and its crew were his pride and joy, and he would never tire of this life he had built for himself with his own two hands.

But he had to admit steering the ship was sometimes mind blowingly numb work.

From the quarterdeck, one could almost see everything there was to see; which wasn’t much. In front of him were the three masts and the main deck, where Wooyoung or San or basically any crew member of his would be doing something stupid, but he’d long learned not to look down there in case he lost his sanity watching them go at it.

Jongho occasionally sang, which brightened Hongjoong’s mood up greatly, but he usually got interrupted by Seonghwa calling him to help move some things in the cargo hold below or just by Wooyoung or Yunho teasing him.

Hongjoong sighed as he gazed at the expanse of blue before him. His head tilted up.

Blue sky.

He looked down.

Blue sea.

“I really need to find something to do.” The poor captain muttered to himself as he glanced at the water clock.

There were still three hours till Mingi took over him.

He let out an almighty groan and smacked his head against the wheel.

“You alright, captain?” Hongjoong turned to see his navigator walking up the stairs with a plate in hand. The captain almost cried in joy upon seeing his dinner and grabbed for his food.

“Just the usual.” He answered grimly as he shoved the bread roll into his mouth. “And call me Hongjoong.”

“Yes, captain.” Yeosang nodded absentmindedly as he peered down onto deck. “Ah, it’s the stowaway. He made your breakfast, you know.”

Hongjoong gave him a disgruntled look as he continued chewing on his bread. “And…?”

He knew what Yeosang was trying to get at. The navigator blinked at him innocently, his puppy dog eyes almost worthy to match Wooyoung’s in combat. Then Hongjoong sighed. It was futile to try and turn down Yeosang, everyone on the ship knew as much. The navigator never did throw a temper tantrum or get angry, but he would mope and sulk around for days and that was terrible for crew morale.

“I mean… It must be pretty boring standing here watching nothing.” Yeosang said slowly, as if he was asking a drunk how many fingers he was holding up. “It’ll be a nice change to have something to do…”

Hongjoong eyed him, completely unimpressed by his subtlety, or rather, lack thereof. But his navigator didn’t leave. Instead, he simply kept smiling that same, expectant smile at his captain, and Hongjoong finally caved with a sigh.

“Alright! I’ll think about it.” Hongjoong had known that the battle had been lost from the start. He regretted it almost instantly from the way a little self satisfied grin bloomed across Yeosang’s face. “Now get going before I change my mind.”

“Yes, captain!” His navigator hummed cheerily, turning to walk down the steps with a little spring in his step. Hongjoong groaned. Did nobody on this ship respect him any more?

“Call me Hongjoong!” He called after Yeosang’s retreating back. The young man merely waved in response, not even bothering to turn back.

“Yes, captain!”

Sighing, Hongjoong straightened up as he nudged the wheel a little to the left. Looking down onto the main deck, he saw the topic of his and Yeosang’s conversation being led around by Seonghwa as the older man explained the parts of the ship to him.

The stowaway was young, probably even younger than he. A tiny, slender thing with no real muscles or bulk, he looked as if a stiff breeze could send him overboard at any second. He didn’t seem like he’d survive long on a pirate ship.

Well, he had survived an encounter with the legendary ‘Pirate King’.

Hongjoong snorted a little at his own thought process. Then he looked back at the nameless stowaway. He knew Seonghwa and San had been itching to give their newest crew member a name, but he also knew why they were refraining from doing so.

A sigh left his mouth as he recalled the two other crew members who’d joined the ship in a manner similar to his recent addition. Both had somehow run up the gangplank and he hadn’t thrown them overboard yet…

He had stopped such barbaric practices month ago. In fact, Jongho was more likely to do that than he was, all Hongjoong did was threaten people with it. But back to his little gangplank problem.

He should really start making it a thing to check the cargo hold before they left any port.

“This is a recurring problem.” He muttered under his breath as he glanced at the stowaway once more. Seas, the word ‘stowaway’ was really a bit of a mouthful.

Maybe he needed a name.

That night, Hongjoong sat on the bed of his cabin, a dusty, long unused book in his lap. He stared at it for a long moment, chewing at his lip as he glanced over at the cover.

A Complete Guide to Commonly Used Names in The East and Their Meaning.

His fingers flipped through the dog-eared pages once more after three years, the action almost ingrained into him by now. He'd learnt to read a little ever since he joined the crew of the Jackdaw, but had never been particularly proficient in it till Yeosang had become part of his ship.

Choosing a name was harder than he remembered it being.

He thumbed to a page all the way at the back, coughing a little at the dust rising from it.

우영

Ah, yes. He remembered late nights poring over this book, diligently bookmarking names that had seemed appropriate for who had been the newest crew member of his ship then.

The only other of his family on board who had started out nameless.

His finger brushed the two characters that make up the name of one of his oldest friends gently. 우, meaning ‘friend’, and ,영, a corolla, the centre of a flower.

I hope that one day you will be surrounded by friends who can be your family.

For a moment, Hongjoong closed his eyes and let himself remember.

“I'm so sorry!” The captain of the small pirate galley apologized profusely, his face white with fear. In fact, he was trembling so much he was nearly shaking like a leaf in the wind. “I apologize deeply for the foolishness of my crew, milord.”

Hongjoong was no lord. Far from it, in fact. But as the most feared pirate of the Seven Seas, known as the legendary pirate king, he guessed that he was considered royalty among his brethren.

Hongjoong didn't deign the man worthy of a reply. Instead, his one eye took in the ship contemptuously, face darkening as he spotted the rows of oarsmen sitting chained to the oars. Many were either hard muscled and lean from a lifetime of torturous service, or skinny and malnourished due to hunger. He guessed the latter might perish in a couple of months, at most.

Slaves, he knew most of them were. A bleak lifetime of suffering and pain, hopeless and barren of any sort of joy. A fate worse than death itself.

“One of your men just tried to assault my captain.” Mingi snarled, brandishing his massive axe. On anyone else, the axe would have looked too long and unwieldy to be practical in any sort of battle, but his faithful quartermaster lifted it as easily as a twig. “Even if Captain does let you off the hook, I can assure you I won't. I want your head.”

The captain of the ship fell to his knees in shock, tremors running through his whole body. “Mercy!”

Hongjoong ignored the little fiasco, casually looking about the ship. The galley tended to have oarsmen as its main driving power behind movement and was a lot more reliable than the winds.

Then he snorted. Not for his crew, though.

A downside of a slave galley was its strength, the slaves. Slaves took up much space and consumed large amounts of food, which took up space as well. The alternative was that the ship's crew simply overworked the rowing crews till many of them died of exhaustion in the fetid conditions, before capturing another rowing crew from a raid.

Hongjoong was by no means a merciful man, but this sort of behaviour disgusted him.

“Now, now. Let's not be so worked up over this.” Yunho smiled easily, patting Mingi’s tightly wound shoulder. The quartermaster stepped back with reluctance, dark eyes still fixed on the ship's captain, as Yunho moved forward to negotiate. The grovelling man, seeing the battlemaster's cheerful grin, began to sigh a breath of relief, until Yunho continued his sentence.

“We should flay him alive instead.”

A whimper left the captain's lips at the very thought. The whip was something all sailors knew well, the cat of nine tails left a deep impression on anyone it encountered, both physical and mental. Being flogged to death was one of the most terrifying and painful ways to go.

Hongjoong looked over at the foolish man who had been the cause of all this. He was shaking as he prostrated himself before them. Hongjoong hadn’t known that anyone would be foolhardy or unlucky enough to attempt to rob him, of all people.

The little robbery attempt had gone rather poorly. Upon feeling a hand on the coin purse tied to his belt, Hongjoong had reacted according to instinct, twisting the thief’s arm so hard that the shoulder had popped right out of its socket and tossing the man to the ground. In a second, Yunho had been at his side, slamming the man so hard against the wall that he’d been knocked unconscious. But there was no need to interrogate him; Hongjoong had recognised the emblem on his jacket as the same ship the Treasure was docked beside.

At first, Hongjoong had just intended on telling Mingi that they were about to return a crew member to his ship, but then Yunho had spilled the beans and his ever loyal quartermaster had refused to let it slide. The tall man had simply grabbed his axe and marched over to the opposite ship, all while hauling the limp body of Hongjoong’s would be assaulter behind him like a sack of potatoes, leaving Hongjoong and Yunho to catch up with him.

And that was how they had ended up here.

“Please, spare me!” The cowardly captain was snivelling. Hongjoong sighed. No captain should ever behave that way in front of his men. If Mingi did decide to kill him, he should at least die with some self-dignity.

Then Hongjoong saw him.

A slave boy barely over fifteen, a thick leather collar resting against his throat. He had the most striking hair Hongjoong had ever seen, a rich shade of purple that was both unnatural, but fit him perfectly at the same time. Around his wrists were heavy iron shackles, same as those of the rest of the slaves, and his arms were adorned with flowering bruises in shades of blue-black, purple and red. Branches of whip scars and fallen leaves of the branding iron painted his body into a canvas of what must have been a lifetime of horrific suffering.

A wilting flower in the midst of a desolate wasteland.

Strangely, his face was well formed, not in the least marred like the rest of his body had been. But it didn’t need to. The boy’s eyes were more than enough to tell him everything.

They were green, just like his. But where Hongjoong’s burned with a fire, a passion to live and shine bright in the world, this boy’s eyes were empty, glassy, and utterly dead.

It looked as if there was no soul inhabiting this body, a mere empty vessel of clay.

“I want him.” Hongjoong pointed at the boy. The slave didn’t respond in the slightest, apart from a flicker of the eyes.

“What?” The captain of the ship sputtered in stunned shock. Even Mingi and Yunho seemed to be in varying degrees of confusion.

“Hyung.” Yunho approached his captain, brow furrowed. “What do you want?”

Hongjoong ignored Yunho for a moment and turned to the captain, who was wearing an expression of complete bewilderment. “I want that boy. Give him to me, and I’ll forget any of this ever happened.”

Desperate to please the Pirate King and save the skin on his back, the captain agreed without second thought.

“Mingi, break his chains and bring him with us.” The quartermaster didn’t understand, but obeyed anyway, moving to carry out his captain’s orders.

“What’s his name?” Hongjoong turned coldly to the snivelling captain, who yelped in fright at being addressed directly Hongjoong before scrambling to reply.

“He… he doesn't have one.”

Hongjoong smiled a little at the memory. Names were important, to him at least. A name was your identity to the person who’d given you the name. Whether it was your parents, or kin, it meant something.

He should really give this stowaway a name as well.

“Well, to work then.” He cracked his knuckles and dove straight into the book.

At first minutes passed, then hours. In fact, he didn't even realise that he had gotten so deep in thought, to the point the sun had already sunk behind the ocean waves. The flickering light of the candle made it hard to read, but as if he'd let something as small as that stop him.

“Captain, why are you still up?”

Hongjoong sprang into action, leaping from the bed and half drawing his musket until he realised Yeosang's face was right in front of his, holding his breakfast.

Wait, breakfast?

He whirled around to stare out of one of the potholes. Sure enough, he could see the line of orange rising from the sea, turning the sky into a beautiful gradient of apricot and tangerine.

“Shit.” Hongjoong rushed to pick up his red jacket, sliding his arms into the sleeves as quickly as possible. “Mingi has been steering for the last eleven hours?”

“It’s alright!” Yeosang said cheerily, setting the plate of food down on the bed and subtly swiping the book from the side. “I rotated with him for four hours. So did San.”

A horrified look of complete dismay crossed Hongjoong’s face. “San steered my ship?”

“Come on, you know he’s improved! He only ran us aground twice last year.” The navigator smiled, flipping through the book with interest. Hongjoong was still too agitated to notice what Yeosang was doing.

“That’s twice too many!” Hongjoong ranted, a hundred and one scenarios running through his mind at the thought of his precious ship being hulled because San had been at the wheel. “It’s dangerous to let San near the steering wheel and- What are you doing?”

Hongjoong made a grab for the book, but Yeosang twirled out of the way like a professional ballerina, reading through some of the names he’s chosen.

“Si Woo, meaning ‘begin’, ‘blessing’ and ‘divine intervention’. Hae Ju, meaning ‘jewel of the ocean’.” The captain yelped and dove for the book, but Yeosang sidesteped him and stuck a foot out to trip him. Hongjoong went staggering and fell face first onto the bed, all while Yeosang continued reading.

“Mal Chin, meaning ‘persisting till the end’-” Hongjoong finally managed to snatch the book back, hugging the book protectively to his chest and looking utterly betrayed.

“I am the captain!” Yeosang looked like he was about to laugh at the look on Hongjoong’s face.

“I thought you’ve always said to call you Hongjoong?”

The captain scowled. This little shit…

“Anyway, I should go.” Yeosang got up and made to leave the cabin with a self satisfied grin on his face. For a moment, Hongjoong dearly wanted to slap his navigator in the face with the book in his hands. “I need to tell San to take over Mingi at the wheel.”

Hongjoong was stunned silent for a moment. Then he tossed the book onto the bed and raced after Yeosang’s retreating back, screaming.

“Don’t let San touch my ship!”

That afternoon, Hongjoong had been lost in thought once more. The wind was good, exceptionally so that day, the currents steady and unchanging. Hongjoong leaned forward and rested his head against the wheel, taking a short break.

The first and last name he had ever bestowed was a name of hope for the future, a new beginning from his stark, desolate past. But this new stowaway had no past nor future yet. He didn’t know what to wish for the newest member of his crew, whether it be for love, family, friends. Or should he name the boy after a striking, physical defining trait?

He heaved a sigh. The last name he had chosen had been a lot easier.

Sure, he’d spent countless nights and hours debating and flipping through his books, but when he had seen the words, Hongjoong had immediately known in his heart that was the name for him.

“Why the long face, captain?” Yunho’s voice slipped into his ears. Hongjoong snorted under his breath.

“You can’t see my face.” Hongjoong reminded him, his voice muffled by the wood of the steering wheel. The lookout let out a chuckle of laughter.

“I don’t need to see your face to know what you look like, cap’n. I’ve known you for three years.” Yunho snickered as Hongjoong finally raised his head to look at him. The tall man was dangling upside down from a rope of the mizzenmast, swinging back and forth like some sort of bizarre pendulum. “Ahh, there’s the long face I was talking about.”

“Call me Hongjoong.” The poor captain sighed. “Honestly, you-”

“Everyone on this ship calls you, captain, Hongjoongie-hyung. Here, my apprentice just finished making these.” Hongjoong turned to see San ascending the stairs with a grin on his face. In his hands were two new stuffed toys. Hongjoong pointed at their resident healer.

“Why can’t you all be like him?”

San tossed one to each of them as Yunho gave his captain the most excited smile he had ever seen. “You mean you want us all to attempt to take the wheel of the ship? Awesome! I’ve never gotten to touch the wheel before!” He dropped from the rigging and moved closer to Hongjoong. “Come on, let me have a go-”

“No!” Hongjoong was flabbergasted. “That’s not what I meant!”

“What’s the commotion?” Mingi moved up the steps, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. To both his horror and relief, Yeosang had been joking with him earlier, San had not steered the ship, but instead Mingi had endured the helm for almost seven whole hours. Hongjoong had apologised to his quartermaster earlier, but his oldest friend had merely waved it off before going to take a caulk (pirate speak for ‘nap’) below deck.

“Oh!” Yunho clasped his hands together, as if just remembering something important. “Did Yeosangie tell all of you about that?”

That?

Apparently Hongjoong was the only one who doesn’t get that, because Mingi and San both made noises of comprehension and agreement.

“Ahh, that.”

“Guys, wait-” Hongjoong tried to say, but Yunho scratched his hair in deep contemplation.

“I like the first one better.”

First one?

“Nah, I still like the second one more.” Mingi shook his head, hair mussed up from sleep. San moved over to rearrange the threads in his cerulean blue hair and Mingi muttered a ‘Thank You’ sleepily through a yawn.

Second one?

“Well, I prefer the fourth one.” San shrugged, but then turned to look at Hongjoong with piercing eyes. “But in the end it’s still captain’s choice, isn’t it?”

“Wait a second.” Hongjoong’s brain was still trying to catch up. “What are all of you talking about?”

The three of them exchanged glances. Then San spoke up again, more clearly this time.

“I like the name Ha-Eun. That’s the fourth name, isn’t it?”

Mingi nodded. “The rest of the crew likes the name Da-Hae though. Says it makes sense because he’s a pirate boy now.”

“But Stowaway isn’t very big (Da-Hae means big ocean).” Yunho frowned, his arms crossed as he pondered this. “Hey, captain, do you think the name Young-Jae sounds good?”

Three of his closest friends turned to stare at him.

Hongjoong stared back at all of them for a moment, his mind in a bit of a shock.

Then he slammed his head against the wheel and let out a muffled scream.

A few nights later, Hongjoong sat in his cabin alone with a flickering lantern. Mingi was instructing Yeosang on some of the finer points of steering a ship, while Hongjoong continued reading the book he had slaved so long over.

Woof!

Hongjoong looked up to see a small Shiba Inu wagging its tail excitedly, running up to him. Hongjoong felt his face relax into a smile.

“Aish, Shiber, stop!” The captain laughed as San’s pet dog licked his cheeks and nose, nosing his eye patch with gusto. He patted the side of Yeosang’s bed. “Listen to some names I’ve chosen?”

Woof! Shiber leapt onto where Hongjoong had indicated, before flopping onto its belly with a softer, content bark. Hongjoong nodded, pulling out the list of names he’d shortlisted as he settled against the wall next to Shiber. The small dog snuggled into his side.

“So, here’s the first name. Da-Hae. Da means big and Hae means ocean, so it’s kind of related to the sea, am I right? I mean, we’re pirates, so…” Hongjoong shrugged, glancing through the notes he’d taken about it. “I do think it makes sense, though. What do you think? Is it any good, Shiber?”

