#shoreline gold

[tiniigi]

[chasingrainbowsforever]

~ Gold and Gray ~

[dk-thrive]

Daybreak. 58° F. 4:25 am to 4:40 am. May 8, 2024. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT. (@dkct25)

[rafestify]

Beach Fight and Tides of Forgiveness — Rafe Cameron

Summary : Y/N and Rafe confront their painful past after a chaotic beach fight between Y/N and Ruthie but begin to reconnect, exploring the possibility of a hopeful future together.

Rafe Cameron x Ex!Reader (season 4 spoiler alert!)

Warning : Swearing (english is not my first language)

A/N : Probably the longest fic I've ever written so far, it's like around 2.3k ish, and i think this was a request from @dkjndfnmdfmdmnd , hope u like it 🩵

For us Pogues, the beach wasn’t just a place to visit—it was like our second home, a refuge where we felt truly ourselves. The salty breeze, the endless horizon, and the warmth of the sand beneath our feet brought a kind of peace that was hard to find anywhere else. The sound of waves crashing and seagulls chirping in the distance seemed to wash away our worries, making everything feel better, if only for a little while. There's nothing better than a day off with the people you love the most, in a place that feels like home—the beach.

“Don’t you just immediately feel like everything’s better at the beach?” Kie said, her gaze sweeping across the shoreline as she took in the sun, sand, and waves.

I nodded in silent agreement, sharing the same unspoken understanding that nothing compared to the serenity of the ocean. Together, we began setting up the chairs and cool box, the salty breeze tugging at our hair as the waves crashed in the distance. “Let’s get these boards off!” JJ exclaimed with excitement, his eyes gleaming as he headed toward the Twinkie to unload the surfboards, ready to dive into the thrill of the surf.

“What the hell?” I muttered under my breath, catching sight of Topper and his friends’ trucks rolling toward us, their engines rumbling louder as they approached. “You’re joking,” Sarah sighed, exasperation clear in her voice as she rolled her eyes at the unwelcome sight. “Don’t stop,” JJ mumbled, focused on untying the ropes securing our surfboards to the top of the Twinkie, clearly determined not to let their arrival ruin our plans. “Anywhere but here,” Kie added with a frustrated tone, her eyes narrowing as she watched them close in, the tension in the air thickening with every second.

“Great, just the perfect time,” I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes as their trucks came to a halt and parked just a few meters away from us. The sudden noise and presence of Topper and his friends felt like a dark cloud looming over our sunny day, threatening to ruin the fun we had planned.

“Let’s go, baby!” The voice rang out, unmistakable and familiar, stirring a rush of memories within me. The one that used to comfort me in moments of doubt, the one that whispered soothing words to ease my fears. Rafe Cameron had a way of making everything feel right, his presence a warm embrace that felt like home. I turned to locate the source of the voice, and our eyes met—his striking blue gaze locking onto mine. The moment stretched, the world around us fading away as the connection lingered just a heartbeat too long. All of a sudden, Topper strode toward us with an air of confidence. “Sunshine's coming,” JJ remarked, earning an exasperated sigh from John B as he stepped closer to him. Though I couldn’t quite hear their conversation, they appeared surprisingly relaxed, exchanging easy banter that contrasted with the tension in the air.

We all surfed the waves together, and it felt utterly exhilarating. After months spent chasing the elusive City of Gold, finally engaging in something I was truly passionate about was a refreshing escape. The thrill of surfing, the salty spray of the ocean, and the laughter of friends combined to create a blissful sense of freedom that was simply amazing.

After surfing for what felt like hours, I made my way back to the shore, slipping into my denim shorts. “Guys, there’s a turtle hatch!” Kie exclaimed, her excitement palpable. “Y/N, look!” I rushed over to her, my heart racing as I squealed, “Oh my god!” In awe, I added, “They’re so tiny!” Sarah and I echoed each other, our voices filled with wonder at the sight of the adorable little turtles making their way to the ocean. I have always had a deep love for sea creatures, particularly turtles and dolphins. This passion is what drew Kie and me together, as we bonded over our shared fascination for the ocean's incredible inhabitants.

As we helped the tiny turtles by creating paths for them to reach the ocean, the sudden roar of a truck engine interrupted our focus. My gaze shifted to Topper’s girlfriend, Ruthie, at the wheel, with Topper himself lounging in the passenger seat. “Hey, stop! There’s a hatch!” I yelled, desperation lacing my voice. “Stop!” Kie added, jumping up and waving her arms frantically. “Guys, stop!” I shouted again, but the truck only sped up, closing the distance between us. In a split second, Sarah yanked me out of the way just as the truck barreled past, sending me tumbling into the sand with a startled grunt.

“Are you okay?” Sarah, Kie, and JJ asked in unison. I managed a quiet “I'm fine,” but a sinking feeling twisted in my stomach as I noticed the truck circling around again, this time picking up speed. Panic surged through me, and I jumped to my feet. “Stop! There’s a hatch!” I yelled, but my voice was swallowed by the roar of the engine as they barreled over the paths we had painstakingly created for the turtles. “No, no, no…no!” I gasped, horror washing over me as I watched the truck crush a few of the fragile creatures beneath its wheels. My heart raced as I rushed toward them, my pulse pounding in my ears. Kie knelt beside a turtle with a shattered shell, its life flickering away. “Fucking psycho,” she muttered, her eyes brimming with anger and sorrow. I felt a fire ignite within me, furious at their reckless disregard. Ignoring my friends’ calls, I stormed over to where they stood, determined to confront them.

“Look what you did!” I shouted, cradling the lifeless turtles in my hands. “Do you think this is okay?” Ruthie stole a quick glance at the broken shells before quickly averting her eyes. “No, look at it!” I protested, my voice rising with anger. “You drove right over a turtle hatch, you idiots!” Rafe stood beside Topper, who tried to diffuse the situation. “I understand you're upset, Y/N,” he said, his tone calm but unhelpful. I hadn't even noticed my friends were behind me, their expressions mirroring my shock and frustration. “I’m more than upset, Topper” I shot back, feeling the heat of my anger.

“Look, it was only one,” Ruthie interjected dismissively, shrugging as if it didn’t matter. “I mean, there are so many more of them,” she pointed out, trying to minimize the damage. “You know what? You should just throw that to the seagulls,” she added with a mocking tone. “Cycle of life, right?”

My breath quickened as rage boiled within me, and I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed her hard, and just as she prepared to retaliate, Rafe stepped in between us, his presence a barrier against her aggression.

“Stop,” he said firmly, pushing Ruthie’s arm away before she could retaliate. He turned to me, his eyes softening slightly. “There’s something seriously wrong with you people,” I shot back, turning on my heel and striding away, handing Sarah the lifeless turtle.

“That’s right, go back to your side, bitch! You don’t belong with us anymore!” Ruthie shouted, her words laced with venom.

That was the final straw. Rage coursed through me, boiling over as I stormed toward her, every ounce of frustration and hurt fueling my movements. Without thinking, I swung my fist and connected hard with her jaw. The impact reverberated through me, and for a heartbeat, everything froze—the shocked look on Ruthie's face, the collective gasps of my friends.

She recovered quickly, her eyes blazing with anger. Without hesitation, she lunged at me, landing a swift punch that connected with my nose. The sharp pain shot through my face, and I felt warm blood begin to trickle down. I stumbled back, shocked by the sudden turn of events, my hands instinctively going to my face. John B tried to step in, attempting to intervene but Rafe was a lot quicker than him.

“Control your crazy bitch, Top!” Rafe said, his gaze locked onto me with a mix of concern and frustration. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softening.

“Like you care,” I shot back, my frustration boiling over. Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and stormed off, seeking refuge at my secret spot on the beach alone.

I perched on top of a massive rock, my knees drawn to my chest as I hugged them tightly, listening to the soothing sound of the waves crashing below. This spot was my sanctuary, the place I retreated to whenever I felt at my lowest. It never failed to calm me, wrapping me in a cocoon of peace. Suddenly, I sensed someone behind me. I turned to find Rafe standing there, his silhouette framed by the fading light. He climbed onto the rock and settled beside me.

“I didn’t give you permission to sit here,” I protested weakly, trying to maintain some semblance of defiance.

“It’s a public place,” he replied, his voice steady as he leaned back against the rock.

I fell silent, my gaze drifting to the horizon as the sun dipped lower in the sky, lost in a swirl of memories and thoughts. “How did you know I’d be here?” I finally asked, my voice barely above a whisper. He turned to me, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. “We used to come here together, remember? You told me it was your favorite spot.” A sigh escaped me, heavy with longing. God, I missed those days—when everything felt simpler and the weight of the world was lighter.

“Here,” he said, breaking through my thoughts as he handed me a tissue for my bloody nose. I took it, our fingers brushing briefly. “Thanks,” I murmured, grateful for the gesture and the warmth of his presence.

“That was a pretty great punch, by the way,” Rafe said, a playful grin breaking through the tension. The corners of my mouth turned upward, and I let out a small chuckle, the sound echoing against the backdrop of crashing waves. We fell into a silence that felt strangely comfortable— not awkward at all. Despite the distance that had grown between us since our breakup, I still felt an undeniable sense of safety around him, as if we were wrapped in a bubble of shared history.

“I missed you, Y/N,” he confessed suddenly, his voice steady yet vulnerable.

My heart skipped a beat, and I turned to look at him, shock flickering across my face. This was the moment I hadn’t expected, the admission I had longed to hear but feared would never come.

“I missed you too, Rafe,” I sighed, the words flowing out of me, heavy with unspoken feelings and memories of our laughter, our late-night talks, and the way he could make me feel like the only person in the world. “I’m sorry for what I did to you,” he continued, his expression earnest, his gaze unwavering.

“I’m clean now, Y/N. Haven’t touched those shits for almost five months.”

“Really?” I asked, my disbelief melting into pride. I felt a swell of admiration for his strength and determination, and it made my heart ache a little.

He nodded, a flicker of vulnerability dancing in his eyes. “Yeah, I realized I couldn’t keep dragging you into my mess. I needed to change— for myself and for you.”

“I’m so proud of you, Rafe,” I said, my voice warm and genuine. I reached out, resting my hand on his for a brief moment, feeling the warmth radiate between us. A smile broke across his face, illuminating his features. “I did it all so I could be better for you,” he admitted, his sincerity wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. The air between us crackled with unspoken possibilities, and for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like to rekindle the bond we once had.

“Can we at least try to work things out?” he asked, his gaze steady and hopeful. I paused, contemplating his words. He may have been a jerk to everyone else, but with me, he was sweet, protective, and loyal. The thought stirred something deep within me, a flicker of hope in the depths of my heart. “I’m not ready to be in a relationship again, Rafe—maybe just for now,” I finally replied, my voice softer than before. The truth of my feelings hung in the air, vulnerable and raw.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, a reassuring smile breaking through his earlier concern. “We’ll take things slow. I’ll wait until you’re ready, alright?” The sincerity in his eyes made my heart flutter, a mix of apprehension and excitement dancing in my chest.

“Okay,” I smiled, a sense of warmth washing over me.

“Okay?” he repeated, his eyes lighting up with hope.

“Yeah, okay. We’ll take things slow,” I confirmed, feeling a rush of relief and anticipation. Rafe’s smile widened, and in that moment, it felt like we were stepping into a new chapter together, one where the past could fade into the background while we explored the potential of the future. As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, I leaned my head on his shoulder. The gentle sound of the waves lapping against the shore filled the air, creating a soothing rhythm that matched the beating of my heart. The warmth of his presence enveloped me, and I closed my eyes, letting the moment wash over me.

For the first time in a long time, I felt hope stirring within me, a belief that perhaps we could find our way back to each other, not as we were before, but as something new and beautiful.

likes and reblogs are appreciated! 🎀

[gyuswhore]

Never Shall We Die (1)

«« Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line. »» 

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

SYNOPSIS: Deadliest pirate on the high seas or a damn fool? The stupid King and his men have snatched Hoshi's precious pirate ship with their too clean, too soft hands; grounds to question his own vices. Except, when he and his crew land in the quarters of a navy ship, revenge on their roster, they stumble across a princess in its gallows. Hoshi wonders if he's just struck gold, or if you'd become the final tread to his downfall.

GENRES: pirate!au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut [minor dni], some pirates of the carribean vibes but ? idk

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

Part 1: 17.07k | Part 2: 15.2k | Part 3 [final]: 15.8k

@highvern's out of context comment box: new fear unlocked: hoshi with explosives, victorian ankle moment, HATE HIM (need him carnally), hoshi covered in soapy water would distract me enough, strip for me pirate mingyu [hes litrally taking off his jacket], your honor hes a bitch, freaks!, mingyu crushes hoshi's head like a grape, WONWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, massive dick, the way i literally gasped like an old scandalized woman

masterlist

WARNINGS: slowburn, plot heavy, happy ending bc no angsty endings in this household, being taken hostage, knives, bombs, and guns, mentions of blood, mentions of SA (does not happen and it is not explicitly mentioned), alcohol, mentions of death (patricide), hoshi is ✨selectively moral✨but kind of moral nonetheless, side character death, [pls lmk if im missing something its alot] smut tagin following parts

[AN]: thank you so much to @highvern for betaing for me and helping out with the plot so much, this fic would not exist if it weren't for her!!!! and thank you reader!!! for clicking on this and reading it, this one's been about 7 months in the works and I would love to hear what your thoughts are when you're done, plsplspls leave a rb or a reply with your brainrot lol <3 happy reading

HOSHI’S BOOT IS STUCK in the ground. 

No, that’s a branch. 

Or is it a plank? 

He doesn’t try to find out as he yanks his foot out of whatever stopped him from moving. A tree root, he finds as he kicks the remnants of jungle rubbish from the surface of the shrouded root. He kicks it to satisfy himself. 

His crew resides on the beach; where he can see them attempt to build a fire before sundown, the mound of discombobulated twigs making up most of the sad pile of wood. Hoshi trudges up to it and drops another handful of puny branches into the mix. 

Exhaling loudly as Mingyu calls for him, he falls to his bottom and sits cross legged on the sand. Mingyu trudges up next to him to inspect his pile, sighing when he realised this was all he had to work with. He picks up two hefty looking stones and begins to strike them together, putting his faith in the primitive fire. 

Hoshi stares into the horizon, watching the died down waves drift onto the shore, moving closer by the minute. 

Hoshi thinks, which he can’t say is something that he does very often. Perhaps that’s why he was sat on this nature-overrun island as a shipless captain of his shipless crew. He chews on his tongue as he thinks of his Tigress, his beloved hunk of wood and metal; the beloved hunk of wood and metal that he could not see on the shoreline, because she was taken by the royal navy. 

He wonders if Tigress would ever forgive him for letting that happen to her, for letting those clean, soft handed soldiers rip her away from his grasp. 

Hoshi needs to start thinking more often.

Mingyu is frantic over the small flame that erupts in the middle of his leaves, dropping his rocks to blow into the fire, encouraging it to grow. 

“Captain, it’s done! We can rustle up those fish we caught, have supper sorted.” 

“Hm.”

The bustle of the entire crew lasts until night has fallen and they’ve gotten food in their stomachs. Hoshi hasn’t moved from his spot for hours, something the others noticed very quickly, but decided not to mention for fear of waking something dangerous. They understood he was suffering from a broken heart. 

It isn’t until the first of the crew had begun to doze off that Hoshi speaks. Chan is propped up against a tree while Seungkwan laughs at the dangerously low coconut that hangs above his head. Mingyu readjusts his trousers after a full meal. Minghao stretches onto the sand, feet facing the water. 

His voice isn’t loud, nor is it commanding, nor does it have his usual edge of jest—in fact, it sounds nothing like Hoshi at all. 

Or does it?

“Who wants to steal a ship?”

YOU'RE AWOKEN BY THE sound of yelling. Which is never a good sign in any case, but especially not when it’s pitch black outside and you’re on a ship in the middle of the ocean.

The grogginess is quick to fade as you try to understand what’s going on outside your quarters. Your room isn’t a mess, all the trinkets and royal seals remaining in their places on the walls and shelves. Nor is the ship lurching or moving in odd angles to indicate an unexpected spat from the skies. A quick peek outside the window shows you clear, calm water amidst the mostly dark expanse of ocean. 

There is only one other answer in your head that would cause this much commotion—especially on a boat where the admiral resides (and a princess). 

Slipping out of the covers, your feet hit the cool hardwood floors of your quarters, a small shiver going through your spine from the cold, with nothing to cover you but your thin nightgown. You’re in the middle of tying your robe to see what the ruckus was about outside when a particularly loud thud hits outside of your door. You immediately freeze. 

Staring at the doorknob, you attempt to move backwards in the space, heart beating faster as you watch the knob move slightly. The back of your knees hit the bedside table with a thud, the sound has you gasp out loud. Whoever it was outside your door jiggles the knob harder, the force exerted having you scan the room for something you could use as a weapon. 

Spotting the letter opener on your desk, you lurch across the room to grab it, holding it in front of you as you back away from the door. The knob continues to bang against the wood as you refuse to take eyes off of it. There’s sounds of men outside, loud and rambunctious, momentarily halting the grievances. 

Until the knob moves again, slower this time, a light click that could be heard as it unlocks itself, opening into the low light of your quarters. 

You recognise the frazzled looking soldier at your door. 

“Lieutenant,” you voice in recognition. “What’s going on?”

He eyes the letter opener that you hold defiantly in front of you from across the room, and it has you retracting your force slightly. 

“Pirates, your Highness,” he breathes out. “We must get you to lower deck—”

“Where is the Admiral? The Captain?” you ask as you take a couple steps forward. 

“They’re handling the situation, your High–” 

An arm has come up behind the soldier that pulls him into a headlock, a swift pull to have him dragged away from your vision. You would’ve gasped if your voice hadn’t been caught in your throat, refusing to make itself known as fear brews in the pit of your stomach. Your hold on your makeshift weapon is tighter than ever before, yet you doubt how it’s going to help you as the culprit finally steps over something to appear in your doorframe. 

His clothes are in a disarray; slashed, torn and covered in grime. There’s a deadly looking machete in one hand, the blood that coats it has you eyeing the trail that drips onto his hand and on the floor. His forearms are perched up on the doorframe as he inspects you, tongue to cheek as he stares. 

