#and he forgets until one night he’s standing at a dock

[vitos-pink-shirt]

Ok but what about the first time Vito sees an alligator?

[edgeray]

mygod that siren Arlecchino fic you did is *chef's kiss* IMMACULATE!!! might i request a continuation, mayhaps? Arle mentioned that she'd follow the reader as they sail, so maybe she misses them and either tries to climb onto the boat or the pier where they're docked to see them again? either hurt/comfort or fluff, the rest is up to you!!! love your work and thank you for fueling my Arlecchino obsession :] also i might pop back in here once in a while, may i be moth anon?

The Sea's Calling Pt. 2

(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader)

A/N - Part 1 link here. Yes, you definitely can be a moth anon! Hi :D. I already added you to the anon list. To other anons that have requested and I haven't gotten to, I do see your requests and if you gave yourself an emoji/name I already added you ^^. Anyways, back to moth anon. <333 I'm so glad you enjoyed my siren Arlecchino fic! As my first request I was kind of nervous about it but I'm glad that you enjoy! I'm also really glad that you sent this request! I did always want to write a part 2 but didn't have the opportunity until now. Thanks moth anon, for the reuqest and for enjoying my works!!  If you couldn't tell, I love the idea of found family pirates. One Piece did this to me. The ending turned out to be self-indulgent, forgive me moth anon ;) Even though it's short, this ended up being one of my favorites. Hope you like this one! Content warnings / info - monster x human, arle is ooc bc she's a siren, fem! reader bc pt.1 has fem! reader, suggestive at the end, 1.2k words

You used to think that the most beautiful thing out there was the sky and its stars–to you, nothing was more mesmerizing than them. They are so alluring despite holding this mystique, and they've guided humans on their naval journeys and inspired all kinds of stories of their origins. The stars were all that kept you company, even on the lonliest and coldest nights.

Now, however, the stars aren't your only company. 

“Guys, I'm going to go back to the ship. Don't wait up on me too much,” you to your fellow pirates as you stand up from the stool. You drop off some extra coins on the baa counter, in order to compensate for the plate that you will be ‘borrowing.’ You pick up the plate of your half-eaten slice of meat pie and sandwich and head towards the exit before one of your crew mates stops you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Turning in already? C'mon, stay a little bit. We've got enough money for a few more rounds of beer,” he says with a boisterous laugh. You chuckle lightly but shake your head. 

“No can do, sorry. Got something to do.”

“Uh huh, like your little siren girlfriend?” Another crew member states, her teasing smile widening as you flush. 

“One more? Jackie hasn't finished his story!”

“Let the darned woman go see her darn girlfriend, Goldie,” another gruffed with a shake of his head. 

“Fine, fine, go on ahead. Tch, when will I get my own smoking hot siren girl?” Goldie huffs, and you snort. Likely never, but you don't tell him that.  

“Thanks, I'll be back,” is all you say before rushing out of the door, nearly tipping over the plate before you balance it again. You wave them off and you make your way back to the docks. The walk is both short and long, and each step you take is filled with the excitement that buzzes through you. 

Even after these months, being able to spend time with her feels like bliss, like you have just found treasure. Sometimes, you forget she's a siren, she's ever so endearing and follows you around like a puppy. Oftentimes, when you're on the boat, you talk to her as she lingers by. The night after you first met the siren your crew had banned you from jumping into the waters because you had developed a cold which infected a good chunk of the crew; the cold wasn't severe for anyone but still. Since you can't be in the water, you often just talk to her from the railings and she answers. 

It's only when you're docked when you can finally touch her, but those times come rare. It can take days, sometimes weeks to reach an island to dock at, but when you do, you always take the time to sit by the shore. 

Finally, you arrive at the pier. “Arle?” You call out, and you see a ripple in the water. Grinning, you walk to the ends of one of the docks, setting down the plate a bit away from you. You remove your shoes and set them far away. Perching on the dock, your feet dip into the cold waters and you shiver.

You see something gleam in the corner of your eyes, the familiar shine of her scales. You then remember the food, and you start. “Wait, Arle don't splash–”

Too late. Something erupts from the waters and launches into you, a cold, heavy weight thrusting into your body making you tumble on your back on the dock. Pressed between the wooden planks and the creature that straddles you, you can't help but laugh and raise your hand up to her face, the now drenched food forgotten entirely. 

“Hey gorgeous,” you say as you stroke her cheek gently. She's the most beautiful treasure that you found among the seas. Arlecchino gazes down on you, her red pupils glistering as her arms wrap around your torso. She purrs, little fangs apparent as the tip of her tongue peeks out with her open-mouth smile. 

“Missed you,” is the first thing she says, before she leans her body against you, nuzzling her face into your neck. Your clothes get soaked from her, but you pay no mind. You stroke her wet hair, carding your fingers through her strands before kissing the top of her head. 

“I missed you too. Did you eat recently?” 

Sometimes she'd disappear for a few nights to search for another wandering ship for her meals but she never fails to find your ship again. You haven't seen her for a couple days before you docked her. 

Arlecchino nods. “Human food?” She questions. Her tail flicks, thumping against the wood out of eagerness. Although she enjoys the taste of cooked meats, beef especially, you don't believe it's as nutrition dense as… well, the main source of her diet, and it's hard to serve her cooked meat while on sea due to the issue of storing meat on ships. So, cooked meat has always been a treat for her. 

You nod. “You want to try?” 

She lets out an affirmative purr, and you help her sit upright in your lap. It's always a bit difficult considering she has a tail instead of legs, but she maneuvers her tail to encircle your waist, and you support her back with one of your arms. You silently mourn for your now soggy sandwich as you reach for the plate, using her tail as a flat surface. 

“What is it?” 

“Meat pie and a sandwich.” You take the fork and dig out the meat from the meat pie. Balancing the tender piece of beef on your utensil, you carefully guide it to her mouth. 

“Careful, it's hot. And don't bite the fork this time,” you gently warn her as she eats it. She squirms a bit in your lap, an indicator that she's pleased with the taste. 

“More?” You chuckle, adoring the cute plea in her eyes. 

You scrape out more of the meat until she's eaten all of the pie filling, leaving you to eat the pie crust. You're still peckish, so you start eating your sandwich, but not before fishing out the thick slice of ham from it, and giving it to her. If it meant you could watch the way her expression lights up again forever, then you would endlessly eat ham-less sandwiches and savor every cheese and vegetables sandwiched in between wet bread. 

“Did you like it?” You ask in between chews as she leans her head against your shoulder. She nods, and leans up again to place featherlight kisses on your neck. With the cold droplets of water and her frigid lips, it tickles you and you giggle. So adorable. 

You freeze up when you feel her fangs prick your skin and she looks up to you for permission. Another mating bite? You nod, wordlessly giving her permission, and you suck in a harsh breath as you feel her teeth sink in. Purrs vibrate coarse through her mouth as she pulls away, lapping at the mark and the texture of her tongue invokes a throaty groan from you, your body trembling with pleasure. 

Arlecchino leans away, but in her eyes, hunger burns in them. Her hands take purchase on your hips and she pushes your back against the planks. Her tail unwinds around your torso and instead coils around your ankles, securing them together.  

“H-here?” You question, flushing. Her hands wander lower, the sharp nails trailing lower to your thighs, where faint scratches scatter. 

The night that you first met her, she sang so beautifully for you. Tonight, you repay her back, singing out her name so tastefully. 

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐄𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: fighting, brief mentions of injuries & alcohol. murdoc is a warning in himself to be frank

↳ song: rock the house—gorillaz

↳ notes: headcanons about murdoc & you. made to be platonic/a self insert type fic, but could be romantic too. this overall just stemmed from my infatuation and hatred for his green ass

nasterlist | commissions | carrd

• Murdoc is so self-absorbed. It's honestly beyond you how he hasn't floated away into the sun with how inflated his ego's gotten

• It doesn't help that he's regarded as the sole reason for bringing together one of the best bands ever recorded—something that he holds over the entire bands head when he feels like being an asshole

• With that giant persona of his inevitably there comes jealousy. The musician gets unreasonably grumpy if someone, especially you, is ever more excited to see a collaborator over for a recording session instead of him of all people

• "You were just gawking at 'em the entire time like an idiot! Wha', never seen a bloody live recording before?" Murdocs accent clipped his words as his gravely voice spit fire at you one afternoon. You just laughed at his annoyance, not even bothered by his attitude after years of putting up with it

• "Murdoc, it's De La Soul. Of course I'm going to be excited. It's ten times better than waking up to you rummaging around in the fridge with nothing but a thong on."

• "Get fucked you little twat." He barked, stomping off and ending the little spat. You didn't see him the rest of the day, no doubt off brooding in his Winnebago. It didn't bother you. More quiet time to hang out with Noodle for you!

• More than often, the two of you have been recorded in separate interviews talking about the other. Mostly just talking shit

• "So, what's this we've all been hearing about a certain bassist getting in a car accident?" A random reporter asked you one day from over their horn rimmed glasses. 2D, who was currently the only other person besides you that had been able to make it to the questioning, scratched his head absent-mindedly as you cackled in glee

• "Yeah yeah. I ran over Muds with my car one day. Just knocked his sorry ass right over. Pow! He recovered fine, dont worry, but the moment he did, I had to run for my life." You managed to get out through laughter. "Still have no idea how those fucking tabloids got ahold of that story."

• "Wasn't it an accident f'ough? I remember you sayin that." 2D tilted his head with a slight lisp

• You just grinned toothily and said nothing

• "It. It was an accident. Right?" He asked again, this time with more nerves

• The interview was cut off shortly after that

• On the topic of cars, Murdoc's own set of wheels was probably his only pride an joy apart from his bass. And ironically, the van was the bane of the rest of the bands existence

• The amount of times you had to bang on the Winnebago's dented door to tell him to shut up— the smell of cigarettes, sex, and too many air fresheners leaking from the cracks —should be a crime

• And each time without fail, you were always met with a shirtless Murdoc; either inviting you in for his version of a night of fun or just plain flipping you off

• You always found the latter easier to deal with

• Russel has always been the medium for any serious fights you and Murdoc would have. You both fight a lot, sure, but normally over small things like who should run out to get more booze or tune up band equipment. It was only when things got really heated that the drummer would step in

• Nine times out of ten, that just meant he'd pick you up with one arm and place you in a separate room until the two of you could stand to be around each other. It was always you he did that to, too, since the one time he'd tried that on Murdoc, Russel narrowly avoided a black eye and a week's docked pay

• It really was easy to forget that technically Murdoc is your boss. With how much shit he gives out, and vise versa from all of you, it really just felt like he was an annoying roommate. An annoying, rich, and vibrant green roomate

• At the end of the day, though, none of you really hated him. Well, the jury was still out on 2D, but you had a feeling the past few years the singer had been trying to pick himself back up

• Murdoc, however much of a prick he is, is still a key part in the band. Without him, some of the best song you'd all produced would have never happened, and some of your best drinking memories would have never happened. Hell, he even did a pretty good job raising Noodle. With plenty of help from everyone else, of course

• So no matter how many inanimate objects you all chucked at each other's head, at the end of the day you'd never trade him for another bass player

• "You lot getting soft on me now?" He grinned sharply at you, licking the outside of his teeth as you pretended to vomit at the mere thought of being nice to him

• "I'd rather die and be reincarnated as a cockroach." You grimaced dramatically. But the both of you were smiling at each other, breaking up the conversation with playful punches

[tortillamastersblog]

✐ Drained | Kara Danvers ✎

Pairing: Kara Danvers x spider!reader

Warnings: angst, cursing, fighting, mentions injuries, and violence

Summary: Kara solar flaring and putting herself in danger over and over again puts a strain on your already fragile relationship. . .

_______________________________________________

“Y/N?” Alex’s voice in my ear makes me flinch and if it weren’t for the fact that I can literally stick to ceilings and walls I would have slipped off the edge of the roof I’m currently standing on. “You good?”

I sigh and lift my hand to my ear. “Yes, I’m okay. Just stopped a bank robbery.”

It was a fairly easy job, considering the robbers immediately surrendered when they saw me.

“Yeah, I saw it on the news, so. . .”

“So?” I play with the mask in my hands and close my eyes, enjoying the night breeze on my face.

“Are you coming back to the tower, or are you planning on spending the rest of the night on a rooftop?” she asks, her voice full of concern. She can see where I am because of the giant digital map back at the tower. What she doesn’t know though is why I’m here. Judging by the looks she’s given me lately, she knows that something is up, but she has yet to figure out what it is.

I scoff bitterly and slip my mask back on. “It’s not like it would matter anyway.”

“What?”

I take a deep breath and swallow the hurt clawing its way up my throat. “Nothing. Forget I said anything. I’m heading back now.”

There’s a short pause on the other end of the line before Alex says, “Okay. See you in a bit then. Swing safe, little one.”

“We’re the same age, Alex, and I’m literally taller than you.” I deadpan, leaping off the building.

My stomach flutters at the feeling of the wind rushing by and for a moment I forget all about why I was brooding in the first place.

“I’m four days older than you” Alex corrects with a chuckle and I can’t help but smile under my mask as I swing through the city.

“Pff. . . tomayto, tomahto.” I swing from building to building, keeping my eyes and ears open for anything suspicious while I make my way back to the tower.

Alex laughs again, trying to convince me that four days are a significant amount of time only to stop mid sentence when an explosion across the city captures both our attention.

“What was that?” I pivot and start swinging in the direction of the explosion, my spider-senses tingling ominously. Alex ignores me, cursing under her breath and typing furiously on a computer. “Alex!”

“Y/N?” J’onn’s calm voice does nothing to assuage my worry, especially not when I can hear Alex shouting something unintelligible in the background.

“What’s happening, J’onn? What’s going on?” I shout over the noise of traffic as I swing across a bridge.

“It’s Supergirl,” he says. “She got caught in an ambush. We’ve already sent out some backup.”

Kara. . .

My heart clenches at the thought of anything happening to her and I force myself to go faster. My arms burn and I’m panting in no time, but the only thought on my mind is that I have to get to Kara before anything else happens.

“They’re never going to get there in time, J’onn! Do we know who’s responsible for this?” Caught up in my own worry, I miscalculate on of my swings, coming dangerously close to swinging into oncoming traffic.

“We don’t know any details yet, but Lena and Brainy are working on it.”

I clench my jaw and force myself to go even faster when another explosion goes off. “Any word from Kara?”

The short silence that follows gives me the answer I’m dreading before J’onn even admits that communication with Kara has been cut off.

“Fuck!” I ignore whatever else J’onn says after that and perform two powerful swing before finally getting to the docks by the river. Sweat is running down my body below the suit and my lungs are burning.

I land on top of a crane and let my eyes dart all over the place until I spot what I’m looking for.

Below me, standing in a circle around Kara in her super suit are four goons, dressed in black combat gear. They have have strange looking guns pointed at her and I realize that every time Kara uses her heat vision, the guns absorb it before shooting it back at her.

Why isn’t she flying away?!

“Nala, what’s going on down there? Why isn’t she fighting back properly?” I ask the AI in my suit, trying to figure out how best to approach this situation without putting Kara in any more danger.

Nala scans the surrounding area before reporting her findings. “I have detected traces of Kryptonite in the air.”

“Shit. . . And how many hostiles are there?” I ask, only now noticing the way the veins in Kara’s face and hands glow a faint green.

“There are four hostiles at the moment but I have detected three more incoming human heat signatures in a lead-lined truck half a mile from here. ETA forty seconds.”

I jump off the crane and swing to a nearby container closer to the ground. “Fuck! They’re going to take her!”

My heart is pounding in my ears and I know that if I don’t act right now, it’s going to be too late, but I can’t think of a plan when all I can focus on are the yelps that escape Kara every time she takes a hit.

“Thirty seconds.” Nala’s says, her robotic voice as calm and rational as ever. “If you don’t do something within the next five seconds the chances of Supergirl being taken increase from 43% to 97%”

“I know, Nala! Shut up, I’m trying to think!”

A particularly strong blow hits Kara’s side and she drops to one knee with a whimper while one of the goons pulls a pair of bulky handcuffs from his pockets.

They wouldn’t normally be able to restrain Kara, but because she’s weakened and on the brink of solar flaring right now they’ll work on her just like they do on any other human being.

“Twenty seven seconds.” Nala reminds me.

“Argh, fuck!” I’m shaking uncontrollably, not knowing what to do.

“Your time to act is running out in three—“

My eyes dart around frantically, trying to spot something that could help me distract them.

“Two—“

There’s nothing. No pipe, no crate, or anything I could fling at them.

“One—“

Before Nala can finish, I leap off the container and swing right at the group below me.

I can’t fight those goons because they’d outnumber me, so a quick getaway is my only plan of action.

“Heads up!” I shout which makes all of them look up in surprise.

At the sight of me, Kara lets out a broken sob of relief and lifts her arms like we’ve practiced a hundred times before.

She does it just in time because not even a second later I slam into her, wrapping one arm around her waist and picking her up mid swing.

“Gotcha!” I readjust my grip on her and focus on swinging us away as her arms tighten around my shoulders. “Hold on, I’m getting us out of here!”

Kara doesn’t answer. She only sobs against my neck and wraps her legs around my hips.

Well, that was easier than I thought it would—

A blow to the back of my left leg makes me howl in pain and I almost miss my next swing. I look over my shoulder and see the goons below chasing us with their guns raised and firing.

“Nala! A little help here!” I screech as I see the lead-lined truck the AI detected earlier barreling towards us.

“Calculating alternative routes. . .”

Another blast from below grazes my shoulder, making me grit my teeth. “Oh my God?! What are you? My car’s GPS?! Tell me where to go!”

I take a sharp right turn and head for the city, now finally out of range of the goon’s on foot. The lead-lined truck however has turned down the same way we did and is now hot on our tail.

I can’t get higher because all I can swing off of are these containers and I can’t go any faster because I have Kara in my arms.

That reminds me, since picking her up she hasn’t said a single thing and her grip around me has also loosened considerably.

“Nala, what’s wrong with Supergirl?” I ask, doing my best to dodge the bullets that are being fired at us from below.

“It seems the Kryptonian has passed out.”

Great, she’s solar flared. . .

I grunt and readjust her in my arm. “Is she injured?”

“Yes, but she should make a full recovery as soon as her powers have returned.”

The gunfire from below suddenly stops and when I look down I see that the truck has come to a stop in front of a superficial police barricade.

