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amysgiantbees · 3 years

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My Hero Academia 1A students sorted into DnD

If they don’t have a background then they have the scholar background as they’ve all attended the adventuring school Ultra Academy.

So firstly Tsuyu Asui is a half Grung half human sailor shepherd circle druid. She has the Mobile feat. She uses a spear and light armour in battle. She isn’t particularly interested in the gods, but her favourite is Habbakuk, god of animal life and the sea, and she always makes sure to make offerings and prayers to all of the sea gods before making a voyage.

Katsuki Bakugo, he’s a 1/4 orc and human wild magic barbarian.* He has the Crusher and Chef feats. He uses two spiked maces and has minimal armour. His top stats are intelligence and strength, charisma and wisdom are his worst ones. He admires and occasionally prays to Heironeous but doesn’t like to rely or seak help from the gods. He knows common, orcish and sign language for both. His father, Masaru Bakugo, is a College of Glamour bard. His mother, Mitsuki Bakugo, is a College of Glamour bard who specializes in yelling very persuasively and having beautiful clothes.

Mina Ashido is a tiefling with a copper draconic bloodline for her sorcery. Her favourite spell is acid splash. She uses a sling and has no armour only incredible looks. She doesn’t particularly follow any gods but her favourite is Sune. She has the feats Alert and Performer. She’s proficient in both poisoners and herbalism kits.

Koji Koda is a shepherd circle druid firbolg hermit. He has the Animal Handler feature. He doesn’t usually use a weapon but carries a quarter-staff just in case. Follower of the neutral nature god Obad-Hai. His familiar is a rabbit (or an owl sometimes) named Mustard. Summon Nature’s Ally is his favourite spell. He knows Common, Elvish, Giant, Druidic sign language and can also speak common.

Fumikage Tokoyami is a kenku ranger with a black eagle companion named Dark Shadow. He has the Crossbow Expert feat and Shadow Touched. He uses a heavy crossbow and has a ton of knives. He had a phase where he followed Tharizdun, god of eternal darkness before he admitted that he couldn’t follow a chaotic evil, treacherous god. He’s moved on to Kelemvor, the lawful neutral god of the dead (and Milil god of poetry and song). He really likes the Raven Queen too.

Izuku Midoriya is a multi class human Champion fighter and an Oath of Glory paladin. He has the Observant and Charger feats. He uses a sword and shield. His top stats are strength and intelligence, constitution is his dump stat. He has great respect for the gods in particular the demi-god All for One, Heironeous and Torm the god of self sacrifice and courage. He’s a paladin in the service of All for One but externally pretends to serve Heironeous. His father left when he was a baby and his mother is a baker and Divine Soul sorcerer who’s favourite spell is Mage Hand. He’s proficient in the calligrapher’s kit.

Princess Momo Yaoyorozu is a human noble maverick artificer. She has the Skilled and Quick-Smithing features. She uses a quarter-staff. Her family follows the goddess of wealth and trade, Shinare. Their family symbol is the sun - as the sun is often a symbol of creation. So they also have a history with the god of Pelor, who also has the sun as their symbol. There is a sacred tree to Pelor in the family’s gardens. Her family rules from Musutafu the capital of Kara-Tur.

Prince Shoto Todoroki is a half elf half human noble sorcerer from white and red draconic blood lines. He has the feats Mage Slayer and Weapon Master and thus uses a rapier. He’s a prince on the run from his father currently going by the alias Perry (because I nicknamed him Katy Perry because he’s hot and cold... I know I’m hilarious). He doesn’t follow is merely very respectful of the gods.

Denki Kaminari is a human storm sorcerer. High charisma, low intelligence. He has the War Caster and Linguist features. He has a lightning rod like staff. When he’s out of spell slots roll a D4. Even he’s fine, odd and he’s short circuited and his intelligence is down to 1 until he’s had a short rest. If the last spell he casts hits though he does triple damage. He is a follower of the storm god Kord, part of the Greyhawk pantheon.

Yuga Aoyama is a scourge aasimar college of glamour bard who at 10th level will have moonbeam as one of his Magical Secrets spells. He uses prestidigitation CONSTANTLY for sparkles. He uses a dulcimer and a light crossbow. He’s also proficient in the shwam and pan flute. He’s a follower of Sune, goddess of love and beauty.He has the feats Fey Touched and war caster.