Woof! The small dog wagged its tail enthusiastically, tongue lolling out of its mouth.

Hongjoong sighed in relief, fingers scratching Shiber’s head. “Good. I thought it might have been a little too boring. Then there’s Eun Ae, meaning grace and love. The stowaway does seem a little soft for the pirate life. Ah, never mind that. I’m sure Jongho or San or Seonghwa will take care of him. So, what do you think about this name, Shiber?”

Woof!

The captain smiled. “That’s nice to hear. I’m not really eloquent with words, so it’s good that you’re here to help me.” He flipped to the next page. “What about Ji Woo?”

Silence.

“Not that nice, huh?” Hongjoong shrugged, crossing the name out with his quill. “Yeah, maybe it’s not mighty and awe inspiring enough for someone who’s going to be a pirate. But I don’t want his name to be too intimidating though. It doesn’t suit him.”

Hongjoong exhaled, leaning against the wall as he pondered this carefully. The stowaway, who he had thought to be of the Royal Navy, an amnesiac, lost and without family. San and Seonghwa had both told him that the boy was determined to regain his memories, one way or another, and to be honest, Hongjoong wasn’t sure whether he ever would.

Memories were tricky business.

San had told him multiple times that he’d been blessed by a sea god, but Hongjoong had absolutely no recollection of it at all. And even if it were true, even if a sea god did exist, why would he bless him, of all people?

Hongjoong snorted at the absurdity of it all, shaking his head. Then he spoke aloud quietly, his voice a little raw with emotion. “I want a name that both represents the identity of that kid and gives him hope. He has neither now… but I want to give him the gift of a well thought name, at least. He doesn’t have his memories… But he wants to find them. So I should give him a name relating to that. Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Silence.

Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed suddenly as he stared at the Shiba Inu with betrayed eyes. Shiber looked at him innocently, tail wagging energetically. Then Hongjoong repeated his words from earlier, slower and more deliberate.

“Do you think that’s a good idea… Shiber?”

Woof!

Hongjoong buried his face in the pillow and screamed.

“I can’t believe you were just responding to your name the whole time! I trusted you, Shiber!”

Woof! Oh, the dog was just making fun of him now.

Hongjoong screamed again in despair and rolled over in the blankets, staring at the ceiling. “Get out and let me wallow in my self pity for a moment, please.”

Shiber merely barked joyously before trotting out of the room, presumably to find San or Seonghwa for more treats. Hongjoong heard the thump of his book falling to the ground as the dog left the room.

“I hate that dog.” His words were muffled by the pillow, but he begrudgingly got up to pick up his list.

And a page fell out of it.

Frowning, Hongjoong picked up the piece of yellowing paper with his fingers. Only one word on the page caught his eye.

“Chin Hae, meaning ‘truth’ or ‘depth of the ocean’. Describes a long search for something unknown and as endless as the sea for the truth.”

He thought about it for a moment. Something felt right, a warm settling in his chest.

He smiled.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez pirate king #w; pirate king #w; ot8 #w; hongjoong #w; fanfiction

[conaionaru]

The Drowned girl

No fear

Synopsis: Siggy leaves Kattegat for the first time, setting out on a journey of a lifetime. But of course danger follows as well

Warnings: violence, shit parenting (Bjorn), child abandonment, language, canon divergence

Tags:

@pieces-by-me​

I don’t own the gifs.

Siggy stood at the side of the ship, holding onto a rope for stability. The wind ruffled her neatly braided hair and her new cloak. Floki stood proudly at the head of the boat, watching all his ships sail to Kattegat's docks so everyone else can come aboard as well.

Never before did she feel so light; all those times she leaped off high places was nothing compared to this. She felt like soaring in the sky, leaving behind Kattegat and all its shadows.

The people on the docks looked so small from up here, just spots that would soon be left behind. With a grin, she ran past the other sailors and Floki. "Siggy!" Warned Helga while the girl sprinted up the dragon's head and jumped onto the docks, giggling like a madwoman.

The docks were packed with people saying goodbye to their families. She could see Bjorn and his family, as well. How she loathed them all, looking happy and like a proper family. Someone nudged her shoulder.

Floki wiggled his eyebrows at her and jerked his head towards the Ragnarssons and Aslaug. "Say goodbye to Sigurd. We will not wait for you forever." Siggy rolled her eyes at him and skipped over to Sigurd.

The snake-eyed prince grinned at her and waited for her to reach him finally. "Don't die stupidly." He whispered into her ear in the middle of their tight hug. Siggy nodded against his neck and gripped his tunic tighter.

"You won't survive a day without me, Uncle Sigurd." He hit her over the head and glared at the title he hated so much.

"Go. The sight of you disgusts me."

"At least I don't look like a flock of raven's attacked my hair."

Sigurd touched his hair and glared at her remark. His hair was a touchy subject for him. Truth be told, it wouldn't be so touchy if he used a comb once in a while. But Siggy hates that torture device as well, so she won't judge too much.

"Be safe, Little Sig."

"You too, Sig."

She turned on her head and walked back to the boat, shouldering past Bjorn, who watched her with dark eyes. He always observed her, especially when she was happy. It seemed to offend him to some extent. But that was his problem.

Siggy watched the world pass by, the gentle breeze like a lover's touch against her face - adventures first caress. "Off to Rome, we go." Helga chuckled at her side and ruffled her hair affectionately, joining Floki and Bjorn at the brow. Hvitserk threw an apple at her head, snickering when it hit her in the ear.

"And here I thought I could suffer you for longer," Siggy complained and stormed after him, twirling around the mast and people as Bjorn barked at them to calm down. He must be regretting taking them with him.

The blonde run-up to the mast and climbed up using a rope as support. Taking a deep breath, Siggy closer her eyes, and enjoyed the more windy place. She could hear Helga warning her to be careful and Floki giggling as she stood on top of the sail.

Slowly she opened her eyes and grinned at the beautiful sight before her. The clear water with loads of boats on it seemed like the perfect place to be. She was meant to be here all along. Sailing the world and proving to the gods that she deserved to live. "Try to strike me down now..."

For all the love for traveling, Siggy felt, sailing there just took too long. Frankia was just within reach, and she had no desire to see Rollo. Floki talked of him sometimes - the traitor to his kind. What good would the man be? Raiding the towns and murdering those who attacked would be easier than striking a deal.

"Are you going to try and contact uncle Rollo?"

The silence that followed Hvitserk question sent shivers down Siggy's spine. Bjorn made his decision long ago, and no matter how everyone disapproved, he won't change it.

The Frankish boats met them head-on, warning bells tolling in Paris to announce their coming. When they docked, Bjorn chose men to go with him to meet with Rollo. To her great annoyance, Siggy was left behind because she can't "behave," whatever that's supposed to mean.

"If we get attacked, we will need all the fighters we can," Helga whispered to her, trying to brighten up her mood.

"And if they attack the envoys? What then?" Siggy seethed, watching the enemy soldiers lead everyone to the palace.

"Then Floki will fight his way out. You have not seen them fight. They will be alright." The young volva sighed and walked to the boat, and take out her arrows to sharpen them. It was a lie; Siggy had seen Floki fight. And Bjorn too.

Whenever Bjorn came over to visit Floki and Helga, Siggy sneaked off to spend some time alone. But the sun was already setting, and she felt lonely. Sigurd was sick, so he was home with Aslaug and Ivar. Floki was busy with the plans for the boats.

She wanted to train to become a great shieldmaiden. If she was meant to travel the world, as Floki said, she had to become the best fighter out there. Not cook or collect herbs with Helga.

Her destiny was laid out on the water and foreign lands, not in the forests of Kattegat. But at least the knowledge of herbs was useful for something. Making a sacrifice to the gods, for instance.

With a small skinny knife, she cut off bark from an oak and brought it to her little pyre made of twigs and dry grass. She lit the fire using two stones and blew into the flames, hoping the fire would grow.

When the flame was big enough, she stopped blowing and stepped back, looking at her gathered ingredients. "Oak for strength, Edelwise for courage, Sage for wisdom, and Dill to protect me from evil." One by one, she threw the items in.

The fire would bring the offerings to the gods, and they would protect her from now on. They have been cruel to her until now - abandoning her just like her parents, nearly letting her die. All because she was never acknowledged by her father - a bastard in everyone's eyes.

But that would change the moment she became famous; she would be like Ragnar. Then no one could call her a freak, failure, or insult her. They would all cheer for her, praise her and talk stories of her to their children. She wouldn't be Crazy Siggy or Siggy the Drowned girl. Instead, she could be Siggy the Great or Siggy Mighty.

The gods would accept her sacrifice and protect her from then on. She was a descendant of Odin, just like Ragnar. The gods should be on her side as well; she was a Völva and never turned her back on them! With a swift cut, Siggy cut open her palm and dripped the blood onto the fire.

"Hail All-father, Wise Warrior,

One-eyed wanderer, Come sit at my fire.

Tell me of your wisdom stories,

The scenes your missing eye sees. You who chooses the slain,

Look on my deeds and when my time comes

To run the sky with you,

Let my end be worthy of song.

In the meantime, let me feel

Excitement and poetry and fury and joy,

Let me understand sacrifice,

Think long, Remember well, And Journey Far.

Odin, Witness this."

The fire sizzled as Siggy watched it burn to the last amber, ignoring the world around her. She could feel herself grow lightheaded, and her ears grow deaf as she slowly faded. Her now milky white eyes watched the fire turn to ashes.

The scenery changed to a great ship out on the water, all alone as the water seemed to boil around it. Steam concealed everything around the vessel as thunder boomed above. On the boat stood a man made of light bound with chains sailing towards his doom.

Laughter broke her away from her vision as hands tugged at her neckline. Siggy startled and tried to break away from the dirty hands; three men stood around her. The one that was pulling on her tunic grinned, showing his rotten black teeth to her.

Siggy did her best to wretch away from him or stab him with the blade, but another man stepped on her hand. A crunch and a stab of pain made her cry out and pull her hand with two broken fingers to herself. The last one laughed at her panic and hit her own over her head to make her stop resisting.

When they were about to rip her tunic off an axe, hit him in the back of his head. Siggy shrieked in fright, and as he fell on top of her, blood seeping from his mortal wound. The two remaining men drew their weapons but were cut down as easily as their friend.

To her surprise, Bjorn beheaded the last man as Floki pulled the corpse off her. She shook on her spot and looked at the frantic man with tearful eyes. "What were you thinking wandering so far away? We told you there were berserkers in the woods."

She choked on her words and clung to him, rocking from side to side. He wiped the blood from her face with his thumbs, shushing her crying. Bjorn glared at her and stomped in front of her.

"Are you completely stupid?! Do you have any idea what they could have done to you? Your stupid fire attracted them here!"

"Quiet, Bjorn!" Floki snapped and made Siggy look at him.

Tears streamed down her face, her lips trembling in the aftershock. She leaned closer and whispered so the Ragnarsson wouldn't hear. "I made a sacrifice to the gods. I just wanted them to help me. So I could be a great traveler like you said I would."

Floki tutted at her and pulled her closer, hiding her face in his chest. Bjorn fumed behind them and gathered the men's weapons so no one else would find them. "I had a vision. I am sorry."

The boatbuilder pulled her back and shook her head slightly to make her pay attention. "There is nothing wrong with your visions. They are gifts from the gods, no matter how heavy of a burden they might seem. But never wander off so far without telling us. Do you hear me, Siggy?"

She nodded and let him pick her up like she was weightless. For such a skinny twig, Floki was strong from all the heavy work. She rested her chin on his shoulder, watching the dead bodies on the grass. Never before did she see someone fight like Bjorn. His fighting style was nothing like Floki's. It disgusted her how it intrigued her - how much she wanted to fight like him.

Siggy was growing antsy. The envoys have been gone for too long for her liking. So when she could hear footsteps from her spot on a tree, she notched her arrow and waited for the intruder to arrive. "Don't even try it, Little Menace."

She jumped from the tree and landed in front of Floki, grinning. Her eyes drifted to the tall stranger that joined them. He looked ridiculous in his orange tunic. "Who is the princeling?"

"My name is Rollo, Duke of Normandy."

Siggy looked at Floki with her head tilted to the side in confusion. "He is joining us. Now be quiet." Bjorn commanded and walked past her, not sparing her a glance. 

"I hope the traitor slits your throat first!" She spun around and hit her chest with her fist, glaring at his retreating back. Helga took her by the shoulders and asked her how she has been, complimenting the yellow tunic that she changed into.

Of course, Helga didn't need to know that she only had to change because her old tunic was covered in mud from faceplanting into it. No one had to know that, in fact. 

When the boats set sail again, Siggy watched the brother of Ragnar with wary eyes. He looked laughable in his clothes. So when Bjorn gave an order to drown him, she actually giggled in glee.

They pulled in the oars and tied up his hands and feet. Everyone watched as he was thrown in. Siggy enjoyed the view from the ship's head, Floki right under her. They pulled at both sides of the rope, trapping him under the boat, and halted at Bjorn's signal. 

Siggy felt giddy at the thought of death so near her, even if there was not gonna be any blood. She will take what she gets and enjoy it too. 

"Pull him up!"

Damn it, Bjorn! Siggy groaned and pouted at the boatbuilder, who looked as let down as her. When they pulled the traitor back up, he laid still before retching up the water that entered his lungs. Siggy pouted harder and jumped over his body as Bjorn gave the order to row. She could hear Rollo laughing but paid him no mind. Using Hvitserk's shoulder as support, she climbed back up the mast and watched the sixty ships sail away from the castle. 

They dressed him in leather as if he didn't cause the deaths of many Vikings and betray his own blood. When it was time to eat, Siggy climbed from her seat and sat down next to Helga and Floki. She watched his back as he stood next to Bjorn. She didn't know who she hated more. Floki always spoke of Rollo as scum that deserved to die. And she saw Bjorn the same way.

Maybe it was a blood thing? Rollow betrayed Ragnar and the Vikings, Ragnar betrayed the Vikings, and Bjorn betrayed her. Hopefully, Aslaug gave the other Ragnarssons some sense.

Passing by Hvitserk munching on an apple, she jumped on the edge of the boat and balanced over it. "Be careful. You don't know how to swim."

Rollo turned around and watched her dance on top of the wooden edge, dipping her toes in happily. "You don't know how to swim?"

"And you don't know how to be loyal. We all have our faults, Rollo." The man chuckled and observed her. She was a mystery to him; by her age, she couldn't be Floki's and Helga's daughter. Angrboða died as a child, and this one was too old to have been born after her. And the way she beat her chest when angry seemed so familiar to him. 

She nearly tipped over into the water but steadied herself and strode on fearlessly. "It would be fun if I drowned. Like the original Siggy."

The blood in his veins grew cold at that. He hadn't heard the name; the last time he did, Bjorn's daughter was born. This annoying little madwoman couldn't be Bjorn's Siggy. 

The blonde teenager twirled around on her toes and gripped a rope in her hands. She wrapped it around her throat and gasped mockingly. "Or maybe I could hang myself instead. Be original and spice it up."

"Stop fooling around!" Bjorn's voice boomed from behind them, and Siggy's features darkened. Now that she was angry, they looked so much alike. "For once in your life, be responsible and act your age!"

Jumping off the edge, she glared at him, fists clenched tightly by her sides. Helga ran to her and tried to calm down, but it was to no vain. When she spoke, her voice was icy and colder than the first frost in Kattegat used to be. "I am acting my age, your Highness. I am fifteen, as you would know if you cared enough. I always wondered why my mother left."

Bjorn pushed his shoulders back to scare her into shutting up. But it didn't work one bit; all it did was make her talk louder for all to hear. "Maybe I was an ugly baby or cried too much. But I am sure the problem wasn't me. I mean... How could she ever suffer to be near you? You are angry, unloyal, neglectful, and stupid. No wonder she left! I would have done the same!"

"That is enough! You will treat me with respect!"

"I will do no such thing, you fucking oaf!"

"You little-" 

Floki cut in between them and smiled uneasily. "Don't do something you might regret, Bjorn. Friend or not, you will not touch Siggy." It always amazed Rollo how menacing someone as skinny as Floki can look. It must be the wild look in his eyes and the deranged mind.

With a huff, Bjorn turned away and stalked towards the head of the ship, his back turned to the still fuming blonde. Siggy stood there glaring at him; face stuck between anger and sadness. Everyone stared at her as Helga tried to calm her down, but nothing helped.

That is until Floki turned to her and cupped her cheek, patting her on it while tutting at her. "You will scare off all the men like this. How are we ever meant to get rid of you then, huh? And here I was hoping to get a castle for you."

Siggy turned her brooding blue eyes at his, shining the say way Ragnar's used to do. "Floki!" She scoffed and hit him over the side of the head, feigning to be insulted. "What man would be stupid enough to want me?"

"There are lots of deranged men out there." Floki joked, giggling.

"Speaking from experience, are you, Old man?"

The boatbuilder snickered again and took her by the shoulders, leading her back to their sleeping place. "Who are you calling old, huh? I am younger than I have ever been."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Hvitserk came to her later, eating like always. He ate from her share of food while she repainted the markings on her face. She had taken up to the art after she wanted to impress Floki. A child really, probably twelve or so. Back then, it looked bad, but with some practice, she got better. Now she can do it, still half asleep with her eyes closed.

"Didn't think you were a flower kind of girl." Glaring at him, she tried to grasp what he meant but then sighed. In her lap laid the flower Sigurd gave her as a parting gift.

"Bay flower means glory. It was a wish for me to wet my blade with blood and gain the people's respect."

"Aaah, so it's from Sigurd."

"No, Hvitserk. It's from your latest conquest. She cried when she gave it to me. Said I was far better than you ever were."

Hvitserk chuckled and leaned closer to her. "Why? Is your cock bigger than mine?"