Officers are swarming the place, ducking behind car doors and aiming their guns at the truck, screaming at the goons to step out with their hands behind their head.

“J’onn.” I breathe in relief when I realize that this is the backup he mentioned earlier.

I try to get my comms device working again, having no idea when it stopped working in the first place, but it doesn’t turn back on, so I just continue making my way into the city toward the tower.

Now that the imminent threat of being shot has been eliminated though, I slow down considerably and focus on keeping my swings as smooth as possible in case Kara wakes up.

Someone squeezing my hand makes me stir in my chair. I groan and open my eyes, feeling a dull ache on my shoulder and the back of my leg where I was hit by the goons.

“Baby. . .” Kara’s soft voice makes me shoot up in my chair and when I look down at her on the bed I find her blue eyes already on me. She smiles softly and squeezes my hand again. “Hey.”

“Hi, how are you feeling?” I ask quietly. I reach forward and push the sun lamps up enough for her to sit up carefully.

“Like shit,” she admits with a small chuckle.

I scoff and let go of her hand, burying it in my lap. If she’d said that three months ago, I would have laughed and kissed the back of her hand playfully, but since then, things have changed.

Three months ago, sitting in the med bay next to Kara was a very rare occurrence. Nowadays though, it’s almost a daily occurrence.

She’s constantly taking unnecessary risks and on the off-chance that she’s not out superheroing, she stays up late at the office to finish an article, or write a news segment.

I can’t remember the last time we slept in the same bed, much less when we shared a meal together. Our relationship is barely even a relationship anymore, and tonight has honestly been my last straw.

Frowning at the way I pulled my hand out of her grasp, Kara sits up straighter. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Tears prick my eyes and I dig my fingernails into my palms. “What’s wrong?! Are you kidding me, Kara? This is the third time you’ve solar flared this week! You were almost kidnapped and I was shot twice saving you!”

“Y-You’re hurt?” She squints, presumably to use her x-ray vision on me, but then she realizes her powers have yet to return. “Are you—“

“This isn’t about me!” I cut in, my voice getting louder. “You keep putting yourself in these situations and I can’t for the life of me understand why. What’s going on with you? Why are you doing this?”

Kara gapes at me, her frown deepening. “Y/N. . .My Love . .”

I shake my head and get up, pacing at the foot of her bed. “No, Kara. I want answers. What’s going on with you? Does it have anything to do with me?” I ask, my voice shaking. “Did I do something wrong? Is that why you’re never home? Are you being reckless to prove something, or—“

“No, you didn’t do anything,” she insists. “I promise. This has nothing to do with you.”

I stop and turn to look at her. Her blue eyes are shining with tears and her chin is quivering.

“Then what is it?” I use the sleeve of the hoodie Alex gave me earlier after cleaning my wounds to wipe away my tears.

Kara clenches and unclenches her jaw as if she’s struggling to admit something. “Y/N, it’s not— I mean, you didn’t— I know things have been a lot lately, but-“ she runs a hand through her hair and sighs. “I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

If that isn’t the biggest lie she’s ever told then I don’t know what is. She’s a horrible liar and even if I didn’t hear the telltale sound of her heart stuttering just now, I’d still know she was lying just by seeing the guilty look on her face.

I stare at her for a moment, wondering when everything started to go this wrong between us before hanging my head low and turning to leave. “Well, I guess you better start figuring it out then because I can’t do this anymore, Kara.”

“W-What?” she stutters. I hear her trying to get up to follow me before groaning and falling back into bed. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” I reach for the door handle without looking back.

“Wait!” Her voice falters and when she sniffles I have to force myself not to turn back and comfort her. “Are you. . . Are you breaking up with me?”

I swallow harshly and open the door. “No, not yet anyway.”

I leave before she can say anything else and make my way to the tower’s main room where J’onn, Alex, and Nia are sitting around the coffee table.

“Hey, are you okay?” Nia asks when she sees the distress on my face.

I just shake my head and make my way to the elevator. “No. Alex?”

The older Danvers who’s also watching me with concern gets to her feet. “Yeah?”

“Tell your sister to pull herself together,” I say before stepping onto the elevator.

I see J’onn raise an eyebrow at the interaction and share a glance with Nia before the doors slide closed.

Kara might be the one who solar flared, but I could bet a hundred bucks I’m more drained than she is right now.

This has been quite some time in the making now, and I know it’s no longer up to me how things will turn out from here on out.

It’s in Kara’s hands now and if our relationship is as important to her as it is to me, she will have to prove it.

_______________________________________________

Uh oh. . .

[toulousewayne]

A Robin’s Quarrel 🏹⚔️

Red Robin X male!reader with a male Amazon.

Summary:Your a male Amazon/Gargareans,who is sent to the Man’s world to find Ares and stop him from enslaving humans and killing the Amazons. You need Tim’s help in your quest to stop Ares.

—————

The island of Thalarion was home to a race of men similar to the Amazons, they’re known as Gargareans. Most of the men there are reincarnations of men who had died in battle. Zeus and the other Gods created them to be equal to the Amazons and they’ve lived here for centuries. Many of the men there trained and practiced their skills, none really craved for more than that. Except for one Gargarean, Argus.

He had heard stories of the Goddess blessing those with gifts of children and families, he loved and would die for his brothers but he longed for something more.

Against his King’s orders he read secret documents and one night during a full harvest moon the island was in a celebration and feast. Argus ventured to a small part of the island and into a cave they long had been abandoned. He made a small offering on the alter and used his blood. He begged and asked the Goddess Hera for a child. Many of the islands inhabited were adults and returned as such, no male child had been on the island. That night lighting struck the alter sending the man away.

On the alter was a bundle wrapped in red silk, Argus unwrapped it and found a baby boy sleeping peacefully. When he returned to his brothers it caused the festival stop and almost none of them had seen a baby. The king was furious and nearly had Argus killed but several men vouched for him and refused to allow the King to harm him or the child. From then on the child would be look after by the entire island, and the King too grow to like the boy, he was named Y/n.

———-

Y/n was a curious and cheerful boy, he loved learning from his father, watching the men train and learning with the King and his Advisers.

Y/n was trained in combat and was a skilled swordsman and archer. Argus and the King meet several times to discuss the boys futures. By the time Y/n was Eighteen it was determined that he would be the Gargarean’s champion and would go to man’s world to defeat Ares who had long become twisted on his plans of world domination. Y/n was to be sent to stop him like the Amazons had let Diana leave years prior.

“My son,Y/n brings me great join that you will be our champion but I will never be able to be okay without your presence.” Y/n teary eye hugs his father before standing before the King.

“You have brought great joy to this dull island little solider. You will bring great honor to us all and you will be sent where none of us have ever been. Do not forget your training and remember Ares will have spies you must trust your own judgment.” Before he left the king gave armor and weapons.

“This sword was once used to slay the Gorgon Medusa, the Harpe of Perseus. Shield of Achilles. Lastly, this item will be a Lasso of your own.”

“What does it do?” Y/n asked securing it to his armor. The king grinned grimly.

“I hope you never had to use it, but you must go now.” Y/n boarded a boat was pushed from the island by two of the strongest men. He waved goodbye to his father before him and the entire island was covered in smoke and was never seen again.

When he awoke it was nightfall again and he saw a land with large buildings and shining lights.

“Great Hades this place is dark and smells.” Once he touched the dock he draped himself in a cloak and wandering to the street. The people around him gave him strange looks. He wondered around until he heard a loud ringing.

He ventured around the corner until he saw a sea of red and blue light flashing in front of a pantheon like building. Drawing closer he walks inside and heard shouts and loud banging.

He turns the corner to see a man with half his face deformed firing a large gun at a boy closer to his age in red, black, green and yellow colors.

“Why do you flip around so much?” The boy turned to him with shock.

“You gotta go before he—“

The man chuckles,”Brought a friend with ya kid? Too bad the coin says you both get you die tonight.” Two-Face starts shooting at Y/n. Y/n in one swift moment shields the young hero and uses his braces on his forearm to deflect the incoming bullets. Once Two-Face’s has noticed he gets pissed.

“What kinda freak are ya?”

Y/n smiles, I believe that if anyone in this room is a freak it would be you my friend.” Before Two-Face can reply Y/n takes his shield and throws it disarming him, next he takes the lasso and wraps Two-Face up and yanking him up.

“You-“ he’s cut off by Y/n lifting him off the ground and staring up at him.

“Why are you desecrating this building.” The hero wants up and places a hand on Y/n’s braces.

“It’s okay, I can talk him from here.” Y/n looked down at the hero, he nodded before untying Two Face who collapsed to the ground and was swiftly knocked out and hand cuffed.

Red Robin turned to the boy and stopped him before he could leave.

“Thank you, but I had that under control. Who are you?” Y/n eyed him.

“I’m Y/n of Thalarion, I’ve been sent to Man’s world to find and stop Ares. Who are you colorful mortal?”

Red Robin raised a masked brow. “Red Robin,why are you in Gotham?”

Y/n shrugged. “My boat brought me here, I’m sure Ares’ not far from here.” He turns and leaves. Red Robin chases after him and he sees him already across the street pointing a sword at a taxi.

“Are you Ares’ Chariot driver, speak now and I will spare you?” Red Robin swiftly runs to him and pushes him out the road as the taxi driver swears and shouts at the pair.

“Why did you do that, he could have lead me to Ares!” Y/n is angry and it’s only now Tim notices how the young Thalarion towers over him by a foot and a half.

“Look your never gonna find him this way, I have friends. Allies who can help. If you trust me I can help you, but I need you to trust me.” The young Thalarion huffs and calms down.

“If you insist, take me to these friends of yours. My quest is too valuable to wait.” Red Robin sighs and ushers him to follow.

———

The two stand on a rooftop in Gotham City Sqaure and Y/n is taking in the city for the first time.

“Is this where you lived,thigh lights are..breath taking.” Red Robin turns to him and walks to the edge where he’s standing.

“I grew up on the outskirts of the city, but yes every once in a while I do take in the views. Unaware to him Y/n looked at Tim as he was talking and returned his gaze to the city.

“These friends of yours how will they help, do they know where Ares is?” Red Robin looks down at the ground.

“I don’t know, but I think they’ll have more for you to go on.”

“Red Robin.” The pair turn to see Batman and Wonder Woman.

“Great Hera, I didn’t even know there were still Thalarions.” Wonder Woman looked at the boy in shock.

“What is this about Ares returning?” Batman eyed the young Thalarion before.

“I’ve been sent to find him and stop him, Red Robin says you have information. After that’ll be on my way.”

Batman didn’t move and Wonder Woman was slowly regaining her composure. “Yes, and if it’s true and he’s returned they we don’t have much time to prepare.”

“Red Robin and I we will meet with you later. I’ll contact you.” Wonder Woman nodded and turned to Y/n.

“Follow me.” The two flew off Batman looked back at him.

“Where did you find him?” He turned to grapple.

“He found me,he saved me.”

“Hmmm.” Batman grappled towards the city with Red Robin not far behind him.

[eveningepiphany]

pirates gold | H.S series, part three

[series masterlist]

summary: finally, a break from the ship is in sight. you and harry end up in a very pirate-y bar, but even a good night can’t last forever. and seemingly, neither can uncomplicated feelings.

warnings: mentions of kidnapping, teasing, sexual mentions, tension, pining, protective h, y/n being an absolute menace, mentions of death and disappearance, alcohol, violent themes.

a/n: this is really humbling to post after so long. I hope you all enjoy it, I’m so sorry for the wait.

———

You don’t realise how easy it is to forget sometimes.

How fast an old life can fall out of view, and shed off you like an old skin. How on occasion, it happens so quickly you don’t even register it’s occurred.

The shortest periods of time can alter how you view your life. You didn’t realise how different being on a ship was when compared to living on land— not until you bridged between the two while conscious, and felt the transition with your own body.

Your feet had came to the ground more unsteady than you’d thought. Maybe you forgot how to walk too. As dark had already consumed the town, you’re not sure if you were shaking out of anxiety or genuinely from how long it’s felt like it’s been since you’ve stood on solid unwavering ground.

Harry, whose hand occupied the flat of your back, felt the intake of breath your lungs pulled in as you finally made it all the way onto the dock.

He had come back into his room to find you asleep, curled into his side of the bed, knees tucked into your chest. To it, he’d smiled… legs carrying him over to glance over your peaceful frame closer.

Examining the rise and fall of your chest, as air passed through your nose softly. He noted that your hair looked damp, and he almost chuckled at the fact you’d seemingly helped yourself to a shower.

He gently said your name, “Y/N…”

When you didn’t stir, he muttered it again, hand coming to jostle your shoulder slightly. The touch woke you up, your legs uncoiling from their tucked up position, stretching out down the mattress.

A tiny sound whimpered from your throat as you started to fully wake up, eyes flitting open with a sleep-induced glaze over them.

“Evenin’.” He remarked, “fancied a shower and a nap, aye?” When you took in his frame standing next to the bed, he had an armful of brown paper bags.

You sighed out, sitting up, “Not much else to really do.”

However your brain was rerunning the fact you had plenty you could’ve done since you found that key in one of his pockets. Mentally, you had to shove it away so you didn’t end up with a guilty look plastered on your face.

“Well, waits over, dove. Got ya some clothes, you’re welcome to pick something out before we go. Want you t’blend in.” He placed the bags down onto the bed for you to shuffle over to.

You felt oddly curious, like a child on Christmas. All these bags filled with things for you. The abundance of clothes you pulled out shocked you, because there really was half a wardrobe in there. Including a pair of boots, ones you’re not sure how he figured out would fit your feet.

There was also white linen blouses similar to his own— others black lace with intricate detailing, and brown fitted long sleeves— and also an array of pants, all slightly differing in styles. You stumbled across a black under-bust corset, and your eyes shifted to him. He was leaning against the wall watching you, a smirk over his lips. That wasn’t even the only corset he had bought, there were 2 others.

However, the satisfied look on his face only grew as you reached the bottom of the last bag. Several undergarments lay folded, bras and underwear.

“Had to do some guessing with the sizing of those…” His voice comes from a few feet away from you. All too close given the fact you’re staring at intimates he bought for you.

Your face was flaming red, unable to contain the embarrassment that was coursing through you, purely at the fact he was shopping for your underwear and bras— probably imagining you in them. Someone acting so casual about this was throwing you into disarray.

His passing comments and dirty teases were one thing, this however, was another.

“Everyday you get a little more pervy.” You bite out, and he laughs at your defensive tone.

“Did you suggest I leave you without any? A thank you will suffice perfectly fine. No need t’insult me when im jus’ looking after you.” A smug smile fell over his features.

“Harry.” You groan, voice warning him, and he let it go after rolling his eyes.

He allowed you to pick out what you wanted, watching you flush as you discreetly pulled a set of undergarments out of the bag.

You had picked a white linen shirt, matching his own, and a black pair of pants. He let you change into them in his bathroom, but when you’d come out adorned in clothes that perfectly fit the pirate energy, he was holding what he’d deemed as the final touch.

The black under-bust corset.

“C’mere. You’ll be fine.” He says at your immediately displeased face.

“You might not be.” You sneer, frowning at him as the loosened corset hangs in his hands— leather shining with the golden reflection of the candle light around the room.

He walks over to you, since you clearly weren’t going to be the one to do it, and a tut comes from his pink lips, “Always so stubborn.”

You decide to just let him— since partial freedom is in sight— and you stepped into the corset, allowing him to slide it up your body, until it was in place underneath your breasts.

“This fine?” He checks in as he tugs the strings, waiting for your confirmation before the leather was too tight to your waist.

“I still think I should just elbow you.” You glare, hands clenched at the sides of your thighs with the looming pressure of the garment.

His attempt to be courteous was to no avail, clearly. And the white linen gets sinched inward, and he wrenches the strings roughly with purpose.

His deep laugh sounds, and with that firm pull you’re bought close enough to him you can feel his warm breath against your ear as he leans down.

“Let’s not be mouthy, dove. Not when I’m in control of how tight this thing is on you.” He tugs the laces a final time, hard enough the material feels like it’s completely restricting your diaphragm— making you hold your breath for a moment.

At your silence, he lets his hand relax, in turn the strings loosening enough for you to intake a breath. Your soft gasp makes his stomach heat up, warm with an unexplainable feeling.

He ties the corset at the back, and you don’t even get to step away before he’s linking arms with you.

“You look good." He states with a nod, and your eye's veered downward to see the corset against yourself.

That was what lead you to here, stepping off the pier, lit only by the latern Harry was carrying, and onto dirt.

Dirt that may have been separated from your feet with a pair of shoes, but was amazing to feel press against your boots again.

You were so eager to touch something other than wood, that this was like heaven.

The sea lapped up against the shore a few metres away, as the earth transitioned back into sand on the shore. You felt deep anticipation to get further away from the uniting of the two worlds. Because away from anything regarding the ocean and the vessel that floated upon was freedom in your mind.

Harry could see every micro-expression on your face, despite the weak candlelight. The way your eyes had lit up at the sensation of soft dirt below you, and it was endearing. He’d never seen one get so excited over merely dirt.

The air was warm, and felt like a summer night— but the breeze that blew through your hair was crisp. Whispering hints of a change in weather sooner rather than later.

He watched the wind twirl your hair, and he was almost envious of it. Watching its fingers comb through it, in such a way he could only imagine himself in its place with an intense longingly.

“The boys are at the bar. But if that’s not your scene, what we do is up to you.” He supplies, watching your eyes slant to him.

You hadn’t really thought this far ahead, what you’d do once you were off the boat. You looked at him, and then back to the cobble path that lead presumably into the heart of Sintir.

The buildings were lit up, warm light glowing, “Do they have a night market?”

“Mhm, infact they do.” He nods, beginning a slow walk to encourage you onwards.

Oddly enough, as his body was pressed to your side, you felt safe. He was something familiar in this new environment. “How exactly are you going to hide me?”

The pressing question to you was merely a slight concern to him.

“Chances of them knowing that you’re the missing princess is unlikely. And if they have seen the posters with your face on it, I somehow struggle to believe they’ll connect the dots.”

“That’s a lot of faith you have in that.” You comment, boots hitting the cobblestone with the same clacks they did back at home. There was a sense of invigoration that rushed through the blood beneath your skin at the sound.

