#all who sail the sea have a madness in them. a possessiveness. they fall for a thing and cannot live without it.

[krikeymate]

MORE DREDGE AU PLEASE THATS SO FUN

I'm still not convinced this was a real message sent to me but ok lol, obviously I'm only picking and choosing story beats from the game.

Ok so like, Billy is still Sam's dad, and he's 'The Collector'. Nobody knows that Billy is Sam's dad.

Billy and Stu used to be fishermen working together. Stu got a taste for the mutant fish, and Billy dredged up a secret casket, inside which was a book. Billy and Stu open the casket together, they're never the same afterwards. The void has touched them. (It's very that bit in The Mummy where the ones who actually open the casket get cursed).

Once they reach port, Stu never goes back on the water again, but he still hungers. Sidney, Billy's engaged, is a researcher. She travels with him to learn about the sea and the fish and the down below. She reads and studies the book. One day, she takes out his boat and his crew, and disappears. He doesn't care about the boat, or his crew, or Sidney, or even the book... but the casket was on the boat, he wants that casket back.

Sidney's alive! And the researcher in Stellar Basin. Giant fish monster sunk the ship, taking the casket down with it, but she clung to the book and ended up washed ashore on a small island with an abandoned research station. Why did she do what she did? No idea, voice in her head (casket trying to go home) made her do it.

Billy is like linked with the fish monster and the fish monster wants its book back, the book is supposed to be in the casket. He still has some scraps of Sidney's research, can still recall some spells written within. Billy travels everywhere, far and wide, searching for Sidney and the book (the book is protecting her from being found). It's on his travels that he knocks a woman up, and 20 years later he's living in isolation on an island, alone with the voices and the darkness, unable to fulfill the task given to him by his master. Or is he...

Sam's drawn to the region because she's Billy's, she has a link to the fish monster and the darkness too. It's because she's on the boat that it sinks where it does. She had never left her hometown island far, far away, before the day she grabbed her sister and they ran away. The sea had always called to her, and it drew her h o m e.

[swampstew]

Roronoa Zoro the hunter

Oh shiiit its Yandere time! Zoro was lost when he stumbled across you and all bets are off. What's a mere mortal to a beast like him?

WC: 821 CW: Spicy; not-gender specific reader; Yandere Roronoa Zoro; kidnapping reader; consent/non con/dubious consent and maybe Stockholm syndrome?; unhealthy relationship dynamics; reader is a pirate now.

To be fair, Zoro was already kind of insane. He just carries that aura of a man operating on a completely different wavelength. He doesn’t question his own thoughts, just follows them blindly and it’s been working well for him. Zoro didn’t think anything of it when he thought about taking you as he laid eyes on you, feeling a possessiveness he’d never known overcome him entirely. Watching you with a hunter’s eye for an entire day as he formulated what he was going to do about you. By day’s end, Zoro is on the cusp of madness – he cannot leave you behind to fend for yourself, to fall vulnerable to weaker men than him. He waits until you’re asleep and in the dead of night steals into your bedroom and whisks you away.

A miracle you hadn’t woken up, truly. Zoro had gotten lost for two hours heading back to the ship and he had to fight off a pack of wolves and a bear before he made it back; all while carrying you over his shoulder. When you finally open your eyes, his meet yours as he hovers over your frame. You’re tucked in his cot and he’s watching you with a scowl on his face, the bottle of liquor within drinking distance. “Finally!” he exclaims as you blink in confusion, then horror as you realize you’re not at home anymore and this isn’t a dream. “So yeah, sorry this isn’t ideal for you but the world is a hard place and you’ll be a lot safer within my reach. Sit tight and meet the crew, you’ll be great at this.”

Zoro met you later with a bruised and bandaged face, swollen lumps all over his head as he showed his injuries. “They told me I’m an asshole but I stand by what I said. The world is about to go through radical change and you’ll survive by standing behind me.” You get to land your own hit before he pins you to the bed under his brute strength. “Try and get out from under me using all your strength, I won’t do anything except be dead weight. If you can’t, accept that you’re mine. If you can, I will deliver you back to your home.” Low and behold, you cannot free yourself. Over the course of twelve hours, you lay pinned underneath the marimo who had long grown aroused over your efforts. Finally losing his patience, “you lost, little one. Accept that fate has put me in your path because you will never be safe without me,” all the while grinding against you. You quiver as you rapidly decide how you’ll respond.

It didn’t matter in the end. He holds you against your will/you join in as the crew continues their journey for the One Piece. Aside from you never having sailed or pirated in your life, you are quick to adapt and the crew is excellent at keeping you alive, none more so than Zoro. He doesn’t bother you all that much in the beginning, preferring to watch you from a distance throughout the day and sometime throughout the night as he watches you sleep from his makeshift bed on the floor since you’re in his. He won’t make a move until further into your captivity when you have a better mutual understanding and respect for one another. He’s a blood lusting monster and you’re his innocent pet. It inflates his perverted ego as he privately revels in how he’ll devour you when he breaks through that last boundary.

It’s like a switch flipped inside him – Zoro had a consistent schedule of sleeping, exercising, eating, napping, training, engaging in buffoonery and then the drinking in between all that and after. Now he has you to contend with and it invades his every sense. He wants to prioritize you and lock you in his bedroom to play but he has a duty to serve and he takes it seriously, confidently. The days at sea can be numerous and its on those when a darker side of him comes out. One that wants to corner you and mount you. He’ll play cat and mouse, let the tension rise as he shows up everywhere you are with that lustful gaze – not doing anything just watching and drinking – until finally when you think you’ve escaped his sight, he pounces on you and whisks you to his bedroom. He’ll always treasure those first few times he did that: your startled and scared cries as he snatched you up, throwing you on his bed and beginning a slow grind on your body, showering you in kisses until your fears turned into curiosity, acceptance, to pleasure even until he finally had his way with you. After that, you knew his schedule and played his game – having a happy and content Zoro is better than a moody or grumpy Zoro.

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader (part 8)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7)

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.

word count: 3k

warnings: smut (semi-public sex), possessiveness (some sexual, some not), jealousy, some fluff and some angst, also some violence (including a very small amount against the reader, proceed with caution), mentions of infidelity in a previous relationship

a/n: oh y’all thought it was gonna be smooth sailing from here on out? lol

You didn’t want to abandon Bucky to do carpetside interviews, but he refused to get anywhere near a hot mic so you let him go while you walked over to a reporter you recognized; she’d been nice before, probably would be again this time, so you were a little relieved to see her tonight.

She introduced you to the camera and you were slightly spaced out until she turned to you and got your attention again.  “So, you’ve been making a lot of headlines lately for your new relationship— what’s the scoop?  How’s it going?” she asked playfully, pushing the microphone into your face.

“Uh, great,” you breamed, “he’s my date tonight and he seems to have disappeared to…” you turned around to look for him.  “Oh, he’s talking to... is that... Laurence Fishburne?”

“James, is that his name?” she prompted, making you focus your attention back on the interview.

“Um, yeah,” you nodded, the name sounding a bit foreign, “legally, but he goes mostly by his nickname Bucky.”

“Aw, that’s cute,” she smiled.  “He’s, uh…” her eyes widened a bit and you laughed.

“Yeah, he is,” you smirked.  “I assume by that facial expression you mean ‘crazy hot.’”

“I mean, in the politest way possible… yeah,” she giggled.

“Yeah, no, don’t pretend not to notice for my sake, cause, yeah, it’s… apparent.”

“Apparently he was your driver first?” she pressed.

“Yes!” you beamed, and then heard the way it sounded and backpedaled slightly.  “I promise that’s not why I hired him.  I actually didn’t meet him before he was on my team, but, I mean, I wasn’t mad to have some eye candy in the front seat.”

“Eye candy, huh?”

“But he’s so much more than that, that’s the thing,” you explained.  “We became good friends first, because he’s so smart and funny and kind and… I mean, I know he looks tough, and he is, but he’s really very sensitive underneath the slightly intimidating exterior.”

“Hard shell, soft center, sweet— he really does sound like candy!”

“Indeed,” you nodded.  “Gotta run but it was nice to chat!”

You dashed over to Bucky and clung onto his arm.  “Oh, hey, we were just talking about you,” he beamed.

“Loved you in After Midnight,” Mr. Fishburne smiled and even you were totally starstruck.

“Oh, wow, thanks, I loved you in… everything…” you trailed off, internally scolding yourself for the vague and useless compliment.  He was about to respond but was pulled away by some member of his team, giving you and Bucky a quick wave as he began a carpet-side interview.

“That was Laurence Fishburne, wasn’t it.” Bucky mumbled to you in a stunned monotone.  

“Yes, what were you doing talking to him?” you asked, amazed at his bravery to approach such a huge star.

“He came up to me, to congratulate me on… on dating you, I guess…”

“Or he mixed you up with Brad Pitt,” you shrugged.

“Yeah, if Brad Pitt lost all his money, spent a decade in the desert, went loco and buzzed all his hair off,” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Oh come on, you look great,” you soothed him, straightening his tie.  “Wanna go take some pictures?”

“I’m a little scared,” he admitted with a shy smile.

“It’s easy, just give them that sexy brooding look you do so well.”

Bucky smirked pridefully.  “You think so?”

“Totally.  You’re a natural,” you assured.

You tugged his arm and guided him to the carpet, letting him lead the way (or look like he was leading the way) as you found a clear spot and noticed how the cameras instantly flashed faster and brighter.  Photographers called your name to get your attention, and you waved and smiled and pulled Bucky closer.  The feeling of his arm around your waist was warm and comforting, and you hoped holding you had the same effect for him.

“Where are you looking?” you asked.

“At you,” he answered.

“Bucky,” you giggled, “you’re supposed to look at the cameras!”

“I honestly can’t, it’s blinding,” he frowned.

“Here,” you sighed, pointing out into the darkness just above the sea of flashing lights.  “Look out there.”

“I can’t see anything!”

“I know, but, look as if there was something there to look at, trust me, it helps.”

You adjusted slightly a few times, turning a little to show off the low back of your dress.  You almost gasped when Bucky held your face and kissed you suddenly, but you were happy to melt into it even as you heard the cameras flash even more aggressively, some whoops and hollers coming from the crowd on and off the carpet.

He pulled back and you wanted to chase him for more but you realized it wasn’t the right time.  

“Let’s go inside,” you offered, guiding him the rest of the way down the carpet— mainly because you were afraid you’d end up jumping his bones right here in front of everyone.

He nodded and followed close by, arm resting on your shoulder the whole time, and just as you saw one of your friends and thought you might want to go over and introduce her to Bucky, you saw who she was talking to.

Sam.  

Seeing him always made your heart stop.  At first, it was because you were starstruck by him, in awe of his talent, amazed that you were going to be working with someone you admired so much.  Then it was because you had fallen for him and he had gladly swept you off your feet, bringing you into a whirlwind romance that at the time had felt like the only thing that mattered.  But since the break-up, and now, it was something else.  Fear wasn’t the word, it’s not like you were afraid of him in a literal sense, but there was this anxiety, this tenseness to seeing him.  It always brought back memories— the best and the worst, all at once.  Nights laughing together, sharing secrets, stealing glances and touches and kisses; nights spent alone staring at a phone that never rang.  Limbs tangled together between the sheets, that warm brown skin encompassing and surrounding yours; laying side by side in a bed that isn’t empty but is still plenty cold, seeing the way he angles his phone away from you and wishing you had the strength to just leave because you already knew what he was doing.  The first time you said ‘I love you.’  The first time he said ‘it won’t happen again.’

“You alright?” Bucky asked, tearing you from your thoughts.  You looked away and met Bucky’s gaze, hoping he either hadn’t seen your ex or at least hadn’t recognized him.  

“Yeah, I’m great,” you answered quickly, “let’s go get some drinks maybe?  And then I need to show you off to some people.”

“Show me off?” he scoffed.

“Yeah, why did you think I brought you here, really?” you winked.

“Hey, if we’re showing each other off, does that mean you’ll come to my next high school reunion?”

//

You’d been antsy ever since the two of you had come inside; it was obvious from the way you were clinging so much closer to him, and yet it was clear that your mind was a million miles away.

“Hey, it’s starting to wrap up, wanna head out soon?” you asked, trying to act casual, but he saw the way your eyes were darting up to where Sam Wilson was mingling and he knew it wasn’t about getting home early.  Did you really think he wouldn’t notice that you’d seen him?

“Whatever you wanna do,” he shrugged.

“Okay, could you bring the car around for me then?  And I’ll meet you outside?” you offered.  “I should say hi and bye to a few people.”

“Sure,” he agreed, starting to walk away after giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.

And he really did try to do what he said he was going to, but the further away he walked, the more he glanced back to watch you walk across the room, the harder it was to just let it go.  He knew you were going to talk to him, and before he really even decided to do anything about it he found himself circling back around the room, following you.  

He thought he’d lost you when he turned a corner and you were gone, but then he heard voices from a doorway and cracked it open slightly to see you inside with a few other people, nobody he recognized although one of them he’d definitely seen in something before.

He sighed with relief, about to turn and go get the car like he said he would, but then Sam Wilson just had to magically materialize out of thin air as he stepped up behind you and tapped your shoulder.

“Sam!” you blurted out, spinning to face him with wide eyes.

“Hey,” he greeted, acting all suave and shit, making Bucky’s blood boil.  “You look great.”

“Oh, thanks,” you mumbled, “you too.”

“You’ve been all over the internet lately, making quite the splash,” he recalled with a contemplative nod.  “You and this new boytoy you’ve got.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is boyfriend,” you corrected sternly.  

“Honey,” he scoffed as he rolled his eyes.  Bucky couldn’t decide if it was worse to hear him call you a pet name in earnest or with the derogatory tone that he currently had.  “Everybody knows you go through these guys like potato chips.  Especially when they’re not famous— how many PAs did you hook up with on your last set, huh?”

“I don’t roll like that anymore,” you denied.

“That’s not what Jake Friedman says,” Sam smirked.  It actually took Bucky a moment to remember that that was the guy you’d… entertained in the backseat of your car, or maybe it was more that he had entertained you; you seemed to tense up when Sam mentioned him, as did Bucky.  “I mean, sure, he’s not crew, but he’s not famous the way you are.  The way we are.  And neither is your new guy.  He doesn’t ‘get it’, does he?  He doesn’t get what it’s like.  Has he already started freaking out about all the hate online?”

Bucky regretted that he’d ever said anything about that; if he’d known it would come around to prove Sam Wilson right about something, he wouldn’t have done it.  “No,” you lied.

“Well, he will,” Sam assured you, stepping a little closer to you and letting his fingers languidly brush over your arm.  “I made a mistake before, letting you go.”

“Damn right,” you hissed as you pulled away from him.

“But I realized that, and now I’m wondering why we aren’t giving the people what they want.”

“That’s what I never understood about you,” you frowned.  “It’s always about other people with you.  It’s never about you, and it was never about me.”

“But it is about you,” he explained, “and me: us.  You’re forgetting how good we were together.”

You shook your head.  “I was single for years and you never called.  Now you’re all over me with all these regrets about ending it?  Get a grip, Sam.  This is about you wanting what you can’t have.”

“Can’t have?” he repeated incredulously.  “Baby,” he purred— and Bucky decided it was definitely worse to hear him call you that in earnest.  “You know you’re always gonna be mine.”

As you started to shiver, Sam’s arms slipping around your back and grabbing your waist, Bucky felt like he had lost control of his body.  He was watching himself from far away as he stormed across the room, nearly knocking a few people over on the way, and shoved Sam off of you and onto the ground.

“Bucky!” you yelped.  “Bucky, stop!”

“You’d better watch your hands, Wilson, before they get somewhere they’re not supposed to be,” Bucky growled, ignoring you completely even as you helplessly tugged at his suit.  

“Jesus,” Sam spat, “the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What are you doing?” you asked Bucky, irate and confused as you stared up at him with a furrowed brow.  He grabbed your hand and guided you out of the room and down the hall, barely managing to drag you into a random bathroom before he started tearing at your dress, leaving rough bites and kisses down your neck as you gasped and moaned softly.  

“Mine,” he mumbled against your skin, “all mine.  Did you forget?”

“No,” you sighed, “I could never…”

“That’s not what it looked like,” he sneered, hiking up your long skirt to run his fingers over your skin and expose the delicate, lacy panties you were wearing. 

“Bucky, please,” you sighed, rubbing your hips up against his leg, riding his thigh shamelessly.

“What’s got you so worked up, baby?  Is it me, or him?” he asked darkly.

“You, baby, just you, nobody else— I’m yours,” you assured him feverishly, “I’m all yours, please, I need you.”

“Yeah?” he breathed, fumbling with his belt and fly as he pulled his growing cock from his suit pants.  “You need it that bad?”

“Please,” you sobbed, “fuck me.”

He pulled your underwear aside and quickly shoved into you, groaning at the feeling of your walls stretching to welcome him.  “Fuck, angel, so tight,” he sighed, knowing how much little praises drove you crazy.

“Bucky,” you sighed, “oh my god… harder, please— n-need you deeper…”

His hips moved back only to slam back against yours, making you whimper; he smiled when he felt your leg wrap around his waist and try to hold him inside, but he couldn’t slow down now, not when he needed this so bad.

He sucked on your neck as he kept thrusting into you, your wetness coating his cock so thoroughly that he slid right home every time.  It was clear that he was hitting your g-spot from how you moaned with each thrust, your spongy channel pulsing and tightening in rhythmic patterns.

Overcome with the need to assert his, for lack of a better word, ownership over you, he found himself reaching up to hold your throat— not quite in the way to choke you, just to remind you that he could, if he wanted to.

“Did he ever make you come like this?” he asked with a gravelly whisper, lips right against your ear as he tightened his hand around your neck slightly.

“No,” you shook your head, “nobody has.”

“Nobody’s ever loved you this good but me, is that it?  Nobody else has ever fucked you like this?”

“Just you, Bucky, please don’t stop— I’m so close…”

“Do you think they can hear you out in the hallway?  Say my name when you come, princess, just in case they can— I want them to know who’s making you feel this good.”

“Bucky,” you whined, chanting it over and over with a few ‘yes’s and ‘fuck’s interspersed occasionally.  He thrusted faster and harder as he felt his own orgasm building; he needed to come inside you and claim you again, mark you as his one more time, and the flexing of your walls was only egging him on.

“I know you’re close, baby, just let go,” he whispered against your ear, “come for me, just like that, you’re doing so good— fuck, so good for me…”

You whimpered and clutched at his shoulders, a gush of wetness and a final, strong tightening of your inner muscles signaling that you’d reached your peak.  He couldn’t hold back any longer when he saw (and felt) that, groaning as he began to release thick streams of come into you.

The absolute second your afterglow began to fade, you pushed him off of you and grimaced as you adjusted your panties and dress.  "The fuck is wrong with you?"

"Wh— what?" he stammered, breathless and confused.  "What did I do?  Was I not supposed to come inside?"

You gaped at him in shock.  "Do you really not realize what you did?  Bucky, you assaulted my ex-boyfriend."

"I— he'll be fine," he dismissed, "he was putting his hands on you, what was I supposed to do, just let him do it?"

"You were supposed to let me handle it," you hissed.  "You were supposed to be pulling the car around and not spying on me!"

"Spying?!  I was protecting you."

"You shoved him hard enough to knock him over, Bucky, that's not okay."

"Hold on," he shook his head in disbelief, "so you're mad at me, when we just had sex?!  Why didn't you say something before?"

"Just cause it's hot doesn't mean it's okay," you explained, a little embarrassed.

"Tell me something," he frowned, "what is this—" he motioned to the space between the two of you— "to you?  Cause it kinda seems like I think we're boyfriend and girlfriend, and you think—"

"What?  What do I think?" you challenged.  "Go ahead, tell me."

"You think it's just a sex thing."

"Oh my god," you rolled your eyes.

"Well, what am I supposed to think when you get off on me dealing with your ex, and then tell me it's this big terrible thing?"

A sick idea clawed its way out of the back of Bucky's mind: was Sam right about her?  Was Sam right about us?

You crossed your arms and huffed, but didn't respond.

"Was everything that just happened just a fuckin' kink for you or something?  Cause I meant every goddamn word," he growled.

You sighed, like you weren't taking it seriously— like you weren't taking him seriously.  His fist tightened at his side involuntarily.  He'd never felt so used, so ignored; or, at least, he never expected it from you.  "We'll talk about this later," you dismissed quickly.  "Let's just go back there and put on a happy face, okay?"

"Oh, so you can let another guy feel you up?  Sounds like a fucking blast," he hissed.

"Fuck you," you snarled as you pushed him aside to leave the bathroom.

He didn't remember grabbing you, he didn't remember twisting your arm as he pulled you back.  He didn't remember you crying out, trying to wrench yourself away, clawing at his grip on you.  All he remembered was you looking up at him with watery eyes, expression twisted in fear.

"Bucky, you're hurting me," you whimpered weakly, and only then did he notice his metal hand was holding your wrist.  When he let go, he already saw a mark forming in the shape of his hand as you grabbed your freed wrist to rub the damaged flesh.

"I'm sorry—" he began to whisper, but you were already gone.

[aelingalathyniusrailme]

If you find me on the edge, we’ll jump together.

Gwynriel Pirate au pt 6 

this chapters a little long and fluffy but I really like it and I finally gave it a name

Here are the other parts if you’re interested :) pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5

what had azriel’s life become? In the past 24 hours his ship became infested with dangerous females, he had given up his most prized possession, and he was on his way to find a being that still haunted his nightmares. 

Berdara was a fine persuader but money was even better. Too bad they seemed to come in tandem. The captain of the shadowsinger needed this hall and there was no way in hell he was loosing a dime to the cutthroat redhead he now lived with. 