"As long and thick as the mast behind you." She teased back, smirking, putting away her paint to steal back her food from him. He laughed at her boldness, patting her on the head as one might do to a dog.

Hvitserk left her to sit by Bjorn and Rollo, who tried to make sense of where they were. So Siggy made her way to her parents, who were having an argument.

"No, Helga."

"Yes. I need something more from this life."

"But not a child. Don't you remember?"

"Of course, I remember. How would I not remember?"

"There won't be a "this time." I have set my face against it. I do not want another child. Siggy is enough."

Floki stalked off, and Siggy watched Helga sob with sad eyes. It tore at her heart to see her sad. "Are you alright, Helga?"

The woman looked at her and sniffled before opening her blanket and waving her to herself. Siggy settled against her chest, her head tucked under her chin. "I am sorry."

"'Tis, alright. I have you. My pretty little warrior." The blonde gave a timid smile and hugged her mother closer. If her presence could give her some solace, Siggy would gladly look like a child in need of its mother to the other warriors. If anyone voiced it, well, they would die, of course.

#vikings #history vikings #vikings imagine #Siggy Bjornsdottir #Siggy #sigurd ragnarsson #sigurd snake in the eye #Sigurd #floki #helga

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 25)

The drizzle grows into a hideous storm. Thunder vibrates the framework of the small in.

“We’re lucky that we did all of our trading yesterday.” Min-Ta muses.

“Would have been a hassle in this weather.” Hao-Bai agrees.

Azula keeps to herself, eyes fixed upon the harbor, upon the boats that bob precariously against such aggressively tempestuous waves. And she finds that her mind is wandering again. Wandering to a time when she had insisted that her command held more value than the whims of the tides. In retrospect, she understands why the man was so hesitant to port--steel or wood the waves can tear it to ribbons.

And she finds herself torn between being thankful that she had stayed just a day longer to help the couple and wishing that she were well out into the ocean. The ocean where the waves would pull her under and into darkness. A darkness that is kinder than the sort that she knows. The sort that stirs within her. She thinks that she would rather find herself battered by the waves than by the thoughts in her own mind.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Min-Ta asks as she rubs circles upon her baby bump. “And powerful.”

Azula nods, “storms are...fascinating.”

“You’re a lightningbender, aren’t you?”

She nods.

“You’re a force to reckon with then.” She laughs.

And Azula wishes it were true. Had she been a force to reckon with then she wouldn’t have been reckoned with. She wouldn’t be in this village… “how long do you think it will be before the storm passes?”

The woman shrugs.

“The folks who tend the docks seem to think that it could be a good week before the waters are safe to sail. A seasoned sailor told ‘em that clouds like these mean that it’ll get sunny and then stormy again at the snap of your fingers.”

Azula nods. She supposes that she will have to get used to syrup and the smell of resin. It isn’t such a difficult task; the scents are cozy enough and she is in pleasant company. Comparatively speaking, this inn is akin to her palace. She lays back, rests her hands upon her middle, and closes her eyes. It has been such a long time since she has slept on a real bed. Even if the sheets and pillows are slightly tattered and worn, it is the most comfort she has had in ages.

She lets the relentless batter of the rain lull her to sleep, with any luck, when she wakes, the soreness in her muscles will have alleviated.

.oOo.

There is a duration of sunshine, but she can see concrete clouds on the edge of the horizon. A second onslaught waiting to be unleashed. Despite her apprehensions about the coming storm, she follows Hao-Bai along the gravel path.

“This place is one of my favorites.” He gestures to a ramshackle looking eatery. “It’s where I met Min-Ta.”

Azula furrows her brows, “is this your birth town?”

“Indeed it is. I was here when it was just a handful of small timber houses.”

Azula nods. And how the place must have changed. A few timber houses has become a decently sized village with several inns, restaurants, and shops. She comes to find that the people who live there are a friendly bunch with a sense of community that is hard for her to fathom.

When the storm gives pause they gather at the center of town to exchange stories and meals. To give gifts and make banter. By now she thinks that she should be used to being the only firebender about, and yet she still feels out of place and out of sorts. Everyone here seems to know everyone and she knows no one at all save for Hao-Bai and Min-Ta.

Nobody says it but she can feel it; they don’t want her here. It is her eyes, her golden fiery eyes. There is no place for a firebender in a village like this. She is a match surrounded by firewood and they know it. They regard her like such--with fear based respect.

They offer her meals and lodging not because she is traveling with Hao-Bai and Min-Ta nor because they enjoy the stories she tries to share over meal times but because they regard her as a volatile thing, an explosion waiting to happen and claim everything they adore.

And suddenly she feels as though she hasn’t changed at all. That she is the same woman who left her mark on Omashu and Ba Sing Se. The same woman who swears by and lives for intimidation. They certainly tread around her as though she is.

She knows that it is nothing more than a stereotype, but it stings all the same. Stings when, deep in the back of her mind she doesn’t think that she will ever be rid of who she used to be. Deep in the back of her mind she thinks that she is one more tragedy away from regressing, from letting her heart grow ugly and cruel again. Shielded. Stony.

.oOo.

It is her last night in this village. And it is a gorgeous night. The clouds have finally cleared away. The last roll of thunder had boomed an hour or so ago, she can only see the storm as a series of flashes far off over the open ocean.

And this is where she stays. Alone on the beach, the lively chatter and music feels just as distant as the storm clouds. She props herself up against a decent sized boulder and stares up at the stars. She wonders if the stars can bring her closer to the spirit world, if she could look into them and coax a conversation with her old friends and lovers. With Atsu and Caihong and the child she never got to meet.

She remembers hearing about cosmic energy and its influence on the universe. She wonders if this cosmic energy has arranged itself in a position to specifically antagonize her…

“There you are.” Hao-Bai chuckles. “The wife was getting worried.”

Azula shrugs. “I’m alright.” She isn’t sure if she is lying or not. Sometimes she is alright. Sometimes she is able to put Wujing out of her mind. Sometimes she is able to make herself feel grateful that she had gotten even just a small taste of what it was to have a home and loved ones. Sometimes she is able to shape a new future for herself in her mind.

Tonight isn’t such a night. Tonight she isn’t okay. Tonight she would like nothing more than to run out to the waves and let the tides pull her away…

“Why don’t you join the rest of us?”

“They don’t want me there, Hao-Bai.” She frowns. “They don’t want firebenders around.”

The man is quiet for a while. “You have the wrong impression. They know that  you don't mean any harm, that you’re just passing through.” He pauses again. “The people in this village are...kind to a fault. They don’t want to get attached to someone who is just going to leave them. It hurts too much.”

Azula nods, “in other words, they’re an intelligent people.”

Hao-Bai chuckles, “you have a long journey ahead of you, come back and enjoy a meal and good company while you can. I have a surprise for you.”

A long journey. He doesn’t know the half of it. Or maybe he does, maybe she has given him just enough hints for him to know that she has been on a journey for some time now.

She follows him back to the village to the lively music and the tantalizing scents of kebabs and fruit platters. To the everpresent odor of syrup and resin. Min-Ta greets her with a hug and gestures for her to have a seat near the bonfire.

She must admit that she is impressed by the size of it; she hasn’t seen such a hearty and large blaze since the last Fire Nation festival she’d attended.

“We’re just about to begin story swapping.”  Speaks a man, an elder who she assumes is the host.

She nods, “why don’t you share a little something before you leave?”

Maybe it is because she knows that she won’t be staying long enough for pitting looks or maybe it is that she needs to alleviate some of the pressure. But she shares the story of Wujing’s collapse. The tale of why she can’t stay in the Earth Kingdom any longer.

She thinks that she has well and killed the mood until Min-Ta confesses that this is her third pregnancy. That she fears for it because she had miscarried the first two. And the liveliness dies away for a swapping of tales each as dismal as the next.

And she understands what Hao-Bai had meant by kind to a fault; it is nothing like the Caldera City and nothing like Wu-Jing. These people cry together. These people laugh together. They hurt and rage together. They love and joke together.

And sometimes they do it all in one night.

Hao-Bai hands her a pipa. “I carved it myself, out of the first tree you helped cut down.” He explains. “Play it when you have something that you can’t express with words or when you need something kind to think about.”

By the spirits she could use something kind to think about. She isn’t practiced by any means, but she plays a song. The only one she has ever heard played on a pipa. These people laugh together, cry together. And they make music together.

In a night they had mourned for one another and by its end there was music and jokes. A sense of lightheartedness.

That night she learned that each little town has its own special flavor.

.oOo.

It is almost mesmerising to watch Azula interact with Caihong. The way she cradles the girl against her chest and strokes at her hair. The way that her light voice softens further still when she assures the child that she is safe now.

He is plenty aware of Atsu, plenty aware that she has probably helped tuck the boy in time and time again but until now those were just words on parchment. Just visuals in his mind like a charming fictional tale.

“You live here?” He hears Caihong ask.

“I live here.” Azula confirms.  

She seems to perk up, “yer a palace gardener! Ya didn’t tell me that you was a palace gardener!”

“I’m not…” she trails off. “It’s a hobby, not a job.”

“Then how come you get to live in the palace?”

Azula is quiet for a while. “I’m the princess, Caihong. I’m supposed to live it the palace.”

Caihong tilts her head and then shakes it. “Nope, yer Rikka.”

“My name is actually Azula.”

She shakes her head again. “Nope. Rikka.”

Azula sighs. “I suppose that you can keep calling me Rikka. But other people are going to call me Azula because that’s my name.” She pauses and with a hint of a devious smirk adds, “and you’re going to look ridiculous because no one else here knows that I was ever called Rikka.”

Caihong narrows her eyes, “no, yer ridiculous. And also yer dumb. So there.”  She folds her arms and sticks out her tongue. And yet the child makes no attempts to wiggle her way out of Azula’s grasp. In fact she nuzzles herself closer.

To himself, Sokka quirks a brow. Children are strange little beasts. In one breath they hate you and in the next they’re begging for bedtime stories and lullabies. This child has just been rescued from a slave trade and she is being difficult. And somehow, Azula seems to take it better than he would have.

“If you say so, Caihong.”

“Mmhm, I do say so.”

“What do you want for supper, Caihong? Do you want me to try to make turnip stew how your grandfather did?”

“No one makes it like grandpa!” She declares. “But you can make turnip stew, Rikka.”

“Alright, come on then.” She hoists herself to her feet. .oOo.

Her mind is full to bursting and she thinks that the only thing keeping it from doing so is Sokka tagging along next to her. She has too much to think about. Too much at once. Caihong’s face is a gift and a destroyer in one. She is more than grateful to have the child back, a child she cherished as much as Atsu and Juro. But staring at that face is like staring at the past. At everything she has lost and worked hard to put behind her. Staring at that face is cutting open an old scar that has only just begun to heal.

And so, as she stirs the ladle around the pot, her mind goes back to something else. Another thing that disturbs her but not quite as deeply; she had enjoyed it. She had enjoyed bringing the slave trader to his knees. Enjoyed the taste of battle and victory on her tongue.

Perhaps this wouldn’t trouble her so much if she hadn’t been so sure that she had left that side of her behind. But it is still there. It is always there. It will always be there, waiting to emerge.

She swallows hard, she thought she had changed. She thought that she was better. But she is still angry. Angry and ready for war. She can make all the changes she wants but she will always be ruthless at her core.

And now, combing Caihong’s hair and stirring the stew between brushstrokes feels like an imitation. A mockery of motherhood. It feels false, however genuinely she cares for the girl who kicks her small legs at the air.

She scoops a liberal amount of stew into the bowl and sets it before Caihong, “don’t eat too fast, it’s…”

Caihong shoves the spoon right into her mouth.

“Hot.”

“It’s fine.” Caihong insists through watery eyes.

Azula ruffles her hair. “How about you take it a little slower.”

“I can handle it!” She declares. But she doesn’t pick the spoon up again until the steam stops rolling.

“Thanks Rikka!” She declares between spoonful.

Azula forces a smile, while her stomach drops. Agni, she wishes the girl would stop calling her that. It hurts in such a particular way. “Did I make it like Ojihara did?”

“Mmm mmm, nope! Not even close! But yours tastes good too.” She grins.

Apparently the kid is more resilient than she. Or maybe she thinks that her father and grandfather will be coming back too. It is just one more thing for Azula’s mind to do circles around.

“Well, now that you’re all done I think that it’s time for bed.”

.oOo.

It is twice as disorienting to see Azula tucking the child in. To see that soft smile as the girl giggles and laughs, “this bed is huge!”

“And it’s all yours tonight.”

“Where are you going to sleep?” Sokka asks.

“You have room?”

“No!” Caihong shouts. “Rikka’s gonna stay with me! I don’t wanna be alone.” She tugs at Azula’s sleeve.

“I’m giving you this whole big bed and you’re telling me that you want to share. Since when do you like sharing?”

“Since now!”

“Alright. I’ll stay with you.”

The child is beaming again. This time she throws her arms around Azula. The princess smiles and scoops her onto her lap. Quietly, she reaches behind her and finds the badger-mole. She plops it onto Caihong’s lap.

“Bao!” She yells with delight.

Azula nods, “Bao will keep you company while I get ready for bed.” She looks up. “Sokka is here too but Bao is a lot smarter.”

“Hey!”

She brushes her fingers over his hand as she exits. And he wishes that she hadn’t left him. Now the girl is staring at him with those big bright green eyes and all he can do is manage a toothy and awkward smile that coaxes her to say, “you looks stupid. Are all waterbenders weirdos?”

“I-I’m not a weirdo!” He throws his hands up.

“Mmhm, you are.” She gives a firm nod and then gives Bao a shake. “Bao thinks so too.” She hold up the stuffed animal and in a much lower voice says, “that’s right Caihong, water guy is a weirdo.”

He folds his arms across his chest as the girl continues to have a back and forth with the stuffed animal about how he is a ‘strange and silly man’. He wonders if the girl has always been so blunt.

Azula returns several minutes later barefaced, with her hair in a ponytail, and tucked into a very cozy looking night robe. She sits herself upon the mattres. “Did Sokka behave?”

“I guess.” Caihong grubles.

Azula quirks a brow. “And what about Caihong, did Caihong behave.” She opens her mouth but Azula cuts her off. “Or did Caihong call Sokka a weirdo several times?”

“Caihong didn’t do that! Bao did!”

“Oh? Is that right?”

“Yup, Rikka, it’s right.”

.oOo.

Caihong’s sleep talk serves as a backdrop to the chaos in her mind. To the turbulence that threatens to break forward. Perhaps Sokka has sensed it too because he has made himself comfortable in a chair at the corner of the room.

She rubs her hands over her face. She could have had this. She could have had it  every night with Atsu and Juro. She could have been so happy and so very nearly untroubled.

She could have been a mother leading a perfectly quiet and mundane life. She could have been Rikka. But she is still Azula; life is forcing that much upon her while flashing in her face who she could have become.

And she resents it. She resents life. She resents the person she is.

She rubs her hands over her face, she knows that she shouldn’t resent the person she is. Before, Hajime and Seukhyun had assured her that she is a good person. Sokka reminds her as much now. Deep down she is beginning to struggle to see herself as evil through and through. Deep down she is able to piece together all of those small deeds that seemed to mean so much to people like Min-Ta and Hao-Bai. And deep down she is well aware that she has been defying her upbringing and the monster that life is trying to fashion her back into--the path that it is trying to put her back on.

Deeper down she is still afraid that all of her hurt and pain will come back and bring the worst of her back. Deeper down she is afraid that she won’t be able to stop it. Deeper still she is afraid that the process has already been set in motion.

She is scared.

.oOo.

Sokka wakes late into the night to the sound of music. The charmingly melancholic tune. It has the feeling of watching a warship depart and then return battered and broken. The same energy as a light rain that sets the world a glimmer while ruining a sunny outing.

It is beautiful and broken. Depressive and joyful.

He makes a point of rustling his clothing as he walks so that she doesn’t jerk when he sits upon the mattress and wraps his arms around her middle. In a few final notes, the song dies away.

She puts the pipa aside and leans into him. He wants her to talk, to give him a problem to walk her through but he doesn’t think that she is in the mood for conversation. So he  instead wipes away several silent tears and holds her hand until she finally falls into a much needed sleep. He finds himself toying with her hair until he too is able to drift off.

The pipa melody lingers in his dreams.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Fanfiction

[thejollyroger-writer]

what stranger miracles (1/1)

SUMMARY: Young Killian Jones, a member of Captain Nemo's crew, longs for a life beyond the small journeys he is allowed to join in on, a life where he is free to explore. Princess Emma, daughter of the King and Queen of the Sea, dreams of a life where she can explore more than just the world she has grown up in. Will their dreams come true when they find each other? 

Rated G // 10k // on AO3

“To me, the sea is a continual miracle; the fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—the ships, with men in them. What stranger miracles are there?” -Walt Whitman

The first time he sees her, it’s an accident. He’s not even the one supposed to be bringing in that day’s catch, but he had pulled the short straw after losing that night’s dice game, so he was stuck not only with dish duty, but then out on the dock by himself at dusk, pulling in the nets. 

He’s drawn the short straw more times in his life than he would like to count, even at only seventeen, though many of them metaphorically. Sold to the sailors alongside his brother to pay off the debts of his father almost ten years before, treated as nothing more than a slave for most of that time, until the old foreman drowned and was replaced with Captain Nemo. At least under Nemo, he and his brother were treated like humans, welcome on some of their smaller adventures on the sea but always asked to stay behind if they planned to be gone for more than a few days. 

