#the framing of him against the dark rock her against the white sea

[wulfhalls]

i understand.....

[procyonloser]

"I'll show you," Adam promised Sera, the woman who had raised him all these years. "I'll come back with gold and jewels, spices and the finest linens."

Sera tried to sit up, but her health was failing her. She'd not been back to the water in far too long, and it showed on her body. She'd grown gaunt, eyes sunken in - not that Adam would ever know the true reason. He'd never forgive her if he found out what she was, not after how his parents had died.

"Adam, the sea is treacherous, your crew is inexperienced-" She tried to tell him, but he was already letting the door to their shack fall closed; he only had eyes on the water and the promise of what lay beyond it. Sera knew better than anyone, there were hands waiting out there in the depths, waiting to grab hold of young men with strong ambitions.

Adam coughed, spluttering as his head breached the water surface. He was trying to find his bearings, but the clouds covered the stars and the moon, and the sea was rough. It pushed and pulled him, crashing over his head and shoulders again and again. The skies had been clear all day and into the night, until the sounds of screaming alerted him. Then, a great crash came, and the eerie silence followed by groaning of wood, splintering hulls.

A streak of lightning lit up the sky, enough to see that their vessel was nothing but a remnant of bow and mast across rocks that should have been easy to avoid. Adam grabbed hold of a piece of wood, trying to paddle in the dark to look for other survivors. He hadn't seen the man he'd bumped into, but he heard him muttering to himself.

"They weren't there, they weren't there, they weren't there, the sirens came, they came, the sirens came and ate-"

Adam shook his head, trying to reach out to him, but silence fell, and when lightning struck again, he saw no one. He cursed to himself, and debated swimming to the rocks, knowing he'd likely get crushed against them by the waves, but he couldn't stay in the ocean for hours. Why had this gone so wrong? What had happened?

The lightning struck again, followed by a rumble, and in the light, Adam thought he saw a pale face not more than a few yards off, stark against the darkness of the water. Adam tried to swim towards it, but something bumped against his foot, feeling like a hand around his ankle.

Suddenly, Adam was below the water, and the chaos of the storm fell to muffles, calm and still.

A face in front of his tilted it's head, looking Adam over. It wasn't until that moment, Adam realized the being had an unearthly glow about it, like the morning star. It was a bone white, with red eyes, smaller than Adam's frame, but it had a long tail, and six red fins spread out behind it like wings. It reached out, touching Adam's face. He wanted to pull away, but he was quickly running out of air. He let out a bubble, clutching at his chest. The creature grinned at him, teeth sharp and in lines of rows - a predator.

Before it leaned in, kissing him, and pushing air deep into his lungs.

When Adam awoke, he found himself on a beach, a port within walking distance. He had no idea how he'd arrived, how he'd survived, but he could only believe it was the work of a higher power - an angel, watching over his immortal soul.

As Adam stumbled into town, shopkeeps on the outskirts of the village looked upon him with shock and horror. A woman pulled her children away from him, and a man boarded up the front of his wares. They whispered as he went past, and none would speak to him, not until he passed an old man, sitting outside what looked like a pub. His face was reddened from drink, and pockmarked from sun and age.

"Son, they'll be coming back for you." He said, and Adam frowned.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Adam asked, brows furrowed.

"The black spot - you've been marked. It'll come for you again." Adam froze, looking down at his body. Black rings of script in a tongue he didn't speak wrapped around his ring finger. "A siren has taken you for her husband."

Adam looked up from his hand, to the old drunken man. "...It wasn't a woman."

"Then," he said with a broken croak of a laugh. "You'll be a fine wife, in the kingdom below the sea."

[separatist-apologist]

A Lost Princess of Sunlight

Summary: Lady Elain has spent her life in the idyllic countryside wanting for nothing, so when her adopted sister Vassa begs her to accompany her to court, how can Elain say no? The roguish prince is in need of a wife and Elain, certain she'd make a terrible princess, has no interest in such theatrics.

But something about the palace brings back memories lost to the sea ten years before. Memories Elain had been certain she'd never get back…memories that speak of a colder place, and sisters long forgotten. Amid the tumultuous politics and the looming war, Elain finds herself embroiled in a mystery to find out who she really is.

And where she really comes from.

My humble offering to @writtenonreceipts for the @acotargiftexchange. Am I releasing fewer chapters because I've realized I need more than 7? YesNO STOP ASKING

Thank you again to @velidewrites for the moodboard and making me seem more put together than I am.

Read On AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

-

Elain woke to the sound of something clattering against her bedroom window. Looking up from beneath her blanket, nothing seemed amiss. She was alone, the curtains flung open so the first rays of sunlight would wake her. That was better than servants flooding in, giggling amongst themselves and talking just a shade too loud for her to sleep through. Elain had learned the hard way that most of the working staff did not appreciate being ordered about by people they didn’t know and she hated upsetting people.

So she bathed and dressed herself before they ever arrived, perching herself in a chair by the window so when they arrived, they could set her breakfast down and fuss over her hair before swanning back out. It took all of thirty minutes.

It was silly to not want people she���d never see again to like her and yet Elain did. 

Pressing her cheek back against the satin pillow, Elain was half asleep again when that clacking sound returned to her window. It was a rock, she realized. Someone was throwing rocks at her window. Or birds—that was possible, though it seemed unlikely. 

Scrambling up, Elain wrapped a robe around her night dress and pulled open the balcony door to peer out into the silvery darkness. She ought to have known, because Prince Lucien was standing in the garden, grinning up when he saw her. 

“I was starting to think I had the wrong room,” he whisper-shouted. “Come down.”

“I’m not dressed,” Elain complained, taking in his own casual demeanor. Gone were the jackets, the boots, the pants—replaced by a long piece of white fabric draped across his frame. There was a lot of skin on display, a warning Vassa had given her before they’d ever left. 

That was the style in the capitol which made sense once she experienced the soupy heat. 

So why was her heart racing? “I’m not dressed,” Elain heard herself saying.

Lucien’s grin was visible even in the dark. “So get dressed. I’ll wait.”

“Is that an order, your majesty?”

Lucien slapped a large hand over his chest, staggering backward as though she’d shot an arrow through him. “You wound me,” he cried dramatically. “It’s a request. I want to show you something.”

“So long as you swear to behave yourself.”

“I will be an absolute gentleman,” he swore, grinning once more. “Now come. Hurry.”

Elain turned, dressing quickly just like he’d asked in a breezy green gown. There was no one to help with her hair and cool enough she didn’t feel like she needed to pull the thick curls off her neck, besides. Lucien’s hair had been down, the wind blowing it against his cheek and she thought it might be nice for them both to just be as they were.

It was foolish, but Elain was growing to like the prince. It wasn’t romance—not entirely, anyway. But it was comfortable. Friendship, almost. She felt like she could tell him her thoughts without worrying he’d judge her for them. Besides, ever since Elain had told him about her desire to find out where she’d come from, Lucien had been right there with her. He knew Arina better than Elain did, teasing her for the slowness with which she worked.

Elain had always had Vassa—but no other friends. Acquaintances, certainly, whose company she enjoyed and who enjoyed hers, but not actual friends the way she wished.  Now, though, she felt like maybe she could have friends. A whole life stretched before her if she wanted it. 

Strange, to think that maybe she did. 

Unlike Lucien, who was already outside, Elain had to sneak out the usual way. She was positive someone must have seen her, even if it was just an errant guard or a servant finishing up for the evening. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, she chanted in her head, but embarrassment had wormed its way into her chest.

She didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about her. 

And she was going to meet the prince alone tonight. There was no one else with him when she found him in the garden, a little leather pouch held in one hand. “I won’t keep you,” he promised, eyes bright when he took her in. “You look…wow. Nice, I mean. Really nice.”

“Where are we going?” she whispered as he reached for her wrist and began tugging her further through the garden.

“Somewhere I hope impresses you,” Lucien admitted with a sly smile. “I promise I will be nothing but a gentleman. My mother would kill me to hear otherwise.”

“Some would argue waking a lady in the dead of night is ungentleman-like behavior.”

“You’ve got me there,” Lucien smiled wider. “I confess, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Elain was suddenly grateful for the night sky overhead given it obscured the flush she knew was creeping over her cheeks. 

“How will you manage to get anything done while I’m here?” she teased, bumping him gently with her shoulder.

“I have been asking myself the same question. Can I tell you a secret?”

“You may.”

Lucien ducked his head, clearly embarrassed by whatever was about to leave his lips. “When mother first told me of her plans, I insisted it was a bad idea. That there was no lady of interest to me. And I suppose this is the gods way of humbling me for my unchecked hubris.”

Elain’s heart thudded in her chest. “You sound awfully certain of yourself. You barely know me, not to mention the others who would love, I’m certain, a secret trip with you.”

He cleared his throat. “And ah…and if I said I didn’t want to get to know them…and only you? How ah…how would you react to that?”

Oh.

“You barely know me,” she whispered, her steps slowing. “You’ll change your mind when you realize how utterly dull I am.”

“I think you’re hoping I’ll change my mind,” Lucien replied, glancing down at her. “But I’m famously stubborn. Once I set my mind to something, there’s no changing it.”

“I would make an awful princess.”

“With that face? The whole kingdom will be in love with you the moment they set eyes on you,” Lucien replied easily, though there was a lingering hesitation to his words. As though he had swallowed some words he wanted to say and knew he shouldn’t. 

“Lucien—”

“Just…allow me to court you, Lady Elain. All the things you imagine as inadequacies are quite charming, if you’ll allow me to say so.

You’ll change your mind. It was on the tip of her tongue and the only thing that kept her from saying so was the earnest way he’d caller in so-called inadequacies charming. He liked her. That was a revelation, though perhaps it shouldn’t have been. She just assumed he’d get bored and yet…and yet they continued to walk the neat, stone laid path through the neatly trimmed hedges of the garden. Honeysuckle filled the air, warm and comfortable now that the sun had finally set. Elain’s fingers brushed against tall stalks of lavender, her other wrist still held gently by Lucien’s callused fingers.

“Here,” he murmured, fingers lacing her own as though she needed the help stepping up onto the little dock overlooking a rather large pond. She’d seen it already, though never at night.

During the day there was nothing special about it. Merely crystalline water and bright fish zipping about which was hardly worth noting. Some ladies had sat on the granite benches, fanning themselves from the heat but no one paid any mind to the water.

And what a shame they didn’t. Elain gasped at the bioluminescent purples, blues, and greens now flitting beneath the water. 

“Watch,” Lucien whispered, eyes darting from her to the fish pond. Reaching into his little satchel, he tossed bread into the water. It was a frenzy of rushing water, bubbles, and color all at once.

“Can I?” she asked when the chaos subsided just enough, though the majority of the fish now hovered toward the top like shooting stars, hoping to catch a little treat.

Lucien handed her the little pouch rather than making her reach over his body to get it. She would have…might have let her fingers brush his exposed chest just to see if it was as hard as it looked. She’d never been so close to a man before. They weren’t allowed near her or Vassa on the country estate and knew a stable hand had once been quite taken with Vassa, going so far as to sneak into the house to see her.

Elain never did find out what happened to him. 

She squealed with delight when it was her turn to toss the crumbly bread only to re-begin the frenzied feeding. Lucien inched just a little closer and was he smelling her hair? When she looked up at him, he, in turn, was gazing upward at the stars though she swore there was color decorating his cheeks. 

“What happened to you?” she asked, giving in to impulse, though only to touch his cheek. The trio of scars carved down the half of his face was brutal—she supposed he was lucky he hadn’t lost his eye, too. 

“When I was a boy, my father invaded a kingdom and some of his men killed a princess,” Lucien began, reaching for her own face to hold it gently in his hand. “The other two lived here for a time. I wasn’t supposed to speak to them…but I did. And the youngest sister held me down while the older one tried to carve out my eye. Said it was only fair since my family was responsible for her death.”

“That’s horrible,” Elain whispered, unable to take her gaze off him.

Lucien shrugged. “They only damaged it a little—I’m half blind in this eye, though I suppose one day I might be fully blind. One day, though, when father dies, I hope to go back to the north bearing the scars and see if we can’t end what our families began.”

“It really doesn’t bother you?” Elain questioned. Lucien swept his thumb over her cheek. 

“I suppose it wounds my vanity at times. I’m forever looking for a woman who doesn’t immediately stare at them with horror, trying to figure out if they’re something that can be genetically passed down to future children…or if she’d have to grit her teeth and bear the sight of me.”

“No one thinks that,” Elain insisted. Lucien was so beautiful that the scars hardly diminished it. If anything, they made him lovelier still, branding him a warrior even if the truth behind them was hardly heroic. Before knowing, Elain assumed it must have happened during battle which made him seem fearsome. Brave. 

“I assure you they do,” he murmured, his voice strangely husky. “They lament the loss of my good looks and whisper to their friends about it as though the gossip never reaches my ears. I hear it, though.”

“I like it,” Elain declared truthfully. “It adds character.”

He smiled softly. “I believe that you do, Lady Elain.”

Lucien lowered his face, inching closer and closer until her hand flew to his chest, fingertips pressing into his skin and oh. He was warmer and softer than she’d imagined. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Lucien replied, eyes searching her own. “Unless you’d prefer I didn’t?”

She’d always wondered what her first kiss would be like. Here, beneath a canopy of stars and illuminated by brightly colored fish you could only fully see at night, Elain thought this might be the most romantic evening of her life. She couldn’t speak, lifting her chin to nod just once.

Lucien’s relief was palpable. Had she said no, would he have left? Abandoned his pursuit of her entirely?

She’d never know. Lucien’s lips brushed her own tentatively, as though allowing her one final out. Elain didn’t move, still looking up at him while waiting to see what he’d do next. But she wanted this bad enough to set her teeth on edge. 

Her eyes fluttered shut when his mouth pressed firm against her own. Elain couldn’t explain why, when looking at him was its own kind of pleasure. She needed to feel the moment and somehow that was better done with her eyes closed. 

His mouth was soft—sweet, like amber and honey and something dark and well-spiced. It ought to have been one polite, chaste kiss. Elain suspected that had been Lucien’s original intention when he’d begun. Something sweet enough to convey his very serious interest without taking it too far.

She was the problem right then because it was her fingers that curled into his chest and her feet that stepped closer, surging upward on her tiptoes so she could kiss him again. And Lucien responded, his arm winding around her waist to hold her steady, his hand caressing her cheek. It was just, kissing him felt good, and Elain didn’t want to stop.

Now she understood how ladies were compromised. She’d always figured it was men taking advantage but if someone caught them, Elain wouldn’t be able to pretend she hadn’t wanted what Lucien was offering. And to be fair, all he was doing was kissing her. There was an edge to it—a want that was slowly starting to burn through her. 

It would consume her if she didn’t stop. Elain didn’t want to stop and neither did Lucien, the two locked in their embrace, his lips all but frantic against her own. His tongue teased the seam of her lip and when she opened with a gasp, Lucien tasted her. 

Elain nearly fell backward, her stomach exploding with frantic, excited butterflies. His tongue against her own felt good, surprising and overwhelming all at once. She wanted more, wanted to press herself against him and—

Lucien broke away, gasping for air as his fingers flew to his lips. “I—I shouldn’t…I’m sorry.”

Elain blinked. Did he regret it? “For what?” she replied, her voice equally breathless.

“For taking liberties, I…I swear my intentions are pure. I just…” 

Lost control. So had she. Elain nodded, swallowing hard. The only disappointment she felt was that it was over and she didn’t know when they’d get another moment like this. “I understand.”

He dared a step closer. “Yes. Yes, I think you do. Come on…I’ll walk you back.”

And this time, when Lucien offered her his hand, Elain took it gladly. 

Maybe his attention wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Eris paced back and forth as the sun rose, already dressed. A letter lay before him, half written to the princess of the north. Eris had begun with the usual pleasantries, the lies about her beauty and his obsession but even his poetry annoyed him. Nesta was lovely, sure, but when he’d begun penning those words, he found himself thinking about golden hair and emerald eyes and fuck Helion for employing a woman that looked like that.

A stupid woman who’d been willing to die over a book. Rising from his chair so quickly it toppled over, Eris wondered what was wrong with her? All the while ignoring that this was just a ruse to see her again rather than look for her around the palace. She was never around. Not at banquets or balls or even just walking through the halls.

Did she ever leave the library? Was she even allowed?

Why do you care?

He didn’t. She was obnoxious…and beautiful. And she wasn’t scared of him, which was a wholly new experience for Eris. All woman were a little scared and awed of him. Arina was merely annoyed. Why? Even here, the ladies regarded him with the same deference they paid his miserable half-brother. He supposed he was a decent consolation prize for any self-respecting woman.

Eris didn’t want a wife. Not from the south, or the north, or his own fucking kingdom. He just wanted vengeance, a thought so all-consuming that until recently, he’d never paid women much attention beyond a night in his bedroom. Eris hadn’t had to court someone—they made their intentions known and he merely barked out some orders.

Get on your knees was the usual, though he could be varied from time to time. No one had ever told him no and certainly never held a knife to his throat. He bet, beneath her flippant attitude, she was just as desperate to please as everyone else. And Eris knew the moment he walked back up there, she’d bow and scrape and all his interest would evaporate.

He could write that liars letter to Nesta Archeron.

So up Eris went, ignoring the soft clatter of dishes and the lilting chatter wafting up from the stairs just below. Fingers skimming the marble, his palms were sticky—from the heat.

And nothing else. 

It occurred to him only when he reached the library that Arina was likely to still be in bed. She had that kind of look about her—the same one that he had, he thought ruefully. It was too late to turn back now—he’d already been spotted by two philosophers, arguing over something that had kept them up all night, if the dark circles were anything to go by. 

If he turned back now, Arina would know what a coward he was. And Eris was hardly a coward. If she wasn’t there, he could insult her for her lazy ways. Women loved being insulted, right? He could practically feel his mothers displeasure which only soured Eris’s already bad mood. That mood was made worse when he opened the doors and found Arina sitting in a cushioned window seat with a frown on her face.

It wasn’t directed at him. In fact, Eris might have thought she hadn’t noticed him at all if he hadn’t turned to leave offended by the easy beauty radiating off her and she’d said, “Remind me, prince. A decade ago, what kingdom was invaded?”

“This is a strange insult, even for you,” he replied, gently closing the doors behind him, again, for reasons he couldn’t quite ascertain. “It was the Northern kingdom. Why?”

“No Southern? Not even little border villages?” she pressed, still staring down at a frayed piece of parchment in her hands.  

“That does sound like the kind of barbarity your king would enjoy,” Eris said, if only to get her full attention. Arina really looked at him, then, as if she was seeing him for the first time and it annoyed her. 

“You were privy to the peace talks, were you not?”

“Am I about to teach you about lying?” Eris replied dryly, not bothering to admit he’d been a child when those talks were going on. His father hadn’t allowed him in and everything Eris knew in the aftermath came from the mouths of tutors, and then diplomats. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because…” Arina bit her bottom lip, unaware of how Eris straightened his spine in response. “What are you doing up here?”

Eris blinked. “I came to demand you eat breakfast with me.”

You idiot.

Arina’s lips parted, mouth forming a soft oh. “If this about the other night—”

“It absolutely is about the other night,” Eris hissed, for all the good it did.

“We’re even,” she finished firmly, those eyes flashing. “You’ve done enough and I’m grateful for your intervention.”

“Have you ever killed a man, Arina?” he asked, daring a step toward her. She pulled her knees closer to her chin, still staring him dead in the eye. 

“No,” she whispered, as if admitting some heinous sin.

“Could have fooled me,” Eris conceded, still thinking about her knife against his throat. Why did he like that memory? And why was he adding, “Now it’s my responsibility to correct your inadequacies.” 

