#Pirates!Ghost AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-original-skipps · 5 months ago

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|| Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine x Reader || Headcanons || Honkai Star Rail ||

you guys voted so here it is! I tried to write it without the yandere but I couldn’t lol also I got another yandere pirate aven where’s he’s alive if yall wanna check that out

HUMAN VER.

CW: slight sexual content. forced relations. major yandereness. ghost possession. non-consensual touching. mentions of death & the afterlife.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who feels himself standing by death's door but doesn’t want to actually die. He thought he’d be able to accept it or welcome it even - it’s what he’s always wanted; to be free from this cursed life but images of you flash through his mind as he takes his last breaths.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who before he completely loses himself to the beckoning darkness, silently pleads for death not to take him. There’s so many things he wants to see, to accomplish, that lost treasure he’s yet to find - but most of all he wants to remain beside you longer.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who realizes his luck somewhat saved him again as he’s now a ghost. He’s disappointed that he no longer has a mortal form, completely phasing through any physical object. He also no longer feels urges like hunger or sleep but one urge still remains within him. The urge to see you again.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who leaves the cold waters of the ocean to roam the mortal realm to try to find you again. He’s not sure how long it’s been since he died, he’s not sure if you’re even alive but he needs some closure. Maybe if you’ve died, he hopes that by gaining that knowledge there will be no more lingering regrets tying him to this world. He’d pass on, hopefully to see you in the afterlife. Though he doubts that sinners like him wouldn’t end up in the same place as you.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who has supposedly died but is somehow here in your very living room. After an excruciating long time, he manages to find you alive and well. He looks the same as the last time you’ve seen him except now his fingers have turned blue. Ghostly blue orbs floating around him as he smiles at you gleefully.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who decides to bind himself to you. It’s the whole reason he’s still alive right? The gods he never believed in - they’ve heard his pitiful last wish to remain by your side. They’ve granted it to him! He’ll remain by your side until death comes knocking at your door too. Then you’d be together forever right?

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who’s just as mischievous and teasing as when he was still alive but only this time you can’t do anything against him. He’d play countless pranks to scare you - delighting in your frightened expressions. He’ll randomly appear behind you, make objects float around you and purposely make sounds late into the night to frighten you into not sleeping. Don’t sleep, he’s awfully lonely when you do that.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who spends every single second attached to your side. Even if you’re at home or outside in town - he’s there floating around you. Not only is he always there, he also never stops talking. He can’t help it, he’s got no one else to talk to and you’re the only one who can see him.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who likes to whisper distracting and sometimes dirty things in your ear when you talk to other people. Making it hard to concentrate and for the other person to look at you weirdly. Because why are you glancing at something behind them? There’s nothing there right? Right?

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who asks - borderline pleading for you to let him possess you. It’s been awfully long since he’s done anything besides being glued to you. You don’t always respond to him either, choosing to ignore him, he needs something else to do. So he constantly asks you to the point of annoyance to give up your body for him. Which one day succeeds because you’re tired of listening to him - even when you’re trying to sleep he doesn’t leave you alone. A decision you’d come to regret.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who immediately breaks the rules you’ve set for him once he’s possessed your body. He can’t help it, there are just so many things he’s always wanted to see you do but you keep refusing to. So he uses this opportunity to make you pull different faces and say things you’d normally not say for his amusement. Is it weird to feel his heart fluttering when he makes you say things like you love him, that you only need him - even though he’s the one who’s controlling your body to do these things?

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine after being deprived of you for so long, wants to play with your body. He’s missed you deeply, the sight of your bare skin reflected in the mirror inducing excitement within him - your body. It’s a strange feeling he must admit as he runs your hands through your body, wanting to know what makes you tick. He can’t help it, he wants to know everything about you, especially what makes you feel good. As your hand inches closer to your most sensitive parts, Aventurine thinks to himself. You wouldn’t mind if he played a little right? Your body would definitely enjoy it.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who had to forcibly peel himself from the mirror finally heads into town to indulge himself. He doesn’t want to spend the money you painstakingly made so he has to earn some himself. Aventurine in your body hits up the largest tavern in town to gamble. It didn’t take long for him to sweep the table clean of riches, all for his taking. The usual accusations of cheating happens, and a fight breaks out. The last thing he wants to do is to get injuries on your precious body so he ends the fight quickly and cleanly. He has some shopping to do after.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who lays down beside you on your bed after enjoying a night out in town. As much as he enjoyed possessing you, he misses your actual presence. So, he lays there beside you until you wake up. When you do, you almost jump out of your skin with how close his face is to yours. You feel as if you’ve gone into the deepest sleep, not remembering anything after you gave Aventurine permission to possess you. You immediately ask him what happened and what he’s done while he controlled your body. Only for him to give you a teasing smile. Which makes you horrified and confused as to what he’s done. Also as to why your room is filled with ribboned boxes.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine as days goes by starts to become more possessive of you - wanting to monopolize you. He keeps track of the people in your life, who they are and what they mean to you. He wants to get rid of them one by one until you have him remaining. So, don’t be so surprised to hear that your friends want nothing to do with you anymore - or if the person who was seemingly interested in you disappears. Oh, they got into a tragic accident? How unfortunate! Don’t look at him like he didn’t do anything or so he wants you to believe.

