ₛₑₐ fₒₐₘ

she  cast  her  bright,  shimmering  tail  into  the  sea,  and  it  looked  as  though  a  flash  of  lightning  had  fallen  into  the  waves.  she  felt  her  body  dissolving  into  foam,  but  she  did  not  feel  death.

[searos3]

SEAROS3  is  a  multimuse  blog  affiliated  with  avastrp.  written  by  abi.

 writing   the   muses   𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐀   𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐍𝐄𝐓   (   amita   suman   )   and   𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐀   𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐒   (   olivia   cooke   )   with   an   emphasis   on   the   exploration   of   yearning   in   all   its   forms,   the   ache   of   wanting,   to   desire   until   it   consumes   all   else. 

[stexdfxsthexrt]

an eyebrow quirked at the others retort. well, she could hardly blame the woman. everyone in tortuga seemed to be in some sort of a mood. perhaps it was the island living - it was hard to escape your ghosts on a place so small, after all. " the gin. " adeola nodded and set to sorting the drink for the younger woman. " if it's appropriate for the royal guards, it's appropriate for you. " that was the story the smuggler had told her when she had been given the gin, anyway. adeola didn't particularly care where the alcohol came from, as long as she actually had enough to stock the bar. she had people that needed the comfort a glass could bring to someone at the end of the day.

[searos3]

the  world  suddenly  feels  all  too  small.  this  wonderful  world  which  sansa  had  fought  her  way  into,  stepped  onto  the  carpet  rolled  out  before  her  and  allowed  the  waves  to  carry  her  wherever  they  may  lead  her  too.  she  has  looked  to  the  moon  under  a  hundred  different  skies,  and  marveled  at  the  way  it  always  stays  the  same.  but  here  she  is,  in  this  tavern  with  its  rickety  stairs  and  it’s  beautiful  owner,  fighting  not  to  unravel  too  swiftly.  “the  gin,  then.”  she  agrees,  a  heady  sigh  slipping  from  the  pink  ribbon  of  her  lips.  “do  you  count  me  to  be  quite  as  honourable  as  the  royal  guards?”  she  asks,  a  laugh  in  her  voice  despite  the  terror  of  being  stuck  in  one  place  for  quite  so  long.  “i’ll  take  it  as  a  compliment,  then.  and  with  thanks.  though  you  must  be  running  low  with  quite  the  uptake  in  custom  lately."

[cursedsails]

rika can smell sansa's familiar scent before she drops her weight into the sand beside her, enough of it filling her nose to heat her blood. the woman had an impeccable talent for riling her up, yet her name had yet to meet rika's list of those saved for her daggers. it didn't do to dwell on it. the glint of moonlight on the bottle thrust towards her caught her eye and she snatched it without grace, knocking back some of the foul liquor. "you're on a fucking island, you don't have to look far to see the sea. yet you came all this way to bother me." she noted, though her tone was less cutting and left a little more room for teasing. "are you going to wade out to make your escape? it would be fun for me to watch you drown."

[searos3]

the  sand  is  warm  beneath  her,  though  sansa  forever  runs  hot  when  rika  is  near.  there  is  something  sitting  in  the  space  between  the  pair,  an  electricity  which  can  turn  the  tide  between  a  tense  conversation  and  the  hells  opening  beneath  them.  rika,  it  feels,  sets  alight  that  famous  temper  possessed  by  the  rogue.  her  laugh  is  a  sound  tossed  into  the  sea,  like  stones  skipped  along  the  shore.  the  drink  loosens  her  shoulders,  a  sturdy  thing  sat  by  the  side  of  the  one  who  pulls  at  her  strings,  makes  her  undone  as  easily  as  she  tightens  her.  “what  a  high  opinion  of  yourself  you  have!  what  is  it  like,  to  be  so  self  assured?”  she  asks,  as  though  advice  on  the  topic  of  ego  is  anything  sansa  carstairs  needs,  of  all  people.  “would  you  like  that?  i’m  quite  a  good  swimmer,  otherwise  i  would  be  dead  by  now,  you  know,”  her  brow  raises  and  she  drops  backward  onto  the  sand,  eyes  on  the  twinkling  of  stars  up  above,  dotted  on  the  night  sky  like  diamonds.  “you  tempt  me,  rika.  i  am  so  undone  that  the  world  feels  warm  after  a  few  swallows  of  whatever  is  in  that  bottle.  i’m  restless,  and  i  would  walk  right  into  the  sea  if  i  truly  could  escape.”