Threatened as you feel, there was less hunger in his gaze as you had expected, more like he was trying to figure out who you were. He eyes your tiny letter opener you hold like a knife and lets out a little exhale you think might be a laugh. It has you gripping the handle impossibly tighter. The man moves his face into the hallway, to where you know the staircase to the main deck is. 

“Hoshi!” he yells loudly. “How’s this for bait?” 

Your back is pressed inexplicably against the wall, wanting to sink into the wooden boards as you attempt to gain your bearings amongst the nauseous bouts of mortification that surge through you. Your only exit is blocked.

No. You have one more option. 

The sound of more men bounding down the hall has you praying there were more soldiers here, but the calm regard the man has for the approaching people has your heart sink to the depths of this very ocean itself. 

More faces peer into the room, men with the same haphazard, grimey clothing complete with  equally sinister weapons in their grasps. One of the men breaks out into the biggest grin as he lays his eyes on you. You nearly throw up. 

For the first time in your life, you wish you’d listened to your father. 

“Jun, you savvy motherfucker,” the grinning man explodes, slapping the man who found you on the back. 

Another voice speaks from behind him, “Ships cleared, captain.” 

“Perfect. Bring a spring upon ‘er. Get as far away from those cleans as you can, let them fend for themselves in a tiny boat for once.” 

Captain. The grinning, stupid looking one is their captain. 

He regards the rest of his crew as he finally steps through the threshold, waving them away as he enters your quarters.

It was taking everything out of you to not buckle your knees as you stood, every step he takes is turning your strength into dust. He keeps his eyes on you, eyes on your sorry excuse of a weapon. He registers the mix of fear and determination in your eyes. 

He stops a few feet away from you, looking directly at you past the makeshift knife you hold. 

He says nothing as he drops the knife in his own hand to the ground with a loud clang. He removes a pistol, a couple more knives, a grenade and a sword. Weapons drop to the floor one after the other, emerging from all over his body and clothes. All in a pile on the wooden floors. He puts his hands in the air.

“No weapons on me. I merely wish to talk.” 

The look on his face is not ordinary, some strange combination of mock innocence and jest. You don’t answer him.

He continues, “You can keep your… scalpel… if you so wish.” 

“What did you do to the soldiers?” you finally rasp out.

“They’re not dead, if that's what you’re asking.”

“Yet?” you ask with a slight tremble to your voice. 

“They’ve been shoved into a boat with a map and a compass to fend for themselves. I’m not entirely ruthless,” he adds with raised brows and a hint of a smile. “Admiral, were they calling him? You must be his wife.”

“W-what?”

“Oh, guess not. Daughter? Captain’s wife, Captain’s daughter?”

Your previously stagnant brain is now running a derby with all the thoughts galloping across your mind. He doesn’t know who you are. Yet, anyway.

He’s scanning the room now, nodding at the trinkets and trophies scattered across the place. “Can’t imagine giving a lieutenant’s anybody quarters like this.” He circles back on you, eyes sharp. “Who are you, darling?”

You don’t think you have anything that should give you away, but the way he starts pacing the room has your anxiety going through the wooden roof.

He has his back turned to you. You’re not sure if he’s confident or careless considering you could drive your weapon into his back and make a run for it. But then what? By the looks of it there’s an entire crew of pirates pacing the deck. Perhaps the soldiers haven’t gotten that far; they know you’re still on board, they know it’s their heads on a pike if they leave you here. 

He’s reached your desk during your thinking, inspecting your stationary, picking at the bejewelled quills and paper weights as he mutters nonsense to himself. 

“Oh!” he announces, a little too enthusiastic. “What’s this?” 

He brandishes the loose leaf of paper, and you recognise the print on the back immediately. It was a letter from your father, the King.

“How on Earth did you read this, the writing is illegible.” He flips the paper over, double taking when he sees the royal seal on the back. He looks into the letter closer now. 

You wait with baited breath. 

“The kingdom needs their princess…your father…ah.” 

Should you plunge the knife into him anyway? You almost do it, but stop when he begins to turn around to face you again. His eyebrows are raised, a slight hint of exasperation on his face when he begins to laugh a loud, loud cackle. 

It’s mortifying, especially when you don’t understand what on earth was so funny to elicit a reaction like that. The man is downright hysterical. He wipes a lone tear from the corner of his eye as he drops the letter back onto the desk.

“W-what’s so funny?” you try to sound brave.

“It seems, miss princess, that we’ve gotten more than we bargained for,” he says, looking straight at you as he sobers up. “You’re the King’s daughter, now, are you? What are the odds the first ship I hop onto with a royal seal slapped on it, held the crown jewel of the kingdom in its gallows.” 

And then he starts walking, towards you, for that matter. Imperative because you know for sure that this is how it all ends. 

You know you still have your one last option, the option that is now pressed against your back as you shimmy to it with miniscule movements. The window is cool on your hand that rests on the glass, you know the lamp will be enough to break it, enough for you to push through and fall into the abyss of the dark, dark sea. He knows who you are now, and you’d rather drown than die at the hands of a pirate—or go through whatever it was that’s curling the minds of all the men on this ship. 

He takes another step forward, hands on his hips. “He’s not going to like this, is he? His dear daughter in the hands of the Kingdom’s favourite degenerate captain.” 

What?

He then adds in a whisper to himself mostly, “Or least favourite with all the wanted posters off the churches and brothels.” 

Hoshi. Hoshi. Hoshi. 

The man who had found you had called him Hoshi. Hoshi the pirate. Hoshi the pirate that’s been giving the Kingdom and its court absolute hell for as long as you can remember. 

The man that you are now trapped alone with on a ship is the most feared pirate the Kingdom has ever seen. 

You don’t doubt your face has gone grey, feeling your breathing turn near erratic. “Oh God.”

He smiles wryly as the life is sucked out of your very soul. 

This was bad. Very bad.

“Now, fear not, you will soon be returned to daddy dearest,” he places a mildly dramatic hand over his heart. “Pirate’s honour.”

He paces back to pluck the letter off the table, pocketing it. “All you need to do is relax and tell me a few things so we can part ways as soon—”

“No.” The word blurts out of your mouth before you can stop it, horrified at the thought of giving information to any pirate, let alone this one. 

“No?” Hoshi looks genuinely shocked, his eyes wide, eyebrows raised. He laughs a little incredulously, “Oh, I see, can’t tell all the delicate details to a scary ol’ pirate.”

He smiles a little bit, “Worry not, miss princess, we shall only need a few minor details. Just enough to have your father sprinting to get you out of here. We all win.”

He stares at you almost expectantly, and you wonder if you look as confused as you feel. 

“Well, I’ll be bidding you goodnight now, I’m sure we’ve interrupted your beauty sleep enough. Rest assured we won’t be bothering you for the rest of the morning.”

Hoshi begins to make his way to the door, picking up his pile of weapons off the floor before wrenching the door open. He’s calm as ever, but your mind is in a disarray.

A ransom, but whatever for? Gold could’ve been retrieved by raiding any ship, and it sounded like he’d chosen to hop on a ship belonging to the navy. Come to think of it, as much of a nuisance this man has proved himself, you don’t remember a case where he’s directly meddled with the Kingdom. All of this can’t just be for gold. 

Steeling yourself, you bet your odds against your voice and asked him, “What do you want from my father?” 

You watch as he halts in his tracks, halfway through the door as he finally looks over his shoulder. The look on his face has you wanting to break open the window immediately and let the water flood in, once and for all as you take these bastards down with you. 

“Your father has something of mine. And I intend to take it back,” he says, before finally slamming the door shut. You hear a shuffle and a thud, and you do not doubt that he’s locked you in. 

Your knees give out almost immediately, dropping to the ground as you breathe in quick, shallow breaths. Trying to look past the dizziness, you try not to think about the last thing he’d said before he left, moreso the look on his face as he did. 

The first rays of morning sun are beginning to shine through the windows, casting the beginnings of a glow in your quarters. You think of the supposed assurance he had given you, that they wouldn’t hurt you, that they intended to return you. 

The thought leads to a faraway memory, yet one that’s tucked itself into a front corner of your mind, you can almost hear your father's voice as he says it; never trust a pirate.

You remain on the floor, and you remain wide awake. 

THE SUN IS HIGH in the sky by the time you put your limbs to work. 

The first hours after the pirate locked you in your quarters were spent trying to reign yourself to earth. You can’t be entirely sure your soul has come back to your body, but whatever little of it that has landed is whispering some very dangerous things. 

The lamp remains, the ornate jewels glinting almost enticingly in the afternoon light. The flame inside it has long died, but you itch to give it another purpose. You don’t note the trembling of your hand as you reach for it, pushing yourself to your feet as you get a feel for the heavy hunk of glass and metal in your hands. 

If there was a level of regard before, it disappears when you set eyes on the bright window and the creases of crystal blue water. With all your strength, you don’t think twice when the lamp makes hard contact, a loud thud erupting as a result, but no damage when you pull away. 

You go again, harder this time, and only vaguely register the glass of the lamp that shatters into your hands. Gripping the metal bit tighter, you swing for the third time, pulling back for the strongest blow yet. 

A hand wraps around your elbow and you’re yanked backwards, landing on the floor. There’s a kick at your hand that’s flown into the air, the one that holds the bludgeoned lamp. It goes flying across the room as you retract your hand into yourself. 

You don’t register a thing as you’re suddenly being pulled back up to your feet. Face to face with the pirate captain, your soul finally clicking back into place. 

“Didn’t think I scared you this bad.” He’s made a joke, but all you can see is his face that’s a mask of rage.

The initial instinct is to move away, pulling your elbow out of his grasp in an attempt to flee. You fail as he tightens his grip to a painful degree, hauling you towards the ajar door of the quarters. 

It’s only then that you realise that there’s more people in the room.You note another big, burly man next to the window you just assaulted, inspecting it with another shorter man. You don’t get to note more as you’re pulled into the narrow hallway, begging the saints he doesn’t take the turn towards the lower decks. Instead you find he leads you upstairs to where the main deck is. 

Walk the plank? Did navy ships have planks to walk on? Not that you’d mind too much, you were trying to drown yourself and this ship in any case. But then there’s a settle of dread in the pit of your stomach, realising death may be the most merciful thing this man could give you. 

The pirate captain pushes you against a mast, one of his other minions rushing in with coils of rope on his shoulder. The sun beats down on the deck, not a gust of reprieve from the wind. 

“Keep the ropes tight, she’s got less wit than I’d thought,” the pirate captain says with a grunt, huffing as he lets go of you. He takes a few steps away, hands at his hips, the image of vexation. 

The person who ties the cords around your hands whispers slowly, “Stop moving.”

But you can’t, not when the panic is near the lip, not when all the possibilities are flashing gore filled images into your vision. It's scary to blink. 

“Why won’t you let me die?” you ask to the back that’s turned.

He turns around, not even bothering hiding the exasperation that paints his face, mouth opening furiously before closing again. “Why won’t—Because you were trying to take us all with you!”

“Kill me!” you all but scream. “They won’t know till you’ve gotten what you want, I’d rather be dead than let you try whatever’s brewing in all your sick heads!” 

He’s silent for a moment, noting your defiant gaze, your pull against the ropes, the heaving of your chest. Taking a few steps forward, Hoshi seems to be attempting to bring the boil in his blood to a low simmer, “Listen, princess. We’re pirates alright, but me and my crew, we keep to ourselves. If your daddy the king hadn’t decided to meddle and steal my fucking ship, you would’ve been home in your pretty palace, asleep in your bed of gold by now.” 

The pirate captain’s face is closer than you’d ever be comfortable with, seething in a way that has you pressing further into the mast. “We may be degenerates but we keep our own morals, as twisted as your people heed them to be.” 

When he finally pulls away, you take a breath and thank the air that simply exists, eyes downcast as you attempt to look braver than you feel. 

“I’m not pushing you overboard. I’ve duped your people once, they’ll be more prepared next time. We need you alive while you’re in our hands.” 

“How are you going to summon a ransom? You sent away your only messengers,” you ask, a sad attempt at a mock, but also because you wanted to know what his plan was. 

“Your useless Admiral’s taken up that job.”

“By lifeboat? You’ve left them all for dead, how do you expect this genius plan to work?” 

“They could’ve swam to shore if it came to it, we were close enough.”

“How are you so sure?” you spit.

“Do I need to gag you too?” he gives you one last irritated look before stalking off towards the lower deck. You’re left alone in the cooling afternoon heat, the sound of the sea keeping your ears company along with your own slowing breaths. 

Everything he said has a good enough chance to be a complete and utter lie. Never trust a pirate. No weapon to cut yourself out of your impossibly tight binds, nothing to protect you or give you reassurance besides a pirate’s word—the worst pirate’s word. 

Your battered thinking leads you straight through the setting of the sun, the orange glow of the sky shrouding the ship in the dreamiest backdrop while you live what you can only sum as a nightmare. Perhaps not, for you doubt your mind could ever conjure up a terror like this. 

This was life, the most terrifying nightmare of all. 

Having managed to wiggle your tied hands downwards, you had seated yourself with your head against the wood of the mast, staring into the translucent skies. So much freedom that taunts you in its illusion of proximity, yet so far still. 

There’s murmurs below deck, the only semblance of life you’ve heard in the past few hours after the stupid pirate captain stormed off. It seems to be on the stairs, a heated argument. 

“Obviously this wasn’t part of the plan, the chances were supposed to be zero to absolutely none. We landed with that scumbag’s successor, that’s just our piss luck and nothing more.” 

“You wanted a woman for bait, this should work the same.”

“Hao, I wanted a woman for bait to trigger a lukewarm reaction, this princess could either doom us all or make our job a fat punch easier, and I’m not betting on the latter.”

There’s a pause. 

“If only she’d cut it with the random hysterics and creepy-staring-at-the-sky we could actually get something useful out of her.” 

“Pray that window holds up or any chance of a miracle is gone to the wind.”

It’s like you’ve woken up with the way the stupid idea begins to form in your head. You think of your father, the kind of man he is, the kind of ruler he is. All the ‘if’s are guiding you to a conclusion. One that gives you a fighting chance, one that may go beyond this massive navy ship and clear into the rest of your life—if you make it that far anyway. 

Your father and his men would come, give this unhinged pirate what he desires so dearly, you know that for sure. But you also know it wouldn’t be for you, but for the crown that’s destined to fall upon your cursed head. 

If it’s his ship that he wants…

The next time you see one of the pirate captain’s goons on the deck, you ask for an audience. 

“DID YOUR STUPID FATHER drop you on your head as a baby?” 

Hoshi stands before you under the light of the midnight moon, an incredulous expression on his face. You try to keep the scowl off your own but it proves difficult when his voice pierces your skull. 

You ignore him from your position on the floor, “I know my father, and I know he loathes you enough to finally want you and your incompetent crew gone for good.”

He scratches his chin, “Can’t be that incompetent if he hates us so much.”

“I can help you.”

“You were ready to die than to be on the same ship as us a few hours ago. What’s changed?”

“Perspective,” you shrug in an attempt to remain nonchalant. 

“Are you gonna go back to wailing in the morning then?” 

God, this was going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. 

“You want your ship back and you were hoping for someone less important to exchange it for. But you’re stuck with me and you know it’s not going to end well for you. You need my help.” 

“Why so merciful, miss princess? Are you not on your father’s side?” 

You gulp as discreetly as possible.

“I want something in exchange.”

He raises his eyebrows, staring at you to continue. 

“I want you to kill my father.”

If his eyebrows were raised before, they’ve broken for the skies now. He leans his head back, eyes closing for a moment before reopening, reigning back to you before asking very gracefully, “What?” 

“I want you to kill my father.”

“No, I got that bit,” he snaps. “Your father as in, the King?”

“Yes, as you’ve pointed out far more times than anyone ever has.” You can’t help but roll your eyes despite the weight of the situation and the hammering in your chest. 

He stares at you in an expression you can’t quite read, and it unsettles you deeply. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve gravely miscalculated, watching as he moves around the mast you’re tied to. Out of the corner of your eye you see the metal glint of a dagger, and you nearly short circuit. 

Is he about to cut your hands off?

You feel a distinct tug at your wrists, the sound of slicing, and the voice in your head asking why it didn’t hurt. 

Suddenly your hands are free, intact and free as you achingly bring them in front of you, wincing audibly at the pain of moving them after so long. 

“You can jump into the water if you’d like, I won’t stop you.” He walks back over, sitting cross legged opposite you, at eye level. 

“What?”

“You’ve clearly gone mad, I’ll find another way to get my ship back.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Of course, and I utterly enjoy having a kingdom’s worth of blood on my hands. Shall I take the entirety of the court down while we’re at it? Carry out a fucking waltz with Jack Ketch?”

“Why are you acting like you’re above murder? Another part of your strange moral code?” 

“No, no, not above it at all. But I like my head and rather not have it guillotined. They might skim over the death of some too-nosy soldier but I doubt they’d leave me be after I put a bullet between the King’s eyes.”

“I’ll protect you.”

He looks at you for a moment, “Quite reassuring.” 

You sit up straighter, licking your lips as you prepare yourself. “My father isn’t a good man.”

The pirate captain snorts, “Oh, I’m well aware.”

You try not to stare too hard at the still unsheathed dagger that he digs into the floorboards, knifing out splinters in disregard. 

“My father doesn’t want me home, he wants the crown home. He wants me to be a carbon copy of himself, he wants to be in control long after he’s gone.” You try not to grind your teeth too hard but it’s difficult when your father’s face burns behind your eyelids. “I want control over the throne, full control.”

“And your conclusion is to eliminate him.”

“I don’t have another choice.”

“Then what? You’ll pardon me and my crew after we get our hands dirty for you?” he asks, eyes wide in mock hope. 

“Yes. You can do whatever it is that you sail about doing and no one will be of bother. I might ask you for sparing favours. For a wage of course. But other than that, you can live as lawlessly as you wish.”

“You’re asking me to become your personal lackey?”

“Having a queen’s favour is no small feat I hope you’re aware. Besides, it's a leap better than the hoops you’ve been jumping through during my father’s reign.” 

You realised his face had been shrouded by the dark between your negotiating and the clouds that had veiled the moon. Every moment that was supposed to strengthen your understanding of the man that sat across from you only brought you more confusion. 

