#i drew this more for the fish than the ship to be honest | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

riley-francis-moore · 1 year

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I posted 571 times in 2022

That's 571 more posts than 2021!

31 posts created (5%)

540 posts reblogged (95%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@aldrichpalermo

@dr-astrid-zhang

@emmie-fitzgerald

@antony-malinowski

@penned-cbarbosa

I tagged 570 of my posts in 2022

#p: aldrich - 57 posts

#t: aldrich - 45 posts

#p: emmie - 45 posts

#o: antony - 40 posts

#p: astrid - 34 posts

#swtask - 34 posts

#t: astrid - 34 posts

#p: celeste - 29 posts

#o: amaya - 25 posts

#swdinoing - 24 posts

Longest Tag: 93 characters

#(is this a thing? idk. and i'm not going to search it. it's at least a thing in our universe)

My Top Posts in 2022:

Final Confessional

Mentions: Aldrich, Luna, Khamani, Sebastián Notes: Riley’s last Ship-Wrecked confessional

Riley sat with his legs crossed and looked at the producer. “Hit me with your best questions.”

“Okay, so we’ll start easy. You and Aldrich are cute together. What first drew you to him, and how do you feel about him now?”

“First off, thank you. We are extremely cute together. Is it shallow to say his looks first drew me to him? And his sexy Italian accent? Maybe it is, but I quickly learnt that he is an incredible man. He took care of me after I got sick, and he is just sweet. Judging from his looks, you would never know. I’m glad I got to know him better. Not only is he wonderful, but my ramblings didn’t scare him away. They apparently endeared me to him.” Riley grinned as he thought about his luck. “I am very much in love with him. I don’t know exactly what’s next for us, but I imagine it involves a lot of Italian food, traveling, and just being with each other.”

“You answered the follow up question I was going to ask. So here’s another one, do you think you two will end up married?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. I’m not opposed to the idea of marriage. But we aren’t going to rush into things. I want to just enjoy being with him. All I know is that we would have the most epic wedding. He’s a party planner, and would throw us a spectacular wedding and reception!”

“Your time here hasn’t been without drama. You and Khamani got into it a bit during the Truth, Dare, or Noms task. Have things settled down a bit?”

“I haven’t gone out of my way to talk to him after that. I did talk to Luna about it, though, and while I still don’t love the idea of them together, Luna is my best friend. If she’s happy with him, then I suppose I’ll learn to deal with him. Just don’t expect Khamani and I to ever be besties. We can be civil for Luna’s sake, but I still think he’s a fucking prick,” Riley shrugged.

"What’s next for you when you get home?”

“First, I’m going to eat my weight in fish and chips. Mostly chips if we’re being honest. I’ll get back to working on games and The Hallowed show. Then Luna and I are going to take the gaming industry by the bollocks and try to change things. The industry as it is is toxic. There are gatekeepers, misogynists, racists, etcetera. If we can make a small change by talking to industry experts, then I think it will lead to bigger changes. We can start with blunt conversations about it, with the help of Sebastián and his radio show. Then we can try to host panels about it at Cons. That’s where Luna’s job and expertise comes in...” Riley stopped himself. “I’m rambling. You don’t give a fuck about this. Anyway. Back to work,” he said, chuckling.

“Okay, then. Final questions. What’s something we can improve on for next season? And what’s some advice you have for the next group of Ship-mates?”

“This one is easy. You need to add more date nights, even if they’re with random people. Give them a romantic date to try to get to know someone. This walking up to someone on the beach is fine, but I would like to see more date opportunities. And when people are together, also give them dates. Ship-mates shouldn’t have to try to find a private spot on the island to have alone time. Anyway, I would tell the next group to just go with the flow as much as possible. You’ll make friends, you’ll meet people you can fall in love with, and you’ll meet people you don’t particularly like. Just accept that all.” Riley stood up and shook the producers’ hands. “Good luck with the next group.”

3 notes - Posted June 22, 2022

Confessional - Post Truth or Dare

(mentions @aldrichpalermo, @lunazuniga, @detkhamani)

“You lot wasted no time ushering me in here after that task. I guess I just needed to snog an Italian man to get some attention, eh? Kidding. A little,” Riley shrugged and sat down on the couch, adjusting the lav mic around his neck.

“We’ve seen you make out with Aldrich before. Cameras everywhere. You haven’t exactly been hiding it well.”

“Well, can you blame me? He’s the hottest man I’ve seen in my life, and he’s somehow attracted to me despite my word vomit the first time I talked to him,” he shook his head. “He called my rambling cute. Did you put that in the show?” he wondered.

“You know you’re not supposed to ask that kind of stuff.”

“I know, I know. But you have to give the viewers at home some reason to think I’m not a complete dork. I know I am, but maybe you can do a little editing magic to make me seem more suave and charming than I really am,” he grinned.

“You’re purposely avoiding talking about the kiss. Spill. What was going through your mind when you asked Aldrich to be your boyfriend?”

Riley looked between the producer and the camera. “I was thinking that I fancy him more than I’ve ever fancied another man. It’s not just his looks, but his personality. He’s not a prick despite knowing he’s fit as fuck. And we had already kissed, so I already knew he liked me back. It wasn’t a difficult ask. I guess the only reason he might have said no is if he doesn’t want commitment. He wouldn’t be the first person on this island to lead someone on.” The comment was very pointed. “Before you ask, I said everything I want to say about Khamani to his face.”

“We almost thought you were going to hit him.”

“Ha! No. Have you see him? He could knock me to the ground with a slap. I don’t have a death wish. I also wouldn’t do that to Luna. As much as I dislike him, Luna is my best friend here. Hell, my best friend in general. I might change my mind about hitting him if he hurts her again, though. Anyway,” he sighed. “Aldrich makes me happy. When can I take him on that camera and recording-free date?”

3 notes - Posted April 22, 2022

Outfit for SebTony Wedding

4 notes - Posted April 28, 2022

(Love) Sick || Riley & Aldrich

@aldrichpalermo

Riley didn’t know what food was tainted at the birthday party, but he did know it left him feeling incredibly itchy, covered in red splotches, and sick. The only food allergy he knew he had was shellfish. It wasn’t severe enough to cause anaphylaxis, but it did cause itchiness to his skin and mouth. Obviously, he avoided anything that was labeled with shellfish in it, so he figured there must have been cross contamination. Fortunately, there was some allergy meds in the medical tent. They were taking forever to kick in.

He sat up a little in bed when he heard someone walk in. To his dismay, it was Aldrich. The last person he wanted to see him like this. “I hope you weren’t looking for me. I know I’m missing the after party-party, but I feel like rubbish.”

28 notes - Posted March 28, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Riley was thinking up some fun truth or dares he could offer people. He didn’t want to trick anyone into eating any of the ‘noms’ on the table nearby. “Play the game with me?” he asked, looking at the nearest person. “I promise to go easy on you. I don’t want anyone to have to eat one of those things because of me.”

61 notes - Posted April 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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blzzrdstryr · 3 years

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Yan!Beidou x fem!reader

This drabble has been heavily inspired by @ddarker-dreams yan Beidou hcs and I am not a native English speaker so bear with me

CW: Childhood abuse, unhealthy relationship

Drop by drop the sea is drained - is what your mother used to say, when you acted disagreeable. There were plenty of instances, where your parents enforced a certain behaviour model on you - don't run, don't be rude, don't play with servants' kids. They wanted a proper lady, you were anything but. Once your goal was set - climb a tree for apples, skip boring manners lessons, or play with peers - you stopped at nothing until you reached it.

Being put in a corner, losing privileges and even whipping did little to deter you, just making you silent for a day or two, while you looked at your parents with angry and resentful eyes. With years you learnt to mask your grievances and indignation to avoid unnecessary punishment, but still you couldn’t bring yourself to agree with their ideas or become the person they wanted you to be.

I am not the ever changing sea, I am a tall cliff standing amidst it, you once thought to yourself, when your parents decided to lash you twenty times more for disobedience and haughtiness, gritting your teeth and preparing for the incoming pain, I will continue standing.

In the end, they failed at molding you into the perfect daughter and you ended up disowned, once you publically broke off the engagement arranged years ago. Seems that their desire for perfect reputation in high society was stronger than whatever remains of love they still had for you, their child. A mix of horror and relief washed over you that day, you were free to do as you please, but had nowhere to return to.

That's how you found yourself in Liyue harbor doing odd jobs - working as a translator, performing on instruments, teaching other noble kids; skills that you acquired in your former rich life were now used to get by. And then you had the misfortune of catching Beidou's gaze.

You were playing an erhu at Heyu teahouse that day. After Liu Su finished his tale of Guhua Brotherhood and left the stage to rest his throat, you took his place, ready to play on the strings of the instrument and hearts of your listeners. It produced a sad yet hopeful wordless tale of love, as your fingers of one hand were flying over the strings, while the other masterfully directed the bow. Some visitors closed their eyes, some gazed into the distance with a faraway look, too consumed by their thoughts and feelings, but Beidou’s stare never left you for once.

She looked just like Liu Su’s stories portrayed her: gorgeous and terrifying and you were almost enchanted. To you. Beidou looked like a hero straight out of fairy tales: with steel hard muscles, skin coarse from sea winds contrasting with surprisingly silk soft hair and a great claymore strapped to her back, a legendary captain just waiting to slay unimaginable levianthants and discover unknown lands.

She approached you, right after you finished and full of praise and mora to gift. Her loud, boisterous voice described every little detail of what she liked in your music, enough to make your cheeks feel warm. Beidou even joked at the end, that your mastery of the music was alike to the beauty of Xi Shi, enough to make fish forget how to swim and sink below at the first notes of your erhu, and even promised that she will attend your every performance when she is on land.

And Beidou did hold her word, her intimidating figure seen in the audience as you played on erhu or guzheng or pipa, ready to shower you in compliments and gifts. It was charming at first, but then the constant attention started to feel tiring, yet you still entertained her, as you felt bad for receiving countless treasures, enough to provide you for years, just for playing music.

To be honest, it wasn't that she was bad company, her straight-forward and honest nature was what drew you in, captain was everything people in your former life were not. Her laser focus on you was what initially bothered you - eye following every movement and she always remembered the littlest thing you said, something that made shivers creep up your spine.

Despite that you still followed Beidou when she offered to show you the Crux. She boasted about all the adventures and battles she had, while her crew intently observed you. You paid them no mind, thinking that they stare because you were an outsider to their ship.

The Crux suddenly moved, creaking and swaying on the waves, as all anchors were lifted - you almost fell from the sudden rocking, but Beidou caught you in time, confusion written on your face. You treated it all as a tasteless joke at first, after all Beidou was known for her eccentricity, but it wasn’t. Harbour was getting smaller and smaller as the ship headed into the open sea where your cries of indignation could be heard by none who would help.

In the first weeks you cried and shouted at her, tearing your now shared cabin to shreds, constantly defying and testing the captain. You prepared yourself for the violence she will lash out and punish you for defiance, for not being the person she envisioned you to be, but she didn’t. It would be better if she matched your expectation, making it easier to hate, to defy, to continue standing strong, but she surrounded you with love and care instead.

Beidou is a great wave, overwhelming and unfairly strong, inescapable and insatiable.

Now you are locked up in her cabin, a spacious room filled with treasures Beidou acquired during her travels, and you feel like one too - the most beloved yet meaningless trinket, meant to be possessed and hidden from others’ eyes. She spends the whole night with you, keeping you close in the inescapable hug, as her breath fans your neck she’s nuzzled in.

You still lash out at her when you are awake, albeit with less spite and fire in each insult, as if your determination started to slowly wash out. Beidou doesn’t seem to mind it, as she still forces her love in you, smothering and drowning your entire being with unwanted affection. In this regard she looks like the owner of a wild cat to you, kissing and hugging you, when you still thrash in her hold, hissing and clawing at her face.

Unintentional comparison with a pet does nothing but produce dry and humorless laugh out of your lips - deep down you are scared.

You feel it in your bones, how there’s less and less energy in you to fight back - nothing you did was of any use before, so where is meaning in further resisting? You noticed how you sometimes let Beidou have her way with you and how you started to eye the skilfully made erhu she left to you in hopes that you will play once again.

You are a cliff, standing among the raging sea, proud and alone - there’s no one on this cursed ship that will help you - and Beidou is the waves, slowly chipping away at your will.

Water wears away any stone with time and looking at yourself you can’t help but wonder when will you accept that you are nothing but treasure to be kept.

#yandere genshin impact #yandere beidou x reader #yandere genshin x reader #Yandere genshin #Yandere genshin impact x reader #Yandere beidou #Beidou #Yandere #Yandere x reader #Beidou x reader #my writing

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y0itsbri · 3 years

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gallavich week 2021 - day 2 - fantasy au w/ inspo from this wonderful prompt list by @ianandmickeygallavich // @gallavichthings

You're Not Getting Cold Fins Now, Are Ya?

word count: 6.3k

(click on art for better quality)

Mickey truly enjoyed being a fisherman. He liked the solitude that came with the job -- no one on his ass trying to tell him what to do or that what he's doing was wrong when it definitely wasn't. He was always a resourceful little bastard, and his confidence at sea was not unwarranted. He knew how to do shit, and how to do shit right -- crewmates be damned. Nothing but him and the water, just the way he liked it.

He often sold his fish at the market in the small coastal town where he and his sister, Mandy, reside. Her charisma luring customers to their stand, promising the best of the best -- and it wasn't even a lie anymore. Lately, Mickey's produce was the freshest and somehow the most beautiful, catching somewhat exotic fish with vibrant colors that none of the other fishermen were able to attract. Mandy had once trapped him in the corner, demanding answers to questions like how on earth he alone could come up with all this? She thought he was secretly a pirate, raiding other ships, stealing their best, and dumping the rest -- you can't fucking afford to go to jail again, dumbass! Time after time, he reassured her that it was just dumb fucking luck until she caved and let him go, not withholding a dubious glare. Despite what he told her, and even told himself, he was a bit suspicious. He was not a lucky man.

With an ungraceful leap, he had heaved himself out of his boat, the water well deeper than his knees, but his overalls keeping him as dry as he could be. His beef jerky strip hanged out of his mouth as he marveled towards the tree line in front of him. If he didn't feel so damn calm, he might have been a bit frightened at his new surrounding -- but it felt right. He also felt like he was being watched. His eyes scanned past the trees and over to the rocky ledge where water was splashing high and mighty, creating a silvery mist. He saw a patch of orange-ish red shimmering against the water. It was surely too shallow for any fish or octopus that size to be this close to shore. He turned around to make sure he boat was firmly anchored this time before he ventured over to the rocks. But as soon as he turned around again, the orange thing had disappeared. Huh.

Mickey sat himself in the sand, reveling in the feeling of being on land again. As often as he flipped between land and sea, the difference never failed to startle him. He dragged his hands through the sand, feeling like some fancy exfoliator Mandy was always trying to get him to use. He was adamantly watching the colorful rocks bead through his fingertips. A larger stone caught in his palm. He held it up to the sun where it was peeking out from behind the clouds. At first glance, it looked like any other stone -- kind of a boring sea foam color, but in the sun, it sparkled like green embers. He rested the stone atop his knee and turned his attention to a bird squawking from the rocks. Noisy fucker. He furrowed his eyebrows wondering what could have happened for the bird to cause such a fuss. Stuck in his tangle of thoughts and oblivious to the world, a wave swept over him -- even above his overalls.

Mickey leapt up in surprise, "Motherfuck-!" In all his joust movements, he managed his lose the stone... and his dignity. He didn't have a spare change of clothes on his boat because it was supposed to be a short trip. He didn't plan on falling asleep and ending up on an island god-knows-where. So there he sat, pouting, in just his boxers and hat while he let the remainder of his clothes air dry with what little sun there was. He could've sworn he heard someone laughing at him -- giggling, even. He glared towards the squawking bird before determining it was his own paranoia. Mandy had him do all that therapy shit awhile back, so he knows how he can get sometimes and how it's a 'trauma response' or some bullshit that actually made a hell of a lot of sense now that he thought about it.

He pulled out an orange from the front pocket of his overalls, still half damp in the sand. He nibbled on it, tossing his peels as far into the tide as he could, watching it float... float... disappear. Whatever creature was down there must really fuckin' like oranges. It was quick, but exciting none-the-less. Mickey no longer felt sluggish like his impromptu nap that landed him on this island might have suggested. He felt alive.

The sun placement told him that it was time to head back if he had any chance of making it back to the coast before sundown. Fuck! His fish! He picked up his clothes and half-jogged half-stumbled back to his boat, expecting the fish he had caught earlier in the day to have gotten tainted by now. He shoved his legs into his mostly-dry overalls and waded out to his boat. To his surprise, the fish looked good -- almost better than when he caught them.

Now Mickey may not be the most observant, but even he knew something was a little suspicious (something a little fishy is going on here🤔). If he didn't know then, he definitely knew when he turned to see the green ember stone -- his stone -- resting on top of his ice box. The fuck? He picked up the stone, smoothing over it's edges with his thumb, leaving a sparkling trail where his fingers had just touched. So it wasn't just from the sunlight, interesting. He secured the rock inside the zipper pocket on his overalls, then double checking to make sure it was still there. Whatever force on his side might be into second chances, but he didn't want to test his new luck with third chances.

He really had to get going now. He gave the island a once over as he pulled out his map, subtly marking his new uncharted oasis. This was something else.

Since his initial discovery, Mickey had come back to the island several times, and all the more prepared. He kept spare clothes on him at all times now, in case the tide one again decided to have a personal vendetta against him and his overalls -- which of course it had. He also brought more beef jerky, tools, and a tent. He was determined to see more than just the coast the next time he returned.

He had told Mandy that he was going to stop at another port for the night so as not to wait up for him that evening, which wasn't unheard of. With the amount of overnight stays on his isolated island as of lately, however, Mandy thought he had a secret lover a few ports over, teasing and making kissy faces at him whenever she could. "Who is she, Mick? Oh, c'mon, I tell you about my hookups!" "Yeah, and I wish you fuckin' didn't." "Whatever, anyways, she's gotta have a name. Wait! Oh my god! He? Is it a guy? Mickey!" "Mandy, no." She could be annoying as hell when she wanted to, but she mostly knew when to stop.

As much as Mickey denied a secret lover, there was definitely a secret something, but he couldn't place his finger on exactly what it was. He knew there was like the red-ish, orange-ish glow that flickered beneath the surface of the water. And he knew there was feelings. Which sounded weird as hell -- even to himself. He should have just played along with Mandy's hookup in another port theory. Hell, he should find a hookup in another port. That would be a lot simpler than whatever this was. But he just couldn't get himself to stay away from this mystical island. His fish business was doing better than ever, so he had no real excuse to stay away.

He had managed to map out the geography and topography of the island after a few visits -- Mickey knew his shit. No one lived on this island. It looked like no one has ever lived on this island. It was a small, and it was beautiful, but he still couldn't find the source of whatever force drew him here -- at least when he was actively searching for it. He continued throwing his orange peels in the ocean to be devoured by his... friend? He tried to throw his apple cores in, but his creature was apparently not a fan. He didn't blame them, to be honest.

He began to talk to himself and even sing to himself more and more on the island. He thought he may have heard the laughter again, and even some off-key humming or whistles along to his tunes. Mickey didn't even care if it was the paranoia or if he was having some odd hallucination at this point. He just felt entirely too good.

Which is why he didn't see it coming. If he hadn't been so distracted by this siren-like callings, he would have noticed the storm coming. He was Mickey fucking Milkovich, damnit. He knew his shit! Which is why he knew that he could secure the boat as best as humanly possible, and it still wouldn't survive the storm surge unscathed. He hoped that whatever force looking out for him would look out for his boat. He said a quick prayer -- and he wasn't religious by any means -- as he double checked to make sure he had his 'lucky' stone, his backpack, and his map, then hiked inland where he knew there was a cave for shelter.

He had escaped the start of the downpour, but only barely. The dark clouds loomed overhead, chasing out any hopes of a light, easy rain. Mickey huddled against the inner wall of the cave, nibbling at one of his jerky strips, and cursing the lack of cell phone signal on this fucking island that doesn't even fucking exist according to any map he's ever fucking seen. To say he was having a bad day was an understatement. He couldn't do much but wait, and he quickly fell asleep to the pitter patter of the water dripping outside the cave.

He awoke to a sharp burning on his chest. The fuck?! His so-called 'lucky' stone was hot. And glowing. And so was most of the other rocks in the cave. Now this was definitely something. The stones obviously did not want him to stay still as they grew hotter and glowed brighter, but this time alternating and lighting up a path down a miniscule stream he hadn't noticed before. The storm had long stopped, and he hoped these bewitched stones would at least lead him to the shore so he can check on whatever remains of his boat.

Mickey followed the path to the shore, luckily, but more towards the rocks that he noticed on his first visit. He hardly saw the rocks now as he was drawn to a heap of familiar orange-ish red-ish laid up on shore. He fully expected it to disappear again so he refused to even blink, inching closer. It was alive -- for sure -- that was good, but it was battered from the storm. It looked scaley... but also had hair? It grunted and rolled over. Yup. That was a man. But also a fish.

Mickey thought his hallucination were playing entirely too many games on him now but he physically could not bring himself to turn away, as much as he swore he wanted to. He wanted out. He was insane. That was the only explanation, because obviously mermaids weren't real. He was sleeping, he had to be. He would wake up in his bed next door to Mandy's and all of this would go away. Hell, maybe the whole island was in his dreams. Maybe he was trapped in a very realistic coma. He looked around for something to wake him the fuck up when he heard the creature groan again.

Fuuuuuck, now Mickey was involved. The tide had pulled back far enough that left the creature stranded on the land. The stone grew hotter yet against his chest. "Alright, alright, I fuckin' got it, thank you," he grumbled. The creature turned it's startled head towards his. They locked eyes -- green embers. Of course.

"It's you, isn't it? All this time?" Mickey asked as the creature weakly tried to hide his face. Mickey didn't know why. It was a beautiful face, somehow covered in freckles that sparkled.

"Nah, man, it's cool, right? We've been having fun, eating oranges and shit?"

The creature unburied its head and quietly whistled one of Mickey's favorite songs, earning a chuckle out of Mickey as he awkwardly lifted the half-man half-fish in some semblance of a firefighter carry. Mickey expected the creature to be slick and cold, but he was soft and warm. Odd, but not unpleasant. They were almost to the water now.

"Yeah, Rain on Me by Ariana Grande and Lady Gaga. Fuckin' banger. Don't tell my fuckin' sister about this. She'd never let me live this down."

The red-headed creature tilted its head in confusion.

"Lady Gaga? Ya know, Mother Monster?"

He seemed to startle at the word 'monster' as he wiggled, escaping Mickey's grip into the water, disappearing into the dark sea. Frowning, in a last attempt at communication.

Mickey wasn't having it. Nah. The creature had been luring him for weeks. Hanging out with him for weeks. Even called out to him with some fuckin' moon stone type things. And now it wanted to disappear? He didn't fucking get it. He kept talking to himself as he paced along the shore.

"You're not getting cold fins now, are you?" Mickey teased, "Wait, fuck, is that offensive? Fuck, I'm sorry, please just come back."

He was acting fucking pathetic. He buried his face in his hands. Fuck. His brain was fucked. His life was fucked. His boat was fucked. His boat.

Mickey nearly tripped as he stumbled back to his boat. Or more like where he docked his boat. All that remained was his anchor. The rest had been mangled and scattered along the shore. He could probably get it fixed eventually since he had the little foresight to keep his tools safe in his backpack. But until then, he was stuck on an island, that apparently didn't exist, with a companion, who apparently didn't want to be perceived, and a dwindling supply of beef jerky. Great.

It had been a depressing night. Without Mandy's overenthusiastic presence or his new friend's feel-good aura, Mickey was especially pessimistic. He hardly got any sleep, his brain racking all the ways he could possibly fix his boat. Mickey Milkovich knew his shit, but he was beginning to feel a little doomed. He took out his 'unlucky' stone from it's secure pocket, fidgeting with it like he does when he's nervous. The thing was cold (one could say it was stone cold😎).

Feeling hopeless, he stormed back to the shore, tossing his last orange into the water, intent on yelling at the water until he died a peaceful death.

"C'mon, man," his voice came out sounding more like pleading than yelling, but what can you do? "I don't give a fuck if you're a man or a fish. I need you to help me fix my fucking boat! You got me into this mess, you get me out of it!"

He collapsed in the moonlight. He was absolutely not on the verge of crying. He was focusing on his breathing so intently that he barely heard his voice.

Holy fuck, though. He finally got why the legends always referred to mermaids as sirens. He would follow this voice anywhere. It was as disturbing as it was comforting.

Mickey was knocked out of his trance as his previously-tossed orange rolled to a stop at his feet.

"I said, I'm sorry." The siren's red hair poked out of the ocean several feet in front of him. Mickey continued to stare. How the fuck did this motherfucker's freckles glow brighter than the stars in the sky above them?

"I never meant to cause you harm. Swear. I even brought you the best fish I could find. My family lectured me about cannibalism or some shit, but I just wanted any excuse to see you again."

Mickey stared in awe. The creature's voice ringing through his ears prettier than any choir he had ever heard. He had got to get himself together. He was supposed to be mad. Right!

"What about my fuckin' boat? You realize I actually have to leave this place eventually, right, Red?" Maybe Mickey was being a bit harsh considering he was basically in the middle of some magical doomsday. But he was still ridiculously frustrated at his current situation.

"Hmm," the creature considered, "my name is Ian." Ian. Ian. Ian. The name chimed through his head. "And I was thinking about your boat. I tried to save it before it was too late, but I ended up too close to the shore, and the tide was ridiculous, and hence I got stranded and we got off to the wrong... fin." Ian gave Mickey a dumbass smirk, clearly proud of himself.

Okay, it did ease the tension, Mickey would give him that. Mickey was silent for a bit too long again.

"And what is your name?" Ian mused, "I've got to stop calling you That-One-Hot-Fisherman in my head."

Mickey nearly choked, and tried to cover it up by rubbing his hand against his lips, "Mikhailo." He had no idea why he was compelled to share his real name. He hadn't used that name in years -- only liking it from the sound of his mother's mouth. He corrected himself, "Well, it's Mickey. That's what I go by."

"Okay, well, Mickey Mikhailo, shall we get started on rebuilding your boat now or do you want to wait until morning?" Ian looked both devious and sincere. It was maddeningly confusing.

If Mickey swooned at the way a fucking fish said his name, that was nobody's business. But he couldn't deny he was exhausted. His stone was warm against his chest, comfortingly so, not hot like before. He managed to mumbled out a "in the morning" before falling into the peaceful sleep he had been so desperately craving.

Mickey awoke to sunshine in his face and a bird pecking at his thigh -- the pocket where his final jerky stick remained.

"Fuck off you fucking fuck!" He shooed haphazardly while rubbing fucking literal sand out of his eyes. God, what a nightmare.