[starlxvrs]

kaito looked around as he tried to cross around a crowd that had gathered at the steps and bumped into another. he had not realized where he actually was until the other mentioned it. his eyes gazing to the location before back at the other. "i see no way on how this pertains to me so you are fine in my ledger. though i doubt confessions your sins to a man of god is any different to one doing so to a bottle of rum." he commented. "though is there an actual pirate that cares. most would assume you were trying to steal from them or something."

[searos3]

maya is not so above it all, though they like to think it. they are not the perceived robin hood which they see in their mind’s eyes — they do not steal from the rich, nor give to the poor. their moral compass rocks askew at times, and their hands are not clean of blood by any stretch of the imagination. someone so riddled with guilt should have run to a convent, or to the gallows if truth be told. maya ran, instead, to the sea and all of its intricate morality. “i don’t know how faithful i am, in truth. but it seems a good idea to confess as often as i can. on the off chance.” they shrug their slim shoulders, slender and built for climbing, for slipping in and out of the shadows at will. often, they feel like something of a shadow themself. a tricky thing, forever following the heels of another with no real anchor of their own. “i think you’re right. i promise, my hands did not slip into the donations bag.” though there was temptation, wasn’t there? maya with their innocent brown eyes, wide as a doe, is nothing of the sort. despite what they wish. “i think that sort of plunder would be forever tainted, don’t you?”

[pearlkiiss]

why was he going?

it was the same question winston had been asking himself since he'd turned down the street that led to the church. every step had felt increasingly foolish, church was no longer part of his life. it belonged to another man.back then it hadn't been a choice but been expected.  he had never fit into its teachings so why bother now?. not to mention, the stacks of blown apart bodies he had been collecting over the years made it difficult. the lord, if he still listened, would need an awfully long afternoon listening to his crimes.

yet...here he was. his hands rested hesitantly upon the iron handle that he never got the chance to push. as a considerably smaller figure collided squarely into his chest. he didn’t stumble, he was more often a brick wall against most things that tumbled into him. winston almost felt bad. 

one brow rose, "only if you also don't mention that i was about to confess a few sins myself." his voice carried its usual gravelly rumble, though amusement crept unexpectedly into it."maybe this is the lord's way of telling us both to reconsider." the corner of his mouth tugged upward and a quiet chuckle escaped him, genuine enough to surprise even himself.

he gave the stranger a brief once over. it had been a solid collision but they seemed upright. nothing obviously broken and no blood. good enough .he wasn't entirely sure why he'd bothered checking, habit, perhaps. it was then during his inspection, he noticed something he didn’t at first. the colours....and then the face. he had seen that face before. storm's eye. the warmth disappeared and the pleasant humour that had briefly softened him settled back beneath layers of caution and contempt. he hadn't forgotten storm's eye forcing his crew into rough waters. they'd lost good sailors that day, and their ship had limped into port broken and leaking. winston was not a man who forgave easily, nor one who forgot.

 "...but," he said after a pause, his deep voice returning to its usual roughness, "i'll still want that apology in full." the faint smile was gone now,"tell me, should i expect the rest of your crew to come crashing into me as well, or are you simply making introductions on their behalf?"

[searos3]