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who’s starting to miss touching and holding you like he used to when he was still alive. At this point he’s starving for the feel of your skin on his hands again. He ponders if he should possess someone to make that happen but he doesn’t want anyone else’s hands to touch you even if he’s in control of it. He’ll just have to find some other way then. He’s heard rumors of a sea witch who supposedly grants people’s wishes. Maybe he’ll pay her a visit?

Yandere Ghost Pirate!Aventurine who contemplates every now and then when you’d die. If you died would you also become a ghost? He ponders this question a lot in his abundant free time. What if you just pass on? There are too many uncertainties, he needs to find the answer. When the time comes you’ll gladly join him right? No? Well, he has ways to make it happen whether you’re willing or not. Only then would you both be truly bound to each other, beyond life and death.

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midnight-shadow-cafe · 24 days ago

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GUYS HELP! i wanna find a book so bad but idk if anyone has written one like this 😭 so like i wanna find a why choose romance (or dark) with a f!mc that’s a pirate captain or the daughter or a pirate and really badass and the m!mc’s that are like princes or like dukes or something like that. it just seems like a really good idea to me but idk 😭😭

(or maybe if someone does a fic abt this idea with f!reader x poly!141 where they’re royalty and all in a poly relationship and she’s the badass pirate captain, so kinda like the Pirates of the Caribbean movies 👀)

The Crimson Tempest

Chapter One: The Princes and The Pirate

Pairing: f!Reader x Poly!141

AU: Royalty 141 x Pirate Captain Reader

Warnings: Violence, mentions of war, pirates, flirting, tension, power dynamics, strong language

Author's Note: I’m genuinely so excited for this series!!

Summary: Four royal men sail into pirate waters to make a deal with the most dangerous woman on the seas — the Crimson Tempest. You don’t trust royals. They don’t trust pirates. But the storm is only just beginning.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

——

The sky bled crimson over the horizon.

Sunset painted fire across the waves, reflecting on the rippling surface like the flicker of a thousand torches. Gulls cried overhead as the wind sang through the rigging of The King’s Ransom, the royal vessel cutting across the sea like a blade through silk.

On the upper deck, John Price stood at the helm, eyes narrowed beneath the brim of his weatherworn naval hat. The scent of brine and gunpowder clung to the air — a familiar warning.

“She’s close,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if she’s watching already,” said Kyle — Gaz — from beside him, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His regal sash, green and gold, had already begun to dampen from the sea mist.

From the quarterdeck stairs, Johnny MacTavish — Soap — strolled up with the easy swagger of someone raised for war but hungry for mischief. He glanced at the horizon, then back at John.

“This is madness,” he said with a grin. “A pirate? As an ally?”

John’s jaw ticked. “Not just a pirate.”

A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the rhythmic slap of the waves against the hull.

“She’s the pirate.”

At that moment, the shadows shifted.

A massive, black-hulled ship emerged from behind a rising swell like a phantom — sleek, predatory, armed to the teeth. Dark red sails unfurled like blood-soaked wings, marked with the sigil of a siren with daggers for claws.

The Siren’s Mercy.

Simon Riley — Ghost — appeared without a word, his tall form silent as a wraith at John’s shoulder. The wind tugged at his black cloak, mask shadowing his eyes.

“We’re being boarded,” he said quietly.

No alarm bells. No cannon fire. No war cries.

Just the soft, echoing thump of grappling hooks and the creak of pirate boots touching royal wood.

You were the last to cross.

Boots hitting the deck with confidence, you stood tall — silhouetted by the dying light like some goddess of the abyss. You wore a long coat of midnight black, stitched with red thread at the seams, and a wide belt that held two pistols, a dagger, and the curved hilt of a sword that had once belonged to the Pirate King — your father.

Your hair was tied back with a crimson ribbon that matched the sash around your waist, a symbol of your rank — a captain’s color.

You walked past the royal guards without so much as a glance, stopping just shy of the four men watching you.

Your eyes, a tempest of cunning and heat, roamed over them like a blade.

John was the first you spoke to.

“You’re older than I expected, Prince John,” you said, tone mocking but smooth. “But you carry command well.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. “Captain.”