The Honourable Tenya Ida has a custom mix of both the backgrounds noble and inheritor. He’s a centaur Open Hand monk. He multi-class’ three levels into Clockwork Soul sorcerer to get haste (he comes from a long line of Clockwork Soul transmutation sorcerers). He has the feats Mobile and Inspiring Leader. He has a short sword and an empty fist for battle. He favours Paladine, god of rulers and guardians. His family is the lord and lady of Neverwinter.

Mashirao Ojiro is a Swiftstride shifter Way of the Open Hand monk. Swiftstride shifters are known for being dexterous, graceful and quick. So they often have features from, when they shift, feline creatures. Ojiro grows a tail when he shifts that’s somewhere between a cat and monkey or a kangaroo, making him particularly agile. He also sometimes has animalistic eyes and teeth when he shifts. He has the Martial Adept and Athlete feats. He just uses his fists to fight. He follows Majere, god of meditation and honor. Dexterity is his top stat, charisma is his worst one.

Ochaco Uraraka is an air genasi, a pinky orange one like a cloud at sunset. She’s a transmutation wizard, with one of the spells in her book being levitation. She has the feats lightly armoured and tavern brawler. She uses her fists in hand to hand usually but she’s got daggers stashed on her too. Her favourite deity is Dol Arrah, goddess of sunlight and honour.

Eijiro Kirishima is an earth genasi (although he dyes his hair and ends up confusingly looking like a fire genasi). He is a Path of the Bear Totem Barbarian warrior. He has brown, earthy skin and eyes like rubies. Also he has the Tough and Durable feats. He likes to use his fists or a great-sword. He’s a somewhat casual follower of the Path of Light - a philosophy of light and self-improvement. He also follows Kord, god of storms, athletics and sport.

Rikido Sato is a goliath path of the berserker barbarian. But instead of a typical rage he eats sugar to help him get into the mind set and make it more powerful. This is from his parents who are both bakers and bards. Their bardic magic comes from the alluring quality of their cooking instead of music or sex appeal. He inherited a bit of this baking magic which is how he can do this. If he spends an action before entering a rage eating something high in sugar he gets to double his rage attack bonus die for the next three rounds. He also has the Tough and Durable feats (maybe chef too). He likes to use his fists or a great-axe. He isn’t overly interested in the gods but his favourite is the neutral god of stone giants and art, Skoraeus Stonebones.

Mezo Shoji is a wild-hunt shifter, which are known for their sharp and insightfulness. The animal that he borrows aspects from is the starfish. Which can have between five to eight arms with an eye on each. He’s a way of the Astral Self monk, with an incredibly high perception. He has the Observant and Alert feats. He’s a hand to hand man. He likes Balinor, god of beasts and the hunt best.

Kyoka Jiro is a human bard from the college of valor. She’s proficient in all instruments. She has the keen mind feat and performer. She has a slingshot too. She likes Branchala, god of music best.

Hanta Sero is a human conjuration Clockwork soul sorcerer. The sticky floor spell is one of his favourite spells, and has the Empathic feat. He uses a whip. He’s not particularly interested in following any deity in particular but has a soft spot for Kord since like half his bros follow him. He’s proficient in herbalism kits. his beanie/wizard hat is his arcane focus.

Toru Hagakure is a changeling arcane rogue. She has the Shadow Touched and skulker features. She has lot of KNIVES! The deity she favors is Leira, chaotic neutral goddess of illusion. Her parents told her that when she was born she was blessed and chosen by Leira with a birthmark of her symbol - a spiral in a triangle - on her left hand. Which is why her changeling abilities are so powerful as to let her go invisible.

Minoru Mineta just doesn’t exist. It sucks that possibly the only character with dwarfism in the show is such a creep but there’s barely anything else in his character to build on so he’s just not there. If he did though he’d be a gnome wizard who favored the sticky floor spell best (like Sero) and long range attacks. He’d respect women and tend to hyper-focus on things he likes. He has a very dirty mind and loves inappropriate jokes but isn’t a dick about it. He’d follow Olidammara, chaotic neutral god of revelry.

