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inoreuct · 4 months

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drink from me

a sherry-laced conversation about thirst and running away. zosan | 2k | hurt/comfort

Being a coward isn’t as easy as one might think.

It’s juxtaposition in its own right; cowardice is, as defined, a lack of bravery— And yet Sanji supposes it takes bravery to be able to ditch everything you stand for. To turn tail and run. Bravery to bear upon your shoulders the disappointment of everybody who had ever believed in you.

He sighs deeply, tilting the bottle in his hand so that the dregs of liquor slosh within. This is why he doesn’t drink.

It’s relatively easy most days. To lock his past behind a set of double doors, bar the handles with a padlock and chain so he can pretend that everything he’s running from isn’t just three paces behind, snapping at his heels, starved and ready to eat him up whole. Alcohol slots the key back into place and twists it without his permission. Twists his heart until it aches.

He doesn’t know why he’d started. The bottle of sherry had sat, nondescript and guileless and half-full on the galley table after the night’s dessert, and Sanji had paused before he’d slowly wrapped his fingers around the neck of it and let his nails scrape against the dark glass.

The cork had popped almost too easily and here he is now, taffrail digging into his forearms as he takes a long drag from his cigarette and lets bitter smoke fill his lungs full to bursting. Blood orange coats the back of his tongue, cloyingly sweet, thick on the roof of his mouth— He’d made a layered trifle with cacao nibs and caramelised cream that had been slathered between slabs of boozy vanilla sponge, and the aftertaste clings to his teeth. Sanji peers down as what’s left of the sherry glimmers vaguely inside the bottle and fights the urge to chug the rest.

He could, if he really wanted to. He hardly drinks but it certainly doesn’t mean he can’t.

A soft scrape against wood catches his attention, barely perceptible. He fights to keep his spine from stiffening, fights to maintain his loose-limbed, easy demeanor; the liquid warmth in his veins helps some but not enough, and he’s halfway through another drag when near-silent footsteps stop just behind him.

Zoro’s haori shifts in the wind, palm loosely wrapped around the end of Wado’s hilt where she’s strapped alone to his hip. “Was wondering where you went,” he says easily, looking out over the ocean.

Sanji scoffs. It burns his throat more than the sherry did. “For someone built like that, you’re surprisingly quiet, marimo.”

The immediate urge to kick himself is something new. He rarely feels it— It appears often, don’t get him wrong, he just. Ignores it. It’s a little more difficult tonight. Built like that. The noise that escapes him is mirthless. What’s that even supposed to mean, huh? Alcohol’s always made him snappy and he does feel bad for once — But he’s tired, and the chores won’t do themselves.

“Make it quick, would you?” he mutters when Zoro still hasn’t replied, low and quiet in the still evening air as he curves down to dig the heel of his palm into his temple. “My spice jars are still all over the counter, and I have to mop the floor before I wash the dishes—”

“It’s done.”

Sanji blinks, before his eyes narrow and he turns his head to look at Zoro properly. “The dishes?”

“Everything.” The swordsman huffs when Sanji gives him a dubious look, gaze flicking over and away again as he rolls his eye. “Luffy asked me to clean up the galley. Said you needed a break.”

Well. The cook exhales, measured, and buries his face into the crook of his elbow. Taps his cig so that ash doesn’t fall into his hair where he’s holding it aloft above his head. “Tell him thanks, but I don’t.”

He clocks it out of his peripheral vision when Zoro smirks and waves a hand to gesture to his cigarette and his slouch and the glass bottle dangling against wood. “What’s this, then?”

I don’t know. Shop’s closed, please fuck off and come back tomorrow morning.

The other words that sit at the tip of Sanji’s tongue are far more scathing. He feels them, bites them back viciously before he can burn anyone other than himself. “If there’s a single thing out of place in there I’m gonna—”

“Kick my ass, I know, I know.” Zoro chuckles under his breath. “Don’t you get tired of saying the same things over and over again?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t constantly choose to be selectively deaf, moss-for-brains.”

The swordsman huffs another soft laugh, and conversation peters out after that. Sanji feels an itch building at the base of his skull, flickering just under his skin; it’s making him restless. He taps the bottle against the rail just to fill the silence. Zoro reaches a hand out and Sanji gives it to him easily, unthinkingly, watching and pretending he isn’t as the swordsman thumbs over the faded paper label that’s peeling at the corner.

Zoro’s hands are scarred, he notes. He knows this, of course, but he never gets tired of letting his gaze drift over tan skin and old scars, thin slivers of pearly tissue painted silver in the moonlight. A breeze ruffles his hair as Zoro finally drinks, and he’s distantly surprised to see that it’s a measured sip and not a swig like what it usually would have been.

Fucking hell. Sanji’s inhale shudders when he pushes himself up and stands straight, now-free hand wrapping around lacquered wood as he finishes his cigarette and tosses the butt over the side. He needs to stop thinking. He’s paying too much attention. There’s a pressure building behind his forehead and Zoro is an overwhelming presence beside him, unavoidable, stoic and staunch as ever, perfect posture, perfect honour, a sentinel with a pure white sword like some sort of— of hero from a storybook. Perfect perfect perfect.

It’s all building like a scream behind his lips, a river at a bottleneck, and he clenches his jaw to keep it in. Grits his teeth until he hears them creak because what would happen if he opened his mouth? Nothing good, he’s sure. Nothing anyone needs.

Sanji nearly startles when the bottle taps against his elbow. “Talk to me.”

“Nothing to say,” he replies immediately, taking a careless gulp and holding in a cough.

Zoro’s slow exhale feels like it shifts the wind itself. Their ship creaks gently. “You always have something to say, curls.”

“Look, you—” He cuts himself off, tempering his breath. “I’m tired, alright? So can you just get to the point?” Fuck, he needs another cigarette.

Maybe that’s the problem. He knows he’s the problem, sure, but Sanji suspects that he’s been running for so long that he’s forgotten how to walk. It’s grown into him like weeds wound through his ribs, the way he sees poison in water that’s perfectly clean, the way peace makes him more anxious than chaos does. He needs to stop running. He doesn’t know how.

Zoro pries the sherry from his fingers and it’s only then that he relaxes the death grip he’d unintentionally had, a shudder slipping over his shoulders. Zoro holds the bottle loosely between his scarred fingers and doesn’t drink.

The silence thickens. Static crackles within his bones.

Sanji doesn’t know why he starts talking. Doesn’t know why it feels like a dam breaking in his chest, but his mouth is open, and the words are emptying out. “I’m tired of looking over my shoulder for something that isn’t there. Luffy gave me something to run towards, for once, but—”

He doesn’t know how to say it’s not enough without sounding ungrateful, without being greedy. “Sometimes I think I could… consume every one of the Blues, and still want more,” he allows. “Need more.” His fingers lace together, and Sanji dips his head with a wry smile even as he looks at the endless expanse of sky in front of them. “I’m afraid I’ll drink the world and still come up dry.”

There is a thirst in him. Something different than what had wracked him for a month on that barren rock. Hunger he can handle; he eats just enough to stave it off and goes about his day. This, though— Sanji can’t help the way it buzzes in the back of his head and keeps him wound up like a coil of electrical wire. He kneads dough and whisks egg whites just to have something to do with his hands. He defaults to his usual barbs when he’s feeling ungrounded so he can kid himself into thinking he possesses some semblance of normality. His shoulders ache as he stares out over the sea and wonders what it’s like to hold so much and still, still, be so achingly empty.

The winds change, carding cool fingers through his hair.

“Drink from me,” Zoro says, and Sanji’s breath catches between his teeth.

His head snaps up to find Zoro already looking at him, face unreadable, elbows on the taffrail and bottle cupped in his hands. The swordsman looks serene, Sanji thinks. Gaze trained straight ahead, ever clear of his objectives as Wado gleams at his side, starlight in an ivory sheath.

“Drink from me,” he repeats. The words are solemn as they always are in moments like these, the liminal space just after dusk but before true night, as his eyes shift over to Sanji and lock in place. “I won’t let you go thirsty again.”

Sanji’s mouth dries. It’s hard not to feel pinned as Zoro looks at him; the weight of his gaze is almost physically tangible, like a familiar green coat settling over his shoulders. That’s the thing about Zoro— For all Sanji jokes about him having plant life in his skull, the swordsman has a penchant for dropping absolutely earth-shaking statements without even seeming to think about them at all. The cook swallows once, twice, tries to find his words as his lips part and loses them as soon as he takes his next breath.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop feeling like a ticking time bomb. But as Zoro’s lashes flutter and he looks away, Sanji feels something in him settle. The relentless buzz that always seems to sit just beneath his skin soothes out into a quiet hum.

Maybe part of it’s how Zoro’s scarred and still perfect. Untouchable. Sanji couldn’t hurt him even if he tried, even if he blows apart.

His fingers wrap, unthinking, around the neck of the bottle as it’s pushed back into his hand, the pressure of Zoro’s touch lingering until he’s sure that Sanji has a good grip. The swordsman’s boots brush softly across the planks as he turns to leave and he’s halfway to the stairs before Sanji speaks.