You shifted your gaze to Kyle. “And you must be Prince Kyle. I hear you’re the diplomat. Did they send you to sweet-talk me into surrendering?”

Kyle smiled, one brow lifted. “Not unless you’d consider it.”

You turned to Johnny, head tilting. “Prince Jonathan. The swordsman. They say you took down eight men at the siege of Black Vale.”

He flashed a grin, playful. “Nine, actually. But who’s counting?”

“And you,” you said, finally facing Simon. “The silent prince. The shadow. You’ve killed more men than the others combined, and yet you’re the only one not reaching for a weapon.”

Simon’s eyes were unreadable. “If I needed it, you’d already be dead.”

A beat.

Then you smiled — slow and wicked. “Careful. You’ll make me blush.”

The crew behind you chuckled quietly. The tension was thick, but it had shifted — from danger to something else. Something sharper. Charged.

“I didn’t come here to kill you, princes,” you said, circling them like a wolf. “But don’t mistake this meeting for peace.”

“Then why are you here?” John asked.

You stopped, dead center between them, coat whipping in the wind.

“Because you want a war,” you said softly. “And I want revenge.”

The air snapped tight like a drawn bowstring.

“I’ll give you what you want — ships, men, blood — but on my terms. And if I find out this is some royal trap to shackle me or tame me, I’ll burn your kingdom to the sea.”

The silence stretched.

Then John stepped forward, expression iron.

“We don’t want to tame you,” he said. “We want to fight beside you.”

Your smile turned dangerous.

“Then come aboard the Siren’s Mercy. Let’s see if you’re men or myths.”

And just like that, you turned your back to them — daring, commanding — and strode back to your ship, leaving the four princes reeling in your wake.

Soap let out a long, low whistle. “Bloody hell.”

Kyle nodded slowly. “We’re in trouble.”

Ghost’s voice was quiet. “She’s dangerous.”

John’s gaze was still locked on you as you stepped onto your ship’s deck, already barking orders to your crew in a language none of them recognized.

“She’s perfect.”

——

End of Chapter One

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

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lay-z · 22 days ago

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SNEAK PEEK 👀 This is getting longer and more detailed than I planned, but I'll do my damnest to keep it as a oneshot!

#sneak peek #mershark!simon riley x fem!reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #cod mermay #mermay #call of duty #ghost x reader #cod pirates of the caribbean au #walk the plank

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crowliphale · 1 year ago

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Pride stuffs

+ orientations n whatnot for my blended gothfam au over on twt

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pirates-ghost-au · 7 months ago

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Foxy I'm back and I brought you some soup from the soup store ｡◕‿◕｡

[also don't ask what's in it ahahahahahahaha-]

🏴‍☠️:"....please get off my ship..NOW-"

#Glitch’s silly answer 💜#Glitch’s stupid ahh art 💜#who is dis dumbahh glitchtrap knock-off? 💜#pirates!ghost au #Pirates!Ghost Asks #Piggy x Fnaf AU #Fnaf x Piggy AU #Fnaf Foxy

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betweenstorms · 5 months ago

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The Tide That Binds Us (masterlist) (previous work) Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Siren!fem Reader

“The tide drags us together, lover and monster alike, until our reflections blur upon the water—now I cannot tell where your hunger ends and my surrender begins.”

Simon Riley knew that he had been raised by the sea herself.

His lungs had been shaped by her salted breath, his skin weathered by her touch, both cruel and kind, both lover and executioner. His hands bore the scars of her temperament, the rough callouses of a child she had never coddled, only forged.

He had seen all her faces, too, her serene hush, when the morning tide kissed the shore like a parting lover, whispering secrets in the language of shifting sands. He had also known her rage, the way she screamed in the throat of a storm, a wrathful goddess tearing at the sky, drowning the world in fury. She was treacherous and tender, devouring and divine.

And Simon knew better than most that the sea had no mercy.

She gave as much as she took, offered salvation in the same breath she whispered death. Men like him belonged to her in ways those bound to the land could never understand. She did not love, not in the way a mother should. But she kept him. She had taken men stronger than him, smarter than him, much more cunning than him, pulled them beneath her surface with greedy hands, but she had let him live.

Perhaps the sea had been merciful because he had always served her.

He was not like the others, those who fought against her, who defied her will, who prayed to false gods to spare them from her wrath. Simon had never begged her for favor, nor cursed her for cruelty. He had accepted her as she was, giver and taker, mother and monster, and she, maybe in return, had allowed him to stay, to bathe in her glory.

