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notjoelmiller · 2 years ago

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the protector

MDNI

joel miller x tess's sister!reader (not blood related) summary: Joel promised Tess he would take care of you. It's fine until he finds himself infatuated with you and Ellie accuses him of replacing Tess. wordcount: 5.0k warnings: smut (unprotected p-in-v), unspecified age gap, canon character death, spoilers up to episode 3, background character death, violence, joel is not a good person in this

Tess asks him one night as he stitches her up. Negotiations went wrong, and Joel tends to her carefully. He always does. It was his way of setting things right.

Joel had to carry her back to their apartment. Her skin lost its rosy hue in the process, and she shivered in his arms the whole way back. Joel thought he lost her. He almost did.

With the apartment illuminated by the streams of moonlight peeking through the window, he puts her back together. Needle and threat prod and pull at her skin. The makeshift infirmary that their apartment has become reeks of iron and alcohol.

He killed earlier, with his bare hands. He’s only done that a few times before. He liked using guns or knives, but he beat that man who hurt Tess. Crushed his eye socket just to watch him bleed. It was irresponsible and reckless. His hands tremble with the lingering adrenaline mixed with newfound anxiety. Tess is alive, he tries telling himself. It doesn’t quell the shakes.

He has only two stitches left when Tess speaks for the first and only time that night. Her words come out slowly, either from the blood loss or careful consideration.

“If anything happens to me, take care of my sister, okay?” She asks.

Joel pauses, needle hanging just above her skin. His fingers are caked in Tess’s blood, maybe some of a stranger. He’s sure it’s gonna be there in the morning, no matter how much he scrubs his skin raw.

“Okay,” he says.

“Promise?”

“I swear.”

They don’t mention it. Years pass before she asks him to make another promise– to take care of an infected girl. He swears to her again, and when he does he remembers: the farm in western Massachusetts circled on a map, the mysterious kid sister Tess always talks about, the promise he made with blood caked under his nails.

As smoke from the capitol building pollutes the blue sky, Joel wonders if Tess remembers it. Perhaps, while grappling with her last lucid moments before the infection takes over, it brought her peace– the thought of her sister’s safety.

Save who you can save.

Once things calm down, and distance muffles the screeches of the infected, Ellie asks where they’re going.

***

Joel doesn’t see the resemblance. Ellie says she does. It’s in the eyes, she tells him. That determination. Scary shit. Joel can’t deny it, you do have that intense Tess-stare. But the expression is about where the resemblance ends.

In fact, the moment he lays eyes on you, he realizes that when Tess said “sister”, it was an expression– a bond beyond blood. Even if you weren’t related, you were important to her.

“Tess is dead,” he says minutes after you welcome him and Ellie into your home. “Asked me to look after you.”

You excuse yourself after Joel tells you. Ellie elbows him in the ribs when you disappear into the upstairs section of the house. It was a disturbing delivery, evident by your quiet gasps and sobs in the other room, but it was fact. Tess is gone, and Joel has a promise to fulfill. Sugarcoating it won’t change anything.

You fail to emerge from your room before sundown. Ellie tells him that they should clear out and let you grieve, but something keeps him planted in your living room.

It’s cozy, not just by post-infection standards. You somehow keep the place neat, but it still looks lived in. Polaroids sit in frames on top of the fireplace. Most of them are you and Tess. In some of them, she’s younger, before Joel met her in the quarantine zone. Though, others were more recent. If Joel had to guess, the newest photo was taken in the last two years. He never knew how much Tess came out to see you. How much you really meant to her.

You don’t reemerge until the stars come out. Even then, with puffy, but dry, eyes and a monotonous voice you tell the strangers where they can sleep. Hospitable, despite the waves of grief that radiate from your frame.

As you set up the guest rooms, Joel explains that they’re leaving in the morning. He offers you the choice of staying, but tells you that you have a better chance out there than here alone, with nobody watching over you. He doesn’t know if that’s true, but he knows that Tess would have wanted you under his protection.

Ellie tries comforting you in the only way her emotionally-stunted self can. She cracks jokes, tries her best to break the tension. It doesn’t make you laugh. Hell, you don’t even smile. Ellie’s curls into herself, embarrassed, but only because she misses the way your shoulders droop and eyes soften. Joel does see it.

After the pair are settled into the spare rooms, you disappear again. When they wake the next morning, you’re back to normal. Somewhat. You flutter around the house with a backpack and a duffle, shoving personal items and essentials in. You don’t greet your guests, instead you start by ordering Ellie to bring non-perishables from the kitchen to the truck. She nods dumbly and gets straight to work. Joel frowns at her obedience until your eyes land on him.

You lower your voice, “The photos.” Your voice is hoarse at that volume, no doubt exacerbated by your night of grief. “I can’t take them all. If you want one you can– I mean, you don’t need to. Tess didn’t talk much about you, but she sent you after me, didn’t she?” You chuckle. It’s humorless. “I guess you two trusted each other.” You nod to the mantle. Only a few photos remain.

He frowns. Had Tess not told you about them? He had assumed that in thirteen years, you would have said something. His hands clench. “Photos ain’t gonna change a thing,” he states.

Your face crumples like he’s just spitten on your sister’s grave. “Maybe.” You turn away. “I’ll help Ellie with the food. Then we can go.”

You work with Ellie to clear out the rest of the food supply. She talks your ear off the entire time you pack. Apparently, she’s thrilled to have you joining her and Joel, though you fear she isn’t actually interested in your company. You think she only talks to you so enthusiastically because you're more responsive than Joel.

Despite your hesitance, you find yourself anticipating joining the pair. It’s not like you have much of a choice in the matter, though. Tess kept you stocked. She kept you safe. With her gone, and her partner heading west, you were alone. In a few months time, you would be out of bullets and meds, and with the winter approaching, the odds would be against you.

Ellie knocks on the side of Joel’s truck. “Do you know how to drive?” She asks, flipping a knife in her hands with a bit too much ease for your liking. You wonder how long she’s had that thing. Thankfully, it looks relatively unused. “Joel doesn’t wanna teach me… but maybe you could give me lessons. It’ll be really fuckin’ cool– plus I could help you guys out and take some driving shifts.”

You shrug, tucking the last pile of cans in the truck bed. Ellie’s standing on the wheel, looking at you with wide, expectant eyes. “So?” She asks, leaning forward so much, you think she’ll fall into the bed.

Joel comes out before you can make that promise. He stomps down the porch steps, telling you and Ellie to get in the car. There’s no urgency to his orders. For that you’re grateful. Driving off in that car means the end of the last twenty years of your life. No more of the farm, no more New England, no more Tess.

You wait for anxiety to come, but it doesn’t. Somehow, you’ve made peace with it all. With Ellie and Joel, your new companions.

Ellie seems attached to you. She’s been chatting your ear off for the better part of the hour. It’s nice. She keeps your mind off grief.

You wonder if this is how Tess felt, when she first found you and took you under her wing. Sure, you were less chatty than Ellie, but you find yourself feeling a strange possessiveness over the girl. You’ve never had to be a role model, someone for a young girl to look up to. You think about Tess, all she did to make sure you were well-adjusted in this world. Ellie seems like a good kid. You just hope that you’ll be able to guide her like Tess did you.

Joel seems less excited to have you, more like he’s carrying out a duty. You suppose that is the case, that Tess sent him to you in her absence. You don’t understand why she kept him around for so many years. He doesn’t appear to be the best company. He’s quiet, though when he chooses to speak it’s curt, leaving a bad taste in your mouth.

He’s not bad on the eyes, though. Maybe that’s why she kept him around.

Ellie nudges your shin with her foot. She stares at you with wide, expectant eyes. “You can sit shotgun,” she says.

You smile, “Thanks, kid.”

***

Joel dreams about Tess. He dreams she’s still with him. Everything’s the same– he's left Boston, Bill and Frank are gone –except you’re absent. Back on the farm, perhaps, doing whatever the hell it was you did there.

Ellie’s still in his dreams, at least most of the time. Sometimes she’s not. Some nights, she’s taller, with a head of curly hair. She’s got the same snark, but less of a tendency to use profanities.

The dreams keep him up. When he eventually falls asleep, it isn’t for long. The dreams come, and Tess says something too close to that day in the capitol or he catches a head of curly hair. Then he’s up, breathing heavily and sweating hard. You notice, of course you do. Tess was like that. She always had an inkling whenever something was eating at Joel. You ask if he wants to talk about it.

Of course I do.

But Joel just shrugs. He wants that companionship, that person to lean on in his struggles, but not in you. You’re not the person he wants to burden.

***

You grieve differently than Joel. You actually take time to talk about Tess, tell stories about her– good and bad. Ellie loves it, grateful to learn more about the woman she could only be with for a short time. The woman who saved her life.

It helps Joel learn about your relationship. He gathers that you came together at the start of the infection. You grew together, learning from each other. You were younger than her, he guesses by at least a decade, and had grown into your own under her guidance.

You and Tess parted ways months before she met Joel. You wanted autonomy, a place to call your own. You wanted the openness of the country and the ability to live off the land, not on FEDRA rations. Tess needed security. She needed to know that she wouldn’t be ripped apart by clickers in her sleep. She wanted a quarantine zone. So, you split up.

But there was– is –no bitterness in that disagreement, Joel finds. When you recall that parting of ways and your desires for different lives, you seem content. It irks him that you have such a strange peace with that, after knowing the fate of your sister, while you stand with him now, alive and well.

There are glimpses of Tess in you. He admits that to Ellie one night after you’ve gone to sleep, hardly a week after you joined the duo. What he doesn’t admit to Ellie is how much of Tess he really sees in you, and that sometimes, he has to stop himself from calling you by her name.

But of course, he slips up. It happens only once. You’re walking behind him, telling some story about a poor sucker who gave you trouble back on the farm. It’s a good story, but coming from your lips? Joel is captivated.

He goes to respond to some gruesome detail of the story, but her name comes out of his mouth. Not yours. Tess. Ellie whips her head around unbelievably fast, eyes so wide he can practically hear her thoughts screaming at him, what the hell Joel?

He’s quick to cover it up. “Tess… she said something like that happened to her once, too.”

Joel’s glad you’re behind him. You can’t see the way his face crumples in shame. Though, he can’t see whether or not you caught it.

When you’re out of earshot, Ellie calls it a Freudian slip. Joel tells her to watch her mouth.

