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midnightmoonkiss · 3 years

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now you got me THINKING:

reader picking the lock to her holding cell for the hell of it, wandering the deck at night and catching deku muttering to himself, compass in one hand, tugging at his lips with the other, to which she helps him using scraps of knowledge she picked up from her snob of a father, learning her father was the the reason for a few of his scars in past battles, tracing them gently and explaining how she hates her life and blah blah bLha my brain rot is REALL

YESS OMFG???? HOLD ON I GOTTA.. GOTTA WRITE THIS..

Kidnapped By A Pirate (Cont.)

Pirate Deku X Fem! Reader

This basically is a continuation of this short fic, only going further into the early-on relationship between Captain Midoriya and you, (Y/N).

Category: fluff I guess?

Word Count: 2.3k

Just To Clarify:

This is a continuation

“You know,” His mellifluous voice startled you, “It’s awfully rude to stare.”

The sentence sliced through the silence of the night like the sharp sword resting upon his jutting hip.

The sea was calm and the moon was full, not a cloud in the sky. Stars shimmered brightly above, milky way weaving through each dot of light.

And here you stood, on a pirate ship.

Gathering your bearings, you inhale sharply through your nose, the salty scent of the sea nearly making you gag,

“It’s awfully rude to kidnap someone and throw them into a dirty old cell with no food or water as well.”

His hearty chuckle made you gulp, the tickling of butterflies has no place in your stomach. Not now. Preferably not ever with him, but most pirates did have this.. salacious charm to them.

“Very true…” He sighed, “Forgive me.”

The fact that you were having this conversation with his back infuriated you.

He didn’t care enough about your escape from your cell in the dead of night, when all his crewmen were asleep, to even pay you full attention.

It was as if he viewed you as the least frightening and threatless thing on this vessel, a harmless, stowaway mouse.

Swallowing the lump of logical fear lodged in your parched throat, you strung together all the courage you had on you with a flimsy string and strode over to him, hands fisting the fabric of your dress.

The pirate was leaning against the railing of his ship, staring down at a dirty compass resting in the palm of his large hand, lip pulled between his thumb and index finger and he studied the spinning of the needle trapped behind cracked glass.

His features from behind became clearer with every cautious step you took, messy green curls pulled into a ponytail, few strings of loose hair framing his chiseled face. He was practically glowing in the light of the moon that shone in front of him. Beautifully dangerous, like a barracuda.

“It’s broken.” You pointed out to him, the captain who wasn’t wearing a hat, an air of finality in your tone.

If he was plotting a course by a broken compass..

You were royally fucked.

You’d be lost at sea.

Would you ever see land again?

The nauseating rocking of the ship had you almost on your knees, praying. As the days went by, your sea legs grew, but you still weren’t used to it. You didn’t want to be used to it.

“It's only broken to those who don’t understand it,” He teased, sparing you a glance before returning his gaze down to the old piece of junk.

He didn’t seem to want to bother with taking you back down to your own personal hell, yet.

That was good enough for you.

You came up here for air, after all.

It was suffocating below deck.. The stench of mildew having made you sick.

Who knew you took fresh air for granted? Even if it was salty.

At least you could see the open sea and how the moon reflected on the murky water. It was enchanting, something out of a romance novel, but you wished you saw it under better circumstances.

Something about being on a piece of wood out where land was nowhere in sight and the bottom of the ocean was so far out of reach you couldn't even imagine it unnerved you.

You never understood seamen, or pirates, even.

They did this stuff for fun.

At least seamen did it as a way to make income.

The click of his tongue brought your attention back to the freckled man, murmurs under his breath only just now reaching your ears.

Directions and landmarks, sea terminology, things you didn't understand slipped past his chapped lips.. Until something you did know was uttered.

“You’re sailing for the port of Baringham? The low-profile port? That only deals with textiles?”

“Many questions for an answer you already know,” he quipped, “I’m taking you there.”

“How are you going to take me to a place where you cannot even plot a course to?”

Huffing, he finally turned his head to you, amusement written on his face along with a charming smile that would’ve made anyone swoon,

“Alright, you’ve got me.”

Pushing himself up with his cloth covered forearms, he moved to lean with his back against the rail, crossing his arms as he gave you a sliver of respect with direct eye contact.

You briefly considered pushing him over.

“I’m a bit lost.”

“Ah, so you admit it.”

Humming, you mimicked his action, crossing your arms under your chest.

“Fortunately for you, I happen to know where it is.”

“That so?” He mused, leaning toward you ever so slightly, panicked interest cracking through his calm, forest green eyes that you couldn't help but notice twinkle, “Care to tell me?”

“Mmm. I would… but what’s in it for me?”

“What is it that you want? Isn't your guaranteed freedom at said port enough?”

“No.”

“..” The captain was shocked into silence, clear amusement still written all over his face.

Combing his dirty fingers through his messy green locks, he gave you an inquisitive stare,

“Then what else?”

You thought for a moment. What else did you want?

You wanted many things, things of which he could not grant. No one could.

You’d have to settle for something else.

Something you would prefer.. suddenly, the sickness you felt when you were in that gross cell came to mind.

“Don’t put me back in that damned cell!” The shout bubbled up from nowhere, shocking even you, “And.. and water. I want water.” You mumbled out.

Silence settled into the night once more after your loud declaration.

Your face burned with pure embarrassment as he became the one to stare at you..

Until he started laughing.

The kind of boisterous and infectious laughter that forced you to look away from his regrettably handsome self.

“You have yourself a deal, princess!”

The title further made your cheeks burn, drawing your attention back to him just to meet his enchanting gaze.

It draws you in like a sailor to a mermaid.

“Now, mind telling me?”

Licking your lips, you pointed to the heavens, his eyes following, “Travel so the brightest star in the sky is behind you, and follow the little dipper. The port is due north from there.”

It was a route you didn’t mean to memorize years ago.

The loud snap of the compass being closed made you jump, composure temporarily lost yet again.

“Ahh..” His gaze flickered over the sky, no doubt seeing a plethora of routes with each familiar constellation as he mapped the one you spoke of.

“I see it now, silly me.”

Looking down at the deck, he rubbed the back of his sweaty neck, messing with the curly hair that fell loose. Would you be so bold as to think that he may be embarrassed?

He clapped a hand on your shoulder after pushing himself fully off the rail, the whisper of thanks fanning hotly across your ear as he climbed the creaking stairs to the helm, brown boots clicking on each step as he did so.

Spinning the wheel round, the ship croaked as it turned so that the north star fell behind.

“How did you know this course?”

His curiosity was natural. After all, how did you, daughter of a well-off navy general who had never stepped aboard a boat before, know the way to a port not many knew of?

The answer was simple, though it was an answer you didn't exactly wish to know. Cursed with knowledge as you would say, blessed would say the others.

“My father.” Bitterness stung your words, and Izuku whistled.

“Slimy piece of shit he is.” It was grumbled under your breath, and yet he still somehow heard you, offering a grunt of agreement, eyes focused ahead.

“I hate the bastard myself,” he seethed through his teeth, “I’d offer up all the rum and shillings I have to see his blood spill and stain my deck by my own hands.”

The fury that clung to each word he spoke sent shivers down your spine, his aura threatening as he fell to his thoughts.

“I have an obvious reason to hate him,”

“You do?”

Your childlike curiosity warmed his heart, bringing his attention back to you,

“You don’t get scars from nowhere, love.”

Your nose crinkled at the term of endearment, climbing the stairs yourself as you rolled your eyes.

“Your scars are hidden,”

“His scars mark my back.”

Blood drained from your face, bile creeping up your throat at the meaning.

You felt sick and disgusted with the blood that ran through your veins.

You hated being the daughter of a monster.

“Oh..” The whisper caught on the wind pulling at the sails.

Silence fell once more, the unbearable kind that made even his skin crawl with uncomfortableness.

Had the crew been awake, he probably would have laughed, grabbed a bottle of rum, and stumbled into his captains quarters to drink the memories away.. But his crew was asleep.

Oh, how he missed his first mate. He was the whole reason you were on his ship in the first place.

“Just your back?”

“Do you wish he gave me more?” Izuku chuckled, teasing you once again.

“No.” You huffed, furious he would even suggest such a thing.

“I have a few.. Mainly on my hand but I-”

His words died on his tongue, heart beating in his ears when he felt your much smaller and daintier hands grip his own, the only one covered in white scars.

He gulped as you traced the smooth cicatrix on his rough skin, a small blush on his cheeks, your touch soothing the pain behind each one.

Tears not his own fell onto his skin, rolling off and spattering onto the deck below, but he remained silent, allowing you to trace the scars over his forearm, not specifying which were and which were not created by your father.

He liked your touch.

“I hate him too.” Your words were raw with hatred, touch fading as you pulled away and yet he still felt the tingle of it under his skin.

He wanted more. He hadnt felt such gentleness in so long..

That doesn’t matter, though.

“Why?” He found himself asking.

Lips pressing into a frown, he watched the sea as you mindlessly walked around behind him, stories spilling past your fervent lips, stories that made silent anger bubble in his gut, stories that you had never told anyone before - that you were forced to keep inside yourself for so long that they spilled out without care.

His desire to burn that man's ship down, to watch as the bright flames engulf him and it, destined to forever be lost at the bottom of the sea, grew tenfold.

Deku, the infamous pirate, prided himself on not giving a shit half the time, but he couldn’t ignore the empathy he felt in the moment.

You both had a common enemy.

Two strangers.. Where’s the irony in that?

“I don't like you,” You started after finishing up your uncontrollable word vomit, stopping in your tracks, “But the fact that I find this kidnapping to be the most enjoyable days of my life because I’m away from him and all the power he possesses is concerning.”

Why you told this to an untrustworthy, murdering thief.. You had no idea.

Perhaps it was because you had a feeling he would understand after hearing you out.

Or maybe it was the fact that he was currently the only person you could say it to.

After kidnapping you, all he had said to you was ‘welcome aboard!’ before locking the cell you just escaped from days later.

You should hate him, you should wish him to hang like every other disgusting pirate out there, especially for snatching you from your home in the dead of night, transferring you from one cell to the next, but you don't.

You wouldn’t show that, though.

Many words weighed heavy in Izukus mind, words he was unsure if he could say, or if it’d be the right thing to say.

He wasn’t heartless like some assumed, he wasn’t this traitorous asshole stories floating around about him told, he was just a pirate with a kind heart and skilled hands.

He almost felt bad that he planned to give you back to your father.

He felt bad that for that first day you were aboard his ship, he had wicked ideas of marking and ruining you in so many ways your father would only ever look at you and see him.

It was a cruel way to get revenge, revenge through someone else.

Actually, maybe he was an asshole.

Right then and there, he decided that that would no longer be his course of action, not if he could help it.

Hell, he wanted to keep you as far away from your father as he could. Would he abandon his first mate? No. He’d devise some other plan. Maybe get you somewhere safe, ask for your dress, and then cover a scarecrow in said dress and use that as a tool to get him back.

It could work!

Or maybe not.

Nonetheless, plan A through D were just thrown overboard,

“Well,” He smacked the wooden wheel to get your attention,

“You’re a pretty little thing, so I like you.”

You scoffed, he continued,

“Consider yourself prisoner to your fathers enemy for a long time to come, because darlin’,”

He drawled, sauntering over to you as you instinctively backed up, only to be trapped against the railing.

His muscular arms caged you in, taller frame towering over you as electrifying green eyes intoxicated your soul and sent heat flashes up your body,

“I’m not gonna let you go so easily.”

#pirate deku x reader #pirate deku #deku x reader #izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #deku x your #bnha #mha #mha x you #mha x reader #bnha x you #deku bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #pirate au

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pastheld-blog · 5 years

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tag drop vibe check !!

#█║ ❄ ⦅ countenance. ⦆ ———— within her heart lies secrets untold .#█║ ❄ ⦅ character study. ⦆ ———— dive down deep into her sound .#█║ ❄ ⦅ musings. ⦆ ———— what the river knows .#█║ ❄ ⦅ aesthetic. ⦆ ———— where the north wind meets the sea .#█║ ❄ ⦅ iduna. ⦆ ———— a mother full of memory .#█║ ❄ ⦅ elsa. ⦆ ———— my vessel & channel .#█║ ❄ ⦅ anna. ⦆ ———— the girl hurt by winter’s touch .#█║ ❄ ⦅ agnarr. ⦆ ———— unstained by the sins of his father .#█║ ❄ ⦅ character study. ⦆ ———— she will sing to those who’ll hear .#█║ ❄ ⦅ meta. ⦆ ———— in her song all magic flows .#█║ ❄ ⦅ prompts. ⦆ ———— can you brave what you most fear ??#█║ ❄ ⦅ answered. ⦆ ———— the answer you’ve been seeking .#█║ ❄ ⦅ ooc. ⦆ ———— rounding the corner with a bunch of lesbians .#█║ ❄ ⦅ promo. ⦆ ———— let’s go lesbians .#█║ ❄ ⦅ self promo. ⦆ ———— who put you on the planet ??

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allherdaydreams · 3 years

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Valley of Kings — Chapter One

Vali | The Middleman

Universe: Vikings Pairing(s): None yet (there will be several later on, mainly Ivar x fem!OC and much later on, Harald x fem!OC) Word Count: 3,160 Warnings: Bad writing ig? Author’s Note: I don't really love this lol, but I decided I'm just going to publish the chapters on here when I'm done and have slightly edited them and hope for some feedback, etc. Sorry if it's not great! Anyway, lemme know if you wanna be on a taglist and I’ll add you! Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated ❤️

read the prologue here

I remember the smell of the air — as spring was leaving, with summer slowly taking its place, the wind was gentle and sweet with the scent of wildflowers. The hunting cabin which belonged to the royal family of Kattegat rested in the foothills just east of the town; to the south surrounded by trees, and to the north, mountains. The smell of pine and woodbine lingered in the air, too, though all of the sweet scents of the wilderness were drowned out with that of the meat we roasted over the fire each night we stayed there.

I remember the way the grass tickled the back of my neck as my friends and I watched the clouds. I had never understood why Sigyn insisted on being barefoot every moment that we were out there, but in midday, the dew had only just faded and the greenery was soft underfoot. The clear blue sky gave us a false sense of security.