He stole a glance toward her to find her staring intently at the map. Her mind, her calculating, cold, ruthless mind at work. Her eyes shot up to his and she gave him a smirk, flashing the whites of her teeth and winked. he knew others would see a friendly smile but all he saw were fangs

Infuriating as she might be, she had not said one word, in the past few hours about his meltdown or the other thing he had yet to let himself dwindle over. He was caught between appreciation and the feeling that he wasn’t worth a second thought to her. 

“so where will my crew and I be sleeping” her voice was light but there was a slight edge. 

“The room next to mine.” He grit his teeth in preparation for the comment that was sure to follow that statement. “now you’re going to say something crude” 

at the same time gwyneth said with a wink, “want to keep me close, captain? all you have to do is ask?”

The slight shock on her face elicited pure joy from azriel. While hidden, a practiced eye saw the way her mouth slightly parted and her eyes flare. It was his turn to smirk as he responded, “Your majesty is becoming quite predictable.”  

gwyn smiled her psychotic smile and stepped closer to him. too close. “wouldn’t want that,” she whispered into his hear as if she was telling him a secret. Her voice wrapped it’s claws around his throat and squeezed, pulling him to her. 

Azriel coughed “You’re all going to have to share a room.”

“it’s quite alright, my crew and I have shared beds before.” There was a suggestive glint in her eyes. and blood rushed to his face faster than this girl could threaten and flirt in the same breath. 

“I don’t believe I said anything about sharing beds.” 

“Oh I know, but sometimes, shadowsinger, we must learn the difference between necessity and pleasure.” Azriel’s pupils dilated and his skin felt tight and hot.

Gwyn leaned in once again and teased, whispering, “Predictability is worth seeing you blush like a school girl.” She threw her fiery hair over her shoulder and walked away leaving him gaping like an idiot. 

cassian and rhys walked out from his room and rhys said with a chuckle “she’s something alright.”

cassian looked at him with mock sincerity “promise me I’ll be the bridesmaid at your wedding”

“and will it be a double with you and that second of hers?”

He held his hands to his chest and tilted his head, “only in my dreams”

Rhys swung his arm around him laughing, “You’re pathetic.” 

————————————————————————

5 days passed and every one of them was torturous. His crew at their wits end with hers. Apparently the two blondes were causing quite a bit of trouble. It had seemed one had wiped the floor with his entire crew when it came to the cards while the other was a bit of a thief, a petty thief. 

His sharpshooter had made the mistake of whistling at Emerie, she tossed him into the ocean without so much as batting an eye. Thankfully they got him out in time and rest assured there were no more comments or touching. 

He hadn’t seen Berdara much as she had been holed up in her room barely leaving beyond the occasional meal. Though every time she did grace his presence, she was sure to leave him flustered beyond relief. What about this girl make him loose all of his composure, he wasn’t sure. But avoidance was a useful tool. 

Don’t think about it, don’t care azriel thought as he watched Cassian and Rhys spar on the deck of his ship. HIs two best fighters, facing off until suddenly rhys was knocked to the ground from behind. The culprit, the silver majesties second, Nesta. 

There was a determined look in her eyes, cold ambition. 

Cassian laughed, unfazed. 

“my turn.” her voice was one of mock innocence, venom drenched in sugar.

“don’t be so eager sweatheart.” 

“Eager to knock your arrogant ass down a few pegs” 

“Ooh she’s feisty.” And with that Nesta attacked. She wasn’t graceful but she fought as if her life depended on it, a sure sign that at one point or another it did. She swerved and jabbed with a desperate urgency, one you could only learn on the streets. Cassian dodged and deflected, though he was working much harder than usual. It seemed he also had something to prove. 

Azriel turned, knowing this fight would not be over any time soon, to find Berdara walking right towards him. “Nesta will not loose this fight.” 

“funny, neither will cassian.” 

Gwyneth gave him a serious look. “She does not loose, she never has and she never will.” 

“hmm. It’s never too late to try new things.” 

gwyn rolled her eyes before a glint appeared in them. “care for a rematch?” 

“fists or swords?” 

“Let’s spice it up, swords.”

“double or single?”

“A sword and a dagger.” 

“Surrender or mercy.” 

“Seeing you kneel to me will be sweet.” she paused. “Surrender.” 

“You’re on.”

“Pirates oath?”

“A gentleman always plays fair.” She unsheathed her sword and dagger holding one in each hand and smirked. “too bad I am no mere man.”  she lunged but azriel had been expecting that and side stepped pulling out his own sword and dagger. 

Where nesta had been brute force and aggression, Gwyneth was all grace and speed. She fought with the efficiency of someone who trained with the queens guard themselves. It was like fighting a tornado, she was fast like lightning and when she struck she struck hard. Every move was beautiful and deadly, just like her. 

————————————————————————

“We dock in 15 minutes.” Azriel called out to his crew. 

“What no, we need to keep going.” Gwyn replied.

“What we need is to restock supplies so we don’t starve to death before we’re richer than the queen herself.” 

she gave him a confused look, as if he was speaking a different language.

“We’ve been sailing non-stop for almost 2 weeks and we are out of supplies.”

gwyn mumbled something that sounded like “pathetic.” 

As soon as Azriel dropped the anchor his entire crew rushed off the shadowsinger, desperate to be away from the insane women. With of course the exception of Cassian for he was leaning against the rails of the ship bothering Nesta while she was pointedly ignoring him. 

“Hey, enough with the heart eyes we’ve got shit to do.” Azriel barked at Cassian who then frowned and sulked off the ship while nesta stared at him with her cold, blank expression. “You too sunshine. Let’s get moving.” 

“Order me to do something again and I will cut off your limbs one by one and feed you them for breakfast.” 

“I’m counting down the hours.” Azriel narrowly missed the dagger she threw at his head.

“Don’t call me sunshine.” and nesta walked off the ship, katanas at her hips glinting in the cold sun of the winter court. She looked right in her element. 

Before he called these women insane but that was far too gentle of a statement, the females that had found their way onto Berdara’s ship were absolutely, completely batshit crazy. 

Az was sure everyone was off his ship, everyone was accounted for and yet something was nagging at him. 

A flash of red caught his eye and he turned to see the captain of the silver majesty sitting on the railing, one misstep and she would fall. Though there was no doubt in his mind that she would survive the deadly drop. This women seem to defy all odds, why not death? Her smile was wild and just a little bit mad as the wind swept and curled through her hair pushing it back from her face. As if it wanted nothing more than to be flowing through her her fiery locks that mirrored her spirit. Gwyn closed her eyes, feeling the breeze, the sun lighting up the freckles that spread across her cheeks. She was

“Are you done gawking?” she said without even opening her eyes. 

horrible, she was absolutely unquestionably horrible. “If I may, what are you doing majesty?” 

She turned toward him, in the sun the blue of her iris’s had a twinge of green as if she was born for the sea. “I am simply reminding myself why I left.” Her eyes gazed hungrily over the vast sea as though she saw a challenge, one she had to conquer. “who could resist all this?”

It was unlike her to offer such a raw statement with no ulterior motive and while it was entirely possible she did have one, Azriel believed her. Azriel believed her because he shared the exact feeling. The longing for freedom, the found solstice in constant change and motion, and the occasional guilt for leaving that ultimately fades because it will never not be worth it. 

“I pity them.” 

“Fools.”

“Utterly.” She offered no more as she hopped down from the railing. 

They walked in comfortable silence as they both took in the beauty of the winter court. It was all ice and snow with a slight aura of loneliness. 

Together the two captains arrived at the inn. It was cozy and warm and was placed separately from the rest of the town. His eyes shifted and he saw what had to have been the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. It was a bar. Thank fucking goodness. Azriel knew without a doubt that they all desperately needed some liquor. 

In the bar he immediately found both their combined crew. A crowd of men and women had surrounded Rhys, hanging on every word he said while he soaked it up flirting to his hearts content. Azriel was going to have to give him a limit on the number of people he could fuck at once, this was getting ridiculous. Next he found Cassian, Tarquin and Viviane doing shots at the bar. But he noticed every time his glance shifted to a certain girl in the corner of the room. Nesta was in a booth with Emerie sipping whiskey, talking in low voices. Cressedia and Drakon were in a heated drinking game and-

Azriel knocked into a body he immediately recognized as Lucien and he held out his hand at once glaring. 

“Hey captain.” He said cheerfully. 

“empty now.”

The kid dumped a pile of jewels, wallets, and id’s in his hand. 

Azriel smirked approvingly “get me a ruby, an Id of a man who could pass for the high lord of the winter court, and 500 more dollars.” Lucien nodded greedily and ran along. It had been a game between the two of them for Azriel to give him outlandish challenges to sharpen his skill as a thief. 

But before Lucien could leave the bar every lamp extinguished and the bar turned quiet. 

Strangers gasped and knives were drawn. 

Moments later the lights reappeared and once his eyes readjusted he saw a women holding two daggers to the throats of Tarquin and Viviane. They struggled against her. But she just laughed and scolded. “No no no. shhhh” Before she looked up again. 

“We need to have a chat.” every word was clipped and short. “Put your weapons away and these two might get to live to see another day.” It was an order, and a threat. Azriel didn’t take kindly to threats. 

Gwyn looked to the 3 remaining who followed her and nodded at them to listen. He nodded to his own crew. 

Nesta sneered but dropped her katanas to the ground. She opened her mouth to speak but Rhys beat her to it, pushing away the women he was flirting with as he drawled to the women in front of them. 

“It’s been a long time Feyre, darling.”

tag list: @imsointobooks @meher-sumedha @himadrij @gwynrielsupremacy @ipsa-est-lux-plenae @flora-shadowshine @allthebooksunderthemoon @valkygwyn @bookish-isha @lattristantketchup

[cherryrogers]

when dusk falls {2}

DYING LIGHT

pairing: bucky barnes x reader | royal au

warnings: mentions of death, angst — reader is in her sad hours :/

summary: As you arrive in Hydra, you reluctantly begin to adjust to your new life.

a/n: i can’t express how excited i am to get into this story. i’m so impatient i was mad that this is only chapter 2 bc i want to get deep into the plot so bad :( for now, i offer you a part that should be titled ‘rambling about random story aspects that add nothing to the plot’..... enjoy !!

series masterlist

The journey from Taria was everything but pleasant.

As the carriage was pulled further and further away from your beloved palace, you made sure to consume every ounce of green expanse before you reached the land borders, refusing to let the gorgeous greenery of your home fade from your mind in years to come.

Brock nattered endlessly in his seat beside you, almost pressed against you in the small space. You didn’t hear a word of it, tuning out the unnerving rasp of his voice, only focusing on the vibrancy through the window.

Passing cosy villages, and brilliant gardens, and glimmering lakes, you concluded that Taria would be a hard place for anyone to forget, nevermind it’s own princess. You noticed the smiling faces and giggling children as you passed through the Roseleaf village, one of the larger residential areas on the east of the land. The carefully tended front gardens filled with an array of rainbow hues, the young couples walking hand in hand along the paved road, the little red robins flitting from tree to tree — you took it all in.

You were sitting in that carriage for Taria; its people, its nature, its values. Being sent away to a bitter nightmare of a land for the sake of your kingdom’s safety and happiness. Because that’s what a princess would do for her land. Protect it with her life.

The promise of its safety was the sole thing stopping you from breaking down into sobs next to Brock. There was no choice, there never would be between your freedom and your people.

The last bearable moment of your journey ended when the carriage reached the end of Taria, and the beginning of the Heartlen Ocean — the body of water that connected Taria and Hydra.

You’d been transferred onto a large sailing boat, one significantly bigger than the rowing boats scattered along the docks. In a tiny cabin below the main deck of the ship, you were escorted to and told to rest, as the voyage across the sea would be long and the waters would only be calm for another few hours. Of course, the seas around Hydra were vicious and rough, but you refused to sleep under their watch. You couldn’t if you wanted to. Every emotion under the sun was coursing through your veins; fear, anger, despair. Putting your mind at rest was impossible. It was as if they’d disregarded the fact they’d practically kidnapped you, and were complicit in the agreement that was forcing you into sudden marriage with the son of a cruel dictator.

You feared you’d never sleep peacefully again.

It took seven hours to arrive at Hydra. During that time, you’d remained under the deck, quiet as a mouse. Staring at the divots in the dark wood of the ship, knees tucked tightly to your chest, bare feet almost numb from the drop in temperature as you entered Hydra’s vicinity.

Thinking about Sharon, how adamant she was on getting you out of Taria before you could be taken. About Steve, who’d been burdened with the knowledge of the agreement and sworn to secrecy. About your parents, who entirely blamed themselves for the ordeal, even while having no other choice.

Perhaps if they’d sailed back a little earlier, noticed the signs of early labour quicker, or just not been so foolish as to seek help from the most selfish man on the planet, their daughter would be safe at home. Their princess. And she’d be free, happy.

But it was too late. It’d been too late from the moment their little rowing boat left the docks twenty years prior.

Seven hours, and you’d ended up in the bitter Kingdom of Hydra. Two soldiers escorted you off the boat, rushing you towards another black carriage identical to the one you’d been taken in at the palace. The sky had fallen significantly darker, a thick grey mist shielding the ground below from the sun’s warmth. Icy air bit at your skin, had your teeth chattering and lips numb the second you rose from below the ship’s deck.

Those around you remained unfazed, used to the freezing climate. To the dull skies and unsaturated expanse. Taria was to them what Hydra was to you — an entirely different reality.

Brock noticed you shivering in the carriage beside him, chuckling mockingly at your discomfort. Ignoring him, your eyes burned holes in the fabric of your dress in your lap. You didn’t want to let your gaze wander outside, seeing a cold, monotonous space rather than the colourful liveliness you adored back home.

Again, you passed through villages. Villages that were anything but reflections of those in Taria. The houses were much smaller, more compact than cozy. No quaint plants and shrubs complimenting the open front of the house, no bouncing children or chirping birds. Each house appeared identical, and not a soul was in sight. Likely huddling up in their homes, out of the cutting wind that’d soon transform into a bustling blizzard.

You caught sight of a figure in the window of the last home along the lane, only for a moment. A child, a boy. His high cheekbones and pin-straight nose stuck out to you. A frown played on his lips as he observed the carriage travel by, the same one he’d seen the day before, led by the same dark horses that sent shivers down his spine.

Cheering up the children back home seemed to be a gift you possessed. Not that they often weren’t baring toothy smiles, but when they wandered the palace garden and the markets with a solemn expression for whatever reason that day, it was instinct for you to lift their spirits. A box of red velvet cupcakes or some children’s books that’d been sitting in your library for years seemed to do the trick, and each and every time, it was heartwarming to watch the light reappear in their doe eyes.

Yet that boy, along with the thousands of other children living day-to-day under King Alexander’s rule — their happiness wasn’t something you could provide them with. Not when the man was stripping you of your own joy. When you were losing the light you were always eager to share with those who needed it.

If Taria was the planet’s garden, then Hydra was it’s graveyard. A place where dreams died before they could even begin to flourish. Where nobody desired to live, where too many people were forced into a meagre existence. And you were simply another soul Hydra had stolen for itself.

Another couple of hours passed again until the castle finally came into sight, only barely among the cloudiness of the night. The castle you’d only heard horror stories about, where too much blood had been shed and lives lost. And it was where you were going to live for the rest of your days. The thought alone put a deep frown on your lips.

You were exhausted. It’d been an early rise for you that morning; up and ready by eight o’clock, you took a trip to the markets before it was busy and stock was selling fast. You were to be back by nine for breakfast with your parents, but one of the merchants had been insisting you tried one of her cinnamon sugar pretzels, doused with golden syrup, which were usually sold out within hours of the stall opening. The sweet treat was delicious, you’d found, and you’d bought three more to bring back to Sharon and your parents.

A simple, lovely morning. And how quickly the day turned sour.

The urge to sleep was tugging at your eyelids, but you suppressed the need, nipping at your wrist to keep yourself awake. You’d have to succumb to sleep eventually, but you’d do it in the comfort of a bed far away from any soldiers, far away from Brock. Still, the thought of falling into such a vulnerable state, in the castle appearing more and more enormous as the carriage approached it, was indeed unnerving.

It looked like something out of a story book. Dark grey brick, looming towers with tall turrets atop them, an unnecessarily large gate guarding the inside — the image of a villain’s abode.

All underneath a shadow black sky, without a star in sight. No light, no hope. Only darkness.

The carriage continued along a winding, rubble path, it’s destination being the towering gate where six soldiers stood guard. With every yard you grew closer, your heart only pounded harder against your ribs. You’d truly fallen into a never ending nightmare; reaching the castle was only the beginning of it.

It was so cold. The thin dress and lack of any footing was certainly not helping your cause. As the carriage came to a final stop, your legs only barely allowed you to climb out of the transport without slipping to your knees. A soldier remained by your side, silent and still, while Brock ordered the remaining men to take the horses back to the stables.

Upon spying their commander, the soldiers stood guard ordered for the portcullis to be lifted, and soon an echoing clanging noise filled your ears.

While you weren’t eager to enter, the cold had already numbed your fingers and toes. You feared you’d fall ill if you were outside any longer, not that you imagined the inside of such a menacing castle would be any more comfortable.

“Inform the king of our arrival as soon as he wakes.” Brock called out to the lone soldier, who nodded curtly before marching away, into the darkness of the castle corridors.

Like a baby deer, you were left shivering in the cold, eyes wide and legs stiff. Brock took his sweet time striding over to you, before his lips curled into a condescending smile.

“Welcome home, Princess,” He teased, making a gesture towards the enigma of a building behind him. “Allow me to escort you to your chambers.”

With reluctance, you followed him into the castle, wincing at the clang of the gate beginning to shut again behind you.

The stone pavement of the castle was hard against the soles of your feet, as you paced quickly to keep up with Brock’s stalk. Lanterns scattered along the thick brick walls illuminated what would be the pitch black hall he walked you down, a faint smoky scent in the air.

For what felt like hours, you winded around corners and through halls, wondering if you’d ever make it to your chambers. Brock talked, asking silly, mocking questions that you didn’t waste your breath answering, arms crossed firmly over your chest.

Until he said something that made your blood boil a little hotter in your freezing body.

“I’m in shock of your compliance, Princess,” He smirked over his shoulder as he guided you up a dark staircase. “Already accepting the King’s plans for you?”

A scowl pulled at your lips. “I haven’t accepted anything. This isn’t compliance, this is me being here to protect my own.”

“Ah, she speaks!” Brock chuckled grimly, the sound bouncing off the walls of the narrow stairway. “Can she put a smile on, too?”

You ignored him. He laughed again, expecting it.

At the top of the stairs, a long corridor presented itself, identical to the hundred you’d already walked through. It was only at the very end of it that you finally stood still, eyes landing on an old wooden door, deep brown with no pattern etched into it. So plain, so dull — you’d never seen a castle so ancient with so little life.

“This room has been assigned to you until you and the prince are wed,” Brock spoke, pressing a rough hand to the door handle and pushing it open. “A maid will arrive when you wake to prepare you for the morning.”

“The morning?” You raised a brow.

“When you are to meet the king,” A grin tugged at his lips. “He is indeed eager to meet his future daughter-in-law.”

The feeling isn’t mutual, you thought, but kept it to yourself as you shuffled through the open door.

A singular lantern to your left enlightened the space before you.

Dreary like the rest of the castle, the room almost blended into the deep sky through the large window straight ahead of you. Translucent navy drapes hung from the chestnut bed frame, the singular bed topped with a sheet of similar colouring tucked into the corner of the room. A tall closet opposed it, likely filled with dresses that the maids had tailored to your size (however they learned that information). The hardwood flooring pressed into your feet; you already missed the soft crimson carpet that covered the expanse of your bedroom back home. There was a door off to the left, presumably leading into a small bathing room, and a long silver mirror on the other wall reflected its dark presence against the smoky grey brick.

And that was all. No books, no chestnut desk to sit at and swipe red on your lips or rose on your cheeks. Nothing to simply pass the time of waiting for a wedding you were utterly dreading.

Brock grinned a goodnight from the corridor, and you couldn’t even turn around before the echo of his boots filled the narrow, empty space.

A frown immediately pulled at your lips, as you gently closed the door behind you, the click of the lock prompting tears to form in the corners of your eyes.

As you tenderly removed your dress, hanging it up in the back of the wardrobe, you bit your lip to keep your emotions at bay. The braclets you’d slipped on at home remained on your wrist, a reminder of where you truly belonged. You played with them as you blew out the candle light, stealing the only spec of warmth from the room.

The nightdress you’d been given was thin, the creamy linen not doing much to shield you from the icy air that managed to nip at you in every corner of the castle. Sighing, you padded over to the bed, climbing under the fresh sheets, and that’s when the first tear fell. Burning hot as it trickled down your cool cheek.

That bitter night, you weren’t blessed with the pleasure of a long slumber. One salty tear turned into two, and two into many, many more.

And so, your most disconcerting nightmare began.

* * *

Dreams were deadly; you soon learned that after waking from your first night of sleep in the grand castle situated at the very bottom of Hydra’s land.

Perhaps a nightmare would’ve been easier on your mind. It certainly would’ve prepared you for the daunting reality you’d wake up to in a few mere hours. Because you dreamt that you were back in Taria. That Hydra’s soldiers didn’t step foot on your home land, that you’d finished that chapter of your enthralling novel, that Sharon returned to the library with a steaming cup of chamomile tea, and the two of you rested there for the remainder of the day. Uninterrupted, safe.

A soft but urgent knock on your bedroom door woke you from the sweet dream that morning, and upon recognising the drab setting you were in — still dark, the sun rays being rejected rudely by the thick heavy clouds encompassing the land — the harsh reality of your new life came flooding back.