what a fool they feel, praying to a god who does not listen. is it worth the hike they take to this church each time they return to tortuga? each step a prayer for forgiveness, but maya has never been freed of this guilt. it rots inside of them, curling about their intestines like ivy which threatens to choke them. all of it piles and it piles — the man bleeding out atop them and their later adventures. should maya apologise for what they have become, too? in this rotten career of piracy, they cannot deny that they have never felt so damned alive. so passionate. rubbing at their forehead, they lift their chin to meet the eyes of an absurdly solid, brick wall of a man. it’s a surprise to maya that they did not chip a tooth on his sternum. “i wouldn’t bother. i don’t think he’s in a listening mood today.” their voice is soft, though it grumbles forth from the prison of their chest. they should not speak in such blasphemy, but praying to the lord often feels as though they are screaming into the nether, foolish and alone. “perhaps we should take the hint.” there’s laughter on maya’s tongue which leaps to its death when their gaze adjusts to the figure they have slammed haphazardly into. it is instinct which makes maya take an imperceptible step backward. mist like, they are known to slip from the tightest of clutches, though usually it is under the cover of darkness rather than here, in the stark burn of the morning sun. dark eyes dart around themself, seeking an escape beyond him, of the oathbreaker. where there is passion in piracy, there is equal hatred in these feuds which run deep. maya cannot deny they share the views of their own crew in this endless enmity. “well, there is only one man to whom i answer.” comes their retort, followed by a jab of their thumb in the direction of the church behind them. “whether they pray or not is of their own business. i came here alone. can you say the same?”

[notalicent]

OLIVIA COOKE as ALICENT HIGHTOWER — 2.02 | "Rhaenyra the Cruel"

[cursedsails]

who: rika & open! where: deserter's docks

each whispering lap of the gentle waves against the shore was a vicious mockery. rika sat under the dock, dagger restlessly turning in her hands, as she watched the light of the moon catching the far horizon. the sea was calm that night, a far cry from the turmoil brewing inside of her. she wanted to scream, to curse the waves and the snares that awaited any pirate that dared to enter them, and tear this entire port to the ground with her savage bare hands. if there was one thing rika had no patience for it was... well, patience. keen ears picked up the soft shifting of sand underfoot behind her, and she scowled all the more, her gaze still fixed ahead. "clearly i look like i want to be disturbed." she growled, sarcasm dripping from every word. "fuck off."

[searos3]

trapped here. it doesn’t matter all that much, for sansa has felt trapped almost everywhere she goes. though, to be offered the choice of being stranded at sea and on land, she knows she would dive head first into the ocean at the first opportunity. she’s barefoot, she’s fairly tipsy, and she likes how the sand feels between her toes. there’s a bottle of something in her hand, she’s not quite sure what, but it burns her throat and makes her squint when she swallows — so she doesn’t complain. sansa’s brows raise at the solitary figure sitting in her path, and she can’t help but laugh when rika speaks. “there you are,” sansa’s voice is like honey despite the bitterness of her beverage. she plops down ungraciously beside rika and offers the unidentified bottle to her. “fuck you back. i wanted to come see the sea, if that's quite alright with you.”

[searos3]

their knees ache from the pew, but it is as familiar as the way it feels to claps their hands together in prayer. maya is no stranger to these walls, but it has been some time since their previous visit, and they wonder if god thinks that they’ve abandoned him. each confession is heavier than the last, but they feel lighter as they bless themself and maker their way along the aisles to push out into the sunshine, squinting as their eyes adjust to the sudden change, causing them to stumble into the form of another. eyes depthless in their darkness shift upward, apologetic and, frankly, embarrassed. “if i apologise, will you promise not to tell the tale of the pirate confessing their sins to the church they’re supposed to hate?”

[socdaily]

SHADOW AND BONE | 2.03 “Like Calls to Like”

[stexdfxsthexrt]

who: adeola & open

where: the devils cask

the cask had been quiet and while adeola lived for the lively nature that could come with running a tavern, she was certainly glad for the moments of quiet, too. moments of quiet reflection were hardly sought just about coming to the end of contentment with it ... when the door opened. she raised an eyebrow as she saw who it was that walked in. " don't want any funny business  " adeola narrowed her eyes at the newcomer. " so if you're in some sort of mood, turn around and take yourself elsewhere. " it was a warning and adeola wasn't someone who would give chances. if the person in front of her decided not to heed that warning... well, they'd know what was coming to them. " otherwise - welcome. what can i get you? "

[searos3]

hair a mess, flung over her shoulder in a haphazard braid. her cheeks are flushed, her eyes alight with something alive, something she likely uses to ignore the general wilderness that is her mind. sansa pushes into the devil’s cask with a thirst crawling its way up her throat. her grin is sharp as a knife as she eyes adeola, an appreciation in her gaze as she wanders towards the bar and sits herself down on the adjacent stool with a puff of air escaping from her pink lips. it’s been a while since she’s stepped foot inside of the establishment, but it feels like home. “i’m always in a mood, though.” she scoffs, voice like gravel. she feels light, without an anchor of her own dragging her by her feet into the darkness which stalks at her ankles. “what do you recommend? i trust your judgement.”