It was the last truly peaceful day I would have in a long, long time. I must have been fifteen or sixteen, but I had always looked and acted older. My friends were all older, too — I was the same age as the youngest son of Ragnar, Ivar, but I only spent time with him when his brothers were around. I had been inseparable from Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd since I was small. We all figured we would stay that way forever.

We had been at the cabin for many days, and planned to head back into town at the end of the upcoming week. That day, Hvitserk and I had both killed a deer, Sigurd had caught many rabbits in his traps, and Ubbe had tracked a boar, though he was still waiting for the right time to shoot it without the probability of getting attacked. (He was much wiser than Hvitserk and I; had it been either of ours to kill, we would have gone after it with no hesitation or regard for our safety at all.)

My sister had come with us — Ivar went, too, and wherever Ivar was, Sigyn was never far behind — but had never enjoyed hunting. Instead, she chose to spend the trip in and around the cabin, cooking and cleaning. When the chores were all done, she spent the rest of her time alone out in the yard, lost in her own head. She was, it seemed, daydreaming at nearly every waking moment of her life.

When we reached the cabin that day, we found her in her usual spot on the grass, staring off at the clouds even as we reached her. Ivar crawled toward her, but instead of trying to grab her attention, he only laid down next to her.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked, staring up at the sky. As the other princes and I walked into the cabin, I heard Sigyn begin to tell a most detailed story, as she always did when Ivar asked that question.

"I am dreaming of a far away kingdom on the edge of the world..."

When we had resurfaced from the entrance of the cabin, Ivar and Sigyn were still laying in the same spot. Hvitserk had flashed me a grin as he nudged my arm before strutting over and laying down on the vacant side of Sigyn. Knowing he wished for me to follow, I laid down next to him.

"You know, Sigyn," Hvitserk said. "If you come with us to the Mediterranean, you will get to see a far away kingdom."

"Yes, Hvitserk, I know." She responded simply. "But it would not be as magnificent as the ones I dream about. Besides, I love Kattegat and I have no wish to leave. We have been over this."

Sigyn had always been straightforward. She was very honest about everything, and often didn't understand the difference between our jests or when we meant what we said. I suppose that my sweet sister assumed that everyone would be as charmingly frank about their feelings as her.

Sigyn had the softest, steadiest voice I had ever heard. She often kept a calm tone which made her seem as if she had the most level head in Norway. Only when she was in great distress or feeling something very strong did her tone ever noticeably change. Not to say she was emotionless by any means — she felt a great deal more than I could ever wrap my head around — but she was always calm. At least, she always was when she was around us.

"Are you going to be okay here while Mother and Father and I are gone, Sigyn?" I asked gently, leaning upwards just slightly to look over at her past Hvitserk. Hvitserk's brows furrowed slightly, and he looked over at her too as she gazed thoughtfully at the clouds. She nodded slowly, turning her head to meet our gazes.

"I think so. You will not be gone very long. I will have Ivar and Muninn." I smiled at her sweet tone, but had to keep myself from grimacing.

"We may be gone all summer," I reminded her.

"Or longer," added Hvitserk. She nodded again and looked back at the clouds.

"Perhaps you will. And I will miss you everyday. But you'll come back." Hvitserk and I looked at each other, and I shrugged as I laid back down. I knew she understood — she was always the more intelligent twin — but I just didn't want her to be hit with the emotions all at once when I would not be there to talk over them with her. We may not have spent every waking moment together, but we had never been separated in our lives.

We stayed there for a long time, quietly and sparsely conversing amongst ourselves. When Ubbe and Sigurd had finished skinning the meat for dinner, they called us over. Sigyn and Ubbe were the best cooks among us, so they were the ones to prepare our meal while the rest of us sat around them and talked. It was not long until we heard the sound of hooves coming up the path to the cabin, and Hvitserk and I stood and craned our necks to see who the incoming rider could be.

"It's Bjorn!" I called the others. Sigyn and Ubbe looked up then, put down the food, and quickly joined the rest of us as we all watched the eldest prince of Kattegat approach.

His expression was grim — though he was usually serious, I wasn't used to him looking so discouraged or unhappy. He dismounted his horse once he reached the cabin, tying the reins to a fence post.

"Hello, Bjorn," Sigyn said, walking up to him with a smile. She turned towards the tall horse, stroking his head gently, her attention now completely focused on the stallion. Bjorn smiled faintly as he gave her a nod.

"Hello, Sigyn," As he passed her, he patted her shoulder. Tearing his eyes away from my sister, he looked towards the rest of us, and his expression darkened again. "I come with news. You will all want to sit down."

By the time Bjorn had finished his story, all of our faces looked just as grim as his. Sigyn, who was sat on a bench behind Ivar, was the only one of us who didn't look angry in the slightest — her downcast eyes made it seem as if she was on the verge of tears as she absentmindedly ran her fingers through Ivar's hair. She had always had a habit of soothing herself with soft textures when anxious or upset; usually, one of us lent our hand or hair for her to play with, if there was no small animal close enough for her to pet.

We were all quiet and contemplative for a while, all of us stuck in our own thoughts. I wondered what Hvitserk was thinking.

"You think our father never knew?" Ubbe brought his gaze up from the table to the sky, which had turned to grey. I saw in his eyes a calculating worry. He was trying to find reason in something where there likely wasn't anything that was good enough to justify it.

"It's possible," Bjorn mused, watching the knife in his hands as he turned it over slowly. "In those early days, it wasn't easy to navigate the sea."

"He knew. He had to." Hvitserk spoke from beside me. I glanced at him and nodded in agreement.

"If he did, he should have told the people," Sigurd decided aloud. "Everyone lost relatives; fathers and uncles, sons and daughters. They would have demanded revenge."

"That is why he didn't tell them," Ivar shot back, glaring at Sigurd.

"What do you mean?" Ubbe asked as his brows furrowed. Ivar rolled his eyes.

"It was a waste of time." He said simply.

"Ivar..." Sigyn's voice trailed off. Her face made it clear that she wanted to say something, but didn't know how to approach her volatile best friend.

"They were dead, Sigyn! Ragnar wanted to sail to Paris. He wanted to be famous. Isn't that more important?" He turned to look at her, and she drew her hands back from his hair and into her lap. "Hmm?"

Sigyn looked at the ground.

"I don't think so," She said solemnly.

"You can say that." Bjorn replied, shrugging. Ivar turned again, back to facing his brothers and I.

"I can say that? What does that mean?"

"Here's what it means —" Hvitserk interjected. "— at least to me. Our father abandoned us. We were just kids, and he ran off. Only the Gods know if he's still alive. And now, we hear he kept this big secret from everyone. That he was not truthful or honest."

"This makes me feel sick," Sigurd shook his head again. "How could our father not tell the people what had happened?"

"Maybe if he had told them, they would have killed him." Bjorn replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"If it's true..." Ubbe began. "If it's true that our father lied to his people and abandoned them, then I hope he never comes back."

"He betrayed our name. If he ever came back, I would kill him." Hvitserk snarled, ripping Sigyn out of her mind and back into the present. Her head shot up to look at Hvitserk.

"Me too." Sigurd agreed. Sigyn looked back and forth between the two of them, her expression somewhere between alarm and betrayal.

"Screw you!" Ivar exclaimed. Hvitserk scoffed and looked down, shaking his head. "All of you. He never did anything wrong. He is our father. And that is the end of it. You all sound like a bunch of Christians."

"I love our father as much as you do—" Ubbe said, but was interrupted by Ivar.

"Who said I loved him, Ubbe? I said I admired him. He's Viking. And you are soft." Ivar's voice was defensive, challenging, angry; as he usually was.

"I am not soft! None of us—" Ubbe gestured to his other brothers and to me. "— are soft. But we want to understand what our father did, and what he was."

He crouched down in front of Ivar, glancing up at Sigyn before making eye contact with Ivar. "As his son, his fame does not interest me. What he used his power for—" Ubbe pressed a finger to his temple. "— now that would interest me."

"By now, my brothers, there will be a lot of anger in Kattegat. Now they know the truth. Our father betrayed a whole generation of people," Hvitserk said.

"So if he ever came back—" Sigurd started to say, causing Bjorn to sit up straighter and stare at his brother.

"I don't think he is ever going to come back!" Bjorn exclaimed, frustrated. "I think what happened in Paris finally broke him. You all can say whatever you want, but he was a human. People started to talk as if he was a God — he was not a God! He was a man! A man with many dreams and many failings. I've learned that in the years since he went away. If I was him, I wouldn't come back."

I glanced at my sister now, who was watching Bjorn sadly.

"Despite all his failings, he is still the greatest man in the world to me," Bjorn looked down at the ground again as finished his sentence.

"He cared for you — he cared for all of you," Sigyn said, looking to each prince in turn. "He made mistakes, but as Bjorn said, he is only human." Bjorn and Ivar nodded, but Hvitserk and Ubbe shook their heads.

"Sigyn, we were not lucky as you were to have a father that was there for us. If he truly cared enough, he would have stayed." Ubbe told her. His voice was gentle, as it always was when he spoke to her, but I could hear the frustration behind his words. "You should learn that about love now; love means loyalty. Dedication. You don't abandon those you love."

I watched my sister grapple with finding the right thing to say. Ivar reached a hand behind him, blindly reaching for Sigyn's own. Once he had grabbed it, he guided it to his shoulder before letting it go. Her fingers traced shapes onto his shirt.

"I must go to your home now, Vali, Sigyn," Bjorn looked towards each of us in turn. "I have more preparations for the voyage to discuss with you father, and now I should talk to him about this as well." I nodded at him.

"I will go with you," I replied, and looked towards Sigyn, who met my gaze.

"I should stay here, then. There is no need for both of us to go," She decided.

"Perhaps we should head back to Kattegat early," Ubbe suggested, looking to his brothers. "See the reactions of the people."

"We already know how the people will react, Ubbe," Hvitserk said. "But yes, we should go and see what we can do."

The journey to my home was longer than usual; we had gone around Kattegat instead of cutting through it, which was the quickest way there, but didn't seem appropriate. A silence hung between Bjorn and I for most of the journey.

"You did not speak," Bjorn said finally, just before we had reached my home. "You did not speak when we were discussing my father."

I nodded at him. "It was not my turn to speak. Not my conversation to have." Bjorn let out a short hum of amusement.

"I think you discount your wisdom. Or maybe your importance," Bjorn decided. I didn't have an answer to that.

We dismounted our horses as we reached out family's land. Bjorn walked ahead of me, but stopped slowly and leaned against one of my father's many souvenirs from past raids. I stopped beside him, and he glanced at me before nodding his head over to the water. When I followed his gaze, I was met with my parents wading in the shallows with the little model ships I had helped him make.

My father must have noticed our presence somehow, because he turned to look at us before he walked over. Bjorn drew close to him, then spoke in a low voice.

"Did you know Ragnar lied to us all? The settlement in Wessex was destroyed as soon as we left." My father looked from Bjorn to me, then to the ground as he thought for a moment. He nodded, glancing back to me before looking Bjorn in the eyes again.

"I knew," He said. "A farmer who had escaped the slaughter told you father and I what had happened. Then, Ragnar killed him, so no one else would find out."

"You were a good friend to my father," Bjorn replied simply.

"Bjorn? Vali?" My mother's voice reached my ears, and I turned from the men to her, smiling.

"Helga," Bjorn answered, immediately walking towards her.

"Hello, Mamma," I called to her, following Bjorn again.

"What brings you back so soon, Vali? I thought you were going to be gone hunting for another week," My mother questioned as she walked out of the water and met us on the sand, embracing me.

"I decided to come back early. We caught plenty of game," I lied, but she nodded and smiled as she drew away from me. She turned to Bjorn.

"And what brings you here, Bjorn?"

"I was just coming to see how the boats were progressing," Bjorn explained.

"What do you say, Helga? What shall we tell him?" My father asked, walking along the docks.

"We think that it won't be long before you have boats ready and able to take you to the Mediterranean Sea," My mother told Bjorn happily.

"If it exists," My father muttered.

"Of course it exists," Bjorn insisted, looking up from the model boat my mother had placed in his hands.

"It's just a map, Bjorn; marks on a paper. A child could have drawn it! How can we know it's real?" My father asked. Bjorn studied the boat more as he thought over his words carefully.

"I learned from my father. The only way to tell if something is real..." Bjorn knelt down, gently pushing the model back into the sea. "...is to sail there."

I would like to think I can remember everything of that day — of most days spent at the hunting cabin, in Kattegat; with my friends, with my sister; the days that bled into each other and the nights that ended with sunrise instead of slumber; that phase in my life where I was preparing for the rest of it, learning the arts and trades and traditions of my people.

Indeed, I would certainly like to think that nothing of those days has escaped my memory. But as I write this, and as I try to recall every moment of every day & night spent in the sweet comfort of home, of youth, of camaraderie with those whom I still love most in the world, I recognize that the mind is never so sharp as to be able to recall every last detail or feeling from many years prior. My mind is not as sharp as it once was, either — I have accepted that soon, if it hasn't already, it will begin to fail me.

Perhaps not all of this story happened in the way I remember it — who is to say, when so few of us are left and still able to recount our adventures? — but the stories of my people & my past deserve to be told. Otherwise, who will remember the Norsemen? The Vikings are gone. I am one of the last to be able to remember the Golden Age. This story is mine to tell.

tags // @peachyboneless @youbloodymadgenius sorry y’all probably forgot about this fic its been so long lmaoo i’ll unadd you if you want

#vikings fanfic #vikings #vikings tv show #valley of kings saga #ragnarssons #ivar the boneless #ubbe ragnarsson #hvitserk ragnarsson #sigurd snake in the eye #bjorn ironside

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valhallanrose · 3 years

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High Horse

Catriona’s deal with their mother and a vow to return that would bring them back time and time again - even against their will.

3.5k words. As with most of this arc of their pre-canon, general CW for a manipulative parent. Senga’s a piece of shit club unite.

Title: High Horse by the Crane Wives

The two months that Catriona had spent in Prakra had been glorious.

It was worth the two awful sunburns to have spent that much time in the sun, freckles now spread across more of their skin that had once been unblemished alabaster for all their mother’s fretting over their appearance over the years.