“You want your ship and freedom of land and sea,” you continue when it’s silent for a beat too long. “I only ask for a small favour in return.”

“I’d argue the miniscule nature of what you’re asking from me,” he scoffs.

“Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line.” 

There crawls in the silence once again, the same one that seems to grab you by the throat for every moment that ticks past undisturbed. 

“We’ll have to see to that,” he says, huffing as he gets back on his boot clad feet. You follow him with your eyes as he walks towards the creaky stairs that lead to the lower deck, utterly confused. 

“Where are you going?” you ask, bewildered at his strange behaviour. 

Turning around, just as he had a mere day ago in your quarters and you feel yourself suppressing a shudder. “I have a crew to consult.”

So he was considering it. 

“But you’re the captain.”

“And?” 

THE SKY IS A lighter sheen of blue, leaning towards the premature hours of the morning. He’d left you untied, and as you gaze into the duned waters in the minimal light, the urge to jump in and create a ripple that goes beyond just the water is less tempting than you’d thought. The prospect of having a dead father, and a dead king, was enough to snap you out of your hysteria despite it being a plot of your own devising. 

You’ve been alone for a while, little indication that there was other life on this ship at all with the lack of human activity. There wasn’t much that you knew of sailing or ship handling, but leaving the deck unmanned for this long gave you the vague impression that you were on a vessel with poor practising pirates. If they’d thought you’d be equipped to handle any hiccups, they’d either find out the hard way, or whenever it was that you could find the wit to bring it up to the pirate captain and his strangely attached crew. 

Something that sounds distinctly like boots are thudding gradually up to the main deck, the unmistakable blond of the pirate captain himself coming into view. You aren’t quite sure what it is, but the low thuds are sending your heart racing, panic overcoming your senses for a brief moment before you recalibrate. It’s only then that you realise it’s been more than 24 hours since the ship was hijacked. Somehow, you could have believed it was a lifetime. 

He’s disturbingly nonchalant, hand at the sheathed hilt of the dagger at his hip, a casual glance around at the empty abyss of ocean and sky. When he reaches the far end of the deck, right above the prow, he stops. 

“Are you going to push me off the rails?” you ask, half genuine, half trying to fill the silence as you face one another. 

“No.” He said it plainly, the single word reply leaving you even more uncomfortable. 

“Have you thought about what I said…with your crew?” you ask, hand coming up to grab the railing for support. 

“I did.” 

“Do I sense an objection?” you ask, swallowing the lump in your throat

“Not exactly,” he says. “We want to hear your master plan for this heist before we agree to anything.” 

He’s asking for a plan, a plan that you do not have.

You aren’t sure how he figured it out, perhaps it was the slight darting of your eyes as you thought of a response, but he seemed to read you like a book. He snorts loudly, “You don’t have a clue, do you?”

“You’ve done this before, you’d know better.”

“And if I led you astray?”

You look at him, this time right into his dark eyes, “Then you lead me astray.” 

“Your contentment with death is wildly unsettling.” There’s a ghost of a sneer at his lip. 

“I’d rather be lounging in the bottom of the ocean than live with a prospective future with my father.” 

“So I’ve heard.”

There’s a huff that leaves you as you steel your voice. “I’m not trying to set you up if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I doubt you’d have that capability,” he says as he leans his forearms over the railing. You briefly consider pushing him over but think better of it. 

As much as you wanted to be a sneaky link, you simply didn’t have that trait. You blame all the dependency your father’s fostered into you, ensuring that you couldn’t rule without his influence. 

“Are you willing to brew a plan or not? I need to time my dip in the ocean accordingly,” you say, sounding almost disgruntled.

He lets out a big sigh, “Follow me.”

He’s made himself familiar with the ship, you soon realise, as he leads you right downstairs to the lower deck towards the war room. When he opens the door, the room is lit with lamps, casting a golden glow on the reddish interior, warmer than the rest of the ship. 

“Stay here, and don’t do anything stupid,” he tells you as he shuts the door behind him, leaving you alone in the cabin. 

You only exhale in response as you turn away from the door, towards the large table in the centre. It’s slightly cluttered, studying the scrawled notes as you realise they’re all from the Admiral, his directions and plans of course littered across the table. Turning towards the map on the walls, you lift a finger to trace the lifted ridges of snow capped mountains, trailing towards the dipped shallows of the blue water. 

It was an exact replica of the tactile map in the war room back home, and you’re suddenly hit with a pang of nostalgia. Not that you’d been away from home for too long, but the end result of what you're about to do, regardless of the outcome, would change your life forever. 

You feel yourself breathing in the lingering scent of mildew, a strange comfort in the warm quarters.

There’s a creak at the door, and you quickly retract to find the pirate captain back at the door, walking in with a trail of men behind him. You recognise them by their faces, watching as they all take their places in the edges of the room. They look relaxed. You note the pirate captain taking his place behind the main drawing table. 

“Your throne, miss princess.” He gestures exaggeratedly towards the lone cushioned chair across from him. You’re hyper aware of all the eyes that are trailed on you, and you feel almost embarrassed to take the only seat. 

It only lasts for a moment. You walk up to the chair with what you hope exuded confidence and take your place across from the pirate captain. His men circle the edge of the room, and you count five other men. 

He sighs, “I think introductions are in order.”

“Mingyu, Minghao,” he points to the two men that had inspected your window right after you tried breaking it open. 

“Jun,” he gestures to the one who had found you in your quarters the night it all went wrong. 

“Seungkwan and Chan,” you recognize the latter as the one who’d tied you to the mast at his captain’s command. 

“They’ll be helping kill your dear father.” 

It’s silent for a moment as you attempt to moisten your mouth. You’re reminded you haven’t eaten or drank for hours, not since one of them had come up with a tray of whatever they could find for you from the reserves. 

“I know I may not be the most admissible person to trust, or vice versa—” You hear someone snort but choose to ignore it. “But I’m willing to make myself useful to you if it means you would help me too.”

“Would it not be easier to lock him up instead?” someone asks, and you turn to find Seungkwan asking the question from next to the tactile map. 

“He has too many people indebted to him, too many that are too loyal for their own good. I cannot truly rule for as long as he’s alive and well.”

“And how do you expect his loyal court mongers to let you bid favour to the people who killed their king?” the pirate captain asks with a raised brow. 

“Which is why it needs to look like an accident.” 

“How do you reckon we go about that?”

“What message have you given the Admiral?”

“You don’t answer a question with another question—”

“We need to be transparent with each other if either of us wants to make it out relatively unscathed.”

He doesn’t look too happy but he answers anyway, “My ship and five hundred thousand for all our trouble. Two months from now at the Green Islands up north.”

The Green Islands were anything but green, the glaciers being near uninhabitable owed to the ruthless weather. It was smart enough, it’d be near impossible to bring as much violent power that far north, no matter how influential anyone is.  

“Is five hundred thousand all I’m worth?” you feel the beginnings of a sneer rise up your mouth. You aren’t sure what prompted it but you don’t want to fight it either. 

“Didn’t know I was bartering for a fucking princess’ case, did I?” he snaps. “Now tell us how you want us to commit the undetected homicide of a King.”

“We need to blow up his ship.” To your surprise (and maybe even a little horror), the pirate captain breaks into a slight grin. Neither do you miss other bits of his crew releasing a bit of a snicker. 

There’s a flare of defiance within you, “Do you have any better ideas then?” 

“No, no. Go on,” he says with his head hung. You’re surprised he has the character to shield his smile. 

“He doesn’t frequent the seas but I’m almost sure he’d be present at the exchange.”

“Almost?” he questions.

You hesitate. The combined chance of needing the crown home and seeing to the downfall of his enemies would be enough warmth to send him to the greenlands himself. You were confident, but your father could also be unpredictable.

“He’ll be there. I’m sure of it.” 

The pirate captain lifts his head, locking eyes with you. You try not to look as weak as you felt, as unsure as you felt, pooling all the remaining confidence into your face. 

He swallows before looking away, addressing one of the crew members. “How big are we talking?”

Jun looks up like he’s only just begun to pay attention, fumbling over the revolver in his hands as it thuds to the ground like a theatrical mistake, “What?”

His captain sighs before replying, “Explosion. How big does it need to be to blow up a naval ship with a King on it?”

The man brings a hand up to the back of his head, scratching his nape. “If it’s anything like this one, we’re gonna need a lot of ammo.” 

“Just enough to sink it,” you speak before you could decide not to. “Even better if they don’t realise it’s happening.”

He thinks for a moment. “We could plant it in the bilge somehow.”

“But how do we get on that ship? When they’re giving us a tour of the lower decks?” The man you recall as Seungkwan scoffs. 

“Throw a grenade on board somehow?” you hear one of them suggest. 

“Real subtle, Chan,” you hear another mock. 

The war room is in shambles before you know it, loud voices talking over threats to slit throats and to shove people overboard. The room is humid and it feels as though the light from the oil lamps are fading. You close your eyes amidst the utter chaos, rubbing the heel of your palm on your temple in an attempt to soothe the throbbing vein. 

“Enough!” The pirate captain has spoken and you have the urge to ask what took him so long. 

Tranquility once again and you almost thank the man. Before anyone can say another word, nausea begins to build in your stomach. 

It takes you a minute to realise the room was spinning and that you weren’t completely losing your mind. The ship begins to rock harder as the seconds tick by, everybody in the room seemingly still as they perceive the change.

“Batten down the hatches,” the pirate captain says to no one in particular.

Chan is the only one who moves to the door to leave before he’s interrupted. 

“All of you. Those clouds weren’t looking too nice up there, we’ve got a storm on our hands.”

By everyone he surely did not mean you, because as the room rushes out and you hear the thuds of boots clamouring up to the main deck, you’re left alone with the captain. Yet again.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep steady, and you wonder how he’s able to remain balanced while on his feet. It isn’t long before your chair begins to slide as well, the legs croning as they slip on the hardwood. You spring up on instinct, hands coming to the bolted down drawing table to stabilise yourself. 

The pirate captain seems unphased, moving the curtains on the far end to try to get a glimpse at where the water breaks. He steps like he knows exactly where the evermoving floor would be, barely glancing below to gauge his footing. 

“Shouldn’t you be up there?” There’s effort in your voice, your grip on the table as hard as ever as the ship banks to a hard left. He barely grabs the wall in support. 

“Huh? They can figure it out themselves, they’re big boys,” he grunts.

“Your big boys were at each other’s throats a moment ago,” you grunt back, stumbling at a particularly forceful lurch. 

“If you weren’t so ill prepared they wouldn’t need to use their brains, that’s always dangerous,” he shoots back. He’s on the other end of the room, pushing the unbolted cabinet back in its place 

“I gave you a job and it's up to you to see it done, I’m not—ah— I’m not supposed to be planning at all!” 

“Are you?” He’s turned to look at you know, mouth hitched in a snarl as his forehead reflects a light sheen. “Because trying to murder a—”

“Trying to murder a King isn’t a normal task,” you finish for him in a hiss. “Yes, as you’ve reiterated a million times.”

“Great, so you know!” Sarcasm is a deadly look on him, you realise as he walks over from the cabinet to where you were in the middle of the room. The waves have given in, the rocking becoming significantly slower. “Now do you mind telling us about a plan that actually has better odds?”

Your white knuckles have relented, the hands that gripped the table coming loose as you stare back at the pirate in defiance. “I should just hand you over.”

“It’s sweet you think you’re in charge here,” the grit in his voice is evident. “This isn’t your turf anymore, miss princess.”

“You don’t trust me, and you don’t give me reason to trust you—ugh.”

The waves seemed to have decided she hadn’t had enough just yet, this particular lurch sending you hurtling backwards into the wall, back hitting the hardwood as the stable pirate himself loses his footing. You could almost believe you’d landed sideways with the gravity that’s lost its way beneath your feet. 

The chair you were once sitting on is hurtling towards you with a vengeance, gaining momentum as you simply watch it approach like a wooden bullet. A boot clad foot kicks it to the other end and you realise the pirate captain’s gotten hold of his bearings before you have. 

“What happened to being transparent with one another?” he huffs, breathless and wide eyed as he attempts to pull himself to his feet. 

There’s another lurch that sends you both skidding towards the table, just short of grabbing on before you’re hurtled into the cabinet that had moved again, and now slams back into the wall with the weight of the sea and two humans with a bang!

“Fine. You give me your ammo to blow up the bilge, let me on the ship with my dear father and one of you scoops in and saves me before I drown with him,” you yell over the sounds of clanging and banging of everything on this cursed ship, and the whooshing and thunders of the skies, winds and water. “And if I riddled the chances of you letting me drown with my father? Where does that leave me?”

“On the bottom of the seabed,” he deadpans. “But that also leaves me without my freedom.”

You find the opportunity to look at him for a moment, and he’s looking at you too. He looks away towards the door, already making moves to walk out and join his crew above deck. The conversation was over, and it was evident in your lack of reply.

Mother nature, however, sends another one in as a surprise and you're both sent flying to the other end of the ship, yet again. 

There’s a cushion to your blow this time as you find yourself landing right into the pirate captain’s chest, hand above his heart in your instinct to save yourself any more bruises. Between your bickering and the staggering of the ship, his shirt had flown open nearly down to his navel. 

Your eyes barely register the nasty scar across his left pec, instead moving upwards to lock eyes with him. It’s insanity, how you instinctively dart your eyes towards his half open mouth. 

“If you wanted me that bad, miss princess, you could’ve just asked.”

Whatever airborne drug that’d been willy nillying in your noggin seems to spin into a rage as his words register a moment too late. Clenched jaw and a vice grip on his shirt, you spit back. 

“I don’t ask for things. They come to me.”

There’s a crash above you and you realise the oil lamp that was suspended above has shattered, raining glass over your forms. 

Expect you don’t feel it, because he’s ducked over you and suspended his arms in the air to catch the crystalline. 

Before you can decide whether it was instinct or not, you hear a yell at the door.

“Captain! One of the—oh.” 

A barely balancing Mingyu, is staring into the now dimly lit war room, his captain and their supposed prisoner pressed against one another in a dark corner of the room. 

Your instinct forces you to take a slow step backwards. 

“Get back up,” he snarls, already pushing past you to stalk towards the door. He actually makes it this time, shoving Mingyu into the hall towards the stairs. 

Not as much as a glance back before he slams the door shut, leaving you in the tattered war room alone, shards of glass at your feet.

THE STORM SEEMS TO have done its damage as it calmed itself for the rest of the morning and well into the day. 

One of them had come down and escorted you to your quarters, Chan telling you that you could keep it while the rest of them adjusted in the other cots and quarters aboard. Changing out of your ragged, days old clothes felt luxurious, the familiar scent of your quarters putting your tense shoulders at ease; or at least a semblance of such. 

Neither you nor the captain have attempted to speak to each other after the incident in the war room. Having berated yourself for letting your guard down enough, you chalked it up to the lack of food and sleep and put the matter to rest in some deeply buried chest in your head. 

For now you board up the door of your cabin (because you haven’t completely lost it), and burrow under the covers for some much needed shut eye. 

You aren’t sure how long the universe lets you rest, because unless you’ve slept all the way to the Green Islands the banging on the door seems incessant enough to warrant an arrest of its own. The sleep is slow to leave, and it’s hard enough to push an entire drawer against a door, the bleariness paired with whoever the fuck was outside the door isn’t making it easier to push it away from the entrance either. 

By the time you’ve wrenched the door open, you’re thoroughly annoyed, and met with a very alarmed Seungkwan. 

“Oh thank goodness, I was about to try opening it,” he says, looking genuinely relieved. “I thought you might’ve….anyway.”

“You weren’t trying to break in before?” you ask.

He only thrusts a tray of rations and water towards you, “Captain said to give this to you.”

Accepting the tray, you try to balance it in one hand with furrowed brows, “Oh.”

“Um. That’s it, sorry for waking you up.” He makes a move like he’s about to turn around and leave but falters. “If…if you need anything a bunch of us are on the main deck.”

And then he’s gone. 

You take it as your cue to shut the door, kicking one of the heftier pieces of furniture against it before moving back inside. 

When you peer up your tiny window, it’s late afternoon and the beginnings of orange on the surface tell you the sun is beginning to set. You decide it was a good enough amount of sleep. Setting the tray down on the smaller than usual desk, you find that these pirates do not have a knack for subtlety. Many of your letters and papers are haphazardly stacked and shoved into one corner of the table, very obviously sifted through. 

Not that you care too much, there was nothing awfully important that you wouldn't have told them yourself. Ripping off a piece of bread from the tray, you take pleasure in chewing as loudly and as open mouthed as you wished, plucking the parchment at the top of the pile to study. 

It’s another one signed by your father, not a question of your wellbeing in sight as he scrawls ink on paper all the incorrect things you did in the Southerner’s banquet last month. If anything, you were glad the stupid Admiral was away from your presence, his incessant habit of reporting your every breath and turn to your father was becoming too much to handle. 

This was one of his tamer letters, less insults attached to his criticisms but a pain to read anyway. You don’t brush away the crumbs that fall onto the parchment. 

There is not a diplomatic bone in your body. Perhaps move on from drinks and dessert and into more important territories besides the Duke’s son. Our kingdom needs a ruler that’s strong, not one that forgets where she is after a sip of brandy!

If you squint hard enough, it almost reads as a parent scolding a child for a spill, like regardless of what you did, he might just love you the same. 

You wonder how good of a mood he was in when he wrote this. 

Sifting through the rest of the papers you take a mental note of every reason he’s given you to believe that you’d be a hopeless ruler, a few years ago you even questioned why he kept you around before realising his contradicting intentions. As you read, letter by letter, you think of reasons you know are going to make you a better ruler, better than him and better than his stupid court of old men.

These pirates are a blessing, you think, and you aren’t about to let this chance from the universe drown in these waters.

HOSHI ISN'T IN TROUBLE. No, he isn’t. On his butt on the sleek floorboards of the ship, his own golden dagger glinting in the sunlight as it's held in a threatening hold, except it isn’t in his hands. 

It’s pointed right into his jugular vein, held by some grimy sailor who considers himself something akin to a pirate. Perhaps the stench this sorry excuse of a crew carries around may be their idea of a criteria, but as Hoshi remains inches away from death, all he can think about is the atrocious fingers around his dagger, and all the scrubbing he’s going to be doing after this is all over. 

