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worstjourney · 6 months

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The Millennials' Polar Expedition

A year ago today (23 Nov 2022), I launched Worst Journey Vol.1 at the Scott Polar Research Institute. This is the text of the speech I gave to the lovely people who turned up to celebrate.

As many of you know, my interest in the Terra Nova Expedition was sparked by Radio 4’s dramatisation of The Worst Journey in the World, now 14 years ago. The story is an incredible story, and it got its claws into me, but what kept me coming back again and again were the people. I couldn’t believe anyone so wonderful had ever really existed. So when I finally succumbed to obsession and started reading all the books, it was the expedition members’ own words which I most cherished. These were not always easy to come by, though, so plenty of popular histories were consumed as well. Reading both in tandem, it soon became clear that, while there were some good books out there, there was a lot of sloppy research in the polar echo chamber as well.

I also discovered that no adaptation had attempted to get across the full scope of the expedition. There has never been a full and fair dramatic retelling, all having been limited by time, budget, or ideology from telling the whole story truthfully. I was determined that my adaptation would be both complete and accurate, and be as accountable as possible to those precious primary documents and the people who wrote them.

So the years of research began. I moved to Cambridge to be able to drop in at SPRI and make the most of the archives. Getting to Antarctica seemed impossible, but I went to New Zealand to get at least that much right, and on the way back stayed with relatives in Alberta, the most Antarctic place I could realistically visit. I gathered reference for objects wherever I could. Because Vol.1 takes place mainly on the Terra Nova, which is now a patch of sludge on the seabed off Greenland, I cobbled together a Franken-Nova in my mind, between the Discovery up in Dundee and the Star of India in San Diego. I spent a week on a Jubilee Sailing Trust ship in order to depict tall-ship sailing correctly. I’m sure I’ve still got loads of things wrong, but I did all I could, to get as much as I could, right.

But still, everyone I met who had been to Antarctica said, “you can’t understand Antarctica until you’ve been there, and you can’t tell the story without understanding Antarctica; you have to go.” So I applied to the USAP’s Antarctic Artists and Writers Program, with faint hope, as they do “Ahrt” and I draw cartoons. But I must have blagged a good grant proposal, because a year after applying, I was stepping out of a C-17 onto the Ross Ice Shelf. The whole trip would have been worth it just to stand there, turn in a circle, and see how all the familiar photographs fit together. But the USAP’s generosity didn’t stop there, and in the next month I saw Hut Point, Arrival Heights, the Beardmore Glacier (including the moraine on which the Polar Party stopped to “geologise”), and Cape Crozier, and made three visits to the Cape Evans hut. Three! On top of the visual reference I got priceless qualitative data. The hardness of the sound. The surprising warmth of the sun. The sugary texture of the snow. The keen edge on a slight breeze. The way your fingertips and toes can start to go when the rest of you is perfectly warm. The SHEER INSANITY of Cape Crozier. The veterans were right – I couldn’t have drawn it without having been there, but now I have, and can, and I am more grateful than I can ever adequately express. With all these resources laid so copiously at my feet, all I had to do was sit down and draw the darn thing. Luckily I have some very sound training to back me up on that.

Now, this is all very well for the how of making the book, and, I hope, interesting enough. But why? Why am I putting so much effort into telling this story, and why now?

Well, it means a lot to me personally. To begin to understand why, you need to know that I grew up in the 80s and 90s, at the height of individualist, goal-oriented, success-driven, dog-eat-dog, devil-take-the-hindmost neoliberalism. It was just assumed that humans, when you get right down to it, were basically self-interested jerks, and I saw plenty of them around so I had no reason to question this assumption. The idea was that if you did everything right, and worked really hard, you could retire at 45 to a yacht in the Bahamas, and if you didn’t retire to a yacht, well, you just hadn’t tried hard enough. Character, in the sense of rigorous personal virtue, was for schmucks. What mattered was success. Even as my politics evolved, I still took it as a given that this was how the world worked, and that was how people generally were – after all, there was no lack of corroborating evidence. So: I worked really hard. I single-mindedly pursued my self-interest. I made sacrifices, and put in the time, and fought my way into my dream job and all the success I could have asked for.

And then I met the Terra Nova guys.

What struck me most about them was that even when everything was going wrong, when their expectations were shattered and they had to face the cruellest reality, they were still kind. Not backbiting, recriminating, blame-throwing, defensive, or mean, as one would expect – they were lovely to each other, patient, supportive, self-sacrificing; in fact the worse things got, the better they were. They still treated each other as friends even when it wasn’t in their self-interest, was even contrary to their self-interest. I didn’t know people could be like that. But there they were, in plain writing, being thoroughly, bafflingly, decent. Not just the Polar Party – everyone had to face their own brutal realities at some point, and they all did so with a grace I never thought possible.

It presented a very important question:

When everything goes belly-up, and you’re facing the worst, what sort of person will you be?

Or perhaps more acutely: What sort of person would you rather be with?

It was so contrary to the world I lived in, to the reality I knew – it was a peek into an alternate dimension, populated entirely with lovely, lovely people, who really, genuinely believed that “it’s not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game,” and behaved accordingly. It couldn’t be real. There had to be a deeper, unpleasant truth: that was how the world worked, after all. I kept digging, expecting to hit bottom at some point, but I only found more gold, all the way down. How could I not spend my life on this?

Mythology exists to pass on a culture’s values, moral code, and survival information – how to face challenges and prevail. Scott’s story entered the British mythology, and had staying power, because it exemplified those things so profoundly for the culture that created and received it. But the culture changed, and there were new values; Scott’s legacy was first inverted and then cast aside. The new culture needed a new epic hero. You’d think it would be Amundsen, the epitome of ruthless success, but “Make Plan – Execute Plan – Go Home” has no mythic value, so he didn’t stick. The hero needed challenges, he needed setbacks, and he needed to win, on our terms.

Shackleton! Shackleton was a winner! Shackleton told us what we knew to be true and wanted to hear at epic volume: that if you want something badly enough, and try really hard, you will succeed! (Especially if you can control the narrative.) Scott, on the other hand, tells us that if you want something badly enough, and try really hard . . . you may nevertheless die horribly in the snow. Nobody wants to hear that! What a downer! I think it’s no coincidence that Shackleton exploded into popular culture in the late 90s and has dominated it ever since: he is the mythic hero of the zeitgeist. I am always being asked if I’ll be doing Shackleton next. ��He has six graphic novels already! That is plenty! But people still want to tell and be told his story, because it’s a heroic myth that validates our worldview.

That’s why I am so determined to tell the Scott story, because Scott is who we don’t realise we need right now – and Wilson, and Bowers, and Cherry, and Atch, and all the rest. The Terra Nova Expedition is the Millennials’ polar expedition. We’ve worked really hard, we’ve done everything we were supposed to, we made what appeared to be the right decisions at the time, and we’re still losing. Nothing in the mythology we’ve been fed has prepared us for this. No amount of positive attitude is going to change it. We have all the aphorisms in the world, but what we need is an example of how to behave when the chips are down, when the Boss is not sailing into the tempest to rescue us, when the Yelcho is not on the horizon. When circumstances are beyond your power to change, how do you make the best of your bad situation? What does that look like? Even if you can’t fix anything, how do you make it better for the people around you – or at the very least, not worse? Scott tells us: you can be patient, supportive, and humble; see who needs help and offer it; be realistic but don’t give in to despair; and if you’re up against a wall with no hope of rescue, go out in a blaze of kindness. We learn by imitation: it’s easy to say these things, but to see them in action, in much harder circumstances than we will ever face, is a far greater help. And to see them exemplified by real, flawed, complicated people like us is better still; they are not fairy-tale ideals, they are achievable. Real people achieved them.

My upbringing in the 80s milieu of selfishness, which set me up to receive the Scott story so gratefully, is hardly unique. There are millions of us who are hungry for a counter-narrative. My generation is desperate for demonstrations of caring, whether it’s activism or social justice or government policies that don’t abandon the vulnerable. We’ve seen selfishness poison the world, and we want an alternative. The time for competition is past; we must cooperate or perish, but we don’t know how to do it because our mythology is founded on competition. The Scott story, if told properly, explodes the Just World Fallacy, and liberates us from the lie that has ruled our lives: that you make your own luck. What happens, happens: what matters is how you respond to it. My obsession with accuracy is in part to honour the men, and in part because Cherry was the ultimate stickler and he’d give me a hard time if I didn’t, but also because, if I’m telling the story to a new generation, I’m damn well going to make sure we get that much RIGHT. It’s been really interesting to see, online, how my generation and the next have glommed onto polar exploration narratives, not as thrilling feats of derring-do, but as emotional explorations of found family and cooperative resilience. We love them because they love each other, and loving each other helps get them through, and we want – we need – to see how that’s done. It’s time to give them the Terra Nova story, and to tell it fully, fairly, and honestly, in all its complexity, because that is how their example is most useful to us. Not as gods, and not as fools, but as real human beings who were excellent to each other in the face of disaster. I only hope that I, a latecomer to their ways, can do them justice.

#scott expedition #terra nova expedition #the worst journey in the world #captain scott #polar party #robert falcon scott #birdie bowers #edward adrian wilson #bill wilson #character #millennials #polar exploration #heroic age #adventure #sociology #neoliberalism

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keithsandwich · 3 months

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A Sweet Taste

Pairing: Silvio/MC (Emma)

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: Swearing, bickering, a brief mention of seasickness.

Summary: During Silvio and Emma's first voyage together, Silvio decides to make her a surprise for Valentine's. However, nothing can stop her curiosity.

Notes: Written for @goustmilk for the My Ikémen Valentine Gift Exchange, hosted by @ikemenlibrary. This was my first time writing for Silvio, and I really hope you like it, Dani!!

Emma was getting used to the sway of the waves and the creaking sounds of the ship. They didn’t disturb her anymore while sleeping, especially when Silvio made a habit of enveloping her tightly in his arms every night. They were heading to another continent where her lover had business to attend to, and he had decided to take her with him for a little adventure of their own. She couldn’t be happier; their days were always filled with new lessons as they sailed together on the open sea under a bright blue sky, the sun unusually warm for February. And their nights were always filled with love, and now also with rest, since she could fall into a deep sleep in his arms until morning came, finding herself still within his grip as she woke up.

Emma let out a groggy sigh that morning, anticipating the warmth of his presence, ready to tease him about being as needy as a puppy for cuddling her all night long. However, to her surprise, there were no arms around her this time.

Emma turned quickly in bed, patting his side of their bed, but the sheets were cold, and there was no sign of Silvio in their quarters. Emma sat up straight, frowning; it wasn’t like him to let her sleep in without even letting her know he was leaving. He knew she would be worried, and if it weren’t for the gentle swing of the ship and the peaceful sounds outside — the closest semblance of silence within the ever-noisy wooden vessel at sea — she would be downright alarmed. Still, she wondered what could have been so urgent that made him leave without his typical, brazen, yet sweet “Oi! Sleepyhead! I have business to take care of, but you stay and sleep some more”.

Emma dressed quickly before emerging from the captain’s quarters. The door creaked softly as she stepped onto the deck, her eyes squinting against the sunlight. Her gaze swept across the deck, searching for her lover, but she saw no trace of his pale-blue hair being tousled by the sea breeze, a perfect match to the sea waves. There was no jewelry shining under the sun. No haughty voice giving off commands to the crew, no jangling sounds. She bit her lip, growing more anxious to find him. Moving towards the nearby navigator’s area, she slowly pushed open the door and scanned the room for Silvio. As she did, her heart clenched. There, between maps, charts, compasses, and astrolabes, she could only find Carlo behind the desk, absorbed in his work.

“Good morning, Carlo…” she announced her presence with a gentle knock on the door, which she was still holding.

He seemed startled by her voice and looked at her apologetically.

“Good morning! Ah… I’m sorry I hadn’t noticed you there, I was too caught up with calculations, and…”

“That’s okay, really,” Emma waved her hands placatingly. There was no need for apologies or explanations — especially when she still couldn’t understand his work entirely — and she wished he could focus on her words instead. “I was just wondering if you know where Silvio is.”

“I-I-I… he…” Carlo stuttered, looking around as if searching for something — maybe his words. “Actually, he asked me to tell you to wait for him here. He’s… taking care of something important below deck…”

Emma couldn’t help but furrow her eyebrows suspiciously. Carlo was hiding a secret, that much was obvious. Silvio was up to something, and he was covering up for him. But what could he possibly be conspiring in a ship?

“I see.” She nodded in agreement, but in her mind, she was weighing two possibilities: either let it go and wait for Silvio as he intended, or... “Below deck, you say?”

“Lady Emma, you don’t know the passageways well; you’ll get lost if you go after him,” Carlo moved from his desk to dissuade her from her intentions. “I can show you how... how to use the astrolabe if you please. Or we can discuss any matter you would like.”

It was too late, however.

“I’m sorry, Carlo,” it was her turn to smile apologetically, although Emma didn’t truly regret her decision. She set herself on the move, knowing full well Carlo was exasperatedly following her steps. “If I am to become familiar with this ship, I must also learn the ways my lover has of being secretive with me here. Or did he honestly expect me to sit still and wait for him?”

Granted, he would whine about it, but Silvio knew her. And he wouldn’t love her so much had she been obedient to his whims.

The recipe had been carefully written down on paper by Emma’s favorite confectioner. Silvio had made sure to pay him a visit the last time he went to Rhodolite. How Silvio managed to keep that recipe a secret, as well as his trips to the palace’s kitchen to practice under the guise of attending business meetings, remained a mystery, and he was proud of his deeds so far. Spending their very first Valentine’s Day together on the ship would be necessary, but he was determined to make that day special for Emma. Since cakes would spoil during the trip and chocolate boxes would melt in the storage room, the best option was to learn how to bake and do it himself in the galley.

She used to cook and bake for him all the time, and he felt good doing the same for her — although he would never say it out loud. But was Silvio still feeling confident now that he was covered in flour and ingloriously trying to beat the batter while double-checking the recipe and attempting to ensure the oven was at the correct temperature all at the same time? His grumbled profanities revealed a man far less confident than he was while conducting his tests in the palace. But a full kitchen with a steady floor was different from a galley swinging along the sea waves; and having a considerable amount of time was different from trying to rush things out to surprise Emma before she woke up.

Asking Carlo to stall her in case she did — because she definitely would look for him first thing — and trusting he could actually do it were two different things. For all that was worth, Emma was stubbornly obstinate and couldn't behave for shit. The thought of her irritating antics made Silvio blush. Unbeknownst to him, his eyebrows furrowed, and his lips formed a little pout. He beat the batter harder, causing it to spill all over the place.

“Cazzo!” Silvio couldn’t help but shout angrily, leaving the whisk in the bowl as he made an indignant hand gesture.

He sighed heavily, looking down at the chocolate batter in the bowl, its sweet scent a harsh contrast to the salty sea air. Silvio’s haughty expression softened little by little as he remembered why he was doing this, and soon he took the whisk again and resumed beating the mixture. “The more you beat it, the fluffier it’ll get after baking!”, the confectioner had said. “And Miss Emma loves fluffy cakes,” he added.