Catriona had cut their hair for the first time, too - it had fallen nearly to their waist at thirteen, and the heat had made the weight and length of it unbearable in the height of a Prakran summer when back home, half the country was covered in a blanket of snow. It fell midway between their shoulder blades when they were done, and they were excited to get it up off their neck and feel the breeze above their collar. Everything before had been simple trims, enough to keep their hair healthy, but not enough to feel different.

And now, in March, with the wind pulling through their cropped hair and the collar of their linen top flapping beneath their open jacket, they sailed home to Rosinmoor, down the Strait of Seals to the small inlet that would lead up to Castle Kintyre.

Catriona sighed, shifting slightly on the rigging and propping their chin against the lines as they watched the world go by.

They weren’t looking forward to returning home.

Catriona, Edrine, and Sachairi had celebrated Hogmanay in the quiet of Myrna’s cottage - Foxhall, they’d come to learn - and after the holiday had ended and Edrine left for home, Sachairi had reluctantly returned to the castle.

Catriona didn’t - they left without a word, choosing instead to let their grandmother inform their mother that Catriona would be leaving with her on her trip to Prakra mere hours before they were due to depart. It felt cowardly, but a part of them knew that their mother never would have let them go if they’d walked back into that place.

Senga Canonach could hold a grudge, and Catriona knew they wouldn’t be exempt for what they’d done. They’d broken so many rules, leaving like that, and they couldn’t help but worry about what was to come.

But...they’d do it again. They really, really wanted to do it again, even if they were punished for it.

When they’d arrived in Prakra, Myrna had gone straight to a dig site a few miles from the base of the Bulan Mountains, evidently asked to perform a few facial reconstructions on remains that had been found in the study of and early Prakran battleground to try and determine who some of those people might have been. Approximations, Myrna had called them, of who might have been - returning faces to those lost to time.

While Myrna’s charcoal scritch-scritch-scritched away at the paper, Catriona couldn’t help but marvel at the smoothness of the bone beneath their thumbs, idly stroking the pads of their fingers along the cheekbone - the zygomatic, Myrna told them - as they tried to imagine what they might have been like in life.

For a lack of better expression, they could feel it in their bones that they were meant to be elsewhere, anywhere if it weren’t Castle Kintyre and the Canonach estate. But mother would never let them go. And as Castle Kintyre, as it came into view at the top of the cliffs with its windows glowing with warm light, Catriona couldn’t help but think of the wisps.

From Melinlaesh to Kintyre and everywhere in between, the children of Rosinmoor were warned of wisps - or ‘spunkies’, as they were often called - and Catriona had been no exception. They remembered being told to never follow a light if you didn’t know where it came from, or they’d certainly meet their doom. They were omens of death, more often than not, appearing along roads funeral processions traveled or sending ships to their watery graves after being mistaken for harbor lights by an unfortunate sailor.

Funny to think that going to the place that was supposed to be home felt like they were following the spunkies to their own demise.

They lingered on the rigging as long as they possibly could, until the sailors began their calls to bring the ship to berth and they had to climb down to stay out of their way.

When Catriona rejoined their grandmother on the deck, it was as if she knew what lingered on her grandchild’s mind - and Myrna only laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it once, a silent reassurance that she was there if they needed her.

“What am I going to do about my mother?” Catriona asked eventually, and Myrna let out a long breath through her nose, eyes fixed on the lights of Castle Kintyre.

“I’ll handle her in the morning. Most of the family will be in bed for the night, save for perhaps some of your cousins. Monroe is undoubtedly asleep, big bairn that he is.” Myrna playfully nudged Catriona, who smiled a little at the thought of their great uncle. “Your mother may be upset with you, but in time, it’ll pass. And perhaps she’ll realize you were overdue for your chance to leave the nest.”

“I want to leave again soon.” Catriona caught Myrna’s smile out of the corner of her eye. “Where are you going next?”

“I’m not certain. For once I didn’t have anything lined up after I finished an assignment. Perhaps we can take a more leisurely trip until I get another - is there anywhere in particular you’d like to go?”

“I’ve always liked your drawings of Venterre.” They mused, rocking back and forth on their heels. “I remember you telling me stories about your trip to Lulia with Balfour.”

Myrna smiled a little at that. “Balfour loved Lulia. Said they’d never seen stars prettier than those here in Rosinmoor, but Lulia felt like their home away from home. We used to have an apartment there, but...I sold it some time after they died. Couldn’t bring myself to go back for many years.”

Catriona frowned a little, tugging on the edge of their shirt. “I’m sorry, Granny, I didn’t mean to bring up a bad memory…”

“Oh, dinna fash, my darling.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the railing to gaze over the infinite dark of the sea. “To remember those I’ve lost is to keep them with me. And perhaps I’ve been a little blessed in all this time, because even though my Balfour - and my Astor, god rest them both - have left this world, they aren’t gone. I see pieces of them in you nearly every day.”

They perked a little at that, already itching for the bits of stories Myrna was willing to give. Myrna laughed at Catriona’s visible interest and nodded, closing her eyes as she spoke.

“You’ve got the same desire for knowledge as Balfour. Same taste in books, too, judging by what you pilfer from my study. You make the same face as Astor when you’re thinking, down to the wrinkles in your nose and the creases between your brows. And you’re not nearly as sneaky as you think. When you’re up to something, your mouth twitches at the corners like you’re holding back a smile. It was a dead giveaway when Balfour was planning a surprise, but I found it endearing.” Myrna’s fingers drummed against the wood, humming thoughtfully. “You look like Balfour, too. I suppose Astor as well, since he was a ringer for them. You got their nose, and you’ve got dimples - on both sides, like Astor, Balfour only had the one on their right. Same shape to your jaw, the same cheekbones…”

Myrna reached out and playfully pinched Catriona’s cheek, smiling as they groaned and swatted lightly at her hand.

“But for as much as I see them in you, I want you to remember that I love you for you. I’ve had time to heal. So when morning comes, I’ll book us passage to Lulia, and I’ll happily make new memories with you. Sound fair?”

“Sounds fair.” Catriona leaned into Myrna’s side, tucked happily under her arm - though they were quickly approaching the same height - and remained there, watching the sea go by until the ship pulled into the inlet, and the gangway finally fell on the shores of home.

* * * * *

Despite Catriona’s fears of facing their mother, they were glad to see the rest of their family.

By the time they made it up to the castle, most of the family had begun to turn in - though Myrna had sent word ahead of their return, she’d been unsure when the ship would actually make it to shore, and told them not to wait up - but those who were still awake were happy to linger and chat while they raided the kitchens for leftovers.

Sachairi, the person Catriona had wanted to see most, had just gone to bed, evidently falling asleep in his seat trying to wait for them to come back. So Catriona tucked their little gift for him away in their bag again, alongside the one for Edrine, and made their way slowly through the halls to bed. Myrna would remain, happy to pick at her siblings and laugh with them about how of course her twin was the first to go to bed among all of them, though they all knew he’d be up with the sun while they slept in.

Catriona didn’t miss the presence, or lack thereof, of their mother - who had apparently turned in quite suddenly once the scouts reported the ship at the inlet. Part of them wondered if she was avoiding their grandmother, who had been the embodiment of ‘hell hath no fury’ after the revelations Catriona had overheard all those months ago.

Still, they were happy to traipse as quietly as they could to their bedroom, looking forward to the morning and catching up with their cousin again. The day had been long, as had the journey from so far north, and they were looking forward to crawling into the comfort of their own bed.

They didn’t pause to take in the view of the Frozen Sea nor the twinkling lights of Rosafearn, heading straight for their bed and crashing into it, only taking the time to kick off their shoes and jacket before snuggling into the warmth that awaited them.

Sometime later, in the place between slumber and awareness, they heard their bedroom door squeal open. After a moment of pause it would then click shut, making them blearily look up to follow the warm glow of the candle in someone’s hand as it made its way closer to their bed.

“Granny?” Catriona whispered, rubbing at their eye with the heel of their hand to try and combat some of the blurriness that came from half-slumber - only to freeze as a soft laugh answered them instead.

“No, Catriona, not your grandmother. I heard you’d come home and wanted to say goodnight.” Senga murmured, lowering herself to sit on the edge of their bed and gently setting the candle down on the night table. Catriona heard the soft clicking of their lamp turning before the light flared to life, casting both mother and child in warm golden light.

Catriona couldn’t help but think of how cold their mother’s eyes looked in comparison to the warmth they were bathed in.

“I thought you went to bed.” They said eventually, pulling the covers a little higher as they rolled over to face Senga more fully. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until breakfast.”

“Well, you’ve been gone all this time. Can you blame me for not wanting to wait a minute more than I must?” Senga’s fingertips smoothed along their forehead, brushing back already tousled strands of hair.

They shrunk back slightly, pulling the blankets a little closer to their chin.

“I’m sorry, mother, I didn’t mean to upset you.” They said softly, scrunching the fabric between their fingers. “How are you?”

“Oh, much better now that you’re home, where you belong.” Catriona watched as Senga tugged on the single silver lock at her left temple and swept it behind her ear, twirling it loosely around her finger as she

It was a familiar gesture - one Catriona knew typically meant an expression of her displeasure would be soon to follow.

“You know, you had me worried sick. Imagine how I would have felt if something would have happened to you so far from home, Catriona, without you even properly saying goodbye.”

There it was.

“I was perfectly fine, mother, Granny wouldn’t have let anything happen to me.” They said softly, trying to keep their voice from shaking. “I just needed some time for myself, that’s all.”

“Because you snooped.” Senga frowned. “You have no one but yourself to blame, Catriona, for listening to things not meant for you to hear.”

“But I did hear it, mother, and it hurt me, and I wanted -” They tried, but Senga cut them off, tone sharp and clipped and silenced them in a heartbeat.

“Wanted what, to get back at me? Hurt me in some way? Well, you’ve done it, and I don’t know where we can go from here.” Senga huffed, crossing one leg over the other before sighing, rubbing two fingers against her temple.

“This isn’t how I wanted it to go when you got back. I don’t want to argue with you, Catriona, I want to put things back to normal. You’ve had your fun, and now it’s time to come back to the real world. Your lessons will start again next week, and we’ll talk about some new boundaries in the morning, before breakfast. I’ll walk you down the steps myself.”

Catriona’s heart squeezed painfully at that - to go from the freedom of their trip to tethered once again to someone’s hand to even traverse their home - and the words bubbled up before they could stop them, making Senga pause as she reached to turn out the light again.

“But Granny is taking me to Lulia…”

They trailed off as they noticed Senga’s brow lower, and they instantly realized the mistake they’d made as she leaned in and gently smoothed her hand across Catriona’s jaw.

“What was that, dear?” Senga crooned, grasping their chin between her fingers and forcing them to look her in the eye. “Speak up. You know I dislike it when you mumble.”

Catriona tried to turn their head away, but Senga’s grip tightened on their jaw, even if her sickly sweet tone didn’t change.

“Clearly you thought it was important if you felt the urge to contradict me. Speak up.”

They squeezed their eyes shut, forcing the words out even if their heart felt like a caged animal trying to escape their chest for how hard it pounded against their ribs.

“I said Granny is going to take me to Lulia soon.” Catriona blurted out. “She wants to go soon because she doesn’t have another project, so she thought we could spend some time together since Prakra was mostly her field work.”

The tension between them both was so thick that Catriona thought they could feel it pressing down on their shoulders.

“Did she, now?” Senga hummed, a thoughtful look on her face. “She’s always been so insistent she knows what’s best for you. Drives me absolutely batty. Mother and child we may be, but Mama forgets who holds more power in the family. Perhaps some time barred from Kintyre would remind her of that…”

The casual tone with which Senga spoke made the sinking feeling in their belly feel like a whole cliff face dropping into the sea, so quickly it made them queasy in the process.

“You’d really do that to Granny?” Catriona whispered, eyes wide and their horror seeping clearly into their tone as they sat upright. “You’d tell her she can’t come back because of me?”

“If I must. If she won’t respect me as your mother, I’ll have to find a way for her to respect my position as Baroness. Besides, she won’t stay away long.” Senga patted their leg lightly, a gesture far too light to match her words. “Between you, Balfour, and my brother…”

Terror fell over Catriona like a blanket of ice. It was one thing for them to be punished, but for their grandmother, who had only ever acted to try and do good for them...they couldn’t let her take the fall.

Their grandmother’s whole life was here. She’d been born at Kintyre, like all of her siblings, and been raised here. Her parents, Sorcha and Aonghus, were buried in the family cemetery - like their uncle, Astor, and the honorary headstone for Balfour, whose body had simply never been recovered. Myrna had lost her spouse and her son in such a short few years when they were little, and they knew how dearly she loved her home, how much she needed the places she kept so dear.

Myrna used to be...so heavy with sorrow, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. Over the years she’d healed, smiles slowly reaching her eyes, and she herself spoke of how much being with her family helped her reach a place of peace. She was always remembering, always loving, even though they were gone, and had become so bright and warm in the way that Catriona knew her despite all she’d endured.

Catriona didn’t think their grandmother could forgive them if they were the reason she lost her home, too.

And though it felt like they were making a deal with the devil, Catriona let out a slow breath, words thick in their throat as if they were trying to fight their way back to their belly.

“If you promise Granny won’t get in trouble…” They said slowly, watching with dread as Senga’s eyes lit up with something they couldn’t name, “...I’ll do what you want. I’ll stay, I’ll stop fighting. I’ll be your heir and I won’t question it. But you have to promise me you’ll leave Granny alone.”

Senga’s lips curled into a smile, not unlike a cat that got the canary, as she pulled Catriona into an embrace. Catriona did not return it, body stiff and hands clenching and relaxing into fists as they tried to figure out what to do with themself.

“Oh, dear, if you’re that concerned, then I can find those terms agreeable.” She leaned back slightly, hands falling to rest on their shoulders and give them a light squeeze. “But I would like my own assurances. You understand, after all, as your little adventure has broken the trust I have in you.”

Senga’s grip tightened slightly, and Catriona flinched, staring up at their mother with the sour taste of fear in their mouth.