It bought back your nightly adventures around Kelna, where nothing mattered. And all you had to worry about is what time you were sneaking back through your window without getting caught by your own guards.

It was nostalgic in a weird way. The kind that threw your mind spinning, since the memory was so fresh yet so distant. Too much had changed in the time from then to now.

“‘Cause y’don’t really look anythin’ like your picture.” He comments, dragging his gaze along your frame again, playing a mental spot the difference. He’d seen the flyers earlier that day, and was honestly unconvinced it was really you himself.

“God— tell me they didn’t use an ugly picture of me from 2 years ago…” It’s the kind of thing your parents would do, but Harry only shakes his head, letting out a prompt cackle at your distress.

“No, they didn’t use an ugly photo of ya at all. You’re just s’put together in it, hair slicked back in this fancy satin dress and pearls.” The two of you are walking between the first two buildings facing the sea, luminaries lighting up the path.

He continues, waving his hand as though it adds something to the conversation, “Now, y’hair is down now, all wild. And you’ve got this untamed look in y’eye. No one would look at ya an’ see y’fine dining in a gown.”

You’re not sure what to make of all of this, since he’s talking of you like he’s certain. Coming from his own perspective more than anyone else’s.

“They see a pirates girl. Probably look at you and think y’wrapped around my finger.” He nudges, and you finally scoff, “I would prefer they see it the other way around. That you’re following me like a lost puppy.”

“That’s never usually how it is, though.” He raises his brows, and your arm slips out of his, walking backward as you face him.

“But maybe it could be in their mind. They see you foaming out the mouth for me. And it’s like that ship docked over there,” your point in the direction you’d both originally came from, “is all mine.”

The concept feels like a power trip. You do wonder how many female captains there are in this world. Likely not enough.

“Sounds like quite the fantasy y’ve built up.” He muses.

“I want to go to the pub.” Your tone is certain and confident. To this he raises his eyes brows in challenge.

“Perhaps you’ll share a drink with me, dove?”

“Or it could be the other way around.”

“Well, it couldn’t, because you don’t have any gold to pay with. An’ things here aren’t complimentary like they are at home.” He huffs in amusement, poking fun at your previously lavish lifestyle.

“I don’t need gold,” you begin with a smirk that’s starting to spread across your mouth, “all I need to do is undo a few buttons on this blouse and I’ll probably be able to get a round for the whole crew on the house.”

You’re walking backwards, hands clasped together behind your back, a grin on your face that makes him feel insane.

His eyes immediately darkened, pupils blowing out at the thought of what you’re insinuating. Flirting your way for a free drink… something he can’t imagine you’ve ever done before. Yet would probably succeed at like you have a million times over.

“Right,” He clears his throat, trying to calm himself down, “didn’t take much for you to start whoring yourself out for some booze.”

“It’s not whoring… men are horrible creatures. They’ll do anything if they think it’ll get their dick wet.” He thinks you’re so… uneducated and naive. That just because you’re in a court, that you know nothing of the males on this earth.

However it’s quite the opposite. Sexual topics are strictly forbidden in the palace and court meetings… but elsewhere, when it’s private and no one is around to hear it, men help themselves to the topic.

They have no concern discreetly passing by you, head turned in whisper, just to tell you what a body you have. Or just how badly they want to…

And on the street, it’s even worse. So you know more than enough when it comes to that. That makes you anything but stupid to a man’s intentions.

He picks up the pace of his steps to breach the distance between you both, so that if you were to stop walking suddenly— he would probably crash into he was that close.

“You’re not doing that.” He says, tone serious.

“Why not, afraid you’ll get a little jealous?” You’re flirting with something dangerous now. Eager to prove a point.

“Don’t try to get a rise out of me. Because I said you’re not. Do y’want a drink or not dove? Because the way you’re headed, all your getting is a glass of water.”

“Whatever.” You scoff, still unsatisfied, but resigning your argument for now.

“I’m concerned your attitude will only worsen with alcohol in your system.” He deliberates.

The streets have now fully lit up, with other people starting to appear, and the nightlife is able to be heard from where you are.

The singing happening in the tavern can now be heard as you round a corner into what can only be deemed at Sintirs town centre.

A night market is clearly running, and you can see the pub a few doors down from it. Men and women out the front, drinks in hand and cigars hanging from their lips.

He catches up to you enough to slide his arm between your elbow again, silently obliging you you to stay right by his side.

As you get closer to the tavern, he verbalises this.

“You don’t move from here,” He pulls you tighter into his frame, “and you don’t make any trouble. Otherwise it won’t be pretty.”

His tone is firm, unwavering. You nod to it, accepting the rules begrudgingly, “Yes, Captain.”

You both come to the door, and he pulls it open. The building on the outside was rustic bricks, and inside it was the same— except the flooring was wooden. As the door opened, a bell chimed, but it was drowned out by the overwhelming amount of noise.

Men were shouting, and bellowing all about. Drunkenly chatting, playing darts, and stumbling around. There were women too, but they were not near as rambunctious. All of them were dressed like pirates… and it was clear this place was specialised for them. Maps on the wall, and news clippings of what appeared to be local Sintir pirates were framed around the place.

A few blokes stopped to greet Harry. And he engaged in short conversations. But in the back of his mind, he was regretting bringing you in here. Not because anyone recognised you, but because he could see every single slimy gaze that dragged over you.

One man stopped him by the darts—Harry had called him Evan— he said greetings to the captain, but his gaze never left you.

You had noticed immediately, and it was a bit disgusting. It made you regret calling Harry a perv. Because he was nothing like this.

It immediately pissed Harry off, the way the brutish and large man was eyeing you up and down like you were an object. And his blood spiked when he considered the array of things likely running through Evans head.

The grip he had tightened on you.

It’s protective, you feel. And at the least, you know you’re safe with him.

Harry almost regretted putting that corset on you now. It made you look too good. Too enticing.

He, unlike others clearly, has a moral compass. And enough human decency to see you as a human opposed to a sexual object. He was forgetful that most men lacked that ability.

When he spots his crew, he uses it as a quickly conjured excuse to get away from the other pirate. And as he leaves, he tugs your body in front of him, shadowing your retreating figure from prying eyes.

You’re a bit overwhelmed, in all honesty. But accept it as normal— you hadn’t been anywhere so busy for a while now. Especially when it’s in such a rowdy way.

The second his crew spots the two of you— your body sheltered by his own, and his hand on your hip urging you forward— Niall, the blonde one whose name you finally remember, lets out a bellowing cheer.

“She made it!” He’s excited like you’re an old friend of his, and he drunkenly rises up from the booth the boys had taken.

Harry feels a little more at peace knowing he’s now with his crew— the two of you are less likely to be bothered now, and he knows his mates will look out for you as well. Prisoner or not, you’re still a human.

Niall barrels towards you, and Harry renounces his hold on you. Chuckling as he pulls you into a drunk bear hug.

You’re unsure what to do with your hands as he rocks you around like a child, “Glad ya here, lovie.”

“Mmhm…?” You agree, looking helplessly his crew mates as they cackle hysterically— smacking their hands down on the table and sloshing their pints of beer in fits of laughter.

He eventually slides his arms off you, and hiccups, “are ya havin’ a drink?”

His already heavy accent is slurred as you make out what he’s asking, and you don’t even get an answer in before he reaches over the table and grabs you his.

Sliding the cold glass, around 3 quarters empty, into your hand.

“‘Ave mine! I’ll go get anotha’” He chortles, and then stumbles off just like that.

Harry watches in surprise as you bring the glass up to your lips and down the rest of it without hesitation. Hoping alcohol will take the edge off all the overstimulation you’re having in here. Calm you down a bit.

The rest of his crew whoop and cheer for you, which at the least gives you a bit more confidence.

Before they can all hand you over their half finished beers, Harry comes back to your side, head craning down to talk in your ear.

“Let’s go up t’the bar, get ya somethin’ fresh, instead of people leftovers.”

You nod, walking with him as he pulls you through the crowd.

At the bar, there’s several people sat at the stools. Including a touchy couple, that are practically feeling each other up, front and centre. She is sitting on the seat, but is taller than the man that’s between her legs. Clearly she’s in charge, and you smirk.

Go girl, you thought, and Harry clocks your pride for the woman. Something stirring in his chest.

He ignores it, going up the bar to place on order.

The lady at the bar, whose got muscles on her like an absolute god, nods at him to rattle off his order.

“Two beers and a shot of the best liquor y’ve got, thanks, Naomi.” He asks, but you interrupt before she can walk away.

“Make it two shots, please.” To your quick mouth, she smiles. She has dark skin, and a beautifully done head of braids, it’s clear you’ve piqued her curiosity.

“I’ll make it two,” she smirks, getting two shot glasses from beneath the counter.

“And who is the second one for?” She asks, implying she wants your name.

You slide your eyes to Harry, who is shocked that you’re trying to get his permission for giving your name. He blinks sharply in disapproval.

“Mary.” You nod, listing the fake name off like it was nothing. It was a common enough name, so she takes it.

You don’t realise how effortlessly you and Harry are communicating without words until he ghosts his thumb over your forearm, and you know he’s thanking you.

Naomi smirks at you, “Well, miss Mary, I have to say i quite admire you.”

You give her a thanks, and she slides the two shots on the counter, going on to prepare the beers.

“Been a while since your captain here has bought a girl around… nice to see.” The irony of the situation could almost make you laugh.

“Well, someone’s oughta keep him inline. Otherwise he’d end up prisoner somewhere.” You supply, putting up your best pirate imitation for her.

He shakes his head, your play on words half amusing, half unbelievable.

“Was good to see you, Naomi, thanks for the drinks.” He says, grabbing the beer while you grab the shots.

She gives her momentary goodbyes, and he walks over to a vacant barrel to place the beer down.

You follow suit, but with only one of the shots. You toss the other back before he can say otherwise. The brownish-gold liquid burning a trail down your throat.

He watches in disbelief. You are so shockingly rough around the edges, that the idea of you being a princess feels unfathomable to him.

“You broke a lot of those royal rules, didn’t you.” He raises his brows, voice unreadable.

Licking over your lips, the strong alcohol gives a zip up your spine, “on occasion.”

“Christ.” He mutters, picking up his own shot and downing it.

The two of you take your beers back to the booth his crew was at, and you drink that and whatever else got handed to you by his crew mates— that you’ve officially learned most names of— and are well and truly a bit drunk.

You were sat between Liam and Harry, and the night was actually quite fun.

It was nice to truly forget the situation you’d landed yourself in.

That was until, as the night drew on, and once the early hours of the morning were likely in play, the pub quietened.

It was now regular noise level, just drunk and tired chatter, and someone came over to your booth.

A lanky guy, sporting long dreaded hair with olive coloured skin. Despite his moderately tan complexion, there was an almost queasy undertone to it. It stained a faint yellow tinge under his eyes, and screamed future liver failure the longer you stared.

Yet a gold tooth that peaked through when he flashed a smile. He looked like the epitome of a pirate.

“Ah, Styles and his crew are back in town.” He announces rather loudly, like as if he has an audience he’s talking to.

“Leon… Hello.” Zayn drawls, far from enthralled to see the man.

“Great to see you all,” he claps his hands together, smiling, “now, I’ve jus’ come round to spread the word…”

It piques the men’s interest slightly, and they all start to pay attention to the skinny bloke.

“Garrets boat was found the otha’ day.” He states, looking between the boys, eyes stopping momentarily on you.

Harry pipes up from where he’s sat next to you, and if there was anything amiss, the only telling thing would be the way his hand snakes to your knee, tensing around it slightly.

It’s his bruised hand, and you try to draw your attention away from it.

“I’ve heard word of that… did he not turn up with it?” Harry asks, nonchalantly.

“No… it was in perfect nick, jus’ without its capan’.” He sighs out, stepping forward to trail his boney hand over the wood pattern on the table, “Reckon someone’s got him… so keep an eye out for raiders.”

“Mm, alright. Thanks for the heads up. Hope ya’s stumble upon him…” Harry nods, hand clutching your knee harder.

The man’s missing…

And suddenly, it clicks in your brain.

Despite his crews unreadable faces, you are almost certain that the man currently in the chambers of their ship is the same person Leon is on about.

It sends a wave of anxiety through you. In a room full of pirates, you are something they all would want. Yet for varying reasons.

You’re suddenly grateful again that Harry and his crew seem to only have the intention of money with you.

What a horrible thing to be thankful for in this world, you think.

That you’re happy the people who kidnapped you don’t want to use you in worse ways. Don’t want your body or to keep you as a souvenir.

You’re drawn from your spiralling thoughts as Leon speaks again,

“Ah, and you have a las with you too…” he remarks, although it adds no substance to the conversation.

“Mary.” Harry provides, and the boys all exchange a glance.

“You keep your eye out too then, sweetheart. You women have an attention to detail that us men don’t...” He flashes his golden tooth, and gives a final nod to the crew before turning away.

You purse your lips, glancing down at your lap, trying to hide your frown. Confused if the approach was a convoluted kind of threat, or just an odd exchange.

“That’s us done for the night,” Harry says, his previous relaxed tone was gone. It was riddled with seriousness now.

“Give it ten so it doesn’t look suspicious, and then we’re leaving.”

That was confirmation to you that Garret is the man below deck… and you were itching to ask questions, but knew now was likely not the time.

The tension aided sobering everyone up, and after around ten minutes they all collectively rose. And Harry scooted out of the booth, and gestured you to follow suit.

You slide out, leather gliding against your skin as you got to the edge and took his hand without protest. Despite being upset at this situation only minutes earlier, you craved to feel safe.

So as anxiety was welling in your chest, you easily allowed him to pull you against him. Tan hand clasped around yours as he held you firmly close.

This time, he held you with his good hand, free of dark purple bruises.

You transfixed on his complexion instead now. It was completely different to Leon’s. Tan from the sun, yes. But Harry was— as always— all beauty. Liquid gold was accidentally spilt into the colour of his skin. It shone under even the dingest of bar lightings, and never failed to completely encapsulate your attention. His skin had no sickly undertone.

Tiny freckles and beauty marks that trailed up his forearm. They were colour of chocolate… and he was perfection.

Christ.

You got pulled out of your trance by the tug of his hand, his bruised one busy fishing out a small bag of gold.

It’s unbelievable the state he can put you in. It’s otherworldly, and you feel sort of ashamed how easily your mentality can fold to him.

Taking you up to the counter that Naomi was scrubbing down with a rag, he placed the small coin bag atop the bar.

“Thanks for your hospitality as usually, there’s a little extra for all your help.” He was keeping the exchange short, bidding his farewells after her gracious appreciation.

She smiles a goodbye to him, yet eyes slide back over to you,

“And you too Mary, keep y’man in-line.” She teased, and Harry genuinely rolled his eyes.

“I will.” You stated, voice oversaturated with faux confidence.

With that, you all left the tavern. It felt odd stepping into the now cold air, a change coming in quicker than expected. The market having packed up for the night likely hours ago.

Goosebumps erupted over your skin as the boys moved in haste, a unity of clanking boots against the paving.

“Y’shivering.” Harry remarked.

“It’s colder than it was earlier.”

“Even the tropics must feel the cold.” Tanner states matter-of-factly.

Once out of the town centre, they start running— it was sudden and unexpected. Like once they were fully out of view, urgency could be expressed.

“This’ll warm you up.” Harry raises his voice against the wind, pulling you along to match his pace.

By the time you made it back, storming across the pier, you were near breathless.

Blood pumping, and you did feel a little warmer at the least.

“Alrigh’, Liam, are you right enough to get us going?” He asked, patting his back as the boys walk along the temporary bridging from the pier to the ship.

“Plenty fine, H.” He nods certainly.

“That’s the way…” his voice raises, “Ashton, Miggs, batten down the hatches!”

His pirate-y tone was prevalent as he threw orders left right and centre. Before you knew it, the ship was starting to move from port. You were shocked, considering half of them weren’t even fully sober. But you supposed this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, readying up the ship for something unexpected while half drunk.

Maybe things were done better that way, with beer in the blood, you supposed. More officiant.

Once he was finished confirming what everyone was doing, his voice lowered, and gaze softened as he turned to you.

His eyes fell where you rung the bottom of the corset cinched around you. You were evidently anxious, it was written all over your face.

“Cmon, dove…” he walked the minor distance between you, “I’ll take you back below deck.”

“To the chambers?“ your voice was abundant with sudden fear, and the thought of going down there knowing there’s likely a corpse in the room across from you made you feel sick.

“No.” He immediately clarified, “My room. You’re not going back down there, Y/N.”

He said it with such certainty, and you wondered what changed to make you a permanent fixture in his room.

You were lead down the increasingly familiar way to his bedroom, “Nothing you can task me with?”

He laughed at your question, “Nothing, love. I doubt you even know how to tie a knot on a rope.”

You couldn’t say you properly did. And then you wondered why exactly you offered to help, considering you have no business aiding people who kidnapped you.

“I don’t.” You sigh, as he lets you into his dark room. He felt oddly domestic, stepping through the doors quickly to light a wall lantern so you can see.

“Then you’re better off safe in here, the waters already a bit rocky.” The ship was rising and falling more dramatically than this morning, which added to your list of things to worry about.

“Harry,” you say his name before he can walk out.

“Y/N?”

“Can you be honest with me…?”

He huffs a laugh, “Tha’ depends.”

“Is the man in the cells dead?”

The seriousness in your tone has him dead quiet. And you can hear the ticking in his brain as he decides on whether he’s answering you or not.

The innocent look in your eye pushed him to be truthful. He wasn’t used to this. Seeing someone undeserving of being captive on the ship. It was always horrible people.

“I’ll go a step ahead of you, yes, Garret’s dead.” He answered like he knew your next question would be that. And he was right, because it was.

You draw in a breath, the only sound heard is the crashing of the ship against the waves.

“Does that scare you?” He asks, and then asks deeper, “Do I scare you?”

You pause to then think how to answer that.

“Yes and no…” You deliberate, because you truly don’t know. You felt safe with him today, but the concept of what he’s probably done to people is eye opening to say the least. And always the potential of what he could do to you.

The air was thick— the alcohol in both of your systems clouding your judgements— and something churned in your hearts. There was a shared breath in, and out.

You feel the cruciality of the moment, and are certain he can too.

Right now, this goes much further than the taking of a royal, the trapping of a person. It’s a question that the answer can only create more confusion.