***

You’re softer than Tess from all that time on the farm. Sure, you have your fair share of trouble with raiders and stray infected, and you know your way around a fight. But you’ve never stepped foot in a quarantine zone. You’ve never had to deal with the Fireflies, the grifters, or even FEDRA.

Tess had gone through all of that. She internalized it– let it change her. It roughened her edges enough that even the thought of submitting to Joel made her hackles raise. Not you, though.

You don’t just accept his touch. You practically melt at it. She let him touch her, being intimate physically in ways he could never verbalize, but she never reveled in it. She would never sigh and lean into his hand on her cheek. She couldn’t let her muscles relax in his embrace, but she’d always accept it. After all, she was his.

You’re not, but you take and cherish all that Joel has to give you. You live for it. You could forget about all of your troubles with him. He sees it in the way your hands linger on his when he helps you up after a fight, and he often feels the back of his neck burning with your stares. He likes the attention you give him.

You don’t have to kill much, but Joel’s tendency to protect Ellie from death has rubbed off on you. You kill when needed, and each time, once the body lays still, Joel notices you pause. You take time to observe the life you took, and a profound sadness overtakes you. Not remorse, though. Joel has found that you don’t regret what you had to do. He thinks you got that from Tess.

Unfortunately, that habit of yours teaches him how thoroughly fucked he is.

Joel gets knocked to the ground by a hunter. His head snaps back against the ground. Not hard enough to concuss, but it rattles him to the point that he can’t get the damn guy off of him. In the haze, he doesn’t feel the knife resting on the skin of his neck.

You see it, though, and in moments, you're on the hunter.

Joel is too dazed to realize what had occurred until you’re leaning over him, cupping his jaw gently as you examine his face.

His eyes dance between you and the hunter just inches away. He’s a pile of bloodied flesh. You don’t care. There’s blood on you. It’s thick and coats your arms and torso. All you do is ask Joel questions. Are you alright? Do you think you’re concussed? Do you need help getting up? Your eyes are on him– him alone.

He tries keeping up with your questions. Not just because they’re important, but because he wants to please you. You– who put aside your morals just to dote on him. You– the woman he vowed to protect. You– the new object of Joel’s infatuation.

***

The first time he really touches you, you’re speechless.

You’ve felt his touch before. It’s unavoidable– a graze of calloused fingertips over a wound you can’t reach, a helping hand lifting you over a high ledge, fingers lingering just a moment after handing rations. But this time, it’s different. It’s not accidental, nor the result of your forced proximity.

Ellie’s asleep, snoring softly just a few feet away.

You and Joel had an argument. A minor disagreement, really. He refuses to let you take the night watch and let him sleep. So, you sit in silence.

He’s tearing himself apart with his martyrdom. He sacrifices his sleep so he can take watch instead of you. He takes all the heat in fights, leaving you and Ellie unscathed, but him with unsavory injuries. He gives you and Ellie larger shares of food. You swear he’s lost weight since you’ve joined them. You pointed this all out to him earlier in the night. And he didn’t take it well.

You two don’t argue frequently. For that, you’re grateful. Joel’s not the best company, even by today’s standards, but you’ve come to enjoy having him by your side. He’s courteous, helpful, and has an unexpectedly good sense of humor. But when you get into a disagreement, you wonder why you joined him in the first place. He becomes something else, cold and detached. He’s so venomous and vile that you find your chest hurting with frustration.

You’re both still recovering from earlier. It was a tame disagreement by your standards. Both of you managed to get over it just enough to sit next to each other by the fire. For warmth, you both agreed.

Hours after the sun disappears, the moon and stars being the only light in the sky, Joel shifts. You almost ask what’s the matter, then he takes his hand in yours, resting it on his thigh.

You don’t tense. You don’t look at him. You don’t signal in any way that he’s actually touching you. His fingers brush over your knuckles, calluses scratching against taught skin over joints, and strangely, your heart flutters. He falls asleep like that, your hand in his.

A week later, under the blanket of night, Joel fucks you against a tree.

There’s no tenderness in it, but it’s not like you expected anything different.

He tells you to keep it down. It's an obscene request that he makes as though his hands aren’t up your shirt, grabbing at you like you’re the only person in the world. He makes it seem like the drilling of his hips into you doesn’t make it near-impossible to keep it down.

He makes quick work of you. His fingers deftly rub at your clit until you're swallowing the noises of your orgasm. Joel doesn’t last much longer, pulling out and spilling himself on your thighs.

You don’t talk about it the next morning. You keep the appearance of “normalcy”, for Ellie’s sake. You just hope she doesn’t notice the smiles you share behind her back.

***

His dreams change. Now most nights, he’s back in Boston in his shitty bed that cost way too many ration cards. That doesn’t matter though, because it’s peaceful.

Sunlight peeks through the curtain and warms the skin of his face. The streets outside are quiet. He’s warm, satisfied, and safe.

He’s alone in bed, but someone flitters around the apartment out of view. He hears it: footsteps all around the space, the quiet clang of dishes being stacked on top of each other, a feminine humming.

He can’t move in those dreams, forced to keep his eyes on the bright window– the one with the butterfly.

He wants to call her name. Tess, Tess, Tess. The syllable sits on the tip of his tongue, yet he can’t manage to say it. The word refuses to leave his lips. It’s like his body knows something he doesn’t.

It knows that something is wrong.

***

With every brush of Joel’s fingers against yours, Ellie is watching.

She’s waiting to pounce. Joel knows it. One wrong move and Ellie’s going to say it, accuse him of what he knows she’s thinking.

So, you two like a…

Pass.

Ellie wasn’t stupid. She knew what that meant. Ellie saw it in his eyes when they left Tess at the state house. As he watched it burn with Tess inside.

Not to feel the way I felt…

She read that letter from Bill.

The girl is a quintessential post-outbreak kid. She’s anxious for a fight, angry, and emotionally repressed. But the girl was also raised in a military school, and it made her observant. So every touch your way, every smile at you, and every thought he makes, Ellie knows.

Joel avoids Ellie for a long time, but she manages to get through.

You’re somewhere in West Virginia. You’ve been with Joel and Ellie for about a month, just enough time for fall to settle in.

It isn’t as bad as in Boston where, by the time the leaves turned, the days were too cold to even enjoy the beauty of it. West Virginia, though, sure the nights were chilly, but the days were pleasing.

It reminds him of Austin. Austin never really had a true autumn. The season came with the bloom of red, orange, and yellow leaves, but there was no chill of the impending winter. In Austin, it looked different, but felt just the same– or close enough. He loved it. He misses it.

Joel holds a photo in his hand. The one he took from your mantle the morning you abandoned the farm. It’s you and Tess, beaming at the camera. He keeps it folded in his pocket at all times in case he needs it to bring comfort. Currently he does.

The photo has rubbed away at the seam of the fold. If Joel ever decided to unfold it, to look at you two as one, there would be a white crease in the middle. A divide. He doesn’t, though. Joel never unfolds it and resorts to looking at either of you one at a time.

Now, it’s you staring back at him. A moment ago, it was Tess.

Ellie sits on the opposite side of the fire. You’re sleeping off the last of a fever you managed to catch.

He wants to reach out to you, pull you in his arms until the fever breaks. The urge gnaws at him, makes something twist and burn deep in his gut. He should think. He needs to think. Not with Ellie watching him, though. He needs her off his back.

Here goes nothing.

He says her name, once, curtly. Her eyes widen slightly, just for a moment, but composes herself. She sits up tall. Joel lets her speak first. It takes her a moment, but she speaks like she’s been considering her words for a long time.

“Tess said you didn’t feel the way she felt.”

“I cared for her. For Tess.” Ellie frowns, eyes squinted as she bores into his very being. “A lot,” Joel adds.

“Does her sister know that?”

Joel says Ellie’s name, quietly. It’s meant to be a warning, but as it passes through his lips he can’t help but think it sounds pathetic. Pathetic, like you fucking Tess’s kid sister. His jaw ticks as something putrid curdles in his stomach.

No. No. He refuses to let a child judge him. What does she know about relationships? What does she know about love?

Love? No, not love. Not love. Physical relationships, that’s what this is about. Not love. No, Joel doesn’t love. Not Tess. And certainly not you, not that you matter in this case, because Tess has nothing to do with you.

He looks back at the photo in his hand. Tess stares back at him.

“You’re replacing her, Joel.”

***

Joel isn’t a man to cherish. He loves nothing– nobody. You’ve seen him kill more times than you can count, and not all of those deaths were deserving.

He reveals himself in pieces and only on rare occasions. You learn of his past slowly. He was a hunter. He has a brother, one who left him years ago. He may have had a child at one point. He wanted to be a singer when he was a boy.

You’ve known one thing from the start, and it’s that he tends to you like you’re the only thing that matters.

You found a settlement. Just for the night, they let you stay in a house– a real one, with showers, working locks, nice furniture, and all. You almost cry when you rub the homemade soap bar against your skin. You feel like a new person when you step out of the shower, your skin soft and glowing in a way you haven’t experienced in years.

If you had to be honest, the separate bedrooms are your favorite part.

You’re not even out of the shower for a minute before Joel has you beneath him on the bed.

He fists a hand into your still dripping hair and tugs. His tongue pushes its way into your mouth, and you welcome the taste of him– it’s fresh, like the toothpaste you had traded for once you came to town. You chase his lips as he pulls back.

“Couldn’t wait for you to come out, baby.” He adds, “Need you.” You believe it. You believe it wholeheartedly and it makes heat wash through your body. Joel has a way of making you feel like that.

His jean-clad hips rut into your plush thigh. The buckle digs into your skin, nearly camouflaging the sensation of his cock.

The towel you wrapped yourself in has unfolded, leaving you exposed to the cold air of the bedroom. Your nipples stiffen. Joel takes one between his fingers, twisting and pulling as he groans into your mouth. His spare hand works on removing his pants. You explore the expanse of his back.

Deft fingers move from your breasts to your core. Joel’s thumb rubs at your clit, while two fingers trace the seam of your entrance. His fingers are cold, you clench around nothing as they tease you. Joel doesn’t get many opportunities to drag things out, to tease you until tears are running down your face. You love that side of him. It helps you imagine what it would be like to be with him before the infection. But tonight isn’t the time.

You swat his hand away, murmuring, “Don’t need that,” you swat his hands. “Just want you.”