Fluffy, sweet, covered in sugar that melted in your mouth. The thought of Emma’s delight warmed his heart and brought a smile to his lips, the silly rush of emotions making his cheeks warm with a blush again.

Good thing no one was there to see it.

Emma navigated through the narrow passageways of the ship, with Carlo trailing closely behind. While she was aware of what lay below the deck — the crew’s cabins, the galley, the storage rooms — most of it remained a mystery to her. Despite her limited familiarity, there was one place she felt more comfortable with than others. Although it didn’t make any sense for Silvio to be there, her feet naturally guided her right to the galley.

“Lady Emma,” Carlo persisted, trying to reason with her. “If Prince Silvio doesn’t want to be found, don’t you think it's better to wait for him on deck? I'm sure he has a good reason…”

“Carlo, let’s make a deal,” she said, slowing down and turning to him. Her voice was hushed, mindful not to reveal their presence in case Silvio was nearby. “Just show me where he is. All I want is to know what he’s up to. We can return to the deck before he even notices us.”

Suddenly, the faint scent of salt and dried fish in the air was overtaken by a sweet aroma. Emma inhaled deeply, confused by the captivating scent she wasn’t expecting to encounter there. Was it... cake? Could it be that Silvio was baking her a cake? She threw an inquiring glance at Carlo, as if she had voiced her doubts, and he looked back at her with a conflicted expression.

“Porca miseria!” Silvio’s frustrated curses echoed from somewhere nearby, dismissing the need for Carlo’s guidance. Emma’s heart quickened with anticipation as she followed the source of the sound and that amazing scent, her senses guiding her through the labyrinth of corridors of the ship.

With Carlo never leaving her side, she rounded a corner and saw Silvio surrounded by flour-dusted surfaces and the warm glow of the galley’s oven. His brow furrowed in concentration, his hands a flurry of activity as he wrestled with the batter before him. She halted and took a step back, almost colliding with Carlo in the process. But she had promised him she wouldn’t let Silvio know they were there. The image of her lover working with such dedication made her smile uncontrollably, though, and she wished she could let out a giggle.

“Can we head back now?” Carlo whispered urgently.

Emma hummed softly while considering, peeking from behind the corner to watch Silvio struggling to put the batter in the baking pan while the ship swayed more forcefully. “Why is he baking a cake, though?” she murmured to herself.

“Don’t you know?” Carlo whispered a little louder in surprise. “Oh, right, sorry. You must’ve lost track of time here. It’s Valentine’s Day today, Lady Emma.”

“Is it?” Her whisper was even louder, and she immediately covered her mouth, hoping Silvio hadn’t heard her. “You should’ve let me know; I wanted to do something for him, too.”

She had believed they would have already reached land by the 14th, but apparently, she had miscalculated the duration of the trip when Silvio told her about it. She had been so excited and touched by the sight of Silvio baking her a cake, but now she was starting to feel guilty for not doing something special for him too.

“He had mentioned he wanted to do something for you this time, since you’re always doing so much for him. Not in those exact words, of course, but I know him well enough to understand.”

Emma knew exactly what Carlo was talking about, and it only made her heart race faster for her lover. “Carlo, I’m sorry, but I have to go there.”

“You told me you wouldn’t…”

“I know, but I have to. Besides, he seems like he needs help, and-”

Emma turned to peek at Silvio again to check how he was doing, but what she saw was the glistening gold of the necklaces on his chest. Really close. She raised her eyes sheepishly and met his annoyed stare.

“Who the hell told ya I need help?” Silvio stood with his hands on his hips, chocolate smudges staining the fancy fabric of his clothes, telling another story. “And you? Thought I told ya to keep her away from here. How come you both ended up like damned rats nosing around and chattering in my galley?”

“You left me without saying a word!” Emma retorted boldly, matching Silvio's assertiveness and cutting off Carlo before he could start apologizing. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You couldn’t possibly have expected me to sit still! Besides... you’re obviously in need of help,” her eyes roamed from his messy clothes to the messy galley.

“You’re impossible, woman!”

They pouted at each other, forming a pair of stubborn, hot-blooded fools. Their cheeks flushed even more by the second as they engaged in a stare-down. The moment Emma’s gaze wavered and she looked away from Silvio’s sea-blue eyes, he felt a pang in his heart. With an unintelligible mutter, he shook his head.

“Fine! Damn it! It’s Valentine’s Day, so stop spouting nonsense and come help me already!”

Emma was getting used to the sway of the waves and the creaking sounds of the ship. Silvio noticed it in the way she danced around the galley completely undisturbed, mixing the batter with light movements, taking care of the oven, and ensuring the cake pan was ready before pouring the batter into it. She moved as naturally as she would in the palace's kitchen, quite the evolution for someone who had experienced seasickness like Valerio usually did during her first days at sea.

She really was amazing.

As it turns out, his first attempt didn't go well. The batter got stuck in the pan, and the cake didn't rise, so she was working her magic to ensure that they would have something for the day. And for as long as he wished to do that alone, helping her out while she baked felt like they were already celebrating Valentine's Day together. Good thing Emma decided to stick her cute little nose in his business, and that he decided to let her in. Carlo politely left them alone — he definitely didn't want to be involved in their mess in the first place. And now, everything felt in the right place.

Except for her lips, when, after they placed the pan in the oven, she suddenly leaned in not only for a simple kiss but also for a tiny lick on his cheek. The surprising sensation made Silvio shiver and blush uncontrollably, flinching away from her touch. Emma giggled shamelessly at her bold actions.

“There was still some batter on your cheek, and I wanted to taste it,” she explained nonchalantly. “Silvio, you taste so sweet right now, you know that?”

“Sh-shut up!!” He spat, frowning at her, but her annoying behavior, and the way she glowed brighter and warmer than the oven in front of them, were simply too endearing to him. The fact was that he loved her, and she was the only person in the world who could evoke such feelings in him.

As suddenly as she kissed him, Silvio wrapped his arm around her waist and pressed their bodies together. His kiss was on her lips, stronger, with a hunger no cake could satisfy. When he rendered her breathless, Silvio broke the kiss and smirked at her.

“Now, you,” he murmured, his fingers gently brushing back a lock of her hair behind her ear, tracing a delicate path through the strands. Her beautiful eyes shined in anticipation, and he smiled honestly. It was Valentine's Day, and there would be no real celebration if he wasn't true to her. “You taste sweet all the time…”

Taglist: @bicayaya @queengiuliettafirstlady @olivermorningstar

#my ikemen valentine gift exchange #ikemen prince #silvio ricci #silvio/mc #silvio/emma #ikepri #fanfic #tw swearing

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wanderingcas · 11 months

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since ao3 is down and we're all suffering here's chapter 1 of my destiel lighthouse keepers fic (not the prologue. that's a secret)

title: where there is darkness pairing: dean/cas summary, written badly, because i did this in 2 minutes: Cas is trying to escape his past by taking a job as a lighthouse keeper. Little does he know the love of his life is waiting for him there. Historical au. Gay sex later. Just read it.

Chapter 1

1949. Autumn.

The bus drops Castiel off on the outskirts of Kittery, just over the bridge connecting Maine and New Hampshire’s borders over the water. He watches the bus as it hisses, lifting its aching joints and meandering down the windy highway 101.

Castiel decides to stand for a long moment, staring out into the empty field.

Behind him is Kittery Foreside, the center of town: beyond it, the harbor, with the lighthouse just a speck in the distance. It’s a clear afternoon, not quite twilight, so he was able to track the dot through the window as they crossed the bridge.

But now, he’d rather stare at the field and the deep blue of the sky as the sun sets.

In his left hand is the official letter detailing his new job. In his right, a leather suitcase containing everything he now owns (three outfits, one wool sweater, a toothbrush—and a stack of letters, stained in the left corners where he dropped them accidentally into a puddle).

He watches a seagull’s trajectory as it lands on the fence post, scratching at a wing with its beak.

A lighthouse keeper—arguably an insane job to take, considering he has no experience. But the sailing portion on his resume (from a handful of times he sailed at his family’s lake house as a boy) seemed to set him apart from the rest of the applicants. And the job was going to put him exactly where he wanted to be: away from society. Away from people.

Taking a sharp breath, he turns on his heel, and follows the road to the town center, street lights illuminating the pavement in the twilight.

There’s only one hotel that took his reservation at such short notice; as he fills out the registration form, the bellhop eyes his lack of luggage suspiciously.

Swallowing a nervous lump in his throat, Castiel takes the key from the woman at the front desk. “Do you have any recommendations for somewhere to eat this time of night?”

“Only thing open on a Wednesday night is the Roadhouse, sir,” the woman says as she files his paperwork behind the desk. She shoots him a smile. “It’s good food, though. Place is almost as old as the town itself. I recommend the lobster rolls, personally.”

“Thank you, uh…”

“Bela,” she replies.

“Bela,” Castiel repeats. “Can you tell me which direction to go?”

Pulling out a map, Bela splays it on the counter, uncapping a pen.

The Roadhouse is clear on the other side of town, across yet another bridge. The amount of islands that the area is divided into baffles Castiel. It’s well past dark when he arrives, pushing the door into the warm embrace of the diner.

A rush of nostalgia hits him as he realizes it’s similar to the one in Boston that he frequented, just a couple of blocks from the parish—their similarities extend even to the paraphernalia on the wall. Whoever owns this diner seems to have an obsession with John Wayne, just like the ones in Boston.

“Be one sec!” a waitress calls as she flies past him, a tray of drinks balanced on her shoulder. “Just pick an empty one!”

Dutifully, Castiel slides into a chair by the window, setting his cold hands on the table. He glances around at the buzzing diner; there are more people than he expected, considering that the town seemed to already close its eyelids as the sun went down. A family with two whining toddlers are crammed into a booth in the corner, another taking up multiple tables shoved together, kids running around and chasing each other as their parents snap at them to sit down and eat. Other tables are filled with men in fishermen’s overalls and boots, a group of women poking at their plates of food, babies in their arms.

One baby, held by a woman in a plaid dress, coos and holds out his hands towards the plate. The woman smiles down at the baby, kissing the top of his blonde head.

Castiel’s heart constricts and he looks away before the familiar tears can prick at his eyes.

“Whaddaya havin’?”

Castiel whips up his head at the same waitress from before, blinking. “Oh. I don’t have—”

“Ah, damn it, I didn’t give you a menu did I?” she says with a roll of her eyes, pulling out a plastic one from underneath her arm and setting it on the table. “Sorry, the dinner rush is crazy on Wednesdays. You wouldn’t think it, my brother had the big idea to make Wednesday the day we offer crab at market price, so everyone’s goin’ nuts.”

Castiel stares down at the menu, feeling a little shell-shocked, and realizing he hasn’t had a proper conversation with someone for weeks—especially not someone so energetic. “Should I not order the crab, then?” he asks, solemnly.

“Not order the—?” She lets out something closer to a snort than a laugh, smacking his arm. “Oh, you’re yanking my chain, huh? No, order the crab if you want, damage is already done. I’ll just give you a minute, okay? Oh, and name’s Jo, if you need to yell at me across the room.”

Before Castiel can reply, she’s already walking away at a quick pace, ponytail swinging.

He orders the lobster roll when she finally comes back around to his table twenty minutes later; when he explains it was on Bela’s recommendation, Jo scoffs, “And you trust her?” She waves a hand at his raised eyebrows. “Whatever, she’s right, actually. Lobster was fresh caught this morning, too. Any fries with that roll to keep it company?”

Castiel nods, handing the menu back to her. “And an iced tea.”

She takes the menu, narrowing her eyes. “Say… if Bela gave you the recommendation, does that mean you’re staying at the inn?”

Castiel sucks in a breath. The lines he rehearsed are already slamming into his head like a film playing too quickly. “Yes. I just got into town.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, welcome! What brings you to Kittery?”

“A job.”

When Castiel doesn’t elaborate, Jo leans in, smile conspiratorial. “And what job would that be?”

Castiel considers lying. But he already has enough lies to keep track of. “Second assistant keeper at Whaleback Lighthouse.”

Jo’s eyebrows shoot up her brow, and she says, emphatically, “Oh. The stag light, out on the harbor? Really?”

“I don’t seem the type?” Castiel jokes weakly.

Jo doesn’t even try to hide the way her eyes scrape up and down his suit and trench coat, more tax accountant than sailor. “No, actually. Not at all.”

“I’m trying a career change.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I have sailing experience.”

Jo purses her lips. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

It was beginning to feel like he was interviewing for the job all over again. Castiel crosses his arms on the table and stares her down as intimidatingly as he can: the same stare he gave the children when they forgot lines of their catechisms. “Is that all?”

“Hey,” Jo says, hands raised, “just making conversation. I’ll go put in your order.”

Castiel watches as she makes her way to the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder at him as she goes. There’s a small window where the orders are passed between the kitchen and whoever is at the counter: Castiel can see Jo talking to another man through it as they glance intermittently at Castiel.

He scrubs a hand over his face and curses under his breath. Lying would have been the better option.

The news spreads like wildfire: from Jo to the cook to other patrons in the diner to an older woman at the till. They all stare at him with curious glances, sizing him up. When Jo delivers his lobster roll, Castiel can barely eat it, his stomach is so twisted up in knots.

Someone is going to ask questions; investigate. Or, worse, someone is going to recognize him from the papers. His suitcase is still at the hotel; he could run back to his room, grab it, get out of town. He could just ditch the suitcase altogether if it weren’t for the damn letters. He curses himself again for not putting them in his pocket. He begins to fish out his wallet, fingers shaking as he pulls out a few bills because he can’t just add dine and dash to his list of offenses, but the walls are also closing in and everyone’s looking at him and—

A man appears beside the table. Castiel stares up at him, eyes wide, hands hidden under the table.

He’s wearing waterproof overalls and gumboots, like the rest of the fishermen types at the adjacent table. He scratches his beard and narrows his eyes as he sizes up Castiel.

Castiel wonders if he could take him in a fight. Based on Castiel’s lack of fitness and the size of this man’s arm, his guess is a resounding no.

“You the new keeper at Whaleback, huh?” he asks.

Castiel wills his voice not to shake. “Yes.”

The man stares at him for another long moment, frowning, scratching at the dark beard peppering his jawline. Finally, he sits down at the chair across from Castiel, leaning toward him. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Castiel asks, frowning.

The man shakes his head. “Just… watch yourself out there. Okay? Place isn’t exactly… normal.”

Something akin to cold water rushes down Castiel’s spine, extinguishing the fire of anxiety freezing his limbs—people aren’t wary of him. They’re wary of his new place of occupation. He almost laughs with relief.

“I can manage,” he says, placing the bills back into his wallet. “Thank you.”

“No, see, there’s—” The man blows out a gust of air. “The Principal Keeper, you see. He ain’t right in the head.”

“I’m sorry, who even are you?” Castiel snaps.

“Cole!”