Because why on this cruel, twisted earth would you be thinking of any response other than a plain, hard, yes.

A breath catches in the back of your throat, and the real answer slips out with a rasp.

“You scare me because I don’t know how to fully hate you. I hate you, but not like i should.”

A half blink, and the look in his eyes switches. It’s unreadable for a moment, blank in processing.

He steps closer, feeling an urge to touch you that he can’t explain where it come from. It’s so forceful he breaches the distance between you faster than he can rethink it. Fingers reaching out to brush a gentle stroke over your cheekbone.

Your lips part, the haze in your mind making you wonder if this was a dream of sorts.

All Harry is thinking about is the fact he wants more right now. The same whirlwind that pushed him to cradle your cheek with his hand is begging his lips to brush against yours.

He pushes it down into the pit of his stomach, replying with a tone so tender he wonders how it come from himself.

“I won’t hurt you. I promise on the damning of my own soul.” He reassures.

The lines have blurred. Blurred from keeping his prize safe, to keeping you safe.

His words feel like they carry too much weight to be coming from a pirate. Like the impact they have is meant for manipulation.

And if that’s they’re intention either way, it worked. Because a part of you resigns to believe it.

He waits for confirmation on your end that you understand, and you give that to him through a curt nod.

“Good. I’ll be back later, you go to sleep.”

Your heart wrenches for no apparent reason as he lingers close to you for a moment longer. Then he drags himself away from you, despite the intense urge to do otherwise.

You catch his eyes a final time as he leaves the room. Leaving the door unlocked…

It tempts you, but with the boat rocking like this, you think better for yourself.

Now you want to throw yourself off the ship again, but for an entirely different reason.

You’ve laid trust in him. Something you said you wouldn’t ever do. Oh how that promise to yourself broke quickly.

But you’re drunk and vulnerable, and his words were so soft and sweet. Two sides of yourself are at war.

Yet either way, you feel it can only lead to a plethora of bad things. It’s all too much for you right now.

Unlacing your own corset, you wiggle out of it, then slip out of everything else. You stand in only undergarments, realising how truly exhausted you are now that you’re back in his room.

The alcohol and emotional turmoil settles deep in your bones, you feel it rattle heavily with each step.

You grab soft clothes he bought for you today, and pull them over you, taking off your bra.

The storm is coming. You feel it within you. It’s a foreshadow of your mentality, the precursor of what’s to come with all of this— and the ever growing complexity of your feelings.

You crawl into Harry’s bed, ashamed at the way you inhale his scent. Hating the way it’s turned into a form of reassurance.

He has kept you safe this last week, which in your subconscious— whose clinging to any sort of saftety— means he is something to you that he shouldn’t be. And you wonder when he went from something you disdained to something you craved connection with.

The idea of stockholm syndrome was familiar to you, but didn’t resonate. Or maybe you were in denial… who fucking knows. All you are sure of is that he makes you feel somewhat stable. Your body craves that shred of stability more than anything.

Either way, it didn’t stop you from nestling into his sheets. Or falling asleep curled up in them.

Nor did it hinder you from when he finally returned to reach out for him, all while still hazed with the slumber you were just in.

A meek call of his name came from your mouth as he gets into his bed, it was at least an hour or so later. The sun would be closer to rising then not, but you choose to haul your body closer to him the second you could.

He sighs with relief of finally laying down, the weather sounds worse outside now. It’s gotten harsher sooner than he expected, something hurrying the system further south. Although it means it’ll hit earlier, at the least it’ll be over in a day or two.

He must’ve gotten undressed, because as you press yourself into his back, his bare skin is warm to the touch.

It was evident feeling him now that the sun coursed through his veins, it replaced the blood of a regular person. He spent so many hours in it, it seemed to be a part of him.

“You’re so warm.” You stated quietly, half conscious.

“Mm, and you’re so bloody cold.” He mutters, voice deep and ready for sleep. His comment causes him to roll into you, tugging you closer into his chest.

Somehow, regardless of if you had been asleep for an hour, you still felt exhausted. Maybe it was the drinks too, they were settling a slight hangover upon you. So, shamelessly you coiled further into his arms.

Your hands snaked up his bare back, and into the hair at the nape of his neck. The curls were damp as you played with them.

There’s definitely still something in your system, and he notices it as well.

“You’ve gotta be still a little tipsy… ya all over me dove.” He laughs tiredly.

Your front is pressed to his, his scent equally as distracting as the slabs of muscles you could feel up against you.

“Tipsy and exhausted.” You murmur, eyes fluttering shut as you carry on playing with his hair.

“Oh, are y’feelin’ needy?” He teases, voice slipping into a shockingly deep lilt, one you’d caught glimpses of yesterday morning.

It sparked a feeling in the pit of your stomach, “Shut up.”

The two of you did eventually go quiet, nothing but the sounds of mixing breath and the brush of hands against skin.

His own hands had taken refuge on your waist, rubbing gentle circles with calloused fingers. Somewhere in the back of your head you reevaluate for the seventh time just how intoxicated you still both were. Enough alcohol in your system to completely blur the lines.

You couldn’t even claim in the morning the cuddling was an accident on part of your sleeping selves. You’d have to try and pass it off as the drinks from earlier. Which although true, feels like a harder excuse to play off this significant.

You were wrapped up in his arms. Voluntarily. And… enjoying it.

It’s a horrible thing to be indulging in. It’s only going to spell you more trouble. But you can’t find it in yourself to care.

He felt you slip back into a quiet sleep, evident in the way your fingers ceased their movement where they sat, tangled in his hair.

In the silence of the night, he thought about you.

Images trailed carelessly through his mind, dragging up ideas of what the two of you looked like right now. He wished he could see it from an outside perspective.

The way you had completely settled into his frame. Chest to chest.

He could feel the ridges and dips of your body too easily, only separated by a thin cotton sleep shirt you’d put on.

Something throbs inside of him at the touch, and to make matters worse, you stir, throwing your leg over his hip just like you had the night before.

He feels dirty as he conceptualises the idea of something more with you.

He wishes he didn’t drink now, because he can’t get the vision of himself inside of you out of his head. He’s weak after some beer and liquor, he lacks self-control, even when half of him is begging to sort himself out. Now, because he hasn’t stopped himself early enough, his prick has swollen in his boxers.

Thank the stars you’re asleep.

He stays deathly still, pursing his lips, waiting his boner out.

Staving away the idea of being pushed inside of you. Such a pretty girl, you were. It’s hard not to wonder how good your mouth would be against his own.

It takes atleast 15 painful minutes for his cock to soften. He’s thankful for being tired, because once the thumping of his heart calms down, he allows himself to pull you further into his hold.

He will let himself have this, at the least.

———

Waking up was almost a carbon copy of the morning before.

A tangle of limbs, but you’ve had a warmth that’s sprouted through you the entire night.

However, this time, Harry was already awake.

The hours of sleep you got were minimal. And the sun wasn’t even fully up. It was mostly cloud coverage outside the window. The room still dim.

He watched you wake up, thankful it’s now— because otherwise he would’ve had to get up and go. Too much to do to be laying in bed with you, unfortunately.

He got to watch your eyes slowly open, their glossy appearance. They lazily scoped the room, as if re-familiarising your brain with your surroundings.

Then they dragged to Harry’s face, catching the softness of the morning still on him.

“I have a headache.” Was the first thing that croaked from your lips.

Your throat hurt and the hangover was clearly in its full effect. You did not usually drink that much.

He hums a laugh at your lack of greeting, starting off the morning with a complaint. Oddly charming somehow?

He wanted to kiss you still.

“Big night for you last night?” He asks, jokingly, but he knows you didn’t drink enough to forget anything.

“Don’t tease.” You plead, head dropping back down to between his chest.

He strokes a hand along your back, “We oughta get some food into ya.”

His gentle encouragement falls on deaf ears. All you’re able to do is fall back into his hold.

“Dove.” The coo he lets out does nothing but makes your stomach flutter.

You shake your head against the warm skin of his chiseled chest. All the muscle there… fuck it makes you light headed.

But you can’t think about that.

You just wanted him with you right now.

“Harry.”

Hearing his name makes the heart in his chest clench.

“Stay here.” You say, simply.

At his momentary silence, your voice drops.

A whisper.

A plea.

“Please?”

Everytime you talk to him like that, a piece of him unravels.

Already too far in, he throws another handful of cation to the wind. Before he knows it, there will be nothing left.

His quiet demeanour is unusual. Where was his quip that usually followed?

You were slowly poisoning him.

“You’re like a drug.” He states.

You’re not sure how to feel. Is that good… or bad?

“Is that bad?”

He doesn’t say anything, just rolls his body weight to the side, moving you to be facing one another.

He stares into your eyes, searching for something. An answer maybe.

But it’s just not one he’s going to find yet.

Time is a virtue, they say.

And maybe if he waits long enough, unravels far enough, gives away enough of himself. He’ll know.

He’ll find out what it is about you that drags him in.

Maybe you’re like the current. Yet he’s not sure if it’s taking him out to a reef, where paradise lay. Or dragging him out into a rip.

His eyes wander the plains of your face.

And finally, he speaks.

“I guess we’ll have to find out.”

———

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[queenquinzel715]

Orc Thorald x Halforc Reader

Mature

Word count: 3,281

You've heard of my mother and father's love story, well this is mine. I am (y/n) daughter of Captain Rune, and I'm half orc half human. I take after my father mostly, but I'm much smaller than most orc women. You know I have a brother named Bain.

Over the years I've been helping my mother, and brother with the farm while my father was sailing around. When my brother turned fifteen he went to sail with our father permanently. They kept sailing for a few years until mother got sick. She got the flu, and didn't last the month. My father tried to sail, but only lasted a few months before coming back home. That's when my brother became captain. That's where my story begins. Thorald.

When I first met Thorald I was twelve, and he along with my brother were sixteen. Father docked for the winter, and Thorald with his father stayed in the barn. He had lost his mother that spring to a fire, and it made him quiet. If you weren't my father, his or my brother you might as well forget about him talking back to you. He would smile at me when I gave him blankets, and hot water to the barn. I guess that winter was when my crush started. Every winter after they would stay with us, and when I turned fourteen they built onto the house. Thorald and I would find ourselves in the kitchen at highmoon for sweets, and over the years we became very close.

When I turned nineteen my mother got sick. I found myself getting quiet, and working more than normal. I didn't notice until one night I was carrying carrot bags into the barn when I heard a deep throat being cleared. I turn to Thorald standing with the rest of the bags.

“(y/n)...” he starts as he places the bags down with the rest, and stands tall in front of me. “I need you to rest. I can't have you cold like me.” He lightly holds my hands. “Call me selfish, but I need you to keep being my happiness when I come home from sailing.” He kisses my fingers before leaving me in the barn.

She died that night. That winter they left, and they only returned to let father off.

-skip to beginning of Autumn-

Today started like any other day, I woke to my father humming his and my mother's song, and me needing to start breakfast. I throw my hair into a ponytail, change some of my earrings to different ones, and change into my work clothes. My brother is docking today, so I have to get the barn ready for the extra men needing a quiet place. I already cleaned up Bain, and Thorald's room yesterday.

As I'm laying down blankets, and baskets of food I hear the loudest group of degenerates enter my farm. I chuckle at my own joke as I walk out to meet them as they come around the house.

“(Y/n)!” Bain comes running at me at full speed.

“Bain NO!” I ran around the porch with him chasing me trying to reach me.

I see Thorald, and launch myself onto his back. Clenching onto him like a scared cat. He laughs as his rough hands hold me in place by my thighs.

“No fair you know he won't let me get you.” Bain whines like a grown man child, because he knows how much stronger Thorald is to him.

“The meat is cooking, and (y/n) has cleaned up the place. Now you all go wash up, so you can eat.” My father stops my brother whining as he leans on the pillar.

They all walk off, leaving me on Thorald's back. He looks over his shoulder.

“I'm glad to see that smile of yours. I hated leaving you.” He slowly couches down, letting me slide down his back.

“I can't lie to you. I did go quiet for most of the time you were gone, but when I realized I needed to get things in order I got better.” I smile up at him as we walk inside. “Oh I fixed your blanket.”

He gives me a kiss on my forehead before going to his room. I knew he was saying thank you, but couldn't speak from the others that already came into the living room. The rest of the night went by great with stories, food, and laughter.

The following morning I woke to silence, which is odd for a farm full of sailing men. I go down to the kitchen to only my father sitting at the table eating meat from last night.

“Morning father. Where is everyone?” I ask, grabbing the rib from his plate.

“They are cleaning out the ship.” He swats my hand as he talks. “Apparently they have some trunks that are full of stuff. I don't know. I honestly wasn't listening, I had just opened my eyes.” We chuckle.

As my day went on I would see a couple men here and there, which is odd. They usually lay around when they dock. I don't even see Thorald. He usually is next to me every second until they leave in spring.

“Hey uh Odo, right?” I stop a Satyr that works on the ship.

“Oh yes ma'am” He says very timidly.

“Do you know where Thorald may be?” I ask, watching him fidget with his hands.

“Well I uh saw him on the ship earlier, but we were cleaning it out. He could be in the house.” He tells me, but I know it's not true.

“Alright.” I've had enough of them being secretive.

I march through the farm to my horse, and ride to our docks. I tie my horse to the dock post watching the men stop, and look at me before moving quickly around. What in the world are they doing?

“(Y/n) what are you doing here?” Bain stops me as I step onto the deck.

“I was just checking on everyone. I haven't seen anyone all day.” I look around at them moving crates off the ship onto wagons we use on the farm.

“Oh we have been finishing the ship for winter.” He walks me back down. “We are almost done, so we'll see you at dinner.”

“Now you wait a minute.” I stop his subtle shoving. “You tell me right now, what's going on?” I put my foot down.

“I…I wish I could tell you (y/n). I really do.” He looks down.

“Hhh where's Thorald?” I sigh in complete confusion.

“He's in town.” Bain looks down in shame.

“In town, but I made sure we had everything at home…” I try to look up at him, but he looks down. “Oh. He's there.” I don't say anything else as I mount my horse.

“(y/n) wait.” Bain grabs the reins. “He's not there for that. It's not my place to tell you, but please just wait.” Bain looks at me with hard begging eyes.

I give a subtle nod before I begin riding home. My mind went to what else could he be doing at a woman's hotel. Once I'm home I go inside to work on my baking. I'm halfway through the fourth large orc pie, which is like three human size pies in one, when my father walks into the kitchen.

“Just like your mother. Alright sit down.” He pulls me away from the new pie crust I was starting. “What happened?” He gives me a rag for my hands.

“I found out where Thorald has been today, and I hate it.” I throw the rag onto the table. “He's in town.” He sits for a moment then his eyebrows raise up. “Yea, so I'm baking enough stuff for an army, because I can't think about what he is doing.” I huff.

“(Y/n)!” We hear from outside. “Where's (y/n) guys!” They must have pointed to the house, because someone practically rips the door down as they run into the kitchen.

Thorald is standing in my kitchen with no breath, a torn shirt, and marked face. My father beats me to stand.

“I think it's best you go outside, Son.” He tells Thorald.

“I can't go until you understand why I was in town. I can't let you think…” My father starts pulling him to the backdoor. “No.. Rune, come on.” He is mostly muffled by the door, and then I hear my father's muffled voice.

I almost fall out of my chair when a deep roar comes through the air. I silently get back to baking, and when my father comes inside, he just sighs at my back before going to the living room. The rest of the day, I hear banging coming from the woods behind the barn, and I know immediately that it's Thorald. I grab my basket, fill it with a little of everything I made, and head toward the banging. I come to the clearing and see Thorald hammering a board to the side of the building. I set the basket down on the stack of wood he has next to him. He reaches for another piece of wood when he hits the basket handle, making him look down and then up to me.

“(Y/n).” He drops his hammer as he turns to me.

“You've been out here all afternoon, so I brought you food.” I don't know what to do, so I just look at the basket.

“I won't touch your food until you listen to my truth.” He sits on a log as he wipes himself with his shirt.

I move the basket to his hands as I sit next to him with a sigh. He hands me a pastry with jam, and then grabs the sandwich I made.

“I'd never touch a woman other than my own woman. I was at the hotel, because I found out my mother's sister is working there. I went to talk to her, but she would rather work there.” He shrugs. “I understand why you thought I was doing that, I would think the same, but I would never do that to you.” He pulls me to his side. “I was hoping…well I was hoping I could have your permission to be involved in the courting ceremony.” He stumbles over his words, and he doesn't realize he's squeezing me.

“You'd want to court me?” I look up at him in shock. Me? “Thorald you do know there are women fighting in the Town Square to even start the courting process with you.” I tell him in general amazement.

“Yea. I saw some of that today, actually none are my type. I like my women (y/short/tall he's 6.5), and (y/plus “soft”, athletic “lean”).” He smirks down at me.

I turn with a burning face, and look around the building he was working on when I came up.

“Don't answer yet. I want to do this right.” He gets up, and begins hammering again with more speed. I giggle as I watch him build away.

Throughout the fall months I would wake to gifts on my nightstand. My favorite is a cape he made with a fur cape. As it started to snow it kept me so warm. I would also give my own gifts for this courtship by having his lunch and dinner when he'd walk into the kitchen. I also am making him, well us, a quilt for when the courtship is over, and we get married.

I wake up earlier today, and as I'm getting ready I hear the floorboards creak. I hold back my giggle as my doorknob starts to turn. I quickly step behind the door once it begins to open, and Thorald quietly steps into the room. His back is to me when I tickle his side making him jump around with a deep growl.

“What are you doing awake?” He chuckles as he moves closer to me practically caging me to the wall.

“I don't know I woke up bright today.” I lean against his body for his warmth. “Besides I wanted to catch who was leaving me things.” I look up at him with my hands resting on his chest.

“Things like this?” He holds up fur gloves that matched the cape.

“Oh it matches!” I exclaim as I take them to try on. “They are so soft. Thank you.” I hug him with my face cuddling in his chest.

“I want to take you somewhere.” He plays with the ends of my hair while he hugs me.

He helps me put my new cape on, and leads me to the building he was working on when he asked me to start the courtship. It's now completed to be a great looking cabin. A lovely porch with a swing. I always wanted one.

“This is your home.” Thorald tells me as he leads me up the steps to the front door.

“Mine?” I ask, looking up at him confused.

