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honestsycrets · 10 months

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before anyone else I: the venerable [admiral!miguel o'hara x princess!reader]

❛ pairing | admiral!miguel o'hara x princess!reader

❛ type | one-shot, sfw (minor past suggestive themes)

❛ summary | once upon a time, miguel loved a princess. upon learning about her engagement to his father, King Stone, he's back with a plan in hand.

❛ tags | forced marriage, arranged marriage, historical period not defined, royal!au, admiral!miguel, princess!reader, mention of character death, elements of implied treason and betrayal, some angst, some fluff, annoyed miguel, lyla makes trouble, self edited, f!reader, persuasion inspired, a kiss, innocent!reader, Spanish is not translated, a kiss.

❛ sy's notes | no requests were fulfilled; filled to meet this poll.

An imperial boat docks. It waves in the water a little off-kilter, pulling to the right in all its glorious majesty. On the dock itself, the head of ground forces stood dressed in full regalia, all navy blue and white, the gold buttons glistening in the fresh morning light. Jess expected this day would one day come. The seamen shouted among one another on the ship until at last the crew outstretched a thick oak plank. Boots bounded down the strong wooden ramp leading from an imperial ship to the dock. The awaiting crowd was rough and rowdy, casting bellowing screams at the admiral and his crew.

“There he is!” Jess boomed, clapping her umber hands together.

They were freckled, with the frequency of her exposure to the sun. Today, her skin was shielded by a heavy coat. She abandoned the thing over her chair as she wrote letters, recommendations, and battle orders. But she preferred it when her poet shirt was thrown open, teaching the men and women in her charge.

Admiral Miguel O’Hara led the charge, passing by the lackeys throwing down trade goods from the belly of the boat. Compared to Jess, his clothing was rough, punctuated by his time at the sea. What use was there for a thick coat with the spray of sea spray daily? No, he stood in dark brown breeches and a thrown open poet-shirt, sodden with sea water, likely from dealing with whatever injury brought his ship back to this usually forgotten port.

He was glad to be back on the Spanish shore, if only it weren’t this shore and the many stairs he would have to brave to get to the castle while the engineers worked on the Venerable. Miguel loosened the sweat from his coarse locks, his shoulders bunched and ready for another fight. He came to a stop in front of Jess, exhaling deep, rage-filled breaths. Jess shifted back on her boot heel, a grimace on her countenance.

“That’s a pretty good hole. She’s taking on water quick. You hit something, Miguel?”

“Me? No, I don’t hit rocks.” Miguel snorted, casting a look over his shoulder to the woman that stood at his side. Lyla’s eyes averted, not quite saying anything and saying everything at the same time. Lyla obscured herself behind her thick honey-brown bob. “Someone was distracted with the king’s cask of Carribean rum.”

“Lyla?” Jess came up behind her, grasping her shoulders for emphasis. “No. Our Lyla couldn’t’ve done that number.”

“It was once! One in eight years.”

“Those... those changes you wrote me about. They have you on edge, paranoid. Let’s have a drink with the imperial guard. They have missed you.”

Miguel threw a hiss back at the two as he stormed up the stairs, bundling buttons of his dirty poet shirt to obscure the sight of his dark chest from onlookers, namely the sex-deprived women and men of the capital whose hungry eyes ogled his crew. He didn’t need a loon bothering him right now, not here, he might punch them into a permanent, instantaneous sleep.

“Oh, come, Miguel, these things happen. Look how sorry she is.” She says as if he cares. Jess rushed to catch up with him, the beads on the ends of her braids snatching and clicking. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, his head heavy. He doesn’t have time for this.

“What she meant to do is as much irrelevant as it was irresponsible. If you’ll excuse me, Jess, I now have to prepare a new ship to set sail.”

“The king wants to see you. It’s about her,” she shouted. Miguel’s steps came to all but a grinding halt, his finger fingers flexing into a tight fist. His mouth was dry, and it wasn’t due to a lack of hydration but the mention of your name on Jess’s lips. She brought her hands to her hips, her hands on the golden embroidered loops. His face sagged, all irritation melding into something different, inscrutable. He threw her a look.

“Fine.”

But first-- he had to get this sea stank off of his skin.

“Admiral O’Hara! There is just the man I have been looking for. Come, come, let me pour you tea. No? No tea? Of course not, it seems I don’t remember the boy I used to know. You’re a man now. And one of decisive action! Coffee, yes? You are better suited to black coffee. Am I correct?”

Everyone thinks he is thirsty in this blasted place.

He didn’t belong here. He was, as he preferred to be, stuck at sea. The unforgiving sea required his attention lest his men befall a terrible end. He could handle that burden. He stood below a great sigil of a sea dragon whirling to chew its tail. Its hands secured a great many orbs in its sharp, jeweled talons. His eye tracked across the inside of the crest, turning over the word hopelessly on his tongue.

“Rum,” he answered caustically, his eye dropping from the great sigil before him to the jeweled sapphire and emeralds that were embedded in the floor. Between rows of sentinel were porcelain statues, their hands wrapped around blunt and aged swords, their fingers almost palpable on the artifacts that remained from times of old. The deep navy blue curtains and tapestries are detailed in ineffectual teal. He never cared for the other assortment of pots and jars that were so-called mythical artifacts and rolls of paper that would soon house the king’s poorly-made royal decrees.

“Aha! A good seaman and his alcohol,” the king minced his laughter. The noise aggravated him, the memory of the man’s words buzzing in the back of his head. Now he kissed up to him. How he’d fallen. He blinked up to the royal crest, then down to the aged king. His long, grey hair at the middle of his back reflected his many losses. Miguel turned his eyes back down to the king, eyes crinkling at the corners, taking a glimpse of him. His tone slipped. “It makes the time pass more tolerably, does it not?”

“It does.”

He pops open a glass bottle of rum, pouring it into a cup encrusted with more fine jewels. Miguel doesn’t drink.

"I suppose you want me to get to the point.”