The lighthouse was his domain, his duty, the golden eye of its beacon sweeping across the darkened bay each night, a silent warning to those who dared trespass upon the inky waters. The men who sailed these shores, fishermen, drifters, wanderers with salt in their veins and wounds on their skin, depended on it. On him. On his care. They never saw his face, only the steady rhythm of his work, the light that cut through the darkness.

Simon’s days were predictable.

Ritualistic even.

He fished in the mornings, pulling silver offerings from the sea’s embrace, his hands deft and unthinking as he worked. He maintained the beacon, tended the building, ensuring the gears moved as they should, oiling the great lantern’s heart. When the skies were clear, he watched the stars, mapping the constellations that stretched above him like scars across the heavens.

The nearest town was miles away, across the bay, little more than a scattering of homes and shops clinging to the coastline. He rarely ventured there unless necessity demanded it—a new coil of rope, a crate of provisions—but even then, he lingered only long enough to make his purchases before returning to his solitary world.

Simon preferred it that way.

Isolation suited him.

The sea had always been his most faithful companion, the only one who knew the language of silence, who understood the weight of solitude without seeking to fill it. She never asked anything of him beyond his devotion, never demanded more than he could give. And yet, beneath her endless surface, beneath the lull of waves and foam, she harbored secrets.

Dark things. Forgotten things.

Monsters.

One of those monsters haunted him that night.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon grunted as he closed a window due to the heavy wind. The sea was uneasy, restless in a way that only those who truly knew her could feel.

That day, sometime after dusk, the wind had shifted, rolling in from the east with an eerie stillness that pressed heavy against the world, the kind that foretold an oncoming storm. Above, the stars burned brighter than they should have, their cold, ancient light stark against the vast abyss. The moon hung low and swollen, full and watching, a silver god casting its glow over the churning water below. The waves lapped against the massive cliffs, carrying secrets meant for no human ear. Dark and murmuring.

They rose and fell like a monster’s sigh.

And then he heard it.

A siren.

He was a man nearing forty, and he knew well the witchery of the sea. The stories whispered in dockside taverns, the warnings etched into the faces of old sailors, the superstitions woven into every knot of a fisherman’s net—he had heard them all. The sea was no gentle mistress. She was a realm of monsters, of unholy things that ruled the waves with claws and teeth and songs that could drown men without a drop of water touching their skin.

He knew of krakens, their tentacles rising like black towers from the depths, wrapping around ships and pulling them into the darkness. He knew of beasts with too many eyes, blinking in eerie unison from the shadows beneath the waves, their gazes filled with unknowable intent.

And he knew of sirens, too.

Their otherworldly voices were spun from the marrow of dead sailors, their songs as sweet as they were lethal, beckoning men toward ruin with the promise of something beautiful, eternal and inescapable. He had seen one once, when he was just a boy—too young to understand, but old enough to remember.

He could still recall the way his father’s harpoon tore through its body, the way it bled black, ink and brine spilling into the boat, staining his hands, his boots, his memories.

They were wretched things, their bodies tangled with moss and pearls, their scales slick as oil on water, shimmering and shifting, catching the light in unnatural hues of purple, blue, and silver. Their eyes were the worst of it—milky and hollow, pits of white that seemed to pierce and yet see nothing at all.

No pupils, no soul, no mercy.

And their teeth, too sharp and too many for his liking, gleaming like a reflection of the waves themselves, something meant for rending, for devouring, for dragging men into the deep and never letting go.

“Never trust what comes from the sea,” that was what his father had said as he carved into the corpse, his blade slicing through the slick flesh with the practiced ease of a man gutting a fish, stripping it bare from its makeshift jewelry. “Nothin’ that comes from it is ever yours, son. Not her pearls, not her beauty, not her mercy. You take what you need and leave the rest. If you don’t, she’ll take you instead.”

This was the only truly useful thing his father had ever said to him.

But this one—this siren wasn’t singing.

It was crying.

The sound was heartbreakingly beautiful, a sorrow spun from salt and wind that rose from the darkness and wrapped itself around him like a mother’s embrace. It wasn’t the seductive pull of their song, that honeyed, venomous promise of blissful destruction he had steeled himself against countless times before. No, this was different. It was raw, fractured, a sound that felt like it didn’t belong to the world of the living. It was haunting, the way it seemed to call for him and only him. The sound wasn’t human, couldn’t be, and yet it burrowed into his chest and made his heart tighten.

Because it was not a call.

It was pain.

And goddess help him, it was beautiful. It prickled his skin, sent a cold whisper down his spine, not with fear, but with something worse—recognition. As though the grief in that voice did not belong to the sea at all. As though, somehow, it belonged to him.

And Simon, against all reason, felt himself being drawn to it.

