#— » to rule the skies // to bring the storm. ( sky pirate. )

[famousnerdtragedy]

The Blade of Aeryn: Witch of Storm and Steel

In the land of Aeldoria, where dragons once ruled the skies and the seas whispered ancient secrets, there existed a realm torn between the forces of steel and magic. Kingdoms fell and rose under the weight of sorcery and the clash of swords, but none could foresee the rise of a warrior who embodied both.

Chapter 1: The Marked One

Aeryn stood at the edge of the cliffs of Valtoria, her eyes scanning the dark, storm-laden horizon. The sea roared beneath her, waves crashing against the rocks like an angry beast. She had always been drawn to the storm—its chaos mirrored something deep within her. A gust of wind swept through her wild raven-black hair, and she grasped the hilt of her sword, Stormcaller, which hummed faintly with an energy only she could command.

Aeryn was no ordinary warrior. Her lineage was steeped in magic, though she had sworn to master the blade before she ever embraced her sorcery. Her mother had been a renowned witch, wielding the elemental forces of nature, while her father was a general, known throughout Aeldoria for his unmatched swordsmanship. From them, she inherited both skill and power, but with it, a burden she never asked for.

Across her back ran a scar—a mark left by a creature not of this world, a shadow-beast that had descended upon her village years ago. She had survived, but the mark was more than just a wound. It bound her to ancient magic, to a prophecy whispered by witches and sages alike: "The Marked One will rise, where steel meets storm, and the world will bow to her power or burn in her wrath."

Aeryn never cared for prophecies.

The wind howled louder, and in the distance, she could see ships approaching—black sails. Pirates, raiders from the islands of Skorn, known for their cruelty and their insatiable hunger for plunder. Her village, perched upon the cliffs, was in danger.

"Let them come," she muttered, her eyes flashing with resolve.

With a flick of her wrist, the air around her stirred. The sky, already dark, grew darker still, as clouds thickened, responding to her command. Lightning crackled in the distance, and the sea began to churn more violently. Stormcaller pulsed in her hand, eager for battle.

Aeryn turned from the cliff and sprinted back toward her village. The time for peace had passed.

Chapter 2: The Siege of Valtoria

The village of Valtoria was small, a humble place where fishermen and traders lived in quiet. But tonight, it would be a battlefield.

As Aeryn arrived at the gates, she saw the villagers preparing for the attack. The village elder, a wiry man named Vorel, was barking orders, his face pale with fear. The wooden gates were being reinforced, but they would not hold for long.

"Aeryn!" Vorel called as she approached. "The Skorn have returned. They mean to raze the village this time."

"Not if I can help it," she said, her voice calm but laced with steel.

"Your magic—"

"I will use it when the time is right."

Vorel nodded, trusting her as he had always done. She had defended this village many times before, but never had the threat been this great. The Skorn were ruthless, and their numbers had grown.

The first of the enemy ships docked, and the pirates spilled out onto the shore like a dark tide. Their leader, a hulking brute named Kordak the Bloodhand, led them with a savage grin. His right hand was a mass of scars, stained with the blood of those he had slain. He wielded a massive battle-axe, its sharp edge glinting in the flickering torchlight.

"Bring me the Witch of Valtoria!" Kordak roared, his voice cutting through the wind. "I've heard of her power, and I intend to claim her head for my collection."

Aeryn stepped forward, her sword unsheathed. "You'll have to take it from my corpse," she said, her voice as cold as the storm brewing above.

Kordak laughed, a deep, guttural sound. "That can be arranged."

With a nod, his men surged forward, and the battle began.

Aeryn moved like a tempest, her sword flashing through the air as she cut down the first wave of pirates. Her training was impeccable, each strike precise and lethal. But as more enemies poured in, she knew steel alone would not win this fight.

She stepped back, raising her free hand. The air crackled with energy as she whispered an incantation under her breath. The clouds above twisted, and a bolt of lightning shot down, striking the earth before her, sending pirates flying. The power coursed through her veins, exhilarating and dangerous.

But magic came at a cost. Too much, and it would consume her.

She could feel it pulling at her, like a riptide beneath the surface of her mind. But she pushed it back, focusing on the fight. Aeryn danced between her enemies, calling down lightning and slashing with her sword, her movements a deadly combination of sorcery and skill.

Kordak watched from the rear, his grin fading as he saw his men fall. He raised his axe, roaring in fury, and charged at her, cleaving through his own men to reach her.

Aeryn turned just in time to meet his strike. The force of the blow sent a shockwave through the ground, but she stood firm, her sword locked against his axe.

"You think your magic makes you strong?" Kordak sneered, pressing his weight against her. "But I’ve killed witches before."

Aeryn’s eyes flashed with lightning. "Not like me."

With a sudden burst of energy, she pushed him back, raising her hand toward the sky. The storm answered her call. A massive bolt of lightning struck Kordak, enveloping him in searing light. He screamed, dropping to his knees as the energy coursed through him, his axe falling from his grasp.

But Aeryn wasn’t finished. She raised Stormcaller, and with a swift, final strike, severed Kordak’s head from his shoulders.

The pirates, seeing their leader fall, fled in terror, leaving the village of Valtoria behind.

Chapter 3: The Awakening

The battle was over, but Aeryn knew it was only the beginning. The mark on her back pulsed, reminding her of the power she had yet to fully understand—and the prophecy she could no longer ignore.

That night, as the village celebrated their victory, Aeryn stood alone by the cliffs, her eyes on the horizon. She had protected her home, but the storm within her was growing stronger. The magic she wielded was ancient, dangerous, and she feared what would happen if she lost control.

But destiny was not something she could outrun. The mark was a beacon, calling out to forces she could not yet comprehend. And somewhere, beyond the sea, something stirred in response.

The storm was far from over.

[levingale]

“ People are going to recognise that coat, you know. ” Her expression is impassive, yet a glint of amusement is evident behind her eye. 

@enchantingwrath​    /    one liner call ♥

[levingale]

izakaya-jinh‌:

...

Nearly an hour went by, though to Yayoi it felt much longer as she waited with Batu and Tseren in the Janviers’ parlor. The warmth of the fire did little to calm her nerves. Pacing back and forth, she kept going through possibilities of what might have happened.

The door suddenly burst open as Xiovette appeared, her hair and clothes dusted with snow. After a pause to catch her breath, she beckoned to Yayoi.

“An unscheduled airship’s just been sighted heading for the city. Seems to be on a course for the main landing, but no one knows who it belongs to or where it’s coming from. We sent a group of chocobo flyers to see and it seems an Au Ra woman was on board, though she looked asleep or unconscious. As for the pilot… That’s a face we all know too well, but I won’t burden you with the name. You should come with me to the landing.”

Yayoi nodded quickly and roused Batu from his place by the fire. Tseren leapt onto her shoulder, letting out a screech. She winced at the hawk’s cry, but quickly moved to follow Xiovette outside.

—

At the airship landing, a small crowd of people seemed to have gathered, chattering excitedly as the shape of a vessel drew close. Seeing Xiovette arrive, Haizea gave a shout for order. The crowd quickly fell quiet and moved aside for the arriving group.

As the airship pulled into the landing, Yayoi watched agitatedly for any sign of Tal but the deck was too cluttered for her to tell. Standing at the controls on the upper deck though, a somewhat familiar-looking woman wiped her brow wearily as the ship was secured. 

As soon as the airship was secured at the landing without getting shot down on sight, Karigan quickly made her way over the wall of ice, daring to touch the haphazard spikes of ice and climbs over it. Now that most of the adrenaline had worn off, she could feel the sting and biting pain of her wounds and injuries. God damn pirates, Karigan curses inwardly as she moves to pick up the xaela that laid sprawled on the ground. Eyebrows knitted in worry, she checks the huntress’ pulse and breathes a sigh of relief when she realises that her companion was very much alive. 

“ This always happens when we meet, doesn’t it? ” The sky pirate muses as she slings a limp arm of the unconscious xaela over her shoulder and lifts her up. It would be a lie to say that she was happy about the small crowd. Though she pays little heed to who was in the crowd until she was well and off the ship. With a grunt, Karigan drags both herself and Tal off the airship onto some solid ground. 

Scanning the crowd for anyone for any familiar faces, a spark of hope ignites within her. She recognises the raen that was accompanying the huntress and makes her way over. And then she pauses in her tracks all of a sudden. While the raen was a pleasant sight, the person she was with was not. 

Her blood freezes as does the rest of her body. Maybe Ishgard was a dreadful place after all. And, really, she needed to get out of there as soon as possible. “ Please don’t tell me she asked that woman for help... ” Karigan mutters to herself before braving forward to return Tal to her proper partner. 

[innermuse24]

Hannibal TV series/ Laputa: Castle in the Sky AU

A/B/O Universe

Using Laputian language terms

 Hannibal Lecter:

- is the last of the Dvaras Royal Line. People who sent their Kingdom up into the sky and it became a floating island.