That would be a nice change, yes. His eyes held modest deference, his heavy dark brown boots pacing toward a hearth in the middle of the king’s study. Wisps of vibrant blue fire threw embers into the air. He finds himself staring at a stained glass effigy of your mother. A woman who undoubtedly would have been ashamed of the husband that stood before him now.

“You recall my daughter,” How could he not? He released a small grunt, an acknowledgment of the king’s words. Mindful of his reaction, Miguel turned his hands over the hot air, plumes of warmth kissing his sun-worn cheeks. As the king spoke, the flickering flames warmed the slight ring on his thick fingers. “I’ve arranged her marriage to Lord Stone. An alliance of sorts.”

Miguel’s eyes go wide, aghast, staring into the blank flames. He grits his teeth together, the thin blade of his patience whittling down with every word from the king. He kills his face of the horrified, fleeting emotions that dappled his skin like obvious spots. He might have snapped a look at the king before his eyes calmed, trained to maintain the illusion of composure.

“How unfortunate.”

“King Stone?” around the corner, his second-in-command squeaked. He should have left her outside. Miguel brought his hand to cup his slight forehead, throwing her a warning look. “That old coot is still--”

“Lyla.”

“Yes, he is quite old, isn’t he? I was surprised when he asked for her hand in marriage, truly,” the king said tightly, born in annoyance. He has gone ashy, eyes desolate as he recounts the death of the prince, or perhaps his own. “I would have preferred an engagement to his son. I trust you heard about his assassination. It was a great surprise. A tragedy, indeed.”

“We have heard many things about it. I am surprised that you would agree to such an alliance after what he's done.”

It was impossible not to hear rumors in the ports he sailed through. Miguel did not only hold to royal ports but those that held slimy crowds of pirates and prostitutes. If he did not, he would never have the truth behind the many rumors that swirled through the air. Women in richer towns had time to spread rumors. Those suffering from poverty had no time for them. Their lives were ones of perpetual struggle. What use had they for the death of stupid princes?

“Feelings change.”

Did they really--

“Miguel. Truly, I understand your apprehension. But unless you have the magic to raise my dead sons from the grave, I have no choice.” The king sighed, beating his old knuckles on the game board. He’d sacrifice another child for his own safety-- the illusion of it. Coward. “I must know if I can I trust you with her transport.”

“She won’t last.” Miguel stared at him, breathing the words out, his frown darkening the rest of his features. “She is a balm to any battle-worn king, but Stone is not just old. He is dangerous. If you send her there, you will send her to her death.”

“His wives are well cared for,” your father argued mildly because it was not him who would face the rest of a lifetime with Stone. He brought a fist to his mouth and bit down upon it, a vestige of the man he used to be. “Perhaps your feelings for her cloud your judgement.”

“I can separate my feelings from my professional judgements, mi rey.”

“Yes. I suppose you can, admiral. How long has it been since you bore the responsibility of being the Head of Guards? Seven years?”

“Eight,” Miguel cropped, his hand shifting to the top of his pommel. “It has been eight years since I left the crown city.”

“Head of ground forces regulates my guard now. I find them lacking,” he grabbed Miguel’s cup of undrunk rum and threw it back, his tongue snapping against the roof of his tongue. He felt for the sentinel of guards in the room. “My soldiers, that is. If they had been stronger, perhaps my sons would still be alive.”

Be it like him to find fault in everyone but his own battle choices.

“But I am ever humbled by your selfless service, mi hijo,” he spoke mildly, “Please know it isn’t a decision I make lightly. I know my daughter. She would feel more secure if you were the one to take her to Stone.”

They were nice words from a soon-to-be puppet king. Miguel turned his gaze onward, locating Lyla by his side. Her small, scarred hands warmed themselves over the ancient blue flame. A surge of heat turned over in his stomach, punctured by a fear he hadn’t felt in a while. He steadied his voice.

“I would not be so certain.” Miguel wrinkled his forehead, throwing a look that looked almost off-kilter. After this many years, would it be easy to face you again? No, he decided. Not for this purpose. “Soft women are fickle to easy words.”

What of me?

Not you, Lyla. You’re not soft.

“If you do not want to, I can send her by way of Jess,” a long sigh slipped off the king’s lips. Then quiet, only broken by a clatter and Lyla’s frantic attempt to replace game pieces into their proper position. Miguel swayed to where she was, grabbing the head of a miniature oak knight and popping it into the proper position.

“For her sake, I will deliver her.”

Miguel said nothing more. He failed to wait for the king to dismiss him, perhaps out of confidence in their relationship, that this was not something he had to tread lightly around. Lyla rushed by his side, the wordless guards drawing the heavy doors open to the wide stone hallway before them.

“You cannot take her there,” Lyla spoke with a rigidity that Miguel admired, mindful of the volume of her words, only a whisper. “Your father is--”

“Yes, Lyla, I know very well.”

“Then what next?”

At the end of the hall, Miguel rushed down the steps, out of the king’s chambers, and into lush, almost stabilizing grass. Free of the constricting walls that he would have once called home, Miguel took in the fresh air, his hands behind his neck. To take you there meant certain death. To not take you there, well, he regarded both just as poorly. The fat roses bobbed on their pointy stems. Miguel expects to see you there, with your chambermaids, eating fruits on an Arab blanket.

“We take Jess up on her offer. She’ll be expecting me.”

“Miguel, the intent in horseback riding is that your ride the horse.”

“You know, on top,” Lyla jumps onto Jess’s sentence. “He hasn’t been on top of anything in years--”

“And break its back?” Miguel held the reins in his thick fist. The horse, a chunky mocha and white painted thing was a profit from his voyages overseas. Not only was it subjected to awful sea travel, but now to have a man of muscle on its back? With his newfound speed, it was a risk he did not need to take. “No. I have two feet. I can walk.”

Miguel was many things, but he wasn’t a monster. Or so he liked to think.

“I think you’re quite sweet, Admiral O'Hara.” Jess’s own guard, Gwen, spoke. She was a willowy thing, barely a sprout of a woman with a good heart. He could tell. Miguel looked down, opting for silence as he crunched down full blades of grass under his foot.