Both Castiel and the man turn their heads in time to see the older woman from the register approach and cuff Cole over the back of the head. “Spreading rumors again, huh? Got nothin’ better to do?”

Cole crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair with a scowl. “Not rumors if they’re true, Ellen,” he mumbles.

“Then the next thing you can gab about is how I kicked your ass across this diner and out onto the street,” Ellen snaps, smacking at his shoulder. “Go on, get up and join your buddies, you good-for-nothin’.”

With a roll of his eyes, Cole rises, then points his finger at Castiel. “I mean it, okay, guy? Just watch yourself around that psycho.”

“That’s enough out of you,” Ellen growls, shoving his back as he goes. She hooks a thumb over to the table of fishermen. “Ignore those superstitious idiots. They latch onto a Jonah in town and don’t stop talking about it.”

“A Jonah?” Castiel asks.

“That’s what they call anyone who’s bad luck enough to stop them from getting a catch.” Ellen shrugs a shoulder. “But they’ve had the best fishing around here in decades since Dean Winchester rolled back into town from the war, so it’s just prejudice.” She nods down at Castiel’s plate. “Lobster roll no good?”

Castiel blinks down at it; he’d forgotten the food in front of him. “Just haven’t had the chance to try it yet.”

Smile sympathetic, Ellen nods over to the counter. “If you want, we can move you over there. Then the eyes of the town will be on your back. Easier to ignore.”

Despite himself, Castiel’s lips quirk up into a grin. “I like that idea.”

With a wink, Ellen scoops up his plate for him, holding it aloft as she weaves through the tables. “Sorry about them,” she says over her shoulder to Castiel as he follows. “You’re not exactly the first keeper this year to come into town for the job, so they’re just a little excitable.”

Castiel slides onto the stool at the counter, frowning. “I thought the job just opened up last month?”

“Oh, it did.” Ellen rounds the corner to the other side of the counter, depositing Castiel’s plate. She quirks her lips, thinking for a moment. “You’re the fourth, I think.”

Castiel gapes. “Fourth?”

“This year, at least.”

“I…” Castiel works his jaw to find the words. “Did they—are they…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, too absorbed in the image of his body splayed out onto the rocks as an ending to this story.

“Oh—no,” Ellen scoffs, waving a hand. “They didn’t die. It’s a dangerous job, but people don’t die… often. No, these men quit after a few months. One didn’t even last a week.”

Because she keeps glancing at his plate, Castiel picks up the lobster roll and takes a bite. Perfectly salted lobster and toasted bun explodes flavor in his mouth. He makes a mental note to thank Bela profusely for the recommendation.

He realizes, two bites into his food, that he forgot to pray.

He frowns, wiping his face with a napkin, inwardly chastising himself. That kind of thing doesn’t matter anymore.

Jo skips up to stand beside Ellen, placing her empty tray down on the counter. “What are we talking about?”

“Don’t listen to her about it, either,” Ellen tells Castiel firmly, taking the tray. “Jo’s got fanciful notions about the sea.”

“Oh, we talking about Whaleback?” Jo’s eyes glint mischievously as she leans forward to say to Castiel in a lowered voice, “It’s haunted, you know. That’s why all those keepers quit. Only the Winchesters stay there ‘cause they got used to the ghosts by now.”

“I see,” Castiel says slowly.

“But, hey, kudos to you for trying it out,” another voice says, patting him on the shoulder. Castiel balks at the man who’s suddenly appeared next to him, a hand offered in greeting. “I’m Ash, Jo’s brother, Ellen’s reluctant son. Nice to meet ya.”

Castiel rubs his temples and sighs. “This is beginning to feel like a circus.”

“Let me give you the skinny,” Ash says, pushing back his hair that’s somehow short in the front and long in the back—something Castiel can barely get his mind around. “Lighthouse used to be totally normal, right? Besides the normal rumors that lighthouses just always have. Daddy John Winchester and little brother Sam Winchester looked after it while older brother Dean Winchester was off fighting the Nazis—he came back and that’s when things started getting weird.”

Weary from traveling and the overall conversation, Castiel decides to tuck into his lobster roll, hoping that if he doesn’t reply, they’ll all go away.

“Tell him what happened with his uh, uh—what do you call it?” Jo asks, snapping her fingers.

“Oh, yeah! Dean’s agoraphobia,” Ash says. “Shifts at the lighthouse are usually 25 days on, 4 days off, right? Well, Dean stopped going to shore more and more, until he just stopped leaving the lighthouse altogether. Don’t think that kid’s been out since—what? ’47?”

“Of course he has,” Jo says with a roll of her eyes. “He stopped coming to the mainland when his dad died last year, remember?”

Castiel lifts his head at that one. “He died?”

“Yeah,” Ash says, shaking his head. “John Winchester—he was the Principal Keeper for, what, twenty years at least. Fell over the railing on a clear day. Since then, people keep sayin’ they see weird things—like a woman in a white dress walking up and down the landing, lights flickering on and off during a power outage… Weird things like that. But people are jumpy after the war, they need something to talk about. Get their minds distracted.”

Castiel sipped at his water, mulling over the information. “Who was on shift with Mr. Winchester when he fell?”

Jo grimaces, exchanging a look with Ash. “Dean was in the kitchen when it happened. Saw his dad falling past the window.”

“He’s Principal Keeper now,” Ash adds. “So you’ll be serving under him. Sam Winchester is the first assistant. And Adam, their half brother, still in high school—he helps out from time to time, picks up shifts if Sam needs it. But now, with you here…” Ash lets out a chuckle. “Well, as long as you last, anyway.”

Castiel takes another long gulp of water, wishing it was beer so he could calm his jangling nerves. “The Coast Guard didn’t tell me I was walking into a situation.”

Ellen, who stayed on the sideline of their conversation, comes back to lean against the counter. “Officially? You’re not.” She points her finger at Castiel. “Loyalty runs deep in this town. No matter how weird Dean gets, he still fought for this country and he’s done a lot of good for the town since. So any sideways look or word against him, and people will sooner run you out of here than take your side. Got it?”

Castiel sets down his iced tea. He nods. “I got it.”

“Good.” Ellen leans back, arms crossed. “That all being said—if you last after a shift, be sure to visit here while you’re on shore, okay?”

“Yeah,” Ash chimes in, “we’re placing bets. So last at least two shifts so I can stay low, okay?”

“Or at least three,” Jo adds. She nudges his elbow on the counter with her own. “Don’t worry, champ, I got faith in ya.”

Incredulous, Castiel scoffs into his water. “Yeah. Right.”

The bell to the diner door rings, heralding a group of sweaty children in baseball uniforms and their parents. The sudden flood of people distracts Ash and Jo long enough for Castiel to finish his lobster roll in peace. When he’s done, he places a ten dollar bill, enough to cover the meal and then some, beside his plate as he shrugs on his coat, winding around the crowd clamoring for a seat to sit.

He hunches his shoulders against the damp shock of cold, blowing warm air into his hands. Living in Boston was cold, but not like this: here, the very air feels hostile, stealing your breath to toss into the harbor’s winds. Castiel paces down the main street, past the dark windows of a flower shop, antique store, and a movie palace. At the end of the road, nudged up a slight hill, is a drug store—and a payphone tucked in beside it.

It’s a bad idea. He knows it’s a bad idea. But then he thinks of the letters in his suitcase, and the answer is made for him.

Picking the phone off its cradle, he dials for the operator and asks to make a collect call to Boston, fighting the tremor in his voice.

The line trills once. Twice. Castiel’s palms spring sweat despite the cold. On the fourth ring, the receiver is picked up.

“Hello?”

Hearing his sister’s voice releases the vise that’s constricting his chest. “Anna,” he chokes out.

There’s a long silence on the other end. Then: “You have to be kidding me.”

“I know I shouldn’t be calling—”

“I told you not to. I’m hanging up.”

“Just—” Castiel clutches the phone tight to his ear, his body a taut string. He can hear forks clinking in the background on Anna’s end. They’re probably having dinner. “How is she?” he asks, unable to hold the words back. “Her and—”

“They’re fine,” Anna says with a sharp sigh. “Listen, someone could be listening in. It was stupid to call. Don’t do it again.” She pauses. “You get in okay?”

“Yes.” Castiel closes his eyes against the sudden tears that spring into his eyes. “I start the job tomorrow.”

“Good.” Anna’s voice is gentler as she adds, “They’re fine, little brother. Just—don’t call again. Okay?”

“Okay.” Castiel can hear a familiar laugh over the line. He quickly slams the phone back into the cradle; an instinctual reaction.

Panic, fear, sorrow—it all mounts in his chest as he stumbles away from the payphone, blindly down the road. His feet find their path away from the downtown, toward a cluster of trees and green overlooking the harbor.

The lighthouse is on now, its lens bright and twirling across the water like a ballerina suspended on a string. Castiel follows the movement as he breathes unsteadily, desperate to catch his racing heart.

Eventually, as it always does, his pulse slows. The fear, the panic—it all leaves his body like water trickling off a ledge. Regret and shame remains, pooling sourly in his gut.

The water below is dark, murky. It would be so easy to get lost in, with one step in the wrong direction.

He stares at the lighthouse for a moment longer. Then, with a straight back, he turns away and walks back toward the town.

****

As with most things in his life, Dean has a love-hate (but mostly hate) relationship with this lighthouse.

It’s easy to take care of on sunny days and clear nights, but it’s grueling during a storm or fog. Sun shines through the window in the midday, providing warmth, but it’s ever-loving cold the rest of the time.

It provides him with shelter from the outside world.

But it traps him in, like a caged animal.

Love, hate—day in and day out. And right now, standing against the railing of the balcony with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips and the wind whipping at his back, it’s hate.

The light’s ready for the dusk that’s beginning to settle on the harbor. Dean’s cleaned the lens and brewed the meths. He turned on the tap, set a match to the mantle. The routine is so familiar, he could do it in his sleep. The light rotates behind him, illuminating his back briefly before turning its watchful eye to the rest of the harbor.

Bright, dark. Bright, dark. Around and around like a carousel.

Him and this lighthouse go way back, like a bad relationship that he can’t quit. When John moved him and Sam to Kittery and started work on this light, Bobby would bring Sam and Dean to visit during the fortnightly supply runs. Every visit was like a further punch to the gut to remind him of what he’d lost. It wasn’t like the light they’d all lived at when Dean’s mom was alive, with a cozy house that always smelled like freshly baked bread. This was a cold, sterile environment that smelled like three guys living in close quarters. And John—

He could barely look Dean and Sam in the eye when they visited.

After a few months at Whaleback, John seemed to relax into the work and his smile came more easily, but Dean would smell the whiskey on his breath.

After a while, Bobby stopped taking Sam and Dean at all.

The lighthouse took John and swallowed him whole. During his brief few days of shore leave, he’d just sit with a bottle at the table. Dean came to dread it, since it meant that the money he’d squirreled away in the coffee can on top of the cupboard would inevitably be pilfered for booze money.

Dean doesn’t know why he’s thinking about all of this, or about John. Maybe it’s because of where he’s currently standing.

Muttering a curse, Dean pulls the zippo out of his pocket and lights the cigarette.

“Got you.”

Dean turns as his brother comes onto the walkway, collar popped and hands deep into his coat pockets. His cheeks are already pinched red from the cold.

Dean adopts an easy posture, arms settling on the railing as he leans back with a grin. It hides the bitter taste of nostalgia still on his tongue. “I said I wanted to quit, not that I was going to quit.”

Sam rolls his eyes, then joins Dean at the railing. “Light all set?”

“Yup. Everything’s good. Go get some shut-eye.”

“I thought it was my shift tonight.”

Dean shrugs a shoulder. “Not tired. I can take the whole night.”

“You took the whole shift last night, too,” Sam says with a frown. “What about that chamomile tea Bobby brought last week? Did you try that?”

“Not drinkin’ a flower. I’ll sleep the old-fashioned way.”

“Clearly that’s not working.”

“I’ll take the shift tonight.” Dean levels his brother with a stare. “Okay?”

Lips twisted into a frown, wind sweeping at his hair, Sam suddenly looks like a younger snot-nosed version that had that same miserable look when Dean tried to tell him that Dad volunteered himself for a double shift that month. Before the Coast Guard took over during the war, things were more relaxed—less regulated. John was able to take all the double, triple shifts as he pleased, drinking himself stupid with all the bootlegged liquor in the cellar.

It always upset Sam, when their dad didn’t come home. He was a sensitive kid.

Just like all those years ago, Dean’s heart is punched out with a desire to make that frown leave Sam’s face.

“You wanna sneak back with Bobby tomorrow when he comes for the supply run? Go see Eileen? I can cover things here.”

Sam rolls his eyes with a scoffed laugh. “That’s a pretty terrible first impression to make on the new keeper Bobby’s bringing in.”

Fuck. Dean had forgotten about that. “That’s tomorrow?” he asks with a wince.

“Yes, and we need him to last more than a week, unlike the last guy. Otherwise the Coast Guard is not going to let us have a say in who comes or stays anymore.”

“Last guy was a pansy,” Dean grumbles around his cigarette.

“You punched him in the face, Dean.”

Dean glares out at the thin line of the distant shore and doesn’t reply.

“Since you’re a vet, they’re taking it easy on us,” Sam continues, “but Bobby was talking to someone up in a higher rank the other day and—I think this is our last chance.” He clears his throat. “Your last chance.”

“The hell you mean?” Dean asks, drawing up to a straight back. “They’re gonna sack me?”

“Move you, I think. To a solo light on the shore.”

Dean throws up a hand. “Well, fine. Let them. What’s the problem?”

There’s that miserable look again. Sam won’t raise his head as the unspoken words hang between them. Dean stays silent, challenging Sam to say it.

“You know what the problem is, Dean,” Sam quietly says.

Yeah. Dean knows. He knows that without Sam, Dean at a solo light would probably end with him hanging from the rafters.

Blowing out a drag of smoke into the wind, Dean hunches back over the railing. “I’ll try,” he concedes. “But if he’s a dumbass—”

“Then I’ll train him,” Sam interjects. “You don’t even have to be in the same room as him. We’ll put him on the early morning shifts, make him sleep in the afternoons.”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Make him stay in the service room listening to the radio.”

A grin forming on Sam’s face, he adds, “Tell him that shore leave is ten days instead of four so he stays off the lighthouse for longer.”

“Yeah, the Coast Guard won’t notice that.”

“Whatever it takes for you to cohabitate with this guy, I say we do it,” Sam says with a shrug. “Get creative.”

Dean makes a move to flick the stub of his cigarette away; Sam grabs his arm to stop him. “I just cleaned the gallery, Dean.” With a scowl, Dean tosses it into the ocean instead.

Sam runs a hand through his messy hair and sighs, the disapproval evident in his frown. “Need anything before I go down to the bunks?”

“Nah. Get some sleep, Sammy.” Dean gives his brother a smack on the chest in dismissal. “I’ll wake you for the morning shift.”

“Okay, but actually wake me this time. Don’t let me sleep in until nine.”

Dean taps out another cigarette from the carton he fishes out of his pocket. “No promises.”