“Yes I built this for you, and hopefully me if you accept my courtship.” He walks me around the cabin showing me the living room with a big fireplace, a big kitchen, and a couple rooms.

He made the wood on the wall look so smooth, and classic looking. I couldn't see myself anywhere else.

“I love it.” My cheeks hurt from smiling so big. I walk into the farthest bedroom. “Oh wow.”

I jump onto the big bed, and bury myself in the soft blanket and pillows. I roll around with groans and sighs. I'm so wrapped up in the soft bed I jump out of my skin when a hand rubs up my leg. I look up to a smiling Thorald.

“Thorald you know I accept this courtship. I wouldn't have said yes before if…” I'm silenced by Thorald kissing me so hard that his tusks poke my cheeks, and I feel mine press into his cheeks.

The warmth of his body wakes mine up as he leans over me. My legs completely open for him to rest in between them, and to rest on his hips. I moan against his lips as I squeeze my knees to his sides as he slides a hand into my hair, and his other arm wrap along my lower back making me arch toward him. He started to quickly kiss down my cheek to my neck, he tightens his hold on me.

“Thorald.” I moan out as I grab his arms.

His growl sounds frustrated as he leans back on his hand, and looks me over. In a blink of an eye he is ripping my clothes off of me, causing me to let myself lose. I push him up, so we both are on our knees, and begin to pull his clothes off. His hands hold me hard against him once his clothes are with mine on the floor of our room. I moan as I reach up to kiss him. With his hands roaming my body I grip his shoulders as I melt against his warm body.

“Lay down for me, baby.” He softly says in my ear.

He stays on his knees as I lay back onto the pillows. He runs his hands up my thighs as he leans down with kisses going back and forth from one thigh to the other. The grip he has on my thighs will leave a mark, but I'll love the memories. He stops for a moment giving me a quick glance before running his tongue along my opening. I gasp with a quick hand to the top of his head, but his tongue goes faster side to side, and around my clit before he begins to suck. I jump up scratching his shoulder while leaning on my elbow so I can watch his tongue move. His tongue then disappears into me leaving my head to fall back with a gasping moan. My legs are locking against his head as I begin to shake.

“Thorald please yes.” I fall back onto the bed with a deep gasp as he gives one finally suck.

I watch him as I catch my breath as he lifts my legs to hold in one hand as he holds himself in the other moving the head along my opening. My eyes clothes as he begins to push in making us both gasp. Him pushing completely through makes me lock my eyes with him while holding onto the back of his neck. He leans on one elbow as he holds me close with the other as he begins to move.

“I can't believe you accepted.” He kisses me hard.

“Thorald I…” I can't talk, I'm too overwhelmed.

“Just relax against me, baby. I got you.” He bites my earlobe as I hold onto him.

With me holding onto him he sits up with me on his lap. His hands move from my neck and back down to my hips as they move on their own. I lean my head against his as I roll my hips with a tight hold on his shoulders.

“That's it.” He groans into my shoulder. “(y/n)!” I begin to shake against him.

“Thorald please…” I moan out. “help.” I moan in frustration.

He tightly grips my hips, and helps me grind against him. I arch up with a loud scream like moan when I finally let go. Thorald takes my breast into his mouth as he lays me down. He pounds into me with a groan, tight squeeze of his arms, and his hot seed fills me.

“Oh my Gods.” I gasp for breath.

He rolls over with me on his chest.

“I can't let you go.” He softly says into my hair.

“You don't have to.” I smile into his chest.

I gasp as I feel him to get hard again as his hands move along my back. I move my hips as I lean up with my hands on his chest. His hands keep moving along my body as I move my hips to grind slowly against him. He pulls me back down to kiss me bringing his knees up, and begins to slowly push up. I hold the back of his neck as I hide my face into his neck with a moan. He moves faster with each moan that leaves me, and in seconds I'm practically screaming with him holding me down with deep rams. I tighten up against him with a tight grip on the back of his neck, and I finally relax against his body with a loud relaxed moan. He follows seconds later with a deep growl, and him gripping my chin with a deep kiss. He slowly pulls out of me, and softly rolls us to our side, holding me to his chest.

When I woke up that morning I had breakfast on the nightstand, and a naked orc trying to sneak back into the bed. I giggle at him as I pull him into a kiss. We pull back for him to pull the tray over my lap as he sits behind me, letting me lean against him. I lift pieces of fruit and bacon up to him, and we enjoy breakfast.

We got married that spring, and stayed in our home for a month before they had to start sailing again. After two years Thorald stopped sailing to stay with me on the farm. Which was smart because I ended up pregnant with twins, our boys Arik and Dagen. I had our daughter, Astra, when the boys were five.

[petrichorium]

I WOULD LIKE TO HEAR ABOUT EX HUSBAND SHANKS 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Okay I was thinking a relationship that’s like SUPER chill and casual. Like literally fuckbuddies turned lovers; u stay on ur home island and he’s off most of the time. Was based close by in the first year or two y’all met and got close so he was around more often but eventually it becomes him stopping by every few months for a few weeks and the two of you keeping up contact while he’s gone. The progression from just messing around to a committed relationship is slow and largely unsaid until Beckman tells you his captain has turned down every other woman for the past two years and you realize you aren’t much searching for other men yourself; soon enough you’ve got matching rings and as untraditional as it is it works.

And I’m just thinking abt how like…….. ur happy w ur life on ur little island, it’s relatively safe all things considered under his protection and you’ve lived there your whole life and all you rlly wanna do is keep your head down and stay there. Getting involved with Red-Haired Shanks puts a major flaw in that plan but it’s easy to forget who exactly he is. He doesn’t hide it, ofc not, but he’s so… unremarkable seeming that it’s difficult to remember, especially when your interaction with him is isolated to a scant few days or weeks when he’s most at ease and the only thing he’s thinking about is you.

But………. then you’re reminded otherwise. It’s silly really, because of course you know. It’s been years since you first met him, you’ve seen the wanted posters and you’ve heard how people talk about him, but knowing in abstract—contrasted by the man who’s managed to marry you, all wide smiles and incessant drunken love confessions and never dodging a well-placed swat from your hand—is far different from seeing in person.

You board his ship for a little trip; something small, only a few days to go retrieve a gift for you that Shanks had foolishly left a few islands away, low-risk and entirely in his territory. But it all goes sideways and you’re forced, quite suddenly, to realize just who you’ve managed to fall for—and exactly what kind of power and prestige he wields—while trapped with nowhere to go but remain on his ship with him and his crew for the days it takes to return.

You feel stupid more than anything, balking like this after one (frankly minuscule) fight. You don’t leave his cabin the whole trip back. He brings you meals, holds you when he can, tells you how much the crew misses you, but he doesn’t understand just how much you’re questioning. How much, you wonder, do you really know Shanks? Bordering on ten years is quite some time but when you only see him a scant few weeks out of those years, how much does it matter?

The ring on your finger, the way he looks at you—they settle on your shoulders more like a noose now, no longer making you giddy. How long until some bitter rival of his storms your home searching for you because they can’t touch him?

How much is he worth it when the lives of everyone in your hometown stand at risk?

You’re smart enough not to pick the fight until you’ve returned. You have it at the door of your home, long overdone and frankly terrified, all but melting down once you’re truly alone with him for the first time in a week. He doesn’t yell back—doesn’t do much, after attempts at soothing you fail, except watch you with a mildly surprised expression on his face.

For the first time in years you don’t let him stay the night, or see him off when he leaves the following day. You sit up on your roof and watch his ship disappear over the horizon and assure yourself that clearly you aren’t cut out for being his.

(But two months later that ship appears again, and an hour after docking there’s a knock at your door, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when you see that red hair beyond the peephole…)

[sashi-ya]

𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐢 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧: 𝐋𝐚𝐰, 𝐙𝐨𝐫𝐨, 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢 & 𝐀𝐜𝐞. mini scenarios of the last day of summer.~ gn!reader. sfw

✴ 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐋𝐚𝐰. By total chance, or maybe destiny working in your favour, that exact night the Polar Tang docked at a certain island. It was, in their case, the end of summer. Some islands only have one season, others the fourth of them, but for this one they only had a few weeks of summer and the rest it was all winter and snow. It was logical that they wanted to celebrate the last night of warm breeze kissing their cheeks. Yet, you didn’t know. But Law, did…. However, he didn’t say anything until late at night. He asked you to stay, while the rest of the crew were given the right to wonder the island. You felt a little sad… “why, captain, if you are staying I have to stay too?” you asked yourself while waiting for time pass inside your room. A sudden knock on the metallic door, however, changed it all. “(Name)-ya, I need you over the deck in 10 minutes”- “Aye Aye, Captain!” As you crawl the ladder to emerge on the top deck of the submarine, you watched Law standing  with his hands on his back and his nose pointing towards the sky. You walked right next to him, and the first explosion illuminated both of your cheeks… even if Law’s were a little red…

✴ 𝐑𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐚 𝐙𝐨𝐫𝐨. At first he didn’t quite care, yet the promise of good sake and equally good food convinced him to watch the fireworks together. Is not that Zoro didn’t love you, it was that he didn’t think it would be important to you. It was not until the first blooming flower of fire lighted up the sky and you took his hand, that his metallic eyes shone. He really didn’t cared about the colours nor the scent of gunpowder in the atmosphere, he only cared about the the rainbow lights tinting your smile. A gasp that stopped him from breathing for some seconds, what a beautiful, delicate human he had next to him, he swore right there that the edge of his sword would always protected his most valuable treasure…

✴ 𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐃. 𝐀𝐜𝐞. Late, both were late to the fireworks. Why? Well… let’s say you two were having a little “fun” before the end of summer matsuri. But, if there was something Ace didn’t want you to miss was all the things that make you happy. He knew that going back in time wasn’t possible, however he also knew that the most beautiful things can be created if there is a flame inside your heart… “It’s ok, Ace! Is not your fault we should go back” you murmured, a little disappointed yet satisfied as loving him would only make you forget about the time.“(Naa-me…) look at me… hanabi!~” he playfully sang and casted, conducting countless brilliant orbs playing around you and flying up in the sky. Those were tinted in greenish glow, and every shiny dot reminded you of fireflies coming from the tips of his warm fingers. You covered your mouth with your hands and some tears of love blurred your vision; Ace didn’t need to create fireworks either way… because he is enough fire to light up your skies.

✴ 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢. This man prepared absolutely everything. One of his -cliché- dreams has always been to have a romantic picnic at the park under the beautiful sparkles that mark the deathbed of summer. All types of snacks, yukatas on, even the perfect spot under a cherry blossom tree. All of that and more he planned for his beloved person. Carrying a basket on one of his arms and offering the other one to escort you towards the perfect location. He felt at peace, not nervous, no nose bleeding, only calm and pure happiness pumping through his veins. And exactly, when the moment the fireworks reached its peak, he couldn’t care a less… because there was something a lot more brilliant resting right by his shoulder, and it was you… and in that moment he knew exactly what words to pronounce… “(Name)-chan, would you marry me?”

[ja3hwa]

Day 21  : Voyeurism - Jongho

「Title」 : Maybe

「Word count」 : 720

-> Genre: Suggestive, Brothers Best Friend Au

Paring: Secret Boyfriend!Jongho x Reader

[Warnings] : Smoking, Pet names. Dirty talk. Lots of teasing. Neck kisses. Fingering. Clit play. Mention of fucking in the woods. Swearing Begging. Jongho is aged up in this, but it's not really mentioned, it's just how I imagined it. You know early 30s beefy Jongho, type vibe. Let me know if I missed anything.

February Filth Fest Event Day Calendar

You waved off Seonghwa saying you’d be back shortly to watch the fireworks with the others for the new year celebration. You just needed to grab a sweater first, having the night take a cold turn from the hot breezy day. Walking up the hill towards the cabin you saw from afar the boys all yelling and carrying on like idiots. You were going to be quick, well that was what you thought until you spotted Jongho leaning against the door frame of the glass door with a smoke between his fingers.

“Forget something?” He cock his brow, flicking the finished cigarette away before blowing the smoke out of his lungs. His arms crossed as he watched you closely with a smile. He must have come up here to have a quick smoke break without anyone around since he knows how much people didn’t like the smell. You on the other hand knew it was a bad habit, but you couldn’t help but let your thought wonder at how hot he looks when he does it. You’ve been dancing around one another since the trip started two days ago. You haven't told anyone about your relationship with Jongho yet, fearing your brother would most likely try and kill Jongho if they found out. So a secret it is. But neither of you minded, much, finding some fun and thrill in the idea of sneaking around.

“Just a sweater. Why are you up here, Jongho?” Hearing you say his name has his cock standing at the attention. You had always called him by nicknames, it was just something you did for everyone you were friends with. But fuck, he loves hearing his name fall from your pretty lips.

“Nothing else?” His voice was low, in a gravelled growl. You had been teasing him all day and now that you two are finally alone, he was going to take every opportunity to get some action out of you. You shook your head sweetly in response, playing the innocent card wasn’t a good idea. But you did it anyways.

“Oh yeah? And what’s your plan now that you’ve teased me all day? Because the way I see it. I have every right to do whatever want to this sweet body of yours. I could spin you around bend you over and fuck your cute little cunt till you're crying. Right outside in front of our friends and your brother. Is that what you want baby?”

You open your mouth to answer but he’s already got you spun around and bent slightly over the railing of the deck, pushing your shirt up slightly to get a view of your back arched, just for him. You inhale sharply, hands grabbing at the wood as your attention is suddenly drawn to the fireworks starting to go off from the dark lake. His fingers trail between your thighs beneath your shorts, letting out a soft curse when he finds your core all wet and soaking through your panties and clothes for him.

“You’re really playing with fire here, Honey. You know that?” He whispers as his lips trail over your neck, his fingers slowly slide past your shorts and underwear to get to your folds. You bite your lip to keep yourself quiet, eyes focused on where your brother and friends are. All the way down at the docks. Surely too far away to make out exactly what's going on in the dimly light cabin balcony. Jongho’s fingers find your clit and your gasp, hips automatically pushing back into his hand and he chuckles softly at your desperate action.

“You’re so easy. I can play you like a fucking fiddle. Do you have any idea how easy it is for me to make you cum. For me to have you begging and crying for me to have my way.” His fingers sink inside you, quickly moving to a steady pace. You hum softly rocking your hips in time with his fingers feeling your gut grow hot.

“Maybe you should remind me.” You whisper wanting nothing more than to cum after how wound up you’ve been all day. He laughs as his fingers do not slow, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

“Maybe I should.”

-

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𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 : 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑁 𝑁𝑂 𝑊𝐴𝑌 𝐴 𝑇𝑅𝑈𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑃𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐴𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑍 𝑀𝐸𝑀𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑆. 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝑃𝑈𝑅𝐸 𝐹𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐼𝑆 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐵𝐸 𝑇𝐴𝐾𝐸𝑁 𝑆𝐸𝑅𝐼𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐿𝑌.

[clown-friend-gt]

Octomer Chapter Five

TW: Blood, violence, implied death

It's finally finished, and only one day late! Thank you to everyone who read this far. This chapter gets a little heavier and more action-packed towards the middle, but it gets lighter towards the end again.

This isn't the end for these characters, by the way. This story is just an introduction to them, and I'll probably still write scenes between them, when the mood strikes. If you have anything you want to see, or anything you'd like clarification on, feel free to let me know.

I hope you enjoy the last part of this story

************************************************************************

Spots didn’t come back to visit me the next day. Or the next. Or even the day after that. By the end of the week, I was starting to worry I’d dreamed the whole encounter.

I’d finished getting unpacked. Now all there was to do was get caught up on my work, but I kept getting distracted. I kept looking out the window, hoping I’d see him out by the cliff each time. But I had no such luck.

At night, I’d go out and sit on the edge of the cliff like I had that first night. I’d sing “La Mer” until I got sick of it. Then I sang every other song I could think of, hoping that the sound of my voice would be enough to bring him back. In the end, I only ended up making myself hoarse.

The weekend arrived and I had nothing to do. Thankfully my phone started working again the morning after Spots left, but I couldn’t stand the thought of sitting around the house all day. No, I had to get out and do something.

There was a short dock down at the beach where my grandpa used to keep his boat tied up. In addition to the house, Grandpa had also left me the boat in his will. I figured now was as good a time as any to check it out.

I left the house around noon. It was a clear but windy day, perfect for sailing. I tied my brunette hair back in a low ponytail so it wouldn’t whip into my face. Then I went down to the beach.

Grandpa’s boat sat right where it always had, along the side of that old dock. It was a little catboat, just over fifteen feet long with only one sail. Above the waterline, it was painted a bright white. The bottom of the boat was painted blue.

The first thing I did was untie the boat. The rope latching the boat to the dock had a thin layer of dust on it; clearly it had been a few years since Grandpa had been able to take it sailing.

Then, making sure I had a firm hold of the rope, I moved to the back of the boat and began pushing it out to sea. I dug my feet into the sand and pushed. It was difficult with the sand trying to slip out from under my feet, but I got the boat moving soon enough.

Now, for the hard part. I crawled onto the side of the boat, trying not to tip it too much. There was no way I could tip this thing over by myself, but if I got it rocking too hard, it’d be hard to stand.

I waited for the rocking of the boat to subside enough to try to stand. I got one foot underneath me, then the other. It was such an odd feeling to try and balance on an uneven surface, but soon enough, I got my sea legs back.

I started by checking the lines the way my grandpa had taught me. The first few times we sailed together, he drilled me on this so many times, there was no way I could ever forget. I got everything untangled and ready to go.

Then I checked the flag at the top of the mast to see which way the wind was blowing. Grandpa told me he could just feel the direction of the wind on his face, but I never got the hang of that. I was just glad he’d kept the flag. Maybe he’d done it for my sake.

Don’t cry now, you have work to do, I told myself, swallowing the emotion before it overwhelmed me.

I used the tiller to point the bow into the wind. The water lapping against the hull kept pushing it off-kilter as I worked. Surely there was a better way to do this, but it wasn’t coming to me, so I kept having to stop to readjust as I hoisted the sail.

Finally, everything was ready. I adjusted my heading, trimmed the sail, and sat down by the tiller, preparing for the trip ahead of me. But as I drifted out into open water, I remembered something my grandpa always warned me about.

“Don’t forget your lifejacket, Sabrina!” I could almost hear him chiding me.

I rolled my eyes, but he’d always insisted, “Lifejackets save lives!”