His first instinct was to shut the other windows, too. To bolt the lighthouse doors and to wait for the storm he knew would come crawling over the horizon by morning. The sea always changed before a tempest, the air thickening, the tides rising, tense and starved. Simon had learned long ago that no good ever came from listening too closely to what lurked beyond the shore.

And yet—he hesitated.

Something inside him rebelled, some nameless part of him that ached at the tempting sound, that tightened in his chest like an iron fist gripping his ribs. And against his better judgment, he picked up his lantern and left the lighthouse.

Unguarded.

The descent toward the shore was treacherous, even for a man who had known these cliffs all his life. The rocks jutted out like broken bones, slick with sea spray, the pathway winding and deceptive. He knew all too well that every footstep here mattered, knew how easy it would be to fall and disappear beneath the tide, swallowed whole. But he pressed on, lantern swinging in his grip, his breath harsh against the cold wind.

And then the crying stopped.

Simon slowed, heartbeat heavy in his ears. He scanned the shoreline, his keen eyes adjusting to the silver-washed darkness. The sea stretched before him, an endless mouth yawning wide beneath the moon, and the wind howled, but the sobs had ceased, leaving only silence.

He was being watched.

His grip on the lantern tightened.

Simon felt it before he saw it, the unmistakable sensation of something pressing against him from the inside out, an invisible weight that made his breath come shorter, his pulse pound against his freezing skin. He swept his gaze across the rocky shoreline, the lantern's glow flickering weakly against the dark. The tide rolled in sluggishly, dragging kelp and shattered shells and rubbish onto the sand, leaving behind gleaming trails of brine that shimmered like veins of liquid silver. The scent of salt and something faintly metallic filled his lungs.

Then he saw it.

Or more like her.

“Bloody hell,” was all he could muster.

Shimmering scales gleamed under the moonlight, their iridescence shifting, broken and glistening in the pale glow. Empty, sightless eyes stared at him, the gleam of too many teeth bared in silent warning. Her hair was woven from the night itself, strands of pure darkness clinging to her face, tangled in the glistening scales and skin. Braids coiled through the wild locks, adorned with shells and pearls that had long since lost their luster—just like the ones his father had torn from a creature like her.

At first, Simon thought she was nothing more than a trick of the light. A specter conjured by the approaching storm, a cruel illusion spun from shadow and tide, a barbaric joke of his goddess. But then—

She moved.

Not much, only the faintest shift of her webbed fingers against the sand, long nails digging in the grains, but it was enough. Enough to confirm that she was no mirage, no phantom rising from the sea’s depths to mock him.

A siren.

But something was wrong.

Her body lay sprawled on the shore, draped across the wet sand like a broken offering, her black blood pooling beneath her, seeping into the white foam that hissed and whispered as the waves lapped hungrily at her failing form. A ragged wound marred her tail, a savage, gaping bite that had torn deep into her flesh, revealing pale muscle and splintered bone. It was raw, violent, the kind of wound left by a predator—something larger, something hungrier.

As if something had tried to eat her.

Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her translucent throat fluttering with each rattling gasp, as though she were drowning on land, suffocating in air that was never meant to sustain her. But she didn’t look like she was drowning. More like suffering.

Simon stood frozen, the chill of the night pressing into his skin, however, he felt nothing but the pull of her gaze. Those empty eyes, devoid of pupils, locked onto him with a stillness that could unmake a man. Misty and milky white, like pearls rolling in the tide, and yet—they saw him, he was sure of that. Saw through him, into the space where his soul should have been. A shudder coursed through him, sharp and biting, like the cold of the sea itself wrapping around his spine, threatening not to let him go.

He had seen her kind before, but not like this.

Never like this.

Because the sirens Simon knew were born from hunger, nightmares carved from the abyss, their beauty a deception, their cruelty boundless. They did not weep and they did not falter. They were the sea’s daughters, forged in the salt and blood of drowned men. They hunted in packs, gliding through water like living specters, their songs curling through the mist, laced with promise, soaked in death. They spared no one—unless they had need of them. When their numbers thinned, when their kind dwindled, they would let men live long enough to take something from them.

Daughters born with water in their lungs.

Nothing hunted sirens other than humans.

Nothing could.

And yet—

Black tears streamed down her pale, bloodied face, tracing paths across her scales, dripping onto the torn flesh of her body. They mingled with the ink of her, pooling in the sand like an oil slick. The sound she made was not the haunting melody that had drawn countless men to their deaths, not the sweet, treacherous song that pulled sailors into their waiting jaws. It was softer. Raw.

Eerily human.

A fractured sob, torn from something deep and ancient, something that should not have been capable of grief, spilling into the night like the last dying breath of a storm.

It was not meant for Simon to hear.