At first, he took it personally, thinking that the captains and their crews had something against him, leaving him at home with the other men who were no help on longer journeys, with the men who have families of their own or duties to someone other than Nemo — or the eccentric Captain Shakespeare, with his airship and his constant humming and his uncanny ability to always know how Killian is feeling without him ever saying a single word. But it was Liam who finally explained it to him one night, a night the rest of the crew was set to embark on one of these very missions and Killian was unable to keep his anger to himself: 

“They care about you, Killy. Care about both of us, more than anyone in our lives has managed to do since mum passed. They leave us here to keep us from harm, to protect us. You understand that, right?” 

Finally, he did understand it. Captain Nemo taking over was not one of the short straws of Killian’s life. In fact, he’s come to learn, it was quite the opposite. 

Physically pulling the short straw and standing out on the dock by himself tonight, however, he’s still a little unsure about.

At first, he thinks it’s his imagination — his exhaustion — anything other than real life. Because in real life, in the stories that he’s heard around too many fires and too many poker tables, she is the strongest omen of death to a sailor. When you see a mermaid the only thing that can follow is a painful downfall. But there she is nonetheless, sitting on the other side of the breaking waves, her blonde hair reflecting the colors of the sunset. She almost blends into the water, with the reds and golds of the dusk, but something about her catches his attention. 

A mermaid. 

A mermaid. 

There’s no way. It’s not possible. She has to be a figment of his imagination, or maybe a lost swimmer, because she can’t be—

And then she moves, ducking back under the waves, and there’s no way to deny what he is seeing anymore when her large, shimmering green tail breaks the surface of the water as she dives down. 

“Gods above,” he mumbles, but can’t even bring himself to say the rest of it what’s on his mind: 

A mermaid. 

He has to tell Liam. 

He can never tell Liam. 

 -- -- -- --

She shouldn’t have done it. She knows when the leg-walkers bring in their nets and has been told of the dangers of approaching the shore her whole life, but her curiosity got the best of her for the first time a few weeks before, and now she is unable to help herself. 

This is the first time anyone has seen her, though — at least, to the best of her knowledge. Because if the stories her parents tell her are true and those leg-walkers — those men — really believe her to be a monster, then she can be sure that someone would have acted already, would have tried to attack her, tried to catch her the same way they take so many fish from her ocean. 

But she saw the way the young man had looked at her tonight, his eyes not filled with fear, but filled with the same curiosity that she herself knows all too well. He’s not the monster her parents have told her he is, can’t be a monster with eyes like that, she's sure of it. 

Of course, no one would believe her. If anyone even learned of her trips to the surface, she would be barricaded in her room in the castle, held under lock and key and only able to leave under the watchful eye of her parents. 

So she keeps her thoughts to herself, though sometimes she’s so overwhelmed by them that she feels like she’s suffocating. She’s even too afraid to tell Ruby, her best friend, her confidant — not in fear of Ruby taking the news to her parents, but in fear of her friend insisting on joining her on one of her escapades. 

That has become her time away from the palace and her royal duties and everything she has ever known, everything she has been taught will someday be her whole life. Not always at dusk, but whenever she can manage to get away long enough without raising any eyebrows. Ever since her nameday, she’s been allowed certain freedoms, and that has come to include time away from her responsibilities — though she knows her mother would immediately revoke the privilege the moment she learned how Emma was spending it. 

“What’s the point of being princess of the whole ocean if I’m never allowed to go into any of it?” she asked Ruby one night, a night that they could see the colored lights reflecting on the water. These nights had become theirs, long before Emma had any thoughts on royal duties or responsibilities or anything of the sort, when she was still free to just be a girl and live her life. 

Ruby just laughed, her eyes shifting up to the surface where the lights danced upon the water. “Everyone desires things they can’t have, Em,” she said softly, but if she had more than that on her mind, she kept it to herself. 

Emma already knew what Ruby was thinking, though. Emma was a princess, a fact that she was never allowed to forget, however much she sometimes wanted to — but she was a princess aware of the unfairness of the world around her, aware of the struggles of her people and the fact that, though Ruby had become her best friend, it was almost destined to be that way with Ruby’s family employed at the palace. Ruby’s anger towards her situation was not new to Emma, was in fact something that she had taken out on Emma on more than one occasion — and it was on Emma’s mind every time she complained about something to her friend. 

But Ruby’s words are true, either way: everyone does desire something beyond what they are able to have. 

And before too long, Emma found herself not desiring a life where she was free to explore, not a life without royal responsibilities, but a life spent with the young man with the shining blue eyes who lives with the fishermen. 

 -- -- -- --

He has to see her again. How can he explain to his brother that he has been spending all of his free time over the last four days by the water in hopes of seeing a mermaid? Liam already thinks he spends too much time in his head, and he only fears this would make it worse. 

“Liam,” he calls over his shoulder, tucking his book under his arm. “I’m going down to the dock for a while!” 

Liam only lets out a small laugh, not even raising his attention from his own book as he lounges in one of the hammocks out behind the house. “Be back before dinner, little brother!” 

In any other situation, he would turn around and correct Liam’s little brother to younger brother, especially since his last growth spurt shot him up to almost the same height as Liam. But not today. 

Today, he barely hears the words as they leave his brother’s mouth, his head already looking out over the ocean waves in hopes of seeing her again. 

It’s insane. Absolutely mad, he knows. He can only imagine what Liam — what the other sailors — would say to him if they were to learn. But he doesn’t care, at least not right now. 

Right now, all he cares about is seeing her again. 

So he positions himself on the end of the dock, one hand holding the book up on his chest and the other dangling down, barely grazing the water, with his satchel tucked under his head like a pillow. It’s not the most comfortable position, but with his mind already struggling to focus on the words of his novel with his looking out over the water every few seconds, his comfort is one of the last things he cares about. 

There really is no reason for him to be this nervous. What are the odds that she returns to the same place again for the fourth day in a row, what with the whole ocean hers for the taking? He knows that if he had that sort of freedom, the last thing he would want to do is stay in one place. He would want to explore, would feel the same urge to explore that he feels humming under his skin even now. It’s one of the reasons he is so eager for Shakespeare to bring him on one of his journeys: his time at sea, seeing new places and experiencing life away from land, is exhilarating, but he can only imagine what it must be like in an airship, soaring high above the clouds and looking down at the land, knowing that you’re no longer trapped in one place. 

Sure, he’s asked Shakespeare before, in moments of vulnerability, moments that he only shares with his brother and the open, caring white-haired man that splits his time between the clouds and their run-down little camp perched at the edge of the ocean. But Shakespeare has always just laughed — not to make fun of him, he knows, but just because he is the kind of man who laughs to let others know he is not angry — wrapping his arm around Killian’s shoulders or reaching across the table to set his hand on his arm, and smiled warmly at him. 

“Someday, lad, but not yet,” was always his answer. 

Maybe that is why he finds himself here, perched on the edge of the dock waiting for a mermaid — his deep-rooted longing for adventure, knowing that his life will someday be more than fishing and this camp and the few days at a time he is allowed to spend on the sea. Whenever his eyes make their way out to the crashing waves again, he knows that is what he craves more than anything, and possibly what he hopes to find with the arrival of the creature that everyone around him tells him should not exist.

Somehow, though, between the warm sun on his face and the calming sound of the waves, he finds himself unable to focus on either the words or the waves, nodding off under the afternoon sun. 

 -- -- -- --

She has to see him again. Yes, she has her royal duties and her responsibilities around the castle, but she rushes through them as quickly as she can, barely able to contain her energy during the meeting with some of the council members, until she is finally done.

Free to go.

She tries to keep her calm as she swims away from the castle, knowing that if anyone were to see her hurrying away, it would only raise suspicion and would most likely get back to her parents before she even returned. 

But once she is on the other side of the rocks, away from what is technically the dominion of the castle even though her parents rule the whole ocean, she picks up her pace, her heart pounding faster and more wildly in her chest than she ever remembers it doing before. 

Not only from the excitement of it all, but with the thrill of getting caught, she realizes, changing her trajectory to head closer towards the surface. Because she wants to see him, yes, but she also knows the consequences were she to get caught, were someone to see her scurrying towards the land — sometimes even towards the surface, depending on how strict her mother feels at the moment. Her pounding heart only makes her swim faster, and her increased pace only makes her heart pound faster, closer and closer to the surface until, finally, she breaks through the water to feel the warm sun on her face. 

There is nothing like that feeling, even when the sun warms the water, and she smiles, allowing herself to pause for a moment as she lets it wash over her. And then, the moment is over, and she pulls her head back under the surface to take off once more towards the shore. 

There really is no reason for her to be this nervous. What are the odds that he returns to the same place again for the fourth day in a row, what with the whole world his to explore? She knows that if she were allowed that sort of freedom, the last thing she would want to do is be tethered down. She would want to explore, would feel the same urge to explore that she has felt humming under her skin for as long as she can remember. The same urge that she feels getting pushed further down with every council meeting and every dinner with a potential suitor (even though both of her parents refuse to admit that’s what they are) and every mention of her someday taking her mother’s place as the ruler of the seas. It’s why she takes every chance she has to get away from the palace, whether it be longer journeys with her father to see other parts of their large realm or these small opportunities to have time alone and potentially see the boy with eyes the color of the sea. 

The boy laying at the end of the dock not far from where she breaks the surface, one arm extended down to where it just grazes the water and a book spread open on his chest, though he seems to be asleep. 

For a while, she does not dare to move, forcing herself to stay where she is instead of letting the tide bring her closer to the shore. Is it fear? Shyness? Her nerves getting the best of her? A mix of all three, she believes, between hoping she is not naive enough to be putting herself in harm’s way and being nervous about seeing the boy who has not left her thoughts since first seeing him the previous day. Finally, when she has convinced herself he really is asleep and not just baiting her to come closer to the dock, she begins to slowly move towards him, no faster than the calm current will take her, though sometimes fighting it to stop for a moment or two, her eyes never leaving him.

And then she is there, within arm’s reach of him, and he still has not moved. If not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, accentuated by the upside-down book, she would believe him dead, having stayed unmoving for so long. But it is also this, the obvious unwavering deepness of his slumber, that convinces her that no harm can come from just a single touch — though, not until she has committed the details of his face to memory: the way his long, dark eyelashes rest peacefully on his light cheeks, the curve of his nose and the crease in his forehead between his dark eyebrows and the small dimple in his cheek that forms when he smiles in his sleep. His hair moves slightly in the soft breeze off the water in a way Emma had never seen before, and she is halfway through the motion of reaching up and running her fingers through it before she can stop herself. It is soft in a way she has never experienced, between being dry and free of the salt from the ocean, and she finds herself repeating the motion a second time, then a third, lost in the small movements of his face in response to her — so much that she almost doesn’t notice when his bright eyes finally open, startled awake by her. 

But once they meet hers, wide with fear and surprise and a handful of other emotions that Emma doesn’t have time to process, she realizes the mistake she has made and dives back under the water, swimming away from the shore as quickly as her tail will allow — 

Though she does not miss the loud splash of the water as he finds himself so startled by her existence, and her proximity to him, that he falls off the edge of the dock. 

 -- -- -- --

Gods above. At first, he doesn’t believe it, trying to right himself in the water at the end of the dock. But, once the shock from the water has passed, he is able to focus on the questions moving a mile a minute through his mind: 

Was it a dream? He knows he was dreaming about her, and it certainly felt real enough — but then the dream ended — or, he thought it did, but she was still right there, right in front of him, just inches from his face as she ran her fingers through his hair. 

What was real? What wasn’t real? Given that he was still unsure that she was real in the first place, his mind is reeling as he pulls himself back onto the dock. He’s lost in the same daze as he makes his way back to the house, hoping that the sun will dry out his clothing enough to keep him from arousing suspicion. He hopes to quietly make his way to his room, not catching the attention of anyone — but, in a house as filled as this one, he is not surprised by his failure. 

“Hello, yoing Mister Jones,” the familiar voice calls to him from the table, though his eyes never leave the book he holds in front of him. Shakespeare? How could Killian possibly miss his airship floating above the house? Was he really swimming that deep in his own thoughts that he missed that? 

But the man sitting at the table, a small smile slowly spreading across his whisker-covered face, proves it. “Hello, Captain.” 

“How are you on this fine afternoon?” he asks, only raising his eyes from the book for a moment, but the still-growing smile on his face is all the proof Killian needs to know that the Captain has noticed the wrinkled state of his clothing, knows that it meant he was in the water when he most likely did not plan to be. Killian tries not to show his embarrassment on his face, but he can feel the warmth begin to spread across his cheeks. “Went for a nice dip, I see,” the Captain adds, which only adds to his embarrassment. 

Without realizing it, he feels his hand raise to scratch behind his ear, as if he has no control over the movement. “Uh, yes, sir. I had a bit of a… falling in… with the water.” 

Killian certainly intends for the joke, though he tries to keep himself from laughing at it, seeing which of them breaks first. 

He wins, the Captain’s smile faltering before filling his face, his eyes squeezed shut as he lets out a soft chuckle. So Killian breaks, too, leaning against the chair beside him at the table. 

“Sit with me, lad. Tell me about her.” 

Killian’s jaw drops — again, his body reacting without his permission, his blush quick;y reaching the tips of his ears. “I don’t — I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tries, but he knows it is futile. 

Shakespeare shakes his head. “You know you can’t lie to me. Especially not about love. So,” He pushes the chair next to him out with his foot, moving Killian with it. “Sit with me and tell me about her.” 

For just a moment, he is still, holding on to the hope that he can get out of his situation. 

But he can’t. So, with a sigh, he takes a seat. 

“I’ve only seen her a few times now, and I haven’t — haven’t found the nerve to speak to her yet,” he starts, though he is still too embarrassed to meet the man’s eyes. “So I keep going out in hopes of… wanting to see her again. Because she’s beautiful, the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

“And where are you going out in hopes of seeing this lady again?” 

“The marketplace.” He knows it’s a lie. Killian can tell right away that he knows it’s a lie — but he says nothing about it, knitting his eyebrows low on his broad forehead. 

For a moment, the two of them sit in silence, Killian hoping that he stops asking questions and Shakespeare hoping for the boy to tell him more. When neither of them break, Shakespeare sits back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. “I am of the belief that you should allow yourself to fall in love whenever possible, young Jones, and to seize any and all opportunity to have that love reciprocated.”

Killian doesn’t know what to say, but with Shakespeare’s advice, he is sure of one thing: she is real and that she returned to the dock that day specifically to see him — and that the next time he sees her, he is going to try to talk to her. 

 -- -- -- --

“Oh, come on, Emma!” Ruby says — again — as they make their way away from the palace. “I know you’re hiding something, just tell me what it is!” 

Emma rolls her eyes, but a smile quickly spreads across her face. It’s embarrassing, really, to be smitten with this dark-haired sailor boy who she’s never even spoken to, but the more she thinks about him, the more she knows it’s true. 

But how does she tell Ruby? Sure, Ruby would be the one she would go to with any sort of boy trouble — if anyone knows boys, it’s her best friend. This feels different somehow, though, a secret that she doesn’t want to share with anyone including her best friend, like talking about it will make him disappear. At first, she knew it had to be a coincidence, even after she found him sleeping at the end of the dock, but after he continued to be there on the dock the next few times she made her way to the surface, after she took the chance to talk to him and he didn’t run away in fear, she knew it was more than just a coincidence. 

It was a sign. A sign that just kept repeating itself every time he came to the shore to see her, with every conversation they had and every beautiful, bright smile he shared with her. 

“It’s a boy, isn’t it?” she asks, most of the upset in her voice replaced with excitement. Emma doesn’t answer, but with the blush quickly spreading across her cheeks, she doesn’t need to say anything. “Oh my god! It is about a boy! Emma, tell me everything! Who is he? Is he someone I know?!” 

Emma shakes her head. “No, it’s not — it’s no one you would know.” 

“Emma!” she yells in a much higher pitch than usual. “How do you — wait.” She stops swimming, gripping her hand around Emma’s arm. “How do you know someone that I don’t? Unless—” Her eyes grow wide, somehow filled with more excitement than they were before. “Is he — oh my god, tell me that he’s a prince!” 

Pulling her bottom lip up between her teeth, Emma realizes that this lie is much better than the truth, so she nods. “Yeah, he’s — he’s a prince. I’ve only seen him a few times, on diplomatic missions with my father, but I can’t —” The excitement that she feels, though, is real, and not every detail of her story has to be a lie, she tells herself. She smiles. “I can’t stop thinking about him, Rubes.” 

“Tell. Me. Everything.” 

Emma laughs, feeling much lighter now that she’s shared her secret with Ruby, even if she’s not able to tell the whole truth. “Fine, fine, but can we keep going? I don’t want to miss the sunset tonight.” Nodding, Ruby keeps swimming. “Alright, well, his name is Killian. He’s — he has an older brother, and he likes to read and to explore and—” Even she is surprised by the giggle that slips through her lips. “Plus he’s super cute.” 

Her mind goes back to one of the first times she was him, when she dared to approach him at the end of the dock and ran her fingers through his soft hair. 

“Well, what are you going to do?” 

Really, this is the question she was afraid of. If he really was a prince, someone that she met on one of her trips with her father, she would be able to be courted and wouldn’t have to hide her secret from everyone. 

But Killian is, of course, not a prince of another realm. He’s not a prince at all. He’s a sailor, an orphan, not even old enough to go on every trip with the sailors he lives with. 

What are you going to do? 

“I’m not going to do anything for now.” That, at least, is the truth. “We’re just — we’re friends for now, and I don’t think I’m ready for anything beyond that.” Okay, that’s also the truth. At least, Emma thinks they’re friends. Why else would he continue to try to see her? “What would you do?” 

If anyone could give her advice about relationships, it would be Ruby. Her best friend, just a few years older than Emma, has far more experience with relationships than she knows what to do with. 

“I mean, I’m not a princess, but I think if you want to be with him, and he feels the same way about you, then there’s no harm in seeing what comes of it. Especially before you’re even more trapped in a life of royal responsibilities.”