I was always a strong swimmer, so I felt confident I could keep myself afloat if worst came to worst. But as long as I was honoring his memory, I’d honor his warnings as well.

I stood carefully and went to the cabinet where the lifejackets were stored. Inside was a blue life jacket, faded and covered in dust, along with two other things. A compass and a letter.

I hesitated for a moment. What were they doing there? My grandpa had always kept his compass with him, hung around his neck by a cord. I thought he would’ve been buried with it.

And that letter…

The boat lurched suddenly, reminding me where I was. Right now, I didn’t have time to stand around wondering what was going on. I had a boat to pilot. I scooped the items out of the cabinet and shut it tight.

I fumbled back over to the tiller. The angle of the boat was off, so I tried to fix that while putting on my lifejacket at the same time. It was a bit tricky, and probably would’ve taken less time if I’d just done one, then the other.

I kept the letter trapped underneath my foot so the wind wouldn’t steal it away. My shoes were covered in sand, but I cared more about keeping the letter safe than keeping it clean at the moment. The compass slid across the deck as I struggled with the tiller and my jacket.

Finally, I got everything sorted. I was far enough out that I could reef the mainsail for a minute. That’d keep it from blowing all over the place, giving me time to check the letter.

I picked it up and brushed the sand off as best as I could. The envelope had my name on it, written in cursive. It must’ve been from grandpa.

I tore it open, desperate to find out what he had to say after all those years. The whole letter was in his messy cursive, and the wind kept threatening to tear it from my hands, so I had some trouble making it out. It read:

“Mon ange,

If you are reading this, it means I am gone. I hope we got to speak one last time before the end, but knowing the both of us, it is doubtful. You could always be very stubborn. I suppose you got that from me.

So you’ve chosen to pick up sailing again! Wonderful! Even better, you had the good sense to listen to me and wear a life jacket. Remember this always, for the sea can be a cruel mistress.

There is so much I would like to say to you. So much has gone unsaid between us over the years, old wounds gone untouched. I want you to know that I still love you no matter what, and I am proud of you.

I do not wish to speak much on the day that drove us apart. I know that you probably have not forgiven me. But as long as you understand what I was trying to teach you, I am at peace. This world is so much bigger, and so much more dangerous than you know.

But I’ve given you everything you need to navigate this new world you may find yourself in. You have a trusty vessel, one that contains some of my happiest memories. I cherish the time we spent together here, and I hope you still can as well.

You also have my compass. May it never fail you or lead you astray. But there may come a time when it does, when all of man’s tools fail you. When that time comes, I hope you’ll remember everything I’ve taught you. That is my final gift to you.

Good fortune and good weather to you, mon ange.

         Bon voyage,       

Grandpa"             

A drop of water hit the paper. I felt tears streaming down my face. I wiped my eyes to avoid spilling any more water on the page. Then I folded the letter up and stuck it in my breast pocket for safekeeping.

I look to the palm of my hand, where Grandpa’s compass sits. It’s old, but the needle still points dutifully north. I squeeze it once, before hanging it around my neck.

I felt ready for whatever the world might throw at me.

************************************************************************

As it turns out, I wasn’t as ready as I thought I was. I steered the boat through the wind so that the wind switched from one side to the other, but I kept forgetting to move out of the way of the boom. It smacked me on the side of the head more than once before I realized I needed to duck out of its way.

Managing the sail was a struggle too. Whenever the wind picked up and I started travelling too quickly, I tried to reef the sail like Grandpa taught me. But each time it’s too little, too late.

By the time I realized I was way too far out, the sun was starting to lower in the sky. I checked my phone to see if I could pull up a map or dial 911, but it flashed with that same teal light as before, with weird symbols trailing across the screen.

I put my phone away and tried to check the compass. If I could just figure out which direction I was headed, I could make my way home. But the needle was spinning aimlessly, like it had no idea where I was either.

I was reminded of something my grandpa used to say. Whenever he was teaching me about the stars, or telling me of his adventures, he’d talk about places where “the tools of Man fail.”

A shiver ran down my spine as I realized how much trouble I was in.

Suddenly, the boat lurched wildly, like something had just rammed into it. I clung to the sides, praying the boat didn’t capsize. When the boat began to settle, I cautiously peered over the side to see what caused the disturbance.

Vaguely, I saw a figure below the surface. Human-like, but much bigger. Its arm reached towards my boat, apparently touching the keel below, causing the boat to tilt back and forth. I couldn’t make out any details, but I only knew of one mercreature in the area that size.

“Spots?!” I called out, hoping to get his attention so he’d stop messing with the boat.

The figure’s head shot up. Our eyes met.

It was not Spots.

I froze in place as its massive tail flapped beneath it and propelled itself upwards. Its head breached the water about fifty feet away. The wave that resulted from the humongous figure emerging from the water sent my boat skidding back, nearly tipping it over.

By the time I regain my balance, I’m caught in the shadow cast by the enormous mercreature. It loomed over me, peering down at me like I was an insect. Long black hair stuck to its face, dripping with water. Dark, shark-like eyes glare at me from underneath.

Water rolled off its huge, pale body in rivers. Scars crisscrossed across its torso. Around its navel its skin was gradient, slowly shifting to the mottled gray color of its lower half.

It reached towards the boat again. I wanted to scream. To abandon ship and swim away. But there was nothing I could do but watch as its hand got closer and closer.

It plucked me from the boat with two fingers. I kicked and flailed, but I couldn’t escape the creature’s grasp. My stomach plummeted as I rose rapidly into the air. It brought me higher and higher until I was face to face with it.

Where Spots would watch me with a playful curiosity, this thing stared at me with a sadistic malice. Its mouth split into a cruel grin, putting its conical teeth on full display. A low, rolling clicking sound echoed from its throat, reminding me of the creature from Predator.

That’s when I started screaming.

I screamed and screamed for what felt like a full minute, until my lungs were empty, and I was gasping for breath. In that moment, I was sure that it was going to eat me. That I’d finally found one of the monsters that my grandpa had warned me about all those years ago.

It made no move to bring me closer to its mouth like I thought it would. Instead it brought me to its eye, turning me this way and that so it could inspect me in detail. Then it starts shaking me like I’m some kind of toy.

I squealed and shrieked as it bounced me up and down, clinging to its fingers for dear life. That only made the thing grin wider. Then it tossed me up into the air. Distantly, I heard it cackling as I screamed my head off. As quickly as it started, the horrible experience is over and I’m sitting in the palm of its hand, dazed from the impact.

I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for it to stop tormenting me. Maybe if I stopped reacting, it’d get bored of me. Would it eat me then?

Suddenly, the creature stops messing with me. I heard a low growl coming from it, and I opened my eyes again to see what’s going on. It was no longer even looking at me, instead glaring at the water below. Its hand lowered slowly as its attention was drawn elsewhere.

Cautiously, I crawl over to the edge of its hand to see what it’s looking at. I can’t make out make out anything except for two huge golden eyes staring from the deep. The glowing eyes narrow as they meet with the eyes of the other mercreature.

Spots erupted from the water before the other mer. His teeth were bared and he growled furiously at his opponent.

“Spots!” I called out to him. If anyone could help me, it was him.

His eyes flicked down at me for only a moment. His expression didn’t change, and soon enough he was back to sizing up his opponent. The other mer stood almost a head taller than him, but he didn’t back down.

Without warning, the hand I was sitting in tipped, and I started freefalling. A scream escaped me, and Spots eyes darted back to me. His face fell and he lunged towards me, his hand outreached to catch me. But before he could, the monster tackled him back below the waves.

Hitting the water knocked the wind out of me. I reflexively gasped while my face was still submerged, and my lungs filled with water. Then I bobbed back up, hacking and sputtering, trying to cough up all the water. My lungs felt like they were burning.

My life jacket kept me afloat, but the waves churned vehemently, tossing me around. I desperately tried to regain my composure, but I was thoroughly discombobulated. I looked around wildly for something to cling to.

Grandpa’s boat sat a short distance away. It had capsized completely, but it was my only hope. I paddled towards it frantically. It took a while, but I made it eventually.

I clung to it like it was my only lifeline, which it basically was. With some difficulty, I scrambled on top, so I wasn’t relying on the strength of my arms to keep me anchored. Then, once I was secure enough, I looked over the edge.

Under the water, the two titans clashed. Their battle was what caused the waves to roil so intensely. Occasionally, they’d burst above the water as they fought, and I caught glimpses of the action.

Spots had his tentacles wrapped around almost every part of the other, whale-like mer. Around its tail, its torso, around one of its arms, and even its neck. Meanwhile, the whale had its mouth clamped around one of Spots arms, locking it in place. Spots clawed at its eyes with his free hand, his hooked claws digging into its face.

Each time they crash below the water again, another wave emanated from the disturbance, rocking the boat. I clung anxiously to the keel, praying that I wouldn’t be flung back into the ocean.

Finally, though, my luck ran out. One huge wave crashed into me and knocked me from the boat. I fell back under the waves again, flipping around violently as the current fought to try and keep me below. But thanks to my life jacket, I eventually surfaced.

This time though, I was much farther away from the boat. And before I could even think to start swimming in that direction, the two giants surfaced again. The whale’s face was beginning to turn blue from lack of oxygen, and its unbound arm flailed unpredictably. Then, all of a sudden, its thrashing hand crashed into the boat, smashing it to pieces.

I didn’t have time to mourn the loss. I was under a spell watching those two beasts at war. The whale’s jaw released Spots’ arm as it gasped for breath. Spots flipped immediately, turning to face it head on. He grasped the whale’s head and pushed him back underwater.

The whale thrashed and flailed, but Spots didn’t let up. The expression on his face is one of absolute hatred. He held fast and gritted his teeth with the effort he was exerting.

Then, finally, the whale let loose an awful scream. I’m certain that if it weren’t muffled by the water, it would’ve shattered my eardrums. But that’s not the worst part.

The worst part is just how painfully human the thing’s scream is.

Spots let go and let the spasming whale sink into the depths. I don’t know what he did to it, but there’s so much blood. He watched it descend, the expression on his face unchanged.

Then he looked up at me, and I started to shiver. Whether it was from the cold ocean or the horror from what I just saw, I didn’t know. My heart pounded in my chest as he swam towards me.

His face softened the moment our eyes met, but in that moment, I couldn’t find any comfort in it. He tilted his head at me and chirped. I swallowed down the bile that rose in my throat.

Then, all of a sudden, I was rising into the air. Slower, more gently than the other mer, Spots lifted me out of the water, his palm underneath me. At the same time, he lowered himself into the sea, until we were at eye level.

He chirped again, quieter this time. I was trembling so much I could hardly speak.

“Sp—Spots?”

He nudged me with his nose, and a whimper escaped me. He leaned away, a hurt look in his eye.

“I—I—” I sputtered, unable to find the right words.

I looked over the side of his hand. Floating in the bloody water are bits and pieces of Grandpa’s boat. Spots leaned and looked past me, watching the scene as well. Then, with his other hand, he reached out and gently pinched a piece of the detritus in between his claws.

He set it down in front of me. I crawled over to it and flipped it over. The name of the boat was written on the board.

“Mon Ange”

The dam broke. I started sobbing. I was cold and wet and scared and I had no idea where I was and I just lost one of the last things my grandpa gave to me. I was on my hands and knees, my body wracked with sobs.

I felt something gently press against my side. It was Spots’ thumb. He clicked softly at me.

Despite everything, I clung to him. He was all I had at the moment. I wrapped myself around his tree-trunk sized thumb and wept.

************************************************************************

Once I was all out of tears, Spots set me on his chest as he float on his back. He wasn’t headed in any direction, just letting the current carry him. His hand was laid on top of me, his thumb gently rubbing against me to keep me warm.

I stared out into space, no idea what to do. I had no idea which way home was, and it didn’t seem like Spots knew either. My phone was gone, and the compass’s needle still spun uselessly.

I could feel Spots’ heartbeat. It was slow and relaxed. His chest rose and fell with a gentle rhythm. It was like being on the world’s slowest roller coaster, or some kind of living hill.

The stars were beautiful that night. They twinkled delicately at me from above. The wind blew softly and the waves lapped at Spots’ sides gently. I might’ve even enjoyed it if I wasn’t hopelessly lost at sea.

Then it hit me. The stars. I traced them with my eyes, double, then triple-checking my observations.

I knew how to get home!

I squirmed beneath Spots’ hand. He tilted his hand up and I crawled to freedom.

“Spots!” I called. “Listen up! I know how to get home!”

He tilted his head down towards me, blinking sleepily. Then he rose slowly, and with a start I realized I was going to lose the ground I was standing on. I tried to cling to his chest but started slipping as the wet surface gradually shifted from horizontal to vertical.

Luckily, Spots had thought ahead, and kept his hand palm up beneath me as he got up. I fell down into it with a thump. Then he raised his hand in front of his face so he could see what I wanted.

I got to my feet. The surface beneath me had much more give than I anticipated, and I nearly fell over. But I’d gotten plenty of practice balancing on uneven surfaces earlier that day and managed to get used to standing in the palm of his hand pretty quickly.

“Listen!” I pointed in the direction of home. “If you take us this way, we can get back home!”

He tilted his head. I mentally kicked myself. He had no idea what I was saying.

“This way!” I kept pointing emphatically. When that didn’t work, I started making swimming motions.

“You! Swim!” I did the breaststroke with my arms.

“That! Way!” I pointed again.

He made some clicking noises. He began to lower me towards the water.

“No! No!” I shouted, shaking my head and gesturing wildly. He stopped.

“You!” I pointed at him several times for emphasis.

“Swim!” I repeated my earlier motion.

“That way!” I pointed towards home again.

He looked at me, confused, for a few seconds. Then, a little unsure, he pointed to himself, then in the direction I was pointing, flashing his lights as he did so.

“Yes! Yes!” I nodded enthusiastically, bouncing in place.

He paused, looked back at me, then nodded.

I felt myself rising again. He brought me up to the top of his head and tilted his hand, depositing me on top of his hair. I tumbled off and landed on my stomach with an “oof.”

Before I could question him, he began to sink under the water.

“Hey! What’re you—” I shouted.

He cut me off, chirping loudly. Then he started moving in the direction I’d indicated. He started slowly enough, but I still jolted forward. I clung to his hair for stability.

Then he began picking up speed. He swam faster and faster, keeping only his hair above water as he did so. My eyes watered as the wind rushed against my face. I shut my eyes tightly and waited for it to be over.

Eventually, he began to slow down again. I opened my eyes slowly as the wind died down. My stomach caught back up with me after seemingly being left behind several miles ago.

“Urghh…” I groaned, trying to keep my lunch down. I’m sure Spots wouldn’t appreciate it if I threw up in his hair.

I saw lights in the distance. Spots rose back out of the water as we approached the coast. He came to a stop several hundred feet from land and plucked me from the top of his head.

He held me in front of his face with his forefinger and thumb. He clicked questioningly, then turned me around to face the coast.

I scanned the landscape in front of me, trying to determine if I could figure out where we were. There were a few cliffs, but eventually, my eyes barely made out the shape of my grandpa’s house.

“There,” I told him, pointing as I did so. He put me back on top of his head and made his way towards the cliff.

He moved slower, like he was walking across the ocean floor instead of propelling himself through open water. I sat on top, holding onto his hair to keep my balance. The coast got closer and closer, until finally, we were there.

He pinched me gently in his fingers again and lowered me down to the cliff. He set me down on top. I turned to face him once my feet were on firm ground.

He brought his other hand in front of me. It was curled up into a fist. He unfurled it, and sitting on his palm was the board from my grandpa’s sailboat that he recovered.

“You kept it!” I exclaimed.

He smiled at the praise. Then he carefully took the piece in between two fingers and handed it to me.

We stood there in silence for a moment as I waited to see what Spots would do next. He kept looking away whenever I tried to make eye contact. Then he rubbed the back of his neck, almost as if he was feeling self-conscious.

He raised his hand and waved awkwardly before starting to sink underwater. Shocked, I set the board down and ran to stop him.

“Wait!” I called after him.

He looked up at me, halfway submerged.

“Come here!” I told him, laughing in disbelief.

He rose again, until he was back to where was before.

“Closer,” I said, indicating him forward with my hands.

He leaned in close, but still stopped short.

“Come on,” I urged, spreading my arms out for a hug.

Finally, he figured out what I was asking for, and grinned. He crashed into me, nuzzling up against me and chirping happily.

When he had settled down some, I kissed him on the bridge of his nose.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “For everything.”

************************************************************************

Life settled down after that. I fell into a routine. Grandpa’s house became my house, in my mind.

I ended up hanging the piece of his boat on the wall. It sucked that I didn’t have the whole boat, but this was the best I could do. Hopefully, Grandpa would be okay with that.

Sometimes I wonder what he would think of my life now. If he saw Spots and I together. Would he be angry? Scared for my life? Or could he learn to accept it, if he got to know Spots? If he came to realize that Spots was nothing like the monsters he’d seen in his time?

I guess I’ll never know.

I’m pulled from my thoughts when my laptop begins to act up. I pause the episode I was watching, not bothering to try and figure out what’s wrong. I’m used to the weird lights and esoteric symbols that plague the technology around me when he comes around.

There’s a tapping at the window. I look up to see a large finger pressed against the glass, leaving a huge fingerprint I’ll have to wipe off later. The finger retreats, and I see its owner leaning over the cliff to be able to reach the house.

Spots grins when he sees me look his way.

I set my laptop aside and went outside to see him. It’s late at night, which is when he usually comes to visit.

“There you are!” I greet him, and he chirps a greeting of his own.

It’s been a week or so since he’s been by. I’ve gotten used to the fact that he can’t visit me every day like when we were kids. He has his own life now, and I have mine.

I sit in the chair I’ve set up near the edge of the cliff. He folds his arms in front of me and lays his head on top. He stares intently, waiting for me to speak up.

I smile. “Let me tell you what I’ve been up to.”

[the-lonelybarricade]

Queen of Thieves - Chapter 2

Summary: A fulfillment of this prompt from @sjmkinkmeme. A Canon AU where half fae, con-artist Feyre makes an ill placed bet.

A contribution to @officialfeysandweek2023 Day 2: Hobbies

Are you guys ready for daddy's big entrance? 👀👀

Read on AO3 ・Masterlist・Previous Chapter

-

“I heard you won twenty marks off one of the High Lord’s merchants last night.”