“And let me actually make breakfast tomorrow, too!” Sam calls before he disappears through the door.

“I would if your eggs weren’t shit!” Dean barks back. His words are snatched up by the wind. He turns back toward the ocean, clicking the lighter as he holds it up to the cigarette butt. “Seriously, who raised you?”

Blowing out another puff of smoke, the cigarette still caught between his teeth, Dean eyes the shoreline. Their new keeper is probably staying at Bela’s place, if it’s still even running. The inn nearly went under last year after her parents declared bankruptcy. He ran with her a few times in high school before he cut town—she was sharp around the edges. Misunderstood. Just like him.

He remembers the new guy’s resume. It had stood out to him among the rest, mainly because he seemed the least qualified. Didn’t make sense at all why the Coast Guard chose him as the new rookie, when five men before him—way more experienced, to boot—didn’t last.

No family, no money. Maybe that’s why they took him. That’s better, for these stag lights—bunch of single men with no families means there’s a better chance of them staying. It’s why the Coast Guard is itching to get a new keeper for the light, what with them eyeing recently married Sam, and Eileen, who’s in the family way.

It would make more sense for Sam to leave, get a position at a light with a house. Where he could see his family every night.

What Sam and Dean used to have, before Mary died.

Dean runs a hand down his face, letting out a curse. Whatever the word is for wishing for a time that he can’t get back to, ever—that’s what tonight is. Memories he didn’t ask for turning around and around in his head like a wheel. That’s what the sea does when you look out into it: shimmers back at you, showing you what you want to see. And sometimes what you don’t.

The door behind him creaks open again. With a grumble, Dean lets out a breath of smoke, a reprimand on his tongue for Sam to get the hell to bed.

A bang echoes through the air.

Dean drops his cigarette in surprise, whipping around to face the door. It yawns open, mercilessly blowing in the wind, banging against the side. Dean strides over to it and pulls it firmly closed before it breaks one of the windows.

The lens, green and opaque, flashes across his eyes; he squints as the light rotates away. Turning back to the railing, spots dotting his vision, he sees a shadow.

One taller than him, broader; stumbling toward the railing with a groan.

Dean closes his eyes, briefly; chest constricting. A trick of the light. It happens.

“It’s haunted!” one of the failed keepers had shouted as he stuffed his clothes into a carpetbag, stumbling down the stairs. “This place is fucking haunted!”

But that keeper had got it wrong—it wasn’t the lighthouse doing the haunting.

It was the person inside of it.

#where there is darkness #destiel lighthouse keepers au #destiel #THE HACKERS WILL NOT WIN #HERE'S SOME GAY STUFF

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jeanbie · 1 year

Text

SHARKBAIT ★ masterlist.

pairing: tolya x reader

warnings: long distance relationships, set after s2 | wc: 6.9k

note: i'm pining over tolya right now. also i know a loooot of fans view tolya as aroace so hopefully this reaches the right audience (and if the show runners or leigh ever confirm this then pls tell me)!!

⏤ Tolya can go months without seeing your face, but he can make out your shape in the darkness of the ship when you steal your visits, fleeing when the sun begins to light up the decks.

Tolya knew what it meant to long, to pine, to wonder and yearn for something you couldn't have. He saw it a thousand times with his poems, between the lines and in each stanza where a romance formed with metaphors and analogies; he saw it in his crew as they busied themselves across an unsteady ocean, searching for purpose and meaning in the vastness of blue and brown. He even saw it in his sister and passing maidens, in his captain and his need to be seen as something more than an amplifier, and he saw it in his own life- with his faith and his resilience, with his own novice works of poetry tucked into journals in his bunk, and in the whispers of silence between the two of you whenever he saw you again, and especially in the stretches of days where he didn't see you at all.

On board the Volkvolny, for what felt like years on end, Tolya had nothing but time to become familiar with what it meant to long. He'd stare out across the expanse of the sea, outlining your body in the clouds as they dipped below the horizon, in the waves rippling under the ship as it sailed away from Os Kervo to Kerch. Sometimes he thought he could make out your shape in the darkness of his bunk, a thin ghostly outline come to haunt him in his sleep, to torment his dreams. Often he woke up to a fading outline of body just to the side of his hammock, remembering that you weren't there, and wouldn't be for some time.

He supposed that he was lucky to be on this ship, with the world at his hands. There were days where he was so caught up in the passion of his work, alongside his never-faltering faith, that he didn't have time to think of you, instead only stumbling into your body through dreams, where you came to him as easily as the sea to the shore. Today hadn't been one of those days, and he feared that the crew on board the Volkvolny knew it too well.

It started off with his last nightmare. Taking steps together on a shoreline that looked like it belonged to a dip of earth in Shu Han, Tolya met you on the sands, his hand slotted into your own as he followed behind you, stepping into your sunken footprints. Tolya had been inches from your mouth before he was ripped away with the sound of horns and laughter, drops of water leaking through the deck overhead. Work was demanding his consciousness, and the image of you remained only on his eyelids as he groaned, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He'd gone about his day relatively normally after that, or about as normally as he could stomach it. Tamar had seen the worst of his mood- she watched him heave himself up the stairs to the deck with a frown deep on his face, an ache at the corner of his lips tugging down. The front he performed of happiness did little to arouse his crewmates, although they joined the spectacle, letting him think he was giving a performance of a lifetime.

For a while, his mood had settled. He'd only counted seeing you in hallucinations maybe three times, but he'd stopped counting after the third, and couldn't be sure if his mind was allowing him to stick with three for the sake of his own sanity. He'd spotted you in the twist of water under the bowsprit, once in the ripple of the sails and again in the clouds. After the third, his mood was so sour that he opted to be silent for the day's voyage. People never thought they'd miss the sound of his poetry until he took his pitiful vows of silence.

Saints, how he missed you. Each time you were gone, Tolya regretted every second of silence between the two of you, every time he passed up the chance to tell you how much he loved you. And each time you were here, back with him in his arms, he couldn't seem to find the words. You weren't part of the crew on voyage with the Volkvolny, although you were never not welcome as far as Sturmhond was concerned. It was just that you preferred being on land, seeking out thrills and leads and injustice, trying to piece together the gaps in your history. Tolya knew that was what held you to the Crows, and what Inej often said was your lifeline away from him. Still, Tolya yearned for the days you were back with him, however short and fleeting. Months could pass at sea and when he saw you again, it would be like no time had passed at all.

Kerch loomed in the distance. From the crow's nest, he was told that through the spyglass, the oblong shapes of Ketterdam ports could be seen, the buildings packed together tightly and the smoke rising in the air, thick and dark like fires were blooming in the streets. It would be about two days of sailing, if the winds kept up, but if they were lucky, they might arrive ahead of schedule. Tolya couldn't count the moments quick enough- two days would be agonising until he saw you again.

"Yeesh. I kinda miss your poetry right now." Tamar crept up from behind Tolya on the hull of the ship. Not far from where Tolya was standing, with his elbows holding his body up on the side of the beams, was Jacob's ladder, hitting the side of the vessel with irritating small clicks.

Tolya glanced at her, a smile naturally falling into place. As foul as his mood might have been, there was always room in his heart for his sister. "That's something I'll never hear you say again."

His sister grinned. "I'm serious! Go on, give me something?"

Tolya replied with quiet laughter, and Tamar did the same. The twins shared their laughter for a moment before finishing in silence, and Tamar stole a glance as her brother cast his gaze to the water, curving like ribbons around the underbelly of the ship.

"Missing her?" she asked softly.

Tolya rolled his eyes, but saying nothing was as good as admitting it.

"You know," Tamar continued, spinning so her back was pressed against the beams, "you could always just ask her to come with you." She gestured to the prow, "come with us."

"She wouldn't want to do that," Tolya said, shaking his head.

"Oh, so you asked her already?"

"Well— no."

"Then how'd you know?"

Tolya sighed, twisting his head. He knew that you were as good as a Crow— although not exactly affiliated in whatever Kaz did or did not do, anybody who knew you knew that you did work for Kaz that filled the gap Inej made on the quest to find her brother. Even before that, you'd told Tolya that Kaz occasionally found himself asking for your help with requests that extended outside of his immediate access. You had been of some help to him finding the name of the slaver ships and traders, of which the Volkvolny was sailing back to Kerch to deliver rescued shipment (one lacking Inej's brother in tow, and the slaver who sold them).

Your place was on land, on high ground. A bird could fly at sea, yes, but he feared you'd grow restless with little purpose on the ship. Everybody had a place and a role—he knew that simply being there for him wouldn't be a good enough reason for you to abandon whatever work you had unfinished on dry land, which is why he'd never asked you to come in the first place.

Tolya turned to face Tamar, eyeing her side-profile as she meticulously assessed the state of the ship. Many crewmates were down below, rifling through Shu poker cards and coins and sharing ghost stories with cups of ale and wine.

"Have you ever been so scared of losing something good?" he asked suddenly, making Tamar look back at him.

"All the time," she replied.

Tolya dared a glance back at the ocean, relieved that he didn't find you there. "Every time I see her again, it's like magic. Bigger and grander than any kind of Saint-like act. She becomes the most important thing in the room." He blinked. "I don't want that feeling to go away."

Tamar tilted her head, as if to say, 'Go on'. There was a comfort in their twinnish bond, but even with that, Tolya struggled to find the words. Writing poetry was easy—every embarrassing thought could be passed off as fictional prose, but in a conversation it wasn't quite as easy to put on a façade. At the best of times, Tolya was as cool as a sea-cucumber, with an easy going air that put people at ease. Just another performance of a lifetime, but he didn't have to pretend sometimes when he was with his sister.

"We're just very different," Tolya said cautiously, almost like he didn't believe it were true as he said it. "I'm worried she might grow too used to me. Might get restless."

"Bored, you mean?" Tamar interrupted. When Tolya said nothing, she threw herself into extended conversation, "Brother, she adores you. That kind of love is special. And if she didn't love you more when you were doing what you do best- as in, meandering around this beast with your poetry and stupid jokes-" He looked at her with a rising smile- "-then you'd be better off for it."

His stomach churned. He didn't want to be better off without you.

"Besides," Tamar offered her last words of comfort before pushing herself up and away from him, "there are thousands of men and women in the world for her to see each passing day, and yet she still falls into those arms of yours when we arrive in Ketterdam. If she can love you from a hundred miles away, then I think she'll manage loving you and your quirks on the open sea."

There was an insufferable ache in Tolya's chest whenever he thought back to his conversation with Tamar.

He'd busied himself the next day, throwing himself into heavy work around the ship as it sailed nearer to the coastline. His crewmates were thankful to see him in reasonably good spirits— Sturmhond had been particularly put off by his lack of comedic timing the day before, and had tried to think back to his own experiences with Alina back in Ravka, putting the pieces together in his own time— but they knew it was bought time with Tolya's pleasantries. Tolya wouldn't be at ease until they docked and only then could his mind be put at ease. It was always the days before returning to Ketterdam where Tolya seemed at his darkest, and it had happened enough times that they should all be used to it, but the sight of his downturned face never got any easier to process.

Night ensued, the moon casting a fickle light to the ocean as it lulled to a cool and calm tempo. The winds were kind tonight, not carrying the wind in an angry gust, and the waves were short and fluid. No storms hid behind thick flurries of clouds, and the creatures below whipped their fins and tails in harmony— no trouble would come tonight, he thought, and glad of it.

Tolya lay in his hammock, staring at the wooden boards above his head. Around him, his crew slept in peaceful slumbers, and to the far side of the room he could see the auburn light of Sturmhond's—now Mal, now that the charade was over— little black lamp sheltered next to a book he'd inherited with his title, now reading to fall asleep. Tolya sighed, his gaze back above.

The glow of light to his left allowed room for your shape to slowly appear, just an outline that got more hazy in his memory as the months went by. He gulped, the lump in his throat hard and sour tasting, and he closed his eyes quickly to throw away the image of you. Yet you remained, imprinted on his eyelids, smiling as he found sleep to take him away into the night.

When he awoke, he could hear the caw of gulls and loud voices beyond the ship, louder than what he knew his crew to be capable of. Tolya stirred for a moment before coming to his senses, his eyes honing in on the same spot he'd last seen you in above his slumbering form. The forecastle was bathed with yellow light, with the sun at an angle pouring down through the hatch to the upper deck, and as he awoke, Tolya could smell the distinct scent of crab hooks and wet moss, the lingering scent of oil and sewage and copper. Strange, he thought.

Balancing on the hammock, Tolya raised himself with his elbow and stole a glance around the forecastle. Two men lay snoring, too drunk the night before, and he noticed a third figure at the foot of his hammock, their back to him but hiding nothing about their identity. His heart lurched, he baulked, and the hammock twisted beneath him with a sudden jolt and his body was sent to the floor with a thud and a grunt.

"Easy, sharkbait."

Tolya's head whipped up quickly, the click in his neck aching. It was you- Y/N, his beloved Y/N, dressed in a blue coat that looked like Mal's. Underneath you wore a dark brown shirt tucked into your trousers—today the attire was more casual, for when you were at work you wore black and black alone. Inej told him it was to blend in with the night, but Tolya reckoned it was also because it flattered you.

You smiled at him warmly, laughing when he didn't move from the floor.

"Come on. Don't tell me after a few months you've forgotten this face?"

Tolya's mouth opened and closed. "What—no! How could I—wait, is that Mal's coat?"

He heard your laugh again as you drew near, pulling his bicep to pick him up off the floor. You were more than capable of pulling his weight, but you still found fun in pretending you couldn't. Tolya rose from the floor, both of his salt-soaked hands gently wrapping around your wrists as he faced you. A smile dawned on his lips as he drank in the image of you; fully fleshed out, solid, real, not a figment of his desperate imagination.

"I saw him up top," you told him. "He looks good as Sturmhond, right? I was almost charmed." You said it with a grin that made Tolya think otherwise, and you shuffled closer towards his torso, the action welcomed as his grip fastened slightly around your arms.

"Charmed enough to take his clothes?" Tolya asked. He knew that there would never be anything there with Mal—Saints, everybody knew that. Mal was too busy having his own mental quarrels with Alina to entertain the thought of somebody else, and well, you seemed perfectly content being charmed by a different captain below deck, smiling at you with sleep still hanging in his eyes.

"I always did look good in blue," you said.

Tolya hummed. "Yeah."

Falling into a silence, Tolya's eyes flickered across your face, soaking up the sight of you, making a mental note of what had changed while he'd been away. Not much, he found, bar a few scratches across your left cheek flanking down to your chin, and a greenish bruise under your eye. He frowned, moving his hand to ghost his fingers across the painted skin. Meanwhile, you did the same, observing changes in his appearance, concluding every detail: the richer tan across his skin, the stubbly pricks of hair around his jawline and the appearance of a new mark under his right nostril. Drunk on the image of him, you fixed your eyes back on his, surprised to see him already looking.

"What're you doing down here anyway, sharkbait?" you asked. Your voice was lower, quieter and softer, but he knew it had nothing to do with a shift in mood. Instead, you were just simply close enough for him to hear you without strain, close enough to hear you whisper, to hear you breathing.