Joel hesitates. You do need that, and he knows you know that fact. It’s been a few weeks since you last fucked. It was sure to be a stretch. His eyes wash over your face, searching for any uncertainty before he nods and notches himself at your entrance.

It’s not a smooth coupling by any means. You rushed into things too fast. His length rubs unpleasantly against your walls as he pushes in. Though, you pull him closer with your legs. You just needed to feel him.

He holds your hips up as he pistons into you. He moves slowly tonight. There’s no urgency, no threat that Ellie might come around the corner and catch you in the act. You indulge in the rare intimacy.

You dig your face into the crook of his neck. Every inhale you take is purely him. “Driving me crazy, Miller,” you whisper.

“Good,” Joel laughs. He’s never laughed during sex before. You figured he wasn’t the type, that letting loose like that in the act wasn’t his style. Apparently not.

You reach your peak quicker than expected. It washes over you in lazy waves, softening your muscles and melting you into the bed beneath you. It drains you. Or maybe the luxury of the bed beneath you is causing your exhaustion.

Luckily, Joel’s not far behind, pulling out and working himself to his peak. He cums on your stomach, your newly cleaned skin now dirtied with your sweat and his seed. You’re too tired and too blissed out to care though. You can always shower again in the morning.

Joel takes your discarded towel to clean your stomach. He throws it to the ground before settling himself at your side. You roll over, letting him adhere to your back.

Your eyes are drawn to the towel. Next to it are Joel’s discarded jeans. Something sticks out of his pocket. You squint.

It’s Tess– one of the pictures of her you had on your mantle. You were in that photo too, but it was folded in half, and now you had to stare at your deceased sister. The photo was one you had offered to Joel. Photos ain’t gonna change a thing, he had said back then on the farm. It irked you. It irked you for so long that you had been hesitant at the start of your relationship– if that's what you could call this. Back then, you had been afraid of getting attached to him. You were scared he wouldn’t ever call you his.

But he had the photo, and it’s… somewhat disturbing. He had been so cold then when you asked him. You only offered it because you thought he and Tess were closer. After all, she asked him to take care of you, and he listened. Then he turned it down, and you realized– assumed –you misinterpreted them. You accepted it as the truth.

He has it now, though. However many months later he has that photo.

Joel’s arm tightens around your waist, pulling your back closer to his chest. “What are you thinkin’ about?” He sounds tired.

You thought he was asleep, assuming the relative safety of the settlement and your nightly activities would be enough to knock him out. You’re tired too. Part of you wants to forget it, lean back into Joel’s arms and fall asleep. Then you see her staring back at you, her smile frozen in time.

You wonder if Joel buried her. You wonder if Joel shot her. He didn’t tell you much about her passing, only that she had been infected, and chose to end it before turning. He never said how it ended.

“Were you and Tess together?”

It’s a simple question. So simple, and yet Joel hesitates. You count the seconds it takes him to answer you. One, two, three, four, five, six–

“No.”

Six seconds.

“Okay.”

Tess smiles back at you.

#joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you

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flowerandblood · 9 months ago

Text

The Fall from the Heavens (25)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: angst, tension, anxiety, a lot of half-truths ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

Author note: For the purposes of this story, Lord Rodrik Arryn had a son and an heir, who in turn has a son of his own, to whom our Lady Strong was betrothed. I invented the lullaby in this chapter, so if you think it's weird, thank me, lol.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After what he heard, he just vomited, unable to stop the convulsions that were squeezing his stomach, the rapid pounding of his heart or his terrified, ragged breathing. He could feel tears of despair and fear running down his cheeks as he coughed once more, panting heavily over the vessel − he felt like his whole body was twitching.

You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most.

You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again.

You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death.

He felt his stomach twist again in pain at the mere memory – he leaned over the bowl, feeling the gag reflex shake his body once more, but nothing left his throat.

He cried out loudly as if he were a small child, covering his face with his hand, leaning over the table, thinking about how much he needed his wife right now.

How much he wanted to snuggle between her soft, sweet breasts, to feel her smooth, warm hands stroking his hair, her heart beating beneath his cheek.

He drew in a loud breath, reminding himself that he had left her alone and that any moment spent in this disgusting place could have been her last; he reached for the cup of wine, rinsed his mouth a few times and spat the contents into the bowl, washing his face with fresh water, trying to calm himself.

This was part of their game, he thought, feeling his terror slowly begin to be replaced by fury.

He was sure Larys Strong had made her say it because he wanted him to believe that what was to come was destiny, not his and his grandfather's plan.

They wanted to manipulate him, to force him to leave her, to strip her of his protection, to destroy her.

No, he thought.

He was no longer a small child.

He left the fortress feeling that he had again unwittingly become the cold, empty stone he had been for eight years when she had not been with him, recognising that he had to keep a cool head.

He could not allow himself to be weak now.

He knew that if he just looked at her, if he just saw her face again and remembered what that woman had said to him he would simply burst into sobs, so to her disappointment he pretended not to see her.

The journey to the Eyrie, although spent in full sun and short, was unbearable for him and dragged on endlessly; he felt that waves of thoughts, suppositions and versions of events flowed through his mind one after another, causing complete chaos in his head.

What if Rhaenyra did not agree despite his lie?

What if she agrees, but demands the head of his grandfather and mother?

Whoever he was, his grandfather was his kin, his blood; all his life he had fought for them and their rights even if he himself often despised him.

How should he behave in such a situation so as not to let her down?

To fight? Declare war on them? Let her decide for herself once again which side she would stand on this time?

He pressed his forehead to the front of his saddle, clenching his hands on the ropes he held in his fist, feeling that he was descending into madness.

As they landed in the valley below the fortress he slid off his saddle, thinking that he had to share his plan with her, lest she accidentally say something herself that might destroy their credibility.

"− uncle −" She began, walking towards him, her face all pink and sweaty from exertion, unruly strands of her hair clinging to her skin.

His heart pounded harder.

You will come back here to face your nephew and you will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your pain and longing.

You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death.

He swallowed loudly, feeling that his vision was blank, his hands clenched into fists.

"− we'll tell them you're expecting my child −" He said coolly, sidestepping her, heading ahead, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible − he heard her draw in a loud breath as she moved immediately after him, terrified, trying to keep up with him.

"− what? − Aemond, we can't lie, not now −" She muttered, clearly terrified by this vision − he pressed his lips together into a thin line, furious that she was making this all even more difficult.

"− they must agree to our terms − I will not discuss my decisions with you −" He growled impatiently and stopped when her silhouette appeared in front of him – her palms slapped against his chest, a fury in her eyes that startled him.

"− you will − you don't know them as well as you do − Daemon can sense the lie, he will see it in your eyes − do you think that once they understand that you are manipulating them they will agree to whatever conditions you set for them? −" She asked with an irritation in her voice that he didn't like; he felt a cold sweat on his neck at the unbearable thought that she was partly right.

Fuck.

He stared at her for a moment, breathing heavily, feeling like he was about to faint, another disturbing thought flashed through his mind.

What had that whore said to her?

"− that fucking witch − what did she say to you? −" He asked uneasily, wanting to be sure she wasn't trying to manipulate his wife the way she was trying to manipulate him.

His Rhaenys blinked rapidly and swallowed hard, as if his question made her uncomfortable − he felt an unpleasant twinge in his stomach at the sight.

"− that we should not return to Harrenhal − that I should watch out for myself and trust no one −" She muttered, and he felt his heart stop.

That we should not return to Harrenhal.

That I should watch out for myself and trust no one.

She warned her.

Why?

He felt that he understood absolutely none of this; the woman's behaviour seemed to make no sense to him, but that wasn't the worst of it.

The worst part was the thought that perhaps she really believed what she said.

That perhaps she really did see his betrayal and what he would do next in her dream or in the fire.

He stood watching her like a small, frightened child who was afraid to tell a parent that he had stolen and destroyed their favourite book unwillingly, who was afraid to admit his guilt for fear of punishment and what it entailed.

She must have seen what was happening to him in his gaze because she walked over to him and touched his upper arms, her scent, the smell of vanilla reached his nose.

"− husband, what happened? − if you have doubts, let's discuss everything − but please don't close yourself in the fortress of your mind −" She muttered pleadingly, her voice warm and calm, soothing, as if she understood that he was afraid.

That thought, the realisation that she knew him well enough that he couldn't hide from her what was happening inside him made him feel even worse.

He thought she would loathe him forever.

He swallowed hard as she cupped his cheeks between her hands and closed his eyes, feeling himself tremble all over, focusing only on her closeness.

"− uncle − look at me − I am your ally − I always have been −" She whispered tenderly making another wave of heat and fear surge through his body at the same time, causing something inside him to crack.

"You're your parents' child too. Just like me. What will you do when one of them demands the other's head?" He asked coldly, feeling his heart pounding like mad − he felt like he could hear in his ears the fast pumping of blood through his veins.

His wife furrowed her brows, shaking her head as if she did not understand what he had just said to her.

"− I will never agree to this − despite what your grandfather and your mother did to me, I will not agree for them to be harmed if you assure me to do the same − you know that I am not driven by revenge − and you? − you are the one who constantly doubts me, however, ever since I appeared in King's Landing you have been the one to let me down − yet I remain faithful to you − I chose you, uncle, when will you understand it? − when will you understand that there is no other way for me but by your side even if I come to burn? −"

She said in a trembling, angry, breaking voice from which a shiver ran down his back; he looked at her in disbelief feeling his body filled with guilt and shame.

You are the one who constantly doubts me, however, ever since I appeared in King's Landing you have been the one to let me down.

She was right.

She welcomed him with open arms despite the fact that he hadn't answered her letters for eight years; she didn't show him any kind of resentment, she didn't demand an apology from him, she lavished him with understanding and tenderness when he needed it, wanting to make things right.

It was he who betrayed her when Aegon became King.

It was his mother who forced her to drink the moon tea.

He was the one who made her try to take her own life.

He was the one who kept her locked up like a prisoner.

And yet, it was he who perpetually accused her in his head of the possibility of betrayal, as if he was just waiting for it.

For an excuse to decide that this was never going to succeed.

Despite this, she was now standing in front of him, being on his side, willing to fight alongside him for a future for them.

He felt a squeeze in his throat at this realisation, at the thought that there was never any other way for him than the one that would always lead him to her, to his beloved, to his friend.

To his Rhaenys.