Creaking quietly, the bedroom door opened ajar, an unfamiliar figure peeking through into the room. A woman, a girl even. She couldn’t have been older than eighteen. Her eyes widened as they drifted to the corner of the room, spying you still clutching the navy bed sheets to your chin.

“Forgive me, I didn't mean to wake you; I was told to come here at ten on the dot. My name is Wanda, I was happy to learn I’ve been assigned as your maid, Princess.”

Blinking, your vision became a little clearer. Clear enough to assess the girl frozen in her place in the doorway. Strawberry blonde hair cascaded down her back, pulled back loosely at her neck with a burgundy ribbon. As you propped yourself against the headboard of the bed, her doe eyes got impossibly wider. Brushing out the creases of her moss green skirt, she stood taller, pressing her lips into a thin line.

So nervous in your presence, she seemed. You wondered if the treatment she received from the royals of Hydra had something to do with it.

“It’s— It’s quite alright.” You swallowed, possibly more anxious than she was. If you weren’t so exhausted from the journey to the castle, you likely wouldn’t have slipped into a slumber so easily. That was after you’d sobbed until air could no longer be snatched from your lungs, and you drifted off with a sore throat and tear tracks staining your cheeks.

You’d fallen asleep between the same walls as one of the most ruthless kings to date, as well as an army of remorseless soldiers ready to comply with his every order. The thought made you shudder; that, and the sheets falling from your shoulders, exposing your skin to the cool room.

Wanda crinkled her brows, picking up on your discomfort. Slowly, as if not to cause you any more distress, she slipped between the open door and closed it behind her.

“I’ll run a hot bath for you, Your Highness. I’m afraid it’ll have to be quick; King Alexander would like you escorted to the throne room within the hour.”

You remained quiet. Still barely awake, still barely able to comprehend the situation you’d so quickly fallen into.

The maid clasped her hands in front of her, considering her next words carefully before offering the tip of her lips. “I understand that you only arrived here a mere several hours ago, Your Highness — I think a warm bath will only do you good, if I may say.”

It would have certainly been nice, considering the climate you’d been forced into abruptly. You’d picked up on some of Brock’s ramblings in the carriage the night before; he’d said something about a blizzard being on its way. Judging by the thick fog and the chill already bringing goosebumps to your skin, he was right. You weren’t looking forward to the process of adapting to the weather.

As soon you gave Wanda the faintest hint of a nod, the girl rushed towards the adjoining bathing room you had yet to familiarise yourself with, and soon enough the harsh streaming of water began to fully wake you for the morning.

Lavender swarmed your senses as you stepped into the small room, observing Wanda as she swirled oil into the warm water with a delicate hand. Throwing a smile over her shoulder, the maid shook off her hand before wiping it quickly on her skirt.

“I hand-picked the lavender and made the oil myself this morning. I’ll be honest, I’m not meant to leave the castle unless I’m ordered to do so, but with a storm brewing, I was eager to collect as many herbs and flowers as possible before my duties for the day started,” A soft chuckle left her lips, before she shook her head, a rosy tint pooling in her cheeks. “Forgive me, I— I haven’t served a lady in several years. I can’t imagine my rambling would amuse the men of the castle.”

If your mood hadn’t been so sour, perhaps you would have smiled at her excitement. The happiness others radiated you tended to absorb; no wonder every moment on Taria was an enjoyable one.

It astounded you how bubbly the strawberry blonde appeared. A delicate daisy in a daunting forest — she bloomed without sunlight. Of course, it could’ve been an act in front of the prince's bride-to-be, but there was a certain spark to her that felt genuine. Maybe it really was because of the presence of another woman.

King Alexander’s wife — the former queen of Hydra — had died almost a decade earlier. Being so young and out of the loop with politics and the states of other kingdoms, you hadn’t heard much about her at all. Even if you were older, you’d likely not hear anything more. If she ever engaged in politics, attended balls or kept in touch with other queens across the seas, she was very quiet in doing so. Queen Mara of Hydra — the only time you heard her name spoken was when she passed. As a child, when the severity of death and its impact on kingdoms was so foreign to you.

You assumed Wanda used to serve the late queen; perhaps she was more pleasant than her husband. For Wanda’s sake, you could only have hoped so.

“Thank you, Wanda.” You spoke, voice barely above a whisper. The maid wouldn’t have heard you if she was standing any further away.

But she did, and she curtsied in return. “Of course, Your Highness.”

The bath was nice, you’d admit. Like a warm hug after a long day. Except your day had barely started, and as soon as you were to step out of the heavenly hot water, you’d be pulling on a dress that wasn’t sewed by the dressmakers you’d known since childhood, making your way down to a throne room you were completely unfamiliar with, and meeting a king that you had no interest in ever crossing paths with.

And soon enough, that was where you were.

Stood in the centre of a cold room, face to face with a man you’d only heard terrible stories of.

Wanda had picked out a garnet red dress for the morning. You hadn’t owned many red dresses back on Taria, preferring cooler tones like emerald green and the royal blue attire you’d arrived in Hydra with. And that dress seemed to be the only one that actually fit, your new one pinching tight at the waist. Though when Wanda was only offering you compliments as she combed out your hair and polished your shoes, you weren’t about to complain.

It wasn’t the dress that was stealing the breath from your lungs, however. It was the monarch who sat proudly in his dark throne before you.

Four soldiers either side of the throne stared straight past you, as the king himself stared at you. Sandy blond hair laced with grey fell over his forehead, and he wore a solemn expression as he eyed the new arrival to his kingdom.

“Princess _____ of Taria,” Alexander spoke, the rasp in his voice bringing goosebumps to your skin. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet your acquaintance.”

You remained stoic, refusing to meet the eyes of a king who was more monster than man. As you looked to the right of the throne, you spied Brock among the soldiers too, observing you with interest.

The king soon realised that you were immensely uncomfortable; it wasn’t like he’d expected you to act any different.

He glanced over his shoulder, silently calling Brock over. The commander was at his side almost immediately. So cocky in front of you, and so obedient to the king — typical.

“Take the soldiers outside,” He ordered calmly, before leaning forward to murmur something inaudible to Brock, who nodded firmly, then making a swift exit with the ever-submissive soldiers behind him.

Soon enough, you and the king were left alone. The silence was deafening as you awaited his next words, both reluctantly and with anticipation.

The throne room was so large, so intimidating. Walls scattered with grand portraits of previous monarchs, small square windows barely letting any sunlight pour through; not to mention how your hands were almost numb. It was difficult not to miss the beaming sun in Taria, how it would seep through the curtains on a bright morning, how the warmth would dance across your skin and the light would reflect in your eyes.

It was almost as if Hydra completely blocked it out.

The king exhaled, clasping his hands in his lap as he leaned back in his seat. “If you have anything you would like to say, by all means, don’t keep quiet on my account.”

Considering him for a moment, you tightened your jaw. It was like he could sense the hundreds of questions swarming your mind. While you worried that he wouldn’t be so impressed with what you wanted to say to him, he couldn’t reprimand you for anything. Not when you were to marry his son. Anything you said wouldn’t matter once you left the room; he’d had your fate in his hands since the moment you were born.

Your eyes flit to his, tears burning at the back of them. “My parents were desperate for your help—”

“And I helped them.” He commented nonchalantly; his disinterest feeling like a slap to the face.

“You took advantage of them,” You corrected him, not appreciating the interruption. “They wouldn’t have accepted your deal if my mother’s life wasn’t at stake.”

Idly fiddling with the rings encircling his fingers, Alexander sighed. “Things have a certain way of falling into place, I believe. I’m not sure it’s a coincidence that your mother happened to go into labour on the same day that her and your father decided to sail across the Heartlen Ocean, stray further from Taria than they ever had before, leaving Hydra’s help as their own hope.”

“This was never meant to happen, I refuse to believe that.” You shook your head. Taria was the only place you’d ever belong. Only selfish men like the king had a true place in Hydra.

“You were born here, Princess. You took your first breath of air in this castle. It was inevitable that you would find your way back.”

“I am not here by choice,” You insisted, resisting the urge to yell, to scream about how much you hated the man in front of you for snatching your life away right before your eyes. “Hydra has allies, with kings and queens that would be more than glad to arrange a marriage between their daughters and your son, yet you chose Taria’s princess before I was even born — why?”

Hydra’s group of allies were certainly limited, but they weren’t the only kingdom that idealised a dictatorship and control over every aspect of their land. The king could have made strong connections with them, people who shared his mentality, his brutal methods. But he didn’t. He did the complete opposite, and that was extremely odd.

The king contemplated answering the question, he truly did. Words hanging from the tip of his tongue. But instead, he waved you off with a steady hand. “The answer to that will be clear in due time.”

You narrowed your eyes, about to protest, but you were soon interrupted by his booming voice unexpectedly.

“Bring in the Asset.”

His stare diverted, until it was focused on something behind you. Heavy footsteps clambered outside the room, along the echoey hall until they reached the doors of the throne room. They opened with an eerie creak, and upon throwing a look over your shoulder, your breath immediately hitched.

Three soldiers stood either side of, well, another soldier. But he wasn’t like them, not at all. His presence managed to freeze you in your stance, unable to fully turn around.

He was tall, a great deal taller than the other soldiers. Dark, untamed locks fell around his angular face, framing his sharp jaw and chiselled cheekbones. And he was so broad. The soldier attire almost looked more fitting on him, with his wide shoulders and muscular thighs. Protecting his shoulders were the same metal plates, with that same red star imprinted on the left side. A gasp almost escaped your lips when you noticed his arm, shimmering silver even in the dull light. The man, he couldn’t be another mere soldier. And he wasn’t — they called him the Asset.

For some reason, they wanted you to meet him.

With a proud expression, Brock met your eyes as he led the soldier in your direction, stopping only a foot away before he stepped to the side.

You swallowed, forcing your body to turn around, and you were met with perhaps the only splash of bright colour in the castle.

Azure blue eyes pierced into yours, making your palms clam and your knees weak. Unlike the other soldiers, he didn’t just stare past you; he stared through you, with eyes that were so blue yet so dim. His features remained blank, but even then his eyes burning into you made you feel small, almost too seen.

“I understand that you never took on a personal guard in Taria,” The king spoke from behind you. “I won’t be as foolish as your parents to leave you without one here.”

He gave a nod to Brock, who stepped towards you and the soldier, waving the other soldiers away with a hand. A grin tugged at his lips as he turned back to you. “The Asset is the best soldier we have. His only mission is to protect your life at all costs.”

Your brows pinched, and you just about managed to pull your eyes from the soldier’s to Brock’s. “Am I in such a state where I need a guard with that sole mission? Your best soldier, at that?”

“There are some cruel people living in Hydra, Princess. We wouldn’t want any of them getting their hands on you.” The man answered, practically smirked, knowing you’d already fallen into such hands.

But he was right, in a sense. Hydra’s royals weren’t exactly immune to danger. Rebellions were rare, but another one at any given time wasn’t an impossibility. Especially if the rebels believed your parents had chosen for you to marry into Hydra’s kingdom — you were fresh blood, and that made you an easy target for them.

If it wasn’t the rebels trying to hurt you, it’d be those that could simply for the fun of it. Because crime was so normalised there; everyone was constantly on edge, scared for their safety when night fell and silent shadows began to rome the unprotected villages. It was no way to live.

“He’ll be at your side at all times,” He continued. “Day and night; he’ll only rest when he must. Refer to him as ‘soldier’ and nothing else; he’s a guard, not your friend.”

You wouldn’t have expected anything else.

The king perked up from behind you, almost making you flinch. “Soldier, take the princess back to her chambers. A maid will arrive shortly with a meal for her.”

Huffing quietly, you glared over your shoulder. Apparently they weren’t stripping you of your freedom gradually, but completely all at once. Wonderful.

His expression remained nonchalant as he tipped his head at you. “I’m afraid my son is dealing with political affairs out of the kingdom today; he won’t be in attendance tonight. You’re to meet Isaac at breakfast tomorrow. I can assure you, he is looking forward to the pleasure of your company.”

If only you could say the same.

Your eyes turned back to the soldier, who had already spun around and was ready to comply with the king’s order. Soon enough, he was leading you out of the grand room, back to your sombre chambers.

The walk was silent; he wouldn’t talk to you, of course — it wasn’t in his job nature to do so. Even him, a tall, cold-eyed, man who was more muscle than anything else, was so obedient. Too obedient. So compliant that his expression never changed, he wouldn’t speak to you because he’d been strictly ordered not to, and his sole purpose was deemed to be the protection of your life. And he didn’t bat an eye. You wondered why. Why they were all soldiers first and humans not even second, but never at all.

You thought about the truth behind the soldier’s cold exterior for the rest of the dreary day.

Back in the throne room, seconds after he saw you wind around the corner into the dark corridor with your guard, Brock approached his king with a questioning crinkle in his brow.

“Your Highness, while I would never doubt your methods, I’m concerned that without a routine mind-wipe, we may begin to lose control over the Asset.”

Alexander considered his words. “Truthfully, I believe his brain has been tampered with enough to permanently erase his past from his mind. Alas, if he begins to show signs that his memory is recovering, you’ll know what to do.

As long as the princess doesn’t get any foolish ideas, the Asset shouldn’t pose a problem to us at all.”

[thereluctantinquisitor]

Another Year

OKAY so it is @frenchy-and-the-sea’s birthday and I am HERE with a terrible gift that is just... okay, listen. LISTEN. I had feelings and I just wrote them down and if it is wildly out of character please just pretend it is a really weird AU! 

Aaaanyway, Alex and Tahir belong to the wonderful Frenchy and live in her amazing original work, Seven Cities. If you haven’t already, join me in this glorious rabbit hole and come fall in love with all her characters!

Happy Birthday Frenchy <3

                                  ---------------------------------

If someone had told a young Alex that her life would be shaped like a cradle of wood, set adrift over the ocean chasing fairytales, she would have laughed them out of the room and told them not to bother coming back. Hell, sometimes she felt like laughing herself out of the room when she paused long enough to think about what they were doing. Seven cities. Sitting cross-legged by the Ranger’s bow, her head resting against one of the railing posts, those two words alone were enough to stir something deep and quiet in her chest. It was hard, not to long for answers to unasked questions. Particularly when they had been planted in your head by someone else. Some days, that meeting with Jon, and all the things that followed, felt like a dream. A story that had happened to someone else, a long time ago, that she just happened to overhear at a pub in some piss-soaked harbour town. A story full to the brim of adventure and triumph. Fuller still of mess and mistakes.

“Another year, huh?”

Alex huffed, not bothering to pull her eyes from the waves. “Not sure what you mean. Not sure I care to know, either.”

Of course, she knew exactly what he meant. Maybe at another time, in another place, Tahir might have laughed at her almost dramatic sullenness. But not this time. Instead, he just hovered for a while, before finally lowering himself down beside her with a soft grunt. Exhaling, he tipped his head back. Dark circles framed his eyes, same as hers. There had been some long days, of late, and even longer nights. They wore them about as well as could be expected. “You know, after all this time, I thought you’d soften up to people wanting to celebrate your birthday.” His gaze flicked down, and Alex’s averted just as fast. “It’s a good thing, lad. Means you’ve eked out another year in this mad place. And there’s no one alive who can take that from you.”

“If you’re feeling like waxing poetic, Tahir, there are better audiences for it.”

“Ah, well, Adelina is asleep.”

“Try Duchess.”

The pair exchanged a flat look, like siblings poised to push each other’s buttons. Normally, Alex’s glower was a thing of legend, but this time she felt the corners of her lips twitch traitorously and had to break the contest, masking it by casting her attention back out over the water with a huff. Rather than reveling in his victory, Tahir just allowed a faint smile to spread freely across his face. He was a spot of brightness in the inky dark. Somehow, when she needed him to be, he always was.

The silence lingered until she broke it. “I don’t make a fuss or demand a song and dance because I don’t care about it, Tahir.” Alex wasn’t sure why she started speaking. Normally those kinds of words had to be pried from her like a coin from a miser. “So unless you’ve been spending your lonesome evenings knitting a cape from old hemp sacks and sail rope, best to just treat it the same as any other day.”

There was a pause. “Well,” Tahir began slowly, “I’m not sure about the knitting, but if I’d known you wanted a cape made out of old hemp and---”

He broke off with a surprised grunt as the heel of Alex’s boot connected solidly with his thigh, then quickly caught her foot in one large hand. He raised it slightly, as if to say don’t make me confiscate this, then set it back down on the wooden deck at a pointedly safe distance. “In seriousness,” he continued, one eye still watching for any further signs of attack, “have a drink, at least. Even if it’s just with me or Adelina. Celebrate a little.”

Alex arched a brow. “That an order?”

“It’s a suggestion, Alex. From a friend.”

“Yeah, well…” Alex reached up and ran a hand through her hair. Or at least, she tried it, tangled as it was from the salt and wind. “Consider your friendly suggestion noted. I just…” Her arm suddenly felt heavy. Too heavy. She let it fall to her lap like an anchor to the seafloor. “I just don’t feel in a celebrating mood. Not of late. It’s… there’s so much to do, Tahir.”

“Like what?”

“I…” Alex hesitated. There were things to be done. Of course there were things to be done! There was always something to finish, or begin, or re-do because some half-asleep idiot fucked it up the first time. They were all tired. All drained dry. That meant something was leaking – something that needed to be fixed. Something she needed to fix.

Yet, when asked what that thing was, she found herself at a loss.

Tahir shifted his weight, boot scraping over the deck as he bent his knee and propped his elbow on it. “Sometimes, we have bad weeks. All of us, together, on this ship.” He was looking at her, waiting for her to meet his gaze. When she didn’t, he continued anyway. “None of us blame you for it, Alex. We’ll blame the gods, or the weather, or a bad hand at a tarot reader’s tent well before we’d ever blame you. This is just… how things go sometimes. We can’t change it any more than we can change the tide.”

Finally, Alex turned to face him. “So… what? I’m just meant to accept that sometimes everything goes to shit for no reason? Make my peace with it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because punishing yourself doesn’t make it any easier.”

Alex opened her mouth – to retort? Argue? She wasn’t sure. But once again, she found the will to fight had abandoned her. Or maybe, just maybe, Tahir had a point, and she’d just rather cast herself into the sea than admit it right now. 

Instead, Alex just grunted; a quiet kind of acquiescence, open enough to interpretation that she could stomach it well enough. Tahir, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, accepted it with wordless grace. They sat in silence for a little while longer, side by side, lulled by the creaking of the ship. Then, there was a rustle of fabric as Tahir reached into his side-pouch and extended a further sign of peace.

A flask.

“What’ve you got in there today?” Alex took the flask and set to unscrewing it with half-numb fingers. The night-chill was starting to rise already. She convinced herself the drink was just to chase it away. Nothing more.

Tahir relaxed back against the rail, stretching his legs out again. “Something you’ll like.”

Frowning, Alex eyed him warily as she slowly raised the flask to her nose. The first inhale was short – a test, of sorts. When she didn’t keel over from a poorly conceived prank by one of the twins, she relaxed and allowed herself a deeper breath. What met her was something rich, lightly spiced, and possessing just enough edge to promise a good, trickling warmth that curled its way to her fingertips. Even without tasting it, she knew one thing for certain: it was good. “When did you even get this?” she asked a little accusingly. Last time they were at port, he’d insisted on staying with the ship while the others enjoyed a well-earned shore leave. 

Apparently not.

As though reading her mind, Tahir quickly raised his hands. “Easy there, Captain. I convinced Davin to take my place for a bit. The Ranger was in good hands.” He hesitated. “Well, reasonably good hands. He was still sober enough to stand.”

It was easier to laugh, somehow, with that flask in her hand. Not just because its contents sent a comforting warmth straight to her stomach, but because it was something she hadn’t known she needed. It was a moment with someone she trusted above anyone else, sitting on the bow of her ship, letting sea and sail carry them towards a distant point of the compass.

Some leaks are small. Barely even noticeable, at first. But god, it feels good when someone takes the time to patch it.

“That good, huh?” Tahir asked eventually, after Alex had helped herself to a third hearty swig. Humming contently, she smirked and held out the flask.

“You tell me.” When Tahir raised his brows, Alex just rolled her eyes. “Listen - given you probably owe Dav a favour now – a thing no man alive would envy – you can at least partake in the spoils.”

Laughing, Tahir shrugged his large shoulders. “Well, when you put it that way, how could I say no?”

There it was again. That smile. The one that reminded Alex that she had her own. And she found it, then, as Tahir took the flask and allowed himself a long, deep swallow. Then another. Then another…

“Hey - don’t go emptying it!” There was a moment of frenzy, Alex grabbing for the flask, Tahir twisting away, keeping her at bay with a frantically extended elbow. Eventually, Alex managed to snatch it back and tipped it up, peering inside as though to measure the precise depth of his betrayal. “You rat bastard.”

But Tahir wasn’t listening. He was too busy laughing, one hand on the rail, hauling himself to his feet (and, more importantly, out of range). Once upright, he swayed slightly, then stretched his back. Cat-like. Content in his flagrant hubris.

 Duchess would be proud.

 “Come on, then,” he said. “Up you get.”

“What?” Alex was still fuming, trying to fish out the last few boozy drops with her finger. Traitor. “Why the hell should I?”

Tahir just grinned. 

“Because the rest of the bottle is with Adelina, and you’ve kept her waiting long enough.”

[zoya-nazyalantsov]

Pirates of The True Sea Chapter 1

(pirates of the carribbean inspired zoyalai fic lmao)

Nikolai Lantsov, aka Sturmhond, has a problem. Cursed by the fearsome pirate, Morozova, Nikolai must seek the one treasure that can cast out his demon: The Sun Summoner. 

Zoya Nazyalensky wants power. Aboard Morozova’s ship of extremely questionable morals, she joins him in a quest to search for an object of legends that bring power to all who wield it. 