“Marimo.”

He knows Zoro turns without even looking. “Hm?”

“Did Luffy really ask you to clean up the galley?”

A pause, before Zoro starts walking again. “Get some sleep, cook. I’ll take the rest of your watch.”

The silence he leaves in his wake is honey-thick. First watch is Sanji’s shift, it always is— He cleans up the galley and stays awake until Zoro comes to take over.

(The galley is clean. His watch is covered. His mind is quiet.

For once, he can’t find himself another reason to stay.)

The sherry holds no evidence of them ever having shared it. Sanji lifts the tinted glass and there’s no trace of Zoro, no proof that his mouth had ever been where Sanji’s is— None of the candied orange and rosemary from the duck they’d had for dinner, gamey and blood-sweet.

I won’t let you go thirsty again.

Sanji tastes it still, gentle in the back of his throat as he drains the bottle.

#wrote this all listening to hozier #not a necessary accompaniment but cherry wine fits the mood perfectly even though the lyrics don’t 😌#zosan #one piece #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #sanji #one piece zosan #one piece sanji #zoro #zoro x sanji #one piece zoro #when will i ever stop angsting sanji you ask? NEVER #cuffs him over the head because he doesn’t know how to accept affection LOOK AT HOW MUCH ANGST I CAN FIT IN THIS BAD BOY #ino writes #will i ever stop using fruit and food and liquor as symbolism? also never

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oxittocin · 2 months

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drowning (nico robin x reader)

nico robin masterlist

@edgeray said pining but make it nico robin's pov

cw: gn!reader, drowning and falling in love are pretty much the same thing

The Devil’s Fruit has always been a trade off. Even so, between land and sea, the risk of drowning has always seemed more pleasant than the cruelty of people. Warm looks that once welcomed her with open arms turn cold and menacing the moment they find out who she was, and what her existence entails. Betrayals and exploitation time and time again has served to reinforce one thing - there is no safety for her, land or sea. Exiled is she, in every part of the world, every sense of the word.

———————————————

The Going Merry had left the shores of Arabasta a couple weeks ago.

Leaning against the taffrails of the ship, Robin couldn’t keep her eyes away from the horizon line where the sea meets the night sky. The cool sea breeze blowing through her hair felt unfamiliar. After all, 4 years in Arabasta had left her accustomed to the endless stretches of sand and warm prickly heat on her skin.

“Do you prefer being on land or out at sea?” You had asked her, attempting to make small talk in the midst of guard duty. When she didn’t reply, you continued, “Your weakness to the sea and you staying in a literal desert makes me think you prefer the land more.”

Turning to face you, eyebrows arched in amusement, Robin hummed softly as she shook her head, “Fair guess, but the land has nothing left for me.”

She had a faraway look in her eyes as she turned towards the sea again. You didn’t feel the need to press her further for an explanation, content to busk in the comfortable silence of her presence.

———————————————

What was the sea to Nico Robin?

She had learnt from the moment she took a bite of the Devil’s Fruit that it was a place she shouldn’t venture out to. For a long time, it marked the edges of her world - one step too far and she may sink into the depths, ceasing to exist. Still, she enjoys walking along the shores, soaking her feet in the shallows, as if playfully testing fate.

The sea wasn’t all bad, though, because the sea brought Saul to her. The waves carrying him safely to the shores of Ohara, presenting him like a gift to her - her very first friend. It drifted him into her life at a time where she needed a companion the most.

The sea is a giver, she thought.

No, she corrected herself almost immediately, it gives and it takes.

———————————————

An oasis in the desert.

You were her oasis in the desert, and in your presence, she felt free. Free from the fear that has haunted her since she left Ohara, free from the guilt that has continued to stick to her like a shadow.

Even so, she knew that she had to keep a distance. It is an inevitable fact of life. The storm and rain will pour relentlessly on the people she holds dear.

She couldn’t risk it happening to her oasis.

The time will come eventually for her to leave. She knows this all too well. For the first time in her life, she sent a silent prayer upwards. If she could be so selfish to make a request, then she would ask for just another week, just another day.

———————————————

The moment you’d kissed her was the moment it dawned upon her.

You weren’t an oasis, you were the ocean itself.

When your lips pressed against her in a sweet, fumbling attempt at a confession, she felt like she was drowning. Granted, Nico Robin had never drowned before but if she ever had, she’s sure it would feel like that.

Palpitating heart. Breathlessness. Her chest hurts. Eyes shut tight. The background noises muffled out. All she could feel were your soft lips on hers - an overwhelming sensation. She felt like her soul was being sucked out of her body.

It felt like drowning, but she didn’t hate it.

In fact, if this was drowning, she’d risk her life over and over again for another taste.

When you pulled away, she pulled you right back, her lips crashing against yours messily.

Again, and again, and again.

Like the ocean, you were sapping away at her strength and will to leave. She knows your kisses are bad for her, she knows your kisses will make the eventual goodbyes sting even more.

For once in her life, she indulges herself, and kisses you over and over again until you’re both breathless, gasping for air.

Drowning in you feels like home, she thought.

———————————————

Nico Robin was practiced in the art of saying goodbye. In her experience, the easiest goodbyes are the ones where you simply leave without a word, erasing your entire existence. After all, a single glance at the look of disappointment and hurt on your face might sway her enough to stay, and if she stayed, what would CP9 do to you and the rest of the Strawhats?

She gently touches her lips with her fingers, remembering your kisses from the previous nights - kisses that continue to linger on her lips like a promise. Kisses that will continue to be the source of her nightmares for many years to come.

She wonders if you’ll hate her, and if you’ll ever understand why she made the choice she did. She knows her decision will shatter you, leaving you ruined and wondering if you’d done something wrong. She wishes she could tell you that she didn’t have a choice. She wonders if you’ll blame her for leaving so abruptly. More importantly, she wonders if you would ever regret kissing her that night.

She hoped not.

After all, it was drowning that showed her what being alive truly meant.

#one piece #nico robin x reader #nico robin #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #nico robin x y/n #nico robin x you #one piece robin #x reader

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goodbye-exclusion · 3 months

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xx || masterlist || 01 ->

⋆༺𓆩 00 PROLOGUE 𓆪༻⋆

"Hey, Nami! What's that?" Luffy calls out, leaning over the taffrail.

Nami hums, not bothering to look up from the newspaper. "Hm? What's what?"

"There's land! A biiig island, the size of 10 million Usopp noses. No… 100 million!"

"Hey, what type of measurement is that?" Usopp yells, and Nami is inclined to agree, not having an inkling of how big the island really is.

"It's probably Roguetown," she says dismissively. "Let me take a look anyway." Nami sets her newspaper down before stretching. She blinks a few times to adjust to the bright sun as she steps out from under the parasol.

As she approaches Luffy, she furrows her eyebrows. The island was, as a matter of fact, not Roguetown.

"I don't know," she murmurs.

After retrieving her map and compass, Nami's confusion only grows. It didn't exist on the maps, despite it being a massive continent with its own smaller islands forming an archipelago just south of it.

"We'll stop here," she announces.

[■□□□□□□□□□]

After nearly 4 weeks of travelling, you arrive back at Weh'le. You had ventured far Southeast to collect Vlonqo flowers and Raikkon berries, the main components of the ink mixture you use for tattoos. You refuse to settle for anything less than the perfect ingredients, and that means fresh and ripe berries, so you had already made the ink as you collected them.

Which lets you set off again after a quick half hour of settling everything in place at home, aside from the satchel situated at your hip. You'll be back soon anyway.

After all, with the Spirit Blossom festival coming up in less than a week, you won't have much time to venture off. Of course, you'll have your booth to set up, but you're always glad to help decorate the rest of Weh'le Market for the celebration.

So before you spend the better part of your days with those preparations, you set off to visit two of your dear friends in the forest.

Typically, you're happy to take your trip slowly. Admire the beauty of the magic around you and appreciate the scenery that nature has spent years and years detailing.

This time, though, you're off to see Lillia and Ivern after a month, and you're impatient.

Such a time, however, is short relative to their ages. Lillia is nearly 200 years old (197 this year), and even that is considered rather youthful in comparison to the old forests. And Ivern, the Green Father, is far older, to the point where nearly any amount of time is no longer significant to him. Living for thousands and thousands of years would do that. But all that time never made him jaded. He cared for you as you grew up, and he cares for you now, just as he cares for every other living being.

You can't stop the smile from spreading across your face as you think about them. Your run turns into a strong sprint, eager to see them again.

Past the stony base of the mountain that Weh'le is tucked against, past the river separating the rocky ground from the rich soil, past the hills and through the trees, is the grand forest of Navori. You're a bit out of breath, and the sun is nearing its peak, but you've made it.

Magic flows around you. Sitting on a smooth rock, you close your eyes and bask in the floating magic mixed with the gentle sun dripping through the trees' canopies.

The quiet sound of trotting on soft soil announces Lillia's arrival. You turn your attention towards her with a smile.

And although she's only peeking her head out from behind a tree, you still wave to her. "I'm back!" you greet.