"I see someone's not a morning person," teased an orange blob from the water. Mickey rubbed his eyes again. Right. Ian.

"Fuck off, fish genius over there."

"That's not any way to treat your only chance of getting off the island anytime soon," Ian pouted.

Fish genius had a point.

"Sorry," Mickey grumbled. He was never one for apologies, but man did he need to stay on this creature's good side. But, he was all good sides as far as Mickey was concerned. In the daylight, he could see how Ian's orange hair curled into little rings when it air dried. It looked real fuckin' soft. He couldn't remember if he had the chance to touch it yesterday on their fucking rescue mission. He needed to distract himself before he said something he regretted. He was not about to be flirting with a fish. He wasn't!

"Ya got any more oranges you can toss my way? Fuckin' starving."

Ian pointed at the one sandy orange a few feet from where Mickey had slept, "Just yours that you tried to hit me with, thank you very much."

"You like the peels, though." Mickey said as he tossed a piece into the ocean, floating several yards away from where Ian's head bobbed out of the water.

That took Ian aback, "Damn, I thought I was slicker than that."

"Not that slick, man."

"Hmm." Ian briefly considered before speeding over to the peel and devouring it quickly, "I can get you some sea food -- as your people say."

"Ain't that basically illegal for you, Red? Ain't you technically sea food?" Mickey musing, tossing another piece of his orange peel into the water.

Ian rolled his eyes. "I-an." He sounded it out slowly. "But I mean, circle of life and all that." He chased the orange peel, twisting it in his fingertips, awaiting Mickey's response.

"Nah, it's cool, don't worry about it, I-an. I don't really want any part in your whole fucked up moral dilemma situation. Got enough of those myself."

Mickey avoided Ian's attempt at eye contact, and Ian didn't push the conversation any further. He seemed tentative again. Mickey didn't want to lose him again.

"So... boat stuff?" Mickey huffed as he stood up, turning to his mangled beauty.

"Yeah," Ian did that dumbass smirk again that had Mickey fucking blushing, "Boat stuff."

Ian explained that he had spent most of the night gathering the parts that he could find in the water, and even some special mud and sea weed looking things that he promised would hold it together if Mickey's tools couldn't. Mickey took offense to the lack of faith Ian had in his skills, but he eventually agreed that it was at least somewhat warranted given their current predicament.

Mickey spent the morning gathering boat parts from land, and by midday, he felt hopeful. It was a 'finding treasure in the trash' kind of moment, but it was enough for now.

Ian and Mickey had fell into idle conversations as Mickey worked to restore his boat and Ian gazed onward, bobbing in the waves.

"So, you have a sister named Mandy?" Ian asked after a slice of silent had washed over them.

"What, are you a psychic, too?" Mickey laughed nervously under his breath.

Ian rolled his eyes like that was the stupidest thing he's ever heard. "No, smartass, I'm a good listener." He paused. "You talk about her a lot."

"Wasn't sure if you were real or if I was crazy." Was all Mickey managed to respond. Ian was really more of the conversation carrier and neither of them seemed to mind.

"Do you have any other family or friends?" Ian wondered, this time genuinely curious.

"Considering I'm talking to you right now, what do you think?"

Ian silently stared at Mickey until his watch became uncomfortable and Mickey felt the urge to continue.

"Mandy's the only one that sticks around. She actually cares about me -- fixes me dinner, drags me out to meet her friends, even makes sure I get enough sleep -- she's fuckin' crazy."

"It sounds like she loves you."

"Yeah. Dunno why."

"You're a good person, Mickey."

Mickey flashed Ian his knuckles reading 'FUCK U-UP' in faded black ink. "Yeah, I'm a real stand-up guy."

"No, I mean it." And Ian just looked so genuine that all Mickey could do was believe it for once in his goddamn life. All it took was for a fish to tell him. Yeah, that makes perfect sense.

"What's your social circle look like? Couple of dolphins, maybe a crab?"

"Maybe," Ian confessed. Shit, maybe this was some real life Little Mermaid. "But I also have five siblings."

"Y'all all got bright-ass fins? Or is that just you?" Mickey still couldn't believe this was his reality right now, but shit, might as well hear about all of Ariel's siblings.

"My little sister, Debbie, she's orange like me. My mom had a theory that our colors are reflective of like our auras or something. She was always hanging around this old-as-balls sea turtle spouting off whatever nonsense he remembered. Some of it makes sense, though. My oldest sister, Fiona, is purple. Then there's my brothers -- Lip is blue, Carl is green, and Liam is yellow."

"Mandy has black hair like me. But she has a nose piercing, and I ain't getting one of those anytime soon."

Ian smiled that Mickey was even trying to draw some sort of semblance between their drastically different worlds. But it felt so natural, Mickey couldn't help it.

Mickey felt his lucky stone grow warm, again. Ian wasn't in any trouble, though. He was literally right fuckin' here. And he was happy. Mickey was happy, too.

By nightfall, they had called it quits. Mickey had ended up using some of Ian's 'special' tools, earning a fair amount of teasing from Ian himself. Whatever. The red-head had been protecting him so far. He trusted him -- even if that thought was terrifying. The mud would dry in the moonlight, and Ian assured Mickey that he would be set by morning.

Mickey was fucking hungry after a long day's work. It was high tide and Ian had something different in mind.

"Now that we're talking," Ian started. "I've been wanting to show you this."

Mickey waited for further instructions.

"Follow the stones, I'll meet you there, promise."

Mickey trusted the fucker despite his innate inability to trust anyone else, so he followed the stones into the thick of the forest. He knew the island. He had mapped the thing. He didn't know what Ian could possibly want to show him that he hadn't already seen.

The path stopped glowing near the bottom of a cliff. He knew about the cliff. But what he didn't know was that the cliff was a waterfall.

"Woah."

"Pretty cool, huh? Only happens with lots of rain."

Ian had prepared them a fish dinner set on another rocky edge, like the one on the other side of the island.

"Ian. You're a fish. This ain't right."

"First of all, I'm a mammal. Second, it's fine. They tell me when they're ready to die so I have a clear conscious as far as I'm concerned."

"Dude. I knew this was fucked up, but that is fucked up."

"Dude," Ian mocked him, "We're in the middle of the fucking ocean. Do you have any better ideas, or are you just gonna be all pissy? Least you can do is eat with me."

Mickey's jerky supply was officially gone. Fish genius had another point.

Mickey wouldn't admit it to anyone, but Ian's dinner was even better than Mandy's were.

Morning came and Mickey found himself not wanting to leave. Of course, he knew he had to, so he would.

"So, Red, I guess this is goodbye?"

"Only for now. You'll be back." Ian winked. Mickey knew he would.

"This is stupid, but like, you can't go back with me? Like, we make a pretty good team."

Mickey was visibly uncomfortable at his moment of vulnerability, and Ian took pity on him with a gentle smile. "Unless I want to get hunted, I'm better off here. It's safer."

"Right, right." That made sense. Mickey didn't even want to think about the possibility of Ian getting hurt. There had been rumors about mermaids in the area, but he had always assumed them to be tall tales. He knew enough of the fishermen were heavy drinkers and supposed that played a factor in their truth-telling.

"My mother is on land now, but she wouldn't choose to help me. Learned that the hard way."

Mickey frowned. He knew what it was like to have a parent that would trade you for literally anything else. But he was more curious about another part of Ian's story.

"What do you mean your mom is on land? Like she was captured or something?"

"No, nothing like that. More like she's got two legs that she uses to chase whatever thrilling experience she can. Another one of her wacky theories was that her 'true love's kiss' gave her the ability to shapeshift between her land and water forms whenever she wanted."

"Huh."

"All my siblings think she's crazy. The idea was tempting enough for awhile, though. Fiona had gotten real close to this sailor named Steve. He promised her the world and she believed him. But their bond wasn't enough to shift. Fiona was sure he was her soulmate. He still comes around sometimes. And then there's Debbie, who almost got killed trying to woo some girl at the port. I think my mother is just a hopeless romantic. But hope can be dangerous sometimes."

Mickey listened on to this story that sounded more like a children's bedtime story -- all this princess nonsense about a true love's kiss made him think that maybe this red-head was Ariel. He suppressed a laugh when he saw the worried look in Ian's eyes.

"Well whatever it is, she sounds pretty lucky."

Ian smiled softly, sadly. "Yeah."

"Hey," Mickey said gently. "I'll see you around, okay?"

"Okay."

And with that, Mickey sailed his patchwork boat back to whatever wrath Mandy was about to unleash on him.

The door creaked as Mickey made his way into the apartment he shares with his sister. He was nearly tackled on sight.

"Mickey, what the fuck!" Mandy punched his shoulder before crushing him into another hug. "I was so worried about you, you little shit!" "Ow! Jesus, I'm alive. Would you calm your tits?!"

Mandy gave him one more punch for good measure, "Where the fuck have you been? Three days, Mikhailo Aleksandr, three days! Tell me you didn't get that bitch up at the other port pregnant. I'm not taking in anymore rug rats."

"Bad storm. Boat wreck. And ya know what," Mickey threw his hands into the air, "I wish I would have got someone pregnant. Instead, I was stranded at sea, so maybe be a little bit nicer to me?"

"Fuck." She slumped a bit, "How did you manage to get back? Did you call one of your pirate buddies?"

"Jesus Christ, Mandy. I'm not a pirate -- even though they are dope as fuck, by the way. I just so happen to have a few brain cells -- something you don't know anything about."

Mandy rolled her eyes, "Competent enough to sail straight into a storm, huh?

Mickey flipped her off, "Good to be home, sis."

Mandy smiled, "C'mon, I'll make you some real food. I'm sick just thinking about you surviving off fuckin' jerky for half a week."

-- Mickey picked up a couple shifts at Mandy's bar the next week and a half to make up for three days of lost produce and another week for the time it took to properly fix his boat. He trusted Ian's magic mud well enough, but he didn't want to push his luck.

He wore short sleeve button-ups when he was bartending. He didn't have the comfortable luxury of built in inner pockets like with his fishing overalls, so he sewed his own. He couldn't stand the idea of not having his lucky stone close to his heart.

One night while he was slinging drinks, he mind at sea, he felt the stone grow hot and hotter. Fuck! It nearly burned his skin. He took it out from its pocket tossing it back and forth between his hands. It was glowing again. He felt nauseous. This had to mean Ian was in danger, right? Like last time in the cave? He wasn't on the island. He didn't have some magic pathway leading him exactly where he needed to go. What if he didn't get there in time?

He must have looked as insane as he felt because he felt a cautious hand on his shoulder. "Mick, take a fifteen."

"Got it." Mickey headed out back. Mandy would assume he was just having a smoke. But he ran. He hoped to hell that he was on the right track. The stone glowed brighter so he took that as a good sign.

He was out of breath as he rounded the corner and ended up at the docks. The stone's glow died down and it grew cold. Something was very wrong. What the fuck?

"Ian!" He probably looked like a psychopath screaming at the sea. Maybe he wasn't far from it.

This was the dock his boat was usually parked at. He was on his way to his old spot. Maybe--

A flash of red caught his eye in the dark water. No fish that red was ever this close to shore. His stomach crumbled. Oh my God, Ian.

Mickey dropped to ground, trying to get a better look at what was wrong. Wrapped in fishing nets was Ian, his skin a sickly shade of blue that wasn't from the moonlight.

Mickey made quick work of the fishing net with his pocket knife, careful not to cut Ian's slightly cold body. Was he too late? He couldn't be too late. He was here now. Everything would be fine.

Tapping into the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Mickey heaved Ian's large body onto the dock planks. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing at least.

"Ian. Ian, look at me. You're safe now, okay?" Mickey turned around, making sure he was alone. Luckily, no one was out at the water this time of night. Mickey pulled Ian's head into his lap and brushed his fingers through Ian's hair. Fuckin' finally. It was soft. So soft. "Hey, Red, wanna hook me up with whatever conditioner you got under the sea?" He laughed at himself to keep from crying.

Ian murmured something, lips barely parting.

Mickey stopped his caresses, "What was that, Mumbles?"

"Said you're a dumbass." Ian repeated. It was quiet, but his sass rang through. He was alive alright.

"I know." Mickey smiled for real this time. He placed a gentle kiss on Ian's forehead near his hairline. Ian's eyes fluttered open as they held each others' gaze.

They were distracted when Mickey's stone glowed bright again. Probably brighter than it has ever been before. The color shifted from it's usual green ember to resemble more of an icy blue. The boys watched as it began to shake on the ground -- where Mickey had dropped it when he spotted Ian's body. The stone continued to vibrate violently until it burst. Green and blue specks of light joining the stars in the sky above them. Mickey was so entranced by the light that he didn't notice when something else began to shift.

Ian's shimmering red-orange tail was replaced by two, long, freckled legs. Ian's eyes grew wide as he hit Mickey's arm.

"The fuck you hitting me for -- holy shit."

"Maybe my mom wasn't crazy."

"Maybe not." Mickey traced Ian's new legs with his fingertips. "How do you feel? Pretty big change, champ."

"It feels right... which is weird." Ian concluded after a moment, wiggling his toes.

"You're weird, so it makes sense." Mickey nodded, like it was obvious.

Ian rolled his eyes, "Shut up."

Mickey cocked his head as his lips upturned into a smirk, "Make me."

Mickey had expected Ian to still be chilled from the water, but he wasn't. He was warm and soft. So there they stayed, tightly wrapped in each others' arms under the dancing green-blue stars and the sound of gentle waves knocking into boats.

It was safe to say that Mickey had entirely forgot about returning to his shift at the bar that night. They had decided to sneak Ian into Mickey's room before the fishermen got their early start on the day ay the docks. It was still dark when they slowly opened his apartment's front door, knocking into each other and trying not to laugh at their bizarre situation.

Mandy flicked on the larger kitchen light, ready to give her brother an ear-full for leaving her alone to serve the bar creeps all night when she noticed he wasn't alone. He was accompanied by a tall, gorgeous, red-headed man, who appeared to only have eyes for her brother, not even noticing her presence.

"I thought you said you didn't have any bitches?" Mandy said, hoping to burst them out of their little bubble.

Mickey mumbled a quiet fuck under his breath. And surprisingly, Ian was the first to speak up, "Uh, you must be Mandy? I'm Ian. I'm uh- just visiting town."

"Mhm, whatever you say. Mick, next time, at least tell me when you're ditching work for a booty call, yeah?" She said after an appreciative glance Ian's way, bumping Mickey's hip as she walked past them to her room down the hall.

"Oh, work. Yeah, my bad." Mickey had genuinely forgot. Something about soulmates kind of clouding his judgement.

"Pasta's on the stove -- goodnight, dumbass and company!" She called before slamming her door closed.

Ian erupted into a fistful of giggles, "So much for sneaking in, huh?"

"Whatever, do you want some pasta, or are you sticking straight to cannibalism and orange peels?" Mickey teased.

"I'll have whatever you're having, stud." Ian squeezed the back of Mickey's neck.

After their late night/ early morning pasta, they had curled up in Mickey's bed, facing each other in silence, their eyes saying all the words that they didn't need to say out loud. Until-

"Fuck!" Ian's abrupt comment startled Mickey, even causing a hitch in Mandy's snoring in the next room over. Softer, he continued, "Your lucky stone, Mick. It's gone." He looked sad. He wanted to fix it.

Mickey brought his hand up to Ian's cheek, brushing it softly. "I don't need it, man. I have you."

Ian covered Mickey's hand with his own, then brought their hands to his lips, kissing each of Mickey's tattooed knuckles gently, like they held the secrets of the universe. Mickey smiled.

"I am the luckiest man in the world." And he was.

#i’m not a writer but i wrote this #i'm really excited about this one tbh. it's my first like true au and !! mermaid !!#also title is from ariel lmao #shameless #gw2021 #ian gallagher #my posts #gallavich #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #shameless au #gallavich au #gallavich week 2021 #gw2021day2

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just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot · 4 years

Text

Soulmate September - Day 9

Day 9 - When you write something on your own skin it appears on your soulmate’s skin as well. (Pirates and Sirens AU)

Pairing(s): Romantic Dukeceit, Background Romantic Prinxiety

TWs: Swearing, murder mention, Remus being Remus, semi-detailed leg and fin injury

–

Those who ran afoul of The Witch’s Serpent rarely lived to tell the tale. Many a foolish young sea-farer - far too inexperienced and overly cocky - had met their end at the hands of the galleon’s captain long before they could even hope to make their mark on the open seas.

Captain Remus Gaspar was an impulsive, enigma of a man; capable of great feats of bravery and reckless daring do, alongside acts of cold blooded murder and remorseless torture inflicted upon those who crossed him. The sea choked on the bodies of his victims while he and his crew sipped the finest stolen wines with nary a hiccup. The naval officers of the mainland cowered in fear while Remus decimated their trade routes and sent their men to the depths to keep the fish company. In fact, only one man had faced the Captain and lived to see another day, but kept coming back for more.

Commodore Logan Callows.

Remus would have admired him - in all senses - if not for his fanatic loyalty to the crown and it’s laws. Make no mistake, Remus very much wanted Logan’s head for a bow ornament with every fibre of his mortal being, but outside factors forbade Remus from fatally wounding the man. Namely, Logan’s first mate and closest friend was his brother-in-law, Virgil Giordano. Why did Roman’s soulmate have to be a man who could rival any opponent in a knife fight, despite being the sort to panic over the smallest change in weather conditions? Remus had no goddamn idea what fate was playing at, but he knew for certain that killing Logan would result in having to run from Virgil’s swift and immediate crusade for revenge. And if there’s one thing Remus Gaspar refused to do, it wold be spending his life in hiding.

Remus loved his brother dearly but all the familial loyalty in the world wouldn’t save him from Virgil’s wrath. He’d learned that much from his last encounter with Logan’s ship, The Inquisitor. Too many cocky remarks and attempts to stall while his men pillaged the lower decks of the ship in secret had earned him a close encounter with the business end of Virgil’s dagger. Naturally, the Captain had made things worse by uttering a rather salacious remark for which he was gifted a shiny new slash mark along his cheek.

“As a warning.”, his brother in law had hissed.

When forced to retreat, Remus had lamented the size of their haul at first. Not nearly enough sugar and spices as they’d been hoping for, but a small crate of flintlock pistols ripe for sale more than made up for the loss once they’d been discovered among the spoils.

Thus we come to the present moment; Captain Remus, sat upon the docks with a bottle of expensive rum, staring out into the ocean blue. His men had been more than happy to give the Captain his space while they spent their time merrily drinking in the local tavern. Once he was sure he was alone, Remus removed his black leather bracer and rolled his white sleeve to stare at the message written upon it. The Captain had seen many an alphabet in his day - either scrawled upon the foreign exports stolen from trading vessels, or within his memories of home, being tutored alongside his twin as children - but Remus had never laid eyes upon the letters that adorned his skin in a shimmering golden cursive.

Naturally, ever since he’d first been written to, Remus had made an effort to search for the script, but the only ‘lead’ he had been given was an old woman selling wares a couple of ports prior who had raved on and on, claiming it to be the language of the sirens. He’d scoffed at the idea and decided it likely wasn’t worth trying to work out in the first place.

Remus had never been one to buy into this whole soulmates arrangement. Even the day Roman had shown him the violet cursive that had appeared like magic, Remus had rolled his eyes and sworn off taking such a thing seriously. After all, acknowledging that kind of thing brought about some rather unpleasant thoughts he would rather not think about. The fierce Captain liked to play remorseless, but in truth, Remus simply knew that life at sea demanded blood, and it was up to him whether it’d be the blood of his enemies, or his crew and himself. But that didn't stop his mind wandering into territories he wished it would stay out of. How many men lay on the sandy shores of the depths with messages from soulmates unaware of their beloved’s fate? Did severing the connection hurt? Would fate allow those whom he’d unknowingly widowed to love again? Or had he doomed them to a life alone with no one to share such a connection with ever again?

… More rum would be needed it seemed.

A clattering from the nearby rock shoal drew Remus out from his own mind with a couple of curses leaving the Captain as he knocked over the rum bottle and watched a good portion of it pour away before he could right it again.

“Son of a bitch!”, he hissed, corking it and casting a glare towards the rockpool where the clattering had come from. Whoever had just cost him a good amount of rum was in for the brawl of their life. Remus threw on his coat and cursed his inebriated steps over the craggy rock face, swearing once again as he nearly rolled his ankle when his boot sunk into an unseen rockpool. He wrenched his leg free and crested the large flat rock in his way.

The second his eyes could focus, Remus made a mental note to find that old woman on their round trip and apologise.

Sprawled on it’s side nestled in the sand was an honest to god siren. The Captain was mesmerised by the creature; it’s long golden hair flowed over it’s scaled shoulders and torso, complimented by it’s black and yellow streaked fin-like ears that fluttered angrily each time it hissed. It wasn’t hard to work out why it was so angry. The creature’s left leg fin had been hooked in a rather nasty mess of fishing line and barbed hooks. The Captain had seen the technique used before to ensure a plentiful haul, who knew it could catch such a creature of legend so easily?

Perhaps Remus was succumbing to the creature’s charms, or maybe he was just too drunk already to think things through, but he found himself whistling to the creature to catch it’s attention. The way the creature’s panicked, beautiful eyes met his own momentarily knocked the wind from his chest as he wheezed out, “Need help?”

It let out a strangled sound and scrambled backwards, only to let out a cry of pain as it’s injured leg dragged along the sand. The Captain dropped down from his rock perch and made his way over,

“Woah there! Unless you want that fin ripped out you should lemme unhook you-”

Despite the excruciating pain it must’ve been in, it still managed to hiss dangerously at Remus in a voice that felt like a million tiny hands groping around in his brain with every syllable,

“Stay back!”

Remus’ halted momentarily, the voice in his head warning him, “Come any closer and I won’t hesitate to eat you alive!”

In spite of any semblance of common sense, Remus impulsively shot a cocky grin the creature’s way, “Kinky!”

The siren wasn’t amused.

It lunged forward to swipe at Remus, but the Captain caught it’s arm, making sure his grasp wasn’t painful, but firm.

“Watch it, you’re gonna take someone’s eye out! Or maybe these beauties will just gouge a couple chunks outta my face-”

Remus’ rambling was cut short as he saw the siren’s expression shift from a ferocious snarl to one of immediate fear.

“Please don’t kill me-”, it murmured quietly, slapping it’s free hand over its mouth. It tried to change back to a more aggressive persona but Remus refused to be intimidated,

“The last thing I wanna do is hurt you. Now are you gonna be a good lil fishy and let me unhook you?”

The siren scanned his face with those enchanting eyes once again, scrutinising every inch of Remus before it huffed and turned away from his gaze. The Captain took it as a sign of an indignant ‘do whatever you want’ and sat on the sand next to the siren, already beginning to carefully remove the hooks as best he could. Each wince the creature gave was met with an apology until Remus got the hang of it.

“.....What’s your name?”, Remus mused to the surprised siren, “Might as well get to know each other, right?”

The creature mumbled something Remus couldn’t understand under it’s breath but relented reluctantly, “My name is Janus. At least, that's how you humans would pronounce it.”

“It’s a beautiful name. Mine’s Remus.”, the Captain mumbled, too hyper focused on removing the hooks to see the way Janus’ cheeks flushed a dark ochre colour. Once the last hook had come loose, both of them let out a shared sigh of relief; Remus admired his job well done but grew concerned as Janus went to stand up. “Hey, you’re going to hurt yourself doing that.”, he warned, to which Janus scoffed, attempting to hide his emotions once more.

“I’ll be fine, Remus, I’ll heal quickly-”

“The salt water’s gonna sting like a bitch.”, Remus cut in.

Noting the wince Janus gave in response, he continued, “At least let me take you to my ship so I can bandage you up proper-“

“No!”, Janus declined fiercely, though he softened right after, letting Remus know it was likely a reflexive reaction, “I apologise. I… I’m rather wary of that kind of thing. Please understand.”

Remus sighed and stood up, taking off his coat to place it around Janus’ shoulders. The siren stiffened, though curiosity got the better of him and he softly touched the warm material. Janus inhaled and immediately was hit with the smell of the garment; a mix of body odour, dried blood, sea salt, and countless food-like smells. Not to mention the reek of old alcohol.

“In the name of Uranus, do you never clean this ornate rag!?”

Remus cackled, taking Janus’ hand to lead him to The Witch’s Serpent, noting that his fingers were webbed. Adorable.

“Nope! Not since I hauled it off the guy I ran through to get it!”

Janus’ nose crinkled at that yet the siren kept following Remus towards his ship. With a proper glance in the light of the port, Janus piped up, “Oh. That’s an interesting coincidence.”

“What is?”, Remus questioned, making sure no one was aboard yet so he could lift a flustered Janus on deck despite the embarrassed glare he received from the siren.

“I’ve been following your ship for months.”, Janus elaborated, trying to regain his footing on the decks, “With the scraps and bodies you leave behind in your wake, I rarely have to bother hunting for new prey.”

Ah. Remus wasn’t sure what to make of that yet, simply shrugging, “Good to know you’ve been freeloading this whole time.”.

Once more taking the hand of the siren, Remus led him towards the Captain’s Quarters; the room was just as gilded and ornate as the coat keeping Janus warm, with various trinkets, maps, paintings, and oddities given their own place within the room. Taking the opportunity to snoop around while Remus was rooting around in his desk drawer for bandages, Janus allowed his eyes to lead him on a journey around the room. A telescope, a star map, family photos, animal bones, even a goblet made from a man’s skull connected atop a metal stem, Janus had never seen so many interesting and macabre items. His interest peaked when his gaze landed on a beautiful topaz necklace resting on a book of fairytales.

Janus’ fingers traced the jewellery adoringly. It was rare for such trinkets to end up on the seafloor unless a storm had sent an unfortunate vessel to the depths. Not that Janus was ever lucky enough to get at the spoils; the boisterous captain may be sweet on him, for who knows what reason, but his own kind were never too fond of Janus’ standoffish nature and biting remarks. Of course, Janus didn’t care if he was lonely. He didn’t. Not at all. “You can have it if you want.”

Remus’ voice startled the siren who nearly tripped over the end of the Captain’s large coat. He chuckled and slowly lifted the necklace off the book to carefully let it loop over Janus’ neck.

“It suits you. Really brings out the scales.”, he complimented. Without giving Janus a second to process the act of kindness, Remus led him towards a wooden armchair in front of his desk. He guided Janus to sit down in the chair while Remus sat on the desk itself. To his side was a roll of bandages and a cloth, ‘for the blood trail’ he’d explained, gesturing to the droplets patterning their route. Janus watched the captain remove his bracers and sink to the floor to tend to his wounds. By the gentle way the Captain held and bandaged him, Janus assumed the man had sobered enough for the siren to pose the question,

“Why?”

Remus frowned, looking up to lock eyes with the siren, “Why what?”