His feet moved without thought, his boots sinking into the wet sand as he stepped closer. She snarled weakly, her lips peeling back to reveal two sets of teeth, as sharp and long as broken glass. The sound was instinctive, a threadbare defense, but her strength was failing her. Her fingers scraped at the sand, pulling her body toward, or perhaps away from him.

He could not tell which.

Her fear wasn’t for him.

It was for something else.

Simon’s gaze flickered downward, to the wound carved into her tail, the jagged edges of torn scales and raw, glistening muscle. A bite. No clean cut, no wound from battle, but the ruinous mark of something that had devoured and been left unsatisfied. Whatever had done this had been merciless and ancient. It was a claim—one that had not yet been fulfilled.

And she had escaped from it.

Sirens did not flee. They did not beg, did not tremble, did not seek shelter on land, away from the dark cradle that had borne them. They belonged to the abyss, yet this one had crawled to shore. And the terror in her sightless eyes told him why.

She had not really escaped it.

She had only bought herself time.

Simon’s fingers twitched at his side. He should end it. He knew he should. Should put her out of her misery, should stop whatever this was before it became something. But his hand would not move, would not reach for the creature’s neck to kill her. The tide rose, licking at his boots, reaching for her broken body, and yet, she did not fight it. She just looked at him.

He should have ignored it.

Should have let the sea take her back.

But he didn’t.

Simon Riley had never been a man of mercy.

The sea had taught him that early. However, Simon slowly knelt in the sand, his knees pressing into the wet earth, water and blood creeping through fabric, sinking deep. The vastness whispered at his back, the wind curling through his dusty blonde hair like ghostly fingers, urging him away. Goddess, he knew better than to get close—knew what those claws could do, what those teeth had done to men who had come before him. And yet, his body betrayed him, moving against every instinct that screamed at him to turn back, to leave her to whatever fate awaited, to give her back to the sea.

Still, he lowered himself.

His hands rose, palms up—

—a gesture as ancient as the sea itself.

It was foolish, a reckless thing born of madness, a man bowing to the unknown. The sea did not deal in peace. She did not barter in mercy or forgiveness. The sea dealt in flesh and bone, in the sharp edge of hunger and the endless churn of fear.

Just like her daughters.

Simon knew this.

And still, he reached for her.

He spoke before he thought better of it. “You understand me, yeah?”

Her opalescent eyes narrowed.

A response, however weak. Her black tears continued to stream down her face, carving rivers through the salt caking her colorful scales. Her mouth parted, rows of jagged teeth meant for rending flesh stared back at him, but she did not lunge. Did not snap. Did not drag him into the abyss where she had surely taken so many before.

Simon licked his lips, tasting salt and blood. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

The siren bared her teeth again, but there was no strength behind it. Simon only nodded, taking that as an answer.

At least she understood him.

“Listen, creature,” he murmured, shifting his weight slightly, the sand scattering beneath his boots. “If I touch you, don’t want you bitin’ my fuckin’ fingers off, understood?”

She did not speak.

Only watched.

Those empty eyes fixed upon him, hollow as the moon yet brimming with something deeper, something more knowing than they had any right to be. It was unnerving, the way she beheld him, as if she could see past flesh, past bone, past the mortal entity that he was.

As if she already knew him.

But then again, the sea had always known him.

She had claimed Simon long before he had words to name her pull, long before he understood why he would always return to her, why the land had never been enough. He had been raised in the cradle of her bays, rocked by her violent lullabies, shaped by the call of distant waves. He was hers. Her son. More than his own mother’s, more than anyone’s.

And this monster before him?

She was part of that vast, unknowable force.

Another piece of the great and endless goddess. Perhaps this was her wish. The sea had never asked anything of him before. They had provided for each other, mother and son, bound by the quiet understanding that the sea would take as much as she gave.

But perhaps, at long last, she was calling in a debt.

Perhaps this was a favor, whispered in the language of droplets, carried by the hush between the waves—a mother asking her favored son to save her favourite daughter.

Perhaps that was why his hand did not shake as he reached for the siren laying before him.

“Bound by restless waves, I cannot tell if your touch drowns me in desire or devours me in ruin. Which of us wears the mask of the hunter, and which of us the prey?”

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gothghostiie · 10 months ago

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good morning im thinking about Pirate!Price and his crew sailing around the world and finding your little village by chance. they need a drink at the local tavern and its quickly 'taken over' by them, drinking as if its the last thing they'll do. only when they stagger back to their ship and see you leaning out of the window of your little hut they seem to sober up suddenly, all putting on their best charming smiles - then it's just a fight of who saw you first.