And Lillia thinks you look breathtaking, smiling softly with patches of sunlight draping over you. Her heart floats, thinking about how that smile is just for her.

"I missed you so much, [Name]. Ah, of course w-we all did. The whole, um, the whole forest did!" she adds on quickly.

"I missed you, too," you assure. "Come, sit with me!" You pat next to you on the rock, even though she can't really sit directly with you.

At last, Lillia rounds the tree and makes her way towards you, staff in hand, semi-confident with the knowledge that you might have missed her a fraction of how much she missed you.

She's a fae. Where her legs would usually be is instead the body of a deer. Her fur is a soft tan, growing reddish-brown near her hooves. Instead of human ears, she has somewhat droopy, long ears. Reaching just below them, around the small of her back, is purple tinted magenta hair with an almost glowing blue hue at the tips. Two smaller sections are parted away into pigtails, held together with leafy bands.

"You look lovely as always," you say, and her face reddens.

The purples and blues in her eyes shine at the comment. "Oh m-my, thank you so much!" She giggles nervously, lying down in the grass in front of you, in fear that her legs may give out from excitement.

Without a second thought, you move from your seat on the rock down to the grass next to her.

"Oh, [Name], your clothes will get dirty!" she frets. You chuckle, and she sighs. "I k-know you don't mind at all, but, well, I've heard many humans do. If they were to think poorly of you for it…"

"It's alright, Lillia. Most people are lovely people, I'm not sure anyone would care all that much."

And she can't exactly argue. After all, you're the only human she's ever spoken to. But she's still seen many, many humans come and go in the decades she's spent observing them. If only you knew, she thinks, of all the horrible things humans will do without a care, then you may not think so. In fact, you might decide to come live in the forest with her!

She sighs dreamily at the thought.

"Something on your mind?" you ask.

Lillia shakes her head, but she can't help but smile at the thought of you and her living together. "Not really. So, tell me about your adventures! What kind of things did you see? What kind of humans did you meet?"

You hum thoughtfully. You open your satchel and pull out your journal. It's a relatively new one, but it's already filled to the brim with stories and notes and drawings. Lillia happily adjusts herself next to you to look at everything you've documented in the past few weeks.

You show her several pages dedicated to your experience with an older lady, who had helped you for a day and housed you for a night. She taught you how to make white tea from Xaolan flowers and a delicious toast spread from Kiwa berries. Your tea was nowhere as delicious as hers, but she simply smiled and told you that it was just fine.

I'd be far more impressed had it turned out poorly, she had said. That nature must have seen the idiocy of too many hard headed humans and decided to make it easier on us.

And a few pages held detailed sketches of your experience there. A page for her small cottage. Half of a page for the small plate of toast with Kiwa spread and cup of tea, the other half containing drawings of the berries, flowers, and trees themselves. Then, a full page of her.

An old lady with a bright smile, one she must have worn for many of her days given the crinkles lining her eyes. Her name was Ahn, and when you asked for her age, she chuckled and said to take a guess.

"No older than 30, I would imagine," you said, and she agreed.

"28, actually."

And with that, you decided that it didn't really matter.

You flip the page.

Immediately smiling, you begin to tell Lillia about the tall man you drew sitting in a field. Four patches of flowers were almost perfectly positioned behind, in front, and to the sides of him.

Lillia nearly saw red at how brightly you spoke of him. She glared. Glared at the drawing of the cute little matching flower crowns you made for the two of you. At the fact that you were so enthralled with talking about him that you didn't notice how clearly upset she was. Can't you see how unsettled it makes her? Don't you care?

Look at that man. He had a mask, far from organic, far from nature. His body looked stiff, like the limbs of a puppet. Don't you like nature? Don't you like her?

"He was so kind," you say. "For a while on my journey, I felt followed, like a creepy force always behind me. We happened to meet on my way back, and he travelled with me for a few days."

She could make you feel safe, too. Does she seem too weak?

In the midst of her silent rage and your distracted rambling, a light voice interrupts both of your thoughts.

"My children!"

The two of you snap out of your own minds.

"Ivern!" you greet.

His long, thin legs fold beneath him as he takes a place next to the two of you in the grass.

"I trust you've been safe in your ventures," he says, and you nod eagerly.

"I was! How have you been?"

"I've kept well. I know you must be in a hurry with the Spirit Blossom Festival preparations. Go, child, we can gossip later!"

The two of you share a giggle before you depart, saying your farewells to the two.

When you're out of range, Ivern turns to Lillia, frowning.

"My child, do you wish to talk about it?"

Lillia stomps one of her hooves and scowls. "You sent them away! You're going to make them leave me for good!" she accuses.

The elder simply shakes his head and sighs. "Perhaps one day you'll grow up."

Shivers run down Lillia's spine. She's not a child anymore. You're the only one who takes her seriously. You're the only one who truly cares.

[■■■■■■■□□]

The sun that once burned at Nami's eyes and skin seems like a dream now.

Instead, a thick fog wraps around the Going Merry. It feels heavy, spreading across the ship's deck. Nami's compass is circling aimlessly, spinning almost as much as her head is.

Usopp and Luffy's babbling doesn't help, either.

Nami rubs her temples as Sanji tries to get the two to quiet down, but ends up yelling, too, out of frustration.

Zoro sighs, regrettably getting up from his nap. "Quit freakn' out already, there's land right behind us," he calls.

"Behind us? When did we get so turned around… And just how far have we gone?" Nami murmurs to herself.

But she finds that, sure enough, there's a glimpse of a port not too far away. The docks poke through, as if inviting them. It's the only direction the fog lightens up—or rather, the fog feels like it's purposefully blocking out everything else, leading them where it wants them to go.

Luffy is thrilled, bouncing and pointing at the newfound sight of land. "We're not lost!" he cheers.

But Nami can't shake this bad feeling that twists her gut.

#one piece x reader #league of legends x reader #luffy x reader #zoro x reader #nami x reader #lillia x reader #sanji x reader #usopp x reader

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monstersandmaw · 5 months

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Changing Tides - human prince 'cursed' into merfolk body (sfw)

Hello! This has been up on my Patreon for my $3 and $5 tiers to read for a week now. If you want to get early access to stuff, and to access my entire back catalogue, here's a link.

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Anon sent me this message and I responded with almost 8000 words:

"human prince who got cursed and turned into a merman, and while his family and the royal court struggle to find a way to break the curse he finds he's actually happier as a merman"

It's 3rd person, sfw, and features an orca clan who adopts our frightened prince, and there's a hint of mlm romance for one of the orcas with a human in the future... Anyway, I hope you like something a little different.

Content: some mild elements of body horror during the curse/turning scene, brief but not gory/too explicit mention of marine animal death, some implied trauma resulting from a transformation against his will/separation from family and previous existence at a young age, brief description of blood/injury from a harpoon to another character

Wordcount: 7965

Dusk gathered over the gentle swells of the open ocean, gilding the new yardarms and painting the perfectly crisp, white sails of the Royal Navy’s flagship with a pink and orange watercolour glow. The ship’s guests drank and laughed, and celebrated The Sea Rose’s maiden voyage, utterly unaware that they were enjoying their final few moments of life as they knew it.

Unremarkable in almost every way, a small porpoise had been playing in the bow wave, its small, dark body darting mere inches from the stem each time it plunged in and out of the spray and waves.

It didn’t hear the warning from the sea witch racing to catch up with it, and when the young porpoise’s concentration slipped and the black-painted stem of ‘The Sea Rose’ collided with its solid little body, no one on board noticed the tragedy of its passing. Even if the guests hadn’t been half drunk on the heady mix of wine and their own self-importance, there was no one on lookout in the crow’s nest that day; the new ship was flanked for her safety by two frigates a little way off, both crewed with the Navy’s finest and bristling to the gunwales with cannon and ammunition. There was no need to keep a watch this time.

There was, after all, no danger.

And yet, the animal’s accidental death would not go unmarked, unmourned, or unpunished.

Heedless of the vengeful danger rising swiftly from beneath the ship, the king himself strode along the main deck in his white and gold finery, leaving his guests for a moment as he spotted his thirteen year old son standing at the taffrail on the afterdeck and staring out at the ship’s trailing wake.

He slapped the skinny boy on his shoulders by way of a greeting, and nearly sent him toppling over into the sea from the force of his jovial blow. Hauling him upright again with a meaty fist at the scruff of his velvet doublet, the king laughed, cheeks red with drink and the bracing sea air, and he grinned down at his second eldest son.

“What’s got into you, lad?” he asked, his words a little thick and his green eyes a little glassy. “You’ve begged me for years to be allowed to go to sea, and now you’re here, you look like you’d rather be anywhere else! You’re not seasick, are you, lad? You’re going to be Admiral of the Fleet when your brother ascends the throne — can’t have you turning green at the slightest bit of swell!”

“It’s not that, father,” he said, mustering a smile for the king. “I’m sorry. I was just… thinking.”

Down below on the deck, the little prince’s older brother was talking with a few of the captains and admirals, and the boy felt suddenly every bit as young as he was. ‘King’ Eolan was a title that would suit his brother one day, with his regal bearing and his noble features, while the younger boy was gangly and too skinny to fill out the doublet he wore or the fine leather boots on his small feet.