- Hancita Toelle Ur Dvaras “Ur" means ruler. "Toelle" means True.

- Is also a Royal Prime Omega

-  27 years old

- Comes from a place called Lukiric which is in the far north.

 Will Graham:

 - Is not of Noble blood and is an Alpha

- Lives on his own above the mining town of Wolftrap

- Works in the Mines around the small town.

- Cares for seven pigeons - Winston, Buster, Mugluf, Avito, Dru, Stala and Pesoc

- Only child after his Father went looking for the floating Kingdom Island of Dvaras

-  34 years old

 The Bella Gang (consisting off ):

  Phyllis or Bella Crawford "Beta" -  Female Pirate Captain of the "Lavender Dragonfly", a gentle kind warming soul that cares deeply for her family.

 Jack Crawford "Beta" - Husband of Bella Crawford, works in the Engine room of the "Lavender Dragonfly" and can sometimes pretend to be deaf if their adopted sons annoy him when he is working, cares very deeply for his wife and their family and the ship they built together

 Matthew Brown "Omega" - one of Bella's adopted son with roguish attitude and acts sometimes cocky then also flirts when he gets the chance.

 Abel Gideon "Alpha" - A brutish looking of man, but is actually a big softie within and is affectionally called all manner of nicknames by his other siblings.

 Freddie Lounds "Beta" - Female and the only one of Bella's Gang who is cared for very much by the other male siblings who consider her very much like them.

 Tobias Budge "Beta" - another one of Bella's adopted son's and is more of the musician when there is time to relax, second in command and helps control the helm of the ship.

 Eldon Stamments "Alpha" - Is the Medical man for the "Lavender Dragonfly" and makes sure that known of the crew ever get sick from disease or acquire painful injuries, lost one eye in knife-fight and has scar running down his left eye.

 Chiyoh Maito "Beta" - the last of Bella Crew and is the Map-reader and Navigator who speaks sometimes English but prefers speaking her Native Language which thankfully Bella, Jack and Hannibal understand.

  The rest of the Characters

 Mason Verger "Prime Alpha" or also known as Maveris Palis Ur Dvaras - is also of the Royal Line of Dvaras, cares for nothing but his goal of finding Dvaras to use its power to destroy Earth and recolonize it by becoming the new King of Dvaras, plans to Bond with Hannibal to continue the Royal Line.

 Colonel Cordell Doemlling "Beta" - a Colonel who fallen for Mason's trip into searching for Dvaras to find its treasure and is easily swayed by the man's words.

 Garret Jacob Hobbs “Alpha” - A corrupt man, who Mason has hired to help him with his dirty work and used to have a daughter but she disappeared and has not been seen since, has no qualms in killing or getting rid of someone for Mason.

  The Children left on Dvaras:

 Margo Verger "Omega" - was left on Dvaras and choose due to the Giant Crystal's power still remains a Pup at the age of seven.

 Alana Bloom "Alpha" - is the oldest of the three and is about 12 years old with fiery temper that came from her family who were Gardeners for the Royal Dvaras Family

 Abigail Hobbs "Omega" - is the Daughter of Hobbs who somehow in some way ended up on Dvaras and it is uncertain how, she is the youngest being only 3 months hold only.

 Georgia Machen "Beta" - Is also the same age and keeps close to Abigail has both them connected when they first met each-other, is about 5 months old.

Beverly Katz “Alpha” – A hybrid Fox-squirrel who plays with the children.

  The other Mysterious Characters:

The Great Sequoia - This protects the *crystal with its large roots which extend beneath the Palace from the very centre where the large Rainforest Garden grows.

 *The Dvaras Crystal - this is the main source of power for the Dvaras Palace and is considered to be highly dangerous in the hands of the wrong person who has with them the Royal Dvaras Seal Necklace - which is shaped like a teardrop and has the symbol on it of the Dvaras Royal Line. Only those of the Royal Line can communicate with it and use its main source of power.

 The Royal Dvaras Robot Guards - Creatures of Artificial Intelligence that were either used for War or guarding the Royal Family from harm. Some were allocated to different roles - Gardener, Servant or Protector.

 The Nightshade Plague - this is the dark secret of Dvaras which hides deep within the interior of the Palace where the stonework changes in geometric shapes and causes a person to distengrate from the within.

 The Nightshade Plague Beasts - Another thing that happens if a person touches the Spore's Flower and will become a rampaging Beast that cannot be stopped by anything and will kill without mercy.

Lady Murasaki – The Spirit of the Giant Sequoia, while is said in Ancient texts to be a Queen.

  PROLOGUE

Seven hundred years ago there was once a great Kingdom ruled by the Royal Dvaras Family and spread from the far corner of the world to the oceans.

Their power was vast and they wanted everything so they decided they wanted to rule the skies above. Using a crystal they had mined from the many Mines in their land and created floating Kingdoms high into the sky.

Disaster struck though when a fierce storm arose and destroyed all of the Kingdoms.

Except for one.

It is uncertain what happened to Royal Dvaras Palace, which was last seen heading into the Dragon’s Lair – a giant cloud with ever swirling winds dragging the white clouds around and around in an ever continuous circle.

The survivors that had survived on the land below, separated into two separate families – The Lecter’s and the Verger’s.

 PART 1

The silvery moon hangs above inky black clouds illuminating some of them with white line. Above a ship, lights dimmed figures run down to the bridge connecting the Helm to the rest of the ship and a large black woman wearing aviation gear and kit grins at the sight of what is flying down below.

A large Army ship shaped like giant orca gliding through the ocean silently heading to a destination is making its way through the clouds and turning to look at three men – Matthew Brown, Abel Gideon and Tobias Budge – orders them to prepare for the Mission.

“Alright get the Copters ready!!! Let’s go!!!”

“Yes, Mama!!!”

Frenzied activity begins on the hovering ship above the giant, while down below within its interior the occupants are oblivious to what is about to happen in mere short time.

  Hannibal Lecter – 27 years old and an Omega, even though he didn’t feel like one  – sits on the window-seat in the sleeping cabin of the ship he been brought onto by the strange man called Mason Verger who had taken from his homeland of Lukiric. A place far to the North, where mountains towered above valleys filled with old Farmer’s cottages and lakes that shimmered and gleamed in the sunlight.

Here in this cold hunk of non-living metal, there was nothing to make him feel comforted and ignores the plate of food which one of Mason’s men tries to hand to him then hears Mason saying “Leave him, Garret. If he doesn’t won’t to eat then he doesn’t have to.

The plate of food is taken away and Hannibal continues to stare out of the circular window looking at the silvery moon that is illuminating then hears strange buzzing noise – like that of insect – then they soon appear coming out of the clouds, strange flying Copters shaped in certain way with what look Dragonfly wings – whirring fast in the night air.

He gets off the window-seat, when it comes closer to reveal a large black woman holding large cannon in one hand and grins at the sight of him or is she.

No, the necklace…. She’s looking at the necklace.

His hand goes it to it and he hears one of Mason’s other man saying, “It’s the Bella Gang, Boss.” and hears the Copter fly off to the front of the ship then explosion rocks the whole ship slightly. Mason snarls at this, heading to the door and stepping out into the corridor looking back Hannibal who is still standing there at the window.

The moonlight illuminating him spreads his shadow outwards in certain way and for minute he sees Mason frown at him only to compose himself when a muffled explosion happens followed by wood splintering close by.

“Keep them occupied. They must not get through at all.” Mason hisses, closing the door of the Sleeping Cabin and heads over to briefcase where he opens it to reveal a Morse code setup machine which he quietly sets up as Hannibal stays still then notices a bottle lying on the carpet.

Mason is too distracted in his work, when Hannibal brings the bottle crashing down on his head to effectively knock him out and looking around quickly opens the window feeling a strong wind whip his hair about then clambers out holding onto the sides as he begins to edge his way along the thin narrow ledge on the hull of the ship.

  “MAYDAY!!! MAYDAY!!!”

 It is a mad dash by The Bella Gang as Matthew, Abel and Freddie after jumping of their Copters soon rush towards the hatch which opens conveniently just some sailors of the flying ship try to come out of it with sub-machine gun as Abel – brute strength of the Gang – lunges at the two sailors effectively knocking them back down into the hatch as Matthew and Freddie follow up close behind him.

They jump down, causing Abel to give a groan of protest as he is used as landing for them and goes to get up when Bella finally lands within then it becomes a rush down a flight of stairs into the ballroom area where she runs on ahead to where the Sleeping Cabins are holding her cannon in front of her.

Screams of shock and surprise come behind her at the sight of her, while she finally reaches the white door on the other side of the ballroom and busting open would nearly gotten her life severed if hadn’t been for Freddie saying “Mum, look out!!!” and pulls back just in the knick of time as a Mason’s men begin to fire their guns in the now blocked hallway leading to the room where she had seen Hannibal being kepted.

