𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐞 ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ᴘᴀʀᴛ Ⅰ: ᴀɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʟ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏʀɪᴢᴏɴ

➺ pairing: aged up!lo'ak x metkayina!reader (fluff) ➺ series summary: lovesick!lo'ak does all he can to win the heart of oblivious!reader ➺ chapter summary: ❝ eyes of liquid gold meet their aquamarine match and just like that, he is smitten ❞ (w/c: 1.6k) ➺ warnings: death (as a joke), drowning (for like 2secs) a/n: ♪ and they call it puppy loveee ♪ i strongly believe that lo'ak's goofy ass is ultimate rom-com material !! i decided to make it a mini-series so buckle up ! a couple yrs hv passed since the sea battle with the recoms so everyone's older. na'vi dictionary at the end :)

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭┃𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 »

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

C’mon bro, strong heart. No fear. Ride.

Strong heart. No fear. Ride.

Strong heart. No fear. Ri-

“Try not to get yourself killed this time, okay skxawng?”

Aonung’s grating voice carries over the cacophonous sound of waves crashing against one another, cutting through Lo’ak’s train of repetitive self-affirmations. Himself and the son of the Olo’eyktan had become close friends since they reached an understanding in the most unlikely of ways, after Ao’nung had left him for dead outside of the reef five years ago.

In spite of this, they had never quite managed to shake off the ‘love to hate them’ aspect of their relationship – directed insults now only meant to tease rather than injure and once-venomous rivalry now harmless. In this moment, however, Lo’ak fights the urge to let his intrusive thoughts win, images of wringing Ao’nung's neck coming to mind. At last, he had been approved to begin his tsurak training and he refused to allow fish lips to ruin it for him.

Refocusing on the task at hand, Lo’ak inhales deeply and resumes repeating his mantra mentally. His dad had advised him that a good pep talk was the key to having the fortified mindset of a Marine. Oorah. Desperate to tame a tsurak and get one step closer to completing his iknimaya, for once in his life, Lo’ak was willing to listen.

He merely scoffs at Ao’nung’s taunting words and inhales deeply, preparing to mount the tsurak. Lo’ak clears his mind, rolls his shoulders.You got this. He ignores when her extended tail whips the water’s surface, aggravated at being pinioned by Ao’nung and a few other Metkayina men. Ignores her beady eyes following him closely as he nears her jerking body, it is as if she is daring him to come any closer – you really want to risk riding me? 

Gathering all the courage he is expected to possess as son of the mighty Toruk Makto, Lo’ak swiftly connects his kuru to that of the tsurak’s before swinging a long leg over the thick of her body and shuffling up to seat himself properly, hands gripping the attached harness.

Amber eyes widen as he feels the rush of being in control of such a powerful creature. Strong jaws snap dangerously at the men that still hold her in their secure grip, overwhelmed by the presence of an unfamiliar rider in her mind. Just about managing to muster enough mental force to overcome her resistance, Lo’ak’s mouth opens to release a loud ‘Forward!’

Thinking in tandem with her rider, the tsurak involuntarily follows his command and breaks free from her restrictors. Bounding across the surface of the water, Lo’ak barely has a moment to rejoice in his minor victory before he is dragged underwater forcefully, the tsurak’s capable form thrashing wildly beneath his thighs.

Back on the shore, Ao’nung smirks to himself as he watches Lo’ak’s gangly legs flail in the air as they follow the rest of his body under the water. He must have forgotten to tell him that Niie was particularly picky with who she let ride her and therefore required gentle coaxing before any attempt to even climb her, nevermind ride. Oops.

Niie’s decorated wings tuck into her sides as she penetrates the water’s surface, sleek torpedo shape nimbly navigating the waters that she knows so well. Intelligent creature that she is, she allows Lo’ak a moment of reprieve, slowing down slightly to lull him into a false sense of security.

Unbeknownst to him, her mission to shake him off is not abandoned, only paused temporarily. He allows himself to enjoy the high of speeding through the water with such velocity, adrenaline rushing through his veins. As Niie emerges to the surface to allow him to breathe again, wings unfurling to their full span, he pumps his arm in the air and lets out a triumphant "Hell yeah!"

Gaining confidence in his abilities, he shifts into a crouch atop Niie’s back as she glides through the air, planting his feet in what he thinks to be a secure stance. I can’t wait to see the look on Ao’nung’s stupid face, he thinks to himself smugly, picturing his friend’s disbelieving stare.

Ever since passing his own iknimaya the previous year, the Metkayina boy had become utterly insufferable. Well, more than he usually was. Hearing his thoughts, Niie decides this is the perfect time to humble him and regain her freedom. 

Quicker than he can say ‘Great Mother help me’, Niie plunges back into the depths of water, using all her might to wriggle and writhe under his grip that had begun to become lax as he succumbed to his distractions. Pure shock courses through his body, causing him to open his mouth and gulp down one mouthful of water too many, tail whipping violently in the surrounding water.

It soon becomes all too much for him as he feels the movements mess with his equilibrium and trigger a dizziness that causes him to lose his hold on the harness entirely. Silly boy, Niie thinks to herself as she dashes away. This ain’t my first rodeo.

Lungs burning from overexertion, Lo’ak swims upwards and takes an indulgent breath of fresh air. Miffed by recent events, he treads water and decides to stay out at sea, wishing to allow as much time as possible to pass before he does the lengthy swim of shame back to the village. As he languishes in his feelings, his eyes wander across the open water, thinking of ways to pass the time.

He spots an unmistakable flash of blue in the corner of his eye, squinting as he tries to decipher what exactly he is looking at. Casually, he eases forward and manages to make out two blue feet, toes pointed daintily towards the sky before they are swallowed by the waves.  

Intrigued, he fills his lungs up to their full capacity before ducking under the water again, feet kicking rapidly to aid him in his pursuit of his new curiosity. His interest is peaked again when he takes in your figure, equally as close to him as you are far. Outstretched arms scoop copious amounts of water, your streamlined tail helping to propel you further with each stroke.

When you seem to be satisfied with your spot in the water, you come to a halt and let your limbs float freely in the water. Eager to find out what a young Metkayina like you is doing so far out from the village by herself, Lo’ak also stops a little ways away from you. He chooses not to reveal his presence, for now. Saves him the embarrassing explanation of what he’s doing here, he figures.

Nothing could have prepared him for the spectacle he observes in front of him. The arms at your side begin to lift slowly as your head tips back into the space behind you, the rest of your body following suit in what looks to be an underwater backflip of sorts. The most graceful backflip he’s ever seen.

Hydrobatics so graceful it would put an ilu to shame, he watches you perform a myriad of wonders, body following the intricate steps to a piece of choreography only you and the waters around you are privy to. 

When the rays of light from above the surface filter through the water and touch your body at just the right angle, his reaction is near enough comical. For a moment, he believes he is bearing witness to a divine vision from Eywa. You must be an apparition, a trick of the eyes.

He fists his hands, brings them up to his face and rubs his eyes twice. Sure enough, you are still there. When he opens his eyes again and sees your lithe form in motion, he blinks twice in disbelief but wills his eyes to stay open so that he can take in as much of your ethereal beauty as possible.

And take it in he does. Greedy eyes devour the sight of you, noticing more details the longer he looks. The blue and lilac strands of your macrame top remind him of the elaborate vein pattern of the diaphanous txampaysye, renowned for its natural elegance in the waters. But while those magnificent creatures helped Na’vi to breathe underwater, he felt that you left him breathless.

He thinks of the tawtute romcom movies from the science base he would force Neteyam and Tuk to watch with him back when they were in the rainforest. They were his guilty pleasure and no matter how much he begged her to, Kiri absolutely refused to watch them; she said Grace had expressly mentioned in one of her many video logs that they lacked real humour and were painfully unrealistic.

But as you sense that you are no longer alone, you turn around. Eyes of liquid gold meet their aquamarine match and just like that, he is smitten. I knew love at first sight existed outside of the movies, he thinks to himself.

He’d heard the story of how his sa’nok wanted to kill his sempul the first time they met so many times, he’d begun to think that was the norm. But if Lo’ak was going to do anything, it’s go against the norm and prove everyone wrong.

Enraptured by the very essence of your being, he forgets himself and his surroundings. Moved by the newfound joy that comes with finally finding the one you were destined to be with, he opens his mouth and starts laughing. For the hundredth time that day, he is shocked when water starts to fill it, precious air escaping his lungs.

His body is exhausted from multiple counts of shock in too little time, and so he begins to drown. Limbs akimbo, panicked eyes meet yours and as you make your way towards him with haste, seeing your divinity in such close proximity causes him to descend further into the throes of a fit. Kind eyes observe his state of distress with worry and as he gazes into them deeply, he knows he’s a goner in more ways than one. 

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

na’vi dictionary

skxawng - idiot // tsurak - skimwing // iknimaya - rite of passage to become an adult in a na'vi clan // kuru - na'vi neural whip, queue // toruk makto - rider of last shadow // txampaysye - gill mantle // tawtute - sky person, sky people // sa’nok - mother // sempul - father

© iwantjaketosullyme tumblr 2023

☼ 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵:

@heirtothekingdom , @bebkyu , @amiah24 , @inlovewithpandora , @alathan13 , @girlnred , @ggujkie , @aemondhoe , @malandrinhass , @itsyagirl01 , @mookiepookiesblog , @idekstopasking , @thelxnelyworld , @whitch123 , @camila-alejandra26

𝘭𝘮𝘬 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰/𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 <3

Enchanted by the aching wounds

- (I) / (III)

Mercenary!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Harpy!F!Reader

Summary: In a world filled with chaos, mankind and mythical creatures refuse to maintain a harmonious interaction. But it seemed not all would comply the exact same.

Warning: NOT FOR MINORS, size gap, mentions of violence, mentions of death, blood, vocabs, timeline ("once upon a time") Wordcount: 2k7

NOTE(s):

I've been working on The UK history for my field and came up with this blog's idea. I'll try my best to bring the vibe (might appear some grammar errs)

Inspired by: Maleficent (Angelina Jolie's role) and the incredible mini-serie Songs that sound like sea-foam - @halcyone-of-the-sea

THE SECOND PART || THE THIRD PART

Mother Nature - Nak created everything. She shaped mountains with scarce ores for the Dragons to guard, blew the wind and guided the Elves and Centaurus to bring seeds to the arid steppes. Whenever a precious life passed away, Nak would shed Her tears of sorrow and they would flow into vast oceans, becoming a great home for Sirens and Mermaids. Oases and islands, the same as floating land on the water surface, surrounded by sand and deep inside where the trees were so dense, there are jungles guarded by the Harpies. That's your kind, being called by an intimate name - the Aborigines, given by Nak and friends from other species. The reason was because jungles were the combination of nearly all the quintessence that Mother Nature has ever formed. Harpies' deep knowledge of flora and fauna impressed the meadow fairies to come back to learn, your kind's mastery in predicting the taste and temperature of liquid attracted the water fairies, and the respectful manners toward the mountains always pleased the Dragons.

Then the Sky came. He called Mother Nature his muse, allured Her and succeeded in making Her give birth to a short-lived, disgusting species called human. They're stupid, always curious and impatient. Nak wanted you - her beautiful children to treat them like family, just like the Sky treated Her. Yet unexpectedly, the Sky abandoned Her along with these brainless mortals for his new interest - the Moon. When He was still by Nak’s side, their passionate love resulted in endless harvest and warm sunlight illuminated the entire land but when He left, Mother Nature was drowned in inconsolable grief and forgot Her duty, causing what we called The ice age today. Those weak mankind rebelled because they couldn't stand the harshness which nature has given them. They sharpened their own weapons and started to hunt food, they exploited the mountains to take away the essence, and then started dividing territories and killing their own kind to assert their power.

Mother Nature's fury has risen, Her tantrum was beyond imagination. The mountains roared and spewed boiling melted rocks that burned fields dared to cross their path, the calm coastline was replaced by angrily tsunamis, the vast pastures turned to lifeless soil, and the forests became somber and dreadful. Mother Nature was unable to dissuade. She was your mother, their mother, but the mortals didn't know better. Instead of reconciled and coordinated, foolish humans with vague knowledge began to imitate your kind. They formed classes as you have your clans, their patriarch preferred to be called king, and your warriors were called guards in their language. They robbed your ores and molded the gold into cramped shapes entitled crowns, wearing them on their heads as if to represent their power. With endless greed, the mortals yearned for exotic garments and accessories so they did not hesitate to slaughter your brothers and sisters only for feathers and claws as the materials.

Faith vanished when the whines from families who lost their members and the desperate prayers couldn't reach Nak, She has banished you all, Her own blood. The survivors from all remaining species have gathered in the far-off island, separated and protected from the ugly world which mankind has conquered.

Afraid of being hanged for failing to track the left traces of you fairies, the vassals forged stories to delude their majesty. Spreading rumors about your kinds’ extinction and turning you fairies into mythical creatures that they chose to tell their later generations as bedtime tales. 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Reckless and brutal

The stories that you heard from the elders as a child told you all. Mankind is truly bloodthirsty. Time flies like an arrow, the war raged non-stop, the deafening explosions of the weapons they called 'guns' and the mournful screams of all things did not subside for decades. The mortals did not give up easily as they silently seeked for you creatures with the excuse that you fairies would take revenge. They massacred villages, shed no mercy on newborn infants to harmless old ones, women were captured to satisfy their animalistic desires and men who defied orders were killed unhesitatingly. However, not only you fairies had to shed blood, humanity also refused to spare their own people. 

Foolish

Well, you aren’t on the same page. Humans are indeed ugly and cruel, but they have superior intelligence, which was clearly unfair. They learned from their previous mistakes in order to correct and improve themselves. Without special-given abilities, mortals built their own boats to help them travel on the sea, put up their own huts called houses to live in and start a family, they also learned how to herd animals and grow crops. 

That's also why you're here, chained below the sodden hold of an enormous royal cruise.

Your naked body was covered in wounds and coagulated blood stains from the whip, your hair disheveled and your legs were shaking from the loss of strength from being knelt for too long. The surrounding dark space limited your vision, there were some collision sounds that came from some valuable objects, the whimpers of animals and the jingling sound of the chains on your neck and your wrists as they bump into each other. On the main deck, the nobles were eating, drinking and dancing to the melodious music of the violin, guests all wearing masks as requested in the invitation. This ship's indeed well-known as a venue for clandestine auctions. Alcohol, jewelry, paintings, drugs or any other illegal items would be converged here for the wealthy to throw their money around. Attendees were way more crowded than usual thanks to the rumors about a special creature on display waiting to be owned here - you, to be more specific.

During the final purge on the island where you fairies were hiding, your parents sacrificed themselves to protect you from impending death. All by yourself, you had to hunt for your starvation, had to learn how to fly and use the gift you were given - mankind called it magic, without receiving any guidance. You came to realize that you were the last Harpy, the last child of Mother Nature - Nak while eavesdropping on a conversation between pirates. Couldn’t hide forever, you disguise yourself as a human-being and blend in the human society. Years of working like a dog, you have earned enough money, which the mortals used to trade for goods, and opened a pub of your own. You have learned their language to communicate and lived in peace for such a long period until a group of strangers ambushed and brought you to this cruise. Even though the time serving for pirates and monarchs' forces has whetted your battling skills, you’re outnumbered and were forced to surrender. 

They brutally tortured you, stimulating your wild's instinct to rise and revealing your true self before their eyes. They treated you like an animal, feeding you filthy stuff that even the most foolish creature wouldn't put in their mouth just to keep you from dying. If you dared to resist or went on hunger-strike, they would avoid damaging the valuables of your body and force you to submit by slicing your flesh. Devastated, you no longer have the strength to find a way to escape but accept your fate, being locked up and sold like an actual commodity.

In the hidden corners of the ballroom, four men with sturdy built frames were quietly observing every movement with hawk eyes. All four of them were dressed in late Victorian formal attire, after all it’s considered a formal event with plenty of royalties appearing. Standard plain white shirts with detachable white collars tucked inside the waistcoats, ascot or ties by choice. Their trousers and frock coats were not the same shade, perhaps to avoid unwanted attention. From head to toe, the costumes were meticulously tailored based on each individuals’ measurements because the job they undertook required quite a lot of manual work.

Beneath the giant painting hanging between the two paths leading to the balcony, a brunet with a black mask was staring at the end of the hall. That’s where the door leading down to the lower deck was, where his team had to reach as claimed by the instruction. The term of the contract was short and simple - his team’s party wanted the most valuable 'thing' in this auction.

Normally bland businesses like these would never be accepted, but they’d be fools if refused such huge sum. What’s more?  Free of charge handmade pieces of clothing and the chance to sneak those expensive liquor wouldn’t be unpleasant after all. 

The gentleman had begun to move. He lightly tapped on the bench where two charming men were sipping wine as if commanding, they immediately finished the booze before standing up and followed him. The brunet gave an oblivious glance as if observing the surroundings, a tall figure appeared out of nowhere and joined them as all four men quietly disappeared behind the door, not being seen by anyone.

Carefully removing the masks and cumbersome collars, the men gently pulled out the small arms attached to shoulder holsters hidden beneath their long coats. Checking the magazine again, a masculine face and neatly trimmed beard, seemed to be the Captain, motioned the other three to stick with him as they entered the hallway.

"What exactly are we looking for, sir?" The pretty boy with dark skin whispered in curiosity.

"We shall find out soon, son" The Captain replied 

Their eyes never left the dark path ahead. Gently approaching the hold, there were two guards positioned by the stairs armed with rifles absentmindedly chatting with each other. With his index and middle fingers pointing forward, in the back, the tallest man moved like a ghost behind the guards as he pulled out a knife grabbed around his thigh to stab one’s neck before raising the gun to shoot right between the other’s eyebrows. The cheers along with music and the guests' lack of alertness successfully masked the loud gunshots just well. They gathered up and began to hide dead bodies into the nearest wine barrels. Bounty hunters and petty thieves would leave evidence and traces behind but these men were professionals, could possibly tell by their swift movements.

All sorts of illegal services are offered in the black market in order to complete dirty jobs which customers didn't want to get involved with. And The One-Four-One, one of the most well-known mercenary teams, utilized by both the government and merchants, they're qualified plus always ensured to complete deals in their agreement. As long as they’re paid properly. 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Your dizziness was gone by the loud noise coming from outside, gunfire, you confirmed. Pulling yourself together, you dragged your sore body deeper into the darkness of the hold as your pointed ears perked up due to the sound of expensive leather heels on the wooden steps. Adjusted your breath and narrowed your eyes, you peaked up to the direction where the noise came from while purposely clacking the chain to entice those humans. As soon as two bulky men carefully approached and stood in front of you, using one leg to knock one of them down, you snatched the gun from his hand and aimed straight at his forehead. Your right knee firmly pressed on his chest and your left foot pinned his wrist down, not allowing him to sit up.

"Steamin' bloody...."

"Shut yer trap or ‘ll crush ye barnacles" You gritted your teeth and forced the gun harder against his head. Your gift could not be used if your mind were unclear, so there’s no other way but to improvise under this circumstance.

Opposite of the silky feathers image, the primaries of your wing were like sharp blades pointing at the adam's apple of the man behind you as goosebumps exploded on your entire body. The man was quiet, so quiet that you almost couldn’t realize his present when you attacked the human below you. He calmly pierced down at you, only his beautiful chocolate brown eyes and messy blonde hair were visible because the man wore a tubular cloth around his neck. His high nose bridge and lips were hardly seen beneath the stretchy material as it pulled up to cover more than half of his face. 

"Savvy?" You asked with an unemotional face and voice.

"Easy, ma lady.....easy" The dark-skinned boy knelt on the floor, one hand raised in the air to show that he had no intention of harming you, the other hand gently placing the gun on the wooden steps.

You didn't let down your guard, only turned your eyes to the boy, his wine-red cutaway spread out on the wet floor so delicately.

The blond didn't step back, he put his gun back in the holster and slowly took off his coat. You followed his every move as you retracted your wing, bringing it to block the front of your body while crawling down from the man lying on the floor. The faint scent of gunpowder and burnt orange peel tickled your nose as the blond man draped his large coat over your smaller shoulders, his calloused hands grazing your shoulders, leaving an indescribable itchiness on your skin. After helping the shorter man on the ground to his feet, they all backed away so as not to tower over you.

"Ye're one of them, eh, ma lady?" Your pupils shone brightly in the darkness as you focused on analyzing the older man in front of you.

"....Are ye mercenaries?" Sounded more like a statement.

"Aye ma'am" The man you have just pinned down to the floor was now brushing his suits while answering you with a grin on his face.

"Apologize for my previous acts" You glanced, "Am I yer negotiation?"

Your voice hoarse and your lips chapped due to dehydration, but still managed to deliver your words clearly. You retracted your wings and horns back inside. Couldn't stop peeking at mountain of a man leaning against the pillar, your claws which have been replaced by mankind’s fingers dug into the thick garment he handed you. 

"No" the blond grunted, "The requirement was the thing, they'll get the thing."

Word for word. You silently thanked him when he finally opened his mouth and spoke, his voice low and seductive, better than you expected. The gentleman was always silent but his expressionless eyes never left you. His decisive words and gentle gestures made you drunk, years of going through your heat by yourself, controlling desires has never been this difficult to you. 

"Simon" Simon, you mumbled, your lips thinned to a line as if just his name was enough for you to smile like an idiot.

"Blimey, Cap, ye saw how she held me down"

You understand why the Captain hesitated. Mercenaries’ jobs were neither easy nor safe, would’ve to pay with your life if you’re negligent. But the ridiculous hair man got his point, not only your other self could never be a burden, you alone were completely qualified for their team.

"Miss, ye ever been on battlefields?" The Captain sighed before asked you

"If the Tudors And Stuarts count" You answered bluntly, "Also an old salt on Sir Francis Drake and Anne Bonny's ships". Tilting your head, you slightly smiled as their eyes widened.

An impressed whistle was blown, the boy with the red cutaway walked over and patted the Captain's shoulder, whose face looked down and shook his head in defeat. The blond gentleman walked over to where you sat to unchain you as the oldest man cocked his head like a command, careful not to hurt you.

"Thank you" You said with sincerity, rubbing the scratched and bruised skin on your throat and wrists.

"Can ye stand, ma lady?" You nodded in response, "I still can walk, they spared my legs out", but seemed to receive disagreement from the rest.

" ‘ll carry ye" The blond spoke softly, "Allow me" 

Lifting you up effortlessly, he placed you on his bulky arm and the other held the gun. Nodding to the other three, you all quietly disappeared from the dark hold. 

genshin fic moments that make me go crazy (zhongchi, xiaoven, scaramona, dottolone)

zhongchi

when zhongli witnesses childe’s abyssal past through a series of mirages:

Ajax reached out to touch one, enchanted. “You’re crying,” he whispered. “How much did you see?” Zhongli bowed his head, his bangs brushing Ajax’s forehead. “All of it.” “I’m sorry,” Ajax whispered. Zhongli’s hands stroked through Ajax’s matted hair, his expression as soft as dawn, but clouded with pain. “Come back to me,” he said. And Childe did.

xiaoven

when venti finds solace in xiao after the cataclysm:

Xiao doesn’t know, though, and it’s been so, so long since someone was so gentle with him. An eternity since he’d last been touched like something of beauty rather than a weapon of war. He’s never been looked at like Xiao is looking at him right now — like every move is one he needs to memorize and every breath he takes is one that reassures him too. Xiao looks at him like he’s more than just a god. He looks at him like he’s a person. Like he deserves to be there. Like he deserves to live. ... Venti is selfish, and right now, that fact has never been more apparent. If Xiao minds, he doesn’t say anything. All the Adeptus does is settle closer; he shifts off his knees and moves forward until his arms are wrapped tightly around his back and Venti could wrap his legs around his waist if he so desired. Venti’s wings lay limp, and no move is made to shift them into a more comfortable position. They stay squashed between him and the stair railing, resting atop Xiao’s muscled arms as he holds him.

scaramona

when scaramouche allows himself to be truly vulnerable with mona:

"I'm just like my mother," he says. Mona looks at him. There is a look on her face completely untranslatable to him. "You're here now, aren't you?" He tries and fails to choke something back; his face strangely congested all of the sudden. Only when Mona's thumb comes to run along his cheekbone does he realize he's crying. "I'm sorry," he says, in short gasps between sobs. He does not know if he's doing this right — he cannot recall the last time he'd cried while awake, and in front of another person no less, but even so he can definitively say that he does not deserve comfort from her. She should not have to give him this. "I– I want–" She pulls him close, rubbing gentle circles on his back as he weeps into her shoulder. He has never felt whatever this is before.

dottolone

when vampire!pantalone drinks dottore’s blood:

Smoked rose hemp and sweet, overripe fruit, the richest of liquid golds. His mouth explodes with the taste of nectar, of charred wood, ashes coating the gaps of his teeth, fangs piercing through the bellies of the muscles in his forearm right by the crease of his elbow. He bites down and slides forward—is rewarded with a sharp inhalation of breath—and sucks the gold in. It runs down his chin in lines of fire, drips onto the fur of his coat as Dottore stands above him, eyes unreadable and distant, while his hand caresses the junction of Pantalone’s jawline to his skull. He shuts his eyes again, lets the blood fill his mouth and almost drown him. And then, he remembers where he is, who he is, and who he is feeding from. He rips his fangs out of Dottore’s arm, brings a gloved hand to his mouth, wiping furiously with the back of his sleeve. Time stops in that very moment; Dottore stands there with his pupils blown wide, lips parted in either shock or something else Pantalone barely has the mental strength to acknowledge, because his reeling mind can focus on one thing and one thing only: The test tube had contained Dottore’s blood. ... “Tell me, Pantalone,” Dottore murmurs, and leans down so that his breath just tickles Pantalone’s forehead, “do I really taste good enough for you to choose my blood out of thirty samples?”

Ohh um.... Fleur/Ginny please.