“Why’re you...”, being so kind? Treating me so sweetly? Not trying to kill me to sell my skin? “.... treating me like this? You realise I threatened to eat you earlier, right?”

The Captain shrugged, his expression as blank as before, “Yeah. But you didn’t. And you got all fucked up in some moron’s fishing line, so it wasn’t like you posed much of a threat-”

“Exactly.”, Janus interrupted in frustrated confusion in his tone, “My voice is out of practice, if you wanted to, you could’ve slaughtered me for my skin. Any human would be a fool not to. But here you are, treating me like I’m worth more to you alive than dead. Adorning me in such… expensive trinkets.”

Remus’ brow furrowed at that. “For someone who threatened to eat me earlier, I figured you’d practice a little more self preservation.”

The siren scoffed, “I didn’t say I wanted to be slaughtered, I’m merely trying to work out why you wouldn’t take such a chance. Doesn’t your species enjoy monetary gain? Like I said, any human would be a fool to miss such an opportunity- oW!”

Janus fixed Remus a glare as the Captain flicked the abused tip of his leg fin, “First off, yeah, I like money but that's not what I do this shit for. Secondly, most humans think your kind aren’t even real. If I waltzed into town claiming I had siren skin to sell, I’d be run outta town as a conman. Besides, if I’m nice to you, I’ll have an ally in the water, and that's far more valuable to me.”

As he wrapped up the calf area for good, Remus grinned up at the siren, “You’re also really handsome, so that helps.”

Janus’ face crinkled in a flustered surprise, “Remus, I’m part fish-”

“You’re still handsome as fuck.”

“I’m not even using my human glamour-”

“And? You’re hot.”

“I’m literally covered in fish scales-!”

“Still hot!”

Janus couldn’t think of another rebuttal, so Remus counted it as a win for him. He rolled his sleeves to tackle the rest of the injuries when he caught Janus’ eyes tracing the fresh scar on his cheek.

“Wondering how I got this scar?”

“I may be interested.” came the coy reply.

Remus smirked, “You could call it a gift from my brother-in-law. I got a little too up close and personal with his best friend and found up with this beauty. It’s a shame, said bestie’s pretty fun but he’s the biggest pain in my ass since this one time I ate some bad eels-”

“That’s charming,”, Janus interrupted in disgust, “Why don’t you simply dispatch this ‘bestie’ and be done with him?”

“Can’t. If I did that, Virge-”

“Who?”

“My brother-in-law.”

“Ah. Continue.”

“Virge would hunt me down to the ends of the Earth and the last thing I wanna do is trade away my freedom to do whatever the fuck I want.”, he averted his gaze to Janus’ leg and kept bandaging it; whoever had put that line into the ocean had no idea the damage it’d caused to such a beautiful creature. “Besides, if I hurt Virge like that, my brother Roman would be miserable. Even if he probably hates me, some dumb bitch part of me really doesn’t want him to feel like shit just ‘cause I went and upset his soulmate.”

Janus scoffed quietly. It lacked the venom he no doubt intended it to have but the disdain was enough to draw the Captain’s attention. “You humans are far too sentimental. My kind have no qualms treating even close family like scum if we so desire. Even our soulmates it would seem..”

Remus caught the darting glance Janus sent towards his scaled wrist, noting the sigh he suppressed. “.... They’re a damn fool to not want you.”, the Captain murmured thoughtfully as he finally finished the upper shin bandaging. He wiped his brow with the heel of his palm but stopped as he felt smoothe fingers wrap around his wrist. His confusion was answered as the siren bore holes into the sliver of writing on his arm with those mesmerising eyes.

“You’re not the only one having soulmate trouble,”, Remus began answering, “Never really cared much for this shit, but now I got a message, I can’t make heads or tails of it-”

“Help me. I need you.”

Remus locked eyes with Janus, the siren’s own eyes wide with realisation and looking ready to bubble with tears, “That's what it says. It’s in Aquan. I wrote that to my soulmate while I was feeling…. rather vulnerable.”

Unsure of how to react to this turn of events, Remus stood and sat on his desk once more. He was too stunned to reply at first. A million questions swelled and crashed upon the shores of his brain, all fighting to be asked, but Janus beat him to the punch.

“Why did you never write back?”, the hurt in his voice stabbed at the Captain’s heart, “I mean, even if you couldn’t understand me, why didn’t you just...”

Remus wasn’t sure himself. No, that was a lie. He simply never fathomed that the message had been a cry for help.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking.”, he began, looking to Janus - no, his soulmate, and asking in return, “What happened?”

Janus sucked in a breath through his teeth, “.... It was a moment of weakness but….. My family had cast me out. Not that it was all too surprising, nor could I stand most of them anyway, but… being left alone to wander by yourself is a rather terrifying thought no matter the situation. I’d reached my breaking point. I felt like I’d been abandoned by my kin entirely. I thought perhaps my soulmate would be there for me. I never imagined you were human.”

“Makes sense. I’m sorry your family sucks ass.”. Eloquent as always. But hey, the snicker that got from the siren was worth it in Remus’ eyes. “And I’m sorry I didn’t write back. But I guess it’s good we finally crossed paths.”

Remus gestured for Janus to join him on the desk, to which the siren accepted the offer, being careful not to catch the coat he was still adorned in on anything on the way up. With his soulmate seated by his side, Remus wrapped an arm around the siren and held him close. Janus gave a lop-sided, fond smile, leaning into the act of comfort and gently resting a hand on Remus’ chest.

“What now then, my Captain?”, Janus’ voice was as soft and sweet as a ripe peach. Remus knew it’d require a lot of explanation where his crew was concerned, but he wasn’t about to let Janus slip away from him. He pressed a kiss to the siren’s temple, relishing the blush that spread over Janus’ cheeks. With a grin, Remus cackled,

“Simple, we make good on this alone time we’ve got ‘til my crew get back!”

Sorry this one’s so late TTvTT I miight need some time to finish days 10 and up, but I’ll get things written asap. @tsshipmonth2020

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @cateye-glasses @fandomsofrandom

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kemendin · 3 years

Text

An Offer of Freedom

A short scene between Dhamari, my half-Maormer OC, and Nelaath, an injured Maormer he rescued on the Summerset coast.

Dhamari could feel the Maormer’s marbled eyes on him as he loosened one of the lines to the dinghy’s single sail. He hunched his shoulders against the ongoing scrutiny, focussing on tying off the rope again. Fortunately there were few adjustments to be made; Nelaath had done most of them himself, and seemed confident that the little boat could make the journey to the western islands. Dhamari was privately less certain, but he also was honest enough to admit that his knowledge in this area was limited, and so he kept his doubts to himself.

“There. That should suffice.” Nelaath spoke without approval, and he eyed the boat disdainfully as Dhamari swung himself back onto the sand. “Not much of a specimen, even for a landwalker craft, but I’ll make it work for us.”

Dhamari shook his hair back over his shoulder, and ran a hand across the still unfamiliar plane of skin along the side of his head. It was an almost nervous gesture, and he shifted his weight slightly before looking over at Nelaath. The Maormer still bore the marks of the fish hooks that had gouged into him, but thanks to the crew’s care they were nearly healed now - faint scars that puckered his shoulders and sides, and one that made his mouth a wider line as it stretched from his lips to his cheek.

Nelaath was still watching him, the suffused light of a barely-broken dawn causing his features to look even more colourless. Dhamari’s jaw tightened, and his fingertips made another pass over his stubbled head before he said lowly, “I am not going with you.”

Canting his head, Nelaath considered this for a moment, then appeared to dismiss it just as swiftly. “No? Where are you going, then?” The unmarred side of his mouth curled rather unpleasantly, almost knowingly, and Dhamari felt his hackles rise.

“I am staying with my ship,” he growled.

Nelaath had apparently anticipated this answer, and he barked out a derisive little laugh, almost before Dhamari had finished speaking.

“Your ship,” he repeated. “A motley assortment of ignorant groundcrawlers pretending to know how to traverse the seas.” He straightened. “That is not a ship or a crew. That is a barge waiting to be sunk.”

Dhamari’s lips drew back for a moment, and then he moistened them with his tongue, eyeing the Maormer balefully. “You do not know them,” he said, at the same time wondering why it felt so hollow to say it.

“I do not need to.” Nelaath’s voice dripped with scorn, then hardened abruptly. “And they do not know you. If they did, they would never have brought you aboard.”

Dhamari felt his hands and his chest clench in unison. “What do you mean?” he snapped, with a sharp upward jerk of his chin.

Nelaath leaned sideways, resting one hip against the curved wood of the boat. “What are you, to them? A token? Someone to chase away a few clouds when the weather turns?” Somehow his milky eyes were boring into Dhamari. “Do they let you fight, and bring the storm upon your enemies? Do they understand what it is to crest the highest waves and feel your pride rise with the wind? Or do they temper you, and restrain you, and hold you back from the freedom that is yours by right?”

The last word came out thick and harsh. Dhamari stared at the other Maormer, rigid except where the sea wind tugged and looped through the long fronds of his hair. He said nothing.

Nelaath straightened again and strode closer, honing in on Dhamari’s conflicted expression.

“You know that everything I’ve said is true,” he hissed. “I can feel the storm inside you, writhing to be unleashed. What you did to those Altmer on the beach? You can do it again, and more, many times over. There is another offensive planned, and soon. Come back with me. You would be a welcome asset to the King’s forces. Appreciated. Valued. And free to use your abilities as you wish.”

The Maormer was too close now. Dhamari took one step back, trying to brace himself in the soft sand as sparks flared, unsummoned, around his tightened fists. He couldn’t deny that he was tempted. But he was also wary, unable to suppress the instincts telling him that this was more than it appeared. Too enticing. Too right.

Just another promise waiting to be shattered.

“No,” he growled. “You speak an adder’s words. You think I would be welcome, halfblood that I am?” He made a sharp gesture at his tilted brows, at the black, black void of his eyes. No Maormer had eyes like that.

“You have no freedom to offer to someone like me. All I am - all I have ever been - is a weapon, to be used by others.” His teeth ground together. “I will not be that again.”

Nelaath’s serpentine features shifted, flattening into a hard look made more sinister by the scar slashing across his jaw. “Then you will be nothing,” he spat. His voice had suddenly lost its sibilant allure. “Go. Go back to your ship, to your so-called crew, and pretend that you belong there. Such treacherous waters will reveal your folly soon enough.”

He pivoted in the wet sand and strode the short distance to the water’s edge. Dhamari watched with lowered ears, his expression stricken as Nelaath shoved the little boat from its berth on the beach and vaulted gracefully into it. The Maormer expertly angled the sail to the dawn breeze, and within moments, it seemed, the dinghy was receding towards the western horizon, an ivory silhouette against the deep cobalt of the waves.

Taken aback by Nelaath’s abrupt departure, Dhamari watched until the boat had vanished into a distant haze. He could feel the first breath of sunlight rising along the back of his neck. Slowly he sank into a crouch on the beach, where coral shadows hid him from the gleam of dawn. His fingernails scraped briefly against the scaled skin of his arm, and then he wrapped both arms around his knees as he sat there, a solitary figure rocking back and forth in uncertainty.

#eso #elder scrolls online #maormer #eso fanfic #eso oc #elder scrolls oc #elder scrolls fanfiction #elder scrolls #eso:dhamari #my oc #kem writes

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osmiquatar · 3 years

Text

Lost At Sea

I decided to try my hand at writing a short vore flash fiction! I’ll be honest I’m not the happiest with the end result but I figured someone out there might! So uhh..... enjoy?

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Rumors are interesting things, as they usually start off a true story, but due to constant retelling, they become legends and the truth behind them becomes questionable. The sailors who have traveled these waters know the legends of the giant kraken merman who only comes out at night. Some say a purple glow fills the sea when he is about to strike. Others say that he has a voice that is deep and booming and echoes with the power of the abyss itself. Still others say that he has enormous tentacles that can drag a ship to the ocean’s depths with minimal effort. Many sailors live in terror of him appearing and will do their best to never sail at night. And if they do, they throw a gold coin off the edge with a prayer that he will leave them alone that night.

Now, there was a ship full of pirates who sailed these waters, who used the tale to their advantage. If they looted and murdered and sank a ship and their crew in the middle of the night, the blame would usually be placed on the kraken. Then they could get away scot free. “The kraken’s a myth, just like the boogeyman and Davy Jones.” They would laugh.

It was a night much like many others upon the clear blue seas. Gaerstak was swimming along beneath the surface looking for ships. Despite the legends, he never wanted to sink any of those ships. He merely wanted to watch the adorable little humans, and listen to them singing their sea shanties. He just wanted friends. He only sank the ships reflexively whenever the crews would panic and start firing cannons at him. They hurt after all, and he needed them to stop! But regardless, his eyes widened when he saw a burning wreck of a ship, with a small rowboat slowly paddling away. As he drew closer, his sensitive ears could pick up the sound of crying from the boat. He knew he had to investigate, the rowboat was so far from shore, and a storm was coming.

Marcus was having a bad day. The teen had just joined the crew of a merchant ship to get a little money and see the world with some friends, and now he was in a rowboat in the middle of the ocean, the only light being the burning and sinking grave for his friends. He swore against the pirates that had assaulted the ship and wiped the tears from his eyes, feeling defeated, when a purple glow seemed to fill the ocean around him. His eyes widened. The tales were true? That old man in his village wasn’t crazy, there was actually a giant kraken in the waters! He held onto the sides of his boat as the waves grew larger as the shape of a large head slowly peeked above the surface, ocean water cascading from him like a waterfall. He stared in slack-jawed awe as more and more emerged before an enormous pale grey head was fully out of the water, looking down at him.

The figure was eerie, not quite fully human in the head. The skin was greyish white, and the hair was like sturdy rope. Streaks of purple bioluminescence ran through his hair, glowing in the night. His eyes were proportionally larger than a human’s and stared at him with hardly hidden curiosity. There were no visible ears, but Marcus could see glimpses of little circular pads on the sides of his head. He swallowed nervously and fell back on his butt.

“A-are you here to finish me off?”

Gaerstak looked confused. “Finish you off? I’m here to offer my help...” he mumbled. despite trying to mumble, his voice still boomed like thunder, bordering on subsonic.

Now it was Marcus’s turn to look confused.

“But... the stories all said to fear your wrath and pray we never met...”

Gaerstak sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “That’s why... well, I never want to sink the ships. I show up and everyone panics and starts shooting at me... I just want friends...”

Even as Marcus recoiled from the force of the voice rattling his heart in his ribs, he could hear and feel the loneliness in the giant merfolk’s voice. It was the same feeling that drove him out to sea after all, and his expression softened.

“Oh I see... I’m sorry big guy, I didn’t mean to jump to conclusions...”

Gaerstak tilted his head. “You’re not scared of me?”

“If I’m being honest, I’m terrified. But I know the feeling you are talking about, it’s why I came out to sea.”

Gaerstak seemed to light up at that, and rose a bit higher out of the water, his shoulders breaching the surface. His eyes were drawn to something on the horizon and his expression fell.

“Look, I need you to trust me alright? There’s an enormous storm coming, and in that little rowboat you will 100% drown. I can help you avoid the storm, but I need you to trust me. I swear you will not come to harm, what do you say?” He asked, eyeing the rapidly approaching storm clouds.

Marcus glanced behind him, eyes widening as he saw the approaching wall of death, now close enough to see it. He turned back to Gaerstak. “I don’t know if I really have a choice, but I trust you. My name is Marcus, may I at least know yours?”

Gaerstak smiled. “My name is Gaerstak. Now hold on to your boat and don’t let go.”

He lowered himself so that his mouth was on level with the water, and lifted much of his body so it would be almost parallel. He opened his mouth wide, causing Marcus to let out a panicked scream as a current of water flowing into the mouth caused his boat to be sucked in as well. He clutched the boat for dear life as Gaerstak’s throat opened up, swallowing the boat down like it was nothing. The reason he went parallel was clear, so that instead of a vertical drop down his throat, it formed more like a slide that the boat could ride the water down. Marcus wondered if the whole thing had been a trick, as his boat splashed down into the cavernous stomach of the chubby kraken. Gaerstak righted himself and let himself sink below the surface to avoid the storm.

Marcus took some breaths to calm himself as he reminded himself that he said he would trust Gaerstak that he would be safe. So he took a moment to look around the stomach. It was dimly lit by more of the same purple bioluminescence that gave the kraken’s hair its purple glow, allowing himself to see around the enormous cavern. Looking down he gasped in surprise, as in the water below the boat, schools of fish were swimming around, and even some plant life was starting to grow. Gaerstak giggled, and Marcus heard it booming around him like the voice of god.

“The stomach my human mouth leads to is completely safe.” He said, floating weightlessly underwater and holding his stomach. “It is far too weak to digest anything, leading it to become its own ecosystem entirely contained within me. I promised I could keep you safe, and so I did. You could live comfortably in there for days, or even weeks, though I imagine you would want to see the sun eventually.”

“This is incredible...” Marcus said, his voice echoing in the cavern. “Are you able to hear me?”

“Better than on the surface, now that you’re inside of me.” Gaerstak said with another booming laugh. “....but thank you for trusting me and not trying to flee, it’s been far too long since I had someone to converse with.”

Marcus smiled and relaxed in his boat. “I think I’m the one who should be thanking you for saving my life.”

And so they stayed like that for a while, waiting for the storm to pass, enjoying the newfound bond of friendship they had with each other.

#vore writing #vore story #vore prompts #safe vore #soft vore #g/t vore #g/t oc #g/t writing #g/t story

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atinytokki · 3 years

Text

Distant Daylight

viii. New Strategy

“I hope you boys have somewhere to stay the weekend in Panhang,” a voice broke into Yunho’s sleep, and he startled from his position slumped against Gunho to face the cart driver.

Oh, right. They had finally made it out.

“Why do you say that, sir?” He asked respectfully, pulling some hay out of his hair when it poked him as he went to rub his tired eyes. Gambling in the tavern all week when he should be in bed had worn him out.

“Because this cart stops there and returns to So-ai. So unless you want to be right back where you started, you’ll need to get off when we arrive in the morning,” the driver explained, turning around for a moment to make sure he’d been heard.

“But…” Yunho tried to argue, suddenly faced with the fact that he hadn’t made any arrangements and would once again be thinking on his feet. “But we’re trying to get to the archipelago, doesn’t this cart go to Kon?”

“No, young man, it does not. For that, you’ll have to hire a carriage that travels south,” the driver answered with finality, unable to be persuaded on the matter.

Yunho hadn’t been on a carriage since the day he left for the orphanage, and he knew even if they could afford one, no self-respecting driver would take on a pair of street rats.

So he invited himself into the front seat and tried a different angle. The sun was already rising and he didn’t have much time.

“Sir, do you have parents?”

The man gave him a quizzical glance before returning his gaze to the road. “No,” he admitted after a moment. “Not since they were claimed by the mountain.”

Not entirely sure what that meant, Yunho continued on anyway, “From one orphan to another, what sort of place is Panhang? Somewhere a couple of poor homeless children could survive and earn enough for the carriage you speak of?”

When the man eyed him knowingly for a moment, Yunho sat up straighter and did his best to look completely innocent. It was Gunho’s skill, but unfortunately he was still asleep in the back.

“The business of the city consists mostly of fishing and finance,” the driver finally said in a gruff voice. “There are a few wealthy families, but they keep to themselves and won’t be frequently seen in town, not when they can send servants instead. You’ll not be able to steal money off them.”

Yunho widened his eyes and feigned a gasp, acting shocked that the driver would mention such a thing when he and Gunho clearly only secured their funds through reputable and entirely legal means.

“And there’s already some competition between beggars,” the man continued, unfazed. “It’s a bigger town than So-ai. Any luck you had there will not guarantee you survival here. Not with winter blowing in.”

Yunho couldn’t help but pout as the distant rooftops finally came into view. He had never been outside his hometown in all his ten years of life, and the unfamiliar world on the horizon was intimidating.

He would need a new strategy, both here and wherever the road took them next.

But it was no matter; he didn’t fear what was to come. Jeong Yunho loved a good challenge.

___

“We picked the worst time to jump ship.”

Yunho crossed his arms to trap some body heat and sighed in response to yet another complaint from shivering Gunho.

“We didn’t exactly have a choice,” he reminded him, turning yet another street corner as they explored Panhang, looking for anything and everything that could be of use to them. “Can’t go back now.”

A stranger brushing past and jostling him forced Yunho to find a way out of the crowded market. “Let’s try the town hall,” he suggested, turning into the alcove where the stately building was located and hoping the officials hadn’t seen his tricks before elsewhere.

Before they could even open the door, another beggar sidled up to ask for change until he took stock of them and returned to his corner, knowing they wouldn’t share.

“The driver was right,” Yunho groaned, abandoning the idea until later. “It’s too crowded with beggars here, we’ll get no pity for being poor.”

“What about the tea house?” Gunho tried hopefully.

“We passed one a few streets back,” Yunho reminded him. “The owner is outside tending to the garden.”

“Could we afford the inn?” Gunho asked quietly, glancing at the place with longing eyes. “What money do we have left?”

“Half a bag of gold, a couple of silvers, and enough copper coins for one loaf of bread maybe ,” Yunho listed, honest despite not wanting to crush Gunho’s hopes. “It won’t get us lodgings. The most we could do is hire another cart back to So-ai, but that’s out of the question.”

“Well, why is it out of the question?” Gunho mumbled. “If this place is so unfriendly, then maybe it would be better to return…?”

Yunho ignored the comment, trying to avoid the same disagreement that had driven them apart at the orphanage. Gunho clung to what he knew out of habit and a sense of duty, even if it kept him in a dangerous situation, but Yunho was an escape artist, an adventurer, always moving on and up when he could and leaving the dark days of his past behind.

Even so, he refused to leave Gunho behind.

“You see that lighthouse there?” Yunho suggested, pointing past smoking chimneys they were barred access to and over to the seaside. “Let’s climb it for a better vantage point.”

There was really no denying him, so Gunho trailed behind and followed his brother to the eastern side of the city, taking the road to the beach. It only took ten minutes or so to be in sight of the sea, and it was a priceless one.

There was a salty smell on the air, not unpleasant but distinctly foreign to the brothers. The ocean lay before them, boundless and blue— not the pristine turquoise blue of picture books, but deep and full of mystery.

It evoked a similar feeling as seeing the mountains, with its expansiveness instead of majesty, but instead of turning Yunho away, it beckoned to him.

Gunho cleared his throat before he got too far away. “Hyung? The lighthouse?”

“Oh, right,” Yunho mumbled awkwardly, having gotten lost in the view. “Careful on the rocks.”

Together they made their way down to the beach, slow but sure footed on the bluffs as if they really were descending a mountain. This time, the prize at the bottom was worth much more.

Gunho said nothing but turned and gave his brother a smile, and Yunho knew what he was suggesting.

“It’s winter, Gunho, it might be cold…”

Throwing off his shoes and sprinting across the sand anyway, Gunho’s laugh became a shriek at stepping in the freezing water and then dissolved again into giggles.

Yunho had followed suit and pulled off his worn boots to feel the sand under him. Little rocks, shells, and pieces of coral were scattered throughout but it wasn’t painful to walk across provided you knew where to step.

He’d never been to a beach before and had nothing to compare it to, but to Yunho, it was heaven.

“There’s the lighthouse,” he observed, pointing up the coast. “Let’s head that way.”

Gunho looked up from where he was already digging through the shallows for little tidal creatures and nodded.

Being so tall, the structure looked a lot closer than it was, and by the time they drew up to it Gunho was hungry, cold, and tired and had long since stopped splashing in the surf.

“Are we sleeping here for the night?” He asked in a pout, clinging on to his older brother to steal some of his warmth.

“Yes,” Yunho tried to answer confidently, regardless of the fact that it was their only option with evening fast approaching. “Let’s just hope no one sees us.”

The lighthouse appeared to be empty, though the cottage next to it was illuminated by candles in the windows, and the door swung open when Yunho gently nudged it.

“Quickly!” He whispered, beckoning Gunho in and closing the heavy door behind him. A tall metal staircase spiralled up into the lighthouse, so high they could not see the end of it, but there was a small space underneath the curve of the railings that could house the pair of them if need be.

“It’s still cold in here,” Gunho sighed, already pulling his blanket out from the bag he carried.

“We’ll just have to make do,” Yunho answered redundantly, knowing he was powerless to change the situation. “At least we’re shielded from wind and snow.”

Perhaps they could try knocking at the lighthouse keeper’s cottage next door, where a wisp of smoke emanated from the chimney invitingly, but Yunho didn’t trust this town or anyone in it and it was better to hide out in the lighthouse undiscovered.

“You don’t think anyone will come in here while we sleep, do you?” Gunho asked, suddenly pausing as he was about to lay out his blanket.

Before Yunho could respond, the sound of footsteps approaching from outside shocked the pair into freezing in place.

“Behind the door!” Yunho whispered quickly, pulling his brother into the cramped corner just as the door swung open and obscured them from view.

He could barely hear anything beyond the sound of his heartbeat and Gunho’s shaky breathing, but it seemed that a man had entered and was making his way up the steps to the top of the lighthouse.

“It must be the lighthouse keeper,” Yunho surmised when he was safely out of earshot. “The tides have changed and night is coming… he needs to turn on the light.”

“How will you go up and look around if he’s there?” Gunho sighed, remembering the original purpose of coming there.

Yunho bit his lip and peered up the tower hesitantly. “I suppose that… I’ll have to climb up the outside.”

“Hyung, are you insane?” Gunho hissed, taking a step forward and out of his sheltered corner. “There’s nothing but brick to cling onto, you could fall!”

“Quiet!” Yunho shushed his brother sharply before softening and taking his hand, leading him outside to survey the outside of the lighthouse. “There’s a way up, see?”

He pointed to the small window holes that trailed up to the balcony where the light was.

“Please don’t die,” Gunho whimpered, still trying to cling on even as Yunho found his first foothold and pulled himself up.

“I’ll be fine,” said Yunho with a grin, climbing out of reach within a few seconds. He’d only climbed trees and rooftops in his life, but he loved the feeling of it. A chilling wind battered him and his arms shook from the effort of clinging on when his reach didn’t quite meet the height of the next window.

Almost losing his grip when a shiver overtook him, Yunho had to press himself close to the wall and relax his limbs for a moment. He could see Gunho nervously pacing below but continued up the second half of the stretch without calling down unnecessarily.

When his hand made purchase on the railing at the top, he found enough energy to vault over it and land acrobatically on the balcony, a rush of adrenaline granting him some extra wind.

“Easy!” He mouthed in Gunho’s direction, not yelling in case he was heard by the man inside but not above some bragging when he’d made it up in good time with nothing but his own strength.

The view from the lighthouse was beautiful, and Yunho became lost in it again as he surveyed the land around him.

There was, of course, the glittering ocean at sunset which he couldn’t tear his eyes away from and atop his perch he could see more of it, but no land on the horizon. The archipelago was still much further south.