Peeking out, after placing the tear gas grenade in the cannon Bella soon fires it towards Mason two worthless cronies to blind them and seeing it has worked indicates for Freddie and Matthew to move ahead then comes to stop at the closed white door.

“BREAK IT DOWN!!! HURRY!!!”

  BREAK IT DOWN!!! HURRY!!!”

Hannibal, gripping the thin ledge for support outside hears the voices shouting followed by the Sleeping Cabin door being smashed to smithereens then voices talking within “Wait. Who is this? Mason!!!?” and another voice saying “Where is he? He should be here?” then orders to check everywhere and it is when one of them looks out the window that Hannibal finds himself trying to move to the next window quickly as they reach out for him nearly falling in the process.

“Dammit, Abel? Get to the other room and get Hannibal there.” He hears the strange black woman saying followed by watching him as she holds the young man who is insisting on being pulled back inside quickly.

Managing to reach the other window, Hannibal strains to hold on feeling though his fingers starting to slip just as the door slams open to reveal the big brute who he had seen next to the black women.

They rush forwards with a cry of “Come here!!” causing Hannibal to let go slipping off to fall straight down into free space.

Falling and falling ever downwards.

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

 The Mining Town of Wolf-trap is lit by night-lights as Will Graham – Alpha and 37 years old - heads into the Eatery to gets some hot Meatballs for his Boss then places the food can on the front desk.

“I need some meatballs for the Boss.” He asks, making the Eatery owner take the can with one hand and reach for the ladle among the meatballs with the other then begin to serve them into it while saying to him “You’re working late again, Will. Anything new?”

“Not much. Just getting used to long hours.” Will replies, trying to make sure he doesn’t sound like he is really wanting to be somewhere else than stuck in the Mines of Wolftrap.

  Walking up the steep hill path that lead to the working Mines of Wolftrap town, Will holding the can filled with hot meatballs with one hand begins wonders softly if he ever get the chance to do something different.

He finally reaches the crest of the hill to see in the far distance a strange bluish glow heading slowly downwards to the opening Mine pit making him run closer to soon see to his surprise and shock it is young male floating slowly downwards.

Running across the metal bridge the Mine Lift wheel is attached to he nearly falls off the edge of the small dock and manages to right himself quickly placing the can of meatballs down then holding out his hands watches as the young male floats just above his hands.

The source of the bluish light comes from a necklace around their neck, which soon fades away and their body weight nearly causes him to drop them then managing to carry them over to the balcony area with the railing lays them down.

“WILL!!!? WHERE’S MY DINNER!!?”

He hears his Boss shouting from below making him quickly get up and looks down into the open pit, seeing the large man is stoking the fires of the large Boiler then scrambling gets the food can filled with meatballs then after placing his waist-coat over the young male Omega – who looked to be in his 20s – scrambles down the ladder to the bottom of the pit.

“Sorry, Boss. Won’t happen again.” He says, going to hand the food can over when the Mine Lift bell rings making his Boss take it off him and heading over to the controls sits down in the wooden chair.

Taking hold of both of them, he calmly pays attention to the Mine lift rising up and it is only when he takes a quick gaze to see if the young Omegan male on the platform that it is quick second reflexes that manage to make him stop the Mine lift just in time then relaxing in the chair, wipes the sweat that had formed on his brow.

That had been close.

His Boss then chooses at the right moment to give light whack on his head for distraction.

@hannigramfanfic

[deathbyvalentine]

The Harpy & The Siren

Once upon a time there was the sea. It was deep and dark and a great many creatures lived in it. Some of the creatures were also deep and dark. One such creature was a siren called Emerald. She had dark blue skin, black eyes and wavy black hair. Her tail glittered blue and green, looking as precious as her namesake. She liked the abysses best, the parts of the sea where the floor fell away and left nothing but a fall.

Once upon the same time, there was the sky. It was wide and endless and a great many creatures used it. One of these creatures very almost ruled it. Her name was Katerina and she had wide wide wings, a cruel beak and golden feathers. She was a harpy and the sky was hers. Her favourite thing to do was fly above the sea, dipping down to drag a wing across the water before soaring back up to dizzying heights.

They did not know each other yet but they were alike. Both of them were happy but unhappy. For while they loved their homes and their lives, it was not perfect. You see, each had a secret. One that cast them out invisibly from their family and friends, creating an invisible barrier which they could not touch others through.

Emerald could not sing. She sat on the rocks with her friends, watching the ships approach. The chorus would start and she would move her mouth silently, not letting a single flat note escape. Her voice could curl toes and shatter glass, but it could not move a single man to approach her. She could not do what she was designed to do and she despaired.

Katerina sang like an angel. When her sisters descended on wrongdoers, shrieking their vengeance with voices like serrated knives, she kept her beak firmly shut. Her voice would not inspire terror. When she sang, on some private cliff, it could make you weep or laugh or marvel but it could not make you flee.  She could not do what she was designed to do and she despaired.

They met on a day where a storm raged around them. Thunder cracked the air and the waves rose up to the sky as if determined to bring it down. A ship was being tossed on the waves as though it was made of nothing more substantial than paper. This was problematic for Katerina - a man who had grievously insulted his hosts was on the ship and she had been pursuing him for days. Because of the driving rain however, he had stayed below deck. This meant her claws could not fetch him and justice could not be served. Emerald meanwhile, on her rocks was also struggling. She had not eaten meat in days and her voice was not strong enough to be heard over the wind and besides, would not tempt the boat to her jagged rocks and caves. Her sisters, wanting to avoid the storm, were at the bottom of the ocean, sleeping amongst the seaweed.

Katerina grew exhausted of trying to keep herself aloft and alighted onto the rocks, trying to gather her breath back. Emerald had never seen a harpy up close before and was instantly fascinated by the glimmering golden feathers that so reflected the flashes of lighting. Katerina, who had never seen a siren up close, had been distracted by the shining tail reflecting the movement of the waves. They drew their eyes up and shared an embarrassed and shy smile. 

“Harpy - “ Emerald began. “I do not mean this as an insult but why have you settled upon my rocks? You’re welcome to stay for as long as you desire but it is most unusual.” “Siren, I thank you for your hospitality. It’s a frustrating story. Do you see that ship hence? My marked man is on it. However, due to the storm, he is hiding below the deck and I cannot get at it.” “Alas, I too am frustrated. I wish the ship to come and break itself open so I can feast on what lies within but...” She trailed off.  “But?” “May I tell you a secret?” “Between us and the storm.” Her blue cheeks turned navy. “I... I am not like my brethren. I cannot sing. I cannot lure men to me and without my sisters, I would surely die. I am hungry but cannot eat unless the ship destroys itself.” And here she sighed hopelessly. The Harpy blinked in surprise. “But Siren, I am feeling that we were destined to meet. You see, even if that man came on deck, I would not be able to kill him as my kind dictates. My voice is not beautifully harsh, it could not peel skin from a lemon, let alone a man. It sounds like birds and bells, not wrath and rage. Do you think we could work together?” “We could certainly try.” Katerina spread her wings and perched on her back legs, closing her eyes. She raised her voice above the storm and sang a song so sweet, the thunder quieted. It was a song of love and loss and lust, and one by one the sailors came up on deck to witness such beauty. They saw Emerald on the rocks, in all her glorious strangeness and immediately turned the ship to approach her. It was not long before the ship dashed itself on the rocks, spilling the men into the sea. Emerald kept up her end of the bargain. Just before she dived into the water, she shrieked about manners, about rules, about justice and just desserts. The men felt both the cold water and terror down to their bones, seasoning themselves for Katerina. She flew down and caught her marked man, taking to the skies.

Emerald watched her go, chewing with her sharp sharp teeth. She was surprised that she felt a little melancholy. But their deal had been struck and fulfilled so she had no real grudge to bear. After eating, to console herself, she decided to sleep on the rocks and let the sounds of the storm lull her to sleep. 

In the morning, the sea was calm and still, resembling nothing more than a sheet of shining glass. Emerald awoke and to her surprise, Katerina was sitting, washing her blood stained beak in a shallow pool gathered between two stones. She began speaking before Emerald could greet her.  “Do pardon me if this is all rather sudden.” Katerina fluttered her feathers nervously. “But I realised that yesterday evening was the first time I felt whole in rather a long time. I was wondering if... If I could stay. I noticed your rocks have caves where I could shelter. We could stay with our families then hunt together, working as neatly as clockwork.” Emerald had never felt this wanted before, especially not for something as broken as her voice. For the second time in as many days, she felt her cheeks grow hot in a blush. She nodded. “I believe I would like that. I would like that a lot.” And so they did. They swore oaths to one another and the rocks became the middle point of the sky and sea. And to this day, that patch of sea sees more shipwrecks in a year than most places see in a decade. Pirates fear to sail there, afraid they will meet their maker for all their dark deeds.

Little do they know it’s all down to a harpy and a siren, doing what they were made to do.