Tolya offered a boyish smile. "You know."

"Had a long night?"

"Terribly long."

"What, enjoying someone's company til sunrise?" you teased, entertaining what could be signs of an insecurity in the bilge of your belly. Tolya pretended to ignore it, yet his heart sank nonetheless.

"Come on, you know me better than that," he laughed, bringing you in closer to him. Tolya nestled his nose against yours, moving it across your face to your cheekbone and closing you in with his arms around your shoulders. He sighed, comfortable. He'd missed this, the way your body felt against his, the way your arms felt around him. Saints, he'd missed this. Tolya took in a breath, his nose above your ear. "I've missed you."

Tolya heard a hum near his sternum, rumbling with a small vibration. It made his body bristle slightly but he warmed to your touch, his arms tightening around you.

"Me too, moi sol ye tselai," you replied, feeling his nose twitch as a smile grew on his face.

For a moment you stayed like that, entangled in the quiet of the forecastle. Tolya didn't waste a single second of it, not after the torment he'd given himself just hours before. After some time, Tolya felt you wiggling in his arms and he relaxed, opening the distance between you as he leaned back to look at your face. You looked back at him with a smile, head angled up to marvel at him, and Tolya's eyes shifted into crescent moons as he brought his head down to kiss you.

His one hand cradled the side of your face, the other at the back of your neck, and you made no resists to his advancements. Tolya kissed you deeply, lost in the familiar taste of your lips, sweet like the breakfast you must have ate before coming down here. He felt you kiss him back, the pressures combined, your hands up around his wrists. Your head leaned back slightly, his dominance slightly more assertive, as he captured your lips once, twice, thrice, never allowing a minute of rest.

When he did pull back, he was met with your widened eyes, shining in the light, and you bit down on your bottom lip to try and refrain from a smile. He saw it anyway, kissing you once more in a swift gesture and bringing himself back in what he thought was a commendable act of self restraint.

"I take it we are in Ketterdam," he asked, more of like a statement. It had to be true, since you were here. Unless he was dreaming, which he had a sinking feeling that he could be, perhaps trapped in a powerful lucid dream, some kind of sleep paralysis that had him smooching something akin to a squid on the prow. Unlikely, but not impossible, given his mood these days.

"How else would I be here?" you replied with a gentle laugh.

He held you by your waist as you turned, observing the forecastle he sometimes called home. Tolya freed his grasp with reluctance, holding your fingers til the last second and he fell forward a few steps trying to grab you back. You moved around the hammocks, ducking under a lamp with a feigned interest in the bunks. Tolya didn't like to use his heartrending on you, but he could hear your hammering heartbeat even without using his talents. He smiled in private, watching you with adoration.

"I arrived here as soon as you docked," you explained, still looking around. Tolya hummed with interest, leaning his weight against a support beam. "I was having breakfast with Nina when Jesper told me that your Volkvolny was coming to the harbour. I finished, paid and came here as fast as I could. You didn't meet me at the deck, but it was so early, I figured you'd be sleeping. I greeted your crew, shook hands with your new captain, hugged Tamar, stole a coat and then came down here." You smiled, spinning back to look at him. Your bravado was complete. "To answer your question—yes. Welcome back to Ketterdam."

Tolya loved when you launched into explanations like this. He had a series of entries in a journal you shared where you'd given full detailed accounts of your adventures, but the ink never did justice to the words as you said them. Tolya's grin widened.

"Kaz wanted to speak with you, too," you added, stepping back towards him and stretching out your hand. Tolya's stomach churned again when he took it with his own, feeling the small blisters across your skin from all your ropework and midnight affairs as an unofficial Crow. Like his own, actually, littered with chafes and burns from the ropes to the masts, sea salted splits across his hands whenever he got too heavy handed around the deck or in other ports.

"Let's go up, then."

You led the way, all the way to the stairs where Tolya enjoyed watching you ascend before following. It'd been a minute, he'd take whatever he could to feel like everything was good again. Once he stepped up out of the dappled light of the forecastle, he cringed in the brightness of the sun. It was never very bright in Ketterdam, but anything was brighter than the lamplight below. The harbour was alive with noise and merchants. He never missed the smell of Ketterdam, although he admitted that it was a stench that one really did grow accustomed to, as it were with any foreign harbour.

From the deck, he could see the stretch of sea behind him and back ahead, a small cluster of faces across the way. He knew them all already, each by both name and face, and he stepped towards his sister-in-command with you close in tow. His body shivered when your hands smoothed around his middle to manoeuvre around him and Tolya watched you meet your hip with Inej's. Tolya spared another hungry glance at you and then looked back at Kaz expectantly, as he launched into an explanation on affairs in Ketterdam.

The Volkvolny would stay in Ketterdam just shy of a day, giving Tolya more anxiety than it did comfort. There wouldn't be enough time for him to remind you of how much he missed you, and there was certainly no privacy for him to put it into actions instead of words. But business needed to be swift, that was if they wanted a good chance at catching the ships that both you and Kaz felt could hold the secrets to Inej's brothers' whereabouts. The Crow Club was magnificent, but no place for a love-filled reunion, and he couldn't see either of you feeling particularly romantic in the streets. With the Volkvolny being groomed for their next sail, Tolya resorted to holding you close at all times, with meaningful stares and listening with colourful interest about your life over a table in the club, while Kaz oversaw his business and friends reunited once more. Tolya ate up what he could learn about your life during the three months he was at sea.

You had been working with Kaz to crack down harder on slavery leads, finding nothing much about your own family and little to nothing about anybody else's. Inej had been given a much narrower list of names thanks to your good work on the streets, and Tolya heard from Jesper that you'd been a useful asset to the Crow's, although always declined the hospitality of their affiliation for some reason. Meanwhile Tolya offered what he thought might interest you the most about his time away; battles against rough waves, giant squids and krakens lurching from below, sharks and dolphins scratching the surface of the water with their fins chased by swirling serpents; funny tales from travellers in different ports, a retelling of Mal's first night getting drunk at sea.

Tolya thought, as you mused and laughed opposite him at the table with your friends and found-family, that you were most beautiful when you were off guard. As he stared at you, he felt his heart tug once more. In just a few hours, there'd be nothing left to look at, just shadows in the dark, voices in the wind mimicked by sirens as they fondled the underbelly of the boat, enticing deaf ears to the water as the crew grumbled and sang over their call. The thought of leaving you made him feel sick.

He briefly thought about what Tamar had said. It was true that Tolya had never asked you to join him at sea, but he was pretty sure he knew what the answer would be. There would always be something keeping you here, keeping you both apart.

"How long this time?" you asked, when you both managed to steal some time alone to walk along the dark streets of Ketterdam. With Rollins in prison and with Kaz taking command of a smidge of the barrel, you figured it would be safe out here. Besides, Tolya was tall enough to tower over even Fjerdans, and that was no easy feat. Anyone dumb enough to pick a fight with a man his size could break a few bones trying, even if you both knew that out of the two of you, you had more practice taking down the big guys.

Tolya dipped his head. "If we're lucky, then a month or so." He paused, thinking, "You said that list you gave to Inej was accurate, right?"

"I think so. Every lead I had took me right back to those three names," you replied. Inej had flinched at the sight of them, meaning your hunch was accurate enough to give Tolya the hope of coming back soon.

"If the winds are kind, and the journey is good, we can be back before it starts getting cold here," Tolya said, almost like he was making a wish at a well or a plea to a Saint. "Without any luck on our side, it could be longer..."

You frown, looking over at Tolya and tightening your grasp on his hand. "We'll manage."

"I hope so, milaya," Tolya said, kissing the back of your hand.

Once you both reached a bright streetlight, you turned to face him. "Do you think it will ever end?"

Tolya paused. "What do you mean?"

"As in…this search. Once you find Inej's brother, what comes next?" you ask. You turn away slightly, Tolya's gaze tight on your movements. "Suppose you'll go sailing to wherever next, right? Or…will you stay a while?"

Tolya knew what you were asking, obvious in what you didn't say. There had been countless times where Tolya had imagined himself throwing his life on the Volkvolny away just to be with you, to retire with you to some peaceful town with no worries, nothing at all but peace gifted by Alina tearing down the fold and enough money and shelter to settle down, explore the world, fall deeper in love. But the Volkvolny was his life, his meaning when he didn't fall into his faith. You were his love, his beloved, but neither one could expect the other to give up their identity to be somebody they weren't.

"I'm not sure," Tolya said truthfully. "And yourself? You're so busy with Kaz here, you may well be a Crow by the next time I see you. Your work seems to spring up like fleas."

Your mouth tilted downwards. He was right. Tolya was the love of your life but there would always be the issue of work. Without your demand with the Crows, what were you? Nothing but a shadow skulking around the city, tailing crooks, locating slaves? You supposed you could be more—you'd thought about it a few times, getting up and going with Tolya wherever he asked you to go. But those were dreams, frightening dreams you weren't sure Tolya saw eye to eye with. His voyages felt to you like escapes.

"Well—" Tolya broke through the silence, using his index finger to pick up your head by your chin. When your eyes met, he smiled warmly, kissing you. "Whatever comes next, I'll be there waiting for you."

Tamar stood beside Kaz and Mal as Tolya heaved himself up the ramp and onto the ship. You were close behind, shadowing his steps, cautious about even a step of distance. Tamar sighed loudly, and Kaz looked over at her and followed her gaze.

"What is it?" he asked. Kaz thought he already knew, but it didn't hurt to be sure.

"Oh, a lovers parting," she said dramatically.

Mal smiled, not quite reaching his eyes. "If they're trying to be subtle about things, they're doing a terrible job."

Kaz observed the couple. Kaz knew you well enough to respect you, perhaps even call you a friend, and he had no obvious qualms with Tolya. He'd never forget his loyalty before Alina tore down the fold, and had no concerns about him being a weakness to who might just be his next Crow. He stared at the back of Inej's head for a second too long as she helped someone heave some shipment to a different compartment of the ship, and then he looked back to Tolya and yourself with a funny feeling twist in his stomach.

"Why grovel?" Kaz asked. "Y/N can leave at any time if she wishes."

Tamar glanced over quickly, as if the news was surprising to her. "She's not working?"

"Her work is done," Kaz said plainly. Tamar and Mal's look of confusion made him twitch with slight annoyance, but he otherwise elaborated on what they didn't know: "I told Y/N to find leads on the slavers. She supplied the list of three and now you will be on your way to locate them. Her task has been completed, and she is free to go."

"Yeesh," Tamar said, "way to make her sound expendable."

"Everybody is."

Kaz looked back at Tolya, holding you in his arms. "I have Nina on a lead already. Until I have something for Y/N to do, she is free to do whatever she pleases." He added as an afterthought, "After all, she's not under my employment."

Hm. Tamar and Mal exchanged a look, but said nothing.

"Will you be here? When we come back?" Tolya asked you. From afar, he could sense his sister's lingering gaze, and he spared a look, alarmed when he saw her, Mal and Kaz watching the pair of you.

"Most likely," you said. You followed his gaze and nodded your head in their direction, Tolya leading you by the waist back to the step-down where Kaz stood at the top, like a bouncer guarding the way. Tolya greeted each one with a glance and a smile before looking back at you.

There wasn't enough time this time around. Tolya's heart wrenched as he looked at you, trying to remember every detail before he had to leave. Their stops in Ketterdam were never very long, but how he longed for a day more by your side, simply one more hour in your company. The thought of leaving you made his throat harden, tears springing behind his eyes. A blink would surely set them free, but he knew the ways to keep them hidden until he was safe in the darkness, not until you came to him in a premonition like a sick joke.

Tamar and Mal—Sturmhond, now he was back on the wood of the ship— gave a look to Kaz in farewell and stepped around the back of you to move further on the deck. Tolya's heart quickened and you watched them go with a rapid look, glancing back at Tolya with twinkling eyes, twinkles he knew were tears and not reflections of light.

"None of that," he said quietly, with a small smile and he reached out to cup your face. Tolya guided you close for a kiss, and a bell rang from somewhere in the harbour and his heart leaped to his throat. He tugged you closer, kissing you harder. Kaz looked away, fixated on Inej but giving you at least the luxury of some privacy. Tolya lost himself in your kiss, his fingertips brushing your hairline and he swore he could taste the salt of your tears between his lips. Tolya pulled away from you slightly, his eyes slightly wide and breath raspy and all of a sudden: "Come with me."

There was a beat of silence.

If other crewmates heard, they didn't give much away. Kaz had torn his eyes from Inej in a painful defeat, with no option but to assess the lovers before him, and truth be told, Tamar and Sturmhond never stopped watching. Tolya didn't allow the silence to kill his courage. If he didn't say it now, he never would.

"I love you," Tolya said. "I love you so much—eya fyela chi, hm? And I know that your heart is here, with the city and the Crows and your life but, Saints, Y/N I see you in my dreams, I see you in the water and the sky and hear you in the ocean breeze. When I close my eyes, I see you in flashes. You have bewitched me, you are in my soul. I love you. Whenever we are apart, it's like a torment." He gulped. He sounded a lot like some of the amateur poetry he wrote when he felt lonely, poetry he sometimes recited to his crew if he got drunk enough. "So, please, please come with me. See the ocean, go across the sea. Be with me, stay with me—come with me."

His eyes searched your face for a sign, something—anything. You blinked, bewildered, holding his hands as they cupped your face.

"But…" you began to shake your head, and his heart sank deeper, "but my work…"

You spared a glance to Kaz. He could act like he hadn't been listening, but it wouldn't do anybody any good. You were almost startled to see him already observing you.

"I don't need you," Kaz said simply. "I just owe you a debt."

"But, the slaves—"

"You did your job," he repeated. "So you're free to go."

Tolya was just as surprised as you were. He looked at Kaz with round eyes and met yours in a simultaneous turn. He wasn't quite sure what to say about any of it. Was Kaz telling you to go? Was he giving you permission, saying go, leave, or were you now useless to the Crows? Was it only because he had asked? Maybe you didn't want to leave.

"Am I fired?" you asked dumbly.

For a moment, you could have sworn you saw a flicker of a smirk on Kaz's face. "I expect your contract will need renewing upon your arrival. There are many things to do in Ketterdam, just not now. Not for you, at least."

You blinked. Processing his words felt like an eternity—you were free to go. Kaz had made it clear that you'd still have a life on shore when you arrived, if you even left in the first place. Marvelling at the thought, you looked back at Tolya. Travelling the oceans with him; being in his arms each night, getting to know the parts of him reserved to his crew, his faith and his poetry and his talents on the deck, seeing what caused the scars on his hands, what caused the creases in his skin; what he ate and drank, what he wore on different days, how his hair fell in the mornings when it wasn't fastened out of his face. All of that for the taking, and you just had to say the words.

Tolya's face didn't waver, giving nothing away as you said nothing to him. For a while, he thought he knew what you'd say. Tolya, I'm sorry, but I just can't—

"But where would I sleep?"

He hadn't expected that.