FLEURINNY - SHIP IT

What made you ship it?

In Half-Blood Prince, chapter 5 ("An excess of Phlegm"), Ginny says this:

“A cow,” said Ginny, nodding. “But Bill’s not that down-to-earth. He’s a Curse-Breaker, isn’t he, he likes a bit of adventure, a bit of glamour... I expect that’s why he’s gone for Phlegm.”

I mean, come on. My girl Ginny is fucking jealous. In fact, two books earlier, she doesn't seem all that interested in bashing Fleur. In Goblet of Fire, chapter 23 ("The Yule Ball"), she's quite elated to see Fleur turning down Ron. She laughs about it!

“He — er — just asked Fleur Delacour to go to the ball with him,” said Ginny. She looked as though she was fighting back a smile, but she kept patting Ron’s arm sympathetically.

Those are the crumbs canon gives us. And they are more than enough for my little gay heart! What's not to love? Little sister obsessed with her older brother's wife? The tragic potential is absolutely rife with these two!

Personality-wise, we have two women who are both quite strong-headed and opinionated, from different cultures and backgrounds but also meeting in the middle, with Fleur marrying Bill. Of course, the dynamic could also do without Bill playing a role in it, but, so what? I like it when things are fucked up. Sue me.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

French/Brit, they're lesbians your honour, but also one of them is married to the other's brother, TRAGIC, two hot strong-headed women who hate-fuck but also??? fall in love??? more please.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

This ship is barely enough of a ship for there to be discourse about it! That's the fucking tragedy. Like, excuse me, what do you mean 56 works? And I alone am responsible for 5% of those! Fleurmione (love them but come on, they make less sense than Fleurinny) has 1,010 works. PLEASE GIVE ME MORE FLEURINNY!

A final note

Since I'm trying to make fetch this ship Happen...

Let me try to convince you with my own work! For @hp-rarepairs, I wrote a series named Water & Earth.

If my little Tumblr diatribe hasn't convinced you, then I hope my own work will! Part 1 - Yours

“I’m yours,” breathes out Ginny—it’s almost unwilling, like the words are torn from her throat. She can’t take them back now. She has always been Fleur’s— even as she watched Roger Davies make her spin across the dancefloor even as she stood in a pale gold dress while Fleur was exchanging vows with Bill even as she waited at Hogwarts while a war was unfolding before her very eyes even as she heard news of Fleur’s pregnancy Always.

Part 2 - Mine

Ginny doesn’t protest, doesn’t push—five years later, she’s still ravenous for scraps, for crumbs. She allows herself to be dragged along, forgoing her spark and her will to rebel. She’s tired of fighting, tired of finding herself entangled in wars. For now, she just wants to enjoy the supple silk of Fleur’s skin, the warm whispers of her voice dripping in her ear, the liquid ecstasy of her mouth on her body, on her lips. She revels in knowing that she is Fleur’s and no one else’s, in the guttural r’s that roll off her tongue when she holds Ginny tight and says, “You’re mine.”

Part 3 - I'm the Land You Flooded with Your Waters

Her spirit floats, runs away. Runs to the memories, where the pain meets the pleasure, where the sadness meets the euphoria, where things are bittersweet rather than outright bitter. She swims—no, she runs—no, she drowns— She travels back. Back to the first time Fleur sank into her arms, weeping uncontrollably, a fountain bursting and leaking against her chest; the first time her lips found Ginny’s, insatiable and trembling with sadness. The kiss was sloppy, animalistic—almost surreal in how little it made sense. “Do you, Charlie Weasley, take Fleur Delacour—”

Hypnophobia — 01

eins — your hotel hall won’t be so vacant

pairing: ares x original female character (beatrix)

blurb: “I’ve fallen in love with you, but you have too many secrets.”

word count: 1.8k+

title inspiration: kill4me - marilyn manson

Before we begin, I wanted to give a special shoutout to @the-darklings​ for granting me permission to post and write a story inspired by their own work, Children of Ares. Just so you know, Hypnophobia is a completely separate entity and does not exist in nor have any sort of canon relation to COA. I also want to give a quick shoutout to my dear friend, Tati, who has agreed to proofread my drafts for spelling and grammar errors.

This work is cross-posted on AO3.

01 | 02

A December night in Chicago is frigid. The pavement is littered with clusters of salt, melting the layers of ice that had hoped to make a home on the sidewalks and roads. This is a salt ruins leather boots that owners have neglected to protect. A salt that obliterates a pair of cheap shoes before winter concludes, before spring peaks her head between the gray clouds. When the snow falls, it blankets the drab, cold cement with an even colder white blanket. The snow buries the cars on the streets, the entrances to apartment complexes, and the sparse shrubbery meant to break the monotony. It buries the wooden platforms of the train stations that have yet to receive an overdue upgrade to concrete. Stations that are located in areas that the city does not care to fix.

Even with all of the cold, the city is still full of life. It is crowded with civilians hustling their way onto the trains, hoping to feel its warmth before their gloved hands are completely numb. People go about their day, rushing to work in the mornings and eager to come home in the evenings. The college students crack open bottles of booze, as soon as the sun sets on Thursdays. And they spend the rest of the weekend stumbling into bars and flirting with anyone willing to glance at them for more than a mere millisecond. The lonely singles are desperate to find someone who can warm their beds. Someone who can distract them for a few hours. Someone who gets them so high that they forget about the Christmas misery and forced cheer permeating the air.

And on this particular night, Beatrix stands on the balcony of a hotel room. Dressed in a black coat, much too large for her frame, and a pair of red stilettos, she examines the city streets below with her chestnut brown eyes. Despite the late hour, there are still groups of people stumbling through the streets and shouting their conversations for all to hear. Just as her eyes settle on a group of drunk women slipping on the ice, a pair of muscular, tanned arms wrap around her waist.

“Come back to bed, bella,” the man whispers into her ear. “It feels lonely without you.”

Beatrix smiles and turns around. She places a hand on the back of his neck and then pulls him down for a quick kiss. “What are you doing out here?” She asks.

Luca is, by far, the most attractive man she has had the pleasure of sharing a bed with. His towering height and dimpled smile, mixed with the perfectly disheveled coffee-colored curls sitting on top of his head, is a combination that could make anyone weak to the knees.

Realizing that the man is dressed only in a pair of boxers and an unbuttoned black shirt, Beatrix pulls him towards her. “You’re going to freeze out here.”

Luca chuckles. “Unfortunately, it appears that a beautiful woman has stolen my coat. Perhaps if she comes back inside, we can both be spared from the cold.”

“Perhaps,” she replies.

The couple leave the balcony, escaping from the ice and the wind chill. Beatrix slips out of her heels and tosses the coat onto an armchair in the corner of the room. She hops back onto the bed, while her lover rummages around in his duffle bag.

“I have a surprise for you,” Luca says.

“Oh?”

He climbs onto the bed next to her and holds out a thin black box. “A gift, to celebrate the occasion.”

Beatrix plucks the box out of his hands. “And what is the occasion?”

“A reunion.”

After throwing another glance and smile at Luca, she focuses her attention to the gift. She pries it open and her eyes focus on a large pear-shaped ruby pendant, resting on a delicate gold chain. “It looks expensive.”

Luca nuzzles his face into the side of her neck. His nose brushes against her dangling gold earrings, a gift from their third liaison, as he moves to place an open-mouth kiss below her ear. “Only the best for my girl.”

Beatrix pulls the necklace out of the box. “And did you get this before or after your business meeting?” She turns to face Luca and quirks an eyebrow.

He pauses. “After.”

“Must have been one hell of a business deal. If it makes you splurge on such a gift for your holiday fling.”

Luca frowns. “Is that what you think you are?”

Beatrix hesitates with her response, shifting her gaze away from his eyes.

The man places his right hand on the side of her neck and pulls her head to lay against his chest. It’s a gesture that feels almost too gentle for somebody whose hands are covered in tattoos of skulls and daggers.

“Tell me what’s wrong, bella.”

“I just,” she sighs. “I want to know who you are, who you really are. What you do. Where the money comes from.” She pulls away from him and starts to cry.

How much more of my time are you going to waste?

“I-I’ve fallen in love with you.” Beatrix tries to wipe the tears off her face, but just ends up smearing the liquid all over her cheeks. “But you have too many secrets.”

He’s too loyal.

Luca reaches out towards her. He pulls her hands away from her face and wipes the tears himself.

“I don’t care if you’re a criminal. I’ll love you no matter what, but I need to know the truth.”

The man sighs. “It’s best if you don’t know anything about my business affairs.”

There’s a deadline.

Beatrix peaks up at Luca through her lashes. His jaw is clenched and there’s a tinge of regret painted in his chocolate eyes.

I know.

“I’ve seen your gun. And your knife. Is your boss, like, a drug dealer?”

He doesn’t respond.

“I think I should go.” Beatrix slides off the bed. She heads for her purse that had been carelessly tossed near the bathroom door.

Luca rushes after her. “Wait, don’t go,” he pleads.

Can you turn him?

Beatrix whips around and shoves Luca away from her. “Then tell me who you work for.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

Luca pauses. “I won’t.”

Doubtful.

“I’m leaving.” Beatrix responds. She grabs her purse and unbuckles the clasp.

“I know you’re upset, but I think we can work through this—”

Beatrix reaches inside her purse. When her fingertips brush against the object she’s looking for, she curls her fingers firmly around the metallic handle.

“—I just can’t share this aspect of my life with you. Not yet.”

Terminate him.

Dropping her purse, Beatrix lunges at Luca.

The man stumbles and falls backwards onto the bed. Beatrix jumps on top of him, straddling his waist. Not quite fully alert, he fails to notice when the woman raises the object in her hand. By the time he realizes what is about to happen, it’s too late to stop the dagger plunging into his heart.

Beatrix pulls the blade out of his chest and then slices open his neck. As she sits on his hips, she watches as the pristine white sheets are tainted by a deep crimson liquid. She reaches for his right hand and slips a ring off of his finger. It’s a gold ring. One that identifies him as a notable member of the Camorra.

A few moments later, Beatrix finally climbs off of him. She heads toward the armchair, grabbing her purse along the way. Settling into the seat, she pulls a phone out of her purse and calls one of the three saved contacts.

The line rings twice before the call is answered.

“Hey, you busy?” Beatrix speaks. “My boyfriend hooked me up with some amazing wine, but I accidentally spilled some of it on my white sheets. Would you mind popping by? You’re a genius at fixing this stuff. Plus, I still have plenty of wine to share.”

~ ~ ~

“At least you weren’t lying about the bottle of wine this time.” A woman, Izzy, remarks before taking a sip from her wine glass. Beatrix had met her a couple of years ago, when they were introduced through a mutual friend. Though she had been drawn to the dark-skinned woman’s sharp cheekbones and playful banter, she was more interested in Izzy’s talent for making evidence disappear.

Beatrix hums and takes a sip from her own glass. She shifts her position in the armchair, leaning back and crossing her legs.

“When were you gonna tell me that you were back in town?”

“It’s temporary.”

“Uh huh,” Izzy gestures to the corpse on the bed. “And what is this?”

“The boyfriend.”

“Okay,” Izzy nods. “Is the boyfriend’s departure from the land of the living due to a lovers’ spat? Or are you working?”

Beatrix reveals the faintest hint of a smile, before taking another sip of wine.

Izzy rolls her eyes and approaches the corpse. She leans down for a closer inspection, examining the man’s injuries and the blood pattern on the sheets. “Damn, he was cute. What a shame.” She frowns. “Didn’t put up much of a fight though, did he? I don’t see any defensive wounds. No early signs of bruising.”

A long pause follows the woman’s observations.

“Is he,” Izzy glances over at Beatrix, “Camorra?”

“You’re good with faces. I don’t think you really need to ask, do you?”

Izzy laughs before finishing off her glass of wine. She reaches for the half-empty bottle and pours herself another serving. “You? You were fucking a Camorra man? I thought you despised that organization.”

“A job’s a job, right?”

“You’re joking.”

Beatrix shakes her head.

Izzy frowns. “Someone hired you to hit the Camorra and you took it?”

The pale woman doesn’t respond.

“Jesus,” Izzy approaches her friend and leans against the wall beside her. “Bee, what kind of bullshit have you been roped into now?”

Beatrix downs the rest of wine. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Is the job done?” Izzy’s eyes shift back to Luca. “Was he your target? Some dude that they’ll replace before the sun sets tomorrow?”

“You’re not getting paid enough for that information.”

Izzy pouts.

“I just need you to clean up this mess.” Beatrix stands up and sets down her glass on a nearby table.

Izzy sighs and places her glass next to Beatrix’s. She shrugs off her coat, folds it up neatly, and places it on the table as well. Then she reaches into an oversized bag and pulls out a pair of black latex gloves. Slipping them onto her hands, she rolls back her shoulders and stretches her neck to relieve a minor kink in it. “And here I was hoping to waste some company dime by gossiping on the clock.”

A/N: I’m so sorry that Ares couldn’t make an appearance in this chapter, but she will be showing up in the next chapter, I promise!

If you are intrigued by what you’ve seen, I would really appreciate it if you could reblog this chapter. I literally have 3 followers right now (and one of those followers is me on my main blog), so I would very grateful for any help that gives me more exposure than what I would be able to reach on my own.

This is the first fic I’ve written in like four years, but I’m really excited to explore Beatrix and her position in the John Wick universe. I am hoping to post a new chapter bi-weekly (on Saturdays).

I have no idea if you'd do this but I need a nega ben x reader. He's my favorite out of the alternates. A softer one shot would be nice but whatever you're feeling is good too! I'll take any content I can get!

*Emo Boy by Ayesha Erotica begins to play* Yeah me too.

Nega Ben x Reader | reader uses they/them pronouns, but dresses femininely.

Spill

He’d been waiting all day, and I mean, all day. Classes always seemed to drag on and on longer when he wanted something, and sure, he could have skipped. But that would have taken too much effort not to get caught. He isn’t afraid of the cops or the school administration… But dealing with his parents? Yeah, no. Not worth it. He’d b-lined it across Bellwood, all the way to the “café” he frequented. Truthfully, it wasn't much of a café seeing as how they specialize in more smoothie like drinks, but whatever. It has been rather crowded, too crowded, and everyone just wanted to get in then out.

He should have expected to bump or get bumped into someone, but it didn’t dawn on him until his espresso smoothie was all over your bright pink, fuzzy sweater. Both of you stood there with slack jaws and wide eyes as the brown liquid dripped from your chest and down onto an equally as pink lolita-esque skirt. It looked expensive, not in a daddy's money way, in a “I saved up to buy this” way. And so, he was prepared for hell.

“Oh my god! I am so sorry!”

When it left you, Ben was confused. “Gosh, I should have been looking where I was going… But I was too distracted. Ugh, I-” You were flustered , more than actually, embarrassed is the correct word. “Um… Give me a second and I'll buy you a new one…”

“What?”

Watching as you tried to pat away the coffee with one of the recycled paper napkins the café gives out, a million thoughts passed through him. Of course he took the offer, he wanted that coffee. The line was a lot shorter this time around, and got by a lot quicker too. You ordered for him as he zoned out suddenly looking over your shoulder at him. “What?” He asks, watching you get even more flustered. “I just asked if you wanted anything else. Do you?” “Oh, uh, yeah.” he clears his throat, raising his voice. “The kale chips.”

You both walked out together, your head was down and you watched your shoes as you walked. “Again, I’m really sorry.” He glances at you with a slight side eye as he sips on the coffee, this was the gazillionth time you’ve apologized in just the last few minutes. “It’s… whatever.” He lets out a quick and breathy chuckle. “You apologize to me, but I ruined your sweater.” All of the sudden, your embarrassment seemed non-existent. A light and bubbly laugh leaving you. “Ruined? Oh, trust me, I’ll be just fine. I've dealt with worse.”

“Anyways! I have to get home and change, It was nice meeting you!”

-

The lunch room was beyond packed, packed like the reunion tour of a popular punk band from the 2000's. The doors and tables overflow with hungry and impatient mouths. You had managed to get in before the rush and snag a serving of less than okay school food, but by the time you got out of line, they had all flooded in. People had no concern for others around them, pushing and shoving like toddlers over toys, and you were getting the brunt of it. Not actually, but it sure felt like it.

You were halfway across the room and were looking around the tables for a free space- but it was too late for that already. A body slams into yours hard, you hit the ground as your food falls and splatters all of the chest of the sweater you had just gotten the coffee stain out of. Feet come down around you as you struggle to get up, the other person now looming over you. “Could you have watched where you were going!?” This whole situation was not intentional, but they had no right to get angry at you for that.

You felt the tips of your ears heat, unable to answer. Her eyes bore down on you as she sways with every passing body bumping into her. Suddenly, you feel a hand grab the back of your sweater and pull you from the ground, as if they were scruffing a cat. “Or, maybe you could stop play fighting with your friends in the cafeteria, like a bitch.” Her jaw drops and her freckled face goes red with embarrassment, obviously on the fact that she can't pawn her mistake off on someone else this time. The voice was rather monotone- in a way- compared to the words spoken. And rather familiar.

When you look up it’s the guy from the café, his neutral expression was a thin vale to hide his irritation- at least to you. His hand still had a grip on the back of your shirt, it was a firm hold, and it made you just a tad bit nervous. You swallow as the person swallows her embarrassment, rolling her eyes desperately to try and hide. “Whatever freak, sorry…” she turns and disappears into the crowd. You watch her do so, completely shocked at the situation at hand. Your lips part to say something, but his grip on your sweater releases, being replaced by an arm around your shoulder. Suddenly, you’re being dragged through the crowd and towards the cafeteria door.

He walks you out into the hallway, which is mostly empty at this point. “Thank you.” you choke out through the lump in your throat. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps walking with you- and you aren’t in any position to object.

Eventually you reach the stairs. Under it is a mostly empty black backpack, and there’s a light reflection of gold from inside. The weight of his arm leaves your shoulders and he walks ahead, sliding under the stairs and sitting with his back to an old AC unit. You hesitate for a moment, you’ve only met this guy one other time… maybe you should just wait…… nah.

Sliding under the stairs right after him, you sit straight across from the guy. He’s already looked away. “I think we have third period together. Your name is Ben, right?” His phone is already out, and he’s scrolling through it. “Well I'm…” you give him your name, and all he does is look up at you with a nod before going back to his phone. The volume is low, but there are noises coming from it, ones you recognize. “Is that the Sumo Slammers mobile game?” There was no judgement in your voice at all, and suddenly the losing end sound plays.

The corners of his mouth twitch. “Yeah?” “My little brother is obsessed with that series. He says that the mobile game isn’t that good, but he still played it to the end.” He let out a little huff like laugh through his nose, pressing the power button and finally giving you his full attention. “Yeah, maybe the old one wasn't that good, but this one is a new release- Doesn’t even have dubbed lines yet.” He clears his throat, slouching a bit as his hands slide into his pockets. “Actually, it’s not fully released in the states yet. I got pre access to the game.” He watches you smile, and suddenly there's a slight tense feeling in his chest.

“That’s really cool, are you a beta tester or something?” He shrugs. “No, and it’s whatever.” He glances away, gaze holding on the wall. “Well I think it’s really cool, especially since it's a series you like.” “How do you know that?” His gaze snaps back to you, suddenly defensive. “Your backpack is open and the sun is reflecting off of the cold backing of the trading cards.” You lazily point to the stairs above you, and there is the reflected image of the symbol on the cards. “Those are the collectors additions, from japan. I know because I’ve been looking for that exact deck for my brother.”

You watch as his cheeks dust a light pink color, lightly nudging his bag so it falls over. He starts avoiding eye contact, leaning back fully against the old AC unit. “Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be cleaning up your sweater?” You lean back against the stairs. “Yeah, maybe. But I think you’re kinda cool, and I’d like to stay.”

It was rather silent the rest of lunch, when you tried to hold a conversation- he would end it with short answers that gave you nothing to build off of. The bell rings above you like the screech of an angered bird. You both get up, him raising from the floor before you. You brush the dirt off of the back of your thighs, the light sound of unzipping catching your attention. You watch as the zipper of his hoodie comes down as he pulls it. Yanking it off of his shoulders, revealing the greenish-grey long sleeve he had under it.

“Here. Even if you get the food off, it’ll still stain.” He hands you the coat, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, the already open flap lolling open even more. “Oh, thank you, I don’t know what to sa-” “Don’t. Don’t say anything. This never happened.” He walks past you and into the crowd of students, with his head down.

You watch as he does so, eventually looking back down at the hoodie in hand. You feel your face just slightly twinge with heat. “Yeah… Alright.” You say under your breath as you rush off to the nearest bathroom to scrub the food scum from your sweater.

-

It was a game day.

Not that he kept track of that, he had never been into football. Once upon a time he played soccer, but after he got the Negatrix any hopes of that former love returning was gone. Ben knew it was game day because his cousin was in her cheerleading outfit- and it was no were near time for cheer competitions. Her makeup was done and her strawberry blonde hair was pulled up, and she sat in the front seat of her boyfriend's car chatting to said boyfriend about the routines she had to do.

Ben sat in the back, as he always did, waiting for the drive to be over. It came soon enough as the car pulled into the drop off area in front of the school, slowing to a stop. Neither Tennyson waited for it to fully stop before opening their doors. He got out, closing it with a slam and without a thank you. Gwen still leaning in and talking. The chatter of the hoard of tired teenagers flocking into the building almost drowned out the shouting of his name.

Almost.

He groans, looking over his shoulder, spotting the mass of pastels jogging towards him with something in their arms. “I’m so glad I got here on time! They were packed this morning- and I thought I'd be late- but I made it.” In your arms is his hoodie and an espresso smoothie. You hand him your gifts with a large smile. “I um, washed the jacket for you. Thanks again.” The bell rings and you give a quick wave before pushing into the school building yourself.

His jaw hangs slack, looking down at his freshly cleaned jacket- lint free, folded, and still warm- and the smoothie. When he moves there's a light cracking from inside the jacket, like the sound of a chip bag. He pulls back one of the folds and there is a bag of kale chips, stuck to it is a yellow sticky note written on with a pink gel pen. A phone number with “See you at lunch.”

“Who was that?” Ben looks over at his cousin, an impressed smirk on her lips.

“You’re getting mileage out of this, huh?” “Soooo much.”

Burning Bright, Chapter Nineteen

Characters:  Oberyn Martell and F!Reader and Ellaria Sand

WC:  3593

Other Pieces:  This is part of a series.

CW:  Smut.  18+ only.

AN:  if you wait for nineteen entire chapters for the wedding night, here you finally are, you patient readers!

________________

You wondered what a younger version of you would have thought, seeing the shared chambers for the first time.  Your room at Ashemark was austere, with little effort given to hide the thick, damp stone walls under tapestries or paintings.

The shared chambers, like all of the palace at Sunspear, was sumptuous:  a large bed carved from dark wood polished to a high shine.  Colorful tiled floor that was cool under your feet when Oberyn sat you down.  A sideboard overflowing with wine and food, rations to keep your strength up should you fail to leave the rooms for a few days…

Oberyn walked over to the sideboard and poured you each a glass of wine, and then he gestured you over to join him.  He handed you a glass, then pulled a small vial out of the pocket of his robe.

“A few drops of this in your wine before bed,” he told you matter-of-factly.  “Some maesters give moon tea, but it’s bitter.  This is a similar distillation, and wine makes it easier to swallow.”

You couldn’t help the blush that broke out across your face, but you did as instructed – you took the vial from him, put a couple drops of the dark liquid into your wine.  Swirled it around and raised it to your mouth.

“You know, it was rumored that you poisoned me after our first wedding,” you joked around the rim of your glass, but Oberyn only looked at you solemnly.

“I never would,” he replied.  “Not even then.”  He watched you as you drained your glass, gave a satisfied nod.  “If you change your mind, you simply stop taking the drops,” he added.  “There are no lingering side effects.”

Who could say if you would?  Maybe your fear would subside as time passed; maybe you’d feel some maternal stirring in you.  Even having a choice felt powerful – while women in Essos often controlled their own destiny, it was a novel idea for a woman from Westeros.

“Thank you,” you told him.

He nodded again and sipped his own wine, and you felt the weight of his gaze heavy on your face.  Daenerys had gifted you the shift for your wedding night, gave it to you that morning as you ducked you head at the whistles and claps of your small group of women friends.  It was an Astapori confection, from some discreet shop that specialized in such clothing, clothing that was designed to be torn off and discarded.  It hid very little from the gaze, but Oberyn seemed to be waiting for some sign from you before even looking upon you.

That made you feel powerful too.  The difference from before and now was never so stark:  you had trembled that entire evening, years ago, jittery as a hare and ready to bolt.  Ready to accept a world of pain.  Now you knew better.  You knew, logically, that you’d likely given your maidenhead away years ago, on the back of your old mare in Ashemark and if not then – certainly on the back of a dragon.  

You also knew just enough of pleasure that any lingering pain you were owed would be drowned in that falling, dying feeling of release.

You were Lady Marbrand before, but she was long gone, replaced by a stronger woman.  You had tamed dragons, won wars, stalked monsters in the shadows.  Now, you gazed back at your husband, almost challenging him.

“Take off your clothes,” you ordered him softly, and the tone was enough to make him raise his eyebrows at you.

He swallowed the last of his wine and sat the glass down, then he turned back to you.  “You would order your husband around like a common servant?” he asked with a playful lilt, but his hands undid the ties inside his brocaded robe, and he shrugged out of it and let it pool at his feet.  He did the same with the underrobe until he was bare-chested in front of you.

“I would,” you replied.

He sniffed in mock-distain.  “I would remind you that I’m a prince of Dorne.”  He pulled his heavy gold chain over his head, sat it on the sideboard.  Kicked off his boots.  

“And I’m a princess of Dorne, now,” you said.  “And a Targaryen princess before that.”

Oberyn undid his belt, let it drop to the floor.  “A princess twice over,” he mused.  “A rare specimen.”  Then he pushed his trousers down, kicked them aside, and stood before you and your scrutinizing gaze.