He didn’t get the chance to observe the Crown Prince in action for much longer though, because a shudder ran the length of the new ship, and conversation sputtered and died.

The sails quivered and the rigging shook like spiderwebs before a coming storm. All the hands looked to their stations while the royal guests shifted uneasily and someone dropped a wine flute into the silence of the swelling sea. The Crown Prince scuttled up the stairs to the afterdeck and joined his father, tense and alert, though not before laying a hand on his little brother’s shoulder and offering a reassuring smile.

While the ship sailed past the stricken porpoise in a foaming, heedless rush, the creature bobbed past with its back broken, dead on impact, and the sea darkened around it and then began to boil and churn along the sides of the ship.

Finally, a shout went up and someone standing by the rail on the port side pointed and then reeled back in alarm. They were joined by more guests and sailors until half the ship’s company was hanging off the side and staring into the water that had turned an inky black around the corpse of the sea creature.

The thirteen year old prince followed his father to the railing of the high afterdeck and peered over in time to see a humanoid figure rise from the water. Her long, wet hair hung around her shoulders like a veil of moonlight, and her eyes flashed the colour of the ocean on a summer’s day. Her skin was freckled and oddly iridescent and the air around her seemed to shimmer like the road on a summer’s day. In her right hand she held a staff that was the silvery brown of old driftwood, wrapped around with seaweed like the leather on the grip of a quarterstaff, and her lower body appeared to be that of a leopard seal.

The prince’s breath caught and he stared, slack jawed down at her, forgetting to be afraid.

At the sight of her though, the guests recoiled and grabbed at the charms and holy pendants they wore around their necks, but it would do them no good. The witch raised her staff and let out a wordless scream of grief. As if whisked by a winter squall, the sea rose up around her at her call and a huge wave sloshed against the side of the ship, rocking it and sending a wall of spray and foam across the main deck.

Wherever the droplets of water touched, a flurry of white feathers appeared, and from the afterdeck, the king and the two princes watched a flock of startled seabirds flounder upwards into the sky. In their wake, the main deck lay completely deserted.

The king swore and unsheathed the steel sword at his hip but the young prince simply clung to the wooden railing and continued to stare down at the sea witch.

All his life, he’d heard tales of merfolk and of the magic they wielded, but he’d never dared dream they might be real. He’d spent hours begging the merchants who came to the castle for stories from the fish markets, since every sailor claimed to have fallen in love with a selkie or kissed a mermaid on one of their voyages, but he’d never truly believed that merfolk really did exist.

“What is the meaning of this?” the king bellowed down at her over the sound of the settling sea. “Return this ship’s crew and my guests to me at once, witch!”

“Never!” she snarled. “They’ve flown far away now, oh great king,” she added sarcastically, still sneering, “Your pretty birds won’t return to you now!”

“Why? What prompted such an act?” he barked. To his younger son, he suddenly gestured and added, “Come away from there!” With a desperate look over his shoulder, he hissed at the Crown Prince, “Eolan, protect your brother!”

The witch smiled and the younger prince saw tears tracking down around the corners of her smile as it turned from malice to grief. “Father…” he breathed, wanting to warn the king, but not knowing quite why or of what.

“Quiet!” the king hissed with a sharp motion of his hand. “Eolan, fetch a harpoon. I will have her hide on my wall!”

The Crown Prince snuck away down the stairs, out of sight of the sea witch, and then disappeared below decks. As he left, the younger boy finally let go of the railings and came to stand behind his father.

“Your ship,” the witch called above the wash of water against the sides of the vessel, “Is an abomination! You toss your refuse into the sea to choke the life from those who live there, tangle us in your nets, capture us… skin us!”

She paused and choked something raw and visceral and far beyond articulation. Drawing energy into the staff in a swirl of mist, she came to the real crux of her grievance.

“Your ship took my familiar from me and you didn’t even care to notice!”

“Your what?”

“Shadow!” she wailed, and that sorrow finally crystallised into rage. She pointed as the body of the dead porpoise floated over towards her and then with another heartbroken shriek, she raised the staff not at the king, but at his son. “I curse you!” she spat at him. “I curse you! May your son’s frail human legs fail him and may he know the plight of our people first hand! May the air choke him and the water you disdain be his only solace!”

A bolt of lightning seared down out of a clear sky and struck the deck of The Sea Rose behind the king in a spray of splinters. Ozone and singed wood filled the air as he turned around at the wheezing gulp that left his son’s throat. At the sight that greeted him, the gilt steel sword dropped from his fingers to clatter across the deck at his feet.

The boy’s legs had gone completely limp and he hit the deck hard, eyes wide with terror.

“Father,” he tried to choke in panic, but the sound lodged in his throat.

He brought one hand up instinctively to claw at his neck as he failed to breathe, suffocating in the ordinary sea air, and a moment later his fingers found the three slits of gills in his skin that had not been there before the lightning of the witch’s curse had struck him.

Before the true terror of his discovery could sink in, however, a blinding pain erupted in his chest and his hips, and his legs began to spasm.

The boy tore at the trousers which were suddenly constricting and strangling him, cutting into his legs, and he rolled on the deck as he ripped them off to reveal the distinctive opal-green and black pattern of a mackerel’s skin beginning at his hips. He clawed wildly at his skin in horror trying to halt the change, and his father dragged the fabric away just as the transformation ran its course, and his son arched his back and writhed on the deck like a landed catch, unable to breathe and blind with terror.

Footsteps on the stairs announced Eolan’s return and when he saw his brother lying on the deck with the barbed tail of a mackerel, he crashed to his knees beside them, the harpoon forgotten.

Not knowing what to do, the king knelt at his son’s side and stroked his curly, black hair out of his eyes which were bulging as he failed to breathe.

“Father,” he mouthed, chest spasming.

The skin of his remaining human body turned a grayish silver, like tarnished pewter, and between his fingers as they scrabbled at the deck the king could see a thin webbing stretching and flexing. Black, wickedly sharp claws raked the wood of the deck to splintered furrows as the boy twisted and panicked.

“What do we do?” Eolan whispered, tears filling his eyes. “Father? He’s dying… He can’t breathe!”

Acting on the most fragile of hopes, the king picked his son up in his arms and held him briefly, kissing his forehead. “I love you,” he said. “I will find a way to reverse this.”

Before the cursed prince could work out what was happening, he had been flung over the side of the ship and hit the water with a heavy smack.

The rush of cold seawater across his new gills was a relief beyond anything he’d ever felt. Instinctively, he drew in water through them and let his body start to sink.

Above, the shadow of a second ship, the frigate ‘Persistence’, announced itself with a volley of musket fire, and the sea witch dived out of sight, dragging the body of her slain familiar with her into the depths, the young prince forgotten entirely.

In all the commotion, the prince disappeared into the depths of the coastal waters, alone and afraid for the first time in his life.

The clan of orca-folk cautiously breached the surface and paused to watch the selkie on the shore light the driftwood pyre with the tip of her staff, and dipped their heads as one in respect. The creature at the heart of the kindling blaze was most likely her familiar, and they decided not to trouble the witch in her grief.

Leaving her, they swam in silence out of the cove and moved along the rocky shore, casting uneasy glances at each other. Magic was rare among the merfolk, but those who changed their shape at will, like the selkie folk and their distant, inland relatives, the kelpies, had it more strongly. There had been turmoil on the sea that day, and even now that the stars had blinked to life in the sky above, the waters still churned with unease.

A younger member of the clan swam on ahead, not quite understanding the wary reverence her relatives had for the sea witch, and, distracted by the passing of a very ordinary but still very quick seal, she raced off in a stream of bubbles to play with it. Yes, her kind hunted seals, but when they were being that obvious about their pursuit, the seal was in no danger.

She blasted around the rocky promontory but splayed her wide flippers to bring herself to an abrupt halt when she spotted a boy about her own age lying curled on the sandy bed of the next cove’s floor. He was hunched in on himself and seemed to be in some kind of distress, so she swam slowly over to him. He had the dizzying markings of a mackerel — black lines and opal shimmers like summer sunlight on the sea’s surface — and she wondered if perhaps he’d been left behind on the annual migration.

As she approached, he raised his head and his mouth opened in a soft ‘o’ of surprise, gills flaring.

“Hi,” she grinned. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said. “You alright?”

He shook his head.

“Pearl?” Her older brother’s voice sounded from close behind her, wary and warning, and she glanced back over her bare shoulder at him. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I just found him.”

Hook swam past her, pushing her roughly to one side, and he loomed over the terrified stranger and bared all his sharp teeth at him. Hook was only a year older than Pearl, but he liked to play the grown up with her, and it irritated her no end. She grabbed the wide flat of his tail as it wafted past and yanked him sharply backwards. It wasn’t enough to move him much, but it brought his long, black and white hair drifting into his face and undermined his attempt at a tough persona a little.

The strange boy cringed away, hands above his head, and Hook relented when he saw he was no threat, and clearly terrified.

“You hurt?” he asked, though he could taste no blood in the water. “Where’s your shoal?”