* I think that having racial attributes like greater strength in orcs is BS and I’d rather delegate attributes according to culture, or more background details. Which is why Bakugo is part orc. Because I like the head-cannon that many orc tribes value self sufficiency highly and that asking for help should be a special sign of trust and mutual respect. Which resonates a lot with Bakugo’s character. Similarly high elves have a reputation for aloofness and coldness as they view no mistake as insignificant. You never know whether a hundred years down the road it might come back to bight you in the ass. So carefulness is prized by many. But there are cultural subsets and it changes by country. Just a lot less racism and a lot more cultural diversity.

#bnha #my hero academia #mha #mha dnd #myanalysis #mha headcanons

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paradoxlemonade · 3 years

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Will You Be My Entire World?

Fandom: Dream SMP

Ships: Dreamnotfound

words: 895

Warnings: minor self-worth issues

Ao3: Here!

Summary: Dream is tired of being strung along, halfway between romance and friendship. George has refused to speak his truth about his feelings, but a confrontation lets him find his words.

Tears languished in the corners of Dream’s eyes, the only soft thing about him. His anguish and angles drew up stone stiff, but tremors ran through his arms. His hands, desperate for a comforting touch, held themselves and the other flush against Dream’s heaving chest. Shallow breaths rattled in the hollow cavity where his lungs belonged.

"Am I but nothing to you? Were the truths you whispered naught?

I cannot dance without touching forever, for Desire roams frozen at my fingertips

You draw me in and I draw closer

But you reel at the last moment and I stumble

Is my heart but a marionette, and you my master?

I follow your beckoning whims with the swell of the music

But you vanish with the last note and the dance falls silent."

Autumn wind whistled back Dream’s words with a new bite, each second colder than the last. Light from the sunset’s weak tea beams glared off his tousled golden curls; even in agony, Dream was an angel blessed to walk the Earth.

George yearned for him, embers smoldering in his bones. If only heat would bloom as their hands traced the other’s skin: Every imperfection, a memory; every flaw, bathed in beauty.

George could not stand on equal ground with the man before him. Their iron-forged relationship waltzed atop a tightrope. If George slipped and hurt his beloved, he could never be forgiven.

Dream did not seem to agree.

"Tell me nothing false; bare your heart to me

Whisper honey into my veins so we may be one

What force compels you to stay your hand?

Not a single mortal or god above could absolve me of my passion

You must relate!

Every stolen glance when you hoped I wouldn’t see

Every murmur as the day falls asleep and us together with it

Every intertwined grasp when we stole away from the village

Just us.

Why do you retreat?"

George trembled under Dream’s gaze as if flayed open with a knife, and all his blood and wit were on display for the world.

But it wasn’t.

Just them.

George trembled and began to speak:

"What right does the worm have with the butterfly?

What stories speak of the stray and the village jewel?

What hubris must a mortal have to desire that dance with divinity?

There is no valor behind my retreat; no legend to guide my way.

I am but a passerby in your tale and you in mine

I cannot love you in the way you deserve, so I am content to live adjacent.

Your hand is not mine to take.

I long for it despite myself,

But I do not act.

For I am a coward."

George’s breath hitched as the words left his lips. It was not an admission, not yet; those words were climbing up his throat and threatening to spill over his senses and into the air. Standing in front of Dream’s cottage as evening fell, the other trying to coax George into precious seconds more together, was not the portrait he imagined could be painted of the moment—No, the locale changed every time, but none of them found on the mortal plane. Such follies of the heart; they had to be mere fantasy. Despite everything, he stood in front of a place of comfort, one he frequented often. The familiarity hugged George close and he willed himself to continue.

"I’ve never told anyone where to find the key that opens the gate to my soul

But you found it anyways

Waltzing into my affections without my consent.

I never meant to grow close, you were to stay at arm’s length

But,

If I may admit to it

I slipped my love into a worn wicker basket

Tucked amongst the apples we picked from the orchard together

My memories of those days glow with dappled sunlight

From the shadows cast by the trees.

I did not realize it in that brief moment,

But I traded a part of myself to you

As you have done to me.

You invited me onto your land and into your life

So I believe

That perhaps

I should finally invite you to my heart."

George took a small step forward, followed by another, and another, until he was not but an arm’s length in front of Dream. The trees held their breath, as did George.