The moment must have been as stimulating to him as it was you, the sudden shift in power.  Did Oberyn ever give way to a more dominant lover?  If he hadn’t, he seemed to enjoy the prospect, because his desire was apparent, his manhood proudly erect and curving against his belly, his eyes rapidly darkening at the game you were playing at.

You had never seen him truly naked before – only glimpses here and there in the two times you’d been together.  He was beautiful, lean and golden, marked only a little by old scars from old battles.  He stood still as a statue, allowed you to step up to him and trail your fingertips over the planes of his body.  You could feel the tension in him though, a great coil of pressure that would burst if you teased him too long.

“Your humble servant awaits your instructions, princess,” he said, and his voice was thick with desire.  You drew your hand down the center of his chest, over the soft little belly and it’s scattering of dark hair, then lower.  You cupped him gently in your palm, and it pulled a groan from him.

“You made me wait an entire month,” you chided him, and you gripped him harder, felt the way he twitched against your palm.  “Why?”

His words were low and tight with lust.  “Because I wanted this.  I wanted you to take control of me, the way you control those dragons.  The way you controlled your sister’s vast army.”  He reached out and laid his hands on your waist, tugged you against him until you were flush against his body.  He dipped his head near your ear and whispered the rest.  

“Because I wanted our first time as husband and wife to be a great fire that consumed us both.  You’re no shrinking northern lady anymore.  You’re a dragon.”

You pulled back and stared into his dark eyes.  You saw the truth in what he was saying.  

It hit you all at once, how rare a specimen he was – how you had circled the great continents of the world to land right back where you belonged, with a man who loved unabashedly, who didn’t see you as just an empty vessel as most Westeros lords did.  A man who didn’t begrudge you a single thing – not your fears or hopes or family name.  A man who only wanted to love you, and be loved in return.

There would never be a way for you to know how your first time would have been, if you’d stayed in Dorne all those years ago.  Probably a fumbling, embarrassing affair with lots of comfort and kind words from Oberyn.

This time, though, it went like this:  at his words, you laid your palms on his chest and pushed him gently backwards.  He laid his own hands on your elbows, pulled you along with him.  When the backs of his legs hit the edge of the bed, he sat down and then lay down, and his eyes were so dark with lust that you shivered.

But his words stayed with you, you’re a dragon, and that powerful feeling stayed with you too.  You stood above him, long enough to shed the silken slip, long enough to allow him to take in the sight of you naked in the candlelight.  It was curious, how you felt no shame in that moment, and you wondered if his moondrops had some libidinous quality to them too.

You did feel drunk, but not from wine or anything else.  You were drunk from the way he was staring at you, as if you were some goddess.

Then you climbed onto the bed too.  Straddled him carefully, felt his manhood brush against the slick, aching core of you, but you went no further just then.  Instead, you leaned down and kissed him.  His mouth was just as you remembered in your month apart, his lips and tongue and teeth skillfully undoing you with each breath.  His mustache ticked against your lip, and you could feel the sweet burn it raised against your sensitive skin when he kissed you too hard.  

His skilled hands worked against you too, caressed your arms and back, ran down your ticklish sides, kneaded the curve of your hips, but he didn’t steer you.  It was some latent knowledge in your body, the way you ground yourself against him almost involuntarily, the way your arousal soaked him.  It felt dangerous, how close he was to breeching your body, but it felt right too.  

His hands found your breasts, and he sat up enough to capture one nipple in his mouth.  His thumb rubbed gentle circles around the other until you cried out at his teasing, and then he shifted his mouth.  Gentle at first, switching back and forth, then his mouth and fingers grew more insistent as you ground against him harder.  He pinched and nipped at you, set the edge of his teeth against you until you felt nearly undone by just his mouth on your breasts.

In the course of your gentle riding of him, between your slick arousal and his own, the very crown of him slipped against your folds and notched at your entrance.  You both froze at the sensation, and you gazed down at him.  He was staring back at you, his mouth slack, his eyes nearly black.

“Please,” he whispered, and it was harsh with want.  “Please, my love.”

You were so sheltered when you were younger.  You never needed a book to explain this part of a marriage – all you needed was a patient husband which was, admittedly, in short supply in Westeros.  Your body knew what to do, and his did as well, and it was such an easy thing, mounting him.  You moved slowly, carefully, but he was already there, the tip of him already in you.  You raised yourself up, your thighs strong from years of riding horses and dragons, and then you lowered yourself onto Oberyn’s cock.

Oh, it was unlike anything you had expected – Ellaria’s fingers and his own (and even yours, sometimes) never could have prepared you for the feeling of it.  The stretch, the slight burn, the faintest bit of pain that fell before the sensation of being joined to him.  You could feel your body adjusting to him, felt the way your aching core gripped him in its feverish flesh, felt how you molded to the curve of him.  

It seemed to go on and on, no end to him, but then you did find the end of him after all.  He was fully seated in you, the full length of his cock nudging against some deep part of you that you didn’t even knew existed, and you wanted to cry and laugh all at once at the feeling of it.

Oberyn only looked stunned.  He had laid perfectly still, his hands only on your hips to steady you, but he never forced you to move any faster than you did.  When you finally opened your eyes to gaze down at him, he only smiled up at you with an expression of pure love.

“Look at you,” he whispered, and you wondered if the gods ever heard such a worshipful tone as you heard now from him.  “Look at how beautiful you look, claiming what’s yours.”

*****

It was such a singularly erotic sight, you mounting him, that at one point Oberyn had to close his eyes and grit his teeth and think of something boring.

He wouldn’t last long, and he knew it.  He would never undo the past month, because look at what his plan yielded:  his little dragon, his love, his wife, finding her power, finding her strength and using it on him.  Taking what she wanted from him.  

But a month without you didn’t come without its consequences, and Oberyn suddenly feared coming too soon, like a boy in his first brothel.

“Don’t move yet,” he warned you through gritted teeth, and you tilted your head at that.  You didn’t move, though whatever you were feeling or thinking made you grip him from time to time.  He had felt no resistance as you took him into your velvety depths, but he had watched your face all the same for any sign of pain.  He hadn’t seen any – just a stunned sort of love that softened your features in the candlelight.

He gradually calmed, got himself under a semblance of control.  You gripped him so well, like a gloved fist, and he swore he could feel the beating of your heart from where he was buried in you.  You still didn’t move, but you watched him carefully, and you laid both of your palms on his chest.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.  His hands were still on your hips, and he spread his fingers wider, splayed them out to touch more of you, to hold more of your form in his embrace.  

“Good,” you replied.  Your voice sounded strained, and you added, “how are you feeling?  Is it alright?”

Oberyn knew you often judged yourself against Ellaria – not from jealousy, necessarily, but from a lack you thought you had in yourself.  You never seemed to remember that you were younger than them, that of course you’d have less experience…

“I feel perfect,” he answered honestly.  “You feel perfect.”

It made you smile at him, your rare blinding smile, and then you leaned down to kiss him.  If your earlier kissing was desperate and needy, this was pure love.  Pure connection.  Oberyn felt how you started to move against him, subtle little swivels of your hips that only raised you up a fraction before sinking back down onto him.  Hardly a proper thrust, as if you were loathed to pull away from him now that you finally had him.

There’d be time enough for all that, for him to be stretched over you, dealing you long, deep thrusts.  Now, he gripped your hips harder, then sat up underneath you until you were nestled in his lap, still intimately connected.  He wrapped one arm around your back, pulled you closer.  Your breasts pressed against his bare chest, your pebbled nipples finding a bit of friction from his scant chest hair.

Your legs were still folded under you, so he reached down and eased them, one at a time, until they were wrapped around his waist.  It was a position of pure possession, of pure joining.  It granted him another fraction to sink into your silken depths, and the sensation pulled a low, throaty moan from you.

Your first time together was never going to last long, and once he had you in this position, it didn’t.  He wrapped his arms around you – your skin so warm against him it feels like a licking flame – and he guided you into the bare bit of movement you can offer, a gentle rocking against him.  He raised his own hips to meet your languid thrusts, and he felt the base of his cock brushing against your swollen little pearl, slippery with arousal.

“Oh, Oberyn,” you sighed, and you tucked your head against his neck.  Your breathing was getting erratic, shallow, and he felt it against his skin as he pressed up harder into you.  He was so close himself, so desperate to spill himself into you, but he’d never forgive himself for not making you come first.  Your mouth moved from panting against him to kissing him, sucking against his pulse as you increased your own movements.

He felt it first:  the way you froze against him, the way your silken cunt gripped him.  Then he heard you, first the sigh – heavy, like it was from the very bottom of your soul – then the weak cry, then the wail of his name as he made you come for the very first time as your husband.  He managed a few more thrusts, a few hurried whispers in your hair to let go, to give into the pleasure, and then he came too.  The force of his orgasm prolonged your own, and together – you coming down, him rising to meet you – you took your pleasure from each other.

*****

The rest of the wedding night was a blur, but in one idle moment, you thought you perhaps could write a book about love, to replace the miserable one you had bought years ago.

Nothing had prepared you for Oberyn – not even Oberyn himself.  Your few interludes with him before had been mere bites of food, just enough to sate your hunger.  

This was something else entirely.  A full meal after a long stretch of not eating.  Every bit of it heavy and rich against your tongue.

The analogy came from him, clumsy as it was.  Your sometimes-poet, your silver-tongued husband.  After you dismounted from his embrace, boneless and weak as a kitten with how wrung out your pleasure left you, you drifted off to sleep.  You remembered stretching out beside him, feeling a pleasant ache between your legs and the slippery heat of your combined pleasure as it slowly leaked out of you.  You remembered him covering you with a light blanket, pressing a kiss to your lax mouth, murmuring that he loved you.

And then you slept, for a bit.

It was still dark outside when you woke.  Early morning, from the heavy silence of the palace.  There was no birdsong outside yet.  You weren’t sure what woke you, but then you felt Oberyn.  His mouth, more precisely, as it laid a lazy trail of open-mouthed kisses across your arms and chest and belly.  His hand slid the blanket away from you in advance of his mouth, and it raised goosebumps along your skin.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmured against your hip, and you snorted.  Of course he meant to wake you.

You couldn’t see him in the dark, but you felt his head turn to look in your direction.  “I woke with a great hunger for my wife,” he explained, and you felt his hands on you, stroking long lines against your thighs, your calves, your sides.  “I would eat her up, she tastes so sweet.”

If there was any lingering shyness in you, the darkness banished it.  You reached down and wound your fingers through his curled hair, tugged him up until he was kissing you.  He was stretched alongside you, but you were hungry for him too, so you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him on top of you.  You parted your thighs for him, bracketed his narrow hips with your legs, and felt the insistent nudging of his manhood against your tender parts.

“I will be as gentle as I can,” he whispered as he pressed forward a fraction, just enough to part your folds with the crown of his cock.  “But I am ravenous for you.”

The admission made a bolt of heat shoot straight to your core, and you tugged his face down so that you could whisper in his ear.

“As you said, I’m a dragon,” you purred in a low whisper.  “I am not easily broken.”

He didn’t respond to that, likely second-guessing your words, so you reached down, grasped his shapely ass, and pulled him into you.  It was a single, solid thrust, no careful slide like earlier, and it made you gasp at the sensation of taking him all at once.

The gasp scared him – Oberyn froze and whispered frantically, “Are you – “

But you cut him off, told him you were fine, not broken at all, and that if your husband was so ravenous for you, he should take what he needed –

It was all the encouragement he needed.  He dropped his head with a thick groan, and then he was moving, his hips thrusting, driving you relentlessly towards your pleasure.  It wasn’t like before, a slow saunter to the peak but a hurried rush.  It was so much sensation, his hand hooking under your leg to wrap it high on his waist, his breath panting in your ear as he choked out how good you felt, how perfectly you took him, how he was going to fill you –

Your pleasure was sudden and fierce, like the storms that blew up out of the Jade Sea on a clear blue sky day.  There was little for you to do, but you arched underneath Oberyn’s punishing thrusts, wailed out his name, wailed out some gibberish in a language you didn’t recognize.  It felt like you were breaking apart into a million pieces, and it felt so good that you didn’t even care if you were put back together again.

Then you felt him come too, those final, deep strokes buried in you, the hot rush of his release flooding you.  Then, both of you sated, more sleep – Oberyn with just enough energy to turn you both onto your sides, his softening cock still nestled against you as you fell asleep in his arms.

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas​  @rachelxwayne​   @stardust-fray   @massivecolorspygiant​   @imspillingcoffee​   @amneris21​  @paintballkid711​   @mad-girl-without-a-box​   @bestattempt​​   @isvvc-pvscvl​   @mrschiltoncat​   @danniburgh   @stillshelbs​   @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics​    @tobealostwanderer​​   @ayamenimthiriel​   @dudeodin​   @agingerindenial​   @maharani-radha-writes​   @ace-fiction   @thesadvampire​   @gingerbreadandpaper​   @graniairish​   @captn-andor​   @rpcvliz​   @deliciouslyclassytrash   @youhavemyfantasticbeasts​   @persie33​  @lostinwonderland314​  @xsadderdazeforeverx​   @terrormonster55​   @evee87​   @omgsuperstarg​   @imspillingcoffee​   @blxckhearthood   @talesfromtheguild​    @grogusmum​   @dreamingfanficsmasher​  @googiebeankat   @mikariell95​   @littlebopper96   @wondergal2001​   @evyiione​   @janelongxox​   @amneris21​   @paintballkid711​   @its--fandom--darling​   @two-unbeatable-beaters​  @yelyahcardella​   @sarahdactyl666​   @goldie-n-peaches   @frankie-catfish-morales​    @rosiefridayrogersunday​

Thank you v much for the tag @noire-pandora, @oxygenforthewicked, @emerald-amidst-gold and @dungeons-and-dragon-age I appreciate you all~ 🥰

On this fine day, I bring a snippet of the gang having a sweet moment at the tavern (but then I throw angst in the end because I am built like this).

Cw for: gambling, drinking, mentions of blood, ptsd, mild panic attack (it sounds really bad omg)

Balanced on the back legs of her chair, Elizabeth hid a soft smile behind a sip of her cup’s contents. The well-fed fire burned merrily on the hearth, bathing her chilled skin and the tavern in flickers of gold and orange, enhancing the homey atmosphere its patrons created. Scouts, Chargers and members of the Inner Circle alike gathered, piling around a couple of hastily pushed together tables.

Groans of defeat and pleased laughs filled the air, fistfuls of sweets, coins and the odd piece of clothing changed hands at the end of another round of Wicked Grace.

Following the self-assigned role of fire keeper, she eased the chair’ legs on the floor, turning back to the flames. It burned low, so she fed it a new log. Reaching her will outwards, Elizabeth called out to some of the curious *kindlings floating above the table, coaxing them to feed on the offered wood.

“Kadan, please.” The sudden baritone rising above the hushed gambling made her head turn, and she watched a coatless Dorian caught on his lover’s embrace. He had his nose in the air, arms crossed and eyes closed, a clear dismissal to whatever Bull tried to convince him of.

Finding his reasoning ignored, Bull let go of his lover with a sigh. Who was more than happy to return to the table and take a healthy gulp of his glass. With less grace than the usual he bent halfway under the thing, returning moments later with a triumphant expression. Whistles and hoots followed the clinking thud of his shiny boots being dropped over wood, and more than one pair of eyebrows rising at the rare bet.

“Deal me in, rogue.” Dorian spoke, managing to appear somewhat regal even while hastily tucking his now much colder feet under himself.

“You sure, Sparkler?” Varric drawled, eying the expensive item “That’s quite the pretty thing to risk.”

“And it’s about to look prettier surrounded by everyone’s piles of coins I’ll win this round.”

“A brave claim for someone clad only in a shirt and breeches.” Taunted Josephine from over her hand of cards. The ambassador perched like a golden dragon on her chair, her loot spread around her. “This will be a pretty addition to my collection.”

“You, Montilyet, shall rob me of no more items,” he scoffed, “for I have picked up on your tell.”

“A lady has no tells, Pavus.” She retorts swiftly, sipping from her wine with a smile like the cat who ate a canary gracing her face.

“Oh but she does.” called a voice from the door, a series of disheartened mutters rising from the table when the owner revealed herself. “If you know where to look.” she smirked, eying the offered footwear. “Now Mister Tethras, if you will?” Leliana spoke, roosting smoothly on a chair and motioning for Varric to deal her some cards.

Elizabeth nearly snorted on her drink when a chunk of the table suddenly decided to skip the round in a wave of half-baked excuses. Wise decision. But her favorite necromant’s wisdom had drowned somewhere around his fifth serving of liquor and he grew bolder, teasing the new rival, and she shook her head.

How in the Void Dorian still had enough clarity of mind to play Grace was beyond her. Their shared taste for the spicy, embrium-infused drink meant they were sharing a bottle this night; she was barely half her second cup and already her body started to feel all kinds of woozy. But then again, her ability to hold her liquor was never anything to boast about.

A fond smile made way to her face when the laughing and voices of other companions joined the growing banter. They were precious, these moments of peace where they could all come together and enjoy each other’s company. Even if for a few hours, they could ignore the ever-looming presence of the falling skies and rising evil magisters.

Much too often the hearth provided a melancholic light devoid of warmth and drinks not for loosening and unwinding with friends. The burning found at the bottom of the cup was a way to numb down the senses. To forget the days on the battlefield. To hope their bloodstained souls would not stain in crimsom their sleeping hours.

Something cold and sticky seeped on her thigh, and only then Elizabeth noticed the shaking hands. The spilled red liquid trailed down her fingers to pool on the rug, like blood pouring from a gaping wound. She closed her eyes and held her breath, willing her mind to settle. But it was too late. The homey smell of burning wood and roasting meat wafting from the kitchens twisted, and the stench of smoke and scorched flesh filled her nostrils instead. The laughing voices, warm and friendly grew louder, too loud. They bled and mixed into each other until all she heard was a cacophony of horrified screams of the uncountable lives she had to take just to survive.

A gentle, firm tug at her hand, pulls her from the edge of the vortex inside her mind and she reopens her eyes, blinking away the blur of unshed tears. Pale blue stares back at her, the familiar depths filled with so much empathy and understanding and it feels like an anchor; one she allows to ground her.

She can’t hear his words at first, but works trough the calming exercises until his blessedly monotonous and unwavering voice returns to her. The rest of the tavern’s voices and noises following soon enough.

Once awareness returns Elizabeth notices the rug she’s sitting in, the walls of the attic a familiar sight. She has no memory of getting there, but is thankful all the same. The boy in front of her gets up from his crouch, tugging her to her feet with a strength that never ceases to surprise her.

“Come.”

“Cole,” she tries pulling her hand out of his, but the spirit refuses to yield his grasp “thank you for coming to my aid but, really. I’m alright. I’ll be alright.”

“You are hurting.”

“Well, once you reach your thirties, you’re always hurting somewhere.” She jokes, trying to lighten the mood, but Cole sees right through her act, and although his face wears the usual neutral expression, his eyes scream his disapproval. With a sigh, she gives in, allowing him to drag her down the flights of stairs to the floor level.

“I can’t make you forget. They can help.” He says with a ghost of a smile once they reach the last step of the stairs. And then he’s gone.

There’s no time to feel awkward for standing alone in a dark corner, Varric’s finding her in a heartbeat. He calls out to her then, a wide grin on his face, warm brown eyes glimmering from something more than being on high spirits.

“Stop hiding, Stabby!” the table perks up at the mention of her nickname. More eyes and smiles turning to greet her “You’ve got too little alcohol and way too much dignity left in your body, you’re making us all look bad!”

The giggles and assorted noises of agreement wash over her like a warm cocoon, and weight she wasn’t even aware being on her shoulders slowly melts away.

Maybe Cole was right, she thinks - hopes -, while walking to the table. They could help.

* I tweaked Elizabeth's abilities based off her origins. She's from Earth not Thedas, and so I gave her earth-like magic: her 'magic' comes not from the Fade, but from borrowing from the elementals in the ambient. The kindlings mentioned in the scene are that, smol fire elementals attracted by the flames of the hearth.

Worshipers of the Sea

Part of the Worshiper Series

➜ Words: 16.3k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Pirate!AU, Mermaid!AU, God!AU

➜ Summary: You are the greatest pirate to set sail across the ocean and self-proclaimed ruler of the ocean. But when the true God of the Sea catches wind of your hubris, he punishes you — taking your legs and turning it into a tail.

➜ Notes: This story shares the same universe as Worshipers of the Sky. They are companion pieces, but it is not necessary to read one before the other. Each can be read as a stand-alone piece. Enjoy!

The ocean shrinks at the sight of you.   It’s pathetic, the tides retracting, waves quieting, not at all as fearsome as some ignorant folks make it out to be. It’s less daunting and mysterious than all the tales told on shores, the rumours that are whispered to children not to go near it during the night and to be careful lest the waters swallow them whole and take them to places unknown. They’re afraid but maybe it’s because they don’t have the privilege of knowing what you do, of having the powers you do, of being God of the Sea.   “To another successful voyage!”   The noisy clanks of glasses fill the tavern, golden liquid spilling over the rims from the reckless movements, splashing onto the tables, but no one has any regard. You’re all too busy downing the rum that runs dry in your mouth, but smooth down your throat. It quenches your thirst and drunken laughter heaves out of your bodies.   “Drinks are on me,” one of your crewmen lifts his glass over, nearly falling off his stool, and there are more cheers, disrupting the conversations of the locals.   “Oh, please.” The only other female pirate rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to act so gracious. With the amount of gold we have, you could buy drinks for us for the rest of your life and then some! Shiver me timbers, even buy this whole goddamn fucking place!”   There’s more laughter exchanged, and you savour the moment surrounded in your crew. It’s been yet another successful expedition that makes your shoulders light and your pockets heavy with riches still yet to be sold off.    “You got that right!”   It feels good to be on land again, even though you breathe the salt air of the open waters, it’s a pleasant change after months of endless journeys. It’s nice to eat something other than salted meat, sea biscuits, sauerkraut, and bone soup. You don’t have to sleep in a hammock either. Though, you still enjoy the rum off-shore more than you do onshore.   “Hey, hey.” A male pirate, ex-sailor, drunkenly calls out. His face reddened with rum, voice slurring almost beyond coherence as he waves his hands. “We couldn’t have done this without one of the best captains in the whole damn world! To our captain, Y/N!”   For the hundredth time, cheers erupt, this time in the form of a toast and you chuckle. “I’m glad you know the privilege of having the best navigators in the entire damn ocean. They don’t call me the God of the Sea for nothin’.”   You dominate the ocean, seated on the throne as the superior. You know the ocean better than it knows itself to the point that it’s afraid of you. No beasts or storms dare to stand in your way and people on land, peasants and nobles alike, whisper their tales on your adventures, regarding you with both fear and respect. You’ve traded with kings, queens, merchants. Nothing can stop or prevent you from reaching further greatness.    You’ve become immortal.   “Careful ‘bout your boasting.” There’s a curt whisper that makes the whole table go quiet. “Your pride’s gonna get you in trouble, girl.”   Your neck cranes, eyes narrowed into slits, lips curling in feigned amusement. “If you got somethin’ to say, old hag, dare to say it louder?”   The old woman sitting at the other table is draped in a black cloak, hood covering her face and shielding her features. But her wrinkled skin and shaking, bony hands are obvious in view. Her eyes lock into yours, irises deep.    “You should be careful what that tongue speaks. It’s terribly foolish to do otherwise,” she scolds in a raspy voice. “It’s never pleasant when the real gods are angered.”   You scoff. “Let me tell you somethin, ol’ lady. There is no god.” Behind you, the crew snickers at your boldness. “There are no gods that you speak of. They won’t come to save you when you beg or die. They won’t damn you if you do bad things. Your god is a tale to make people afraid. In this world, you either eat or get eaten, take or get taken from. It’s terribly foolish to believe otherwise,” you mock her tone, rousing more intoxicated laughter.   You turn back to your crewmen, drinking down the rest of your rum before being passed another full bubbling glass. You choose to brush off the stranger in exchange for celebrating. It’s not a night for fights, but a night of fun.    And you don’t notice the old lady sighing and shaking her head, warnings going unheard. There’s nothing more she can do if you refuse to heed her cautionary words.   //   You stand near the stern of The Divinity, overlooking the blue sea that seems to shimmer like the jewels you have prepared in the chest. Your white linen shirt is tucked into your trousers, matching the black, wide brimmed hat you have and your dark coat — a favourite of yours that was stolen right from a noble in front of his screaming lady. Gold decorates your arms in the form of rings and necklaces, contrasting the bright red sash around your waist.   You’re dressed as the queen of the ocean, overlooking your entire kingdom.   As rough as it can get living out here, you love being on adventures and exploring the world. You can’t stand the thought of staying in one small village all your life to marry some bastard and take care of screaming babies at home as he goes off to get drunk. It’s not the life you would ever want for yourself.   “Where to now, captain?” A male crewman approaches. He’s short and stubby, but has proven reliable in assisting with navigation. The barrels of rum have been loaded onto the deck, food prepared and nets being drawn in — everything’s ready.   You march across to the captain’s cabin, opening the door and pulling out the rolled map from the bucket. You spread the paper on the table, leaning over to stare as your fingers tap. “There aren’t any plans for any voyages any time soon. I think it’s best if we travel to the next port at Henesys. There are merchants I know who want to do a trade deal.” You nod, standing straight. “We set sail by afternoon.”   “Aye, aye, captain.” He goes off running to deliver the news and you glance back at the map with a smile. There’s so many uncharted territories, so many lands and spaces unknown. You’re excited to see them all, satiate your curiosity of what else is out there.   Eventually, The Divinity’s anchor is pulled in, ropes tugged back onto the deck. The ship leaves the docks, ocean town disappearing behind you. The sheets are billowing in the wind as the route is followed. For once, it’s a smooth and relaxed journey with each going about their own duties, dinner being prepared for consumption in a few hours time. You pace around to monitor and observe before stopping at the poop deck to look over the horizon to the clouds gathering.   If things go according to plan, you should arrive there in a day’s time….   “Captain!” A female pirate runs up to you, her voice bringing back your attention. “There’s a storm approaching. Should we prepare and release the anchor?”   “Not yet,” you tell her. A measly storm’s not going to affect your journey and you’d rather not be delayed. Those merchants are tricky and you won’t leave room for them to bargain because of your late arrival. “We’ll skirt the edge of it and pass in time.”   “Aye, aye.”   As if to mock your arrogance, the waves roughen and The Divinity rocks back and forth with more force as the hour passes. You look over with hands behind your back as thunder crackles in the approaching gray sky, lightning flashing to brighten the dark colours. And you openly challenge it.   No god could beat you. Your biggest enemies are humans with greed which no know bounds and itchy palms that find slimy ways to disrespect the code you’re all bound by. But the supernatural? Gods?    They’re all tales of trickery.   You won’t succumb to the religion of worshiping unseen gods out of unreasonable fear or to confide in when things go astray and pray with false hope. The only thing that has helped you in this lifetime were your own abilities, your own skills, and your potential. When expeditions went awry, you were the one that saved yourself — when treasures were found, you were the one who indulged.   There’s nothing above you or below you, nothing after death that you need to live in restraint for. Your life is the only thing that counts. And you will never cower or bow down to anything else, even when the sea threatens to pull you down with it.   “Batten down the hatches!” your voice bellows above the crackling lightning and rumbling thunder. “Raise the main top yard!” The helm is in your grasp and you steer straight, keeping your eyes on the horizon that is no longer horizontal. Your crewmen run with your commands, doused from head to toe.   “Man the capstan! Steer clear of breaking water!”   The cold rain violently pummels on top of your skull, falling down into sheets to blind your vision. Your crew members are filling buckets of water from the deck and throwing it overboard, but the effort is obviously futile. The ocean is angered, sky booming as if it were screaming, unleashing their wrath. The salt-water smashes onto the side of The Divinity.    “Brace up yards!”   There is total darkness with no end in sight, as if the sea wants something, someone.   The ship rises with the swell and another intense wave comes crashing down. It engulfs you and pulls you away from the helm, your grip on it lost. The surge tries to grab at you, knocking you to the ground. As you struggle to stand, shouting out instructions, your voice is drowned and your mouth fills with saltwater, wheezing after you swallow it. You’re shoved onto the deck floorboards again and The Divinity threatens to flip, tilting on an angle.   You’re knocked to the side of the wall, completely lost control, dangling on the edge.   “Captain!”   And just like that, you’re pulled under.