In no time, they were joined by the whole orca-folk clan, and it was decided that the stranded boy would swim with them for the winter until his people returned to these waters to claim him. The boy didn’t speak, but he seemed able to understand them, and something told Pearl he’d been through something more awful even than being abandoned by his shoal.

Over the next few weeks, she first coaxed some tentative smiles from him, and then, when they had stopped to rest one night in another rocky cove further to the south, he laughed.

It happened when Hook got his finger clamped by a massive lobster and he swore and flung the thing away before washing it further from him with a great sweep of his tail, scowling. He was growing into his body and would one day outgrow even their father, and the motion sent the offending crustacean spiralling away on the temporary current.

When the wash of water in their ears had settled, they heard a quiet giggling and looked around to see him sitting near a bed of kelp, one hand over his mouth, and laughing softly. His eyes were the most beautiful brown, like a seal’s, and when Hook saw who was laughing, his indignation at the incident melted away like the ice in the spring, and his whole body softened.

Pearl watched as Hook swam over to the strange boy, the one they’d taken to calling Mackerel for the beautiful patterns on his tail, but the boy stopped laughing almost immediately. Hook’s shoulders dropped and he looked mortified when he saw unease and uncertainty in the boy’s eyes.

“It’s alright,” Hook said with a half-smile. “I deserved to get pinched the way I picked her up,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking. You want to see if we can find another one and I’ll show you the right way to do it?”

Tentatively, the boy nodded, and Pearl watched as the boy swam off at Hook’s side. He didn’t swim like normal merfolk, but more like a newborn still getting used to his tail. Sometimes he started to sink and panicked, and the first few times it had happened, Hook had actually had to lift him up to keep him from sinking completely. Unlike them, he was a piscine merfolk, meaning he could breathe water and not air, while they were mammalian and needed to surface. When Hook went up to gulp fresh air those first few times, Pearl would watch the boy and make sure he didn’t sink until Hook returned.

He seemed to grow in confidence though over the winter, and by the time of that first laugh, he was just a bit awkward in the water. He couldn’t hope to keep up with Hook, but her brother had a kind streak to him for all his brash bravado, and he kept pace with Mackerel. Slowly, the boy began to talk with them, but he never spoke of what had happened to him, and any time they asked him where his shoal was or where he’d grown up, he shut up tighter than a clam and refused to talk. Eventually, they stopped asking.

He did till them his name though, and they were surprised to learn it was a human name. Pearl had been named for the lightness of her irises — such a pale blue it was almost silver — and Hook had been named because the patch of white under his tall dorsal fin looked like one of the barbed devices that humans used to catch fish. Mackerel, however, turned out to be named Theo, and when asked why he had that name, he just shrugged and said his parents must have liked it. They stuck to calling him Mackerel, or Macks, and he didn’t object in the slightest, only smiling shyly the first time Hook used his new name.

When spring came to the waters where Pearl’s clan hunted, no piscine merfolk came looking for Mackerel, so he simply stayed with the orca folk.

One year became two, became three, became five.

Hook grew into a monster of a merman, with muscles rippling over his body and a reputation for taking on anything he deemed a threat to his clan, from great white sharks to fishing boats. Mackerel grew as well. Gone was that awkward, faltering motion as he swam — he could out pace any of them in a race and he was lithe and graceful and elegant when he moved. He laughed a lot too.

Pearl noticed how he would watch her swim past and then look away, and when Hook caught him staring at her like that, he washed him playfully away with a wave of his massive tail and sent him spiralling off into the murky depths with a laugh and told him to come back when he could win against Pearl in arm-wrestling.

Then, one summer evening, Mackerel disappeared.

They’d been swimming nearer to the shore than was wise in the warmer months, when humans often gathered on the shore with their fires to dance and sing and make a strange music of their own. Hook and Pearl’s mother called the clan back from the shallows and led them away when they heard the strange notes of human song and saw the orange lights dancing on the shore like strange, swirling blooms of plankton that spat sparks into the sky, but when Hook turned to Pearl to ask her something, he tensed and looked around.

“What?”

“Where’s Macks?” he asked, his hold tightening on the driftwood spear he usually carried in his right hand. Its ghostly-white blade was made of honed whalebone, and it had gutted a great white from nose to tail only the week before. The colour had drained from Hook’s usually tanned face, and he looked around frantically in the gloom that night had cast on the sea.

“Maybe he didn’t hear mother calling?” Pearl whispered.

“Stay here. I’ll go back for him.”

“Careful!” Pearl hissed, but he was already sliding away like a shadow, consumed by the growing darkness.

Hook searched the cove where they’d been intending to rest until they’d discovered the humans too close for comfort, but found nothing. Panic began to rise as he looked further along the dark, jagged rocks of the shoreline.

Eventually he started to run out of air, and surfaced carefully, mindful of the massive dorsal fin that stuck up like a sail behind him now that he was full-grown. If the humans spotted it glinting in the dark, they’d hurl harpoons at him or try to snatch him for a trophy. Merfolk — both saltwater and freshwater — didn’t last long in captivity, and he had no intention of being taken.

Then, at the far end of the sweeping cove, he spotted the opalescent glimmer of Mackerel’s scales and saw his greyish body draped over a rock. He was leaning on it, staring at the humans. His black hair, which, in the water, was flat, had started to curl, and Hook couldn’t believe he was out of the water at all. He was going to asphyxiate if he stayed up there too long, but the orca kept watching him a little longer. He liked Mackerel’s body; how it was different from the powerful orca folk. He was built for speed and agility where Hook was built for a combination of wild bursts of power and slower endurance. He might have begun courting him, bringing him gifts of carved whalebone and rare trinkets from the seabed, if Mackerel hadn’t clearly been attracted only to his sister or her female friends. So, he’d kept his affection for him chaste, and now as he watched, he realised with a jolt that Mackerel was crying.

Slowly, he swam over to him, keeping in Mackerel’s line of sight, and when his best friend turned to look at him, Hook’s heart cracked and sheared apart at the look on his face.

“What?” Hook asked, pausing and bringing his hands up to speak in the Hunter’s Tongue they used with each other when they needed to be silent in the water. He’d taught Mackerel himself, and he’d soon picked it up like he’d been speaking it all his life.

Mackerel only shook his head though and then dipped his neck below the waterline to breathe before rising up and staring again at the humans.

Hook turned to watch, but didn’t he understand. Humans were fascinating, sure, but they weren’t beautiful enough to make grown merfolk cry, surely?

Strange structures had been erected on the soft, pale sand, which looked like they were made of the same material that humans used to catch the wind and drive their boats and ships. These though were coloured the same shade as the urchins and starfish that hunkered down in rock pools at high tide, and whatever they were made of glittered occasionally like the sun on the water. The humans were laughing and moving around in odd patterns around their fires.

“What is it?” Hook whispered when he was close enough to Mackerel that their bodies touched all along one side.

“I miss them,” Mackerel rasped back. His voice didn’t work very well above the water, needing the cool caress of the waves to make it audible.

“Miss who?”

“My family.”

Hook went still. Macks had never talked about his family in all the years he’d lived with Hook’s clan. He looked from Mackerel to the humans and back again. “What do you mean?”

Mackerel bit his lip. “These people…” he said. “I know them. Hook, I was —”

A shout went up and something lanced down out of the dark, piercing the water and glancing off Hook’s large, rounded flipper. He cried out in shock at the sting of it as blood blossomed in the dark water, and he yanked Mackerel down into the waves just as another spear flew into the waves like a diving bird.

This one landed in Hook’s flat tail, and it wasn’t a spear. It was a harpoon.

Thick and barbed, the weapon lodged itself in his tail and he found himself hauled up the beach by a small party of humans before he could even flounder or lash out. His own spear had been dropped when he’d reached for Mackerel and he only prayed that his friend had the sense to swim for the depths. Not that he was about to go down without a fight, he thought as he readied himself to lash out with his fists, and even his teeth if he had to.

Of course, Mackerel had the self-preservation instincts of a piece of seaweed in a Spring Tide, however, and he breached the water a second later with a screech of distress that made even Hook’s eardrums hurt. For an instant, the tearing pressure on his tail was relaxed and he heaved his body with all his might, knocking the shadowed figures aside and sending them tumbling into the sand.

Then he saw Mackerel hauling himself up the beach, and the men started to run for him too.

Panic set in to Hook until he heard Mackerel yelling at them. He was yelling a name. A human name.

The figure at the front of the group skidded to a halt in the wet sand and stood there in shock while a wave washed up the shore to him and sloshed over his boots. “Theo?”

“Eolan…” Mackerel wheezed. “Please… Let him go…”

The figure crashed to his knees in front of Mackerel and tilted his face up to look him in the eye.

Hook seized the opportunity and swung his tail again, scattering the last of the humans tugging fruitlessly on his line now that there were too few of them. The barb of the harpoon was right through the meat of his tail and it was bleeding everywhere, turning the sand a nasty dark hue.

“Let… him go… Eolan. For me.”

“Brother? Little brother?” the human choked, bowing over him.

“Yes. It’s me. Let. Him. Go.”