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jupiterlandings · 17 days ago

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Dannymay Days 18 & 28: King/Favorite AU

#I’m a simple girl a wings AU will always be my fave #dannymay2025 #dp au #danny fenton #danny phantom #ghost king danny #my edits #dannymay #that’s a wrap on DM 2025 for me! I’ve learned a lot of new techniques (mainly how to make hair lol)#collage #I was trying to make a billowy pirate kinda shirt but I fear it got lost in translation #had to rebuild his entire upper half as well as his face lol #hopefully you can’t tell those arms were not originally on there

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kocherga-motyga · 3 months ago

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WIP

I make a lot of different sketches on my AUs, I hope I'll be able to show finished pictures sooner or later...

while everyone is enjoying Perpetua, I'm still on my Secondo, lmao (not negative, I'm just addicted to Secondo... my pookybabygirlwoofwoof)

#art #artists on tumblr #digital art #sketch #ghost bc #the band ghost #papa secondo #secondo emeritus #pirate au #my au art

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rosesandalfazemas · 3 months ago

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Mayuge Day (Monstertalia ed.)

Some wip I won't finish now but...

#Hetalia #Aph england #Piratalia #Wip #Monstertalia #Octopus pirate #England Octopus #Mayuge Day #Rosas headcanons #Pirates au #Hws england #Pirates england #Ghost england #Dead pirates

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harpiesandharpoons · 6 days ago

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Orca merman Ghost this Orca merman Ghost that okay what about GHOST SHARK MERMAN GHOST HUH HOW ‘BOUT THEM APPLES

#call of duty #modern warefare ii #modern warfare iii #mermaid au #pirate au #simon ghost riley #Ghoap #mermaid ghost #Ghost deserves to be a spooky deep sea merman #I want him to frighten the crap out of ppl

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midnight-shadow-cafe · 17 days ago

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Beneath the Black Flag

Pairing: Poly141 x Reader

AU: Pirate 141 X Mermaid! Reader

Warnings: Captivity, threats, enemies-to-lovers themes, implied emotional manipulation, slow burn, intense emotions, sharp language, violent imagery, mild gore, simmering tension

Author's Note: I’ve been trying to upload for two days, Tumblr wouldn’t let me… hopefully this finally works again😭

Summary: You’re caught and chained by a notorious pirate crew. They want your power to find something ancient and buried beneath the sea. But you’re more than bait. And they’ll learn that, the longer they keep you breathing.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The sea screamed for you as they pulled you from her arms.

Steel netting laced with aetherroot coiled around your body like a serpent in heat, biting through your skin with each struggling thrash. Blood bloomed in the water, darkening it to crimson wine. You shrieked until your throat tore, water erupting like glass as you broke the surface—dragged up by grizzled hands and cruel ropes, your magic hissing against metal.

They threw you aboard like you were driftwood.

The deck was slick under your spine, wood sun-warmed and stinking of oil and rust. Boots closed in—four shadows, towering and dangerous. You glared up, chest heaving, hair clinging to your face in wet tangles, rage boiling in your veins hotter than sunlight on salt.

Captain John Price stood over you, silhouetted by the burning sky behind him. Smoke coiled from an unlit cigar tucked into his teeth. His jaw ticked. His eyes—sea-glass cold and hard—dragged over your form like a verdict being passed.

“Well,” he said, crouching beside you, voice rough as broken coral. “Ain’t you something.”

You hissed, lips curling back. The magic in you surged, snapping the puddle beneath your body into a whip of water that cracked across the deck—just before it fizzled uselessly against the iron cuffs at your wrists.

Chains.

You were already bound.

Price’s lips curved into a knowing smirk.

“You’ll guide us,” he murmured. “Or I’ll teach these bastards how to skin a siren.”

Behind him, Johnny MacTavish laughed, foot propped against the railing, dagger spinning carelessly between gloved fingers. “I vote we start with the tail. Bet it twitches real pretty.”

Your eyes burned. “Try it, and I’ll drown you in your own bile.”

Johnny only grinned wider. “Now that’s the spirit.”

The hold was dark and rank, brine seeping from the planks, the distant creak of the hull like the bones of a dying leviathan.

You hadn’t spoken in three days.

Kyle Garrick was the first to try kindness. His tone was gentler than the others’, eyes warm despite the cutlass on his belt. He approached with a flask and a smirk that might’ve passed for friendly—if not for the lingering glint of pity behind it.

“We could make this easier,” he said. “You help us, we treat you better.”

You stared at the chains at your wrists. Then at him.

“I hope you get torn apart by reef sharks.”

Kyle blinked. “Right. So. The hard way.”

The hard way came in the shape of Simon Riley.

He said nothing as he stepped inside, the door groaning behind him. His mask—bone-white and featureless—caught the lantern light like a ghost. He set a bucket of seawater beside you and leaned against the far wall.

You watched him in the silence.