It is black.    With your eyes peeled back, a muffled scream coming out in the form of tiny bubbles, you try to spin yourself around to see where you are. But the surface is out of reach, too far, and no matter how you flail your arms, kick your legs to swim, it seems as if the ocean is purposely pushing you down to its depths.    You realize the sea was never afraid of you — it was merely indulging in you for the sake of entertainment like dangling a toy in front of a tiny cat. It was playing with you until it got bored, sick of your hubris and pride. But you can’t die like this. You won’t accept it.   A great pirate does not die so easily.   You won’t—!   Your vision is clouded in pitch darkness. Your fight and struggle to the surface dwindle as your limbs seize and your body begins to sink deeper into the black, afloat in the depths of the ocean like a piece of dust with no mind, no purpose, no strength.    The last air bubbles leave your lips….   But as your consciousness fully slips under against your will, you feel palms graze against your cheeks. Your lips graze against something before they’re being parted by a spongy but warm texture. It’s soft and plush, and then air is inhaled into your lungs, reigniting your senses.

When you come to, you aren’t dead.   You’re on your knees.   Rope bounds your arms behind your back and your ankles together, digging into your skin and rendering you immobile. Your limbs are heavy like lead, as if you’re being held down or surrounded by water — struggling would prove futile any other way. But what takes your focus isn’t to fight the compromised position you’re in, it’s the man sitting on the golden throne.   His thighs are spread, but unwelcoming, and the trident grasped in his left hand proves so. But what is most strange is how his jaw, facial features are chiseled to perfection, reminiscent of stone statues that you’ve destroyed many times over. The long strands of his hair are swept back, in the colour of magenta berries that are seldom in your reaches. And the drapes adorn that falls to his knees are distinct with the thin cloak draped over his side that’s blue-black in a shade as deep as the ocean.    Never have you seen such a blinding person in existence before, despite having traveled far and wide.   The man is otherworldly.   “W-who are you?”   The overwhelming scent of the ocean radiates off of him. He smells intensely of the fresh sea breeze, the salted air and foaming bubbles on the surface that you can already taste in your mouth. But as familiar as it is, you don’t let up. Not with the way his thick brows are furrowed when he stares.   “Who am I?” The voice booms, echoing all along the bottom floor of the sea to the very surface where bubbles float. It drops into a menacing tone, a ripple that morphs into waves as he announces his place in the chaotic universe.    “I am the God of the Sea. He who rules all oceans and waters, who commands all creatures beneath the surface of your eye, far and wide. I am seated at the throne with rains and storms at my feet, protector and destroyer all of all seafarers true or hungry. I give to you the vital living force to which you can survive. Kneel and bow to your god!”   You stare, unsure of where you are when the walls are white, when the stone floor digs into your knees as your eyes reflect the gold decor surrounding the room. There are riches untold in this space, jewels and antiquities you can only imagine where they came from. But as you mull over your position, refusing to move, there is a force upon your back that shoves you to the ground.   You wheeze, gasping and water enters your mouth, causing you to cough it out.   There’s water all around you that can be swallowed, but unable to be breathed in. Your eyes open in shock, bulging at the tiny humans with their downcast heads. They are dwarves, ones of which you’ve seen paintings of, but their bottom halves are of octopuses, tentacles for legs. Those creatures refuse to look at you or at the male on the throne.   “I know your name.” Your teeth grit. You don’t know where you are, if this is all a nightmare or if you’ve been sent to damnation, but you grasp onto the only thing you’ve ever had — pride.    You’ve heard stories and tales of his bravery since young, from sailors and fishermen who sung his name in relief and cried it out as their last lifeline. While you never believed it, you might start changing your mind. “Jungkook.”   The half-humans and half-octopus holding you down with the bottom of his spear sharply inhales. “How dare you call your god by name, mortal.”   Jungkook waves the guard away, and you use your remaining strength to pull your torso up from the floor. Your eyes are narrowed in to stare at him. You won’t be scared when you have nothing to fear. There’s no reason to be afraid of a great god who cannot even save his own people. “If you know my name then you know who I am.”   “You must know mine too.”   His brow cocks, head tipping to the side. “Even in the face of your god—”   “—I have no god.”   The servants, only three feet tall, flinch. He bellows deeper, louder, ignoring your blatant disrespect. “—you are still, but a dirty human with a foolish arrogance. A hamartia that will kill you quicker than you can cry. Should’ve never soiled my mouth on you,” he spits and you frown, not knowing what he means. “But allowing you to drown would’ve been too easy of a punishment.”   “Punishment?” you scoff, challenging him openly, “And why am I deserving of punishment?”   “Your hubris is deserving of damnation in the underworld for eternity. To claim that you are the god of sea, of the ocean bowing to you, that you are equal to a god is an absurdity I have not faced for millennials. Your blatant disrespect and contempt is neither courageous nor gallant. It is foolish,” he curses.   “I only speak truths. And you are no god to me,” you bite back, refusing to allow him to speak down to you on his high horse. “I don’t put my faith in gods I do not see, in gods that don’t help in times of need, of gods that do not answer prayer.”   “I am seated before you and you….dare to reject me?”   “You take me because of my hubris and punish me so, but where were you when sailors were dying at sea? Where were you when the fishermen cried out to help? The men who were lost on passages to their families? I will never bow down out of my own will to a god who is more concerned about arrogance than saving his people.”   Jungkook’s jaw clenches, but after a second, he relaxes into a smirk. “You dare question my will and principals when all you have done is stolen? You have earned nothing that you have.”   “I steal and pillage to survive. Some of us don’t have the choice of sitting on thrones with a bunch of servants at our feet. Do not try to divert the blame to me.”   “Enough.” His voice draws deep from the pit of his stomach, walls seeming to rumble. “I will not sit here and argue with a mere mortal. I would rip that mouth off your face and take your voice if not for the fact that it’s the only amusing thing about you.” He smirks again, a rush of air leaving his nostrils in a snort. “Instead, I have chosen your rightful punishment. Your legs will be the price of your arrogance and pride.”   “My legs?”   “I command you to never walk upon the lands of treasure to satisfy your thirst of greed nor set sail amongst the sea to claim you are a god again. If the ocean is which you treasure, then you will live in it for the rest of eternity,” he bestows to you, a curse, a penalty for your sins. Jungkook sits at the top of his throne, but you never stop staring him down, unrelenting with your jaw clenched. “Your legs for a tail. Half-human, half-fish.”   “Half-fish?!” you shout in exasperation, struggling to get to your feet. The servants gasp at your blasphemy, of daring to interrupt and scream. The guards threaten to push you down, but you’re still agile and quick, slipping out of their grasps. You stumble against your binds, managing to get halfway up the steps to his throne, closer, and you catch the way he flinches.   “How fucking dare you? You are no god to me. You are a coward who is scared of others standing up and taking your place. You—!”   A shriek tears from your throat. You flop to the ground. Your legs burn, immobile, limp and heavy. Jungkook stares at you and the corner of his mouth curls. “Careful. The monsters and beasts of the sea love to eat humans.”

You don’t know how long it’s been.   You can breathe as much as you’d like, the water like air. Your skin is no longer bothered by the temperatures of the waters or when it freezes during the night. Your hair doesn’t become soaked like seaweed and heavy on your scalp when it flows freely.    It’s become easier to swim, fluid as if you are a part of the waves. And it’s as if you were born with a fish tail instead of legs, that your bottom half has always been filled with colourful scales. Pink and blue, glistening in the lights and shining like jewels you’ve once stolen. It flickers behind you like a good friend, slimy and coarse at some part, smooth at others.   It feels like you’ve always been like this.   But you know exactly how long it’s been.   You’ve been counting, tracking the stars and seeing how they align. What feels like an eternity has been but a single day. One sunrise. One sunfall.   Within the second hour of your transformation, you found The Divinity. It’s set back in its course after a small delay. But there was no way you can contact your crewmen now. They would never believe you.   You know better than that after being a pirate for so long. They’d think you’re a mythical creature trying to lure them into a trap to capture them.   So you’re left with watching from afar. Once they make it to shore, they’ll wait for you for three days — as stated in pirate code for members gone missing — and then they’ll go on without you.   You stay away from the surface after watching your ship leave, aware that other fishermen and sailors would jump at the chance to spear you and show your corpse off at circuses. Thus, with no other direction to swim to, you head to the depths of the ocean.   “You’re a….cecaelia?”   “Yes, half-human, half-octopus.” The young female bows her head reverently in greeting, tentacles holder her in place. “We are under the domain of the Gracious Jungkook, blessed is he who is brave and courageous and protects us all.”   You hold back from rolling your eyes.   But it was amazing how there were towns and civilizations under the water like this, life forces you’ve never known, practically a kingdom beneath your nose.    As you gaze around, you disregard the stares from the creatures — they’ve never seen anything quite like you before. Half-fishes like you aren’t so frequent, you’d like to assume.   “You are…?” she asks politely.   “I am Y/N,” you state honestly. She was kind enough to stop when you blocked her way. Not many wanted to speak to you. Each seemed to lower their heads and go on about their day quietly. “I don’t know what I am.”   “Oh.” The female cecaelia quirks her head to the side as a fish squirms by. “Are you lost? Do you need assistance?”   “No, well, yes. I’m looking for Jungkook,” you say plainly. “I was cursed by that scoundrel and fucking turned into this. So where is he?”   “The Great Jungkook?” she whispers in shock but doesn’t question it. If anything, she is more scandalized by your blatant disrespect and tries to divert the subject. “You must be a mortal...a maid, perhaps? Then that makes you a maid of the sea, a mermayde. I-I’ve never met a mortal before. It’s nice pleasant waters today, isn’t it?”   “Mermaid?” You’ve never heard of such a thing before, but you quickly shake your head, not entertaining the idea. You won’t allow her to evade the subject. “Where is he.”   “Y-You cannot search for our Great Jungkook. He only comes to you through prayer and sacrifice.” She bows her head and tries to swim away but you block her.   “Bullshit. Where does that bilge rat live?”   You’re not going down without a fight, demanding that she tell you. And once cornered, the creature’s trembling bottom lip is bitten into by her teeth.   You’re going to spear that bad-tempered rat with a pole when you can get your hands on him.

Jungkook walks along the carpeted corridor, glancing out the windows to where bubbles are slowly floating and making their way to the surface.   He hums a low note. “That human….have you heard any news about her?”   “The half-fish?” His servant, Sungdeuk, squeaks and yelps when Jungkook graces him with a glance. He bows his head even more. “L-Last I heard, there was news on the south shore that she traveled to the surface.”   “Hm.”    The Water God wonders passingly if you’re stupid enough to get noticed by sailors or fishermen. It would be a death sentence.   “Would you like to meet her?”   “No.” He continues walking again and the servants behind him tottle quicker after his shadow.   Jungkook couldn’t care less about your existence at this point. He’s asserted dominance by punishing you. But he’ll admit…..you’re terribly entertaining. 

His place is fucking massive. It’s unnecessary and excessive, but you wonder if that’s just your jealousy speaking. You’re rather self-aware.   You also know that given the chance, you’ll swipe and pillage the entirety of his home. You’d throw it onto any human boat just to get his precious antiquities onto land and out of his damn reach. But that might not even be enough to satisfy the anger you have boiling beneath your skin.   You want to see him — and kill him.   “Let me into the palace.”   The half-human, half-octopus guards ignore your presence completely.    “Let me in, scoundrels! Do you know who I am?! I demand an audience with your god!”   They allow themselves to be pushed and shoved and shaken, but never do they once inch away from their posts, still always blocking the entrance way.   There’s no other way in that you can see. You can’t swim up or down or crash into the stone walls. There’s little you can do but scream.   It’s fine by you. You still have at least forty years left to live. You’ll spend all those decades out here if need be. Your anger is enough to last that long and beyond.   “He’s a scalawag! I bet his mother was a wrench! Probably died in grief giving birth to a boy like him! A god?! Pft! More like a bilge rat!”   Your insults garner no reaction but glares.    Little do you know the impact inside the palace.   “Gods, what is that ruckus?!” Jungkook stands up from his throne chair, thumping the bottom of his trident as he demands an answer from his servants.   “Y-Your majesty,” Sungdeuk pipes up in a pathetic cry. “I-It’s the mortal you cursed.”   His expression falls. His lips pull in a straight line, eyes dimming. He is unimpressed and sighs, sitting back down and waving exhaustingly to his attendant.   “Continue reading the report.”   It takes three full days.   Three days of eating seaweed, of screaming and yelling and throwing insults, of throwing a massive tantrum and garnering the stares of servants and guards alike, in front of the entrance of his magnificent palace.   And unbeknownst to you, Jungkook can’t get rest whatsoever. He cannot lay down or even sit with a moment of peace. Not when you’re out there blatantly disrespecting him and soiling his home with your yells of letting you in and declares that he’s a rat or scoundrel — he’s unsure what the last one even means.   It gets to the point where his servants are on their tip-toes, afraid of his mood swings.    And Jungkook breaks.   “Get her in here!” He suddenly screams during a morning feast.   And when one guard comes rushing out, saying to the other that the god will entertain you, you are absolutely delighted.   This time, you’re able to swim through his palace, water surrounding you, but weightless and breathable. You’re no longer using your feet, but at least you’re not tied up in ropes like a sick present.   You hover over the lapis lazuli tiles, marveling at the magnificent decor and columns spiraling upwards infinitely. The servants stare, though you pay no mind, looking on with a sort of observation that holds less fear and more of an interest in what's possible to steal. But before you can even swipe something for later, you’re led into the familiar throne room and come face to face with the god you scorn and who’s cursed you for eternity.    There’s a nymph perched on his lap, a creature you recognize from mystical tales told in the moonlight. She is mystical, gorgeous with flowers decorating her hair and a sheet for a dress loosely draped over her frail frame. But she stares at you with a certain disdain, eyes narrowed in like a feline prepared to pounce.   “You can go, Jieun.”   Jungkook dismisses her and she sneers at you, turning her nose before hopping off his lap and strutting off with a servant stumbling behind her. You’re not amused in the least bit.   The god is lazy, exhausted as he slumps and diverts his attention to his fingernails like you are not even worthy of him looking at. “What is that you want this time?”   “My legs,” you demand, much to the mortification of his reverent servants. Your hands are digging into where your hips should be, but instead where slimy scales begin. “Now. Give it back to me.”   He scoffs with a grin and finally looks at you, arrogant in his gaze. “Absolutely not. You obviously have not learnt anything or suffered enough to speak to me in such a disrespectful tone. But, I’ll make an exception since you’re such a pretty, little thing. If you beg hard enough and bow down before your god, I’ll let you stay at my palace.”   Your brow twitches. It’s enough to set you off.   “Fuck you, you bilege rat, ya honourless scum.” There’s a sea of gasps, guards lurching forward to drag you out, but you continue to cuss him out with the temper of a pirate captain, “Come here ‘n fight me like a real man! Aren’t you supposed to be a god?! How dare you sit atop your throne and speak to me that way! You know what you are?! A hogshead barnacle! Rotten to the core—!”   The guards throw you out and you scream echoes throughout the room.   The doors shut with a deafening bang.   Jungkook sighs and resorts to rubbing at his temples with his fingers to lessen the onset of the headache. “Your majesty,” Sungdeuk pipes up by his side and when he turns to look, they all duck their heads. “W-why won’t you silence her? Her rudeness is quite….hard on the ears.”   “Let me teach you something…” The Water God stands and walks away as the parade of servants and guards begin to follow. “You don't kill your jesters unless you want to die of boredom.”

How dare he.   That damned scabby sea bass son of a sea witch.   In retrospect, you probably should’ve contained your anger. After days and nights of demanding to see him, you blew it and got thrown out without even a full minute of contact. But it’s outrageous and there’s no holding back your anger. More importantly, you’re in full disbelief that no one’s ever stood up to him — they’ve all backed down, looked on in fear and it’s ridiculous.   “—water’s quite nice today, isn’t it?”   “Indeed. I—”   “Did you hear?” You interrupt the cecaelias’ conversation, swimming up to their side with a wide eyed expression. “Jungkook’s fallen in love with a human.”   “A mortal?!” They whip their heads over, mouths drawing open to catch the small fishes swimming by, eyeballs nearly floating away from their sockets.    “Our Water God, the Great and Gracious Jungkook?!” The female half-octopus gasps and shakes her head, scandalized to no end. “Never.”   You try to hide the smirk tickling up on your lips. “Not as great as you think he is, huh?”   But the left one frowns and bows her head in spite of the rumour. “Even so, we shall not speak ill of our god. He knows what is best and protects us from all evil.”   Upon hearing it, the right one follows suit, also lowering her head. You roll your eyes blatantly in disdain, though with a little admiration with how loyal his subjects are. “Oh, there’s no reason to be afraid of him. He doesn’t hold as much power as everyone thinks he does. He’s just like us.”   They exchange expressions with one another.   It’s working.   You’ll get back at him one way or another. You can destory his kingdom from the inside out, illegitimize the fucking throne that he sits on. You know more tricks than just brute strength — you’re one of the greatest pirates the world’s ever seen after all.   “Did you know? The Water God isn’t as tall as he makes himself out to be. His throne sits high up but he’s really just five foot two. A tiny twerp, that fellow.” — “He’s very bad at counting. Has to rely on his servants to keep track of his belongings. Not as smart as he comes across.” — “He’s a skirt chaser. All day long he’s got different nymphs sitting on top of his lap. He’s a rather….lustful god.”   There are snickers and whispers, murmurs of his name that are spoken softly. And you continue to taint his title with every opportunity that presents itself.   “He’s fearful of seaweed.”   “Seaweed?” A smile threatens to tug on the creature’s mouth, a laugh held back. You hum while nonchalantly grabbing the clam drink that’s passed on the counter. It’s rather salty for your liking. But the atmosphere of the underwater tavern isn’t half bad and the creatures occupying the space are open ears desperate for secrets.   “It’s too slimy for his liking.”   The rumours spread far and wide. The sound of your voice echoes through others, rippling amongst the sea and tumbling into waves. You can see it, hear it when you swim through the underwater caverns — they’ve become less afraid to murmur the name of their god, excited even to have a change from the peaceful kingdom that brought boredom with its silence.   It’s perfect. If you’re forced to stay stuck here, you’ll make sure to find a way to rise above the tide, to maybe even claim his place. There’s no one to stop you.

There’s muttering in the palace, behind him, by his side, all around. They’re whispers that he can’t pick up on, not when they’re transpiring across the corridor and when the servants see him, they duck their heads and shut their mouths tightly. One thing is for certain…   They’re speaking about him.   “Sungduek.”   “Y-Yes, your majesty?”   “What are they saying about me?”   “I-I...uh...um...well...your majesty….n-nothing...of-of..of importance, I-I...c-can...ass...assure...you that.”   “Sungduek!” Jungkook shouts and spins around, stopping in his spot, his robes fluttering. The servant nearly begins sobbing with how harshly he’s called. “I asked you a question. I expect a proper answer. What are they saying about me.”   “Well…” He swallows hard, ducking his head low enough that his neck almost snaps off. “There’s been false rumours going around lately….”   “Rumours?” His thick brows furrow and his confusion is replaced with intrigue. The Water God knows only good things are spoken about him — perhaps this time it’s about how he’s brought more prosperity to the nation or maybe it’s about how there’s been less disturbance to the sea lately. Whatever the case may be, he wants to know, wants to satisfy his ego. “What kind of rumours?”   “Ummm….”   “Sungdeuk…..” Jungkook sighs. “I am getting quite tired of your mumbling and stuttering. You know how I feel about it, right?”   “Yes, sire.”   “Would you like to get blasted with thunder?”   “N-no, sire.”   “Then get on with it! Tell me!”   The half-octopus, half-human glances at his fellow servants beside him, but no one spares a glimpse of sympathy or of willing assistance. “T-that you’re short, your majesty.”   There’s a long silence.   The Water God doubts he heard properly.   “Excuse me?”   Sungdeuk rushes to save face. “O-of course, it’s all untrue! All of it! Even the fact that you’re scared of seaweed and pufferfish, that you’re allergic to flowers, that you’re afraid of seafarers setting sail across the ocean, that you’re in love with a mortal—”   His timbre booms across the land. “What?!”   “I promise you, anyone who speaks ill of these rumours again will be brought outside of the palace and suffer the appropriate punishment.”   “Oh, gods.” Jungkook turns around, headache worsening. He rubs at his temples, not wanting to start.   He doesn’t know where these speculations and scandals came from. It’s sudden.   But Jungkook also knows what else was a sudden change to this land — you.

It’s fun in the ocean.   At first, you were reluctant to come to terms with it. It’s not your home, not the place you wanted to be in. You rather set sail on the surface, chase after buried treasure and relish in the rewards of solving mysteries, make a name for yourself that people can bow to. But you’ve come to realize that there were plenty of secrets and gold in the depths of the sea too, places you’d never see if you still had your two legs.   There’s also a new sense of enjoyment of talking trash about that treacherous, boot-licker, sea-dog, Jungkook. No matter what you say about him, you haven’t gotten smote yet. And what’s he to do with you if he knew. You’re not afraid of death. And so, you swim far and wide with your tail, ruining his reputation while surrounded by the sea you love.   It’s not too bad.   “I don’t get why everyone’s so scared of ‘im.” Your tongue rolls casually, poor enunciation that doesn’t care for being proper. You’re rested against a rock, arm propped up on it with your chin in your hand as the scales of your tail shimmer with the light cascading down from above.   The young cecaelia hums, blonde hair clipped back with shells. “I wouldn’t say we’re scared of him! It’s called respect! At least that’s what daddy tells me.”   “Respect isn’t being afraid of talking. Respect isn’t being so reverent that you’re shaking in fear. I know what respect is, girl. Don’t try to fool me,” you counter with a bite to your words.   The child doesn’t understand half of what you say, but she continues anyways, tentacles flipping and playing with the kelp floating around, “But Mommy said that Water God’s done a lot for us! The least we can do is respect and pray to him. He protects us!”   “Darling, you protect yourself. Your parents protect you. The people you care about protect you. When has Jungkook ever protected you?”   “Well…” The female quirks her head to the side. “He….helps by putting food on the table.”   Your brow lifts. “Does he actually put food on the table for you? Have you seen him do it?”   “No.” Her voice weakens and she pouts. “But without him, we wouldn’t have food in the first place!”   “You would,” you tell while leaning closer, like a siren with a song that’s mystical and captivating. Her eyes are wide as she listens to you. All that you’re saying is new and she will sing your melody for others to hear as well. “See, the world works naturally with or without gods. There’s a balance. Without Jungkook, there would be food too. Your parents would catch it, they would cook it, and they’d put it on the table. It’s them, not your Water God.”   “But what about when bad things happen?” she whines, trying to understand. “Aren’t we supposed to pray and make sacrifices so things are better again?”   “When bad things happen, there’s nothing you can do to control it. It just happens. We try our best to overcome it ourselves, to become stronger ourselves. There’s no need for gods. You don’t need it. You can live perfectly fine without them. All you need is you and the people you care about.”   “Huh.” The child cecaelia slowly nods. “I never thought about it that way.”   What started off as petty revenge and a personal vendetta is quickly forming into something that tests your leadership skills. But you can feel it deep in your bones and you can see the way they look at you — less like you’re a foreign creature in their ocean, more like the door to a new world.   A revolution. A rebellion.   It’s your new goal.   “Has he ever helped you in times of need?” — “What has he ever done for you?” — “If he was so gracious, why doesn’t he stop death from happening? Why is there suffering in the first place?”   “Your ideas are dangerous, fish,” An older cecaelia interrupts your conversation as he lifts his glass of what you assume to be the underwater version of rum. If it weren’t so unbearably salty, you’d have a drink too.   “Aren’t you tired of being helpless?”   “We’ve been living fine for the past decades. Speaking ill of gods brings nothing but chaos and disaster.”   “We should be able to speak freely instead of being afraid of chaos and disaster,” you argue. “And sure, life here is fine. But fine? Fine. Is that all you want? Don’t you want to achieve greatness?”   “I do not want greed.” The creatures inside the tavern watch closely, heads flopping back and forth between both sides. The bartender’s hands move slow in cleaning the glass and even the souls hidden in the corners are oddly quiet. “I know when I have enough. I do not desire better or worse.”   “You do not desire better for your children? For the future?”   “My children will understand that this is best.”   You scoff loudly. “This ain't best. The person keeping you from best is sitting atop that throne of ‘is. Making all the decisions and benefiting from them the most. But who pulls the weight? Who’s all working while he’s sitting there enjoying it all? You.”   “Aren’t you worried that your courage is foolish, girl?”   “No.” You take your stand, voice loud and clear. “I’d rather die for my own dignity and honour than live being stepped on and being forced into silence. My voice is important. I want to be heard. I’m living here now, and I should be able to say what I want, have what I want and control what I need.”   There are nods, murmurs that agree. The older man smiles gently with a kind of condescending wisdom that isn’t appreciated. “And you think denying your god will bring you the freedom you seek?”   “I will fight need be. There is no god when there are no people to rule over.”   There’s shouting, the crowd roused up. Power tingles the tips of your fingers. You’re stronger than you’ve ever been before.