The human turned his face to look at Hook then, and Hook recoiled. He looked like Mackerel, just… older. And harder too.

“Get back into the water,” Hook growled at Mackerel. “You’ll choke up here.”

That made the human — his brother? — look sharply back at him, and when Mackerel nodded and his lungs started to seize, the human dragged him unceremoniously into the water himself by the tail.

Hook meanwhile clawed his own way back down the beach, dragging the harpoon with him. If it ripped out of his tail, he’d bleed to death, but if he didn’t get away from these humans, they’d hang him up like the sharks and the tuna they took great pride in catching, and they’d wait til he bled out or died from the stress of it.

He yanked at Mackerel’s tail and dragged him the last way into the water too, then half-swam and half-sank down into the safety of deeper water. Pearl was waiting for them with Hook’s spear in her hand and swam at him, crying out when she saw the harpoon in his tail.

“It’s bad, Hook. We have to take you to the sea witch,” she said. “Mackerel, what in the name of the Deep were you thinking?”

“I…” he croaked. Like a piece of flotsam caught in the grip of the tide, he didn’t know whether to return to the beach or follow them into the sea. Hook didn’t have time to wait though, and he let his clan bear him away, looking back over his shoulder at Mackerel in disbelief and confusion.

Pearl drew Mackerel after them, and he followed in mute shock.

The sea witch’s lair was somewhere most merfolk avoided, mostly because magic was as unnerving to them as human fire, and the sea witch was powerful. She had never been known to turn away anyone in distress however, and when she scented blood in the water and saw Hook being borne into the protective ring of rocks around her home by two of his kind, weak from blood-loss and pain, she darted over immediately and hissed a curse.

“Humans,” she said through gritted teeth as she instructed the orca folk where to leave Hook. He found himself drifting in and out of consciousness on a soft bed of woven kelp, and when he looked up she smiled at him. “Easy, sweetheart. We’ll get you taken care of. I’ll need you to be brave, and you might need to hold onto someone while I take it out. There’s no easy way to do it, but my magic will patch you up afterwards. It’ll scar, but at least you’ll have your tail, eh?”

He nodded. “M… Mack…” he moaned, but Mackerel didn’t appear. When he cracked his eyes open again, he saw Mackerel staring at the witch with abject terror in his big brown eyes.

“It’s alright, lad,” she laughed, waving him over. “Come. Your friend needs you now.”

But Mackerel didn’t move.

When he remained, drifting on the currents like a mindless jellyfish, the witch tutted and gestured more impatiently, until she went still and really looked at him. “You’re… You can’t be… By the Deep, you’re him, aren’t you?”

Slowly, he nodded.

When Hook let out a groan as the water drifted over his injury and moved the harpoon, the witch focused again and said, “No time for that now. Someone hold him while I heal him up.”

Mackerel did move then, and he swam right around her and came to hold Hook’s hand in a firm grip. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Not your fault. Humans are awful. I hate them,” Hook spat. “I hate them all, I —” He cut off as the witch yanked the harpoon out and immediately began to heal it. Hook’s eyes rolled and he lost consciousness at last.

When he came to, he found Pearl at his side, curled up asleep the way she had done when they were really young. He stroked his hand over her hair and she stirred, blinking and rolling over.

“You’re alright?” she asked and he nodded.

Moving his tail experimentally up and down, he found that the pain had gone, and the wound had been mended to leave a silvery scar in the top and a pink one in the white of the flesh underneath. “Where’s Macks?” he asked and she swallowed and looked away. “Pearl?”

“He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Hook jerked upright and glared at her. “Gone where?”

“He talked with the sea witch for ages and she gave him something, and then… he just left.”

“Without saying where he was going?”

“He swam to the surface like he was one of us running out of air. I don’t know what happened.”

“Where is she? Where’s the witch? I want to ask —”

“I’m here,” came the witch’s harsh voice from nearby. “Don’t get your flippers in a flap,” she added, rolling her eyes. “And something tells me your boy will be back…”

“He’s not my boy,” Hook growled.

The witch just rolled her eyes. “Maybe not in the way you wish, but he’s not for you anyway. Your blood told me an interesting story when I drank half of it in by accident earlier. How are you feeling?”

She moved her seal’s lower body from side to side in a sinuous sweep and lifted up his enormous fluke, nodding with a satisfied grunt when she inspected the scar.

“I’m fine. Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s not really my story to tell, if he’s not told you already,” she said carefully, “But I lashed out a long time ago when humans took my familiar from me, and I took it out on the wrong person. I wanted the humans to know what it was like to suffer at the hands of someone you feared, so I gave one of them a tail and gills in a fit of pique to make his father pay. I was so wrapped up in my grief at Shadow’s death that I clean forgot about the lad when the humans opened fire on me, and I’ve not thought about him from that day to this.”

“Mackerel…” Hook exhaled, his blue eyes wide. “He… He was human, once, wasn’t he?”

The witch nodded. “Pampered little princeling out on his father’s brand new ship. Shadow got too close and the ship hit my familiar. The shock of it broke something inside me that day, but I never should have taken it out on an innocent child.”

“Where is he now?”

“I gave him the means to return to his people. If he stays on land for longer than a single cycle of the sun and moon, he’ll stay there and never return. If he returns to the sea within that time, he’ll never be able to return to his human form again.”

“Why would you make him choose like that?” Hook demanded, face like a thunderhead.

“My magic isn’t infinite, boy,” she scoffed. “I can’t give him a shifters gift. He must choose, his family in the water or his family on land. By all accounts, the humans have scoured the land looking for a way to get their cursed prince back, but no witch has been willing or able to help them.”

Pearl shook her head. “Probably no one wanted to go against the Sea Witch…”

The witch blew a stream of bubbles from her mouth and shrugged. “If they had, I might have heard about the situation and remembered the poor boy I tossed into the ocean like a piece of discarded bait. Your clan shamed me with your honour in taking in the boy as your own.”

Hook swam out of the witch’s lair not long after that and made straight for the cove where the humans had been frolicking on the shore like spinner dolphins in the surf before they’d spotted him and Mackerel.

There, sitting close together on the beach by the dying embers of the fire, he saw his best friend and the human who’d called him ‘little brother’.

For a long time, he watched, transfixed.

Mackerel was wrapped in a piece of fabric that looked like a small, patterned sail, only it fell softly around him, and from under it, Hook could just see a pair of feet. His gaze snagged on them, and he wasn’t sure how long he stared. He wondered what it was like to have two limbs instead of one — perhaps it was like controlling his flippers and his tail separately…?

Suddenly, on the rocks above him and to his right, a male voice cleared his throat, and Hook jumped, lurching away with a snarl.

“Sorry,” the man said with an earthy chuckle. “Didn’t want to spook you, but I figured you should know I was here, and that you’d better not try anything either,” he warned.

Hook’s upper lip peeled back to show his row of sharp teeth. “If he wants to be there, I won’t stop him,” he growled. “Who are you?”

“Crown Prince’s bodyguard. You?”

“His friend.”

Hook eyed the man up and down and found he didn’t dislike him, physically. Like Hook, he was clearly a warrior, since he had what the humans called a ‘sword’ belted to his hip, and he carried a long spear in his right hand. His clothes looked like they’d been made of fish scales though, and Hook immediately wanted to touch. The fabric shimmered in the torch light and clinked softly, almost musically.

When he saw where Hook was staring, the man chuckled. “Yeah, mail’s a bit like fish skin, I suppose.”

“Mail?”

“This,” he said, plucking at the shirt that ended halfway down his thighs.

He crouched down, leaning on the spear for balance, and at the sight of the dark, soft fabric underneath the mail and covering his legs, Hook’s curiosity surged and he swam a little closer.

“Fuck,” the man breathed when he saw the way Hook moved.

“What?”

“Never been this close to one of your kind.”

“Without hurling a harpoon at us, you mean?” Hook growled, gripping the rock at the man’s boots and raising himself up out of the water enough to reveal his entire torso. Then, with one hand, he grabbed at the man’s mail shirt near his neck and hauled him close.

The spear dropped from his hand and clattered onto the rocks, but the human didn’t resist him.

“Holy shit,” he exhaled instead.

Hook snarled, lip rising again on one side, and he heard a shout of alarm from the beach.

Flinging the man aside so that he toppled and landed hard on his backside on the rock behind him, Hook looked over to find Mackerel standing shakily and staggering on the sand. The ‘sail cloth that wasn’t sail cloth’ fell to his waist and he grabbed at it, just as his brother lurched to his feet and helped to steady him.

Together they walked shakily around the cove and over to the rocks that jutted out into the sea like a dock, but the shore was too jagged for Mackerel’s bare, human feet, and besides, he was too unsteady on his unfamiliar legs.

He beckoned Hook over though, and Hook glanced back at the Crown Prince’s bodyguard, then sloshed into the water and drove himself at the shore with a few powerful sweeps of his tail. There, he half-beached himself, looking up at Macks.

Mackerel crouched, keeping the soft fabric around himself and half hiding his strange limbs from Hook’s view for some reason, and the older man stepped back when Mackerel nodded at him. “You’re human?” Hook croaked, looking up at him.