[asoftervirge]

between the salt water and the sea strands

RATING: PG, may increase as the story goes on PAIRINGS: R. Sanders/P. Sanders (main); T. Sanders/OMC (mentioned)

FIC WARNINGS/KINKS: Drinking, Near Death, mentions of drowning FIC SUMMARY: Roman, a young sea captain, is rescued by a mysterious person

TAGLIST: @backatthebein, @levy-the-b00kw0rm, @ierindoodles, @rosesandstuff, @notveryglittery, @patchworkofstars (if anybody else wishes to be tagged, please let me know!)

CLICK HERE IF YOU READ IT ON AO3 INSTEAD!

“And we’ll roll the old chariot along, we’ll roll the old chariot along, we’ll roll the old chariot along and we’ll all hang on be-hind~”

Roman smiled as he listened to his crew finish their shanty before clanking their tankards loudly and raising them to the high heavens, then laughing jovially as they spilled beer and ale onto the deck of the ship. He didn’t mind it of course, as he had his fair share of being a sloppy drunk and spilling everywhere. Besides, the ship’s deck also had her taste of sea water, blood, and fish guts, so a drunken sailors’ mess is just something else that makes her unique.

The young man made his way to the front of the ship, gracefully maneuvering around the swaying sailors that are mere seconds away from collapsing, gazing out at the view in front of him. The night’s sky was black and dark gray with no stars twinkling amidst its thick clouds, while the water that surrounded the ship was a eerie mix of dark green and blue. With how beautiful it was, it was hard to tell where the sky ended and the sea began.

He inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of salty water and feeling the cold wind blow harshly in his face, then exhaled slowly opening his eyes as he did so (which he didn’t even know were closed in the first place).

“Lovely, isn’t Logan?” he asked the mysterious person walking up to him from behind. He knew it was Logan due to how loud his footsteps were against the deck. That, and Logan wasn’t much of a drinker of ales and beers, stuck-up wine connoisseur.

“In seascapes and literature? Yes. But actually going out on a sea-faring travel? I’ll pass, thank you.”

Roman pouted. “You’re just a ripe old fuddy-duddy, aren’t you?”

Logan pondered that thoughtfully. “No. More like, someone who’d rather not become a victim of the sea’s cruelty and become feast to the creatures that call her their home.”

“In other words, a fuddy-duddy.”

“To each his own, I suppose.”

Roman groaned and dragged Logan closer to him. “Look at her, Logan! How can you call her cruel? She may be a wild thing, but she still as her moments of peacefulness!”

“And we have yet to see that since we left earlier this afternoon,” Logan reminds him, completely focusing his attention on un-wrinkling his sleeve rather than at the sight of the sea in front of him. “Remind me again, why we’re still out here? You know what your Father said—”

“That I shouldn’t be out at sea when it’s dark and dreadful out,” Roman mocked while rolling his eyes which, in turn, made Logan roll his. “Listen, we’re not that far off from port—”

“Nearly 20 nautical miles.”

“—My men are happy—”

“Because they’re drunk to the gills with beer and singing shanties.”

“—So why not enjoy the sea just a little while longer?”

“Firstly, a storm is on the horizon, so it would be best to sail back to port now. Secondly, I don’t understand how you became a thalassophile in the first place. You always liked riding your horse across the mountains, yet you suddenly develop a love for the sea a few years ago. How is that?”

(Truth be told, Logan knew the answer, and Roman knew he knew the answer.)

Roman had always loved the sea. Ever since he was a child, he always called the sea his second home. He loved her personality, her energy, the way she caressed the shore of the beach on her good days, and raged with fury on her bad. The way she stretched on for miles and miles. Empty, open, free. He loved the feeling of the wind blowing in his hair, the salty spray on his face, the sound of the waves lapping against the side of his ship and crashing in his ears.

He’d grown up in the capital city of Alexandria, which was also the largest port town in the country. You would think as someone who grew up near the sea, he would eventually get tired of it, but he never did. He didn’t have the heart to, his love of the sea remained to this very day.

His father Thomas was an actor in a theatre troupe, while his papa Alejandro was a sea merchant and a sailor. Whenever his papa came home from his travels, he would always tell little Roman story after story about what life was like on the sea, the places he had sailed to, and the people he had met during his trades. It would always bring a excited sparkle to the boy’s eyes, proudly declaring that he wanted to travel the sea with his Papa one day.

Unfortunately, that day never came because Alejandro was killed in an unexpected pirate raid when Roman was a small child. While Thomas wanted to forbid his son from going out onto sea, that only increased his desires. He couldn’t stand being so close to his calling, yet he wasn’t able to answer her. From morning to night he could hear sing beckoning to him, yearning for him to control her tempestuous nature and explore her mysterious, adventure-bound waters.

(And bless Poseidon, Amphitrite, Triton, and any other deity of the sea that gave him that opportunity.)

Being from a sea port town, he was used to having the occasional visit from pirates, usually making trades or wanting to get smashed at the drinking house, rarely did the town get pillaged due to it’s importance in sea trading, but that doesn’t stop pirates from being idiots.

One night, Roman and his boyhood friend and future navigator, Logan Faraday, found a young pirate captain swindling the residents out of coin and weapons, along with any other trinket they happened to have bet on. That, was when Roman decided to strike. He decided that he was going to challenge the captain to a bet; this time, through a coin toss. The rules where simple: if Roman won, he’d take the captain’s ship. If the the captain won, he’d take Roman’s most prized possession, a necklace that his papa gave him before he died.

Roman chose heads, the pirate captain chose tails. The coin landed on tails, yet it was Roman that was the real winner.

(Let me explain, both Roman and Logan noticed the captain cheating during all of his challenges. With Logan’s knowledge, and Roman’s papa teaching him about pirates and gambling, they were able to figure out the captain’s trick. Even one as petty as swapping a real coin for a fake.)

(With a chill and humbled smile, the captain surrendered his ship to Roman. Turns out that the young pirate captain was secretly hoping someone would notice his cheating so he could give up his life as a pirate. Wasn’t all that fun for him anymore. Fortunately, he managed to find fun with his handsome, sellsword of a husband.)

And that, was how The Crimson Prince was born.

“You do happen to know The Salt-Water Poems and Ballads, by any chance?” Roman asked after a long period of silence.

Logan quickly snapped his head towards him, the redoing of his cufflinks coming to a screeching halt. “You mean the book of seafaring and maritime history poems by John Masefield?” he asked, making sure he heard Roman right. Once his friend nodded, he only guffawed (not that he would admit that) and exclaimed, “Of course I do! It is, after all, the only poetry book you’ve ever read in your life.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Then you know what I’m going to recite.” he tells him, standing proudly now, pretending to hold a tankard in one hand and gesturing to the sea in the other as he begins to quote:

“I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by; And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking, And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.”

Logan sat down, not actually caring about how dirty his clothing will get, and propped an elbow on one of his knees, resting his chin in his palm. He couldn’t help but shake his head fondly because even if he’s heard Roman recite this poem hundreds of times over the years, he secretly loves hearing Roman loudly proclaiming his love for Mother Nature’s cruelest mistress.

“I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.”

Logan gave a miniature applause when Roman finishing reciting (even if he intentionally leaves out the third verse). Roman smiled and bowed dramatically, laughing heartily as he helped Logan to his feet.

The sea was his home; she loved him and his father as they loved her. If there was ever a life he lived where it didn’t involve the sea, it wasn’t a life worth living.

A flash of light suddenly made the sky glow for a second and Logan grew worried. For as much as Roman loved to talk about the sea’s beauty, he knew she held as much fury as she did serenity. Logan knew her wrath as well as her comforts, her storms as well as her gentle waves, and he knew to fear the darkening of the skies above and the enlivening of the water below.

He knew to avoid the sea’s wrath— and he knew how hard it was to escape it.

“Roman,” he began calmly, not wanting to raise alarm in his friend and captain. “Now do you believe me when I say we should head back to port?”

Roman nodded. “You’re right.” he said, quickly making his way back to the ship’s helm. “Alright men, enough lollygagging! Get sober quickly and raise the anchor, we’re retreating to shore!”

Soon, rain began to fall across the deck in sheets of freezing cold, and violent waves tossed the ship from side to side; Roman shivered as he clung to the ship’s wheel to keep from tipping the boat over, his knuckles stark-white as he desperately tried to steer out of the raging storm. Logan stood to his side, snapping rapid-fire commands to the crew below, his grim face illuminated by the lightning crackling above and his sharp voice carrying over the deafening rumbles of thunder.

Roman shoved his dripping hair from his face and grit his teeth, yanking the wheel to the side. The ship rocked dizzyingly beneath him as the ocean battered it from below with all her might.

Crack, boom!

He whirled around, a desperate cry tearing from his lips as lightning suddenly slammed into the deck, sending his crewmates, his family, flying. The rain fell but did nothing to stop the flames the lightning left behind, growing bigger and more monstrous with every inch of Roman’s ship they devoured. As the embers flew and the heat licked at Roman, he turned and gripped the wheel once more, desperate to steer them out, to save them…but it was too late.