He can feel it.   Jungkook looks out the rounded window to his capital, the city that stands tall amidst the water. But while pride usually runs through his veins, this time he’s unable to relish in such emotion. Not when the waters are moving faster and the sea is unresting.   The walls continue to talk, servants that murmur as he strides past, whispers that seem to carry from the outside in. But this time, he pays mind to it. He notices. And he especially notices how it’s silent inside his head, how prayers are seldom echoing, less than what they used to be. The peace is unsettling. His people haven’t become less selfish in their begging and pleas. His people aren’t muttering about his great achievements.   He knows what’s going on. Jungkook isn’t a blind god.   “Sungdeuk.”   “Y-yes, your majesty?”   He shuts his eyes, jaw tight. He traces the noises back to a human that’s easy on the eyes and who’s fishtail glistens in the sunlight. But whose sharp tongue and jarring words seem to mar the unpolished beauty that the God of Spring would be jealous of. You — the most bottom layer of these seductive and infectious rumours. Your voice that is almost soundless, but still present.   “Get that human.”   “Certainly, sire.” The three feet servant dashes off, tentacles sweeping the waters until he disappears down the corridor.   And soon, Jungkook comes face to face with you who still dares to challenge him with an arrogant expression and your nose raised high in the air, never once cowering in his presence. His headache pounds inside his skull as he regards you, but his face remains impassive not to give away his fascination and amusement.    How could it be possible that someone like you, a mere mortal turned half-fish, can cause so much damn trouble in his kingdom. He couldn’t have ever fathom it. It’s intriguing.   “I know what you’ve been up to.” He lifelessly waves his hand, dismissing the guards and servants from the throne room. It’s just you and him, but you don’t seem the least bit intimidated.   “And what have I been up to, your majesty.” There’s a bite to your words, spoken straight from spite.   He gets up from his golden chair, arms behind his back as he walks slowly down the stairs to meet you at the bottom. He paces around, circling you as if you were prey, allowing the silence to increase the tension. Jungkook wonders what it takes to truly scare you.   “Trying to cause unrest in my kingdom. Lead my people foolishly astray and against me. You’re really something, aren’t you?”   “They’re not being led foolishly astray. They follow me by choice. They have their own will.”   “Your ignorance isn’t admirable. You bring forth chaos and destruction to my kingdom.” He fights back, stopping to face you and stepping forward. But you don’t back down, don’t back away, unwavering even when your bodies are pressed against one another’s. “I ought to just spear you and put you in my museum, you troublemaker.”   Your chin lifts, eyes narrowed into slits, lips a millimeter away as you taunt him. “Go ahead. I’ll become a symbol, a sacrifice, a martyr.”   “You view yourself highly, don’t you?” Jungkook scoffs lightly and steps back. “I’ve said it before but killing you would be a waste. You obviously haven’t been punished hard enough. No matter. I have other solutions.”   “What are you going to do?” you ask, not out of fear and more of morbid curiosity.   The Great Jungkook turns, so that you’re only able to see the profile of his face and the smirk that pulls on his mouth. “I have no choice but to keep you right by my side and keep a close watch on you.”

Maybe they were right — Jungkook, that bilge swine rat, isn’t a force to be reckoned with. Turning your legs into a tail was something. But being made to stay with him was the real punishment.    That ill-tempered bootlicker knows how to get under your skin.   “You-your majesty!” Sungdeuk throws the door open without warning, stumbling in on his tentacles like a mindless octopus.    “What?”   The Water God sighs at the rudeness, arm perched on his arm rest as Jieun rests on his lap. She twiddles with the thread gone loose at the hem of his cape collected at his shoulders. The nymph cozies up to him, but he pays no mind.    He’s bored.    Until he realizes that it’s you who’s imprudently entering into his throne room right after.   “When are we eating? I’m hungry.”   The corner of his mouth pulls. You’re dressed in servant clothing, simple blue robes deep in hue and that billow down. It’s simple attire meant to show the division of classes of the divine and commoners, but somehow there’s an unrefined beauty to it when it’s on you.    But where your two feet should be, it’s your fishtail peeks out, flickering to keep yourself a few centimeters above the floor, a reminder of the punishment he’s given you.    “Who says you get to eat?”   “Are you going to let your prisoner die?”   He laughs, the sound oddly melodic to your ears and not at all imposing. “You’re right. What kind of god would I be if wasn’t merciful and let the poor starve.”   “How gracious of you.” Your eyes roll to the back of your skull.   The respected Water God is about to rise from his seat before he realizes there’s still a nymph on his lap. His expression glazes over at once and he motions to her languidly. “You can leave now.”   You don’t fail to notice the way the nymph glares at you in spite. She lets out a ‘hmph’ before marching off but you’re not amused. “Hurry up before I cook one of your servants.”   Sungdeuk audibly squeaks.   Jungkook’s never dined with someone of lower status before, but you set yourself right across from him without asking and you begin eating without a moment’s notice, not even to spare a glance at him once. You consume the food ravenously, not caring if it’s poisoned or there’s a bound curse that’ll make you stay stuck in his kingdom forever. You’ve heard tales of such things before — but you’re sure it’s Jungkook who should be afraid that you’ll be present for eternity, and not the other way around.    Jungkook watches you eat and holds back a smile of amusement. “Is the food any good?”    You make a disgruntled noise and speak with your mouthful. “It may be the only thin’ good about this place.”   He gives a sound of a half-scoff and half-laugh. You’ve never witnessed the Water God in such a relaxed mood before, but perhaps this is the first time that you’ve even held a proper conversation with him that wasn’t filled with animosity on both sides. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. But please, don’t talk with your mouth full.”   You look up with a brow cocked, ripping into a chicken leg with your teeth on purpose and opening your mouth again. “Bite me.”   Jungkook gives a disgusted expression. He drops his silver spoon, appetite lost.   He watches you smear your dirty hands on your robes. “Use a napkin for gods’ sake, you uncultured barbarian.”   You glare, forgoing your utensil and just to mock him, you dip your entire hand into his cooled chowder, cocking your head to one side as you feed yourself with your palm. His jaw clenches.   “You’re imprudent to an impressive degree. Your ignorance will kill you someday, mortal.”   “Hasn’t killed me yet,” you say sharply, unintentionally spitting at his cheek. At once, Jungkook freezes and then he wipes it off with his sleeve. He holds in the urge to smite you with lightning or take away your underwater breathing abilities to watch you drown. “Wha’ do ye want me to do now that I’m your captive?”   “First off, fix that poor language skills of yours. It’s uncivilized.”   “Fine,” you enunciate sharply once more, spitting at him again. Jungkook physically flinches this time and a muscle in his face twitches. “What. are. you. going. to. do. to. me.”   He wipes at where you spat at him and sits back, not touching his food at all. “Nothing. But I’m starting to think you should have a teacher to teach you some proper manners since you obviously didn’t learn any above the surface.”   “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”    You swipe two chicken legs off of his golden platter, one in each hand to eat. The tip of your fishtail flicks at his knees underneath the table. Your articulation is now proper but still foreign, and it causes you to spit accidentally at his face for the third time.   Jungkook takes a deep inhale to regain composure.   “You are not to leave the palace without my permission. My guards are already aware, so don’t try any tricks. But you’re free to roam as you please within limits. There are the gardens and the library. Maybe you can educate yourself in the meantime.”   “That’s it?”   “That’s it.” He smirks, clasping his hands together with his elbows on the table. “You’re stuck with me for eternity. Maybe you can learn to view me as your god someday.”   You scoff, almost vomiting at how disgusting the future prospect is. But while you’d love to soil his dinner table with puke, you can’t show your weaknesses to the enemy, so you challenge him instead, “Fine. We’ll see how long you can bear it for.”   //   Jungkook strides down the hall, his robes swishing slowly as he moves. They’re silk fabrics that are pitch black at the shoulders before bleeding like watercolours into an ocean blue, fading into a sea foam white at the bottom where it pools. He appears majestic, but certainly doesn’t feel so.   “The Goddess of the Sky has yet to respond to—”   He stops. He looks down. He lifts his foot. “Why is there mud here?”   His beautiful garments are now stained with brown. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume Victoria, Goddess of Agriculture, has a vendetta against him and sent cow manure in his path.   “O-oh, uh…” Sungdeuk dips his head, pausing from reading the report. The other servants notice and immediately rush over with a bucket and mop. “Lady Y/N brought it in from the gardens.”   Jungkook sighs.   //   His bleary eyes travel across the script, reading it over before finishing and handing the roll over to Sungdeuk. With a second of rest at hand, he muses how gods should relish in luxury, not slave away like peasants. But alas, being a ruler of people and being worshiped does not come easy.   His neck is sore. His legs are asleep. His head aches.   He wishes he could rest, but goes for the second best option he has.   Jungkook roars, “Can someone get me sea biscuits?”   The three feet tall maid comes tumbling from the side. “Y-your majesty, we don’t have any more sea biscuits.”   The Water God’s pupils flicker upwards. “Excuse me?”   “L-Lady Y/N’s eaten them all.” Her voice is small, barely heard in her squeal. “She’s taken quite a liking to them….”   It seems to be that you’ve made yourself right at home in his palace….   Jungkook sighs.    //   The doors open to his private quarters. While sleeping isn’t necessary for deities and may even be regarded as a weakness, in secret he desires the indulgence of a few hours of peace and quiet as he’s sure many other gods do as well….   But before he can step inside and retire, he notices his golden chalice on his vanity missing and the vase in the corner pushed to the wrong spot.    “Who was in my room without permission?!” Jungkook barks, loud enough for the ground to rumble.   The guard standing with his downcast head shivers. “Lady Y/N was in here earlier, your m-majesty. We tried to stop her, but, but, but she said you allowed her…”   Jungkook sighs. Long enough for his lungs to squeeze and hurt.   //   There hasn’t been a single day of serenity in the ocean since your arrival into his home.   When he sees you, there’s always a mouth full of things you have to spit at him, nagging and insulting, always undermining his power and authority to make him look bad in front of his own people. The only reason he hasn’t stolen your vocal cords is due to the fact that he has to admit it’s a little amusing. He’s never bored when you’re being noisy and defiant.   And it’s definitely more unsettling when it’s finally quiet.   Jungkook puts down the scroll.   It hits him and he doesn’t show it, but he’s even fearful.    “Sungdeuk…”   “Yes, sire?”   “Where…..is the mortal?”   “L-Lady Y/N is in the East Pavilion.”   The Water God’s thick brows furrow deep. “East Pavillion…?” The place where his harem of nymphs reside in preparation for his beckon and call, the ones that he doesn’t bother seeing these days. Nonetheless, what reason could you have to possibly be there?   Jungkook finds himself standing up, nearly falling over with how fast he does so.   He strides off and then stops mid-step, spinning around to his attendant. “Since when did she become a lady?”   “W-well, if she isn’t a lady, your majesty, then what is she?” Sungdeuk asks in genuine curiosity, blinking twice.   Jungkook sighs yet again.   …   You’re a prisoner of the palace, a captive that’s free to do whatever you please, and so you do what you do best — be yourself and wreck absolute havoc.   “What are you doing here?”   “What’s wrong with me being here?”    The nymphs gasp as you flop down onto one of their straw beds. They’re huddled in the corner like you’re a frightening creature, ironic considering they’re the ones odd to you. But rather than being frightened, you admit their beauty would easily seduce sailors and fishermen, perhaps even your crew members. Their skin seems to glow, hair made of flowers, captivating by nature. Though you figure they don’t have that high of a status since they’re essentially Jungkook’s concubines.    “It’s a disgrace!” Their leader shrieks, a particularly magnifying divine spirit that you recognize, having been perched on Jungkook’s thigh. “You can’t go wherever you please!”   “Jungkook let me.” Your head lolls to the side.   “How dare you call his majesty so rudely without any titles,” Jieun spazzes, “Y-You are undeserving of his attention, mortal.”   Your eyes roll to the back of your skull. “Believe me, I don’t desire his attention.”   “W-wha—”   “Tell me something.” You rise to your feet to pace around her, exactly like how her god had once done to you. “Your name is Jieun, am I wrong? Did you ever choose to come here, Jieun?”   The nymph is caught off guard as she stares at you. “I—..uh..it’s an honour to serve the Gracious Water God. I was lucky to be chosen.”   “But you didn’t choose to come here and serve Jungkook, right? You, yourself, didn’t choose to be here?”   “I am happy to be here. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” She continues to hold her head up high and the other nymphs are easily swayed with her, becoming more self-assured.   You smirk with an understanding nod. “Do you ever wonder what’s above the surface?”   “Above the surface?” one of them pipes up, curiously asking despite the sharp look Jieun passes her.   You answer her question happily, recalling it as if they were old days out of reach. “I used to live above the surface as a mortal. I set sail across the ocean, and saw treasures and lands unknown. I had choices. Above the surface, you don’t have to be afraid of anyone. You can decide what kind of life you want for yourself. You can choose where to go, what to do, who to love.” You look back upon them with a softer smile. “You get to live one life. Why would you spend it chasing after the sea God’s tail?”   The nymph frowns. “It’s an honour.”   “But is it what you want?”   There’s a ripple, murmurs that break through them. Jieun becomes disgruntled, but speechless at your dreamy description and the promise of possibilities that doesn’t seem so frightening.   “To serve Jungkook is exactly what I want,” she mumbles, mustering composure.   “But does he even love and appreciate you?” Your hand grazes against her shoulder, touch tender and gentle as you gaze into her eyes. “You’re worth so much more than this, than serving a god who never looks at you twice, who barely remembers your name, who just wants you because you’re here. Men are undeserving of beautiful creatures like you. You deserve so much more.”   “If I wasn’t here, where else would I be?”   Your smile has never been warmer and it doesn’t crack under the concentration of your forced persuasion that comes too naturally. “There are countless places to be. Underneath the ocean, above the surface on land. There’s so many things to do and see. You don’t have to be afraid.”   She turns away from you, hands clasped together. “Leaving isn’t easy.”   “It is now that I’m here,” you whisper. “I can help you….”   The nymphs exchange expressions. Jieun is lost. Her lips part. “I—”   “Y/N!”   There’s a roar of your name in a way you’ve never heard before. It reverberates across the land to the deepest caverns, stirring to the bottom of the sea floor. The enunciation imprints into your mind, drawing your attention and focus.   You turn around to find him striding in, dark blue robes swishing against the water, raspberry hair strands sprawled across his forehead. His palm opens and wraps around your wrist, pulling you towards his chest. You almost lose your steady footing and stumbling into him. Almost.   “What are you doing?”   “Nothing,” you say coyly.    Jungkook doesn’t bat an eyelash. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”   “Your majesty.” Everyone scrambles and bows, lowering themselves onto one knee except for you. You remain, intrigued at how deeply the Water God stares at you.   “Go to your room,” he barks out. And as irritated as you would be from his command, his disorientation only means that you’ve successfully gotten under his skin.    It’s an overwhelming victory on your end.   “You can’t stop the will of the people,” you tell with a smirk, tugging free of his grasps and leaving.   Jungkook sighs.    In the meanwhile, Jieun lifts her head, her pupils following your shadow without a shred of jealousy. Instead, it’s newfound admiration.   //   No matter where you are, the earth quakes beneath you. Jungkook’s beginning to question who’s the one with the real power and influence here — if he’s even deserving of his title and throne anymore. He’ll never tell you or anyone living that he’s re-examining his capabilities, but he’s certainly contemplating it with his harem shaken and Jieun bowed in front of him.   He doesn’t listen to her careful explanation of what she’s been thinking as of recently. He merely waves his hand.    “I won’t stop you. It’s not my wish to force those into positions that they do not desire to be in.”   “Thank you, your majesty, for your graciousness and kindness. It is a favour I will make sure future generations will know of and my children’s children will know of this tale. It was an honour to serve by your side and be put in this palace in the first place. I will never forget your mercy and benevolence.”   He nods several times, holding in yet another sigh. “I’m glad that someone knows how to show gratitude. You may be dismissed from your service.”   They follow her, one after another, the nymphs pack their bags. They leave the empire in search for a new life, causing the East Pavilion to be empty. Jungkook’s entertainment gone. All because of you.   He’s not as angry as he should be. After all, you’re his best source of entertainment.   “Are you proud of yourself?”   He joins your side, looking out the rounded windows to the garden of his water hyacinths and lotuses that are blooming in season. “I am.”   “You don’t care about the will of the people. You don’t care about freedom and justice or even integrity. You just want to bring chaos to my kingdom and make everyone defy me.”   “That’s right.” You laugh, turning to him and even bumping into him playfully as you would do to a crewmember after finding secret treasure. “And you’re surprised that it’s actually working.”   The Water God exhales shallowly, at a loss of what to do with you. “My people are innocent and easily swayed. They don’t know a criminal when they see one.”   “I’m not the one holding the other person as a prisoner.” You scoff lightly. “It’s not my fault that I’m naturally talented to be a ruler. People follow me wherever I go.”   “Tch, your arrogance. You never learn, do you?”   “You just don’t want to see the truth that I mesmerize people. I got a love letter from Jieun, did you know that? Before she left.”   Jungkook stares. “And will you accept her feelings?”   Your shoulder shrugs, not paying mind when your eyes are set at the golden painting in the corridor hall that’s held shape underwater. You ponder how much it’s worth. “Perhaps. She’s got good prospects. I’ve never thought I’d ever marry, but she’s a beauty. A treasure in her own way. Would get ‘em jealous on land.”   “I have better prospects.”   The corner of your eye watches him. It’s come out of nowhere. “Are you suggesting that I wed to you instead?”   The male god beside you doesn’t stop to chuckle or sneer at your question. He merely hums, not taking more than a second to reconsider his instinctive answer, “Maybe if you weren’t so insolent, I might’ve even had a thought or two to make you my queen.”   Your head swivels over in surprise, for once fully caught off guard. And he smirks at your reaction, looking down at you. “Don’t you know how merciful I am? If the other gods had their hands on you, they would’ve strangled you right away with their pinky.”   “Oh really?” Your brow lifts and your arms open wide, face knocking back. At the top of your lungs, you challenge Heaven to destroy you. “I welcome the gods too! Come get me! Do it! Kill me!”   There’s a sudden rumble of earth beneath your feet, the noise of lightning sounding over your head. But it halts the moment Jungkook slaps his hand over your mouth. He leans in close to whisper in your ear, breath hot against your skin, “Don’t fucking do that, you insolent idiot.”   You throw his palm off of you, sneering, “Bootlicker.”   He scoffs in sheer disbelief. “Excuse me?”   “Nothing.” You shrug mischievously with a laugh that sounds more like a giggle. An innocent noise that hasn’t been audible since you were a child. “I didn’t say anything, your majesty.”   Jungkook shakes his head and sighs. “I can’t save you if you anger the other gods. That’s out of my domain, so be wary.”   You pat his shoulder condescendingly with vigorous nods. “I’m sure you’ll find some way to save me, oh Great God of Water and Slimy Fishes.”   With the last word, you swim off, purposely flicking your tail at his knees and he watches as a tiny smile tickles at his lips. “What a troublemaker.”   “Only the best,” you chime without looking back, and he’ll admit that you aren’t wrong. He’s never had a handful quite like you before.   //   The longer you stay in the underwater kingdom, stuck in his palace and wandering in the same halls and rooms, the more things you come to realize. For one, this place isn’t as grandiose as it was first glance. When everything comes in porcelain and gold, those things aren’t rare as it used to be — you realize these treasures are rather boring and dull.    And the second thing that you mull over with so much time on your hands is how Jungkook is less like a fearful god and more like a capable man you’d meet on the shore.   He’s as ordinary as someone arrogant like him could be — at least that’s what you consider while staring at the obnoxious painting he has of himself hung at the front of the courtyard.   One of the attendants approach timidly, hands folded together and polite smile painted on her features. “Are you admiring his majesty’s splendor?”   “No,” you mutter as your eyes trace the slope of his nose to the dip of his cupid’s bow. You’re not sure if you like the way his portrait stares at you, wearing such a stern but gentle expression at the same time. “I have an urge to punch him.”   The servant is shocked, eyes wide. Your contempt is always surprising as it is refreshing, but she still clears her throat. “If I may speak out of line, Lady Y/N, your ridicule for the Water God may be excessive at times.” You shift towards the short cecaelia. “He’s cursed me. Look at my tail.”   “Yes, well, he is just and doesn’t deliver punishment without reason.”   “You don’t have to suck up to him. He’s not here.”   She adorns a reserved smile. “The Water God is at times cruel and prideful, but he protects his people and yours too. You used to be adrift at sea, right? He looks after seafarers. He’s probably looked after you as well.”   You remain quiet for a second after tearing your eyes away from his painting. “Then why are there storms? Why do sailors die at sea?”   “The Water God is not the only god in this world,” the cecaelia tells while wearing a look ridden with wisdom. No matter how much you try to lead his people astray and convince them otherwise of his supreme powers, most are loyal to the core. They only sway on the surface — a detail you’ve longed notice and don’t bother telling Jungkook. “There are many others that fight for control, that influence the winds and sea. But he tries his best to protect us against them.”   Your lashes flutter and you turn back to his portrait.   ….   Half across the palace, Jungkook sits on his golden throne, lap no longer warmed by a nymph. But beauty isn’t far out of his reach. Just a few meters away, there are sirens perched on their stools, playing stringed instruments with their lips parted as beautiful voices stream out.   Yet it’s the same seductive melody.   He sighs in exhaustion. Sungdeuk immediately notices. “Your majesty, is this not to your liking? There is another caravan of creatures—”   “It’s all the same.” He waves them away and the music stops at once. The sirens lower their heads and scatter from the center of his throne room.   “There’s still time until the next task. Do you wish to rest, your majesty?”   The Water God stands on his feet. It was his time for fun, to relax and enjoy his kingdom, a seldom occurrence. Yet, there was nothing to entertain him. There may be countless things to do, but they don’t matter if there is no desirable company…   Except, someone comes to mind—   “Where is the mortal?”   //   A smile tickles at his lips, one he’ll never show to the sunlight. Jungkook’s secretly pleased that you’re here and even more pleased when he finds you staring at his portrait.   “Thinking about how grand I am?” He tries to sneak up on you, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of being frightened.    The servant speaking to you dismisses herself while you scoff. “I don’t think I’m the one who has a foolish amount of hubris and pride.”   If only he was courageous enough to show, you’d see him sulking.   “Half of being a god is putting on a good show. If I was humble, I’d be underestimated. Heaven is built on statues, not just paintings.”   “Good to know the worshiped figures of the world spend their time wisely.”   Jungkook smiles and shakes his head. “We aren’t the only conceited ones. You humans, especially those who claim they’re kings and queens, have a taste for luxury.”   “Why don’t you don’t punish them?”   “Well, none of them go around claiming they’re the God of the Sea.” His ears perk as you laugh, finding his statement true. His gaze becomes imploring as he leans in closer. “I’m sure you know. You’ve stolen their paintings before haven’t you?”   “Paintings of kings and queens? I suppose. But they’re not memorable,” you hum before considering it carefully. “Oh. We once did a heist on Emperor Shang’s ship. That’s something to remember,” you tell as pride beams off your skin. “It wasn’t planned but we saw his ship from the distance and in the dead of the night, my crew and I jumped onto his deck and raided it. I almost got killed, but it was worth it. I’ve never had an emperor bow to me and beg me for mercy before.”   There’s something frightening in the way your eyes glisten, how your hands are curled in a triumphant fist. You’re power hungry and proud of such an accomplishment. It makes Jungkook muse that humans are so entirely fickle in their emotions. Yet, their enthusiasm is contagious.   “You never got punished for it?”   “Nope. We went on our way,” you boast. “I’ve set sail across the sea with my ship The Divinity, found dead men’s treasure, evaded execution, done everything a pirate could ever wish for. It was really tough, but worth it.”   You tell tales of your adventures while Jungkook listens in with curiosity. He doesn’t let you know that he’s already heard most of these stories from his own observation, from rumours that somehow were whispered to the underwater kingdom of his, and from what Sungdeuk’s read from reports of the mortal realm.   “You’re greedy,” he breathes out after ten minutes.   You scoff. “You are too.”   It’s blasphemous and he should be offended, but he strangely isn’t. Your defiance is almost expected at this point. “How?”   “Look around. Everything you have is made of gold.”   Little do you know that everything is merely surface level. Jungkook doesn’t care about his palace decor or what there’s plastered on the walls. Though he makes no effort to argue with you because he is greedy.    Deep down, Jungkook is aware that any other god would’ve punished your sacreligious behaviour by plummeting you to the deepest ravines of the ocean with a ball and chain attached to your ankle. They’d watch you drown, make an example out of you. But he can’t let you go.   Jungkook’s greedy — he wants more and more of you.   “If you think this is beautiful, there are many other places in this vast ocean that you haven’t seen.”   “Like what?” You’re genuinely curious, eyes boring into his, a gaze that’s ignorant as it is unwavering.   “The caverns. During dawn, it’s the most beautiful—”   “Take me there,” you demand. But after a second of silence and his heavy staring, you withdraw into yourself, muttering, “...please, your majesty.”   You’re too caught up in your own head to know that you didn’t need to ask. He would’ve happily shown you either way.   //   “Are we allowed to just leave?”   “Do you know who I am? I’m the Great and Brave God of the Sea, he who rules all waters. My domain lies in the most vital living force to which all can survive—”   “You’re slow, that’s what you are.” Your tail flicks in front of his face, swimming off.    Jungkook quickly catches up, and he doesn’t need to flail his limbs whatsoever or make an effort to swim. There’s a force underneath his feet that moves him, water currents that help to transport his body as he effortlessly folds his arms behind his back, standing tall and majestic.    Your eyes could not roll hard enough at his smug expression. But you brush it off, peeking at him again. “Can I ask you something?”   “Whether I give you permission or not, you’re still going to ask me.”   “If you have unlimited powers as a god and you’re supposed to protect seafarers, then why do they die out in the ocean?”   “Are you asking if I purposely call forth storms to harm mortals?” He turns his head. “Or are you asking about your parents?”   You’re caught off guard. Your parents were dead before you could even remember their faces, but you were told that the ocean dragged them out, that they simply never came back. You hated the sea for so long, was afraid of it, until you got out yourself in an attempt to understand.   The God of the Sea that people spoke about was something you never believed in. Up till now.   “I’m afraid their bodies are at the bottom of the ocean. My condolences.” Jungkook is straightforward and blunt, painfully so. “I may be the God of the Sea, but there’s a whole kingdom of gods and goddesses. A structure even I cannot fight against. My powers are affected by them. Namely...the Goddess of the Sky.” He grimaces, jaw clenched tight.   You’ve never heard of her, of such a goddess. But you don’t dwell when you’re suffocated in the tension. In an attempt to alleviate it, you tease, “Guess you’re not the almighty after all.” There’s silence that follows and you stare, voice softening. “It’s okay. It isn’t your fault.”   Jungkook shifts his gaze towards you, searching your expression. After a moment, he tears his eyes away and clears his throat. “Come along. It’s up here.”   The surface is close enough that you can see where the light meets the water, how the ripples shimmer and the world around you is a rich azure hue. You don’t ask questions as you come up for air gasping, having forgotten what the open world was like.   The entrance opening is far away and the water here seems to glow with the reflection of the crystals hanging from the ceiling. Every splash and splatter seems to echo throughout as you prop yourself up halfway. Your tail still flickers in the water while Jungkook stands fully. His legs work on land and it makes you look on in envy.   “Why did you give me a fishtail? Why not….tentacles or even flippers?”   “Would you have preferred that?”   “No, but—”   “It was the first thing I thought of,” Jungkook admits while staring at the way your colourful scales glimmer, catching the light and shining in every shade of the rainbow. “Sometimes, I don’t think it’s much of a punishment.”    He inhales and looks around, continuing, “What do you think of the place?”   “It’s beautiful.” Your voice reverberates against the cave walls and you watch your tail ripple your own reflection and Jungkook’s. He takes a seat beside you, propping his legs up to rest.   “You can’t get to this place without going underwater.”   “So it’s like a secret hideout.”   “Something of that sort.” He hasn’t shown anyone before, but he’s glad he could present it to someone who has much of an appreciation for the sea as he does. He can tell with the way you look around his world. “You love the ocean, don’t you?”   “Course I do.” Your tail splashes harder against the water, getting the side of his face wet and he flinches. Your giggle goes unappreciated. “No one can be out at sea for as long as I have without loving it. You’d drive yourself mad otherwise.”   There’s no place you’d rather be. You’ve grown accustomed to the breeze, the smell of the saltwater, the endless blue and the adventure of discovering lands unknown on the horizon. The rocking of The Divinity has become your lullaby to make you sleep easy, and the scenery of stars at night is something you wouldn’t trade for the best of treasures.   “How’s it like being in it?”   You hum a low note. “It’s nice. I get to see things I would never, but there’s something about setting sail that’s better to me. Maybe because it’s so exhilarating. When you’re deep in the ocean, it’s beautiful and mysterious, but also kind of peaceful. It’s quiet. But on the surface, it’s louder and unpredictable. I think that’s half the fun.”   “Aren’t you afraid of the danger?” Jungkook asks with an inquisitive gaze.   “No.” You twist towards him. “You’d be protecting me, right?”   The Water God scoffs, but is unable to look away from you. Instead, his hand wanders to the inside of his dark robes and your brows lift, automatically shifting backwards. “Why are you undressing?”   “What? I’m not, stupid mortal. I’m giving you a gift.” He reaches inside his pocket and takes your hand, opening your palm up to place something cool to the touch inside of it.    Your eyes drop down. There are ridges against your hand, a vivid tint of pink and orange that reminds you of coral, but a smooth and iridescent side facing up. “A shell?”   “It’s not an ordinary shell, mortal. There’s only two in the entire universe.”   “Who has the other one?”   “I do.” He flashes his own and clears his throat. “We can see each other if we hold it up at the same time.” Your eyes flicker over and true to his word, you find a reflection of him. “Whether you’re on ocean or land…”   “Why?” You blink, genuinely not understanding the purpose of his present.   “You’re a troublemaker,” Jungkook states indifferently while he diverts his eyes elsewhere. “You might need my help sooner or later. Take it as a present from your merciful god. Unless you don’t want it? I’ll take it back.”   “Uh, no thanks,” you scoff and grasp it tightly into your lap before he can take it away. “You can’t take back a gift once you’ve given it away. I know a prized possession when I see one.” The gentle smile he has isn’t hidden from your sight and your voice softens once more. “T-Thank you.”   The God of the Sea makes a disgruntled noise at the back of his throat and he nudges you towards the tiny opening of the cave. “Look, the sun’s rising. Seokjin still has it in him, huh?”   “Who?”   “Nevermind,” he hushes quickly and the two of you observe as the luminescent rays pierce through the horizon, shedding the darkness away from the sky. The light hits the water and bleeds through to make the blue a richer hue. It travels and soon fills the cavern walls in a shade of gold that twinkles.   You gasp and Jungkook smiles, stealing a glance of you.   You don’t notice how the waters become a bit warmer and the turquoise threatens to turn into a rose tint.   //   The ocean is calm, but the tides are playful — reaching out to soak children’s toes standing on the sandy shore. The fishermen are having better luck this season, catching nets filled with fish. The temperature too is pleasant for a swim, to play in. And Jungkook is happier than usual.   His eyes are glassy, faraway, and he pays little attention to the tasks at hand. Instead, a satisfied smile is constantly plastered on his face, glued to his visage, and quickly his servants become concerned. Especially Sungdeuk.   “—Goddess of the Underworld and her—” His voice drowns in and out. “Y-Your majesty? Your majesty!”   “What?” The God of the Sea snaps back into attention, wearing a stern expression that has his attendant dipping his head.   “Pardon me. I was just reading the daily report.”   “Yes? Continue.”   “Well, I asked a question, your majesty.”   “Right, right.” His brows furrow deep as he massages his temples. “What was it again?”   Jungkook’s thinking about you, mind too preoccupied. He’s trying to complete his duties as the Water God, to look over his entire kingdom. But somehow, his mind always strays towards you, what you could possibly be doing, if you’re causing trouble again, and what you think of him. If you still resent him for punishing you and keeping you here, if you’re grateful for that gift of his….   And Jungkook’s mind only seems to be satisfied when he sees you, when he joins you for dinner or breakfast or lunch, when he finds you wandering the courtyard or trying to steal his decor for your secret stash of gold underneath your bed you think no one knows about.   Jungkook’s grinning from the thought.   Sungdeuk glances up at his god and smiles. “Your majesty, you must be quite fond of Lady Y/N.”   At once, Jungkook’s expression wipes. His mouth draws into a straight line as he looks down. “What makes you say that?”   “W-well, you were just mumbling her name and I just noticed that your….mood improves when she is present.”   “Are you trying to say my mood is bad when she isn’t?”   “N-no. That isn’t what I meant exactly,” his voice is quieting until it’s an incoherent mumble. “If I may speak out of line—”   “You may not.”   “Understood.” Sungdeuk shuts up.   But after an excruciating long silence, Jungkook slams down the parchment and waves his hand lifelessly. “Fine. What do you have to say, you nosy servant?”   He stays in a reverent posture with his head bowed. “I-I think Lady Y/N is quite pleasing. I’ve only held one or two conversations with her, but she is very bright and bold.”   “Yes, she is.”   “And it appears that she eases your worries. Her perspective on many issues is rather refreshing. Her mind is brilliant too. She...would make a fantastic ruler beside you, your majesty.”   “Did she put you up to this?” He mutters while flipping through the pages of a book on the table in front of him.   “No.”   “Then are you suggesting that I marry her? A mortal?” The god barks out laughter in his servant’s ignorant and irritating face. It’s an absurd proposition, outrageous even. “Do you know what that would do to my reputation? A mortal is not worth my time, not to mention the creation of an everlasting union, you idiot servant.”   Sungdeuk squeaks, nearly bursting into pathetic tears at the insult. “But if-if you love her….”   “I don’t love her,” Jungkook scoffs instinctively.    There’s silence.   More silence.   It’s agonizing, drawn out to be utterly suffocating. But the truth dawns upon his shoulders and it’s still there even after he tries shaking it off.    Jungkook feels himself go pale. His throat dries. Perspiration begins to drip from his hairline.    “S-Sungdeuk.”   “Yes, your majesty?”   “A glass of drinking water, please.”   “Of course, your majesty.”   It’s true that Jungkook’s taken a liking to you. He’s fond even. But it can’t go deeper than that. There’s a rebellion on the horizon that you’ve created and that hasn’t completely died down yet. He shouldn’t allow Seokjin to get a whiff of it lest he wants a scolding of a lifetime or to get called in front of the council which would be a disaster in itself. Then again, Seokjin’s the God of the Sun and probably knows everything anyways, maybe even Jungkook’s affection for you.   But his pride aside, it’s dangerous here. There are too many issues that you don’t know of, too many headaches around. To stay in the palace is one thing, but to be with him is another…   Jungkook’s in the middle of contemplation when there’s a sudden CRASH!   “What’s going on?” He throws the doors of your bedroom open and you’re stranded in the middle, hands in mid-air. His precious vase is broken on the ground, smashed into smithereens.   “Oops.” You have the audacity to smile and even look pretty doing it. “I swear I was just borrowing it.”   Jungkook sighs.   It’s dangerous when you’re around. You’re a hazard to yourself, to the palace, and to himself. He can’t focus on anything — you’re too distracting. Not to mention, he thinks he’s finally found something he’s afraid of. You. What you do to him.   And a Great God like him shouldn’t be afraid of anything. Which makes it even more frightening.   //   “Why’d you call me here?” You gaze around his throne room, the servants and guards, and the intimidating atmosphere that doesn’t make you particularly scared. “If you wanted to talk to me, you didn’t have to bring me here.”   He feigns exhaustion, massaging his temples with one hand and waving the other. He tries to knit his brows together. “I’m here to dismiss you from my court and tell you to go away.”   “Excuse me?”   “Your majesty!” Sungdeuk steps up, equally offended and shocked.   “Silence. I’ve made my decision.” Jungkook signals to your form halfheartedly. “Frankly, I’m sick and tired of you. So you can get your legs back, and get out of my ocean. You’re dirtying the waters.”   “You’re….making me leave?”   You’re appalled. It’s so sudden, out of nowhere. It’s what you wanted — to be granted back your freedom and legs — but when it’s presented to you on a silver platter, it seems crueler than it is merciful. And right when this place was becoming your new home….   “Must I repeat myself more than once, mortal?” Jungkook releases a staggering exhale. “You are hereby excommunicated from my kingdom on grounds of treason and blasphemy and because I’m tired of you. Don’t come back.”   A scoff befalls your lips. “No.”   “Excuse me?”   “You can’t make me leave.”   “Guards!” He shouts, yet no one moves or even flinches. All of them are simply staring straight ahead with their eyes shaking, but refusing to drag you out. They stand in silent defiance. “Guards!”   Sungdeuk shakes his head with a sigh, but the Water God pays no mind.   “I’m not going” — it’s your simple rebuttal before you leave, swimming away from his throne room.   “Wait! Y/N!” Jungkook stands up in frustration as if you’re the deity and he’s a consort begging for your attention. “Gods, does no one listen to me anymore?! Y/N!” He stumbles on the steps leading down his throne and chases after you to the outside.   His servants are at a complete loss, but he leaves them behind, running through the twisting corridors. Once you’re in reach again, Jungkook grabs your arm and pulls you back into his firm chest.    “Where do you think you’re going?”   “Nowhere.” You stand your ground and shove his hands off of you. “I’m going nowhere. I get to decide when I go or stay and—”   “And you want to stay?” he asks with an imploring look, perhaps knowing you better than you know yourself. “I thought you wanted to leave.”   “You can’t make me go just because you’re sick and tired of me—” You exhale in a shaking breath. “I just don’t get why. Why? I thought you wanted me to be in your kingdom for eternity. Why did you change your mind so suddenly? And right when I thought we…”   “We?”   “We were getting along,” you spit. “What’s the matter with you?”   He sighs and calms himself down to explain, “There’s a lot you don’t understand about Heaven, The Underworld, my own underwater kingdom. It’s not safe for a living mortal like you to be with me. It just isn’t, and it’s not like this place offers you anything. You’re meant to be sailing far away, on your ship The Dingy—”   “The Divinity,” you correctly softly.   A small smile spreads into his face. “You should be free, sailing across the sea, doing it is whatever you want to do. Listen to your god for once. And stop making it harder for me, mortal. I’m trying my best to be less greedy, alright?”   This isn’t the end. You know that for a fact.   If he’s the ruler of the ocean and you’re a traveler of it, the pair of you will constantly be near each other. You’re sure he’s aware of it too — but whether you like it or not, he still insists on using his authority to officially banish you from his kingdom. Of course, a god like him could never revoke a punishment given to a mortal. He has to find excuses. He has to send you off on a sour note.   He’s a stubborn mule. A bilge rat. You have reason to curse and damn him for the rest of your life now.   You’d sulk if not for your immense pride.    “Fine. I wanted my legs back anyways.”    It’s technically a victory. You knew he’d break at some point. The whole goal was to wear him down and get what you want. Though, it’s a lot more bittersweet than you thought was possible.    “But let me tell you something, Jungkook.” You tug him in roughly by the collar of his robes, whispering against his mouth, “Even if I’m on land again, you won’t be able to get rid of me.”   The God of the Sea grins, surprisingly boyish as he does so. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you’ll find ways to give me headaches and make me worry.”   You watch him carefully through narrowed eyes. “I wish you could be more honest with yourself.”   Before he can question your ambiguous desire, you seal his mouth with your own. It smacks roughly together and he’s caught off guard by your dominating touch before he quickly reciprocates. His lips are soft, cool against your own and it makes you nostalgic of the ocean breeze.   You return the favour he once gave to you when you first encountered him. Before you knew him, the world he existed in, and everything that led you to this moment. When all you were aware of was that you were thrown off board into the sea and someone saved you with a kiss.   After a handful of seconds, the both of you break apart and you glare into his eyes, never once backing down. “This isn’t the last you’ll see of me.”   Jungkook smiles, teeth showing, nose scrunching. You’ve learnt nothing. You’re still as arrogant as the first time he laid eyes on you. But somehow, he doesn’t mind much anymore if you want to share his title with him and call yourself the Goddess of the Sea.