Mackerel made a little sideways motion with his head. “For now. I’m sorry I never told you what happened. I… I was afraid you’d… that you wouldn’t want me in your family anymore if you knew the truth. I know how you talk about humans…”

Shame twisted in his gut and he looked back at the man on the rocks who was standing up at the approach of Mackerel’s brother.

“You going to stay with them?” Hook asked.

“I’m not sure. I want to talk with my brother a bit longer. While I can. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

Hook nodded. “I understand.”

“Hook…?”

He met Hook’s blue eyes with his brown and reached for him. His skin was warm and soft in the firelight, and Hook found he missed the stony grey it had been before. Being human didn’t suit him, but he didn’t feel it was his place to say that, so he just swallowed and nodded. “Take your time. You know where we’ll be.”

“Hook, whatever I decide, you're family too. All of you. Pearl and you and the whole clan. You took me in and cared for me in a way my family on land never really did. They sheltered me and they loved me, but… not the way you did. I’ll always love you all for that. You know that, right?”

Hook nodded once and shoved his weight backwards in the sand, awkwardly carving a channel in the wet shoreline with his massive body. He glared as Mackerel’s older brother strode back across to join them, and he helped Mackerel to stand. His legs trembled and wobbled, and he laughed and leaned into his brother, and the two retreated up the beach to talk some more.

At the whispering of metal rings sliding like scales across one another, Hook glanced to his right and saw the guardsman approaching along the sand. He set down his spear and held up his hands, laughing softly. It was a warm, chuffing sound, and it stirred something in Hook’s gut that he’d thought only awakened for Mackerel.

“What do you want?” he asked, though it came out more petulant than threatening, and it only made the human warrior snort another little laugh. “You sound like a seal with a cold, making that noise.”

That made the man’s laughter grow and he shook his head. Hook saw that his hair was wavy and dark brown, and it looked impossibly soft. A shiver ran down his whole body and he felt a spark of arousal thrum through him. He was glad he was lying on his front, for one.

The two princes talked long into the night, and Hook stayed with the guardsman.

Slowly, he got over his hostility and started to ask questions about the humans’ world, and once he’d started, he couldn’t stop. The guardsman had plenty of his own questions too, and by the time the sun was well up into the sky and hammering down on them, Hook’s deep voice was hoarse and his golden-brown skin was dry and prickling.

“I should…” he rasped, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the water behind him. “I’m going to turn into one of your baked fish soon.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” the guardsman said. His name was Kit, it turned out, which Hook thought was a very funny sounding name. “You need a hand getting back in the water?”

He didn’t, but the thought of having this human’s hands on him sounded suddenly and bizarrely appealing, so he shrugged. “You strong enough to actually help me, or are you just looking for an excuse to get your hands on a merman?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Again, Kit laughed. It seemed so easy, so natural for him to laugh, but Hook felt a little flicker of pride all the same at having made him do it.

“With all that muscle you’re packing? Probably not,” Kit admitted. “Seemed polite to ask though.”

Hook snorted too, and shook his head. His hair had dried while they’d been talking and it was tickling his face. The guard surprised him by reaching out and tucking it behind his ear with a smile. “I’m glad I met you, Hook,” Kit said. “Maybe… no matter what His Highness decides, you’ll meet me here again some time?”

“His… Highness?”

“The one you call Mackerel. He’s a prince, you know?”

“He’s just… Macks,” Hook scowled.

“Yeah.”

Kit straightened with a grunt and dusted the sand off his legs, and Hook used his forearms to back himself back out into the surf, tail lifted so it didn’t drag like an anchor.

His back was burned, and the saltwater was agony to start with, but it had been worth it to spend so long in the company of the strange human. He ducked beneath the water without a word and vanished, deciding to wait out the rest of the time until Macks’ spell conditions were met in the solitude of a nearby kelp bed.

Occasionally he surfaced, but he didn’t go back to the shore, and finally, when the moon was starting to rise again, he breached the water one last time and looked to the beach. There was no sign of Macks this time, and he realised he’d probably made his choice.

Grief struck him a worse blow than even the harpoon, and he curled inwards with a grunt as saltwater leaked from his eyes and he realised he was crying. He doubled over and turned towards the open ocean. His scarred tail gave a throb of pain as he pushed himself to the limit and blew past his clan who had been waiting nervously out in the open water all day.

Pearl yelled after him but he ignored her. He wasn’t sure how far along the coast he swam but eventually he doubled back to familiar waters and located his clan.

And there, in the middle of all of them, was Mackerel.

Hook halted and stared, and the motion of his black and white tail attracted his best friend’s attention enough that he stopped mid-sentence and darted away from the girls, his body flashing like a minnow between the figures of orca merfolk. He shot out and blasted over to him at a pace even Hook hadn’t known he was capable of, and collided with him with the speed of a racing tuna fish. He gave a soft ‘oof’, a cloud of bubbles rising up to the surface in a foam as the air was knocked from his lungs and he started to cough. Mackerel tugged him up to the surface and made sure he got a good gulp of air before hugging him again.

“I know you don’t see me as your brother,” he said, “And I’m sorry I can’t give you what you wanted, but… I hope you’ll accept me back into the clan all the same.”

“I love you,” Hook said, “No matter what, or how. I can’t believe you stayed though. I thought… I thought…” He squeezed him tightly, using his flippers as well as his arms, and Mackerel laughed.

“Turns out I actually prefer being a merman,” Mackerel laughed. “I was always out of place on dry land, but here… I think I’m meant to be here.” He waited a beat and then said, “My brother’s guardsman seemed quite taken with you. Maybe you can keep flirting with him when I go and visit my brother?”

Hook shoved him away and then used his trademark tail-wipe to wash him even further away, and the two of them laughed.

“Race you?” Macks asked.

Mackerel did an easy back-flip in the water, rolling gracefully and then twisting like a strand of kelp in the current. When Hook thought back to how he’d been in those first few weeks — when, he now knew, he’d only just acquired a tail instead of legs — he realised how Mackerel had really grown into that pretty tail of his.

As pretty as it was though, it somehow wasn’t as appealing as Kit’s legs anymore, and Hook hid a secret smile as he let his slippery friend scoot away from him before setting the muscle of his tail to good use and powering after him like an incoming breaker.

Relations with the humans changed after that. The old king died some years later, though not before he got to see his lost son one last time, and over the course of the next year, trade and new laws governing fishing rights and shipping lanes were established for the safety and benefit of the merfolk.

And if Hook disappeared from the clan for extended periods of time, and if those periods happened to overlap with Kit’s time off duty, well, it was only a sign of better things for both worlds, surely?

I really hope you enjoyed this. If you did, please consider showing your support by reblogging. It really is the best (and totally free!) way to help the artists and writers whose work you enjoy.

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#merman #merfolk #cursed prince #curse #orca merfolk #3rd person #exophilia #fairy tale

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empressofmankind · 5 months

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Me, literally 0.5 seconds in: "SHHAAAAAANNNXXXXX"

They have such a nice-looking ship though; I am so about it. The prow dragon? The taffrail details? The overall colour scheme? Yes, please.

Oyé, Shivs' other ex got gray? Granted, he did hit the 5-0 post time skip. Not a bad look at all though, ngl.

Throwback time to precisely today in '99, episode #4 airing:

Probably don't have to explain further, I think? 😉

Shanks @Marco: "Idiot! I am not high maintenance! Right, Bec?" Benn, in complete deadpan: "No, you are." Shanks: "WhAt?"

You can probably tell why that was a thing that happened for a while. Same energy, whomst. Poor Shanks. What did he do except exist to deserve all that sass?

Sanji still being Sanji is never not entertaining, by the way. Stay dramatic, shrimp. Also, shout out to Zoro's look in the whole arc. It is such a solid design.

Who am I kidding, all three of them look excellent in their gear.

[Part II]

#episode 1087 #one piece anime #one piece #one piece anime spoilers #one piece screenshots #one piece liveblog #red haired shanks #roronoa zoro #monkey d. luffy #vinsmoke sanji #benn beckman #red haired pirates #straw hat pirates #straw hat crew #buggy thoughts

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giuliettagaltieri · 1 year

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Be Careful Not to Spill

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Marleyan! reader

Synopsis: Eren does not agree with the euthanasia plan and he will show them, with a little help from you.

Warnings: AOT S4 spoilers, violence, misogyny, dubcon, noncon, forced pregnancy.

Word Count: 2149

As a Marleyan you know three things as a fact.

One, the Eldians are monsters and they deserve every hate this world has to offer.

Two, to keep the balance from tipping, violence is necessary.

Three, the island beyond the sea is where the enemies are.

Or at least, that was what you were told.

When you find your ship being lifted off the waters, you start to consider if everything that was instilled in your brain is true.

You wanted to come to the island with clear judgement, free of prejudice, but it was difficult to do so when your ship is thrown to the ground, sending you to your knees, and breaking your skin.

They held Niccolo hostage apparently.

He is afraid, you can see in the way he shakes and how he screams in desperation as he asks for the Eldians to be shot despite the fact that it would cost him his life.