The water filled his lungs the moment he fell beneath, and though he chocked and struggled, he couldn’t find the surface in the midst of the chaos, couldn’t escape the darkness and the whirling, churning waves. The sea engulfed him at all sides, sending him tumbling, and darkness crept at the edge of his mind as the sea dragged him below.

He’d always known he belonged at sea, and now, like his Papa before him, he was coming home.

When Roman finally regained consciousness, his head hurt and lungs burned from the salt water he coughed up, he heard a singing voice. A singing voice that sounded like it belonged to an angel, hymnal and otherworldly, but he couldn’t understand any of the words. He considered it to be one of the most beautiful voices he had ever heard. He blinked wearily, the high sun shining directly in his eyes, wanting to see who the enchanting song belonged to.

Vaguely, he could see the silhouette of his savior’s face, the sun illuminating around their face, almost like they were carrying a halo. Due to this, he first believed them to be Papa coming to take him to the Great Kingdom in the Sky (he wouldn’t have minded that if he was honest). He gave them a gentle, appreciative smile, but before he could uttered a word of thanks or even a question as to who they were, they disappeared.

“W-Wait! P-Please!” Roman’s voice was raspy and it broke a little when he called out to them. He began pushing himself upward, ignoring both his head and body aches as he tried to stop the person from leaving. When he had fallen into the ocean, he was certain he was sinking to his grave, but here he was, still alive and breathing. All thanks to this mysterious savior who wished to remain just that, a mystery.

When he was finally able to sit up completely and all sunspots had left his vision, they were gone, no sign of them whatsoever. He frowned as he began to look around, wondering where they’ve gone.

For a few moments, Roman was afraid he imagined the entire scenario…but here was no way he could’ve come up with something that creative, could he? But if he did…why did their sweet voice and warm touch continue to linger in his mind. Why did it seem so realistic?

The young captain’s overthinking was soon interrupted by another voice calling out to him, followed by the loud crunching of footsteps on the sand.

“Roman!” the familiar voice yelled. “Thank the Gods you’re alright! We thought you’d died!”

A pair of hands carefully grabbed his shoulders as their form came into his field of vision. As soon as Roman was able to fully recognize their face, an enormous sense of relief washed over him as he let out a shaky breath.

“Logan,” he whispered hopefully, becoming overwhelmed with emotion. When he was thrown off the ship, one of the other thoughts that flooded his mind (aside from his Father and Papa) was Logan; how his beloved friend and navigator was also to meet a watery grave because of his pride and stubbornness. “I…I’m so sorry!”

“Shh,” Logan soothed softly, his voice strangely calm and gentle. Even if it went against his usually cool demeanor, he pulled Roman into a protective embrace. One that showed that everything was alright, and that he was alive and feeling Logan’s warmth encompassing him. “We believe you drowned. Some of our crew tried to aid you, but the currents were too strong. How did you manage to swim against them, surely your nose and lungs would’ve been filled with water.”

“Someone…someone saved my life.”

“Oh?” Logan asked, voice tinged with curiosity as he looked around the cove. “If so, then where are they? And how did they manage such a feat?”

“I don’t know…they’ve gone.”

“I’m sorry?”

“They’ve gone,” Roman repeated. “I woke up to the most gorgeous singing I’ve ever heard— what it was, I don’t know since I couldn’t translate the words— and then I saw them, or almost saw them, but then…they were gone…”

“Roman, I’m sorry but that doesn’t make much sense.” Logan tells him. “Are you sure you weren't hallucinating?"

“Logan, you— you have to understand I’m not making this up!” the young captain protested strongly, glaring at his friend with firm eyes. “I saw them, I heard them! I know they’re real!”

“You nearly died from drowning. It’s quite common for seafarers to have hallucinations, especially when they’ve nearly drank themselves to oblivion." Logan placated, resting the back of his hand on his friend’s forehead. "You also know that we’ve heard similar stories at the bars we’ve been to, sailors saying they’ve been saved by mysterious folk to draw in a crowd.”

Roman growled and violently shook his head to the point where another wave of pain rushed to him. He wasn’t even drinking on the ship, Logan knew that! And why would he make something like this up?! He was known to tell an exaggerative story, but nothing of this scale and grandeur.

This person, angel, whomever, was real! The vague, sweet-looking face, the angelic voice, the feeling of soft skin lightly brushing against his own. It couldn’t have been a hallucination, Roman was convinced of that.

Where had they gone when he tried to thank them? How could they have disappeared so suddenly and without a trace? Who were they? Maybe it was Papa, Roman thought with a sad chuckle.

But if it was Papa, he would’ve known; he would’ve called Roman “his little hijo del mar” and affirm that “the seas have called us home”; he would’ve sung to him in a deep voice, rich with passionate experience, not light with a calm gentleness; and he would’ve held a guiding hand and led him to the Heavens. So who was it that saved his life?

“Come, Roman. Let me take you home. I’m sure Thomas is worried sick about you.” Logan wrapped his arm around his friend’s waist, leading him back to port. After a few moments of trying to convince Logan his story was true (and the navigator remained in denial), Roman begrudgingly ceased his protests and allowed himself to be lead home.

[teamhook]

Captain Swan Supernatural Summer Second Contribution

Thanks again to @kmomof4 for organizing the thing…

Thanks to @hookedonapirate for her Beta services.

Thanks to @kymbersmith-90 @revanmeetra87 @searchingwardrobes for their support and help cause I tend to freak out. :p

                                             |AO3|  |FFN|

Chapter 3:

The road so far…

Liam grows up fast to take care of his little brother. Years pass in servitude of a cruel captain. Killian gives in to his first vice. Liam makes an unsavory deal to save his brother. The brothers join the Royal Navy and the elder Jones embarks on a fool’s quest.

…

Liam Jones was at the helm of the Titan feeling the spray of the sea water as the ship sailed through the bluest waters he’d ever seen. The only way the experience would’ve been better would be if Killian, his little brother, were at his side as his lieutenant.

His dream had become a reality; he was finally captaining a royal ship on a quest for the King. His hope now was to soon be reunited with his brother.

Liam looked at the clear skies ahead; they should be approaching the White Waters Triangle. According to the records, all the known shipwrecks had happened close to their current location.

Liam was brought out of his thoughts as a sudden pulse of energy hit the ship.

He hears a panicked voice coming from the crow’s nest, “Captain, captain!” A tidal wave was coming and it was big, almost reaching the sky. “Sir, it came out of nowhere,” the young sailor exclaimed as he hurried down into his position. Even an experienced crew stood no chance of survival, but they had to try.

Should they attempt to ride it out or turn around and outrun it? Liam didn’t have time to ponder the question and tried to turn the ship, but it was too late. The wave was already upon them. The ship started to croak and the wooden hull splintered, unable to resist the pressure of the blue water. It happened so fast, the water rushed in and the depth of sea was engulfing the ship along with its occupants.

The only indications of the existence of the majestic ship that once stood there were the wooden beams that were once bonded into the craft and now floated, torn apart on the clear water. Other than that, there was no proof of a destructive tidal wave taking another ship to Davy Jones’ locker. The waters were calm once more.

…

Days turned into a week and weeks turned into months, but there was still no word from Liam. The feeling of abandonment resurfaced. He hated that feeling; it was the same exact way he felt upon his father’s desertion.

The ship that carried the younger Jones had made port in a small town close to the Enchanted Forest just outside the Maritime Kingdom.

Killian Jones had opted to distract himself from that old feeling. He had been reading over some Greek books on the mythology of the elusive island the King was eager to reach. The bunk was filled with all the books on navigation he could get. He needed to keep his mind occupied while they waited for news from Liam.

There was a small knock on the door of his quarters, and hee eagerly rushed over to it.

“Captain wants to see you in his quarters.”

“Thank you, Johnson.” Killian followed the deckhand to the Captain’s quarters. He didn’t believe he would be hearing good news. He was quite perceptive after all.

Yet, he still hoped he was wrong.

They arrived and promptly found out. They were met with a gruff voice that told them to enter.

“Captain Peterson, you called for me?” Killian shifted as he reached to scratch behind his ear.

“Jones I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news.” There was not one ounce of sincerity.

Killian had once overheard the man say it was not fair that two measly orphans got such quick promotions, and on top of that a ship every sailor in the Royal Navy longed for.

“Sir, was there word from my brother?”

“I’m afraid the lack of it is enough to consider the mission as unsuccessful.”

“Sir, I would like to be part of the search party.”

“Jones, there is never anything to retrieve aside from some pieces of wood.”

“My brother is out there! We cannot just let him perish!”

“Your brother is most likely in Davy’s Locker.” He shrugged. “You are dismissed.”

Killian stormed out and went to his bunk, pacing back and forth. He was alone and tired of losing people he loved. His mum died, his father didn’t love him enough to stay and now his only family was left for dead because of some Royal’s quest.