Laughter bubbled in his chest. "I think there's room for you in my hammock, if you'd like." He caught your look of doubt and grinned, "Aw, come on. I'm not that big."

"What would I do?"

Slowly but surely, Tolya thought he could sense hope building inside of him. You hadn't yet declined. Your piqued interest gave food for thought as Tolya studied your expressions.

"Well," he said, thinking about it. Actually he'd already thought about it, more than ten times out at sea, twice within the few hours they were in Ketterdam, "you could do anything you wanted. Gaze out at the seas. Play card games—in no time, you'll be a better player than Tamar. You could paint the decks, climb the masts, sit in the nest all day for all I care. I just want you to be with me, for longer than just a few hours."

Tolya's eyes were almost pleading. You gazed into them. There was no need to think, you already knew what you wanted to say. Chewing the skin of your inner cheek, your eyes flickered to Mal. As Sturmhond, you figured whatever he said went. Tolya followed your gaze and laughed when he spotted the source of your interest.

Mal's eyes flickered, like he'd been alerted back to the present. He looked around innocently, refraining from smiling when he caught the glimmer in Tamar's eyes next to him.

"Don't look at me," Mal said to you, shrugging his shoulders and raising his hands, "I'm not in charge."

When you next looked at Tolya, you were smiling. From the corner of your eye, Tamar clapped Mal on the shoulder and disappeared into the crew, helping Nadia unload cargo to a different spot below deck. For a second, Mal looked as though he didn't know what to do with himself, until he shuffled further towards the bow, scanning the horizon. Kaz was no longer on the ship when you turned to acknowledge him. You saw the shape of his coat disappear back into the masses in the harbour, and Jesper extended his hat in a farewell and turned to follow. Nina would understand, you hoped, as you were sure she'd still be occupied with freeing her 'hunk of meat'.

"What do you say, lapushka?" Tolya asked. He knew he was cheating by using the Ravkan tongue on you. You'd mentioned it was your mother language only once in passing, and he'd never wasted a second on charming you with it. He ran his hands up and down your arms, arching to look into your eyes with a wide smile on his face. Tolya grinned as he moved with your shyness, a laugh huffing through his lips. "Hm? Will you come with me?"

You laughed, giggled in his arms, as he brought you closer with a kiss under your eye. Squirming, you faked revolt, wrestling out of his grasp. Your smile told him your answer—the rest was roleplay.

"I know we're going far from home," he said, watching as someone stepped close to pull up the ramp from the harbour. The distinct clink of the anchor filled his ears, departure would be soon and if you wanted to say no, then now was the time. You never did. "But I promise I'll take care of you."

You gazed at him fondly, reaching up to steal a kiss from his lips. He lingered, his face warm in the rising sun. "You can focus on your business, and I'll keep you safe from harm."

Tolya gasped teasingly. "You know the way to a man's heart, I see."

He pulled himself away, with some reluctance, with a grin and shuffled to aid his mates with assembling the ship. Before he could stray too far, you hooked your finger around the strap over his shoulders, used to hold his ensemble of guns and weapons. Tolya looked back as he felt the pull, the adoration in his gaze never faltering.

"Only the hearts of men I love," you told him, and he smiled, bigger and brighter, tilting his head as his eyes folded into Cheshire smiles before he winked, dipping his head back to look at his crew.

You watched him retreat along the deck, his assertion cool and respectful, commanding the attention of the crew as they fell into their formations. Figuring you had time to find your place, you stood rooted where you had been standing this time, casting one final look at the harbour; you bid silent farewell to the streetlights and carts, to the horses snuffling as they loaded merchandise and travellers into the carriages pulled by their strength, to the place you lovingly called home, until a new one found its way to you in the shape of a man named Tolya, who wherever you were together became your new anchor, the new place you fell to for comfort and safety. The man you loved, yours for the taking, for a life stretching past the horizon across that plane of endless sea.

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thedirtygridd · 1 year

Text

PART TWO OF CHARLES LECLERC’S BREAK-UP STORY, FEATURING YOU. (FIC)

Warnings - 18+ strong sexual content/fictional

Summary: After what happened in part 1 (you can read it below if you haven’t already) , you find yourself sailing alone with Charles. You both can’t keep your hands off each other, and then he finally reveals why he invited you on this trip…

You woke up from a deep sleep in a daze, the sun was bright in your eyes as you blocked it out while trying to focus on where you were. Then you remembered, and what a relief… you were lying on a sun-bed, on the deck of Charles’ yacht. You had been sailing for a few days now, and had anchored up off the shores of the island of Corsica, at one of Charles’ favourite spots. He had decided to stay here for the night.

Since last time, the other girls had left, Charles wanted it to just be the two of you (and the staff of course).

Charles was lying next to you, face down, tanning his back. He still had a few scratches on his muscly back, but most of them had gone down now, exposing his oily skin.

You slowly knelt next down to his sun-bed and rubbed his shoulders. They were very oily, and you could feel all the indentations of his muscles, and as you massages your fingers into the grooves, you felt them start twitching slightly. You slowly moved your hands down his back, making sure to massage him deeply. You enjoyed the feeling of his body, more than any other guy. Maybe it was because you found him so attractive. You found it sexy how well he looked after himself, always working out. And now you could get the reward from all the hard work, by massaging his hard earned muscles.

As you massages him, he slowly began to wake up and groan in pleasure.

“Ah, baby…fuck yeah that’s a nice way to wake up, what time is it?”

“It doesn’t matter what time it is, we have nowhere to be. It’s just us” you reminded him

“Mhmmmm” he let out a groan of relief. “That’s so true. I couldn’t ask for anything more…” you felt his back slowly twitch as you touched him.

You then moved down, past his tight swimming trunks, and massaged his thighs. They were just as oily as his back, just as muscly as well. They felt so wide, and so hard. He then started to roll over

“I need to roll over…that’s better!” He said while taking in the sight of you

“You’re so fucking beautiful” he complimented you as he lowered his sunglasses while his eyes wandered down the curves of your body.

“Wow, wow, your back is getting slightly red from the sun, let me put some more sun lotion on you”

So you positioned yourself on Charles’ sun-bed as he sat up. He opened his legs to create a space for you in between. You heard him squirt some white lotion onto his hands, and then you felt the cold shock of him applying it.

“Brrr that’s cold!” You cried

As he rubbed his thick, manly hands all over your back, the sensation got warmer and nicer. You could tell he wasn’t just applying sun lotion, he was also massaging you…and he was enjoying it.

As he rubbed you with the cream, his hands felt even oilier, even slimier. They felt so good. He was starting to arouse you, just by feeling your back. His hands felt like they were getting deeper into you, you couldn’t help but groan in delight as he did it.

“Getting excited are we?” He whispered in your ear. You felt his hard, warm chest stick to your back as he leant in and bit your ear as he spoke. You felt his warm breathe flow up your neck. It gave you goosebumps.

“I don’t ever want to leave this yacht Charles. Can we stay forever?” You asked wishing it could be that simple

He let out a deep chuckle, as he started to lick and suck on your neck. His tongue and mouth felt so soft and warm. You were now fully aroused, you were embarrassed to admit it though because it was too easy for him. He was just too good.

As he sucked on your neck gently, you felt his saliva spreading across your skin, slowly getting you warmer and sticker as he did it. You slowly picked up his hand that was now resting on your thigh, and you placed one of his fingers in your mouth.

You slowly sucked and savoured the taste of his delicious finger, before sliding another in. Both of his fingers rested on your tongue and you sucked on them. They didn’t taste much more than what normal skin tasted like, but the feeling of his juicy fingers in your mouth send a feeling through you like no other. You now only wanted one thing from him.

“Ah…mhm…Charles” you said as he continued to suck you. His wet fingers rested back on your thigh as you spoke. “Please fuck me like there’s no tomorrow”

You sounded desperate , and that’s because you were. You wanted this man inside of you. You wanted all of him. And you wanted it now.

He didn’t answer. But his actions spoke louder than any words. He placed you with your back on the sun-bed, pulled down your bikini and slowly started kissing his way up your thighs. His hands pulled together your legs as you did it. You felt his force hold them apart as he slowly moved his way up. You felt the stubble of his facial hair tickle your skin as he did it.

The suspense was killing you. He continued teasing his way up your thighs, you could feel juice dripping from your pussy as he did…you wanted him NOW

He licked his way up a trail of warm juice, that had recently soaked out of you…his tongue followed it all the way up…until you felt him slide in between your lips. His tongue was so warm and wet. His mouth quickly became even wetter, as he collected all of your juices. His tongue slid and danced around your lips, he focussed in on your clit and immediately you became overwhelmed with pleasure. Your legs naturally tried to recoil and flinch as he did it, but his hands firmly held you in place. You were going nowhere. You had no control.

As he licked and sucked on you, you could hear him groaning and trying to hold onto his feelings. His dick was getting rock hard, you could see the veins on it pumping as he licked you.

“Fuck I can’t wait any longer” he said while sitting up to you, he grabbed both of your legs and held them vertically in the air. Your ass was now in the air as he held you. He positioned himself, and slowly slipped his dick inside. He was so thick. It always shocked you, never mind how many times he fucked you. And believe me, he had fucked you at least ten times since setting off on this yacht journey. Sometimes multiple times per day. He was a dirty animal.

You wondered if he was extra horny because he had been going through lots of stress with the breakup…but you didn’t care anymore about feeling sorry for Charlotte. Because her ex man was now balls deep inside of you, stretching you out. Using you as he wanted. Using you like his slut. And that was the best feeling.

He continued grabbing your legs as your feet dangled in his face while he thrust inside of you. “F-fuck…I’ve never fucked a girl so tight as you…I-I- don’t think I’ll last much longer”

You laughed, but the laugh was immediately followed by a groan as he thrust even harder into you. The sun-bed was creaking and shaking all over the place. He was using all of his power to fuck you.

As he continued inside you, he started to lick on your feet.

“Ah…mhm…” you composed yourself as he pounded you. “Charles….ah….uh….my feet are probably sweaty…ah….you probably don’t want to lick them haha…uh” you finally managed to speak you words.

He didn’t seem to care. “Mhm…and what makes you think I don’t want to lick your sweaty feet?” He asked you in his deep voice before proceeding to slide his warm tongue in between your toes as he sucked on them. You felt his mouth salivating at the feeling and taste of your feet as he held them in his mouth.

“Dirty boy…” you replied.

“I’d lick every inch of you…I don’t care if you’re sweaty or not, you’re too perfect to not fully enjoy” he responded.

He was so kind. How could his relationship with Charlotte have ended so badly? Was she not enough for him? Surely he was enough for her? You didn’t know what to think. But you couldn’t think straight anyway as he was so deep inside of you, you felt like he was rearranging your guts. And at the same time, his warm tongue and mouth sucking on your sweaty feet, created a tickle sensation as he did it.

You honestly thought you were in heaven. Then you realised what he had just said.

“You’d lick all of me huh?” You asked

“Yes” he responded bluntly before adding “ALL of you…”

“Okay…well I want you to lick my…ugh” you groaned as you felt his cock reach even further inside of you, to areas you didn’t even know possible.

“You want what?” He asked while giggling to himself. He was laughing at your groaning.

“Lick my ass” you said bluntly before closing your eyes in the pleasure of his fucking.

He didn’t say anything, you hoped he hadn’t taken offence as some guys might not like doing that….you hoped you hadn’t upset him.

You opened your eyes and his face was slowly moving closer to yours, your mouths touched and your tongues got tangled up together as you kissed. You could taste yourself on his tongue.

He stopped kissing you, and then started to glide his tongue around your mouth and all over your mouth before he slowly brought his fingers and placed them in your mouth. “Let’s sixty nine. And I’ll lick your pretty ass in a way it’s never known ”

You both got yourself In the 69 position. You had your ass on his face, as you took his hard, juicy cock into your mouth. You felt his tongue entering and rimming your ass he you did it. You found it hard to focus on pleasuring him, because you were in too much pleasure.

“This man is so dirty. He is perfect. “ you thought to yourself. “I’d do anything for him”

You started to feel his hips thrust his cock even harder into you. His mouth was getting even wetter, his groans even louder.

And then you felt his thick beads of cum fill your mouth up. A lot of it dripped out the side of your mouth, as he continued to fill you up. You also swallowed a lot of his warm milk, because why wouldn’t you? He tasted so good.

But he didn’t stop. You felt his tongue fully go into your ass before he moved you off his face and slid his still-hard cock inside your pussy again from behind. He fucked you in doggy. You felt his wet fingers rimming your ass as he fucked your other hole with his hard cock. He eventually slipped his fingers into your ass too. Both holes penetrated at the same time. You were deeply intoxicated with pleasure. So much so you had forgotten how loud you were moaning, and presumed the staff would hear. But part of you didn’t care. The fucking was all the mattered right now.

“Ch-ch-Charles” you finally got the words out…”you can’t cum inside me this time, remember what I said? I can’t risk it”

He didn’t respond, he only fucked and fingered you harder.

“Did you hear me?” You added

“Fuck…yeah I did. But I want to…you’re mine. I want to impregnate you”

You didn’t know to react. Charles Leclerc just admitted he wanted to impregnate you…

You had to admit…it turned you on like nothing else. You would do anything for him, and this was included.

You gave in to him. “Fuck it…I want your cum, Charles. Fill me up. I want you to breed me like a slut. Give me your cum”

This turned him on more than anything you had ever experienced. His thrusts became so hard. Your skin slapping onto each other so loudly. He was so deep inside and then he released his load. He filled you up to the brim. You felt his warm milk inside of you. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was how your first child would be conceived. He slipped his cock out of you and you felt some of his white liquid drip out of your lips.

He flipped you round and placed you on his chest as you both lay there. He was so sweaty now, he had put so much work into fucking you , and you couldn’t help but quickly glide your tongue across his hard, glistening abs.

You then placed your head on his wet chest as he stroked your hair.

“Charles, that’s the sixth time you have cum inside me in the space of two days…”

“I know I know…I just love it” he added

“But what about Charlotte? What about everyone out there in the real world, if they find out about us, and about me if you impregnate me?”

“Fuck Charlotte, fuck the rest of them. I want to be with you. Truth be told, I broke up with Charlotte all because of you. I’ve had my eyes on you for years, I’ve always wanted to be more than friends. You are the perfect girl for me” he said

You started to feel tears running down your cheeks as the words left his mouth. They were happy tears

“You’re my perfect man too Charles…I think you’re in high demand now that you’re single” you both laughed as you said it. He knew he was in demand as much as you did.

“I’m not single anymore” he said before pausing ….

“I have all I need…….”

……”you” he finished.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #formula one #yacht #hotguys #charles leclerc imagine #fantasy men #fanfic #imagine #break up story

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dragon-kazansky · 6 months

Text

Captain Hands

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

The Revenge has a new captain, and with it a new first mate. Seems like you're both settling into your new roles.

{Masterlist}

Warnings: None. It's fluffy as heck.

Captain on deck

♡♡♡

Izzy wakes up with a soft groan. He's still getting used to sleeping in the captain's cabin. It really was the most comfortable bed onboard.