“Do not misunderstand this as forgiveness. While I am still upset by your actions, it has not diminished my goodwill. In fairness, it was high time you got to see more than Castle Kintyre, for sheltering you completely will do you no favors when it comes time for you to take your place. But know this…”

Senga leaned in, eyes like blades of ice to Catriona’s wild and wet-eyed panic.

“You can run as far as you want for now. But when I call for you to come home, you will fly as fast as the winds will carry you, and you will without question or argument. Defy me again, and I will strip you of everything you hold dear. You will lose the Canonach name, all claim to your inheritance, your titles, your family, your home - all of it will be gone. Your grandmother will never be permitted to return to this place, and nor will you. You would do well to remember the privileged position you’re in, because you are nothing without all I have given you, and I can take it away just as easily. Do I make myself clear?”

Catriona let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly as their mother’s grip relaxed on their shoulders.

“Yes, ma’am.” They whispered, and Senga smiled again, perfectly serene and as if nothing had just transpired between them both.

She gestured for Catriona to lie back, which they did - though stiffly - and went through the motions of tucking them in, something Senga hadn’t done in years by that point in Catriona’s life, eyes fixed on the ceiling even as their mother leaned in and pressed a kiss to their brow.

“Goodnight, dear.” She murmured, and Catriona remained quiet, watching out of the corner of their eye as Senga made her way to the door with the candle flame flickering in each step.

“She’s your mom.” They whispered eventually, and Senga sighed, turning back to look over her shoulder to look at them again.

“Sometimes we have to make hard decisions to protect ourselves and those we love.” Senga mused, her hand lowering to fall on the doorknob. “And I am no stranger to them. You will come to find one day that the pain is a necessary evil.”

With that, the door fell shut, plunging Catriona into the darkness once again.

Sleep would not come.

The tears would, however, as Catriona turned their face into the soft down of their pillow and began to weep, feeling now more than ever that the walls of the Kintyre Estate were closing in around them.

#astoria fenharrow #don't worry we're almost done the senga hating agenda for a while #at least in fic #it's always fuck senga hours #manipulation cw

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venusofthehardsells · 4 years

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No Rest for the Wicked [Dea ex Machina part one]

John ConstantinexAngel!Reader Summary: You travel to a remote island to put a murderous spirit to rest, but things get complicated when you run into one John Constantine. Warnings: swearing, mentions of mental illness, blood, smoking, ghosts, pining, is slowburn a warning? A/N: My first Constantine fic on tumblr, yay! This was originally written for a challenge aaages ago, but it got away from me and I couldn’t meet the deadline. I had so much fun with this though, Constantine is a great character to write for! There will definitely be more stories about him and this particular angelic reader in the future ♥

I’ve mixed elements from both the Vertigo comics and the NBC TV series, as well as from the general DC Universe, so don’t expect accuracy when it comes to canon. A special thanks to @nellblazer for support and linguistic aid, you’re the best! ♥ Let me know what you think and if you want to be tagged ~

Contrary to common belief, there had never actually been any ravens on Raven’s Rock. The tiny, windswept fleck of land in the North Sea had been named a few hundred years ago by a fool of a sailor, who hadn’t been able to tell a raven from a severely lost and consequently very confused Scandinavian pigeon. Said sailor had regrettably also been of some importance in his homeland at the time, meaning no one had bothered to correct the unfortunate mistake for fear of losing a head. Even though everyone who since came upon the island only ever managed to find gulls and puffins and various other seabirds, it had still kept its misleading English name.

The Celts, who by rights had been on the island long before the British, had chosen to play it safe and completely forego the bird names (although it had been suggested several times in later centuries to change it to the Gaelic word for seagull, or even pigeon, as a taunt). Instead, they had most likely looked to the ancient ruins that specked the island, jutting up from the rocks like broken teeth and, all things considered, had endured well beyond memory and history and legend. Or perhaps they had still been reeling from the mad determination that had brought them and their wooden ships so far from home. Whichever the case, they had called the stubborn, little rock Innis Seasmhach, “the steadfast island”.

That was its official name to this day, though most people, especially those who didn’t speak Gaelic (which in all fairness are not very many), still referred to it as Raven’s Rock.

The locals shrugged and simply called it “the island”.

There was only one village on the entire island, whose population on a good day might reach a hundred and thirty people. That usually only happened a few times during summer when the ferries from Stavanger and Aberdeen docked at the same time. The tourists came to see the ruins, buy a souvenir fridge magnet of a raven or a puffin, complain about the frightfully bleak weather and leave again on one of the ferries that departed before evenfall, secretly happy they didn’t have to spend any more time on the island.

On the day you arrived, the population on the isle of Raven’s Rock, was an astounding one hundred and forty four, which was quite unheard of in the middle of October.

What was even more unheard of, however, was the reason for all these untimely appearances.

A night ago, a pair of fishermen had discovered the body of a man in a small, secluded cove on the north side of the island. The body was placed so that it could only be seen from sea, unless one were to venture down a rocky and extremely narrow trail into the cove itself. It wasn’t hard to imagine someone slipping and ending up on the stony beach below. That kind of unfortunate death was of course tragic, but it hardly warranted the wide array of policemen and journalists the death had attracted. No, the reason for the sudden interest was the gruesome way the body had been displayed.

The dead man had been stripped bare and splayed out on the rocks like a cross with his arms stretched away from his torso. His skin was almost completely covered in symbols and writing no one could make sense of, though one expert, when consulted by the mystified and slightly desperate police, vaguely suggested it was possibly a rare pre-Arthurian dialect.

The more macabre specifics had so far been kept out of the press.

One was that the writings on the body had been done in blood, the corpse’s own, and another was that it came from where the head had been crudely severed from the rest of the flesh and spiked close by on a piece of driftwood.

Even hypnotised, the young sergeant who had told you, had looked slightly green when he related the information. You had padded him sympathetically on the shoulder before moving on. He wouldn’t remember revealing the details to you, but the information itself was seared into his mind forever.

His, along with the rest of the islanders’, you mused as you continued from the harbour and on into the village.

The locals called it “town”, but in truth it wasn’t really big enough to warrant that title.

It had one store that sold a little bit of everything depending on the weather, a church, a pub, a repair shop (it wasn’t specified what exactly you could get repaired there) and a public building, functioning as city hall, police station, post office, library and school in one. All the police reinforcements from Aberdeen had been moved into the city hall, seeing as the only two policemen permanently stationed on the island had never handled a murder case before. Meanwhile, the reporters and TV crews covering the case were taking up the pub’s five tiny bedrooms, both B&Bs and every single rental cottage Raven’s Rock could boast (nine in total if you counted the back room in the garage of the repair shop). Because you had left for the airport in a hurry and jumped onto the first plane to Norway, you hadn’t had time to secure a place to sleep on the island. You had pondered it on the ferry, but when it came down to it, you didn’t want to stick around longer than a day. If you worked fast, you could probably be on your way back to the mainland in the morning and wouldn’t need to worry about finding a bed. You had spotted a bench down by the harbour; it would have to do.

Besides, you didn’t have any time to waste as long as the murder case was unsolved. You could still hear Madame Xanadu’s words in your head like some annoying ominous echo.

A restless darkness will carry its evil across the water to be unleashed upon the twice-named rocks. The steadfast land will drink the blood of the laughing magician.

Fate was a menace when you had to deal with it like this, grounded and fumbling through the world with nothing but scraps to guide you. Not like in the old days when you had all of Heaven at your disposal… Being a proper angel had really had its advantages. You scoffed and walked faster. At least this prophecy had been pretty straightforward, which was far from what you were usually given to work with, you thought sourly, folding your arms around yourself against the wind.

A malevolent spirit that should have passed on, but hadn’t was easy enough to figure out; it happened all the time and you could deal with that. The location of the spirit had also been a walk in the park with so many hints to go on.

What really worried you was the second part of Madame Xanadu’s little mystic insight.

The steadfast land will drink the blood of the laughing magician.

Blood drinking was never a good omen in prophecies. It hardly ever meant vampires, usually just death. And the laughing magician, well, that one was always the same. The reason Madame Xanadu had called upon you to restore the balance in this place.

John Constantine.

Whenever one of her foresights indicated that the blonde warlock was walking into something he couldn’t handle himself, she sent you after him or, in this case, ahead to clear his path for him. Most times, he didn’t even know you had been there and you preferred it that way.

Like now.

The last you had heard of John was that he was in the States. Sufficiently far away, you thought. Even if someone had alerted him to the murder on Raven’s Rock, it would be at least another day before he could reach the windswept little island and by then you hoped to be long gone. It was best if you two didn’t meet at all.

You chewed on your lip as you thought of him. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him, it was just… easier if you didn’t. The things you did, the jobs you took were simply too dangerous if your focus wasn’t a hundred per cent on the task in front of you. And with John around, your newly mortal heart had a tendency to make your better judgement evaporate.

You passed a phonebox on the main (and only) street that looked as though it had seen better days and a small tourist information office/part time bakery with its doors and windows shut for the night, before you reached the seemingly only building in town with light and, admittedly subdued, noise streaming out of it: the pub. Apart from the city hall, you reckoned it must be the oldest building around, but also by far the one in best repair. The wooden sign above the heavy green door was, unsurprisingly, in the shape of a very sinister looking gull and it swayed in the wind with an ominous creak that made a shiver run down your spine, as if trying to dissuade you from entering.

Well, it wasn’t very likely that you would get any information elsewhere. With determination in your steps, you walked the last few cobbled steps to the door and went inside.

Your eyes quickly scanned the room, the patrons, the energies... and you froze on the threshold.

On a stool by the bar sat the very man you had hoped to avoid. He had taken off his signature trench coat and his back was towards you, but it didn't matter; you would recognise him blindfolded. He was so thoroughly cloaked and shrouded in magical protections of all sorts that the space he occupied was practically a vacuum. It was damn near impossible to locate him by magic, you knew. If one weren't looking directly at him, like you were now, no sixth sense or intricate spell would reveal his whereabouts. But his was a vacuum you had come to know very well. So well in fact, that by now you could pin him down by his apparent lack of magic, rather than by his well-hidden magical signature, and yet, there he was, sitting only half a room away from you with a drink in one hand and one of his ghastly Silk Cuts resting between the fingers of the other. And you hadn't noticed. You hadn't even done a quick scan to see if there were other magical presences on the island when you arrived. Worse, you hadn't cloaked yourself as thoroughly as you normally would have done and your own signature reached him before you could even think to try and prevent it.

From the way he straightened his back and immediately snuffed out the cigarette in an ashtray as if someone had shouted at him to show some care, you could tell he knew you were there. He shifted ever so slightly as if making room for you and you sighed. There was no getting out of this one.

Getting rid of your raincoat, you went over and crawled onto the empty stool next to him.

You were met with that wicked smirk of his that made your heart stutter and stumble in your chest.

"Now, there's a pleasant surprise to brighten this hellhole," he greeted, raising his glass at you. "Must confess, I never guessed I'd be running into you on this godforsaken rock, luv."

"Hello John." You did with a nod, trying to keep your voice even. "Can't say I expected this to be your sort of retreat either."

The warm light in the pub shone in John Constantine's dark eyes and his smirk grew into a grin.

"It's good to see you, luv. I've missed that disapproving pout o' yours. The fact that I never know when I'll see it again makes it so much sweeter."

You rolled your eyes at him, but didn't attempt to hide your burning cheeks. The bastard couldn’t possibly know exactly how brightly your torch for him was burning, but he always acted accordingly.

"So, what are you doing here then? Odd place for playing tourist, innit?"

He leaned on the counter, his hand moving closer to where yours was resting and there was that little, dark gleam of hope in his eyes that always appeared when he looked at you. As if there was somehow some other reasonable purpose you could have to be in a place like this, at a time like this.

You shrugged, biting down a smile.

"I find the climate rather agreeable."

John threw his head back and laughed at that. Even the barkeep, who had overheard your words, snorted. You caught his gaze before he turned back around and ordered a sparkling water.

"Right. And I just happened by to see the sights, eh?"

"Well, what do you think of them then?"

You raised an eyebrow at him and took a sip of the fizzy water the barkeep placed in front of you. John grinned and gave you an obvious once-over. Your dirty boots and high-neck jumper didn't seem to put him off.

"Much improved since this morning. At this rate, I can't wait to see how they'll look in the night."

"Oh, I ought to slap that smirk off your smug face, wizard," you sighed, feeling how your stomach was practically fluttering at his suggestive tone.

"Is that a promise, luv?"

"You're insufferable."

"Aye, that I am, luv, but you keep coming back for more. Must be doing something right, eh?"

You bit your lip and looked down; he suddenly felt too close. And the general level of noise inside the pub from people chattering wasn't as high as you had hoped. It would be easy for others to overhear anything you said. Given the island-wide unrest over the murder, you were sure ears were perked more than usual and you didn't want to draw any attention to yourself, or John. You would have to gather more information some other way.

"I missed you, too," you confessed, staring at the bottles lining the wall behind the bar as if they were all of a sudden exceedingly interesting. "But I... I thought you were helping out a certain green vigilante overseas these days."

John visibly tensed up.

"Who told you that?"

You shrugged, still not looking directly at him. The truth was that he couldn't really hide from you, not even in your current state. If he found out though, you didn't doubt for a second that his heated flirting would be switched for a literal knife in the back before you could even think the word "portal". Well, perhaps not literal, but you had no doubt the outcome would be fatal for you anyway.

"Who told you to come here?," you countered, raising an eyebrow and John scoffed.

"If you must know, I got a call from an old friend. Looks like she's been scrying on her own and this little spit of land kept drawing all her energy. Didn't seem like something I could ignore."

"You should've," you mumbled, taking a large slurp of your water and doing your best to ignore the persistent little spark of envy starting to gnaw away at you at his choice of words. What old friend? It had to be someone he had slept with, it always was with him. Why couldn't you just not care? "Take my advice, John, leave. Go home and lay low. I'll handle this island."

"Is that concern for old Johnny I hear, luv?," he asked with mock-surprise.

"Maybe. Don't let it get to your head, your ego won't be able to fit into that coat of yours."

He chuckled, but the tension was still there and you didn't know how to break it without giving him the truth, or at least something close.

"Your turn, pretty bird. I don't believe in coincidences like this, so tell me. How'd you know to come here?"