He lifted his hand, in some subconscious gesture of tenderness and closeness placing an unruly strand of her dark hair behind her ear, looking at her pretty face, at her bright, shining eyes, at her long lashes, at her swollen, moist lips − everything that belonged to him, that he could take every night.

He felt his manhood twitch in his breeches at the thought.

"Can I kiss you?" He heard her whisper and looked at her, seeing that she was staring at him exactly as she had then, that day when she had come to his chamber as a child, holding a small book clutched to her chest in her hands.

He leaned towards her without a word and closed his eyes, sighing in relief when her plump, soft lips pressed against his in a sweet, sticky kiss; she pulled away from him, stroking his cheeks and hair with her hands, but it wasn't enough for him.

"One more time."

He moaned into her mouth and locked her in the tight, strong embrace of his arms as her lips pressed against his again, this time as if she wanted to devour him, her wet, swollen lips sucking and licking him making him completely hard; he felt the lust, the hot feeling he shared with her shake his body as his eyes involuntarily filled with tears at the thought of what he had heard.

You will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your pain and longing.

You will put your child inside me.

But he wanted her.

He wanted his childhood friend.

His lover, his companion, his joy.

She filled his heart with herself so much that there was no room in it for any Visenya.

"I love you." He muttered helplessly, feeling the words leave his throat without the participation of his free will. "I've always loved you."

He felt her gasp loudly at his words as her body trembled in his arms; his heart squeezed tight with pain as she wept quietly.

"− I feel that some weight has crushed you, my beloved − it covers you like a heavy black cloak − but I am by your side − I am with you − trust me − I know how to speak with them, I know them −" She mumbled out looking at him with a hot gaze full of affection from which he felt that nothing mattered anymore, that he couldn't fight himself or what only she could do.

He was completely helpless against her.

"− will you be by my side even when all is lost? − even if there is nothing left but darkness? −" He asked in a breaking voice, and she smiled, so sweetly, tenderly, joyfully that his hands clenched tighter on her body.

"− yes − don't go the path I could not follow − let me stay by your side − if I am to leave this world, I want to die in your arms −" She whispered softly, and he felt that it was over for him, that whatever he had been thinking about a moment ago, it didn't matter.

"− so be it − fall with me −" He breathed out, before his lips pressed greedily into hers, his fingers digging into the material of her leather coat enclosing her in his tight embrace, their tongues colliding with each other, licking with their soft sighs of pleasure.

He thought, panting hard into her throat, caressing her with a loud click of their saliva, that he could take her now, on the grass, in front of everyone, and fuck her so hard that the whole Eyrie would hear.

This, however, did not happen.

The sight of her would-be betrothed was the last thing he wanted to see − Ronnel Arryn seemed to him to be a boastful and self-obsessed man, focused only on the tonnage of his muscles and how he presented himself.

His grin full of mockery which he threw back at him, looking at the left side of his face made him involuntarily think how pleasant it would be to just slit his throat.

He remembered why they were actually there when they walked into the circular chamber where his uncle and half-sister were waiting for them − he pressed his lips into a thin line seeing that his sister-whore dared to wear his father's crown on her head.

He said nothing.

As his wife threw herself into her mother's arms, he glanced at Daemon; his uncle stood back leaning lazily against the wall, his chin lifted slightly in some sort of challenge, a lazy, mocking smirk on his face.

"Let's sit down." He heard his sister's voice at last, but he had no intention of obeying her orders; so he stood, looking at his uncle, who also had not moved from his place, stroking the handle of his Dark Sister thoughtfully.

"My husband has conveyed to me that my brother-usurper wants to pact over the succession of the throne he himself has unlawfully taken. I must admit that this is a quite ridiculous situation." Rheanrya began, and he rolled his eyes, feeling frustrated and impatient. His wife threw him a quick, frightened glance − he, however, just looked at her, letting her speak.

He decided that he would trust her.

His niece grunted loudly and looked at her mother, adjusting herself in her seat, tense.

"My uncle, Prince Aegon, had no choice. His mother is deeply convinced that her husband, my grandfather, and our King, revealed his final will to her before he died. She mentioned to my uncle about the Prince who was promised, about Aegon's dream. I think she misunderstood him, mother, I…" She paused as Rheanyra looked quickly in Daemon's direction − he and his wife exchanged quick, shocked glances between themselves.

He furrowed his brow, feeling discomfort in his pit, wondering what they knew that might have escaped his attention.

Her mother looked at her again, some strange glint in her gaze.

"Mother?"

"Aegon the Conqueror's Dream. A Song of Ice and Fire. This is the prophecy my father spoke to me about. Whatever Alicent heard, it did not apply to her firstborn son." She said in a trembling voice, as if it was obvious to her.

He felt rage at the thought that their father had shared with his daughter some prophecy, a future that was to befall their lineage, but did not consider them, his sons, worthy of the privilege.

Humiliation, shame and anger surged through his body making his words involuntarily leave his lips.

"You mean to say that our father only conveyed the contents of this prophecy to you, but you don't believe my mother that he could have passed on to her that he changed his mind regarding the succession?" He growled, his sister and uncle throwing him quick, warning glances.

"Calm down, nephew. You are speaking to the Queen." Daemon reminded him, and he looked at him with rage.

"She is not my Queen." He hissed, his hand sliding down to the hilt of his sword when he saw Daemon's fingers tighten around his Dark Sister.

"That's enough. We have met here because Aegon realises, as you do Mother, that his and your children's rights to the throne will be challenged, and the war will not end with your death." His wife interjected, startling him as did the rest of those gathered, his heart began to pound like mad.

What?

"Are you undermining Jace, my firstborn son's right to the throne?" Her mother asked in a trembling tone, clearly not believing what she was suggesting.

Her daughter drew in a loud breath and swallowed hard before answering her.

"He's a bastard, mother. Like me, Luke and Joffrey, he cannot inherit the throne. Will you cut off my tongue for those words? Will you deprive me of my head, father?"

He looked at her with his lips slightly parted, feeling that his mind was not yet able to comprehend fully what she had actually done.

She continued, however, as if the words were pouring out of her like a river.

"We just lie and lie and lie until in the end we ourselves don't know where the truth lies, but it is there somewhere, always, and sooner or later none of us will be able to deny it even if we beheaded all the men in the Seven Kingdoms."

He felt a surge of satisfaction and warm affection shake his body at her words, at her proof that she understood him, understood his pain, understood why her brothers could not be heirs to the throne.

How could he ever doubt her?

Her mother and stepfather seemed as shocked as he was, unable to get a word out.

"How dare you say such a thing? Your father, Laenor Velaryon, has recognised you and your brothers as his heirs. He gave you his name, he recognised you as his child in the eyes of the kingdom." Her mother muttered, clearly heartbroken that her own daughter was challenging her words.

"But the whole Kingdom knows, mother. Even if Jace were to sit on the throne after your death, his lineage will not be forgotten. Are you prepared to die knowing that neither he nor his children will ever be safe? That, like my uncle's coronation, his coronation would also be challenged by lords across the Kingdom?" She asked in pain, as if she herself could no longer bear what was happening, how far they had gone in pretending what was the truth and what was a lie.

He thought that he himself would not have put into words better what he thought and acknowledged with pride that his wife was a great speaker.

That even he would have hesitated and reconsidered what she had said if he had heard the arguments spoken in this way.

"I know what humiliation you experienced, mother, and how much suffering you endured. Believe me that I did too. I, too, do not believe my grandfather would change his mind on his deathbed. I did not and do not recognise Aegon as King, nor have I ever called him that or given him the honour he deserves.

However, if we do not find an agreement, war will break out not only in the Realm, but in our family. This is what King Viserys wanted to prevent at the last supper before his death. Mother, after all, you are siblings. Your brother, though a traitor, extends his hand, he is ready to relinquish the crown he stole from you."

An awkward silence fell; Rhaenyra looked over her shoulder at her husband, apparently seeking his advice. His uncle stared at her with clenched lips, clearly believing that she should fight for her rights no matter what − even at the cost of war.

His half-sister looked at her daughter again and swallowed hard.

"I can consider the terms my husband has conveyed to me, but I also have my conditions. I will agree that it is your children who will inherit the Iron Throne, and you will be named as ruler-regents only if there are two kings, and you will be one of them.

You and your husband will share the power of the Kingdom equally and neither of you will sit on the throne or wear the crown. Aegon the Conqueror's crown and my father's crown will be kept in the treasury.

In addition, my husband and I will sit on the Small Council, and deprived of their seats will be your grandfather and Alicent. In addition, Otto Hightower will be stripped of all other functions and privileges and will reside under our oversight in King's Landing.

Jace will inherit Dragonstone as my first-born son. If no male heir is born to you, the official heirs will be the children from my and my uncle's marriage, pureblood Targaryens."

He stared at her wide-eyed, feeling the cold sweat on his back, his heart pounding like mad as his mind tried to quickly analyse what he had heard.

I will agree that it is your children who will inherit the Iron Throne, and you will only become ruler-regent if there are two kings, and you will be one of them.

You and your husband will share power in the kingdom equally and neither of you will sit on the throne or wear the crown. Aegon the Conqueror's crown and my father's crown will be kept in the treasury.

She wanted the kingdom to be ruled by two kings.

She wanted him and her daughter to have the same title, the same privileges.

He saw his niece look at him, her eyes big with terror, filled with fear of how he would react.

No, he thought.

She was no longer her daughter.

She was no longer a bastard.

She was his wife.

When he had covered her shoulders with the cloak with his family crest she had officially taken his name, and who her father was no longer mattered.

Although he knew that the name her mother had given her was different, to him she was Rhaenys.

Rhaenys Targaryen.

His childhood friend, a woman he trusted, respected, loved, whose opinion and letters he had held deep in his heart for years, whom he would have consulted if he had become king-regent anyway.

The thought that she would stand by his side, that she would help him carry this burden, that she would be like a second, necessary pillar to support the whole crumbling structure that was their family, filled him, to his surprise, not with frustration but relief.

He nodded his head.

His wife sighed quietly, looking at him with hope, turning her gaze to her mother. Rhaenyra's eyes welled with tears of grief and sorrow as she nodded, sealing her decision.

She had agreed.

Gods, she agreed.

"Pass on my words to my brother. Let him know that this is not just about my pride, but about the welfare of the Kingdom and our family. That I respect my father's will and hope that he will do the same." She said dispassionately and he nodded, feeling his whole body quiver with emotion, his hands clasped behind his back clenched into fists.