“Your—” she spluttered, setting the parchment to the side. “You have no responsibility to me, breakfast or otherwise!”

“So you won’t eat breakfast with me?” Eris asked, thinking that might be the easier sell. And maybe once he’d softened her up, he’d take her somewhere and—no, banish those thoughts before they unmake you.

Her eyes narrowed. “If I decline, are you going to threaten to tell the King what happened?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a bastard. You know that, right?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“You keep telling me so. It’s becoming humbling,” Eris admitted, his relief palpable. In truth, he had no intention of ever telling Helion anything, let alone about Arina. How the Southern King had found himself in possession of her was one thing. Potentially orchestrating her removal or worse was another.

“I don’t believe anything could humble the likes of you,” she declared, rising from her chair to let the verdant gown her wore tumble to her ankles. Golden chain straps criss-crossed against the golden brown of her skin while her hair remained utterly wild and yet somehow perfect—as if she’d woken up and carefully made curly waves of each individual strand. Maybe he was used to the glassy perfection of the women back home.

Or maybe deep down, Eris was jealous of how little she cared if he found anything desirable about her at all. 

“You were going to let yourself die for a book,” he said once she’d set her parchment to her desk.

“He wouldn’t have killed—”

“Yes, Arina. He would have,” Eris replied, his voice colder than he’d intended. “What were you thinking?”

“Why do you care?” was her easy, measured response. Her expression was one of academic curiosity—as if she’d stumbled upon some tangled mystery she hoped to unravel. And that was dangerous given Eris couldn’t find an answer that was dishonest, let alone truthful. 

“What a question,” he murmured instead, gesturing toward the door. 

She followed without complaint, still looking up at him with interest. He wished she’d return to her open dislike. 

“Why are you so interested in the end of the war?” he asked once they were out of her little sunlit office. She was a half-step ahead of him, unaware of how his fingers practically touched her bare spine. 

“Just…an off-handed comment about a survivor from the end of the war,” Arina replied, eyes misting over again. “From some unknown border village close to your realm. I’m trying to determine which village was destroyed but there are no records from that time period.”

“As there wouldn’t be. Our territory had agreed to cover a hundred mile radius between Rhodes and the border,” Eris replied, genuinely curious. “It would have been war with Allsfeld.”

“Perhaps they were mistaken,” Arina murmured, though Eris could see there was no doubt on the mistake—she knew she had the location right, which meant whoever had said so was lying. 

Or not who they said they were. Eris was curious enough not to press her further, nor did he take her into the banquet hall for everyone to witness. He had a suspicion she would hate being the subject of everyone's attention, especially if it was centered around him.

It was easy enough to arrange a little terrace table and have food brought to him, all with a snap of his fingers and a few harshly barked words. ‘

“You could be nicer,” Arina commented, as if there wasn’t fruit and bread and meat all situated before her. 

“I could be a lot of things,” Eris replied without ire. “Tell me more about this mystery village.”

“Why would I bore you with the details?”

“I don’t mind a little boredom.”

Arina sighed, drizzling honey over a piece of bread. “The time must be wrong—perhaps in the chaos, everything has melded together. Or…”

Eris was half grinning. “Or someone is lying. That’s what you think, isn’t it?”

“I could be executed for telling you all this, you know,” she bit back, color warming her cheeks. 

“I think I’ve established I have no intention of betraying you,” Eris replied, surprised by how truthful the words were.

Arina opened her mouth, likely moments from insulting him when her eyes snagged on something behind him. Turning, Eris caught a glimpse of Feyre Archeron rounding a corner, arm looped with some courtier he’d never seen before. Just behind the pair was his obnoxious brother and some guard whose name he didn’t know and didn’t care to know.

Eris shook his head. No, that wasn’t Feyre Archeron. Feyre Archeron was all sharp angles and scowls and this woman bore a strange sort of softness. She was far prettier than the younger Archeron and yet the resemblance…Eris couldn’t take his eyes off her. That was Nesta and Feyre’s hair, their features, their stature. He knew the shape of that face, the fairness, the shade of golden brown hair. 

He blinked and they were gone, vanishing down the open hall before he could truly assess whether he was right. Shaking his head, Eris turned back to his meal to find Arina watching him with mild interest. “Have you spoken to him?” she asked, misunderstanding what had caught him off guard.

That was an Archeron—he was certain of it. An Archeron dressed in Southern fashion but an Archeron none the less. Eris wasn’t the sort to find his guilt manifesting as beautiful women—and he didn’t feel guilty for ignoring Nesta, either. He knew she was entertaining Rhysand as they spoke and if she found him more agreeable, she’d honor nothing for their handshake. 

Eris was hardly a romantic. 

“Is this the part where I bare my soul to you?” Eris asked, his temper rising to the surface. Did she truly think he was about to tell her anything about his family?

Arina shrugged, a gleam to her gaze he swore hadn’t been there before. Her lips curved with a triumphant smile he couldn’t make heads or tails of. What was she so pleased about? 

“Did no one teach you how to woo a woman, Eris Vanserra?”

“Woo—” he spluttered, well aware his face was burning red. 

“Isn’t that what you’re doing? Courting me?”

Was he? Eris hadn’t thought about it, but now that he sat there, staring at her, he let himself imagine another man chasing after her. Fury replaced embarrassment. Well. That was damning, he supposed. 

So, like an absolute idiot, he heard himself ask, “What if I was?”

“You’re off to a bad start,” she said, ducking her head as she reached for a goblet of juice. “Though, I suppose the sunrise breakfast is a nice touch.”

As if he’d planned that out. What could it hurt, Eris reasoned as he stared her down. Inevitably, she’d do something that irritated him, thus severing the attraction he felt and he’d be free of her. And of everyone in this place, she was the most tolerable. The most knowledgeable, too. She could help him navigate the court of vipers that he found himself in, and if he was careful, might even divulge something she shouldn’t. 

There were no downsides. 

“Then yes. I suppose I am.”

There was that smile again. Eris couldn’t make sense of it, though he turned it over in his mind long after she’d departed with nothing more than a kiss he pressed to the back of her hand as he inhaled the sweet scent of vanilla and coconut. It was the look of a woman making a fool of a man. 

It took Eris the entirety of his day, until he was practically undressing, for the realization to come crashing over him.

Clever woman.

He found her just outside the library, clearly about to turn in for the evening. She saw him coming, shirt unbuttoned at the collar and his hair a little wild. “You,” he hissed when he saw her.

Arina grinned. “Oh, prince. I missed you, too.”

“You’re playing games with me,” he accused, earning a pretty laugh. She came to him, ignoring his crossed arms and his scowl. And when she leaned up on tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, Eris turned his head impulsively, capturing her lips instead. 

He’d meant to knock her off balance—to even the score between them. After all, she didn’t look as if she kissed very many men and Eris had it on good authority that he was very good at kissing. It hadn’t occurred to Eris, in the split second he decided, that he might like kissing her.

She didn’t do anything in half measures, he’d give her that. Rather than pulling away with a lady’s outrage—or slapping him, which aroused him more than he was willing to admit—Arina kissed him back.

Tentative, at first, eyes wide open to look at him. Is this what we’re doing? Those eyes of hers seemed to demand.

Eris yanked her closer.

Yes, he decided because gods above, she tasted sweet. Her lips parted, allowing him to indulge which was a mistake he couldn’t rectify. It was Eris who groaned, taking a step backward to try and push her against a wall. He wanted more of her, against reason or common sense. He barely knew her.

But he wanted her. 

What would Helion trade, he wondered?

His court would assassinate him if he brought home a foreign wife.

He didn’t care. This wasn’t about marriage, besides. 

It was Arina who pushed him back, lips swollen and out of breath. “What games am I playing?” she half whispered, looking as off-balanced as she had the night he’d rescued her from death. 

Eris had forgotten why he’d come. “You…kiss me again,” he ordered, reaching for her face. Arina ducked deftly, just narrowly avoiding him. “What games am I playing, Eris?”

“The one where you refuse to kiss me again,” he snarled with frustration. “You know.”

“I know a lot of things. Be more specific and I’ll entertain the thought of kissing you again.”

Growling softly, he whispered. “About the princess.”

Arina’s eyes brightened. “I didn’t know. Not for sure—not until just now.”

“This could start a war if the North learned,” he breathed, advancing on her. Eris didn’t give a fuck about Nesta Archeron anymore—and he didn’t care about his own vengeance, either. He only cared about the woman in front of him and all the things he could do to her before the sun rose again. He’d worry about this revelation in the morning. 

“They won’t,” she whispered, letting him wind an arm around her waist. “You’re going to keep this between the two of us for now.”

“Or what?”

She inclined her head. “No threats, Eris. You’ll keep this secret because I asked you to.”

And he knew, deep down, that she was right.

Another day without a letter from the unreliable bastard known as Eris Vanserra. Why had she thought seeking his aid was a good idea, anyway? He was likely too busy cavorting with Southern whores to be of any use to Nesta, who didn’t want such a well-used husband, besides. Not one who had that sort of reputation, at any rate. 

Which made Rhysand a bad option, too. The problem with rejecting the King of Velaris was it left only one good, viable candidate— Graysen Nolan. And Nesta would be damned if she married a Nolan. Bigoted and frankly, a little stupid, Nolan was everyone’s choice for king except hers. This was supposed to be the only alternative path. Graysen was merely a nobleman’s son—Rhysand and Eris were kings, or they would be one day. They came with military might, with land, and all the richest their kingdoms commanded. Graysen could hardly compete. 

Sighing, Nesta plopped onto a bench out in the courtyard, staring upward at a moody sky. Now Eris was gone and Rhysand wouldn’t stop staring at Feyre long enough to even pretend he had a passing interest in her. 

Nesta could arrange Feyre’s marriage—if she hated her sister, which she didn’t—to Rhysand. And in turn, he’d get to whisk her away to the mountains, subjected to his whims which Nesta didn’t think would be cruel, but would certainly be perverted.

And having spent the last week getting to know him, she loathed the thought of making him happy.

Nesta was floundering, her whole life hinging on the decisions of men. It was unfair that she could be better than all of them, the first born of her family and heir apparent, and still be required to get married simply to access the inheritance the rest of them got merely by existing. 

“I’m tired of men,” Nesta announced to the wet footsteps just behind her. 

“All men? Or would you make an exception?” Cassian inquired, sitting on the bench so his back faced her and he faced the palace while she looked out at the courtyard. 

“Especially you,” she lied. He was always looking at her, of course—but he mostly kept his distance. 

He rose to his feet to leave, irritation rolling off him in rippling waves. She almost let him leave but at the last moment, Nesta swallowed her pride and whispered, “Wait.”

Cassian hesitated, the mist pasting the white shirt he wore to his bulky chest. She rather liked seeing him in something other than the menacing armor he wore—he looked like a real man and not a conquering god. She could see how careful he was being—like she was some kind of wild animal and any wrong move would send her fleeing.

He wasn’t totally wrong. 

Though she resented that after a week, he’d figured that out. Stop watching me, she wanted to scream. Why was he the only one who seemed to notice her? “About the sword…”

He couldn’t suppress his smile. “You’re not planning to assassinate my king, are you?”

“I don’t think he’s in danger of marrying me,” he replied, catching the creasing frown on Cassian’s face. Was he blind, or just oblivious? Rhysand couldn’t drag his eyes off Feyre long enough to answer one of Nesta’s inane questions, let alone propose marriage. And Nesta couldn’t help but feel a little relief, though it was mingled with a hearty helping of dread. “Will you?”

Nesta didn’t have time to teach Cassian about Northern politics. If Eris wasn’t going to help then Nesta needed a new tactic—and it didn’t involve cutting Graysen’s throat in his sleep should a marriage contract be drafted between them.

She read. Men overthrew governments all the time. How hard could it possibly be? A good number of nobles liked her at court—if she could call more of the far flung families back, Nesta could spend the summer winning their approval and planting the seeds of dissent. 

Though…she didn’t know if she could kill her father. 

She’d figure it out as she went. For now, not dying in her sleep felt important and it had nothing to do with wanting to see more of Cassian. He was an unwanted, unneeded distraction, besides…and yet…

“Of course,” Cassian agreed, pulling her from her blood-tinged thoughts. “In the morning, just after breakfast.”

Nesta nodded, wondering where they’d even manage to do this. It wasn’t as if they could just train out in the open and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—fling open her bedroom door and let him stroll inside. 

“I know a place,” Cassian continued, reading her like a book. Nesta glowered up at him, crossing her arms over her chest for all the good it did. The man killed people as an occupation and she imagined there was nothing about her that scared him.

Which was unfortunate, given how everything about him frightened her. 

Why couldn’t he be the prince—stop it.

“Shall I meet you here, then?”

Cassian shrugged his broad shoulders, outlined beneath the shirt he wore. He hadn’t bothered to lace up the neck the way so many other nobles did, nor did he put a tunic over top of it which would have given him the appearance of a well-bred gentleman. No, Cassian seemed to have made peace with the fact that he was who he was and she liked that. 

“Wherever you like, Nes,” he replied casually, unaware of how the nickname clanged through her. No one else would have dared. Cassian didn’t look as if he’d even noticed he did it. Did that make her like him more or less? “I’ll find you.”

“Just like that?”

Cassian’s hazel eyes gleamed, the brightest thing in the gloom. “I could find you anywhere, princess. Don’t concern yourself with me.”

“I never do, Cass,” she snapped back, catching that half feral smile spreading across his handsome features. 

Cocking his head, head tilted toward the misty sky, Cassian murmured, “My name sounds good in your mouth. I’ll see you tomorrow, princess.”

He left her there wishing he’d called her Nes instead. Wishing he’d stayed. And Nesta knew no matter how she tried to distract herself, she would be counting the minutes until he did find her. Nesta decided to make it a game just so she could prove him wrong which might settle her racing heart down.

He was just a man, and men were always disappointing. 

Nesta dragged herself out of bed early enough to avoid Cassian. She went directly to the kitchen for breakfast before marching across the palace to the room that had once belonged to her sister. Nesta liked to read in the window alcove overlooking the sea, which had once been one of Elain’s favorite places. The garden was nothing but bones, but Nesta had screamed and fought to keep Elain’s room intact rather than turned into another bland, uninspired room for the roaming nobility. 

Elain wasn’t coming home but that didn’t mean she needed to be erased, either. Everyone wanted to pretend she’d never existed. Nesta wouldn’t let it go. Forgetting or forgiving had never been one of her virtues.

She’d leave that to Feyre.

She didn’t believe Cassian would find her here, and thought even if he did, he wouldn’t dare step inside. And yet…she heard the heavy steps on the stone before she saw him and swore his presence made the walls shake with anticipation.

Perhaps that was just her.

Cassian seemed wildly out of place among the cream and rose and tulle, though he managed not to seem too awkward about it. Looking around, she thought she saw the spark of recognition.

“How did you find me?” she asked, hating the weariness in her voice. Why had she allowed him to?

“You know how,” Cassian replied, his eyes settling on her. “Do you want to go? Or would you like to talk about it?”

Nesta had never spoken of Elain’s death. Feyre had internalized all of it, blaming herself and Nesta had been paralyzed with fear. What did she say? Their father had become a walking shell of his former self, grieving the daughter he’d loved best and the wife he’d genuinely loved. Someone had to take care of things and without Elain, the responsibility fell to Nesta and Feyre. 

They’d swallowed their grief and held the court together lest someone try and overthrow their family. They’d  become sharp—ruthless—in their pursuit of it. What would Nesta even say? That she missed her? 

She didn’t think Elain would be very proud of what had happened in her absence. 

“I have no interest in speaking to you,” she hissed, drawing those walls up high. This was her fault—she’d brought him here—and yet Cassian wasn’t supposed to comment on it, either. He was supposed to say nothing, to not care the way everyone else did. Nesta knew, as she stood, that she’d brought him here to prove he wasn’t any better than the rest of the men in her life. He was just as disinterested, just as scheming, just as power hungry as the rest of them.

She could have softened, just a little. Nesta felt the compulsion warring with the urge to hurt him the way she’d been hurt. Maybe Cassian felt it, too, because he waited until her back was facing him to speak.

“My mother was murdered when I was a boy,” he said, clearing his throat so the words were crisp. “I know how it feels to lose someone you love.”

“How?” Nesta heard herself asking, still refusing to look at him. 

Cassian blew out a breath. “She had me out of wedlock. My father, he…well. He was a piece of shit, let's leave it at that. In some places in the Spine, that sort of thing still matters and the village she lived in decided it was better to rid themselves of her than to let other women think it was okay…” Cassian choked off, not out of misery, but rage. The sound was enough to turn her head, to look at his anger. 

“How old were you?” she asked, hating how badly she wanted to touch his hand.

“Three. Old enough…old enough to remember just enough, but too young to really understand what I lost.”

“What happened to you?”

Cassian shrugged, his jaw clenched. “I grew up in training grounds and war rooms.”

He seemed born for it. It was impossible to imagine Cassian as anything but a warrior, but right then, Nesta wondered who else he could have been. A farmer, perhaps? A poet? A scholar? It seemed distinctly unfair that one person could make a decision and irrevocably alter whole lives without any thought or consideration. 

She took a step toward him. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Cassian’s expression softened. “Don’t be. I had my revenge.”

All the air in Nesta’s body left her lungs in a rough exhale. “How?”

“I went back as a man and rounded them all up. I spared the innocent, but everyone else…I let them meet the man they made.”

I let them meet the man they made.

“I’ll never get that,” Nesta said, her despair coloring her words. “He got to march an army into my home and kill my sister, my mother…and life just goes on.”

Cassian regarded her for a moment without words. “You’d need an army if you wanted vengeance, Nes.”

“The military answers to my father,” was her perfunctory response.

“Imagine if they didn’t,” Cassian replied, dropping his voice to the softest whisper. 

“I imagine so all the time,” Nesta heard herself admit. Treason. This was treason and she was stupid to confess it to a foreign King's general. All Cassian had to do was turn around and tell Rhysand, who would have an absurd amount of leverage against her. It would have been Nesta’s word against Cassian’s, and if someone was feeling anxious about her rise to the throne, she’d be thrown into the tower until they decided what to do with her.

She could be executed for it. 

“I’ve seen your men,” Cassian told her, his words careful. “They couldn’t take on the worst of the southern’s forces.”

She suspected this. Helion had decimated them a decade earlier and rebuilding took time and effort. Their navy was pitiful, their army small and their coffers all but depleted. Eris Vanserra had been her best option and he’d vanished and for all she knew, was having some beautiful, heartfelt reunion with the mother who’d abandoned him.

And Nesta hated Rhysand. Hated him more than was fair, partly because he was arrogant and smug and partly because she wished Rhysand was Cassian when she knew she shouldn’t. How was she supposed to marry a man all the while wishing she could have married his friend? And Nesta wasn’t naive—she didn’t expect love. But there was something particularly cruel about wanting someone you knew you could never have.

And Cassian was someone she could never have. 

“Come on,” Cassian murmured, pulling her from her thoughts. “Let’s put a sword in your hand, at least.” And when he went to follow her, fingers brushing her back, Nesta didn’t pull away. Maybe it was foolish.

But she trusted him.

It ought to have been a quiet night, lounging in an uncomfortable bed while listening to the world rage just outside thin windows. Rhys had a book and a carafe of wine he intended to down until he forgot about blue eyes and freckles that looked more like a constellation of stars. 

The muffled voices of Azriel and Cassian were immaterial to him—and deeply disinteresting until his bedroom door flung open and Cassian appeared, wet and mudstreaked.

And angry.

“What happened?” Rhys asked, only a little drunk. 