Glancing in that direction, he saw Panhang nestled into the coast and the road the carriage would take winding out of it through forest and farmland to the city of Kon. That was where they would make the crossing, and taste the sea air instead of only smelling it.

Investigating finished, Yunho couldn’t help but steal a few more moments to himself up there. He didn’t mind the heights or the force of the wind, even the snow blowing in from the north.

He would like to let Mother’s music box play up there, soft twinkling carrying on the breeze and putting the entire town to sleep, but he let Gunho keep it safe in his bag until he was ready to climb down.

When some of the circling gulls had swooped too close for comfort, Yunho finally decided to begin his descent.

The light above him came on just as he vaulted the railing and, thankful for good timing, he scampered down with ease and hurried to hide behind the door again with Gunho just as the lighthouse keeper came down and returned to his house.

“What did you see?” Gunho whispered, still wary even though they were alone.

“The road that leads south. If we have trouble getting money in town, I say we start walking on it and hitch a ride if we can. Winter will be a harsh one here in Panhang.”

“We won’t have to steal, right?” Gunho asked in a quiet murmur as he laid out his blanket and sat on it this time.

“I can’t promise that,” Yunho finally responded with a sigh, stretching out next to his brother and covering both of them with his own blanket. “But I won’t force you into anything. I’m looking out for you, Gunho, you can trust me.”

Gunho didn’t answer, but snuggled closer to his hyung, and for Yunho that was answer enough.

___

He thought he’d be at home in the tavern, but Yunho struggled from the moment he set foot inside to find his place there.

“Which way to the pub?” He had asked a boy who was digging up holes in the snow and dirt of his front garden. The treasure hunter, about his age, gave him a puzzled look and simply pointed towards town.

“There’s only one. The Boar’s Head, you can’t miss it.”

It was a snowy day which meant by noon all the tables nearest the fireplace were taken and the place was so packed full of miners on their lunch breaks that it was all the orphans could do to find a seat that didn’t feel like ice on their backsides.

“I want to order something,” Gunho announced while Yunho kept his eyes glued to the men playing dice across from them.

“Gunho, this is a tavern,” Yunho reminded him distractedly, following even the slightest movement of the players. “You wouldn’t like any of their drinks.”

“Not true!” his little brother whined, pointing to the menu on the board behind the counter. “They make soup, too. A thing called chowder. I want to try it!”

Yunho sighed and finally faced him, pressing a couple of coins into his outstretched hand. “Fine. But if it costs more than this, you’re responsible for bargaining.”

Judging by the teary puppy eyes Gunho was currently displaying, he would have no trouble with that.

The tides of the game changed as Yunho looked on. An old woman had joined in the bets and seated herself at the head of the table. From the way the miners looked at her, he guessed she wasn’t well known. Yunho, too, fell for her guise of ignorance when she lost the first two rounds after upping the bid.

Just as Gunho returned with a steaming bowl big enough for both of them to share, the old woman took the pot in a landslide victory the likes of which Yunho had never seen.

He gulped and stood from his seat. The games in the tavern at So-ai were child’s play compared to this. He didn’t stand a chance.

“We’re leaving.”

“But I just got the soup…” Gunho complained with a mouthful already in his cheeks.

“No,” Yunho explained frustratedly. “I mean we’re leaving Panhang— tonight. We’ll just have to take our chances on the south road, we can’t do business here.”

“Well, why not?” Gunho scoffed. “The barmaid liked me well enough.”

“ That woman is a witch,” Yunho whispered harshly, nudging his head in her direction. “She knows every trick in the book and, I’d wager, exactly what die everyone else rolled before they even know it themselves. It’s mathematically impossible, there’s no other explanation. She’s a witch.”

“You can’t beat her? Well, she doesn’t know you, maybe there’s another game…”

“No, Gunho. She could con us out of all our money without breaking a sweat. It doesn’t matter if I avoid her, she can join in at any time,” Yunho insisted urgently, remembering the incident with the tea house owner. “I barely secured enough in So-ai to get us here and this is much more of a gamble.”

Gunho simply looked away and took another bite of the chowder. “Here, have some,” he offered dully, weary of all the business discussion. “It’s good.”

Yunho followed his conscience instead of his stomach and declined. He felt bad enough for Gunho as it was, starving on the streets and moving uncertainly from place to place, driven on by an incompetent older brother with no friends or family otherwise. He needed as much nourishment as his hard-earned stew would give him.

As for Yunho, he’d have to figure out a new strategy.

His stomach was rumbling so loudly the next morning that Gunho insisted they drop by the tavern again so that he could beg another chowder bowl from the barmaid for a poor, ill baby sister that didn’t exist, secretly giving it to Yunho, and Yunho could steal some firewood for the journey ahead.

He saw the witch again, this time in a different form— the body of a younger woman— but he knew it was her by the way she played. Feigning defeat at first and then raking in all the bets, the way he used to play, but with certainty in her wagers due to some nefarious form of sorcery.

Yunho pitied her victims.

“We go by foot until we see a carriage,” he decided when he’d licked the bowl clean and packed it away with everything else.

“I like walking,” Gunho chirped brightly, throwing his bag over his shoulder.

Yunho’s head was full of maps and worries, so he was glad to find his brother in a good mood.

They’d evaded the lighthouse keeper until now, but left him a small offering Gunho had found in the snow, a bright red camellia flower. Yunho didn’t have the heart to remind him it would die now that he had picked it.

But the brothers were no wilting flowers. They could move from place to place and gain vitality, not lose it.

That was what Yunho was betting on.

___

“I don’t like walking anymore.”

Yunho stopped where he was trudging through the snow piled on the road for the second day in a row and turned around to see his brother lagging behind.

“Do you want to switch? You carry the firewood and bedding and I carry everything else?”

Gunho shook his head and slumped over in a full-body pout. “It doesn’t matter which bag I take, they’re both too heavy.”

“But we’ve been over this, Gunho,” Yunho reminded him gently. “We can’t get rid of anything else. You have the money and the cooking pots, I have the campsite supplies.”

“Then why can’t we stop now? My feet are tired,” he whined, trying his pitiful eyes on Yunho despite knowing he was immune.

“Because at this rate it’ll take two weeks, not one, to reach Kon,” Yunho repeated for the umpteenth time, surrendering and walking back to meet his brother where he was stopped. “Besides, we just stopped for lunch.”

“Just a small break? Please?” Gunho sounded on the verge of tears and almost dropped his act accidentally as an idea crossed his mind. “I have to relieve myself!”

Yunho resisted the urge to pinch his nose and gestured to the tree line. “Fine, go in the bushes. There’s no outhouse here on the road.”

As Gunho scampered off, Yunho pulled out the atlas again, a bit worse for wear than it had been when they stole it from the library. His life and Gunho’s depended on that thing, so he studied it again, trying to surmise their position and hoping he hadn’t led them astray.

“We’re still on the main path… right?” He muttered to himself when he didn’t see the small village they should have passed by now anywhere in the vicinity.

Doubt overtook him, seeping into his stomach the longer he stared at the map and then at his surroundings. He had made a wrong turn somewhere, and retracing their steps could cost them a day or two depending on how long ago he had made his mistake.

Feeling unsettled in his stomach, Yunho turned to give Gunho the bad news before seeing his brother come hurtling out of the trees, pans clanging from inside his bag as he sprinted over, yelling unintelligibly.

“Hyung, hyung!” He finally got out, breathless. “There’s a carriage, it’s going south. We can catch it if we run!”

“You found the main road!” Yunho gasped excitedly, following behind as he was led through the evergreens and into the open.

There it was, stretching south and slightly more east than they had been headed. If not for Gunho, they’d have continued on the smaller path and eventually deviated so far off course they might have passed Kon as well, ending up so lost he wouldn’t know what to do.

He would be nothing if not for Gunho.

“Hurry, toss me!” The younger boy called, redistributing the weight of his bag and preparing to be thrown at the carriage as it dwindled away.

“Try to land quietly, we don’t want to be discovered,” Yunho cautioned before pulling Gunho into arms and hoisting him up.

Almost missing it, he managed to grasp the trunk rack fixed to the back and turned around to catch Yunho. “Quickly, hyung, it’s speeding up!”

With a few large bounds courtesy of his long legs, Yunho accelerated into a leap, gracefully landing next to Gunho aboard the carriage with the passengers none the wiser.

“We have to whisper or the driver will catch us,” he warned his brother, who was already pulling a blanket out of his sack.

And it was a good thing, too, because snow began to fall not thirty minutes later.

As the two once again shared their shivers, Yunho found himself wishing they’d stayed in Panhang awhile longer.

At least they’d had a roof over their heads.

“The firewood…” Gunho whimpered in realisation when they pulled out some dry crackers for supper several hours in. “How are we supposed to use it on the carriage?”

“We can’t,” Yunho sighed, again forced to be realistic. “We’ll have to eat dry food until we arrive. In order to make a camp we’d have to jump off.”

“It’s a slow enough carriage, we’d be fine,” Gunho pointed out hopefully, letting desire get the better of him.

“And we’d have to wait who knows how long for the next carriage… that, or walk the distance to Kon,” Yunho finished, pulling his brother closer so he wouldn’t have to see the disappointment written on his face.

Like he often did when he was sad, Gunho brought out the music box from his pocket and ran his finger along the swan carvings that decorated the outside. They both knew he couldn’t open it or the passengers inside the carriage might hear.

Yunho’s heart felt stale inside his chest, and he didn’t know what to say. Instead, he reached out a hand and Gunho took and squeezed it.

That was all he had to hold on to. Mother’s music box, and Yunho.

___

Yunho liked Kon even less than Panhang.

It was dirty, crowded, and crawling with enemies— be they other beggars and street rats or town officials and navy soldiers.

He could tell already from how high the prices were in the market they explored on the morning of their arrival that they’d be forced to blow all their money on food and sneak aboard a ship instead of pay their way like they’d initially planned.

But as he surveyed the towering masts of the ships practically climbing over one another all crammed into the harbour, he realised he didn’t know enough about sea travel to even figure out where to start.

Yunho would have to do something he had avoided since Sangwoo’s disappearance; ask for help.

In a city of cutthroat thieves and suspicious seamen, it was difficult to find a candidate.

The only people Yunho trusted were those as naïve as he had once been, and Kon had precious few innocent types lurking on its street corners.

Since the orphanage he’d learned he could only trust those he could predict, and rarely could a stranger’s movements and loyalties be predicted more than once.

“That man there,” Gunho pointed in the direction of an old sailor selling sponges and starfish on the street corner, already a step ahead of Yunho despite his shyness around strangers. “Maybe he knows how to get to the archipelago.”

“Indeed I do,” the man spoke up without lifting his head from his work, having heard them whisper about him already.

Cherry red, the two properly approached and bowed to him, smiling back brightly when he grinned and shook his head.

“I assume you haven’t the funds to do so legally?”

Biting his lip, Yunho nodded. Gunho was tugging at his sleeve in a plea for him to reconsider revealing so much, but admitting their situation was a risk he’d have to take.

“Unless you know exactly which island you’re headed to, I’d recommend the Dalhae ferry. It’s less guarded than the Namhae one and will get you almost as far. Backtracking from there to whichever island you intend to stay at should be easier.”

“Thank you, sir!” Yunho praised a bit excessively before turning with Gunho to the docks.

“Now hold on a minute!” The man interrupted them, standing and letting his nets fall to the ground.

Yunho froze in place, afraid that once he turned around, the old sailor would demand payment for his generosity.

Slowly he turned his head and cocked it innocently, seeing Gunho clutch the money bag tightly in his hand out of the corner of his eye.

The old man chuckled and took a seat again. “If you mean to stow away, you’ll need supplies to last you; food, water, medicine— haven’t you ever been to sea, lads?”

Yunho went to shake his head and ask for more information but Gunho was already arguing back.

“But the sea is water, silly! We can drink anytime.”

The sailor stared blankly at them before bursting into a hearty bout of laughter and wiping mirthful tears out of his eyes. “I take it that’s a no.”

Gunho frowned and looked to Yunho for direction.

“Thank you again!” He called to the stranger, who waved them on with continuing wheezes.

“We have no choice then?” Gunho asked nervously, chewing his lip while they bought as much food as they could afford and filled their stolen flasks with fresh water. “We have to sneak on?”

“Everything I’ve seen here leads me to believe that starfish man was telling the truth,” Yunho admitted as he screwed the lid shut and shook it to ensure it was properly sealed.

“You trust people more than I do,” Gunho muttered in the opposite direction, perfectly aware Yunho could hear him but too grumpy now to care.

“I trust people who have nothing to lose by helping us or nothing to gain by betraying us,” Yunho responded coolly, aware that Gunho’s experiences at the orphanage had destroyed his ability to trust other beggars, despite his childish charms being his main act.

“Which category was Sangwoo in?” Gunho shot back, finally turning to face him.

“Sangwoo doesn’t matter anymore,” Yunho grit out, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

As always, the argument was forgotten as soon as the two were huddled in the hull of a supply ship bound for Dalhae, clinging to each other for warmth.

It wasn’t as cold as it had been in So-ai or Panhang, but the bilge water that washed around when the boat rocked back and forth was cold enough to chill them to the bones. There was no tasting the sea air.

“I’m sorry,” Gunho whispered as he buried himself in Yunho’s arms. “It wasn’t your fault he left us.”

“We have each other,” Yunho managed to answer around the ball in his throat. “That’s all that matters.”

It seemed that each town they arrived at was more different even than the last.

In Dalhae there were only a few things Yunho recognised.

The stars, for one, were visible again thanks to the island being smaller and less populated than Panhang or Kon.

It was a hillier coast than Kon had been, and at the bottom of the slope where the market was located, dark caves beckoned them, inviting mystery and danger.

“Let’s head that way,” Gunho suggested when they’d successfully disembarked to the jetty without being seen, pointing to the lights of the market and away from the spooky cave system.

Yunho agreed wholeheartedly and found a dry alley corner for them to spend the rest of the night in, too tired to explore another town and beg for shelter.

At least it wasn’t raining or snowing on them.

Just before dawn, a rustling sound roused Yunho from his sleep.

Sitting up straight and peering into the darkness, he watched a figure suddenly emerge and jumped a foot in the air, startled.

“This is my alley!” A voice growled, low and rumbling but loud enough that it woke Gunho too. “Go on, get out! And don’t come back!”

Gunho gasped, but Yunho was already pulling him away, dragging their bags behind him. “S-Sorry,” he stammered, clutching a dusty blanket and backing away in more of a stumble than a walk. “We didn’t know! It won’t happen again...”

The stranger was hardly even visible in the grey light, but a grunt sounded in response and after, only silence.

It may not have looked to be the case when they arrived, but Dalhae was just as full of street rats as Kon had been.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Yunho sighed, setting up their things outside what seemed to be the tavern, always his temporary base of operations.

“I want a few more hours,” Gunho whined, rubbing his eyes and pulling the blankets closer. It left Yunho with only the rubbish heap to lay on, but rather than argue, he pinched his nose and tried to sleep.

It didn’t work.

When the noise in the street was becoming too loud to ignore, Yunho arose and brushed any excess garbage off of him, wandering away to see what was going on while Gunho poked through the pile for breakfast.

It didn’t sound like the regular hustle and bustle of a market, but entertainment of some kind. The crowd reacted with one voice, cheering sometimes, gasping sometimes, always with a buzz of excitement.

Sure enough, when he reached the end of the road he saw a circle of people surrounding something. They were too tall to peer over so Yunho pushed his way through.

Two boys had just finished wrestling in the middle of some type of dirt arena, and money was changing hands between the spectators who stood around.

“We have our winner!” A brightly dressed woman announcer entered the ring and held up the arm of the champion. “Han Changhwa!”

“It’s a street fight!” Yunho realised aloud as the defeated boy stumbled to his feet and pushed his way past.

“No kidding,” the boy grumbled, barely understandable with all the blood in his mouth. “Bet on the other fighter if you want to get paid.”

Yunho was speechless and did nothing more than wince at the wounds on the boy’s face until he hobbled away, empty handed.

“Place your bets on the final round, ladies and gentlemen!” The announcer bellowed over the excited crowd from a table for money to be collected, and right and left the audience emptied their pockets to make their wagers.

Yunho dug through his own pockets until he landed on a silver piece and placed it on the table in favour of Changhwa, following the losing boy’s advice and staking his claim.

“It’ll be tripled if you win then!” The announcer told him before returning to the arena.

At her command, another contestant appeared, bigger than Changhwa. Yunho bit his lip with second thoughts. Maybe the defeated contestant had given him bad advice and he’d wasted a silver coin.

The boys wasted no time going head to head when the announcer yelled, “Start!”

Both of them tried to tackle each other, but when neither could gain an advantage, Changhwa realised it first and released his opponent to clock him in the head.

The other boy dodged and returned easily with a roundhouse kick. Just as Yunho was beginning to wonder what the rules were, Changhwa was kicked in the face and fell to the ground. Wiping blood from his ear, he used his slick hands to squirm away before the other boy tackled him.

With the opponent in a bent position, Changhwa could deliver a kick to the midsection without sacrificing his footing and jumped back when the boy got to his feet.

Changhwa was punched again in the nose and Yunho sucked in a nervous breath. In a few seconds he could lose his silver.

Twice more, Changhwa was punched, his arms coming up too late to be of any defence, and not until he lowered his stance and rammed his opponent in the gut did he get him on the ground long enough to put him in a hold.

When the required ten seconds had gone by and the opponent couldn’t wiggle his way out, the match was ended and Changhwa fell back, exhausted.

“Once again, we have our winner!” The announcer yelled over the cheers, hoisting him up and raising his arm. “Han Changhwa!”

Yunho sighed, relieved, and joined the line to collect his money.

Either way, it had been too close and he’d almost lost his coin over it. Betting on street fights was no better than betting on tavern games when it came to probability. Unless…

It had been awhile since he’d brawled with anyone, but if the odds were in Yunho’s own hands, he could be much more confident in winning.

Yunho set his jaw and turned to the announcer.

“I can fight. How do I join?”

“Sign up for tomorrow morning’s games, same place and same time,” the announcer answered distractedly as she distributed everyone else’s winnings. “Make your mark here, a fingerprint will do.”

She pointed to a paper that Yunho signed in a flourish with the proffered pen.

“You can write?” The woman asked with a raised eyebrow. Apparently that was exceptional for a street rat.

Yunho nodded and skimmed the rest of the list. “I can read, too. Does Changhwa advance now that he won today?”

“As long as he shows up for it,” the announcer answered affirmatively before putting away the list and beginning to pack up.

Changhwa was collecting his own earnings and, noticing Yunho’s stare, gave him no more than a forced smile before walking off.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, thanks for earning me a few silvers!” Yunho called after him, voice bright with the thrill of possibilities.

It was time to go inform Gunho.

This was it. This was his new strategy.

___

A/N: It was a long time coming but I bring you a long one because the writer’s block is gone (for this chapter at least)! Take your time enjoying it but don’t forget to leave a comment if you did <3

P.S. You may or may not have caught the Ateez member cameo but I’ll reveal that it was in fact a pre-My Way Hongjoong digging up holes in the garden as referenced in Zero to One chapter 6, because this chapter takes place before the deaths of his parents.

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3.

Chapter 38: Statement of Kieran Blackwood, regarding...choice. Recorded direct from subject, twenty-fifth of March, 1997.

[CLICK]

KEEPER

When did you start using these for official statements?

GERTRUDE

If this were official, I would have you write it down. Most of the people who come in with a statement simply fill out the forms provided by the Institute.

KEEPER

So why not have me write it down? Why bother to listen?

GERTRUDE

Because I suspect that what you’re about to say would be…unwise to add to the Archives.

KEEPER

It’s not related to that statement, if that’s what you’re getting at.

GERTRUDE

I don’t think it is, no.

But I do think that, whatever it is that brought you here, it may not be something that needs to be available to everyone. I’ve begun recently making audio recordings of statements that I want my research to be…private, shall we say?

KEEPER

Or we could say “secret”.

GERTRUDE

(heh) Fair enough. Any live statements that I feel could be…useful, to myself or my successor if need be, go on the tapes as well. In this case, I suspect it may be both.

KEEPER

You may not be wrong.

GERTRUDE

Besides. I don’t know that I’ve ever had another…devotee of one of the Powers walk in off the street and offer me a statement. Call it curiosity.

KEEPER

I can certainly assuage that, Trudy.

GERTRUDE

Don’t call me that.

KEEPER

Sorry. Occupational hazard.

I’m sure you know how that goes by now.

GERTRUDE

I suppose I do.

Statement of Kieran Blackwood, regarding…

KEEPER

Choice.

GERTRUDE

Recorded direct from subject, twenty-fifth of March, 1997. Where would you like to start?

KEEPER

At the beginning, I suppose.

KEEPER (STATEMENT)

As long as there have been lighthouses in England and Ireland, there’s been a Blackwood manning at least one, probably dating back to the Dover Castle in Kent and leading all the way down to my father. My earliest memory is of him holding me as we stood on the railing, the beacon flashing across the night-darkened sea, keeping safe any ships that might be sailing by. He took his responsibility seriously, and so did I. I remember telling my best mate, a boy whose family lived next door to where Ma and I lived, that I was going to be a keeper myself one day. He asked how I knew, and I told him it was what we Blackwoods always did.

I told Dad that, too, and he took me on his knee and explained a few things. He said the Blackwoods had always been lighthouse keepers, not because we wanted to, but because we had to. He said I was going to be starting school in the fall and that I was a bright lad, so I’d have choices he never had. He told me he wanted me to do the best I could, and that when the time came, I could choose to be a keeper if I wanted, but it had to be my choice.

He died that winter. There was a bad ice storm, and while he was scraping the glass clear, he forgot to shield his eyes when the light came around. It blinded him, and he lost his balance and fell. Hit the rocks at the base. They found him washed up on shore the next morning. Ma took poorly and was in bed for a few days when we got the news, and I went to stay with my best mate until she could get up, but she never quite recovered. I was afraid Ma would want to move back to Ireland where her family was, but she said we had roots too deep in the Bournemouth soil to leave it now. Wasn’t until years later that I found out how little money we had—we couldn’t afford to leave. Then again, if Grandmother hadn’t left us her house, we wouldn’t have been able to afford to stay.

I still wanted to be a lighthouse keeper, but by the time I was ready for the eleven-plus, I knew I couldn’t. For one thing, Ma got into hysterics any time I mentioned it—like it would somehow be more dangerous than anything else I could have done, just because it killed Dad—but for another, they were beginning to automate lighthouses by then. Every year there were fewer and fewer jobs, and I’d have been lucky to get one. My grades were all right, but I knew I wouldn’t pass any of the tests needed to be a keeper.

If I couldn’t do that, I decided, I’d do something on the sea. My best mate and I used to play at pirates some when we were little, and we talked about doing that, but of course you couldn’t really do that. We thought about the Navy, too, but we agreed that whatever we would do, we would do it together. By the time we were sixteen, though, I knew I wouldn’t make him. He was smart, top of our class. I barely scraped by with a pass. So we made another deal, him and I. I’d go into trade, learn to sail, to fish, and he’d go on with his education, get a degree in business. Together, we’d build our own fishing company, go out together. Someday, we said, we’d have our own business, a business we could hand down to our sons if we wanted, if they wanted.

I found a job with a fishing crew. Deep-sea stuff, extended voyages. The money was good, so I could take care of Ma and save up a bit, too. And winters were my own, so I could spend them at home. I was a bit of an outcast among the crew, though, and not just because of my age. Even when they were together, they were silent and…distant. The captain was one of the owner’s sons, so of course he was too high and mighty to talk to any of us, but I always felt like he was…watching me. Like I’d disappointed him, even though I did everything right. I felt sometimes like I was the only one with connections on shore—not just Ma, but Walt. We were right close. Looking back…there might’ve been more there than we ever admitted, but it just wasn’t done.

Then I met Liliana.

Walt introduced us. Actually, he was just starting to date Sarah at the time and they needed a fourth for dinner, so Sarah invited her along. I won’t say it was love at first sight…truth be told, I won’t say there was ever love. I’m still not sure Lily’s actually capable of feeling positive emotions towards other people, to be honest. But we had some of the same interests, then. We both liked to dance, we liked the same books, the same foods. She introduced me to her father just before I went out that year, and the old boy and I hit it off, so when I got back in the winter we started keeping company again.

Ma died in January, and Lily came to the funeral, which I appreciated. The four of us got a bit drunk that night, and…well. I was getting ready for the next salmon run when she told me she was in the family way. I was just considering my options when Walt called and asked if I thought the crew could use another sailor, because Sarah was expecting, too. He was leaving school immediately—they needed the money.

I—I couldn’t let him join the crew. It felt like a waste, and I knew he’d want to be there for Sarah and the baby…and I kind of hoped he’d be there for Lily and mine, too, since I couldn’t be. Besides…something about Captain Lukas gave me the creeps. I wouldn’t willingly subject anyone I loved to to that. Luckily, my father-in-law had just mentioned to me that he needed a general handyman about the place. The pay was just as good, and Lily and I had made our home base not far away, so it seemed perfect. We had a quick double wedding, and I went out with the fishing run.

She gave birth right after I got home. We were a bit early back that year, come to think of it, but at the time it never occurred to me that there was anything odd about that; we’d hit quota, that was all. I didn’t love Lily, I told you that, but my God, when that doctor laid the baby in my arms and told me “it’s a boy”, I fell in love then and there. Walt’s boy was born about a month later. There’s a picture somewhere of the two of us, sitting on Alastair’s porch, rocking a pair of sleeping babes and talking.

At least, I hope it still exists somewhere. Brings me comfort thinking it does.

Walt died right when he said he would, three weeks before the fishing run started. The three of us went to the funeral, but Sarah screamed at Alastair before it even started. Accused him of killing her husband.

GERTRUDE

I can’t imagine—

KEEPER

Oh, it wasn’t. Complete accident. The old man wasn’t even home at the time, he’d taken the boys to a science exhibition of some kind. And I’m the one who found him, come to that. Sarah was just hurting and needed someone to blame. But it ended with her ordering us to leave. The look on Walt’s boy’s face when I pried mine away from him and said we had to go is one that still comes to me when I’m having trouble sleeping.

KEEPER (STATEMENT)

My boy and I got a lot closer after that. That boy was my world. My light. The beacon that drew me back to shore. I started calling him Wickie before he could talk. Lily hated that nickname, but then, she hated a lot of things.

She—she wasn’t strong. I don’t mean her health, necessarily, although I know it was a hard pregnancy and that’s when her troubles started. I mean her mind. It was so—easy for her to give into despair. We’d never been close, but we got further and further apart every year. We’d probably have fought more often than we did, but I wouldn’t put Wickie through that. Instead, I’d absent myself. That didn’t help.

Plans. Choices. They never go the way we mean them to.