"You are surely exhausted. My cousin has prepared chambers for you where you can rest to set off on your return journey as we will tomorrow morning. Let us have supper together. I have been separated from my one daughter for too long." She said matter-of-factly and he swallowed hard feeling that he had completely frozen.

No.

None of them could stay here.

He couldn't propose that they fly to King's Landing knowing that they would surely disagree, so in desperation he proposed something that shocked everyone, including himself.

"No." He said coolly. "We'll spend the night in Dragonstone."

His niece beamed all over, her cheek blushing with happiness, as if she didn't believe his words.

"Do you mean it?" She asked sweetly like a little child to whom he had just given a wonderful surprise.

He felt a squeeze in his throat at the thought.

"Yes." He replied calmly, glancing at his uncle, who was squinting, watching him intently. "As an expression of my goodwill."

Daemon tapped the tip of his tongue against the wall of his cheek and hummed under his breath, a tense silence fell between them.

His wife was right.

He had the feeling that his gaze was piercing him to the core.

He muttered under his breath and looked at his wife − Rhaenyra, like his niece, seemed shocked by his proposal, but also pleased at the prospect of her daughter returning to her family home, if only for a while.

"Well…I see no objection. Daemon?" She asked her husband, who looked at his daughter. Apparently, something in her pleading gaze made him decide to remain silent for the time being, as he merely nodded his head in wordless agreement.

He closed his eyes and sighed quietly in relief, feeling a huge stone fall from his heart.

He stepped back, allowing Rhaenyra to leave, just behind her the room left Daemon throwing him one vigilant, mocking look telling him that he knew there was something more behind his words.

His wife, however, overwhelmed by excitement and joy, seemed not to notice it − she ran to him and snuggled into him, clasping her hands on his back, his arms immediately enclosing her in a tight, secure embrace.

He hadn't betrayed her.

He would never betray her.

So why did he feel so guilty?

"There are no words in which I can describe my gratitude to you. "She whispered, burying her face in his chest; he sighed heavily, pressing his lips to the top of her head, stroking her soft hair and neck with his fingers.

"I'm proud of you." He said calmly wanting her to know that he admired what she had done, the calmness in which she had presented his side's reasons while showing understanding and respect for her mother's rights and heritage.

He thanked the gods that he knew when to shut his mouth.

She looked at him and smiled shyly, as if his words surprised and embarrassed her. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, pressing her soft lips to his, and he murmured low, feeling a tightness in his throat.

He should tell her, he thought with pain, but he didn't know how.

He didn't want to spoil this beautiful moment.

So he kept silent, but the guilt, the fact that he was hiding something from her, pressed down on his shoulders like a huge burden, through which he could experience neither relief nor satisfaction that Rhaenyra had agreed to their terms.

He never expected to fly through the skies beside Larax, Caraxes and Syrax, to ever see Dragonstone, to propose a journey there of his own accord.

He felt shame filling him.

As he and his wife stepped inside their fortress, where their children were already waiting for them, an awkward silence ensued. Jace and Luke stood behind a large stone table that resembled the shape of all of Westeros, looking at him in disbelief and horror. He shuddered when he saw that Rhaena was the first to rush ahead, sidestepping him and her father, enclosing his wife in a sincere, tender embrace.

"I'm so happy you're alive." She muttered in a breaking voice – his niece stroked her back with a smile.

"Me too." He heard her whisper.

After a moment, Baela joined them, throwing him a cold, warning glance along the way, from which he only rolled his eyes. He looked again at Luke, who swallowed hard and lowered his gaze, clearly unable to bear his presence.

He felt disgusted at the sight of them, two boys with cheeks flushed from shame, who knew full well that they did not and should not have any claim to the throne.

He grinned involuntarily at the thought, seeing how pale Jace was, that he understood for certain that their presence meant he would officially cease to be his mother's heir.

Satisfaction as sweet as poison coursed through his veins at the thought.

Jace drew in a breath at the sight of his grimace, his hands clenched into fists as if he felt like lashing out at him − he flinched when Daemon stepped in front of him, standing between them and shook his head.

Jace swallowed hard, furious, lowering his gaze to the stone floor beneath his feet.

None of them came up to greet his niece; only little Joffrey ran up to her and burst into tears screaming that she had left them alone.

They resented her for the side she had chosen in their minds.

She was the only reason they were both still alive, he thought with a sneer.

His half-sister, seeing the look on his face and sensing the tension that reigned around them, decided to take pity on them and suggested that they make themselves comfortable in the chamber that had previously belonged to his wife.

He accepted her words with relief.

As they stepped inside he felt a squeeze in his throat − her quarters were modest, filled with her scent, the windows of her room facing the open sea, the sound of which he could clearly hear. He walked deeper in, looking around her chests of drawers and wardrobes, her wooden bookcases filled to the brim with books, before his gaze finally settled on an ornate oak desk.

He swallowed hard imagining her seated figure bent over parchment.

"− is this here? −" He asked casually, running his fingers over the table top, noticing with a pained heart that it was dusty.

A sign of how long she had not been here.

His niece looked at him surprised and blushed, as if the mere mention embarrassed her.

"− yes −"

He sat down in the chair she sat in every time she wished to convey her thoughts to him, to put them on paper, which then flew all the way to King's Landing to reach his hands. He glanced towards the windows, wondering how many times she had deliberated on choosing the right words while observing exactly the same view.

He thought he was touched.

"− we should rest, husband − if that's what you wish, we'll have supper alone −" She said softly, her voice trembling with excitement and joy.

She couldn't believe she was home again.

He nodded, not knowing what more he could answer.

He had felt the tension all evening; his wife had shown him various books she had read over the years, which she had told him about in her letters. He tried to listen to her and nod, stroking her arm with the tips of his fingers as she sat beside him, flicking through page after page of one of the volumes, looking for the quote she had mentioned to him. Her question pulled him out of his musings.

"− uncle − will you tell me what troubles you? −"

He looked at her horrified and swallowed with difficulty − he only grunted, not knowing what he should answer like a child caught in the act.

"I'm tired." He replied acknowledging that this was partly true. She nodded in understanding, he closed his eyelids as her hand gently stroked his cheek.

"Let's go to bed."

He wasn't going to fight her.

He wanted to leave this place as soon as possible and get away from Daemon's disturbing gaze.

His wife pressed her lips together, seeing that he had put a dagger under his pillow before he lay down − however, she said nothing, knowing he might trust her, but certainly not her family.

He lay down beside her, sighing heavily, and closed his eyes, figuring that perhaps when he woke up the next day and realised that tragedy had been avoided due to his decision, his conscience would have a little more mercy for him.

He murmured contentedly as he felt her arms embrace him, cuddling his face between her breasts, the warmth of her body, her scent filling his entire lungs. He tightened his hands on her back, trying to focus only on the touch of her hands, on her fingers combing gently through his hair, on the lullaby she hummed softly under her breath, and from which his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

When the moon rises

over the dark sky

When you hear from afar

my bitter cry

Know that I long

When the sun rises

over the bright sky

When you hear from afar

my joyful cry

Know that I'm home

And then sleep fell over him.

His lips clung to her soft, long neck, sweaty from exertion, heavy, drawn-out sighs full of pleasure left his lips as his hips with sure, deep, quick thrusts pounded again and again into her hot, fleshy interior.

"− forgive me − I've missed you − oh, my sweetest −" He breathed out, quickening his pace, sinking his nose into her dark curls, her moans muffled by the pillow she was cuddling her face into. Her body, though different, was just as warm, her scent, though different, was similar to hers.

It didn't matter to him, because she was there for him, because she had forgiven him.

"− I love you − oh fuck, Rhaenys −" He muttered, clenching his eyes, coming inside her at last, experiencing such immense relief that he cursed for another moment, rocking his hips inside her. He swallowed hard, worried that she wasn't saying anything, his fingers took strands of her hair from her face wanting to see her eyes and then he saw it.

Green irises, luscious as grass.

"− is it true? − is she carrying your child? −" He heard her voice as if from afar and suddenly he was standing in front of her in his chamber in King's Landing, feeling his heart pounding like mad, a cold sweat running down his back.

He felt a strong gag reflex and held it back with the remnants of his strong will.

He couldn't get anything out of himself.

What had he done?

"− answer me − is she carrying your child? −" His wife, his Rhaenys muttered in a voice breaking with pain and despair, her cheeks red from tears, her eyebrows arched in rage, in her gaze something he feared most.

Disgust.

"− I − I don't know −" He mumbled, trying to remember what had actually happened, how he could have done it when, after all, he had promised himself it would never, never happen.

He thought about how he hadn't touched her in so long, how he had missed her so much.

When she discovered that he had hidden the truth from her, what his grandfather had planned, that he knew what could have happened to them in the Eyrie but hadn't told her, she hadn't slept in his chamber, hadn't eaten supper with him, hadn't spoken to him or looked at him even though he had tried so hard to please her.

"− don't you know? − don't you know if you put your bastard inside her? −" She mumbled and burst out into a loud, miserable sob, hiding her face in her hands − he looked at her, panting hard, shaking all over, not knowing what he was supposed to say, what he was supposed to do.

"− HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!? −" She almost screamed, falling to her knees as if without strength, whining loudly like some kind of animal, her whole being trembling and twitching in convulsions − he approached her quickly, kneeling beside her, trying to touch her, but she pushed him away.

"− my beloved − please − I was possessed by madness, I swear − I − I thought it was you −" He muttered, not knowing how he could explain such a betrayal, such humiliation she suffered because of him.

"− you thought it was me? − you fucked another woman and thought it was me? − gods, Aemond, don't touch me! − don't touch me −" She howled, her voice at once enraged, full of pain, suffering and grief, her eyes red with tears, her whole body quivering.

He was the reason for this.

He had done this to her.

"− my Prince − my Prince, quickly, your wife! −" He heard someone shout – he shuddered as he sat by the fireplace, gazing in horror at the figure of the guard who had rushed into his chamber.

As he stepped out into the corridor he heard someone's loud sobs and screams tearing at his heart; as he ran inside he froze noticing the figure of Rheaenyra kneeling on the floor, covering her mouth with her hand − his wife, and her daughter, was hanging from a rope tied to the frame of her bed, which was tightened around her neck, her dark hair covering her bowed head, her feet not touching the floor.

He ran to her trying to lift her, trying to pull her down, but he knew, felt, that it was too late, her body cold, numb, empty.