Mingyu had warned him, told him to take down the flag of the navy from the mast, the royal seal in the smack middle of the ginormous thing. He brushed it off. He wasn’t quite sure if he was tipsy, hungry or just plain exhausted when he made that decision, because he’d forgotten just how stupid some of these simpleton sailors could get. 

They were taken by surprise, their only weapons mops and buckets of soapy water as they were ambushed by some overlooked wherry that had suddenly thrown hooks over their railing and climbed up like uninvited sewer rats. 

In the initial confusion, interrupted mid-chorus of some pretty siren and her pirate prince, the first few intruders had simply crumpled over onto the slippery deck, a few slipping overboard completely from the suds and water on the wood. His crew, and Hoshi himself, could only stand and watch as the newcomers sabotaged themselves for a few incredulous moments before they gained their bearings. 

Chan and Seungkwan swang their mops right into the necks of a couple, sending them into the ocean without waiting for a splash. 

Hoshi slips out his dagger with practised ease, swinging the butt of the hilt over the head of another ambushing intruder, right on the head as he crumpled to the floor with a loud thud. He kicks him over for an indication of where he came from. No ink that shows an alliance, no brooch or jewels with a crest. 

New guys, ones that were clearly still learning the ropes. 

Hoshi’s crew had better senses than required for him to yell out orders, and it only took a few more disgruntled minutes to disable the remaining extra men aboard. 

“Where the fuck did these guys come from?” he asks no one in particular, mostly just annoyed that they were disturbed. 

Minghao, who’s peeking over the railing replies, “It’s a tiny thing. They either lost their actual boat or didn’t have one at all.”

He vaguely registers him making a jerking arm movement over the exterior before he hears a wail and a splash. “Disgusting.” Minghao holds his hands away from his body like he didn’t want it anymore. 

Hoshi’s mistake was keeping his guard down, because before anyone could warn him, the dagger that he held loosely against his hip had slipped out his palm. The next thing he knows, his neck is in some grimy sleeve’s grip, and the point of his dagger is lodged into his own throat. He holds his breath, afraid he might pass out completely from the stench alone. 

“Not a move.” He sounds like a boy more than anything, but his grip indicates a harsher life. “Everybody into that fishing boat. I’ll throw this one in when you’re done.” 

He sounds unstable, but that only makes him more dangerous. Hoshi can’t try to wiggle his way out of this one, one wrong move and it’s the end. His crew can’t do anything as they stand with broken mops and empty buckets as their weapons. 

It was stupid of him to even allow himself to be cornered like this, not when he’s weaselled his way out of more dangerous situations with more ease than this. 

His crew looks at him, and he can only close his eyes in encouragement. He watches as Jun steps over one of the defeated bodies to reach the hooks that’ve lodged into the railing. His movements are slow, and he can tell he notices the unhinged nature of this boy that he doubts is barely over 17. 

Chan follows, then Seungkwan as Jun double checks the integrity of the ropes. He’s stalling. 

“Hurry!” It was supposed to come out as a threat, but it sounded more like a plea from the boy. 

And then Jun stops completely, his eyes trained on Hoshi. His eyes are wide, his grip on the rope so tight he can see the whites of his knuckles from the other side of the ship. 

No, he wasn’t looking at him, he was looking behind him. Before he can register, there’s a loud bang of a gunshot, and Hoshi feels the body of his captor slump against his back, his dagger dropping to the ground with an ominous clang. He falls with him, turning over to push the dead weight of the body off of him. 

There’s smoke in the air when Hoshi looks back and it takes him a moment to realise who just basically saved his life. 

You stand in your nightgown, shawl over your shoulders, and a revolver, Jun’s revolver, clenched tightly in both hands. It remains frozen in the air, hovering as he takes in your face. Eyes wide, mouth open slightly, the colour drained from your face. 

Hoshi scrambles to get up as the rest of the crew swarm both him and you. He grabs his dagger before anything else, looking back to see a bullet lodged in the back of his captor’s skull, blood pooling the deck. 

He looks back at you shoving the revolver back into Jun’s hands eagerly, like you didn’t want to feel the warmth of the metal any more than you wanted to make that shot. 

He looks back at the cooling body, and then back at you, an undeniable warmth overcoming his chest. 

You just saved his life.

“Are you alright?” he hears Chan ask you. You nod slowly, and then quickly. 

“Where did you find this?” Jun asks. 

“Uh, in one of the quarters. Downstairs. I went down because I thought it’d be safer, you were handling it and I didn’t want to get in the way. But then…all your weapons were there.” 

Your voice sounds airy, like you were in a daze. Hoshi comes to the stark realisation that this may have been your first time with a weapon, and then even more horrifying, your first kill. 

“I’m sorry, I just thought it was getting out of hand and—” 

“It’s alright,” Seungkwan says. He watches as you let him lead you back down the stairs below decks. 

It was like the shock turned you into a different person, complacent, less defiant. Seungkwan clearly had more of an emotional range, because it certainly took Hoshi too long to realise you might be on the edge of panic. 

Hoshi doesn’t say a word as you disappear, the smell of gunpowder from the singular shot wafting through the deck. He doesn’t realise he’s staring into space until Mingyu interrupts. 

“Should we—”

“Throw them overboard,” Hoshi says, voice flat. 

“But, this one seems like he’ll come around. We could question him and drop him off wherever next—”

“He’s a shit seaman, if even a pirate, he’s got what came for him. Throw. Him. Overboard.” Hoshi is out of breath, yet grits the words out through clenched teeth. “All of them.”

Hoshi slips his dagger back into its sheath at his hip. All he can think about is your blown pupils and you in your nightgown. All he can think about is how they were almost bested by a child. All he can think about is how you had to make that final shot to save his ass, that he couldn’t do it himself. 

Mingyu senses his mood and asks no more questions, simply pushing the remaining bodies out into the water. He vaguely registers Minghao sending the men a prayer into the sea. Mingyu’s already trying to get the stupid naval flag off the mast, stripping off his jacket and disposing of it at the base to start climbing. 

Chan pushes a clean rag into his chest, and he looks down to receive it and notes a tinge of blood at his collar. Right, he was bleeding. 

They go back to cleaning, except it’s a lot more silent. 

Jun walks back up to help, but this time he has both of his clean, black revolvers strapped at his hip.

THERE WERE FEWER PEOPLE in the war room this time around, the captain sits beside Mingyu, Jun and Minghao as they attempt to sketch out a crude rendition of your discussion. The pirate captain does nothing but use his dagger to pick under his nails, barely speaking as he listens in on the conversation. 

Not that you cared, you and the rest of his crew seemed to get along better than you did with the captain anyway. Saving the man’s life seemed to hold no weight to him, not that you expected it but a ‘thank you’ would have sufficed. 

“Keep the grenade til the last minute if it makes you feel better, so you’ll know I’m not trying to sink the wrong ship,” you sigh as you clarify. Minghao doesn’t reply as he scribbles the details. Jun rolls his eyes at his meticulous nature. 

“We need to port in the next couple days if I’m gonna finish this grenade in time,” he says, looking at his captain pointedly. 

“We can stop at Port Ash,” Hoshi says. 

Port Ash was no man’s land, which also meant it was every man’s land. 

Being mostly occupied by pirates and other thieves and criminals it was considered dangerous territory for anyone who didn’t speak in lies, deceit and fists. This crew would fit right in, but you worry for yourself. 

“That’s not gonna be till a week and a half,” Mingyu interjects. 

Jun frowns as he looks at Mingyu and then back at his captain, “I can’t wait that long.”

“We’ll pick up what we can at Hasry when we stop for rations,” Hoshi replies. 

“But—”

“Deal with it. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

Jun looks like he wants to say something, and Mingyu has the good sense to interject again to ask more questions about the plan. 

“How much manpower do you think the king’ll have?” he asks.

You sigh, crossing your arms as you lean back in your chair. “I have no idea. Could be five, could be fifty.”

“Not even an inkling?”

“Considering how he wants the lot of you gone, it’s probably on the larger side. But…” you pause. 

“But?”

“He’s smart. Always seemingly one step ahead. I wouldn’t be surprised if he catches us blind.” 

“I know enough about that,” Hoshi snorts. There’s a glint in his eye that suggests something, but you don’t press.

“I was wondering…we should probably change course even if it takes us longer. My father might intercept—”

“Did that. Didn’t take the obvious alternative route either,” Mingyu replies, and you note that he looks proud of himself. “We can take our time too, the ransom note suggested we took the way past Scarsfield.”

“We should be careful of other boats anyway,” you say, gulping down a lump in your throat before continuing. “Those other sailors could’ve been my father’s men too, for all we know.”

“They were on a smaller boat too,” Hoshi adds, he looks like he’s making connections in his brain. “What’re the odds they were dropped farther back into a smaller boat?”

There’s a pause as you absorb what he’s implying. “Are you saying they’re on our tail?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” he says, exhaling heavily through his nose. “He’s done it before. It was a sorry attempt then and it was a sorry attempt now.”

“How did you shake him off last time?”

The panic in your chest is barely there, but as you register the possibility, you find yourself breathing increasingly heavy. 

“Circling farther out before going the opposite way so we wouldn’t cross paths.” He shakes his head. “But we can’t do that now, not when we can’t afford detouring. The port stops are as late as I’m willing to go.”

“What if we skip Hasry? It’s our more obvious stop, we’ll just stop at Ash later,” Minghao suggests. 

“We’ll starve, we’ve got no food,” Hoshi gruffs.

“Portwater?” 

“Too far.”

It’s silent yet again as everyone racks their brains. You feel very useless all of a sudden, you didn’t know the names of harbours or ports this far out.

“We’ll just port at Hasry and be extra careful, there’s nothing we can do.” Hoshi sighs at his own ultimatum. 

He gets up and walks around the table to the door, “I’ll update the others.”

You glance as he walks past you, his figure leaving a gust of wind in your face. He smelled nice, which was saying something considering the state some pirates are known to be in. As he brushes past, your gaze is met with the other side of the war room, an empty oil lamp bracket on the wall. 

The memory of the storm floods your mind, and suddenly your cheeks are burning. Snapping your head back, you're thankful they’re all absorbed in the papers and plans on the table, oblivious to the memory that’s flashed before your eyes. Mingyu was the one who saw you in your compromising position, and you didn’t know him well enough to decide whether he’d do something as dumb as dish out his captain’s ‘affairs’. 

You file out the room with them. They don’t escort you to your rooms, make sure you stay in one place, restrict your wandering anymore. Perhaps they’d realised you weren’t actively attempting to sink the ship anymore, or that if you jumped off the edge it didn’t matter to them that much, but you appreciated the space anyway. 

Briefly catching Seungkwan filling Mingyu in on the past couple hours they’d been below deck, you turn over to catch his eye. He waves, and you wave back. You don’t realise what you did till it already happened, noting the smile on his face as he did it. You choose to move past it and find the captain. 

There was something you wanted from him. 

There’s no trace of him on the main deck, eyes scanning the area to no avail. A movement from above catches your peripheral attention, eyes squinting as you crane your neck up to look. Hoshi has leaned his back against the railing of the crow’s nest, arms crossed, visible hand occupied with a brass telescope that glints in the sunlight. 

He isn’t using it though, merely gazing at the horizon with furrowed brows. As though he could see better without the device in his hand. In the few minutes that you’re looking at him, you notice the muraled, multicoloured shirt that blows with the wind, a kaleidoscope of beiges, greens and reds. The crop of his blonde hair blends in with the clear blue-white sky. 

Briefly wondering how he’s managing the impossible heat, a hand coming over your own eyes as a visor, you simply look back down. Seungkwan is next to you. You aren’t quite sure how he got there, but he stands next to you, hands on his hips, a pleasant expression on his face. 

“Is there anything you want when we dock? We’re trying to make a list,” he says. Somehow, the prospect of pirates making lists boggled you a little. It was a little jarring, not quite sure why he asked a captive anyway.

But then again, were you a captive anymore?

“I don’t think so, no,” you reply and then juggle whether you should push it with another measly formality. “Thank you for asking.”

“That was your first kill, wasn’t it?”

“What?” You knew what he was talking about, but you weren’t expecting him to bring it up in the moment when he’s asking you about restocking supplies. And especially not with a smile on his face. 

“That day, when you used Jun’s revolver to shoot the lad.” 

A kid. He was a child. 

“I…yeah I’d never done it before.”

“What made you do it?” he asks, remaining as nonchalant as ever. 

“I—I don’t know, it looked like there wasn’t another option,” you say, not quite sure of yourself either. 

Why did you shoot him? You’d never laid hands on a gun before, your father forced you into the category of archery and crossbows, not that you were very good at them either but it was also because you simply wanted to spite your father by being plain bad. It worked, because it only took a year and a half and an arrow straight into his study window to retire from the sport entirely.

Even then, your targets had been apples, barrels and tree trunks. Never a person. 

You’d heard of what people tended to do in pressuring situations, and with the way the aftermath unfolded, it didn’t seem like you made the wrong decision to pick up that revolver anyway. 

But the feeling lingers, the same one that you saw as you gazed into the back of the boy that held the captain of this ship hostage. It felt wrong. Like watching the pirate captain cornered was a picture you couldn’t quite make sense of in your head. 

So you pulled the trigger. 

“In any case, we’re glad you made that decision. We all owe you for it.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you gulp, inhale and press your lips in a line. “That’s a lot for a pirate to say.”

“I know.”

BY THE TIME YOU manage to corner Hoshi it’s already the next day, and you’re only a couple hours away from docking at Hasry. 

It’s an anxious ordeal, the crow’s nest constantly occupied by someone trying to catch sight of a possible tail. There was no sign, yet anyway. 

“I want to learn to use a knife.”

He was piling coiled ropes when you’d said it, pushing the heap to the side, sweating through his clothes. There was a flash of confusion on his face as he registered you. 

“Why? So you can slit all our throats in our sleep?” he grumbles as he pushes a barrel against the railing. He’s too aggressive, and the force has the splashback soaking his clothes in freshwater, tsk-ing audibly. 

You ignore the way his previously loose shirt now sticks to him, ignore the way the droplets land on your boots when he shakes his sleeve. 

“We’ve discussed what we might be up against, I don’t want to be useless when the time comes.”

“Seemed pretty alright with that revolver.”

“Anyone can shoot a gun,” you say, getting the sudden urge to fidget with the front of your shirt. You try to make your voice sound as declarative as possible. “I want to learn to fight. With a knife, with a sword, with my hands if I have to.” 

He doesn’t say anything as you look down, fiddling with the tassels on your shirt. Your excuse was the sun and the way it was beating down on the deck this afternoon, getting tired of squinting to simply look straight. When the silence prolongs you look up to push further, juggling with bringing up the fact that you saved his life and that, as Seungkwan very graciously told you, he owes you. 

The sound your throat makes is unhuman, because when you look up the captain's soaked shirt is now off his back. 

The skin is near white from the glare of the sun, remnants of glazed water that’s somehow made its way to his back as well. The dip in his shoulder blade reflected a dark marking, one that you couldn’t make out. 

He wrings it as you can only watch, mouth gaping like a fish. Hanging it over one of the suspended ropes to dry, he mutters as he walks to the lower decks. 

“Fine,” he says nonchalantly. “We’ll get you a knife at Hasry.”

Hasry. Right. 

The port is quiet, at least as quiet as a port can be. There’s not much to see but fishermen both returning and leaving for another week's worth of fish supply. Minghao manages to pay and convince the harbourmaster that they were merchants on their way back to the Kingdom, stopping for supplies. The naval make of the ship helped, and then the crew pulled lines and ropes secured from masts in ways you couldn’t quite decipher. 

You assumed you would stay on board, yet when Chan knocked and brought you some roughspun clothes from the town, you were informed you’d be joining them. 

Hoshi deemed it safer, keeping the rest of the crew on board while he, along with you and Seungkwan, ventured into the village to get what was needed and leave before the sun fully set. If they really were being followed, the ship was going to be the first thing they seized. 

Pulling the grey shawl further up your head, you attempt to look as blended as you could, Chan pressing down your shoulders to force you into a slouch. 

“Stop walking like you're important,” he had said. 

“I’m a princess,” you snapped back, but he wasn’t listening, only jabbing at you to keep the haughtiness out of your tone before it caught somebody’s attention. 

The town was a quaint little place, something out of what you were read from storybooks, reminiscent of the paintings that you’d run past on the walls of the palace. The streets cleaner than you’d expected, the faint scent of baked goods in the air mixed with, onion soup, was it? In any case you were glad you were past the fish market, the yelling and the stench nearly sending you to the pavement, gagging. 

When Hoshi returns, you and Chan are looking at a jewellery stall that’s selling necklaces, bracelets and anklets that look like rosaries; colours of deep ocean blue and sunset pinks, beautifully vibrant against their grey canvas backdrop. 

You can only observe from afar, instructed to not interact with anyone while he was gone. Hoshi was gone to get food supplies, but returned empty handed. Systems were in place, that the crates would be on their way to the “big naval ship” at the docks for the rest of the crew to receive.

“They said there was a blacksmith up this alley” Hoshi says, eyes also trained on the uncharacteristically colourful jewellery stall, but he does nothing to move towards it. “We can get your knife there.”

“Knife?” Chan asks, confused. 

“Miss princess wants to learn to fight—”

“Don’t!” Chan hisses, eyeing the men in black uniform that patrol the market from the shadows. 

“It’s fine, they’re too far,” Hoshi says. “Let’s get this over with.”

You do find a blacksmith, an older man with a greying beard and bloodshot eyes that presents Hoshi and Chan with an array of knives and daggers. Either they were able to give an excuse, or he gave no mind to the third woman that trailed behind, the blacksmith continued to deal with the two men as they haggle over prices. 

There’s another seller a ways away, and she’s laid out her goods on the floor on what looks like old drapes. It’s a woman, not much older than you were, unravelling a long string of leather cord. She cuts it, strings a charm through and seals the frayed end with a candle flame that burns at her side. 

The curtain she’s laid her accessories on is patterned with bright colours, and you realise you can’t make out any of it from where you stand. 

Glancing behind you, the men are still occupied with their bartering, seemingly forgetting of your presence. Taking a step back, you pretend to skim through the neighbouring stalls, glancing breezily at woven baskets, layers of folded fabric and towers of painted ceramic cups. 