An honorable deed.

But then again, who would want to be taken alive by these devils?

The captain aims his gun but you walk over to him and place your delicate hand on the barrel to lower it down.

"What are you doing, Miss Y/N?" The captain demands.

You smile at him sardonically. "Are you that desperate to have your comrades die or can you not see that titan behind us?"

He glanced at the looming titan and he wobble on his feet. Yet the panic in his eyes was quick to turn into madness and he pushes you hard and aimed at the Eldian.

"Say hello to this!"

A gunshot rings on your ears and pieces of what should be inside his skull splattered on the deck.

A hand was offered for you to take. You thank Yelena and you stand by the taffrail and you try to put on a polite smile.

Negotiation is the only option you have.

"We'll gladly take up your offer." You announce, ignoring the commotion of the other soldiers around you as your comrades spring to action. "Shall we have a cup of tea?"

You are quick to establish rapport and gain their confidence, after years and years of being Marley's military strategist taught you how to bargain with people. Apparently, the same principles still apply in this corner of the world.

It was all falling into place.

The pieces start to fit together.

But you miscalculated.

You let yourself get too immersed of being a part of the people of the island.

And you notice how your eyes always seek him in crowds.

How your heart pounds when he is close.

How he can win an argument, with you not even trying to defend yourself as your brain struggles to keep up.

Eren clicks his tongue at another easily won conversation with you.

He wanted to hold a longer conversation, to rile you up and get you to tell him about your true intentions. But all he ever got from you were nods, it infuriated him how you always avoided his eyes.

He leaves you in your previously shared table.

And you wanted nothing more but to curl up and curse yourself for acting as you did.

It unnerved Eren, how tame you were. He understood that there is a something that is being kept from him but you had no business offering him your hanky when he transforms back into human form after a quick test supervised by you, the highly regarded strategist of their enemy country.

He takes the sickeningly sweet-smelling piece of the softest fabric that he has ever had the chance of touching, his eyes never leaving your face, which erupted in a flush, mumbling a quick excuse and scurrying away.

There was nothing smart about you.

There was nothing cunning about you.

You were just a lovesick fool.

And Eren knew it.

It would be a shame to not make the most out of it.

How does the Marleyan military function?

Suddenly, he was holding doors open for you.

What happens if soldiers receive injuries from a war?

He's constantly bumping into you and offering to carry your papers filled with your intricate plans to bring this country to the ground.

“Carefull, you’re spilling.” Eren carries the bowl of water that you were struggling not to slosh around and placed it in front of your stallion.

Your horse mysteriously collapses to the ground even though you made sure that it was well rested and well fed, making you have to ride on Eren's horse as he was quick to offer.

Eren hops off and clasps his large hands round your plump waist. He easily lifts you back to the ground. You flinch when he drags his hands to your hips but you try to think none of it, he was just steadying you.

Of course, he meant nothing by it.

Especially when you see him in Mikasa's embrace and seeing Eren kissing Mikasa's forehead brought you back to your senses.

It was difficult.

You were sent there to see the plan through.

But now, you were too occupied in thinking if your presence was ever significant to him, even just for a while.

It was gnawing on you.

Perhaps it was for the best.

Eliminating any traces of your affection for him would make the execution of the plan go smoothly.

It was not like it was supposed to go anywhere in the first place.

Naturally, anywhere where Eren is not, surprisingly becomes disorderly, and in need of your exceptional wisdom.

They needed you there, you don't care if you've checked their progress twice within that hour already. They're in need of your help and you are required to stay there.

Traveling from one base to another was the best possible option.

That way, you could monitor your people more closely.

And you will not have to worry about certain individuals who will make you question your value in their lives again.

Especially not one of these devils.

"Eren just arrived at camp."

You sit straighter as if a rod of steel materializes on your back. Your eyes snap to Floch.

"That is not possible, he was supposed to be in-"

"Don't assume that we are telling you everything, Marleyan." He spat.

Your brows furrow.

You witnessed racism more times than you can count but you have never been on the receiving side of it.

Until now.

Of course.

You are a fool.

You just gave yourself to them as hostage now, haven’t you?

The answers came to when you could no longer be permitted to go out of your tent.

Meals were served to you and the only times that sunlight touched you was when you have to go to bathrooms.

"I admired how well you could make everyone, including yourself, believe your lies."

You look up from the crackling fire when you hear the voice and you are quick to slip your bookmark between the pages of your book.

"How have you been?"

He scoffs. “Let’s skip the formalities. I know about Zeke’s plan.”

You stand up, sighing. Eyes flashing to the letter opener, knowing how futile it was against Eren but its presence brings you a false sense of reassurance.

“Tea?” You ignore him as you pour yourself a cup of the golden-brown liquid.

It was difficult not to spill when you feel him step behind you, his warm breath making the hair on your nape stand on end. You feel his fingers supporting your elbow when you accidentally pour a good amount on the saucer.

“Careful. You’re spilling.”

You gently place the tea pot on the table, swallowing the lump on your throat. “I need to meet with Yelena. Could you arrange a trip for me? Your people are adamant on having me remain here but frankly I do not see the need to-”

You gasp when Eren’s firm hands grasp your jaw, squishing your cheeks together as he lifts your chin up to make you meet his eyes.

“What makes you think you have the right to decide for our race to die out?”

His voice made your blood freeze up, your fingers turning cold and numb as you feel your knees buckle, and you would have long collapsed if Eren was not holding you too tightly.

Eren found it pathetic how tears were quick to erupt in your eyes, making your lashes clump together.

“It is necessary.”

His grip tightens.

“Eren, please. You’re hurting me.”

He almost did not hear you from how small and quivery your voice has become, losing its natural serene yet commanding tone.

One corner of his lip rises, a flash of his teeth made him look more menacing. “Did you honestly think you could come to the Island of the devils and leave unscathed?”

Before you could process his words, you feel the world tip and your impact against the table sent a sharp blow to your rib which made you suffocate on your own breath, the pain making it difficult for you to take in air. You could only slam your fist on Eren’s chest when he flips you on your back.

Your blood red dress decorated with the finest lace was ripped.

It had you realizing despite the panic that previously scrambled your thoughts.

“Unhand me!” You screamed.

The cold blunt edge of the letter opener dug on your hips when Eren held you down by placing his large hand on your abdomen.

“You’ll be coming back to Marley with a little souvenir.”

You choked up, eyes begging as pleas spill from your delicate mouth.

Eren was getting drunk on your fear.

He was quick to undo the strings holding his clothing and he leans down to press his body against yours, smothering you with his heat as he skims his nose along your cheeks that has gone streaked with tears.

“You’re so pathetic, you know that?” He catches your bloated lip between his teeth as his deep green eyes stare intently in your eyes that are blurred with tears. “You are not meant to be in a war.”

You are so beautiful it almost physically hurt him.

And he hated it.

Rough fingers glide on your hips and thighs.

“Women like you should be staying at home.” You hold your breath and squeeze your eyes close when he spreads your delicate petals. “Nursing a child.” He gathers your sweet nectar and taints your lips with it. “All the while, heavy with another one on the way.”

You cry out when his thumb traces your sweet pearl.

He lifts your arms to place them on his well-built shoulders as he rests himself against your flower that is slowly blooming just for him.

Eren’s eyes land on your bosom and he is quick to notice the buds becoming perky.

His lips part to take them in his mouth and your legs kick up in surprise, his name dripping from your tongue like the sweetest honey.

In contrast to all that he is, Eren nibbled on your bud so gently it had you clenching your thighs on both sides of his hips and you accidentally call his name so dearly, startling the two of you.

You come to your senses and try your hardest to push him away when he lifts your hips to place his tip on your untouched flower.

“Eren, please stop!” You cry out.

It falls on deaf ears as Eren sheaths himself between your quivering legs. He groans against your neck as he feels your juices sliding on his heavy balls, slowly dripping on his hulking thighs.

He breathes against your shoulder and snapped his hips.

You scream, feeling your dignity being peeled away. Every thrust sends your breath hitching. He was unforgiving, bruising your shoulder with his grip as he used it for leverage to sink deeper into you as if wanting to sear this fragment of time in your head, to keep him immortalized in your memory.

He can’t let his brother’s plan be fulfilled. He won’t allow it.

Marley’s name would be shamed with the result of this union.

Their esteemed strategist all rounded up because of Eren Jaeger, a devil from Paradis.

You let out the most beautiful song as you seized up against him and he captured your lips as you gush around him.

He can’t lose this.

Eren growled as he pulled you closer to him, you fear your bodies might mold as one. He kisses your cervix and showered your velvet walls with his thick seed.

You cover your face with your hands, not wanting to face the monster that defiled you.

He pulls your hands by your wrists and cups your face to kiss your jaw. He straightens up and pulls himself out of your warmth, sending his milky seed trickling out of you.

Eren clicks his tongue and presses your thighs close.

“Carefull, you’re spilling.”

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yaeger x reader #eren x y/n #eren x you #eren jaeger #attack on titan #aot final season #shingeki no kyoujin #eren jaeger smut

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