The ocean turns lively at the sight of you.   It’s mischievous and playful, tides trying to tickle your toes, waves always splashing onto your face to tease. It’s not at all as fearsome as some ignorant folks make it out to be. It’s less daunting and mysterious than all the tales told on shores, the rumours that are whispered to children not to go near it during the night and to be careful lest the waters swallow them whole and take them to places unknown. They’re afraid but maybe it’s because they don’t have the privilege of knowing who rules beneath it, the bad-tempered idiot that is the God of the Sea.

“Captain! The crew’s ready to set sail.”   “Good. We’ll be heading east until dawn.”   “Aye-aye.”   You walk across the deck, feeling several eyes pinned on you. It’s no surprise they’re still stunned. To them, you’ve risen back from the dead, a corpse still walking and leading. You’ve long become more than a legendary pirate. There are whispers that you’re godly, rumours of immortality.   While you don’t outright reject the idea, you don’t dare confirm it out loud either to relish in the glory of your infamous name. Lest you want an angry visit from someone with raspberry-coloured hair and who smells like the ocean you hold close to your heart. He’s materialized enough times in your private cabin at night to scare you half to death….   Though sometimes, you miss him enough to purposely piss him off during the day.   “Ahoy.” A young boy with bright eyes and blushing cheeks stops the navigator. He pauses from scrubbing the deck. He’s new to the whole scene, mop still in his hand, bucket by his foot. “Are we really going tonight? Isn’t there a prediction of a storm?”   “Oh.” The navigator laughs mockingly. “You don’t have to worry about such a thing.”   “Why?” The new recruit watches the way you hop on the bowsprit without hesitation. You’re free-spirited, courageous. While the new pirate’s admiration is no secret, he wonders if those rumours were right.   Were you immortal?   “Our captain’s the Goddess of the Sea.” The experienced navigator beams with pride. “For some reason the waves always work with her — it’s almost as if the sea is protecting her.”   “Protecting her?”   He shrugs. “Ask ‘er if you’re really that curious. She’ll tell you some crazy stories. But believe it or not, she’s under the protection o’ some otherworldly folks.”   “And you believe her?” The newbie’s pupils flicker around and he harshly whispers, “You don’t think she’s gone….mad?”   He smirks, patting the young boy on the back. “You have a lot of things to learn here, seadog. You gotta see it for your eyes to believe it. But best you don’t go aroun’ speaking recklessly when you don’t know.”   The navigator walks off, leaving the other pirate utterly confused. Nevertheless, the ropes get pulled in, the anchor is lifted and The Divinity is slowly pushed out to the sea, beginning yet another expedition.   You man the main deck as your men and women continue their tasks at ease. You’re busy pacing around with your eyes on the horizon, pinned to what could be new lands and new treasure.   “The water’s look clear today, don’t they?”   “Y-Yes, they do, captain.” The new recruit is caught off guard that you’re speaking to him and vigorously nods.   You smile at him, passingly reminded of Sungdeuk and hoping that the servant is bumbling less these days. You peer down to the waves created by the force of The Divinity moving. “Looks warm too. Think it would be good for a swim?”   He frowns. “A swim? Wh— Captain!”   The pirate screams bloody murder as you jump ship, diving straight in at a perfect arch. He leans to look over the edge, searching the waters. He doesn’t see you, but he hears your crazy laughter and concludes that yes….you are absolutely insane, and now he’s trapped on a boat with you as the leader…...   He doesn’t notice that when you go under, someone’s arms are instantly wrapped around your waist and they’re hastily pressing their mouths to yours, giving you air before you drown.    You kiss Jungkook back deeply, inhaling as he exhales, greedily probing your tongue past the seams of his soft lips. When the two of you break apart, your giggles make air bubbles rise to the surface.   He clicks his tongue in feigned annoyance. “Brat.”   The ocean’s your favourite place. The scent of salt, sight of blue have been imprinted into memory. It’s filled with endless possible voyages, and there you’d always find Jungkook.

Golden Bullets, Ch. 3: All The Time in the World

Harrison Osterfield X Reader, James Bond!AU

Harrison Osterfield, Agent 007, was once the best MI6 agent around with the astounding reputation as a womanizer. Between illegal gold smuggling and black market trading of weapons, he finds himself deeper in his latest mission than intended, weaving himself into a web of the criminal organization, S.P.E.C.T.R.E.. At the center of it all is the one woman who’s never fallen for his charms- you, Agent 006, the best MI6 agent, the new assistant director of the program, and his new partner.

Word Count: 3000

Gif is not mine

Golden Bullets Masterlist

Masterlist   Harrison Osterfield Masterlist

Let me know if you want to be added to the series tag list

Warnings: violence (using toiletries as weapons bc why not), death, swearing, involuntary drug usage, drinking, vomiting (self-inflicted)

Featured Song: We Have All the Time in the World by Louis Armstrong from On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969)