Even more so because he got to share it with you. As soon as he made you his first mate, he declared that your cabin was with him. His old cabin, where you both shared many nights, was given to Frenchie. He was excited to have his own room.

As far as Izzy was concerned, your place was beside him. Always.

He turns his head to see you asleep beside him. He smiles. A beautiful sight to wake up to. He looked forward to every morning that would follow.

You stir. His smile grows. He lays there quietly watching you wake. You're still tired, he can tell, but he also knows that within the hour you'll be up on deck starting your duties.

Perhaps he can keep you to himself for a little while longer.

"Morning, love."

You wipe your eyes gently, ridding them of the blur from just waking up. Your eyes find his and your heart flutters. He's a gorgeous sight to see.

"Good morning."

Izzy rolls onto his side, his smile softens. His face is inches from your own. "How did you sleep?"

You return his soft smile. "Like a baby."

He chuckles softly and reaches out, grasping your hand with his. You let your fingers tangle with his own.

Moments pass in peaceful silence as you both just lay there and admire one another. You do not take from granted the time to just look at this man, not when you had nearly lost him before.

Izzy Hands was all yours.

The faint sounds of the crew moving about indicate that it's time to get up. Izzy sighs softly, his eyes not once staying from your face. Carefully, you reach out and brush some his hair back.

"Up and at 'em, Captain."

He chuckles softly and watches you get up first. He remains in that exact position as she lean over to pluck your discarded clothes from the floor. You have no issue finding your shirt as you begin to dress.

Izzy would never tire of seeing you. All of you.

As you stand to pull up your pants to your waist, Izzy sits up. The blankets fall down to his lap, keeping his lower half covered, but displaying his chest and his scars.

You turn to glance at the handsome pilot, a smile tugging at your lips. You lean over and steal a kiss. Izzy is pleasantly surprised.

"Come on, you."

He smiles as guide him out of the bed with your gentle touch. It takes everything in him to not wrap you up in his arms and kiss you until the sun goes down. Yet, he knows he has responsibilities he cannot ignore. At least you'll be there beside him.

Once you're both up an dressed you both make your way through the ship. The crew are already fed and working.

Since Ed and Stede's departure, things have felt different, but also the same. The crew was still a family and they worked harder than ever to keep their home afloat. Figuratively and literally.

As you opened the door you looked up and smiled. The sun was already shining down on deck and the crew were bustling about. You looked across the ship.

"Captain on deck!"

The crew all turned to acknowledge Izzy stepping out from behind you. He sighs and waves them off, hating the fact you announce him like that every morning. You get such a kick out of it.

The crew return to their duties and you follow Izzy up the steps. He let's Frenchie continue sailing the ship as he looks out to see. You join his side.

"Another beautiful day."

He turns to gaze at you. "Always is when I have you beside me."

You smile and reach over for his hand. His fingers once again find their home entwined with yours. You give his hand a squeeze and smiles, your eyes turn back to the sea.

"Better enjoy it while we can. He's still out there," you say.

Izzy turns his eyes back to the horizon. "All in good time, love."

Your heart flutters.

The moment is broken by Lucious who coughs softly to get your attention. You smile as you turn around and looks at him. He's holding two cups of coffee. You thank him as you take them from him. He gives you a shit-eating grin as he wanders off again.

Izzy takes a cup from your hand. "Nothing is sacred on this ship."

You grin. "I was kind of loud, huh?"

Izzy chuckles as he sips his coffee. He no longer cares how much the crew know. He's definitely heard enough himself.

You lean against the bannister and look down at the crew, cradling the warm coffee in your hands. Izzy swears he couldn't fall more in love with you, and yet, the look in his eyes says it all.

You catch him looking and smile.

Yeah, this was what you wanted. This right here. You wouldn't change a damn thing.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @jossambird - @moon-jae - @fandom-star - @coolninjavoid - @angiiepaniic - @ljaneyx - @lxsm2 - @rustedachilles -

#izzy hands x reader #izzy hands #ofmd #our flag means death #spirit of the sea #captain hands

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mcereal · 9 months

Text

LONG FOR YOU

ace x f!reader

a/n: lowercase is intentional because i wrote this on my phone in like an hour… i just had this idea and wanted to get it out. sorry if it’s bad :c

ever since meeting you on that island a couple of weeks ago, ace has had his eye on certain type of women. and they all coincidentally had your hair and eye color.

everyone had already thought that ace was a player, but ace post-you? that was the real son of a demon right there. trying to get with anyone and anybody that looked like you, shared your perfume, or even just slightly sounded like you. but it never was enough. he needed the real deal.

he needed you.

this behavior did not go unnoticed, thatch and the others constantly pestered him to reveal who the lady of his thoughts was, all for him to retort back with “shut the hell up!”

walzting into the bar, thatch pointed out a girl with your hair color and leaned over to ace, “you think that’s her?” he teased. ace knew it wasn’t you, though your encounter was short, he had already memorized everything about you. the way your body curved, how long your hair was, hell— he bet he might be able to tell you apart in a flood of millions of women.

ace pushed thatch aside, “there is no her, but..” he trailed on, looking at the woman across the bar, “she’ll do.” he stated back as he walked forwards to where the girl who shared your hair color was. everyone watched in amusement, until he stopped on his tracks and sat a little further down from where she was sitting. his crew murmured amongst themselves, questioning if he was getting some sort of cold feet.

as he was walking to sit with her, questions popped into his mind. if you were to find out how many women he slept with because they looked like you, would you even be interested in him? he meant to go back to the island you resided in, but whitebeard had denied his various requests. his only way in getting closer to you, was by people who weren’t even you.

as he sat alone in his thoughts, staring at his lap, he didn’t notice the presence that had just sat down beside him. and he didn’t bother to look up until it had spoken.

“two rum bottles, my friend and i have a lot of catching up to do.” aces heart skipped a beat and his sweat ran down his temples, there was no chance he couldn’t recognize that velvety and gentle voice. ace finally gathered up the courage to look up from his lap, and when his eyes met your glance, his whole body trembled. he remembers when the two of you met, your gaze still fixated in his mind since the day he left. it took a while to figure out what was so unique about you, but when it dawned on him— it hit him hard. sunlight, it was sunlight. you reminded him of the day he set sail and his eyes casted on the brightness of the sun, ensuring a new adventure. you gave him that same feeling.

“we haven’t seen each other in so long, and you can’t even say anything back?” you toyed, how could a boy speak when his mind is so tangled? you laughed at his puzzled expression, his heart immediately raced, sending warm blood to his freckled face. he had no doubt he looked like a flushed idiot.

“what are you doing here?” ace managed to let out, almost sounding like a groan, you immediately stopped laughing and raised an eyebrow.

“huh? i can go wherever i damn please.” you replied, taking the bottle of rum and pouring yourself some in a glass, “now, are you going to make me drink this by myself?” you handed the bottle of rum to ace, he hesitated for a second before accepting. your fingers brushed against each other and your face felt hot, you couldn’t deny your attraction towards ace, but you highly doubted he had any sort of interest in you. mostly because of what people say about him.

“i’ll never deny free liquor!” he chuckled, before taking a swig straight from the container, hoping this would give him a bit of liquid courage. the burn of the rum going down his throat was a good distraction of all the thoughts that were rummaging through his mind— all of them about you. he sighed and placed the bottle down back on the bar. “what are you doing on this island? you stalking me?” ace joked.

“i heard there was a hot pirate on this island, mind pointing him to me?” you joked back, ace laughed before pointing at himself.

“well you’re looking at him!” he proudly stated.

“is that why all the girls in here are eye-fucking you right now?” you replied. glancing around the bar, almost every single woman kept glancing over towards ace. you knew what they wanted, you’ve heard the stories. how good he made them feel, how good he fucked them. you bet they wanted a second taste. the thought of it made your blood boil, how shameless they all were. “i don’t think i’m doing you any favors by sitting here with you, every single girl in here wants you to take them home.”

ace looked around the bar, and as soon as his head turned all the women turned their heads in embarrassment. this didn’t impress ace, he simply turned back to you with a big smile plastered on his face. “every girl, huh?”

you realized your mistake. your face suddenly grew hot and your palms became clammy, ace took notice of the honesty behind your blush. you wanted to say something smart back, but the words were all jumbled together. your confident act was up. as you gathered yourself together, ace interrupted you before you could even defend yourself. “well there’s only one person in this bar i’m interested in.” he started, “and she so happens to be sitting next to me.”

your face exploded with color, and there was a slight tint of pink on his face also, but you couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or his confession. there was a slight moment of silence between the two of you while you just stared at each other, the nosy bar that once was became muffled as your heart pounded against your ears. “ace, i’m here because..” you finally said, “i’ve heard the rumors about you.” ace froze in his seat, were you about to deny him?

“and i can’t stand them! i want you all to myself!” you had crushed the doubt from his head, hearing you say those words was all he ever needed. all he ever wanted.

a smirk danced across his face, “what do you say we get out of here?”

#one piece #anime #manga #portgas d ace #monkey d luffy #roronoa zoro #portgas ace x reader #reader insert #fanfic #vinsmoke sanji

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welcome-back-to-hoimycraf · 8 days

Text

It wasn’t uncommon to find a strange structure out on the sea. Ships sunk in shallower waters and coral grew far out of the waves. There were multiple ways the same route could be different from one day to the next. Gem didn’t think this was normal.

She peered out of her cabin window, watching the sea crash around a blue-ish, barely even visible bit of… stone? coral? She couldn’t really tell. She’d gone out to this spot plenty of times throughout her life, growing up catching fish from these waters, yet this was new to her, unfamiliar.

Gem gripped the steering wheel, putting the boat on course for home. She could deal with this later when she didn’t have a boat’s worth of fish sitting out in the hot sun.

The rest of Gem’s day went by as usual: sell fish, keep up with friends, keep the lighthouse in check, etcetera. Still, she couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d found. Something called her to it, something deep in her subconscious, begging her to explore. To know.

Gem sat up in her bed, rubbing her eyes. She could already see the sunlight peeking out around the edges of her curtains. Had she really not been able to sleep at all? Well, there was no sleeping now; she’s got a routine to stick to. The lighthouse keeper begrudgingly stood from her bed, deciding to get ready for the day. Funnily enough, a knock resounded through the house as she fastened the last button of her coat. Perfect timing, she supposed.

On the other side of the door was a sight she’d grown quite familiar with over this past week and a half. A thick red sweater accompanied by dark, dark eyes stood out from the monotonous background.

“Oh! Hi, Grian,” Gem greeted him as friendly as she could muster for the hour. She hadn’t been expecting visitors this early in the morning. Even Pearl wouldn’t be awake at this time!

“Where did you see the monument?” Grian asked, with Gem finding a hint of desperation hidden in the man's voice.

“What?” The fishmonger was taken aback by his question. No "hi," no “hello," no nothing? What was he even talking about?

"The monument," he repeated as if that would help her understand. Seeing her only stare at him blankly, he groaned, rubbing his hands down his face. "The thing you found on the ocean yesterday, the monument."

"Oh, that thing?" Gem raised an eyebrow. "How do you even know about that?" She was certain that she hadn't even seen Grian yesterday, let alone had she told him about what she'd seen out on the water.

His eyes darted to the sea before fixating back on Gem. "Don't worry about it."

She was definitely worrying about it.

"Listen," Grian trained his eyes somewhere past her head, twiddling with his sweater sleeves, "just tell me where it is. Please?" He tacked on, almost as an afterthought.

Something in Gem's gut begged her not to tell him anything, but she squished it down. She trusted Grian not to do anything horrible. Mostly. "I'm not sure I could really give directions-"

"Could you take me?" The hope in his voice surprised her. She'd never seen him in this high of spirits before.

Gem bit her lip, shifting on her feet. She glanced at the river, at Grian's fishing hut. It was overflowing with barrels upon barrels of fish, rods, and other junk he'd pulled up nearly nonstop. She sighed. "Yeah, I'll take you."

The fisherman's face lit up, a wide grin blooming on it. "Oh- thank you, Gem!" He surged forward to grab her hand, shaking it violently. "Let me go grab my things!"

Before she could get another word in, she'd been released, stumbling across her porch just to watch him run off. She stood up straight once more, brushing her overcoat down. Weird.

Sailing with the Brit was surprisingly smooth. She'd gone out on the sea with many people over the years for multiple different reasons, yet Grian seemed to be one of the few in the “more experienced than most” category. While she may not have needed help with navigation, he made sure to keep himself busy by cleaning a good bit of her equipment, which the sailor greatly appreciated.

Time passed quickly, and soon she could hear a muffled "Land ho'!" shouted from outside the captain's cabin.

Sure enough, the strange building from yesterday sat in the same place she’d seen it in last time. It seemed more... visible than it was before. Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her before?

Gem turned to Grian, who'd already gotten to work untying his shoes for whatever reason. "So..." she trailed off, "what are you planning to do here, exactly? You said this was a monument?"

He hummed in confirmation. "Yup! I'm hoping there might be something I'm looking for down there."

"Wait-" Gem pushed back from the railing she'd been leaning on, eyeing him up and down. "You're going in it?"

Grian stood up, setting his shoes aside. "Yeah?" He looked confused. "I can deal with it, they shouldn't be that hard to take care of."

Gem elected to ignore who "they" were. "No, no- you can't-"

"Bye!" She barely registered him jumping, a sizable splash erupting from the waves.

Gem ran to the rail, leaning over to find him already swimming down. "Grian!" Oh no. This was bad. She hastily started to unbutton her coat and take off her boots. Why did he have to go into what was surely a death trap and have her drag him out? She threw her garments to the floor of the boat, hardly thinking as she jumped off the side.

She pried her eyes open, stinging from the salty water. She couldn’t see much through the bubbles she’d made, but could see the bright red of Grian's sweater swimming farther and farther away. God, did she wish could scream at him from under the water.

Gem kicked after him, following him deeper and, consequently, further into the strange monument-building-thing. The inside was made of the same blue-green material she’d seen before, all twisting and turning in ways that didn’t make sense to her. Grian didn’t stop swimming, even once inside, so she continued on after him. At least it was lit up, she supposed.

The corridors were like a maze, and she quickly lost her sense of direction despite her best efforts. Panic swelled in her lungs, crying out for oxygen. She swears, if she drowns in here, she’s coming back to life and killing Grian herself.

Luckily, the never-ending hallways eventually opened into a room. Weirdly enough, it was completely devoid of water. She surfaced into the air pocket, crawling onto the floor, gasping and spluttering.

“What-” she heaved, “is wrong with you?” Grian stood next to her, wringing seawater out of his sweater. “How are you completely fine?”

The man shrugged. “Wasn’t a problem for me.”

Gem groaned, flopping onto her back. Her skin brushed against the weirdly scratchy and rough flooring, grimacing at its texture. “What is this place again?”

“Ocean monument,” he responded like it was the easiest thing in the world to deduce.

“Yeah, yeah, definitely know what that means, not cryptic at all,” she grumbled sarcastically.

No response came her way.