“Are you planning to marry Nesta Archeron?” Cassian asked, crossing his arms over the leather armor he wore. Behind him, Azriel shook his head no in warning, eyes wide. 

Be careful what you say.

In all the years Rhys had known Cassian, he’d seen him worked up a handful of times. They’d raged in the camp, at the people who’d killed his mother, and at Rhys’s father before they’d eventually overthrown him. And Cassian had taken lovers in between all those moments, declaring he would die a bachelor surrounded by…well. Perhaps it was better not to say.

Cassian looked like he wanted to get his knuckles bloody and if Rhys didn’t know any better, he would have said it was about a woman. 

“You know I have no intention of marrying her,” Rhys replied evenly. Rhys was too fixated on her sister, for starters, to even give Nesta the time of day but the little he’d spoken to her reaffirmed that he and Nesta were more likely to kill each other before they enjoyed marital bliss. “Did something happen?”

Cassian clenched his jaw, eyes too dark to be rational. Oh.

“We should leave this place,” Cassian said, his words catching Rhys off guard. “They’re no threat to Helion. I nearly killed one of their boys masquerading as a warrior with a wooden sword today.”

“And if she married Vanserra?” Rhys asked, swinging his legs off the bed casually. How far could he take this before Cassian exploded? And what then? Even if Cassian had developed feelings for Nesta—which didn’t seem possible given what an Ice Queen she was—there was no possibility in which Rhys could put them together. No way he’d give up his general even if it meant Cassian’s happiness.

With Nesta Archeron? No. In Rhys’s mind, he took Feyre back with him, rescuing her from this powder keg masquerading as a kingdom and let Helion absorb all of it before Eris Vanserra could get his talons into it. 

Cassian turned, slamming his fist into the door frame which did nothing to the structure but likely wrecked Cassian’s hand. There it was. 

“You know better—”

“You don’t know what she’s like,” Cassian snapped, his voice dripping with anger. “You’ve already made up your mind about her.”

“So enlighten me,” Rhys replied, knowing this was folly. Cassian’s lips pressed into a bloodless line, daring Rhys to punish him for disobedience. Oh, they were so fucked. If Cassian did anything with a princess, they were likely to execute him and Rhys didn’t know if he’d be able to intervene. 

If Helion called on them for help taking the North, it had always been Rhys’s intention of answering that call. Cassian would have to lead the charge. Would he? Would Cassian let his soldiers sweep into Ellesmere knowing they might accidentally kill Nesta Archeron? Would he take her prisoner, force her to live in Rhys’s court against her will? 

Never once since he’d met Cassian had Rhys ever doubted his loyalty. 

He did right then.

“Go cool off,” Rhys ordered when Cassian said nothing. He didn’t want to hear how sweet and soft Nesta Archeron could be. Not from Cassian, who ought to know better. Cassian did as he was told, shaking out his hand before storming out, leaving Azriel and Rhys staring at the other.

“Don’t,” Rhys warned.

“I didn’t say anything,” Azriel protested mildly. 

“What the fuck am I going to do about this?” Rhys demanded, turning toward a window. 

“We could leave,” Azriel suggested, again, without any emotion to his words. They could have been talking about the weather, could have been discussing a nice pair of wollen socks.

“Archeron isn’t going to hand you his youngest daughter.”

Never mind that Feyre hated him. Archeron had made it abundantly clear that Feyre wasn’t available, either hoping for a better alliance with his eldest daughter or some misguided attempt at protecting Feyre. 

“And if we left?”

Azriel sighed. “Nolan intends to position his eldest son for the throne. He’s a viable candidate and preferable to Vanserra.” “And if she declines?”

Because she would. Nolan couldn’t give Nesta what she wanted, which was a standing army capable of devastating destruction. He’d table her obvious ambition and if he was smart, he’d make her a mother before the ink dried on their contract. 

“A coup,” Azriel replied, plopping into a chair. “And Nolan will likely marry one of the Archeron’s anyway, if only for legitimacy. We should leave.”

But their presence was keeping everything calm for the moment. No one wanted to start a fight Cassian might be able to easily end, nor did they want Rhys to lay claim to their hard work. He couldn’t help but wonder if Nolan wouldn’t pick Feyre, too. Could he stand to see another man marry her?

No.

Rhys had to do something. Had to figure out his own careful alliances before the end of the summer. 

Fuck.

He was just as stupid as Cassian. 

“I want you to go see Helion. Get a read on what’s going on down there,” Rhys said, wondering if there was any way to salvage the impending storm. How many of his own soldiers could he march into Ellesmere before it began to feel like an invading force? And how did he tell Archeron his nobles might be revolting beneath his nose? Did he? 

For now, the answer to that was no.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” Azriel promised. “You need to be careful, though.”

“They can’t hurt me,” Rhys replied with false bravado. Azriel caught him immediately.

“They could. And they would. Keep Cass close, alright? Don’t needle him too hard about Nesta…she’s not that bad, you know. She’s just sad.”

“Why would Cassian want to be around that?” Rhys scoffed, hating the look of sympathy in Azriel’s eyes.

“Two weeks enough?” Azriel questioned.  

“Unless you think you need more.”

Azriel only nodded wordlessly, saying nothing as Rhys swept from the room. It was foolish to think Azriel didn’t know exactly who he was looking for or why marrying Nesta felt so offensive to him. Azriel knew everything—it was his job to know, though he liked to pretend he wasn’t a busybody, too. 

She wasn’t even trying to hide from him. And this time, when Rhys found her at the top of that tower with the bow and quiver of arrows, he asked, “Can you use that thing?”

“Want to find out?”

She turned, her braid draped over her slim shoulder to look at him. “Yes.”

Maybe she heard the desperation in his voice. Or perhaps he was simply winning her over with his refusal to acknowledge the word no. Feyre swung her legs off the edge of that window and reached for her weapon, her face hidden in shadow. “Could you use it?”

“No,” he admitted. Rhys had never had that kind of aim or the patience required to sit and wait for someone to come within range. He liked to be in the middle of things, sword in hand but even that had been diminished since he’d become king. “You could teach me.”

Feyre considered this for a moment before jerking her thumb over her shoulder. “It’s too wet for today.”

She tried to push past him but Rhys’s body took up the majority of the doorway. Fingers catching around her wrist, he asked, “Who are you waiting for?”

Feyre tried to pull her hand away but Rhys wasn’t done touching her. Tell me you’re in love with another man so I can let you go.

“He’s not coming back…and if he did…” Feyre bit her bottom lip, her expression coming into view of the flickering candle nearby. “If he did, I think I’d kill him.”

Oh.

So this was the man she’d slept with—the man her father decided had irrevocably tainted her. Rhys wanted to see it.

“Call him back to court,” he murmured, catching her by surprise.

“Is this some kind of ego—”

“I would like to watch you kill a man. Is that so unbelievable?” he asked, keeping his usual amusement from his tone. It was too much to bare when she came closer, her free hand appearing just below his neck holding a lethally sharp blade.

“What if the man I kill is you?” she asked. 

Rhys’s whole body went taut with excitement. Wrapping his fingers around her own, Rhys forced her to press the blade a little rougher against his skin—until it pierced the fine fabric of his black tunic and he could feel the point directly against his clavicle. 

“I’d like that, too.”

“You’re sick. Do you know that?”

“Yes,” he breathed, unable to drag his eyes off her. “You’re the sickness, Feyre.”

“You should stay away from me,” she replied, not pulling away but not pushing any harder, either. Reckless, Rhys didn’t move either. It would have been so easy for her to kill him. They were alone and he was an outsider. If she killed him, she could say he tried to force himself on her.

Cassian and Azriel would have no choice but to flee rather than risk their own executions and without an heir or clear line of succession, his home would be thrown into turmoil while the warring members of his family vied for control. 

“I don’t want to stay away from you,” Rhys told her, deciding at the last minute it was better not to add that he couldn’t. That if he couldn’t convince her to love him back, he’d merely steal her away in the middle of the night and insinuate he’d ruined her so she could never return.

Mor would kill him for it, of course, but what was the alternative? Never seeing her again? 

Rhys would rather she kill him right then and there. 

“That doesn’t sound very smart,” Feyre replied, pulling from his grasp and taking a step back. She sheathed her blade in her boot before elbowing him hard in the ribs to escape him. He didn’t bother with a response—let her have the last word. Rhys was too busy grinning.

Unwilling to admit that the only good idea he’d ever had was her.

[the-bar-sinister]

Matcha and Blue Moon for the selfship ask game!

Thank you so much for the prompt! :D

ask game link

matcha: what kind of gifts does your F/O give you? Are they always buying you little presents or do they invest only in larger items for birthdays or holidays? blue moon: is your F/O very routine-oriented or do they like to go with the flow? How routine-oriented are you?

Jewels from the Sea (909 words) by thesavagesabretooth

Hancock couldn't seem to predict what Luffy was going to do from hour to hour, let alone day to day. Despite the fact that this was supposed to be one of his 'rest' days during his training instead of lounging around the palace, today he'd had her pack a lunch and dragged her off to a rather lonesome but beautiful beach at the edge of the island.

The scant remnants of the rather handsome boxed lunches she’d packed now sat in their lacquered wooden boxes in a pile on the edge of the woven blanket she now sat in the center of. Warm kisses and stories about his training were shared aplenty between them, and now Luffy had taken to running here and there through the sand and just on the edge of the shallows while she watched with a fond smile.

He was an enigma, at least to a woman so used to firm routine and a certain expectation for her days as queen of Amazon Lily. But an enigma held her attention…it drew her eye.

She wasn't sure what he'd been doing as he ran to and fro in the sand, but now she noticed that he had stopped and sat down a little way away from the surf, and seemed to be intently occupied with something in his lap.

She stood in a long-legged and elegant motion, dusting sand from her lap as she sauntered over towards him on quiet footfalls to sneak up behind him with a curious half smile. 

There was a spool of hemp sitting next to him and he had an oversized needle in one hand. He noticed her coming despite her quiet approach and craned his head. He gave her an enormous grin.

"Don't look yet, give me one more minute!"

Hancock held her hands up with a low chuckle and a smile. 

“Of course, darling.” 

Even so, her curiosity welled within her as she paced her way instead to the ocean, letting the water lap against her feet with the strange tingle of powerlessness as it sought to sap the demon power from her with every wave.

“The ocean is beautiful isn’t it?” She mused as she resisted the urge to look over her shoulder and see just what he was up to. 

"It is," Luffy said, his voice partially covered by the sound of the surf. "When I was little I used to love swimming. I still love looking at it."

She heard a little clinking noise coming from his lap.

He was making something…jewelry perhaps? Or perhaps some sort of trinket…

She laughed. “I absolutely agree with that. I love watching the waves stretching out to the horizon. When I was a child, I too loved to swim…to bathe in mother ocean. Now I’m content simply to look at it and appreciate its power.” 

"It's hard to look at something and not be able to have it, huh?" Luffy huffed and shaked himself off almost doggishly before he jumped to his feet. "Alright, you can look now!"

She'd been right in her guess– when Hancock turned to see, Luffy was holding a necklace made of bright blue and white shells, all carefully strung and knotted together.

“It certainly i–” She stared at the necklace with a gasp, her fingers against her lips as she watched the pearlescent shells catch the waning sunlight.

When she was a girl, she’d appreciated the beauty of the sea’s gifts— shells, polished rocks, and driftwood. It struck that place, deep inside her, to see the lovingly created necklace of simple shells dangling from his fingers.

“It’s beautiful, Luffy.” 

"Come here." He grinned at her, his large, dark eyes bright and playful as he stood with it in his hands.

Hancock, the Pirate Empress, hurried over with an almost girlish excitement. She bent low, her hair framing her face as she smiled widely at him in return.

He lowered the necklace carefully over her head and adjusted it around her neck. His warm, rough fingers brushed on her bare skin as he carefully settled it in place.

"There!"

Hancock shivered with a joyous grin before her fingers rose to brush the shells where they rested just under her throat. They were smooth against her fingers, and carried the scent of the bountiful ocean with them…

She felt her face heat up as she looped an arm around Luffy to draw him close. “It's lovely, darling Luffy,” she murmured fondly. “I haven’t gotten a gift like this in a good long while.” 

He scooped his arms around her, and rested his head on her chest, just under the dangling shells. "I know you already have a lot of pretty jewelry, but I wanted to make it for you."

Hancock’s fingers toyed with the ends of his hair as her chin rested atop his head, the pitter patter of love’s hurricane swirling inside her. She had all the jewels in the world— a trove of gold, silver, jewelry and priceless artifacts all taken in conquest of her enemies…

But there was something so priceless, so heart warming about a gift created for her by someone she loved.

“It’s all the more special to me for that, Luffy. I’ll wear it proudly, as a memory of the one I love.” 

Luffy looked up at her with his warm, dark eyes, and smiled happily, swaying back and forth with her on the beach.

"I'm glad."

[randomfoggytiger]

Collector's Edition: Sins of the Eaten Flesh

Ah, yes. Cannibalism.

**Note: Will ghost edit later.**

Loose chronological order below~

@gilliansanderson/spensierata's Caccia e dintorni

Now they’re out here playing marco polo with a man last seen tearing out a cop’s aorta with his teeth, but Mulder has her eyes and she has his firearm. The wind picks up, howling in her ears and swallowing her name.

There's a heart-eater and a bright light in the forest.

@lokisgame/Lokisgame's The Selkie Godmother

Scully took off her coat and left it on a chair by the table. A little surprised "Hi" was all she could manage. Seeing him doing something other than reading or watching TV was rare to say the least. Mulder stood with his arms elbows deep in the fish tank and it looked as if he was vacuuming it.

The interesting habits of Mulder's odd fish.

@seek-its-opposite's AU where Queequeg doesn't die?

Later, with wet hair and a dry sweatshirt, she takes the dog into the yard to do his business before the long drive, and Mulder leans on the door frame and imagines a whole new natural order. He imagines Scully on vacation, driving the Blue Ridge Parkway with the windows down and never shivering with him on a rock in the dead of night. He shouldn’t have joked about cannibalism. He’s already consuming her, a little more every day.

AU-- Quagmire Queequeg doesn't die.

EvanBlack's WHITEOUT

DAY THIRTEEN

He had made her a crutch from a twisted piece of metal wrapped in clothing. She could only make short journeys, but she only had a short journey to make.

She came back into the cave and fed him the meat. 

Mulder, Scully, and a plane crash... and unfortunate survival options.

jordan's Alligator Moon

He shook his head and she could feel him pulling away from her as he got to his feet, some kind of thing he did without making any physical gestures, just a withdrawal of attention. She felt a sudden pang of loneliness for the Mulder that had only a moment ago been so tantalizingly near, her old friend, the man she trusted with her very soul. Now the stranger was back, distrustful, wary.

In desperation, she said, "Tell me about the Windigo, Mulder. What is it supposed to be?"

Post FTF Mulder and Scully iron out their frustrations surrounded by wendigos, suspicious white powder, and-- seemingly-- no way out.

Exley_61's Dark Side of the Moon

"How do you like yours, Fox?"

I twist my gaze around to digest the vision of my father but not my father, wearing his Chef Boyardee hat and an apron that demands, "Kiss the Chef".

I'll pass on that.

Amor Fati Mulder watches in horror as CSM and his family eat his barbequed body.

@aloysiavirgata’s (Ao3, WBM, Gossamer, LJ, Alt. LJ)

Prompt: post-millennium Mulder teases Scully about being into dead people

Upstairs he’s cranky as a toddler, complaining as she fusses with his arm. He says he’s fine, swats her lightly. Scully throws her hands up, goes to the kitchen for arnica and an ice pack.

Post Millennium Mulder and Scully dead people banter.

@enigmaticdrblockhead's Looking Forward to the Abyss

“People think when you die, you go to heaven or hell. But people never think about what happens if you come back.

“Well, Mrs. Scully…I do. Because I did die, on a case. They killed me, and they foolishly thought to bring me back. They were religious too…although…”

He couldn’t help but smile now. It was a joke and he knew the punchline. How could he not smile.

AU Mulder relishes the carnage he wrecked after Scully's death.

XSketch's (mulderscreek) Silent Night, Painful Sight

He blinked several times, disorientated and mistaking the air-filled bag his face was snugly pressed against for his bed pillow at home, until the freezing chill of the air stabbing at his skin registered and dragged him back to reality...as well as the pain radiating from the left side of hairline.

AU-- S9 Mulder and Scully investigate a cannibal case... or do they?

@dreamingofscully’s (Ao3, WBM) Surely, to the sea

Drip, drip, drip…

Her eyes flew open. Instead of moonlight, a sickly green glow bruised the inky darkness. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, wishing she could pretend this was a nightmare. 

AU-- Married paranormal investigators Mulder and Scully investigate a haunted house with secrets layers deep... and, perhaps, bite off more than they can chew.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[clarissaexplainsbatchall]

A Violent Peace

"I want those tanks," he said as his saber came down towards her head, but the flat of Clarissa's rapier knocked it aside just enough for it to pass a few centimeters past her ear and she retreated a step.

Lord Henri Mattemeo of Escobas was dressed in his military uniform of tight black pants, thigh high boots and a dark purple jacket with gold piping. He looked every bit the defender of his land and from the sweat beading on his smooth shaven dark face he seemed intent on proving it.

Clarissa wore her Sea Fox dress uniform of white pants, black boots, blue double breasted jacket with lines of gold buttons running up her chest, and a pair of thin glasses from behind which her impossibly pale white eyes refused to focus on anything. Her rapier raised once again, the point brought up directly between his eyes and her own. "The prove it, Lord Mattemeo."

Off to the side of the opulent sitting room their wine glasses were left half full on a side table, the bottle forlornly alone nearby to keep company with the plush leather chairs which they had so recently occupied. The skin of some exotic beast, black and vicious, lay before a roaring fire which kept the cold of the raging winter storm beating at the windows at bay.

Mattemeo was much larger than her, two meters of muscle and arrogance to her one and a half of reserved grace, which is why he had chosen this contest. Assuming equal skill, as he was right to do considering that they were both career soldiers, his mass would easily win out in a contest of blades. And it was going as he had predicted.

Every time their swords clashed Clarissa was forced back, one step at a time. Now her back was almost against the glass doors leading to the balcony and she could hear them rattling in their frames as the snows and winds pounded against them demanding entry to the palace.

He came again, his heavy cavalry saber once more coming in from above to beat away her defenses, and it was the moment that Clarissa had been baiting. Her parry switched from four to one. Her hand raised, the tip of her blade dropped nearly vertical to the ground and she met the blow. It was laughably ineffective and never to be used against strikes to the head, much less overhand ones, but she had been watching his strikes, studying how he liked to come down.

His saber rang hard, not against her blade, but against the basket hilt of her rapier, knocking it the sword completely out of her hand, but his saber rebounded up a few centimeters out of his control. It was enough.

She stepped into his guard, grabbed the font of his jacket in one hand, and with a movement like waves rolling over rocks she threw Mattemeo to the ground. His sword went clattering across the waxed wodden floor and she rolled over him, planting her knee into his chest and kneeling on him, her left hand pressed against his throat. They were both breathing heavy, and he stared up at her with a look of shock which slowly broke out into a wide grin, "Marry me."

"I would prefer not to," Clarissa said calmly, then pressed her hand a little harder into his throat. "Do you yield?"

He nodded, laughing, "I know when I'm bested. I suppose the Free World's League will have to do without those tanks." She stood and offered him her hand, which he took as he levered himself back up to standing and straightened out his now bunched up uniform jacket.

"In this place, at this time, the medical transports will serve your people better, Lord." She slipped her rapier back into its scabbard and went back towards the wine.