Ruby’s right, she realizes, though she’s not surprised about it. If she’s going to dare to follow her feelings for Killian, she needs to do it quickly, before her parents decide the time has come for her to have more responsibilities, before she can no longer leave the palace every night to watch the sunset and spend time with her blue-eyed sailor boy. 

 -- -- -- --

“Emma, I can’t —” he says one afternoon at the end of the first month, laying on his stomach at the end of the dock while Emma rests in the gently-moving tide below him, the tips of his fingers softly moving through the ends of Emma’s golden blonde tresses. “Something’s been bothering me lately.” 

“Hm?” Emma hums, her gaze set on the changing colors of the sky as the sun makes its way below the horizon. 

“You have the whole ocean to explore, and are able to explore further than just between where you live and this little shore, but you’ve been coming back here instead of taking advantage of that freedom.” 

When he says nothing further, she turns to face him, a soft smile on her face as she presses her palm against his cheek. Her skin is colder than his, just as it always is, and slightly damp from the water, but it is a feeling he has come to love. “Maybe I’ve found all the adventure I need for now right here, on this little shore,” she says, softly smiling when he meets her eyes. 

He has known since that very first time he saw her sitting in the waves, watching the sunset, that she was the key to his desire for adventure, but this was the first time he felt brave enough to bring it up. Over the last three weeks, since the first time he got up the nerve to call out to her as she sat in the surf, they have learned a lot about each other, spending as much time as either of them dared out here by the dock. Though they live very different lives, they’ve learned that they share a desire to see the world, to be beyond the limitations set by those around them, even though they may not understand the things holding the other back. 

“I’ve told you before, Killian, I can’t just leave my family behind and explore the oceans, just like you can’t just leave Liam. Just because I dream of far away places doesn’t mean I’m ready to go out by myself.” 

“One day, I’ll have a ship of my own and the ability to go wherever I want, wherever we want, and we could — well, I don’t know exactly how it would work for you, love, what with the tail and all, but we could see the world together. What do you think of that?” 

For a moment, he can swear that he sees a flash of sadness in her eyes, but it disappears before he can decide whether it was real or not. He expects her to argue with him, really, to provide some sort of rationalization for this thought as she always seems to be doing when he talks about his dreams, though this is the first he’s spoken of his desire to one day be the captain of his own ship. But that’s not what she does. 

Instead, she pulls herself closer to him, her arms wrapped around his neck, and presses her lips against his. He feels a blush rise into his cheeks, to the very tips of his ears, but tries his very best to memorize every detail of the way it feels to kiss her, from the soft tickle of her hair against his cheeks to the feel of her fingers around the back of his neck, not to mention the warmth of her lips where they meet his. It only lasts a few seconds, a few beats of his pounding heart, but he hopes to be able to hold onto that feeling for much, much longer. 

“What do you think of that?” she whispers, though she has only pulled away from him enough to speak, her forehead still pressed against his. He’s glad to see that she also has a soft rosiness to her cheeks now that matches his, plus a new brightness in her shining eyes that he almost allows himself to define as love. It takes him a moment to realize that she is simply repeating the last thing he said and not really asking for his feelings towards their first kiss, but he answers in the only way he can think of, a smile on his lips as he finds hers with them again. 

 -- -- -- --

“There’s a big storm coming,” Ruby comments, and Emma nods, though her focus isn’t on the change in temperature in the water or the darkness of the sky above them as they continue to approach the surface, but on the hull of a ship not too far away. A ship that, once she breaks the surface, she recognizes immediately, her thoughts immediately turning to Killian, who she knows was planning on joining some of the sailors on a trip on the Nautilus in the next few days, the very reason she’s out in a different part of the realm with Ruby in the first place. But it’s too late — the ship has already met the storm, and the storm has won, the ship already sitting in pieces on the thrashing waters. How neither of them realized what was happening just beyond their vision is a mystery, but she can only spare a moment to stop and watch it before she’s on the move, swimming as fast as she can towards the wreck. 

“Emma, no!” Ruby calls out, but follows her nonetheless. “The queen is going to kill me,” she mumbles under her breath — which may be the truth, but Emma has always swam towards danger and not away from it. 

Most of the sailors are already under the crashing waves, unconscious, the ones who have not been knocked out trying their best to tend to them and keep their own heads above water. Emma focuses her powers to calm the waters under the surface, hoping to aid these men in whatever way she can. She is helpless against the waves caused by the winds of the storm, but she can still the waters beneath the shipwreck, making sure none of the drowning men are hit by the quickly-sinking debris before Ruby can help them to the surface. Emma is searching the whole time for her young, blue-eyed sailor, and is relieved when she does not find him. 

But that doesn’t stop her from sitting in the surf, away from the storm that took down the ship, still searching for any sign of him

“Emma, we shouldn’t stay here,” Ruby says, trying to pull her back under the surface, but Emma is unmoving, her attention focused on one of the sailors as he frantically searches the beach. She can’t hear what he is saying, but he keeps yelling for someone — someone that he is unable to find, and she fears the worst, practically paralyzed by the thought that she somehow missed Killian in the wreckage.

Ruby can wait no longer, afraid of what may happen to her if the sailors realize they are sitting out there, but also knows that going back to the palace by herself would raise suspicion, so she quietly slips back beneath the surface, only planning on going back to the debris to see what she can find. 

Emma’s eyes are still on the shore, barely realizing that Ruby has left her behind, when she sees another ship, this one moving across the land through the sky, land just beyond the shore in front of her. She’s heard tales of this ship before, many of them from Killian himself, but has never seen it with her own eyes until now. She knows this means that men have come to rescue those she helped out of the water, knows the danger this poses to her — but she is still paralyzed, even as she sees their heads start to appear, only able to dip her head closer to the waves. 

This is where she watches them from, hoping that she is hidden enough in the sea to be safe as the small handful of men begin to tend to those on the beach. One of the older sailors, who she recognizes as one of the two who walk down by the tide together on the calmest evenings — the one with the heart tattooed on his cheek, with the soft blue eyes who recites poetry as he walks along the shore — finds the younger sailor, tears wetting his cheeks now, his face obviously pained with a fear so strong Emma can recognize it. They share a few words before the older man embraces him, turning his eyes out towards the water, almost as if he is looking specifically for her, she realizes as he meets her eyes, pleading with her. She knows somehow, as the younger sailor calls out for his brother once more, that Killian is the one he is searching for, and is not among the men taken to the shore. 

 -- -- -- --

By the time the storm wakes him, he fears all hope is lost. He was fast asleep below deck, alone and not awoken by the storm until it cracked the mast and splintered some of the deck above his head.

The floor beneath his hammock is gone, replaced by rushing water, he realizes as he swings his feet over the edge; and when he plunges himself into it, he's not ready for the shock to his body from the icy coldness. The few moments he takes to allow his body to adjust to the water prove futile, as the water begins to rise rapidly as more wood cracks and splinters around him. Pushing through it, the water almost up to his chest already as he moves across the room and tries to pull open the door to the crew’s quarters. At first, he can’t get it to budge, and his heart sinks in his chest, until, finally, he is able to pry the door open, using as much of his strength as he is able to find between his fear and the shock to his system. 

He pushes through the water on the other side, slightly shallower than that in the cabin for the first few moments, but quickly finding equilibrium, once again at chest level. He pushes through the water as best he can, trying to keep his footing as he makes his way down to the end of the hallway. But, he realizes as he quickly loses hope, the hatch at the top of the stairs is stuck shut, the cracked mast having landed directly on top of it. 

To get to the other exit, he must dive under the water and avoid the debris, a challenge that becomes harder the longer he waits, so he takes as deep a breath as he can manage before diving under the surface, his lungs feeling like they’ve collapsed once his head is under the water, surrounded by a new, eerie silence in comparison to the rushing waters around him in the air pockets — but, between the shock, his body still reacting to the cold shock of the water, and the remaining grogginess from his sleep, the task is almost too much for his body, and moving through the surging waters only becomes harder as he pushes to the other side of the ship, trying to find the pockets of air where the ceilings are highest. 

He can feel his freedom, his hands against the hatch, relishing in the few inches of air left here — but this hatch won’t open, either, and moments later, water begins to rush through the holes in the grate. 

One last gulp of air, and he ducks back under the water, trying to think of another exit, another option, but can think of none. There is nothing he can do, really. If no one has come to save him yet, he can’t imagine that anyone is coming now, hopefully all having found their own freedom and — rightfully — forgetting about him below deck as they tried to save themselves. Even Captain Nemo. 

Even Liam.

In the last moments before he gives up hope, he squeezes his eyes shut, seeing both Liam and Emma, the two closest things he’s ever had to friends, before everything begins to fade to black, his body succumbing to the much stronger pull of the water — and then he feels arms around his chest, barely registering what is happening, half-unconscious. He wants to open his eyes, wants to find out who is saving him, how they got in and how they are getting him out, but he can’t, only feels himself slowly slipping into a deeper unconsciousness, even as he feels air against his face. 

 When he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is Emma, hovering over him. Her hair is dry (though he’s unsure why this is what he notices), and when he meets her eyes, they go wide, the green there flashing with excitement. 

Behind her, he notices both Liam and Captain Shakespeare, the former with his arms crossed over his chest, noticeably confused, and the latter smiling broadly.

The three of them simply cannot be in the same location, and with this thought alone, Killian is sure that he didn’t actually make it out of the shipwreck, that he had been pulled beneath the waves and is sitting dead at the bottom of the ocean, still stuck below the decks of the Nautilus until the end of days. 

“Killian,” she whispers, resting her hand against the palm of his cheek. Every other time they have touched, her skin has been cold, clammy, from being in the water, but that is not true right now, almost as if — (same with her hair, he thinks) — she has been out of the water for a while, her legs curled up beneath her on the sand as she leans over him.

Legs? 

Before he has a chance to process this new information, with Emma’s hand still pressed against his cheek, Liam rushes towards him and wraps his arms around him from the side. These things together, Liam and Emma both touching him, feel too real, the burning in his lungs feels too real, and though he can barely believe it, he thinks he may actually be okay. 

When he tries to talk, he coughs up a mouthful of salt water before any of the words he is trying to ask. “What — what happened?” he manages, focusing on Shakespeare, still standing on the shore behind Emma with a large smile spread across his face. 

Instead, Emma answers, gesturing out into the water, where Ruby is keeping her head above the waves, and Ruby waves back. “Ruby and I saw the shipwreck from afar and rushed to help save everyone we could. Once we had everyone on shore, I stayed behind, uh, looking for you—” Her cheeks begin to glow a soft red, which Killian meets with a soft smile. “But Ruby went back to the debris, searching for anything she can salvage. Instead, she found you, and she thought it may have been too late, but she brought you back to shore anyway, though away from the other sailors, who were starting to gain consciousness. Somehow this man,” she looks over her shoulder, smiling at Shakespeare, who wiggles his fingers at them in a wave. “Knew where to find us, and they recuscitated you.” 

“Why doesn’t she come ashore?” Liam asks, pointing out to where Ruby is still sitting on the other side of the tide. 

Emma opens her mouth to answer, but is stopped by the sound of Shakespeare laughing behind them, and when they turn their attention to him, he is shaking his head. “You lads really don’t know much about your mermaid lore, do you?” 

Confused, both Liam and Killian shake their heads, and Emma and Shakespeare share a smile. 

“Well, Killy, I don’t know how to break this to you, but it seems that your mermaid love is also the princess, who is able to come ashore when she chooses.” 

Both Jones boys are stunned, Killian by this new information which Emma never shared with him, and Liam by the fact that his little brother is apparently in love with a mermaid. 

“Princess?” 

“Pardon?” 

Shakespeare laughs again, resting one of his hands on Emma’s shoulder. “It appears we have some things to teach the young Jones brothers here, your highness.”

 -- -- -- --

Three days have passed since Emma and Ruby came across the Nautilus' wreck, and so far, no one seems to have any more suspicion about where she has been spending her time away from the palace as they did before. She has spent more of these three days around her parents, hoping to quell any questions that they may have been keeping to themselves, and she feels like she has succeeded. Until— 

“Emma,” August says, softly knocking on the door to the library as he pops his head into the room. “You parents want to talk to you.” 

Sighing, she closes the book she has on the table in front of her, knowing this can’t be good — and having a growing fear that it may be about her time on the shore and her relationship with Killian. “Did they tell you what it was going to be about?” 

August only shakes his head. 

But when Ruby is the only other person in the room, unable to meet her gaze, she knows what happened. She completely ignores the matching glares on the faces of her parents, shaking her head as she crosses her arms across her chest. “Really, Ruby?” she asks. 

“I’m sorry, Em, but your mother —” 

With a light laugh, Emma nods. “Yeah, I know, Rubes.” Finally, her friend raises her eyes to meet hers, and she puts as much forgiveness in her eyes as she is able; none of this is Ruby's fault, and she never should have put her friend in the position she currently finds herself. 

“Emma!” her father yells, and she remembers why she’s here. “You went to the surface?”

“We were just going up to watch the sunset,” Emma says — the complete truth. 

“And then you helped humans!” Now it’s the queen’s turn to be angry. "You went to the shore!"

“They were drowning! They were going to die!” 

Her father takes over again. “Emma, you know that’s not what we’re angry about,” he says, his voice soft but stern. “Ruby told us about the boy.” 

Emma snaps her head towards Ruby’s, eyes wide with anger — though not at Ruby, she hopes her friend realizes — but Ruby just gives her a sad shrug. Emma’s been interrogated by the queen before, knows exactly how impossible it is to keep any secrets from her once she knows something is being hidden. It’s a good characteristic for a queen, but Emma would prefer her mother to be better at seeing through her lies. 

“What were you thinking?” Her mother’s anger is back. “A human?”

“I wasn’t — I didn’t even approach the shore right away, I stayed in the waves the first few times! Actually, I’ve never even been out of the water in front of him until we saved them from dying!” 

“But you should have known better than to be out there in the first place.” This is, apparently, one of those arguments where her mother is going to do all the talking, with her father standing behind her with a stern expression. He always was the softer of the two, the one who is first to crack whenever she is asking them for anything, and she wonders — in the moments between her mother’s angry words — if this argument is going to be the same way. "You put your life in danger, and for what? A human?" 

"He's not like the men in the stories you tell! None of them are. None of them are monsters, we've just been taught to believe that they are — and they've been taught to believe the same about us!" 

"I don't want to hear it, Emma! You broke our rules, broke our trust, and you've let us down. I'm disappointed in you. I thought we taught you better than that.” 

This is Emma’s in; the easiest way to break her parents is to bring up their true love, to use their teachings against them. 

“You two have always taught me that the best thing for me to do is to follow my heart, so that’s exactly what I was doing!” 

This was exactly the right thing to say, and the queen’s shoulders slump in defeat. For a few moments, the room is silent. Until King David smiles, wrapping his arm around his wife’s shoulders. 

“She’s right, my love,” he says, always the one to end the argument, and usually in Emma’s favor. “She’s only taking our advice.” 

Emma’s eyes go wide; she didn’t expect it to work, especially not this well, and certainly not this quickly. 

"But it's for a human!" her mother argues, not even seeming to care that Emma is still there.

"We don't always fall in love with the people that we are expected to." 

The queen — who fell in love with a common man and had to convince her parents to allow her to marry him instead of one of her suitors, a story that they are both very proud of — knows this is an argument that she is going to lose. Because, no matter how difficult it is to admit, Emma is just doing as she has always been taught to do: following her heart, even if it leads her down a different path. 

When Emma finally breaks the silence that has filled the room, her voice is soft, believing that if she speaks too loud, the moment could shatter before her. “So, uh, what does that mean, then?” 

The king and queen share a look. “Well,” her mother says, “We haven’t actually thought about that yet.” 

“Obviously you still have to be here for your royal duties, meetings and dinners and those sort of things,” the king says. 

Emma can feel a soft smile slowly growing across her face as she realizes that this is real — that her parents are really discussing how she can spend time on land… with Killian. “Of course,” she agrees. 

“Plus diplomatic missions,” her mother adds, and Emma nods in agreement. “And he’s a sailor, right?” Emma nods again. “So when he’s out on the sea, I expect you to stay here at the palace.” 

“I’m not going to make you take a guard with you to the surface, but if anything ever happens, know that will be the first change we make,” King David says with a definitive nod. “We’ll add to these rules when things come up. But for now…” 

When Emma’s smile grows larger, her parents answer it with bright smiles of their own. She rushes forward to wrap her arms around them both. “Thank you,” she whispers, trying her best to hold back to happy tears she feels welling in her eyes. “Thank you both.” 

 -- -- -- --

Liam Jones is nowhere near as understanding when he finally talks to Killian about the situation. He asked the Captains to come with them to the shore to discuss everything, but Liam has always been hard-headed — not to mention overly protective of his little brother. 

“I just — I can’t see any way that this works out for you,” he says, not for the first time, resting his hands on the back of his head while he paces across the sand. “She’s a mermaid, and a princess on top of that. There’s not — there simply cannot be a way for the two of you to be together.” 

“Well, it certainly won’t be possible if you don’t give us a chance,” Killian argues from where he has taken a seat on the beach. 

"But how? How would it even work? She lives under the sea, Killian, you do realize that, right? She can't just — just pack up her things and move to a little cottage like the rest of the sailors' wives. This is — you live in two different worlds, it just seems impossible."

“Sometimes you learn to do impossible things for love,” Shakespeare cuts in. 

Nemo chuckles softly from behind him. 

This is exactly how the conversation has been going, around and around in circles: Liam unable to change his point of view, Killian pleading for the freedom to pursue the feelings he feels so deeply in his heart, and Shakespeare giving half-helpful one-liners while Nemo stands silently on the sidelines. 

And this is exactly how Emma finds them when her head breaks the surface of the water, bursting with the excitement from her agreement with her parents. Killian sees her first, and he jumps to his feet. 