Dream reached forward, but stopped—hands ghosting over bare arms. Skin tingled where it yearned to meet, but Dream did not sign in ink, not yet. He was asking for permission.

George coiled his nerves and all but threw himself into Dream. Every inch of him burned alight as he pulled Dream down into a hungry kiss, running his fingers through blonde hair.

Dream melted against him, hands falling against George’s hips as the heat magnified. The rhythm of the kiss left George panting as he pulled back to see Dream’s flushed face smiling at him.

The overwhelming rapture with the other stuck George’s throat and held his words in, but he didn’t need them. Instead, he leaned into a hug, more relaxed this time. His head pressed into Dream’s chest. The racing thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump betrayed Dream’s fluster. George smiled into the fabric and reveled in the moment, one that never needed to end.

He had Dream, and Dream had him. Maybe that was enough.

#dreamnotfound #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #mcyt #mcyt fanfiction #fanfiction #dreamnotfound fanfiction #idea writes #idea original posts #dream smp

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daebakinc · 5 years

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A Pirate’s Token

Pairing: Pirate Prince! Wooyoung x Royal! Reader, ft Yeonjun Genre: Royalty AU, Pirate AU, Romance, Action Warning: Mention of violence and death Summary: A visiting delegation from the notorious Pirate King brings an unexpected ghost from your past right before your throne. But are those memories and emotions still intact or swept away by the sea of Time? A/N: If you are curious, this is the sea shanty mentioned in the story.

Fainting is not the best way to greet anyone, let alone visiting royalty. But the instant you saw his face, heard his voice, you seriously considered it. You’re still considering it.

Your father’s long winded welcome is wordless in your ears, the sounds like the muted cries of gulls. Meaningless. The whole world is dark and soundless but for the eight men standing in a neat line beneath the thrones’ dais. Their clothes are such a dark navy that the color had to be dyed with the midnight sky. Sashes the same color cross their chests, glittering with silver thread and diamond-ringed onyx brooches. You recognize medals for valor and victory pinned there as well. The array of countries they represent are beyond impressive. Especially considering the young age of the men who bear them.

The ladies of the court must be tittering away behind their fans, even as their mothers watched with disapproval. Though the men lack any physical features that might suggest shared blood, they are all handsome. Eye-catchingly so. The reputation that proceeds them doubtlessly adds to the romantic appeal. Because these men listening so intently to your father are no ordinary men.

They are princes. But again, they are not the usual princes.

These men are all adopted sons and heirs of the infamous Pirate King.

The Pirate King himself is the blood son of the first Pirate King. A buccaneer who became wealthy enough and feared enough to claim an island far off the mainland and settle it to begin his own dynasty. Although the pirates of that island became domesticated in a way, no one dares challenge their power on the seas. Even now, they are known to be fighters of uncanny speed and ferocity, and unparalleled sailors. Some even say salt water runs through their blood, lending inhuman powers. Magic of no, pirate blood, even two generations removed, is strong as the hurricane at sea.

The men before you are dangerous. Although they are not mountains of men, the muscles cloaked by their clothes are not those of idle princes. They are sinewy and sturdy, forged by the hard work a ship demands. The swords at their sides shine with care but even with the distance, you can see the blades are sharp rather than dulled for ceremony. So too are the princes’ eyes. Their gazes discretely dart from your father to around the room, assessing stone and human alike. You watch them too, carefully, from beneath your eyelashes.

When you risk a more bold look, your eyes lock with his. Your breath stops. Those eyes, a deep rosewood brown, flash briefly from aloofness to playfulness. His lips twitch in a second’s smile. He winks.

You lower your gaze, feeling your heart go from a standstill to racing. It has to be him. It can’t not be.

But did he recognize you as well? Could he? Is that what that smile had meant?

Your mother’s sharp elbow to your rib forces your thoughts back to the present. Both her and your father are looking at you expectantly. Remembering yourself and your duties, you step down from the dais. You approach the first prince who stands in front of the others and offer up the gold chalice. The ruby liquid within does not betray your trembling nerves.

“Welcome to our home,” you murmur, your words traveling in the quiet room. “May you find rest and cheer here, and calm seas when you leave.”