“Miguel doesn’t like compliments,” Lyla said.

He also didn’t like long, relaxing walks in the valley. Jess proposed something like drinking in her office. It would have been glorious-- but Lyla, whose recent binge nearly scuttled his ship, chose a good ol’fashioned horseback ride. Something that didn’t remind her of sitting on the patchwork doll that was the Venerable.

“The princess would marry someone she does not know?”

Dread filled Miguel’s stomach at the words, the truth in them half-cocked and wrong. He found no words on his tongue that could fit the weight of bitterness that he felt about the arranged marriage. Everyone knew, everyone but Gwen. She was a young thing.

“It’s not her choice,” Lyla spoke in your defense. “It’s her father’s.”

“Forced marriages are a thing of the past. They are not right. Has the princess ever even met Lord Stone?” Gwen asked.

In less than a week’s time, following the festival of roses, they would sail eastward. Or, so said the sailing plans he laid out for Jess. Who, for her part, looked away. Lyla and he exchanged a glance of mutual understanding. That was what he liked to call a sign.

“No, before their deaths, her brothers never would have allowed her travel to Alche. This whole alliance is a sham. We’re expected to deliver the princess in some false faith that he keeps this so-called alliance. He will not. I cannot decide if the king truly believes in this alliance or if he is hopeful he will remain as a ruler. In either case, it is foolish. Stone would murder his own legitimate heir and for what?”

Except they aren’t his words. Those words flowed freely from Jess’s lips.

“The king will fall.”

“Miguel. Those are treasonous—“

“Treasonous? He is incapable of governing.”

“The council helps him,” Jess says, but the words come out slanted. She convinces herself as much of the truth as him. Gwen’s lips close, looking down to the sword at her side, then back to Jess’s troubled eyes. Miguel had her where he wanted her. Where she wanted to be-- abandoning this foolish faith in a man who long since gave up hope on a strong, independent nation.

“A counsel of plants. Five of his sons have fallen. If this keeps up, we will fall next.”

Jess felt the words running bone-deep.

“You have a plan.”

He always did.

The deep night sky was a sea of twinkling stars. Oil lamps illuminated the solitary garden. Miguel fit his hands in balls on his hips, eyes flickering from the blades of grass to the long stems of lilies. He breathed softly, drawing in breaths that should have been relaxing, but morphed into something awful, some unfiltered fear of the failure of his plans.

“These are her gardens, aren’t they?”

“They are,” Miguel answered. “If nothing has changed, she cares for them herself and harvests them with the peasants. She’ll be here, tomorrow, for her last harvest as a princess.”

On one hand, overturning the king and his council could go seamlessly. He had Jess, that much was for certain. Gwen, who seemed to go with her bidding, held a good heart about the ethics of arranged marriage. She turned her nose up at it, the suggestion that you would be forced into a marriage with an old, cruel king. Lyla, his Lyla, held no apprehension to the plan. She treated him with deference, seeking only his happiness as his best friend.

Would this-- being king-- make him happy?

Miguel looked down. Soft pink roses, ripe and ready for the rose-picking festival. Your last, if things went to your father’s plan. He hadn’t thought about it: about how you might feel in the push for another engagement. Not one to an aged, cruel man-- but… he never thought to find you, to ask. He wasn’t sure he could stomach the rejection and yet still force you into a marriage with him.

It wasn’t that he wanted to-- but had to.

Miguel turned his hand into the suit vest across his chest, removing a bit of aged parchment with a broken wax seal. He turned his finger over the old ink. In every interaction I face, I long to spot you, hidden among the roses, the lilies, to be one of the heads of delighted harvesters. But you are not here. You are never here. I fear you never may be.

“Miggy,” Lyla said. “Miggy look.”

Miguel lifted his head to look at Lyla. She wasn’t looking at him, peering across the garden, somewhere Miguel couldn’t see from where he stood. He lifted his dark brown boots, stomping around the corner. His sharp red eyes were wide in shock, bags of exhaustion lifted by your sight. Had it-- really been eight years?

Panic works in tandem with longing. He could run for Jess’s chambers, crumple there like the very coward that ran this fastly crumbling kingdom. Face you another day. He couldn’t help but indulge himself in the gentle lilt of your voice, the way you rolled the ‘r’ on his last name, even though it was very much not an ‘r’ to be rolled.

“Is that you, Miguel O’Hara? ¿De verdad?”

No, Miguel thought. Not yet.

His mind was overwrought, more stimulation than he had in months of battling the sea. He could climb ropes, fix sails, fight pirates, throw out orders, and care for the ports. No issue. None. But as you stood there, looking finer than any treasure he ripped from the hands of the most experienced of pirates, he found himself unable to locate his practiced words.

You were meant to be his. To be by his side. Of that much, he was certain. Miguel folded the letter in his hand and tucked it back into his dark coat, exploring your gown. A light, white off-the-shoulder dress, embroidered in teal and ombre details, with the most beautiful seafoam bowed sash. You pulled at the rebozo over your long dripping sleeves, the jewels of your hairpieces tinking together as you moved, pulling up your skirts saucily over your ankle.

“Is it not the admiral?” your handmaiden whispered.

“I did not know he was back,” said the other.

“Please excuse us, girls. Lady Lyla, I would prefer a private audience with the admiral. If you would,”

“Of course! Of course, come, hurry up, you're slow--” Lyla did not need to be told twice. She made herself scarce, grabbing the mid-backs of the girls, forcing them up the steps and out of sight. Miguel dipped down to take a lantern that one of the girls had forgotten.

“Hola, mi amor,”

Miguel turned around, offering you his forearm. Your jeweled eyes fell on it. You took his broad arm with one hand, minding the train of your dress in the other. The pads of your fingers shifted along the muscle. It took a moment for him to register your curious touch. The increase in his muscle mass, particularly as of late, must have been jarring. His brows knit together, his eyes crinkling around the edges in a way that reflected his age by sea. You moved through your gardens. Miguel, your ever-patient servant, followed your lead.