“Look, here she comes now! Maybe talking with her will change your mind about it all.” Killian rushes out into the tide to embrace her as she approaches, and the bright smile that covers his face is the most genuine Liam has ever seen.

“Doubtful,” Liam huffs under his breath, now crossing his arms across his chest as he watches them (though secretly hoping that Killian is right.) 

“Emma, darling, what are you doing here?” Killian breathes, barely audible over the crashing of the surf, but Emma just smiles. 

“I come with good news for all of us,” she says, sharing her smile with the rest of the group as Killian leads her onto shore, his hand on the small of her back. “Hopefully,” she adds, meeting Liam’s eye, though he does not share her smile. “My parents have given me permission to pursue this, though there are some stipulations when it comes to my royal duties. Those still come first, of course, but as long as I am not needed at the palace or on a diplomatic visit with my father, I am free to come ashore and, well—” She reaches her hand out to find Killian’s, turning completely towards him for the end of her announcement. “And be here, with you.” 

In a fit of excitement, Killian wraps his arms around her, lifting her off her feet as he spins them together. “Oh, Emma, this is — it’s more than we ever imagined.” 

Emma nods in agreement, and uses this moment to press her lips against his, Killian’s cheeks immediately reddening in the presence of his brother and his father figures. 

Liam is still not convinced. “How could this possibly work, little brother? How much time is left over after you’ve seen to your royal responsibilities?” 

“Every sailor’s lover has their own responsibilities, lad,” Nemo finally speaks up, wrapping his arm around Shakespeare’s waist as they share a smile. “Finding the time between them all is a challenge that every couple must go through.”

“Besides,” Emma comments. “We’ve managed to find the time to have a relationship without either of our families finding out for the last few weeks, I’m sure we can continue to find time for each other now that we’ve gained everyone’s blessing.” 

Liam rubs his hand against his cheek before carding his fingers through his hair. “So, what, your parents — the king and queen of the sea — though I don't understand how that works, because there's a hell of a lot of ocean — are fine with this? They don't think that it's all a ploy for the monsters who live on land to take down the princess of the ocean? Isn't that what you said mermaids are taught to believe we all are?” They're all very valid questions, though Killian would appreciate if his brother could take some of the sarcastic scorn out of his voice. 

Killian rolls his eyes, but Emma just shakes her head. “Well, my parents — who, by the way, are the king and queen of the whole ocean but allow many of the other realms to self-govern, so it's not like they have to watch over the whole thing all the time — are the definition of true love, or whatever, so they want to give me the chance to find that for myself. Isn’t that what you want for your brother? A chance for him to be happy?” 

This, finally, is what makes Liam cave, though he takes almost a minute's time to think about it, pacing across the sand once again before turning to them with a sharp nod. "Okay. I know — I know I can't make all the rules for you anymore, little brother, but if this is what you want, I suppose the least I can do is be by your side through it, though I may not understand exactly how it's going to work." 

A wide smile spreads across Killian's face, and he releases his grip on Emma's hand to wrap his brother in a hug. "That's all I want from you, brother," he says softly, looking over his shoulder at Captain Nemo, who is watching as his husband embraces Emma. "All I could want is the chance to see how this works for us, and to know that you are always by my side through it all." 

On Emma's twenty-second name day, almost five years after the first time she saw Killian pulling in the fishing nets at sunset, she takes her place as Princess of the Sea, ready for more responsibilities handed off to her by her parents — but they honor the agreement that she has at least two days a week, as often as they can spare it, where she can go to the shore and be with her love. It's slightly less time than they've gotten used to during the time they have been together, but they never expected being together to be easy. 

Killian is twenty-seven, Liam thirty-one when the Captains plan a large dinner party, inviting all of the sailors from both their crews along with their families. This includes both of the Jones brothers, Liam's wife Belle, and not only Emma, but also her father, though the invitation was extended to both the King and Queen. It's something that has never been seen in the remembered histories of both men and mermaids, to have the King on land for a non-diplomatic reason — but King David sees it as an opportunity to finally meet the man that he believes will one day become his son-in-law. 

And to witness the moment when the men he calls his fathers, two older, grey-haired gentlemen in matching powder blue waistcoats, announce their plans to finally retire from their lives of adventure and move to their own little cottage along the sea until the end of their days. 

The moment when the Jones Brothers are offered the ability to become captains of their own vessels, Liam's in the sky — a concept that the King of the Sea finds absolutely maddening, yet intriguing — and Killian's on the sea. 

The two men accept the offers, of course, both of them finally moving closer to seeing their dreams come true — especially Killian, who is now able to plan his journeys in accordance with his lady love's schedule, even finding her sometimes able to join him on his vessel, allowing him to take her to far-off lands. 

(And even when she is called away to the palace, she sometimes still manages to surprise him, finding his Jolly Roger on the water and catching his eye as she sits on the waves, just as she did that very first day.)  

tagging: @shireness-says​ @thisonesatellite​ @let-it-raines​ @captainsjedi​ @kmomof4​ @ohmightydevviepuu​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @pepperspotts​ @stahlop​ @teamhook​ @scientificapricot​ @irememberyoufern​ @carpedzem​ @gingerchangeling​ @superchocovian​ @nightskylover​ @lfh1226-linda​ @xarandomdreamx​ @nikkiemms​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​

#captain swan #lieutenant duckling #cs ff #cs au #mermaid au #fathership #my writing #wordsbymeganmichael

[asmileyoucouldbottle]

Found - Odesta

"Did you love Annie right away, Finnick?" I ask. "No," A long time passes before he adds "She crept up on me." Pre-trilogy, Odesta. Mostly fluff.

TRIGGER WARNINGS! - panic attacks, mentions of r*pe (nothing detailed or explicit)

Word Count- 2561 

~*~

There she was again. The red-haired woman everyone said was mad. She didn’t look particularly crazy, laughing as she splashed in the surf with the neighborhood children. But Finnick knew a thing or two about madness. It sneaks up on you, and you don’t see the memories coming until they’re there.

The woman dunked underwater, and reappeared in a wave that drenched all three of the children. One of the kids fell over giggling, and the other two continued to play. 

A slight turn of her head, and the woman caught Finnick staring. Her smile widened as if they had just shared a private joke, and Finnick ducked his head. He was surprised to find his own lips curling up.

Swinging a net over his shoulder, Finnick walked over to the woman and children.“Would you mind helping me?” 

The children hopped up immediately to grab the two wooden poles on either end of the long bait net. The woman stood opposite of him, and he could see the laughter still flickering in her eyes, as well as slight shyness.

“My name’s Annie.”

He smiled, and nodded in turn. “I’m Finnick.”

The group stepped to the side, dragging the net along as they went. Finnick could already see the little bait fish getting towed along against the net. 

Annie paused while Finnick and his side continued, making a rotation around her until the net made a C. From there, they dragged it back towards shore. The dance was as natural to Finnick as breathing, and he felt peace in familiarity wash over him. Every brief respite from the Capitol was a blessing, and he’d just arrived home yesterday morning.

They brought the net up to shore, and the children squealed as the minnows and other little fish began to try and jump from the net. Annie ran to get a bucket, which they promptly emptied the contents of the net into.

Finnick noticed a Peacekeeper glaring at him out of the corner of his eye, watching to make sure he didn’t steal the bait.  He picked up the bucket, and began to haul it in the direction of the Peacekeepers. “It was nice to meet you.” Finnick’s words were sincere, and carried a weight that the overused formalities rarely held. Annie waved as he left. 

He was intrigued by her, this woman like him, and he wasn’t sure they were so different. 

~*~

It was the day of the Hunger Games tour, and earlier the winner of this year’s games had given their speech. Now was the “partying,” where the whole town was in the main square “celebrating” the Hunger Games for the cameras. 

Finnick caught a glance of Annie, her eyes vacant and hand twisting her hair. 

“Annie?” At the sound of his words, she turned her empty eyes on him. “It’s very loud.” She murmured, eyes seeking Finnicks own. His heart panged as it related painfully. He knew all too well how triggering loud noises could be, and on a day such as today- a day completely dedicated to The Hunger Games, he'd had his own share of flashbacks. 

“Maybe we should get a breath of fresh air.”

Annie nodded, and Finnick took her hand and led her out the door. Her eyes were frantically darting, and he took them to a dock just outside the square. No one noticed them leaving the crowds. Sitting down, he took off his shoes and put his feet in the water. Annie followed him, and the water seemed to soothe her. Yet, one hand continued to stay on her ear, even though the only noises came from fishing boats in the distance. 

“Hey.” Finnick touched Annie’s hand  gently, and she looked at him. Her eyes focused on his, as if trying to bore holes.  Or maybe climb out of one. He didn’t break the contact. “You’re in District 4, and the water on your feet is from the bay.” She nodded, feet wiggling in the water. 

“District 4.” She repeated to herself, gaze moving to her toes as she grasped for footholes out of her mind. 

Finnick continued to talk about District 4, all its features, and the land around him. Every word seemed like a wedge in a cliff, a little ledge that she used to pull herself up, bit by bit. Even the flashing light of the Peacekeeper watchtower over the sea, which was always a point of anger and anxiety for Finnick, seemed to be helping.

Once the light had fully returned to her eyes, Annie half collapsed on Finnick’s shoulder, as if the effort had exhausted her.

”Thank you.” She whispered.

“Of course,” They looked out at the water, trying to find peace with the marching of Peacekeepers, the barbed wire fences, and memories threatening to drown them.

~*~

Finnick awoke, gasping. He shivered at the sensation of hands roaming all over, his body not feeling like it belonged to him.

Breathing heavily, Finnick tore back the sheets, blindly fumbling out of his room. Blinded by a rising panic as he started working himself into a frenzy, he ran to the beach right outside his house. Tearing off his shirt, Finnick jumped in the water without a second thought. The salt stung his eyes, and he began to rub himself down with sand, trying to clean off the fingerprints of hundreds of people who’d touched him over the years. His breathing and heart only quickened as the seconds dragged on, his skin raw with the friction of the sand. And yet, the fingerprints never went away. 

“Finnick?” He looked up to see a silhouette in the light of the lighthouse. “Are you alright?”

No, he was definitely not alright.

Intending to dismiss her, he was surprised when the simple truth was pried out in a tight breath. “Not particularly.” 

There was a beat, and Finnick let his handful of sand sink from his hold. A slight ripple, and he saw Annie coming to join him in the water. The moon outlined her frame, and her exposed shoulder only made him shudder. His vision of her kept being interrupted with images of other women, people he’d never learned the names of, and their faces were blurry in his memory. All that remained were their hands and the scars they left behind.

“It’s alright.” She said, forcing the images away. “it’s alright to be not alright.” 

Something about the words made him choke out a breathy laugh. 

“I’m glad that it’s okay that I’m having a meltdown.” The word meltdown echoed around his soul, the connotations raising a new round of battering. Words like coward and weak soon joined the symphony, and Finnick felt his self-control slipping.

“You don’t sound very convinced.” Annie commented. Finnick forced his mental downward spiral back as he tried to focus on her words.

She kept talking. “Right now, I’m fine. But sometimes, I’m not okay either. But that’s alright. We’re hurt, but that doesn’t make us lesser.”

A little bit of the frenzied knot began to loosen in his chest as words finally sunk in. The chorus belittling him receded, and he braced himself- expecting a new onslaught of phrases and the secrets of various lovers to fill the space.

Before his mind got the chance, Annie asked, “Would you like to know what I do when I’m upset?” 

Finnick tried not to sound desperate when he responded, “what?”

“Follow me.” She led him out of the water, and the panic was delicately held at bay. Annie brought him to a pile of rope on the dock. She chopped a bit of it off using the sharp edge of the rusty ladder. Finnick watched, enraptured, as she began to tie knots. Any sailing teacher would’ve been proud as she filled the whole rope, untied, and repeated. 

Once she’d finished her demonstration, Annie handed him the rope. Immediately, his fingers began their work. With each knot, his horror became more manageable, easier to put in the back of his mind as the burning of his fingers and endless lessons on knotting took the foreground. 

~*~

The mayor was getting married, and he was throwing a huge party for the whole district to celebrate. 

Finnick was more than content to sit by the refreshments and listen to the music. He’d had a fair amount of guests, man and woman alike, beg him to join them.  With a charming smile and claim of exhaustion, he’d send them on their way.

“Would you like to dance?” 

Finnick spun around, his signature smile already playing on his lips. At the sight of Annie, all deceptive charm vanished, and his lips melted into something real. Her own eyes were clear of all flirtations, and he felt that this must be what friendship is. No manipulations- just two people, everything laid at their feet.

“It would be my pleasure.”

The song was an old sea shanty, one that sang of a sailor and his lover reunited on land. The music resonated in their bones as the dancers clapped, stomped, twirled, and laughed. Finnick picked Annie up in a spin, and she showed off her footwork while prancing in a circle around him. The dance climaxed, and all he could see were the spins and motions. A brief catch of eyes there, a glimpse of her smile, the flash of her sea green dress. An unknown sensation built in the pit of his stomach as he felt her hands in his.

The downpour began all at once, with a loud crack of thunder and sudden sheets of water. The rain only brightened Annie’s face, and her laughter became fuller as the water clung her clothes to her skin and dripped off her nose. 

Though their movements weren’t as light or graceful, the heart of the dance only grew as the pair became more and more soaked. The energy of the remaining crowd built up, the dampness only feeding the fire. With a final twirl, the song ended, and Finnick was left looking over shoulders to see where Annie had twirled off to.

~*~

There was something about her that drew in Finnick’s eyes everytime she was in his vicinity. At the market, fishing, on the street, everyone and everything dulled to the background. 

He watched her exhibit kindness to the smallest of creatures, from bugs to the animals on the streets. More than once, Finnick had seen Annie scooping bees and beetles out of the water to dry on the jetty, rinsing off scraped knees of the street children, or slipping dogs little bits of fish. Her smile awaited him everywhere. Every one of her sunshine looks felt like a countdown, one that he could only imagine how it would end.

Many nights they’d find each other, distraughtly walking the beach. Wordlessly, they’d decide to go on together, often finding comfort simply in being in the presence of another who understands. He didn’t know exactly when they started holding hands along the way. It was a mutual agreement, a subconscious reach for the other. Their eyes hadn’t met, but the pressure of her hand intertwined in his stabilized both of them better than any line of rope. 

~*~

Finnick didn’t know when he realized. He’d thought of it as a countdown, every little action pushing forward the timer in his heart. But what it really was, was a buildup. Every smile that was bolder than the last, every musical laugh, every knot he tied beside her, all collecting to tip the scales of her heart. The way she would hold him in moments of weakness, just as he held her. The peace of mind that came just from seeing her, and how she’d now take his hand in moments of excitement or happiness as well as fragility. Her ability to see the light of the world despite a darkness within and all around her. 

They had been drawn together by mutual need. Need of understanding, need of comfort, need of true friendship. But if the flipping minnows in his stomach were any indication, Finnick wasn’t quite sure that ‘friends’ was a suitable enough word. 

He never expected it. How could someone as broken as him fall in love?

The answer was simple. Annie had said it to him once, “we’re not broken, nor missing pieces. We’re still whole…  just a little cracked.” From there, she’d intertwined her fingers with his. Finnick looked down and saw that seperated, the spaces between their fingers looked like cracks. But when they laced them together, the cracks were filled. They were still there, but less noticeable. 

That’s how Finnick felt with Annie. He knew that no person or love could completely heal him, but it could help. It made the hurt less prominent, and replaced some of his dreariness with hope.

~*~

The sunset was brilliant, and Finnick could see Annie sitting on the dock outside his window. Her auburn hair was stunning in the golden light, and his breath caught. Not bothering to even put on sandals, he walked out to meet her.

She turned to see him as he walked down the dock, the light making her face glow. Something in him felt like it was filling at the sight of her. Even his view of patrolling boats on the sea wasn’t enough to damper his happiness. It was all he could do not to lift her up, twirl her around, and tell her everything he felt. 

Actually, he hadn’t completely ruled it out yet. 

“Annie…” He didn’t know how to continue, and she was watching him expectantly. Despite being the Capitol’s darling, he didn’t know the first thing about actually sharing his feelings when they were true. Never once had he been seductive around Annie, nor her to him. 

It made no sense, yet here they were.

He reached down to take her hands, and pulled her up in front of him.

“You fill in my cracks.” He said finally.

Her eyebrows flickered briefly with surprise, but soon her face softened with a smile. “And you fill in mine.” She whispered, barely audible over the sound of waves. The moment was so heavy, Finnick could barely breathe.

He searched her eyes, longs poems he’d heard in the Capitol, he was anything but lost in their depths. Rather, he felt found. 

Annie stepped towards him, and on tiptoe, rested her forehead against his. Finnick sighed, and she tilted up her face and pressed her lips to his sweetly. The kiss was over in a moment, and she was flat on her feet, face open as she waited for his reaction.

Something in his chest felt wild, and without hesitation, he picked her up and spun her around- just as he’d wanted to. She giggled, her hands stabilizing on Finnick’s shoulders. He laughed, holding her gaze as he set her down. A rush of emotion filled him, and he didn’t know how he could contain it all. 

He leaned down and kissed her again, and she clung to his neck as he dipped her down. The sound of waves receded as his pounding heart filled his ears, and brought her back up to standing. 

“I love you Finn.” She looked up at him, bashful yet bold. Finnick beamed at her, and brushed her nose with his own. “And I love you.” 

Capitol be damned- he’d found love just where he was. 