"If you won't marry me will you at least be my mistress then?" He said this with a rakish good cheer, and it stopped Clarissa mid step.

She turned her head, facing him not with her eyes, but with her ear, half hidden under the fall of white blonde hair that had come loose from her bun during the fight. She smiled. "I will return. When I do I will be bringing with me a dropship converted for use as a hospital. If you purchase it and leave it as is then I would be impressed with your character."

Mattemeo laughed again, "I thought you clanners were all about the wars and the fighting. Your whole culture is based on it."

At that Clarissa's smile fades. He was right. An entire culture based around violence, blood and death as a means to every end. It was the core of her society, even, as a Warrior, her life. And yet... "The IlClan has emerged. Peace and unification is finally possible. We should start acting like it, quiaff?"

"Aff," Mattemeo laughed. "Come. Let's finish our wine and toast to peace wherever we may find it."

[eikonoklast]

Day 26 (Zip): Compression//Repetition

   Minimas hovered around the dam as Thancred ran his hand over its smooth black surface. The rain hammered down on the rocks, running in small streams down to the ravine below and further soaking the three as it trickled onto the stone bed. Alphinaud was providing a soft blue light with his nouliths as the two examined the structure for a possible entrance. Minimas stared into the depths at the strange lights below, fretting they'd have to enter the water. He'd never learned how to swim. 

   “Aha!” Thancred exclaimed with a grin, his fingers finding a nearly perfectly-concealed button on the surface. He nodded to his companions as they stood back and away from him while he pressed it. The metal cracked open with a whoosh of air as it slid upward into the roof, bearing a darkened doorway. Thancred motioned quietly, stepping inside. Alphinaud soon followed, with Minimas bringing up the rear a few yalms back; the solid surface sliding closed behind them.

   

Silver ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He'd taken his regulator from the station's module as fast as he could, immediately transforming and breaking down the door. The capsule was forgotten as a wave of emotions roiled inside him like a dark sea: thoughts and feelings not his own started to assault him in a jumbled, incoherent mess. He couldn't make sense of their contents but he immediately understood something was wrong.

   This was a trap.

   Origen's request rang in his ears like the beating of his heart; the words almost drumming against the inside of his skull. A ceaseless command echoed over and over in time with his steps as he ran out of the facility, leaping over terrified members of the crowd. He wheezed as he landed with a heavy thud at the bottom of the stairs, immediately bolting for the nearby conveyor. A cough strangled its way out of his chest and he could taste the copper tang of blood. He clenched his teeth and pushed it down. 

   “I'd like you to die for me.”

   Like Hells I will.

   He ran on, dashing over rooftops alongside the high streetlights, panting and pushing as hard as he could. As he landed on the rooftop of Neon Stein he hopped down to the entryway. As soon as the sliding door began to open he forced it the rest of the way, his large frame bending the metal as he tore his way into the building. Melancholy was behind the bar, her eyes huge and terrified. The bouncer immediately came over and stood in front of her, pulling out an electrope gun and leveling it at the beast that had just broken in.

   Silver quickly changed back, his heart racing and his lungs burning. “Have they left yet? Where are they!?” he shouted, coughing. Blood speckled the floor in front of him. He gasped, falling to a knee as the pain caught up with him. His head spun. “Where…? Are they outside? I have to…” he collapsed to the floor, wheezing. “I was supposed to…” he reached for his regulator as it whined. He pointed to it as best he could. “In here,” he whispered.

   Geode burst from the command room to see what was going on. Silver's eyes flicked up to him and he kept tapping his regulator as he wordlessly blacked out.

   

Minimas’ eyes glowed red in the dark space as he crept behind Alphinaud. It was incredibly dark, the only illumination coming from snakes of violet light climbing the walls. Pipes filled with water rumbed as they descended a dark staircase past closets of maintenance equipment. Thancred seemed suspicious of the back wall as he felt around, his deft fingers reaching through the darkness towards a lever. He pulled and white light flooded the room, nearly blinding the three. Minimas’ eyes widened.

   “By the Twelve,” Alphinaud breathed. 

   The sound of water bubbled around them as heart monitors beeped gently in a steady rhythm. The hallway was bathed in white and blue light, the walls lined with large cylindrical tanks; a dozen on each side. At the end of the space was a massive holding tank all on its own, teeming with souls. The device was so full the little lights continuously bumped into one another, lazily drifting about. Along the walls in the smaller cylinders were bodies. Beasts on the right hand side of the hallway - all suspended in liquid. On the left were…people.

   They floated peacefully in their tanks, their regulators glowing soft white as they faded in and out, their lights slowly pulsing. They appeared to be almost trapped in sleep, oxygen masks covered their faces and nodes attached to their chests to monitor breathing. Minimas looked over them, not recognizing anyone. A few tanks were empty of their supposed occupants, their water drained and nearby manifests blank.

   At the far end of the room Alphinaud froze, his eyes wide. Thancred was checking the beasts’ tanks to ensure none of them were actively going to attack, his fingers leafing through their screens to read the biometrics. Minimas approached his friend, careful not to trip over any of the cables or wires strewn about the space. 

   Alphinaud was looking at the screen of the far tank, his fingers tapping away. Inside was…Silver. His unmistakable grayish skin and violet hair drifted gently in the water as he slept. Minimas stared, confused. “What?”

   “I wouldn't touch that,” a voice chided from the corner of the room. Minimas nearly jumped out of his skin. A young hyuran man in a flowing white lab coat stood leaning against a doorframe that led further into the facility. “My boss is quite fond of that little pup. It wouldn't do to wake him early.” He had long blonde hair and glasses, his eyes the color of amber. 

   “He's not yours to do with as you please!” Alphinaud whirled around, his blue eyes smoldering with a fire Minimas had never seen before. 

   Thancred appeared next to the young man, holding a blade to his throat. “You're going to tell me who is in charge, here,” he insisted, pressing the tip to the man's neck. A drop of blood gently trickled down and he smiled. 

   “I won't stop you. I've been given orders to let you take this one once he's ready.” He pointed to the tank. “But he's running out of time. This is his last chance to show us something for our efforts.”

   All of a sudden the facility's lights switched off, plunging them into darkness. Red backup lights pulsed and an alarm droned. The sudden silence brought into contrast the sound of a scuffle outside, electrope weapons firing and a monster snarling. The hyuran man seemed to vanish like mist as Thancred looked around, clearly furious. Alphinaud was still frantically trying to understand the pad next to the tank as it shone brightly in the dark, illuminated in reds and shifting whites from the light of the souls.

   The sounds of fighting slowly abated, plunging the facility into silence as the rain continued to drone outside. There was a soft clattering sound as something came down the steps - the noise from its passage uneven and labored. Minimas bristled and Thancred stopped looking for his quarry in the dark as he stood next to him, weapon drawn.

   Silver came hobbling down the stairs clumsily. Blood soaked his muzzle and chest, his lavender eyes tired. His fur was scorched and burned off in places and one of his electrope guns had been destroyed where it would normally rest on his shoulder. One of his ears had been blown clean off and he wheezed, collapsing onto the floor. His breathing was labored and he choked, blood gurgling out from his jaws. Thancred dashed up the stairs behind him, disappearing out into the rainy night.

   Minimas ran to Silver, his eyes wide with panic. “What? Where were you!? How are you here!?” He hovered, frantically looking him over, unsure what to do. “Alphinaud! Please help him!”

   Silver's leg twitched as he weakly tried to gesture something. Minimas remembered immediately he couldn't reply and tapped his regulator, watching in horror as his friend lay there on the ground, painfully changing back to normal with a shudder. 

   He lay still for a moment. Too long. He looked small and disheveled in the dark. Finally he gasped, his body twitching as he breathed. “...ok?” he murmured.

   Minimas nodded furiously. “Yes! We're fine! We didn't even know there was an ambush…” he trailed off as Silver's eyes glazed over, his regulator beeping once and then going dark.

   “Silver?” Minimas pushed him gently with a shaky arm. He didn't move.

   “Give me his regulator, Minimas!” Alphinaud's voice snapped from across the room. “I think they wanted us to find this place!”

   Minimas sat where he was, stricken. He stared at his friend's lifeless body on the floor, his mind devoid of any call to action. He had never seen true death before. He nudged him again wordlessly, disturbed by those sightless lavender eyes.

   Alphinaud walked over to Minimas, placing a hand on his shoulder. “His memories and soul are in his regulator,” he reminded the young fighter calmly, his voice cutting through like a splash of cold water. “They're stored there after death. In that small space.” He spoke slowly, his tone even and soothing. He reached down towards Silver's regulator as Minimas simply stared, unsure what he meant. He grabbed the device gently, carrying it to the tank on the far wall. Minimas numbly watched him from where he sat on the floor as Alphinaud opened the panel and placed the regulator inside. It slid down into the housing with a beep.

   The young elezen stood awash in the bright blue light from the tank of souls as they drifted gently; illuminating the room with soft moving shadows in the dark. Minimas noticed his hand tremble slightly as it was balled into a fist at his side, yet his countenance was otherwise confident and assured. “This will work,” he said quietly. His eyes met Minimas’ own from across the room where the transfigured fighter knelt by his friend's body. 

   The regulator in the tank slowly began to beep in response. The heart monitor began to trill faster, and the tank's occupant opened their eyes slowly. Minimas stared dumbly as Silver placed a palm on the glass, looking around. He seemed a bit dazed but completely fine otherwise. 

   Alphinaud's expression was unreadable as Minimas walked over, putting his hand up against his friend's. “He's…he's fine,” he breathed, staring. “How…? How is he in two places at once?” he looked at Alphinaud, perplexed.

  The young elezen's lips were pursed tightly as he stared ahead at nothing. “He's a clone,” he murmured.

Author's Note: I still have a few cards left to play, so I hope you like this one! I know I've already told some people Silver's little secret but tbh I hope it isn't too far-fetched for anyone to have simply just guessed ages ago. Still, a proper explanation is in order and…we'll get there. I'm just glad this time he got to die on his own terms. Definitely. Chiteni is incredibly protective just…as a person in general and Silver actively feels that same urge. So he simply had to be there. Even if it cost more than he had. But maybe someone was expecting that too, no?

[freshairforrabbits]

WIP Wednesday

Totally not doing this as an excuse to see other people's writing (/no pressure but also I am a greedy little cretin who devours people's writing like delicious treats)

This is for 'pretty boy snuff film' and probably long as hell for a wip snippet, but fuck it.

Tags: Max Patel PoV, themes of death, nothing too wild but it is pretty boy so y'know Jake's doing rough as fuck and everyone's struggling

For all that Max understands about the demons that continue to gnaw on his brain each night between the RDA's thundering fistful of bullets and hellfire, he knows that this one is going to haunt him.

The way he leapt out of the Samson, made his way across the rocks on Norm's blue heels, only to watch as Jake was sliced up under that flashlight beam.

Max's stomach had done a sudden colorful tango so violent he felt all the blood drain from his face when it exposed every inch of his friend's condition. Jake's arm thrown up to shield a face that was gaunt, limbs thinner than Jake had been even that first day in the avatar, skin wrapped tight as shrinkwrap stabbed through with more stripes of ferocious, pulsing red than dark blue. Max pinpointed what looked infected, what was half-healed, the hypertrophic ridges of the oldest wounds stitched by too much collagen, electrical burns stretched up from Jake's neck, to his chin, his cheek— all with a practiced eye, second nature.

Signs of atrophy, Jake's ankles shaking. Wobbling across the jetty's slick rocks far more than they should with each heavy-footed step, tail swinging listlessly without acting as a counterbalance, burns on the tips of Jake's ears, chunks cut out of pinna the way Max once notched cloned cattle ears back in undergraduate research labs. Pupils slightly different sizes under the harsh light Max cuts across Jake's frame just to be sure it's him because Jake's familiar-unfamiliar silhouette backlit by all those stars is moving the way hordes of the undead in old films do, bioluminescent freckles dulled as well. A blood curdling paranoia grips Max, mind firing illogical cylinders that he quickly places under control with a swift self-assurance that this is the man he's known for years and not some strange, warped imposter wearing Jake's skin.

Jake's skin….skin smeared with bruising like an impressionist painting, a deep gouge in Jake's upper lip. This small upside down triangle carved through the flesh exposing the barest hint of teeth. Leaving a deep trail of grey-pink slashed all the way up across his left cheek, through his brow. Jake falls to his knees as he hands off that RDA soldier, the enemy he clutches to his chest as if she's a daughter. A smile, desperate and stained in the warm clutch of eclipse's dark.

Jake's knees crack rock again because Max is a little too caught up in the mixture of relief, trepidation, the pound-thud of his heart as he presses the comm button on his mask and lets Neytiri know they found him. Inadvertently blinding Jake under the white sting of the flashlight in his hand with the movement, again. Against all odds; it's him, it is, he's alive, a given definition of safe.

Her voice cracks back through on a sob that is quickly wiped out the way Max has heard her smear her emotions into nothing for the past six months. After losing Neteyam, after losing Jake, after High Camp came under fire and they were forced to fight, to flee with their tails between their legs to the reefs of the Eastern Sea, the rest of the Omatikaya splitting off to New Kelutral. Families fractured and communities shattered on repeat.

Stumbling across First Reef like a miracle, setting up a base of operations with the rattle of death in their bones. After Max found her in Awa'atlu with Jake's rifle in her hands, field stripping the weapon with a jagged clumsiness that comes from burnt palms still healing, cleaning it as her bow sat gleaming in front of the marui's waxflower hearth fire–

She hasn't been the same, tackling the world with a bite to her fangs, a cold glint to her eyes, a ferocious protectiveness extended out across every blue body under her charge as a resistance leader with her face broadcasted across the metal snare web of the RDA's influence; Kill On Sight. Throwing herself into her work as healer and warrior without a proper night's sleep left to take. Her children watched carefully by the village, the aytsantu— Wanted, Marked for Death, targets painted on them, too— when she's not around, they grow cold and distant in their own ways, but he knows they're all trying desperately to cling to what they have left. Sometimes it feels like that's all they can do in-between the days that rumble with the apocalypse.

Rutal of the Ta'unui, Saeyla of the Omatikaya, sometimes even Ronal and Tonowari, many more coming together; all watching over the children. All coming together to make sure Neytiri eats, sleeps, and takes care of herself, Rutal especially, they seemed to be the one to get her to step away from her self-destructive path the most. Of all of them, Rutal was the one who managed to calm Bob down, Jake's ikran snapping at the others, drawing blood in a frenzy that first night after the explosion, when Bob had to practically be dragged away from circling the wreckage of the drilling rig over and over, screeches turned to whistled whines.

It only stood to reason Rutal would wind up being the one to eventually get Neytiri to sit down at the Metkayina mo'ara for a few hours to redo all her braids– shorter than they used to be when she was forced to chop off the parts that had burnt, the ones she cut in mourning.

And the scientists, they were trying their best. Him and Norm spent many a quiet day showing Tuk videos of her dad, letting her place the prettiest shells she found on the shrine near the BioLab's aluminum shack living quarters beside the rest of the numerous offerings for the deceased. The lost, the ones they have never been able to find. Pictures hung in homemade frames of lovingly crafted wood, beads, flax, symbols from their own beliefs, their gods carried over to this new world. Jake's photo rests there, one of his entire family, something taken back at the old settlement near Hell's Gate. Kiri, Lo'ak, Spider placing their own offerings, exchanging out the old fruits, the sweet meats, participating in something they don't have to, but sharing in it nonetheless.

Kiri always staring with a distant look, ears twitching as if she could hear something. Grace and Trudy and Sylwanin placed right by Jake, Tsu'tey's visor beside them.

Neytiri only stopping by with fresh bruises and scuffs from the latest guerilla fight as she would gather Tuk up in her arms, the girl tucked up under an Olangi saddle blanket, laying on a floor cushion that's too small for her by the shrine, curled around a holopad paused on the next video of her dad's human face. Neytiri lingering by the offerings, her eyes tracing a line across the ever increasing number, low tables built from driftwood to add to the space they had, she would cast a look towards Max as he picked up the holopad, shutting the screen off. Every time she had something like death wreathed around her shoulders as she then dipped her head, turning to duck through the airlock. Tail low, ears back.

Death chasing them relentlessly, change forcing their hands. To see Jake sprung back from the grave and not just his voice crackling through the comm is a haunting in itself, striking Max like a puncture wound, hurting in a way that doesn't make sense, horrifying in a way that he can't compute. Because death has its fangs sunk in Jake's neck, that much is obvious, holding him like a palulukan ready to make her kill. Untold fallout from something mapped across Jake's body, but all they have is what they can only guess.

And more, so much more, a rattling, wheezing of fluid in Jake's lungs that Max could hear through every second of Jake's sudden twist into begging as Norm held Jake up. Jake cowering, something that wrapped talons around Max's throat and made him seize in place at the sight as Norm locked panicked eyes with him. As Jake went from curling in, clutching at Norm's hand like a lost child with his eyes rolling, wide and seeing nothing, to blinking, shaking his head with a rough jerk, snarling, shoving Norm off. Snapping just like Bob had.

Wounded, with only threats spinning in his gold eyes.

Tagging @this-world-of-beautiful-monsters @kayjaydee17 @adrixagr and anyone else who sees this who wants to share their work! (Again no pressure!)

[weirdstrangeandawful]

Part I – The Wreck

TW: shipwreck, implied mass drowning

Word count: 1340

Table of contents

Part II – A Night to Remember ->

It is nearing sundown. The Sun’s yellow rays finally pierce the storm clouds as the seas calm after what had been an intense storm. The HBMS Resolute, a rather lacklustre cutter with a noticeably shorthanded crew, heads toward a mass of debris. Quinn stands toward the bow, looking out. Even without saying a word, they appear slightly standoffish.

“Careful! Don’t get too close to the rocks,” they call out, “I recommend we stop advancing here, sir.”

Carroll, easily picked out as captain despite their contemporary lack of uniform, responds. “Agreed. Full stop! Get out the boat.” He turns to the rest of his ship’s command – Quinn, Helen, Ethel, and Rowan – and points out the obvious, “It’s definitely a shipwreck. And a bad one at that.” He turns to his surgeon of a second mate, “Looks like you’ll have work, O'Friel.”

Helen, a powerful-looking woman held together by sarcasm and wit, turns to Carroll and points out dryly, “If there’s anyone alive.” Her eyes scan the wreckage in vain.

Under Carroll’s direction, a selection of their crew row out among the debris. The tiny rowboat makes the wreckage seem even larger as they navigate between torn canvas and driftwood that was once a ship. The Resolute’s crew seems to collectively hold its breath as the rowboat manoeuvres gently back and forth, scanning. They ready themselves to turn back.

A commotion over what looks like the remains of a mast. Somehow, it had kept two people afloat. The rowboat team helps them out of the water gently but efficiently. They check further along the mast, finding a third person. He is slender, barely holding his head up in the frigid water, and tangled in several ropes. After a brief struggle, the exhausted rescue is free and slowly helped into the rowboat before they head back to the Resolute.

The rescues receive a subdued but warm welcome when they arrive, shivering, drenched, and exhausted, on board the Resolute. The first two find a quasi-sheltered place to sit nearby. The third, now appearing even skinnier as his sodden clothes cling to his frame, lies coughing up saltwater on the floor of the deck. Helen moves swiftly to make sure he’s all right, kneeling without hesitation on the damp wood of the deck next to him.

Carroll, ever the captain, reluctantly presses, “What flag do you sail under?”

The first rescue, sitting a little ways away with his companion, replies, “The Union Jack, sir…” He trails off, glancing up at the bizarre flag the Resolute is flying – a White Ensign sporting a deranged Union Jack with rather less white and prominently displaying the Cross of St. Patrick. He shakes his head, confused, before looking again to Carroll. “As do you,” he finishes the sentence.