The prince accepts it graciously. Light from the stained glass twinkling among the many piercings in his ears. After a taking a small sip of the wine, he returns the chalice to you and bows. “On behalf of my brothers and our crews, we thank you for your hospitality, Your Highness. I trust we will find it hard to part when our visit is over, especially if the ladies of this land are half as beautiful as you.”

You smile briefly at the compliment, curtsying as is proper. Although you have heard its variant many times before, there is an easy sincerity in his eyes that makes it less hollow. Hongjoong, you recall his name belatedly. Not the oldest, but the leader and most likely to inherit the throne.

As you offer the same greeting to the other princes and receive theirs in return, you drill yourself on their names. Seonghwa. Yunho. Yeosang. San. Mingi. Each as courteous and striking as the next.

Then you reach him. This close, you can smell the salt of ocean spray and an even fainter hint of citrus. Luxurious oranges maybe. Looking into his eyes, all the lingering doubt vanishes like nightmares in the sunlight.

It is him.

Wooyoung.

Only years of training allow the salutation to pass through your lips and your legs to keep you standing. His hands gently cup yours to take the chalice. Calluses line the top of his palms and down to his thumbs like twisted rigging, the thick skin scratching the back of your hands.

Wooyoung smiles again and gives you a questioning look.

Belatedly, you drop your hands. You pray you didn’t just embarrass yourself. A smaller voice adds the prayer freshly arisen in your heart: let him remember me.

You watch his face expectantly. Waiting for the same flicker of recognition.

He swallows and passes the chalice back, but catches your hand as he does. You go absolutely still as he bows over it and plants a gossamer kiss on your knuckles. When Wooyoung lifts his eyes to yours, you forget how to breathe. Forget you need to.

“I’ve seen many things on my travels,” he says, “but not one can compare to your radiance. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Princess.”

A pleasure to meet you.

Those words draw a struggling breath from your lungs. The air forced in to fill the caving gap left by your unmet expectations. Wild as they were, you had hoped… But the single second more you steal to look at him finds nothing but polite interest in his gaze.

He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know, that without words, that he broke your heart.

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-One month ago-

When the unassuming white envelope, closed with a black seal depicted a ship at full mast, had arrived the month before, you’d been curious, but not overly so. As a small kingdom on the coast, your family is always making new connections to protect your holdings. Your father takes any opportunity to make allies. A desk full of correspondence is the everyday. It’s a wonder his fingers are not painted permanently black with ink. Letters are such an ordinary thing you did not think of that letter and its mark again.

Not until you heard your mother shout.

Guards crowded your father’s study door when you arrived. Your heart dropped and you feared the worst. Running faster, you tried to push your way through the armored bodies.

Relief washed over you in a wave when you heard your father’s calm voice saying, “At ease. We are unharmed. It is a minor disagreement. You all may go.”

You slipped through the departing men. “What’s wrong?”

“Close the door, dear,” your mother said, her teeth gritted and eyes solely trained on her husband.

You did as she asked, then repeated your question. Your mother was a woman who relied on the strength and wisdom of her words, not their volume. Something had to be seriously wrong.

Your father sighed and sank in the chair by the fire. Raising the letter in his hand, he replied, “We received a request for a visitation. Your mother does not agree that we should accept.”

“They are not royals,” your mother spat. “They are not even nobles. Their predecessor was an uncouth, barbarous commoner climbing high beyond his station, emboldened by his wealth. Their line’s legacy is blood and ruin.”

Her vehemence stunned you even further. Your mother was the ideal hostess, a fact she often reminded you of so you could model after her. To refuse a guest was a sin among your people, absolutely unheard of. To refuse fellow royalty was suicide.

“Their line possesses one of the largest navies in the world,” your father replied. His tone would be pleading if it came from a lesser man’s mouth. “If we can make allies of them, our coast will be secured. No one would dare attack us or our ships. Our people would be safe at last. They would become rich from the trade that came into our ports.”

He rose and tried to take your mother’s hands, but she stepped out of reach. Instead, she took your shoulders. “Do you forget how we almost lost our daughter?”

“Of course n—”

Her fingers tightened, pressing the fabric of your dress into your skin. “Once a pirate, always a pirate. I will not have that kind of sea rat in my home.”