You stop before the laid out array of more necklaces and earrings, scanning the ground. The vendor looks up and gives you a big, crooked toothed smile, urging you to come forward, to take a look at what she has to offer. 

Something does catch your eye, and you immediately crouch down to see it better. Picking up the necklace from the charm, you let the gold and red rest on your fingers as you study the make. 

“That one’s new,” the woman says. “Practical too.”

The small brass letter opener that’s looped through the cord looks like it could do its job just fine despite its miniscule size. 

“It’s quite popular among the busy merchants,” the vendor speaks in a rough tone, almost like she had a perpetual sore throat. “Easier to use this instead of looking for those bulky ones in their neverending drawers and—and in their cabinets.”

She lets out a laugh, “Quite pretty too.”

You stare at it for a moment, “How much?”

“Ten coin.”

You sigh, setting the necklace back down onto the cloth. Standing straight, you turn to walk away before she yells again. 

“I’ll do seven!” 

You consider whether you should speak, but you also doubt you’d be recognized just by the sound of your voice.

"I don’t have coin,” you rasp. 

“How about that pretty thing on your finger then?” she asks. 

The ring on your middle finger is a simple band of silver, a coming of age present from your father’s court a few years ago. You stare at the band, worth boatloads more than what this woman in an alley was offering you.

But you find yourself moments later, middle finger empty, and pocket lined with the long leather necklace with the miniature letter opener charm. 

By the time you return to the blacksmith’s shop front, Chan is handing the man his coin as Hoshi holds an object sheathed in fabric. They turn around just soon enough to make it seem like you never left. 

“Why are you standing so far away?” Chan asks. “Come closer.”

You listen, moving closer to the both of them as they get ready to make the trek back to the docks where the ship waits. 

“The crates have probably been loaded too,” Hoshi says, his hands suddenly empty. You assume he’s pocketed the knife somewhere. “Let’s hurry and leave before—”

“Princess?”

It was your mistake that you turned around to acknowledge the title, something you realise as soon as you register the man that spoke to you. 

Henley was a stout man, dressed even now in the finest suit of a berry colour, hair white as a ghost. There was no reason for a merchant so rich he had ties with the royal family to be wandering in a harbour market, but he also had every reason to be here. 

If it was the recognition in your eyes, or the fact that they were just being smart, you feel one of the pirates wrap their fingers around your upper arm and pull you to walk away from the alley. 

“Princess!” Henley yells and you cringe at his volume. People are looking now, and you briefly wonder why you aren’t running yet. 

Your heart is pounding against your chest so hard it’s deafening any other sound in your ears, you still don’t know which one has a hold of you, but you let them guide you into a speed walk as you exit the narrow alleys of the main market. 

The shawl above your head is pushed further down, shielding your face in a shadow. There’s nothing in your mind other than Clarence Henley and his rich suit, his gold pocket watch, his trimmed, white hair. His face that you only ever saw within palace walls, always accompanied by your father. 

There’s a good chance you’re shaking, because you can feel your body rejecting it with the pain in your palms that you can only consider to be your own nails pressing into your hand. 

The stench of the fish market helps, bringing you back from your daze as you finally register the ground beneath your feet. It’s only a few more minutes till you reach the docks and you’re suddenly being pushed up the ramp that leads to the main deck of the ship.

It’s immediate comfort, the familiar brown of the floorboards, the scent of saltwater and warping sounds of the sails. You’re led to your quarters, where you finally let the makeshift hood and cape fall. 

“Are you alright?” 

Snapping your head up, you’re met with Seungkwan and his concerned gaze. 

“Oh, erm.” Your voice sounds…not like your own. 

“It’s okay, breathe.” It helps, because it really did feel like you’d forgotten to breathe. 

“We’re leaving in just a few, everything’s been loaded. Nobody followed you on board, don’t worry.”

Right. You were on the ship, you were in your quarters with some of the most feared pirates on the seas. 

The way Seungkwan is easing you through your gulps of water suggests legends in the mix, but you appreciate it regardless. 

When you’ve come round, feeling more like yourself, the ship has already left Hasry Harbour, sailing into the deeper waters of the ocean. 

“Captain said they couldn’t run because it just would’ve been more suspicious,” Seungkwan informs you as you nod. “Did you…did you recognise him? The man at the market.” 

The thoughts come flooding back, the colour of his suit, the jarring nature of a man of such wealth standing in a rundown port market. 

“He’s a merchant, one of the wealthiest. A friend of my father’s. If he even has any friends.” 

You pause as you think about the near blackout you’d had, the way the panic more than boiled over, taking over your senses and your rationality. 

“I think…” you trail off. “I think I just felt like it was the end. I finally had an opportunity to get rid of that tyrant and seeing something that was from home, felt…it felt like I was going to end up right back where I started.”

Seungkwan doesn’t say a word as you digest your own words, accepting your own fear that had rendered you useless in the time it probably mattered most. 

“Do you feel better now?”

“A little,” you answer. 

“Maybe a weapon can help.”

At the door stands Hoshi, a stern expression on his face as he looks directly at you on the bed. In his hands, the same fabric covered knife he acquired at the market. 

You know that you asked for this, but the jolt in your stomach still makes itself known. 

“He’s right,” Seungkwan says, lifting from his chair. “Blades have a way of calming you in any case.”

You note the glinting hilt of Seungkwan’s sword sheathed at his hip, remember Hoshi’s own daggers that he seems to be emotionally attached to. 

Lifting your head back to Hoshi, you ask, “Can we start now?”

He smirks. 

ALL NIGHT, THE STUPID pirate captain had you taking swings at the air. 

“Your opponent’s baked a fruit cake by the time you were done with that swing,” he comments, continuously unhelpful. “Swing faster.”

It’s nighttime, nothing but a few oil lamps on the floor of the deck keeping you and Hoshi in the light. Your shoulder burns, your forearms are liquid, and your non-existent opponent remains forever stronger than you. 

“I’m done,” you huff, thoroughly spent. Crumbling to the floor, you bring your non-dominant hand up to your aching shoulder in an attempt to massage it. 

It’s been a while, the moon high up in the sky when you finally decide to quit it for the night. He lets you go without a fight, and you doubt you’d have the energy to if he decided to do it anyway. 

The following day, he’s tweaked his regiment a little, and you find that you’re finally swinging at something tangible; him. 

He leaves himself open, an invitation to strike wherever you want. You feign for his shoulder, but he sees you coming from a mile away, already deflecting your flattened blade that comes for his thigh.

“Don’t look where you want to strike, you’re giving yourself away.”

Furrowing your brows, you dislodge your knife from his own and back away again. He’s immediately cocking a brow, telling you to come at him again. You go for his middle, slashing your knife in an arc as he simply deflects. 

“Come on, find a pace,” he grunts. 

Coming down with your knife again, he blocks you but this time with his forearm, pushing you back by the wrists. It was a battle of strength, as he forces your wrists down. He was stronger than you, and there was no way you could push away, so you dispel your own force. He stumbles from the sudden forward force, and you pull away to take a swing from above. 

He recovers faster than you thought he would, already coming up when you’re ready to swing. He raises a hand to deflect, half a moment too late as your blade slashes across the heel of his hand. 

There’s a brief splash of red against the blue backdrop of the sky, and you gasp on instinct, immediately moving away. 

There’s an apology ready on your lips, mouth gaping as you watch him inspect the wound. You don’t get to say anything because he beats you to it. 

“Deep enough,” he comments, like he was inspecting a painting. “Keep this up and you might actually be good by the end of the week.”

Oh. 

“Alright,” he says again, moving back into position.

“Are you gonna wrap that?” you ask, referring to the bloody hand. 

“It’s fine, I’ve fought with worse,” he says. 

You blink as you reluctantly get back into position, bracing yourself as you continue to look at his hand dripping blood onto the deck. 

“You’re getting the hang of pacing, but you need to start considering your blade as an extension of yourself—JESUS!”

You’ve swung at him faster than you ever have, putting everything into that single tug of your knife. He wasn’t expecting it, still talking over your glances at his palm. He had his guard down, and you took the chance. He ducks on instinct, but it could’ve been another scar for him to remember if you’d made it. 

You stumble as he circles you to the other end, flattening his blade on your back.

“Nice try,” he says. “Really nice try. But you never turn your back to your opponent.”

“I lost my footing,” you defend, but even you knew that wasn’t an excuse. 

“And I just stabbed you in the back. And now I’ll have to present your corpse to your father and hope he’ll accept it and give me my ship. We all lose.” 

The pressure of the blade leaves your back and you're suddenly left looking stupid despite doing something somewhat right. 

“You’d just swindle another poor sailor off his boat and move on,” you say. “You’re a slippery thing.”

He has a smile on his face that borders a smirk yet is innocently mischievous enough. It’s a strange sight, bloody hand, relaxed face. There’s a clean-ish rag on a nearby closed barrel that he uses to wipe the excess blood off his hands. 

“I keep going because I live without regret.”

You can only roll your eyes as a scoff leaves your mouth before you can stop it. You simply turn around, settling to the floor, going back to massaging your still aching shoulder. That last blow only made it worse.

“I don’t regret things, miss princess. Ask me why.”

You remain silent. 

“Come on,” he urges, that silly smile remaining on his face. He’s washing the wound now with freshwater from the barrel.

Sighing, you ask him, “Why?”

“Because I don’t ever do things I’d regret.”

“That insinuates you think before you act.”

“Right-O,” he declares, wrapping another torn cloth on his cleaned wound.

“Funny,” you answer. “Because I dont think I’ve ever seen any hint of light behind your eyes.”

He turns around to you, sheathing his dagger at his hip, a dangerous look in his eye.

“You’ve looked into my eyes?” 

The clench in your jaw must have been visible, or the look of disgust on your face might’ve been apparent just the same, because the pirate captain simply laughs out loud before retreating towards the stairs to go below deck. 

“I’ll send Jun up, practise with him.”

You wanted to send your knife, point first, hurtling into his retreating form. 

Never turn your back to your opponent, my ass. 

But you don’t, mostly because he’d probably manage to deflect that too. So you resort to sitting cross legged on the deck, staring at your dagger while waiting for Jun to meet you upstairs. 

Hoshi said he picked the knife based on a number of things you’d already forgotten, something about carbon steel and having a good grip. It’s quite pretty, you’ll have to admit. It’s plain silver, but the reflection it makes in the sun makes it difficult to look away. You’d gotten used to the handle and how it fit in your palm, Hoshi assured you that the more you used it, the more the hilt would mould into your grip. 

Jun stomps onto the deck, revolver-less and instead equipped with an array of knives that he deposits on the deck. 

“Should’ve picked a plain old gun,” he grumbles as he holds one of the longer blades in his hand. “Job’s done and you don’t need to get within ten feet.”

“Don’t have to reload a knife, do I?” you comment, taking the first swing. 

Jun may have an affinity for guns and explosives, but his handling with a knife was still nothing below an expert level. He pushes your arm off before spending you into a ballroom spin, flatting his blade at your collarbone. 

That could’ve been your throat.

“No, but by now I could’ve shot you, thrown you overboard, and been on my way to a nap,” he says in your ear, before releasing you as you get back into position again. 

That could’ve been your throat.

THE FOLLOWING WEEK PASSES with your days and nights muddled into a strange mixture of swinging knives and taking breaks slumped against the deck of the ship, unmoving. 

It’s a particularly hot day, the giant glowing orb beating down on the deck with no mercy. Not that it stops you, because the sun remains unwavering, high in the sky, and you remain unwavering in your wide legged stances as you lunge for Chan again. 

Chan’s entire being glistens in the afternoon light, the beads of sweat that he wipes off his forehead only seem to reappear every couple minutes. His clothes cling to him like a second skin, taking long breaths through his teeth amidst the difficult, humid air. 

You don’t doubt you look the same, one hand in your hair suggesting you just took a bath in your own sweat. But Chan seems accustomed to the heat, and while you weren’t, you couldn’t deny your growing comfortability with it all. 

It’d been a while since your meal, hence your sluggish movements were slowly turning increasingly sharp, having cornered Chan multiple times in the duration. You’re determined to not be the one to call for a time out, so you find yourself pushing beyond what you’ve been doing for the past week or so. 

There’s a particular punch of heat at your sides, and you can feel yourself slowing. 

One deep breath, a slow exhale.

It’s all clangs and reflections of knives, tiny droplets of blood as evidence of both of your tiny, unintentional nicks and cuts. You’re succeeding, pushing the man further and further back. 

“You’re getting sloppy, aim for the blade not my tendons,” Chan seethes through his teeth. 

“I’m trying,” you grunt through the effort. 

You’re set back for a couple minutes before you go back to pushing. Your lungs burn, your entire side is numb from exertion, but you give more than your body is made for, and you succeed—kind of. 

Chan back is against the railing of the deck before he realises it, and perhaps it was momentum, or sheer exhaustion, because one minute you’ve got eyes on Chan’s hands and his blade, and the next he’s gone. There’s a loud splash, and you suddenly realise what you’ve done. 

You just pushed Chan overboard. 

You scream before you can help it, dropping your knife with a loud, resonating clang. Pushing against the rails, you peer down to find a giant ripple on the surface of the ocean, whipping your head around to the stairs leading below deck to find Mingyu and Hoshi bounding upstairs. 

“What? Where’s Chan, he was supposed to be with you,” Hoshi asks, whipping his head around the deck. 

Your wide eyed, horrified response from near the edge tells them all they need to know. 

By the time Chan’s pulled himself on board, soaked and dripping like a wet poodle, you’ve sat yourself the furthest away from the railing to prevent any more trouble. He drops onto the floor, creating a human sized puddle. 

With the way the two men had merely sighed and threw the ladder over the exterior of the ship, you concluded that this must happen enough for them to be beyond the point of concern. It only adds to it when you see Mingyu nudge Chan’s unmoving but heaving body with the toe of his boot, giggling at his expense. 

You make your way over, crouching beside Chan sheepishly. 

“Sorry about that, got carried away.”

He’s sitting up now, quickly pulling himself back to his feet and you spring back from your crouched position. 

“It’s fine, happens.” He has a small smile on his face as he says it and you conclude that he may find the situation laughable as well. 

“Now, Chan,” Hoshi says, not letting Chan move into the deck any further from the railing. “What’s the first thing you learn about brawling on a ship?” 

Chan looks slightly embarrassed as he answers, “Be aware of your surrounding—ARGH.”

Hoshi pushed him into the water. 

You jump as you run back to the rails, watching as Chan’s head re-emerges at the surface after his second dip in the ocean. 

Just as you’re about to say something to Hoshi, he’s stuck his head over the railings as well, yelling at Chan in some singsong voice. 

“One time was a mistake, twice is a problem!”

To your left, only adding to your horror, is Mingyu doubled over in his fit of laughter, heaving as he giggled uncontrollably. He’s also holding onto the railings for dear life, but clearly, for reasons completely different from yours. 

The situation resolves itself as both you and Chan learn a few lessons of practicality. Deciding you’ve done enough damage to your body, you announce that you’d be retiring for the day. 

“Thank goodness, I was about to confiscate that stupid knife, I’ve been hearing clanging in my sleep,” Mingyu mumbles as he pulls the rope ladder back up to the deck. 

In any case, you have the urge to take a dip in the ocean yourself, feeling increasingly uncomfortable in your drying sweat. 

Grabbing a clean washcloth, you fill a bucket of freshwater from one of the barrels on deck and lug it into your quarters. The soaked washcloth does wonders for your overheated body, feeling enormously better after a change of clothes. 

Your scalp, however, remains itchy and burning, so you decide to go back up to the main deck, hoping to manoeuvre a hair wash situation without needing to mop the floors of your quarters. 

Refilling the bucket of freshwater, you set it down before scanning the empty deck for another spare bucket. You try not to scoff at the unwavering determination of the pirate crew to keep the deck unoccupied for such long increments, that last altercation teaching them absolutely nothing. You wonder how they’ve managed to survive for so long like this. 

Shaking the thought, you use the spare bucket as a way to deposit your waste water as you pour cups of clean water over your aching scalp. The feeling does wonders for you, letting the water wash away weeks worth of grime, sweat and stress. 

You’re almost back home in your quarters when the whiff of your hair salts hits your nose, the ones you’d packed for yourself, closing your eyes for a moment as you rub them into your scalp. You don't expect the clench that seizes your chest, but you falter when it happens anyway.

It’s nostalgic, and you hate it. 

It smells like the palace, like the incense your ladies in waiting always burned, the stench of citrus having made its way into your bones from the years of exposure to the scent. It’s too much as you blink back tears, owing them to the suds that have made their way into your eyes. 

The sting helps bring you back, opening your eyes to an orange glow and the waft of seasalt  hitting your nose. You’re more aggressive when you dunk your cup into the bucket this time, too aggressive as you feel the half full bucket tip over and spill water all over the deck as you cause yet another accident. 

Cursing loudly, you try to blink away the suds from your eyes, soap still in your hair as you try to figure out how to get another bucket of water without ruining your fresh change of clothes, mentally kicking yourself at not thinking this through.

“You realise we have to make do with that freshwater till we make it to Ash?” 

Wet hair still in your hands, you attempt to peer up at the voice, only to find Hoshi standing above you, arms crossed over his chest with a funny expression on his face. Huffing, you grumble out in response, “Can you just get me a fresh bucket?”

“Hm, I don’t know, can I?” He removes his gaze and begins to pretend looking over at the horizon and the setting sun. 

Chiding yourself for even bothering to ask, you reach for the tipped bucket yourself, deciding you’d figure it out yourself if this dumb pirate was choosing to be of no help. But before you could latch your fingers on the handle, the bucket’s snatched away. 

At first you think he’s being funny, taking the bucket away to watch you struggle even further. “You—”

Except you watch him as he dunks the bucket back into the barrel of freshwater, lugging it back to where you could reach. “Try not to paint the deck with it this time, I’ve already mopped twice.”

The thank you freezes on your tongue, and for some reason you can’t say it to him. So you make a scene of splashing into the bucket with vigour, sending spills over the rim and taking mild satisfaction in hearing him sigh at the sight of more mopping. 

He’s already gotten hold of the worn mop by the time you’re done as you remerge with clean hair, wringing your own mop of hair to deposit the excess water. Straightening out your back, you take hold of the spare cloth you brought along with you, patting your hair with it. 