At night time, your garden was impossibly beautiful. It was lined by bushels of healthy, salt-tolerant roses, cloaked in the secret of darkness. Miguel remembered the small pond as if it were yesterday, the secret place of his youth. Small bugs sang in the heaviness of your mutual silence, breaking with the pop of your lips.

“I saw you had a letter in your hands. From a woman, perhaps?”

He lifted his hand, offering the lack of a marriage band. No wife, not even a love on a distant shore. The memory of your kisses, your bodies strewn in bed, overrode any ability for him to find another woman. What happened to your eyes-- you began, reaching to touch him. He turned his face away. You were the first to notice. Or, perhaps, just unbothered by tethers of propriety.

“You are still unmarried? Then why did you never answer my letters?”

“What would you have me say, princesa?” Miguel’s words came at last. He hadn’t meant them to come out the way they did. A long, painful lament on his tongue, marked with barbs. “You chose your family over my proposal. Your rejection was quite clear.”

“You, above everyone else, should know it was not an easy choice. I could not have told them the truth.” You sat down on your stone bench, fixing your skirts. “You would have hung.”

“Yes... well. How funny is it that they are now dead,” he bit out. “While I stand here alive.”

Your eyes were bright, watery, bits of tears slipping down from the corners of your eyes, over pink blush at your cheeks. Shit, he hadn't meant to say that. A slow breath leaked from his mouth. You stood up, brushing the tears away with the flowing sleeves. It hurt to see your pain well to the surface.

“Miggy, I know you hate them, but please don’t talk ill of the dead. They did what they thought was best for our nation and nothing more.”

Right-- to secure the possibility of an alliance through an arranged marriage, how charitable of them. You stood before a bushel of roses, turning your eyes over the fat blooms as an excuse not to look at him. You poisoned your mind with the lies of your father and brothers. He turned you, lip trembling.

“What of what was best for you?” His hand found your cheek, rolling away the tears that spilled openly before those in the garden. The sentinel who watched, the flowers that grew in peace. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing at the comforting warmth that welled up in your chest. He was here, again. “That has always been the only thing that I am concerned with.”

“I know. My brothers couldn’t understand. They only understood politics.”

“What of your father? He knows how I feel.” Miguel said. The words were smooth and soft, gentle like the sill waters of your pond. “He may not know that I was your first--”

“Miggy,”

“Your virginity belongs to me. Stone cannot take it,” he punctuates the words. They seem to draw some ancient feelings loose, drawing back with your hand to your chest, cooling the heat that bubbled in your chest at the mere memory. His voice milded out, a smile warring at the corners of his lips. Eight years, and he knew you thought of that very warm summer’s night on the pavilion. "But your father would still allow you to live in misery."

You're not thinking of your father when Miguel speaks of such silly, youthful things. It's hurled into the past.

“You remember.” The tone in his voice pulled at a question, but he asked none. You tugged on your rebozo and turned away from Miguel once more, embarrassed. He couldn’t resist. His hands cupped your slight shoulders, rippled with goosebumps, though it was not a cold night out. His lips worked on your ears, kissing the delicate earrings that dripped from your earlobes. “The last day of the rose harvest.”

“Miggy, not here.”

“Your guards fell ill for their night shift. I took their place. You bathed in petals and perfumed your skin that night. I dare say, on purpose. You were so good for me.”

The memory must have made you clench, your blood runs warm, leaning into the soft kiss he set behind your ear, the scrape of his fang. Oh, stars, you cried.

“We should stop, my father--”

“Knows what love we have. Even if he is a spineless coward.”

“Have? Miggy?”

He held his chin level, swaying where he stood, seeking some acknowledgment that your feelings had not changed. For what seemed like the hundredth time that night, you faced him. In place of a response, silence was the best course of action. A grim smile worked on his face, his head pounding with the lack of alcohol, that little friend of his that had made these years pass so easily. You tugged him forward.

“You are mine?” you ask.

“I am yours. I am loyal to you before anyone else.”

To his surprise, you held out your hand, your fingers twiddling at him.

“Then prove your loyalty to me.” You hummed. “Give me that letter. I want it.”

“You can’t trust me, can you?” He sighed, slipping his hand into his coat pocket. Finally pulling it free, he unraveled it. Its crispy, flaked edges slipped from your fingertips. The royal seal glimmered in your eyes, wrought in sudden delight at your own handwriting.

“This is mine. And you’ve kept it so close to your heart this whole time? Oh, Miggy,”

“Don’t start,” Miguel took a step away, rubbing the frustration out of his forehead. Blood rushed to Miggy’s dark face. He should be so lucky that it was night, that the moon was not full, and that you would not weaponize it. You plucked up your skirts, daring a twirl, jewelry jingling, skirts whirling. His lips pulled in a smile at your delight, a party all on your own. Congratulations on your victory, he wanted to say, as if it hadn't resulted in years of endless longing.

“I knew it.”

“You did not,” Miguel bit out, kicking out his feet over the inky blades of glass. “You interrogated me regarding its source. Another woman when I have a princess? How asinine.”

“Oh, Miggy. If you write me a letter, just one,” you settled it back in his coat jacket. “I can be at peace with this marriage. I’ll close my eyes and think of you.”

His mind reeled at your words. He shot you a wan look, which you returned with a confused flicker of your long lashes, wondering what you said that was so wrong. Miguel looked toward the armed guards, men who-- in the day, he served with. He trusts them in a way that is unique to service under the crown-- to you.

“What sort of man do you take me for?” he bit out, his tone tapering dangerously low. “To think I would allow you to marry that man?”

“What choice do I--”

“You listen to your father regarding the oddest things. You would marry an archaic sack of shit but not the love of your life.”

“Oh,” breath punched from your chest, exhaled in a shaky breath. Your hand came to your chest, twiddling the jewelry at your chest. Miguel turned his head back to face yours, his scarlet eyes trained on yours. “I wasn’t aware of your offer.”