As Nikolai and Zoya’s search for the mythical Sun Summoner endures, time pressures them both into an uneasy alliance, one that leads to sword fights, betrayal, small science, and… romance? Of course not, that would be ridiculous. 

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29546391

“To the gallows with this filthy pirate!” announced the governor who hovered waspishly above the crowd. His bulbous nose and ballooning figure glared down from the balcony to said pirate.

“Privateer, actually,” said Nikolai Lantsov with a tight voice as he struggled against the coarse rope that burned around his neck. Death by hanging was not the way any pirate should go, especially one as respected as Sturmhond. Stormchaser. Prince of the Seas. Demon Prince. He had many names, but that was beside the point. The gallows were no respectable place to die, especially not with a murderous demon trapped inside one’s heart. 

Release me. Nikolai felt the creature stir inside the chambers of his chest, scratching lightly at the sinew and muscle. 

No. He knew that if the monster was released, it would kill everyone in the square. He glanced around quickly, estimating about one hundred people. One hundred people were waiting for him to break like a pathetic little twig. Unfortunately, the monster knew this as well and he felt it grin. His traitorous heart jumped as the claws tightened around it. 

Let me take control and I can save us. I can save you, it said. Nikolai gritted his teeth, ignoring the call of darkness and evil. 

I hate you. At this, the demon smiled. 

I am the pirate and the pirate is me, Sobachka. 

“Any last words, Sturmhond?” growled the executioner. Trying to remain human, Nikolai answered thoughtfully, banishing any indication of a curse out of his mind. He missed the cerulean waters, the taste of fine liquor, and the salty smell of the ship. His undignified week in the cellars had dulled his golden skin and his disguised red hair became almost a reddish gold. Not to mention it left him smelling like old rainwater left to dry in a stable cleaned with manure. It was not one of his finer moments. 

“Got any kvas?” he asked and was silently thankful to hear a few snickers from the crowd. “I’m rather parched.” 

“Argh.” spat the executioner at his feet. Nikolai spotted several gnats and mosquitoes caught in his gnarled peppery beard. “Death to the pirate then,” he said, placing his hand on the lever. Nikolai felt the anticipation of the people and prayed to his Saints. 

I didn’t think it would end like this. Nikolai closed his eyes, waiting for the snap of the lever and the subsequent snap of his neck. 

Suddenly the executioner cried out in pain and a shriek followed from somewhere among the masses. Nikolai’s eyes shot open and he was met with two stormy blue eyes. The figure was hooded, dressed in black and gold, flew across the platform wielding a silver sword. The mysterious savior struck down the executioner with swift ease. Nikolai watched wildly as the townspeople darted like guppies to avoid the falling bodies of soldiers onto the square. He took in a sharp inhale as the feral eyes of the stranger faced him, sword raised over their hooded head. He forced himself not to flinch as the figure sliced the sword over him, severing the rope that suspended him in two. 

Nikolai dropped to his knees, gagging, and felt a small but firm hand grip his shoulder. He was free. The figure jerked him to his feet and thrust a sword into his hand. He grabbed his hat back from a petrified soldier and placed it upon his head. 

“I’ll take that back, thank you,” he said. He took off sprinting along with the figure, boots slapping against the cobblestone street. He set his gaze ahead to the ocean, the only place he’d ever known freedom. The path was clear and straight. 

“You’re coming with me, Sturmhond.” said a smooth, feminine voice from under the veil. Nikolai squinted closer at her robes as she dragged him running through the town. A patch was sewn onto the sleeve: an eclipsed sun. The dreaded symbol of Aleksander Morozova. A mix of fear and disgust rolled through him and he snatched his arm away from his captor. 

“What does Morozova want with me?” he hissed, running towards the docks. He glanced back to find an angry group of soldiers chasing them. “That wretched pirate was the one who got me caught in the first place!” he exclaimed. The figure’s hood fell during their escape, revealing a mass of dark tresses and healthy brown skin. Her bright eyes flashed towards him. 

“Follow me and I will explain”, she said, gesturing to a gargantuan ship leaving the harbor. My ship? Nikolai blinked at the magnificent wooden ship that moved quickly towards the open waters. The crazy woman tracked down my ship. The deck of the Kingfisher called to him like the call of the open sea. He spotted the frantic waves of his crew, shouting and howling at him. 

They raced towards the dock, dodging and deflecting the stray bullets that flew around them. The rotted wood creaked under his feet as he approached the Kingfisher. The woman jumped with effortless strength and grabbed the rope that dangled patiently from the side of the ship. 

“Come aboard, Sturmhond!” cried a scar-faced woman with red hair. Nikolai brightened at the sight of her. Genya. She threw down a second rope and he grabbed a hold of it, pulling himself up. 

“Let this be a lesson to you all,” he shouted triumphantly to the soldiers who gaped at him from the edge of the dock. “No governor alive can ever catch the great Sturmhond!” 

“Curse you, Sturmhond!” shouted the Governor with a fat fist thrust into the air. One curse is enough to deal with, Governor, he thought bitterly. He laughed as he swung himself onto the deck and tipped his hat in the direction of the reddening Governor. He landed gracefully in front of the woman who saved him, face hardening into a mask with ease. 

“Now what to do with you?” he contemplated aloud. “You who wear the colors of Morozova.” The woman faced him defiantly, unbothered at his words. 

“Peace, Sturmhond,” she said. She cast off the black robe, uncovering a weathered blue kefta. Typical. Morozova’s whole crew was made up of people like her. The most powerful grisha flocked to him like how sailors were lured by sirens. He promised them riches and power and worst of all, they always believed him. Nikolai was thankful for his band of grisha that knew the truth. Some had even escaped the clutches of Morozova’s ship, The Merzost, like Genya and David. 

“Stormwitch,”  murmured someone among the crew. 

“Stormwitch indeed,” he echoed, folding his arms. “What is your business in saving me from a most unfortunate fate?” he asked with curiosity. “Not that I’m ungrateful, of course, but I do wonder…” He leaned closer, awaiting her answer. A slight crease formed between his brows upon studying her expression. She seemed bored. Bored? We just escaped flying bullets without a scratch and the woman is bored? 

“I escaped from the pirate Morozova and went to find the greatest pirate in the True Sea. I followed whispers, rumors, stories, all to find that the great Sturmhond is hanging from a noose on some obscure island in the south,” she said with disdain. You have your former captain to thank for that. But of course, he couldn’t say that. One more person who knew about the curse was another person who knew of a weakness he possessed. “Obviously your reputation precedes you. Apologies if I’m a bit disappointed,” she added. Nikolai felt a sense of tension stir within the crew. He saw his friends, Tolya and Tamar, place a cautious hand on their respective weapons. 

“No, no,” he said, forcing an easy smile on his face. “I apologize for not living up to your expectations Miss…” 

“Nazyalensky. Zoya Nazyalensky,” she replied sourly. 

“Miss Nazyalensky. I swear I’ll spend the rest of your stay on this ship making it up to you. Sturmhond guarantee.” he said, throwing in a wink. Zoya rolled her eyes but he didn’t miss the slight lift in the corner of her mouth. Interesting. He walked to the upper deck, her piercing gaze trailing his movements. The wind rustled his red locks as he placed his hand on the wooden steering wheel, painted with chipped gold. “So you’re looking to join my crew I suppose?” 

“Yes,” she said. “Morozova has grown power-hungry and mad. I will serve no evil madman.” She seemed disgusted as she said his name and Nikolai knew how she felt. Maybe he could use that to his advantage. 

“Who said I wasn’t mad, darling?” he joked. His crew laughed along with him. “No worries, we are not evil here.” 

I would say otherwise, said the demon. 

“And what do you have to offer us?” chimed in young Ivan. 

“Yeah!” 

Zoya whipped around towards the crew which recoiled at the movement. They’re scared of her, aren’t they, thought Nikolai. She looked wild, standing in the middle of the ship with her ebony hair whipping in the breeze. A wide berth had formed around her, leaving a large clearing between her and the rest of the crew. 

“What can I offer you?” she said, a small smile on her beautiful face. “The winds belong to me.” she declared, closing her eyes. A gust of air rocked the ship, rustling the creamy white sails. The sailors on deck made sudden grabs for the nearest steady object as dark waves churned around them. Nikolai, however, made a point to stand his ground. He planted his hands at his sides, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat. Zoya lifted off the deck like a saint ascending to the heavens. She opened her eyes, glowing a deep royal blue. “I am the Stormwitch.” Power. The woman was raw power, both literally and figuratively. Nikolai clapped politely when she finished. 

“Thank you for that lovely demonstration, Nazyalensky,” he said, leaning onto the railing of the balcony. “But we’re missing one important question.” He let his words linger in the air for a moment. “It’s perhaps the most important question of all, the one that will determine whether you stay on this ship or not.” He forced his eyes away from Zoya, who looked at him with a sense of utter disbelief. He studied his nails, ignoring the muffled laughs from his crew. 

“Spit it out, Sturmhond,” she said with some annoyance. 

“Why should we trust you?” he asked. 

“You can’t,” she said. Nikolai let out a hearty laugh.

“I’m not sure you’re helping your case,” he said. He narrowed his eyes at the girl, standing in her cerulean robes. 

“I’m simply being honest, Sturmhond,” she said. She smirked slightly as if she knew he’d already decided upon her future with the ship. “An honest pirate is hard to come by these days. And I believe that I am worth my weight in gold.” Saints, she was good. Perhaps it would be interesting to have her aboard. She was a curiosity, a mere person of interest. Yes, that was it. 

“Let me consult with my colleagues,” he said. “Genya, David, Tolya, and Tamar, if you would meet with me here please?” He nudged open a mahogany door behind him that led to the captain’s quarters. The four of his friends followed him inside. 

It was just as he left it. A messy pile of maps was scattered across his simple wooden desk like sand on a beach. He eyed the numerous swords leaning against the wall and picked up his favorite: a silver sword with a violet gemstone embedded into the pommel. It was a gift from a fellow pirate, a much better one than he was. He knew the Wraith was out there somewhere, being a hero to those in need. 

“I say to let her stay,” said Genya, tying back her flaming red curls. “She came to us with a way to get you out of the gallows after we’d been struggling for weeks. Granted, she didn’t reveal herself to us.” Tolya and Tamar nodded, although they exchanged a worried glance. 

“I agree with Genya,” said David while Tamar rolled her eyes. 

“Oh, of course, you do!” she said. “Nikolai, I’m not saying she has to leave, I’m wondering if we can trust her.” Nikolai palmed the sword in his hand, considering her words. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t wondering the same. Zoya Nazyalensky’s sudden appearance and motives were not as she presented them to be, that much was obvious. She could have let him swing for all she cared. And the part about him being the ‘greatest pirate in the True Sea’ was all just flattery, as much as his ego denied it. The woman was playing a game and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be part of it. 

“Tolya?” he asked. 

“Let her stay,” he said in a low voice. “And if she tries anything she’ll face the consequences.” 

“Alright,” said Nikolai. “Seems like we’ve made our decision.” He replaced the sword back on the wall and turned to the door, bursting through. The crews’ eyes snapped up to him. He made his way down to the lower deck, stopping just in front of Zoya. Her face was fixed into a frown, her lovely blue eyes boring into his. It was as if she dared him to refuse her passage aboard the ship. She possessed the passion, skills, and nerve it took to be a good pirate. And her abilities as a grisha could come in handy on his search for the Sun Summoner now that he was free. Nikolai met her with a confident smile. 

“Well then Nazyalensky,” he said, pausing for dramatic effect. “Welcome aboard the Kingfisher.” He extended a rough scarred hand out from his teal pirate coat. Her hand clasped his and the deal was done. 

[radiojamming]

I feel like the low-hanging fruit of a prompt to give you is something around the canonical presence of the Franklin Expedition in TMA lore. Everchase fic?

[GRABS THAT FRUIT AND SCURRIES BACK UP MY TREE WITH IT BEFORE U CAN EVEN BLINK]

also i picked my 3rd favorite franklin expedition boy as the main dude here :3c and this isn’t terror-centric so much as it lines up with MAG 133!

- - -

Tom doesn’t understand what possesses the men he sails with. Some of them have such a want; such a craving and a desire that he cannot fathom, what with his simple daily tasks and basic training. He sees it, sometimes, when he’s tying off ropes or painting or tarring. He sees their hunger, spies it when they look out at where the sea is caked in ice, threatening the end of a cold summer. Out beyond the grey mountains and glaciers, the knife points of broken ice, the strange creatures, the dancing lights that curtain the stars, he knows they see the Northwest Passage. They see it so clearly that they’re blind to what’s in front of them now.

He sees a job. He sees chores and things that years in the Navy have taught him to do. 

Of course, he also wants things. Everyone does. Tom wants to make it through the expedition in one piece, whether it end in the Sandwich Islands or England if they have to turn tail. He wants to collect his double pay, count it out from his hands to his mother’s, and feel safe and warm again before the next set of sails and ropes entices him back to the sea. 

And once, he wanted adventure. He wouldn’t have had the thought to sign onto Erebus if there wasn’t some part of him that craved it. It didn’t capture his senses the way it does for some of the men, but there was a thrill that ran a gauntlet through his heart when he saw something truly strange, like the auroras or the twirled horns of narwhals peeking up through the ice. Sometimes, he would eagerly run down to the orlop after his watch ended and pen out a quick letter to his sisters, his brother, his mother, or his cousins—just hurried observations of the Arctic and how different it was from Gillingham. 

He wanted adventure. The past tense is deliberate and fierce. He wanted, because the only reason it was ever in the present tense at all is now buried under six feet of frozen gravel some two hundred miles north. If he must want something presently, he wants his brother back from the dead.

No, he doesn’t understand the men who seek the Passage like hounds on a scent. What’s the use of wanting something you’re not meant to have?

- - -

They freeze in for the second summer in a row. The sun kisses the horizon, pressing rosy lips to grey shale and pink ice—then draws back up into a powder blue sky to wink above them. 

That’s when people start to disappear.

First, it’s Sir John. He dies in June—or so Tom’s told. He apparently dies in the night, long after the dog watches take place. Captain Crozier tells the men that they’ll be burying Sir John right away, but Commander— no, Captain Fitzjames’ face is fixed peculiarly when the announcement is made. Dreadfully ill, Crozier tells them. He can’t be seen.

It doesn’t make sense. Many of the ABs echo the sentiment, but the mates and lieutenants are quick to quash their concerns. The burial is hasty, committing a simple wooden box to the gravel with only a large stone to mark the grave itself. This strikes Tom as stranger than all the Arctic’s oddest traits combined. His brother, a lowly able-bodied seaman, was afforded more decorum than Sir John Franklin. 

More disappear after that. Fairholme and Osmer apparently die on a hunting expedition. Aylmore, Goddard, and Kinnaird aren’t far behind, disappearing into that sun-soaked horizon with only whispers left behind. 

Reddington makes the oddest display before his disappearance; honestly, he’s the best hint to Tom that something very, very strange is happening. The night before he goes missing, he wakes half the ship up with a maniacal laugh, practically screaming in pure incoherence before Lieutenant Le Vesconte drags him into the Wardroom, presumably to calm him. Le Vesconte opens the door only once to ask for Captain Fitzjames and a glass of brandy before he shuts them both in and the screaming starts again. All Tom can catch is the howl of, “It’s there! It’s there! I’ve seen it!” before Fitzjames arrives.

The next morning, Reddington is gone. Fitzjames says he broke loose and ran off after the second dog watch, presumably having gone mad.

A few days later, Crozier says they’re going to abandon ship and begin a long walk south.

- - -

The craving begins in September, Tom thinks. 

If there even is such thing as September. 

In his mind, it’s The Craving, titled like a book. In this book, he thinks the plot would be about men so far gone in their hunger that all the humanity in them decays to nothing, leaving them crazed husks searching for the impossible. At this point, what with men falling into the stones and dying halfway through the descent, he feels they shouldn’t be like this. They should be tending their wounded and ill, making camp more often. But The Craving is in Crozier’s eyes, dragging them further and further towards… something.

Tom doesn’t think they’re looking for the Passage anymore.

He follows along, as he always has. Ever the seaman, now ever the AB, following orders from a boatswain with lips scarred from his whistle freezing to the flesh and tearing away. 

Then, The Craving gets carnal when their last food stores begin to dwindle. Tom barely notices, watching as if in a dream as the man who used to be Daniel Arthur cracks marrow out of a bone, greedily clawing it out of the hollows with his frostbitten fingers. He eats like an animal, and stops only when they begin to move again. 

Tom doesn’t eat with them. Every time he thinks of it, his mind plays some terrible trick. He thinks of John, entombed in ice and rock, emaciated and torn open like an animal was the one who pried his ribs from his body, and not a surgeon. He thinks of what John’s marrow would taste like, and imagines his brother watching him, eyes unfocused behind the mists of death, jaw unhinged in that silent scream of a corpse—judging him.

Tommy, he thinks John would say. Always stealing off my plate, huh?

He doesn’t eat. When the hunger saws at his stomach with iron teeth, he bites his hands, his lips, the wool from his coat, the copper-tasting metal of his buttons. He swallows snow until he vomits. 

And somehow, impossibly, he lives on.

- - -

There are no days.

No weeks.

No months.

Maybe years, but Tom’s stopped counting.

There are only steps, one after another. There are bloody footprints thousands of miles behind them. They abandoned the sledges back in the snow and gravel, leaving useless cargo and a trail of broken bodies. Men still die, but there seems to be no real reason why they do. Tom should have been dead… ten? Twenty? Fifty years ago? He can’t remember. All he knows is that he’s still walking, following behind Crozier and Fitzjames and a dwindling party of men still dressed for the Arctic weather.

They’re in a desert.

Surely they should have found the Passage by now? Tom thinks this as he sees a lizard scurry up a strange plant, spiked like a well-used pincushion. The sun bites his blistering flesh, scrapes its glowing teeth along the back of his neck. Still, he’s never felt the need to take off his slops. There’s something comforting about the What Was, after all.

Why is he here? He doesn’t Crave the way the others do. They always talk about the Passage. It’s over that hill, surely. It’s along this river. If we just walk over there, it will be within sight. He knows it won’t be. It never is.

So why does he walk?

Because you Want, something tells him. It’s a deep, odd thing set in his soul, prone to ring out when struck like a bell, reminding him that he Must Always Walk.

For what?

For the Wanting, it says. And what do you Want, Thomas Hartnell?

Somewhere beyond a flat-topped mountain the colour of blood and bile, he thinks about that question. What does he Want?

He wants his mother to kiss his forehead and tell him good night. He wants Charlie to take apart their father’s pocket watch and put it back together, just in time to proudly show it to Tom. He wants to hear Mary Ann sing old shanties while she kneads dough on Friday morning. He wants to sit at the base of an apple tree while Betsy throws down the fruit, giggling as she does so.

He wants John to come back from the dead.

He wants to go home.

And Home is over that next mountain, says The Craving. Tom looks up at another blood-red mountain, the winking sun pressing a kiss to the slant of its neck. Don’t you want to see it again? Gillingham? Kent? The River and the Sea?

Of course he does, but it isn’t—

Well, maybe it is.

So Tom Wants, and he Craves, and he Walks.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Any fics about hair? Whether it’s hair care or hair pulling, I don’t mind.

Hi Nonny!

Ah, I don’t have very many that deal SPECIFICALLY with hair, but more like hair is within the plot or one of the boys loves the hair! So here’s what I can remember; I know there’s another that’s 100% about hair (Sherlock wants to taste John’s hair and doesn’t know how to ask) and I can’t remember which one it is and it’s bugging me LOL. Anyway, here you are, everything that showed up in a search. I’ll also add Beard Fics too:

HAIR & BEARDS

See also: John Has a Beard

Upon Reflection, Tenable Frippery by emmagrant01 (T, 1,299 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4, John’s Beard, First Kiss, Fluff) – John was, inexplicably, growing a beard.

Untouched by KittieHill (E, 3,239 w., 1 Ch. || Kissing, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock, Body Worship, Sherlock’s Scars Mentioned, Masturbation, PWP, Rimming, Multiple Orgasms) – Sherlock leaked a lot. John had never needed lubricant. John loved watching it, had once spent an entire afternoon edging Sherlock so he could watch as the thick precome drip, drip, dripped onto Sherlock’s belly.

Love and Hair Dye by Anonymous (E, 3,920 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Body Worship, Self Conscious John, Voyeurism, Idiots in Love, Smutty Smut) – Self conscious John decides to cover the greys on his head, and the colour isn’t what he thought it would be. Now he’s more self-conscious than ever.

The Oolong Disaster by unicornpoe (T, 4,151 w., 1 Ch. || John’s Beard, Fluff, Humour, Frustrated Sherlock, John Takes Care of Sherlock, Case Fic-ish, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Possessive Sherlock) – John has a beard. Sherlock has a panic attack.

If He Knows by shamelessmash (M, 4,513 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Fic, Pining Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Angst, Sherlock POV, Texting, Internal Monologue, Blanket Forts) – I imagine mornings: John handing me a cup of tea, hair sticking out at odd angles. How he would bend down to kiss me, smiling fondly as he pulls away. The way his skin crinkles at the corner of his eyes, the way his skin looks in the morning light. The soft sigh as he sits in his chair with the morning paper, the way his toes curl in the carpet, the way he rolls his shoulders before sinking deeper into his seat. I watch him, how he is when he is content, as it should be. As he deserves. Happy. With me.

Facade by distantstarlight (M, 4,715 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, John’s Beard, No-Shave November, Grumpy Sherlock, Clueless Sherlock) – Sherlock is highly irritated with a challenge John has agreed to undertake. Why does he need to grow a beard anyway?