Your father closed his eyes with another sigh. When he opened them, you recognized the steel there. “We must and we will. We cannot afford to reject them. I will increase the guard if that will make you happier, but they will be coming and we will be their hosts.”

Your mother met his stare full on, her chin jutting out in challenge. Her fingers pinched your shoulders, but you said nothing. You understood her fear of pirates. At last, seeing his unwillingness to change his mind, she released you and stalked from the room. She slammed the heavy door so the boom echoed throughout the chamber.

After the sound faded, you dared to ask, “What did Mother mean by pirates?”

“The self-proclaimed Pirate King has requested we host his sons as a diplomatic meeting,” he replied. He handed you the letter to read for yourself. “He wishes to negotiate an alliance. Protection for us, trade ports for him.”

“That sounds like a threat,” you said lightly. As you learned from sitting in the shadows of your parents’ meeting foreign delegations, the line between protection and control is often a thin line.

Your father shook his head. “This king is different from his father. He would rather establish ties than war. War is costly and he is more concerned with building his coffers than the extent of his lands. Too far inland and his soldiers lose their advantage.”

You nodded in understanding. Glancing at the letter again, you read it again. The signature and its title of “Pirate King” stood out from all the rest. The distant memories of cold and screams ghost through you, settling a sheer film of unease on your shoulders.

You handed your father the letter, but he took your hand instead.

“I’m sorry if this will cause you discomfort, but I promise, nothing will happen to you. If it will make you feel safer, I can assign more guards to you,” he said.

A princess learns to hide her emotions, but your father had sensed your reluctance. You reward his attention and offer with a small smile. “No, Father. Yeonjun is more than enough. I’m not afraid.”

Not anymore. These pirates princes, if they were indeed like their forefathers, would not reawaken that potent poison. You wouldn’t let them.

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-Present day-

A few days after the princes’ arrival, you sneak out of your room before your maid wakes. You climb the watchtower that oversees the cliffs. The salt in the air fills your mouth and nose as soon as you step from the staircase into the open. Closing your eyes as you exhale, you let your ears rejoice in the muted roars of the waves pounding against the unyielding stone beneath you.

Rhythmic and constant, they are your lullaby and heartbeat. Just as they have been since your birth. Distantly, gulls cry for food and if you strain, you can just make out the shouts of sailors readying to cast off from the docks in the town below the castle.

Soon they’ll be riding the waves out of the harbor towards the open sea. The sails of their ships will unfurl like a flock of albatrosses, ready to harness the wind and fly beyond sight.

What you would give to trade places.

Then you would be too busy with navigating and hauling rigging to dwell on Wooyoung.

You open your eyes reluctantly. For now, this tower is the closest you can get. A princess’ duties do not include oiling the deck or manning the tiller. A princess’ duties do not allow her to let her face be roughened by spraying saltwater or glide freely among the waves. A princess’ duty… The words were dull from recital and tediousness.

As it always does, even when you cannot be on it, the sea soothes the hurt bleeding from your heart. Despite the distance, as it had since your birth, the sea sings to you, that invisible siren’s honeyed temptation. The waters shines a soft grey with the promise of dawn. In the sky, red highlights the horizon, fading to pink to yellow to all the shades of nightly blue. Between is that magic thread of the palest green that only exists in the enchanted threshold where night and day co-exist.

“Come watch the sunrise with me,” you say, keeping your eyes on the horizon. “You don’t always have to stand in the shadows, you know.”

Soft footsteps sound behind you. Yeonjun comes to stand beside you, but at the respectable distance expected of a bodyguard and a princess. “You shouldn’t have come out here so early without an escort.”

“There’s only one entrance to this place and no boat could wait beneath it without being smashed against the cliffs,” you retort without true force. It’s not as if Yeonjun is unaware of your location at all times anyway. You move closer to him, shoulders almost touching.

He stiffens for a breath but gradually relaxes as you wrap his cloak around you. You hide your smile. Yeonjun wouldn’t like it if you reminded him how he used to do the same when he was a little boy. It still baffles you sometimes how the small child whose bloodied knees and knuckles you bandaged had become your protector in turn. But, despite your age difference, Yeonjun had been named as a replacement by his predecessor. So far, he hasn’t come close to disappointing.