His face sank into her flesh covered only by the material of her nightgown muffling his loud, desperate scream.

"Uncle! Uncle, please, wake up!"

He opened his eyes and pulled himself up to sit down, panting heavily, feeling his heart pounding like mad – he could see nothing through the tears that one by one ran down his face, his body twitching all over in convulsions as if it had gone into a state of absolute panic.

"− easy, my love − breathe −" He heard someone's voice beside him, her voice – he looked at her as if he didn't recognise her, her eyes wide in terror, her hand stroking his shoulder reassuringly.

"− Rhaenys − Rhaenys −" He mumbled out like a small child calling out to its mother, bursting into sobs of relief and terror that shook his body − he snuggled into her breast, clasping his fingers on her back so tightly that she hissed in pain – however, she did not push him away and her arms enclosed him in a tight, secure embrace.

"− I'm here, my love − I'm here −" She whispered, again and again placing warm, moist kisses on the top of his head, combing her fingers through his hair.

For a moment he merely wept and quivered, unable to catch his breath, trying to calm himself, listening to her whisper, breathing in her scent, enjoying her closeness, the touch of her hand.

It seemed to him that it was hours before he began to breathe normally, before he realised that all he had seen was just a nightmare, that he was lying with his wife in her bed in Dragonstone.

That all was not yet lost.

He swallowed hard and clenched his eyes shut.

"− there's something − there's something I want to tell you −"

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reverie-obsessingtime · 4 months ago

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Is Jiaoqiu a Self-Annihilator?: an analysis into the Self-Annihilator condition (with Acheron and Jiaoqiu as case studies)

Soooouuuu pink fox man huh so pretty right? Sure nothing sad going on in the background..... *sobs*

This be the kind of brainrot you get as a Acheron main and Jiaoqiu haver 😮‍💨 :,)

sighs....WE ARE BACK IN THE BUILDING AGAIN!!!😭

Ok ok, enough fooling around let's get to business *rolls sleeves*. I'm gonna be using S-A for short to refer to Self-Annihilators through all this cause it's a mouthful to write.

TRIGGER WARNING: this post tackles depression and speaks of the nihilistic feelings it brings. It's not too major but if talking about stuff like this can be triggering, please advance with caution.🙏

What does it mean to be a Self-Annihilator? And the similarities between Acheron and Jiaoqiu's stories

Tldr: basically to have severe depression but much worse! :D (yaaaaay! :D)

From the ever so gracious Data Bank, S-A are described as people who have unintentionally but ireversibile stepped into the shadow of IX

To better understand these flowery words by giving Acheron as an example:

When it comes to Acheron, she stepped into THEIR shadow when it all lost meaning to her. She fought against the kami with other blades only for everyone to die. She managed to finally slay the kami but at what price? Why could that sword only be forged from this situation? Why did all have to be swallowed by naught for this blade to be made? What was the point of all this fighting and struggle if it all ultimately ended this way? If the ending never existed? If they all walked into IX shadow a long time ago?

Two worlds how pointlessly fought against one another, only for the ending to be even more pointless.

Because of all this trauma, like all soldiers coming back from a pointless war that had to witness all their fellow soldiers die, Acheron developed severe depression aka unintentionally stepped into IX shadow.

Depression isn't something you actively choose or agree with, it (annoyingly) chooses you and clings to you all the time and whispers in your year even when you don't agree with it anymore or actively try to fight against it.

You develop it from trauma (also H2O is water) and even when you are out of the environment that traumatized you, even when life is going great for you, when you have a limitless future ahead of you, it still exists and clouds ur judgement about those said things. It is something that you are stuck with. It's illogical nihilism and is sadly very hard to shake off...

But you CAN do it. Acheron and the other Self-Annihilators are proof.

There are two types of S-A: the ones who give up and succumb to it and the ones who fight back. Much like in real life (sadly)

Acheron is someone with severe depression who, despite it being uncureable, chose to show defiance against the predicament it brings by fighting back against it and actively trying to prove it wrong. Wrong not to herself, cause she knows THEIR wrong, but to prove THEM wrong to THEMSELVES.

How does this all connect to Jiaoqiu's story?: A Moment Among the Stars and Character Story Analysis

Both Acheron and Jiaoqiu have trauma from war, war that asks them "what was the point of everything you've done in the end?"

For Acheron:

What was the point of fighting if the ending was predetermined?( "Even if the ending is predetermined, that's fine. There are countless things that humans cannot change. But before the end, there are many things that humans can do while on their journey.")

For Jiaoqiu?

....

"While the Alchemy Commission is a good place to be, it is ultimately not compatible with my wish to practice medicine for the masses. The one place that requires a healer the most is undeniably the battlefield where the Yaoqing's forces are."(-Character story I)

And mah man was NOT ready for what the battlefield will ask of him and his master knew this but sadly also knew he couldn't stop the ambitious youth so he let him go. ("The elder looked as though he wanted to talk the youth out of his decision, but he ultimately decided against it.")

"A healer's purpose is to mend wounds and save lives. You pull the dying from death grip....only to see them march back into it. Saving one person is child's play. Saving the world is as hard as reaching the heavens. Do I press forward, or run away?"

Faces with this, Jiaoqiu can't help but be consumed by nihility. Question what's the point? My purpose as a healer is to save them from death grip but despite me doing that they will have to go charging back into it again and again until I can no longer save them. Doesn't that make my actions are, ultimately, pointless? I save them from death, give them hope and then they have to go back out there again and have it ripped away by an arrow. The hope of victory, of living to see it, of making it, I give it to them by saving them from death and then they have to die anyway but live through the pain of the hope I gave then being ripped away from them along with their lives.

So why save them? Give them hope? If they are gonna ultimately die? Why just not let them die at this point? And if I do that? Then what's my purpose? My purpose is to be a healer and save them from death no matter how many times but I just CAN'T bring myself to do it anymore faced with the pointlessness of it...

( -Jiaoqiu.... probably.....for legal and anti-missinfo-spreading reasons he, in fact, did not say all that)

Saving one is easy, but saving them all from death grip? Not so. Faced with the weight of that? Does he keep going or run away? Should he keep going through the pain of the pointlessness of it all or run away from it(like a coward, because it's too much)?

"You can't help but ask yourself... How does a healer heal himself?

Faces with all this nihility, he is at loss as just HOW to heal himself, the healer, amidst all this. Jiaoqiu's at an impasse, not knowing what to do, emotions conflict with each other.

"They answer with victory- Every life saved makes for the salvation of all."

"They" probably refers to all the soldiers, the ones that got healed and made it, the ones who didn't and the ones on the bed getting bandaged up.

Which is interesting. Interesting because despite them giving this answer, he still hasn't returned to the battlefield.

"Those I saved only ended up as another dead soul when they dived head-in back into the battlefield. I prefer to no longer engage in such futile efforts." ( -Jiaoqiu Character Story IV)

That despite being given the answer, the scars and terrors of the past will not make it easy to accept it or march forward with it. And that's ok. That is human and ok.

We don't actually know when he was given this answer, if it was after he started working on Feixiao or not. (something to further note on)

"Now you must make another choice... Will the result of this treatment be "life" or "death"? Are you ready to face the end... Jiaoqiu?"

Here he is probably talking about Feixiao. The choice he made to return, in a way, back to the battlefield, the place that traumatized him so much he accidentally walked into IX shadow. Only this time, it's for one person only.

Will he be able to heal her or will she die? And is he ready to face the conclusion of the case that is Feixiao, whatever that conclusion and the answer it gives might be?

The physical changes that come with being a Self-Annihilator and the suspicious desing choices in Jiaoqiu

WOOOOOOO welcome to section two of this analysis that is gonna be so much more easy for me

Now, let's have a refresher of physical and other changes that come with being a S-A:

-skin turn into something like rotten wood, full of holes and scars

-endocrine system disrupted

-becoming unable to distinguish between pleasure and pain and turning numb to everything

-loss of memories

-loss of senses

-corporeal body, mental cognition, and personal memories will gradually fade away

(Ik what makes me violently rage? WHY ISN'T HAIR TURNING WHITE IN HERE!?!?!?!)

Now based on all of that and using Acheron as comparison (while being mindful that her Emnator powers might make some parts of her S-A different) let's look at Jiaoqiu and take some notes:

-both her and Jiaoqiu have two white hair streaks that are in the same place just mirrored.

-in Jiaoqiu's lightcone description he asks himself "How many springs has it been?" suggesting that he MIGHT have memory problems like Acheron.

-in his character story IV Jiaoqiu says the spicy food boarders on pain and Owlbert commented that the pain might make him feel alive so maybe dulled senses as well (?)

-both of them have their hair turning white. While Acheron's Emnator powers make her able to hide it (refer to one of her idle's when she lets her guard down and her hair starts turning white) Jiaoqiu's hair is a light pink but not THAT light and you can see how the white hair fades into his normal not yet discolored hair. This change in hair is not recorded in the Data Bank oddly enough so we don't know how much time this takes to fully happen. 🤷😮‍💨

-lack of taste. Both Acheron and him can't taste the flavor of any food that isn't heavily spicy or strong in flavor. Acheron directly tells us that through the peach and her favorite drink being Wake the Heck Up. Jiaoqiu's like for spicy foods can easily be brushed as him just being a spice fanatic until you read his character story.

In the first one he eats lotus petals and comments "Sweet and refreshing, it delights the plate" showing a liking to them. But in IV he comments "Ugh, too bland" when eating them again. Even his master comments, "I remember you preferred bland food before joining the army." to which he responds "People... tend to change.".

The change comes from his III story, after Lan hit the battlefield with THEIR arrow, killing both enemies and soldiers. A moment that traumatized him so much that after it all died down, he felt cold from the inside and put EVERY spice he had into his cauldron and only then was he able to feel the taste

"When his already numbed sense of taste finally picked up on the spice, a jolt of current ran through him. He felt alive for the first time! It was a sensation that bordered on pain."