The sun remains in its mission to cast its golden glow, but only illuminates Hoshi’s grumbling form as he mops up all the water you’ve spilled. 

“You know, I should really be making you—” He halts as he makes eye contact with you, your hands still occupied with patting your hair dry, flicking the wet strands. You have a rebuttal already prepared, waiting for him to finish his jab. 

“Make me what? you grind. 

You can’t make out the look on his face, somewhere between constipated and on the edge of a yelp, he keeps staring at you. You note a slight trickle of water making its way down your neck and chest, bleeding into your shirt as yet another water stain. 

“Nothing,” he says, to your surprise. 

And with that uneventful climax, you trudge back down to your quarters, a strange brewing in your chest.

[AN]: congrats you made it to the end of part 1!!!!! reblog ur thots and opinions or send me an ask, id love to hear the turmoil in ur minds lol

[maiiuelle]

mermaid reader bringing jj super valuable stuff but thinking they’re worthless until he gets super happy

it’s the early days of your relationship with jj, you have yet to sprout legs and you’re still the pogues’ little secret. last time jj visited you at the beach, he had told you about the standstill they’d hit in their search for the gold. it was strange to see him so tired and defeated — and it had been eating away at you since.

so, you’re taking matters into your own hands. you wake up early to sneak off toward the mainland, swimming parallel to the shoreline to search for anything you can find. you end up at a rocky shore on the north side of the island, and a closed wooden crate floating in the shallow water catches your eye. thrilled to have found anything, you take hold of a sturdy piece of driftwood, wedging it into the side of the crate to pry it open.

the inside is underwhelming, full of sand and rocks from the beach. it’s too deep to see what may lie beneath, but either way, you’re upset. you decide to carry the crate with you to the dock behind the chateau, having promised jj you’d meet him there with a special surprise at sunset. now you just feel silly.

jj is already there when you arrive, waving from the dock with a fishing pole in his other hand. “woah — fish on! look at that beauty.” you swim up to the edge, feeling queasy from overthinking. without a word you hoist the box out of the water and onto the wooden platform. as jj comes down the ramp, you sink away back into the marsh just a little, his presence alone making your embarrassment grow. “what’s up, mama?”

“okay, don’t get all excited. i wanted to help — but it's just full of sand!”

jj cocks a brow at you, looking uneasily into the crate like it’s full of eels. his face goes pale once he gets a peek at what’s really inside. you blink at him nervously, now convinced you’ve offended him with such a lousy haul.

the blonde crouches down slowly, slipping a muscular hand into the crate. when he pulls it back out, his fingers are draped in beautiful pearls. you can barely believe your eyes — the swim over must have knocked the sand through the imperfections in the wood, leaving only the treasure hidden underneath.

jj tears his eyes from the pearls to look at you, your sweet face etched in surprise. “full of sand?” he doesn’t know what to do other than laugh, and you do too, relieved that you somehow pulled it off. it’s nice to see a big smile on his handsome face again. <3

[pretzel-box]

Summary: You're a mortal fisher that catches the attention of an ancient sea god without knowing it.

Tags: Some 'fluff', mortal reader, sea god sebastian

Words: 2,6k

There was a small village that was cradled on the edge of an unknown island like a forgotten secret among humans, made out of solid stone, earth and sand while being shaped by the restless waves of the deep ocean. Narrow cobbled streets would wound between the homes of sun-bleached woods and weathered bricks while fine smoke curled up from the going chimneys, mingling with the salty sea air. Many signs of a life gathered around this place despite its unknown status.

The endless ocean surrounded the village on all sides, an eternal sentinel, its deep blue waves gently lapping at the shoreline as if it were whispering ancient lullabies. The sun hung low in the sky, casting the world in hues of gold and lavender, where the horizon blurred into a seamless meeting of sea and sky. The sound of gulls crying in the distance echoed through the air, carried by the wind that rustled through the tall grasses and wildflowers growing at the island’s edge.

Farther out, where the cliffs rose jagged and defiant against the endless ocean, the waves crashed with a furious roar, sending white spray high into the air. Yet here, within the village, the sea was gentle—a mirror reflecting the sky’s fading light.

Small fishing boats bobbed in the harbor, tethered to wooden posts worn smooth by years of use. Their painted hulls were chipped and faded, yet they held a quiet dignity, as if they had borne witness to centuries of tides, storms, and the steady rhythm of life. Nets hung drying on the docks, draped like lace over the old wood, waiting for the morning light to send the fishermen back to the open sea.

The wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of salt and damp earth. A few villagers, their faces lined with age and the sea’s touch, gathered in quiet conversation near the docks, their voices low, as if unwilling to disturb the peace. Lanterns flickered to life in the twilight, casting a soft, golden glow over the village, like stars scattered across the earth.

As the day gave way to dusk, the village seemed to breathe, a living thing, connected to the ocean and sky in a way that was timeless. The sea, the cliffs, the forest—they were all one with the village, woven into its very being. And as the stars began to emerge, one by one, above the endless horizon, the island seemed to settle into itself, cradled by the ocean’s eternal embrace, waiting for whatever secrets the tides might bring.

"Listen, my child. Our story began long ago, when the gods still walked the earth and the stars were young."

Once upon a time…

The land was molded by the hands of glorious deities, their fingers painting the skies and carving the rivers. They placed the sun on the horizon and the plains upon the earth. The world flourished, but with its growth came envy, as some gods overshadowed others. To gain power, they created life—humans, born from their desire for control.

At first, humans worshiped their creators with devotion, pledging loyalty to one deity, then betraying the next. They defiled the divine in their thirst for more, striking down gods one by one. Until, at last, only humans remained, reigning over the world they had once been given. The gods, once mighty, were destroyed by the very hands that they had shaped.

The lesson was clear for the mortals: gods could not be trusted.

You grew up in the small village, cradled by the sea, raised between the wind and the waves as if you were a child of nature itself. The first thing you learned was your origin, that you were descended from the gods—gods who were flawed and fallible. Your grandparents told you stories of your ancestors, how they fought with their lives for the right to live on this island, battling forces far beyond their comprehension.

Ages ago, a fierce god named Solace ruled over these waters. His rage, directed at both his siblings and their creations, churned the oceans into relentless fury. Your ancestors tried to cross the waters for months, many drowned and many got sacrificed to soothe the will of the deity that ruled in the waters. His anger blinded Solace, his envy and his feelings were like a sharp sword, pointed at himself. Your ancestors tricked him, like they did with so many other deities before. They sealed him into the ocean, robbing him of his necklace that he wore. And after they triumphed over him, the ocean came to rest. All thanks to the necklace that secretly holds Solace his powers.

A necklace that rested around your neck, a family piece that was given down as the generations passed. It was a sea shell pendant, reflecting in beautiful blue-silver hues as if the sea itself was placed upon you. And you wore it with pride.

Your mother gave it to you the day you joined the family tradition, stepping into the life of a fisher. It was a simple gift, passed down through generations, as much a symbol of your heritage as the sea itself. You learned to live in harmony with the waves, to respect the life beneath the surface, and to take only what was needed. Your family had always been blessed by the ocean, and so would you. It was honest work—give and take—where you not only harvested from the sea but also protected it, keeping it clean and honoring its depths.

"Keep calm," you murmured to yourself, the words a quiet mantra as you sat in your small boat. The sun was warm on your back as you focused on tying the loose strings of your net, the gentle rocking of the boat a familiar comfort.

Your mother had taught you to knit the nets in the old traditional way, every knot a connection to your ancestors. Your father, in turn, had shown you the art of fishing—how to hunt with respect, how to make the death of the fish swift and painless, and how to use every part of it in reverence for the life taken. A true fisher never wastes, for the sea gives generously but only to those who understand its balance.

The rhythm of your hands, the whisper of the wind, and the quiet lap of the waves against the boat—they all wove together like a song. You were part of something much larger than yourself, connected to the ancient currents of the sea, just as your family had always been.

You lifted your finished net, admiring the neat knots with a smile of quiet pride. A rush of happiness filled your chest as you hugged the net, feeling accomplished. You had honored the legacy of your ancestors, crafting the tool with care, just as they had done for generations. It was a simple but profound joy, knowing that you were connected to something so old and enduring.

With a steady breath, you prepared to cast the net into the water, hoping for a good catch to feed your family tonight. The gentle hum of the waves blended with your thoughts, and as the net unfurled, you missed the soft snap of a string breaking. But the sudden blue shimmer at the corner of your eye did not go unnoticed.

Your heart dropped as you realized it was your necklace—the one your mother had given you. Somehow, it had tangled itself in the net, and as you began to fish, it slipped from your neck effortlessly, tumbling into the water before you could react. You watched in stunned silence as the delicate jewelry disappeared beneath the surface, swallowed by the depths in an instant.

The sea, ever so calm just moments ago, now seemed impossibly vast and unyielding. That necklace was more than just a piece of jewelry; it was a part of you, a part of your family. And now, it was gone.

It sank slowly, the glimmering stone catching the last rays of sunlight as it shimmered just beneath the surface, suspended in the water like a delicate promise about to be broken. You watched, helpless, as it drifted deeper, the blue hue of the ocean swallowing it whole. Your heart pounded in your chest, a heavy sense of dread filling you as the necklace—your link to your family, your ancestors—vanished silently into the dark water below.

Your hands slackened, the net forgotten, slipping from your grasp into the boat. Without a second thought, instinct took over. Before you even realized what you were doing, you dove headfirst into the water, chasing the fading glint of silver.

The coldness of the ocean hit you like a shock, but you didn’t care. You kicked your legs, your arms pushing against the water, desperately reaching for the necklace as it continued its slow descent. The light above you grew dimmer as you sank deeper, the world around you a muffled echo of the surface. You could barely see now, the shimmering silver reduced to a distant gleam.

The water pressed in on you, chilling your skin and constricting your lungs. Panic began to claw at the edges of your mind, but you couldn’t stop—wouldn’t stop. It was more than just an heirloom; it was the weight of your ancestors’ blessings, the legacy of your family, and it was slipping further and further away.

Your lungs began to burn, the pressure of the deep water pressing against your chest, but still, you reached out, fingers stretching into the darkness. The necklace was now just a faint blur, fading into the abyss. Desperation surged through you as your arms flailed in the icy depths.

The darkness was overwhelming, the cold water pressing in on all sides as you sank deeper, the faint shimmer of your necklace vanishing into the abyss. Your chest burned, lungs screaming for air, but your limbs were too heavy, too numb. The weight of the ocean dragged you down, and for a moment, you felt yourself surrendering to the pull, the necklace gone.

But then, something strange happened. A warmth surrounded you, gentle and reassuring, cutting through the icy water. A firm hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you upwards with a strength that felt both human and not. Yet, the darkness caught you and you passed out.

The first thing you felt was a pair of warm lips on yours, innocent, shy and yet somewhat dedicated. A wet hand was placed close to your throat. Then your head shot up as reality caught up to you, the water in your lungs creeping up your throat as you coughed it all out.

Coughing, disoriented, you blinked away the saltwater from your eyes, the world around you blurred. As your vision cleared, you found yourself being held by a man—no, something far more. His eyes, a deep and endless blue, locked onto yours. His presence was as overwhelming as the ocean itself, powerful and ancient, yet there was a softness in the way he held you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The stranger's arm was still wrapped around you, steadying you against the gentle rocking of the waves. His dark hair flowed around him, as though it were a part of the sea, and his skin, shimmering faintly in the light, seemed to glow with a quiet radiance. He wasn’t human, no, but he felt familiar.

“Breathe,” he whispered, his voice like the soft murmur of the tide, calming and steady.

You did, drawing in deep, shaky breaths, your heart still racing from the shock. “Who… who are you?” you stammered, your voice weak, barely above a whisper.

He gazed at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable but his eyes filled with something tender, something that made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear. "Sebastian," he finally said, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "I live within these waters."

You nodded slowly, still dazed, as you tried to comprehend what had just happened. The cold of the water, the rush of drowning, and now… this.

Then, the realization hit you like a wave crashing over your head. “My necklace,” you breathed, panic swelling inside you again. You turned to look down into the water, but there was no shimmer, no sign of the silverish blue. “It’s gone… my necklace… I lost it.”

Sebastian’s eyes followed yours, and for a moment, a flicker of something like regret passed over his face. “The sea does not return everything,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a kind of sorrow that seemed to echo from somewhere deep within him. "Not all that it takes can be given back."

Your heart sank, the weight of his words settling heavily inside you. The necklace—your family's necklace—was gone, lost forever to the depths. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you fought them back, not wanting to break down in front of this strange, beautiful man who had saved your life.

Sebastian’s gaze softened as he watched you, and before you could react, his hand reached up, brushing gently against your cheek, his touch feather-light. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and you could hear the sincerity in his voice, the sadness that lingered in his words. “I wish I could have saved it for you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, though the ache in your chest was still raw. “It was my family…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It was important.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, simply letting his fingers linger against your skin, his presence steady, grounding. “Your family's memory doesn’t live in that necklace,” he said softly, his eyes searching for yours. “It lives in you. In everything you carry with you. That cannot be lost, not to the sea or anything else.”

His words, gentle and warm, wrapped around your heart like a soothing balm. You nodded again, still feeling the loss, but somehow, in his presence, the grief didn’t feel quite so unbearable.

For a moment, you simply floated there together, the waves lapping gently against your bodies, the sun casting a warm, golden light over the surface of the water. Sebastian’s hand stayed close to yours, his touch lingering, as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to let you go.

“Why did you help me?” you asked after a long silence, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you wanted the answer.

Sebastian’s gaze flickered, his deep blue eyes searching yours. “Because,” he said softly, a hint of something more in his voice, something unspoken, “I couldn’t let you go.”

There was something in the way he looked at you, an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. You couldn’t understand it, the pull between you two, but it was undeniable. He had saved you—not just from drowning, but from something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name.

For now, you let the quiet peace of the ocean surround you, content in his presence, even as the necklace drifted farther into the depths, lost but somehow no longer the most important thing in your heart.

You finally took the time to admire his large form, he was as pretty as the mermaids from the childhood stories, as gentle looking as the ocean and his eyes, his eyes were like the ones of a god. You never saw someone like him before, but he mesmerized you.

He had placed you back into your boat, his hand lingered a bit longer on your cheek than anticipated and you could feel a mutual spark between you two.

[thestarlightexpress]

Kinktober Day 5 - Monsterfucking - Tarquin x Reader

TW: sexual themes including shapeshifting and beast forms

word count: 1.71k

A/N: my baby Tarquin doesn't get enough love but it's alright, i love him enough to make up for it

Kinktober Masterlist

NSFW under the cut

You woke up to the morning sun’s rays barely peeking over the shores of Adriata, the crisp white sheets of your bed caressing your pale legs. You threw an arm over your closed eyes, not ready to meet the day yet. A few hours ago, you had been so comfortable - curled into your mate’s side, the salty sea breeze lulling you to sleep. 

Your other hand flailed around the other side of the bed searching for your High Lord, only to find empty sheets. Your head shot up, seeing that he was nowhere to be found in your bedroom.

Softer light peaked through the door leading to your washroom before Tarquin peered around the doorjamb. He smiled and softly chuckled at his very sleepy mate before walking over towards you. You started to stretch across the bed, willing your body to start waking up. “Why are you up so early, my love? The sun isn’t even properly up yet,” you were quite confused by his behavior this morning, knowing he preferred to stay wrapped up in your embrace until you both woke up naturally. 

He gripped your calves and pulled you up to the edge of the bed. You sat up and nuzzled your head in his chest as you wrapped your arms around his middle. “You’re so warm, come back to bed.”

Tarquin pulled up your shirt - his shirt really - to sit around your waist as his hands rubbed up and down your back. “Not right now. I have a fun idea and it’s best to do it before the sun is fully up.”

Your head popped up and you quirked an eyebrow at him, “Now what is that supposed to mean?” 

Tarquin just gripped your arms and hoisted you up to stand. He tugged you close to him, resting a strong hand on your ass. “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you all the details, silly. Now go get dressed.”

You sighed deeply and padded over to your closet. “Make sure it’s something that can get wet,” he added cheekily before swiftly spanking your ass. You looked back and shook your head admonishingly. While you did greatly appreciate having a mate who essentially treated you like a goddess, the sheer amount of mind-blowing sex could be exhausting. 

“On the topic of clothing, I sure hope you’re planning on wearing something besides that. I wouldn’t imagine the people would take too kindly to their High Lord strolling around in just your underwear, as attractive as it may be,” you sneered over your shoulder as you quickly stripped out of last night’s shirt and into a teal tunic and your favorite white and gold cotton shorts. 

Tarquin playfully winked at you before slipping on similarly colored items, always feeling the need to match with his High Lady. He turned around to grip your hand before winnowing you out to one of the gates on the side of the palace. He quickly led you down the steps with a sly smile on his face.

You started to giggle once he led you toward a small beach, hidden behind and out of view of the main city. “Well now I wonder what you could possibly have in store for us this fine morning, darling?”, you added sardonically. 

You both stepped onto the beach and found a nice outcropping to set your shoes on. Tarquin went to lead you into the water but found you sitting down in the sand, staring off at the shoreline. “Just a minute,” you murmured. The sight of the sun cresting over the waves, pushing the pink and lilac night sky away, left you breathless. Moments like these were some of the only times you could find true serenity. 

This moment of peace had been exactly what you had been looking for to start the day properly. Sensing that you were ready from the tranquility radiating down the bond, Tarquin offered his hand to you and pulled you up, embracing you in a tender kiss. “Ready, my love?”

You nodded and he led you into the soothing water, padding over to a concealed cove. You both dropped down into the cove, swimming down into the large grotto below. In the middle was a submerged sandbar, flanked by seaweed and coral.

Thank the Mother that your High Lord and Lady powers allowed you to breathe underwater, there’s no way you could properly have the time to appreciate it otherwise. While being muffled, you could thankfully still speak to each other while underwater. 

Tarquin sat you down on the edge of the sandbar and swam in place in front of you. “So what is this fun plan you have in mind?”, you tipped your head to the side and took him in. He was truly in his element in his waters. 

He softly grabbed your hands, “I’ve been messing around with transforming into my beast form - or my alter ego as you so lovingly call it - trying to only shift part of myself. Anyway, I think I finally figured it out.”