One Day Like This by nondeducible (E, 4,872 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Bed-Sharing, Romance, Fluff, Virgin Sherlock) – When Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, the sight before him nearly took his breath away. The only light in the room was the small lamp on the bedside table. John’s skin shone like gold, his hair like the purest silver. He was on his side, facing the empty part of the bed, his outstretched hands ready to embrace whoever climbed in next to him. Sherlock could imagine, just for a second, that this was their shared bed and he was coming back to settle into John’s arms.

Survival Strategies for the Domesticated British Butthole by Atiki (E, 6,183 w., 1 Ch. || Crack, Rimming, Anal Sex, Iced Lolly, Hair Removal, Depilation) – In which there’s a rimming disaster, Sherlock depilates his butt, everything goes very, very wrong and groceries are mistreated. This fic contains hair removal creme in a butthole, ice lollies in a butthole and John Watson’s penis in a butthole. You have been warned.

The Death of Doubt by Gingerhermit (E, 6,584 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate Canon, BAMF John, POV Sherlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Hurt/Comfort, Angst/Drama, Meddling Mycroft) – Mycroft asks for John’s help in rescuing Sherlock from his Serbian captors.

The Tip Over Into The Inevitable by ivyblossom (T, 6,894 w., 1 Ch. || Grief, Cuddles, Insomnia, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers) - When his father dies, Sherlock avoids sleeping. Then discovers he can’t sleep at all. John finds a way to help.

Onomatopoeia by aquabelacqua (M, 6,904 w., 1 Ch. || First Time/Kiss, Frottage, Dirty Talk, Domestics, Word Kink, POV Sherlock, Dry Humping / Sex, Chair Sex, Hair Pulling, Lazy Mornings, Hand Jobs, Friends to Lovers) – Something is the matter with John. Sherlock is determined to figure out what it is. Mark his words.

Beg for Mercy (Twice) by Solitary_Endeavor (E, 7,060 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Bottomlock, Bearded John, Edging, Rough Sex, Idiots in Love, Canon Compliant) – Sherlock hasn’t left the flat in four days, the itch of impatience beneath his skin too great to allow him to suffer interaction with any human being who isn’t John. This is probably a mercy that goes both ways, as he’s driving even himself mad. Sherlock supposes there is a lesson to be learned here about having himself to blame, but of course he blames Mycroft.

Of Razors, Pipes, Red Notebooks and Rugby Jerseys, Or: Sherlock Doesn’t Like His Doctors Clean Shaven by allonsys_girl (E, 7,313 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., PWP / Porn With Feelings, John’s Beard / Beard Kink, Roleplay, Love Declarations, Banter, Rimming, Anal, Domestic Fluff / Bliss, Idiots in Love, Emotional Lovemaking, Pet Names, Obsessive Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Bottomlock, Cranky Sherlock) – John grows a beard. Sherlock really likes it. Part 1 of Consulting Husbands

Christmas by Anonymous (E, 7,673  w., 1 Ch. || Worried Sherlock, PWP, Drunkeness, Christmas, Est. Relationship, Idiots So In Love) – John feels a lump rise in his throat, and it hits him, again, that this beautiful, infuriating creature is his. Completely, one-hundred percent his.

And if you say the word, I could stay with you by CaitlinFairchild (E, 12,842 w., 1 Ch. || Domestic Fluff, BottomJohn / Topping from the Bottom, Fluff and Romance, Dirty Talk, Proposals) – What Sherlock thinks is, On the day I die, be it in a dirty alley at forty or in my bed at eighty, the last thing I will remember is tonight, the way you looked at at me on the snowy pavement, cheeks pink with the cold, breath puffing in frosty white clouds, your heart in your eyes and snowflakes in your hair. I will remember that single perfect moment in my life, that moment I knew I had everything I ever wanted, and whatever happens next, I will die content. What he says is simply, “Marry me.”

Where Else Would I Be? by cwb (E, 34,910 w., 10 Ch. || Retirementlock, Domestic Fluff, Falling in Love, Parentlock, Fluff and Smut, Reminiscing) – John and Sherlock’s five-year-old granddaughter spends the weekend with them in Sussex. Sherlock happily indulges her whims, and John takes care of them while quietly revisiting the past thirty years of their lives together.

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (NR [E], 54,437 w., 50 Ch. || Post S3, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world … and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock, BAMF John) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate’s nose buried in your hair. Whilst you’re in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Facial Shaving, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship’s surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there’s more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin’ the eye, he has to choose… is it a pirate’s life for him?

MARKED FOR LATER

Curlock by 88thParallel (G, 1,285 w. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Sherlock’s Hair, Fluff, Ficlet) – How Sherlock learned to control and appreciate the incredible gift he was born with, and the man who helped him sort it out.

Of Razors, Pipes, Red Notebooks and Rugby Jerseys, Or: Sherlock Doesn’t Like His Doctors Clean Shaven by allonsys_girl (E, 7,313 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Porn With Feelings, John’s Beard, Bottomlock, Domestics, Fluff and Smut, Banter, Declarations of Love, Rimming, Anal, Est. Rel.) – John grows a beard. Sherlock really likes it. Part 1 of Consulting Husbands

How to Sleep with Your Enemy in One Semester by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (M, 9,699 w., 6 Ch. || College / Uni Professors AU || Professor John/Sherlock, Enemies to Lovers, Rivalry, Bickering, Office Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Domestics, John’s Beard, Idiots in Love) – Visiting professors John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are longtime academic rivals — and now unwilling office mates — at a prestigious American university. When their tense arguments give way to an undercurrent of mutual attraction, their war of wits turns into something more personal — until it goes off course. A party, a phone number, and deserted office at night might just bring them back together.

[kyogre-blue]

Nanowrimo, day 10 (wc 1923)

That should have been the end of it. Silently, without even a final roar, the monster began to topple. It dissolved into a scattering of black birds, and only the bodies of the three assassins hit the ground. They appeared lifeless, and for a moment, Sinbad’s heart was in his throat. 

“Hey! You three!” he called out and cursed metally. He didn’t even know their names -- yet. 

He, Hinahoho and Drakon each rushed to one of them. Sinbad easily pulled the smallest one up into his arms. Thankfully, he could see his hand twitch slightly, and his thin chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Nearby, the other two groaned as they slowly came to themselves. 

“Are you guys alright?” Sinbad asked.

“Oh, my head... What happened?” the thin one asked, slowly shaking his head. “Sinbad... you saved us?” 

“We did,” Sinbad confirmed. “You were being absorbed by a monster.  Do you feel anything wrong?” 

“No, I feel a bit tired, but otherwise... I feel lighter, almost like an evil spirit was expelled from me,” he said. “Mahad, what about--” 

The invisible flow all around them... trembled. There was no other word for it, and Sinbad had never before felt anything like it. Perhaps this was what the earthquakes he’d heard about would feel like -- something unnatural and so vast that it could not be escaped. 

‘You think it’s over that easily? I won’t let you escape.’ 

The court magician’s voice spoke directly into his head -- and the others’ too, judging by the way their eyes widened and they looked around frantically. 

‘Even if you destroyed the core... I’ll just use this child directly!’ 

A black hurricane of wings sprung up without warning, swirling around Sinbad and the small body he was holding. There was no way to describe the sensation left behind where they brushed against him. Sinbad almost expected to see blood flowing down his arms from a myriad of cuts, but there was no physical mark on him. Holding the child in his arms close, he tried to shield him from the swirling black, but he could have sworn the small birds slipping by disappeared directly into his body. 

‘It’s no use, this child is already almost Fallen. With such a plentiful vessel, I can restore the magic beast endlessly. It might even be possible to create a Dark Djinn, as we’ve planned...’ 

“Sin! Call Baal!” Alibaba’s voice came over the chaos. 

“BAAL!” 

Sinbad didn’t hesitate or stop to think. Twisting his grip on Baal’s sword, he slammed the blade into the ground and sent his will through it. He hoped Baal understood what to do, because Sinbad himself wasn’t at all sure. 

A black flow... cold and reversed... 

“Gah!” Lightning burst from the sword, cutting through the dark energy -- and also through Sinbad, though he gritted his teeth and endured, even as his vision whited out and his ears rang deafeningly. 

Beyond the white and the noise, he could see flashes of things he didn’t recognize. 

Ah, so this kid’s name was Ja’far. 

‘Hey, Ja’far! What do you mean about not having a place to go? Didn’t you already agree to become my comrade? Naturally, my home is your home now. ... Of course. I said I won’t let my comrades die, and that means you too. The stuff in the past, we’ll work it out later. ... It’s fine if you don’t trust me now. But since you agreed, you owe me the chance to prove it to you!’ 

And finally, quietly, weakly, there was a very faint sense of agreement and a small hand slipping into his. 

Sinbad grinned. He had succeeded! Subordinate acquired! 

There was a sensation like a fist driving into his head and huffing annoyance. Sinbad laughed, as the weight began to lift and his mind cleared. 

“Ow, ow, ow...” He came back to himself to aching all over, Baal’s lightning faded away around them. Struggling weakly, Ja’far pounded against his chest. 

“Stupid...” he hissed. 

“You’re insane!” Drakon agreed, running up to them with Hinahoho. “Do you want to die?!” 

“Unbelievable,” Hinahoho agreed, though he seemed to have already accepted that this was Sinbad’s way of doing things and only smirked a little down at him.  

Considering Sinbad had blindly hit the two of them with Baal’s power, that was all perhaps deserved. He grinned weakly, still wincing. But at least the cold, strange reverse flow that had blinded him was dispersing. Like this, he could feel the correct direction again, and it was once again in his favor. 

‘NO!!’

“Enough already! Just disappear, you damn ghost!” Sinbad snapped. “Baal!” 

And, in a final flash of lightning, Falan’s voice faded away. 

~.~ 

Seeing Sinbad droop in relief and get swept up in a huddle of his worried and scolding allies, Alibaba finally let out a long breath and sheathed Amon’s dagger. It seemed that things had been resolved -- as they were fated to be. After all, Sinbad had always been meant to capture Valefor’s dungeon. 

But to think he had overcome this much to achieve it. 

“He’s really something...” Alibaba murmured to himself, smiling. 

“Mm, even I have to agree,” Valefor said, its form shrinking as it padded up to Alibaba. Together, they watched from the sidelines. “His potential is exceptional. If it’s him, maybe he will be the one to unite the world.” 

“Unite the world? Is that why you djinn pick kings?” 

“Everyone has their own reasons and qualifications they look for,” Valefor said, licking one paw. “But that is the wish we share. To support another great king like Solomon...” 

Amon had said something like that too, about magi and djinn searching for a new incarnation of Solomon. Uniting the world... was a very extreme goal. After all, even Sinbad in the future would only become the high king of the seven seas. The Seven Seas Alliance was only one of the three great world powers, no a complete hegemony. 

But if it was like that, Alibaba understood even less why Amon had ended up with him. 

He lacked any great ambition or even desires. All he wanted was to live a comfortable life as a merchant, not even a top merchant but just a good one. He’d never had the courage to enter Amon’s dungeon alone, and his end goal had been the treasure inside, not power. And even that aside... 

He hadn’t been able to protect even a single country. He even abandoned it and ran away when he failed. 

The only thing he wanted was to make amends and wipe the slate clean. 

That was why he had to return to Balbadd -- his Balbadd of fourteen years later, not the still prospering city he and Sinbad had been in. 

He had to find a way back. 

“Valefor,” Alibaba called out quietly, “when we head back, could you send me separately, ahead of the others?” 

“Hmm? I could,” Valefor said. It huffed. “But I really wonder what your deal is. You come to a dungeon, but you don’t want power. You ask some weird thing that people from that world shouldn’t have any involvement in. You recognize the black rukh, but you don’t take any action. You’re traveling with another king and have so much faith in him... Who does that? You’re weird.” 

Alibaba coughed into his fist. 

“This... I also think it’s weird,” he admitted. 

The look he received from the djinn was droll and unimpressed. “Fine, I don’t care that much,” Valefor said. Raising its voice, the djinn called out, “Alright, pay attention! Did you forget this is a djinn’s treasury? Now that the pest is gone, it’s time! I will choose the one to receive my power.” 

Not that there was any doubt who it would be. 

The others drew back, naturally falling in around Sinbad. Hinahoho patted him on the shoulder, making him stumble. “Go on,” he said. “We all acknowledge you as our king.” 

Looking between them, Sinbad smiled, but his gaze finally rested on Drakon, who crossed his arms and looked away. “I don’t,” he said bluntly. “I’m a soldier of Partevia, and... there’s already a person I want to dedicate my life to. But someone who refuses to abandon any of his subordinates... isn’t bad.” 

“What subordinate! I said I’d join you, that’s all!” the smallest assassin protested. 

“Just accept it chief,” one of the others laughed. “You’ve acknowledged him too.” 

“A-hem!” Valefor cleared its throat loudly. “That’s right! Leading others like this is how a king should be. So I, Valefor, will also select you as my king vessel! Rejoice!” A small, glimmering necklace sailed through the air into Sinbad’s hands. “And take this. Dangerous things are moving about out there, so using this vessel, you’ll be able to call me right away if needed.” 

Otherwise, Sinbad did not possess any suitable vessels for Valefor to inhabit, and accumulating familiarity toward a new object would take time. 

“Congratulations! You did it!” Alibaba added, clapping lightly. “Way to go, Sinbad!” 

Grinning, Sinbad slipped the necklace over his head. 

“Yes, yes, good job. Now hurry up and get out of here,” Valefor complained, even though he was going with them. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget. You first!” 

A tunnel of light formed around Alibaba, and he had just enough time to wave to the others before the dungeon fell away, leaving only the strange world far beneath until that vanished as well. 

~.~ 

Sinbad and the others returned about three weeks after going in. Alibaba had returned a week earlier and explained the situation to Hinahoho’s family, who had been going mad with worry. 

“Since he said you had already conquered the dungeon and it was just a matter of returning, we have been waiting for you,” the patriarch explained. “He also said you might end up scattered, so I sent messages to the other tribes and kept up a patrol around our territory. We ran into some troublesome fellows trying to sneak in, but don’t worry. They ran like cowards when confronted.” 

The three assassins exchanged looks. 

“Thank you, sir,” Sinbad said politely. “And thank you for your hospitality.” 

“No, I’m the one who needs to express his gratitude. Thank you for looking after my son,” the patriarch said. “Before that friend of yours came back, Pipirika explained what had happened. But now I can see he has found his warrior’s spirit.” 

A rare smile creased his weathered face as he looked at his son. Habitually, Hinahoho’s gaze darted away, before he straightened himself and met his father’s eyes with determination. 

“Father, I apologize. I dishonored our sacred ritual,” Hinahoho said. “I will accept any punishment you see fit.” 

The patriarch shook his head. “You did not hide from the truth in the end. Your heart was true. That is enough. And I’ve heard you slayed a far greater beast than the rampaging unicorn. Even if the celebration was somewhat premature, you are a true warrior now.” 

Hinahoho ducked his head, but there was no denying the way his lips curled upward, pleased and proud. 

Then, something occurred to him. “But if you sent messages to the other tribes, does that mean...” 

“Indeed,” the patriarch nodded. “She has been helping with the patrols. I imagine,” and Sinbad was sure he saw the grave old man’s eyes twinkle, “she will be here very soon.” 

Hinahoho paled. But at the same time, blushed. 

Behind his back, Sinbad and Alibaba exchanged a look. ‘She’, huh? The famous top beauty of Imuchakk? Sinbad wiggled his eyebrows, smirking. Alibaba glared, unimpressed. 

[mirai-eats]

Stray Spring:: Dance (Summer Romance)

Snufmin, 4,673 words, part 2/5

flower symbolism bc thats how i work i dont change, Fluff, Romance, so soft it hurts, Light Angst, Sickfic, Spring Deity Snufkin, little my is a demigod???

A deity borne of spring and summer can’t leave Moominvalley alone.

read on AO3

Moomin had a hard time getting himself out of bed today and that bothered him since today was an important day. Mamma didn’t scold him for stumbling down the stairs well into breakfast, but only wished him a good morning and gently told him to have those midnight adventures on days he doesn’t need to get up early.

Sniff was charged with distracting Little My and taking her up to a rural spot in Lonely Mountain where Snufkin had buried a box of rocks for her to find. Meanwhile, it was up to the Moomins and every spare hand to set up the extravagant party to celebrate the new season and Little My’s new age. Moomin didn’t know how old she was, and every time he asked something would always interrupt. He gave up asking and resorted to counting the candles on her cake.

The party was going to be lovely, Moomin thought. Long tables were set out with summer flowers and stakes with paper lanterns framed the perimeter they set up, strings of lights draped the trees and strung over their heads as an imitation of stars. Mamma was cooking with vigor in the kitchen, preparing enough food to keep the whole valley full through winter. In the meantime, Mamma had set out heaping plates of juicy, red watermelon and sweet berry juice for people setting up the party. Moomin took a few slices and ran down to Mr. Hemulen’s where Snufkin was helping him pick flowers to decorate.

“This is very delicious, thank you Moomintroll,” Snufkin said after chewing thoughtfully on the melon.

“You’re welcome, now let’s haul these over so we can get them on the tables and chairs. Little My is due back soon!”

It was no walk in the park bringing so many flowers in the wheelbarrows. It was a miracle they got them all placed in time right before they heard the large shouts of Little My coming from just beyond.

“Everyone get in place! She’s coming!” Pappa clapped his paws and on cue, everyone rushed to stand in attention, facing the hill Little My will climb to the top of and see the party waiting for her.

“Mymble isn’t here yet, what do we do?” Pappa fretted, his hat tilted askew in his frantic movement.

“She will come, it’ll be a grand surprise on top of this surprise when her mother comes,” Mamma soothed.

---

The party was going well, very well, but the Moomin’s were still eyeing the path from the beach waiting for The Mymble to arrive. She’ll come when she comes, Snufkin thought.

Snufkin didn’t want to admit it, but he was rather nervous himself. He kept to himself at the fringe of the party, in which most, if not all, of Moominvalley, showed up for. The record player Moominpappa had successfully fixed up was playing joyful tunes into the sweet, summer air as the day slowly cooled as the night struggled to blanket the horizons. This was the longest day of the year and sunset didn’t come until the party reached its peak, when the music grew the loudest and drinks splashed refill after refill into cups. Little My had stuck a little cosmo from the table display into her bun as if it were her crown and swung around in the middle of it all, her laughter loud and smile even louder.

It’s when the sun touched the tops of the forests and the sky was a rich gold with strands of rosy pink did a parade arrive. Thirty-four children with hair red like Little My’s and screams somehow louder than hers rushed from the beach trail and over to the party, in the midst of their chaos rose the imposing figure of their mother.

The Mymble was eccentric, a presence so loud and bright it’s hard to ignore, especially how she was taller than even the tallest hemulen. Her red hair was messy atop her head, where little baby’s breath flowers were scattered like sparse snow and her eyes glittered like sunshine on the greenest lake surface. The air felt sweeter in her presence, cooler like a gentle spring breeze dripping with honeysuckle petals. Little My leaped with a shout and ran into her mother’s embrace, her big arms holding her tightly to her chest. The party grew louder, more rambunctious, fit for a Little My with too much energy crammed in that very little body.

From the fringe of the party, Mymble’s eyes landed on Snufkin. This was the first time she’s seen him since he was placed in a basket and sent down the river. He tipped his hat and turned away.

---

He wasn’t mad at her. He couldn’t bring himself to be angry at her for letting him go when he was so young. He grew up fine, he never pined for the affections of a mother or the guidance of a father. He knew what his mother and father were, but when Moominpappa placed a name and face to their beings, shaped their characters through his stories, he ached something sharp like a cold pick of winter ice drilled into his heart.

It was a surprise when it wasn’t Moomintroll who found him first, but The Mymble. Overwhelmed with the party, he had dove into the forest and climbed up a maple tree thick with green leaves. The summer breeze hit him just right, and from here he can watch the sun tiptoe the horizon and paint the sea a brilliant, hazy orange that drove the warmth of the day away.

“Snufkin,” she said.

He nodded in acknowledgment and lit his pipe, letting the smoke waft into the air and fill the thick silence with its odor, the sweet smell of daisies and poppies on his hat was blanketed under a smokey curtain.

“You’ve become quite the deity, haven’t you,” she settled herself on the ground under his tree, her voice rising into the air as if caught by a breeze and sailed up to his perch.

“You couldn’t have done anything for me, could you?” It was a statement, not a question.

“No. I can’t raise a spirit. Those children are all demigods and I enjoy watching them grow, but you aren’t a demigod. You won’t grow like them.”

“Little My?”

“Is like them, and so is my eldest. You’re one of a kind, Snufkin.” A sigh left her lips and it was as if the whole forest took a breath of fresh air. The leaves seemed greener, the air fresher, and the gentle sweetness of the most fragrant flora, of soft sweet peas and mysterious wisteria, star-light jasmine and plump gardenias. It was as if spring came back once more for another round. Snufkin looked down from his perch and saw The Mymble as she truly is- a goddess of spring.

Flowers bloomed and died in her hair, petals dripped like soft snow onto her shoulders and the green grass that’s sprouted out around her. The collar of fur was replaced with a wreath of greenery and flowers oozing their sweet scent, her coat was now a shifting robe that seemed to have been woven from the silkiest petals. She looked up to where Snufkin lounged in the tree, her round face glowing with light only one not of this world can possess.

Snufkin lifted his robe of glamour, the scruffy Snufkin in a coat too old to count the years of and boots worn to the thinnest soles were replaced by his robes of shimmering green. His hat bloomed all sorts of flowers, from the smallest, palest buds to the brightest, largest petals. He descended from the tree with a graceful leap, draped in spring nature, falling far too high to be safe and landed gently on the freshly grown grass, his bare feet hitting the cool blades.