[searos3]

[  olivia  cooke,  ciswoman,  thirty,  she+her  ]  for  the  crimes  of  piracy  SANSA  CARSTAIRS  is  hereby  wanted.  those  who  surrender  them  dead  or  alive  to  the  crown  will  receive  TWO  HUNDRED  AND  THIRTY  pounds.  they’re  famously  known  to  be  part  of  NO  CREW  as  a  ROGUE.  before  engaging  be  warned  as  they  can  be  DECEPTIVE  +  ABRASIVE,  but  if  you’re  lucky  they’ll  be  RESILIENT  +  NURTURING.  legends  say  that  when  you  speak  their  name  you’re  reminded  of  AN  APPETITE  WHICH  SHALL  NEVER  BE  SATED,  RUNNING  BETWEEN  SHADOWS  LIKE  IT  IS  SECOND  NATURE,  ALL  ROADS  LEAD  BACK  TO  THE  LONELINESS  I  FELT  AS  A  CHILD. PINTEREST

running  has  become  like  second  nature  to  me.  it  began,  as  these  things  do,  in  a  grand  house  where  my  hand  was  offered  in  marriage  to  the  highest  bidder.  it  was  not  what  i  had  envisioned  for  myself.  i  was  too  strong  willed,  too  quick  witted.  and  he  was  a  man,  besides.  i  was  meant  for  so  much  more  than  to  be  somebody’s  wife  —  to  be  somebody’s  anything.  i  ran  to  the  place  i  have  always  felt  free;  to  the  sea  and  the  waves,  sailing  to  a  future  that  was  unclear,  but  my  own.  my  heart,  it  had  felt,  had  only  begun  beating  upon  escaping  the  clutches  of  a  family  full  of  hate,  despite  their  high  standing  and  reputations.  just  ask  my  father,  i  never  was  one  of  them,  to  begin  with.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒.

name   sansa   carstairs.    

age    thirty .

gender ciswoman

pronouns she + her

sexuality lesbian

relationship status single

birthday 28th october

position rogue

ship none

traits cynical, disloyal, selfish, deceptive, nurturing, resilient, humorous, abrasive.

despite  it  all,  perhaps  i  was  more  like  them  than  i  had  believed.  the  life  of  a  pirate  is  not  befitting  a  lady,  but  it  is  the  life  i  chose.  i  was  good  at  this,  so  good  that  my  poor  mother  would  have  clutched  her  jewels  and  fell  to  the  floor  in  an  unconscious  heap.  my  father,  i  fear,  would  have  felt  a  reluctant  glimmer  of  pride  to  see  me  setting  sail,  the  wind  in  my  curls  and  a  cutlass  held  proudly  in  my  wretched  fist.  i  was  good.  i  was  so  good,  that  i  wanted  more. 

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋.

faceclaim olivia cooke

hair colour auburn

eye colour brown

build slender

height 5'7"

i  was  a  selfish  being,  i  still  am.  to  call  a  mutiny  without  cause  is  a  stupid  thing,  though  i  never  said  i  was  smart.  those  i  had  called  my  family  left  me  marooned  with  a  loaf  of  bread  and  some  water  to  keep  me  alive.  and  live  i  did,  despite  their  well  wishes  as  they  sailed  away  from  the  glutinous  little  thing  i  had  become  in  those  days.  not  that  i  mind,  i  find  myself  better  off  alone,  hopping  between  crews  with  no  one  to  care  for  but  myself.  in  the  end,  i  am  alone,  but  at  least  i  have  a  name  of  my  own,  one  with  which  i  was  not  born.  there  is  nothing  real  about  me  but  the  colour  of  my  hair,  or  so  they  say.  and  so  i  will  keep  running  —  from  the  crown,  and  from  the  past,  and  from  the  concept  of  being  owned  by  anyone  but  myself.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

ex(es) — sansa is a runner. she will never sit still in one place, telling her lovers it is more dangerous for her to stick around near them. she's full of shit, but she feels deeply and the moment those feelings develop into anything real, she tends to run for the hills. 

an old friend — someone sansa betrayed, perhaps they were a crew of the ship where she attempted a mutiny out of her own selfish desire for power. lots of angst potential.

a true friend — someone who has stuck around and sees past sansa's many terrible qualities. probably the only person she has allowed to get close to her, and to remain in her life.