He couldn’t help it. Not anymore. The time at sea, eight years of suppressed pleasure through memories of your warmth, and the letters you sent all culminated in overcoming longing. He dipped down, his lips sliding against yours. He swept his tongue past your lips, drawing you closer with a stabilizing hand behind your back. He was many things, but never a coward, savoring the tender taste of fig and honey and you on your lips. You were as sweet as he remembered. His lips parted, words barely a puff.

“I don't believe I ever retracted it, Princesa.”

Yes, you say delightfully. He wonders if you'll still say yes after you learn of what he's done. He doesn't always like the decisions he has to make-- but they're for your good. One day, perhaps, you'll understand.

#miguel ohara oneshot #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara oneshot #miguel ohara x reader #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #atsv imagines #atsv au #atsv imagine #atsv x reader #atsv miguel imagine #atsv x you #atsv angst #miguel o'hara angst #royalty au

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dandelion-blues · 1 month

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Hold Fast, Captain.

A Percy Jackson and Pirates of the Carribean adventure!

The Prince of the Sea.

Oh! the dead dare to dream.

The cursed sought to claim,

If only the red blood would remain.

You dare touch the Storm’s chosen,

The one crowned by black roses.

Yo ho! A pirate may lust,

But will never earn his trust.

So pretty, the pearl of the sea,

Singing the siren shanties.

Drown in the depths of his eyes.

Oh! He'll be your demise.

Yo ho! Dancing till dawn,

The Hero won’t be treated as a pawn.

Oh! Lavish him in your riches,

To evade swimming with the fishes.

~~~

Many a pirate felt the calling of the sea in their very blood. They felt the sea salt air thicken as the waves crashed against their wooden vessels. The clear sky seared into their being.

Oh, it was the calm before the storm, they knew. Something was coming. For the Goddess of the Seas called her fish back, leaving the pirates blessed by her domain without their meals. It was her way to protect all those of the sea and send a message to thee. Only a fool would choose to ignore it, lest they wished for their death.

Their dreams filled with a young man, his face never clearly seen, but had the eyes not of a man but of the sea. Oh, blessed one of the seas.

“The Prince is coming,” the Goddess whispered in their dreams, to all those traveling on her waters. Her voice like the very tides. Ebbing and flowing in a soft crescendo. But in her voice held power, a power that spoke of a Goddess with many depths. A low symphony to her hidden trenches, deep and dangerous underneath the crystalline voice of her shallow shores.

Oh, Goddess of the Mirror World. Calypso, the Goddess of summer tides, the sea’s storm and might, the rescuer of the souls lost at sea, and the final judge of all those who dare journey her seas! Don’t mistake her for the daughter of Atlas, for she is more powerful than thee. She is this world’s Goddess of the Seas!

~~~

Dark eyes open. He swallows deeply, his voice but a whisper amongst the ship’s rocking waves, “The Prince is coming.”

Jack Sparrow, captain of the Black Pearl, looks to the horizon. Somehow, he knows he's in for something grand once again. He’ll survive this trial, this test, from the Goddess of the Seas. He knows he can.

For now, though, he’ll be drinking his weight in rum to forget the coming storm.

Notes:

Here's a little snippet of this idea that I've had on the backburner for a while now, but I finally decided to write.

I honestly really love this! And there really needs to be more Percy Jackson and Pirates of the Carribean crossovers!

Also, I am fully headcannoning Captain Jack Sparrow as Aroallo!

"...my first and only love is the sea." ~Jack Sparrow.

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luciadiosa · 1 year

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"I did it out of honor"

Pirates of the carribean - Request

for the lovely @umgatochamadopercyval

With i share my birthday today at the 27. december. Capicorns!

Happy birthday to you! I hope you have a nice birthday today with your loved once. Be healthy and may your wishes come true.

Enjoy the little short story with James Norrington.

"Y/N!" she shouted. Your beloved sister. A graceful but strong woman and the real daughter of Gavenor Swann. Elizabeth.

You always fight since you were little. The family adopted you after you los your family. Elizabeth nearly begged her father. Now you watched her with Will and interrupted a moment of peace. A kiss between those too.

"Don't worry" a voice whispered. "I take care of you. Noone will harm you and she loves you either way." You turned around. Sparrow.

"What?"

"You fear you lost her. You don't want to be alone. Aftee you lost your home, your father."

Jack took some steps. "As long Beckett has any use for him."

"Our father lives!" you insisted.

The pirate's words echo in your head. If there were a handful of decent pirates, and if Jack is one of them, then it doesn't matter. Because aboard these pirates, you're just a prisoner and you didn't think you will see Jack Sparrow again.

"Darling, without me you would still be on board. I saved you. No Navy, no Will Turner, nor your sister or that bloody Norrington. So you owe me, aye?."

You look at Jack. He was right. It was he who saved her. He pushed open the door, stood over you and freed you. So you own him at least respect and gratitude. You don't admit it but he grew into your heart. He isn't that bad. A filthy pirate yes but no villian.

And yet you are now standing between the men who conquered your heart. One quickly and with ease. You have always admired the other. But James had eyes for your sister. So she was the older one and the one who represented her family. You're just adopted.

You turn to Jack. Freedom with him was exciting and enticing. He showed you more respect in some situations than a Nobelman would. you smile at him Jack leans back slightly and opens his arms. He grinned and pulled up a corner of his mouth. With him you have someone who accepts you as you are.

"A choice has been made! A choice against true love." You turn around sharply when you hear James moan. Davy grabbed him. The captain of the dutchman is happy. He was right when he said you are a monster of the sea a daughter of Calipso and don't deserve to be loved.

The admiral's eyes meet yours. Full of sadness and disappointment that destroyed the rest of longing. "Let him go." you demand "I told you the loser knows the sea." With a shove, James falls over the rail. "No!" you cheer and Davy laughs. "We have to go. THIS is our chance! He won't survive!" Jack whispers, grabbing your sleeve.

You desperately try to break away from Jack's grip. "Y/N!" your name out of his mouth lets you see him. "Remember I rescued you. Remember all the nights of fun and rum. Of our connection." But then he understood and loosens his fingers from you.