“What of The Joxter, my father?” Snufkin asked.

“A minor god, the personification of a lazy summer day,” she nodded. “It’s why you reign strongest in the spring and summer where the flowers bloom brightest and the sun is the warmest. You spend your days idly and freely, amongst the root of trees and grassy meadows and wherever you go, you bring spring with you.”

She looked up where he stood before him. Even sitting, he was only barely taller than her. “You need to leave earlier than that, my son. I heard from the Moomins you hang around here through the autumn. That can harm you, and it can harm the balance of nature.”

“I know.”

“Then leave as soon as the trees start to shudder and the flowers start to grow smaller. You need to bring your music to the south where the sun sits high in the sky.”

“I will.”

Her eyes narrowed, unbelieving of him. Towers of delphiniums started growing around her, pale blue and pink trumpets of flowers unraveling and reaching for their sun, their spring goddess. Pops of tiny daisies sprung at their feet and brushed up against Snufkin’s bare ankles. “You will. I don’t know if you know this, but if you linger too long in one place, you may perish.”

“I know.” He was starting to sound like a broken record, skipping over select words that would appease his mother. But he knew, he understood the risk of staying too close to winter in Moominvalley. He did it once before because Moomintroll asked him to stay until the winter solstice for their feast so he won’t miss him too terribly when he left. He was ill then, and could barely touch his food, and almost didn’t make it out of Moominvalley before the snow started to really come down. Moomintroll has tried since then to have him stay a little longer, sighing loudly, despondently, into the autumn air. He caved and stayed, and he almost died.

“Don’t do it again. For each time you do, you will grow weaker faster.”

A shout of his named echoed through the forest. A flock of birds rose from the trees and scattered into the orange horizon, the sun swallowed by the midnight blue.

Moomintroll rounded the corner and spotted Snufkin. “There you are! Are you alright? You disappeared during the party.”

“I’m okay, just a little overwhelmed with the number of people,” Snufkin said.

“Oh wow! These are gorgeous!”

The Mymble had disappeared, leaving the patch of jewel-green grass and the stocks of delphiniums at the base of the tree. Snufkin had dropped his glamour back on, his boots crushing the grass and the daisies on his hat matched the ones by Moomin’s feet. Moomintroll did not see a thing. “Aren’t they lovely? They’re called delphinium.”

“They are.” Moomin picked a couple of little daisies and stuck them in the wreath of flowers on Snufkin’s hat. “Do you want to be alone right now?”

Snufkin shook his head. “We can go to the beach and take a walk. I’m just tired of the party.”

Moomintroll’s eyes lit up, a mischevious sparkle that seemed a little too excited for a simple moonlit stroll on the beach.

“Can I show you something instead?”

---

They stole a lantern from the party when no one was looking and traipsed up the forest path. Snufkin realized it was the direction Moomintroll had been sneaking off too for months now.

“What do you want to show me?” Snufkin prodded.

“It’s a surprise.” Moomintroll was practically vibrating.

They reached a bend in the trail and Moomintroll went off the path, over a bushel of bright, yellow yarrow, and down a secret worn path that wound through the trees. He suddenly stopped at the base of a sturdy oak tree. He pushed aside some broken branches piled up at the bottom and revealed a rope ladder dangling down the side of the tree.

“What is this, Moomintroll?” Snufkin asked. He looked up and between the thick branches he could make out wooden boards.

“I built us a secret base,” Moomintroll said, his voice barely able to contain his excitement. “I read a book about spies having secret bases hidden in plain sight, where they can meet and plot their next missions. I thought it would be cool if we had a secret place, too.”

“Oh, Moomintroll, it’s fantastic.” Snufkin’s heart swelled with something warm. A moment of fear iced his veins, that this was Moomintroll asking him to stay forever, but this was a treehouse, a place for them alone and not an actual house. He needn’t read too deeply into the meaning of all this.

“Let’s go, let’s go! You haven’t even seen the best of it yet!” Moomintroll ushered him up the ladder. It took them through a square hole cut out of a wooden platform, buried in the oak branches and green leaves. There was no way someone could see this place from below, and with the thick tree coverage, it was hard to see it coming from the forest path unless someone was looking for it.

The house was a simple box that was morphed around a sturdy branch. The door was a little high off the ground, and there were curtains patterned with summer yellow sunflowers (definitely Moominmamma’s work). The cabin was small, a little rickety for comfort, but Snufkin adored it. The little chairs at the table, a basket of snacks, a worn map from Moominpappa, a bouquet of small sunflowers and pale purple cosmos sat in a vase Snufkin remembered Moomintroll made when he was briefly into pottery, the sides bumpy with paw marks and the smear of bright blues made it personal. Moomin lit the oil lamp on the table and filled the small space with a wonderful warm glow. The blue light left from the twilight was chased away with the golden candlelight.

“This is wonderfully cozy,” Snufkin said as he settled down into one of the chairs. He peaked out from behind the window curtain and could see the main forest path between the branches of their tree. “Perfect for spying, but I’m afraid at night someone will see our light.”

“Then we’ll have to be extra careful and only come when everyone’s asleep,” Moomintroll said. He took the seat across from Snufkin and pulled out a book from a box under the table. “Let me show you the book that inspired me to make this!”

---

Little My bobbed through the tall stocks of gladiolus, a bundle held in her small arms. With her size, it was as if she was carrying lumber, not pink and yellow flowers. She emerged from the stocks and ran full sprint toward Moominhouse, where Moominmamma was trimming the stems of gladiolus and placing them in long vases.

“Thank you, Little My, that will be plenty for now,” Moominmamma said kindly, taking the new bundle from Little My. “Can you deliver this vase to Mrs. Fillyjonk?” She handed Little My a vase almost as tall as her with a spry of artfully arranged flowers, a red bow tied around the slim neck of the bottle.

“Sure thing! Don’t get mad if I spill!” Little My leaped from the porch and teetered down the walkway toward Mrs. Fillyjonk’s house, the water sloshing dangerously in the vase and her arms burned but she refused to put it down.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a Moomintroll-white shape flitter in the corner of her eye. She quietly placed the vase down on the side of the road and scanned the treeline where she saw it.

There! Darting between the trees was Moomintroll, his own armload of gladiolus flowers clutched close to his chest, the red pedals bobbing with his steps. The flowers won’t die if they waited out in the sun for a bit, Little My thought to herself and ran after him.

She stayed far enough away he wouldn’t be able to hear him, but close enough to keep him within sight. They wound through the trees, going off and on trails and pushing through bushes. He stopped suddenly at the bank of a river, a waterfall feeding into the quickly moving water. Snufkin sat at the shore, a bucket next to him and his fishing rod posed in his hand. Branches of green leaves and fern dripped from his hat, the single white dahlia poking from the side was like a beacon amongst the green. Moomintroll came up behind him and plucked a bud of red gladiolus and stuck it in his hat brim. The roar of the waterfall hid their words and Little My scooted closer to catch what they were talking about.

She heard “secret base” and lost face. She hopped from behind the bush and shouted, “And what are you two up to?!”

Moomintroll jumped in surprise and Snufkin turned and tipped his hat in greeting. “Little My, hello.”

“Hello to you, too. What are you talking about?” She asked again.

Moomintroll seemed to be sweating under all his fur, his eyes darting everywhere but Little My. “Nothing much, I wanted to show Snufkin the flowers you and Mamma picked.” Liar.

She tried again, badgering them for good answers, but she only got vague remarks. She got bored, as Moomintroll was giving Snufkin big cow eyes as he fished and Snufkin kept sneaking longing glances at Moomintroll when he wasn’t looking. It was sickening and she couldn’t take it. She left to go finish delivering the flowers

---

Moomin realized that he harbored warm feelings for Snufkin when the sun was at its hottest. Snufkin had stripped to his trousers and worn shirt, the white so faded it was threadbare at the hems and elbows. They splashed around a creek where a willow tree traced its surface, stocks of violet irises waved in the warm, summer breeze and spots of petunias reached for the water. It was a picturesque sight of them chasing frogs in the moving water, tripping over stray stones and tangled in weeds. The cool water felt great in Moomin’s heated skin, his fur thinned for the summer but it wasn’t enough to cool him from the hot sun. Snufkin had a peeling sunburn on his nose, new freckles sprang up across his cheeks and the back of his hands and for a second Moomin wanted to kiss them.

The shock of realization hit him as if Little My dumped ice-cold lemonade over his head. He froze in the creek, the water splashing at his waist as he stared wide-eyed at Snufkin floating on the surface, eyes closed and absorbing the sun peeking through the willow branches and warming the water. Moomin’s heart leaped in his throat and caught his tongue in a stranglehold. Never in his life had he wanted to hold someone’s paw so much.

---

The Moomins shielded themselves from the midsummer sun under their balcony, with Moominappa taking up residence in the hammock with a book over his face to muffle his snores. Snufkin sat on the railing cleaning his harmonica while Moomintroll sat next to him with a book of his own. From where they sat, a breeze hit them just right. Moominmamma was nearby repairing one of Little My’s dresses with a rather large hole in the hem. The little monster herself laid sprawled out on the porch, sweat dampening her hairline and shooting glances and Moomintroll and Snufkin.

Snufkin let his eyes follow her glances where Moomintroll was posed reading a book, one of pirates and seascape adventures. The sun hit his fur where the shade couldn’t shield him, haloing him in a white glow and Snufkin’s heart stuttered in his chest.

Moomintroll chose that moment to look and he smiled at Snufkin, his eyes glittered with mirth from what Snufkin suspects is from a silly part in his novel. He winked at Snufkin and went back to reading.

Little My snorted when Snufkin turned his back to the porch so no one could see his red cheeks.

---

Snufkin found himself napping amongst hydrangeas. They grew off the side of one spot on the road and their fragrant shade was ideal for a mid-afternoon nap. It was August, and the heat was reaching to the point of unbearable. The day before he and the Moomins wore themselves out on their own seascape adventure when they took the boat out. He could still smell the lingering salt and sand on his skin, a smell that won’t go away until summer is gone beyond the horizons.

He heard familiar footsteps coming down a road, a gait he had memorized by heart. Moomintroll caught sight of his boots sticking out of the flowers and crawled under the bush to join him.

“Hullo, Snufkin,” Moomintroll greeted. “Do you mind if I join you? The sun is very harsh right now and it smells wonderful in this shade.”

“Be my guest.” Snufkin patted the spot next to him. It was a tight fit within the sturdy branches and pom poms of pastel flowers, but Snufkin didn’t mind. He could never mind being so close to Moomintroll.

It was peaceful between them, or that’s what Snufkin wanted to say. He was enjoying the air between them, warm and fragrant. It was Moomintroll who seemed to not be able to settle down. He was tense, kept shifting in his spot.

Unable to take it, Snufkin pokes. “What’s the matter, Moomintroll?”

“I want this to last forever,” Moomintroll spoke in a rush, a crack in the dam.

“Well, summer can’t last forever. Soon it will be autumn and I’ll have to leave again, but don’t worry, I’ll always be back,” Snufkin soothed. “Then we can have a whole new spring together.”

“No, not that. It’s-“ Moomintroll gulped and sat up as far as he could with a wide branch of spade leaves in his way. He looked down over at Snufkin. “I don’t want us to change.”

“People are always changing, but we can change together.” Snufkin was admittedly a little confused where Moomintroll’s train of thought was going. He thought they’ve discussed this in-depth?

His heart lit up, fluttered in his chest in hope. He crushed it underfoot.

Moomintroll gulped. “I don’t mean it like that. I’m… I…”

Snufkin waited patiently. He sat up, too, and gripped the brim of his hat in his lap.

“I don’t know how to say this but I need to say this to you Snufkin, but I don’t want ya to change apart, can we still be friends?” Moomintroll looked anywhere but at Snufkin.

“Of course I’ll stay by your side,” Snufkin agreed easily. It was the easiest yet hardest thing he could do.

“Snufkin,” Moomintroll took a deep breath, steadying himself and pulled his gaze to meet Snufkin’s. “I love you so much, I want to stay with you, and you stay with me. I love you like Mamma and Pappa love each other, and if you don’t- don’t feel the same way, that’s okay! As long as we can be friends that’s more than enough for me.”

There was a stutter in Snufkin’s heartbeat at Moomintrolls confession.

“You don’t have to respond, we don’t have to change,” Moomintroll continued. “I needed you to know that before I exploded.”

“What if I want it to change?” Snufkin asked. His heart felt so light, pounding a rhythm into his chest. Before Moomintroll could respond, a look of pain crossing his face, Snufkin said, “What if I want us to be together, too… if you would have me?” He felt… he didn’t know how to voice his love for Moomintroll, he never thought he would ever. He wasn’t prepared.

Moomintroll’s eyes filled with starlight, a smile graced his face so wide and happy Snufkin silently filed away that memory forever. “I would love to,” Moomintroll said.

They held hands, something they’ve done countless times before, but this time it had a whole new meaning.

---

The summer heat got hotter and drier as the season progressed, the riverbed dried out and only the sturdiest flora could withstand the waves of heat. Grass shriveled to brown crisps and Moominmamma’s roses were nothing but bare stumps. In this, like everyone else in Moominvalley, Snufkin found himself dozing off more often than not. With a heat this intense, it left the air dizzy with sleep.

As Moomintroll and Snufkin would be considered officially together, they hardly strayed from each other’s sides. Their honeymoon phase, as Moominmamma called it. Despite how desperately Snufkin wanted to cuddle up to Moomintroll’s soft chest and sleep the day away under the bridge, the heat wouldn’t allow him to go closer than a few inches from Moomintroll. At night, when the air cooled to a more bearable warmth, not nearly cool enough to wear his jacket again but less like he needed to peel his skin off too, they would watch fireflies dance amongst the midnight blue or simply relax on the beach where the waves pounded their stories into the sand.

Snufkin tried not to think of the coming autumn, how the sunflowers were growing less frequently and the air lost the summer touch.

---

As if summoned, or perhaps sent by a certain spring goddess, Snufkin received a visitor on the last day of summer.

The summer left him weak and found that naps helped. Napping in flowers helped a lot. He laid in a grove of lavender brush, the first of the upcoming season and a final goodbye from summer. Their soothing smell lulled him into a deep sleep and he wondered if Moomintroll has seen this yet.

A crunch of footsteps through hard dirt and the sage leaves of the lavender brought Snufkin out of his stupor. Sleepily, he sat up and put his hat back on, the top adorned with more of the lavender stocks and sweet asters Moomintroll had found for him. A figure framed by the too-bright sun shaded his vision.

“Hello, may I help you with something?”

“I’m your dad and your mother sent me to make sure you’re getting ready to leave,” this person, The Joxter, said.

To see both his parents within the span of one season, how fortunate Snufkin must be. The Joxter was as Moominpappa described him to be, his eyes were a piercing blue and his olive coat had seen better days, the hat on his head was similar to Snufkin’s except red and looped through the cord around the brim were dandelions. From the pipe hanging from his lips and the calm disposition, Snufkin was a little unnerved by the similarities between them.

“It’s too early, tell her I’ll leave when it’s properly time,” Snufkin said.

The Joxter’s eyes narrowed. He took a deep breath of his pipe and puffed out a ring of smoke. “Okay.”

Snufkin was taken aback. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” He plopped down next to Snufkin and leaned back, his hat tilted down to shield his face. “I don’t care. You’re a grown man. She never took interest in you before now, so I don’t know what her concern is.”

The remark sort of hurt, but it was the hard truth. “Is she trying to change herself?”

“Not likely. I think she doesn’t want her only god kid to die out because he liked hanging out with the Moomins. Don’t worry, I do too. Your little boyfriend’s dad and I go way back.” His voice was muffled by his hat, the pipe lifted lazily in the air as he tapped out the ashes without care.

Snufkin stared down at him unsure of where to go from there. “They’re good, the Moomins.”

“Yeah, lay down kid, take a nap with me, then let’s go eat some of Moominmamma’s delicious food.” The Joxter patted Snufkin’s spot, the dent still in the grass where Snufkin had been laying.

He complied and found it odd to be having a cat nap with his dad out of the blue, a man he has never met before this moment. A god-like him who chose to spend his days idly, and suddenly he didn’t find it so weird so similar they were.

-----

AN: see Snufkin here!

[asteraegis]

that evandra fic lmao

So it’s set in a sort of “kingdom au”, which is basically the same rules of modern day where everyone is alive but it’s a fantasy medieval period. It isn’t as smutty as my edawale and fryeway fics because evie has class unlike edward but there is sex in it eventually. 3604 words 

Tags are: wlw, mention of animal death, a fuckton of kissing, cunnilingus, metaphors like that one lesbian sea shanty in odyssey (it’s a dyke/hozier thing), evie crushing big motherfuckin time, kassandra being kassandra

The view outside my modest stained-glass window taunted me as I sat nearly consumed by my studies. Ink I swiped over while writing painted my right hand’s palm and little finger indigo, smudging my forehead as I tried to soothe a fierce headache.

I stood and opened the window, leaning out against its ledge, feeling the breeze play with my loose hair. The crisp air blowing in from the alpines and lush forest gave me a welcomed shiver, a nice change in comparison to the stuffy room I had been holed up in all morning.

“I have got to get out of here,” I muttered, stepping away from the sights and wiping my hands and face clean with a handkerchief.

Abandoning my satin sleepwear, I slipped into a cornflower blue linen gown, tugging the most comfortable sandals in my possession on and descending down stairs of marble, my small travel purse in hand. A walk would do me justice afore I went mad in these walls.

Coming toward the palace mess hall, I decided to grab myself a canteen and loaf of bread seasoned with rosemary, setting these items in my bag next to my leather back journal and dirk. As I left the room and began to make my way toward the doors, my brother that thinks himself to be a jester with the rights of a noble cut in my path.

“Well, well, well! What’s this? The kingdom’s recluse of a princess is leaving her chamber?” Jacob chaffed. “Did the books tell you to give them some space, Evie?”

I rolled my eyes. He really never would understand that with nobility comes more than swordfights and feasts.

“I just want to go for a stroll, Jacob,” I replied, ‘course my reply came out like a hiss as I pushed pass him.

“Like, out in the garden?”

“No, a bit farther, down by the stream.”

“Oooh, an adventure you’re set on! Hope your books can protect you from bears and wolves,” he sneered.

I swallowed as to keep my temper, knowing he just wanted to get a rouse out of me. Turning around with a forced smile, I said to him, “I have a dagger with me, Jacob. How about you see if Arno needs pestering, hm?”

“Hmph, if you’re that desperate to be alone, enjoy your stroll, sweet sister!”

Jacob left and as did I, at last escaping the palace’s walls. I exchanged brief ‘hellos’ with the other noblewomen, Aveline, Elise, and her majesty Amunet, who were having a spot of tea and gossip under a grand willow tree. I strode toward the ivy strangled gate, then went forth venturing down the old river-stone path. Small finches and doves made songs overhead while egrets scouted for salamanders in the bank’s reeds. Squirrels darted in front of me as I headed for my long-time favorite hideaway, a tiny spring hidden by willows, oaks, and looming boulders. I could hear the faint call of its humble waterfall, teasing my skin that longed to stand under the gentle flow. A scenic cove, just for me and plenty to sketch while I lay in a bed of clovers, or, better yet, I could wade in the calm waters naked and let nature shoo my stress away.

But alas my daydreaming was interrupted by a frantic young buck knocking into me as it dashed across the stream elsewhere. I glared at the deer from my spot on the ground, rising to my feet quickly when I laid my eyes on what he had been chased by. A lean, taupe-coated wolf stalked out of the shrubs toward me, seeming to decide I would make and easier meal than the deer. My hand whipped my dirk in front of me and I stood my ground, clutching the blade in my sweaty palms and doing my best not to appear afraid, my heart beating wildly. The wolf went to lunge and I stabbed my knife into its fur, missing a puncture on the animal as I found myself more focused on avoiding its claws. The beast came at me again, pouncing on top of me. I held it back away from my face with my forearms, its teeth biting inches from my nose. The wolf had swatted my measly blade out of my hand from its last attack and from this angle I was beginning to wonder if maybe I should have spent more time sparring with Jacob rather than cooped up at my desk or in the library.

Just as things began to appear bleak, the wolf yelped and fell over, staggering to its feet with a fresh arrow lodged in its neck. Another arrow pierced its chest, giving me time to grab my dirk and finish the mad dog off, panting while my eyes scanned the vicinity for who had helped me.

A tall, muscular woman with scarred olive skin appeared from the bushes, adorned with garments crafted from animal hide I’m sure she fashioned herself. She replaced her bow back behind her, drawing near me with an out stretched hand.

“Are you all right, milady?” she asked, standing over me.

I took her hand and she pulled me effortlessly upright. “I’m, uh, I’m fine, thank you,” I stammered out, taking a step back from her as I felt my cheeks flush from admiration, thankfulness, and her closeness.

“That’s good to hear. Judging by your gold circlet and dress’ dye, you’re one of the princesses from the palace over yonder, no?” she inquired as she picked my satchel from the ground.

“Yes, I was bored and wanted to visit the spring a little north of here,” I said, taking the purse and setting my blade away.

“Might I accompany you, then? To ensure your safety, your highness?”

My heart fluttered at the mere thought of spending time with this heaven-sent Amazonian-esque woman. “Yes! Yes, of course! Oh, and please, ‘your highness’ is sweet, but just call me Evie.”

She smiled warmly, her honey eyes ensnaring my gaze. “Thank you, miss Evie. My name is Kassandra, should you be curious to know.”

“Then many thanks to you, Kassandra.”