Carroll acknowledges with a sharp nod and presses on, “Rank?”

“Don’t quiz them,” Helen interrupts, soft but firm.

The first rescue responds, “Midshipman, sir.”

As does the second, “Able seaman, sir.”

Carroll acknowledges each with an efficient nod. He turns to the third rescue who is now sitting braced against the rail, dazed but recovered slightly at Helen’s hand. He is shivering violently.

“And you?” Carroll asks. “Rank?” he tacks on when the rescue looks confused, having misplaced the thread of the conversation.

He responds timidly through chattering teeth, “Name’s Kyte, sir. I haven’t got a rank. I’m not a sailor and I’m certainly not Navy.”

Helen interrupts once again, this time through her teeth, “Stop quizzing them!” She punctuates her order by turning on her heel and ushering the midshipman and able seaman below deck and out of the wind.

Carroll takes off his jacket and drapes the thick dark blue fabric over Kyte’s shoulders, hoping to quell his shivering slightly until he gains the confidence to move. “If you’re not a sailor, how did you wind up in the wreckage?”

Kyte wraps his arms around himself, sitting up slightly straighter and drawing Carroll’s jacket closer. “Got pressed, sir. I work as a sailmaker ‘round the port.”

Carroll, noting Kyte’s returning confidence, calls out to his crew, “Get us back to port, our escort was over half an hour ago.” His eyes soften as he turns to Kyte, “Let’s get you below deck.”

They head below deck, Kyte slowly, shyly, following Carroll, struggling to stay upright with the ship’s motion. Carroll guides him patiently, sending him down the hatchway before he struggles down himself with practised inefficiency. The first two rescues are sitting on a bench, wrapped in a blanket together to warm up quicker. The way they lean into each other suggests they are closer than the law permits. Not, however, closer than Carroll encourages.

Helen pipes up, her concern now beginning to fade. “How long were you in the water?” she asks, directed at no rescue in particular.

The midshipman, who understandably seems the most comfortable, responds, “Corsairs got us just before the storm rolled in, ma’am.”

“That’s a good half hour.” The concern returns to Helen’s face along with shock. “Let’s get you all back to port and warmed up.” She tosses a blanket to Carroll, noticing Kyte swaying slightly next to him, independent of the ship’s motion. “Get him warm,” she instructs.

Carroll nods, unfolds the blanket and drapes it over Kyte’s sodden clothes, giving the shaken sailmaker a quick hug. Kyte presses himself into Carroll at the opportunity, trembling. His arms move around Carroll’s sides and he seems unable to command them to let go. The young captain, feeling Kyte’s clearly-mostly-subconscious resistance, holds him more firmly despite his wet clothes.

“Ethel,” he calls to his first mate, “Get us back to port safe for me?” Carroll glances subtly but pointedly at the shivering sailmaker gathered in his arms.

“Yes sir,” Ethel responds, efficiently. She heads to the upper deck where the rest of the crew remains.

Quinn, now astern but with an entirely unchanged demeanour, stares at the mass of wreckage receding slowly behind them as they make their way back to port. Their fingers rest on the open page of their weather logbook, unmoving over the neat columns of numbers. Their experience as sailing master shows in the decisive scrawl, the way “Master’s Log” presides over the page with unimpeachable authority, the slight pause before the last two digits of 1763 as they reflect on the few but long years that have ticked by.

“Three people…” they whisper to themself. Three people are all we pulled out of the wreck of what had been a massive ship, they think, What if we left someone behind, they continue, unable to free themself of the quicksand of ‘what-ifs.’

Rowan shows up behind them, over six feet tall and towering above Quinn who isn’t slight themself. Despite his size and tank-like build, he has an ever-present kind look in his eye and a slight fragility about him. Only the slight creaking of the deckboards alerts Quinn to his delicate presence.

“You all right?” he inquires softly, concerned in his heavy Scottish accent.

Quinn, in sharp contrast, grows prickly, “Yes. Fine.”

Rowan matches their tone but warmly, “No. Not fine.”

“Go away.” Quinn takes a breath. Rowan is just concerned. Wrongfully so, but concerned nonetheless. How is he to know? “I’m tired. Sorry,” they explain gruffly, hoping this is enough to shake Rowan off for the time being.

“Not all wrecks end badly, eh?” Rowan pushes, “It’s how we ended up with you.”

Quinn withdraws into themself. This isn’t what they need to hear. This isn’t what they ever need to hear. No one wants to be reminded of a wreck, let alone one like…

They respond softly, almost in a whisper, “Yeah…” and walk off to yell orders at someone. They’re heading back to port after all. How dare the gunner get in their way? There’s no discipline here – not like a Navy ship anyway. Carroll could really do to bring some around.

Rowan shakes his head, equal parts exasperated and worried as he takes Quinn’s place in watching the receding wreckage float lifelessly into the rocks.

Edit: fixed the soft-return that was bothering me, changed a first name to surname in dialogue, historical accuracy

[witchywriterlythings]

Something This Way Comes

Chapter Fourteen: My Godly Family Reminds Me of Gabe

As we skyrocketed up into the earth, all of my forced confidence fell away as it finally hit me what was happening. We’d wasted all of this time when I’d had the stupid thing all along! My mother, my cousins. I couldn’t get them out.

"How do you control these things?" Annabeth shouted as she tried to back away from the ceiling coming ever closer. 

"I don't think you do!" I shouted back as I tried to trust in my stepmother. What belongs to the sea will always return to the sea. The others screamed as the bubbles slammed into the ceiling and…Darkness. We were going up, right through solid rock as easily as an air bubble in water.

I thought the bubbles would pop once we broke through the ocean floor, but they continued racing upwards until we hit the surface, popping with enough force to make minor waves rolling away from us. 

We knocked a surfer off his board with an indignant, "Dude!" but he seemed okay so I didn’t focus on him. 

I grabbed Grover and hauled him over to a life buoy, right before he started sinking. I caught Annabeth and dragged her over too. A curious shark was circling us, a great white about eleven feet long. I didn’t have the patience to be nice and simply snarled at it. The shark turned and raced away.

The surfer screamed something about bad mushrooms and paddled away from us as fast as he could.

Somehow, I knew what time it was: early morning, June 21, the day of the summer solstice.

In the distance, Los Angeles was on fire, plumes of smoke rising from neighborhoods all over the city. There had been an earthquake, all right. But at the moment, the Underworld’s anger wasn't my biggest problem.

“We have to get to shore,” I said as I glared out over the open water. I’d been tricked and boy if I wasn’t ready to let loose. 

A Coast Guard boat picked us up, but I was too busy focusing on keeping my appearance human to think about much of our interaction. My insides were itchy like I was having an allergic reaction, my eyes probably blown wide my teeth too sharp. My own blood tasted salty on my tongue.

After reaching dry land, we stumbled down the beach, watching the city burn against a beautiful sunrise. 

"I don't believe it," Annabeth said. "We went all that way—"

"It was a trick," I said. "A strategy worthy of Athena."

"Percy..." Annabeth said sharply, before releasing a breath. "I'm sorry about your mother. And Bianca and Nico…."

I pretended not to hear her. If I thought about them all, I would throw her the backpack and return to the underworld with nothing else to lose. 

"The prophecy was right," I said. "You shall go west and face the god who has turned.' Someone stole Zeus's master bolt, and Hades's helm, and framed me because I'm Poseidon's kid. Poseidon will get blamed by both sides. By sundown today, if we don’t return the bolt and the helm, there will be a three-way war."

Grover shook his head, mystified. "But who would be that sneaky? Who would want war that bad?"

I stopped in my tracks, looking down the beach as sulfur and fresh blood wafted our way. I wasn’t sure if he would have the stones to face us. "Gee, let me think."

There he was, waiting for us, in his black leather duster and his sunglasses, an aluminum baseball bat propped on his shoulder. His motorcycle rumbled beside him, its headlight turning the sand red.

"Hey, kid," the god of war said, seeming genuinely pleased to see me. "You were supposed to die."

At first I wasn’t really sure what to do. His aura was pressing in around me despite how benign it was. Almost as if it was simply spreading around without his control. 

“Why?” I wasn’t sure what came over me but all of a sudden I wasn’t angry anymore, I was tired and didn’t want to keep holding everything together anymore. “Why did you lie like a coward, hide like one behind this bag?” I threw it down in the sand. “Why all this baseless destruction?” 

The god shrugged but his knuckles went white on from gripping the bat too hard. “Why not?” He swept his gaze over the city with a lazy head turn. “Us gods gotta getr with the times. War is turning away from honor and courage. It’s now only violence for the sake of violence. Someone attacks, others defend, everyone takes a side and nothing resolves until everyone is dead.” 

“Is that really all it is now?” I feel the words slipping past my tongue before I can stop them, despite my teeth clamping together. “I thought you would know better, A-re.” 

He full transformed this time to a warrior in full armor, the metal plating lined with dark red leather and heavy stitching as the metal laid over itself to create a tube of metal protecting him. The layers across his shoulders bent upwards to account for his arms holding onto his sword, with a very long and narrow blade and rounded shoulders which ended in hornlike lugs. 

The old god raised an eyebrow at us. 

Annabeth sucked in a breath. 

Grover actually whimpered. 

A-re grinned after a moment and started to look me over. “It’s been a long time since I had a child of old, but I do recognize the signs. For this and this alone, I will explain.” The backpack Ares gave them in Denver was enchanted. It is the master bolt's sheath. So, just as Riptide always finds its way back into my pocket, the master bolt would find its way into the backpack as soon as I made it into the underworld. “No offense, boy—” he cut himself off by turning back into his old (new?) form. His head shifted like he heard something, his face going slack. 

“Sending the bolt to the Underworld wasn't your idea, was it?" The pieces of the universe that usually slipped away from me started coming back together into a new picture. 

He snapped out of his daze to glare at me. "Of course it was!" 

"You didn't order the theft," I guessed. "Someone else sent a hero to steal the two items. Then, when Zeus sent you to hunt him down, you caught the thief. But you didn't turn him over to Zeus. Something convinced you to let him go. You kept the items until another hero could come along and complete the delivery. That thing in the pit is ordering you around."

"I am the god of war! I take orders from no one! I don't have dreams!"

I hesitated. "Who said anything about dreams?"

He snapped his fingers, not bothering with pleasantries now that he was exposed. The sand exploded at his feet and out charged a wild boar. The beast pawed the sand, glaring at me with beady eyes as it lowered its razor-sharp tusks and waited for the command to kill.

I stepped into the surf. "Fight me yourself, Ares."

The rest of the fight was a blur. At some point I stopped caring if I was redirecting his swings with my claws or my sword. The mist was doing all the work anyway, right? Keeping everyone from seeing us? Who cared if his slashes glanced off the few times he was able to get close to my arms? I knew my mom always wanted me to hide from Their sight, to keep Them from finding out what I truly was. But today? With war coming in the morning with no end in sight? 

On the cusp of my father’s domain, the cold of the water spraying at my feet, nothing could touch me. Not even the God of War himself. 

It all ended when I got him in the surf, the current bending to my will as my anger pooled at my feet and started to churn thicker as ice chunks appeared. With the water reacting the way it was, it was easy to disorient him with a wave to the face. I bluffed a hit towards his side with my sword before swiping at his ankle as I dodged his counter-attack, my claws dragging across his Achillies. I would tell Annabeth later, she might enjoy the irony. 

The roar that followed made the earthquake look like a minor event. The very sea was blasted back from the god, leaving a wet circle of sand fifty feet wide. Ichor, the golden blood of the gods, flowed from a gash in his boot. 

A-re appeared again, the gold of his blood following the path of his sandaled feet. His roar quickly turned to laughter as he ripped one of the tassels off his shoulder to press to his wound, stepping further onto the sand to avoid the tide coming back in force. “Good fight, child. You are most certainly your father’s son.” 

 Before I could respond, his face darkened and he was again back in his other form but this time it was clear it wasn’t his choice. He sort of flickered, like an old movie skipping. Then the world turned dark, as if a cloud covered the sun, but worse. Light faded. Sound and color drained away. A cold, heavy presence passed over the beach, slowing time, dropping the temperature to freezing, and making me feel like life was hopeless, fighting was useless.

It was only a moment but I couldn’t stop the hiss that seeped through my teeth. 

The war god looked stunned.

“Beware, Perseus Jackson," he whispered, though his voice boomed over the empty beach. “You may have old blood, but there are things even older than your father. And the more of the old world you try to bring back, the more that will find you.” 

His body began to glow.

'''Percy!" Annabeth shouted. "Don't watch!"

I turned away before I could disintegrate into ashes. 

The light died.

I looked back. The tide rolled out to reveal the Underworld’s bronze helm of darkness. I picked it up and walked toward my friends. I could already smell the leather and sulfur that came with the demon grandmothers all together, the kindly ones they’d been called. 

The middle one, the one who had been Mrs. Dodds, stepped forward. Her fangs were bared, but for once she didn't look threatening. She looked amused as she took in my extended claws and bared teeth, right back at her. “You amuse me, demigod.”

I tossed her the helmet, which she caught with a smirk. 

"Live well, Percy Jackson. Become a true hero. You are being watched by more than just the Gods, so please do continue to be interesting." Then she and her sisters rose on their bats' wings, fluttered into the smoke-filled sky, and disappeared.

I joined Grover and Annabeth, who were staring at me in amazement.

"Percy ..." Grover said. "That was so incredibly ..."

"Terrifying," said Annabeth.

"Cool!" Grover corrected.

I wanted to laugh at Grover’s excitement and tell Annabeth I was okay, but my mind couldn’t move from that moment before the war god disappeared. "Did you guys feel that... whatever it was?" I asked.

They both nodded uneasily.

"Must've been the Furies overhead," Grover said.

I looked at Annabeth, and an understanding passed between us. I knew now what was in that pit, what had spoken from the entrance of Tartarus.

I reclaimed my backpack from Grover and looked inside. The master bolt was still there. Such a small thing to almost cause World War III.

"We have to get back to New York," I said. "By tonight."

"That's impossible," Annabeth said, "unless we—"

"Fly," I agreed.

Flying was the worst experience of my life and I had lived with Smelly Gabe for years. With my stepfather, he was predictable in his violence and his drinking. It wasn’t hard to figure out his routines and patterns, when to avoid the apartment and when he would go ballistic if I wasn’t home. 

But airplanes weren’t under my control or had patterns I could recognize or learn, only my uncle’s anger and his unpredicatability. Even when we hit the ground and were running away from the media, all I could think was that I was going to actually have to face the god who wanted me dead. And not for any real reason, just for existing. 

When we got to the taxi stand, I put a hand on each of their shoulders and tried to look between them as a best I could. “We need to split up.” 

Annabeth immediately opened her mouth to protest while Grover looked resigned. 

“You have to get back to Camp Half-Blood and tell Chiron what happened, okay? They need to know so they can prepare for what’s coming.” If things went wrong, if the gods didn't believe me ... I wanted Annabeth and Grover to survive to tell Chiron the truth. 

“You don’t get to just send us away now! We have to go with you!” For a moment I thought Annabeth was going to complain about me taking all the credit, but I shouldn’t have been surprised when she clenched her hands into fists. “Whose going to watch your back? Vouch for you? Grover can go back, talk to them.” She glared at me when I didn’t immediately jump on board. “You are such a…seaweed brain! You don’t have to do everything alone!” 

“THIS! This I have to do alone.” I stepped away from them with a half smile, pressing my fingers inside my mouth to give a taxi whistle. “I’ll see you back at camp.” 

Thirty minutes later, I walked into the lobby of the Empire State Building. It wasn’t hard to convince the security guard to let me through, all I had to do was show him the bolt. The hard part, the hard part of it all, was trying to rein in everything that would out me. 

Mount Olympus smelled like a meadow full of wildflowers, a thousand different kind spread over the grass while the breeze carried them over to me. 

Muzak played, "raindrops keep falling on my head...." from the still open elevator doors.

As I walked around, I found myself comparing the scenery to the Underworld’s Palace. Did my father create this place when he was king, mimicking the world he was forced away from? I would have to ask Annabeth about the architecture to get an idea of when it was from. 

Steps led up to a central courtyard. Past that, the throne room.

Room really isn't the right word. The place made Grand Central Station look like a broom closet. Massive columns rose to a domed ceiling, which was gilded with moving constellations.

Twelve thrones, built for beings the size of Gods, were arranged in an inverted U, just like the cabins at Camp Half-Blood. An enormous fire crackled in the central hearth pit, but this time the little girl goddess wasn’t tending to it. The thrones were empty except for two at the end: the head throne on the right, and the one to its immediate left. I didn't have to be told who the two gods were that were sitting there, waiting for me to approach.

My uncle smelled of ozone, while his aura brushed over me like a mix between down feathers and the graze of claws. He wore a dark blue pinstriped suit. He sat on a simple throne of solid platinum. He had a well-trimmed beard, marbled gray and black like a storm cloud. His face was proud and handsome and grim, his eyes rainy gray. 

I wonder what he thought, seeing me. If he saw his brother’s child or just a nuisance. 

I turned my gaze away from him as I moved closer. The god sitting next to him was his brother, without a doubt, but he was dressed very differently. He reminded me of a beachcomber from Key West. He wore leather sandals, khaki Bermuda shorts, and a Tommy Bahama shirt with coconuts and parrots all over it. 

He looked nothing like what I imagined my father to look like and it wasn;t hard to separate the two versions of him in my mind. This wasn’t him, but it was the god who my mom fell in love with. I approached the fisherman's throne and knelt at his feet. "My lord." I dared not look up. My heart was racing. I could feel the energy emanating from the two gods, the heavy currents of the sea whipping around a cyclone. I had interrupted an argument. 

To my left, the King God spoke. "Should you not address the master of this house first, boy?"

I kept my head down, and waited.

"Peace, brother," the fisherman finally said. He was studying me, catching all of the ways I was different. My only hope was that his brother was too prideful to look at a demigod. "The boy defers to his father. This is only right."

They spoke back and forth, volleying arguments over me like mortals might pass a ball. I was simply an any beneath them. Hoping neither cared enough to step on me. 

"Perseus," the fisherman said eventually. "Look at me." 

When I did, I wasn’t sure what to think of him. He was clearly unsure what to do with me and that was fine. I didn’t know what to do with him either. Why was it so much easier with his wife? Was it because I wasn’t her husband’s bastard? Only her friends? 

"Address Lord Zeus, boy," he told me. "Tell him your story."

I turned my head back to the King and began weaving one like Annabeth at a loom. She’d told me once that all of the Grey-Eyed Ones children knew how, with varying levels of skill, and it was one of the things she could do but didn’t really enjoy it. 

This felt like that. Like I could tell him of traveling across the country and fighting Medusa, but I didn’t like twisting the truth of it. I could have told him the truth, all of it, but there were parts of my life I never wanted to fall under his domain. I cut the Di’Angelo’s out all together. No reason to draw attention to them if they were already found. 

And when I got to the part about my fight with the War God…I paused. 

“Speak, boy,” the King demanded. 

“The God of War was waiting for us on the beach when we escaped. He said we were meant to die…that the pit was supposed to take us. I’ve been dreaming of it.” I described my dreams, and the feeling I'd had on the beach, that momentary breath of evil that had seemed to stop the world. “Ares was saying something but once it passed, he simply left. Like he was ordered.” 

"You are accusing Hades, after all?" the King asked.

Are you saying that you think your own son would betray you for him? I wanted to ask, but I bit my tongue and took a breath. “No, Lord Zeus. It was the same thing I felt when I got close to that pit, outside of the Underworld’s Domain. That was the entrance to the below, wasn't it? Something powerful and evil is stirring down there...something even older than the gods."