He was livid. They weren’t even going to search for the crew. They were expendable. He knew they were inexperienced sailors; Liam was the one with the most experience on the ship.

Killian walked aimlessly without direction and ended up in the ship’s galley with one of the few crew members he was friendly with. Out of frustration, he slammed his closed fist onto the table.

“Mr. Lewis.” Killian sniffled and tried to walk past the man.

“Killian, I heard about your brother. I’m sorry.”

“Are you, Mr. Lewis, because no one on this ship seems to care?”

“The crew cares. Weren’t they in the Academy with you and your brother?”

“Aye, and my brother’s crew too.” All gone too soon, thanks to an impossible journey.

A few days had passed when they received notice from the King to return. There was an announcement to be made.

Killian and the crew set sail back to King Fergus’ kingdom for the big proclamation.

Seven days later, they arrived. Killian fulfilled his duty, but he couldn’t get over the anger that still brewed within him.

He had kept mostly to himself.

The moment they docked, they noticed the commotion. The docks were at capacity with people. All came from the surrounding towns within the kingdom. The local Inns were full, therefore forcing most of the crews to sleep on their respective ships.

One ship stood out above all the fine ships at the port; it had no crew but was highly guarded.

Early the next day, the whole town gathered at the docks. King Fergus stood at the gangplank of the beautiful ship. Next, to him, a younger man stood with an obvious resemblance to the King.

He soon announced to the whole town that his nephew Roderick, son of his beloved sister Rowena, would be the Captain of The Jewel of the Realm.

Some of the people in the crowd quickly made comments about the fact that the nephew had no experience. He didn’t even serve in the royal navy, but somehow found himself the captain of the prized ship of the kingdom.

Killian overheard the comments, and with the loss of his brother so recent, his anger rose.

Looking on from afar, a cloaked figure stood and watched with excitement as his plans unfolded.  

The town soon returned to their daily and Killian promptly made his way to his bunk.

There was an urgent knocking at his door, followed by his name. “Killian Jones, are you in there?” It was the deckhand. “Captain is requesting your presence at his quarters.”

Killian opened the door, annoyed that he couldn’t even take a moment to try to mourn his brother’s death. “Lead the way, mate.”

In the captain’s quarters, he was met with the king and his captain.

“Killian Jones, your captain has boasted of your great performance on this ship, leading me to decide to honor the deal I had made with your brother. You will be lieutenant aboard the Jewel of the Realm.”

Killian looked at the two men. He knew this was what Liam wanted for him but he couldn’t help but feel bitter. Kilian had some thoughts to ponder over. Why must they pledge their lives to a King who sees them as worthless? They carry out their duty, only to die while the Royals get wealthier and stay safe in their castles. “It would be an honor, your highness,” he vowed to the king.

“Grab your belongings and you can board the Jewel. My nephew is aware you will be joining the crew. You will be sailing to fulfill some diplomatic duties.” The king nodded and left the room without offering his condolences.  

Killian did as he was told and went to grab his things to go board the new ship and report to his new captain.

The next day the Jewel of the Realm set sail.

After a couple of weeks at sea, Killian had developed camaraderie with the crew. They were all simple men who wanted a better chance than their former life had dealt them. It didn’t take long to convince them to take the ship.  

On a calm day, as the ship sailed the beautiful clear waters, the Captain was giving orders without knowledge of what was to come. The scuffle was fast and before he could react, Captain Roderick found himself at the end of his lieutenant’s cutlass.

Killian wasn’t a cold-blooded killer, but soon they were dueling for the ship. Sadly, Killian was faster and somehow more experienced. Within seconds the other man was disarmed.

Killian stood tall in front of the crew as he spoke to them. “We have sworn an oath to serve the King and the realm. Never again shall we take orders from a corrupt immoral monarchy…”

The crew answered enthusiastically, “Yes! Here, here!”

Throughout his speech, Killian shouted, “Serving this King, fighting his wars? No more! That is the way of dishonor! And anyone who disagrees can flee now or walk the bloody plank! Those who stay will be free men, and I will your Captain.”

They answered unanimously with “Aye!”

Captain Killian Jones continued, “We’ll sail under the crimson flag and we’ll give our enemies no quarter. We’ll take what we please!”

“Yes!”

“And we’ll live by our own rules, for that is the best form of all!”

“Yeah!”

“They’ve taken so much from us - my brother - and now I’m going to take everything they’ve got!”

“Yes!”

“Starting with this ship! Bring the paint from below! It’s time we rename this vessel. We no longer sail as the Jewel of the Realm. We now sail as the Jolly Roger.”

“Yes! - Yeah!”

“So when they come for us, I want them to know exactly what we are - pirates! For at least among thieves, there is honor!”

“Long live Captain Jones! Captain Jones! Captain Jones! Captain Jones!”

[syxjaewon]

expiration date, part 2 ‘shed no tears for the dead’

wakes in valluria are never black and never covered in tears. water must never be given for dead things

jaewon steps off his ship dressed in ritualistic garb, long white wrap-around garments, pants that require ten strings to hold fast, a cloth sitting heavily over his shoulders, draped around his tattoos and branding, covering the scars on his body except for his forearms, the ends of it flowing off him and trailing behind him as though he himself were made of wind, formed from winter, a son of the sun, bright and blinding. his hair and mouth are covered in more fabric, the tails of which tuck down into the rest of his ensemble, parts of it tight, others loose, the designs modeled after what the ancients must have assumed death looked like. he strides slowly down the cargo bay landing door, looking like someone from thousands of years ago, eyes dulled but steady, a low smoldering gaze hooded beneath heavy, long eyelashes.

three days have gone by at a break-neck pace, jaewon’s ship breaking all sorts of interplanetary space-travel laws to get to the desert planet on time, all throughout which, her captain barely speaks, barely eats, sleeps even less. three days have gone by and he is devoid of thunder, no color to speak of, the kaleidoscope of his temper landing flat like a base note, a monotone, broken only by the extensively higher rate of cigarettes he’s taken to inhaling, seemingly always lighting one up or snuffing it dead, going through more than three pack in a single day. he answers nothing about the funeral, nothing about vera, nothing about valluria, except to say they’ll only be there for a day and a night and they leave again at first light. and if anyone wants to attend, he won’t stop them.

he is not himself and he doesn’t try to be, doesn’t try to extend out, arms reaching, voice calling, burning like the head of a lighthouse, the way his crew is used to seeing him do, doesn’t try to hear them, see them, understand them; much like the ghosts who latch themselves to his wrists, his shoulders, his back, he wanders through the ship in the middle of the night, reminiscently disembodied, disengaging with anyone who attempts to get too close, to ask too many questions, want for too many details.

he tries to keep himself busy, but his mind always returns back to that same white-noise place, where a thousand memories squeeze and crush themselves inside his head, a thousand images flashing at once.

when the ship lands, kyoji meets him, gives him the proper attire necessary for his position in the wake, neither of them speaking much to each other. they gather with the others a short walk away, previous crew members who are happy to see jaewon, albeit not under these circumstances, the group of them heading towards the fringes of the lowkey city, where the dusts and sands swirl together in miniature tornadoes, the sun howling down on them all. he’s missed these people, these half-hidden faces, all older than him, congratulating him on surviving as long as he has, using the name “rat” synonymous with “friend.” they all know a piece of him, of who he was as a child, of who he can’t indulge any longer with the crew he’s with now, asking him just what you’d expect of old friends catching up on each other in hushed voices as they make their journey; has he married yet? still a grenade of a boy? how’s the ship, is she still flying true? still as beautiful as ever, despite the loss of her first love?

somewhere in the distance behind him, he can almost hear serenity crying for vera— figures one of them ought to be.

the arrangement is simple: kyoji and jaewon, named as family, sit at the forefront, dressed the same, kneeling in the sand, facing east while the sun looms along the western hemisphere, while behind them, everyone else kneels the same way, all in the same color, all with the same sentiments, and for the duration of the funeral, turning to the west is taboo. before the gathering is a single flat, square stone, noticeably grey a few centimeters above the sand; beyond it an altar, stone and incense, burning vallurian brews and spices, creating the inescapable scent of cinnamon, three shamans, and a large pyre with a corpse-sized box atop it.

they burn her body, the fire raging higher than anything jaewon’s ever seen before, but can still somehow relate to it, eyes caught in the flames, the cackling of the heat sending him into a daze for most of it. he listens to the shamans’ song, the holy rite passed for her spirit, the ghoul of her life collapsing down into dust inside the coffin held high away from them, and something inside him wants to be able to see it. to see vera, to come closer to her, to comfort her— as though she might be scared trapped inside that enclosure, as though he could hold her arm the same way she had held his every time he’d come to her, broken from nightmares and memories and demons.

illaia….. illaia…..

the word repeats itself over and over inside his head and he has to fight against the lump that keep rearing up in his throat, fight against his own heart breaking itself against his ribs, fight against the urge to stay here, rooted to the dunes of his homeworld. the wind kicks up the sands against his clothes but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink, doesn’t sway. we are born of the desert, kyoji once told him, we are as much earth and stone and sky and light as we are flesh and bone; we do not let anything overtake us.