Feyre groaned, slumping further against the wooden table as she rubbed furiously at her temples. She’d woken with a wicked, relentless headache, despite not having a drop to drink the night before.

The tavern keeper was half heartedly sweeping the floor with a stiff broomstick, which was achieving little more than tossing dust into the air that tickled Feyre’s nose.

“You’ll still get your cut of it,” she grumbled, lifting her head to peer towards the heavy wooden door. She contemplated rushing towards it and slipping out of the tavern before the tavern keeper could say another word. She knew what was coming.

“With the way you’re driving off my customers, I expect my cut to be at least half.”

This was an endless conversation between them.

“Five marks for the week,” she said, gritting her teeth against the thudding in her skull to sit up straighter. “That’s our deal.”

The tavern keeper set the broom aside. Feyre wondered why he even bothered, when the tavern looked exactly as filthy as it had been when he started. Feyre was tempted to point out that if he was really so concerned about driving off his customers, he should start with a thorough wipe down of the sticky tables.

“Are you forgetting I charge for these rooms hourly? I could make twice that in a night if I kicked you and your whore sisters out and started renting that room.”

Feyre held back the snarl building in the back of her throat from how carelessly he used that word. It wasn’t a new insult, and there were inklings of truth to it, but never from her sisters.

She glanced towards the other side of the room, where Elain was situated at one of the circular high tables, sipping tea from a chipped mug and staring out a nearby window. Nesta sat beside her and paged through one of her romance books, head propped lazily against her fist. Her sisters tried hard to make an honest living. Elain tended to the gardens of the more well-to-do fae across the Sidra, and Nesta tutored some of the children by the docks. It wasn’t much, and it certainly wasn’t as much as they’d make selling their bodies, but they were steadily saving up enough to move out of the tavern attic. And that was a start.

“Fine,” Feyre snapped. The tavernkeep looked satisfied, until she primly added, “With the money I won last night, I’m sure we can find somewhere else to stay.”

The tavern keeper crossed his arms, scowling at her like she was a stubborn child. “Seven marks. You’re not going to find a better deal than that. Not unless you’re willing to open those pretty legs.”

Red-hot anger ignited in her chest. Feyre slammed her hands onto the table. The old wood creaked in protest, but did not give. From the other side of the room, she heard Elain and Nesta scramble to their feet.

“If I’m ever going to open my pretty legs, it will be for more than a moldy mattress and a room I can’t even stand up in.” She narrowed her eyes at the male. “I’m paying five,” she said, continuing to stare at him. She imagined that she was dipping an arrowhead into her mind, lacing it with her willpower, before she trained that shot at him. She murmured, almost coaxing, “Isn’t that agreeable?”

The shot snapped forward. She could almost see it hit. The way he seemed to leer backwards, unsteady.

“Yes,” he said, dazed. “I think it is.”

“Good,” Feyre crooned, before turning towards the door.

Elain and Nesta immediately fell at her heels, rushing out the door to greet the blistering, too-bright sun.

As Feyre blinked back the sunspots and the splintering pain behind her eyes, Nesta grabbed her arm and hissed, “You need to be careful with those tricks. They’re beginning to attract attention.”

Feyre shook herself out of her sister’s grip. The headache was only exacerbating the leftover anger from the tavern keeper’s words, and she was in no mood for a lecture from Nesta. “The sailor only claimed I cheated because I wounded his pride.”

“And there is nothing more dangerous than a male with wounded pride.”

Elain chimed in, softly, from behind Nesta, “They’re starting to call you a witch, Feyre.”

“I’ve been called much worse.”

In fact, witch almost seemed complimentary compared to the insults that were hurled at her nightly from the leering drunks in the tavern. And it wasn’t far off from the truth.

“Stealing from drunks is one thing,” Nesta said. “But stealing from a merchant who works for the High Lord…”

“What’s he going to do, tattle on me? Gambling is legal in Velaris, last I checked.”

Gambling wasn’t just legal—it was a reputable form of business. Even across the Sidra, in the more refined establishments, the High Fae enjoyed their drinking and gambling and prostitutes. Even the High Lord was rumored to attend the pleasure halls on a regular basis. Feyre sometimes contemplated what it would be like to work in those places. If the conditions were tolerable, and the pay was decent, it seemed like easy money to lay on a bed and let the High Fae enjoy the novelty of bedding a half-human. But the one and only time she’d approached one of the pleasure halls, just to explore if it was an option, she was turned down at the door. Evidently, the High Fae preferred females who were freshly bathed. And even on days where they bathed in the Sidra, the scent of the brine clung to them. Regardless of how furiously they scrubbed themselves with soap.

“The point is that you're pissing off people with powerful friends,” Nesta said, still following Feyre as she turned down a road that led to the center of the city.

The sound of the morning market carried towards them across the river. With the arrival of the merchants, the Palaces were likely abuzz with new wares to trade from the faraway shores. Feyre stepped towards the marble bridge that would take her to the Rainbow, her favorite section of the city, but she was stopped when Nesta pulled violently on her arm.

“Maybe the High Lord is above these sorts of drunken squabbles,” she hissed, “but there’s nothing stopping him from looking the other way if his merchant chooses to retaliate.”

“I made twenty marks off him,” Feyre said, exasperated. “That’s a lot of money to us, but it’s nothing to people like them. Besides, if I kept making that kind of money, we could get out of the tavern. We wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor anymore.”

Over Nesta’s shoulder, Elain shifted her weight back and forth, darting her eyes between them like she was weighing whether or not a fight was about to break out. And whether she would be playing mediator, or bystander.

Nesta let go of Feyre’s arm, huffing under her breath. “I’m just telling you to be careful, Feyre. Maybe lay low until the merchant fleet leaves.”

Lay low meant not going to the market. She could see Nesta’s warning, unspoken and yet still communicated so fiercely in those frozen ocean eyes that were far too much like their mother’s.

“I’ll be careful,” she said, looking away. If only so that Nesta and Elain would turn around and go back towards the docks. She still had every intention of going to the market. It was one of the few sources of joy in her otherwise miserable life, and she wasn’t going to let some disgruntled sailor dissuade her from going.

It was a gentle head nod from Elain that eventually convinced Nesta to let it go. They wandered off together, back towards the tavern, while Feyre followed the scent of grilled meat to the city center. It was a pleasant torture, the way the back of her mouth salivated and the pang in her stomach became nearly unbearable. But it was worth it to wander along the stalls, staring with wide-eyed wonder at all the foreign merchandise, the paints and dyes and spices, all more vibrant in color than the last.

The more friendly vendors would usually chat to her, often sharing stories about each of the products and their origins. Some of the stories were likely embellished, but Feyre liked indulging the little girl who used to hover at the docks while her father’s crew prepared his ship. That girl used to stare out at the horizon, listening to the crew discuss the details of their journey while she tried to paint a picture in her mind of the places they would be visiting. Feyre had attempted to stow away more times than she could count, and when her father found her—as he always did—he used to promise that when she and her sisters were older, he would take all of them to the continent.

But then his ship sank, stranding Feyre, her sisters, and their grieving human mother on the shores of Velaris. And now Feyre was left to savor every story graciously offered to her from the market vendors, slowly filling in more detail on the wide, blank map in her head.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

This was not one of the friendly vendors, interested in sharing stories. Feyre could tell by the tense draw of her shoulders, the way her eyes flickered warily over Feyre’s clothes, lingering on the hem of her sleeves like she expected Feyre would slip something from the stall and run.

She wouldn’t be the first to make that assumption. And since Feyre promised Nesta she would lay low, she did her best to offer the female a reassuring smile.

“Oh, no. I’m just looking. Thank you.”

The vendor’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she said nothing more. Feyre did her best to casually meander to the next stall without arousing any further suspicion, keeping her hands clearly in sight. She even rolled up her sleeves, as if that were truly the problem. But there was nothing she could do to obscure the state of her clothes, or the dainty curve of her ears.

The only problem with rolling up her sleeves—and the reason she usually wore them down—was that it revealed the blue-black whorls that snaked up to her elbow. Not unusual for this Court, but still easily identifiable in a crowd.

“That’s her!”

Feyre snapped her head towards the center of the market square, where a group of men in familiar uniforms had abruptly paused their conversation to turn their heads towards their friend, the sailor who had lost 20 marks to her just last night. Who was now pointing across the square towards Feyre, where she stood innocuously by a stall of handmade jewelry.

And oh. There was violence in the way that he was staring at her.

Feyre didn’t think her reaction through. She had done nothing wrong. It would have been better to stand her ground, to let them confront her in a public setting, where people may still have turned their eyes away, but at least there was the chance that someone would intervene.

Instead, she ran. She didn’t even consider where. She just saw a thin path leading out of the marketplace and she bolted that direction, dodging wandering patrons and vendors carrying trays of freshly baked bread and bouquets of flowers. The crowd was so dense in some places that she needed to elbow her way past.

“Stop, thief!”

Her pursuers were having no such difficulty. Onlookers seemed to part intentionally for them, either assuming that Feyre was guilty of whatever crime they’d decided she committed, or simply not wanting to intervene with the primal male rage that was trailing at her back. She counted at least six pairs of footsteps thundering against the pavement.

At a fork in the pathway, she veered right, hoping she would lose them in the crowd and they wouldn’t see her dart down the narrow alley. Feyre never wished she was capable of winnowing more so than when she was forced to grind to a halt at the end of the alleyway. She peered, desperately, up the stone wall that appeared to belong to a series of apartments. Clotheslines were strung from the windows, hung with tunics and trousers that would hardly provide her much of an advantage against the group of males that turned down the entrance, no longer running now that they could see their prey was trapped.

She considered screaming. Would the residents of the building come out? Or would they simply pop their heads out the windows to watch? The sailor at the front stalked toward Feyre and shoved her roughly by the shoulder. The stone met her back with a harsh thud, dislodging the air from her lungs.

“Going somewhere, little human?”

Feyre twisted her head away and tried to step out of his touch, but he held firm.

“Yes,” she said, baring her teeth. “I was just on my way to spend more of your money.”

He pressed his face close. Over his shoulder, she could see his friends crowding in, using their bodies to block what was happening from any onlookers.

“I’ve been thinking about that little trick you pulled last night.”

“I’m sure you have,” she said, leveling their gazes. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about me. You don’t want to hurt me. You’re just angry because—

Feyre gasped as he yanked on her hair. He wound it around his wrist like a rope, using his grip to angle her chin upwards. She felt a kiss of sharp metal, cool against her hammering pulse.

“No more tricks this time. We’re going to make sure I get my money’s worth.”

Don’t panic, don’t panic. There has to be a way out of this. Someone, anyone who can help—

“Leave me alone,” she bit out, louder and angrier than she’d intended. “Get your filthy hands off of me.”

“Careful—the more you run that pretty mouth, the more I’m tempted to put it to use.”

Feyre snarled, yanking her arms in earnest. The sailor, who was much stronger, rewarded her by pressing the tip of the knife harder, until it drew one single drop of blood that trickled down her throat. Salt and metal twisted in the air and from the fiendish grins staring at her like she was their next meal, Feyre assumed they got off on it.

“What is going on here?”

An interesting spectrum of emotions crossed the sailor’s face in that moment. First it was swaggering, arrogant anger, lips curling back into a snarl that someone would have the audacity to interrupt him. When he turned his head and saw the male who had come up behind them, that anger quickly curbed into awe, then fear.

Pure, unadulterated fear.

There was no obvious threat about him, except that he was the most beautiful male she had ever seen. He was wreathed in shadow, obscuring some of his face. Even in the day, with the sunlight slanting in from the roofs of the buildings overhead, the darkness clung to him. But his eyes. His eyes were bright, like violet streaks of lightning in the dark.

The other males quickly parted for him, all bravado suddenly forgotten. Like the male that had attacked her, their eyes were wide. Nervous. The sailor released his grip on her hair, pocketed the knife.

No one was saying anything. The male with violet eyes was staring at her, nostrils flaring, shock flashing across his features at whatever he saw on her face. Feyre stood to her full height. She tipped her chin, not bothering to wipe the trail of blood from her neck. The sailor and his friends were clearly threatened by the male. She wanted him to see what they were about to do to her.

“I asked a question,” the new arrival said, not looking away from Feyre. He spoke in a low voice. Even so, there was a quality to it that seemed to vibrate through the air, rattling with anger that wasn’t present on his face, but was trembling through the earth beneath them.

“H-High Lord,” the sailor stumbled out. Feyre froze. “Forgive me. This whore stole twenty marks off of me last night and I was simply getting even.”

“He’s lying,” Feyre said, though she doubted the High Lord would care. Like Nesta said, he was above these sorts of squabbles. “He gambled his money, and lost it to me in a fair game of chance.”

“You cheated,” the sailor seethed.

“I’ve heard enough.” They both went rigid at the raw command in the High Lord’s voice, sharp without needing to speak any louder than a whisper. He tipped his chin to Feyre, full lips curling, just slightly, into the makings of a wicked smile. “What’s your name, darling?”

“F-Feyre. Feyre Archeron.”

“Feyre Archeron,” he repeated. Feyre couldn’t explain the shiver that wracked through her body, or how the High Lord noticed, with an unsubtle interest that chased away the shiver with a flood of heat.

The High Lord stepped towards her, turning on his heel to slip a casual arm around her shoulders. He dipped his head low, speaking into her ear in a way that could have been mistaken for intimate, had his voice not been loud enough for the others to hear.

“Well the good news, Feyre darling—” he purred that moniker, a lover’s caress against her cheek— “is that money lost in a fool’s gamble is hardly of any interest. Whereas threatening the safety of a Night Court citizen, that’s an issue of much higher concern to me.” He raised his face from her neck, his expression hardening as he turned to face the sailor. “Tell me, captain, do you not trust me, as your High Lord, to try these issues justly? Who are you to mete punishment on my people? “

“M-my apologies, High Lord.”

The apology only seemed to rile the High Lord’s anger. His lips curled back from his teeth. Feyre swore the temperature in the air dropped and that even the buildings surrounding them shifted nervously. Steadfast, ancient stone, moving for the first time in centuries to shrink back from the High Lord and the rage that thickened the atmosphere. Feyre could taste it on her tongue, sharp and brutal.

“Velaris citizens are under my protection,” he said, his voice quiet and utterly deadly. He stepped forward, removing her from the shelter of his arm. Feyre watched the grown males flinch, some of them stumbling backwards at just that one, singular step. “A threat against them is a threat against me.”

There had been rumors of the things that the High Lord could do, and the face that he wore outside of this city. Feyre had only ever heard kind things from the people who had encountered the High Lord in the streets, but this… this was the face of death incarnate. This was the most powerful High Lord in history, the Illyrian warrior who had ascended the peaks of Ramiel, the cruel lord that presided over the Court of Nightmares.

She could see it on the sailors' faces. The uncertainty of whether or not they were facing their own deaths. Her heart thudded so violently that she could feel it in the back of her throat. Would he truly kill them? Would she want him to?

The High Lord paused when he came to the sailor who had attacked her—the captain. He reached forward, gently brushing the shoulder of the captain’s jacket, as if there had been dirt there he was kindly chasing away. The captain looked moments from bursting into tears.

He whispered to him softly, crooning like a lover, “You weighed Feyre’s life and decided it was worth less than twenty little marks. If you have decided that the value of her life is so insignificant, what is stopping me from treating yours the same, hmm?”

They were all holding their breath. The High Lord’s palm was still braced around the captain’s shoulder, in a way that could have been mistaken for friendliness, if they weren’t all aware that he was perfectly capable of ripping that shoulder from its socket.

“Tell me, Feyre darling,” the High Lord purred, turning his head to look at her again. The murder in his expression softened, just a bit, when their eyes met. “Should I kill him for it?”

He said it like he was hoping she would say yes. Like he was asking for her permission. Surely she was imagining it. A High Lord asking her permission to do anything was absurd, but he was still staring at her, waiting for a response while the sailors behind his back trembled in fear.

“D-don’t kill him,” she said.

He definitely looked disappointed. Feyre almost took her words back.

“Very well. Captain, that means your life is now in her debt.” In a fluid motion, he stepped aside and shoved the male forward. “Say thank you, Feyre.”

The captain met her eyes. She knew that it was purely out of self-preservation, and not any true remorse, that he stuttered out, “Th-thank you, Feyre.”

The High Lord knew it, too. His smile became vicious.

“Now, now,” he tutted, almost playfully. “That won’t do. Get on your knees. Kiss her feet and apologize.” His voice remained coaxing, soft, but she watched the wrath sharpen in his eyes as he added, “Be grateful that her boots aren’t splattered with your blood.”

Like his knees had been tied to great, heavy stones, the captain dropped to the ground and bowed his head to her boots. Even Feyre’s face heated from the second-hand humiliation as the captain placed a kiss on the filthy leather.

“I’d insist on keeping you there,” the High Lord said, “but I wouldn’t want you wasting any more of Feyre’s time.”

In an instant, the motion too fast for Feyre to track, the High Lord hauled the cowering captain to his feet and threw him towards his open-mouthed crew.

“Get out of my city,” he snarled at them. “Now. If I ever see your faces again, I may not have Feyre to convince me to be so forgiving.”

“Wait.”

She didn’t know why she said anything. It was stupid, so stupid, to draw any further attention to herself. Especially with the High Lord as angry as he was.

But the High Lord paused. The sailors, too, though Feyre was only paying attention to those violet eyes as they slowly turned to face her.

His brow was quirked. A smile played on his lips. “Yes, Feyre?”

“The card,” she said, tearing her eyes away to look at the captain. “He has the Cauldron of Fate card. I assumed he stole it from you.”

Intrigued, the High Lord turned back to the captain. “My, and the true thief is revealed.” He held his hand out expectantly. The male scrambled for the deck of cards in his coat pocket. Painted cards slipped from his hands, falling to the ground in his frantic search for the Cauldron of Fate.

Once it was found, he handed it to the High Lord like he expected it might detonate. A soft hum sounded in the back of the High Lord’s throat as he inspected the front and back, holding the paper delicately between two fingers. “I’ve been looking for this card for half a century.” He tossed a glance towards Feyre and smiled. “Thank you for returning it to me, Feyre.”

All it took was a small flick of his wrist.

The card whirred through the air and sliced across the captain’s throat in a single, precise line. He collapsed to the ground, gurgling on his own blood, while the High Lord continued smiling at Feyre.