“He’s stirring brother,” the fisherman said in Ancient Greek, speaking softly enough that I was able to understand him before he was speaking too quickly for me to keep up. I was better with the Olde Tongue anyway. 

Again they volleyed back and forth until finally the King raised his hand in an immature way of silencing his brother. "We will speak of this no more," he said. "I must go personally to purify this thunderbolt in the waters of Lemnos, to remove the human taint from its metal." He rose and looked at me. His expression softened just a fraction of a degree. "You have done me a service, boy. Few heroes could have accomplished as much."

"I had help, sir," I said.  "Grover Underwood and Annabeth Chase—"

"To show you my thanks, I shall spare your life. I do not trust you, Perseus Jackson. But for the sake of peace in the family, I shall let you live."

"Thank you, sir." 

"Do not presume to fly again. Do not let me find you here when I return. Otherwise you shall taste this bolt. And it shall be your last sensation."

Thunder shook the palace. With a blinding flash of lightning, the King was gone.

I wasn’t sure what to say to the fisherman once his brother was gone, especially when he shrunk down to stand next to me in the form of a man. “It is best if we don’t speak for long, I am unsure how long I can hold this form in your presence.” 

“But—” I flinched back at his raised eyebrow. “Of course, my lord.” 

A faint smile played on his lips. "Obedience does not come naturally to you, does it?"

"No...sir."

"I must take some blame for that, I suppose. The sea does not like to be restrained." He chuckled lowly as he looked out of the throne room wistfully. "Your mother was stubborn too, always so wild. Not even the Underworld could hold her, she has now returned."

I almost collapsed in relief at having one piece of my family back, but his hands on my shoulder’s kept me steady. 

"You will find her at home. My brother sent her when you recovered his helm. The Underworld always pays his debts." His eyes took on a little sadness when I just nodded, maybe hoping I would ask him to come with me. Even if it wasn’t possible. "When you return home, Percy, you must make an important choice. You will find a package waiting in your room."

"A package?"

"You will understand when you see it. No one can choose your path, Percy. You must decide."

I nodded slowly, still unsure of what he meant.

"Your mother is a queen among women," he said wistfully and his form flickered to that of a warrior, similar in style to the War God’s but lined in a dark blue almost black and something heavier and darker than bronze. "I had not met such a mortal woman in a thousand years. Still ... I am sorry you were born, child. My children always suffer more than others, and I never want you to feel that pain."

I wasn’t sure how to take that. Here was my true father, not some younger version of him, telling me he was sorry I was born. But he was also clearly upset at the thought of me suffering. “I’m a survuvor father. My mother raised me to be nothing less.” 

He smiled and suddenly I could see where I got it from. His teeth were lined like a sharks, with blood crusted on a few of the tips. I smiled back and he laughed again. "You did well, Perseus. Do not misunderstand me. Whatever else you do, know that you are mine. You are a true son of mine." He placed his hands on my shoulders for a moment, pressing his forehead to mine, before he turned me away. 

I didn’t have to look back to know he was gone. 

I don’t remember how I got there, but I was suddenly in front of my mom's apartment door, ringing the doorbell, and there she was—my beautiful mother, smelling of peppermint and licorice, the weariness and worry evaporating from her face as soon as she saw me.

"Percy! Oh, thank goodness. Oh, my baby." She crushed the air right out of me. 

We stood in the hallway as she cried and ran her hands through my hair.

“Your uncle brought me here this morning, sacred Gabe half out of his wits. One minute I was in the gardens and then Gabe was telling me you’re a wanted criminal! I wanted to watch the news, but he said I had a month's salary to make up and I’d better get started.” 

I knew she was only telling me everything because she was so panicked and I wasn’t sure if I was glad she had or not. For one, I hate when she doesn’t tell me everything but my claws were now digging into my palms hard enough for blood to drip down to the floor. I held back my anger as I tried to explain what had happened since our fight with Pasiphae’s son. 

She put a hand on my cheek when I got to Bianca and Nico, but before she could say anything, Gabe called out from the living room. 

"Hey, Sally! That meat loaf done yet or what?"

She closed her eyes. "He isn't going to be happy to see you, Percy….just don't make him angrier, all right? Come on."

In the month I'd been gone, the apartment had turned into Gabeland. Garbage was ankle deep on the carpet. The sofa had been reupholstered in beer cans. Dirty socks and underwear hung off the lampshades.

Gabe and three of his big goony friends were playing poker at the table.

When Gabe saw me, his cigar dropped out of his mouth. His face got redder than lava. "You got nerve coming here, you little punk. I thought the police—"

"He's not a fugitive after all," my mom interjected. "Isn't that wonderful, Gabe?"

"Bad enough I had to give back your life insurance money, Sally," he growled as he slowly got to his feet and started stalking towards us. "Get me the phone. I'll call the cops."

"Gabe, no!"

He raised his eyebrows. "Did you just say 'no'? You think I'm gonna put up with this punk again? I can still press charges against him for ruining my Camaro.”

"But—"

He raised his hand, and my mother flinched.

My mind blanked. I blinked as my brain processed what that meant. Gabe had hit my mother. I didn't know when, or how much. But I was sure he'd done it. Maybe it had been going on for years, when I wasn't around.

He was on the floor underneath me with my claws to his neck. There was a part of me that knew I shouldn’t, the part that was human, but the rest of me screamed to tear out his throat with my teeth and hang his body to drain like a trophy in front of our door. A warning to the rest of the world that no one touched my mother. 

“Percy!”

Gabe gurgled on the floor, his eyes blown wide, while his buddies sat there dumbfounded. 

“Percy, put the knife down,” my mom whispered and suddenly my claws flickered into a kitchen knife, one of the ones my mom used for meat. Was this what they saw? “We’ll get your things.”

No matter what part of me was in control, the one thing I would never do is disobey my mom. I snarled down at the lump of shit on the floor, but stood quickly and stormed to my room. As soon as the door was closed, I asked. “How long?” 

My mom was crying again, holding herself as she refused to look at me. “Does it matter?” 

A package appeared on my bed. It was a battered cardboard box about the right size to fit a basketball. The address on the mailing slip was in my own handwriting:

The Gods

Mount Olympus

600th Floor,

Empire StateBuilding

New York, NY

With best wishes,

PERCY JACKSON

Over the top in black marker, in a man's clear, bold print, was the address of our apartment, and the words: RETURN TO SENDER.

And I knew I couldn’t be the one to do it. I had been fighting my own monsters for a month, learning to work with Annabeth and Grover and not just protect them but trust them to take care of themselves. 

My mom saw the package too and even if she didn’t know what was inside, she knew me. Like  I knew her. “You can't do this for me. You can't solve my problems. Not this"

"I can do it," I told my mom. "One look inside this box, and he'll never bother you again."

She glanced at the package, and seemed to understand immediately. "No, Percy," she said, stepping away. "You can't. I know you have been growing up but Gabe is human. I can’t ask you to cross that line, not for me."

"You deserve better than this, Mom! You don't need to protect me anymore by staying with Gabe. Let me get rid of him. I was ready to do it just now, but if you want it cleaner…"

“Percy,” she said. Her tone was normal, not even annoyed. And yet I knew I couldn’t be the one to kill him, not when my mother had suffered at his hands every day and made sure I was gone for ten months of the year. 

I handed her the box, making sure she looked me in the eye before nodding. “I won’t. I’ll go back to Camp and I’ll train and make friends.”  

"For the summer ... or forever?"

"I guess that depends."

We locked eyes, and I sensed that we had an agreement. We would see how things stood at the end of the summer.

She kissed my forehead. "You'll be a hero, Percy. You'll be the greatest of all."

Gabe seemed to have finally realized what was happening and lumbered over to my room, his buddies following as a pathetic form of backup. “The police are on their way boy, I suggest you get if you want to stay out of the slammer.” 

“He’s going, Gabe,” my mom whispered and pushed me towards the door. “He won’t be coming back here.” 

“Good riddance.” He laughed and followed me towards the front door. I thought he was going to say something to me, but instead his grin turned as mean as when he used to pull out the belt. "Hey, Sally," he yelled over his shoulder. "What about that meatloaf, huh?"

I made eye contact with her as she stepped into the hallway. A steely look of anger flared in my mother's eyes, and I thought maybe I was leaving her in good hands after all. Her own.

<Prev Master Post Next>

[vaeles]

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧  ...  the  day  after  the  funeral,  following  the  interment  of  viserra's  ashes  on  dragonstone      𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞  …  dragonmont      𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡  …  visaera  and  vaela  ( @shesnakes  +  @altaraed  )

it is the rose-light of first blush when they drop from the sky,      pale constellations still aglow in a pink heaven,      when sgaeyl soars the path to dragonmont and glides them through a broad alcove along the cliffside.      the wind sings softly through the dark iron walls of basalt and volcanic stone,      a palace forged by valyrian sorcery for dragons secreted within the cragged walls of the mountain.      it is an untold place,      the breath of its violent beauty interred with the ashes of dragonlords.      the targaryens of dragonstone had not shared the candour of its alleged existence for an age,      but the prowl of a lion had become enough to unveil it to another.

it is easier to start a war than to end it,      and he could not afford the infinite melancholy of night,      sorrow as endless as a northern winter bound to the death that was to come      —      that had already came.      it would take more of them,      he knew,      to curb the losses that would press his brow like the crown,      like soil atop the grave.      dragon against dragon.      man against man.      cousin against cousin.      blood against blood.      his kingship meant nothing,      in the end,      if the people,      too,      became charred remains within their seats and strongholds.      his body shifts with sgaeyl’s canting shadow,      visaera’s lean frame pulled into the manoeuvre by her hold of his waist.      they are deep beneath the earth,      grey caverns swathed in cool air and smoke,      the occasional echo of rumbling dragons rising to meet them from their lairs.      sgaeyl comes to rest upon an outcrop of eroded stone,      the dig of her claws loosing sediment from primaeval rock.      gloved digits hold fast to visaera’s upper arm as he draws her from his back,      directing her to descend the trained slant of sgaeyl’s dark wing before he follows.      she shakes her great head,      muscles rippling beneath a number of scarred scales as her cranium looms near to receive the run of vaeles’ hand underneath her jaw.

‘ sgaeyl may have hatched for me, ’      he begins,      ‘ but the right of rider must be earned.      blood does not equate worth.      you must be prepared to die,      do you understand ? ’      he had seen it before,      bastard bones and steel melted down,      their hopes that they may be more than a man’s moonlit fault drifting as sea foam forever.      vaeles did not doubt visaera.      he knew the sharpness of the lionesses’ mind,      but the kingdoms did not.      to the realm,      she looked as if she’d been carved out of a single pearl,      and lymond would sell her to these beasts that hoarded prized gems      —      beasts that would drink from her till sick,      but that could not drink till satisfied.      had tried already,      to trade his darling rose in a milk-white gown,      draw the ichor from the shimmering well of her before he intervened      —      you are the daughter of yourself,      vaeles had told her,      you are born of your own dream.      she was so fragile,      in many eyes      —      a jewel,      a flower,      delicate no matter what she did.      she was loveliness itself.      a prisoner of a fairytale she did not write.      vaeles could not be her knight forever,      as much as he had sworn himself to it.      he could not choke the softness from the narrative alone.      she would have to maim it herself,      kill it,      if she desired dominion of her own hand.      stand at the throne beside him.      ‘ vaela and sygar are just behind.      come. ’

[gobboguy]

Chapter 9: The Frozen Attack

In the unforgiving mountains of Acury, Gelbeg and Ionia battled against the relentless onslaught of a snowstorm. The swirling tempest enveloped them, biting through their clothes and armor with icy fingers. Thick, billowing clouds obscured the sky, casting an eerie gray pall over the jagged peaks and deep valleys. The wind howled like a vengeful spirit, whipping up powdery snowflakes that swirled through the air in a blinding dance. As the storm intensified, the landscape became a desolate expanse of white, with snowdrifts piling up against rocks and trees. The air was bitterly cold, freezing the breath of any unfortunate soul caught in its grasp. Darkness descended as the sun disappeared behind thick clouds, casting an ominous gloom over the rugged landscape. Despite the biting cold and howling wind, Gelbeg pressed on, leading the way through the thick snow. Trailing behind him, Ionia struggled to keep up, her once trusty nag succumbing to the harsh conditions days earlier. Now, burdened by her heavy armor and wading through waist-high snow, she fought to maintain her pace, relying on Gelbeg to carve a path through the treacherous terrain.

Ionia trudged through the knee-deep snow, her teeth chattering uncontrollably as the bitter cold gnawed at her bones. She clutched her cloak tightly around her, trying in vain to shield herself from the relentless onslaught of wind and snow. Every breath she took felt like swallowing ice, and her fingers and toes grew numb with each passing moment. Despite her discomfort, she pressed on, her eyes fixed on Gelbeg's broad back ahead of her.

Gelbeg forged a path through the frozen landscape with determined strides, his massive frame cutting through the swirling snow like a ship through rough seas. Though accustomed to the cold of his homeland, even he felt the chill of the mountain winds biting at his exposed skin. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself, the thick fabric offering some measure of protection against the biting cold. With each step, he could feel the weight of the mountains pressing down on him, as if the very earth itself was trying to drive them away. But Gelbeg remained undeterred, his resolve unshaken by the fierce elements arrayed against them.

The wind howled like a banshee through the frozen peaks of the Acury mountains, whipping snow into blinding flurries that obscured any hope of finding shelter. Ionia's voice cut through the tempest, sharp and urgent as she urged Gelbeg to seek refuge for the night. "We can't keep going like this, Gelbeg! We'll freeze to death out here!"

Gelbeg's brow furrowed with worry as he glanced around, searching desperately for any sign of shelter amidst the raging storm. "I know, Ionia," he replied, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. "But we must press on. We'll freeze if we stop now."

"Only MOG can guide us now," Gelbeg muttered grimly, his voice barely audible over the howling wind.

Ionia's eyes flashed with frustration as she pushed forward through the knee-deep snow. "I won't bow to the Gods for help," she shouted defiantly. "I'll make my own luck, with or without their intervention!"

Gelbeg's grip tightened on his cloak as he struggled to keep pace with Ionia. "Don't be a fool, Ionia," he warned, his voice tinged with concern. "We need all the help we can get in a storm like this. Trust me, I've seen what happens to those who defy the will of the gods."

Suddenly, an ear-piercing cry pierced the storm, cutting through the howling wind like a blade. Gelbeg and Ionia froze in their tracks, their senses sharpening as they recognized the unmistakable sound of an Ice-Howler's cry. Without hesitation, Ionia drew the Relic Sword, its ancient blade shimmering faintly in the dim light cast by the storm. Meanwhile, Gelbeg tightened his grip on his trusty axe, preparing to confront the formidable creature.

As the swirling snow obscured their vision, Gelbeg and Ionia strained their eyes to pierce through the blizzard, searching for any sign of movement. They knew all too well that Ice-Howlers possessed the ability to blend seamlessly into their wintry surroundings, making them nearly invisible to the untrained eye. With each passing moment, the tension in the air thickened, and the anticipation of imminent danger hung heavy upon them.

Despite the biting cold and the relentless assault of the storm, Gelbeg and Ionia stood their ground, their resolve unwavering in the face of adversity. With their weapons at the ready, they remained poised and alert, ready to confront whatever threat lurked within the swirling tempest. In the midst of the blizzard's fury, their determination burned brightly, a beacon of defiance against the encroaching darkness.

Ionia slowed her breathing, her concentration intensifying as she tapped into her Inner Fire, seeking to sharpen her senses and heighten her awareness of the danger lurking in the storm. Meanwhile, Gelbeg's keen sense of smell went into overdrive, his pig-like snout twitching and sniffing the air in search of any trace of the elusive Ice-Howler.

As they focused on their respective tasks, a sudden disturbance erupted in the air around them, causing Gelbeg to be violently thrown several feet into the air by an unseen force. With a muffled thud, he crashed onto a soft patch of snow, the impact knocking the wind out of him. Ionia whirled around, her sword at the ready, searching for the source of the unexpected assault.

The storm raged on unabated, the howling wind and swirling snow obscuring their vision and disorienting their senses. Despite the chaos surrounding them, Gelbeg struggled to regain his footing, shaking off the shock of the unexpected attack. With a determined grunt, he pushed himself upright, his axe gripped tightly in his hands as he scanned the area for any sign of the Ice-Howler or whatever else might be lurking in the shadows of the blizzard.

Ionia's grip tightened on the hilt of her sword as she prepared to defend herself against whatever unseen adversary had launched Gelbeg into the air. With each passing moment, the tension in the air grew thicker, their nerves stretched taut as they braced themselves for the next onslaught from the mysterious assailant hidden within the storm.

As Ionia honed her vision through the swirling snow, she caught a glimpse of the Ice-Howler amidst the tempest. The creature loomed large, its form resembling a humanoid figure sculpted from translucent glass, its crystalline body refracting the dim light of the storm. Sharp claws extended from its elongated fingers, and its fangs gleamed menacingly, contrasting starkly against the frosty landscape.

With a start, Ionia noticed the creature's gaping maw, which yawned wide to reveal an abyssal darkness speckled with white, resembling the starry expanse of a night sky. Another deafening cry erupted from the Ice-Howler's throat, reverberating through the air and sending shivers down Ionia's spine. As the creature bellowed, the storm surged around it, the swirling snowflakes enveloping its form like a cloak of invisibility, obscuring its translucent figure from view.

Despite the blinding fury of the storm and the daunting presence of the Ice-Howler, Ionia stood her ground, her resolve unwavering as she prepared to confront the otherworldly adversary. With a steady hand, she tightened her grip on the hilt of her Relic Sword, determination burning in her eyes as she braced herself for the inevitable clash with the creature of ice and shadow.

As the Ice-Howler lunged forward with a ferocious swipe, Ionia's reflexes kicked in, propelling her out of harm's way with a swift dodge that landed her feet in the soft, powdery snow. With a determined thrust, she aimed her Relic Sword at the creature, but its ethereal form seemed to elude her strike, slipping through the air with an otherworldly grace.

Undeterred, Ionia persisted, her movements fluid and precise as she attempted to anticipate the creature's elusive maneuvers. Yet, each time she swung her blade, it found nothing but empty air, the Ice-Howler's transparent body mocking her efforts. Frustration gnawed at her, fueling her determination to land a decisive blow against her near-invisible foe.

In a relentless barrage of attacks, the Ice-Howler pressed on, its movements swift and unpredictable. Despite Ionia's best efforts to evade and counter, the creature's relentless assault proved too much to handle. With a sickening crunch, its razor-sharp claws tore through her armor, leaving jagged gashes in their wake and staining the pristine snow with crimson.

Gritting her teeth against the searing pain, Ionia staggered backward, clutching her wounded side as blood seeped through her fingers. Despite the odds stacked against her and the relentless onslaught of the Ice-Howler, she refused to yield, her resolve burning ever brighter amidst the icy tempest.

With a desperate lunge, Ionia narrowly evaded the Ice-Howler's slashing claws, her agile movements allowing her to sidestep the deadly blow. Summoning every ounce of strength she possessed, she swung her Relic Sword with all her might, the blade slicing through the air with a resolute determination.

The weapon connected with the Ice-Howler's wrist, the impact shattering the creature's left arm up to the elbow with a deafening crack, reminiscent of breaking glass. A piercing scream echoed through the storm as the injured beast recoiled in agony, its ethereal form quivering with pain.

The exertion proved too much for Ionia, her injuries overwhelming her senses as she teetered on the brink of unconsciousness. Waves of pain washed over her, threatening to engulf her in darkness as she struggled to maintain her grip on consciousness.