She glared at him. She was trying so hard to be nice and make friends with Grian, but god did he make that difficult sometimes. “Could you at least tell me what you’re doing here?”

A devious grin spread across his face as he turned to look at her. “Exploring, of course!”

She was gonna kill him.

She didn’t end up killing him.

As it turned out, the place was just as empty as it had been when they entered. In one of the many air pockets they found throughout the temple, Grian commented that it was uncommonly peaceful. She didn’t want to think about what that implied.

They kicked around the place a bit longer before deciding to give up. It didn’t seem like there was anything of note beside the oceanic stone, which Gem decided to harvest a bit of at a later date when she had the right equipment.

Right as they were about to leave, in the last air pocket, they finally encountered something. Gem entered first, taking a big gasp of air, and paused when she saw it. On the far wall, a slimy, squishy creature with a large shell sat suctioned onto the stone, leaving a trail of slime from where it had been inching along. A snail? It was huge for a snail, if it was one, about the size of the average dog.

Grian let out a sharp gasp when he spotted the unusual creature. Before she could warn against it, he rushed to the snail and pried it off the wall with a loud POP. “Can we keep it?” He asked, cradling the thing lovingly in his arms.

She blinked at him in shock. This was probably the happiest she had ever seen him. Besides, it wasn’t like she had any say in the matter, as he’d already claimed the thing as a pet and dived back into the water. Gem couldn’t find any reason to tell him not to.

>Previous<

#fanfic #my fanfic #hermitfic #hermitcraft #hermitcraft 10 #grian #geminitay

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nightghoul381 · 10 months

Text

Silvio 3rd Anniversary Event

A Beast's Dream Realized by Beauty Premium End

Returning from my voyage ahead of schedule, Emma showed me a faded treasure map.

I didn’t even realize at the time that this was a gateway to my dark past…

Emma stared at the map so intently as if she wanted to go, and the words spilled out involuntarily.

Silvio: “Do you wanna go to the island?”

Emma: “What, is that okay? I really want to go!”

Silvio: “How refreshingly honest of you.”

Silvio: “It’s about as far as a kid can go. It’s not a dangerous island or far enough away to cross the sun.”

Silvio: “It’s just right for an inexperienced voyager like you.”

(You’ve been saying for a while that you want to sail together.)

Emma finally has the opportunity to fulfil her wish, and the corners of her mouth rise in happiness.

Emma: “Silvio, I love you!”

Silvio: “Hey, I always tell you not to hug me outta nowhere like that.”

Emma: “I know you’re secretly happy inside!”

(This woman…)

Silvio: “If you know, don’t go out of your way to tell me!”

Emma: “Wha… mmm, Prince Silvio…”

Half as revenge, I rolled Emma onto the bed, bringing our lips together in a deep kiss.

Kissing for the first time in a few days shatters all rationality, we lose all restraint as our tongues twine together.

(…It’s not every day you get to see someone so happy to go on their first voyage.)

The innocent smile from earlier tickled my chest and a slight ache followed.

(…you’re so different from me.)

The reason I first went to sea wasn’t for longing or anything, it was just an escape.

Silvio: “Fuck you, you old bastard!”

I grabbed a pebble that had fallen near me and threw it into the sea.

The dumb sound that should have been heard was disturbed by the waves, and the pebble fell without a sound.

Sitting on the sandy beach, I clenched my fists painfully, trying to control my anger.

(What did I do? I ain’t done nothing!)

(Which one of us is the kid, acting as if you don’t know me, denying my very existence!)

(The other guys open their mouths too. Compared to Valerio, Prince Valerio is better, If it was Valerio…)

(You ain’t looking at me or Valerio properly, so don’t compare us!)

(Hit your finger on the corner and scream in agony! You idiot!!)

Because the old man hates himself, the strange looks he gives me for such a stupid reason,

How good is Valerio? I’m sick and tired of being compared,

In order to release the pent-up anger, I would regularly come to the sea like this to vent my emotions.

I held my knees and gaze out at the jewel-like shimmer of the deep red-colored water.

(…..)

(…I’ve gotta go home.)

Just thinking about it made it feel like there was a heavy weight pressing down on my shoulders.

When I return home, I’ll have to face another unreasonable and suffocating day, which I can’t do anything about as a child.

I’d gotten used to it compared to when it first started.

Still, if I have the option not to go home, I don’t want to go home.

(I’d be happier diving into the sea and feeling suffocated. That’s how much…)

(I don’t wanna go home!!)

The old man who spits out he’s a kid in that way comes to mind and I angrily throw another stone into the sea.

No matter how many times I come to the sea, I will never be completely free of discomfort, anger or loneliness.

Still, I don’t know how to calm my emotions other than throwing stones or kicking sand.

(I need to hurry up and become an adult.)

The options offered to me now are too few.

Silvio: “……”

Silvio: “…Maybe if I went across the sea, I wouldn’t have to think about all this.”

I didn’t want to use my longing as an excuse to escape.

But even my bravado had a limit at this time.

After that, I rushed through preparations and went out to sea early the next morning, alone.

I had heard from adults about the dangers of the sea, but if I had said anything, they would stop me because I’m a prince and a member of the royal family.

So what. Who would be sad if something happened. No one.

Then I’ll annoy you to no end.

Such a childish rebellion may have been the main trigger that brought me out to sea.

I rowed a small boat out to where I couldn’t see the harbor, and when my arms began to get tired, I let go of the oars.

I leaned back against the luggage and closed my eyes.

Silvio: “…”

Silvio: “…It’s quiet.”

All that could be heard was the sound of the waves hitting the boat.

The sea was quieter than I had imagined and I felt a little scared.

(But there’s no one here to deny me or compare me.)

(…even though I’m lonely, I don’t feel bad about it.)

It’s a dozen times better to feel alone at sea than to feel alone among people you know.

Silvio: “Hmm…there’s something over there… an island?”

The shadow suddenly came into view and I picked up the map behind me and leaned forward to check it.

(Yeah, it’s a lonely island after all.)

(Just looking at the map alone, it doesn’t look like a very big island.)

(Often in stories, pirate treasure is buried on islands like that.)

(…Or I’m really asleep.)

Not knowing how to control my overflowing curiosity, I found myself reaching for the oars and rowing frantically.

I continued to row for more than ten minutes, but the island never seemed to get any closer.

(Damn… I need a break.)

(I thought it’d be easy because it’s a small boat, but it’s tough. It’s taking all of my strength.)

(If I’m going out to sea, I’d rather be with someone else than alone.)

(By rowing the oars one at a time, I can conserve energy and carry half my luggage.)

(…plus, I bet there’ll be treasure to hunt.)

(I guess it’ll be twice as much fun to search for the treasure as it is to find it.)

Silvio: “…”

Silvio: “… ha, that’s bullshit.”

Self-deprecating words spill out of my mouth and I pretend not to notice the rising bitterness as I row the oars.

(Even children know that expectations can be betrayed.)

(No one’s ever gonna accept me and only me, without any titles or ties.)

(I can’t do this for the rest of my life.)

Silvio: “Don’t push there you idiot!”

Emma: “Eh?

Emma: “Whaaaa…!!”

The uncomfortable feeling didn’t come until after entering the cave, when I remembered memories that I had completely forgotten,

Emma got caught in a trap and we were separated.

Silvio: “Damn, I remembered too late.”

I hit the wall vigorously and held my head.

(The treasure, the map, the traps were actually from me as a kid…)

(If Emma gets hurt because of this, I’ll hate myself for the rest of my life!)

(In other words, when you see a treasure map, remember it right away. I’m an idiot!)

(I’ll go to where Emma is for now.)

(If I remember correctly, that trap should have been connected to a spot on the second level of the cave.)

After taking a deep breath, desperately trying to suppress the urge to hit myself,

Running through a number of traps, I was able to join up with Emma without incident, but another problem surfaced.

The problem was exactly what I expected.

Emma: “Will you let us continue our treasure hunt?”

(I knew this would happen…)

Emma grabbed my cloak to stop me from leaving the cave.

Silvio: “I told you earlier, it’s a treasure I hid when I was playing as a kid.”

Silvio: “I don’t remember what I put in there either, but it sure ain’t worth more than a piece of junk.”

Emma: “Not to me.”

Silvio: Ah?”

Emma: “The treasures hidden by you are priceless, Prince Silvio.”

(I expected you would say that.)

(Because you’re interested in anything related to me anyway.)

That, for Emma, is what makes it valuable.

It’s more embarrassing than pleasing.

But it’s more adorable than embarrassing, makes me want to scratch my chest.

(You’re askin’ me to do something for you. I’m weak, you idiot.)

A loud sigh of surrender spilled from my lips.

Silvio: “Alright, keep searching for the treasure till you’re satisfied.”

Emma: “Thank you so much…!”

Silvio: “But from here on, no more hints.”

Silvio: “If you want it enough to beg for it, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Emma: “Yes, I will definitely find it!”

As promised, Emma pushed deep into the cave, map in hand.

I followed behind her while hiding my uneasiness and worry that she may get caught in a trap.

I said it to myself, but I didn’t want to experience the frustration of not being able to do anything even though I was by her side.

~~~

After some time, Emma finally finds my childhood treasure.

It was unexpected, even for me, that I was so pleased to see her running up to me with a big smile on her face that I couldn’t help but be happy with her.

If anything, I was happier than Emma.

(Damn it… I was more of a kid than anyone else, wasn’t I?)

By the time we left the cave and reached the sea, the sky had turned a deep red.

Emma set the treasure box on the beach and looked up.

Emma: “So… Can I open it?”

Silvio: “There’s no way there’s anything important in an unlocked box. You don’t need to ask.”

Emma: “There’s always a ‘maybe’!”

I deliberately raised my eyebrows but crouched next to Emma, resting my chin on my hand.

Silvio: “If there is anything of worthwhile in there, I’ll have to give myself a pat on the back for understanding the value of things as a kid.”

Emma: “Oh, I wouldn’t expect that at all.”

Silvio: “You know what I mean. Come on, open it up.”

(Looking at the box, I still can’t remember what I put in it.)

(I mean, it really doesn’t matter.)

Feeling a little sorry, I poked her arm with my elbow to hurry her along.

Emma opened the lid as prompted and looked inside to find a translucent stone and a faded piece of paper.

My shoulders, that had been raised with tension, fell with relief.

(Thank goodness… No weird stuff in it.)

Emma: “It’s a beautiful stone.”

Silvio: “It’s an agate. You can probably find one on the beach if you look hard enough.”

Silvio: “The surface is so clean, it had to have been polished on purpose.”

Emma: “It think it was worth it for little Silvio at the time, wasn’t it?”

Emma: “Can I keep the agate stone?”

Silvio: “You found the treasure, do what you want.”

Emma: “Thank you.”

(It’s just like you to be that happy because of a rock a kid found on the beach.)

When I was a kid, I never would have imagined that the one who would find the treasure would be my future fiancée.

(The rest is just a piece of paper but what’s written on the back?)

At the same time that I looked at it, Emma picked up the faded piece of paper.

I watched her curiously, wondering if she was thinking the same thing I was, then she gently turned it over.

There, written in a child’s messy handwriting is…

“I’ll make you my number one henchman. Together we’ll acquire all the treasures of the world!”

“First Prince of Benitoite Silvio Ricci.”

My mind went blank and I found myself reaching for the piece of paper in Emma’s hands.

Silvio: “AAAAaaagggghhhh…!!!”

Emma: “Aaaahh! Don’t tear the paper!!”

Whether I wanted to steal it or not, I grabbed the edges of the paper. It’s a tug of war.

Silvio: “Shut up! If you don’t want me to die, let go!”

Emma: “I don’t want you to die or let you destroy it!”

But Emma was a cut above the rest, shaking me off and running down the beach.

(I knew I shouldn’t have let you look for that treasure…!)

(The reason I couldn’t remember wasn’t because I forgot, it’s because it was no good for me.)

(Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been convinced!)

I chase after Emma, but the sand is uneven and I can’t step properly.

(If this happens…)

Silvio: “Damn it, give it back!!”

Emma: “You said ‘do what I want with the treasure’, I also own this paper—”

(Now…!)

Emma: “Uwaah…!?”

I jumped up, wrapping my arms around Emma’s waist, and we fell onto the beach, sliding on the sand.

It’s not how I would have grabbed my fiancée, but I can’t afford to be considerate right now.

(Did I really want to go out to sea so badly as a kid that I would go to the trouble of putting this paper in my treasure?)

(Did I really… want a friend that much?)

I couldn’t tell anyone and still couldn’t give up.

This is a child’s silly little dream, hiding his hopes in a treasure chest.

Once I realized and admitted it, my heart became even more flustered.

(I’m so embarrassed, I want to drown, screaming into the sea…)

(This is just dark history!)

Emma, lying on her back, looks up at me.

The paper was held tightly in her hands.

Silvio: “Give it back.”

Emma: “…Understood.”

Silvio: “Suddenly you’re very understanding. What do you want?”

(This woman says things that are out of the ordinary, which makes me curious--)

Emma: “Prince Silvio, make me your number one henchman.”

Silvio: “…What?”

(What is she talking about? Are you kidding me?)

(No, it’s Emma, she really wants to be.)

(…are you really taking what a kid wrote in the heat of the moment seriously?)

When I was at a loss for words from the shock, Emma’s eyebrows lowered for some reason, as if she had remembered something.

(What did you think this time, busybody?)

Emma: “Since I’m your fiancée, can I not be your henchman?”

Silvio: “……”

Silvio: “Pffft…. Hahaha…!”

Emma: “You don’t have to laugh so hard!”

Silvio: “Of course I’d laugh, you’re making such a blatantly depressed face… Hahaha.”

Laughter spills out incessantly and even I can’t control it. 2613

When I look down at Emma, whose face is redder than the setting sun, she presses her hands to the beach to hide her embarrassment.

(It was a dream I had forgotten, but I can’t just dismiss it as a memory.)

(That said…)

Silvio: “You definitely can’t be my henchman.”

Silvio: “A henchman who gets seasick after an hour would be useless, right?”2618

At my words, Emma smiles dazzlingly.

Emma: “I will definitely cure my seasickness!”

Emma: “I want to do a lot more sailing and treasure hunting with you, Prince Silvio,”

Silvio: “You got my hopes up, I’m not gonna let you give up halfway through.”

Emma: “Of course, I’ll keep all the promises I’ve made to you.”

Silvio: “Ha, you would say that.”

(We’re both blushing, what are we doing?)

(… I look like an idiot, but I’m happy.)

The reason I went out to sea that day was to escape.

But without it, I wouldn’t have been able to remember my childhood dreams and accomplish them in a different way.

(No, if I hadn’t met Emma, I would never have been able to remember or achieve it.)

(Don’t try to make me like you when I’m already your fiancé.)

I don’t care if it’s called an accusation.

If I don’t put some tyrannical words together, I won’t be able to control my thoughts.

(…It’s probably too late for that now.)

As if admitting everything, but still not wanting to be noticed, I deceptively press my lips to hers.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Premium End | Epilogue

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