[searos3]

[  amita  suman,  non  binary,  twenty  nine,  they/them  ]  for  the  crimes  of  piracy  MAYA  BASNET  /  WIND  WALKER  is  hereby  wanted.  those  who  surrender  them  dead  or  alive  to  the  crown  will  receive  ONE  HUNDRED  AND  TWENTY  pounds.  they’re  famously  known  to  be  part  of  the  STORM'S  EYE  as  their  WRAITH.  before  engaging  be  warned  as  they  can  be  SELF  DOUBTING  +  RIGID,  but  if  you’re  lucky  they’ll  be  UNYIELDING  +  LOYAL.  legends  say  that  when  you  speak  their  name  you’re  reminded  of  YEARNING  PLANTING  ITSELF  WITHIN  LIKE  A  ROOT  YOU  CANNOT  TUG  FREE,  LITHE  FINGERS  BRUSHING  THE  SHARP  TIPS  OF  THE  BLADES  THEY  ACHE  TO  THROW,  MUCH  LIKE  A  SHADOW  I  AM  AND  I  AM  NOT. PINTEREST

here be triggers: murder, self defense

i sometimes wonder if i’m too soft for all of this, but when i’m up above the mast and the wind is my only friend, it is then i know what i am meant for. i was nothing before the sea, a small and frightened creature whose only talents were their swift fingers and their fast feet. i survived on little more than my wits, lost from the family i can hardly remember. i don’t mind it, being a creature of solitude has taught me how to hold onto the forged family found upon the roiling sea.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒.

name   maya   basnet.    

age    twenty nine.

gender non binary

pronouns they + them

sexuality bisexual

relationship status single

birthday 14th february

position wraith

ship storm's eye

traits disciplined, stubborn, pensive, patient, calculating, loyal, self doubting, unyielding, rigid, faithful.

i try to be useful. i try to be worthy of my position, a tool as sharp as the daggers slung to my belt, to my boots. though i am tender as flesh, i have learned what it means to be hard. i shove memories of the before to the back of my mind, there where they cannot hurt me. the streets are a long stride away, i ran from them so long ago. i recall blood on my hands, a heavy body slumped over my own as the life had bled out of them. i see him sometimes, still. i see him behind the delicate lids of my eyes which have seen too much, i hear his breath near my ear as i sit for my evening meal, or when i kneel for my nighttime prayers. i pray my guilt away, but he is always near.

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋.

faceclaim amita suman

hair colour dark brown

eye colour brown

build slender, lithe + muscular

height 5'6"

my  guilt  is  an  ache.  i  want  so  badly  for  everything  i  don’t  feel  worthy  of  ;  love  and  the  same  softness  i  try  to  keep  alive  inside  of  myself,  despite  all  that  i’ve  done.  if  i  can  be  a  quiet,  swift  as  a  ghost,  i  wonder  if  my  own  phantoms  will  leave  me  be.  i  am  urging  myself  to  keep  on  climbing.  to  climb  higher  and  higher  until  the  clouds  become  the  floor.  perhaps  when  i  climb  down,  i  will  be  atoned. 

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

confidante — tw: murder, self defense. the person maya has confessed to. in their rougher teenage years living as an orphan, maya killed another in self defense. this is someone they feel comfortable around and would be something like a best friend to them, they would urge maya not to feel so guilty considering the context.

yearnship — all that maya wants is to be loved, but does not feel that they deserve it. this connection is for someone they yearn deeply for. they could be friends, they could be perceived enemies, they could even be strangers. i love unrequited yearning also, much to explore.