I gave it one last chance, and it’s one I’ll probably regret to my dying day. The Lukases have a Christmas gala every year, but you have to be an officer on a vessel or serve fifteen voyages before you get an invitation. Suppose it’s to make sure you’re loyal enough to deserve it, but maybe it’s also to make sure you know the rules. I don’t know. The year Wickie turned eight was my fifteenth year with the crew, so I got the invite. It included the whole family. Lily was actually enthusiastic about it, but…she didn’t want to bring Wickie. Said he wouldn’t behave. I—I’m the one that insisted on giving him the choice. Of course he said he wanted to come.

I wish I hadn’t let him.

There were no other children there. That should have been my first clue something was wrong. None of the other sailors even had spouses or sweethearts. I was the only person besides the Lukases themselves who actually brought my family. Maybe the only one who had a family to bring.

I talked Lily into a dance or two. We used to like it, once, and for a song or two it seemed like we’d got back…well. It didn’t last. She said she was tired and wanted a drink. I found her a seat at a table where she and someone from the shipping side of the company could ignore each other and went to fetch her something, and I was looking around for Wickie. I—I found him, eventually. He was off to one side, looking scared, looking…lost. One of the Lukases—Peter—was talking to him. He seemed perfectly friendly, but I could see the fog rolling off him, threatening to engulf my boy. Didn’t seem to be anyone else who could see it, or maybe everyone was just ignoring it. He reached forward to tuck a curl behind Wickie’s ear, and the fog curled that much closer.

I admit I had a bit of a reputation for fighting when I was in school. Never unprovoked, mind you, but…well, between the fact that I was half-Irish and the fact that my best mate was darker than some people liked, I got in my share. I don’t have a temper, but I do have a protective streak a mile wide, and I’m not above acting on it.

As you might imagine, breaking your boss’s son’s nose isn’t exactly the sort of thing that looks good to your employers. I got Wickie and Lily and we left then. Took me the better part of the next week to convince Wickie it wasn’t his fault I’d got in a fight, but it rather put a damper on our Christmas. At the beginning of January, I got a rather terse letter from the Lukases telling me I’d not be welcomed back to the crew.

I…I didn’t tell Lily. I certainly didn’t tell Wickie. Lily was starting to get sick, I couldn’t have told you what it was, but we needed an income and now all we were getting was the bit she picked up at the tailor’s when they needed her. I was desperate to try and come up with something, anything, but nobody was hiring. I swear to you I was about three days away from coming to you and asking if you’d take on a new assistant when there was a knock on our front door one foggy night.

(heh) The fog should have been the clue, really, but it wasn’t, and like a fool, I opened the door. Peter Lukas was standing there. I almost shut the door in his face, but he told me he felt bad about me losing my post on the crew. Said my boy deserved better than an unemployed father, and he was there with an offer. Against my better judgment, I listened.

His family owned a lighthouse, he said. One it was important to keep lit, but just then it was without a keeper. He wanted to offer me the position.

I didn’t believe what I was hearing for a minute. The idea of actually getting my childhood dream after all…and from someone I had every reason to hate? I knew there had to be a catch, so I asked, and I was right. Peter told me it was a stag station, meaning no families; Wickie and his mother would have to stay.

I—I laughed. I asked him how big a fool I thought he was. I’d already told him once to stay away from my boy, and if I wasn’t there, what was to stop him from going after him? Peter took the contract out of his pocket and showed me a clause that explicitly said he would stay away from my son, as long as I kept the light. He gave me the paperwork and told me to think it over, and if I was interested, to sign it and send it back and it would all be taken care of, but warned me I’d have to leave by the time the season started.

That night, with Lily and Wickie both asleep upstairs, I read over that contract with a fine-toothed comb. It all seemed airtight. The pay was decent, enough to keep up with Lily’s medical bills at least, and the tasks were exactly what I would have expected. It wasn’t until I got to those last clauses that I realized what the catch was. It explicitly stated that the Lukases would stay away from Wickie as long as I held the position—but it also stated that I had to do the same. Should either one of us break the taboo and talk to him, it would be fair game for the other to do the same.

I didn’t have much time to think about it. The season was only a week away. I thought about asking Alastair, but I knew what he’d say—not to have anything to do with anyone tied to those things. He’d never been thrilled I worked for the Lukases anyway, but at least before I’d had some distance. This was…worse, somehow. I thought about taking Wickie and absconding in the night, but—but I couldn’t do that. He’s smart, Trudy, he can do so much, and I knew if we were on the run he’d lose so many opportunities.

There was only one choice, in the end. I signed the contract and mailed it off.

The night I left was the night I would normally have left for the fishing run, so I just…let Wickie think that was where I was going. Went through our usual routine. We had alphabet soup and cherry preserves for dinner, then I tucked him in and sang the old sea shanty I always sang the night before I left, to put him to sleep. Once he was asleep, I went downstairs to talk to Lily.

I won’t repeat the things I said to her. Suffice it to say I made sure she knew I wouldn’t be back, and…I let her believe that it was what she’d accused me of before. That I was leaving because of her, because I didn’t want to deal with her and her issues anymore. I left that night knowing I’d well and truly burned that bridge behind me.

Peter Lukas met me at the docks. We didn’t speak. Ignoring all the ships preparing to go out, we went down to the shore and began to walk, silently, until all others had faded away and it was just us, the sand, the waves, and the grey of the pre-dawn sky. And then…there was a door. An old oak door with a brass knob, supported by no structure, standing on the beach and waiting. Peter stopped, pointed at it, and said, simply, “The door to the Light.”

I didn’t ask questions. The time for questions was past. It was my last chance to choose differently…but even if I hadn’t signed that contract, I don’t think I could have chosen to do other than what I did. I shouldered my bag, took a deep breath, and strode through the door.

And I took up my duties as the Keeper of the Light.

It has no name. It needs no name. It’s just…the Light. Fifteen feet in diameter, made of brown stone, it stands on a mountain overlooking, not the sea, but a desert. A vast, impenetrable desert, with nothing as far as the eye can see. The beacon it shines over this desert is not white, but red, bathing the sands periodically in light the color of blood.

The first day I was there, I did an inventory. There were all the things I remembered my father having when I was a wee nipper, things I only vaguely remembered the purpose of, but I knew I’d learn quickly. I’d been told the light would be fully equipped at all times, and it was. The oil was full, there were plenty of fresh wicks, and all the tools were in perfect working order. There was a single bed, big enough for a single man to sleep, although not particularly comfortably. There was a table with one chair. There was one plate, one bowl, one cup, one fork and spoon and knife. The cupboards, I had been assured, were fully provisioned, but I wasn’t yet hungry, so I went to look at the rest of the light.

There were no windows, but there were pictures on almost every wall, each one framed in a different frame. Each picture looked like it was a windowpane, which I thought odd. Then I looked in one, and I couldn’t hold back a gasp. It was a window all right, and one I knew. It was looking into Wickie’s bedroom. I could see him, as clearly as if I was right there, hair rumpled with sleep, looking absolutely devastated. Lily was standing there, too, holding a picture in one hand. I think it was the photograph of the two of us he keeps on his nightstand. She must have been taking it away.

It hurt. I looked away and went to look at another picture. There was a little boy in it, looking—terrified. Upset. Like he wanted to cry or scream but didn’t know if he was allowed. He was reaching a hand out towards a house, where a young man was looking into an open door. He looked like something inside had caught him off-guard, and—something dark, something inside, was reaching out like it was going to grab him. There were cobwebs in all the corners, but they were part of the picture.

For a moment, I didn’t know why it was there—but then I gasped again. I recognized the boy, or thought I did. It looked like Walt, exactly like Walt had at that age. Then—then I saw the eyes. Walt’s eyes were blue, a bright, bright blue that outshone the ocean. This boy’s were a warm and guileless brown. Like Sarah’s. This was Walt’s boy.

The pictures aren’t static. They aren’t of things that were. I realized that as the days, weeks, went on. They change from time to time. I’ll see Wickie working away on his knitting, or Walt’s boy curled up with a book, or one of them standing outside and looking at the sky. It lets me…keep an eye on them, I suppose. But it aches. It’s the ache of separation and loneliness. I can’t look at them too often.

The only place to see out is from the railing around the light. It looks out over the desert, and from there, I can see everything. Doors appear periodically, more old oak doors with brass knobs supported by no structures. They never last long. Sometimes people stumble through them, and then the doors disappear. The people wander the desert. Their paths cross all the time, or go alongside one another, but they never talk, they never see. Each person in the desert believes themselves to be alone.

I can hear them sometimes. I hear them talking, desperately reaching out. They’re all looking for someone, all missing someone. They run for the doors when they see them, but they don’t always make it, and they don’t always see them. I wondered about those doors, about where they led…at first.

Three months in, I found out.

I was doing a perimeter check of the lighthouse, around midday. A door appeared, just in front of me. I walked closer to it, and it didn’t move. For me, the doors stay. I hesitated, then grasped the knob and opened it. The room beyond was dark, the hands of the clock indicating it to be later in the evening than I knew it to be where I was. Time doesn’t move the same way there, I supposed. Then I realized where I was. I was in Wickie’s bedroom. He was curled up asleep, having a nightmare, poor thing. I wanted to go over and comfort him. I’d actually taken half a step over the threshold when I stopped, when I remembered.

Choices.

I had the choice to go in, to see my boy, to hold him and let him know I loved him and would never stop. But if I did—if I do—then Peter Lukas can get at him. He’s so young, I know the—I know they don’t normally go for children, but…I worry. I can’t risk opening that door.

They keep appearing. More and more frequently. And now…the more attuned I am to the Light, the more I know what I’ll find on the other side. And it’s hard not to go through.

I can redirect them. Sometimes. Or maybe I can just open another one. One every…well. To me it’s one a year. But that’s the thing. As I said, time doesn’t move the same way in the desert that it does everywhere else. It’s been about a year, as far as you’re concerned, since I signed that contract and took the job. For me? It’s been more like ten. But I can a door and let it take me wherever I want. I’ve done it when the temptation is too strong. The last time was Christmas. (sighs) Wickie started in chorus this year. His first concert…I could have gone. Could have stayed in the back of the room, maybe, and just listened, just seen him. But what constitutes contact, what violates the contract? I couldn’t risk it. So I did the next best thing. I opened a door and went to Bournemouth and saw Walt’s boy. Didn’t talk, didn’t tell him who I was. Just stood on the shore next to him for a while. I wanted to…but I didn’t.

I don’t even know if he remembers. I couldn’t hurt him by giving him more memories. That would just make the loneliness worse when I did leave.

GERTRUDE

And you used one of these doors to come here.

KEEPER

That I did.

GERTRUDE

Why?

KEEPER

Thought you’d want to know. Honestly, I half didn’t expect to see you here. I assumed I’d have to wait for you, but your assistant—what was his name? The one that looks like he’s about twelve?

GERTRUDE

Michael.

KEEPER

Michael, aye. He told me you were in. Suppose it gets down to time being weird again.

How was it?

GERTRUDE

How was…what?

KEEPER

The funeral.

…You did go, didn’t you? Come on, Trudy, I know you’re all about keeping your past away from your present, but—

GERTRUDE

Don’t call me that. What are you talking about? What funeral?

KEEPER

Gertrude. What was Tuesday?

GERTRUDE

…My God.

KEEPER

Aye.

Lily wouldn’t be pleased to see me. Or you, for that matter. But Wickie…Lily’s making it all about herself, I’m sure. You know how she can be. I just…I hoped if I gave you my statement, you’d at least look in on him for me.

At least make sure he’s okay.

GERTRUDE

I…I’ll see what I can do.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

GERTRUDE

Final thoughts.

Well. I…I don’t know what to think. This is…useful information to have regarding the Lonely. And I’ll certainly be on the lookout for any old oak doors with brass fittings. But as for the rest…

I checked. Alastair Koskiewicz’s funeral was today, and I believe I have missed it. But I may be able to at least pay my respects. I will have to be discreet if I do. Lily made it very clear she wants nothing to do with me, and I have done my best to respect that. And I know I am…observed more often than I would like. The last thing I want is to draw anyone’s attention to Martin.

I don’t think I should tell him who I am.

And, since the Keeper’s statement mentioned it…I listened to Walter Sims’ statement again, and the dates he gave for both his own death and Alastair’s match exactly. I believe I will make one last attempt at reaching out to the Stoker family, especially now that Daniel will have been born. Perhaps they’ll be more likely to listen now. I don’t know what precautions they can take, but…they should (heh) at least have the choice. At the very least, perhaps they’ll be prepared when the time comes.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[STUNNED SILENCE, BROKEN ONLY BY THE SOUNDS OF SOMEONE—PROBABLY PAST MARTIN—STRUGGLING NOT TO CRY]

TIM

…Fuck.

PAST ARCHIVIST

I-I didn’t…I had no…oh, God.

PAST MARTIN

(tearfully) W-Walter Sims…was—was that—?

PAST ARCHIVIST

My father.

He—I never knew he—gave a statement. Or that he…

Was that the grandfather you told us about?

PAST MARTIN

Yeah.

[PAST MARTIN MAKES A SOUND—A LAUGH? A SOB? BOTH?]

Guess that explains the cherry thing, huh?

PAST ARCHIVIST

(softly) I guess so.

TIM

So—hah, so you two knew each other?

PAST MARTIN

I-I mean, we were two. That was…that was a long time ago. I didn’t—

PAST ARCHIVIST

No. Neither did I, I—

[FABRIC RUSTLES, A STARTLED “OOMPH” FROM SOMEONE WHO CLEARLY WASN’T EXPECTING AN ATTACK HUG]

PAST MARTIN

Sorry, I’m so sorry, I—

PAST ARCHIVIST

No, Martin, it’s not your fault, it’s—it’s not your fault.

It’s not your fault.

TIM

That statement…your dad’s statement. Do—do you think it’s…in here somewhere?

PAST ARCHIVIST

I don’t—I don’t know.

Basira, she, she said she got as many as she could. There might be some that—I don’t know, Tim.

PAST MARTIN

(uncertainly) W-we could—we could look?

PAST ARCHIVIST

Yes. Yes, if—if you could do that, that would…

I’m sorry. I-I need to—I’ll be right back.

TIM

Jon. Be careful, okay?

PAST ARCHIVIST

I’m just going outside. I’ll be fine.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[MUFFLED SOUNDS OF THE STREET]

PAST ARCHIVIST

(muttering to himself) …won’t be sensible…I know he worries, they both do. Last thing I need to do is make that worse, but God, after that—

BREEKON

‘Scuse us.

HOPE

Jonathan Sims?

PAST ARCHIVIST

Yeah, wh—? Oh, sh—

[THE PAST ARCHIVIST WHEEZES AND COUGHS AS THE WIND IS KNOCKED OUT OF HIM]

BREEKON

Miss Orsinov wants to see you.

HOPE

Says she changed her mind.

PAST ARCHIVIST

No, please, I—

[VAN DOOR SLIDES OPEN, A LOUD THUNK AS THE PAST ARCHIVIST IS SHOVED INSIDE]

[DOORS CLOSE AND ENGINE STARTS]

PAST ARCHIVIST

Oh, God.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

[HIGH HEELS CLICKING ACROSS A HARDWOOD FLOOR]

ELIAS/JONAH

Ah—Sasha.

[FOOTSTEPS STOP]

SASHA

Yes?

ELIAS/JONAH

Coming back from lunch?

SASHA

…Yes?

ELIAS/JONAH

I’m a bit busy today, so I don’t really have time to get down to the Archives. Please let Tim and Martin know that Jon will be out for a few days.

SASHA

…Sure.

Is…everything all right?

ELIAS/JONAH

Perfectly.

I just have something I need for him to do. It might take some time. I’m sure he’ll explain everything when he gets back, but meanwhile, do make sure your colleagues stay on task, will you? No doubt you have a lot to work on.

SASHA

Yeah, of course. We’ll keep things running smoothly while he’s gone.

ELIAS/JONAH

Thank you, Sasha. I knew I could count on you.

(under his breath) Reliable old Sasha.

SASHA

…Thank you.

[FOOTSTEPS RESUME, CHANGE TO A SLIGHTLY MORE HOLLOW SOUND AS IF SOMEONE IS WALKING DOWN STEPS, SLOW TO A STOP]

[SOUND OF NUMBERS BEING DIALED ON A PHONE]

[THREE TONES]

AUTOMATED INTERCEPT MESSAGE

The number you have reached is not currently in service. Please hang up and try again.

SASHA

Shit.

[CLICK]

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives #the formatting's better on AO3 #isolation tw #gaslighting tw #loneliness tw #kidnapping tw

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ainarosewood · 3 years

Text

Betrayal

FFXIVWrite2021 Day 5 Free Day

E’darin stood on the aft deck of the Briar staring up at the lurid red moon descending from the sky, a deep sense of foreboding filling him. He flattened his ears as once again he heard what he could swear was a quiet haunting song it’s words barely discernible. His head began to pound once more and he felt more than heard three words: Hear….Feel….Think.

He growled shaking his head trying to clear it of these phantom sounds as he heard a voice behind him, “Captain, the crew would like a word with ye,”

Whirling he came to face his first mate, the scrawny Midlander’s good eye filled with hatred and anger. Returning the look with a quizzical one he replied, “Well then have 'em gather then I’ll hear their words.”

Moments later his crew clambered onto the aft deck all of them wearing a similar expression to the First Mates. Trepidation filled the Seeker as his finely honed instincts told him there was danger in those eyes.

Still not one to back down from such he asked in a strident voice, “Alright lads, what words do ye have?”

His First Mate Tristian sneered, “Ye’ve gone soft on us Captain, we ain’t part o that stupid Accord, so why are we ignornin so many prizes just cause they fly Limsan Colors.”

“Simple lad,” he replied, “We ain't part o the Accord cause my da yer last Captain decided t’was best we wait n see how it pans out. N we leave the Limsan ships te themselves cause we respect the Code. Don't steal from yer own.”

“They ain’t our own ye bastard, they’re yella bellied cowards that decided to cow to te the bitch Admiral an her pack o do gooders. We’re pirates! We take what we want,” Tristian snarled, all around him the crew murmuring in angry agreement.

E’darin shook his head, “We do that an the Upright Thieves would be painting our deck with our blood afore we could wheeze sorry through our gapin throats.”

The Midlander snorted, “So ye believe them old tales? Them that’s supposed te keep us in check n make us pay fer breaking the Code. Their fairy tales captain ale sodden dreams o fools that think that such as ours can be controlled.”

The Miqo’te again shook his head at the young fool. The Thieves weren’t just tales they are folk that existed and punish those that do wrong by the code, “Ye got it wrong lad, they do exist and you’ll be finding one o their blades at yer throat in the darkmans ye keep thinking like that”

The Midlander just rolled his good eye before stating, “Yer also denying us a good steady bit o pay. I heard what that blue tattoo faced bastard said te ye last time we was in port. He and his would pay us good money if we snatched em small folk from the fishing villages.”

E’darin’s eyes narrowed; he recalled the bastard that Tristian was referring to; he also knew that the man was a Serpent Reaver and their offer was little more than a trap to dragoon his ship into their service.

“Ye wanna be a thrall te the fishbacks flunkies yer free te leave the ship, Hells Ill let ye even take an away boat fer it. Its a long row back te shore but ye could make it. I however want nothin te do with em or their schemes.” He responded dryly.

Some of the crew began to change their tune as they heard that. He figured few of them knew how to spot the Reavers. His father had been very keen on making sure his son knew well before he took command of the ship. They were not proper pirates they were just servants to the Sahagin.

Tristian, seeing he was losing the crew’s support, snarled, “Say whatcha will it’d be a sight better than the scraps we've managed these past moons. N what's the worry bout a few fishers ain't like any o them are blood o ours.”

Once again the crew began grumbling and shouting at him. It was clear they felt he was robbing them of what they believed was rightfully theirs. Standing to his full height he shouted over their babble, “So what's it te be then, a mutiny? Look above ye lads ye think folk are thinking o sailing with that bleeding thing bearing down on em!”

He raised his hand above him pointing at the crimson moon that dominated the night sky behind him. He then shifted reading himself for battle seeing that his words had no effect on the angry mob.

Tristian grinned in triumph, “Aye Captain this is a mutiny. The crew stands with me, we are pirates, we take what we want, and kill what we want. Ain’t nobody that can tell us otherwise not some phantom thieves, not some uptight shiites or a coward o a captain.”

E’darin drew his axe snarling, “Well then lad ye want it take it!”

Tristian simply drew his pistol and fired a single shot at the Miqo’te tearing into his left shoulder. The force of the shot knocked him into the rails, his axe falling to his feet. “Pitch him over the side lads. Let the sharks take him.”

Several of the crew rushed forward and lifted the wounded Seeker off his feet and tossed him into the sea below. On the ship he could hear Tristian cackling then stated, “Alright lads lets get us some folk and then some coin.”

Pain seared through E’darin’s body as he desperately tried to keep his head above the towering waves with one useless arm. Struggling he swam as best he could looking for anywhere to be but the open sea. It didn't take long for a few sharks to begin to circle drawn to his blood. After striking one or two in the snout they decided to find easier prey elsewhere leaving the floundering Miqo’te alone. Minutes felt like hours and he could feel the effects of the blood loss but the stubborn Seeker refused to give up.

Just when he thought he had enough, suddenly the lowering moon burst open in a bright explosion showering every ilm of the world with parts of itself or so it seemed. Then in the sky where the moon had been appeared a massive dragon. The thing had to be bigger than Limsa Lominsa for there was no other way this far away E’darin could see it. The beast let out a deafening roar even at this distance and then the sky lit with a shower of falling stars.

Several struck the sea and E’darin prayed that his luck didn't further sour and one land on him. He did get the satisfaction of seeing one strike the Briar amidships setting the ship ablaze. He gave a feral grin as he heard the traitors scream in agony as the flames licked them and watched in glee as they leapt into the sea in an attempt to put themselves out. In a matter of moments the burning ship sank beneath the restless waves of the Rhotano.

Which was a boon to him as the debris began to bob up and a stray spar was all but launched over to him by the churning waves. Grabbing hold of it with his good arm gave him a bit more buoyancy than he had before. Deciding to put as much distance as possible between him and the wreck he kicked with all his might feeling his strength beginning to flag from blood loss.

As he swam the sky lit with another light and a bright blue ball began to form around the massive dragon only to be shattered by the infernal beast. The dragon's mouth began to glow and it was clear that it was intent on destruction.

Well looks like this is the end E’darin thought barely able to cling to the spar due to how tired he was. He closed his eyes just waiting for the end when there was a brilliant white flash and he lost consciousness.

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

The first thing E’darin became aware of was the searing pain of his shoulder and the fact that somehow he was still alive. He opened his mismatched eyes to be staring at the rough planks of some kind of ceiling.

“Good te see yer awake lad, thought Llymlaen was gonna call ye te the sea several times.” a voice said to his side

Carefully turning his head he saw the wizened face of an elderly Roegadyn smiling at him a bowl of water in her hands, bandages on her arms.

“Te be honest ma’am thought she was gonna to, How did I end up ‘ere last I recall was floatin midsea looking at some demon o a dragon intent on destroyin the world.” He rasped

The Roe simply nodded replying, “Ye washed up on the beach here gave most o the village a further fright. They thought ye was a spirit sent te attack by that same beast. Then when they realized ye were just a shipwrecked cat they dragged ye te me shack te be seen to. Now lets get them bandages changed.”

Carefully pushing himself up he looked dispassionately on as she undid the soiled bandages hissing in pain. As he saw the wound he realized it could have been worse and the Roe as if reading his thoughts stated, “Ye got lucky lad any further in n it woulda been yer heart.”

Nodded he asked, “Will it interfere with me using an axe?”

Studying him for a moment she replied, “So long as ye wait fer it te heal probably not, I got the ball outta there n there wasn't much damage te the bone seems the muscle took the brunt o it.”

Nodding in understanding he let her finish her ministrations then leaned back, “Guess I gotta impose upon yer hospitality fer a bit ma’am”

She gave him a gap toothed grin in response, “As if I’d ever complain bout a handsom cat in me home. Mind ye yer not me type I prefer em broader n more green but yer pretty face’ll do in a pinch te look at.”

He gave her a hearty laugh then settled down to sleep deciding it was best to allow himself to heal before determining his next course. As if it were trying to tell him it would be the one his head pounded once more and he heard the words again Hear….Feel….Think.

Just what am I supposed te be hearing, feeling n thinking bout? He mentally asked the strange unheard voice. Guess I’ll have te see what course allows me just that just so ye shut up.

With that he allowed sleep to take him the last thing he heard was the elderly Roe closing the door behind her shuffling footsteps.

#ffxivwrite2021 #E'darin Tia #Miqo'te #seeker of the sun #aether data center #midgardsormr #Pirate Cat #origin story

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xyliane · 4 years

Text

wild blue yonder

summary: killua had plenty of better ideas for how to spend his eighteenth birthday. a cake a mile high, a day on the town with alluka, maybe even some peace and quiet for once. instead, he’s doing what all zoldycks do: assassination, murder, the works, all at the ass end of the ocean, all because it will tilt the scales of trade just enough in their favor to make a move. he doesn’t have to worry about a blood curse, no matter what his sister says.

notes: think of this less like a fic and more a...preview? I’ve written about 10,000 words of this off and on over the last year or so, and I would love to write more, but [gestures at the world] [pokes at the smoldering remnants of my dissertation]. yeah. so, as special thanks to @trashsketch and @thehuntyhunties, here’s a first draft of the first bit of cursed prince (which, knowing me, will get a wholesale rewrite of the first section at least cuz lol worldbuilding). T (blood and killua’s mouth), pre-killugon; ft: mito, the zoldycks, ikalgo, and did I mention the blood. 4900 words. (title is not the final title, but swiped hastily from the third track of “the horror and the wild”)

notes pt 2: @trashsketch DREW THIS FOR THIS AU aaaaaaa

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Alluka’s eyes turn black over dinner three weeks before Killua’s eighteenth birthday, and he has to shove half a bread roll into his mouth to avoid making any noise. If he’s lucky, no one else will notice. If Alluka’s lucky, Nanika won’t say anything, will stare at Killua for a few minutes before slipping back into the recesses of his sister’s mind. If they’re both lucky, they can return to their meals and continue ignoring whatever Mom and Illumi are discussing about the southern trade routes, in tones just barely not argumentative. If Killua’s lucky, he won’t have to kill anyone in the next month.

Of course, the Zoldyck family has never owed its success to luck. They have skill, and intelligence, and a massive fortune. They have a town full of merchants and spies at the base of Kukuroo Mountain, centuries of debts of money and life tying the people to the family. They have, Silva Zoldyck is fond of noting, family. And family is paramount.

Even more than that, though, they have Nanika. They have information, dropped right into their minds. All it costs is a bit of death, the risk of death or curse or worse if they don’t do what she suggests. Just that, and Killua’s little sister.

The family thinks it’s worth the price, so they have to deal with it for now. Killua’s his father’s successor to their mountains of gold and death. He’ll change it. He’s promised Alluka.