 ~ “We have all the time in the world, time enough for life to unfold all the precious things love has in store”

~~~

“That can’t be her real name.”

“Tom, I’m being serious.” Harrison said, but even he couldn’t disguise the amused grin on his face when describing the intoxicatingly beautiful woman that was Pussy Galore to the quartermaster.

“Sounds like a horny teenage boy named her, right?” You joked, sitting beside Harrison on the hotel room couch. The laptop was propped up on the coffee table so that you and Harrison could both video chat with Tom, discussing the previous night.

“Is that your bullet wound?” He asked as he stepped closer to the camera, as if that’d help him see your bandaged arm better. Following last night’s events, it was difficult for you to really move your arm fluidly, so you had opted to wear a tank top on your day “off”. You leaned in, carefully taking off the bandage to show the damaged skin and stitches.

“Hurts like a bitch, but I’ll live.” You told him.

“Nice stitch work, 007. Practicing needlework in your spare time?” The quartermaster teased.

“Shove off.” Harrison rolled his eyes at his friend’s comment while you laughed, fixing the bandage, “Did you finish getting the specs on the flash drive?”

“I’m trying, but there seems to be an issue.” Tom stated, his eyes trailing over another computer screen. You looked down at the golden flash drive currently connected to the laptop. Sciarra was dead and all you had from last night was that one flash drive, you and Harrison both needed it to lead back to Goldfinger.

“You’re the greatest hacker of the century. What could possibly prevent you from getting past this flash drive’s security?” You asked.

“Thank you for the compliment, love, but I can’t hack it from here. It appears the security system on this drive is a replica of one I made, which should mean I can get into it from here, but it seems like I made it too sophisticated.” He paused, with a sigh, “I have a hunch about who could be behind this kind of security system.”

You looked between him and Harrison, both agents seemingly to wordlessly agree on who could be behind the drive. Knowing you’d want an answer, Harrison spoke up, “It’s Raoul Silva.”

“You mean the former agent turned cyberterrorist? I thought you killed him last year.” You said, and he gave you an odd look, “What? I told you I read your file, Osterfield.”

“I’m flattered you remember my cases.” He smirked, before Tom cleared his throat on the screen.

“As I was saying, I need to physically have the drive attached to my computer to get through its security and hopefully track Goldfinger. Silva was connected to numerous weapons dealers, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he helped Goldfinger set up security before he died.”

“So you can’t hack this?”

Tom looked at Harrison with furrowed eyebrows, questioning his friend. “Can’t hack this? Did you not listen to anything I just said? What exactly do you think my expertise is?”

“Sitting behind a computer screen.” He joked.

“Well, I'll hazard I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pajamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year in the field.” Tom said, and you laughed, nodding, fully aware of his skills, “Either way, I’ll meet you two in Montenegro to finish on the flash drive.”

“Montenegro?” You and Harrison both questioned.

“Right.” He laughed a little, realizing you two didn’t know about your next step of the mission, “M will call you two later tonight. I don’t know all the details, but I know you two are going to Montenegro, so I assume I’ll be meeting you there.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Montenegro.” Harrison smiled fondly.

“I’ll let you two go. M should be calling soon.” Tom said before ending the call. You let out a small sigh, leaning back on the couch comfortably.

“Have you ever been to Montenegro?”

“Once, but not on a mission.” You replied, not really wanting to discuss your past trip. Unfortunately for you, your partner was observant and caught onto that- and he was also a bit of an asshole, so he pressed the topic.

“You know, I tried reading the Montenegro part of your file, but almost everything was redacted because the clearance of that file is only you and M.” He stated, watching you carefully as you shifted uncomfortably, tightening your jaw.

“What about it?”

“Who did you kill in Montenegro that is so private only you and M can know?” He questioned, and you glared over at him.

Before you could reply, the laptop began to ring, signaling an incoming call from M. You sat up on the couch, answering it.

“Agent 006, 007.” She greeted with the normal stern look on her face.

“M.” You and Harrison both nodded in reply to her.

“Q tells me you two found a flash drive, one suspected to be linked to Goldfinger.” She started, “And that Sciarra is dead.”

“The sniper got to him before we could get him in the DB10.” Harrison explained, and you swallowed a lump in your throat as M’s cold eyes trailed over the bandage on your arm.

“I also heard the sniper shot 006.” She said, “Tomorrow, you two will leave for Montenegro. Agent 009 has been tracking a private banker who funds terrorists, Le Chiffre. Le Chiffre seems to be Goldfinger’s competition at the moment. 009 reported multiple murders of Le Chiffre’s men with golden bullets through their skulls, all of which are sniper shots.”

“Forgive me, M, but if Agent 009 is on the case, then why are we going after Le Chiffre as well?” Harrison asked, voicing the question that was also floating around in your head. Why would MI6 need three agents on a private banker case?

“Because last we heard from 009 himself, he was being followed by Le Chiffre, and last night, local police found him tortured to death. His balls were so beaten, they could barely identify him as a man anymore- one of Le Chiffre’s signature torture methods.” At her words, Harrison squirmed uncomfortably beside you, subconsciously resting a hand over his crotch protectively. “Since Sciarra is a dead end until Q cracks that flash drive, Le Chiffre is our next best lead to Goldfinger.” 

“When do we leave tomorrow?” You spoke up.

“I am working with the Monaco police right now to acquire a private jet for the two of you. I will let you know in the morning. And, remember, this mission is not a personal one.” With that, she hung up the call and you shut off the laptop, getting up from the couch.

“What happened in Montenegro?” Harrison asked you, standing up from his spot on the couch. You didn’t reply as you pulled on a sweatshirt to hide your bandage. Wordlessly, you grabbed the ice bucket and left the hotel room.

You didn’t really need ice, but it wouldn’t hurt to ice your arm or tense muscles- besides, you needed to be away from your partner for a few minutes. Harrison was definitely getting more bearable, but you didn’t exactly want to tell him about Montenegro, not yet. When you came back from getting the bucket of ice, you saw a hotel room service busboy, standing outside of your door. Just before he knocked, you spoke up, “Is that for room 1964?”

“Yes.” The busboy replied almost nervously, holding up a bucket of champagne out to you.

“Thank you.” You smiled as you took the bucket from him, balancing it with your own ice bucket. He nodded, before disappearing down the hall. You laughed to yourself as you looked at the expensive bottle of champagne; leave it to Harrison to want to drink before leaving Monaco. Unlocking the hotel room door, you pushed it open, and Harrison looked up from his phone as he laid down on his bed.

“Champagne?” You offered, setting down the buckets on the coffee table.

“Why not celebrate Monaco?” He laughed. Both of you sat down on the couch, and he effortlessly popped open the champagne bottle. You held up two empty flute glasses for him to pour the champagne into.

“To Monaco.”

“To Monaco.” You clicked your glass against Harrison’s before both of you took sips of the smooth liquid.

“Does this taste odd to you?” Harrison asked, licking his lips from the very small amount of champagne that had actually made it in his mouth before he spit it back in.

“I’m not the person to ask. It’s been a while since I had nice champagne like this.” You laughed, taking another sip of the golden drink.

“It’s probably just too fancy for my tastebuds.” He chuckled, eyeing the glass.

“With all the martinis you drink, your tastebuds must be dead.” You teased, already starting to feel cloudy from the alcohol. You wondered how high the proof was, but that thought was gone as quickly as it came. “You drown yourself in martinis- shaken, not stirred.”

“Martinis are superior. You’d know that if you’d drown yourself in anything.” He quipped back.

“It’d take a while for me to drown in anything- I can hold my breath for six minutes.” You replied confidently, sipping some more of the champagne.

“I can only hold my breath for two. That’s impressive.” His eyes widened in surprise at the little fun fact.

“Most people can only hold them for two, but I was a swimmer growing up and I practiced holding my breath for long periods of time. I’ve got the best lungs on MI6.”

“And the best shot, too, the way I hear it.” Harrison laughed a little, before leaning in closer to you on the couch. Your face was close enough to his that you could feel his breath, and you felt yourself starting to, ironically, drown in his ocean blue eyes. With his voice low and just above a whisper, he asked, “How does someone get the reputation of a maneater?”

“How does someone get the reputation of a womanizer?” You replied, just as quietly. Pulling away from him, you took another long sip of your champagne, the once full glass now empty. The room fell silent before you solemnly spoke up, “I killed him.”

“Who?”

“My weakness.” You rolled up your tank top just enough to show the bullet wound scar on your hip. “I was in Montenegro on vacation with my last boyfriend. I spotted Le Chiffre at a casino, and I called M for permission to strike. When I returned to the hotel room, my boyfriend was there with Le Chiffre- he’d been working for him the whole time. I took a shot at him, but I missed, and he shot me. Then, I shot him again, but that time, I didn’t miss. The only reason Le Chiffre didn’t kill me was Agent 009. Le Chiffre ran, and 009 saved me.”

“So, Montenegro is-”

“Where I became the maneater.” You said. Harrison reached a hand out to touch the scar, but you slapped his hand away, fixing your shirt.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He replied, his voice filled with pity. You could tell he wasn’t just apologizing for overstepping and trying to touch the scar- no, he was apologizing for ever thinking less of you based on your reputation and he pitied you for your story, for all you had to go through to get that name. It was then that you realized he hadn’t really had much to drink of the champagne.

“Why’d you order this if you weren’t going to drink it?” You asked, and Harrison furrowed his eyebrows at you.

“What are you talking about?”

“The champagne. You ordered it when I got ice?”

“I didn’t order this.” The room fell silent, save for the clattering of your champagne flute against the floor from you dropping it. 

“Neither of us ordered this?” You questioned, and he shook his head. Immediately, you got up and stumbled to the bathroom, only making Harrison more confused.

“What are you doing?” Harrison followed after you.

“I’m puking because I was just fucking drugged. No wonder I’m so goddamn talkative right now.” You stated, sitting down in front of the toilet. You looked over at him in the hallway, “Are you going to call Q and have him analyze the champagne or are you going to watch me vomit up whatever drug is in my body? You had less than me, so figure out what happened.”

“How the fuck did someone drug us?” He grumbled, closing the door and rushing back into the room. He pulled up the laptop and called the quartermaster.

“I was just about to call you.” Tom said with a laugh, but his smile dropped as he saw Harrison pouring some champagne into a testing vial.

“Find out what’s in this. We’ve been drugged.” He explained, placing the vile on one of Q’s special testing trays, equipped for analyzing substances through the computer. The computer couldn’t figure out exactly what the substance was, but Q, being the genius he is, could based on the computer’s analysis.

“How did two of Britain’s top agents get drugged with a bottle of champagne?” Q asked, typing away at his computer. Harrison grimaced, hearing the distinct sounds of you in the other room. “Is- Is Agent 006 vomiting?”

“Yes, she’s trying to clear out her system.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing that too?” He looked at his friend skeptically.

“I didn’t even have a full sip of the champagne and it’s been in my system long enough that it’s already effective. She drank an entire glass flute, so however potent this drug is, she had a lot of it.”

“Well, you two got lucky.” Tom breathed out, reviewing the results. “It was a harmless drug, it’s not poisonous or anything. It’s meant to disorient you, weaken your fighting, and make you more conversational. It’s used for interrogations.”

“So that means-“ Before Harrison could finish his thought process, there was a knock at the hotel room door. He quietly shut off the computer, ending the phone call swiftly, and grabbed the golden flash drive, pocketing the valuable object. Grabbing his gun and yours, he softly moved across the room to conceal himself behind the wall.

“Room service.” A voice behind the door called, and Harrison quietly cocked his gun while pocketing yours.

In less than a moment, the door burst, and he kept himself quiet against the wall, hoping the silence in the bathroom meant you knew what was happening out here. Based on the sound of feet, Harrison calculated there were three men in the room now. One stepped past the wall, gun raised as he surveyed the room. Harrison stepped forward, shooting the man dead immediately.

Meanwhile, your ears perked up as you heard multiple footsteps outside the door. Your head was spinning from the drug concoction and the fact that you forced yourself to throw up. It wasn’t until you heard the first gunshot that you knew it was bad.

“Harrison,” You mumbled, pulling yourself up from the floor. Looking around the bathroom, you cursed at the lack of sharp objects. Grabbing your tweezers from the counter, you supposed they’d have to do. You flung open the bathroom door, jabbing the tweezers into the neck of the man nearest you. You kicked the other man down, pressing onto his neck with your foot.

“You’re okay.” Harrison breathed out, coming to stand beside you after he shot the other man, the one with the tweezers in his neck, again.

“Still light headed.” You replied. The man below you moved and Harrison was quick to point his gun at him threateningly. You stepped back, allowing his steadier foot to replace yours. 

“Who sent you?” He questioned.

“G-Goldfinger.” The man wheezed out.

“And was it Goldfinger who made you drug us? How did you find us?”

The man just laughed in response, and you heard the sounds of the police sirens flooding down the street.

“They heard the shots. We gotta go.” You said, and Harrison nodded. You quickly loaded the bags as your partner kept a watchful eye on the enemy. Knowing there was no way you and Harrison could escape if the police got involved, you two left the other man there, alive but weak.

“Next time, no champagne.” Harrison stated once the two of you were seated in the DB10. You sent a quick message to Moneypenny, who would send the word onto M that you and Harrison were en route in the DB10, no private jet necessary tomorrow. Considering how long the drive was, you knew it’d be enough time for you two to meet with Q in Montenegro and catch Le Chiffre.

“You’re going to drive us to Montenegro in this car, and I’m going to forget I ever told you anything about that god awful place.” You groaned, leaning your head against the window. “What did they drug us with?”

“Q says it’s a harmless interrogation drug.” He replied, flicking his eyes over to you, a new softness to them, “Get some rest, you’ve had a rough go.”

You turned to face ahead, trying to get yourself comfortable, and the car was silent for a moment, the only sound coming from the DB10 moving against the road and the quiet Duran Duran song playing over the speakers. You looked over at Harrison, who had his eyes trained on the road, “Thank you.”

“For what?” He asked, genuinely curious about the sudden appreciation.

“For saving me yesterday and patching me up.” You said softly, studying his face for a moment, before shifting to look ahead once more. “I’d do the same for you.”

“Let’s hope you’ll never have to.”

~~~

General Tag List: @viagracex​ @theamazingtomholland​ @Hellomoveonby @heyitsshrez @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart​ @joyleenl​ @t-o-m-holland​ @lonikje​ @sleepybesson​ @sunkisseddreamer​

Harrison Tag List: @Calhtlland @tomkindholland​ @where-art-thau-romeo​

Series Tag List: @quinjetboi @baby-haz @kickingn-ames @rougese7en @hollandsosterfield @nj01​ @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @spencerreidxoxo​

His Human

Chapter One

Prince Nuada x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You were just a simple human once. Living your normal life and going to school, partying with friends...but all the changed when your powers appeared. Your life wasn’t the same after that, leaving you all alone in this world but a certain event had led you to a certain elven Prince.

Warning: None

Words: 1,200

A/n: So this story pass after the Golden Army and Nuada and Nuala didn’t die 😂 They work now for B.P.R.D

“Watch it, Freak!” a bulky man snarl while giving you a hard push with his shoulder, making you fall on the busy street.

You huff in annoyance and pick up your bags, putting a piece of pure white hair behind your ear. Trying to control your anger for not freeze the man right there.

You had the power of controlling ice, water and everything that contains water. This power appeared when you were sixteen years old. Your mother said that was in your blood in the morning that you woke up with your all room frozen. She said that your grandmother had the same power and the older generation was the same.  

After that day everything changed. Your bright h/c was now pure white and smooth. Your soft s/c skin was pale as a ghost and your eyes were bright like a pure crystal. Your mother had to pull you out of your school since every damn kid was bulling you and calling you freak, making you almost freeze a kid.

As you grew up, your mother taught you to control your power. She was your only friend and family that didn’t walk away, always helping you and comforting you when you had a bad day...but on your eighteen birthday, an accident car took her away from you. Leaving you alone in a world full of selfish and wicked people.

You got a job on an awful dinner in New York suburbs as a waitress. It wasn’t really bad since the men tip you well because they thought that you are hot but it wasn’t a dream job.

Walking down the street, you heard some people screaming in terror and some running away from you were going. Frowning, you focus your ice blue eyes in the distance. Gasping when you saw a huge beast thrashing around, throwing heavy cars to the buildings.

“What a hell is that thing?!” you whisper in shock.

The beast growls and snarls shook the ground beneath you. You walk closer and notice that the creature was almost the same size of a small building. It had two long horns and his skin was black as the night with reddish veins ruining down through his large body.

A garbage truck passes by you at full speed and stops in front of the beast. The creature roars loudly and grabs a black car beside him to throw at the garbage truck. Your eyes widen when you saw two small children, crying and screaming in panic in the car, their father dead at the front seat.

“Oh no you don’t!” you murmured while throwing you bag to the side, taking off your denim jacket.

You begin running towards the large beast at full speed, hearing people screaming at me. You notice the doors of the garbage truck open and a massive red guy coming out with a big gun but you ignore it and went to the creature.

The beast roars at you but you try to push away the fear and jump in the air, making an ice bridge. You slid around the monster and begin freezing his strong legs, making him immobile. The children let out a cry when the creature lifted more his arm, aiming the car at you.  

“Fuck!” you growl.

You clap your hands, forming a sharp blade of ice and throw to the monster arm, cutting it off. The car begins falling but you made a slide of ice and the car slid down, stopping when the red guy grabs it and took the children out.

The monster let out a painful cry and try to hit you with his other arm but you were quicker than him and use your power to control the blood that had pour from the monster’s arms. The dark red liquid begins floating in the air like a leave dancing gently with the wind and goes inside his flat nose, making him gag and cough. Drowning on his own blood.  

The creature falls limp on the ground, making the street shake with his weight. You land gracefully on the ground and look around, seeing the people looking at you with their eyes full of fear and disgust.

The police arrive and begin pushing the people away, trying to clear the street. You look down and take a deep breath, trying to contain the tears. Why the people were looking like that at you?! You only wanted to help, to save the two children in the car! Your hands tremble with fear and rage, the air around you become cold. The ice burned in your veins, trying to get out but you took another deep breath and shut down your powers.

“That was pretty awesome, kid!” a deep voice sounded behind you. You look back and saw the red guy standing there, behind him was a woman with short black hair, a...fishman? And lurking in the shadows of the garbage truck was the most beautiful man you ever saw. He was tall, very tall with a slim body but muscled. His skin was pale and his hair was long, with silver roots and the bottom was like a dark gold but what made your breath caught in your throat was his eyes.  

Golden like the sun. Filled with awe and surprise as they examine you carefully, observing every movement you do.

“Ahh...W..Who are you?” you asked quietly, confused and scared of the strange group in front of you.

“We work for B.P.R.D, Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense. I’m Hellboy but you can call me Red,” he said with a warm smile. “This is my wife, Liz and the fish is Abe!” Red laugh when Liz gave him a small push, Abe glaring at the demon man. “Oh! I almost forgot! The one pouting on the back is Nuada...He is a little drama queen.” he whispers with a smirk on his crimson lips.

“Paranormal Research?... What’s going on?” you felt dizzy from all the information that the massive guy just had given you. You knew that there were other magical living beings on Earth, your mother used to tell you stories of them but you thought that they were extinct.  

“Well, how about you come with us. We will tell all about it...and maybe get you working with us.” Red said while waving to you to follow them inside the truck. The other agents were cleaning the mess that you made with the monster.  

You enter the truck and gasp in awe, seeing all the amazing technology inside. Liz led you to a seat which was beside the silver-haired guy. He crosses his strong arms around his chest and looks up and down at you, his silver brows furrow as he studies you.  

“Hi...” you whisper, your cheek turning in light pink.

Nuada huffs and looks away. You look down in disappointment and begin playing with small snowflakes that were coming out of your fingers.

Red knock loudly on the truck wall, making you jump in surprise. “Let’s go!” with that, it begins moving, taking you to an all-new world.

What am I getting into?....

Hey Guys!! So a lot of you wanted a series with Nuada and so here is the first chapter! I hope you like it and feel free to comment and tell me what you think!

XOXO

Taglist is open- HERE

Taglist: @caraboo15​ | @korbynblackwood01​ | @tuataracda123 | @xakilicious​ | @aubageddon91​ | @raisinbrenbran

Hypnophobia - 05

fünf — and there’s no escape

pairing: ares x original female character (beatrix)

blurb: “Loyalty can be rather expensive.”

word count: 2.1k+

title inspiration: game of survival - ruelle

apologies for the incredibly long wait. in mid-july, i moved across the country and immediately got sick due to 3-4 weeks of nearly continuous heatwaves (uncommon for the area i’m living in). my apartment does not have a/c, so all i had was one fan and an unbearable amount of humidity. my apartment was in the high 90s nearly every day, with the low end being.... the low 90s.....

just to note: i am starting graduate studies this monday. i am working on getting an mfa in creative writing, so all of my school-related writing projects will take priority over fanfics.

This work is cross-posted on Ao3.

… | 04 | 05 | [discontinued notice] … series masterlist

In theory, Santino’s new task is easy.

“You want me to meet with your seller?” Beatrix asks, a request for confirmation that she had not misheard the man.

“You will be accompanying Ares,” Santino clarifies. “She is the one meeting the buyer.”

“You’re not going to meet him yourself?”

The Camorra boss frowns, leaning back into his armchair. “I’ve been asked to return to Naples and I can’t push it back any longer than I already have. I’m entrusting Ares with closing the deal and I want you there for support.”

“Why send me?” The woman says. “Why not send one of your men?”

Santino shrugs. “You know sign language,” he replies.

A simple assignment, really: be the translator.

As the driver eases the car into a stop, Beatrix glances out of the window. Her eyes scan their surroundings, noting the clusters of people showing off their overpriced designer jewelry and the borderline scandalous hemlines of their clothing. The New Yorkers loiter the space outside of a ritzy expensive nightclub, Das Schwein, a club that is embedded into the bottom three levels of the high-rise building.

To get the woman’s attention, Ares reaches out towards Beatrix, brushing her fingertips against the top of her hand. And when Beatrix turns to look at her, Ares pulls her hand away, signing, We are here.

The assassin nods, before opening the door and stepping out of the vehicle. She smooths the sides of her burgundy dress and takes a moment to straighten the plunging neckline. Though the winter chill encourages a splattering of goosebumps to form along her bare arms, it, for the moment, lacks the biting cold that had permeated the Chicago air.

Ares, dressed in a matching suit, takes the lead and approaches the building. Do not speak unprompted, she commands. Do not leave my side.

Falling into step behind the woman, Beatrix nods. “I understand,” she says.

When the bouncer sees the pair approach, he steps aside before waving them through the entrance. Without even acknowledging the man, Ares steps between the doors. She scrutinizes the first floor of the club, scanning over the patrons boozed up with fine liquor, the grinding bodies on the dance floor, and the sloppy touches exchanged between indiscrete temporary lovers in the booths. Her eyes land on a private elevator tucked away in the corner of the room, protected by a couple of guards.

Ares and Beatrix approach them and the guard on the left greets them with a nod of his head. “Mr. Brecher is on the top floor,” he says, pressing a button to open the doors.

Beatrix tenses at his words.

Brecher?

No, it couldn’t be.

He wouldn’t be here, not in New York. Not right now.

Ares enters the elevator and Beatrix steps in beside her. She clicks on the button for the top floor and takes a small step back when the doors slide shut. They ride in silence, undisturbed by the subtle hum of the ascending machine.

But for Beatrix uneasiness fills the silence, floods her senses with a flight response that’s impossible to act upon in this enclosed space. Threads are tugged in the pit of her stomach, snapping as they attempt to suppress the building worry, anxiety, dread.

It could be a coincidence; a different man with a shared surname.

A button dings, signaling their arrival.

When the doors open, Beatrix realizes that this easy job, this simple task of being the translator, is a far more complicated situation. Her eyes land on the silhouette of a person she had hoped to avoid for as long as she could. And her gaze drifts to the left side of his face, confirming his identity with a familiar scar etched into the skin. One that begins just beneath his eye, before curving to slice into the side of his lips.

Matthias Brecher.

Her last thread breaks, drowning Beatrix with a renewed realization that she has spent too much time dancing next to the growing flames. That frequently tempting fate would encourage it to retaliate with the most severe consequences.

The man notices the Camorra woman first. “Ares,” he greets.

She exits the elevator, stepping into the private room.

Matthias shifts his gaze to Beatrix. His eyes flicker with surprise, before an amused grin weaves itself into his features. “Well,” he says, “I wasn’t prepared for quite the surprise.”

“Matthias,” Beatrix acknowledges.

Ares’ footsteps come to a halt and she turns her head to glance back at the other woman. She watches her, studying the assassin’s face for any subtle twitches that would give away her thoughts, betray her motives.

“I didn’t think we would meet again so soon,” the man says.

Beatrix smiles, but the false joy never reaches her eyes. “Perhaps we meet again too soon,” she forces the joke between her lips.

And the words deepen the frown that’s already forming in the corners of Ares’ mouth.

Matthias slides his hands into the pockets of his dress slacks and takes a step closer to Beatrix. He chuckles, “I thought I was having a meeting with Camorra’s people, not Lilith.”

The woman straights her back, lifting her chin just a tad higher off of the ground. “You are having a meeting with Camorra,” she states. “I am here to translate on Ares’ behalf.”

The man hums, pondering over the woman’s response. “But Lilith would never loan you away for something this trivial.” He nudges his head towards Ares, “especially when it involves one party in particular.”

“I wanted a change of pace.”

“Or,” the man leans down, “perhaps the rumors are true. Perhaps Lilith’s favored rosebud has fluttered away with the wind. I’ve found that loyalty is a tough commodity to find,” he whispers, “nowadays.”

“Loyalty can be rather expensive,” Beatrix says.

Matthias takes a step away from the woman, turning to face Ares. “Would you mind if we postpone our meeting, for a just a few minutes?”

Ares narrows her eyes.

“Miss Amsler and I are old acquittances,” he continues. “Conversations with her are always a treat. And I do enjoy splurging on a bit of pleasure before getting into business.” Matthias chuckles, “You never know which job is going to be your last.”

Ares shifts her gaze to meet Beatrix. When the other woman gives her a slight nod of assurance, her eyes dart back to Matthias. She gives him a nonchalant shrug and then retreats to the small bar on the left. She sits down on one of the stools, before gluing her eyes back onto the pair.

“Come, Süsse,” Matthias places the palm of his hand against the small of the woman’s back, directing Beatrix towards the open balcony on the other side of the room. “We have much to discuss.”

When they are just far enough away that Ares is unable to listen to their conversation, Beatrix pulls herself away from Matthias. “You said there are rumors that I’ve been disloyal,” she says. “Did you know that I was working with Santino?”

“It wasn’t my first guess,” he admits. “But I knew you wouldn’t stay with Lilith forever.”

Beatrix frowns.

“I am surprised,” Matthias continues. “The last person I expected you to align yourself with would be such a prominent figure for the Camorra.”

“People have stooped to less for a few extra dollars in their pocket.”

“I’m almost offended,” the man says. “You would choose his company, before committing yourself to someone like Tarasov, or to someone like me?”

“At the time,” Beatrix leans towards the man, “I found this to be a more favorable business opportunity.”

“Must be quite the pay,” Matthias says. “Perhaps I should consider dropping my lifestyle as the boss, huh? Work as one of D’Antonio’s lackeys. After all, you must be swimming in riches. The pay must be good, good enough to convince you to work for the man who told his people to brutally torture and murder your best friend.”

The woman tenses, nails digging themselves into the palms of her hands.

“Tell me how you sleep at night,” he continues, “knowing that you’ve chosen to snuggle up to the devil himself. Do you still think of Evie? Do you hear her screams? Her pleading cries for help?”

Beatrix takes a small step away, increasing the distance between them.

But Matthias inches closer. “Or do you hear the wails of your baby?”

“Fuck you,” Beatrix shoves the man away from her. “Don’t you dare—”

“—No wonder you look so tired.”

The woman scoffs. “Is there a reason why we’re discussing this?”

“Süsse, we’re just having a conversation,” he says. “But if you want a change of topic, let’s talk about Ares.” Matthias smiles, briefly shifting his gaze to the Camorra woman. “She’s your type, no? Deadly, powerful, commands the room, when she wants to. And stuffed full with information that you could sell for quite the pretty penny.”

The man chuckles. “I know you, more than you’d care to admit. You’d never work for Santino, but you would target him, hurt him, cripple him. So, are you going to seduce his right-hand woman? Manipulate her? Convince her to confess all of those valuable secrets?”

“Targeting her would be pointless,” Beatrix says.

“Why? Because she understands the concept of sworn, unfaltering loyalty?”

“Because it would take too long,” she says. “I have no interest in wasting my time with a pointless task.”

Matthias smirks and pulls a phone out of his pocket. His fingers press against the screen, tapping on the buttons, before angling the item towards the woman. “Is that why poor Luca got chopped up into itty bitty pieces?” He taunts. “Because he wouldn’t spill any of Camorra’s dirty secrets? Was he a waste of time?”

Beatrix glances down at the phone, swallowing the nerves brewing in the bottom of her throat. Filling the screen is the image of a body, blood spilling out of appendages that had been sliced into manageable pieces. The body had been placed inside of bathtub, one that Beatrix recognized.

“Izzy may be your friend, but she is still under my employment,” Matthias explains.

“Does she give you documentation on every job she takes?”

“Just for the handful of people I care to keep tabs on,” the man shrugs. “Is your contract for intel or disposal?”

“I think it’s best that I keep that information to myself,” Beatrix says.

“I disagree.” Matthias puts the phone away, before reaching inside of the pocket concealed beneath the jacket of his suit. He pulls out a small circular object, which he holds up, displaying it for Beatrix.

It’s a Marker.

Her Marker.

Beatrix can feel the intensity of Ares’ stare, can feel her processing and examining the situation as it unfolds. And though she wants to look at her, wants to tell Ares that she wants, no, that she needs this conversation to end, she chooses to ignore the Camorra woman. She maintains eye contact with Matthias, determined to not shudder, to not buckle, beneath his gaze.

“You owe me,” he says. “We’ve made an oath, you and I, a blood contract. I’ve completed my end of the bargain, but I still need to cash in on your side.”

Beatrix remains silent.

“Tell me the truth,” Matthias continues. “Which of your many skills have you been hired to perform?”

“What would you do with that information?” She says, “If you sell it to the right buyer, I’ll end up killed, regardless of my answer.”

The man frowns. He raises a hand towards Beatrix and weaves her loose curls between his fingers. “You think so little of me,” he says. His fingers tighten around the hair, and he pulls Beatrix towards him, before shoving her towards the railing at the edge of the balcony.