A slight smile grazed your lips and you leaned back on your hands, “Well let’s see then, Mister High Lord.”

He rolled his eyes at your antics before the sea around him started shifting, bubbles and seafoam swirling around him. You couldn’t tear your eyes away as his legs started to shift into a large teal serpent’s tail, quite akin to his massive sea serpent beast form. The tail was covered in an ombre spread of azure scales that started to blend into the deep brown skin around his waist. 

Your eyes skimmed over his entire form. It was amazing to see how he could control the transformation enough to keep his torso and above in his normal fae form. You tamped down your amazement, not wanting to give too much away. “Quite impressive, I wonder what else you can do like that?”, you added a teasing wink at the end. 

Tarquin swam towards you and caged your chest under his as you leaned back. He started leaving open-mouthed kisses up your neck before whispering in your ear, “Any ideas, my love?”

You wrapped your arms around his waist before pulling back to face him. Feigning ignorance to your baser desires, “Nothing in particular,” you could tell that he easily saw through you.

Tarquin started to nibble at his favorite spot right under your ear. “Are you sure about that, sweetheart? Because I think I might know what you’re thinking - you want to know if I can fuck you like this, don’t you?”

The mere idea of that had your core sparking with arousal. You moaned in agreement, feeling him smirk against you. Tarquin picked you up and moved you further back onto the sandbar so you could lie down.

He quickly removed your tunic and shorts while continuing to leave love bites along your neck and shoulders. His hand drifted down to your core and two fingers slipped into your entrance and expertly stretched you open. Your hand rose up to card through his locks while the other blindly felt around for his member. 

In this new form, his cock was a bit longer and thicker. Most noticeably different, the tip narrowly tapered off quite differently than the rounded head you were used to. The texture was also different - now ribbed in a way that you could tell would feel amazing inside you. 

He groaned as you gripped his cock in your hand and slowly stroked it. You pleasured each other for a few minutes before you couldn’t take it anymore - you needed him inside you. You bit into his neck before whimpering from need, “Gods please fuck me, I need you.”

He grinned and you felt him twitch in your hand. Tarquin gripped your thighs and moved to spread your legs farther, “As my Lady wishes.”. The pointed tip of his cock inched forward to press against your entrance. The water along with your slick allowed him to easily slip deep into you with a single thrust. 

A tsunami-like wave of his power accompanied the thrust, his magic amplified in this form. You instinctually wrapped your legs around his waist. He started to buck into you, dragging the ribs of his cock against your sensitive folds with each stroke. “By the Gods - you feel fucking amazing, baby.” You were barely staving off your impending orgasm. It only took a few more strokes before you tightened around him and your legs shook. 

He kissed you and lightly chuckled in your mouth, “Fuck baby, you’re already cumming for me? We’ll have to do this much more often if you’re going to cum like that.” His hands squeezed up and down your legs, helping the strung muscles relax. 

Spurred on by the bliss of your orgasm, his thrusts gained speed as he thoroughly fucked you into the sand. “Fuck, your cunt is always so good for me - so tight, squeezing me just the right way.”

You blushed madly at the praise, “Feels good, baby? Keep fucking me just like that, harder!” You gripped his shoulders as his thrusts became chaotic and uneven.

He growled against your neck, the force of his thrusts making you see stars. “That’s it right there. I’m going to fill up that deliciously tight pussy with my cum until you’re so full that it leaks out of you.” 

His words were already making you fall over the edge again, “Yes baby, keep fucking me just like that. Please fill me up with your cum, I need it!” 

You reached up and pulled him down to you. His lips roughly brushed against yours and your tongue slipped into his mouth. You felt his roaring groan as he tumbled over the edge before filling you up with his cum. The narrow tip of his cock had his cum sit so deep inside of you, it was like nothing you’d ever felt.

Tarquin slowly pulled out of you before transforming back to his normal form. You softly panted against each other. “I do have to say, that surprise was worth getting up early for.” He nuzzled his nose into your neck as you cuddled in the sand for a time before resurfacing back up to the beach.

[vilhelios]

— WAIT FOR ME / I'M STILL SOMEWHERE ;

( you're getting older without me and i'm getting scared ) ; in which rafayel still hopes that there's a life where this works — where you do not crush his bleeding heart in your hands, & he still loves you despite, despite, despite.

cw: not beta read; spoilers for abysswalker rafayel's "sea of golden sand" myth, "fragrant dreams" card, "siren's song" anecdote, & main story ch. 7; angst ; some fluff ; mentions of blood, injury & death ; theories + headcanons about mc & rafayel's past lives ; kinda pretentious rafayel lore analysis ( can't help it, i just love him a lot! )

"RAFAYEL, do you think we're lovers in every universe?"

in the stillness of the night, as he mindlessly draws designs on your skin with his thumb, rafayel lies through his teeth: "yeah. i'm sure we are."

it's all he can manage. how do you tell your lover—your dear, sweet muse, whose presence makes the sea of your heart ebb and swell—that you've wondered the same thing lifetimes ago, and know the answer with bittersweet certainty? you continue talking about an article you read, in the morning—something about "consciousness energy fluctuations" and "that feeling of deja vu" and "soulmates."

and rafayel wonders, humming along to your rambling, if that's what you two are: soulmates.

"i wonder what we're like." you sigh, burrowing your head into the warmth of his chest. surely you can hear the rapid thrumming of his heart—he can't help it, the organ so helplessly weak in your presence. "you're the most creative man i know; got any ideas?"

"i think," rafayel starts, runs his fingers through your hair, "there's a life where i'm a merman, you're the human i've fallen deeply in love with, and the barrier between the waves and the shoreline is all that's stopping us."

rafayel remembers being younger, lifetimes ago. he remembers swimming upstream, through a little river that becomes a smaller creek, settling by your quaint home. he remembers playing you a song on his flute, an elegy for lemuria that became your song. he still remembers your head peeking out from the window and the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen staring down at him. you were like sunflecks dancing upon the water's surface—dazzling—and he, denizen of the deep dark sea, couldn't help but fall in love. he gave you his heart, his blood, his voice.

"hmm... reminds me of an old fairy tale." you press a kiss to the beauty mark on his chest, your lips curving into a smile against his skin. right above where his heart is, where the proof of your pact would shine bright. "do you think you'd have gotten a pair of legs and we'd live happily ever after on land?"

"of course i would've." rafayel smiles.

(he does not think about the way his voice grew hoarse as he sung lemuria's elegy. he does not think about the dagger he'd clutched so tightly in his hidden hand, as you approached him on the shore. he does not think about the hug, the warmth of your body making his resolve flutter. the warm blood on his hands, in the water, seeping from the heart he once loved and now carved out and cradled. he does not think about returning to a ruined lemuria, everything he's ever loved ripped away from him in a night.)

"then i like that one. what about another? knowing how we quarrel, do you think we were royalty hailing from opposing kingdoms?"

"hmm, close. i'd say that i'm an assassin, sneaking into your lovely highness's bedroom window."

"hah! i can see that." his heart flutters when he hears you giggle. rafayel wishes he could trap that beautiful sound inside a conch shell, it almost seemed possible, the way it felt like molten gold—sunlight. "i'd leave the windows open just so you'd have an easier time coming in."

"glad to know you'd still fall for my charms." he finds it in himself to smile, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "even if it might not be the brightest idea, dummy."

"hmph, but if we still loved each other then, you wouldn't kill me." your hand reaches upwards to cup his cheek, a thumb aimlessly stroking comforting lines across his skin. his breath hitches at how naturally it comes to you. "you'd fall for my charms too."

(why wouldn't it? you've done it so many times before, as you—dear highness of philos—gingerly removed his mask. he, who was destined to carve out your heart; and he, who could not bear to do so, who fell apart in the warmth of your hold. any hatred he'd held in his heart for the humans that desecrated his home —beautiful, sacred lemuria— dissolved with each ripple of the lake you both had danced across on that silent night. how could he ever hurt his beloved, who in another life he'd devoted entire oceans to?)

"yeah." he breathes out, almost a chuckle. "yeah, i guess i would, your highness."

"rafa?" you murmur, words slurred with the call of sleep, ushered in by him running a hand through your hair. "i really hope that we're soulmates even if it's in the silliest lives you could ever think up. do you?"

(and he hopes for more, a case study in greed. he hopes for the most blissful lives with you—where he's the receding sea and you are the sands of the shore, or you are an anemone polyp and he is the rock you've decided to settle upon, or he is the deepsea fish that looks longingly upon the warmth of the sunflecks that dance upon the water. he hopes there's a life where this whole thing works: where you do not crush his bleeding heart in your hands, & he still loves you despite, despite, despite.)

and rafayel smiles, presses the umpteenth kiss tonight to your forehead, watches you draw closer into his hold. and then he whispers his little wish against your skin, as soft as a siren singing lullabies to a sailor:

"yeah. i hope so too."

a/n: on this lovely valentine's day i offer the rafa stans: angst 🤩 the ending was a bit rushed because i... was no longer in an angsty mood. this fic is very much so a product of a time where i knew less of rafa's lore (see: did not finish the myth) so there may be some lore inaccuracies ... please do listen to berenstein by the band camino!!! l&ds' plot feels like an amalgamation of some of my favourite songs (berenstein, heartbeat by bts, isohel by EDEN)... and it's just such a good plot so far. please send me rafa lore stuff/general thoughts bc i'd love to try and play around with some of them (i have an idea for his birthday fic already) ,,, i'd love and appreciate you immensely ♡

[zarnzarn]

Odysseus' wife owns a gold chain.

The first week they were together after he returned, she'd slithered it out of its box when he was distracted, holding it up in the dim lamplight.

"You left my sight today," She snarls, beautiful in her fury. Insane and flawed and real and his.

"For ten minutes," he reminds her fondly. "To help bring in a sack of grain."

"Too long," She declares, voice choking up with tears. He reaches up to wipe at her waterline, heart aching. "Leave such things to other people."

"My darling wife, so strong," Odysseus coos. "You know that you ask the impossible. But I can see you have an idea?"

Penelope grins again, almost cruel, and lays the chain across his chest, heavy and glinting. "It is designed to be inescapable. Unbreakable. It will not let you walk even past the sands of our shoreline, let alone the docks."

His stomach swoops in excitement and some stirring form of arousal.

"I was going to clamp it on your wrists when you were sleeping," She says casually. "But now I find I want you to look as I shut it upon you."

Another man would have started shouting. Pushed her off, threatened her with a sword; a sane one would go running for the hills.

Odysseus smiles. Cocks a brow. "Wrists?"

-

The King of Ithaka, they say, has chains around his feet like a common slave.

It echoes in the palace like a dancer's anklets, tinkling and rustling when he walks around his home laughing with his son, when he makes official trips to the markets and to the goat festivals, when he comes to eat.

It is on him when he teaches the children of Ithaka to spar, somehow never an impediment for the crafty king, only a tool to be used against them. He can run faster than his own son even with them on, although Prince Telemachus is growing into his own terrifying capabilities at an astounding rate with every passing day, and many already fear his beauty and his wit.

("Huh. Mom get you those?" Telemachus says on the first day. Odysseus idly wonders if he should be worried about the utter lack of surprise on his son's face, and what it implied about Penelope's parenting and ruling skills.

"Yes," He says, pulling him into a side-embrace and kissing him on the forehead. Telemachus relaxes into his arms like a kitten and he smiles warmly. "I don't think she quite plans to let me out of them."

"Yeah, sounds like mom," His son yawns. "You should get someone to make sure it doesn't chafe, though.")

The King wears them even when nobles and dignitaries come to visit, of which there are many. Never bats an eye at their cries of astonishment and outrage, like he has accepted already that he will be in them forever.

"My wife doesn't want me to leave the island," He says jokingly, when someone whispers concerns and questions to him. "Hence, the chains!"

For a week, perhaps, an outsider to the island could consider it stress, a story to laugh at later once the fear had passed. But the Queen of Ithaka shows no signs of telling her husband to take them off, and everyone in Greece who was left to her tender mercies for twenty years knows better than to trust her placid, warm smile enough to confront her about the madness. They rule together now, and the chains remain on in some horrific perversion of royalty, even as they lean into each other and whisper and giggle like infatuated youngsters.

His comrades from Troy, when they come, shout in outrage, drawing their swords, but are quickly reassured by the people of Ithaka themselves, who point out the way the King never complains about them, visibly melts whenever his wife possessively tangles one of her own feet in the chains to pull it shorter at their stares, looking at her with nothing but adoration.

("Are you truly fine with it?" Hermes is the only one to ask, and get a true answer. His ankle-wings flutter in uncomfortable nervousness whenever the chain clinks- if it can hold one of his blood, it can most likely hold Hermes himself, too- and Odysseus knocks his head into the other's shoulder reassuringly.

"I am," He says truthfully. "It keeps her calm, and it keeps me happy- to belong. To choose being tied up, rather than being forced."

"It sounds horrific and I do not understand it or you in the slightest," Hermes replies cheerfully, ruffling his hair. "But to each their own, I suppose.")

The only time the King of Ithaka is let out of his chains is in the early morning, when the sun is still down and no one can see them.

Penelope and Odysseus both enjoy their baths, and he lies back on their bed after, still dripping with water, and lifts his feet in the air seductively. Penelope strokes his legs lovingly, pressing a kiss to his calloused ankles before unmercifully clamping the chains shut once more.

(Athena comes in once during this moment, swooping in silently through the window. Odysseus meets her eyes over Penelope's shoulder, and for a moment the mad thrill of it all recedes at her knowing gaze.

She raises a judgemental eyebrow, questioning. He gives her a small smile and shrugs the best he can without tipping Penelope off.

She shakes her head, a fond smile on her lips, and makes her way closer. Penelope's breath catches as Athena places a hand on her shoulder and she looks up sharply at their patron, some vestige of scared guilt passing over her face. Vulnerable.

Odysseus knows that it is only Athena and Athena alone who Penelope will listen to, if the goddess tells her to take the chains off. His wife braces herself, as if preparing for an argument, but he knows Athena can see just as well as he how deeply their separation hurt Penelope, why he agrees day after day to let her put them on, indulges in her possessive madness- although his agreement doesn't really factor in here much, he knows.

Athena studies the both of them once more, and then smirks. "You should get him the full set.")

Odysseus' wife owns a gold chain.

Years have passed, and he still thinks her smile is at its most beautiful when she tightens it around his feet.

[tiniigi]

[chasingrainbowsforever]

~ Yellow and Gold ~

[hana-no-seiiki]

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄

𝐘��𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐒 + 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐱 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 (𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟏)

“Athanaxious. We are going back right this instant!” An adult male siren called out to his brother. His beautiful gradient tail of obsidian to violet shimmered underneath the water filtered sunlight.

“Oh stop being a prickly pufferfish for once, Vasileios. We’ll be in the deep once again in a moment. I just have to—“ ‘Athanaxious’ replied with a huff. No matter the uncountable times he had come to the shoreline, it was still difficult navigating through shallow water on such a rocky beach. His tail, an exact opposite of his companion with its sandy ivories and gold, flicked in all directions as it tried to propel him away from harsh terrain.

His hands gripped tightly to a leather sling bag across his exposed chest.

“Have to wh—“ The albino creature attempted to ask but was thwarted by a hash tug on his arm, “Hey!” He stretched out his arm to slap Athanaxious in retaliation only to pause at the sound of singing.

“All I ever wanted was the open sea and sky; freedom from the life I always knew.”

Both men froze. A chilly delight crawled through their spine, their limbs and eventually the tips of their fingers and fin. Vasileious had never heard of a voice that entrancing. He has heard several of his fellow sirens luring humans to their demise, but none of them could even hope to compare to this sound. It echoed within the chambers of his heart, the matter in his brain, and the longing that lied dormant within.

But then he saw it’s source and the features on his face soured.

A human.

You.

“Now all I am is haunted as days and hours roll by…” You continued with your song, and then you abruptly halt. The next line wouldn’t come out properly. Your eyes run over the words, slowly getting frustrated with how it wouldn’t fit in.

Athanaxious doesn’t waste a beat. He knew that adorably annoyed sneer you’d make and what would fix it. “All I ever think about is you.”

Vasileious gasped. Athanaxious never sang. Always going on and on about the safety of the sailors on sea and how he didn’t want their blood on his hands. Yet here he was freely providing his — quite literally — magical voice to this human.

“Athanaxious, what are you—“

“Than! You’re back! I was just thinking on ways to improve that verse. Thank you.” You ran, the ruffles on your chiffon blouse flowed through the wind. You flinched and stumbled as the pebbles scraped the sole of your bare feet. Your luxurious leather heels long forgotten.

“Of course, your highness. I wouldn’t miss our reunions here for anything.” Athanaxious winked, just like how you taught him a while back.

You chuckled. The siren had noticed how the clothes you wore contrasted to those he’d usually spot at sea. ‘Couture’ you called it. But all he could think of was those pictures of human prince and princesses, and thus the little inside joke started. “I told you I’m not . . . “

Your eyes trailed from your raven haired companion to the albino. Athanaxious’ tail always fascinated you, but the new siren’s looked out of this world. Further reminding you of how different the worlds you lived in actually were. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, him?” Athanaxious rolled his eyes, another mannerism he learnt from you, “Just one of my older brothers.”

“You didn’t tell me you have an older brother.”

“Y-you didn’t tell me you were fraternizing with a- a- human! What would father think about this?Not to mention mother . . .” Vasileious’ fins shivered at the thought.

“Father knows.” Athanaxious shrugged whilst looking throw the bag he’d wrapped around him. You have gifted him many things, tangible or not, throughout your friendship. So he thought of bringing something back to you.

A pearl necklace. He was actually going to give you the clam it came from but judging from what fishermen looked for and spoke about, he thought giving you the biggest, shiniest pearl he could find would have been more appropriate.

As soon as you received the gift, you swiftly embraced him in an attempt to hide the empty look on your eyes before mustering the most sincere ‘Thank you.’ you could do.

“In any case, don’t humans have siblings as well? I just didn’t think it would be interesting enough to mention in our conversations. Our time together is often far too brief.”

“Far too brief it is.” You stared at the iridescent pearl. A sigh escaped your lips. “Than, I have an event scheduled on a beach—“

Vasileios attempted to cover his little brother’s mouth but it was too late.

“Magnificent! We’ll be there!”