“Now I suggest you leave,” he said to the others, without even turning his head to acknowledge them. “Before my generosity wears thin.”

They disappeared without any further prompting, not even bothering to take their slowly dying captain, who was laying just behind the High Lord’s feet, staring vacantly at Feyre as he bled out on the stone. Nausea curdled in her stomach.

All of this for twenty marks.

The High Lord was still watching her, and the stare of the captain was a grim reminder that she did not want to earn the High Lord’s ire. She swallowed down her fear. “Thank you… High Lord. For helping me.” She glanced, agitatedly, over his shoulder, towards the market just beyond the alleyway. People passed, blissfully unaware of the carnage that had taken place just around the corner. “I’m sure you have much more important things you should be doing. I don’t want to try your patience any longer, so I’ll just be on my way—”

She took a step, but the High Lord moved to block her, raising a friendly hand. “Don’t be hasty, Feyre.” His voice was a lover’s purr again, caressing every muscle and bone and nerve. Feyre tried not to shiver. She heard him use that same voice moments before killing the captain, though now she swore there was more warmth to it. “Now that I’m finally meeting our resident witch in person, I was hoping to satisfy some of my… curiosities.”

Curiosities. She knew exactly what that was code for, especially if the way his gaze was dipping was any indication. Her eyes flitted, unbidden, back to the body on the ground. Had she traded the sailors for something far, far worse?

“Maybe another time, High Lord,” she said, hoping her voice sounded firm and steadfast, and not at all like the shaky whisper that reached her ears. She took a breath, forcing more steel into her voice. “I need to get back to my sisters.”

“What if I pay you?”

She faltered a bit at that suggestion. “Pay me to… what, exactly?”

“Come back to my town house. Answer some of my questions.”

Cauldron forsake her.

“What kind of questions?” She pressed.

Just say it, she wanted to snap. Say you believed them when they called me a whore, and that you want to pay me to be your pretty toy for an evening.

“Easy questions,” he deflected. He was circling her now. “Just about who you are. I’m curious how you won that money off the captain of my merchant fleet, Cauldron rest his soul,” he said, smirking as his eyes slanted toward the captain’s bloody throat and the lifeless glaze in his eyes. “As well as every other drunk that stumbles across your path. How does a poor, half starving female garner such a reputation for herself?”

Such dangerous questions from such a dangerous male.

“Like I said,” she breathed, “I need to get back to my sisters.”

The High Lord offered a lazy smile. He stepped aside and waved his hand towards the too-bright entrance to the alleyway. She couldn’t imagine facing that sunny marketplace again.

“Another time, then.”

It sounded vaguely like a promise. Feyre hurried out of the alleyway as quickly as she could, not daring to look back at the glowing eyes of the High Lord or the dead male at his feet.

[dxmergues]

He actually first saw him last week.

Alex had been so keen on not spending any time falling into the black hole of nostalgia, so he only stuck to a few streets primarily in Destarin. The docks, because he had rarely gone down there when he was young, where he lived in Rocheilles, and the path from his home to his work. The further north he went, the more he'd be likely to find something that would upset him. He only went once to where the shop used to stand, where their childhood home was, and that was all.

It was just too painful for him, as much as he didn't want to admit it.

But there he was, the past bleeding into his present. Alex almost didn't recognize him at first. He had been having a drink after a shift, seated by the window to people watch - at dusk, of course, to avoid the potential sunlight through the window - and there he was. Walking in the thin crowd. Alex watched a man walk past and did a double-take. Age had taken him, and his hair was different, the way he wore his facial hair too. But he knew that walk, he had trailed behind it as a boy all the time. He knew that smile when he passed people on the street.

He had rushed out of the door once his brother had walked far past the building, but it was as if his feet were in cement. He couldn't bring himself to move forward. There was always an alarm in his head, a chilling warning Harrison used to threaten: I can find them in a heartbeat. Behave. Rarely he had to use it, but it frightened Alex every time. Alone for all these years had made him forget some things, but memories came rushing back at the figure out of the window. And a week later, he couldn't shake it. He couldn't stay hidden and afraid anymore.

So, with careful consideration and asking around, he managed to find a small bakery, off the beaten path not far from where their childhood home was. He only had a good two hours or so of daylight before his skin would start to burn, so he made it worthwhile. He had left in the night, and stayed hidden in shadows until the sun came up, until the bakery had opened for business. It smelled wonderful.

It smelled like home.

It took a lot of coaxing words under his breath, telling himself it would all be okay, that it would all be worth it, and his fingers and knees didn't stop shaking when he eventually stepped through the door. There was a brief fear that he wouldn't be able to go in, that he wouldn't be invited. His brother must not have lived here, or Alex was always welcome, because he stepped through the threshold no problem. His brother was turned away from the door, and if Alex needed any breath, it would have been caught in his throat for good. Yet he managed to coax out one singular word:

"Cas?"

@caspiandomergue

[3minsover]

AUgust Day 22:

the great gatsby au (tw: manslaughter + murder)

old money socialite edward munson had a passionate summer fling with a bright-eyed, hopeful, romantic young soldier named steven. he promised edward the world, if only he would wait for him to return from war.

steven never returned.

when professional polo player jason carver asks for edward’s hand in marriage, he says yes. his heart is still broken, will remain so, but pressure from his family to make an advantageous match is too powerful. years pass, and edward’s life is rose-colored. he drifts through dinners and sunrooms like a ghost, keeps his steps light so that others do not notice him, do not look too close and see the gaping hole in his chest where his heart once was, a heart that he gave away to a soldier with no prospects, no property or land to his name.

at night, when all is quiet, he looks out over the water that laps at the shore of his extravagant home and sees the distant glimmer and glint of lights, hears the muted thrum of music, and sees a grand mansion illuminated by luxury and excess.

he hears of parties, almost every night, that take place at this mansion, and wonders whether one day he might know the origin of such conviviality. however, trapped in his loveless marriage and bound by duty to remain a beautiful artefact in his husband’s collection, edward simply turns away, ignoring the siren call of an emerald green light that blooms on the end of the opposite dock.

when edward’s cousin robin moves into the groundskeeper’s cottage across the bay, she attempts to strike up the old friendship they had had as children, becoming instantly fascinated by edward’s dearest friend nancy.

one night, robin invites edward, and by extension, jason and nancy, to a party. a party at the house across the bay. she insists that they must meet the host, that he’s simply a marvel, and grudgingly, jason agrees.

the festivities are in full swing by the time they arrive, strangers streaming through every hallway, drinking from fountains of champagne, splashing in shallow pools and dancing to the yellow cocktail music that pours from every corner of every room. edward is overwhelmed, overcome by the eccentricity of it all, longs to return to where it’s quiet and calm, where he may disappear to the safety of his own imaginings, where a sweet soldier offers his hand and his heart without reservation.

edward slips away from the group with nancy’s help; she guides him to a small room in which there is only one man, standing with his back to the entrance. his suit is tailored neatly, his hair slicked back with careful precision, and when he turns, edward’s breath is stolen from his lungs.

“steve?” he gasps, feet carrying him closer, lest this be simply an overwrought imagination playing him for a fool.

“eddie. eddie, darling,” the man exclaims softly, meeting him stride for stride, until eddie’s hands can clutch at the lapels of his suit. “you came. you’re here. you saw- it doesn’t matter. you’re here.”

“you never came back for me,” eddie whispers, gaze fluttering over steve’s face, because it is steve. older, broader, fashioned into something gilded in gold and sculpted from ivory, but it is him.

“i know, my darling. i wanted to, god how i wanted to. but i’m here now. is that enough?” steve’s eyes are wide, imploring as he cups eddie’s cheeks as though he were the fragile, delicate thing he feels himself to be.

and it’s not enough, eddie will come to realize. too much time has passed, too many bridges crossed and set ablaze, too much mess to be cleared away, but for now, for tonight, they might pretend. under steve’s gentle touch, eddie wills himself to forget jason’s harsh one, at the sound of steve’s sweet voice, eddie pushes away that of poor chrissy, the girl who calls and calls their home asking to speak to jason. he allows himself to be swept by the tidal pull of his steve, here and alive and everything he needed him to be all those years ago. and for a while, it brings him joy. for weeks after that night, eddie steals across the bay with the help of nancy and robin, plays make believe in the life they might have had.

until a dinner in the city ends with smashed glass and jason’s stern glare and steve’s cries that ‘he doesn’t love you!’. until eddie begs for steve to come home with him, dragging him back to jason’s car and curling his fingers around the steering wheel until they flash white. until eddie’s flooring the gas and he can’t see for tears, and steve’s carefully imploring for him to slow down. until the screeching of tires and smashing of bones, a shock of strawberry blonde hair streaked with red.

until a gunshot rings through the bay, a widowed husband standing on the edge of a pool with a gun in his hand and chrissy’s name on his lips.

until steve harrington floats face down in the water, and eddie can’t bear to even look at the funeral invitation.

in the end it’s not enough, and it never was.

[vexic929]

Ok SO. The new fic idea. long ramble ahead so sorry.

This based on the movie The Last Voyage of the Demeter (spoilers for the movie ahead, fair warning), though really that's just a jumping point for some fun character dynamics I want to build. The main characters you need to know are these: Clemens, who is the crew doctor and literally the only person to make it to the end of the movie alive; Anna, who's smuggled onto the ship as a feeder for Dracula and kinda starts the whole shebang of the movie; and Wojchek, who's the first mate of the ship and the main character I'm exploring here. (Side detail the movie doesn't give him a first name but I'm calling him Antoni)

So in the movie, Wojchek is pretty closed-off and curt with people, and he really only seems to care about the Demeter (the ship) itself. He's on his last mission as first mate before the captain retires and he'll take over, so he's dedicated to doing his best so he can take over the ship with pride. Long story short, Dracula's in a box in the cargo hold, he wakes up and breaks out, and utter bloody havoc ensues.

Background over, here's the fic:

One day while out at sea, Clemens notices Wojchek putting a rolled letter into a bottle and tossing the bottle into the sea. He doesn't say anything right away, but this continues every night like a ritual and he finally decides to speak up. Wojchek explains that the letters are for his wife--

"Oh, I'm sorry you lost her."

"She is not lost. She belongs to the sea."

Clemens, of course, assumes this means she's dead, and he writes the bottles off as just a sweet gesture from a lonely crewman.

Later, as the crew begins to suspect Dracula (or some monster) is on the ship but aren't fully in danger, Clemens hears Wojchek speaking out the porthole in his cabin - talking to the sea, explaining that there's something else on the ship and he's worried he may be in danger. Clemens assumes the same as the letters, but as he's leaving he thinks he can hear a female voice above the waves. That's a little harder to explain.

Then it's the last day, they're planning to take Dracula down for good before they reach London. Wojchek seems to be praying to himself, clutching at a chain around his neck - a chain that holds a tarnished wedding band. Finally he spills the story about his wife, his Vivienne: "the most beautiful person he's ever seen, a living sea storm, with hair like flames and eyes like glass". He doesn't say much more than that, but he makes Wojchek and Anna promise that if he dies on the ship, they'll find Vivienne and return the ring to her.

Spoiler alert... Wojchek gets killed by Dracula, after using an axe to chop a hole in the hull of the ship so it'll sink. Clemens finds the body but forgets to take the ring (in the scene, he leaves quickly because he hears a clamor and thinks Dracula is going after Anna or the captain of the ship), though as he's leaving he thinks he can see a pale, webbed hand reaching through the hole in the hull, amid the rush of water, for Wojchek's body.

Clemens and Anna make it out alive, and float on wreckage to the ship towards London. They're still too far out to make it to the coast before they die of dehydration (and Anna is still infected by Dracula, she doesn't survive the movie either), but there's a disturbance in the water....

It's a siren - fiery red hair, pale and vaguely blue-tinted skin like sea ice, eyes so pale they don't even seem to have irises, webbed hands and finned arms, and a long fishlike tail underneath. She wears two chains around her neck, one that's thin and silver with a wedding ring, the other larger and tarnish with Wojchek's wedding band. Suddenly it makes sense: Wojchek's wife belongs to the sea, he never said she was dead.

They have a brief interaction, and Vivienne pushes the driftwood towards the shore until they're safely within reach of London. Then she disappears.

Clemens finds her again the next day, standing out by the docks with her feet in the water. She's clearly the same woman, but she looks completely human now - in a simple dress, her skin is pale but no longer blue, her eyes are also pale but not to the point of looking like she has no iris. She doesn't say anything about what happened in the water, but she seems unsurprised to hear of Wojchek's death--

"You've come to tell me my husband went down with his ship. He always said he would. I only prayed I’d get a few more years with him before he did. It’s a terrible tragedy.”

"Yes. It is."

She crouches and puts her hands in the water. They regain their bluish tint, but no webs, and Clemens can't tell if it's just a trick of the light.

"He belongs to the ocean now. I can still feel him out there."

"Maybe you'll see him again."

"Yes. Perhaps I will."

(And then I plan to include some happier flashback scenes of Vivienne and Wojchek - they first meet when she warns him of a sea storm and he doesn't listen, so she ends up having to rescue him before he drowns, plus more assorted scenes about their relationship to bring some lightness after the tragedy.)

(Also there's a bit more backstory than this but the short of it is that Vivienne was once human, but was dumped overboard by her first husband after she caught him cheating. She nearly drowned, but was spared by Poseidon and turned into a siren on the condition that she never again marry a captain of the sea. This becomes a bit of prophecy - she marries Wojchek, but since he dies before the captain of the Demeter does, he never became captain of a ship even temporarily)

(Okay last note but the other thing I want to explore with Vivienne is like a historical view on nonbinarism - Vivienne is fem-presenting and uses she/it pronouns but doesn't see herself as a woman, she even has a fun back-and-forth with Wojchek about how it's bad luck to have a woman aboard a ship, but she's not a woman since she's a siren. I want to kind of play with that idea, a character who's comfortable being seen as a woman but isn't, and knows she isn't, and has to balance the rigidity of society while she's on land with the freedom of being herself while at sea. Basically I'm using her identity as a siren as a metaphor for queer identity, kinda like I do for Kestrel)

ooooooooooooh I absolutely LOVE this!!!! Vivienne is SUCH an interesting character and I love its identity as a siren being a metaphor! <3333

[aceofspadille]

When you decided to do something new this Christmas - A Usual Chaos

Character: Reader preparing Christmas with the Strawhats (part 1)

Warning: platonic crewmate interaction

Another Christmas is about to arrive, and you are so excited again. Every year, you strive to do something new even though every day is a new day on Thousand Sunny, you still feel like doing something. And this year, you decided… "Huh? Cooking Christmas eve?" Sanji turned to you. "Are you sure, Y/N-chan? That would be a lot of work, especially for Luffy, his stomach has no end…" "I know!" You exclaimed. "But I want to do something new this year!" You stopped to recalculate something. "But yeah, I would need help since I don't think I would be able to feed Luffy as well as you…"

Sanji chuckled at your reaction. "Of course, I'll help you, Y/N-chan!" As he made his hearty eye and knew that you would be cooking with him this year.

The Sunny docked at a Winter Island. As you announced to the crew that you would be the main chef for Christmas Eve's dinner this year; everyone was pumped since you rarely cooked. However, no one seemed to be worried because they knew Sanji would be helping you. And then there is… "Y/N! I want at least 10 pieces of bone meat!!!" Luffy yelled as he wrapped his hand around and already made his eyes into the meat. "Of… of course." You hesitated; you didn't forget that Luffy ate a lot; you just didn't measure very well how much. "Thank you. You are the best!!!" Luffy screamed and ran off to the island with Usopp.

As Sanji helped you plan for the dinner, you listed dinner ingredients for ten crew members, no, at least for 30 pax because Luffy would have the portion of the extra ten and Zoro would just drink out everyone, so yeah… You learned a lot from Sanji, it's amazing how he managed to feed everyone every day, the food never ran out, and you always had delicious food waiting, having a hands-on really makes you appreciate him more.

You two made your way out to the town to do some shopping after Nami gave you some allowance. The town is lively, with all glittering boxes hanging on. The snow covers the roof of all the houses, and the village kids are running around building up snowmen and castles. A Christmas tree is set up with all the sparkling ornaments in the middle. The stars on top of the tree twinkled in the middle of the sky, and Silent Holy Night is played across the town. It is peaceful.

The butcher's shop is full of people as everyone is preparing for Christmas, so you have to queue for bulk orders and here you ran into Shachi of the Heart Pirates. They were your allies since Wano. "Hey, Y/N!" Shachi exclaimed. "Stealth Black!!!" He's even more excited to see Sanji. However, the blond isn't thrilled about being recognized as Stealth Black, but every North Blue boy knows. "Shachi!" You smiled softly. "Hello!" "Why would you have to queue? This is the queue for bulk orders." Shachi pointed at the queue, thinking that you might stand in the wrong place. "You won't forget our captain, will you?" You chuckled. "Oh… yeah."

You three chatted about the Christmas preparation on the ship and were super excited about the holiday season.

When you finished shopping and returned to the ship, Luffy and Usopp were already back and showing Chopper some bugs they caught in the forest. It was chaotic, but what's so new about that…

As the crew was having dinner, you were excited to tell Robin the progress of the dinner planning for the crew on Christmas until you heard Luffy casually say: "Oh, I ran into Torao and his crew earlier. I asked everyone to come too." "What do you mean 'everyone'?" You stopped, widening your eyes. "Torao's crew, Jaggy's crew… by the way, they are here too! Isn't it ama…" he stopped as he saw your face darkening. "HOW MANY people have you invited, Luffy?!?" You asked calmly, trying to be collected while you wanted to scream inside. "Hmmm, everyone…" he said, acting innocent. “…on the island…” As you were eating up in your panic that you might not have enough food for the whole island, Sanji put a hand on your shoulder, smiling. "Don't worry. We got this." Seeing Sanji, Luffy quickly grabbed the opportunity in an attempt to defuse the bomb. "Yes!! We always got this." "YOU HAVE TO HELP IN THE KITCHEN!!!!" You grabbed Luffy's neck and started shaking as he continued talking. Robin was laughing at the usual chaos on the ship while Nami sighed silently, shaking her head. Zoro, as usual, was nowhere to be found after dinner.

At the corner of Sunny's kitchen, Brook started playing Santa is coming to town melody as the holiday season finally started here.