#odesta #finnick x annie #annie x finnick #finnick odair #annie cresta #the hunger games #hunger games #the hunger games fanfiction #odesta fanfiction #district 4 #thg #my hunger games fic #dot talk #they deserved better #hunger games fanfiction #tw: panic attack #tw: mentions of r*pe

[harveywritings92]

Dad!Connor And Reincarnated! Reader p3

You, Achilles and Diana had settled in the dinning room; Diana had calmed you both down, Connor came back after removing the intruders body from the manor, his body was tense a he looked at your flushed face, he frown and took you from Diana he may not be showing it, but he was just shaken up by this whole thing his eyes were red. mentally beating himself up how could he have let someone get passed him like that?! he almost lost you. "She won't stop crying, she must have been terrified." Diana said voice trembling as Achilles brought her a drink of water.

Connor was in deep thought as he finally found his voice. "How early do babies begin to remember things?" he asked concerned about your mental state, "Everyone's different in regards of childhood memories." Achilles huffed his brows furrowed in concentration as a he tried to remembered his experiences with his own son. "luckily Y/n's young enough to forget this whole thing," *not likely old man!* you mentally interjected while slowly drifting off  to sleep as Connor rocked you. "however it's hard to say if it will effect her later." the old man explained.

Just then the manor door sudden burst open as Terry,Norris Warren and Godfrey holding axes,a ho and a pickax demanding where the intruder was? only to be told by Achilles it's they were late and the scoundrel's been taken care of, the men all lowered their weapons surprised before Terry spotted his wife saw the state she was in and demanded to know what happened. 

The full story was that Diana was coming to deliver some clean linens to the manor when she saw Norris ducking behind a bush looking at the manor warily, he told her there a man sniffing around the grounds before watching him try to climb up to the balcony to Y/n's room, Diana dropped the wash and ordered the miner to gather the men. 

Norris did as he was told while the nurse snuck up to the front porch while keeping her eyes open for the boy trying to break in then managed to quietly enter the manor, she then went down into basement and alerted Connor to the danger , they both arrived just before the man could harmed Y/n. 

Diana took another sip of water "I've never been so shaken in my life!" she said recalling how terrified she was when as she held Y/n cold and stiff in her arms. "I thought Y/n had died of fright, I was so scared!" she swallowed Terry hugged her as the other men looked at the little girl upset.

"But, she alright...right? the man didn't hurt her?" Norris asked as Godfrey raged "It's not bloody right! What kind of ill minded cù (dog) tries to murder a baby?!" while Warren kept a calm head knowing full well Prudence with be screaming up a storm when she find out about this ."Does it have had anything to do with Y/n's mother?" 

Connor shook his head "No, this is Not related to her mother's murder, this was something else." he stated he found a diary on that boy, It was hidden in his room, the assassin intends to read it later and see why that boy specifically targeted Y/n he knew exactly where her room was, but for now he'd make sure everyone was alright.

Now when now to say Connor was shaken by this whole situation was putting it mildly, He went into full blown paranoid father mode, For the last month since your near murder, he'd moved you into his room keeping your cradle next to his bed and silently patrolled the homestead grounds; making sure that boy was the only intruder, Sadly he wasn't.

Connor found out one of his own sailors; Louis, had betrayed him, the boy had been paying the man to spy on the assassin for months now looking for a way to hurt him, hence how he found out about Y/n, he saw a perfect target to weaken the native man emotionally, and Y/n was the perfect target. 

He theorized the boy snuck into the town under the guise of a traveler. Connor was disgusted by how easily the man gave into greed and left the traitorous sailor’s fate to Faulkner and his men to deal with as they were out for blood when they heard what had happened.

Connor returned he took off his gear and came upstairs to find Achilles watch over Y/n, and reading that diary he'd hidden away "How is she is doing?" Connor whispered checking the baby over, she twitched but didn't wake up. "Better then she was earlier." Achilles hummed glancing up from the diary.

He looked concerned which wasn't lost on the young assassin. "Have you read this?" the old man asked keeping a steady gaze on Connor who nodded, the two started discussing what was in the diary unaware that Y/n was actually awake a listening in on their conversation.

The more y/ec eyed child listened the more she started feeling bad for her would be killer, His name was Johnathan, apparently this whole plan started after his mother had passed from fever and he was sent to the colonies to live with his father, a man he barely knew as he had sent his mother away to England claiming to meet up with her later, but that turned to be a lie.

The boy's mother was stranded in a place she didn't know forced to start her life over and worked herself to death so she could provide for her son. and not once had his father tried to find them or send them money or any kind of olive branch to prove he cared about them, it was only after she died he learned the name of his father was sent to America to live with the man who abandoned them.

 Still his father ignored and treated Jonathan like a nuisance than a son, soon he was introduced to the Templars a group who visited his father's home frequently; the boy heard of their war with the assassin's saw the way his father praised and respected these men. 

Jonathan thought if he found a way to damage or Stall the Assassin's efforts against the Templars... then just maybe his father would finally notice him and let him join the Templars? Jonathan was actually quite observant and watched the streets and docks for any suspicious activity before he noticed Connor.

He deduced who the "man in the white hood" was fairly quickly and managed to tail him without him noticing. he found the Aquila, and made a survey of Connor's crew to and figure out who was loyal and who would break their silence for the right price... And that's how he met Louis all Jonathan had to do was buy him a few pints and give him 10$ for him to start talking.

Louie told him about the homestead, the inhabitants, and most importantly... Connor's precious baby girl all coddled and protected up in the hilltop manor; With that Jonathan's fate was sealed. he thought he had the perfect plan and target, with Connor's child dead he'd to broken and disorganized to meddle with the Templars. 

He stayed in Davenport for a while observed Connor's schedule for a week assumed he knew when the assassin would be too busy watch over his child and he saw his opportunity, his last entry was hoping god would forgive him for what he was about to do. All because he wanted to be knowledge and respected by his father...  Charles Lee. 

*Wait...What?!*

That caused Y/n to eyes to snap open as her father and grandfather discussed what to do with Jonathan's body? Achilles suggested sending him back to his father, even if the man was a sadistic fool surely Lee would give own son a proper burial.

the native sighed as much as he hated the idea; Jonathan did deserve a proper burial by family even if his father was uncaring towards him, He knew Lee was in Boston at the moment they had send someone to act as a courier to tell him the news Jonathan had died when he walked on a robbery while the Inn he was staying at was thought to be empty. Luckily there were a lot of people who owed Connor a lot of favors.

*But... Charles Lee never had any children!* Y/n fussed wishing the adults could hear her, Sure in the modern day her knowledge in U.S. history was a little rusty at best... But, she pretty dang sure that Charles Lee never had children! 

He had a sister who inherited all his assets and property when he died; She also died unmarried and childless! Something was wrong here... Y/n's brows furrowed as she tried to figure out what was going on here?

*Could...Could I be in an alternate Timeline, like King Washington?* That would explain a lot of inconsistencies with the plot Hunter,Norris and being here before Miriam kinda clue the y/hc girl that something was askew, Of Course she just thought she was making a mountain out of anthill, *Hmm...Let's see." Connor found her when he was about 18... that was three days after the Boston tea party... 

that was six...no, almost seven months ago! she read the date on the news papers, She sighed resting her hands behind her head as she tried to calculate, So if Y/n was right? Kanen'tó:kon should be here sometime to tell Connor about William Jonson's deal with the Clan leaders.

#assassin's creed 3 #assassin's creed fanfiction #assassin's creed x reader #connor kenway #ratohnhaké:ton #kanen'to;ton #achilles davenport #davenport homestead #baby!reader #Female reader #reincarnation au #modern reader

[atinytokki]

Paradise

iv. The Pearl in the Oyster  

By the time San was seated in the boat with the wind on his face and the shores of his town on the horizon, he had overcome his shock at discovering a secret pirate refuge.

Jiyong and Mr. Shim had fussed over him and grilled him with questions after he was rescued, but from a combination of the fact that he wasn’t sure whether he had imagined the whole ordeal and the fact that he was terrified, he hadn’t given them much information.

“Please don’t tell my grandparents,” he suddenly begged as the Namhae docks came into view.

“San, you were lost in the caves for nearly an hour,” Mr. Shim argued as he adjusted the sails. “It would be irresponsible of me not to tell them.”

“But I’m not hurt!” San argued back, getting to his feet and swaying slightly with the momentum of the boat. “And they’ll only be angry at me for running away!”

Mr. Shim frowned at him, but he didn’t scold him again, so San took it as a sign to continue.

“Didn’t you ever wander off as a boy? You wouldn’t have wanted your parents to know, would you?”

“I did have my mischievous days,” the man admitted. “But I matured and stayed away from dangerous places until I could handle myself.”

He delivered this last line with a pointed glance, one that told San if he could shape up, he would be off the hook.

A smile grew on his face and he nodded eagerly.

“Alright,” Mr. Shim chuckled. “I was young once too, wasn’t I?”

San greeted the now familiar shores of his island with relief and helped to unload the boat until his grandparents appeared at the docks to collect him.

The old sailor reported that they had enjoyed a refreshing and uneventful time in the markets of Dalhae, true to his word. San waved goodbye to the two and flopped around in the back of the cart on the ride home.

Warm food in his belly and a gentle breeze  blowing through his window, San told Haneul of his adventures and organised her shells into a small wooden chest until Grandmother poked her head in and told them to go to bed.

Even as he stared into the fireplace and tried to fall asleep, the eyes of the pirate lingered in the back of his mind. 

Supposing San had gotten all the adventure that he needed, Grandfather put him to work in the carpentry shop the next morning and even more frequently after.

When he was out of the room, busy selling his wares in town, or asleep at the desk, San took it as an opportunity to stretch his sore leg and practice fighting invisible pirates in the carpentry shop unsupervised.

Of course, this resulted in the destruction of some of the carving displays and plank storage, so Grandfather passed him off to Grandmother while he cleaned up after him, and San was subject to quiet reading and a picnic on the beach for the afternoon.

For a boy with an active imagination, San’s life had become rather boring. Unless it was about pirates, it wasn’t interesting enough, so Grandmother in her indulgence gifted him a few naval history books in the hopes that he would be satiated. 

He was unsuccessful in discovering the identities of the pirates in the caves no matter how hard he researched, especially when all he had to go on was the fact that one had been sporting a peg leg (apparently a common occurrence among pirates) and the other had seemed... young. 

San had all but given up hope when one rainy day in late autumn, the familiar tapping sound of a peg leg resounded from the front path. 

His head shot up from where he had been in deep focus at his little desk, whittling a wooden ship (that Grandfather had discouraged, and didn’t need to know about) and he counted two seconds before the jangle of the bell rung out and the customer was on the doorstep, silhouetted by dripping rain that blinked silver in the lightning flash.

Suddenly, the stranger stepped closer and just like that, the fantasy was shattered. San didn’t recognise this man from the caves.

“Wh-Who are you?” He croaked out weakly, standing from his chair and watching the peg leg man intently. Pirate or no pirate, San was ready to defend the house from him if need be.

The man frowned and closed the door behind him, adjusting his satchel with an unreadable look in his eye. “I was informed you’d be expecting me.”

If they were expecting him, San wasn’t aware of the fact. It had only been three days since the magistrate had been over for dinner, and San’s grandparents didn’t invite guests that frequently. 

“Who are you, exactly?” He asked, trying to be polite, catching himself with a late bow.

“Oh, hello Dr. Hong!” 

Right on cue, Grandfather rushed out from the back room and came to shake hands with the man, whose large bag made a lot more sense now. 

A doctor.

San didn’t like doctors.

“I hope San didn’t let you stand out in the rain,” Grandfather was saying with a pointed glance that told San he was in trouble if he had.

“No, not at all,” Dr. Hong laughed as he was helped out of his coat. “The lad seemed wary, but I can see why.”

The doctor tapped his peg leg on the rug and San blushed at being called out. “I’ll tell you how I got it if you ask,” the man continued with a bright smile. “But first, I have a patient to attend to!”

Grandfather and the doctor hurried upstairs and left San to his own devices, wondering why a doctor had been called and quieting his intense curiosity about the peg leg as it began to grow again.

He finished the masts by the time Dr. Hong returned to the shop. Sensing the boy’s nervousness, the doctor quickly reassured him his visit was only a routine checkup.

“Haneul is doing well, all things considered,” he told him softly. “Though, you must always protect her and keep her healthy.”

San agreed in a heartbeat, not too naïve to forget why he was here on Namhae in the first place. 

Everything was for Haneul.

“Ah, yes, the leg,” the guest remembered just before leaving. 

San perked up and scooted closer to hear the tale. 

“It was back in my Navy days, before I picked up medicine,” he explained. “I was a gunner on one of those cargo transport ships, the Royal Longtail, back when the East Colonies were just starting out and the trade routes were being established. We were attacked by pirates on the trip back and I, an inexperienced soldier, was shot in the leg and carted to the infirmary for the rest of the battle. I thought for a few harrowing moments that I was on the brink of death, but somehow I was saved.”

“How?” San nearly burst out, leaning on the edge of his seat.

Dr. Hong displayed his peg leg again. “The surgeon chopped off my leg just above the knee and managed to stop the bleeding. That miracle— the one that saved my life— convinced me to switch to the field of surgery. It’s quite new and underdeveloped but as you can see, real results are happening!”

San smiled at the satisfying conclusion of the story and bid the doctor farewell.

He still didn’t like them as a rule, but he could make an exception for this one.  

Haneul claimed to be doing fine when San brought the evening meal up to her bedroom where she lay staring at the ceiling, but her skin was pale and clammy and from the way she was breathing he could tell she was anxious about something.

“Do you... want me to sit with you?” He asked timidly, unsure how to help once he’d set the plate on her bedside table and closed the window to shut out the breeze.

“No, just leave me alone,” his half-sister muttered, rolling over to face the wall and leaving San hurt and confused.

Without another word, he crept away and into his own room, tucking himself into bed. He knew not to take it personally, that sometimes she just got into moods like this when she was discouraged about her illness.

But it made San worry that the doctor hadn’t in fact told him everything.

Haneul appeared at breakfast but refused to play with him when he returned from school, in the few hours San had before he would be herded back into the carpentry shop.

It was disappointing but San took it as an opportunity to look for new friends, something he hadn’t put much effort into since arriving.

There were a couple of teenage girls with a five year old brother playing further down the beach on the rocks, the opposite way as Mr. Shim’s house, so San strolled over and introduced himself.

“I haven’t seen you before,” he admitted shyly. “Do you usually play further up the beach?”

“Yes,” the older of the two explained. “But today we’ve come here because of the construction.”

“Construction?” San asked, confused.

The girl pointed past the rooftops to the harbour where the masts craned like birds flocking along the shoreline. “The naval garrison. They’re finally building it.”

“It’s loud!” The little boy whined, crying when a particularly large swell washed him face-down into the sand. 

San giggled and helped him up, seamlessly joining in their hunt for oysters while they told him what the garrison in town was going to look like.

He couldn’t help but glance over the hill and wonder what it would mean for Namhae. The more Navy presence, the less likely pirates would appear. And the less likely the two from the Dalhae caves would appear.

As San cracked open an oyster and, to his amazement, found a lucky pearl, he decided maybe it was for the better.

He’d had his adventure- enough adventure for a lifetime. 

...

A/N:  Guess who finished her semester!!!!! It was a rough one tbh but now I can write unhindered so expect more from me soon, but in the meantime don't forget to rb and comment <3

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[undermounts]

Empire of Light—Chapter 4: The Ties That Bind

AO3 | Table of Contents  | Ashes and Embers | Playlist

Fic Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Ash, the party travels across Morella in search of allies to defeat the Empire of Ash, once and for all.

Chapter Summary: Back in Flotilla, Imtura makes a risky move to secure her mother’s fleet.

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Imtura had expected a lot of things to happen when the Wraith docked at Flotilla last night. She had expected the Flotillan guards to swamp her ship—which they did—and fuss over her, flinging royal titles left and right as they knelt at her feet like a pack of obedient dogs—which they also did.

She did not, however, expect to find that her mother was gone. 

“What do you mean, ‘she’s not here?’” Imtura snarled, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Behind her, Kraglin and the rest of the crew set about unloading the Wraith’s cargo hold of old supplies and preparing the ship for a few days at port. No one knew how long they would be docked at Flotilla; Imtura supposed it depended on how stubborn her mother decided to be. 

The guards before her stiffened, taken aback by the viciousness of her tone. “Her Majesty is away on business—”

Imtura’s brows lowered. “What kind of business?”

“It is not for us to say, Your High—”

“Then what good are you?” she snapped before the man could eke out that wretched title. She glanced at Kraglin, who stood behind her, then Morrigan, who stood beside him, gazing at the floating city with unmasked wonder.  Imtura sighed, biting at her lip ring. “When will she be back?”

“We don’t know for certain. It could be as late as tomorrow evening,” one of the guards replied cautiously.

“Tomo—” Imtura cut herself off, reining in her anger. She closed her eyes shut and took a deep, steadying breath, reminding herself that these men were not responsible for her mother’s activities. No one was, aside from Ventra herself. When Imtura opened her eyes again, her temper had cooled somewhat, although her irritation remained. She shook her head, unable to stop her gaze from wandering to the eastern horizon. “I can’t wait that long.”

But left with no other options, she had waited.

After a restless sleep on the Wraith, Imtura dedicated the next morning to giving Morrigan a thorough tour of the sprawling maze of floating walkways and retired vessels of Flotilla, tossing out the names of her favorite ships as she went. The Black Spire, the Copper Thief, the Bloodkraken, the Maiden of the Sea… Imtura did not even realize she knew the names of all of these places until the words were spilling out of her mouth, her voice taking on a tinge of excitement every time she urged Morrigan to take notice of something she loved so dearly. 

There was her favorite tavern, the Sailor’s Lament, which had ale that tasted like stale seawater, but she’d be damned if it wasn’t one of the cheapest and strongest drinks in Flotilla. They passed the supply mill that always gave her a few extra bags of salt for meat, not because she was Princess Imtura, but Captain Tal Kaelen, and here in the reaches of Flotilla that knew Imtura better than Ventra—out there on the roiling waves of the Cartesian Sea—she was respected as such. 