“Excuse me, I didn’t agree to this—“

“—across the continent.” Your cheerful temperament dissipated.

Athanaxious asked, confused at why you seemed so upset about such a fact. Didn’t more events meant you get paid more in those currencies you spoke about? He shook his head, perhaps you were forgetting he wasn’t human like you always did and said, “Your highness, do I like I wouldn’t be able to swim there?”

“No, of course not. You seem quite capable.”

Athanaxious’ cheeks turned a dark shade of blue at your words.

“Besides you must have plenty of royal duties to accomplish.”

“I have no such thing—“

“Thank you for reminding me, human.” Vasileios’ patience had ran out. He loved his brother to pieces — he really, truly did — but feared the wrath of his parents much more. “Mother asked us to survey the reefs. If we come back without a proper report. . .”

“Oh fine.” Athanaxious slapped the other siren’s hand away, and then faced you with his sharp teeth. “Fare thee well, your highness.”

“You too, Than. Twas a pleasure to meet your brother.”

You sighed one last time. Annoyed at your lack of confidence in conveying the message you wanted to.

Athanaxious will find out sooner or later that it was your very own wedding he would attend by himself,

and the nickname he gave you? Might have some truth to it soon.

[ AUTHOR’S NOTE ] - status: unedited

Have an old ass draft that has collected dust atp.

If this gets idk, 1000 notes I’ll make artworks of our siren brothers and switch out the one I have featured on the header.

This fic will have three-five acts in total. Of which the story I’ve already planned out. It’s pretty much just a twist on the classic little mermaid story to end our pride month with a bang. We love our historic gays as much as our contemporary ones 🏳️‍🌈

reader is amab and will have more stuff alluding to their masculinity in later acts.

[ LINK TO NEXT ACT HERE ]

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2023

[decagondice]

༓ Whispers of the tide and wind ༓

Soft!Sukuna x reader, SFW, exchanging seashells

The sea stretched out before you, endless and shimmering under the late afternoon sun. The horizon blurred into soft blues and golds, the sky above tinged with the colors of a fading day. A gentle breeze rolled in from the water, carrying the scent of salt and sun-warmed sand, ruffling through your hair and making the world feel lighter, like the air itself was full of laughter. 

The two of you were alone on the beach, the shore stretching out for miles, untouched, save for the small imprints of your footprints trailing behind. The sound of the waves lapping against the sand came in slow, rhythmic whispers, their song carrying on the wind like a quiet melody. There was a kind of serenity in it all, an easy peace that wrapped itself around you, soft and warm.

Sukuna walked beside you, his presence as steady as the ocean itself. His hands hung loosely at his sides, his steps unhurried. The sun caught in his hair, turning the strands a deep, burnished hue, casting soft shadows across his sharp features. His usual air of power and intensity seemed gentler here, softened by the breeze and the quiet of the open sea. There was something calming in the way he moved, as though, in this moment, he was part of the rhythm of the world, as much a part of the landscape as the sand and waves themselves.

You bent down, fingers skimming the surface of the cool, wet sand as you searched for seashells. They dotted the shore like tiny forgotten treasures, smoothed by the tides and glistening faintly in the sun. Every so often, you found one that caught your eye—a delicate spiral shell, pale and perfect, or a small, broken fragment with edges worn smooth—and you picked it up, brushing away the grains of sand before holding it out to him.

"Look at this one," you murmured, your voice light with the simple joy of discovery. You held out a small, rose-colored shell, the edges chipped, but still beautiful in its imperfection.

Sukuna’s gaze shifted to the shell in your palm, and for a moment, he said nothing, his eyes tracing the lines of it. Then, with a quiet grunt, he reached out, taking it from your hand. His fingers brushed against yours, warm and calloused, a brief but familiar touch. He turned the shell over in his hand, studying it for a second before sliding it into his pocket, as though the act of keeping it was just as natural as breathing.

In return, he crouched down, picking up a larger shell—worn smooth by the tides, its surface ridged and patterned. He held it out to you, his expression unreadable but calm, his eyes flicking from the shell to your face. There was something almost tender in the way he offered it, the quiet exchange of these small, forgotten things that the ocean had left behind.

You smiled, taking the shell from him, the simple weight of it feeling like a secret shared between the two of you, something the world beyond the shoreline couldn’t touch. Your fingers lingered on his for a second longer than necessary, feeling the warmth of his skin against the cool breeze.

The two of you continued to walk, the conversation flowing easily, back and forth like the waves at your feet. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a soft, golden light over everything, turning the sea into a vast stretch of liquid amber. You spoke of little things, of nothing in particular, the kind of easy, meandering conversation that filled the space between you, requiring no deeper meaning. Every now and then, Sukuna would glance at you, his gaze softened in the warm light, and though he said little, the quiet moments of eye contact felt full, as though words weren’t necessary to understand the quiet contentment you shared.

As you walked, you felt the cool, damp sand beneath your feet give way to the drier grains farther from the shore. Sukuna stopped for a moment, his gaze drifting out to the horizon, his expression unreadable yet peaceful, as though he were lost in the vastness of it all. You followed his gaze, the sun now sinking closer to the water, the colors of the sky melting into shades of pink and soft lavender.

Without a word, Sukuna slipped his hand into yours, his grip easy but firm, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The breeze caught again, playful, tugging at the loose strands of your hair and his, the world around you bathed in that golden, fading light. The sea whispered on, endless and patient, as if it had been waiting for this moment to unfold.

“You’re terrible at finding good shells,” he muttered under his breath, his tone gruff but without its usual bite. There was an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, hidden beneath his usual sharpness.

You laughed softly, the sound carried away by the wind. “And yet you keep taking them.”

He gave a small huff, his gaze still on the horizon, but the slightest tug of warmth remained in the corner of his eyes. The two of you stood like that, hand in hand, feet buried in the soft sand, watching as the sun sank lower, painting the world in its final shades of light. The soft intimacy of the moment wrapped around you like the breeze, and though no more words were spoken, the connection between you both was undeniable, woven into the quiet, shared space of the beach, the seashells in your pockets, and the endless, rolling waves.

Here, with the ocean stretching out before you and the soft rhythm of the world surrounding you, everything felt lighter—like the worries of the world couldn’t touch you, like the wind and the sea and the quiet were all that existed. And as the sky faded into twilight, you knew this moment would linger, as gentle and constant as the tide.

A.N. I realised I kept writing scenarios of them at home and felt claustrophobic. Though if this is really the right season for them to go out to the beach is questionable.

[passivenovember]

thinking real hard about Billy and Steve finding each other years after they've settled into themselves.

Billy's gone to therapy and he lives in a little house on the shoreline. Steve makes it to California. Doesn't have the six nuggets, yet. He's working insane hours at a job that isn't very lucrative, but he never had to sell his soul to his old man--

So. Point is. They're happy. Content, almost.

And then they find each other.

--

Steve's burning a pot of water when the phone rings.

It's like a knife through the air. A thorn in his side, pain and annoyance ramping up to an 11 as he yanks the receiver from the wall. "Yeah, now's not a great time," He says, because the goddamn smoke alarm's gonna start wailing any second now, and Steve's neighbor is real trigger-happy when it comes to alerting the fire department. "Look, I'll call you--"

"--Why answer the phone?"

Steve would know Billy's voice anywhere, the rough and tumble drag of someone who used to live fast and hard but doesn't, anymore. "I," Steve says, "I don't--"

"--It's like. Why answer the phone if it's not a good time to talk?"

"I don't like being impolite."

Billy hums, smoke and lightning on the end of the line. "So, you weren't waiting for me to call?"

"No," Steve says. But he was. Has been since high school and all the weird, boring, disheartening years that followed until Billy appeared at the dive bar on Saturday. Like a vision. An angel.

"Damn. And here I was, taking a full 72 hours to figure out what I should say," Billy tells him.

Steve can hear a smile.

Aches to taste it, but-- "That's kinda lame, Hargrove."

"So what?"

"So. You're kinda lame, I guess."

Billy laughs at him, then, high and bright. It shoots confetti into Steve's kitchen, the curling tendrils nearly catching on fire as Steve comes back to himself. He pulls the pan of water and dumps it into the sink, killing the flame on the stove.

"Yeah, I'm a disaster. Maxine tells me all the time," Billy says, "It's just. How weird, y'know?"

"What? You?"

"No, you," Billy tells him, chuckling again. "Fell outta the sky, or something. Into a shitty dive bar."

"So did you--"

"--Fell outta my dreams."

"So did you," Steve says, and his stomach twists. Tumbles. Washing-machine guts still soiled with the bloody red spots of a decade-long crush.

"Huh. You're kinda forward, Harrington."

Steve shrugs, face burning. "Long as I'm not as lame as you are."

"Dude, I didn't say you weren't lame."

"Sure, you didn't."

Billy's next laugh Steve feels in his gut, heat pooling behind the thatch of curly down at his pelvis. "Still such a bitch, pretty boy."

"I'm just being honest. We aren't getting any younger, I'm not really interested in playing it cool, anymore."

Something rustles as Billy shifts his weight, "You were cool, once?"

"Ha-ha."

"I don't wanna play it cool, either," Billy tells him, as serious as a heart attack, "Look, can I be honest? You mind?"

Steve nods and then remembers Billy can't see him. "Go ahead."

"I can't stop thinking about you."

Steve peers through the kitchen window, trying to imagine Billy somewhere on the edge of town with sunlight in his hair. Smoking in bed, naked gold until the duvet pulls him under hips first.

"Harrington, I need to see you again."

"Need is kind of dramatic."

"Maybe I'm feeling dramatic."

"Thought this was honesty hour, Hargrove?"

"It is. Honestly? I wanna kiss you," Billy tells him. "At midnight. In the pouring rain because I was too chicken-shit to do it after our first date."

Steve focuses on not swallowing his tongue. Damn near fails. "Was that a date?"

"No, it was bigger. It was the stars aligning, the start of--"

"--God, you are feeling dramatic."

"When can I see you?"

"I dunno," Steve says, fiddling with the lip of the sink, "When are we expecting rain?"

"Not sure."

Steve can hear his smile. Aches to sink into the softness. "I need a window to commit."

"Tonight. I'll make it rain."

Steve snorts, light as air. "You're crazy."

"I've had ten years to plan for this, Steve."

"Alright, lemme--" Steve pads over to the refrigerator, peering at his Kittens and Firefighters calendar. May is covered in birthdays, vacations, late nights at work, and roll-over plans from April, all hacked into the cardstock in striking red.

Steve groans and flips to June. "--Can you still make it rain in a month?"

"A month," Billy demands, "Fuck. You're hot shit but I didn't think--"

"--I have a full-time job. And friends who want to hang out when I'm not at work, but since I use all my energy at work I cancel on them, and things get moved around and--"

"--You can't make an exception for the guy who wants to eat you out?"

The pages of the calendar flutter, May settling heavy in the room. Steve swallows and his throat clicks. "Uh. My friends--"

"--Aren't gonna eat you out."

"They would. If I asked them to, at least one of them would."

"I'm not really loving that idea, pretty boy," Billy says, teasing. "What about over a lunch break?"

"You want to eat my ass over a lunch break?" Steve snorts, "I'm not a hooker."

"What's wrong with--"

"--I'm not," Steve says, "And even if I was, I'm not cheap. You couldn't afford the hour, and we'd need more than that, anyway."

"What about a sleep over?"

"A sleepover?" Steve says, turning from the refrigerator. "Like, where I come over to your house and stay until the morning?"

"Or I come over to yours, yeah."

"But--"

"Actually, let's do yours. Maxine's place is getting fumigated, so she and Lucas are staying in the guest house."

"You have a guest house?" Steve doesn't remember mention of that during their first date, but. He was distracted.

Billy laughs, "Bet I could afford your hour, pretty boy."

"I thought," Steve says, twirling the phone cord around his hand, "In high school, I remember you telling Becky Gordes that you don't do sleepovers."

"I'm gay."

"Okay, but what about Eddie Munson? The whole school thought you were fucking him, did he ever sleep--"

"--No, my dad would've killed both of us," Billy tells him, and. Something in his voice makes Steve's blood run cold. Makes him believe it.

So he shifts gears, "But. Don't you have work tomorrow?"

"Who said anything about a sleepover tonight," Billy says. Steve imagines the look on his face. Shit-eating grin bright and sharp and beautiful as always. "Unless you want me to come over tonight?"

"I never said that."

"I can work wherever I want. I don't have to go in at all, if I don't want to."

Steve pads over to his junk drawer, digging around for a red pen. "What does Saturday look like for you?" He bites the cap off, holding it like a straw in the curl of his tongue.

Billy laughs, "I thought you said you weren't free until next month?"

Steve chews on the cap for a moment, pen shaking over the cardstock surface of his calendar. He imagines Billy like he was that night. Different but exactly the same. Charming and soft in a way that only comes from the toil of regeneration. Years and years shedding skin.

He'd been funny and smart. Quick wittted.

Sweet. Like cotton fuckin' candy.

Steve remembers not wanting the date to end, not believing that the universe would give him Billy with no strings attached and laying awake that night, hoping Billy would call, and that they'd get their chance, and now--

"Shit. What the fuck am I doing?" Steve asks, but it comes out garbled and messy and wrong. Comes out sounding like, she whale the food ham ding dong.

Billy laughs at him, again, anyway. "What?"

Steve spits the pen cap onto the counter. "You really want to eat me out tonight?"

"Damn--"

"--Because. I was too fucking stupid to realize what was happening between us in high school. Or. What was happening to me when I saw you in high school, and this is important to me," Steve says in a rush. Fuck being subtle, right? "We're not getting any younger. And I haven't slept with anyone for a long time, much less someone who I've wanted for as long as I can remember, so if you're going to come over here and fuck me--"

"Or talk," Billy says gently. "We could talk more. Get to know each other."

Steve listens to the static on the other end of the line.

"I want to get to know you again, Steve," Billy says.

And Steve cracks. Like a bowl in the microwave, curdling under pressure and heat. "Alright, just. Do you have a pen and paper?"

"For what?"

"My address," Steve says, leaning against the sink, "I want to get to know you, too."

"Tonight," Billy asks, digging around for something.

"Tonight," Steve says. "What the hell."

"Great."

"You've got something to write with?"

"Yeah," Billy says, sounding like he's barely holding it together. "Yeah, just. Whenever you're ready."

--

That night, after, just as Steve falls asleep in Billy's arms--

It rains.

[dollescent]

A Lax Day in the Life of Princess Vaelyra Velaryon

Morning: The Radiance of Dawn

The first light of day kissed Vaelyra’s chambers with golden hues, illuminating the treasures she adored—pearls, delicate shells, and polished stones gleaming softly against the silken backdrop of her sanctuary. Her bed, draped in seafoam green and adorned with Myrish lace, cradled her like a gentle wave.

Vaelyra stirred and yawned, her white sea of her hair fanned across the pillows, iridescent: pink as the interior of a seashell, blue as a dawn over the ocean, gold like the sun rising over the same. Her mismatched eyes, one of blue color like the sky at dawn and the other light violet like the budding flower at dawn, shining like twin stars awakening from slumber.

Her maids entered, the sound of their voices chorusing perfectly with the coming of the sea breeze with the windows opening; their quiet shuffles harmonizing with the sea breeze filtering through the open windows. Rising gracefully, Vaelyra allowed them to wrap her in a robe of lilac silk, the fabric as soft as a lover’s caress.

Her bath awaited, a ritual of luxury and peace–a symbol of cleansing and serenity. The water glistened with crushed pearls, sea salt, and fragrant oils of dragonflower and citrus. Vaelyra rested against the soft arms of the tub, the maids washing her hair with the respect of royalty, and skin with reverent care. When she emerged, her skin resembled the sheen of the rising sun along the shoreline; her curls were supple and smooth, set in a waterfall like style, pinned with a delicate circlet of pearls.

Her gown for the day was chosen with the same care and precision—a flowing sea-green creation adorned with silver waves and golden dragons, pearls stitched along the neckline and cuffs. Her jewelry reflected her dual heritage: a necklace of Arraexys’ shed scales and a bracelet of Driftmark’s finest pearls.

Daytime: Grace in Motion

Vaelyra spent her day reveling in leisure and the simple joys of life. She wandered barefoot along Driftmark’s beaches, with her dress as light as the winds that blew, her eyes sparkling like starlight on water. With a small woven basket in hand, she collected sea treasures—iridescent shells, smooth stones, and fragments of coral.

She ventured into the gardens, where blooms of every hue vied for her attention. Her fingers brushed against petals and leaves as she strolled, hearing the birds chirp, her voice rising in soft song as though the flowers themselves deserved her melody.

Gathered under a pergola draped in roses, Vaelyra shared the afternoon with her ladies-in-waiting. They brought trays of delicate pastries—lemon tarts, lavender shortbread, and honey cakes—and pitchers of sweet wine cooled in ice. Their laughter mingled with the rustling of leaves, and Vaelyra’s clever remarks elicited delighted peals of mirth.

Evening: The Gilded Glow of Twilight

As the sun dipped low, Vaelyra returned to her chambers. Her maids helped her out of her daytime gown, carefully folding it away. She slipped into a bath once more, this time cool and calming, infused with chamomile, mint, and moonflower.

Her evening wear was softer and more intimate—a gown of pale silks and Myrish lace in shades of dusk, her hair unbound.She put on a pendant of pearls and dragon scales, the colors symbolizing her family’s love and roots.

Vaelyra dined lightly, savoring honeyed fruits and sipping a goblet of sweet wine. Afterward, she settled by the window with her journal, writing by candlelight as the sea whispered secrets just beyond the walls.

Night: The Quiet Majesty of Dreams

When the hour grew late, Vaelyra prepared for rest. Her maids turned down her bed, the silken sheets cool and inviting. She gazed at the treasures arranged around her room, her fingers lightly brushing a particularly large lush pearl she had carried with her throughout the day.

She slipped beneath the covers, the linen felt like a blanket of cumulus clouds against her skin, and closed her radiant eyes. Her breathing steadied, the gentle rise and fall of her chest resembling the ebb and flow of the sea.

Even in sleep, Vaelyra remained a vision of ethereal beauty, a dream wrapped in silks and starlight, carrying with her the whispers of fire and water.

ib: @hrrtshape

banner credits: enchanthings, sseuda