We got to the spring in no time. Really, I would have likely been fine alone, but it was nice sharing the path with her while she explained that she was a mercenary, paid by a tanner to collect fox pelts. She was searching this area for the little vulpine creatures when she heard the wolf growling. At the hideaway, the ethereal beauty felt even more fantastical with Kassandra’s presence. She stared in awe of the surrounding area while I shamelessly watched her skin become dotted by the mist’s droplets coming from the falls.

She turned to me with that same charming smile but with childlike wonder in her gaze. “I’m sorry, your high—Evie, do you mind if I stay with you for a bit longer? Please, this place is one of the loveliest views I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, not at all, Kassandra, I wouldn’t mind your presence. In fact, I have a rosemary loaf, should you be hungry and want to split it with me. It’s the least I can offer for your saving of my life,” I told her, doing my best not to appear desperate for her to stay.

“Really, Evie?” she was beaming from my answer. “I would love to share a meal with you!”

I couldn’t help but grin the entire time we ate together, her telling me that she came from the naval kingdom to the west and answering all the questions I asked about sea travel between bites.

“I’d love to go sailing someday,” I sighed finishing my half as she swallowed hers.

“Well, should your kingdom’s queen allow it, I would gladly petition to take you out,” she said, then hastily continuing with, “um, sailing, take you out sailing.”

It’s a wonder a woman could have such stunning charm, vast natural knowledge, and a kindhearted soul and still appear human by slipping up on her words. I leaned against the oak behind where we sat, giggling at her embarrassed expression. “I’m sure lady Amunet wouldn’t mind.”

Kassandra seemed glad to hear that, standing and facing the spring. “Um, would it be too awkward if I soaked in the water, miss Evie?”

Of course, I wouldn’t mind you being naked, I thought, Who would? “No, it’s fine if you do, Kassandra, please, go right on ahead.”

She thanked me, though it’s not like I own the spring and can dictate who is allowed to use it. I took my journal out of my bag to sketch the dragonflies dancing across lily pads and the rippling surface, but mainly to give Kassandra some privacy while she disrobed. Half way through drawing the body of the insect, my eyes wandered away from the paper and in her direction. She flipped her fur shawl off and unclasped her undershirt, revealing her back. Her skin was visibly sweaty, she must have been exploring for a while before coming across me. Next, she stepped out of her boots and pants, laying her clothes on a stone by the spring. Kassandra waded slowly into the water, moving her arms out to feel the cool, clear liquid swirl around her fingers. I couldn’t look away despite wanting to give her space, after all I had just met her. I found myself flipping to a blank page and sketch her figure as she wiped her hands over her body. I knew it was wrong to draw her nude without her consent, but I wanted to keep her image forever in my mind when I inevitably had to return to the palace and my dusty books. She unbraided her hair and dipped her head under the water. She flung her head back, her hair slinging sprinkles of beads across the surface.

I felt my cheeks warm. It was like watching a nymph play in a river, and I felt her aura pulling me toward her. I set the journal away and took off my sandals, Kassandra turning when she heard me rustling, the sunlight glistening off her wet chest and drenched locks. I gave a friendly smile to make myself feel less of a creep. “I think I might join you, Kassandra, it is terribly humid out and the spring is taunting me.”

It’s true I was being taunted, but it wasn’t by the spring. No, this woman’s body was like a siren’s call, awakening lust with its silent song only your soul could hear.

“It does feel quite refreshing, Evie.”

I lifted my gown up and over my shoulders, pulling down my panties and folding them next to my shoes and purse. Kassandra moved to help me into the spring so I wouldn’t slip, though her standing so near with my hand in hers made me feel light headed, her image clouding my mind. Her chivalry is nice and all, but this might get dangerous if she keeps it up.

The water embraced me, though I ached for the hand I was holding to clutch me instead. My thoughts flooded my common sense as I developed a dazed look in my eyes, staring down her wet frame. To rest my head against her neck, to feel her lips trail down my bosom, to press myself against her, to become one in this secret place. It was immoral of me to think of this as I had been betrothed to another who I loved, but he could never compare to her grace. She just held herself with an air of confidence, like she’s had eras of practice with women of all backgrounds, like she was a mythical creature that comes out whenever a woman heaves a melancholy sigh. I wish a gorgon would come and petrify us in this state so I could stand locked in Kassandra’s eyes with her for the next century. Better yet, to be a stone Kassandra carves so I could feel her press into my body day in day out and smooth me over and over until she’s done with me and I can stare at her without her notice.

“Uh, milady Evie, your hand.”

Her voice startled me and I flicked my eyes down, realizing I was still holding onto her. I released, blushing and staring into the water away from her. “Oh, oh my, I’m sorry about that.”

God, I’m such a dunce sometimes.

She chuckled. “It’s quite all right, dear, I don’t mind you staring.”

My eyes widened. She knows I’ve been staring at her this entire time, I thought, a hot feeling settling in my arms. Of course, she knows, I hadn’t managed to keep my eyes off her for long since she saved me. I’m such a harlot, I haven’t known her for longer than an hour, what am I doing?

“Kassandra, I’m sorry I’ve been lost on you for so long. I know I’m being rude, after everything you’ve done for me in this short time, I really shouldn’t be acting so stricken right now,” I was chagrinned, my desire for her drowning my senses.

She placed her palm to my shoulder, reaching around with her other hand to tilt my chin towards her, snagging my eyes in hers yet again. “Evie, I swear to you whatever you have been daydreaming about is nothing compared to what I yearn to do for you. You’re stunning, you’re intelligent, you’re sweet to me despite our class differences and short time being together, and you being ashamed of yourself for your mind makes you appear restrained. Let me help you release your tenseness; I promise to give you the attention you need.”

I was shocked, to say the least. That this, goddess, would want to treat me so. “Kassandra, I—”

She took both my wrists in her fingers and pulled me near. “Evie, I would build a shrine for you, I would sacrifice myself if it meant to stay with you forever in the afterlife, I want to worship you as the nobility you refuse to accept yourself as. Please, allow me to do this for you.”

This has to be a lucid dream, there is no way this woman is real, she can’t be serious right now, I thought. “Kassandra, you’re lying, you can’t actually want to—”

She leaned in and kissed me on my lips, holding me still for a moment before pulling back. “Did that feel like a lie, miss Evie?”

I’ll be honest, it didn’t. It felt like I had just passed away in my bed and cherubs were leading me to heaven. I closed my eyes for a moment then looked up at her. “Do that again. Everywhere.”

She shown a grateful smile and leaned into me again, our lips fitting together as she undid my hair and tossed my circlet to my things. Kassandra and I made out, our tongues touching at first on accident but then just because neither of us cared. We backed toward the small waterfall, it cascading down us as Kassandra ran her fingers through my hair. Losing a battle with my self-control, I found my arms wrapping around her neck and tugging her against me while I leaned against the wet stone. True, the shower and rocks were freezing, but her touch warmed me so, I could barely notice. She led me away, our lips not once parting, and laid me across a large horizontal stone that stuck out of the spring.

She pulled back for us to get proper breaths and Kassandra held my face in her left hand. “Evie, may I touch here?” she asked, gesturing toward my pelvis.

I nodded. “I did say everywhere.”

“Yes, of course, you’re right.” She lowered her face toward my neck, her breath tickling me. “Everywhere.”

She smelt like petrichor, so close to me, and I knew that today she’d ensure that, every time it rained, she would come to my memories. Her hands held my hips as she trailed her lips down my body like I had desired them to earlier. Kassandra licked at the water that clung to my breasts but didn’t stay fixated on them for too long like a man would, she knew exactly where she needed to be.

Her mouth continued down to my naval and then she spread my legs, a firm grip on both of my thighs. I moaned softly from her teasing kiss she left on my clitoris, her hot breath exciting me. Kassandra’s tongue started at the base of my vagina, coming slowly back up to where she had kissed. She circled it with the underside of her tongue, never lingering too long on one side. Her right thumb came down below her chin and rubbed my perineum, pushing down on it as she closed her lips around my clit. I felt my hips twitch; it had been so long since someone else did this for me. My hands reached down and clutched the back of her head, pulling her closer. I heard her chuckle, muffled against me. She knows that she has me now under the control of her mouth, flicking her tongue up and down like she was flipping a switch.

I felt a sense of hiraeth at her mercy. She had me biting my bottom lip, she could easily make me come quickly but she wanted to make sure she made this feeling last as long as possible. Never has anyone ate me slowly to savor their meal, it’s usually because they’re unsure what to do. I tangled my fingers in her chestnut hair, tilting my head back to moan, her sucking making me gasp.

“Oh, fuck,” I whispered under my breath and she decided it was time to finish me off.

I gasped, my pelvis tingling, my finger tips feeling like they had been burnt, they felt numb but not in a painful way. My toes curled, my clitoris trembling as she kept licking at me, not letting it come up for air. Arching my back from the stone, I wrapped my legs around her shoulders like I had before with my arms. I released her from my thighs’ hold after I steadied my breath and she came to kiss me again, her body over mine. I swung my arms and legs over her, pulling Kassandra down against my skin. She set herself so her thigh would rub against me again, taking one of my hands down to feel her. Kassandra was wet too, from more than the spring, I could feel her pulsing in my palm. I rubbed her clitoris between my fingers, her moaning into my mouth and her hand that get her propped up over me nearly slipping. It made me happy to know I was making her feel as I did earlier. She kept my hand steady on her, guiding my fingers to tell them exactly what she wanted. She backed off from kissing me as she came from my hand, her voice sounding so delicate doused in pleasure. Kassandra pressed her body against mine and kissed me again, this time I could tell it was to make up for her mouth not being able to say “thank you” at the moment.

She stood slowly and I sat up on the stone. She laughed, pointing toward the buck from earlier standing at the spring’s edge, sniffing at us from afar. “It appears we have a peeping tom.”

I giggled, moving to my feet, feeling that Kassandra had stolen part of my heart. The cool water around my pelvis made me shiver again, just not because it was cold. We waded hand in hand back to our belongings, the deer running off from us approaching. Kassandra and I got dressed and she kissed the top of my head.

“Would you mind if I walked you back to the palace’s gate, my princess?” she cooed in my ear.

“Of course not,” I entwined my fingers in hers. “And if you stay in the area, I’ll see about having you knighted in this kingdom, too. You deserve it after proving your ‘worthiness’ today.”

She snorted from her laughter which made me laugh too, leaning against her as she led me back down the path. The poor wolf from earlier was being scavenged by an eagle, which chirped at Kassandra as we passed it. I moved off of her when we neared the queen’s demesne as to not appear to any onlookers that I had been having a little affair while my fiancé was away. Luckily for us, the only person that saw us was the visiting Auditore prince, and he has plenty of scandals of his own to deal with.

I hugged her goodbye, Kassandra assuring me that this wouldn’t be the last time I see her, especially after I pointed out which window was mine with a wink. She kept her eyes on me until I had entered the palace and from outside my window, I could see her petting the eagle. She waved goodbye and walked off into the forest she came from. That night as I laid with my face in my pillow, I thought of her and decided to flip through my rough sketches of her. In my bag I discovered she had left a glove in my bag alongside one of the bird’s speckled feathers. I held them close to my chest, knowing that this night’s memory would last a lifetime, if not longer, then set them next to me in my bed, dreaming of Kassandra and all the things she did for me.

[rose-red-ink]

The Arcane Sea

Part One 

Thanks to @villainxprompts for writing the prompt that inspired part 1 and this! 

Cordelia looked at the pirate captain, narrowing her eyes. 

He and his crew were working to sail the ship back to where he had dragged her out of the waters. He was cracking jokes, slapping his men on the back, laughing and talking with them. 

Like he hadn’t just made a plan to steal a weapon more powerful than any of them could handle. Like he wasn’t likely sailing to his death. 

Yet again...

Cordelia suppressed a shiver. She couldn’t get the image out of her head; cold blue spheres of blazing energy where normal brown eyes had been moments before. An aura of raw power that triggered some defense mechanism deep in her bones. And that smile...wild, and fierce, and confidence that the world could crumble at his fingertips. 

Cordelia pulled her fur closer around herself. She could see it now. He gave her fur back because even with it, there was no point. She had to obey him, for the good of her people. 

She was exhausted by her first attempt to retrieve the weapon, she had no doubt even attempting it again would kill her before the handle could rise from the waves. 

“Cordelia! Come here a minute.” The captain waved her over, not looking up from the yellowish-white sheet he was looking at. 

Pretentious little...

Cordelia ground her teeth. This wasn’t the shore to die on. 

She walked over, crossing her arms. “Yes?” 

The captain pointed to something on the sheet. “Is this where the weapon is? Where we dragged you out of the water?” 

Cordelia frowned. Was he referring to the black marks on the paper? There were several circles, some lines...

She frowned at the captain. “What is this?” 

He raised an eyebrow. “A map. Surely you’ve heard of them?” 

Cordelia nodded slowly. She’d been to port towns before, knew what they were, sort of. Didn’t mean she could read one. 

“I don’t need your little piece of paper,” she said dismissively. “You humans are so obsessed with those maps.” 

“I didn’t ask for your opinion on maps, I asked where we’re going.” the captain said. “Can you tell me that?” 

Cordelia sniffed. “Of course. Look up once in a while, the stars tell you all you need to know.” 

It was just past nightfall, and the stars were starting to gleam in the vast expanse of void sky. 

But there were those great poles of wood and fabric blocking out parts of the sky. 

Cordelia frowned. “Your....masts, right? Masts and sails? They’re in the way, I can’t see the sky. Can you get rid of them?” 

The pirates around her chuckled. “Sure, if you want to float dead in the water.” one sneered. 

The captain held up a hand, silencing his crew immediately. “Crow’s nest, then,” he said decidedly. “Come on.” 

He lead her over to a rope ladder, leading up to the top of one of the masts. Cordelia made it three rungs before tumbling down, nearly on top of the captain. 

He steadied her with a single hand. “Still haven’t gotten your sea legs?” he asked with a half-smile. 

She scowled at him. “Most of the time, I don’t have any legs.” 

The captain shrugged. “We gotta get you up there somehow,” he said decidedly.

“And how are you planning to--hey!” 

Without hesitation, the captain grabbed her, tossing him over her shoulder, before starting to climb. 

“Better stop moving, or I might drop you.” 

 Cordelia felt the rumble of his laugh, and she silently vowed to feed him to a shark once this was all through. 

They eventually reached the top, Cordelia moving as far away as the crow’s nest would allow, which was unfortunately not far. 

“Well?” he was looking at her expectantly. 

Cordelia took a deep breath, ignoring him and turning her attention to the stars. If that over there was Polaris, and that one...

She nodded slowly. “We’re heading due east. Past the island you call Tafarth, in the shoals to the island’s north. 

He nodded slowly. “That’s right...and you can tell us in more detail once we arrive?” 

She nodded. “The weapon acts as a beacon. It was created for the creatures of the sea. Not for mankind.” she couldn’t help the bitterness seeping into her tone at that last part. 

He laughed at her tone. “Haven’t I told you already, Cordelia? I’m not human.” 

She frowned. “You’ve been touched by the arcane, yes. But you are still a son of men.” 

She searched his face, brow furrowed. “There’s something else, a power underneath it. I can sense it, like a storm just over the horizon.” 

He didn’t break her gaze, and behind his eyes, she could see it again, the cold blue light. Waiting. 

Fear, sharp as ice, jabbed at her heart. But she didn’t back down.

 “I can sense your power. But you are a man. Moral. You fear death, and it will come for you. As surely as the moon rises and falls.” 

All men who had power feared death. She had seen it, time and again. They wanted power most of all, and death was the one power just out of their grasp. It drove some mad, she supposed. 

And with the power he possessed, he would slip away faster than most. She could feel it tugging at his mind, like the pulling of tides. One day, he would grow tired of fighting and give in. 

She hoped she wasn’t there to witness it. It was horrible. And dangerous. 

He nodded slowly. “You’re very interesting, Cordelia. And your continued life offers me something I want.” 

He leaned closer. She could smell the burn on his breath, the taste of arcane held in for too long. It didn’t like being contained. 

“Don’t think you’re still alive for any other reason.” 

With that, he was over the side, climbing down rapidly. 

Cordelia let out a ragged breath, sinking to her knees. 

She couldn’t let someone like that get the weapon. She knew that now. 

She would have to kill him. One way or another. 

[bxrningbrxght]

Pages

A man in a neat suit sits in an office in Washington D.C, feeding papers into a shredder one at a time, watching as the white curls of paper fall into the plastic garbage bag below. The papers are all about the same thing: public records of still-unexplained fires within the D.C. area, dating back over a decade. An hour ago, he met with another man in a suit at the park. They had exchanged handshakes, and the records had been handed over. The digital copies were being taken care of by someone else. The man toys with the ring on his finger, his eyes flicking between the square and compasses engraved on it and the shredded records. In an hour, he’ll take the bag full of paper strips to a vacant lot outside the city, one the lodge owned. There will be one last fire, and all the evidence will be gone for good.

In Stockholm, a police officer walks out of the precinct. There’s a .38 revolver hidden in the folds of her coat, the same one that’s been sitting in the evidence locker for the last 30 years. She smiles at Erik at the front desk as she leaves. No one will miss it. No one even remembers it exists. She’ll stop at the ICA Nära on her way home; there will be a young man with cloud-grey eyes waiting in the parking lot for her, and she’ll give him the gun without a word. A storm will come later that night, and when it does she’ll climb into her attic and kneel before the altar there and pray to the voice she hears in the thunder, just as her father did. And his father, and his father’s father, and all her fathers as far back as the days when her ancestors pillaged the coasts of England and Ireland and France with all the fury of a storm.

The boat drifts silently into the Macao harbor, and the crew sets about mooring it with practiced ease. No one has noticed their arrival. A woman sleeps in the hold on a mat of straw, and the captain descends the stairs to wake her, taking a drag of his cigarette as he does. His family has sailed the South China Sea for centuries. They were fishermen when times were good, smugglers when they weren’t. He follows in their footsteps. He knows he is mad, and fears the day when his crew realizes it too. He knows he is mad because of the voice he hears in his dreams from time to time, calling to him softly like the tide against the shore. The voice commands him, bids him to ferry someone or something somewhere else without the watchful eyes of Port Authority noticing. Do this, the voice croons, and I will give you fair seas and full nets. The captain knows he’s mad...but every time he listens and obeys, the ocean is calm and his hold quickly fills with fish.

These people, and hundreds or thousands more like them across the face of the globe, are Pages: mortal servants of the Five Kings, much like Knights. Unlike Knights, Pages have not been granted boons by the King they serve. They cannot create or manipulate the elements as Knights can, nor are they blessed with near-superhuman strength, quickness, and endurance. They cannot heal quickly from injuries, let alone regenerate teeth and fingers and eyes. But to discount them altogether would be a grave mistake.

The primary duty of most Pages is to support Knights in their endeavors. Most of the time, this support comes in material form: Pages supply Knights with food, supplies, weapons, shelter, transportation, money, etc. Other times, this support comes in less tangible ways. A Page might spent a week staking out a local Locus after his second-shift job at the gas station, spending a few hours each night watching it through binoculars and jotting notes down in a cheap, bent pocket notebook, waiting for a Knight to roll into town so he can hand it off. Another Page might have strings to pull with the local police department or newspaper, and gives them a tug whenever she needs to quash an investigation into why someone turns up dead of electrocution in a clearing in the nearby woods. Still other Pages have special skills that come in handy in the Kingswar. Sometimes a Knight needs a safe cracked, or some ancient Assyrian translated, or a bomb defused...or set. Or perhaps they need to learn how to do those things themselves.

Sometimes, the skills Pages possess involve inflicting violence on their fellow man. Most often, these Pages serve as trainers and mentors for Knights, passing on their experience in combat to people who can put it to terrifying and effective use. Other martially-minded Pages serve as security for Loci or other important locations, or occasionally as back up when a Knight needs a little additional muscle. While Pages, being only humans, can’t hope to match a Knight (and certainly not the likes of vampires), a couple of guys with shotguns and machetes can still prove to be a problem.

Pages tend to come from one of three groups: individuals who fall into the life, members of underground cults, and members of secret societies. The first of these groups are otherwise ordinary people who are directly contacted by one of the Five Kings and made an offer. This offer tends to be much less grand than those made to potential Knights who catch a King’s attention, but the core of the pact is the same: service in exchange for boons. The boons on offer vary depending on the King in question. Thera, the King of Stone, is fond of offering up the hidden riches of the earth in exchange for service; most people would be hard pressed not to go out of their way now and again in exchange for a lump of pure gold or a raw diamond. Many of these Pages never quite understand the ins and outs of the Kingswar, but just as many come to know exactly what they’ve gotten involved in, one way or another.

Other Pages are motivated less by rewards and more out of duty. These Pages tend to be found in the secret societies and underground mystery cults that honeycomb the Kingsverse. The Kings were humanity’s oldest gods, providing the blueprint for nearly every deific figure in nearly every culture, from the Celtic Manannán to the Egyptian Geb. For many, the Kings remain figures of worship; their cults have persisted throughout the millennia, going underground and vanishing into the shadows cast by this more enlightened era. These cults tend to be comprised of the same core group of families who have been groomed for centuries or even for thousands of years to provide aid to Knights, living their lives normally until the day comes when they encounter a stranger who knows the proper phrases and hand gestures. The secret societies bound to the Kings’ service tend to be much the same, though more secular, more open to recruiting outsiders, and perhaps motivated slightly more by personal gain than by religious faith. 

Both groups, however, are far more likely than individual Pages to insinuate themselves into existing power structures, using those structures to advance the agenda of their King. When opposing conspiracies of Pages encounter each other within the same organization, the end result is a bureaucratic war, with each group using the protocols and procedures of the group they’ve infiltrated to attempt to smother the other in red tape; Pages prefer to avoid violence against each other when possible, as it draws far too much scrutiny.