A second full of deep understanding before you heave yourself over the railing with quick steps and jump towards the ice-cold water. The sea embraces you like a piece of motherland that calls back a prodigal daughter.

Once the transformation is complete, you could swim faster against the current and grab James by the wrist. He has already closed his eyes when he feels your hands and the pull up. Stunned by the cold and the weight of soaked clothing, he could barely move.

"I'm so sorry. Please hold on!" you call out to him as soon as he was up. Time stopped for a moment. Stopped the sea and you float. With the last of his strength, James lifts his hand and puts it on your cheek. He looks into your [your eye colour] eyes. His blue lips form your name and a smile. At least he sees you in his last hour. Before he loses consciousness, you give him a kiss on his cold lips. Trembling with anger, you clutch his clothes even more. It must not end.

Breaking waves. The constant murmur was only drowned out by the birds migrating across the blue sky.

The sun blinds you as a cough brings you back to reality.

You pull yourself up and see him. The admiral of your heart. James Norington. His actual hair already air dried. When he calmed down, your eyes meet.

His then wandered over your naked body and he realized what was happening.

Even before he asked, he took off his uniform coat and covered you with it. It was wet but served to hide you from view.

"Did I deceive you?" he begins. "Have you...are you...a mermaid?"

Silence. This silence confirms it to him. He looks at the sea and touches his forehead.

"You could have ripped me to pieces if the tales are to be believed. But you didn't." he mentions.

"James.." You lean in and adjust his head with your hand on his chin so he's looking at you. Your hand slips to his cheek.

"I don't kill anyone I have feelings for."

"Feelings?" - "Deep as the sea"

An encouraging smile from you preceded the kiss. But instead of you, James puts both hands on your cheeks and pulls your head into a kiss. In which his lips meet yours.

You kiss back passionately until you wrap your arms around his wet body and let yourself fall back onto the sand with him.

After minutes of intimacy, you now lie there, turned to each other, arm in arm. You can feel his breath through your nose on your forehead.

"I always thought you adored my sister Lizzie." you mumble

"I did it out of honor. I wasn't allowed to follow my heart either. She was a better match in the eyes of society. But when you were with her, I had to force myself not to keep my eyes on the face. Because you I wanted more" James kisses you on the forehead and you smile.

"But things have changed... Unlike her, you didn't join a pirate voluntarily."

"But me and Jack..."

"I ignore it. As much as it hurts... my love for you is stronger and I know we'll find a way."

Silently you snuggle up to his body, whose clothes are slowly drying and warming up in the sun. After all this time you could be with him. That he reciprocated your feelings made your heart leap for joy.

#james norrington #fanfiction #pirates of the carribean #pirates of the carribean: at worlds end #pirates of the caribean fanfiction #james norrington x reader #jack sparrow #cpt jack sparrow #mermaid fanfiction #request #for your birthday #happy birthday #james norrington x oc

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pennylanefics · 1 year

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The Librarian - Jake Kiszka | Chapter 6

a/n: i'm not sorry for the events of this chapter...also a special extra thanks to both @maud-gone and @streamingcolors-gvf for helping me with this chapter, jas for the overall idea, and sam, for helping me smooth it out some :)

word count: ~3.1k

The day for filming has finally arrived. It was an early Thursday morning when you arrived at Jake and Josh’s house at around eight, where their mother was nice enough to make breakfast for everyone. That’s also when you met Sam and Danny, who both took a liking to you instantly.

“Hey, sit by me,” Danny motions for you to take the seat next to him at the dining room table. Sam was on the opposite side of him, with a seat open.

“No, sit by me,” Sam says, patting the seat. Josh ends up sitting beside Danny, and Warren, Josh’s film friend who was helping out with everything, sits at the head of the table next to Sam and Danny. Jake takes the other seat at the head of the table, leaving you to sit with Sam on your left side, and Jake on your right.

“Ha!” Sam shouts at Danny mockingly, who just rolls his eyes and begins eating. Jake groans at their actions, and you glance over at him.

“This is an every day occurrence. They constantly fight and bicker over small things,” he tells you.

“We’re best friends, of course we’re going to do that,” Sam says with mouthful of food. You hold your laugh in and dig into your food.

Small talk ensues, and across from you, you notice that Josh can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you. You try to not look, but it’s quite difficult with feeling his gaze on you constantly.

When breakfast was finished and everyone’s dishes were in the sink, the six of you retreat to the basement, where the main setting for the story is taking place. Sam and Danny plop onto the couch, waiting for further instruction, the coffee table in front of them filled with pieces of paper with drawings and words on them.

Warren sets up the camera and Jake attends to the lights, his usual job on Josh’s sets.

“Okay, listen up,” Josh says, clapping to get everyone’s attention. “We’re gonna start with the planning scene between Edger, Peter, and DJ. Then, we’ll go in order of the scenes, but this is the longest one, then we should be done, aside from a couple changes I’ve made.”

You look over at him with a confused expression.

“What changes? You didn’t tell me anything?” You murmur. Josh just shakes his head and hands you the regular script.

“Nothing too extreme. I’ll get to it after we break for lunch.” Jake looks over at you, and as soon as he finishes setting the lights up, he walks straight to you, sitting alone, looking over the script.

“Everything alright?” He asks quietly. Josh was talking with Sam and Danny, going over last minute pieces of information and all that.

“Yeah, I’m just not sure what kind of changes he made and…hey, nice shirt,” you begin telling him the problem, but then come to see the pirate shirt he’s wearing. He opens his cardigan and shows it off a bit more; it reads ‘I am the reason why all the rum is gone.’ “Is it a Pirates of the Carribean reference?”

“Oh, uh, y-yeah. I thought it was funny, and even though the movies are mainly inaccurate, they’re still pretty good,” he says, a blush covering his cheeks at your slight teasing. As he always does, he pushes his glasses up with his finger, stepping a bit closer to you.

“Was rum a pirate’s favorite alcohol? Or is that also a Disney thing?”

“Actually, it very much was, although it wasn’t just straight rum. It was made into a drink called Grog, it’s water, lemon juice, sugar, and rum. So Disney got…half of something right.”