“What are you here to threaten me with?” you spat eventually. “Knives? Fire? Torture?”

He tilted his head. “I don’t threaten,” he said calmly. “I wait.”

“For what?”

“For the moment you realize you’re not as in control as you think.”

He left before you could curse him.

And it made you sick, the way that truth nestled inside you like a splinter under skin.

You were starting to learn their routines. That terrified you more than the chains.

On the sixth night, it was Johnny who visited. The lantern he carried painted him in firelight, shadows dancing across his freckled skin. His grin was slow and sharp as he crouched beside your barrel, the gleam of his knife flashing.

“This?” he said, tapping it to your chin. “This isn’t for slicing. It’s for carving.”

You bared your teeth. “Go ahead. Maybe I’ll bite off your fucking wrist.”

His laughter echoed down the hall, bright and wicked.

“I like you,” he said. “Mean little thing. Full of fire.”

He rose, took a step toward the door. Paused.

“But fire’s only good,” he added, glancing back, “if you know when to let it burn.”

You stared long after he left. Jaw clenched. Blood pounding.

You were beginning to fear you knew exactly when you’d burn.

When Price returned, the room shifted.

The air thickened, like the sea before a storm. He dropped something beside you: a map. Ancient parchment, threaded with silver ink, edges curling from age. The sigils on it glowed faintly in your presence.

It reeked of dead gods.

“The tomb of the Sea King,” Price said, kneeling. “You know where it is.”

You looked up, lip curled. “I’m not helping you desecrate his grave.”

He didn't blink. “I don’t need your help. I need your obedience.”

He leaned in. The lantern light caught the gold in his beard, his eyes like jagged glass.

“You’ll guide us,” he said softly. “Or I’ll have Soap cut out your tongue and Simon peel off your scales. One by one.”

Something in you cracked.

Not in fear.

In rage.

“I hope you drown choking on your own greed.”

For a second—just a second—Price’s jaw tensed. Then he smiled.

They brought you above deck for the first time under a sky bruised purple.

Your tail was weak, aching. Salt dried on your skin like ash. You stumbled when the ship lurched, caught yourself on the rail.

Eyes followed you—men whispering, staring, spitting old curses. One made the sign against evil. Another dropped his rum.

Simon stayed at your side, silent as a sentinel.

Johnny didn’t joke.

But Kyle passed by and whispered, “Don’t die today.”

You didn’t answer. But your eyes found him again—lingered too long.

Later, curled in a half-filled water barrel to keep your strength from fading, you found Price at your side again. Watching the sea.

“You’re not weak,” he said.

You stared up at him.

“You’re just stubborn.”

You snorted. “You’re not a captain. You’re a coward who hides behind teeth.”

He huffed a laugh. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“We’ll see,” he said, “who ends up begging first.”

You led them to the trench.

Chains gone—just for the dive. You dove first, magic blooming like wings behind you, lighting the dark. They followed, armed and wary, through the cold spiral of the deep.

The tomb of the Sea King rose from the ocean floor like a cathedral of bone and coral. Pearls the size of skulls lined the arches. Statues wept seaweed. And in the center—a throne of obsidian, untouched for centuries.

They stared.

Not at the treasure.

At you.

Simon hovered behind you, eyes unreadable. Kyle’s breath fogged his mask. Johnny’s fingers brushed the hilt of his blade.

You turned.

“What now?” Kyle asked quietly.

“Do you kill us?” Simon murmured.

You could’ve. Should’ve.

Instead, you said, “Leave. You’ve done enough.”

Johnny stepped forward. “And you?”

“I stay.”

A long pause. Only the water moved.

“You’ll die here,” Price said. His voice, for once, held no command.

“Maybe I want to.”

Silence again. Then—

“We should’ve been enemies,” Price murmured. “But I don’t want to hate you anymore.”

You froze.

He stepped closer. Didn’t touch you. Just watched.

“You don’t forgive people like you,” you whispered.

“No,” Price said. “You fall for them. And hope it doesn’t kill you.”

You surfaced with them.

You told yourself it was strategy. Survival.

But when Kyle pressed a dry towel into your hands and whispered, “You’re not alone,” something tugged at your chest.

When Johnny flopped beside your barrel with an apple and said, “Want half, fishcake?”—you didn’t spit in his face.

When Simon watched you bleed and stitched your side without a word, you didn’t flinch when his fingers brushed your skin.

And when Price came to you, hours later, moonlight slick on the deck, and said:

“I don’t want a prisoner anymore. I want you with us. By choice.”

You said nothing.

You just reached up—pressed your palm to his chest—and didn’t pull away.

Maybe it wasn’t love yet.

But it was salt and softness. It was trust.

And it was enough.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

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