And all of these similarities, ARE FUCKIN SUSPICIOUS!😁😁

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

Tldr: I'm going insane (the end)

I hope Hoyo's headquarters burn down actually cause I'm tired of getting brainrots from these characters!!!😭

Hoyo literally allergic to leaving pink foxes alone (and melanin- HOW SAID THAT!?🫢)

Anyway who wants to join hands and pray in a circle for Jiaoqiu S-A confirmation cause at this point you don't make Acheron and this mf after and add all that to him with it being completely coincidence ESPECIALLY THE HAIR AND SPICY FOOD HOYO YOU BETTER CONFORM THIS OR ISTFG OSNDODBDODDBODDN

I'm so normal!!! 😁

Anywaaaayyy if you read this far thank you soooo *mwah* muuuuuch🙏 hearts and repost are very much appreciated as it keeps me posting here :,D If you liked this I have some other stuff posted that might pick ur interest. Ik I'm not the best at putting it all together in a neat way but I'm trying my best, I usually keep all this in my head 😅

May the sunlight brush your cheeks, flowers tickle ur skin and butterflies kiss ur nose! :)

#honkai star rail #hsr #character analysis #character exploration #acheron #acheron honkai star rail #acheron hsr #jiaoqiu #jiaoqiu hsr #jiaoqiu honkai star rail

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enderwoah · 1 year ago

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forever and pac are actually the most goated characters and ccs that ive ever had the pleasure of knowing. honestly.

they've been carrying most of the emotional weight on the server for the past few days, which is incredible considering the way they've chosen to go about it. pretending to be on cloud none for multiple hours at a time is utterly exhausting, even moreso with the fact that they were both scattering in sections of lucidity which means they couldn't just be happy for the whole time. it was a very delicate balance of being utterly insane and being trapped in their own "happiness," and it was a balance that they both pulled off rather flawlessly.

i think the choice to make the drug feel more like a suppressor of negative emotions and less like a stimulant of happy ones was an utterly brilliant one. it forced them to still have to be aware of the situation they are in (ie, their child is missing (among other things)) even while being all happy and wild and cheerful, and that just added to the deep unsettling feeling that came along with interacting with them. the fact that any small amount of pushing could make the facade crack was incredible; not only did that give us a plethora of awful, awful angst to have to deal with, it also gave other ccs a chance (if they so pleased) to pry out those fun interactions- 'fun' meaning 'awful and miserable and sad and heartwrenching,' of course.

and. of course. their performances tonight were incredible. you don't even have to say it. cellbit obviously was amazing too, and everyone else played their part well, but, i mean, come on. the two of them showed their terror and anger and fear in the most. just. impressive but also gut-punching way possible. forever deeply in denial of the reality he was being faced with, trying to fall back on the drug as time passed and it wore off more and more, finally snapping due to his panic and thinking that cellbit is cucurucho (which, OW, what the hell), shouting at him to leave his family alone and giving us a window into things that might have actually happened and/or the suppressed thoughts he's been having. pac being terribly, horribly, awfully quiet, sobbing in his prison in the background as forever and cellbit screamed at each other. him only getting more afraid when cellbit started shouting. the reason he started taking the drug in the first place was expertly crafted, honestly, and making him the one that developed the cure was just. a delicious character choice. absolutely perfect. PERFECT. he's so good at portraying emotion and so is forever and AUGHGH. today was perfect. today was so good. i love these guys so much.

#qsmp #qsmp spoilers #qsmp forever #forevitao #q!forever #pactw #pac tazercraft #cellbit #forever #drug abuse

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sunny-fox · 1 year ago

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Trial exams are gonna start soon so I may or may not be active for a few weeks. Anyways these exams remind me of that one night before similar exams a few years ago - I got frightened because I woke up and heard my father yelling at my little sibling, so here's a fic inspired (?) by that

This will be quite similar to my SAGAU "Comfort" fic

----------

Reader's pronouns: they/them

Warnings: implied anxiety / panic attack, cult behaviour

Notes:

1) SAHSR cult AU

2) The Astral Express has a carriage that's used for "connecting" to the reader's world, everyone including the Stellaron Hunters are allowed to enter it as long as they don't start fights in there

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

Himeko let out a breathy giggle as she watched you sleep.

"Just a few minutes...I'll be back soon..." you had mumbled before falling asleep on your bed with your device still running.

That happened around 2 hours ago.

The red-haired woman sipped at her coffee, sitting on a cushioned chair with a novel on her lap. She would gladly wait till you woke up. For now, she was content with watching over you.

"As much as I want to be able to see Their Grace, it's bad for them if they leave their device on near themselves while sleeping," Natasha said, approaching Himeko and standing behind her.

"I'll see if I can tell them not to do that anymore." Himeko smiled at the doctor.

"They're stirring," Dan Heng reported, gesturing at the hologram. Your brow was scrunched up slightly, and you shifted your grip on your blanket. Faint noises they couldn't place could be heard as your eyes fluttered open and glanced at your device.

"Oh," you said. "Did I make you wait - "

Your sentence was cut off abruptly as a loud yell pierced through the nearly silent carriage. The younger acolytes quickly covered their ears at the sudden noise while the older ones winced.

Apparently you weren't the one who had yelled, as they saw your eyes widen - in shock, fear, some emotion they couldn't describe. You bit down on your lip, pulling your blanket over your head. Your fingers dug into your pillow as you hugged it close and buried your face in it. Himeko swore she saw you quiver ever so slightly. They couldn't see your face, but they could hear your breaths starting to quicken.

"Your Grace?" Jing Yuan stepped closer to the hologram, voicing his concern. You didn't seem to hear him. The glow of your device reflected off something shiny at the corners of your eyes - you were crying.

"Let me try!" With a wave of her hand, Silver Wolf summoned a digital screen and began to type on it rapidly. Crackles of static rang out in tandem with your breaths. After a few minutes, Silver Wolf finally stopped and nodded her head.

"We can talk to them now."

----------

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling tears escaping them and trickling down your cheeks, dampening your pillowcase. A crackle of static caught your attention - was it from your device? Or was it your imagination? But then you heard a familiar voice say,

"We can talk to them now."

You lifted your tear-stained face and propped yourself up on your elbows to look at said device. You saw Jing Yuan, Himeko and Silver Wolf staring back at you. Several other characters could be seen in the background, including Dan Heng, Natasha, Bailu and Serval.

"Jing...Yuan...?" You choked out a sob.

"Yes, Your Grace, it's me," he said. "Do you want to talk?"

Your hands shot to your ears to block out another yell. The closed door still wasn't enough. A hurt look flashed across Jing Yuan's face - he'd probably assumed that you didn't want to hear his voice right now - before turning into realisation.

"Sorry," you apologised.

"It's alright, Your Grace," he replied. "I understand. Your comfort is most important."

"Your Grace." Natasha showed up on the screen. "Breathe according to my voice, okay? One, two, three..."

You forced yourself to breathe in deeply, then exhale slowly. A few more tries and you could feel that you were calming down.

"Thank you...Natasha..." you managed to say. Now that your breaths had become even, the tears you were trying your best to hold back flooded your eyes.

"You can cry, Your Grace," Bailu said. The camera had tilted downwards to show the Vidyadhara healer. "You can cry for as long as you like."

You buried your face in your pillow once more, sobbing quietly into it. Jing Yuan and the others said nothing, just watched silently as you cried your heart out. After what felt like half an hour, you raised your head to look at your device.

"Sorry," you said, biting back a sob.

"You don't have to apologise, Your Grace," Dan Heng insisted. "Besides, there's nothing to apologise for. Are you feeling better now?"

You nodded in response, slumping onto your bed to lie on your back. Now that your tears had finally run dry, fatigue started to creep into your mind. You yawned and rubbed a hand across your face.

"Are you feeling sleepy, Your Grace?" This voice was unmistakably Serval's. You nodded again, too tired to reply verbally. You device emitted the soft, soothing tune of a lullaby as Serval hummed gently.

Before you slipped into unconsciousness, you heard one last sentence from your device.

"Sweet dreams, Your Grace."

----------

Everything seemed so surreal the next morning.

You logged into the game, but couldn't find any place on the Astral Express or the planets that looked like the background shown last night.

All of the characters were still in their original spots, and as usual, they would only face the model of your vessel character when approached - never the screen.

You had assumed that it was all a dream.

But it wasn't.

Give us a little more time, Your Grace, and we'll bring you to our world, away from that thing (or anything else) which caused you pain.

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

I've only ever gone through this once so I don't know if it even is considered a panic / anxiety attack ;^^ I've checked the symptoms of both online and some of mine are similar to them but I'm still not sure, hence the "implied" in the warning.

#sahsrau #self aware honkai star rail #hsr cult au #himeko x reader #jing yuan x reader #serval x reader #natasha x reader #hsr bailu #dan heng x reader #hsr silver wolf #hsr x reader

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essycogany · 1 year ago

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Rare But Not So Rare Sonic Moments. Character Analysis.

Crying

A weird topic I’m more then happy to discuss.

Mandate: “Sonic’s not allowed to get overly emotional.”

I’m starting to think the mandates do break in a few instances. This one specifically is something I’m quite interested in because this is probably one of the rarest emotions Sonic displays. Getting sad/emotional.

Hopefully this essay will be a positive outlook on the mandate.

(Despite being a discussion about negative emotions.)

Examples Of Sonic Getting Emotional

I might not include everything, but the examples I have knowledge of will be stated. If you have anymore examples, I’d love to see them.

SATAM: Sonic cried when he and the Freedomfighters had to leave his Uncle Chuck in Robotnik’s lab.

Archie: The times Sonic cried/teared up was when the weight of a situation got to him, when something tragic occurred and all hope was lost, or when he was filled with joy after those instances ended. Those moments like others, didn’t go too far. (For the most part)

Pretty sure he never out right sobbed.

Underground: I think Sonic only cried when he was a little kid.

Correct me if I’m wrong.

X: In episode 52 Sonic allowed his tears to shed with his head turned away from us. He and Chris ran one last time before Sonic left through a portal to go home forever. It obviously crushed him even if we didn’t see his face.

Boom: Sonic cried/teared up in two episodes of the show. First when Tails was reminiscing about the Tornado and noticed Sonic wiping his eyes. Sonic replied, “What?” Then he, Knuckles, and Tails all cried when they thought the baby they took care of was gone. Also, in Archie when Stick’s rock friend broke or “Died,” everyone in team Boom morned it. Sonic included.

IDW: Sonic shed tears in the Scrapnick Island Issue. Even if it was “Mecha Sonic’s” tears I’ll count it anyways because it’s a good loophole and it came out of Sonic’s eyes.

Movie 1: It’s implied he indeed cried during the baseball scene. The sources being a deleted scene and story-board of the film.

Prime: This doesn’t really count, but Sonic teared up in the first episode when he was held captive by the Chaos Council and had light blasted in his eyes, when he was in darkness. Then Sonic actually cried in episode 7 when he ate a seadog. Either because he was home-sick or starving.