Lying to John Constantine was out of the question. As was being honest with him.

You chewed on your lip a bit, weighing your options. It wasn't like him to accept any kind of help unless he was downright desperate and that was still a long way off. If you challenged him though, he was most likely to flee, that much you knew. But you didn't want to get on his bad side unless you had absolutely no other choice.

"Leave," you repeated. "This one's out of your league, John. Let me take care of it, please."

The way your eyes were pleading with him made him frown and you realised you might have shown too much of your hand.

"I'm not going anywhere, luv." His hand was on top of yours on the bar before you could move it. To anyone looking, it seemed like an affectionate gesture, but he was effectively pinning you in place. "Not until you give me a bloody good reason not to give you the same treatment as whatever beast it is we're dealing with on this island."

"Let go of me."

Your voice wasn't very loud, but you knew he could hear you. He answered by pressing down harder on your hand and you winced.

"Why is it so hard for you to believe I just want to keep you safe?," you all but hissed at him, emptying your drink with a sour expression.

"Oh, I trust you just about as far as I can throw you, luv. Every time I see your pretty little face it means there's trouble brewing just around the corner."

"I saved your life in Tennessee. And in Derry," you tried, but his hold didn't loosen. If anything, John was now gripping your hand so hard no blood could possibly flow to your fingers. "I am trying to do your stubborn Scouse arse a bloody favour, why can't you just for once in your damn life listen to me?"

"Tell me your name then and maybe I will."

Fuck. Somehow it always came down to that.

"Xanadu," you snapped through gritted teeth, eyeing John with what you hoped was an appropriate amount of ire. "Xanadu contacted me and told me about this place. Happy? Obviously, she wasn't going to tell you now, was she?"

John withdrew his hand from you as though you'd burned him. It felt about as pleasant as a punch to the teeth, but you tried not to let it show on your face.

"I suppose you're right...," he admitted. "What did she tell you then? Her usual cryptic nonsense I reckon?"

"For someone in your line of work, you're not at all keen on prophecy reading, are you?," you sighed, forcing a bit of humour into your words.

There was no love lost between John Constantine and Madame Xanadu, that much had been clear to you from the beginning. But even though she couldn't stand the sight of him, she believed John was instrumental in keeping the world safe and had begrudgingly agreed to help you protect him when she could.

"Not really my style. I prefer things more tangible, to the point. Besides, I don't need to worry about divination when I have you."

"You rarely do."

"Not by my choice, luv."

Your eyes flickered back to the empty glass in front of you and you had to take a very slow breath to try and steady yourself. His effect on you was too strong for you to be safe around him. Your job required a clear head - for both your sakes.

"A restless darkness will carry its evil across the water to be unleashed upon the twice-named rocks," you recited, steeling your voice as you averted his unspoken question the way you always did. "It wasn't that cryptic at all for once."

He didn't need to hear the other part. You could feel his eyes roaming your face, trying to figure you out, looking for something without fully knowing what. It was at times like these you missed your wings. Keeping secrets in a human body full of emotions and urges and reactions beyond your immediate control was frustrating at best. It was another reason you were better off keeping your distance.

After a while of searching your features, John sighed and gave up.

"Alright. So it's probably some kind of malevolent spirit then, wreaking havoc. Don't see why you're so worried luv, sounds like any other Tuesday to me."

The barkeep was close enough for you to signal for a refill to you both. He grunted something unintelligible, obviously not too keen on all the Brits suddenly hanging out in his pub. You made sure to send him a grateful smile as he filled your glasses, yours with sparkling water, John's with whisky.

"My weeks are all Mondays," you said and raised the glass to your lips; just as you had hoped, John did the same. "Did you get here in time to see the body?"

"Only after they moved it. Wasn't pretty..." He took another swig while staring at the wall with a distant glaze clouding his eyes that told you he wasn't seeing the wall at all. "Pathologist told me the man had been alive when 'is head was severed. The, er... the inscriptions..." John looked just as sickly green as the constable had done and very gently you put your hand on his shoulder. A small gesture of reassurance. "I'm tired," he whispered suddenly. He turned his head to look at you and your heart ached when you realised how glassy his eyes had become. "I am just so bloody tired. Demons, vampires, curses, spirits, the lot. No matter where I go, there're always more and people die, it never stops. Innocent people, good people... I just want a fucking break, but if I don't stop the darkness from spreading, who will?"

His voice was thin and on the verge of breaking entirely. You wanted nothing more than to lean forwards on the stool and put your arms around him, somehow make him know he wasn't alone, but the risk was too great. You were in too deep already.

"Sometimes I wonder whether it's all worth it..."

"Of course it's worth it, John," you said quietly, clenching his shoulder. "We do what we have to so they...," you gestured discreetly towards the patrons, ”they can go on living their lives and not... not know and see the things we do..."

"I know, luv, I know. I just... I want..." The gloom that was always lurking just below the surface of his existence was spilling into his eyes. He was weary to the bone, deep into his very soul. For a moment, you thought he was going to let the tears burst. "I risk my life every day and it's never bloody enough, is it? A man got his head carved off by some wretched spirit who should have been resting in peace. Fuckin’ Hell..."

He rubbed his eyes hard and you decided then what to do. You didn't like it one bit, but seeing John this worn down, well, you liked that even less. It meant you had been sleeping on the job.

As subtly as you could, you put your hand in your pocket and found the tiny zip-bag with a pinch of purple powder in it. It wasn't something you used often and it had never been meant for John, but you couldn't in good conscience let him go after a rogue spirit in his current state. While he emptied his glass again, you drizzled the powder into your hand and braced yourself.

"John, look at me. It's going to be alright. You are John Constantine and without you this world would have ended twelve times in the last decade, maybe more. And right now you are going to save this island, because that is what you do. So get off your sulking arse and stop feeling sorry for yourself. We have a job here. You're going to find that spirit and put it out of its misery before it hurts someone else, got it?"

He huffed, but even so raised his head and managed a small grateful smile at the reprimand.

"Yes. You're right. Thank you, luv. You always know what to say..." His eyes darted to your lips and for half a heartbeat, you did nothing, just sat there and waited for him to lean in the rest of the way and kiss you. It was far from the first time it had happened, but you still felt at war with yourself. There wasn't a single atom left in you anymore that didn't crave his affection. He was drunk and emotional and between the way he looked at you and the way there suddenly seemed to be less and less space separating your bodies, there was no doubt about his intention. It would be so easy just to finally give in and let it happen.

"Don't thank me."

Before he could lean back or ask you what you meant, you blew the purple powder straight into his face.

His eyes widened in shock, but his body immediately began to turn relaxed and pliant.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me...," he mumbled, but his gaze was already unfocused.

"I'm so sorry, John," you whispered, gently guiding his torso onto the bar.

He tried to say something more, but his words were slurred and within a few seconds, he was gone.

You had gotten the sleeping powder from a dealer in New Orleans, who had told you the effects would last at least four hours. They always oversold their stuff, but hopefully John would be out long enough for you to deal with the entire affair if you hurried up and took a few shortcuts. It was a messy solution, but then again, you hadn't planned on him being here. Desperate times and all that.

"He gonna be lying there all night?," the barkeep grumbled with a raised eyebrow at John when you hopped down from your stool. You put on the best smile you could manage under the circumstances and slid 50 quid across the counter.

"He'll come ‘round soon enough. If not, I'll be back for him in a few."

You practically fled the pub before he could ask you any more questions.

The road outside was deserted and you hoped no one was watching as you marched to the lonely phone box you had spotted earlier. It didn't look like anyone had used it in several years, but when you picked up the receiver the dial tone was there alright.

You took out a stained, battered playing card from the depths of one of your pockets (the seven of diamonds) and slid it into the credit card slot. You didn't own a mobile phone and neither did most of your acquaintances, but still you had memorised the few numbers you occasionally needed.

"Hey Chas, it's me," you said when the answering machine finally picked up. "I'm at the island with John and I haven't got much time. I don’t want to get John involved in this so I need to work fast. There's no need to worry, really, I've got it under control, but... just in case something unforeseen happens, uhm... if I don't call back in let's say ten hours, will you let John know where to find my body? He can't track me in his usual ways, so he'll need your help."

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. What you were about to do was risky, maybe even reckless.

"I'm going to the beach where they found the dead man and work my way from there. If... if I don't succeed..." It was as if your throat was suddenly full of gravel. "Chas, please, just make sure John isn't the one to take on that spirit. He is not ready for that." Too late, you held the receiver away from your face while you tried to suppress a sniffle. So much for convincing Chas Chandler that you had things under control. Forcing your voice to even out, you continued. "I have to go. Just help him if I can’t, okay? And don’t worry too much. I’ll probably see you in a couple of days.”

Before you could say anything even more stupid, you hung up and slid your helpful seven of diamonds back into your coat. Handy little thing to have on you.

You left the phone box in the last light of day and made your way down to the beach. It took you twenty minutes to reach the cove and less than one to sneak under the police tape unseen. There were just two constables standing guard at the scene and they only looked when you wanted them to. For an active crime scene, the site was unusually quiet, but you attributed your luck to the dusk that made searching for clues almost impossible.

Of course, that went for you as well, you thought sourly as you carefully stepped around the little plastic numbers the police forensics had put up all over the little stretch of beach. You could make out the bloody piece of driftwood and the large dark spatter running down the stones where the corpse had lain, but nothing smaller than those. Even if the place was rather secluded, you didn’t dare light a torch with the uniforms standing idly guard so close by.

Sighing, you closed your eyes and concentrated.

The place was tingling with dark energy and it became clearer the more you felt around, using your own magic.

A spirit, just like you had anticipated. A lost soul preying on the living for… revenge? Yes, the bloody traces sang with the mad desire for vengeance that so often kept the dead from their rest.

Bloodshed, the thirst temporarily quenched. Then what?

The movements of the spirit became blurry after that no matter how hard you tried to focus. The leftover energy had been disturbed and mixed with the signatures of all the people who had been to the crime scene since the discovery of the body and it was impossible to make out without assistance, even for someone as experienced as you.

If you couldn’t locate the soul, you couldn’t send it packing.

Luring it via séance required more people and it was too risky for everyone involved anyway. Without its name, summoning it was out of the question as well.

You groaned when you realised what you had to do.

Making sure for the last time you couldn’t be seen from the line of police tape above you, you took off your backpack and dark raincoat and shoved both of them under the nearest rock. Next, you loosened your boots and sat them next to the backpack, then your thick scarf and woollen jumper. With short, angry movements, you rolled your trousers down and folded them hastily, ripped off your socks and wriggled out of your top.

“You’re so bloody lucky I love you, John,” you mumbled through clenched teeth that were starting to rattle in your skull. With fingers already numb from the cold, you unclasped your bra and slid down your underwear before you could change your mind, and with a deep breath, you stepped into the waves.

Even before you went into the sea, your body had been covered in goosebumps from the chilly October air, but the surfs rising around your legs now made you heave for breath with every step forward. The rocks under your feet were dull compared to the sharpness of the water. When it reached you mid-thigh you had to stop and wait for the pain to subside enough so that you could get further out. You were too close to the beach and the water was still too shallow for your purpose.

A tangle of seaweed drifted past your ankle, or at least you hoped it was just seaweed. It was hard to tell for sure in the dark.

Your submerged muscles were screaming as you forced yourself out until the water reached your ribs. If only that wretched spirit hadn’t chosen the middle of the bleeding autumn to throw its tantrum.

“Sacred Nanuet, your humble servant speaks to you,” you intoned through gritted teeth and held out your hands on either side of you so the gentle waves touched the palms of your hands. “She beseeches you; allow her the honour of sharing in your wisdom. Blessed goddess, lend her your sight and expand her understanding, your humble servant begs of you, great Nanuet…”

The ancient language you muttered your request in felt strange on your tongue as always, but your flattery worked. You could feel the magic start to sing under your hands and so you took a deep breath and lowered yourself completely into the sea.

The stranglehold of the freezing water somehow got pushed into the background of your conscience and within a beat of your heart your mind was alight with images. Through the water, you could see most of the world, but you focused on Raven’s Rock and the little beach behind you. The water had seen it all. From the depths of the ocean, it rolled onto the sand and sneaked its way under the island’s rocks, seeped into the soil and was drunk by the hungry roots of The Green, stretching into the light above ground…

It wasn’t long before you managed to zero in on the exact event you needed. The Sight of Nanuet allowed your mind to access the memory of the watery abyss, which included as good as all water on Earth and not a lot of people mastered navigating it anymore. You had been forced to use a lot of wordly magic since you lost your wings and so had learned to find what you needed relatively easy.

Through the Sight, you saw the murder of the man on the beach, how the spirit severed his head and lapped at the blood before turning away from the scene. It lost some of its shape then, but through the dewy grass above the cove and the moist air, you managed to follow it away from the beach and across the land.

The spirit held its physical form, or at least the overall contours of it, and it made it easier to trail. From what you could tell, it definitely had been human when it had been alive. Poor thing. If only it hadn’t gone and murdered someone, maybe you could have sent it to rest.

But would you even be there if it hadn’t?

When the spirit finally settled, you had followed it to an old, abandoned stone house with no windows and a door rotting away on the hinges. The place must have been a farm. There were several small outhouses scattered around the main building and indents in the earth marking former animal pens. The roof had been a thatched one, but now it was more moss than straw and what still remained beneath the heavy green patches had long since turned mouldy and dark. A few shards of glass jutted from some of the window frames like crude, predatory teeth waiting to chew up whoever was unfortunate or foolish enough to get close.

You went after the spirit through the remnants of the front door.

A voice in the back of your head told you it was enough, you should get out of the house and the Sight and the water. You had what you needed for now.

But the way the spirit slumped through the dark rooms and up a ramshackle staircase, as if it had done it a hundred times before, as if it belonged there in that house, intrigued you. It didn't match your original theory, the reason you didn't want John involved.

Curiosity piqued, you followed the lonely ghost up the stairs, where it turned left and went into a room with what had been two alcoves in the wall but were now mostly caved in. The room didn't have any windows and it was hard to make out the details, but the flimsy shape of the spirit trudged towards one of the beds and with motions as if the bedding had still been intact, it lay down and pulled the memory of a blanket over itself.