Just as the Ice-Howler prepared to deliver a fatal blow, Gelbeg sprang into action, his massive frame barreling forward with a primal roar. With a mighty swing of his axe, he delivered a devastating blow to the wounded creature, driving it back into the swirling snow.

As the Ice-Howler retreated into the icy depths, Gelbeg turned his attention to the fallen Ionia, his concern evident in his eyes as he rushed to her side. With gentle hands, he attempted to rouse her from her unconscious state, his heart heavy with worry for his injured companion amidst the unforgiving wilderness of the Frozen Spine mountains.

[pherelesytsia]

Slow Dance

Pairing: Stephen Strange x female/Reader

Summary: Stephen and his girlfriend dance through the night.

Word Count: 1.3k      

a/n:Requests are open!!!

The sky was full of stars. The light of the chandelier shone down on the dancing couples who moved to the beat of the delicate tones, mirroring a sunset by the sea, where the sun kissed the end of the world and wrapped the world in a reddish veil.

The hall was lavishly decorated, resembling a castle from ancient, almost forgotten times of king and queens, of high-born ladies and princes. Peals of laughter echoed and merged with the sounds played by the musicians standing on the tribune in dark suits and dresses. Important looking men wandered in the rows of people filling the hall with the wide windows wrapped in white material as soft as clouds.

In the sea of suits, Stephen stood out, was a rock piercing through raging oceans. The suit suited him well and at first glance, Y/N did not recognise her boyfriend standing in the chandelier's light. Piercing eyes rested on Y/N, escaping the shadows. Her heart was beating fast, nearly racing, and her palms resembled a wet surface as a murmur of voices rose and fell. The flowing material of the dress enveloped her body. The fabric, wide and flat, was adorned with glittering stones, little stars, stolen from the firmament. It shone like silver, like spider webs reflecting the rays of the rising sun in the early hours of the day. Her hair framed her soft features, adorned with a loving smile. The smile on her lips grew widened and her teeth emerged. The necklace Stephen had given his girlfriend for their first anniversary rested on her skin high above the neckline of the long dress flowing in waves down her body. Stephen's lips were no longer touching, gaped open. Y/N thought he was whispering her name, not entirely sure, but when their eyes met, she was convinced he was calling her by name, calling her to him, to his heart, inviting her to lean her ear against his chest and dance in his arms.

Incessantly, her heart was beating faster, ignoring the stares settling on her. She could hear the people asking questions, but she didn’t answer. Y/N brought the staircase behind her, covered by a red carpet and illuminated by the rays of the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Her eyes shone in vibrant hues.

Y/N didn't want to come, had hundreds of excuses, from that she had to study, that books demanded her full attention, to that her best friend was suffering from heartbreak, that her pet couldn't stay home alone, but still she had come, unable to forget the invitation of her boyfriend to be his plus one to the party.

Joy filled her, grateful she had changed her mind and accepted the invitation. Y/N took one step after another, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, but then a wave arose from deep slumber and the last traces of fear disappeared from her heart and mind.

Stephen could not believe his eyes, was convinced Y/N would not come, and was sure he was seeing an illusion slowly approaching him. The illusion was perfect: the tone of the hair, the sparkling eyes, and the curves of her well-shaped body.

            "Surprise." a voice breathed and Stephen knew it was not an illusion, but his girlfriend.

The voice, almost shy, was music to his ears and Stephen moved closer to the woman who had come to a halt a few steps away from him.

            "I was sure.", "That I wouldn't come?" Y/N completed the sentence Strange had started.

Weakly, the man laughed and lost himself in her eyes.

            "Exactly.", "And I'll be honest, I wasn't going to come, these parties aren't my cup of tea but then I imagined spending this night with you, but I saw you talking to important-looking people, you're welcome to join them, I don't want to intrude." Y/N breathed.

Again, Stephen laughed, having forgotten the men in almost identical looking suits he had left the moment he witnessed his girlfriend coming down the stairs.

            "No, I can take care of those things another day. I've seen a few futures but you've only arrived in one.", "Stop it, you're just saying that." Y/N joked, feeling the last spark of fear being carried away from her body.

            "I'm glad you came and I'm even happier that you're wearing the necklace.", "The necklace is beautiful." Y/N answered.

"You've already thanked me too often. You mustn’t thank me again, my beloved. You're my girlfriend and you deserve the most beautiful gifts." he answered.

Stephen finished the sentence, knowing exactly what Y/N wanted to say, feeling it in every fibre of his body, yearning for her closeness.

The music resounded again, and more people found the strength to rise. Laughing and chatting, couples danced. Other men, seated in the far corner by the bar, found themselves in the depths of the glass, trying to forget the darkest days for a moment, even if only a brief one.

            "Still, I am not used to receiving such gifts and you make me feel guilty. I could not give you such a gift." Y/N spoke and let her hand, the tips of her fingers, rest on the necklace Stephen had given her.

            "I don't want to get any gifts, you've already given me the gift of being my girlfriend, spending your precious time with me.", "Did you know I was going to be your girlfriend?" Y/N breathed, unsure if she wanted to know the answer.

His gaze was speaking volumes, and no darkness wandered across his face.

            "No, I saw you and fell in love with you at first sight. I don’t have to search for answers. I know them, all of them. One day you are going to be my wife and together we will live in a house and the rest is written in the stars." Stephen replied and Y/N nodded.

Tears veiled her gaze, but none fell, danced down her cheeks. The words struck her heart and summoned tears of joy. The surrounding people did not notice her, did not hear the heart-warming words escaping, seeing only the love in the eyes of the lovers, seeing the love was long-lasting.

            "May I have this dance?", "Just this one? I know I'm not the best dancer and the last time I danced was probably years ago, but if you lead me right, I'm sure I won't step on your shoes so often." Y/N breathed jokingly.

Mischievously, Stephen grinned, clad in the dark suit, his eyes speaking volumes, but Y/N expected an answer.

            "Not just this dance, I reserve all future dances," Stephen clarified.

He reached for her hand, clasping her fingers tenderly, almost as if he feared he would crush her hand. Bringing his hand to his face, directly to his lips, he felt Y/N's eyes widen and breathed a loving kiss on the back of her hand.

            "And I can buy new shoes. I really don't mind. You can step on my shoes as much as you want for all I care." added Stephen after kissing each of her fingers.

From her hand, Stephen let go. Lovingly, Stephen let his hand rest on her shoulder, bringing Y/N closer to his body, feeling his heart collide with his chest, longing for closeness. Fingers entwined like tendrils of flowers. The world faded away. Voices merged and drowned in the delicate tones of flutes and the piano, telling people to rise from the chair and dance.

[kunizk]

୭ৎ ࣪ ׅ ⊹ . * !¡ SALT, WATER AND HER

-> INFORMATION ⋮ for my summer lovers meet me where the sky meets the sea @tobiodose 's collab!!!

- contents ⋮ mutual pining, makeouts, beach themed fun, water gun fights, old memerioes, slightly pervert getou, body mention, curves mention, slightly playful smacking, play fights frfr, established relationship but it's in secret though satoru knows

- summary ⋮ you've been suguru's summer secret for some time now, but he can't help bit want to play with you in the sand and water.

salt, water and her. getou suguru never commonly came to the beach - mostly came for a breather and to relax a day or two with a popsicle popped between his lips. recently finding a new reason to come to the beach, for her. or to escape. or both.

salt water balooza, or suguru as he was fondly called. was in his mid 20s, with a somewhat slim face that matched the long tied up hair he grew during his time here in japan. his eyes were a dark hazel and accentuated by rather bright red Hawaiian shirt. his face was often spoken to by those around him for it's pale complexion and easily remarkable expressions, despite being outside of the normal range for the jujustu sorrocer u. his entire body was muscled up in a rather special way, though not quite unique.

he had the frame of a professional jujitsu fighter, with an almost well defined six pack that seemed to come out of nowhere when flexed. his arms were fairly well toned as well but not overly so, being pretty sure that he could hold his own against most jujustu fighters out there in this world. "getou quit staring, you're  blowing holes into her back!"

his sunglasses were on the end of his nose, and then his dsrk focused on you as you gazed into the crystal blue waters, the tanned and toned skin on his body glistened against the perfectly good sunlight. it also didn't help how your baby blue tropical themed bikini made you look ten times more divine then you normally did, don't get him wrong but the way your swim suit made him stare was alluring it almost sounded like satoru would press charges if he kept a hold on you just one more time, but he was more interested in where you got your bikini from.

honestly before the trip there was no other lingerie that you owned that was anything more than a bikini, the only thing getou could get out of you about that was that you just needed some sunlight and fun times. blue looked good on you, complimenting your smooth skin and dazzling curves. he couldn't help but wonder what your body looked like underneath the perfectly matching blue flower pattern bikini. "getou is that you?" you asked him, his mind ran laps before he answered "in the flesh, hey yn" he said, his eyes softened when he heard your voice, you looked back at him and couldn't help but wonder why you looked so happy when you were in his presence, well I suppose if he was telling the truth about seeing you on the beach again was because you looked beyond his mind could reach, he's be a shamed to say so.

it didn't take long before you places on a white open hoodie in the way of getou's "sightseeing" and took a quick job towards him. Making sure not to trip over the rocks, sand and sea shells that littered the sand. "what are you doing here!" you called out and hear him say as he closed the distance between you two and pulled you into a tight hug. "needed a break from things, geez I'm not gunna curse anyone if they step on the pile of dead crabs." he said and a bemused smile came to his face. You smiled and leaned into him "hey getou" "hmm" it didn't take long before you pulled away, pulling out a rather large object before he was sprayed completely with water. "what the hell!" he said as you forced the top of the water gun down and switch it around on you so it would spray you instead of him "oh getou gross! you got it in my mouth" spitting out the rest of the water you smacked at this arm playfully "asshole" you muttered "you started it doll, don't pout now!"

"the hell do you mean don't pout! you got salt water in my mouth!!" you pulled at his ear playfully while he tried to remove you from his painfully red ear "jesus christ okay okay I'm sorry, ill do anything let go!" pulling you away "want me to kiss it better crazy?" You wouldn't help but smile "yeah you big bastard you caused that too" you smacked him on the arm once again "yeeaaah whatever" he mumbled you hopped towards him before he placed his hand under your neck, fiddling with the hairs on your neck before he pulled you into a kiss. . long and sweet. it took both of yon to become breathless before you pulled away to look at him. "I looooove you" your eyes shifted to his softened eyes " love you more doll" wrapping your arms around his neck before you shrieked at the sudden wave that made it's way above the two of you, getou held on tight to you, he basically wanted you to get hit by the wace "getou! what the fuck!" "hold on crazy we'll get seperated" it was a never ending cycle but you two loved each other either way.

[bokugaos]

cheering crowd.

pairing: bokuto x reader

length: 2k

tags: exhibitionism, predicament bondage, master/pet, degradation, nipple play, lactation, belly bulge, cum inflation, double penetration (one hole), toys, creampie

it’s all just a show and make-believe, but when the curtain goes up and there’s a sea of people behind it, you still flinch back and want to shield yourself from everyone’s eyes.

of course, that is impossible with your hands bound behind your back. still, it makes you wobble on the unstable stools you’re kneeling on, and as you tense your abdominal muscles and struggle to regain balance, you finally realize the predicament you’re in.

there’s an uncomfortable pull from the rope wrapped around you and attached to the floor, and the gentle, not quite satisfying slide of the fake cock in your ass.

you close your eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath through your nose, teeth gently digging at the ball gag in your mouth.

you have to remind yourself that this is all just a game; that this is make-believe, that nobody other than bokuto will put a hand on you. there are lights on stage that transform the onlookers into a faceless, dark mass. 

you blink, trying to discern some of the faces. you want to know if there is anybody in the crowd that you know; maybe have a friendly face that you can hold on to while you are being put on display, visible to everybody and so very, very vulnerable—but your eyes start tearing up from the glare of the light and you’d rather keep them closed.

which makes the whole thing even more scary. your thighs are trembling until the motion travels down and into the unsteady stools you are kneeling on. again, you are clumsily fucking yourself a bit deeper onto the generously lubed dildo before trying to pull up and away, the bindings tugging at your limbs in the process.

you whine, suddenly frustrated with the whole situation—and it hasn’t even been ten minutes yet. nothing has happened at all, other than your blatant exposure and your indignant, embarrassing struggling.

the crowd is watching you fight your bondage, and it makes you all the more antsy. you know they can see how unsure you are about this whole thing. you know they can see all your movements, and you don’t quite like the thought of it. of them realizing that you’re still a pet in training; that your master is letting you play like this for the very first time—

you can feel him hovering just behind you. his energy is warm and vibrating; like he has to physically hold himself back from gentling you down and reassuring you. it’s not what the audience wants, though, and it’s killing you that he has not touched you for the longest time.

everything is so quiet.

one of your legs jerks suddenly, nearly kicking the stools away, and you cry out soft and pathetic, the sound muffled by the gag. your head falls back when the sensation of the fake cock sliding deeper into your belly has warmth radiating off of his insides.

and like that has been the start signal, the show suddenly gets rolling.

“a gorgeous specimen, this one.” an unfamiliar voice booms.

your head jerks around. you try to see who is the one that has spoken, but the person is nowhere to be seen. your sudden motion has you wobbling again as well, and as you struggle not to fall, the binding around your chest tightening.

you groan into your gag, feeling drool starting to slip from the corner of your mouth. you’re very aware of your tits now; hanging from its own weight. it feels swollen from the squeeze, and nothing much has happened yet other than you getting trussed into this current situation by bokuto’s warm and sure hands.

there’s a harness around your waist to make sure you don’t hurt yourself if you were to completely fall off the unsteady stool you’re kneeling on, and you are uncomfortably aware of how it is framing your upper body and making them look more plush than usual; tits looking even bigger and flush, almost.

“there it is,” the unfamiliar voice croons, jerking you out of your thoughts once more. the man laughs. it does not sound belittling, but he seems trained in this kind of thing; like he could make his voice do all sorts of nasty things. like he enjoys doing this.

“she’s getting nice and drunk, do you see? she’s struggling so hard not to go down, but we all know she’ll get there sooner rather than later.”

the crowd murmurs for the first time, low and appreciative. your nipples pebble at the sound, something stubborn wanting to rear inside you; the same thing that made you struggle, not wanting to show off just how badly you like to be praised and cooed over.

you huff, nostrils flaring as your excitement spikes, as much as you hate to admit it. you try to breathe through it and center yourself, but it is difficult when you’re so very purposefully kept off-center.

“bokuto is her owner, and he’s told me quite a few interesting titbits. seems like we have a very good girl on our hands – only that sometimes she doesn’t want to show it. ain’t that right, sweet pumpkin?”

you jerk at the pet name, brows coming down in a fierce scowl. you dig your teeth into the rubber of the ball gag, muscles tensing in annoyance. you sure as hell won’t let anyone else other than your master calling you some cute nickname.

“aw look at that! the little lady is getting all antsy—”

you glare at the ground at that, frustration burning hot through your veins. you twist, forgetting all about the scene as you struggle against all your bindings.

the stools slide away, and all of a sudden your body falls down a few inches. you yelp in alarm, shrill and high-pitched as the fake cock slides into you deep, spearing you open as the harness keeps you from seriously injuring yourself.

you hang there in the air, eyes big and face slack in shock as bokuto steps a bit closer, his big, warm hand landing between your shoulder blades as a point.

he leans forward some, staring into your surprised, big eyes.

“how’s my puppy doing?” he beams, and you, as if in a trance, just dumbly nod.

you are truly helpless now, as you hang in the air, your ankles kept up and off the floor by some more straps that connect them to the back of your arms.

bokuto smiles at you, eager and delighted, like you making a huge embarrassment out of yourself and losing your dignity has all been planned. he steps back again, not moving out of your line of sight as he swings you to face him, and positions you just still, spreading your thighs even wider against the binding.

his hands never leave you, though, tracing the bindings all along the exposed skin of your back.

“there she goes,” the voice says, but it is difficult to focus on it when bokuto slides into you, squeezing his cock along with the slick dildo while the rope around you restricts firmly just how far he can push you through the air.

you whine into the gag, muscles trembling as you try for some semblance of control, and the man keeps talking in the background.

“she’s a good pet. a bit hostile, as you can see—but certainly very eager to please her master. look how sweet and obedient she’s becoming now.”

you are chewing at your gag, drooling around it more as he holds you in the air, the feeling of getting fucked by his cock and the dildo, and getting your nipples tugged on just this side of rough is making it so difficult to keep a calm head on your shoulders.

with that huge cock inside you, that pulsing head, the ridge just beneath it, veins swelling thick all the way to its fat base. more like stone than flesh, dragging brutally on your soft insides, rubbing your inner walls raw. and your pussy keeps gushing despite the humiliation of it all. how could it not when his hard cock fills every possible inch of you, just pulsating at the base of your belly before coming in hot jets and grinding it all in? 

you’re a mess, you know, but the faceless mass of people does not sound put-out by the sight of you.

it is embarrassing to think that they can see just how easy you are for it; how you become all sweet and soft for a bit of rough handling, while you’re suspended in the air, body rocking against bokuto’s massive figure.

“look at how sweet and rope-drunk she’s getting. the little lady just needs a bit of her master’s firm hand.”

you sob at the words. bokuto rams even deeper, leaning into you so you can feel him as he starts to additionally pluck at your nipples, fingers hot and relentless as he plays with your body in front of the whole crowd.

he lets them all see and hear how you go wild when he plays with your nipples. lets them know just how sensitive your tits really are.

and that was it. that flips the switch. you come with a scream, loud but muffled by the ball gag between your lips.

you arch, body curving with the shape of his cock ramming into you. to your shame—and a violent amount of pleasure—it just has your tits squirting all over nipples beaded and splattering bokuto with white. bokuto seems to be going even harder—rougher—between the gushing of your tits and the violent spurt of your orgasm, and they drive him to a massive splash emptying out inside you. the force of it pushes the dildo out of your hole, and the excess cum squelches out, splattering warm and filthy against his slick thighs and down to the floor of the stage, leaving a big wet mess.

bokuto maneuvers himself deeper, twisting like a corkscrew and making your insides twist too, and it only drags your orgasm longer. you are sobbing now, hiccuping and struggling to breathe, now realizing that the hugeness in your stomach just increased by that much. it swells, bloating on cum, the sloshing weight in your stomach; you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself up if not for being held up by the ropes and skewered on bokuto’s hard cock.

as you stare into his eyes, you know you’ll be coming all over your legs again, let him fill you up with his cum. it only rounds your stomach out more, until you think you might burst. there is plenty of excess seed frothing white and creamy at your battered hole, but that massive dick shoves it right back in with a filthy wet slap.

you’re nothing more than his dumb pet; a hole and womb, heavy and teeming with seed. the circumference of your belly and tits, the dilation of your hole, the elasticity. his dick plunges in and out methodically while you shake and squirm, too weak to even utter any words.

his touches tingle through you, jostle the sheer fullness of your belly. you squeal, louder and louder until you’re simply moaning like the cum slut that you are, body singing with pleasure as the horror fades from your eyes.

you ache, seeing nothing but white whenever his cock slots into your gaping hole and fills you back up all the way to the womb. big and rock hard and full of thick, creamy seed for your hungry body. and you’re taking it so well, you’re gonna be so full of cum. each violent thrust rocks your bound body back and forth, but from the mindless smile on your face, it seems you have finally learned to embrace your situation.

your eyes fill with happy tears as you realize you’re stuck here for a while, to be bred like a glory hole for as long as bokuto is done showing you off.

[plainbrunettelbl]

(A) Half Octopus Shota Aizawa x (O) GN Reader Inky Tentacles

Word count: 3876

Warnings: Attempted murder. 