The assassin gasps when the metal slams against the bottom of her ribcage. Instinct kicks in and her fingers latch onto the rails.

“If I wanted to kill you,” Matthias growls, “there are much more convenient ways for me to do so.” He releases his grip on her hair and takes a step closer. With his chest pressed against her back, he traps her between himself and the metal that is preventing her from tumbling to her death. “I have every intention of using the task you owe me. Ratting you out would be a waste of time and resources. You owe me, Beatrix,” he hisses, “not the other around.”

“Boss,” a man calls.

“What?” Matthias answers, ever so slightly relaxing his stance.

“Do I shoot?”

The man pulls away from the woman, turning towards his henchmen.

When Beatrix turns to see what the man was referring to, her eyes widen at the sight of Ares. All thirteen of Matthias’ men have their weapons trained on the woman, whom has a gun pointed directly at the their leader’s head.

“How fascinating,” Matthias says.

a/n: thank you so much for reading. if you liked what you read, please considering reblogging this chapter. every reblog truly does help a small author like me! but any likes, comments, or other indications that you enjoy this story is also appreciated!

this chapter was meant to be much longer, but i didn’t to split it into two pieces in order to prevent even further delays in getting an update out. the next chapter’s rough draft is over halfway done. if all goes well it will be published before the end of next month.

if you’re interested, you can also follow me for more updates on twitter @ VostaraFics

A Fire Dragon, His Princess and The Not-So-Terrible Party Aftermath: Chapter: 1 (Nalu Week 2020)

A Fire Dragon, His Princess and The Not-So-Terrible Party Aftermath

Nalu week 2020 Prompts: Voice, Flirt, Charm & Smile(All implied)

Genres: Romance, Humor, New Adult Fanfiction

Pairing: Nalu/Endlu (Natsu x Lucy & E.n.d. Natsu x Lucy)

Rating: M for language, steamy and mature/adult sexual content (all consensual) in these and future chapters. Reader Discretion is advised.(You've been warned!)

Summary: God knows it was all fun and games at an outdoor guild party until a drinking contest results in a not-so-great time for a certain celestial wizard much to the dismay of a protective dragon slayer and company. Even worse is Lucy's hangover with some kind of mild flu and busted ankle to boot . At least a doting Natsu is more-than-willing to provide his mate plenty of TLC. One of my entries for @nalu-week 2020  and part of the Nalu-centric anthology series The Dragon Demon and His Celestial Princess anthology series (slight au/ canon divergent).

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Chapter 1: A Worthwhile Distraction

A/N: Hey guys, it's me again with my third entry for @nalu-week 2020 in the form of a new story and is also part of The Dragon Demon and His Celestial Princess anthology (TDDAHCP); series which is set shortly after the events of 100 years quest with said quest being completed in a matter of weeks or a few months (hence why it's slight au/canon divergent). Special thanks to @mannyegb again for helping me to edit and further develop this chapter. Now without further ado, here's the story-enjoy!

Scroll Down Past The Read More Button/cut for designated links and the actual chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fairytail which instead belongs to the one and only Hiro-sensei instead!

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1.  A Fire Dragon, His Princess and The Not-So-Terrible Party Aftermath

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B. Fanfiction (Click Here:) (or here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13623735/1/A-Fire-Dragon-His-Princess-and-The-Not-So-Terrible-Party-Aftermath)

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Legend

Italics: Fantasy, flashback & literary/ song quotes

Bold: First Person Thoughts

Bolded Italics: empathized word

Bolded Italics: outside of main story): A/N

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" The friction between my words and your fantasy is making the atmosphere erotic."

(Soraya Marcelo: Twitter)

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"There you go baby - everything's ready now. It should be perfect for tonight. A guild picnic at dusk and bonfire under the stars, was it?"

"Yep, that's what Mira told us. Even said so on the Magicbook * page for the event. My friends from other guilds like Sabertooth will be attending too— a bunch responded."

"Awesome baby!"

"It really is. Thanks for helping me get ready by the way, Cancer!"

"Anytime. Have fun tonight!"

"Will do— thank you! "

"All right-catch you later, baby!"

"See ya!"

" Wow—- You look beautiful, Luce."

Natsu's arms encircled Lucy's waist from behind with the soft pressure of his lips on her shoulder; which sent a tingly shiver down her spine.

"Not that ya' didn't before. He amended, a fond smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Not to mention those striking emerald eyes the celestial mage could drown in. "You always do."

Major fan of this whole look.

"I still can't believe I got such a gorgeous angel as my mate and queen. How am I this lucky?"

"Dunno. How'd you ever get so sentimental?" Lucy shot back, a teasing lilt to her words. (She couldn't help but lean back into his arms ). "If Gray could only hear you now ...but yeah, I really like all this too ."

Golden half-braided hair framed the face of Lucy's reflection in a floral-mini, skater dress; who was gazing back through a mirror. Topping the whole ensemble together was a pair of Grecian-style wedges on her feet that were to die for.

"Still can't believe you're officially mine" the dragon slayer breathed, voice thick with reverent awe. "I love you so much."

"L-love you too... hmm."

The celestial wizard let out a soft hum of bliss from the peppering of feathery-light kisses on her neck leading to her collarbone just after a nuzzle.

"Y-You trying to distract me Natsu?" she inquired, voice coming out as breathy to her own ears. God, the sensation of Natsu's scorching lips on the celestial mage's creamy skin was scattering all train of thought— almost too much to handle!

It's really hard to think right now...

"Hmm.. just maybe I am, sweetheart," came the dragonslayer's reply, timbre, a languid drawl against her skin. "Is it working?"

"Yes," was all Lucy could utter, eyes drifting shut from the sweep of his hand up the curve of her neck in a single caress. Oh and the appealing sensation of a blonde tendril being dragged through his deft fingers was an added bonus too!

"Good," The vibrations of the fire wizard 's throaty chuckle sent sparks ripping across the summoner's nerves; which effectively turned the celestial mage's knees to mush.

"That's what I was aiming for ."

"It is?"

"Yep. Did I mention how amazing you smell?" He rumbled, pulling another shiver out of his mate. "Your natural scent now permanently mixed with mine..."

Dear God, the enticing charisma of this man- so natural! Who was she deny the incredibly overpowering ecstasy exploding through her veins with how the demon hybrid's nose was pressed against the crook of her neck?.

"And is that a hint of jasmine perfume I'm catching a whiff of?"

"Mhmm..."  Goddamn-  how extremely apparent  that Lucy was pretty much rendered incapable of forming any type of response other than a single ,answering hum.

"Thought so-pretty intoxicating if ya' ask me."

"Um..."

It was then Lucy couldn't help but wonder what Natsu's ultimate end game was. No doubt the man was successful in efforts to ensare her with his devilish charms— but where did he intend for it to all lead? Did any of his plans entail steamy kissing marathons on the couple's bed? Slow-burn love-making beneath the sheets, wild romps all over their apartment? Just what if it could be?

Holy hell— that pulsating of liquid heat pulsating that shot between to the keyholder's core from the scintillant flash of images flooding her mind .

Supple digits unzipping the back of her dress, an insatiable Natsu pinning her against a wall, being lightly tossed onto the bed by said dominant dragon slayer, all-too-welcome lips leaving a high-voltage trail of electricity down her bare form before...

"Crap... the time."

Just for that little fantasy bubble to burst once Natsu pulled away from Lucy; who bit back a noise of protest at the loss of contact.

"Eh sorry, Luce," he apologized, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "Didn't mean to lose track of the time like that. Either way, we should probably start heading over if we don't wanna be late."

"Okay..." Lucy let out a sigh, not able to stop the wave of mild disappointment from washing over her.

"Aw come on now, weirdo!" Natsu wheedled, light-hearted amusement coloring his tone. "No need to be so glum! Tonight's gonna be fun, remember?"

"I know." Lucy conceded, with a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Should be great to spend time with our friends from Fairytail and other guilds. " Her spirits couldn't help but be lifted by the pyro's sunny mood.

Him and that infectious grin of his...

"Great! That's the spirit!" He crowed , planting a light peck on Lucy's cheek;aka the reason for the slight flush of scarlet .

"Tonight's gonna be awesome !"

"It sure will ."

"Definitely!"

"Oh, and one more thing," Natsu paused to shoot Lucy a lingering glance. "Just a little tiny something."

" What that might be?"

"Your outfit. I was thinking that maybe it could use a little extra piece to complete the look? Like, say that necklace I gave you?"

" Oh… that gorgeous pendant? You know what, yeah! Great idea-Thanks Natsu!"

"My pleasure. And pretty sure I saw said pendant in your jewelry box. Lemme' grab it for you."

"Sure thing!"

"Great then- so it's settled!"

"You bet!"

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A/N: Magicbook is a fictional social media app and site for all magic users and citizens in Earthland- aka the Fairytail equivalent of its counterpart in real life Facebook- in case anyone was wondering. Just a little sidenote about the chronological order for the timeline each fic in my TDDAHCP anthology series.

1. Fire And Gold(prequel)

2. Tantric Flames

3. A Dragon, His Princess and the Not-So Terrible Party Aftermath(this fic)

Figured I'd provide a little guide about the chronological order in terms of how each fic in this series takes place. Anyway, that's pretty much all for now until the next chapter. Hoped you enjoyed the first installment and please free to let me know what you think by dropping a review/comment!

Once again, don't forget to check out my other Nalu week entries along with the rest of my writing! Also be sure to stay tuned for chapter 3 of Fire and Gold which will be posted ASAP once I have a chance to finish the edits and format! Did I mention my other upcoming Nalu/FT projects in the works! Bet you're all fired now as Natsu would say! Oh and why not check out the rest of Nalu week submissions from the other incredibly talented writers and artists while you're at it? (Corresponding links to all my writing and profiles can be found above in this post, the navigation bar and bio if reading this on tumblr. Also on my respective FF and A03 accounts.) Thanks again to everyone for their incredible show of support ! Until next time-take care!

The last words of Elias Edwards.

Before I share this story, I’ll preface it by saying I am not the author, and nor is my grandfather. After his passing, I found this amongst his belongings. Pieced together from torn and water-damaged scraps of paper were the last words of a man lost at sea. Alongside the tale was a glass bottle. Supposedly, this is the bottle that the story washed up ashore in. I will presume this tale to be real, instead of some elaborate piece of fiction, as my grandfather insisted upon this in his accompanying notes.

Without wasting any more of your time, I will now type out the story to the best of my abilities. Forgive me if some details are inaccurate - the handwriting is already bad, and almost illegible in some places due to water damage. I will use my grandfather’s speculative notes to assist me in places where the water damage is too great. 

Let’s begin: 

To whomever finds this note, be sure to keep it to yourself. I’ve a need to tell someone of my fate, but I wish not for my beloved to know of the tragedy that befell me. I’d rather she believed our ship was capsized, that we all drowned in the frozen hellscape of the Atlantic. I shall surely perish out here. Whether I drown, starve, or be eaten, I hope it will bring me peace. I want not for my own demise, I’ll make that much clear, but I no longer fear it. As a last remark, before I begin, let it be known that I don’t hold a grudge against anyone. I pray their souls feel the same about me. None of us were brave men. Not on that day. Least of all me.

My name is Elias Edwards. I am twenty-six. The year is 1846. I will die at sea, as have all but one of my shipmates. 

We set sail from the Bristol City Docks. We’ve a history of seafaring men in town, and whoever reads this will surely recognise us as the city that bestowed Blackbeard upon the world. With that sort of history, its no wonder we’ve so many fishermen and merchants clambering for a chance at sailing the high seas. We were a crew of one hundred and fifty men, each of us very capable. As our ship was presently the brawniest of the seaworthy bunch at Bristol City Docks, the academics at the University of Oxford had arranged for us to keep watch over a young scholar. He had been developing a device that would revolutionise seafaring, as they boldly claimed. The young lad, definitely no more than twenty-one, was named Henry Clark. 

I had expected Henry to be a meek academic; I’d known the type - scrawny, with such a penchant for all things scientific that he’d be sooner caught in bed with a book than a woman. But Henry gave a different impression. He fit in well with the crew, and we almost forgot that he was there for a reason other than pay. We had all said our farewells and see-you-soons to our betrothed, beloveds, firstborns, and mothers - each man to whomever it was he cared for the most in this world, and so we journeyed out to the Americas. Our ship was well stocked, and we carried with us crates of goods to be sold to the Yanks.

As our ship cleared her path out to sea, and the bustling docks melted away into the distance, a number of the men began a mild teasing of Henry - despite his friendly disposition, nothing was enough to save him from the mockery that one who had not found their sea legs would receive.  Amongst the group was my cousin; he too was a member of the crew. Albert Edwards, a little older than I, patted Henry on the back as the jests subsided. “Happens to everyone,” he reassured Henry. I went over to greet Albert, but stopped when I saw Henry pull a strange box from his pocket. 

My cousin and the others were fascinated by the machine too, and we all began to gather around the scholar. I can’t quite describe best how the machine looked; I’ve no knowledge of steam engines or any other such mechanisms. There were blinking flashes of red and green along one side, and on its front were a series of levers and switches that did only God knows what. A rectangle above the switches showed numbers that changed, six digits that increased and decreased for some reason unknown to me. Albert went to touch the box, but Henry quickly pulled it away. 

“We have to be very careful with this.” 

Henry refused to let anyone else touch it, but was more than happy for us to look. This new mystery device, the one that would revolutionise seafaring, soon became the talk of the whole crew. Many of us speculated upon how it worked, but none of us quite understood when Henry explained it. He told us to rest assured that, one day, nobody would set sail without one. While none of us could understand how it worked, Henry told us what it did. He said that its use was to pinpoint your exact position on the globe, and that’s what the numbers meant. We were all amazed, but after a number of days spent sailing, we carried on with our normal duties and forgot about Henry’s box. 

I shan’t bore you with details of ship life. The next two weeks were uneventful. There were no skirmishes with marauders or freebooters, no gunfights with other ships. Our canons were covered with dust - I wasn’t certain whether they had ever known the joy of firing. The Captain ran a tight ship, but enjoyed the company of a relaxed crew, so we entertained ourselves by playing cards and other such things when our attention wasn’t required. It was also a common occurrence for one or two items of freight to go missing from time to time - this trip it happened to be a few bottles of cider. We allowed ourselves to get merry on the drink we had brought, and every now and again on the drinks we were supposed to be delivering. 

On a night out in the middle of the Atlantic, Albert and I sat on the deck. I’d procured a bottle of cider, and Albert cracked in to a bottle of rum that he had stowed away below deck. We sat, bottles in hand, eyes up at the night sky. The blazes of stars lit the way for our journey, and we marvelled in the beauty of a thing we had seen a thousand times. But both of us, without saying a word, knew that the stars we looked at that night would be the same stars our wives looked at when night came for them. We spent some time watching, drinking, the ambient sounds of the ocean and creaking wood of the ship did well rocking us to relax on that still night.

Some time passed before either of us spoke.

“When we get this far out,” my cousin said, “it’s not nice to be away.”

“We’ve done it plenty of times.”

“You’re right. But I’ve got a boy now.”

Albert and his wife had their firstborn not long before we set sail. As horrid as it made him feel, he had to leave her with with their little William. We all need money - with an extra mouth to feed he needed it more than ever. We spoke about fatherhood; Albert’s newfound trials and tribulations, before Henry came to join us. 

“You should come and look at this.”

We each turned to face him, then followed him to the side of the ship. Henry peered over the side, and we followed suit. Beneath us was the ocean black, a glistening mirage of stars floating on its surface. 

“What are we looking at, Henry?” I asked.

Henry pulled his box from his pocket, the red light flickered and flashed like a flame blown by the wind. It made a repetitive ding, which sounded like the bell of a bicycle or some such noise. He watched the numbers closely. 

“There’s something strange beneath us.” He said. 

By this time, I had just about finished my cider. Henry asked me to drop the bottle into the ocean upon my finishing it. I swigged the dregs of my drink and dropped the bottle into the sea. It splashed against the surface, then sunk rapidly down - and as it did so the waters around it were ablaze with a golden hue. A perfect, fantastic, gold. 

“Wow. That’s incredible. What’s that there, then?” Albert asked. 

We thought about what it might be, before Henry hatched a plan. 

Albert recovered his empty, discarded rum bottle and found some rope, and some of the other men crowded around us to watch. Albert held the rope, and I fastened the other end of it securely to the bottle. We lowered it down the side of the boat and into the ocean. It swung and tugged in the breeze, but Albert held a steady hand. The moment it touched the water, a web of gold echoed about it. A subtle humming filled the air while we allowed the bottle to be filled with ocean water. I gazed upon the returning bottle filled with that flowing, glowing gold, and I felt inexplicably drawn to it. We all crowded around Albert as he pulled the bottle up the side of the ship. Some of the golden waters were sloshed around the outside of the bottle. Coiling the rope in one hand, Albert finally dangled the bottle onto the deck. 

“Nobody touch it.” Henry warned. “We need to see what it is first.” 

The crowd that had gathered grumbled at his caution, myself included. We all must have felt the same pull, the same yearning for the golden water. Albert, who had become quite drunk on his rum, complained that it was his bottle and he should be able to do what he wanted with it. Henry ignored the rabble, and unveiled a second device. Much like the first box we had all seen, this second one was of an equally confusing nature. Extending from one side of it was a glass appendage, which Henry dunked into the top of the bottle. It filled itself with the golden liquid. 

“This tells me what it is.” He informed us. 

While Henry was looking at the device he had kept hidden from us until this point, the golden glow within the bottle, and that which was dripping from its sides, had simmered down. It had faded and appeared as if it were regular water of the ocean. The crowed had lulled, but Albert reached forwards to the bottle, noting aloud in a drunken slur the obvious fact that it had faded. He placed his thumb over the mouth of the bottle, and shook it. Sure enough, the water inside began to sparkle again with that same dazzling gold. So did Albert’s hand, as he took it away from the still-wet bottleneck. The tip of his thumb was bright and golden. A number of the men laughed, and so did Albert - but his laugh slowly grew nervous, before falling silent. He began to scratch at his hand, to try to wipe off the gold, but all he did was spread it to his other hand. Albert scratched and scratched, his breath became snatched. I asked him what was wrong.

“Don’t touch me!” My cousin screamed as both myself and others tried to help him and see what was the matter. He panicked, whirling about, before he began to wail in pain. Alongside Albert’s screams was that same humming chorus - we all heard it, rumbling and ominous. I wanted to help Albert, but was terrified of going near him. I knew that the rest of the crew felt the same. He flailed about, winding and twisting himself around and around as he desperately tried to remove the golden waters from himself, but all he could do was spread it further. Albert’s skin began to bubble, began to pop, and even began to fall off. Flesh dripped from my dear cousin’s arms as he begged God for mercy. One man tried to throw some of his alcohol over Albert to wash away the gold, but it didn’t work. I winced and turned away from the scene. The constitution of my stomach was not enough to behold the sight any longer. In the commotion, with my hand held before my mouth and facing away, I noticed Henry skulking behind the mast. 

“Where are you off to?” I called over the screams and humming, dashing over to him. 

“I told everyone not to touch it. I’m leaving.” He said, flicking the levers and dials on a device of his. I went to reach towards him, to grab him and tell him to explain himself… 

Perhaps it was a mix of the alcohol and all the panic in the air, but I swear I saw Henry vanish before my very eyes. Like a spectre, he disappeared. I know not how, but it must have been something to do with his device. I was stood in shock for a moment, trying to understand how a man could do such a thing. It was as if he flicked a switch on his box, then folded into himself, as if he was being crunched and eaten by some invisible beast. He folded and folded, all within the space of a second, until he was no more. Gone... 

While I was preoccupied being completely dumbfounded by what had happened with Henry, the ship had fallen into complete disarray. The alcohol that someone had thrown onto Albert had facilitated the spread of the gold; and in all of the confusion someone must have knocked the first bottle over. I quickly climbed the rigging, and saw others following in my footsteps. Hand over hand, foot over foot, I scrambled my way up high and perched atop the crow’s nest. Canon fire blared beneath the screaming and humming on deck; and I looked down around at the chaos that unfolded before me.

It was a terrible golden mist that slithered upon the side of the boat, reaching at us and clawing its way ever closer. It moved slowly, yet we couldn’t outrun it; there was nowhere to run to. Slowly, but strongly, the sea spray stuttered and juddered its way above and over the walls of the ship, engulfing the bow and marking men for dead with its gentlest touch. Men with melting flesh climbed to reach me, but fell back to the deck as the searing pain became too much for them. 

As strange as it sounds, there was forever an allure about the golden mist that fluttered in the wind. Though I saw it burn through whatever it met, I felt a desire to reach out below the crow’s nest and touch it. I was wise enough to refrain from doing so, but something about the mist could draw men in. Pandemonium was unleashed below me by the onslaught of the golden mist - which reached just below my perch. I sat terrified as I waited for everything to stop, the screaming, the humming. The canon fire had ceased, likely as soon as the operators realised how fruitless an effort it was to fire a cannon at mist and water. 

The ship began to violently rock, side to side, until I could no longer peek over the side of the crow’s nest for fear of falling to my death - be it the mist or the impact that took me, I desired neither. I hunkered down and crouched hidden, surrounded by the small circle of wood that acted as my final wall of protection. I was wobbled by the rocking of the ship, and I tried to hold myself still, but the rocking soon became so violent that I was thrown back and forth by the assault. I cowered in my hiding hole, too timid to face the horrors below, dwelling upon the thought that my friends among the crew, and my dearest cousin Albert, had by now all but fallen apart by the will of the golden mist. 

X X X

From that point onwards, my memories are terribly ill-defined. I must’ve hit my head while I was being flung by the rocking of the boat. I’ve no idea how this came to pass, but when I awoke amidst the scattered, floating wreckage of the ship, I was still afloat myself in the bucket-shaped crow’s nest. Amongst the floating debris were some crates - gifted to me in them are the parchments on which I have written this message, and the bottle in which I will seal this message. And, of course, plenty of cider to keep me company in my final days - though God knows how much of the beloved stuff we’ve lost to the sea floor. 

Make no mistake: I wish I could have helped even just one soul. But to see a man’s flesh fall from his bones as if he were well-cooked meat is enough to send the bravest of men into a blind panic. Please, cousin, hold no grudge against me for my cowardice; I’m serving my punishment, withering away to nothing while drifting aimlessly through the barren ocean blue. 

I’m growing weary as I write now. I’m sensing that the end is near. Whoever finds this, wherever it may wash ashore, thank you for letting me share my story with you. 

I shall now drink the remainder of that which floats with me. If you would be so kind, have a drink with me as you read my final farewell. 

- Elias Edwards

Unfortunately, a lot is left unanswered by Elias. My grandfather’s notes focus heavily on working out what the “golden mist” was, with the avenues he has explored being related to bioluminescent plankton, various microbes, and even the mythological sirens. He also focuses very intently on Henry Clark, and working out how he “disappeared” - though with the fact that Elias had been drinking and had hit his head, I can’t be certain whether any of this really happened. 

I like to watch the sun come up as well.

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For the meme about questions about your muse's series: who are some of your favorite characters?

man i love the whole cast so i’ll really just introduce some of my faves because they’re ever changing a circulating thing for me lol ....so aside ogata

ASIRPA - the deuteragonist! Asirpa is essentially child pulled into this mess by her father faced with big questions, not only about her dad but also about the ainu. Frankly, it’s an unfair burden hard to share with others. She’s also very afraid of being left alone by Sugimoto after the gold hunt is over.

SUGIMOTO SAICHI - main character haha. I love him, I don’t talk about him as much but he’s a fantastic character too. On one hand he does have a good heart but he can be awfully shortsighted and just ...stops thinking sometimes. Fiercely protective, haunted by the war but also violent, ruthless and without mercy not only to others but to himself. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BWKvFlQlrZA << also this scene never fails to make me cry (im giving anime link here but read manga if u want to get into the series lol anime’s missing a lot)

TSURUMI TOKUSHIROU - ahh idk how to put this eloquently and shortly. god there’s so much anyway he’s hot. Upper half of his face is wounded, scar tissue surroundings eyes and his forehead leaking brain liquid sometimes still, normally wears a plate for this reason. He’s one of the big players in series, wanting to acquire the gold to ,among other things, start a coup at Hokkaido. Intelligent, charismatic. He’s gentle, loving to his devoted followers ‘’rising’’ them with love . In a way he does genuinely love his followers, the loyal ones anyhow but only in exchange to complete unquestioning, loyalty. “Shinigami” he’s called and also “the devil”,  seducing (so to speak)people to his side....  I could write a lot about him, he’s so many things and he’s fantastic. 

Boutarou the Pirate (Oosawa Fusetarou) - One of the escaped convicts with a tattooed skin (code for finding the gold.) He drowned people and robbed them. Can hold his breath for a LONG TIME under the water. Tall man with long hair and HUGE FEET (36 cm). Recent addition to the story, he seems to be from a poor background. His goal is that he wants to built a country, to become a king of it or pick someone’s goal HE deems worthy of it. I believe he basically wants to become someone big enough for he lacked importance but ..... 259 will confirm that. I love his whole motif of being a sea monster basically, i really hope he’s a longterm stay in the cast.... 

KADOKURA - a lazy, simple guy that wants nothing but peace but is however dead loyal to Hijikata Toshizo. He’s someone that was born under unlucky star, constantly getting into accidents but on the flipside it seems that he also has a freak luck in staying alive. He’s absolutely not in the same level in the fighting as many others are in the cast, he cant run for a long time, but he’s still valuable asset in his own way. Like Shiraishi he’s a valuable asset in his ordinary self... He doesn’t even hav I really just enjoy the presence of these absolute nonfighter types that run out of breath running etc. 

There’s a recent plottwist that sure will cause trouble for him, poor guy. 

He’s a tanuki - not ... literally but that’s the general motif he has! Maybe not the huge balls tho.