“Their Majesties still wouldn’t like it if they knew,” Yeonjun replies. “Especially now.”

“Because of the princes.”

He nods, then asks, “Are you nervous, your Highness? Because of before.”

“No.” You trace the embroidered trim of his cloak. “It wasn’t them. Actually…”

Yeonjun turns his head to look at you when you don’t continue, but you keep your eyes on the white light breaking through the colors of dawn.

Due to your mother’s efforts, you haven’t had a chance to talk to any of the other princes. Your days have been full of duties at opposite ends of the castle, far from the pirate princes. Even your free time has been more closely monitored than usual. Even at meals, your seat is far from theirs, your conversation limited to public niceties.

This gives you no chance to sneak off to find Wooyoung alone. No chance to see if any memory of you remains. You reach into the pocket hidden in the folds of your dress, feeling for the keepsake you stashed there the night after the princes’ arrival. Soon, you will have to just slip away to find Wooyoung yourself.

“Your Highness?” Yeonjun asks.

Before you can answer, a voice carries up the tower stairs. Yeonjun has you behind him and his sword drawn instantly. No one uses this old tower with newer, stronger, and taller towers existing nearby. As the person comes closer, the words and voice become clearer. The man’s song, clear as the sky after a storm, rises and falls in a shanty that whispers of your childhood on the docks.

“And I hurried down to the deep rolling sea. But my eyes could not see it, wherever be it, The bark that is bearing my lover to me.”

“Declare yourself!” Yeonjun barks.

The footsteps stop. Then Wooyoung cautiously steps from the stairway. His hands are raised. He’s traded his dark clothes for ones of a golden tan embellished with bronze. His matching pants and tall riding boots hug his well-formed legs. With the added blessing of morning’s first light, his clothes make his golden looks glow even more than before.

When he sees the two of you, an apologetic smile replaces the cautious grimace on his mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on anything— oh, Princess? Is that you?”

“Prince Wooyoung.”

His eyes flit between you and Yeonjun. “Am I interrupting…?”

“No!” Realizing your words came out with too much force, you make your movements unhurried as you step from behind Yeonjun. “You interrupted nothing. I only wanted some fresh air. Yeonjun is just my bodyguard.”

Wooyoung studies the two of you a bit longer. You meet his eyes squarely. There is nothing to hide here.

“I can go to another tower,” he says. “It’s just that this one is—”

“Closer to the sea,” you finish, biting your tongue when he rewards you with a smile. A smile that could charm fish into the nets.

“Exactly. It’s almost like being back in the crow’s nest up here.” He moves to the edge of the tower and lifts his face to the wind.

His movements are graceful, as careless as if Yeonjun’s sword isn’t still drawn. You glare at Yeonjun while Wooyoung has his eyes closed and wave your hand in a sharp command. Yeonjun merely lowers his sword, returning your frown with one of his own.

“I haven’t been on dry land for more than a day in months,” Wooyoung comments to the air. “You get so used to being on a ship, being on land feels—”

“Unnatural.”

Wooyoung turns to look at you. The teasing breeze brushes his hair from his forehead as you wish you could. He casually leans an elbow on the battlement. “You, Your Highness, are an interesting woman. Not many women love the ocean as you appear to. Even fewer know what it’s like to be on a ship for longer than a few hours.”

“The sea is our life,” you reply, joining him against the stone. You pretend you don’t see Yeonjun’s arm twitch as if to draw you back. “I practically grew up in the harbor. My father encouraged it so I could understand the lifeblood of our kingdom and the trials our people undergo. I even use to sail along the coast to different ports with my parents on official visits at times. The sailors let me help as long as we weren’t in view of the ports.”

“Use to?”

You smile ruefully. “Use to. I haven’t been allowed to do more than step on a deck for the ships christening in years.”

“Why not? It sounds like you enjoyed it. Isn’t the point of being royal being able to do what you want?”

Unable to help it, you burst out laughing. “You and I have had very different lessons in what it means to be royal, Prince. In my world, the title inhibits more than it frees.”

Wooyoung scoffs. “So your being a princess is reason enough to not let you sail anymore? Seems stupid to me.”

His comment sobers you. You return your gaze to the sea. The shiver that sprints down your spine is more nerves than fear. “It’s more than that.”