You slowly got closer, unsure of what to do. The visible shape of the ghost was gone now that it was no longer in motion and the general gloom of the empty house made it near impossible for you to see anything clearly. But the person the ghost had been once seemed so at home here. You couldn't feel any hostility from it at all, not even a trace. Only peace, comfort. Quiet.

This had been its home once when it had lived, you were almost certain of it.

But the desolate little stone house, out of the way even for the island's standard, must have stood abandoned for several decades, maybe even a century or two. If the ghost had lived here it was much older than you had initially thought.

Which meant you might have knocked John out for nothing.

Fuck.

You had to find out more and fast, but it was unlikely the memory of the house before your closed eyes would yield anything further. Even if it was dark and late in the evening, you would have to go there physically. The chances of finding something would be higher, and besides, you couldn't stay in the water forever. You were almost human, after all.

The thought had barely crossed your mind before the reflex to breathe kicked in and you could feel the freezing seawater rush down your throat. One inhale was all it took for your lungs to feel heavy as a pair of burning bricks. A fleeting realisation, that drowning was one of the most unpleasant sensations you’d had the misfortune of experiencing since losing your wings, faintly made it to the front of your perception before the back of your head hit the sand on the ocean floor. Then the only thing you could focus on was the pressure of the water and the way your body grew ever more numb…

The room still flickered before your eyes, slowly losing definition as you lost consciousness. Strange, you mused with your last bit of coherence, that an angel from Heaven should die looking up at it from so far below, in the cold embrace of the sea. It wasn't even painful anymore, the water, but oddly comforting, lulling you to rest, holding you tight.

The only regret you had was leaving John…

The last thing you saw before your eyes fell shut was his face above yours and a faint smile moved your lips. How very considerate of your mind to conjure up his image as the last thing you would ever see.

You could feel his arms around you even, fingers digging into your skin, his body pressed down against your own…

“Bloody fucking Hell, let her go!” The words didn’t make sense to you and they sounded so awfully far away. “She isn’t yours, you stupid paegan relic, let go of her! Let go!”

But you were, you were letting go, there was nothing more you could do.

“Christ, luv, which heathen tosspot did you enlist to drown you?! Yam, Ægir? Tiamat? Nanuet? Nanuet, isn’t it?” At the invocation of her name, you could feel the ancient goddess slacken her hold on you, as if in surprise, and you vaguely realised that the embrace you felt didn’t belong to her or the water, but to John. “Oh, you always were a fickle tart. Let go of this servant or so help me God, I, John Constantine, will destroy you and every last shrine still bearing your blasted name! Let her go!”

With a cry you weren’t sure was even coming from you, your face broke the surface of the waves. You violently coughed up seawater and if it weren’t for John’s arms, you would have fallen right back down into the deep. Your head was spinning. The numbness gave way to a cold so freezing you might as well have been rolling in needles. Everything hurt. Your legs felt unsteady, no, your entire body felt as if someone had replaced your bones with straw and your muscles with jelly.

“J-John…,” you coughed, but he shushed you, keeping you close to him in the water.

“I know, luv, it’s a bloody miracle you aren’t dead, you’re welcome for that. Now let’s get you out of the water, yeah?”

He was really there, drenched in the North Sea in the middle of October at what might as well have been the edge of the Earth, just to save you from drowning. His white shirt and black trousers clung to his frame like film and from what you could make out in the light from the moon, he was shuddering from the cold, too. You had never wanted to kiss him so badly before.

“I c-can’t m-m-move,” you got out through teeth rattling painfully in your skull, suddenly all too aware of your proximity and your own state of undress. As much as you wanted to cling to him for warmth, for closeness, the logical part of your muddled brain was screaming at you to keep your distance. That was what you did, wasn’t it?

“‘Course you can’t. How long were you under for, anyway? Completely off your rocker summoning a paegan goddess alone at night in the middle of the bloody ocean! What were you thinking?”

“I-I saw the g-ghost,” you weakly tried stammering through your clattering teeth. “Saw h-how it killed-ungh!”

You let out a groan as John swiftly picked you up and started carrying you towards shore. Your severely tested heart felt as though it might give out entirely. Never had you been reckless enough to let him touch you like this before, to let him hold you, as if you were a lover who would readily indulge in such intimacy. If it weren’t for the fact that you were very likely about to freeze to death, your cheeks would have been on fire. Every inch of your skin would have been scorching.

As it were, you were too cold and too exhausted for your body to produce that kind of heat. Surrendering to the fatigue in your bones, you allowed your head to rest against him and closed your eyes. He could carry you to shore or to Hell on his hands. You weren’t going to argue. For the first time in all your human life, you completely let your guard down.

#john constantine x reader #constantine x reader #john constantine #constantine #john constantine fanfiction #hellblazer #vertigo hellblazer #nbc constantine #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #dc x reader #dc x you #john constantine x you

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kth1 · 4 years

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Crosscurrents [Hoseok x Reader] Part 1

Crosscurrents - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Genre: The Little Mermaid AU | Fantasy AU | Series Pairing: Mermaid!Hoseok x Princess!Reader Featuring: BTS Princes Warnings: Angst, fluff, rated G, sorry no smut, mentions of pain, eventual character death, it’s just a fantasy story. W/C: 6k Summary: Hoseok is a carefree middle child among seven princes, each running one of the seven seas. With a curious nature to study the world above, he makes several routine visits to the surface, once even saving an alluring princess who he grows very smitten by. With a strong determination to meet his lovely princess, Hoseok makes a risky deal with the ocean’s enchantress to become human. Author’s Note: This fic is something I was utterly happy and exited to write. Mermaids and fantasy stories, yippee. Thank you all who support me. Portions of the fic is unedited. 🐚🧜‍♂️

Credits: Story includes strong elements from Hans Christian Andersen’s ‘The Little Mermaid’; Disney’s ‘The Little Mermaid’; and Michiko Yokote’s manga ‘Mermaid Melody’. Beta Reader: @shadowsremedy has helped me with a handful of passages throughout the course of this story, thank you so much.

☀ CROSSCURRENT MASTERLIST ☀

Miles away under the sun-kissed surface of the ocean, where the water is clear as crystal and blue as the contrasting sky above – resided populations of beautiful mythical creatures. Down in the lowest depths, the most scarce of areas that no human would ever dare to scavenge, lived the Mer-people.

Underwater forestry, plants, organisms of wondrous visions illuminating the deepest pits of the oceans. Fishes of all sizes and shapes occupied the area, weaving through the stems and leaves of charted trees along the motion of the currents. Just as birds fly among the surface. Gorgeous sands decorated the floor along with seven separate kingdoms enriched with enchanting palaces, each declaring a claim to their own sea.

Each palace, unique in their own way. Accommodating their surrounding habitats. Each of the seven districts ruled under the marvelous Mer-King, and each sea acquainted a heavenly, handsome prince. Kingdoms decorated with coral walls, sculpted sandstone slates and amber pointed windows. Roofs made from the finest and largest of mussel-shells, clams and hidden glittering pearls and jewels. Stones of riches, easily the most expensive gems that belonged in the pits of the hidden worlds.

The Mer-King seeded the realms with seven little princes who were all very beautiful children in their own distinctive ways. For each Prince, were given a household to look after, to grow up with, and study in practice to control their provinces.

Within the Arctic Ocean, where merfolk varied in shades of murky indigo and dotted with black spots was inhabited by the eldest of sons, Prince Seokjin. The Indian Ocean decorating the waves with scales of vibrant oranges complimented with a singular stripe of white down the backside, consisted Prince Yoongi. The cold of the Antarctic rested Prince Namjoon, along with his kingdom of deep purple-to-silver tailed scaly family. Tails irradiated a glow just like the moon reflecting on water.

Creatures in the North and South Pacific diverse in tropical colors, salmon pink beings belonging to Prince Jimin in the north, and bright crisp yellow folks ruled under the south’s youngest, Prince Jungkook. The last two kingdoms lay in the Atlantic Ocean. Beautiful deep green tails of the north, quipped with touches of holographic shine belonged to Prince Taehyung. Lastly, the region in the South Atlantic was full of rays of aqua blue and speckled with gold – is where Prince Hoseok lives.

Throughout their childhoods, given brief age gaps and the stretch of locations between another, the brothers all grew up together. Frequent visits, family gatherings being a constant presence with the young boys. All merfolk belonged to another, they took after another and populated the sea floor. Fishes would swim up, gently being held, feeding out of the hands of mermaids and mermen. Eventually within a mer-person’s life, they will be acquainted with a creature of any species. A forever buddy that becomes their pet, their friend, and family.

The beauty of the South Atlantic Ocean kingdom with a magnificent palace that had astounding flowers growing between the cracks of the walls in each apartment and room, was decorated with a large garden in the front. Full of dark and iridescent baby-blue trees with fruits that glittered like gold. Matching the specs of gold that embellished the tails of the locals. Flowers blazed with hues of butterscotch yellows, resembling the bright and burning sun from the surface above. Bushes and smaller shrubs matched the color of sulfur.

Hoseok was certainly a singular child, one who was quiet and thoughtful in group settings, but was the loudest and most careless when it came to freedom. His skin was soft and delicate, like the touch of a sunflower leaf. His eyes sparked a deep blue, twisted with an almond mix of brown. His tail was no doubt the most stunning in his sector, outshining others around him, a tell-tailed sign that he was of royalty. But the most notable of signs that screams royalty was the unique earring that never left Hoseok’s lobe.

Each handsome prince was given a dedicated pearl at their coming of age ceremonies, each identifying with their tail color. To which they must protect and kept safe for the sake of their empires. For the fact that these pearls harness great mystical powers, such power compacted within one tiny jewel. But this power could completely destroy a nation if given to the wrong hands, and if their owners neglect their duties.

Nothing pleased Prince Hoseok more than hearing about the unreachable world from above. Human beings who lived on land, not within the sea. Stories fascinated the curious mind of Hoseok, constantly being riddled with tales of these notorious humans. Over time, with the help of Nannies and families, Hoseok’s knowledge grew when it came to the world that was simply out of reach. Ships, towns, land animals, you name it.

Over the course of his younger days, he ventured out into the sea, accompanied by his trusty companion, Kiko – a leafy sea dragon. Together they collected a handful of unknown knick knacks, thingamajigs, and doohickeys that they forged for from shipwrecks. To this day – Hoseok still makes these trips, ventured out further into the sea without supervision, even breaking the surface of the water to catch a glimpse of the amazing world.

Nights where he could sneak away, rise to the surface and lay under the moonlight in the clefts of the rocks. Watching lights from the shoreline flicker dimly, the casted stars sparkling the sky in beautiful constellations.

“It’s so beautiful up here, isn’t it Kiko?” Hoseok spoke towards the leafy sea dragon that circled around his fins which remained dipped in the water. He sighed, breathing in the foreign air, the dryness cutting into his lungs. The wind played with his shaggy hair, his earring dangling along. His eyes set firmly on the coast, waves easing in and out at the ridge of the bay. Everything up here was so unfamiliar to Hoseok, so tempting and entertaining.

“There’s beautiful places all over. And under.” Kiko mused back. Skeptical and cautious as she grew accustomed to Hoseok’s nightly adventures. There was no way she could talk the Prince out of his plans, ever.

“But up here is so – is so,” he pauses. Noticing a small child holding an elder woman’s hand, probably enjoying a nightly walk on the beach. “… Amazing.”

The high church-towers were in view within the town that lined the coast. Carriages and music playing in the distance, even the chime of bells ringing. The simple fact that he could not go there himself caused him to yearn for it more, wish for it to happen in his dreams. This Prince was indeed passionate about the land before him, stretching his hands towards the air.

“Careful yourself, Hoseok.” Kiko warned. “It’s late, shouldn’t we be heading back before someone notices your disappearance?”

He nodded, with his eyes still trained on the silhouettes of the strolling humans. Watching them turn up a set of stairs and disappearing behind the curve of the walkway. He was fascinated, the kinship between humans wasn’t much different from his to his folks. Humans were so distant, but they seemed so similar to him.

A small tug on his fin caught his attention, seeing his little buddy pulling him. “Let’s go, you have a busy day tomorrow.”

On the swim back, descending down into the dept of the sea, Hoseok reminisced his favorite times above water. The early mornings, the midday views of seagulls flying high above in flocks, the sunsets were clouds scattered the sky and painted in violets, reds, and oranges. Watching the Sun extinguish into the horizons plane as the cool of the night sky took over.

Hoseok loved the upper world and all its inhabitants so very much.

Daybreak tickled the waters, reflections of lights bouncing and refracting off another in the clear-cut liquids. It shined through Hoseok’s large amber window, casting a ray on his slumbering face causing him to wince. His body curled tighter in his clam-based bed; a thicket of woven blankets made of the finest kelp keeping him comfortable. Bio-luminescent decorations that drifted within his quarters losing their dim glows.

Shortly, his door would be knocked upon. Guards prepared to assist him along his daily routines, breakfast, taking a swim through the gardens, fitting for dresswear. Today, his brothers were due for a visit – since his kingdom was hosting the annual Festival of the Arts this year, as the event rotated between each realm every year.

It was always a delight to seek comfort from his siblings, to talk among another with similar thoughts and feelings as each and every single one of them were in the same shoes – in this case, fins. They were close to another regardless of the actual distance of their homes. And he was more than happy to celebrate the festivities and provide his best hosting service.

Prince Jungkook was the first to have arrived along with his party, very atypical of the youngest who outshines the mer-world quite frankly with his beaming yellow tail and natural abilities. His excitement to see his older brother urgently was overwhelming as he searched throughout the Aqua realm’s palace for Hoseok. Wittingly enough, he knew Hoseok’s patterns, the layout of the entire home.

“Hyung!” Rang through the water – not sounding quick enough for Hoseok to process before the bulldozing clash of his body into another’s. Tough arms circled Hoseok, tightening in a rush just in time for him to tilt his head to catch the sight of jet-black hair and a flash of canary yellow.

“Ah, Jungkook. You nearly gave me a heart attack!” Hoseok hollers. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Jungkook laughs, holding his brother tight and against his will, “I’m sorry Hobi – it won’t happen again.” The scrunch of Jungkook’s nose and the teasing smile made his quick apology sound completely fake.