finally, the fire simmers out, the collection of her ashes and remains compiled, and they call him forward, initiating the next phase of the wake: the jan’hazal. jaewon swallows and inhales, bringing himself up, steeling himself against the tremble in his legs, the wavering of his soul, reminds himself he must be mountain, he must be lightning. he’s not ready for this, he doesn’t want to say goodbye, doesn’t want to give her up, doesn’t want to be here at all right now, inhaling the dusk, but he stands anyway and approaches the grey stone, shoulders back, the line of him tall and straight and shining. the way vera taught him to be.

he turns towards the west, the setting sun casting long, orange lines across his clothes, coloring him in the shades of his surroundings, of his history, of his people, and kneels down again on the stone, his arms outstretched for the shamans to unwrap his headdress and shirt off him, revealing his face, head, torso, and arms. blonde hair whips against his forehead and ears, sand scratching against his skin, but he doesn’t move, gaze locked on the setting sun as the mourners before him watch. two of the shamans begin painting his face in red dust, his neck, his shoulders, regardless of the scars or tattoos embroidered on him, a testament to the fact that no matter what else he does to his body, above and below the flesh, these sands will always remain on him.

the third shaman stands before him a few feet away, eyes black, features somber and serious, the urn in his grasp, and jaewon already knows this rite. “you have been named as the vigilant. you understand this.”

“i understand this,” jaewon answers.

“you are to take the remains of this woman into the desert. you are to ride an hour to the west, chase kalidasa until you can follow no more, until all light leaves the sky. you understand this.”

“i understand this.”

“you will stop. you will bring body and dust together, allowing her to rejoin the sands from whence she came, so that she may unite with her lineage, so that her essence will once again flow with the darkened waters of the world below, where all time stops. you understand this.”

“i understand this.”

“you will wait there throughout the night, you will keep vigil for her passage. vanashim the great witch, the howler, will come to you to tempt you with exhaustion and with hunger. you must not surrender. take nothing, believe nothing. keep your watch. you understand this.”

“i understand this.”

“when kalidasa returns to the sky, travel to the east and return. remember, young vallurian… shed no tears for the dead. you understand this.”

“i understand this.”

finger-painting finished, jaewon stands and receives the urn, small, hot, white, pretty unassuming considering the storm of a woman it used to be, and is re-wrapped in his headdress, torso still bare, red skin still on display. they lead him to a hovercycle and he gets on it, securing the urn, securing his footing, securing his lungs, his heart, his hands. don’t break. gold eyes flicker back to the rest of the still-seated mourners for only a moment, a strike of weakness, uncertainty, fear, dread, pain.

and then it’s gone again, shoved down into the corners of him as he clenches teeth tightly, eyes sharpening to knives, pinned on the horizon. white-knuckles grip the handlebars, the engine revving as sand spews outwards, the machine launching him into the dimming orange sunlight.

*****

the night is long and dotted with bright stars, smoke gathers around chimney tops in this sleepy desert town, some of the older crew rally to reminisce in taverns and bars, between beers and laughter, stupid stories about vera in her youth, about jaewon as a pre-teen, about the days when the skies were clear and much less charted, much less ruled, the edges of space still mysterious, still full of dragons and whirlpools, the days of real pirates, real deep-space hauntings. they sing old glory days songs, forgetting some of the words, making up others, they remember their last conversations with vera, their last goodbyes to the ship, their last voyages out into the black.

it is a night for endings, a night for expiration dates, everything letting down, the dust settling, the sands breezing, the air still scented with spices. there are glows that follow footsteps in the streets, lighted beacons to warm serenity as she sits and keeps watch, facing the desert still, facing the long edge of the world still, rigid and calm. everyone else tucks away their tabs of life, tucks away this chapter, says goodbye in their own small or large way, to a woman who’d always somehow managed to be stronger than anything that challenged her.

and only serenity sits and listens to vera’s son, the scarred boy, screaming into the dark, miles and miles away, the broken boy, tearing at the sands for all he’s lost.

*****

when the captain returns to his ship at first light, as promised, he is dusty, sandy, messy, and golden, the dunes of valluria having painted the bare skin of his chest bronze, the red paint on his face chipped, smudged, already half worn off. no shirt still, but the cloth for his headdress is slung over his shoulder as he strides through the metal gate, lips chapped and solidified downwards into a permanent frown, his brows heavy and dark, gold eyes blazing and resentful, the sun in him scorching and exhausted. he wants a damn shower and a cigarette, he wants to get back to his job, he wants to get off this world— this world that has seeped into his bones, dried him free of blood, fused itself to his life unwanted, each mountain his birthmark, each city an open, gaping wound.

he cannot cry, so instead he burns. he burns the same way everyone on valluria burns.

with a fist, he hits the intercom that connects to the bridge. “captain on deck. get us the hell off this planet.”

[levingale]

anon has whispered: For the one-word prompts, if you're still accepting? fight : my muse stops your muse from getting into a physical fight with someone else. With Maebh/@semper-miles

some one word prompts. // accepting.

Things took a turn in ways even the bringer of storms did not anticipate. It starts with questions     ──       who are you?     ──       who is she?     ──      

It ends with the realisation that should’ve dawned upon Karigan a long time ago. And it seems that her prime target, Izola, was too struck with an epiphany. She is almost ready, too ready for physical confrontation. The first instinct was to fight as she had been so thoroughly taught all her life. It was the grit of one’s jaw and the harshness of one’s determination that was essential to surviving. 

“ Oh? You’d sell out your own partner? ” The sky pirate hums in mere amusement. Mere moments before she attempted to get the first hit. “ How unfortunate that things had to end up this way. ” 

It was a clear indication that she should not trust any of them, as even the information broker had turned against someone who was living comfortably under the same roof. There is a grunt of frustration when her fist does not connect with her intended target. 

“ Move, ” Karigan hisses and withdraws her arm, backing away from Maebh entirely, “ I’m only here to find out what else the Corpse Brigade has in store for poor, poor Ala Mhigo. ” 

[levingale]

@enchantingwrath​ whispered: “Karigan, is that... is that you?” Hi give me woof woof mode pls unprompted. // always open.

NO     ──     she wants to yell. As luck would have it, no matter how much she tried to hide herself from others, the one person who she was avoiding had found her curled up pathetically in the corner of her quarters. 

Perhaps it would be wise to pretend like she was some stray dog. OR JUST INCREDIBLY FOOLISH. How would she even explain herself when she turned back to her human form ? With a low rumble, she forces herself back onto her feet and turns her gaze to the xaela standing at the entrance of her room. 

“ Maybe, ” The beast’s voice is distorted in a cacophony of growls. Speaking was not easy when she was like this, she found. Nevertheless, Karigan snorted out a breath and approached the assassin slowly ( as best as she could with her hulking form, anyway ), letting out a soft whine as she pressed her snout against her lover’s hand. Her movements were somewhat hesitant, unsure if Jade was REPULSED by her current form. 

[levingale]

@makersruins​ whispered: aspectabund ! uncommon words drabbles. // accepting slowly. 

Names held power. Had stories attached to them. She found it ridiculous to be born with names on each wrist. Never knowing which one would herald her demise. Karigan avoided thinking too much about it throughout her growing years. There would be no use wondering, no use expecting. No use for hope in such a dreary world. It wasn’t until she had climbed up from the depths of hell that she realises     ──       these names would not matter. Not when she was walking such a dark and brutal path, away from the beaten one that many walked upon. 

Karigan’s first love was the sky; the endless expanse. A canvas of ever changing colours that never promised anything. Closer to the heavens that she sought to shake and wreak havoc upon. It is only in moments of silence, where she doubts her path, herself, does her will crumble. Her gaze falls upon the written letters on her wrist and she wonders. What would they be like ? 

It is in moments like that, does she ghost her fingertips over the letters. On her wrist, the names held no story. She did not know these people other than the fact that they exist, know not of their personalities. 

The name Thyra is spelled on her wrists in a painfully proper fashion, straight and stiff. Karigan briefly wondered if this alluded to this person’s personality. It isn’t until she meets Thyra in person that she realises one of the two possible outcomes. Yet she can’t help but to break into a grin. She remembers their first meeting vividly, how gunmetal eyes looked as if they were staring right into her soul, and how they danced on the battlefield. The sky pirate thought nothing of it at first, she was always one who burned for battle, after all. 

But she should’ve. She should have. She should have looked back. Especially when something felt off about having two mortal enemies. But she didn’t, not when Thyra seemed happy with her soulmate. There was a belief she held in her heart that maybe she wasn’t worthy of a soulmate after all. And it was as it presented itself, a predestined fate to keep fighting until her last breath. Karigan had never felt so WRONG then; when she was the one who sprinted to Thyra’s side. That it was her that held a wounded sea-woman instead of the one who was supposed to be her soulmate. 