“That sounds delicious.”

“Well, maybe we can have a movie watching night to watch the series, and make some Grog,” he offers, immediately shying away a bit, not entirely sure how you’d feel about it. His cheeks stay the tinted pink they were, his heart pumping wildly in his chest.

“I’d actually really like that,” you smile at him. “But…we should also watch Jaws, because even though the film did horrible, horrible things for sharks, it’s a cult classic.”

“Deal,” Jake sticks his hand out for you to shake, a huge grin on his face. “But you should make a drink or a snack that’s like, relating to sharks.”

“Hm, I can get some shark gummies,” you chuckle.

“That totally works,” he laughs with you, rubbing his hands together nervously now. Unbeknownst to either of you, Josh was watching the two of you after he got finished going over things with Sam and Danny.

“Okay, are we ready?!” Josh yells out. Jake gives you a small wave and walks over to the couch, shrugging his cardigan off and taking a seat next to Sam.

“(Y/N), you got the script and reading along?” Josh wonders, setting up behind the camera with Warren.

“Got it,” you smile at him, holding your copy up. Josh nods and turns back to the camera.

With that, filming ensues, and it goes rather smoothly. Being involved in a shoot like this was already great experience, even if it was a small production and the budget was nothing, because everything was borrowed and taking place in their home. It was really neat seeing your own story coming to life.

While breaking for lunch, which Karen ordered pizza for everyone, you take this time to chat with Jake. You take a seat next to him on the couch, your plate of pizza on your lap.

“How’s the acting going?” He wonders, nudging you with his elbow.

“You’re a very good actor,” you compliment. “Killing every line.”

“Well thank you. I’ve been in enough of his films to know exactly what to do. Maybe I should become famous. Win an Oscar one day, huh?”

“I mean, the way you get famous is by being a talented actor. And after seeing the scenes shot today, I say you have a pretty decent shot,” you wink at him. Jake giggles and takes a bite of his pizza.

Josh watches the two of you from across the room, taking note of how you make Jake laugh and vice versa, taking in every detail of you. Danny could tell something was up with him, but decided not to push it.

“So, about these changes,” you walk up to Josh after lunch was over. He was still sitting in the living room while everyone walked back downstairs to set up again. “They’re not anything major, are they?”

“Kind of. I thought it would be nice for both of us to have a little cameo in the film, so once we get everything filmed downstairs, there’s one final scene where the three of them come and get me at my house, we’ll just use the front door and all that, and I say goodbye to you, my girlfriend.”

You freeze at this new information.

“Oh. Um, I wasn’t really planning on being on camera today so, I don’t look the best.”

“The film’s just gonna be shown to like family and close friends, you don’t have to look like a movie star. I mean, just look at the way the others are dressed. And, might I say, you look incredible no matter what.” You furrow your eyebrows, not liking how he was talking about Jake, completely disregarding the compliment he gave you at the end.

Jake looked so handsome today, and you hated that his own brother was putting him down to try and make you feel better.

“Okay, it is a kind of fun idea.”

“You don’t even have to say much, just like a ‘be safe’ or ‘have fun’. And then we’ll end the interaction with a kiss.”

“Alright, sounds good,” you play off. Deep down, you were a little worried about everything, especially the kiss he mentioned at the last second, but you try not to let your focus linger too long on it.

You push all of the thoughts out of your mind, knowing that this was just a measly little kiss that didn’t even have to continue for more than a second. And it was for your film, so why not have a little fun?

Once all of the scenes in the basement were finished, and Josh had enough footage to edit, everyone moves upstairs, preparing to be done.

“We have one final scene, that’s not in the script, but it’s pretty simple,” he announces, the five of you falling onto the living room couch and chairs, waiting for his little speech.

“Jake, Sam, and Danny are going to knock on the front door to pick me up for the trip. (Y/N) is making a cameo as my character’s girlfriend, it’s a quick and short scene. All that’s needed is one of you to knock on the door a few times, say, “Come on Dylan!”, and I’ll open it. Then, after (Y/N) shuts the door, we walk off, then it fades to black.”

You keep your eyes in your lap, quite nervous for this, for some reason. Jake, however, was fuming. He knew exactly what Josh was doing, he was trying to take your focus away from Jake, and Jake hated that he was using his film as a way to pretend that you were his girlfriend.

Though deep down, Jake feared that it was going to somehow change your mind or feelings.

It always happens.

The five of them file outside, Jake trying to keep his emotions hidden, but his suddenly sour mood wasn’t one to miss.

You pace in the living room, scared out of your mind that you were going to mess up literally one line and have to keep everyone when they just wanted to relax for the day. Also, your mind was fixated on the kiss and how that would go. But Josh, stepping inside ready to do a take, sees you freaking out and reassures you.

“Hey, everything will be fine,” he holds your arms to steady you before bringing you in for a hug. His hands softly rub your back and for a moment it calms you. You melt into his touch and take a few deep breaths. “You honestly don’t have to say anything, you know?"

“I don’t?’

“No. I can say something instead, like “I’ll miss you” or “I’ll be back soon”. How does that sound?” Pulling away to look into his eyes, you nod in agreement.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous for this,” you whisper. “It’s just a small line and a quick kiss.” Josh’s expression falls and concern takes over.

“Hey, are you sure you want to do this? We don’t have to include the kiss if you don’t want to, I just-”

“No, no. It’s okay. I like the idea and I think it’s a nice little way to be included in my own film, it’s just that…I haven’t kissed anyone in a little while, let alone on camera before. I’m not exactly sure why I’m flipping out over it, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. Just tell me what you want to do and feel comfortable doing, okay?” Nodding to his words, you take a few deep breaths, trying to shake off the last bit of nerves.

He finally lets you go upon seeing that you’re doing better, but he doesn’t give the guys the all clear notice just yet.

“You okay?” He confirms.

“Yeah. Sorry, just…never been in this position before but, let’s do it."

“And the kiss?”

“Why not?” You grin, but he waits.