“You’ve filled out more I see.” He notes the stature of Jungkook from the last time he’s seen him. Chest expanding further, his hair longer and pulled in a half bun with loose ends spilling out around his fringe. The twinkle of Jungkook’s yellow pearl lays just between his clavicles on a threaded necklace. But his youngest brother still adorned his childlike smile, large eyes popping out with animation.

“Indeed, I have.” Said the yellow tailed man.

“Have you prepared well for the ceremony tonight?” Hoseok questioned while shifting out of the other man’s clutch, fluttering his fingers through his case of human books. Careful not to tear the thinned papers that were not made for the water.

They were in the secondary study – dedicated to Hoseok’s cherished collectibles of human items that drifted down to the sea floor. It was a private area, filled with wonder and intertwining plants. So many new and beautiful objects decorated the interior of the room along with the drifting innocent fishes that floated around like fruit flies.

Jungkook grabbed hold of his brothers’ hand, tearing him past the seaweed curtains and out of the room. “I need help with a part of the choreography – I’m not sure what to do.”

Each of the seven princes were a part of the annual festival, performing their own pieces of art. Music surrounded their lives, and each prince specialized in one of the three professions: Singer. Dancer. Composer.

In tune with another – they create a perfect melody, a rhythm they cast into the waters. And all together they grow stronger with the help of their pearls.

“Let’s not head to the ballroom – I’m sure they are still setting up.”

“Jungkook! Sir!! Prince!” A peep of a scream came from the corner, a frantic Moorish Idol fish bee-lining towards the two still Princes. “Don’t you bolt off like that again! I can’t catch up with your speed!” it pants as it swarms around Jungkook’s face.

“Gotta be quicker, Pip!” Jungkook giggled, using his fingers to brush against his tuckered-out buddy.

Pip eyed Hoseok, recognizing the older Prince and jumped in embarrassment. “Prince, I apologize! I didn’t greet you properly, please I am so dearly sorry!”

“No need for formalities.” A wave of Hoseok’s hand hushed Pip’s words. “It’s nice to see you again. Now – about that choreography…”

The rooms were lit to the high-nine. Capacity of several variations of flourished colored tails decorated Hoseok’s palace – events like these are his favorite. Not only is he surrounded by his school, he’s encircled by his glorious brothers. The only thing that stressed out the aqua tailed prince, wasn’t the planning of events, fitting for costumes, dresswear, or deciding the best dishes to cater. The performance he practiced for day in and day out alike his brothers – what stressed Hoseok out was the company of his father, the Mer-King himself who only showed his presence for special occasions.

Each Prince were presented in front of the crowd of hundreds, their titles in all. Dolled up to accommodate the affair with engaging chains that wrapped around their waists and wrists, extra clam and shell accessories added to decorate around their loose arms and tail. Designed capes, hip skirts, and sheer fabrics that moved with the waves as they would do with the wind from above. Crowns made from wreaths of white lilies with bejeweled opal white pearls dangling down the band.

One by one they presented their acts along the stage, an entertaining uproar surpassed through the crowds from the Royal’s concert. The dancers who weaved like fluid coil to the cords of music were nonother than the feisty topaz yellow Jungkook, the carefree aquamarine dazzled Hoseok, and the flirtatious yet ditzy salmon pink royal, Prince Jimin.

Contrasting the dancers were the stunning vocalists of the group, Seokjin and Taehyung. Together they crafted a harmonious aura with their lyrics and tones. Entreating voices far sweeter than any human or mer-folk around.

Princes Namjoon and Yoongi of the Antarctic and Indian Oceans were strong composers, masters in a range of musical instruments. Their wits, knowledge, and pure love for the magical symphonies poured out of their bodies through devices and tools. Drafting tunes for songs every breathing moment.

It was late once again as Hoseok frustratedly swam up to his usual cove. Hoisting his body up on a smooth rocky islet that broke through the surface. Up here, Hoseok felt light and at ease. Repressing the tensions that bellowed below in the pit of his realm. The breeze was steady and refreshing, toying with the stands of his dampened hair and drying off the droplets of water that trickled down his skin.

He shed the tokens that deemed his high rank prior to wondering off from the palace, only keeping his stationary earpiece securely in. The clouds floating are coated in golden and rosy shades, evening stars piercing the sky in the dimming east. The nearing night looked extraordinary in Hoseok’s eyes.

A large ship with three white masts settled still on the water with only one sail unraveled. People littered the deck, music and song resounded from the vessels, and soon after when the night casted over the sky, the light of hundreds of lamps burst into view.

It was odd for a ship to be sailed far out during this time, even more peculiar to have a scatter of lights beaming from floating lamps that hovered into the air.

He swam close to the captain’s cabin being cautious to stay low in the water, and with every rock of the waves Hoseok was able to look through the clear windowpanes. Kiko stayed close to Hoseok, wiggling herself into his hand for security as they drawn near the scary object that rested on the water.

There were many richly dressed humans within, gowns and suits decorating each member in a fashion. The most bewitching of them, a person who stood out of the crowd and stared into the far distance of the water was a young princess with flowing thick hair. No doubt in Hoseok’s mind that this beauty was no younger than him, and he felt completely captivated by her looks.

A festival was being celebrated on the same day Hoseok’s home celebrated his. In honor of this princess’s birthday the crew were dancing and singing on the upper deck, similar to how Hoseok’s family just partook on a stage deep below. It was fascinating his wondering eyes, activities so alike to his own. And the moment the princess appeared among the lively bunch, rockets shot up into the air, turning the night into day.

The loud boom of cracks sizzling into the air scared Hoseok and Kiko, forcing him to dip his head back under the surface.

“Let’s go back! This isn’t safe!” Kiko chimed in, shaking her frail leafy body.

Hoseok looked up through the plane of water, eyes wide with shock. Not once has he ever seen this lightshow before. These weren’t cracks of blue zigzags that dressed the sky like lightning, theses were bright loud bangs of noise that sparked fire.

Through his perception, he watched the glows vanish. Until another boom ripped through the air along with another flash of light. “Hold on.” He says.

The curious merman raised his head above water again to witness a scene of falling stars upon him. A fiery shower he surely has never seen before tonight. It was like large suns revolved around his head, the brightest of fishes swam in the air that reflected on the clear glass-slate of water of the sea. Who knew humans could have such power.

The princess could be seen distinctly throughout the sailors that laughed and jested with glee. Her face adorned with a wide smile, one that shined so bright. “Oh – she’s so beautiful, isn’t she?”

It was later now, but Hoseok couldn’t take himself away from the ship and the beautiful young princess. She remained looking through that cabin window, rocking to and fro by the motion of the sea. He was enchanted by her, charmed by this unique being. There was something about her.

“Would you look at her?” Hoseok examined, smiling to himself. “She’s breathtaking.”

Kiko fluttered around Hoseok, a nervous wreck of a fish as she sensed an unnerving suspicion. “Please, we must go back. We’ve overstayed too long.”

“Oh poppycock. The palace is in perfect condition. Nobody will notice me missing.”

“Sir – “

There was foaming and fermentation in the depths beneath causing the ship to tilt faster. Waves rose high and violent in a span of minutes. Sails were spread, a commotion coming from the desk resounded. A distant thunder was heard, rumbling through the space above.

“Ah – father…” Hoseok snapped his head, “He’s angry.”

“I told you we must go!”

Hoseok and Kiko both swam a few meters down after once last glance at the ship that furled their sails once more. Until a sudden pound echoed through the waves. The great vessel tossed and turned on the volatile waters like a rowboat as the waves rose to an extreme height. It towered over the ship, clashing forcefully into the deck and submerging the manmade object. Water filled the cavities of the deck, the stout masts bent under the swirling billows.

“Hoseok!” Kiko shouted at the stunned merman who watched with wide eyes. An internal struggle inside him to tell him to go back to the Mer-King or to help the sinking ship. “We need to go!”

“I can’t! It’s going to turn over into the sea!”

Just as he guessed, the crew among the vessel was in terrible danger; since he himself had to beware the shattered beams that tore away from the vessel and splashed down above him. Wreckage both floating and sinking, causing hazards to think twice about.

“Get him to stop Kiko, tell him I’m fine! Just stop the storm!” Hoseok shooed his seahorse away, heading himself to the surface and ignoring the pleading screams.

It was pitch dark above, so dark that he could not distinguish anything until a flash of lightning disclosed to him the whole of wreck. Burning flames above the water. Hoseok only felt urgent for his wondrous princess as he sought her out the instant the ship kissed the bottom of the seafloor.

Hoseok knows no human can breathe underwater, he knows the only times he’s seen a human up close were the bodies of corpses that drifted down into the depths. He did not want that fate for the princess.

He dove himself through the shards and fragments that sprinkled within the water regardless of the danger he was inducing but with his steady swim he found the princess having difficulty holding her head high. Her eyes already closed while clutching her frame around a piece of driftwood, inevitably would have drowned completely if it wasn’t for the aqua blue merman who came to the rescue. Bearing the force of the heavy current, holding the princess above the water’s surface.

The sun rose in the horizon towards morning, by then the ongoing storm had seized and there weren’t any traces of remains from the shipwreck. Rays of lights restored color to the princess’s cheeks, though her eyes remained closed. Her dampened dress riddled with sand and stray leaves of seaweed.

They lay off in a secluded cove far from the casually populated beach. Surrounding cliffs hiding them away. Hoseok laid gazing up at the arresting princess, stroking the strand of wet hair away from her face. Her skin was soft like a rose petal, and a slight pink undertone hid beneath its expanse. “Please wake.” He whispered as he studied her features.

This was the first time Hoseok laid about the land, just shy of the waters reach. He could see the dry green wood that extended along the coast, cliffs and mountains drawn clearer. Firm quartz sand which he now occupied along with his new companion. He turned her face towards the rising sun that was illuminating the world.

A quiet sound escaped the mouth of the princess, surprising the merman suddenly. He leaned back, head blocking the sun from direct view of her face while she sleepily opened them. The haze of her eyes coated her sight, looking at the figure that was in view. She grumbled, blinking rapidly to readjust the image before her. A stranger hovered over her, a concerned look across their handsome face as they looked down at her in curiosity. Golden brown hair flowed around; a glint of blue entrapped into his brown almond eyes.

“Hello,” Hoseok whispered, lifting the corner of his lips up.

“Who-“

Hoseok shifted the moment he heard of loud barking noise coming from the side of a cliff. His movement caused the piercing rays of light to shine into the princess’s eyes, blinding her some more.

The merman jolted away from the shore in a panic, hiding behind some stones further into the sea. Hoseok watched from afar with unyielding attention, a black four-legged being running towards the reviving princess. A small group of men followed suit to the black figure who alerted the humans of its findings.

“Oh Princess!” one shouted as they ran over. They smiled kindly down at her, assisting her off the sands and into a blanket. “Princess Y/n, are you hurt?”

She was dazed and confused, checking her surroundings for the other person she just saw. Did she see someone or was it her imagination? Who had saved her from the previous night? “Where’s the man? The one who saved me?”

The surrounding men gave another a questioning look, looking quite confused when they eyed the area around them. “Miss, nobody is here besides us? You must have swallowed too much seawater – it’s a miracle you survived.”

The black hairy creature spotted Hoseok out, yapping towards him and trying to get the humans attention. The animal saw him, no doubt, and Hoseok ducked for cover under the waves as they passed, waiting for his moment to come back up.

The princess was taken back onto the land with the assistance of the furry creature and humans, leaving Hoseok distraught behind the stones of the bay. But he was relieved that she survived, her beauty could live on longer, and he couldn’t wait to share his story about how he saved a human. Immediately, when the princess was finally out of view, he plunged beneath the water to return back to his palace.

“Y/n…” He hummed, repeating the sweet name that rang his ears. “Her name is Y/n.”

“Where did you go last night?” The Mer-King shouted in the dining hall. Hoseok floated in front of his father, eyes trained to the seabed below their fins. The six other brothers hovered off to the side in a stationary line, motionless as they watched the scolding unfold. Each accompanied by their personal pets who too drifted in the silence of the water.

“Answer me, Hoseok!” the King’s voice resembled the same boom of the magical fire show from last night.

“I – I was… I went...”

“Don’t you dare tell me you escaped up to the surface.”

Hoseok fell silent. His words lost in his throat when he made eye contact with his father. The King stood still with the length of his graying hair exceeding past his shoulder blades, a crown sat atop his head made out of coral and angulate wentletrap shells. Spikes of eelgrass flowing from the tips of the multicolored crown. His slimy tail was ombre from a berry red into a sandy brown – dorsal fins displayed wide and drifted just how a beta fish would, flared up just how a beta fish would. His steel gray eyes stared down at Hoseok with intensity, waiting for a response.

Voiceless silence. Hoseok could not speak another word without distressing his father any further. In defeat he hung his head down to the floor, sinking his shoulders.

“You are not to leave the palace.” The King’s voice broke through. “You are not to enter the surface of the water. Do I make myself clear?”

“But Fath –“

“Am I clear!?” He shouted. Voice echoing through the quiet halls of the palace – hand clutching his beloved trident tight.

“Yes, Sir.” Hoseok grimaced. Kiko fleeing into the middle of Hoseok’s back.

The Mer-King departed the dining hall, leaving the seven brothers to themselves. It was when Hoseok looked up seeing the concerning looks crossing each of his brothers, did he feel guilty for his actions.

“What are you doing? You know you shouldn’t meddle around up above. What if someone saw you?!” Namjoon spoke, the cool tone of his voice chilled through the water. The purple scaled man swam closer to Hoseok, the slate of silver shining through his hair and the tip of his fins. His purple pearl shimmered in the arm cuff on his right of his crossed arms, his crab responding in the same gesture. “Hoseok, think of the dangers.”

“I know. But hear me out – I did something so amazing last night!”

“Namjoon’s right, you know this.” Seokjin stepped in with a pointing finger embellished with his pearl, “And to pull that stunt, especially when father is visiting, you’re asking to be yelled at.” His small, very animated manta ray wiggled around Seokjin’s mannerisms, copying the same movements as he did.

Hoseok’s mouth formed a triangle frown. Resentment settling in the pit of his stomach along with a mix of emotions. “Can you just listen to me?”