The blood is fresh, oozing out of the gaping wounds, and there is a cold dread that creeps up Karigan’s spine. Thyra speaks of realisation in croaks and pants. She’s so pale, she’s so cold     ──      

Her vision blurs and her cheeks feel wet. She thinks better than to cry now, and so she blinks harshly, trying to rid herself of this nauseous emotion, a habit that she was very acquainted with. Do not show yourself to the wolves, young one. You bare your fangs and bite. It meant nothing now when she was going to lose her soulmate. 

She grits her teeth when Thyra raises a bloodied hand to touch her face. Don’t go, Karigan begs, You’re not meant to die like this. If she had to, she would walk into death’s realm to drag Thyra back. She wasn’t one to believe in destinies, and she damn well would not accept this ending. It was better to bring down the heavens and raise up hell than to let this slip from her fingertips. Her aether shifts, preparing a healing spell to at least stop the bleeding as best she can. If she has to expend all of her aether in doing so, then so be it. 

[levingale]

knew, the known, know. smile again, the sun rises.

prompt seven: nonagenarian

“ Did you know her? ”  

“ Ah, quite well. Always the troublemaker. She was very loyal and filial though we weren’t related by blood. ”

There was a pause of silence, nothing too intrusive as they looked on at the horizon. Ala Mhigo was a nation, and the people were alive yet. Karigan breathed and ran her fingers through the messy locks of her hair.

“ You have her eyes, you know. ”

The old lady turned at looked up at the younger child of war. How she managed to live through the Garlean occupation, the pirate would never know. They were a tenacious bunch — Ala Mhigans. But it didn’t mean that they deserved any of which was thrown at them.

“ How so? ”

“ The intensity — she would raise hell if someone so touched her loved ones. ”

“ Ah, I can see that. ”

Marthe merely let out a chuckle and shifted from her seat to stand. “ Walk with me, dear child. I have much to tell you. ”

They speak in memories; days of which were long gone. Yet Karigan could envision it clearly. The smiles that were worn on her parent’s visages even as a threat loomed above all innocent.

“ Will you return home one day, child? ”

When the cub and the fledging have grown, when the fields are green once again and the wolf could run wild and free.

“ One day. We will all come home. ” Karigan murmured softly. The elderly woman merely smiled, warm and radiant like the sun above.

“ Home is not a place. ”

“ No, I suppose not. ”

“ You carry a ‘home’ wherever you go. As they will follow, no? ”

There’s a gentle squeeze — a wrinkled hand taking hers in and they share the warmth for a moment. Karigan did not protest but instead allowed herself to be led to the dining hall.

This was a home. Forever and always.

[levingale]

would you / hug & tell me you love me / as you go?

prompt five: matter of fact

IT’S A MATTER OF FACT — truly and utterly; wholly and entirely ! — War runs in our blood and courses through our veins. Are we cursed ? Nay, for we sing the HYMNS OF WAR. Bathe in liberation that comes after and again the cycle repeats.

What is war but a way of life ? What is life without conflict and peace ?

It’s a matter of fact, my dear child. You too, will sing to our song. But bleed you must, for you are designed to — you are your lion’s pride and my little bird.

It’s a matter of fact; that you will suffer as does everyone else. That you will cry, wail and be beaten down again and again until you have no breath left to draw.

But BREATHE, darling. For we have given you this life and everything we had for you to continue.

Remember, remember. Remember us and our love.

It’s a matter of fact.

I love you.

So, do not cry, my little nightingale. We will always be with you.

[levingale]

@makersruins​ has whispered: push. :eyes:

some one word prompts. // accepting.

She has known heroes and the qualities of one     ──       oh so universally shared. Brave, reckless, dutiful. Self-sacrificing. The nobility of such a role was one that Karigan Nightngale failed to wrap her head around. And thus, she treats them all the same. She acknowledges the need for a hero, for a light to look to when the world burned in cinders, when the creeping dark burrowed deep. Once, during a time long gone, did she dream of being such a revered warrior. Did she dream of the praise and songs. 

Karigan did not dream anymore. 

Here, in the skies, she parts the heavens in the name of her own judgment. She does not expect the warrior of light to be interesting. But Thyra Thorne shows, and the bringer of storms could only smile. Grey hues were merely a mirror     ──       to see the hero for who she was, and to see herself in tints of anger. The dance is delicate, but nothing she wasn't unfamiliar with. She has danced to their song of war for all her life.

It is then when they are forced to cooperate that Karigan glances at the hero in a different light. Less off the stiffness, more of the stupid. 

“ At this rate, you’re going to eviscerate yourself before you get rid of me. ” Her voice is strained with weariness and it is evident that she is tired. But something about Thyra always stirs her for more. To push, and push, before inevitably receding like the tide. A dry laugh is drawn out from Karigan when she brings out her gunblade. 

They were always existing in their own realms. The sea and the sky. She doesn’t think about the times she notices that the raven locks reminded her of the ocean waves. Doesn’t think of the fact that sailors were always foiled by storms. “ My dear Thyra, ” The title of heroism is lost upon her tongue, the empyrean warrior cares nothing about pedestals now, “ We can’t have that. You’re mine to ruin. ”

Her blade, glimmering and bloodthirsty as always     ──       one that has sought so greedily for the hero’s blood     ──       plunges deep into the flesh of their assailant. 

[levingale]

@enchantingwrath​ whispered: kismet uncommon words drabbles. // accepting slowly.

To believe that everything was written in the stars and one should accept what’s given was nothing short of ridiculous to Karigan Nightingale. Whatever the heaven’s had planned for her, she did not want to be a part of. Nor does she think to conform. All her life, she had always known violence like it was a part of her. The extension of her very essence and something that called to her like a siren to a sailor. 

She thinks, then, that destiny works against her. Plots her downfall and condemns her for the path she’s chosen. It is because of her penchant for violence, to be so madly drowned with warring herself, that she forgets what fate is like when love is involved. 

In her life, love took up the smaller places     ──       the nooks and corners. Her hands, stained with blood and sharpened claws, were used to wash clothes and patch up equipment on a mundane day. Used to pour ale in the cups for her crew to toast. Love, to her, was something she never actively sought. A DOOMED QUEST. Unlike ones that set her out on expeditions. Ones that promised her the world and more. To live by her nation’s creed, and to die by it. 

She thinks     ──       maybe this is how destiny gets back at her. In ways she’d never expect as well. It exists to her in a home in the Lavender Beds of all things. The sky, though welcoming to all, and still very much a place she likes spending her time in, it could never compare to the solid ground under her feet. Could never compare to how the floorboards creaked under her foot and the mix of aromas that she had gotten used to. 

What love is, to her ( in a romantic sense ), is the otherworldly pull that draws the hungry beast to the warmth of her beloved. It is the gentle touch of Jade’s hand, how she brushes the messy strands of hair that fell, how the assassin’s arms wrap around her frame in the mornings and evenings. Love was not something to be searched for, not when Karigan could see it clearly behind violet hues. Even beneath the arguments they had. She could flee; to run, to scowl and distance herself from Jade Kenor. 

Yet she does not. Karigan could never bring herself to part, could never reject their destined encounter. Perhaps, in another life, one long before this one, they had met before. And so she would keep choosing Jade over and over again if she could. Even long after their time ends if it meant that she could hold onto her love’s hand a little longer.

[levingale]

@enchantingwrath​ has inquired: “i love you, but i really fucking hate you sometimes.” (jade) ANGRY SENTENCE STARTERS // NOT ACCEPTING.

Everything came to a screeching halt for the sky pirate. She cared not about the predicament they were in or what they were even arguing about. Mismatched hues of green widened almost instantly the moment her brain registered the words. If Jade had uttered anything of it, Karigan didn’t listen to anything else. The arrogant woman’s hands found themselves gripping tightly at the xaela’s wrist, dragging the latter closer to her body, albeit a little harshly.

“ You love me? ” The beast murmured lowly, every bit of volume and agitation having evaporated. There was a hint of disbelief behind her eyes and tone. Yet for all of the doubt she wanted to feel, the blossoming hope in her chest that Jade had meant her words were enough to drown all her senses. Karigan leaned closer, taking in the scent of lavender as she wrapped her other arm around the shorter woman’s waist — keeping her still.

Her lips were merely inches away from Jade’s and though she was half-tempted to close the gap between them, to taste and beg for every bit of devotion and love from the assassin, she did not.

── “ Do you? ” Karigan breathed out a bated breath, “ Do you love the devil that dragged you to the depths of hell? Or was it a slip of a tongue? ” Her gaze never left violet hues, waiting and watching for any reaction the xaela might have much like a predator to its prey. Except she was not predator here, the sky pirate was merely a wounded beast that had offered her neck to the alchemist to tame. She sang, and she sang to enchant the beast. Songs in moans and whispers, captivating the wild and hungry beast to beg for love.

“ Which is it, my dear Jade? I will only ask this once. ”