“I need a clear yes or no, I don’t want you doing anything that you’re not comfortable with.”

“I want to do this, Josh.” You try to say it with all the confidence in your body, but deep down, you were unsure of your feelings for Josh. Then again, what’s one quick little kiss?

He now takes this time to opens the door and let the guys know they’re good to start rolling with the first take.

First take.

Meaning if you have to do multiple takes, you’d be kissing Josh multiple times. As attractive as you found him, you weren’t sure you’d be totally okay with doing this scene more than once.

You continue pacing until there’s a knock at the door, signaling that the others had started. Josh grabs the duffle bag and whips the door open. You try not to look at the camera, and focus on Josh instead.

“I’ll be back soon, honey,” he says so sweetly, you almost forget that you’re doing a scene. All you do is nod, smiling a bit.

“Okay. I’ll miss you.” You feel great about how that quick little moment turned out, but then Josh turns towards you, and your heart races.

Josh grabs your cheeks and kisses you as softly as ever. Immediately, you are sent into a spiral. It was a quick little peck, but held so much emotion.

Suddenly, every thought you had about this scenario came rushing to your brain, weighing on your shoulders incredibly fast. Multiple takes of kissing Josh? You weren’t sure you could do that many more times and keep sane.

And then another man pops up into your mind. Jake. Your eyes dart right to him, and you can tell instantly, that he’s not happy with this decision.

All of your time spent together flooded back, the late night conversations that you two have had this entire week, and all of the days you’ve spent at the library, sneaking glances at him every now and then, learning about each other. And then, just like Jake, your mood changes.

At this point, Jake’s face had turned red with anger, embarrassment, and sadness. But he attempts to continue on, following Danny and his brothers out of frame from the camera.

You shut the door like you are supposed to, but you quickly gather your things and try to make a quick exit as soon as they come back from filming; you didn’t want to talk to or see anyone anymore. The moment Josh walks through the door, you dart out, not saying a single word to any of them. Though you do notice that Jake was nowhere to be seen.

SAM’S POV:

As soon as Warren yelled cut, Jake ran off around the side of the house. Josh watched him as he went, seeming to know what was going on, but Danny and I look to each other.

“Was the kiss in the script?” I whisper. He shrugs and glances over at Josh as well.

“She seemed to be just as surprised by it so maybe Josh took it a step too far,” he whispers back.

As Josh goes to walk inside, the door flings open and (Y/N) darts out, all of her things in her hands, and hops into her car to leave.

“I guess that explains my question,” I say. Warren heads inside to pack everything up and Josh goes around to the backyard to where Jake went. Both Danny and I follow, wanting to know what the hell was going on.

“You do this all the fucking time, Josh!” Jake screams, shoving Josh back, causing him to stumble a little before catching his footing. “You always take the girls I like from me, even when I meet them first! You knew about my crush on (Y/N) so what do you do? You get her to kiss you right in front of me, knowing I can’t do shit!”

Tears were falling down Jake’s face at this point, and I felt for my older brother right now. He looked truly broken, and as much as he was trying to keep the facade up, it was breaking with every minute.

“Don’t you think that maybe I like her too? Or maybe that she likes me?! We’ve spent quite a lot of time together working on this damn script, it would’ve been impossible not to fall for someone like her! And she agreed to that kiss, so I’m not entirely sure why the fuck she ran out.” Josh yells back.

Danny and I immediately look at one another.

“Twin problems,” he says under his breath. Thankfully, we were some ways away from them, so they didn’t really hear; and it’s not like they would’ve heard anyway, they were too caught up in the fight.

“You couldn’t have just let me have one girl! This girl! She is so fucking special to me and you seriously couldn’t just let me take her out and see where things go?! You couldn’t let me have one fucking crush without trying to get her attention and trying to get her to like you instead?!”

Before Josh can reply, Jake lunges at Josh, and usually, when this happens, it’s time for the two of us to step in. Danny grabs Josh and I attempt to pull Jake away, but he just shoves me off and storms inside.

“You guys are really going to fight over a girl?” I wonder, throwing my hands up in the air. Josh shakes his head and huffs dramatically

“She’s not just any girl,” he grumbles, “I really have fallen for her too and he’s making it out to be like she’s his and off limits because he met her first at his work.” He also retreats back inside after he finishes his thought.

“Dude, this is so fucked up,” Danny sighs, rubbing his face.

“Just gotta let them work it out,” I tell him. “This happens all the time.”

JAKE’S POV:

Laying in bed never felt so nice yet so terrible. I was finally alone, showered from the horrid day, but I was alone with my thoughts. I tried watching a movie, that didn’t help. I tried scrolling through different social media, that didn’t help.

I click on my messages, my thumb hovering over (Y/N) and I’s chat. I wanted to text her and check in so bad, but today’s events kept replaying in my head. Was Josh telling the truth, that she agreed to the kiss? Or worse, was she the one to suggest it?

I debate back and forth for the longest time on whether or not I should text her, or if she was up for speaking to me, or anyone. Tears were silently rolling down my face by the time I come back to reality.

I wipe them away then wipe my hand on my comforter, locking my phone and throwing it down. I sigh loudly and close my eyes, the tears becoming much more constant, to the point where wiping them away was a loss because just a second later, another set was streaming down my face.

I try to fall asleep, but my mind is far too active. I roll over onto my side, wanting to focus on the positives from today. The time that I got to spend with (Y/N), how she noticed my shirt first of anything, and how she even agreed to having a movie night with me.

Those thoughts alone were enough to send me into a deep sleep, hoping the coming days would be better.

—

taglist: @maud-gone @streamingcolors-gvf @mweasley19 @lolipopsandgumdrops @universoulindigo @byulgogii @artsygarbitch @dannyandthekiszkas @shutupdevvie @writingcold @fan-girl-97 @sunfl0wer-power @rhythm-of-space @allieisacrybaby @gardenofgreta @interstellar-shores @anythingforjtk @gretavanbitches @thecoldwind @surmonella @why-ami-on-here @milkgemini @spark-my-nature

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