Pages are acceptable targets in the Kingswar, though few Knights will actively hunt down the Pages of another King. While those guarding a Locus are usually dealt with, most others are, in the eyes of many Knights, too much work for too little reward. While disrupting the aid that Pages could provide to rival Knights is, perhaps, tempting, the most useful Pages tend to have resources and defenses of their own.

[niyes-lahiffe]

Soapy Decks and Flying Underwear

Listening to Pirates of the Caribbean while reading is not required but is strongly recommended.

The Jade Crew and the Coral Crew are mortal enemies. It all started when the Coral Crew went to go find an ancient treasure to which they finally discovered the whereabouts, only to find the Jade Crew sailing away from that exact location the moment they got there, taking the prized possessions with them. Now, they always seem to find out about the same treasures at the same time and one crew ALWAYS beats the other, only heating their rivalry. The crews have never actually met each other face to face, but they do indeed recognize one another's flags. With disdain and scorn. 

The Jade Crew: Nino Lahiffe (captain) Adrien Agreste (co-captain) Le Chien Kim (lookout) Rose Lavillant Juleka Couffaine Chloe Bourgeois Sabrina Raincomprix Luka Couffaine

The Coral Crew: Alya Césaire (captain) Marinette Dupain-Cheng (co-captain) Alix Kubdel (lookout) Mylene Harprele Ivan Bruel Nathaniel Kurtzberg Max Kante Kagami Tsurugi

Ao3

Chapter 1: Stormy Seas

The sound of the waves gently lapping against the edge of the boat was one of the most relaxing things in the world, Nino found. He placed his elbows along the trim of his ship and closed his eyes, letting the way it slowly rocked back and forth lull him away from his far-from-unwinding thoughts he had previously. This was definitely his favorite way to calm down after a stressful day.

Still, the back of his head prickled with annoyance and he couldn't stop himself from pondering about the day's earlier events. That blasted Coral Crew...they thought they could just go ahead and steal something his own crew was after for days without punishment! He knew he couldn't just let them off but he was stuck on ideas of what to do.

"Uh, Captain Nino?"

He jumped back slightly, startled enough to have his hand automatically wander to the gun that rested near his waist. He sighed in relief when he realized it was only Luka, his shipmate's ocean blue eyes wide from his captain's sudden threatening movements.

Luka held up his arms with a nervous smile. "Ah, sorry, Cap, didn't mean to startle ya, there!"

Nino noticed his hand still resting on the tip of his weapon and he quickly straightened himself so as not to scare his companion. "It's fine, Luka. I apologize if I startled you." He put on a friendly grin before continuing. "Is there something you needed?"

Luka smiled back before gesturing behind himself. "Yeah, Kim wanted me to warn you that the clouds are darker further in the direction we're going, so there may be a storm up ahead," he replied. "Do you want to change direction or tackle it head-on?"

Nino turned his head to stare at the seas ahead. The water was a beautiful blue as it continued to rush with the wind. The sky ahead was also bluer than Luka's hair, but the ship's captain had learned in the past not to judge what Kim said. He was an expert up in the Crow's Nest, after all, even if there wasn't a cloud in sight.

Nino sighed again. "I'm not feeling risky tonight...tell Kim I'll change the ship's course."

Luka saluted without hesitation, saying, "Right away, Cap!" before running off.

Nino barely had any time to register what he was about to do before a plate of food was shoved into his chest. "Hey there, captain! You look hungry!" That cheerful voice could belong to only one of his crewmates. He looked up to meet the friendly face of Rose Lavillant, her eyes as big and as blue as ever.

A bit thrown off by her sudden interruption, Nino quickly righted himself by grabbing hold of the plate. He smiled at her weakly while trying to push the food back in her direction. "Heh, thanks, Rose, but I'm really not that-"

"Oh, I insist, captain!" she happily interrupted, pushing the plate back towards him a little too harshly, causing Nino to grunt from the force. Bits and pieces of food were starting to fall off from the excessive movements but she persisted nonetheless.

Nino's second in command walked up to the two with an amused expression. He gently grabbed the edge of the plate and pushed it back towards Rose. "How about we don't kill the captain by stabbing him vigorously with a slab of stone, hm?" he teased.

Rose stepped back and giggled. "Sorry!" She used one hand to hold the plate while she played with a strand of her short golden hair with the other. "I just noticed Nino was looking a little down so I thought some food could possibly cheer him up."

"Well, who could say no to that?" Adrien beamed, grabbing Nino's hand so he could lead him to a table once Rose had joyfully walked off.

"Seriously, Adrien, I don't-"

Adrien stopped and grabbed Nino's shoulders, giving his captain a look so stern that he shut his mouth. "Look, sir, I get it. You're disappointed. We're all bummed after what happened today. But should we wallow in pity until the sun falls, hoping that tomorrow we'll have better luck?" Nino opened his mouth to respond but his co-captain continued before he could say anything. "No! The Pearls of Rapum aren't the only treasures to exist! We're pirates, Nino; we don't give up after one measly disappointment. We find the whereabouts to a new treasure and go for that. This isn't the first time the Coral Crew has beaten us and it probably won't be the last, but do you know how many times we've beaten them? More times than we can count. So let's find a new location and go for something of value there. And, of course we need food in our bellies before we can do anything so sit. And eat."

Nino was rendered speechless at his friend's sudden motivation as Adrien grabbed his shoulders and gently but firmly pushed him into a seat.

Adrien had always had that ability and Nino couldn't even be mad about it. They had been best friends since they were toddlers running around half-naked but the captain never got used to Adrien's spontaneous positivity.

Still, Adrien was right. He shouldn't be sulking around all day when there was still tons to find. He smiled as more of his crew came and sat with him at the food-packed table. “Heh...I guess you’re right,” he murmured.

------------------------------

Alya yelped as she jumped and clutched onto the main mast. She liked to tell herself she wasn’t afraid of anything but her pet fox running around psychotically with a sword in its mouth was a bit frightening, to say the least. She didn't know how Trixx was able to get his jaws on the extra weapons lying around the ship and yet here he was, pelting through the ship at speed that would rival a cheetah's, everyone leaping out of the way frantically so as not to get unnecessarily chopped into pieces.

This wasn't the first time it's happened, either, but it was always an exhilarating experience.

Alya heard laughing from up above and she looked up to see her lookout guffawing relentlessly, pointing her finger at all her scurrying crewmates.

"Alix Kubdel, if you think this is so funny then you get down and deal with the fox!" Alya yelled angrily.

"Nah, I think I'm good." Only Alix would talk back to the captain without worry.  "He's your fox, why don't you deal with him?"

Alya grunted as she climbed slightly higher, replying, "I'd rather not get sliced into bits of pirate today," as she went.

"Well, same goes here, Cap," Alix said, leaning her arm against the edge of the Crow's Nest as she peered down at Alya.

"I'm more important than you." Alya felt a hint of a smirk appearing on her lips.

"Maybe so, but I am your only lookout," the other pirate playfully argued. "How about we send Nathaniel after Trixx, then?"

"HEY!" an offended voice sounded from below.

Alix and Alya started snickering. After a moment, Alix said, "Uhhh, Cap? You might want to look down."

The captain didn't exactly know what to think of the sight of her fox running circles around the mast she was clutching to. It looked ridiculous and terrifying at the same time.

"Okay, okay, someone's got to deal with this and it might as well be me," Alya mumbled, steadily climbing lower. Trixx noticeably slowed as she got nearer to the ground, looking up at her expectantly with those big and purple eyes of his.

"Trixx," Alya said, trying to keep her voice as firm and demanding as possible. The canine tilted his head. "Put. It. Down."

To her surprise, the fox opened his jaws immediately, sending the weapon to the floor with a loud, metallic clank. He wagged his tail joyfully at Alya as she stared in disbelief as though he expected some sort of reward for his obedient behavior.

"Well, that was easy," Alix's voice said from above.

"Shut up," Alya found herself replying. She picked up the sword and pointed it at Nathaniel, who squeaked in surprise. “Nath, take this-“ She tossed the sword at him and he leaped to the side with a yelp. “-and find anything else lying around that could be dangerous and put it somewhere so my fox can't get his grubby paws all over it." She winked at him to lighten the mood.

As Nath picked up the sword and ran off, Alya heard someone from behind her excitedly yelling, "Captain! Captain!" She turned and smiled at Mylene, who was holding a rolled up piece of paper as she ran up to her captain. She clutched her knees and took a few moments to catch her breath, but when she lifted her head and started talking again, there was a joyful spark in her eye and a beaming smile on her face. "Look what I found!" Mylene handed Alya the piece of paper. It was slightly yellow in color and had a texture resembling that of an old leaf, indicating it's age. She carefully opened it so it wouldn't tear as Mylene continued, "I went downstairs after Trixx started running around rambunctiously. While I was down there, I decided to explore a bit and I found a tiny trapdoor underneath one of our barrels. In it was this!"

Alya first gawked at the map before her eyes, then at her crewmate. She couldn't stop her huge grin that was steadily growing bigger by each passing second. "Wh-was there anything else in that trapdoor?!"

Mylene shook her head. "It was barely big enough to fit that map."

"Mylene, this is AWESOME!" Alya squealed, engulfing her friend in a hug. "I can't believe you found this!" Mylene giggled and Alya pulled back to study the map once more. "First the Pearls of Rapum and now this? This is the greatest day of my life!" After thanking Mylene excessively, the captain ran off to go tell her second in command the news.

Marinette was currently in charge of steering the boat, obviously lost in her own world as Alya peeked through the window. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Alya dramatically kicked the door open.

"ALYA, you scared the living-"

"Look at this!" Alya slammed the map onto the steering wheel and Marinette blinked at it, the bright red parrot sitting on her shoulder squawking quietly. "Go on, look!"

As Marinette examined the ancient piece of paper, her eyes steadily grew wider. "This isn't..."

"It is!" Alya nearly screamed with joy. "It's directions to one of the world's most famous and sought-out jewel: the Jade Turtle!"

------------------------------

Nino smiled to himself as he wandered to the back of the boat, feeling pleasant with his now full belly. His crew always found a way to cheer him up.

Juleka was leaning against the edge of the ship, staring at the water as though its every movements were mesmerizing to her eyes.

"He still there?" Nino asked, coming up behind her to peer over the trim. Without glancing away, Juleka nodded, a small smile gracing her lips.

The captain chuckled. "That turtle sure has guts following a pirate boat. He's lucky turtles are my favorite animals." He tilted his head at the green creature as it bobbed back and forth in the water, keeping up with ease. Nino hummed, "Maybe it already knows that."

"That turtle looks smart," Juleka added coolly. "I think it knows something we don't."

Nino felt a raindrop on his hand as he nodded in agreement. A few days ago, Sabrina informed everyone that a large turtle was following the boat. Everyone thought it was a little peculiar, for none of them had experienced anything like that before, but they decided to pay it no mind. What was really odd was when they found it still there a day later, swimming along with them as though the boat was now it's new destination. Everyone had started talking about it, wanting to adopt it and give it a name. Nino hadn't exactly wanted to do that yet because he didn't know how long the animal would be following them and he knew naming it would only get him attached to it.

The boat suddenly lurched sharply, throwing a few people to the side as a surprised grunt escaped from Nino's lips. He turned around and felt another raindrop on his nose as he looked up at the ominously dark clouds. A sense of dread overcame him.

They were about to run into a storm! Hadn't he changed the vessel's course so they could avoid it?

Then he realized he got distracted by his crew before he could do anything. He cursed as the rain began to fall harder, members of his crew already scurrying to their prepared positions for bad weather.

The ship shifted again, this time much harsher than before. Nino ran forward and grabbed the ship's rigging as it wandered into the ever-worsening storm, climbing a bit before he turned and tried finding the easiest way out. He shook his head rigorously and placed his hand above his eyes to avoid more water falling into them as he continued to search.

"CAPTAIN!" a voice cried desperately. He looked down and found both Rose and Luka trying to steady the steering wheel, gritting their teeth in frustration and concentration. Rose looked up at him and wheezed, "It won't budge!"

He leaped down and ran over to them, not hesitating to grab the wheel and help make an attempt to steer it in another direction.

"Which way is the best to go?" Luka asked through clenched teeth.

"I don't know," Nino responded, voice strained. "The clouds are dark in every direction!"

With one final heave, all three of them were able to turn the steering wheel to the right. They huffed successfully, a bit too out of breath to cheer loud and sincerely. Nino grabbed the compass in his pocket and told them what direction they were going. He made sure they were good on their own before he ran off to check on everyone else and make sure everything was alright and well prepared for the storm.

He found Chloe leaning over the edge of the boat. He went up to her and placed his hand on her back, and when she looked up at him, her face was a sickly shade of green. She never did do well whenever the boat decided to do anything but sail smoothly.

"You need to go downstairs," Nino commanded gently yet firmly. He was worried that if she hung around the edge of the boat for too long while the weather was out of control, she might fly overboard. He wasn't going to let that happen to any of his crew. For once, Chloe nodded without arguing, most likely too ill to protest, and she ran in the direction of the door leading to the bottom of the boat.

Nino knew he should've been prepared for when his vessel powerfully tilted once more, but the force of it threw him forward. His stomach rammed into the boat's lining and he wheezed at the pain and sudden loss of air. Before he had a chance to catch his breath, there was another lurch and he flung overboard with a yelp.

He opened his mouth to scream as he fell but the rushing wind grabbed whatever was escaping from his lips and tossed it away. He tried to catch a rope hanging from the side of the boat but his hands wouldn't cooperate properly and before he knew it, he slammed into the dark water with an inaudible splash, excruciating pain flowing throughout his entire body like a river of death. Nino opened his eyes despite himself and found himself sinking lower, farther and farther away from the surface of the water that would grant him the gracious air he was loosing by each passing second. Ignoring his agony, he kicked his legs sharply, trying to swim to the top.

Try as he might, the low light from his destination only grew smaller and blurrier.

Nino knew it was bad when he started to see black in his worsening vision. Okay, saying it was bad was an understatement. He needed air at that moment otherwise he would drown.

His head throbbed painfully and his eyes closed without his consent. His heart was nearly beating right out of his chest and he was sure every creature in the sea could hear it. That was the least of Nino's worries, though, for before he knew it, his consciousness slipped away and everything grew black.

[sweetteaanddragons]

Softly Sing the Children

Elrond and Elros are unsettling children from the first.

All of the children in their family are.

It starts with Luthien. Or, rather, it starts when a Maia, a being caught up in the music of creation and who views the world with a mind alien to that of elves and Men, falls in love with Thingol.

Two hundred years of enchantment seem reasonable to her. It is such a short time, really, and it makes for such a beautiful song.

She gets the impression sometimes that some of his people disagree, but her husband is careful to keep such whispers from him as much as he can. She is not sure why. The whispers are nothing to her. 

But then, there are many things about her husband that she does not always understand. Their marriage bond helps with that some, but she has to be so careful not to overwhelm him. She does at first, sometimes, and it always hurts him so badly.

So she is careful with him and allows some things to remain mysteries, and when she bears Luthien, she is quick to teach her daughter that she must be careful too.

Luthien is a unique child everyone says, and this is absolutely true. It also can even be construed as a compliment, which is why people say unique and not terrifying.

It is impossible to ignore her when she cries. Her wails send everyone in earshot rushing to attend her. There is no choice in the matter.

As she grows and her control over her power increases, this problem declines, but others arise.  She does not always look at people when they talk to her, the greater part of her attention caught by some wondrous piece of the Music. At other times, she gives entirely too much of her attention, staring without blinking like she can peer into their souls.

She gets better about this too. She learns to blend in as best she can. By the time she meets Beren, there is only an unsettling sense of wrongness and a lingering inclination to stare that is noticeably odd.

Beren doesn’t notice. He has no idea what’s normal for elves, and even if he did, he’s so starved for interaction with people that aren’t trying to kill him, he wouldn’t notice.

He thinks of her as compassionate, and she is, but she is compassionate in the ways of the Maiar, who see the beauty in the Music’s most tragic sections and who look at a far wider picture than even the elves can dream.

Luthien thinks that objectively most of the elves in Beleriand would be better off dead and safely in the Halls of Mandos. Her mother, she knows, agrees with her, even though she has cautioned Luthien not to speak of it. It is not compassion that motivates the Girdle. It is her selfish love for Luthien’s father, and her father’s wish for his people’s protection.

Luthien falls in love first with the beauty of Beren’s Doom and then with Beren himself. She understands her mother’s love better then; Beren would probably be better off safe in whatever afterlife is provided for Men, but Luthien is willing to do whatever it takes to prolong his time here with her.

When he tells her of his father’s death, she is breathless with the beauty of it.

She forgets herself enough to say to something to that effect when her breath returns. Beren takes it as a compliment to his father’s heroism, and that’s not quite it, but Luthien knows better than to correct him.

Dior is the same when he is born. Luthien had wondered if the child’s Mannish blood would dilute her mother’s influence, but it seems that Maia blood runs strong.

She worries that Beren will notice and comment, but Beren is too wounded in spirit to cringe from their son’s oddities. Some he does not even seem to notice until the arrangement to see if Nimloth would do as a match for him start to fall into place, and Nimloth visibly struggles not to react to some of the things Dior says, and the way he hums the music only he and his mother can hear whenever he is distracted.

“That’s not normal, then?” Beren finally asks her.

“He’ll outgrow it,” she assures him. “I did.”

She grieves her father’s death, but she loves again having possession of the Silmaril. It’s Music is wondrous, and she cares not how the way her own rises up to meet it burns through her mortal flesh.

She suspects that when Dior inherits it, he will feel the same.

Dior does feel the same, and he can barely spare a thought to the messengers that come to persuade him to surrender it, a decision that proves costly.

The servants of Celegorm find Elured and Elurin, and they abandon them in the woods. This is a decision they do not regret until Maedhros discovers it and gives brutal justice.

They are not sure if they would have done it had the children been . . . different. They think that they might have at least hesitated more.

As it is, the children’s uncanny stares and the disinterested look they had given to their fallen nurse and the blood that had splattered their clothes had made them very glad to leave them behind.

Elwing grows up convinced something is very wrong with her. None of the other children are like her, not even Earendil, and there is no one left to explain things.

But Earendil is the closest, and she loves him, fiercely, more than she can clearly remember loving anyone, and it is a relief to her that she is capable of it.

She is horrified when it becomes apparent that her children have inherited her strangeness, what she is sure is her marring. Earendil assures her they are perfect, but he cannot hear in them the strange music she can, the music that is probably just a form of her madness.

He tells her that he sails to find a way to save her and the twins, and she tries to believe him. Tries not to believe the whispers that he is trying to avoid the sons he sired.

Earendil would be furious if he ever heard those rumors, but no one ever quite dares say them to his face.

Elwing loves her sons fiercely to make up for the rumors, but she can’t help looking at the bits of what she thinks of as her brokenness reflected in them and thinking it wrong, wrong, wrong. And she is trying to rule a city; she cannot do that and give them contestant supervision, so she has to hire nurses.

Many of them leave quickly. Others she has to force out when she discovers them being negligent or even cruel.

Her sons never seem to miss any of them.

The Silmaril is comforting in its beauty and its song. It doesn’t matter if it is all in her mind, it is comforting still. It does not seem to think she is wrong. It does not burn her as everyone says it burned Morgoth, so surely she cannot be so terribly marred. 

She will not give it up. She cannot give it up. The gem is everything, and when the sons of Feanor come and it is a matter of her life and that of her sons or the jewel, she thinks of her marring, of the marring she has surely passed down to her sons, and she contrasts it to the purity, the perfection of the Silmaril. She thinks of the safety of Mandos where perhaps they can be healed and at least they can all be together.

She jumps.

The Feanorians do not kill the twins. Instead, Maglor insists they keep them.

He notices, of course, that the boys are not normal children. Frankly, however, Maglor is not expecting them to act like normal children.

Of course they sometimes stare off into the distance. He knows all too well what they’re probably remembering. Of course they sometimes prefer not to pay attention. He is lucky that they do not do worse than occasionally ignore him. Of course they vastly prefer each other’s company to that of the kinslayers. Of course they do not seem to care much about the fate of anyone else in their band.

The humming is the only thing he doesn’t attribute to trauma, but while Maedhros might think it odd, Maglor, bard that he is, actually finds it rather reassuring. Here is a place he can start, a bridge that perhaps he can build.

They are entranced by his music. They like the way he never looks at them with fear or disgust or confusion the way some of their nurses did. They feel safer with him there protecting them from the dangers that haunt the land and providing for them even when it means sacrificing things himself.

They grow to love him with the selfish love of the Maiar, and so they begin to smile at him and sing for him, and their Maiar sweet voices calm the torment of the Oath like nothing else does.

Maedhros is uneasy around them, but he thinks it is his failures that haunt him, and not the boys themselves. He tries for his brother’s sake, and the twins try too, also for Maglor’s sake, and eventually they reach something of an understanding.

The twins leave them only reluctantly, only when it becomes absolutely necessary. The twins follow them when they steal the Silmarils (the lovely, singing Silmarils), but they do not find them until it is just Maglor alone on the side of the sea, Silmaril gone and him preparing to fling himself after it.

Elros dives to snatch it up. Elrond catches hold of Maglor and croons a song filled with power. He sings of rest and peace and contentment, of lingering and staying and of possessive love.

Maglor’s broken mind shudders against his power, but he is too weak now to do aught but yield. Heavy with its weight, his mind begins to drift towards sleep.

“You will not abandon us, Ada,” Elrond says, voice still echoing with the power of his song. “You will not be leaving us. I will not allow it.”

Maglor’s mind throws out one last song of desperate yearning for peace behind the sea, for family long gone and recently departed, for freedom he has not known since the Oath.

Then the warmth of Elrond’s song, now strengthened by Elros’s voice, steals all other thoughts, and the bard quiets.