Title: (A) Half Octopus Shota Aizawa x (O) GN Reader Inky Tentacles 

Summary: You get thrown overboard and an Alpha with inky black tentacles and hair to match saves you. 

(Gif not mine) (Sho when you give him attitude the first scene.) 

💤-You had thought it would be the best week of your life. 

💤-You had just gotten married to a charming Alpha and you were supposed to spend the week on an island in honeymoon bliss. The thought of hanging out on the sand with your mate made your heart warm. 

💤-If only you found out about your Alpha’s evil intent. 

💤-The three months of courting and spontaneous proposal and here you were. Getting sea-sick on a boat in the middle of nowhere. There were only three people on board. 

💤-You, your Alpha, and the captain. 

💤-It was supposed to be a romantic boat ride to watch a pod of dolphins but you spent half the time with your head over the side of the boat. 

💤-“Alpha, I think we should go back. I’m not feeling too good.” You sadly crooned, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

💤-“Aw, are you sure we can’t wait it out? I know how much you love dolphins. Just think about how you will get to see them jumping around and hearing their little trills. We are almost there after all.” They soothed, rubbing your back. 

💤-You don’t remember telling them that you liked dolphins. You felt bad that they had planned this and you were ruining their thoughtful gift. 

💤-“Yeah, I can tough it out.” You croaked, giving them a shaky smile. 

💤-“Great.” They smiled. 

💤-If only you were able to distinguish the darkness in their smile. 

***

💤-One second you were leaning over the boat once more and the next you felt a forceful bump from behind and you went headfirst into the cerulean colored water. 

💤-Your chirps of surprise mixed with the sounds of the lapping water. 

💤-“Alpha! Help! I’ve fallen overboard.” You cried, thrashing in the water. 

💤-You weren’t a strong swimmer. At that moment you regret agreeing with your Alpha in foregoing a life jacket. They had convinced you that it would look weird in all of the pictures you would take. 

💤-You realized now it was just a lie to make sure you sank to the bottom of the ocean. 

💤-Your Alpha merely smirked at you as the Captain pulled away. Leaving you stranded in the middle of the ocean. You didn’t bother holding back your sobs and whimpers. Your arms were getting tired and it hadn’t even been ten minutes since your Alpha ditched you. 

💤-You heard a small splashing sound a few feet away from you. 

💤-“Who’s there? If you’re a shark, please go away! I’m already having a terrible day.” You cried, frantically splashing your arms in the water. 

💤-“Not a shark.” A deep voice uttered. 

💤-You yelped and turned in their direction. A male, with black hair and eyes, peered over at you. 

💤-“What are you doing here?” You stuttered, your brain not comprehending why there would be a man swimming out here.  

💤-“Fishing.” He calmly said, moving a little closer to you. 

💤-“This far out?” You felt yourself inching towards him as well. Underneath the strong smell of sea salt, you smelled the familiar scent of an Alpha. Your Omega was eager to seek comfort in the Alpha. 

💤-Don’t you think Alpha’s should be on our shit list right now? You reprimanded, glaring at your love-struck Omega.  

💤-Not this Alpha, he smells safe. She crooned, giving the Alpha heart eyes. 

💤-“What are you doing this far out?” He lifted a brow, sending you a questioning look. 

💤-“Sunbathing.” You flatly stated, glaring at him. You were in no mood to talk to an Alpha. Being thrown overboard by one would do that. 

💤-“Well, I’ll leave you to it then.” He deadpanned, making like he was gonna swim away. 

💤-“No, wait!” You chirped, quickly swimming onto him and latching on. 

💤-His muscled arms wrapped around you, pulling you into him. Your tired legs were quick to wrap around him as well. Your feet felt something soft brush against them. 

💤-One of your hands reached down and pulled the thing up. 

💤-“Tentacle.” You uttered, staring at the black tentacle in disbelief. You looked down and saw eight others along with it. 

💤-Your brain was done with the stress of the day. Your vision went fuzzy and then you went slack in the arms of the black-haired Alpha. 

***

💤-You woke up on soft sand, your hands scrunching in the white grains. 

💤-“Good, you’re up.” A voice called, their tone soothing. 

💤-You rolled your head to the left and saw the same man from before resting his arms on the flat rocks near the water. It looked like you were in a cave of sorts. The water sparkled a brilliant turquoise, much lighter than the deep cerulean of the ocean. 

💤-“Hi.” You mumbled your limbs felt heavy and weak. 

💤-“I can hear your empty stomach from here.” He rumbled, his inky eyes noticing your weakened state. 

💤-You saw his inky tentacles swish in the water behind him. You sat up in a hurry, shuffling on your butt away from him.  

💤-“Don’t eat me! I won’t taste good.” You cried, looking around for a rock to throw at him. 

💤-He merely sighed at your fear. 

💤-“If I wanted to eat you, I would have done it when you were passed out.” He drawled, leaning his head on his arms. “I wouldn’t have saved you from drowning either.” 

💤-You blinked at his words, thinking them over.

💤-True, he could have left you stranded in the ocean, but instead, he swam you to land. 

💤-“Oh... sorry.” Your voice was small. 

💤-“It’s okay. I’m used to it.” He tilted his head back observing your meek frame. 

💤-Your stomach decided to make itself known. The whale sounds bouncing off the cave walls. You felt your cheek warm. 

💤-“I got enough fish for both of us. I already ate my share.” He stated, pointing a finger to the big pile of fish a few feet away from you. 

💤-Their dead eyes staring at you. You suddenly felt green, your eyes darting away from the scaly pile. 

💤-“I think I’ll pass.” You cringed, holding your knees to your chest. 

💤-“Omega, you need to eat.” The inky-haired Alpha reprimanded, his eyes narrowing. 

💤-You sat straighter, his words calling at your Omega. She wanted to obey but the smell of raw fish was too much for her as well. 

💤-“I can’t, Alpha. I can’t eat raw fish.” You tucked your head down. 

💤-“How else do you eat it?” He questioned, leaning forward a bit, your sweet smell was making his tentacle shiver in delight. 

💤-His species didn’t have many females, and the ones that he has come across were very aggressive. They only have two things on their mind, mating and dominating. 

💤-They were very possessive of their space and couldn’t handle a male around them for long. He guessed that was why his species was slowly dying out. A small voice in his head told him that Omegas like you would help solve the problem. 

💤-No. You were meant for land, just as he was for water. He would take care of you until the upcoming storm passes and then he would drop you off near a local beach. 

💤-“Cooked. Well, I guess there is sushi, but it’s bad to eat it raw in case of parasites.” You formed, resting your chin on your knees. 

💤-He stared at you in confusion. 

💤-“What’s that?” He rumbled, frustrated that your differences were already showing. 

💤-“It’s when you cook it on the oven.” You replied, looking around at the cave and realizing there would be no pan-searing happening anytime soon. “Or over a fire.” 

💤-“What’s fire?” He questioned, his brain not connecting the word with anything. 

💤-You offered a quick explanation of the flickering element. 

💤-“Oh, so you need wood. I can go find some driftwood.” He pushed away from the edge of the water, getting ready to dive under the water and swim through the tunnel connecting his cave to the sea. 

💤-“It kinda has to be dry.” You said, unraveling yourself from your legs and standing up. You spotted a small entrance to the cave. You would have to crouch a bit to get out but at least you would be able to find firewood. 

💤-“I’ll go get some.” You wiped off the sand from your clothes and headed over. 

💤-“Are you sure that’s a good idea? What if it is dangerous?” His eyes held slight panic, the thought of not being able to see you. 

💤-What if you made a run for it? What if you went away and never came back? His strong arms lifted himself from the water.

💤-“I’ll come with you.” He stated, trying to get all of his tentacles on land. 

💤-You watched him struggle to find his balance on the slippery sand. You felt yourself slightly shiver looking at his huge form, seeing just how big and intimidating he was. 

💤-An Alpha indeed. 

💤-“Don’t worry about it! You stay here. I’ll be quick.” You encouraged, pointing him towards the pile of fish. 

💤-“If you can skin those and gut them I would be grateful.” You tried to persuade him using his caretaker instincts against him.  

💤-He realized he wouldn’t be much help on land away and conceded, dutifully going over to the pile and getting to work. You nodded and went out. You came back quickly, not wanting to worry the poor Alpha. 

💤-Once you walked back in the inky-haired male sent you a tiny smile before going back to his task. He made sure not a single scale was left. 

💤-You dropped the firewood down onto the sandy floor before going around the cave, picking up rocks to put around the fireplace. You got it the fireplace settled but the part of lighting the fire was more difficult than you thought. 

💤-“Ugh! I can’t get it.” You whined, tossing the sticks down. 

💤-You had been rubbing them for five minutes and not a single strand smoke greeted you. 

💤-“What are you trying to do?” The quiet Alpha asked, looking up from his task of gutting. 

💤-“Making fire, or at least trying to.” You grumbled, glaring at the useless sticks. 

💤-“Can I help?” He moved to your side, picking up the sticks. 

💤-You showed him what to do and soon enough a small flame graced the cave. Your eyes take in the flickering flame. Your Omega was happily purring. 

💤-See, he’s a great Alpha. He can make fire. She cooed, eyeing up his strong arms. 

💤-Don’t go all cave-women on me. You hissed, not willing to admit you were also impressed with his fire-making skills. 

💤-He winced against the heat. Since he was done with the fish he slipped back into the water. His body sighing in relief as the cool water hydrated his skin and tentacles. 

💤-You got to work on cooking the fish, soon enough you had two wonderfully grilled pieces of fish. You looked over at him and offered a piece to him. The face he made after eating it was priceless. 

💤-It was like the face of a baby who was given a lemon for the first time. 

💤-“I guess you are not a fan.” You giggled, chewing on your unseasoned fish. 

💤-“I’ll stick to raw.” He shook his head. 

***

💤-It had been two days since your Alpha tried to kill you. Shota had told you that he wouldn’t be able to take you to civilization just yet. A big storm was coming and it would be hard to get you to shore with the rough waves it brought. 

💤-You had spent the days in the water with Shota or on the island collecting firewood and coconuts. You had yet to find freshwater so coconuts had been your main source of water. 

💤-You had a rough time opening them but Shota was quick to excellently crack them open. Your Omega was all too pleased to point out, once again, about what a great Alpha he was. 

💤-“I made this for you.” You held up a hair tie that you had made. You spent the day weaving it together. Sho had been gone most of the day so it was easy to surprise him with it. 

💤-He looked at the hair tie in awe. You had added tiny shells to it to make it more pretty. 

💤-It was clearly a mating gift, or at least he thought so. First, you shared a bit of your food with him, something only mates did, and then you made him a courting gift. 

💤-Now all that was left was for you to solidify your interest in him by touching his gills. Something that you unknowingly did not even ten minutes after you gifted him the hair tie. 

💤-“Let me comb your hair a bit. It looks like a rats nest.” You chuckled, sitting on the edge of the pool, with your legs dipped in the water. 

💤-He was hesitant to turn his back to you. It was a big taboo with his kind. You never turned your back on anyone outside of your pod. “Come on. I don’t bite.” 

💤-He slotted his shoulders between your legs. He didn’t relax until he felt your fingers weave their way into his knotted hair. You felt his chest rumble at your soothing touch. 

💤-“I figured it must be difficult to see when you're swimming.” You hummed, enjoying the way his obsidian locks felt like silk.

💤-You tied back his hair once all of his knots were untangled, you swept back the few strands that escaped from the tie, unknowingly tracing his gills. Shota shot out of your grasp, flustered at your bold actions. 

💤-“I’ll go get us dinner.” He stuttered, quickly swimming out of the cave. 

💤-“But you just came back from fishing?” You said, surprised at his abrupt departure. 

💤-He was gone before you could even finish your sentence. 

***

💤-“Thank you for the crab, Shota.” You hummed, cracking open the scarlet leg. 

💤-“No problem, there were a bunch of them not too far from the cave.” He leaned against the rocks. His eyes not quite meeting yours. He fibbed a bit, he had to swim quite the distance to get them. 

💤-He was just happy to give you something that you wanted. You had mentioned the pointy little creatures and he was all too eager to see a smile on your face. The cute little chirps you made while biting into the sweet meat struck him right in his three hearts. 

💤-Ever since your fingers grazed against his gills he had been more affectionate. 

💤-You usually slept near the fire at night but you would somehow wake up near the pool wrapped up in his tentacles. He was even more worried when you left the cave for any reason. 

💤-He particularly didn’t like it when you bathed away from him. He knew about the dangers of the ocean so he was more on edge to leave you in it by yourself. He had also taken to bringing you back beautiful shells and rocks. 

💤-Shota was hesitant to tell you that the storm receded and he could take you back now. It didn’t matter, you were courting, basically mates at this point. 

💤-“Shota....” You trailed off, your eyes not able to meet his. 

💤-“Yes, Omega?” He rumbled, he picked up on your scent, it was uneasy. 

💤-“I was wondering when we were gonna go back to shore.” You asked, flitting your eyes over to him. 

💤-“Back to shore?” The words felt itchy against his throat. His tentacles coiling in the water, wishing to hold you close in his arms. You can’t leave if you are tangled in his limbs. 

💤-“Well, I need to get back. I don’t know how long my back can handle sleeping on sand another night.” You rubbed your aching back. “I miss curling up in bed, warm tea, and reading books.” 

💤-Each word was like shark's teeth ripping into him. He supposed he would miss the waves of the sea if he was on land. You both were still too different. His Alpha was howling in his head. 

💤-She can’t leave! She is ours! He howled. 

💤-Ours or not. She needs somewhere better to live. Shota sadly argued. Our cave wasn’t suited for a human Omega. 

💤-Wait a damn minute. That blond still owes me a favor. He thought, not believing he didn’t think of him sooner. 

💤-Yeah! Make that Beta build our Omega a home. His Alpha yipped. 

💤-“I know a friend who has a place around here,” Shota said, happy that you wouldn’t be leaving him anytime soon. 

💤-The Alpha didn’t waste any time pulling you into the water and swimming you to his friend’s beach house. 

***

💤-“What do you mean you want me to build her a house!” The blond’s eyes widened, he stared at his friend in shock. 

💤-“You make her a house on your island so she can stay here,” Shota explained again, you would think he was talking about the weather with how calm he was being. 

💤-He was glad you were using the blond’s shower. He didn’t want you around for his annoying yelling. 

💤-“I can’t just build a house for an Omega you found in the sea! Next thing I know I’ll have to build an apartment complex.” The blonde huffed, running his hand through his long hair. 

💤-“No apartment complex. I want a house for my Omega.” The dark-haired male glared, angry that the blond would even suggest he would stray from his Omega. He wouldn’t even consider it. 

💤-Plus, It’s not like the sea was filled with unmated Omegas after all. 

💤-“Your Omega? Like your bonded Omega?” The blond lifted a brow, not quite sure his ears were working properly.  

💤-“Yes. My Omega. My forever mate.” The Alpha rumbled his chest warming at his words. 

💤-“Mmm. I suppose I can see what I can do. It might take a couple of weeks though? Are you fine with her staying here with me?” Hizashi questioned, knowing the Alpha male well. 

💤-The Alpha growled at him. 

💤-“You stay on your side of the house and I won’t have a problem.” He glowered, lunging slightly out of the water to intimidate him a bit. 

💤-“Woah, there big guy! No need to threaten me. I’ll be on my best behavior.” The blond backed away from the patio’s edge. 

💤-The patio was flush against the sea. A perfect spot for the millionaire to lounge out in his speedo. 

💤-“Good. I’ll consider your debt paid.” Shota hummed, eyeing your freshly showered form making your way over. 

💤-“Wow, you have a great shower Hizashi.” You beamed, rubbing a towel to your wet hair. 

💤-“Thank you. Please be sure to help yourself to some food. I doubt this guy had anything besides fish in his little damp cave.” The blond teased, making sure to move a safe distance away from the male in the water. 

💤-“Thank you!” You chirped, making yourself at home in his kitchen.

💤-Shota enjoyed the bright smile on your face as you threw a meal together. He did get a little concerned when you brought out a knife to chop vegetables but you seemed comfortable with the blade so that calmed him some. 

💤-He was content in leaning over the patio’s edge, happy that you were happy. He felt like he could be here, watching you from the water’s edge, for the rest of his life. 

***

💤-Two weeks later and the little beach house on the other side of the island was built. You almost didn’t believe it when Shota swam you to it. 

💤-“This is mine?” You gasped looking at the wooden beach house. It looked like it cost an arm and a leg to make. 

💤-“Yup, Hizashi owed me a favor. He got drunk one night and decided to go night fishing. I saved the dumb fool from a hungry shark and brought him back home.” He rolled his eyes at the blonde’s antics. 

💤-“But why?” You asked, wondering why he used his debt to make you a house. 

💤-Surely he knew you would have to go back to your old life sometime soon. During you stay with Zashi’s house you had informed him of your previous Alpha’s actions. The billionaire was all too pleased to put the Alpha behind bars. It took a while for the police to investigate so you were invited to stay with him while everything was sorted out. 

💤-They kept the fact that you were alive a secret from the public. They wanted the Alpha to think he got away with it.  

💤-The Alpha was claiming you both were on the boat when the storm came and knocked you overboard. That they tried to get to you but you were too far away and they got separated from you. 

💤-It wasn’t until the captain of the boat folded and told them what had happened, that the Alpha was finally cuffed and sent to prison. 

💤-“Because we’re courting obviously.” The black-haired Alpha stated, his eyes lovingly connected with yours.  

💤-His three hearts truly beat for you. 

💤-“Courting? Since when?” You leaned back, surprised at his words. 

💤-“Since you gave me a courting gift and touched my gills.” He said, perplexed by your reaction.

💤-“I don’t remember touching your gills?” You tilted your head to the side trying to recall if you ever did. 

💤-“When you would put my hair up. You would always touch them. Did you not mean to?” His voice grew small as he realized you didn’t know what the touch would mean. 

💤-“I didn’t mean to.” You said, your heart picking up. Did he think you were courting the entire time? 

💤-“What about my courting gifts? You accepted them.” He pushed, nervously swimming forward.

💤-“Your seashells and rocks? I didn’t think they meant anything.” You mumbled, your eyes looking down in your lap. 

💤-You didn’t think he would be interested in you that way. You were a human after all. Didn’t he want to be with someone his kind? It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought of spending the rest of your days with him but you never truly accepted the fact that it could be a reality. 

💤-“Oh.” He sank into the water, his nose submerged. 

💤-The action made you think he was about to swim away and you would never see him again. You nearly broke the poor man’s neck jumping on top of him the way you did. 

💤-“Wait! I didn’t say I wouldn’t court you.” You exclaimed, holding onto him tight.

💤-“Really?” He breathed, the light in his eyes flickering again. 

💤-“Yes! I’ll be sure to make you an actual courting gift. Though I’m having a difficult time thinking about what it should be. I usually gave my other Alphas a crocheted scarf.” You blinked, realizing the man had no use for one.

💤-“Other Alphas.” He growled, his tentacles squeezing you possessively.  

💤-“Don’t worry about them. They are long gone. You are the only Alpha I’m thinking about now.” You hummed, pecking him lightly on the lips. 

💤-You felt a spark shoot down your spine at the small touch. 

💤-The pleasant purr that came out of his chest made you giggle. 

💤-“More.” He purred, leaning forwards. 

💤-“Anything for you Alpha.” You said, leaning forward to meet him. 

I mean there could be a few more Omegas stranded at sea. Who knows. 🤷‍♀️ Lol I almost didn’t post this so I hope you like it! Please be sure to leave a note and tell me your thoughts on this AU.