“Mom, look,” Milluki says. Killua swallows a curse.

A smile stretches across Kikyo Zoldyck’s face, as full of empty pleasure as the black visor stretched over her eyes. “Well. This is convenient.” She turns to Illumi. “Shall we see what to do about our mercantile issues in the South Sea?”

Illumi frowns. “If you must,” he says, and looks expectantly at Killua. “Kil? Take care of it.”

“Alluka’s not an it. And it’s not my turn.”

Mom sighs melodramatically. “Kil,” she says.

“Mom,” he says in the exact same tone.

Father, who’s spent most of dinner silent, snorts a chuckle. When Killua turns to him, he gets a firm nod, bright glimmer in his pale blue eyes. “Go on, Kil,” he says, voice rumbling. “Ask after the block in trade. Best do it now, before the thing in your sibling chooses otherwise.”

Killua nods once, and turns to his sister. She is still staring at him—Nanika is still staring, black eyes blank and a strange little smile on her face.

“Nanika,” he says, voice steady.

Her smile widens. Killua, she says, her voice an echo between his ears. No one else hears. I love Killua.

I love you too, he thinks back, and hopes that she can hear. “Nanika, how do we open up trade in the South Seas to benefit the Kingdom of Padokea?”

“And the Zoldycks,” Milluki says, a sneer in his voice.

“We are Padokea,” Mom says, and sneers right back.

Nevertheless, Killua grits his teeth and adds, “And the Zoldyck family.”

Maybe this time will be different. Maybe she’ll give them a corporation, or an abandoned island full of pirates. Pirates would be fun. Or maybe nothing will happen, and Killua will be able to turn eighteen without being halfway across the world burying a sword into someone’s back. He can take Alluka to town, sneak her out the back while the butlers aren’t looking. It’ll only be for a day, and he’ll be with her.

Nanika opens Alluka’s mouth.

Dammit, is all Killua manages to think, before the vision slams into him.

red

is all he gets at first, and he thinks that maybe this time, he won’t be the center of this vision. Maybe Milluki will get one and have to get off the mountain for the first time all year. Maybe even Illumi will stop hovering, conspicuously leaving profiles of eligible bachelorettes for Mom to coo over and Killua to ignore. But the table turns red and Killua sees

red ocean

red hair green (brown) eyes

red lips

red stains on pale skin

red flower in black (white) hair

red scars on dark stars

red waters overflowing

red death under red sails

red blood

red

red red

red red red red red reD RED

The vision releases him, and Killua barely manages to catch himself before he pitches face-first into the soup. Even after the fact, his senses are swimming in blood, enough that he can practically taste it. One of these days, he’s going to learn how to live with it. The rest of his family does.

“Kil, where are you going?” Illumi asks.

So much for his birthday plans. “Where do you think,” he says.

“Kil,” Mom says again, and he rolls his eyes.

“The ass end of the ocean, I think,” Killua says, and ignores his mother’s affronted gasp as he starts in on the rest of his dinner. It tastes chalky under the blood. “I’ve got a month to kill the queen of Whale Island.”

“Isn’t that the place with the magic storms and the cursed pirates?” Milluki says.

“You can’t use magic to control storms, idiot,” Kalluto mutters, just loud enough for Killua to hear.

“The cost?” Illumi asks.

Killua shrugs. “Blood curse. Nothing new.”

Nanika always exchanges her information for curses. Illumi and Kalluto have messed up before and come back with numb limbs or empty eyes, consequences for having failed within the time limit. But those curses are simpler things. Killua gets the blood curse, every single time.

He loves his sister, and he’s grown to love Nanika, in her own way. But he doesn’t need the extra pressure.

Father claps a hand on Killua’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Kil. We will celebrate your birthday when you get home from the ass end of the ocean.”

Mom makes a scandalized noise and Killua smiles, pride radiating out from where Father’s hand rests against his shoulder. It makes him stand taller, almost as tall as Illumi. Never as tall as Silva Zoldyck. No one is that tall.

Behind him, Alluka stirs listlessly, blue eyes foggy. Once Father’s grip lifts from him, Killua reaches over to grab her hand, squeezing in whatever comfort he can. She tries to smile back. No one else notices. “Be careful, Brother,” she mutters. “Blood stains.”

————————————

It takes the better part of three weeks to get to Whale Island. Killua could have taken a cabin in one of the spice merchant’s galleon and been there in half a month. But that would be easy. Zoldycks do their job well, and well doesn’t mean easy. The first ship out of Dentora was only a week, but from there it was a schooner to a sailboat to three days on a blasted fishing dinghy for the last few islands. The sailors had laughed at him when he’d said where he was going. At least the food’s been good, because he’s going to turn eighteen out here in the gods-forgotten nowhere. He’d hate to come home and tell Alluka there had been nothing good out here.

For all that they’re in the middle of nowhere, the Whale Island port is almost impressive. If a place could be valued solely on the number of colors, Whale Island would be the richest port on earth. The ships alone are every shade imaginable, the height of summer trade filling each dock to overflowing. Purple sails from Kakin, greens and yellows from Lukso, the ostentatiously huge gilded galleons out of Yorknew. Even austere blacks and whites from Padokea, sticking out of the rainbow forest like snow-blistered icebergs. It makes him feel like home, almost. He’ll catch one of them off the island as soon as he’s done. Father will make sure they’re fairly compensated for leaving ahead of schedule. And sprinkled throughout are the collection of Whale Island’s mercantile armada, with no set color or design other than a bright circle of orange-gold, open at one end.

The port itself bustles with life, as diverse as the ships in harbor. It lacks the size or height of trade centers on the mainland, or even other islands like Balsa’s landmass-spanning city. But it makes up for it in smells, and shapes, and the honest smiles on merchants’ faces even as they fleece their customers for every extra cent. Out here, there’s no option but the port. They smile at Killua all the same.

Killua’s assassinations usually take a little more finesse—a Zoldyck is a threat, and he’s dyed his hair more than once to vanish into a crowd. But here, Killua’s pale skin and travel-stained dark clothing doesn’t even stick out, so long as he keeps his white hair tucked under a thin hood. No one even looks twice at the sword on his hip or the knives weighing down his boots, not with how everyone else seems to be armed. It’s almost relaxing. He can drift into the forest, kill the queen, and drift back out again, catching a ship out of port before anyone is the wiser.

Maybe this is a pirate nest, and no one thought to tell Killua…?

“Hey, traveler! You come in recently?”

Killua turns and is blasted in the face with the smell of fried fish. Behind a grill covered in pans and fish, a short round man with reddish skin and beady eyes waggles his thick eyebrows, a shock of black beneath a bald head. As he does, his arms dart back and forth between tasks, juggling fire and vegetables and pots as though he has extra arms. It’s kind of hilarious, and Killua doesn’t restrain a laugh.

The man grins back, obviously pleased. “Yeah, not exactly the easiest, getting all the way out here,” he says. “Sit down, look over the grill, tell me what you want.”

“That’s okay, I don’t—” Killua starts to protest, when another man reaches around the cook and drops an assortment of things off the grill and onto a plate. Well, a young man, not much older than Killua, with thick black hair woven back into a single braid trailing halfway down his back. Freckled brown skin is clearly visible beneath an open green vest woven through with gold thread. It would look almost princely, if it weren’t covered in oil and fish guts, and worn almost to the point of being transparent.

The young man hands the plate to Killua with a conspiratorial light in his bright brown eyes. “You should eat,” he says, and his voice is tinged with Whale Island’s rich accent—thick vowels, rolling syllables. It’s musical, in a way Killua wouldn’t have expected.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until the man pushes the plate more insistently at him. Killua shakes his head. He doesn’t want to stay any longer than he has to. He can’t get too close. “I’m not—”

“It’s on the house.”

“It is not!” the chef says, and thwaps the young man across the back of his head with a stack of napkins. “I have a business to run, and the shipping season don’t last all year.”

“Sorry, Ikalgo,” the young man says, an apologetic grin on his face. It doesn’t stop the chef’s rant, loud enough that it attracts the attention of the bread maker next door, who begins to cackle in amusement. The young man does his best to weather the shouting, only occasionally interjecting that he’s been working here for only a few days, that he’ll pay the difference, he promises. But when he catches Killua’s eye, he winks, as though this is all some great game and no one else has caught on yet.

Killua feels his cheeks heat up. Rather than worry about that, he shoves a skewer of fish into his mouth, and then he forgets about the rest because blessed gods that’s good. There’s spice in here he’s never even smelled before, mixed with something sweet that makes it even hotter than it should be.

The chef’s winding down by the time Killua’s finished, his assistant as apologetic as ever. They both notice Killua’s empty plate at the same time. The chef even seems impressed. “This ain’t your first time on the Islands, eh?”

Killua shrugs rather than answer. No wonder Mom is so invested in taking control of this route, if the spices pack this much of a punch. The investors in Padokea are probably salivating at the possibility of owning even a fraction of the trade. “The food’s really good,” he says instead, and the chef lights up.

“Ikalgo’s got the best seafood on Whale Island,” the young man says. “How long are you here for? Palm’s got great pastries, and she’s right next door.”

If the pastries are even close to as good as the fish, Killua might be convinced to stay here forever. But he can’t. This is why Illumi always tells him to never talk to anyone, not more than he needs to. It’s too easy to fall into conversation, to get attached. When his only job is to destroy the lodestone of a city, or a kingdom, or an island, he can’t afford any distractions. Not even cute boys offering him pastries with big brown eyes.

The assistant seems to sense Killua’s hesitation, and his grin dims a little. But before either of them can say anything else, the chef yanks on his thick black braid and snaps, “You still have another three hours here!”

“But Ikalgo—”

“After last time, you owe me!”

“Even Palm didn’t ask,” the young man whines.

“Palm didn’t lose her entire storefront to a flashflood.”

Killua can’t stick around. He grabs his bag, heavy with travel supplies, and turns to face the edges of the market. The trail leads up and away into the jungle. Theoretically, the queen’s mansion should be somewhere up there. But where…

Well, maybe it can’t hurt to ask one more question.

“Do you know who might know where the queen of Whale Island lives?” he asks, not expecting commoners to know the answer.

But the chef and his assistant shrug. “Ask anyone,” the young man says. “Anyone knows.”

“Anyone from the Island knows,” Ikalgo clarifies. “Her house is up at the end of the path, bout forty-five minutes into the jungle. Can’t miss it.”

Killua blinks. “Can anyone…go?”

The young man shrugs again. “Sure. If you wait a bit, I can—”

“What part of three hours do you not understand?”

“But he—”

“I’ll be fine,” Killua says, and nods politely. The chef and his assistant wave goodbye, and go back to bickering. Out of the corner of his eye, Killua can see the chef getting back to food prep, even as the young man grabs plates and napkins for other customers. He should feel bad that this is all going to ruin. Not immediately, sure. But without a ruler, most places fall apart. And if it falls apart, even for a little while, it’s long enough for Padokeans to set up shop, to reclaim the trade routes and caches of power that they want.

Maybe Whale Island will do okay in the end. Or maybe not. It’s not Killua’s problem.

Too bad, though. The food was good.

The queen’s house is indeed right up the road. Killua makes it within sight of the low walls outside the complex before ducking into the trees, not willing to risk a frontal assault on his own. As friendly as the Islanders seem to be, especially the assistant, the amount of armed fighters and sailors could be a problem. Once Killua finds a good rock, too heavy for a normal person to lift, he swaps his traveling clothes for proper Zoldyck gear: black trousers, an armored black jacket, silver-grey gloves. His sword is sheathed against his hip, and his boot knives are supplemented by another blade at the small of his back. He stashes all of his earrings but one, a sapphire stud Alluka had given him for his sixteenth birthday. She’d said it was for luck. But Zoldycks don’t have luck.

Killua keeps it anyways. Maybe he’ll be lucky this time.

Killua wants to finish this quick and quiet, on the small chance that the young man from the fish grill gets off work and comes up the path. By the time the chaos sets, he should be on the ship and halfway out to sea. Even the fastest ships won’t be able to catch him.

He climbs up the back wall, peering into what looks like a vegetable garden behind a modest two-story building. Killua recognizes about half of the herbs—most of them are useful as poisons, and a few are normally grown in the middle of a forest. None of them have any business being behind a queen’s home. Then again, the building would barely qualify as a merchant’s house in many kingdoms, well-constructed as it is. It’s the color of the sky and thatched neatly, signs of old storms and hard winter winds in the occasional cracked paint. The back door is a solid dark wood, and the window on the second floor is open to the sky. There’s no sign of any caretakers or guards, not even footsteps. The only sound is a quiet hum of a woman’s voice, wafting gently down from the open window.

It can’t be this easy. But part of Killua doesn’t mind. At least this time, the only person he’ll have to kill is the one he has to. No lying, no backstabbing.

And he can go home without risking a blood curse, and celebrate his birthday in peace.

He still takes his time sneaking across the garden, boots falling silently as he steps through the shadows of the house. Taking a chance that nothing in this building is locked, he carefully presses open a window on the ground floor and drops into what looks like a large kitchen. A massive slab of wood serves as a table down the center of the room, with a collection of beautifully carved chairs arranged around it. The smell of herbs permeates the whole room, sinking into the wood and floors.

There’s still no one in sight.

There’s still only the woman’s humming filling the air with gentle wordless noise.

It’s too easy. It has to be.

Killua draws his sword as he creeps up the stairs, following the sound of the woman’s voice. He’ll know the queen when he sees her—Nanika’s visions have a habit of sticking, permanently, or at least until the job is done. Like how he knows the humming is the queen, even though he’s never heard her voice before today. How when he peers around the corner, he knows that the queen is the woman humming over a pile of papers. Her bright orange hair is swept back from her forehead, a simple braid circling her head where a ring made of silver and onyx rests on Silva Zoldyck’s.

The humming stops. “You can stop creeping around my house and tell me why you’re here,” the queen says without looking up from her work. “If you want to petition for the Padokean spice merchants to stay another week, you’ll need to take it up with the portmaster.”

Killua doesn’t say anything. His grip on his hilt tightens for a moment, before relaxing.

The queen flips over the page and starts on the next. “Also, no, I am not interested in selling port space, either. Tell your king he can rent like everyone else.”

Killua takes a final step into the doorway, and lunges, his sword lightning fast.

But the queen whirls, nearly as fast as Killua, and catches his strike on a short wavy blade of her own. Her snarl sparks with furious challenge. “And if you’re here to kill me,” she says, “you’d better try harder than that.”

Killua bounces back, narrowly avoiding the sweep of her knife. The queen is unarmored, but holds the blade at her side, other arm lifted in well-practiced defense. Rather than wait for Killua to strike again, she darts forward, bare fist blurring in a fury as she tries to strike Killua’s solar plexus. But Killua is faster, and he catches her strike on his forearm, brushing it aside. She snarls even as she stumbles back, leaving herself open for Killua to strike again. This time, when she catches his blade on her knife, she almost doesn’t make it, only barely managing to slide out from beneath Killua’s strike. But her bare foot lashes out, catching him on the knee, and he feels the joint crumple.

She scoffs. “You’re not the first person to try to assassinate me,” she says. “Tell me who sent you, and I’ll send you home.”

Killua responds by punching her in the stomach with his hilted fist.

To the queen’s credit, she keeps her knife up, enough that she manages to slash him across his forearm. The wavy blade cuts deep and sharp right through his jacket, leaving behind a wide erratic slice. Killua ignores the pain and raises his blade.

She glares up at him furiously, bright brown eyes wide and not scared at all. They look familiar. In fact, they look like—

They look like the young man from the market.

The chef, his assistant, everyone else, is going to lose their queen.

Don’t get attached, Illumi commands in the back of his head, and Killua shakes the hesitation out of his limbs just in time to block the queen’s jab right at his heart. He catches her wrist with his bare hand, wrenching it out of place until she can’t hold on anymore. The wavy knife goes clattering away across the floorboards, out of sight and out of reach.

She kicks him in the side again, shit, and Killua throws her to the ground. The back of her head thuds against the wood floor, and she crumples with a pained noise, trying and failing to get back up again.

If Killua moves now, he’ll kill her.

This time, he won’t miss.

The queen starts to move, and Killua brings the blade down in a single brutal strike.

Blood always smells the same—metallic and warm, life draining out in flows of red. Killua hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes when he struck, but he feels the splash of blood across his face, sinking through the open slice on his sleeve and through the skin of his gloves. Messy. Father would be disappointed. It’s better if it’s quick, and clean, and no one fights back, and no one is gasping shakily on the floor—

He opens his eyes.

The queen lies at his feet, still alive. She has a hazy, almost drunken grin on her face, and her arm is still raised from where it connected with Killua’s sword, blood flowing freely from its stump. Her dismembered hand lies just out of reach. And she’s laughing.

“You should have killed me,” she says. A gust of wind blows up from the ocean, curling around her, almost as wild as her eyes. Outside, a massive storm darkens the sky, clouds near-black and crackling with energy. The air tastes of lightning, and thunder, and danger, and sudden fear jolts down Killua’s spine.

What had Milluki said? Cursed storms and magic pirates?

Killua’s eyes widen. “What—”

“I said,” the queen says, and her voice reverberates in the stormwall. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

She lifts her hand and spits a word, and a wind like a hand bellows up the stairs and throws Killua out the window.

He lands heavily in the garden, nostrils filling with herbs, bouncing once and hitting the building’s wall. At least the ground’s soft. But he dropped his sword somewhere between the second story and the dirt, and he does not have time to look for it before the storm hits. It whirls around the sky, a cyclone of pitch-black clouds centered right over the house. If Killua didn’t know any better, he’d say that it was only on the house, dropping almost to the ground as though trapping him in the eye of a storm.

He clamors over the wall, bad knee jolting with pain and a little voice screaming at him to run, just in time for a wall of rain to come crashing down between him and the jungle.

Stepping out of the rain, as though made from stormclouds and landslides, is the young man from the seafood shop. But instead of a stack of plates, he holds a brutally sharp sabre, blade short and thick and slightly curved up from its guard.

He takes in Killua, waterlogged and covered in blood, and his bright brown eyes go wide. “You’re—” he starts, and then his expression narrows with fury. “It would have been easier if you’d tried to kill me in town.”

“Why would I do that?” Killua says. “I’m only here for the queen, not an assistant fish fry.”

The young man grins with all of his teeth, any amusement from earlier washed away by unrestrained anger. “I’m Gon Freecss,” he says. “You tried to kill my mom.”

He’s the prince. In about the stupidest response Killua could have, he tries to rub some of the queen’s blood out of his eyes. But it doesn’t budge. If anything, the rain is making it worse, seeping into his face and clothes in a bright red tattoo, making his skin crawl.

Blood curse, Nanika had promised. It was always a blood curse.

Shit shit shit gods fucking shit. For all Killua knew, the blood was going to kill him from the inside out.

“I don’t care about who’s next in line,” he says, and takes half a step towards the storm wall. He had to get out, had to get home, or else—

“You should care,” the prince of Whale Island says. “Because if you’d killed me first, the storm wouldn’t have come for you.”

Killua barely has time to draw his knives before Freecss is on him.

Maybe it’s the panic worming its way out of Killua’s stomach, or the sharp pain in his knee, or the blood curse scratching at his face. Maybe it’s the resolute fury in Freecss’s eyes. Either way, the prince moves nearly as fast as Killua, hacking at the assassin with brutal short slashes. Killua manages to block all of them, barely, boots slipping in the torrential mud. The prince is good enough to make Killua work if he was in good condition, and between the rain and the blood and the knee, they’re all but equally matched.

Killua finally blocks a blow and shoves Freecss back, the prince leaving himself open. Killua presses his advantage in height and speed by kneeing the other man in the chest. Freecss coughs out a pained curse, and he tumbles back, mud covering his skin and his long braid. Killua follows, slashing out half-blind with his knives, and he feels his blades connect as the prince bounces away. Another splash of blood, this time on a bare hand. This time, Killua feels it sink in, painting his pale skin the color of rust.

Freecss has a slash on his cheek and shoulder, Killua’s wild strike having gotten him on bare skin. The weight of the blade also caught the prince’s braid, which droops tangled and waterlogged across his brown face, half-covering his eyes. Freecss curses again, something foul, and simply slices his sword through his hair. The rest of his braid lands in the mud with a heavy thump.

The prince wipes a streak of blood off his face, not seeming to care that the wound continues to flow freely. “I’m going to kill you,” he says, voice low as thunder.

Killua has fought soldiers and mercenaries and assassins, from the weakest to the most skilled. He’s been tired, fought for hours in the snow and sleet, wherever Father has asked. He’s fought with half the bones in his hand broken, with his legs immobilized by ice. But then, he’d been ready. He’d known what to expect. He hadn’t been fighting a storm at the same time he was fighting a prince. Freecss presses ceaselessly, forcing Killua back until his foot hits the wall around the queen’s home. The prince’s home. He can’t go any further back.

The prince’s eyes glint in the storm, and he slashes the sabre across Killua’s front.

And Killua’s leg slips out from under him.

The mud carries him stumbling out of range of the prince’s slash, but also costs him one of his knives. Killua staggers to his feet, trying in vain to rub the blood off his face. All he gets is mud, and rain, and more blood. A callous on his hand must have ripped in the fight.

Oh. And his jacket is cut open across his front. Distantly, he can feel blood dribbling down his chest, starting at the shoulder and cutting towards his side. That should hurt more than it does. Even his leg doesn’t hurt so much anymore, a dull throb beneath the rain.

He’s tired.

Freecss snarls—just like his aunt, a small part of Killua notices—and slices the sabre straight down through the air.

Static gathers in the air, bright and sharp, and Killua realizes he’s going to die.

“Sorry, Alluka,” he says. The words are lost under the wind and rain.

Then Killua is struck by lightning.

And everything is white.

86 notes · View notes

bnha-hq · 4 years

Text

7 minutes in heaven

Here’s my rarepair2020 fic for @seijouthirdyears I hope you enjoy it!!

It was hard picking a ship cause I like all of them lmao but ended up on this ship, it’s one of my favourites!

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Oikawa thinks over his long time friendship with Kuroo during their 7 minutes in heaven.

Warnings: none Word count: 3034 Ship: Oikawa x Kuroo

This wasn’t the first party Oikawa had been too, not by a long shot, it wasn’t even the first game of spin the bottle or 7 minutes of heaven that he’d ever played. This was, however, the first time he’d ever been this nervous. The first time he’d ever intently watched the bottle with his chest tight, from holding his breath or anticipation he wasn’t quite sure. He felt like he was 15 again, playing the game for the first time and that was almost amusing…almost.

He had half a mind to feel almost embarrassed by just how intently he watched the bottle, how he was only a hair’s width of self-control away from crossing his fingers and praying out loud for it to land on a particular person but he just couldn’t bring himself to fully commit to it. He watched as the bottle passed player after player, slowing down on each rotation till it was moving in a crawl so painfully slow it made him want to pull his own hair out. It did however come to a complete stop and Oikawa wasn’t sure whether he was going to survive these next 7 minutes.

When he looked from the bottle he was met with Kuroo’s sly smirk, a smirk that made Oikawa feel like Kuroo knew exactly what he was thinking, like he could see right through him, which was a feeling he wasn’t quite used to yet if he was being completely honest with himself. He offered his hand to Oikawa in which he gladly accepted and into the small, dark closet they went.

The door was closed behind them, a soft click indicating the door was now locked. This was it, for the next 7 minutes it was just him and Kuroo in this closet and usually Oikawa was more than happy to get right into it but this time he didn’t, he couldn’t. He glanced around the closet, but he couldn’t make out anything, he could feel Kuroo’s body heat, so he knew the middle blocker was close but besides that he wasn’t sure about what else was around. The room was as silent as it was dark, the party from the other side of the door seemed muffled, much more distant than it really was somehow. He could barely hear it over the sound of his heart beating wildly in his chest, he was sure Kuroo had to be able to hear it too, a thought that didn’t really help.

“Let’s just chat for now yeah?” Kuroo’s voice cut through the silence, the sound of him leaning against the wall and sliding down followed. “We can see where it goes from there~.”

Oikawa could have sworn that he heard Kuroo’s smirk, he really was cocky, a trait Oikawa found both incredibly frustrating but also incredibly endearing. He nodded despite the dark and sat on the ground across from the other man.

“Chatting works” he was too tall to stretch his legs fully as he sat, so he placed his feet by the wall and rested his arms on his knees. The warmth of Kuroo’s leg flush against his seeped through his jeans, seeming to warm his entire body

“Oh good! Cause I have to tell you about what happened today in chemistry” and off he went, talking about an experiment that his teacher had shown the class. Most of what Kuroo said simply flew over Oikawa’s head, not that he didn’t care what the other had to say, he did, he just didn’t understand a word Kuroo said. He was sure that Kuroo wasn’t even speaking Japanese half the time and he stood by that, but even then he loved to listen to him talk, to hear the passion in his voice and even now, in the pitch black darkness of this tiny closet he knew that Kuroo was gesturing wildly and making faces as he described his daily antics, his eyes wide with excitement. Oikawa absolutely adored it, his eyes in particular; they were one of the things that caught his attention the day they first met.

In fact, Oikawa remembered that whole day very vividly, it was his first day of university and he had felt almost dizzy with the flurry of emotions he was feeling. He was uncharacteristically nervous, he was a small fish in a big pond again and this time he didn’t have Iwaizumi with him, he missed his best friend and family but at the same time he was more excited than he had ever remembered being. This was it, next chapter in his life and he was determined to grab it with both hands and run with it.

He remembered stepping on the court and immediately feeling right at home, the smell of the polished floor and the sound of volleyballs hitting the court were all so familiar and comforting, he couldn’t wait to be on here playing a real game. He also couldn’t wait to meet his team, to get a read on them, to pick apart their strengths and weaknesses and work with them to build a team he was sure others would consider a challenge. So, in he went to meet the team.

Kuroo had approached him first, Oikawa remembered his first thought being that he had a terrible hairstyle, joking to himself that surely his hair blocked his vision, right?

“Hi, I’m Kuroo, previously a middle blocker from Nekoma high school” he held his hand out, shaking Oikawa’s firmly with a grin that gave him the distinct feeling that Kuroo was reading him just as much as he was reading Kuroo.

“Oikawa, previous setter and captain from Aoba Johsai” he remembered watching Kuroo’s sly grin widen a bit, those calculating eyes narrowing in on him in a way he would have imagine a cats would after having cornered its prey and Oikawa was already fascinated with him. This was going to be an interesting relationship.