Morrigan had gone red with laughter as Imtura pointed out an old, repurposed ship that was charmingly named Taldaro’s Tit, after the legendary orc Vinestra of Clan Taldaro, who was not only known for inventing the modern warship and her incredible prowess in battle, but also her equally incredible prowess in the bedroom. Taldaro’s Tit—yes, tit singular, not plural, and if anyone bothered to ask, the Flotillans swore up and down that it was specifically, “the right tit not the left”—was the best place to go dancing after downing a few drinks in the taverns.

“You must love this place,” Morrigan noted, as she reverently ran her fingertips along the hull of a bobbing ship as they passed, the feathers of her wings whispering in the briny breeze that swept through the city. “Flotilla, I mean.”

Imtura lifted a brow, glancing over her shoulder at Morrigan as she swaggered down the wooden walkways. It was a bit of a strange feeling, to finally have to look up at someone else as she spoke. Morrigan wasn’t built like Imtura, but she did have a good couple of inches on the orc captain, and Imtura knew that her strength wasn’t something to scoff at.

“You think so, birdie?” she questioned.

Morrigan nodded, gazing around. “The way you talk about Flotilla… It’s the same way my brother talks about the Aerie. With such fondness and familiarity.”

Imtura shrugged, shoving her hands into her pockets as she ambled along. “I’m fond of it, yeah. And I know the city like the back of my hand. It’s familiar.” 

“Well,” Morrigan said casually, glancing over at Imtura. “Maybe knowing something and loving something aren’t all that different.”

Imtura thought that over for a few moments, then bobbed her head. “Maybe you’ve got a point. I know all about the less than amazing parts of the city, and sometimes… Well, sometimes coming back here bums me out,” she confessed. “Feels a bit like swapping out the sea for some shackles.” She shook her head and shrugged. “But no matter what happens, it’ll always be home.”

Imtura mulled this conversation over as she sat at a rickety, ale-stained table in a cozy corner of the Sailor’s Lament, an untouched stein resting by her elbow. After wrapping up her tour with Morrigan, Imtura spent the next few hours whipping the Wraith into tip top shape. She swabbed the deck, replaced frayed sections of the rigging, and chipped barnacles off the hull—it was menial work, housekeeping chores that Imtura had not done since she herself was a swabbie. 

That must have been…  almost a decade ago, at least. Imtura could not wrap her head around the fact that it had been nearly ten years since that fateful evening, when she had ran away from Flotilla and stowed herself away on the infamous Sea King. But that was another story.

Repairing the Wraith was not stimulating work, but it was distracting, and Imtura was more than happy to take on the tasks, if only so she could have something to do while she waited for her dreaded mother to finally grace her with an appearance. 

But the crew—namely Kraglin, with his damned big heart—put their foot down when Imtura started polishing the Wraith’s hull. 

“What kind of pirate lets their captain do all of the work?” Kraglin had exclaimed jovially before stooping to grab Imtura’s legs while his twin brother, Marglin, grabbed her shoulders and began to haul her, kicking and spewing obscenities, off the ship. “You’ve got to have some fun, boss.” 

They dragged her, and consequently, Morrigan, into the Flotillan nightlife, down the bobbing, uneven avenues, all the way to the Sailor’s Lament, where her quartermaster and boatswain ordered a round of ale for the entire crew, including that yellow-bellied, doe-eyed, Parnassus cabin boy.

“This is coming out of your coin, not mine,” Imtura snarled as they set her down at a booth in the far corner of the tavern and gave her a tankard, much to their merry amusement.

“Sure thing, boss,” Marglin promised placatingly, ordering a platter of roasted octopus, fried fish heads, and seaweed skewers for the table. “Sure thing.”

With a mixture of warmth and amusement, Imtura watched her crewmates guzzle down their rounds from her spot in the secluded booth, ale sloshing over the edges of their tankards, and Morrigan sandwiched in between them. She was glad to see that her crew had quickly taken the winged woman in, treating her like one of their own, and Morrigan, to her credit, had no problem in keeping up with their revelry. 

By the Moon, Morrigan matched Iskra—the Wraith’s navigator—pint for pint without losing her wits, and that woman could drink most orcs under the table. Morrigan also didn’t even bat an eye at the strange array of food. Imtura reckoned that in Rysoth, she’d probably seen stranger.

Imtura wished she could join them, that she could laugh, and dance, and get so irrefutably drunk, she couldn't even remember her own damn name. But for the first time in her swashbuckling life, she did not drink.

She simply couldn’t. There was too much resting on this meeting with Ventra, and even though being a little drunk may have been the only hope she had of getting through said meeting with her sanity intact, it would do no good to anyone for her to show up boozed off her feet. Her mother was already disappointed in her enough.

Imtura watched Morrigan, the members of her crew, and the other Flotillans with a warm sort of contentment that wriggled its way into her anxious heart. She supposed that even if this whole meeting with Ventra went to complete and utter shit, there was one good thing that came out of her return to Flotilla: she got to bring her crew home once more, got to give them this small slice of normalcy before the world went arse up again.

Imtura reached into her pocket and pulled out a single gold doubloon. It was an old piece, dated from before the current Morellian currency was established, and was the first bit of gold Imtura had ever earned as a pirate, a gift from one great captain to another. Only Imtura hadn’t been a captain then. Just a runaway princess, trying to find where she belonged.

Imtura flipped the coin on her thumb and caught it, weighing it thoughtfully in her palm. On one side, it featured a familiar curving symbol. At the bottom, there was a curled arch that looked like a wave poised to crash. Above that was a seashell-like spiral, with two great horns sprouting from the sides. The symbol of her people. The other side featured a crude depiction of land and sea meeting beneath a sky full of stars.

Both faces were worn, both from age and years of Imtura rubbing her thumb against its surface whenever she felt the weight of leadership to be particularly heavy upon her shoulders. She set it on the old, wooden table and spun it on its edge, the lantern lights of the tavern flickering on its golden face.

If I ever find it… I’ll let you know. 

The coin spun and spun, then wobbled and wavered.

Then, you can bring our people home.

It was a foolish plan, a dreamer’s hope. Imtura knew that place was long gone, lost to fire, to the sea, and to time itself. To go looking for it… That was like chasing a child’s fairytale.

But… 

She had seen many impossible things, even before getting involved with this Shadow Realm business. She had seen so many wonders… What was one more?

Imtura caught the doubloon as it fell, swiping her thumb over the surface that featured the landscape. Then, she pocketed it and stood.

After leaving a quick word with Kraglin, Imtura ducked out of the Sailor’s Lament and made her way across the bobbing walkways of Flotilla, acknowledging the passing nods of respect she got as Captain and ignoring the deferential inclinations she received as Princess.

Officially, Flotilla had no temples or shrines dedicated to elements of nature the orcs worshipped: the Skies, the Winds, the Ocean, the Earth, the Sun, the Stars, and the Moon. Unlike the Faith of the Light and the Shared Pantheon, religion among the orcs was decentralized, piety left to the individual. But there were places in the floating city in which Imtura’s people liked to leave their offerings.

The Sea Nymph was one such place. 

Imtura crossed the gangway onto an old, barnacle-covered ship, reaching out to affectionately pat its hull as she boarded. On the bow of the ancient vessel, the name was painted in flowing script, the white paint faded with age. 

Barely an adolescent, Imtura had not been around when Ventra officially won over all of the orc fleets and established Flotilla as her capital. Instead, she had been hidden away on a ship with a few trusted orcs of the Minurva Clan, far away from all of the danger and political turmoil as her mother upended centuries of tradition. 

But Imtura heard that at the time, when Flotilla was little more than a small cluster of old ships and floating shacks, the Sea Nymph had already been stationed here, with a small collection of oddities already hidden inside. There were even rumors that the Sea Nymph was the first ship in Flotilla, the starting point around which the rest of the floating city had been constructed. 

Imtura did not know if those rumors were true, but the Sea Nymph was certainly weathered enough to fit the tale, and in the last decade, no one had ever claimed ownership of the vessel. As such, its wellbeing was left in the collective hands of the Flotillans, which was probably why it had fallen into a state of such disrepair.

As she crossed the deck of the orphaned vessel and descended the stairs that led into its belly, Imtura found herself wishing she could have seen the Sea Nymph in its heyday. Even with all of its rotted wood and the massive holes that gaped in the floors, there were still vestiges of its past glory—faded gold filigree on the bannister, waterlogged wool rugs, chipped carvings of mermaids laid into the creaking walls… 

Once, it must have been beautiful.

But now, Imtura supposed the ship had a different kind of beauty, and if she was being honest, she preferred it. Deep in the vessel’s cargo hold, Imtura was surrounded by the multitude of offerings orcs from all across the Cartesian Sea had left here for the elements. 

Windchimes and sparkling bits of glass hung from the ceiling, tinkling softly with the swaying motion of the ship and the lazy breeze that streamed through the cracks in the hull—offerings to the Skies and the Winds.

An old fur rug sat in the back corner, right in the path of the moonlight that streamed into the room through a hole in the side of the ship. On top of the rug sat precious gemstones and silver dimes, offerings laid out for the Moon and the Stars.

Imtura crossed to the ship’s stern and clambered up a ladder made of rope, hauling herself into what had once been the quarters of the Sea Nymph’s captain. The bedroom was in no better shape than the rest of the ship—the main entrance was obstructed by fallen beams and splintered wood, the velvet canopy of the bed was peppered with holes and coated in dust. But it still held an air of sanctity and whispers of grandeur.

The doors to the balcony had been left open by the last visitor, the tattered curtains flowing like strands of spider silk. Imtura crossed onto the balcony, which served as yet another shrine. Shells, broken bits of coral, and even small pieces of ships—the knob of a wheel, a shredded flag—were balanced atop the railing or laid on the ground. But the majority of the offerings made to the Ocean were dropped over the side of the balustrade, right into the sea itself.

Imtura reached into her pockets, fingers scrounging around for anything she could offer up to the elements. All she had was a bit of lint, a few ribbons to tie her off her braids, and that golden doubloon. For a moment, Imtura contemplated flipping the coin over the side of the ship, but sentimentality—and perhaps a bit of child-like hope—had her pocketing the gold piece once more. Instead, Imtura took her ribbons and tied them around the wooden posts that upheld the railing.

She watched them flutter in the wind for a moment, taking that as a sign nature had accepted her meager offering, and was about to turn when a voice behind her spoke up.

“The tavern wasn’t fun enough, for you?”

Imtura half-turned, bracing her hand against the wooden banister. A single sand dollar was nudged out of the way by her fingers and fell into the gentle waves with a plunk!

“Morrigan.” Imtura relaxed slightly, dropping the hand that had instinctively moved to hover over one of her axes. “Like sneaking up on me, do you?”

Morrigan shook her head. “I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. You were just…” she shrugged, her gaze roaming over Imtura’s head. “Deep into your own thoughts, I suppose. What is this place?” she asked, looking around the captain’s cabin with an unreadable expression. “It’s…”

Imtura half-expected her to say “old” or “a wreck” or perhaps “a rotting shithole” and frankly, she would have been right to do so. 

But instead, Morrigan said, “Incredible.”

Imtura let out a little breath, lips easing into a casual smile. “Isn’t it? This is where we orcs sometimes come to give up offerings to the elements. There’s no other place in Flotilla like it.”

“Give up offerings?” Morrigan asked, joining Imtura on the balcony. She tucked her wings in tight behind her, taking care to avoid knocking over any of the items strewn about. “Is that what you were doing just now? Making an offering?”

“Yeah,” Imtura shrugged, glancing down at the ribbons that danced in the breeze. “S’pose so.”

“I didn’t take you for the religious type,” Morrigan noted although there was no judgment or accusation in her voice. 

“I’m not, really,” Imtura admitted, tapping her fingers against the railing. “At least not in the way that the humans, elves, and your folk are. I didn’t even believe in the gods until recently.” She turned away, fixing her attention on the slivers of the dark horizon that were visible in between other ships and bobbing structures. “We orcs don’t have temples or priests or anything like that. These offerings… they’re just meant to give back to what made us. The elements. And maybe get a little good luck along the way.”

“Good luck?” Morrigan asked, lifting a coppery brow. In the moonlight, the freckles that splashed across her cheeks looked like little stars. She smiled slightly, nudging Imtura’s elbow with her own. “What does a fearsome orc captain like you need luck for?”

Imtura huffed through her nose. “Meet my mother and then you’ll understand.”

Morrigan raised her eyebrows at Imtura for a moment, then nodded. “Ah. So, it’s like that,” she mused aloud. “You think you’ll have difficulty convincing your mother to send the fleet to Morella’s aid.”

“Without question,” Imtura replied. “She harbors no love for human kings. And as far as she’s concerned, the elves can go right on ahead and isolate themselves into extinction.”

“Harsh,” Morrigan muttered and Imtura shrugged.

“Sometimes, I can’t blame her,” she confessed, nudging aside a few offerings to brace her forearms on the railing. “I don’t agree with her, but… There was a time when my people were thought of as the scum of Morella. By some people, we still are. That’s why you’ll never find an orc east of Port Parnassus. Not just because we can’t live without the sea, but because no town would ever have us.”

Imtura laughed, the sound more harsh and bitter than she had intended it to be. “‘We lay no roots,’” she stated, shaking her head. “That’s our motto. It’s what my people have lived by ever since we lost Kell D’hana. My ancestors promised to never settle, to always seek adventure, and to chase the thrill of conquest. But look at Flotilla. A bunch of stationary ships and floating buildings.”

“By your principles, Flotilla should not exist,” Morrigan said slowly, picking up on Imtura’s line of thought.

“Exactly.” Imtura nodded, sighing heavily. “If you ask me, the reason we’re so proud to be a seafaring race is because it goes against the one thing we want but can’t have.”

“And what’s that?”

“A home,” Imtura stated somberly. “Not just Flotilla, but a real home. A place to belong. One that won’t go up in flames if a single lantern drops.”

She’d never spoken about this before, to anyone. In fact, she rarely ever gave these thoughts any time, for just thinking them felt almost treasonous. Even when she reminisced with the party, she usually only told them about how much she missed sailing and her crew. They’d always understood. But maybe that was why it was easier to talk to Morrigan. Because Morrigan didn’t understand. She didn’t know the orcs like Morellians did, didn’t know what they were and weren’t supposed to be.

“It’s all material, though,” Imtura added, feeling a bit of warmth rush to her cheeks at her confession, the uncomfortable sense of vulnerability she now felt. “I know that as long as I’ve got my crew and my freedom, I’ll be alright. ‘Home is where the heart is’ and all that.”

“Are you trying to make me believe that or are you trying to convince yourself?”

Imtura let out a startled huff, surprised—and a little impressed—by Morrigan’s bluntness. “You’re nosy aren’t you?”

Morrigan shrugged, shaking her head. “You sound like you have some stuff you’ve got to work through. I’m just trying to help you figure out what that is.”

Imtura eyed the other woman cautiously. Morrigan was fun. Fun to flirt with, fun to banter with, and Imtura was certain that there was a great deal of other kinds of fun they could get up to together. But now, Imtura began to wonder if whatever flirtation they had between them could ever be more than just fun.

She could stand to find out.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” she confessed softly, tugging at the ends of her hair. “But I feel like there’s a part of me missing. Like I’m searching for a place I’ve never been, a place that I’ve never seen. But deep down, I know it and it knows me. Even though we have never met.”

“A home,” Morrigan said, her voice equally soft.

Imtura nodded, trying not to shy away from Morrigan’s green gaze. “Yeah.”

“Do you think a place like that exists out there?” Morrigan asked.

“I don’t know that, either,” Imtura admitted. She supposed that for an adventurer, there was a lot about the world she did not know. “Maybe. I once…” She shook her head, turning her gaze to stare into the depths of the sea below them, the dark waves reflecting the silver moonlight. “I once knew a woman who planned to find out. I’ll never know if she did.”

“Well, just so you know…” Morrigan said after a few moments had passed in silence. “Whether a place like that exists or not, if you ever decide to quit swashbuckling and settle down, the Aerie would gladly have you.”

Imtura smiled at that, leaning her weight on one elbow as she looked over at Morrigan. “Well, just so you know… You’ll always have a place at my hearth. And on my ship.” Then she winked and added, “In case you ever find a storm you can’t handle.”

Morrigan grinned, shifting a little closer. “I’ve been told that the captain’s quarters are the warmest place on the Wraith. Is that true?”

“I’d say so,” Imtura replied, pushing away from the railing to take a step toward Morrigan. She reached out, fingers brushing aside a coppery strand of Morrigan’s unbound hair from her cheek. It was so rare that the Avian woman wore it outside of a plait, and Imtura was possessed by the sudden urge to run her hands through it. “But you are welcome to find out for yourself any time.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” Morrigan whispered, her cheeks rounding against Imtura’s fingertips as she smiled and began to lean in.

“As you should,” Imtura murmured, sliding her hand from Morrigan’s cheek to the back of her neck as she closed her eyes. She felt Morrigan’s breath on her skin and thought faintly that she smelled like a storm, wild and reckless. Imtura wondered if she tasted like one, too.

“Captain?” 

Sunken hells.

Stifling a groan, Imtura turned away, prepared to bite the head off of whoever just interrupted them. But when she saw her quartermaster, Kraglin, standing in the captain’s quarters of the Sea Nymph, his face uncharacteristically sober, she stiffened. She knew why he had come.

Kraglin nodded, catching the look of understanding that crossed Imtura’s face.

“It’s time.”

Read the rest of the chapter on AO3!

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#imtura tal kaelen #blades of light and shadow #bolas #blades #imtura tal kaelen x oc #choices #pixelberry #playchoices #aerin valleros