“Then speak.” Heads turned over to the aloof green merman who seated himself on top of the turquoise sea-glass table. The side of his hair clipped back with a white barbed clam, allowing the rest of his deep brown wavy hair to flow naturally. Under his ear shined the dark pine colored pearl, just how Hoseok’s did. Taehyung’s fingers twirled around his pale jellyfishes’ ruffled tentacles, staring off into the distance in deep thought. “What was amazing?”

Hoseok scanned the eyes around him, taking in a strong breath before telling his otherworldly experience. The merfolk knew of legends, myths and facts about the land above. Artifacts that fallen down into their domains created curiosity but there were fears of the stories about merfolk traveling far too close to the coastline. Humans may be mystical to mer-people, but it was never wise to breach the surface to study them.

“And the lights started falling down after the loud bang! Fire burning and sizzling out in beautiful streams! It was so bright!” He exclaimed with his audience listening in. “But then the storm demolished the ship! It happened so fast!” Hoseok continued his dramatic story with such immense passion, comparing how humans and merfolk celebrated in similar ways.

It infatuated the listening ears, well, some more than others. “And then I saved her from the wreck! I saved her guys! I brought her to the shore and – “

“You what?”

Yoongi, with a tail of vibrant marmalade orange cut his younger brothers train of thought. His narrow coal cut eyes shot angry towards Hoseok. A menacing stare emitting from the shaggy dirty blonde-haired male, questioning his brother’s reckless behavior. “You went on land?!” His pet lionfish flared its fins at the tone of his owner’s voice, grumbling something about idiocy.

“She lived because of me!” Hoseok retorted, leveling up to the stinging tension that was rising quickly.

“You’re troublesome, really.” Yoongi chided. “She would have been fine if you were here in your palace! That storm wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for you!”

“You’re setting a bad example for the younger ones.” Seokjin nodded towards the wafting men who innocently drifted in the background of the conversation.

Hoseok fumbled over his words, mouth gaping open looking for words to fill into it. He knows his brothers aren’t wrong, they were just being cautious. But Hoseok felt like they looked down upon his widened spectrum, his drive to expand the knowledge about the world above. It wasn’t fair with all the limitations merfolk had, and even more restrictions for a Prince.

Hoseok grew quiet and reflective as days passed by. Obeying the tolls and jobs of his prince duties, being kind to other fish folk and leaning a helping hand for many in need. He stabilized his environment, praised the coral reefs that skirted his territory, even assisted with gathering the ripened fruits that sprouted from the gardens’ trees.

Though each and every day Hoseok pondered about the princess who lived above. Questioning to himself about her whereabouts, how she was doing and what she was doing. He dared to stare at the new statue that became his favorite décor in his luxurious field of flowers. A beautiful stone chiseled and sculpted to look like the princess, partially broken from the wreck of the ship, now stood in the middle of his oyster paddock.

When Hoseok wanted to be a daredevil, he succeeded in slipping away from the eyes of his staff and even his personal buddy. Rushing himself back to the surface where he loved so dearly to catch the linger of the air that dried his face and scales. Many times, he rose to the place where he had last seen Princess Y/n, where he left her on the sands before scurrying away. He always returned to his subterranean abode with a bit of sadness when he never saw her.

It was dawn when the first light creeped through the panels of Hoseok’s second study where he was toying around with one of his thingamajigs, trying to understand the use of it. He had an unexpected visitor in the middle of the night, a slither of a reflective shine catching his eye. An oily slick tinted film in the moonlight when he angled his tail in the right way.

“Taehyung.” Hoseok breathed, “You should have told me you were heading here; I would have arranged a genuine greeting for you when you entered the gates.”

He seemed cheerier during the night hours, maybe it was the relaxation of the disphotic zone or the cool temperament of fishes relaxing. Whichever excuse it may be, Taehyung always glowed better during the evening. “I’m sorry hyung – I wanted to check in on you. I was worried.”

They spent the entire night in deep thoughts, conversing to another about their worries and provinces. A few discussions about trades between regions, assembling plans and arrangements for brotherly gatherings. Taehyung found a fascination with a particular utensil from Hoseok’s study, a metal tool that had spikes at one end and a smooth handle on the other.

Throughout the night Hoseok confessed his sorrows to his younger brother, revealing his secret about the princess he had saved. How her beauty enchanted him, imprinting on his mind, how her statue now lays in the greens of his garden. The embarrassment crept up to him, distracting himself from his feelings as he showed Taehyung around his collection of human things.

“If my memory is correct, I believe I might know who your princess may be, because I have seen a castle above the waters.” Taehyung twirls the man-made gizmo around his fingers as he speaks. “When you mentioned her before in your story, I grew curious.”

Hoseok was caught off-guard from Taehyung’s words, stunned even. “Y – You know where she lives? You need to show me!” The aqua tailed man fluttered around with a sense of emergency, he held Taehyung’s hand pleading to him. “Please brother, show me what you know. It’s a wonderful morning already, the current is leveled, and the waters are clear!”

Embracing their arms together, Taehyung and Hoseok swam out past the palace walls into the blue of the ocean. Together they rose out of the water after miles of swimming, just in front of a tall bend in a cliff. They remained far off from the cost, deep enough to be unnoticed from the naked eye. But from their point of view they were able to see a castle with bright yellow stones, a flight of marble steps that led straight into the sea. Statues topped the pillars that outlined the walls, the building crowned with a Caspian blue. A great bay window faced toward the sea, the windows expanding long and wide.

The area was farther out from Hoseok’s natural comfort spot, he would pass this sector many times when he would visit up north to Taehyung’s realm.

From a closer look the two mermen can see silken curtains that hugged the frames of large bay windows, the walls inside decorated from top to bottom with magnificent paintings. Blurred bodies of servants walking across the tiled floors and expensive rugs. Deep within one of the larger rooms there was a fountain glittering with dancing water which sprouted from several areas surrounded by long stems and tendrils of plants.

“It’s so beautiful.” Hoseok whispered, creeping himself closer towards the castle that was built on the edge of the cliff. It was a real delight for the royal mermen to witness an abode so lovely, so riveting.

“This is the only castle I know of. I’m hoping this could be her palace.” Taehyung swam down, toying around with his small jellyfish in a fit of giggles. Dangling strands of seaweed around as if he’s forging the same motion as his buddy’s tentacles.

Hoseok dipped his head under, meeting up with the green tailed strides. “Thank you, Taehyung!” Hoseok’s arms entangled around Taehyung’s waist, spinning the two mermen in circles.

“It’s not far from the area where I saved her. Oh, I do hope this is her home!”

Taehyung beamed back a boxy smile, noticing the wild spirit of Hoseok shine. He was aware of the consequences of going to the surface, aware how enraged father could get when the sons acted up. But he was very happy to help out his brother – he saw something in Hoseok that he didn’t see in the others.

“Please, whatever you may do. Just be safe.” He petted the side of his brother’s hair, flicking his finger over Hoseok’s pearl earring.

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of-elves-and-mad-hatters · 3 years

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“The Azure Sky”- Chapter 5 -Lego Elves

Shadows to the Brightest Flame: Series

- The legacy of Lumia’s influence is scarred eternally into the lands of Elvendale. Burdened by a prophecy foretelling her demise and need for a successor, she watches for one capable of such power. Yet her enemies are working steadily to undo all she’s labored so long for, and it is millenia too late to make peace.

Emily Jones, heir to Eimileen, is a bold girl dedicated to protecting Elvendale, but the world she has grown so fond of is not so black and white as it seems, and the titles of Guardian of Portal and Guardian of Light may hold darker legacies some ancient elves have worked tirelessly to hide.

In conjunction with the extended version of the Guardian of Light prophecy I wrote previously

Basically a rewrite of all of the Lego Elves & Secrets of Elvendale storylines with an additional arc beyond the Season 4: Into the Shadows. There will be a varying degree of deviation from canon.

Technically a crossover with Lord of the Rings/Hobbit/Silmarillion in terms of worldbuidling, as I set Elvendale as being north of Middle-Earth, cause this is fanfic and I can. So there will be mentions of the Noldor, Sindar, Silvan, and some Tolkien characters, but they will be mostly background. Definitely not an issue if you aren’t familiar with the Middle-Earth fandom; everything will still be easy to understand.

Book 1: The Azure Sky

Grieving over the unexpected death of her grandmother, Emily Jones is accidentally trapped in another world. Befriending a few young elves in an attempt to find her way home, Emily discovers many secrets about her grandmother’s past, but for every truth she learns two more questions take its place, leaving her vulnerable to darker force inhabiting this realm.

A rewrite of Unite the Magic

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

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Chapter 5

Their glasses of fireplume cordial clink in a toast.

“To Naida!” Azari and Aira cheer. Naida’s face flushes.

Farran has the map spread out on his knees. “The next key is somewhere in the Crystal Hollows.”

Naida nods, “I noticed. We’ll have to sail through the night to make it there by morning.”

“Aren’t those woods inhabited?” Aira inquires.

“Not for a few centuries. Some consider the land cursed after what happened to the colony that tried to settle there.”

“What happened?”

“A company of exiled dwarves, overwhelmed by the beauty of the gems, tried to drive the elves out. The resulting conflict turned quite bloody.”

“Hmm, mad axe-wielding midgets and enchanted rocks; sounds like you might have a chance to prove that bravery you’re always talking about, Farran Leafshade,” Azari teases.

The earth elf huffs. “I don’t need to prove anything just because you’re a daredevil. There’s more to courage than simply being insane.”

Azari’s face shifts into mock surprise. She grins. “That’s just what buzzkills say.”

Farran shakes his head before the entire table breaks into giggles.

Emily swirls the cordial in her glass. “I was wondering something,” she begins, “Azari calls you ‘Farran Leafshade’, but when you introduced yourself you said ‘Farran Folasion’. Do you have like, two last names, or is one your middle name?”

The four elves furrow their brows. Emily blushes. “I didn’t mean to be rude or anything, just forget it…”

“No, Emily, you’re fine, it’s just…we don’t know what you mean by ‘last’ and ‘middle names’.” Naida explains.

“Oh, um, a last name is your family name, I guess. My last name is ‘Jones’ because my father’s last name was Jones, and so was his father’s and so on. It helps identify what family you belong to. As for middle names, they go in between your first name and last name, though I don’t really know why.”

“So, a house name,” Aira considers, “Where all the relatives identify themselves by the name of their founding ancestor…”

“That sounds pretty similar,” Emily nods in agreement.

“We don’t use house names in this part of Elvendom; actually only a minority of one of the Elven peoples, some of the Noldor, do. Most elves here use their given name, the one bestowed to them by their parents at birth or in early childhood. To further identify ourselves, we may also add a second name, which could be a nickname or a name given as a result of some significant deed or unique occurance. Those can be either in Common-tongue or their original elvish dialect. ‘Leafshade’ is the common-tongue translation of a second name given to me by my father when I officially reached adulthood; that practice is pretty common up here.

Now, in a formal setting you don’t just use any other name of yours to introduce yourself. The second name you use is the name of your parent with the suffix ‘son of’ or ‘daughter of’. If you’re a guy, you use your father’s name, and if you’re a girl you use your mother’s name. My father’s name is Folas, so when I introduce myself formally I say ‘Farran Folasion’. ‘Ion’ means ‘son’ in most elvish languages.”

“And I would be ‘Aira Arlaynaiel’, since my mother’s name is ‘Arlayna’ and ‘iel’ means daughter. But most of the time I go by Aira Windwhistler,” the wind elf chimes in.

“That’s really interesting,” Emily muses, eyes alit in curiosity as she turns to Naida and Azari. “What about your names?”

“Formally, I am ‘Naida Marionaiel’. Usually I go by ‘Naida Riverheart’.”

“I don’t go to formal events, so I’m pretty much just ‘Azari Firedancer’; but if I ever did I would be ‘Azari Pyriaiel’.” The fire elf slurps noisily from her cordial.

“That’s cool,” Emily replies, feeling a bit repetitive. She looks out over the horizon, where the pastel blues and pinks of the sky have bled into deep reds and oranges. The sun hangs low, weary.

“It’ll be dark soon,” Naida observes. “We should prepare for the night ahead.”

__________________________

Emily turns over onto her side, restlessly flips back over again. She sighs, allowing her heavy lids to open.

The deep, unpolluted sky spangled with endless stars greets her. The streak of a comet flashes before her eyes.

It is beautiful.

Emily sits up, looking over the side of the boat onto the water. Beneath the surface of the waves seems to be its own galaxy, brilliant, shimmering colors traveling underneath. She remembers learning something about this phenomenon in one of her science classes, but the details escape her mind.

She’s not sure it would matter, for in this world the natural and unnatural are so inexplicably intwined that most scientists from her world would never be able to understand it.

So strange, so magnificent, even here in the still of the night.

Maybe that’s why she can’t sleep, the silence so foreign to her ears used to traffic noise and the flurry of nocturnal critters scampering in the garden. Or perhaps part of her is still expecting to wake up and find that all of this had been a dream.

She glances over at the four sleeping elves, reassured by their presence. She lays back down on the bench, pulling the blanket back over her body. She shuts her eyes, praying away her insomnia.

She finds her eyes fluttering open again and she groans softly in frustration. She finds herself tracing a knot in the smooth, finished wood, mind racing with all sorts of jumbled thoughts. One keeps circling back to the surface.

Why did her grandmother never tell her about this place?

Did she plan to, but her death came about unexpectedly, or did she intend to keep it a secret forever?

Would her grandmother have wanted her to end up here? Was this what was supposed to happen?

Why had she been left to deal with this alone?

Emily feels tears beginning to well up in the corners of her eyes. She shuts them, curcling into a fetal position.

She begins to hum, just the tune at first, the lullaby being so distant in her memory. As her breathing calms, drifting closer to the bliss of sleep, the words reveal themselves.

Earth moves the air, and the wind feeds the fire;

Magic is here, if you dare to believe.

Sail out to sea, on an ocean of mystery,

And bring your heart, to the ones that you meet.

#lego elves #unite the magic #fanfiction #fanfic #background crossover lotr elves #elven culture #emily jones #azari firedancer #naida riverheart #farran leafshade #aira windwhistler #elvendale #quest for the keys

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