Oikawa had spent that game getting to know his teammates and as was his speciality, he had picked them apart mentally and was confident he knew how to bring out their absolute best…all besides Kuroo. Oikawa struggled to get a good read on him, he was aware of his strengths as he was a brilliant player but he couldn’t figure out his weaknesses, his playing style or really any firm grasp of his personality, nothing he could work with anyway, he firmly believed it was deliberate. He had spent practice after practice trying to work him out, but it was always the same, Oikawa saw exactly what Kuroo wanted him to see and not a bit more…and he’d be lying if it wasn’t a little bit exciting. Oikawa had never met someone like Kuroo before, someone who could match him at his own game and somehow make it fun, Oikawa felt himself drawn to him more than ever. His sharp tongue and sharper eye drew him in, but he never let himself lose control, Kuroo may be good but he was better, and he’d prove it. Oikawa could have described it as almost like a dance, stepping around each other waiting for the other to make the next move. A dance with their own rhythm and no end in sight, a game with no foreseeable victory, nothing to win but exhilarating all the same.

Over time they had grown closer, the timer still ticked, and the beat still pulsed but Oikawa found a strange comfort in his new friend, different to the comfort he had with his other friends. He enjoyed their relationship, they understood each other, trusted each other and ultimately cared for each other in their own unique way, a way that he really understood. Oikawa often liked to think about whether they’d have been friends had they met in his middle school or even high school years, he wanted to say they would but he knew that wasn’t the truth, though that thought amused him honestly. He very likely wouldn’t have been sitting here, on Kuroo’s couch and he definitely wouldn’t be here looking at his friend’s concern and actually wanting to open up.

“So, what’s up? You’ve been quiet” Kuroo’s voice had been soft and genuine, there was no teasing undertone or hint of a joke. It was so simple, yet Oikawa had complete confidence that he wouldn’t mock him, he knew he wouldn’t hold it over him or shove it aside as an inconvenience. He’d taken a second, he still wasn’t sure why…maybe to appreciate the gentleness, the kindness, or maybe to just gather his thoughts a bit more.

“Guess I feel a little homesick…missing my best friend especially, this is the first time I’ve been away from him for so long” he’d chuckled humourlessly. He remembers how silly he had felt when he confessed it out loud, it seemed so childish, he’s an adult now and he’s sulking about his friend who he still gets to see, albeit not as often!

He glanced at Kuroo to gauge his reaction and Kuroo nodded, Oikawa didn’t know what exactly he was expecting but it wasn’t that.

“I get that, my best friend is still at Nekoma for another year. Shit’s rough” he chuckled a bit himself, not as dry as Oikawa’s had been but not the laugh the blocker usually had, despite that though it was just as real, and something fluttered in Oikawa’s stomach.

“Yeah, it’s weird not having him here, we started everything together!” He’d barely missed slapping Kuroo when he threw his arms open in a grand gesture, Kuroo laughed a little livelier at that and Oikawa remembered feeling a smidge of pride at that.

“I was even there when he caught his first bug!” Kuroo gasped a bit, clearly playing into the setter’s theatrics and Oikawa honestly appreciated it.

“I was there when he beat his first video game” Kuroo added on with a grin.

It was that moment, on that couch just talking about their love for their friends that the tune shifted, and the dance changed, subtle as it was, it was there. Oikawa noticed that as they talked, talked about Kenma and Iwaizumi, their families and just moments from their childhood the more the melody slightly changed. He couldn’t put his finger on what exactly had changed but he was acutely aware that it had, he had found himself wondering if Kuroo had felt it too, he was sure he would have.

Oikawa didn’t want to think about it too much at the time, it had felt so delicate and fragile then and Oikawa was worried to ruin it, so he let it be, he figured it was one of those things that shouldn’t be meddled with.

Oikawa was jolted back to the present with a yelp when Kuroo squeezed the sides of his knees firmly.

“Are you even listening to me?” Oikawa could tell he was holding back a laugh, possibly laughing at his reaction.

“…yes” Oikawa lied.

He swore he could feel Kuroo’s eyes roll when he said that and this time he actually did laugh, it seemed to fill the room with a sense of warmth.

“Alright alright, I admit I got side-tracked” Kuroo chuckled and checked his watch, the numbers glowing. “Huh, it’s been two minutes.”

“Only two? Huh…” Oikawa’s eyed widened, only two minutes! He was going to die before the seven minutes was up, he was sure of it.

Oikawa felt Kuroo’s hand on his knee, though instead of a brutal squeeze he gently massaged up and down his leg, going just below mid-thigh before coming back down, this was something Oikawa was used to as Kuroo did often though wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a comforting gesture or just something he did because he felt like it at the time. All he knew was that it drove him just as crazy as the day he first did it.

It had been a horrible winter day, it was cold, snowy and windy and just not all that pleasant. Kuroo had prepared some hot chocolate for the two of them and they had rugged up on the couch with some movies playing on the tv and despite the terrible weather outside Oikawa had felt comfortable, it had been warm inside and he’d really enjoyed Kuroo’s company.

Kuroo had let Oikawa choose the movies, and as it turned out they both had the same taste in movies, others would call them ‘bad’ or ‘a disgrace to the movie industry’ but they loved them, there was nothing like sitting down to a terrible movie and having a good laugh at the CGI or acting or even the plot itself. Oikawa had been focused on the movie when he first felt Kuroo’s hand on his leg, it had surprised him so much that he almost jumped.

He quickly looked at Kuroo, his surprise only growing when he seemed completely fixated on the movie still, he didn’t even seem aware of what he was doing or what it was doing to Oikawa, who had been trying his hardest to act as nonchalant and unaffected as Kuroo even as he had a million questions spinning through his mind. Was this flirting? Why would he be flirting? And why did the thought of Kuroo flirting with him send his heartbeat into overdrive? It’s not like he wanted Kuroo to be flirting with him, right? They were only friends after all, very good friends perhaps but still only friends. He couldn’t focus on the movie anymore and only on Kuroo, and more importantly what a simple gesture as putting his hand on Oikawa’s leg was doing to the setter. He couldn’t think of anything really, no reasons or logic, it only every kept coming back to the fact that Oikawa liked it, he liked the warmth of his hand and the gentle act of affection, he hadn’t known at the time why he liked it so much but looking back on it he just wasn’t ready to accept the true reason yet.

Oikawa had noticed that it was then that the melody of their relationship seemed to shift again, the dance less push and pull as it had been before and while it was still there, it had a much more a comforting flow, a melody that had witnessed the growth of their friendship and changed with it and a melody that didn’t appear to be finished changing…what that meant for the two of them Oikawa wasn’t sure, he was sure he’d find out soon enough though.

Oikawa had been correct; it had only been the next day when it finally made sense to him, he’d thought it over again and again and again, analysed his own reaction and why he swore he could still feel Kuroo’s warm hand on his leg when the realisation hit him like a spike to the face.

He was, without a doubt, in love with Kuroo Tetsurou.

At the realisation he felt like he was back in his first day, feeling both terrified but exhilarated at the same time. Oikawa was confident and rarely felt scared to pursue someone he was interested in but this time it felt different, he didn’t want to rush right into it instead he was determined to take his time, feel it out as we went.

He would make his move when the time felt completely right to do so.

Oikawa was once again jolted from his memory when Kuroo shifted, moving to almost straddle him in a way that allowed him to get face to face. Oikawa could just make out the outline of Kuroo’s face but felt his breath against his lips faintly and in that moment, he was so glad it was dark because he was sure he was redder than he had ever been before. Oikawa collected his racing thoughts the best he could before he spoke.

“W-What are you doing?” he only blushed darker at how high his voice came out and his little stutter.

“Times nearly up and I want to tell you something, and I wanna make sure you actually pay attention” Kuroo’s voice was similar to how his had sounded, though the call out was firm, he could only smile sheepishly at that.

He could have sworn that even Kuroo could have heard his heartbeat with how hard it was beating, what could he possibly need to say that required this distance? Oikawa had an idea…or a bit of hope of what it would be.

“Better be quick then.”

He felt Kuroo shuffle a bit, he figured he was trying to get more comfortable, or as comfortable as he could in the space they were given then heard him take a breath, the type of breath that was usually followed with him running his fingers through his hair and Oikawa briefly cursed the dark.

Oikawa felt on edge, though not in a bad way. His body full of tension the same as it would on Christmas eve or buckling into your favourite ride at the carnival, this was the climax of their melody and he knew it, every step and spin had lead them to this very moment, trapped in this closet only inches from one another.

“I like you…a lot…and I have for a while” he took Oikawa’s hands in his and kissed the knuckles gently, such a gentle gesture yet it sent Oikawa crazy. “I don’t know if you feel the same and I really don’t want to ruin what we have, I just wanted you to know.”

“I love you too” Oikawa brought his hand up and gently held Kuroo’s face, eventually closing the gap and kissing the boy he had wanted to kiss for so long now and just like that their song changed and their dance with it. It was no longer the push and pull competitiveness from when they first met, or the tentative, unsure steps of the between but a dance they both knew the moves to, a song in which they both knew the words. It was comforting and beautiful, and Oikawa looked forward to listening to it for a very long time.

#hqrarepairexchange2020 #oikuroo #Oikawa x Kuroo #haikyuu #hq #Oikawa #oikawa tooru #Kuroo #Kuroo Tetsurou #hq oikawa #Haikyuu oikawa #hq Kuroo #haikyuu Kuroo

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johaerys-writes · 3 years

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Fandom: The Song of Achilles

Summary: During his two month long sea voyage from Phthia to Skyros in search of Achilles, Patroclus makes an unexpected friendship.

I always wondered what Patroclus got up to during his trip to Skyros, so this is my attempt to satisfy my own curiosity (and hopefully yours too!). This is a quiet and introspective fic that focuses on Patroclus’ state of mind, being away from Achilles for so long, as well as his unexpected friendship with a sailor on the ship.

Read here or on AO3! :)

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Chapter 1: Guiding Star

We don’t always choose where life takes us. Sometimes the choice is made for us. The three Fates spin their weaves, and we must go wherever they lead us. If the world is an endless ocean, we are but pieces of driftwood, mercilessly swept here and there by the shifting currents until we are spat out, discarded at the water’s edge.

Those were the thoughts that drifted through my mind as I made my way to the docks. A red and swollen sun was hanging low over the mountains to the west, and the heavy smells of fish, ship tar and stale wine reached my nostrils. The coin purse that Peleus had given me hung heavy by my belt. I drew the edge of my cloak over it to hide it from view and pressed it discreetly to my thigh to stop the gold coins from clinking as I walked straight past the clusters of dock workers and sailors that lined the stone wharf of Phthia’s docks.

Not a few of them looked my way, stopping their games of dice, obviously impressed by the rich colour of my tunic. It was a deep and vibrant purple, the golden embroidery along its hem catching the light as I walked. It was the best I could find, one of Achilles' own. Their eyes on me, the quiet that fell around me as I walked made me uneasy. I hasten my step, eager to reach the ship that Phoenix had indicated before he saw me off. The captain of the Paralos, Achilles’ old and kindly tutor had told me, is an honest man, and does not ask many questions. He’ll see you safely, wherever you need to go.

I felt more than a little lightheaded when my sandaled feet touched the ship’s deck. The wooden floor was smoothed and sanded, well taken care of. The sailors and ship boys were hauling crates of fruit, sacks of grain, sealed amphorae filled with wine and honey. They would be trading them on the islands we would be passing on our way, receiving gold and even more goods in return.

I eyed the vessel warily. It was large and wide, heavy, meant for slow sailing. Slow enough to keep the goods safe even when the winds were rough and the waves battered against its wooden belly. I didn’t know much about ships. I had never spent much time at the docks, preferring the quiet gardens of the palace, the olive grove beyond it or the beach nearby, or the solitary pleasure of Achilles’ company, yet even I could tell that with a ship like this it would take weeks to get to Skyros. Perhaps even months.

My heart tightened at the thought. My worry, that I had tried so hard to rein, slithered to the surface. What was Achilles doing? Was he safe? Would he still be there when I reached Skyros' shores, or would his mother have whisked him away somewhere else, somewhere further still, as soon as she caught scent of my arrival?

I shook my head lightly, letting the humid, salty breeze that combed through my hair take the thoughts away. I had a destination now, a place to go. Achilles was somewhere, somewhere I could sail to, and I took heart from that knowledge. However ominous the future felt right then.

The golden coins I had given the captain clinked softly in their pouch when the man walked behind me up the long wooden plank that connected the ship with the long board walk of the docks. He was watching me from the corner of his eye. He did not know what to make of me, I supposed; I was neither a boy nor a man, I had not given him a name that he had recognised, yet my tunic was fine and well-made, my manners as regal and commanding as I could make them, and my coin had been enough to take me to Skyros and back three times over. I needed him to believe that I was important. It was the only way I could gain passage on a ship like this, which was not meant for it.

“We leave at dawn,” he told me flatly, coming to stand beside me as a ship’s boy brought the leather bag that carried my few belongings. I winced when he deposited it unceremoniously before my feet; my mother’s lyre was in it.

The captain asked me if there was anything more for them to bring up, to which I shook my head. He made a non-committal grunt, then waved at a young man that was gathering a length of wet and heavy rope up the side of the ship. “Xanthos will show you to your berth,” he said, then walked away without a second glance.

The man the captain indicated hastened to my side. He was tall and broad of shoulder, but his bare feet were light and quick when he approached me, barely making a sound. The ship was rocking gently with the waves, but he never missed a step, practiced after years of sailing, no doubt. His smile was wide and friendly, and there was a warmth to it that I had not expected to see from someone that barely knew me.

“First time on a ship?” he asked merrily, bending to pick up my bag. I nodded reluctantly as I followed in his footsteps as he led me through the twisting passages of the ship’s underbelly, careful to move around the other sailors going about their business. The whole ship was astir with activity, in a way that I had never before imagined while gazing at the ships from a distance, from the safety of the palace.

“First time is always rough. You’ll get used to it soon enough, though.” He pushed open a door to a small and narrow room, barely wide enough for two men abreast to fit through. He almost dumped my bag at the feet of the small cot like the previous sailor had, when I stopped him, my arms raised in alarm.

“Please, be careful with that.” I held out my hands to take the bag from him.

“Oh. Forgive me, my lord. I did not know—” He stood for a moment, shifting awkwardly on his feet. He seemed too large for the small room, out of place. Our gazes met, and at that moment I was sure that I was the one that must have looked entirely out of place to him.

He ran his fingers through his hair. It looked like it was usually cropped short, yet now had grown longer, wisps of it falling over his sun kissed brow. Its colour was a light brown, bleached lighter still at the ends from the merciless beating of the sun. His name, Xanthos, meant blonde, aureate, with a quickness and sparkle like the light that catches on polished gold before it disappears. People often called Achilles that, but where Achilles was fair and golden, Xanthos was burnished bronze. It suited him well, I thought. I figured it was more because of the golden brown tan of his skin, of his honey brown eyes. Among the other sailors, with their dark hair and weather beaten skin, he would have looked the fairest.

He was peering at me now with those golden brown eyes of his, as if afraid to inconvenience me, and the natural, unadulterated kindness in them took me by surprise. His gaze was clear and honest; I felt like I was looking at crystal clear waters, so diaphanous that I could see right down to the sea bed.

I had not realised I had gone quiet until Xanthos spoke again. “It must be important to you.”

I swallowed thickly, then tore my gaze from his to place my bag gently on my cot, as if it was precious glass. “Yes. It is.” My answer sounded too harsh in my ears, so I softened it by saying, “There’s a lyre in there. It used to be my mother’s. I took it with me because—”

Because Achilles didn’t.

My throat tightened, my eyes burning with the tears I had tried to suppress since that morning, when I had woken up in an empty bed. The lyre had been at its usual place, leaning against the wall adjacent to our bed, untouched. Achilles hadn’t taken it with him this time. I believe it was this that had unsettled me the most. I knew he could not have gone willingly, not if he'd left it behind. Now I know how to make you follow me everywhere, he’d told me once, years before, when he’d brought the lyre with him to Pelion. I would follow him anywhere, it seemed, with or without it. I would do anything, cross oceans and mountains and plains, just to be with him.

My worry and sadness swelled, ready to consume me. I cleared my throat, pushing it down. “I took it with me, because I need to give it to someone. Someone… important to me.”

The words seemed paltry and frail, too small to encompass the true depth of what Achilles was to me. But for now, they were enough. They had to be. Otherwise, the emptiness of his absence would swallow me whole.

Xanthos nodded solemnly. “I understand. I do hope you get to give it to that person… whoever they are.” When I did not reply, he bowed his head and slithered past me to the door. Even though he was tall and broad, the muscles in his bare arms strong and defined, he moved quickly and agilely, not missing a step despite the smooth rocking of the ship. He stopped at the doorway and glanced at me over his shoulder. “The food is served after sunset, usually. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. Most visitors don’t like spending much time with the crew. Not that we have that many visitors, but, uhm…” He seemed not used to speaking with many people other than his crew mates. He moved with much more ease and grace than he spoke, and my fine tunic and royal bearings did nothing to put him more at ease. Still, he smiled at me, quick and fleeting, before he continued, “You are more than welcome, in any case. There’s good food, and perhaps even some good company too.”

“I…” I started, then stopped. I wanted to tell him that no company would be enough to take my mind off my troubles, however pleasant. That there was nothing to soothe the ache that plagued me, to make me forget the worry that was gnawing at me from the inside. Instead, I bit the words back and inclined my head in gratitude. “Thank you.”

With another small bow, Xanthos left, closing the door softly behind him. I was left alone in my narrow cot. Suddenly, the walls seemed small and tight, closing in on me. There was no window, so I was half drowned in darkness, too. I lit the small lamp that had been left there for me before I’d arrived, and sat on the bed that would be mine for the foreseeable future. The mattress was hard like dry, packed earth, and the blanket on top of it rough and scratchy.

I sighed. It was not going to be a pleasant voyage, or easy. Of that, I was certain.

I was falling. A stone sinking in dark waters.

The world around me was darkness. I could not see where I was, nor could I tell where I was going. I was looking for something, at the same time that I was running from something; what, I did not know. My mind was seized in an icy grip, and I felt cold and hollow. The weight of that emptiness crushed me. I did not know how to fill the void, yet I knew I had to find what I was looking for soon. Before my time ran out.

Footsteps echoed behind me, ringing hollowly as if I were in a deep, dark cavern. The light of a lone candle trembled in the darkness, but its light was grey and lifeless. I moved towards it, following the tremor of the shadows it cast. That was when I saw him.

Clysonymus.

He was standing before me, watching me solemnly with empty, transparent eyes. He was perfectly still, his countenance ashen and grey, but all I could see was him falling, tipping backwards in a moment that felt never ending. The sound that his head had made when it cracked against the stone like an egg, the brightness of his blood that had made every colour seem dull, crimson poppy petals drifting with the wind.

He opened his mouth.

Terror gripped me, flooded me to the brim. I turned around and ran, as fast as my legs could carry me. I could not let him take me with him. I could not, not before I’d found Achilles. I knew, with a certainty that seemed to be embedded deep in my bones, that I had to be with him, no matter what. Otherwise I would be caught in this dark, desolate place of haunted and desperate souls, and everything bright and brilliant and beautiful would be taken from me forever. I would be caught, trapped; I would slip and slide and disappear in the depths of the underworld, never to be seen again.

I would never see Achilles again. Not ever.

Despair consumed me, a wave that curled over me. I called out his name, again and again, hoping he would hear me, desperately wishing he would take my hand and pull me back up to the light with him.

Achilles, I whispered, pleading. Achilles, Achilles—

I woke up with a start, jolting bolt upright on the bed. My breaths were coming in fits and starts, clawing at my throat. For several moments I could not tell where I was, what I was doing. I fumbled on the mattress, searching for Achilles’ hand that surely lay beside me. The safety of his presence was always enough to calm my beating heart, to ease my terror after every nightmare. I searched frantically in the dark, but my hands only found scratchy blankets, a wooden wall, the leather bag that lay beside my bed. Panting, with trembling fingers, I lit the lamp beside me, blinking as the shadows were driven away.

The trembling flame illuminated my narrow berth. The floor beneath me bobbed gently, in time with the rocking of the waves underneath the ship. I took a deep breath, leaning back against the wall as reality slowly solidified around me. I was alone, on ship filled with strangers, that knew nothing about me and cared not for me. I was alone, without him. Without Achilles.

The realisation bore down on me like a mountain. My throat tightened and my eyes burned as tears started streaming down my cheeks in an unbroken stream. I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth to muffle my sobs, hugging my knees tightly as I curled in on myself. I could feel his absence as acutely as a missing limb. It was as if part of him was still there, his presence tugging at the edges of my consciousness, but I couldn’t see him, couldn’t hear him, couldn’t reach him. My mind struggled to comprehend it, but nothing seemed real. It would surely drive me mad, if I let it.

I took in a deep breath when my sobs had finally ebbed, wiping my cheeks on the fabric of my tunic. I felt weak, lightheaded. I had had nothing to eat since the day before when we had sailed away from Phthia, so tight the knot in my stomach had been. Even if I tried, I wouldn’t have been able to keep anything down, not with the way the ship rocked as it glided over the waves. Sleep had left me completely. Even if it hadn’t, I was too scared to close my eyes, in case my nightmares found me again.

With a sigh, I swung my legs over the edge of the narrow bed. I hastily pulled on my cloak, eager to leave the small, suffocating cabin behind me. The ship was largely quiet when I walked out onto the deck, the sea wind and the waves that crashed against the ship’s belly the only sounds. I walked up to the railing and gripped it tightly as I stared out into the dark and frothy sea. The salt air whipped at my hair, the fabric of my cloak. It was a chilly night, but the sky was clear and bright with stars.

I started slightly when I heard footsteps behind me, light and careful, in sync with the rhythmic whispers of the waves below.

“Can’t sleep, I take it?” Xanthos asked, and his voice was laced with genuine concern. I had learned soon after I’d boarded ship that he often took the night’s watch. I made a weak attempt at a smile.

“The ship’s rocking is keeping me awake,” I lied. He believed me.

“It takes a while to get used to it, but once you do, you can’t sleep without it.” He leaned against the railing, reaching for something at his belt. He offered it to me, and I gingerly plucked the wineskin from his hands.

“It’s from Lesbos,” he said. “It’s good. Try it. Might ease the nausea a bit.”

My first instinct was to decline, but then I thought better of it. What did I really have to lose? At the most, I might be able to sleep a little easier. I uncorked the wineskin and brought it to my mouth. The wine was strong and aromatic, already watered and spiced. It was indeed good, I realised, though I had little taste for wine. I took a sip, then another, before handing it back to him. “Where are we now?” I asked, nodding at the dark outline of the mountains in the distance.

“North of Euboea.”

“And where are we headed next?”

He pointed to the bright constellation right above us. “See that?”

I squinted at where he indicated. The stars twinkled in the dark, one among them shining the brightest. “Polaris,” I said quietly. “The guiding star of sailors. We’re going north.”

“That’s right. We’re going to to Alonissos. The captain wishes to sell the amphorae and the fresh plums we got from Chalcis and Eretria there.”

“I see,” I replied, though I had scarcely heard what Xanthos had said. My heart thumped painfully in my chest as I traced the constellations with my eyes. Micri Arctos, Megali Arctos. Orion. The Pleiades, just starting to glow in the horizon.

So many times had Achilles and I named them together, either in the open sky or the painted ones of our cave, that it felt odd now to do it without him. Unnatural. Wrong. My sadness mingled with my anger at Thetis, for taking Achilles away from me, for trying to keep us apart— for I was sure that was the reason for her spiriting him away to Skyros. She must have known what had transpired between us the moment we stepped foot beyond Chiron’s protection. But more than that, I was angry with myself, for challenging my fate, the gods themselves. I had been drunk on love, on my own foolishness, holding him like nothing could ever come between us. At that moment, it all seemed so hopeless. My entire life felt like an uphill battle, like I’d been fighting waves large enough to engulf me, with the only moments of respite being the ones when I was with him. The time when I had felt invincible, happy beyond measure seemed distant, a dying star on a winter night.

I hadn’t even realised that my eyes had filled and overflowed once more until the tears that had been coursing down my cheeks had soaked the top of my tunic. I heard Xanthos opening his mouth to speak, to ask if everything was alright, but I cut his sentence short.

“Have you been travelling on this ship long?” I asked, hoping to change the subject, and that the darkness hid my puffy eyes and reddened nose, my haggard appearance. “You seem perfectly at ease here.”

He gave me an awkward smile and glanced politely away from me, yet I could still see the concern that furrowed his brow. He wasn’t particularly good at hiding his feelings. Like someone else I knew. “I’ve been with this crew for two years now,” he said softly, gazing out into the sea. “Before that, I was a ship’s boy in a trader that travelled the coast of the Peloponnese. I even went to Crete twice. This one, it only travels through the northern islands, for the most part. Modest pay, but decent work. Fewer pirates around these parts, too,” he added. “It’s good work, really.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I responded, and instantly I felt my sadness ebbing. Xanthos’ voice was gentle, almost soothing. His eyes and expression were earnest, and he was surprisingly easy to talk to. At that moment, I couldn’t have asked for a better distraction from my own thoughts. “Where are you from, Xanthos?” I asked in honest curiosity. His accent was light and sing-songy, with a strange sort of rhythm to it, and had none of the flat and clipped vowels of the Phthian dialect. It had always sounded rough to my ears, until I’d heard Achilles speak. After that, I had come to love it. “Did you grow up far from here?”

“I’m from Naxos,” he replied. “From Apollonia.”

“You’re a long way from home, then.”

He huffed softly at that. “I suppose I am. There isn’t much there. It is beautiful but barren, and the winds are high in winter. They can tear the doors from their hinges, and blow the roofs away. My father was a fisherman. That’s all you can do there, really, if you don’t own land. That,” he tilted his head to the side, “or join a ship crew.”

“Do you... still have family there?” I asked, half-dreading the answer I would get. To my relief, Xanthos nodded.

“I do. My sister and my brother in law never moved away. My mother died many years ago, and my father is old. He can’t row the boat anymore. Aktaios, my brother in law, has taken over now. He fishes and sells what he catches to the market. It’s not much, but it’s enough for them. As for me… well. If I stayed, I would have just been an extra mouth to feed. So when I was strong enough to pick up an oar, I left.” He leaned with his elbows on the railing, letting out a soft exhale through his nose. He seemed to want to talk more, then thought better of it. We remained in companionable silence for a while. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, painting the sky in gentle shades of pink and violet, when he asked, “What about your family? Are they in Skyros?”

I blinked, taken aback by the question. I hadn’t realised how completely I’d been distracted from my thoughts in the handful of minutes that Xanthos and I had been talking, yet now they all came back to me. I remembered that I had no one, no family to speak of. Other than Achilles.

I swallowed thickly. “You… could say that.” I let my words trail away, unable to say more, and looked away from him. There was no way I could explain to him in simple terms what Achilles meant to me, what I stood to lose if I never managed to reach that island. How he was an extension of myself, and more than that; how we completed each other, like two pieces of a whole. How he was the one light in my life that never went out. My guiding star.

Xanthos noticed my long pause. He shifted on his feet, shooting me an uneasy glance. “If I’ve offended you, my lord, forgive me,” he finally said when I let the silence linger between us.