He looks at you expectantly, settling more fully in his position.

“For my sixteenth birthday, my parents gave me a beautiful caravel. Three-masts, fine lateen sails, figurehead I painted myself. I named her the Janet Rose, after a ballad a traveling bard sang one summer. Soon after, my parents let me sail her alone with a small crew to visit a childhood friend who lived further down the coast. It was a short journey, no more than two days with good winds. I never got there.

“A pirate schooner was waiting in a cove between the ports. We could have outrun it, but they fired without warning and blew a hole in our side. We had no choice but to let them board. I hoped what jewels I had was enough to ransom us all. But I was naïve. The pirates wanted more. The threat of our navy meant nothing to them. They…”

Those memories that had grown cobwebs in your mind stir awake like a leviathan in the depths. Although they are fainter with age, lacking some of their power over you as they did when you were younger, their darkness is undiminished. You wipe at your eyes, hoping to stave off the burning you feel there.

Yeonjun steps forward to touch your elbow. “Princess, you don’t have to tell him,” he says so softly his words are almost lost in the wind. He gently applies pressure to his grip, signaling he’s ready to whisk you away if needed.

“Yes, I do,” you reply with finality.

Wooyoung, who has only been watching with eyes that first betrayed his curiosity then his concern, straightens and says, “We can resume this conversation another time, Your Highness, if you wish.”

You try to keep the sharpness from your voice when you answer, “I do not wish. I’m not some delicate hothouse flower.” You need to tell him.

The men trade looks, but Yeonjun drops his hand and Wooyoung resumes his position against the tower wall.

“The pirates slaughtered my crew in front of me, including my bodyguard, Taecyeon.” Even saying his name aloud causes your heart to spasm. You focus on the sea, watching one of the fishing groups grow smaller and smaller as it slid into the open ocean. “He was the closest thing I had to an older brother. They only left one of the crew alive, barely, to return home and deliver the ransom demands. I was bound and thrown into the hold.

“A storm hit the ship just after dusk. All I could see was lightning and the waves crashing down. I was drenched and convinced I was going to die in that miserable hole. Then, the hatch opened. I thought it was one of the pirates come to do the unspeakable to me, but it was the cabin boy.”

Wooyoung shifts his shoulders, his gaze sharper, but he doesn’t interrupt.

You slip your hand into your pocket, fingers gliding around the metal. The familiar gesture does nothing to calm your heart that’s suddenly galloping in your chest. Licking your lips, you continue, “He hauled me from the hold and pulled me to the side of the rolling deck. I don’t know how no one stopped us, maybe they were too busy fighting the storm in the dark to notice. The cabin boy unfastened a dinghy and put me into it. As he pushed it towards the edge of the boat, I begged him not to, sure I would drown. He told me he had no choice; he’d heard some of the crew arguing with the captain that the only way to end the storm was to kill me. It’s bad luck to have a woman on board, they said.”

Wooyoung jolts forward. His movement startles Yeonjun, who swings his sword upward so its tip points at Wooyoung’s heart. Heedless, Wooyoung stutters, “P-princess—”

“As you can see, I’m very much alive.” You face Wooyoung, as much in the thrall of his gaze as he is yours. Your chest feels tighter than the stiffest corset. “But sometimes I don’t wonder if it was because of what that cabin boy gave me just before he pushed the dinghy into the sea. I assume you know the sailor’s superstition; an earring can prevent drowning.”

Heart in your throat, you pull your hand from the folds of your dress. One by one, you unfurl your fingers to offer Wooyoung your palm. A single hoop earring of silver sits there, the ring broken only by a pearl no bigger than a seed.

Wooyoung gasps. He scrambles at the throat of his jacket, ripping it open to expose the white shirt beneath. A black cord rests around his neck. It snaps as Wooyoung pulls at it. From the cord hangs a pendant. The morning light makes the gold setting glitter and plays among the river of colors in the mother-of-pearl, making the small dolphin appear as if it had jumped from the waves below.

Stretching out your fingers, you trace the pendant’s outline. After so many years, the beloved treasure of your childhood is just as you remember it.

Wooyoung clears his throat. His voice carries the slightest tremble as he asks, “It really is you?”

He remembers.

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