“You did not.” I smiled to brush off his concern. “This person I’m meeting in Skyros… he is very dear to me,” I said quietly, and even those words seemed small and trivial. I took a breath, then tried again. “Family, friend, companion. Everything. He is everything to me.”

He did not reply to that. He just stared out into the sea, the frothing waves that were turning from black to grey to golden pink with the sunrise. “I envy you,” he said softly, yet there was no malice in his voice. “It is a rare thing, to have someone that means so much to you.”

The signal for the change of watch sounded cleanly across the deck, startling me. Xanthos, on the other hand, seemed quite used to it. “That’s me,” he said with a sigh as he pushed himself upright. His bronzed skin was gleaming with the light from the rising sun, his eyes a deep golden brown. “It was nice talking with you.”

“You, too,” I replied, and I meant it. “Thank you for your company, Xanthos.”

“You’re welcome, my lord.” He turned around to leave when my voice stopped him short.

“Patroclus.” He looked at me quizzically over his shoulder, and I said, “My name. It’s Patroclus. You... can call me that, if you’d like.”

He turned to face me then, his expression unusually solemn. "Patroclus," he said, and something in the way he said it, so slowly and deliberately, as if testing out the sounds, reminded me of the only other person that spoke my name thus.

Patroclus, Achilles always called me. Pa-tro-clus.

“I’ll see you around then, Patroclus.” He smiled warmly before turning around once more. “Make sure you get some sleep.”

I listened to the muffled sound of his retreating footsteps, to the ship slowly stirring awake. I stayed by the railing, for a long while, watching as the sun rose higher, bathing the world in its amber glow. Somewhere, beyond those waves, across that great divide, my guiding star was waiting for me.

I would not rest, until I reached him.

#the song of achilles #tsoa #patrochilles #patroclus #tsoa fanfiction #at the water's edge #johaerys writes

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i-believe-in-soriku · 4 years

Text

Kiss the boy

Sora and Riku were on their raft. It was the start of the Mark of Mastery Exam. Making the raft had been much easier than in their memories. Which was not very surprising, given all they had gone through since. As they walked away from the shore, Riku settled comfortably, his feet in the warm water. The feeling of the water against his skin made him shiver. Sora did the same on the other side of the raft so as not to unbalance it.

They didn't speak, enjoying the sound of the sea, the birds flying over them, and of the wind. Riku anxiously fiddled with a lock of his hair. He was happy to take the test with his best friend, but he couldn't help but worry. He had learned to master his own Darkness, but was it really enough? Despite all the difficulties he had overcome, Riku sometimes doubted. Did he deserve to be a Keyblade Master?

However, that wasn't all. His life was a succession of problems.

Having Sora by his side was a blessing. It reassured him about the outcome of the exam. He would be there to help and support him - and even if Riku could do it on his own, the prospect pleased him. But now that they were alone on this raft which was moving away from the shore, and therefore from the sight of others, Riku felt that the barriers he had set for himself were crumbling.

He thought back to recent events and the conclusion was always the same: everything he had done, he would have done it for any of his friends; but, struggling to protect Sora, he realized how important it was to him, how much he cared about him - he was in love with Sora.

He was thinking about this when Sora asked him:

“How far do you think we’ll go with that raft?”

Riku shrugged. Their makeshift boat was holding, which didn't mean it would resist waves.

“Are you worried about the Exam or the raft?” asked Sora. He must have noticed the tension in his shoulders.

“Hmmm ... The Exam.”

He wasn’t lying, but he would have liked to have the courage to confess to him what he refrained from telling him. After all, it was the perfect timing: they were alone in the middle of the ocean, nobody could hear them and if the situation became too embarrassing, Riku would only have to go overboard and regain the Islands swimming - he already did.

“Come on, Riku, there is no reason to worry about that. You are stronger than you have ever been!”

Riku was silent for a moment at this remark.

“Do you really mean that?”

“Of course I do! You and I have evolved a lot since the first time we left the Islands, right?”

Riku took the time to think about it. Sora was not wrong. He was still wary of Darkness, that said, he did manage to control it and use it for a good cause. Better than that, he understood that he had friends who cared and were there to support him, no matter which path he took. As for Sora, he had not only grown physically, but had also grown in strength and determination. He sighed.

“You’re right. I'm just… stressed, I guess.”

“You want to talk about it?”

Sora was way too cute. Riku had to turn away for a few seconds to hide the smile that appeared on his lips.He scolded himself inside: why did he have the reflex to conceal his emotions? Sora himself told him he didn't have to do this. Well... maybe he wouldn't tell him that if he knew how he felt.

No. He knew Sora would never reject him just because he loved him. Sora was not like that. He would accept it, even if he was not in love with him. If Riku was honest with himself, he was mostly afraid of saying something so intimate to Sora. Riku had never met anyone like him - a boy who loved another boy. He had never even heard of it, which explained why he had taken so long to understand and accept his feelings. So how to explain this to Sora? Or to anyone? He saw nothing wrong with his feelings, but would that be the case for the others?

The wave of anguished questions he was asking himself was interrupted by Sora who waved his arms frantically, his face very close to his, shouting:

“Hey oh, Riku? You're still the? Are you okay?”

Riku shook his head. He had disconnected from reality by dint of thinking.

“Sorry. I just thought…”

He was unable to continue his explanation. Sora tilted his head to the side, perplexed.

“Uh? Riku, you have to stay focused. We're on a mission! If you feel bad, you have to tell me. I wouldn't want you to put yourself in danger out of pride!”

“Out of pride?“ said Riku, laughing. He put a hand on his friend's shoulder. “That’s not it, but thank you. I just think too much.”

Sora looked into his eyes as if to make sure he wasn't lying. Riku tried to look reassuring. It was complicated, because all he could think of was how close they were. He just had to bend over a little bit, and...

Riku bowed his head. He didn't want Sora to notice that he had turned red.He had thought of kissing Sora. As amazing as it seemed, it was the first time. Before, he had other things in mind - like the fact that he was stuck in Ansem’s body, the relief of finding his friend healthy, the will to protect him, that sort of thing. He realized that he still had his hand on Sora’s shoulder. He removed it but Sora grabbed it in his own hand and murmured, worried:

“You are not in your normal state. Are you sure you're okay?”

The concern and the softness of his voice filled Riku's heart with sweet warmth. He met Sora's eyes, wide opened, frowning, making him look particularly adorable. Without realizing it, Riku brought his face closer to his, reducing the little space between them. Their noses touched. His lips brushed against his...

Suddenly, Riku noticed that the sky had darkened, and this detail stopped him. He rolled his eyes and noticed thick black clouds above their heads. Sora took a few seconds to imitate him, and Riku noticed that he had red cheeks. Rain began to fall, more and more violent, and a lightning crossed the horizon. Sora cleared his throat.

“Riku… A storm’s coming.”

“I know. The waves are getting steep. Furl the sail.”

Sora was about to do it when a brutal gust hit the ship, splitting it in two. Riku was thrown into the distance, but managed to hold on to the pieces of the raft.

"Riku!” shouted Sora, terrified.

“I’m alright!”

They barely had time to say these words when the waters stirred, revealing a gigantic octopus woman... Ursula. You couldn't have chosen a better time, thought Riku, annoyed.

"Sora! We’ll handle this!” yelled Riku before diving to join his friend.

He managed to reach the other part of the raft. Sora helped him climb up. Riku drew his Keyblade, imitated by Sora.

“Our first test,” announced Riku.

“Only one among others.”

Riku agreed, understanding what Sora meant. They had faced much worse than a gargantuan fish-woman together - and they knew they could count on each other, this time as well as those to follow. The idea encouraged him a lot and drove away the fear he had experienced when being thrown away from Sora.

"Here we go”, said Riku.

It was only the start of the Mark of Mastery Exam, but Riku already sensed that a lot of stuff would happen. And, with Sora by his side, he was ready to face them all.

_________________________________________

Hi ! As always, I hope you’ll enjoy reading that little one-shot. I had a lot of pleasure writing that. This one is a reference to The Little Mermaid’s Kiss the Girl. I took inspiration directly from the song, with the two chracters being on a boat, one of them struggling to kiss the other. I thought that song matched Dream Drop Distance’s beginnig because there’s a raft too and bonus, Ursula is here (double-ref!) I wanted to describe as well Riku’s struggling with is feelings for Sora. I hope I managed to do well!

(I post it sooner~ As always I did put the readmire but it didn't work I'll try to do it later)

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morganaofcamelot · 3 years

Text

If Wishes Came True (Chapter 2)

Title: If Wishes Came True Chapter II: Sense of Family

Fandom: BBC Robin Hood

Ships: Guy of Gisborne/Original Female Character, Guy of Gisborne/Marian of Knighton, Original Female Character/Original Male Character

Definately an AU - Sir Guy of Gisborne has served the current Sheriff of Nottingham for five years prior to the beginning of the first season, and is considered a part of the family, both by Vaisey and his daughter Valerie. The chapters are from Val’s POV, as she struggles to maintain her youthful innocence in a place that’s all too willing to steal it away from her, and navigate the intrigues of her father. [Many changes from the show, although the fic loosely follows season 1]

Important Note: English is not my first language, so I’d appreciate if you can point out any mistakes I make.

On AO3

Tumblr: Ch I

Two days have gone by, since the incident at the hanging. Sir Guy had returned empty handed from his search and the sheriff was livid with anger at first, shouting at his subordinate with such passion that frightened Valerie to her core; the knight stood there, head hung low, barely speaking. She thought she saw some emotion crossing his face, but she couldn’t place it, as Sir Guy’s face had always been unreadable to her.

Valerie felt the need to speak up in Sir Guy’s defense. “Lord Father,” she said, surprising herself as well as the two men with her gall to interrupt them. “Your men say that the fugitives had managed to escape into the forest. You know, in your infinite wisdom, that Sherwood is large and had never been properly mapped out. It is expected that they completely lost them inside that maze.”

Both of them looked at her with astonishment. Her words made sense, Vaisey found. “Yes, well, my daughter is right, Gisborne.” Her father said, with a smile. “Which is why I won’t hold a grudge for your failure.”

The knight perked up, his spirits finally restored. “I thank you for that, my lord,” He said and turned to her. “And I thank you, Valerie.” The small smile he gave her set loose butterflies in her stomach. She managed to return it.

“Which is why,” her father said, taking no notice of the interaction between them, “We will go to Locksley and seek Huntingdon out ourselves. He must be lurking somewhere in his demesne, and we will catch him.”

All too willingly, Sir Guy agreed. “Yes, my lord.” The reverence was back in his voice as he looked at the sheriff.

“Come on, my boy. Let’s waste no time. Gather thirty men, we’re heading to that stinky village, now.”

The knight needed to hear no more. In a few steps he was outside the door, all too eager to please the sheriff.

“Daughter mine,” her father said, sweetly. Alarm set her nerves on fire. Her father never spoke in such tones, so she feared some kind of retribution for speaking out of turn. “Oh, no, no, no, no. Don’t fret. You know I don’t particularly appreciate when you stick your nose in my business affairs, but I have to admit, you were right about Sherwood. It’s a vast forest.”

Valerie tension evaporated a little, only to double back with his next words.

“You should accompany us, today. You have to get a better view of the falsehoods and injustices that plague this land. Have someone prepare your horse, hmm? Good girl.”

Valerie liked horses, but didn’t enjoy riding them. The hour spent on horseback was an hour of discomfort. They had started an hour after the sheriff had declared his intention to pay Huntingdon a visit. Sir Guy had gathered the thirty men quickly enough, and all of them were armed and armored to the teeth. Her father, not so – he didn’t expect to take a part in a possible altercation then.

Sir Guy fell back a little, guiding his black stallion close to her brown palfrey. “Valerie,” he started, his voice dripping honey. “Thank you for your speech, earlier, in the hall.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Sir Guy,” she said, almost a whisper. “I’ve known you for more than five years now, do you think I would not help you? I sometimes think of you as my slightly older brother.” A laugh escaped her, and the knight grinned at her attempt at humor.

“Older? Am I not younger than you, then?”

His mirth made her heart flutter. Focus Valerie, she pleaded to herself. “Only one of us has seen the other with pigtails. Was that you sporting that style?”

Sir Guy straight up laughed at her joke. Her father glanced behind him, to see what has made Gisborne so jolly, but quickly lost interest and continued to frown at the muddy path before them. The sheriff could fight everything and everyone, but he could not fight the rain that poured the previous night.

“I thought so,” Valerie concluded, speaking more to herself.

“You were in the company of Lady Marian the other day. Are you friendly?” He asked, revealing the reason why he paid her special attention this day. Marian, if only I knew what her role in this sudden insurgence was. No ordinary woman carries daggers in her hair.

“Oh, we haven’t been exchanging secrets, if you have to fish for some. But I quite like her. So I hope to call her a friend soon.” Valerie replied, the lie easily finding melting with the truth.

Sir Guy’s gaze was fixed on the sheriff’s back. He’s trying to play it, as if he doesn’t really care. Oh, but he cares for her, a lot. “Would you fault me if I confessed a secret of mine to you? Would you keep it?”

The answer was easy. “Yes, of course, Sir Guy. I am your friend in all things.”

He half-smiled then. “I quite enjoy her company, Valerie. Lady Marian is a unique creature I wish to possess.”

Ever the virginal maiden, Valerie blushed for Marian’s benefit at such a profound statement. “I dare say, you will be met with luck in your endeavor.”

“You think so?” His voice was almost a murmur. He daren’t believe that his feelings were reciprocated.

Sadness overtook her. A woman who could have you, and your rare smiles, my lord of Gisborne and reject you is a foolish one. “I do. Truly.”

With her assurance, Sir Guy spurred his horse, falling in place next to the sheriff.

***

The village of Locksley soon came into view. Father barked orders and the soldiers spread around the village green, dismounted their horses and picked every peasant they could find, bringing them on their knees in front of her father, Sir Guy and her. The sheriff got off his horse and walked amongst them, calmly explaining what he wanted from them.

The peasants remained silent, stealing glances and exchanging confused looks with each other. When the sheriff asked for somebody with information on Huntingdon to come forth, Valerie saw some semblance of honest in their dirty faces. They really didn’t know where their liege was. Not even the generous amount of twenty pounds could convince them to speak.

Then Sir Guy, proving that he wasn’t the sheriff’s right-hand-man for no reason, shouted them that either they would talk, or they would have their tongues cut off. Valerie gulped. She knew that her father dealt harsh punishment on the disobedient peasantfolk, and she knew that Sir Guy was his enforcer.

The frightened look on the villagers’ face told Valerie everything she needed to know. Couldn’t her father read the truth in their eyes? She pondered on why she had never noticed it before.

The sheriff gave a curt nod on one of the soldiers, and he produced an iron scissor, menacingly snapping it on and off, to instill more fear. He grabbed the closest man and…

Valerie could not bear to watch. No, she wouldn’t watch. She turned her head away from the scene, not caring whether her father would disapprove of her cowardice. She just prayed that Huntingdon would show himself sooner, rather than later.

***

The hour passed, and still Huntingdon was nowhere to be found. Valerie thought him a coward by then; another man born and bred into nobility who let innocence people suffer in his stead.

The sheriff and she had been offered chairs to sit upon, and wine to drink while the waiting dragged on. Sir Guy stood, leaning on her father’s chair, yawning from boredom mixed with a splash of tiredness. Oh, but he looks splendid, she thought, taking in his form. The sheriff ordered another clipping, then. She averted her eyes once again.

The minutes trickled by. Neither Sir Guy’s offer of immunity, nor her father’s appeal for rational thought seemed to work.

And then it happened, something happened but the long hours beneath the sun and the foulness of her mood did not help her understand it. As another peasant was grabbed to suffer the punishment her lord father had commanded, an arrow shot through the soldier holding the clipper. The man fell down, face first.

“He is here,” her father declared. The guards rushed to the direction the arrow came from. So did Sir Guy. Minutes later, they returned with the renegade lord in their midst, as a prisoner.

Before she knew it, they were on the way back to Nottingham.

***

The moment they arrived at the castle, Valerie sought the comfort of her bed, as she was no longer required.

Her father ordered the guards to throw Huntingdon in the dungeon to await his fate.

By supper she had replenish her strength, and found her father eating rather heartily, in lieu of his victory.

“Ah, my girl!” He welcomed her in open arms. Valerie kissed on the cheek and took a seat beside him.

“What’s to be done with Huntingdon, lord father? Will he stand trial?”

“Oh, thank goodness no. As an outlaw he is to be hanged without a trial. Nice, isn’t it?” he replied. “And at long last, Gisborne can have his title and stop whinging for once.”

“So, Sir Guy is to have his title, after all?” Valerie said. “That’s wonderful news.”

Suddenly, a lot of noise came from the hallways of the castle. “What is going on?” Her father inquired. “Valerie, quickly, stand behind me!” She did as she was bid, and her father drew his sword. Screams echoed on the stone walls and hurried steps, loud bangs and the clashing of blade against blade was heard. Valerie looked around the hall, for a weapon she could use; she had never trained with one, but she would never let her father face his attacker alone.

The double doors were forcefully opened, and Huntingdon walked in, bow and arrow in hand, ready to shoot. Valerie spotted the bandage on his right arm, where the arrow had pierced his skin the other day. Maybe this could play in their favor.

“Yesterday in Locksley, you revealed your true colors. Today I reveal mine. You were right; I have lost my taste for bloodshed, but if you ever, so callously or needlessly hurt someone to get to me, I will kill you.”

Her father talked back in a calm manner. “I don’t believe you, former Lord of Locksley. And I will not change my ways, because you ask me to. If England demands it, I will stoop low, lower than you can possibly imagine, so kill me now!”

The lordling then made a move to fire the arrow and Valerie’s mind reeled. “No!” she screamed. She brought her own self forward to stand between him and Lord Robert. “You shall not harm my father, outlaw.” she spat as she uttered the last word. “Or you shall have to do it over my own corpse.” The eyes of their adversary flicked between her and the sheriff, calculating his chance of success. He didn’t have many arrows in his quiver, Valerie noted. “How noble it will be of you, to murder a defenseless woman!”

He blinked. At that moment she knew that Huntingdon had lost his conviction.

“Leave now, and spare your honor and your good name.” Valerie said, appealing to his sense. “Stay, and the guards will overtake you, as I see your forearm is bleeding and you won’t be able to fight ten men on your own, and you’ll kiss the noose earlier than you ever anticipated.”

With that, Huntingdon turned wordlessly, although no less frustrated, and ran. Valerie let out a sigh with a violent sob. “Oh, father,” she told him, tears threatening to overtake her.

“Silly girl,” he replied with generous affection. He sheathed his short sword and embraced her to soothe her. “You shouldn’t endanger yourself.” He kissed her brow, the battle outside forgotten for a split second. The sheriff let her go then, and walked to the window to see that some twenty men had showed up and orchestrated Huntingdon’s escape.

“Ah, if only Gisborne was here.” Her father muttered. “He would show them, my boy.”

#robin hood bbc #bbc robin hood #guy of gisborne #guy of gisborne x original female character #*mine

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mar-bluu · 4 years

Note

Hi hellooo 20 qnd 89 for the prompt thint! No pressure to use both tho 💛

Hi! Im sorry this took a while, and is probably not up to scratch lol, but i did what i could :3 20: “It’s just rain, you aren’t gonna melt!” 89: “What if it sinks?” Word count: 1447 (so much for trying to keep them under 700 :/) Ship: javid Warnings: swearing and i think that’s it

“Oh come on, Jackie! Ten minutes, please?” Davey smiled sweetly, batting his eyelashes in an effort to persuade his boyfriend into going with him. Jack sighed and drew back the curtains, revealing a cold, grey sky, swirling with stormy clouds. “Look outside, Davey, the weather’s piss-poor! And even if I wanted to paddle around the lake on a damn kayak -which I don’t- I wouldn’t go in weather like this!” He closed the curtains again, and sunk into the closest armchair, covering his legs with a blanket. Davey rolled his eyes. “It’s just rain, you aren’t gonna melt!” Jack glared at him from the couch. “I know that! It’s just…” He clicked his tongue in annoyance as he tried to find the right words. “I don’t… look, water and I don’t really have a great history.” Davey cocked his head in curiosity. “What do you mean?” “Well,” Jack shrugged. “I just- I don’t like the water, anything more than a shower and something goes wrong! It’s like I’m cursed!” “I’m sure that’s not true-” “It is!” Jack insisted. “I’ve swallowed enough pool water and gotten enough salt spray splashed in my eyes to last me a lifetime.” Davey sighed and draped himself over Jack’s lap. “Please? I’m sure it won’t be that bad!” He looked up at Jack pleadingly. “Kath, Spot and Race are watching Les and said they’d meet us down at the lake, it’ll be fun!” He turned his puppy dog eyes up to eleven. Jack looked away, he hated the puppy dog eyes, it was practically impossible to say no. “Fine.” He spat. “I’ll go. But if you try to get me anywhere near the lake, I’m throwing you in.”

“No.” “Come on!” “Absolutely not.” “Please?” “Not even if you paid me.” “You’re already wearing a lifejacket!” Jack crossed his arms over his chest and gave a half shrug. “So? Doesn’t mean I have to go in.” Davey sighed and grabbed Jack’s shoulder, looking out to the lake where Kath and Les were kayaking around, laughing as Race and Spot capsized. “Everyone’s having so much fun, Jack,” He took hold of Jack’s hand. “Just give it a go?” Davey raised his hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Jack looked away, trying desperately to stay firm on his stance. Against his better judgement, he looked back. Puppy dog eyes. Shit! He cursed inwardly, hoping against all hope that he would stay strong. “…What if it sinks?” Davey bounced a little on the balls of his feet. “It won’t! I promise!” Jack’s eyes wandered over to where Race was spitting out lake water. “As long as you don’t try grab fish with your bare hands.” He added with a small shrug. Jack chewed on his bottom lip nervously. “You swear I won’t end up in the water?” “I swear.” “…okay.” “Yes!” Davey punched the air with excitement. “I know you’ll enjoy it!” He screwed his eyes up tight, smiling wide, his nose crinkled and cheeks tinted pink. He kissed Jack’s cheek and sprinted off to the lake’s edge. Jack smiled to himself, in his opinion, there was nothing better than seeing Davey excited. He fiddled with the straps of the lifejacket and swallowed nervously. Now all he had to do was keep a brave face.

Jack gripped the side of the kayak so tightly, his knuckles had turned white. A brave face. Water lapped at the side of the kayak, brushing his fingertips, and he felt his confidence break a little more. The weather had continued to be shitty and the sky had cracked open to unleash a heavy downpour, soaking them all to the bone. Jack was shivering, and no matter how much his brain screamed at him that he should hate this, that he was right and should go home and dry off and never look at the water again he couldn’t deny that he was enjoying himself... At least a little bit. The water still made him more than a little nervous, and he’d really rather stay out of it, but he was willing to brave it for the small adrenaline rush it gave him. Spot and Les had ditched their kayak partners and opted to go swimming instead, while Katherine and Race were playing a game of tag in their kayaks, zooming past every now and then. That would always spike Jack’s heart-rate. A peal of thunder sounded overhead, and Davey- who had made sure to stay by Jack’s side the whole time- called out. “Hey, we should probably head back now,” Jack could see his teeth beginning to chatter from where he was. “Do you need any help getting back to shore?” Jack shook his head. “Nah, I’m alright Dave. Thanks.” Davey nodded to himself. “Alright! Well, I’ll be waiting on the shore with towels.” With a small smile, Davey took off, Jack paddling after him. By the time Jack had crossed the fifteen or so metres to shallower waters, the rain had begun to fall harder and Kath and Davey had bundled Les up in towels, though Les had decided seeing how far he could sink in a small mud puddle was a better idea. “You’re going to get sick, Les!” Jack could hear Katherine call from her shelter under a picnic hut. “Few more minutes, Kathy, please?” Jack could tell Les was giving her puppy dog eyes of his own. Guess it ran in the family. “Not today, kid.” Spot materialised behind Les and grabbed him by the waist, pulling him out of the mud, much to Les’ disappointment. Another crack of thunder brought Jack back to the real world, and he swung his legs over the side of the kayak, feeling to cold grey lake-water soak through his already damp pants. Wading through the water, he dragged the kayak up onto the shore, where -as promised- Davey was waiting with a towel, his own placed over his head as he dried off his hair. With the kayak pulled safely up on the ground, Jack scurried over to his boyfriend and took the second towel from him, wrapping it around himself. He sat down at the picnic table, still protected from the downpour and Davey sat down beside him, pulling him into a side hug. “Thanks, for coming with me,” Davey said, shivering slightly. Jack snuggled further against him. “’S no worries,” he shrugged. “And if I’m being honest… it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” He looked up to see Davey beaming back at him. Jack rolled his eyes and shoved Davey’s side lightly. “Don’t even think about it! Just because I didn’t hate it doesn’t mean I wanna do it again.” Davey laughed and pressed a soft kiss to Jack’s hair. “Okay,” he said, shivering less and less as the shared body heat of him and Jack kept the cold at bay. “But in all honesty, Jack? I’m proud of you for facing up to your fear of the water.” Jack felt his cheeks heat up. “W- I’m not afraid, I’m cursed!” He corrected as Davey grinned. “Either way, I’m glad you came.” Jack opened his mouth to reply, but a creak from the thin hut roof interrupted him. He looked up at it with narrowed eyes, and just as he went to continue his conversation with Davey, a small patch of the roof gave way, dumping rainwater directly onto Jack’s head, missing every other person huddled under the picnic hut with him. A few seconds of constant water passed, and as the stored water gave way to the rain outside, Jack peeled his hair out of his eyes and slicked it back against his head, sputtering and coughing out water. All eyes turned to him, dead silent. Until Davey snickered. He slapped a hand over his mouth as everyone’s attention was directed to him now. He giggled again, trying to get out a half-apology between bouts of laughter. His humour, however, proved to be infectious, as Katherine joined him in laughing, closely followed by Les, Spot, and Race. Jack wiped the water out from his eyes, and couldn’t restrain his own giggle that burst from his chest. He stepped to the side, out of the rain and Davey held his towel out to him which Jack took appreciatively. He buried his face in Davey’s shoulder as their laughter began to die down. Davey pulled him in tighter, taking hold of Jack’s hands and rubbing them in his own to generate heat. “Guess you really are cursed.” He chuckled. Jack ran his fingers through his sopping wet hair and flicked the excess water at his boyfriend, frowning playfully. “Shut up.”

#asks!#gashjkdlfagv yeah kinda not amazing ngl but i need to break through my slump and the only way to do so is my pushing through i guess :3 #also it got really weirdly formatted so if it looks wonky im so sorry #anyways #kath and les are great friends you cant change my mind #jack kelly #davey jacobs #katherine plumber #katherine pulitzer #les jacobs #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #javid #newsies #jae writes #cutesiewoojin #:))

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