(In the last episode of season two it’s implied he might cry in the next episode. Especially with the shot of him looking on the verge of tears and then covered his eyes in the background of the last shot, but we’ll see.)

By the way. You can see the instant improvement from episode 1 to 7 of the tears animation. Just thought I’d say that.

My Overall Thoughts

Hold on because this is going to be a long ride.

First thing I’d like to discuss is the mandate itself.

I personally don’t believe it means, “Sonic shouldn’t cry.”

(Which has been stated a bunch)

If that were the case, I don’t think this majority of moments (specifically the recent ones) would’ve happened. I think the mandate meant Sonic couldn’t and or shouldn’t go too far with his emotions. I don’t think the mandate existing makes any since, but I won’t get into that.

My point is, Sonic can cry, just not in an overly dramatized way unless it’s done for comedic purposes.

(I say that because of Sonic Boom and the 7th episode of Prime examples. Which are obviously not meant to be taken seriously)

My opinions on Sonic crying.

It’s not necessarily needed, but I don’t mind if it’s done well. I do believe Sonic shouldn’t go too far unless the situation does.

One Issue in Archie when Sonic’s entire life was basically ruined, is a good example. If you’re going to have such calamities happen to him, especially since he has zero ego or mask to hold onto, I think it’s a fair enough scenario for him to react as drastic as his misfortune.

But I believe if he were to cry in something like the Metal Virus. (Just for an example) it could be like how Espio teared up after Vector’s sacrifice.

Crazy idea. Let’s talk about Shadow for a minute.

Shadow is one of the most stoic characters in the entire franchise. He barely smiles, gets excited, or displays any overly positive emotions. While Sonic rarely cries, gets angry, or shows any harsh negative emotions. Shadow and Sonic are opposites because of that.

Sonic’s overall a positive and outgoing guy who wants to keep moving forward. Whenever he has the time to worry, he runs. Faces his problems head on. Sonic only let’s a small amount of his true emotions out when helping someone else. In general Sonic’s a pretty optimistic character.

Shadow on the other hand is a reserved and serious guy. Who wants what’s best for the world too, but in a more calculated and planned out manner. But for some reason, in Sonic Adventure 2 after Amy encouraged Shadow to save the world, (Which reminded him of Maria’s real wish) He sheds a tear.

I repeat. Shadow is the most stoic character in the entire franchise. Who rarely shows his emotions. And yet he cries.

Why can’t Sonic? To be fair, Sonic usually doesn’t have time to think, let alone worry about how he feels. But if Shadow himself can have a short moment of releasing his emotional baggage, why can’t the blue blur?

Is Sonic even as happy as he let’s on?

I’d say he’s genuinely happy half of the time. Then the other half Sonic’s internalizing everything negative in him. Everyone knows Sonic’s overall upbeat, but we’ve seen plenty of times (In the Metal Virus specifically) when he’s thinking, or enduring the chaos around him, he doubts himself. Sonic has these insecurities and emotions he barely let’s anyone see.

Besides Issue #24

Even in Sonic Prime while Sonic shows the most guilt, sincerity, anger, fear, and sadness in the show. He sometimes still puts on a front and acts like everything’s fine.

Sonic Unleashed I’m pretty sure was the first and only time we’ve seen him mope for a minute. All because Amy didn’t know who he was. So, he does have some level of insecurities lingering every once in a while.

Can Sonic crying even work?

How I interpret him crying is when he’s alone. Some people theorize in certain instances like SA2 and Unleashed with Shadow and Chip’s sacrifices, he cried a little. I’m fascinated by this idea. I believe it’s the most in character way to let him cry. Maybe even something like X when his face isn’t shown, but you know how he’s feeling.

Even if we do see Sonic’s face, him crying or tearing up could be shown without being over the top. Normalize it in a way that doesn’t fly off the handle. His expression could have a hint of frustration, anger, or exhaustion. Crying is normal and I don’t see Sonic crying as out of character because it’s been done plenty of times.

It’d be nice if it happened in order to make Sonic feel more believable and sympathetic. As long as the dude’s not on the floor whaling, I’m sure it can work.

Final Thoughts

There are other ways to show Sonic’s emotions. Again, crying doesn’t have to happen, but it does help the writing feel less unnecessarily limited of what kind of emotions can be displayed on this character.

Though there are benefits too. Like finding fun loopholes or small animated details like in IDW and Prime. Sonic not crying so much makes the times he does (or may do in the future) feel earned and impactful. The examples before prove it can be done without taking away what makes Sonic who he is. It just needs to be subtle, quiet, and quick. (Or humorous) Depends on what you think.

At the end of it all, Sonic’s a tough hedgehog. Him shedding a few tears won’t ever change that.

Stay Creative! 💜

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apollosgiftofprophecy · 5 months ago

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FANFIC POLL TIME!

Descriptions (because i NEED to explain things haha-):

CHOOSE WISELY

Of Bridges Built & Burned: Based off this clowning between me and @moodyseal

BUCKLE UP THIS GETS WILD READ THE LINK ABOVE FOR A MORE DETAILED EXPLANATION

TD;LR- Commodus and Apollo get to both scream about their relationship (because it's usually only Commodus who does that), Commodus goes off to sulk/stew over it while Apollo completes his trials, then post-ToA they meet again and have a Much Needed Talk

...and *sobs* go separate ways... *ugly sobbing* DON'T MIND ME-

you know you love the ship when you write them breaking up in the most heart-wrenching scenario possible.

but shh...i have another idea to do with this but that's for another time😈

The Art of War: I've been DYING to do SOMETHING with Apollo (Favorite Son™) and Ares (Failure Son™) and I have 3 whole scenes in different points of time now!!!

First is when Apollo's young and new on Olympus. He's been shoved onto Ares for the time being because in Ancient Greece, boys were raised by their fathers and girls by their mothers, and when the father was unavailable, it was the eldest brother's job to watch his younger brothers.

Second scene is during/post Ares's kidnapping by the giants! Some Apollo angst, Zeus being the best dad ever (not), and Ares not having a good time.

Third and finally, is a little conversation post-ToA between them :3

The Sun's Rise: At last! Out of the vault! The moment we've been waiting for! Starring our boy Apollo, Prometheus being Prometheus, and a guest star you all should know by now :3

Hyapollo Multific: YEAH YOU HEARD IT. FIVE CHAPTERS OF HYAPOLLO, WITH SIDE DISHES OF APRICITY, HYARICITY, AND ONE-SIDED ZEPHYRUS PINNING FOR HYAPOLLO. COME GET UR FLUFF-DRAMA-ANGST FEST

@hyac1nthus i know you'd want to see this >:3

Koios ToA: What the hell was Koios doing during ToA? This fic will play like a snapshot of what our favorite titan was up too. Questions will be asked, answers will be found, and oh boy Phoebe and Koios are gonna have a bit o' long-overdue marital strife.

Drunk Twins: literally what is says on the label. the twins get drunk and the Hunt has to call in the mama wolf for backup lmao

The Conspiracy of Rachel Elizabeth Dare: based on this post by @hogoflight and expanded upon here by me! Rachel Dare is a conundrum to her friends, and they put their detective hats on to solve the case!

ToA BuzzFeed Unsolved: The Queer Capers of Lester Papadopoulos and Meg McCaffrey: BUZZFEED TIME! We need ToA buzzfeed fics so here I am making one :3

Apollo V Orion fight (with a side-dish of Jupiter & Commodus): Exactly what it says on the label lmao I had three oneshot ideas and then I went "COMBINE THEM!!" so here is a oneshot with three different things in it making a cohesive story :3

A Radiant Light: Did I make up an entire backstory for one background character? Yes. Is that character Phoebe the Hunter? Also yes.

how to get your daughter to divorce your brother and marry your nephew: a guide by demeter: funny fic about Demeter trying to get Meg, Nico, and Will to help her convince Persephone to divorce Hades and marry Apollo. Based off one of my headcanons haha

👀 lookin' forward to a lot of these, hehe!

Tag list: @txny-dragon @solahflare @fuzzystudios @apollosothertwin @peishathebookity @reuben-7991 @allylyrac @the-summersun

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here-there-be-drag0ns · 2 years ago

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okay okay okay something i saw that i havent seen anyone else talk about is the sequence of shots when sneeg gets dragged back in and "reprogrammed" (for lack of a better word while still missing information).

Just about everyone ive seen talk about how intense and revealing that scene is focuses on the shot with sneeg in the foreground and the puzzler in the background, and the majority of takes ive seen say something along the lines of "he's in shock, he knows something is wrong, and all he can do is stare at sneeg getting put back" but here's the thing: thats not it!!

it wasn't something i noticed till it ended - not really - but they weren't staring, they weren't in shock. They were paused.

The Puzzler is mid-comment, the victims were all still begging and sobbing, and ranboo has his hand on the controls with the carousel spinning- and then Squiggles popped up with only the message "Please hold." and everything goes silent. And then sneeg starts screaming.

We see the carousel stop, we see ranboo with their hand on the controls, and we see the Puzzler frozen in place with his mouth still open mid-remark. Even the Rats dont move. All of that is pretty quickly skipped over and forgotten as the focus is on sneeg's recapture, reprogramming, and reinstallment.

Then the shot that pulls the most attention, sneeg in the foreground and the puzzler in the background with the focus alternating between them. we see the producer that placed sneeg leave the set, then another shadow cross the scene, then a few more beats to allow the other producers to leave the set... and then everything comes back all at once.

The carousel starts moving again, the victims all start sobbing and begging all at once, the Rats continue to hop around, the Puzzler finishes his exclamation and moves away from the cage, and ranboo finally shifts his weight.

I wont pretend to know what exactly all of this means. However, i believe it shows exactly how much control Showfall Media has over the production so long as their "characters" have not broken free.

#generation loss #genloss #generation loss theory #genloss theory #genloss warehouse #generation loss warehouse #ranboo #showfall media #dragons chatting

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head-shoulders-knees-pain · 2 months ago

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Day 19: Angel Devil x Gn!Reader - Phone Sex

fandom: Chainsaw Man

word count: 500+

cw: 18+, dom reader, sub character, phone sex, comfort minimal hurt(?), mutual masturbation, accidental exhibitionism

tag: @ficsforgaza

When I first joined Public Safety, if you had told me that I would be dating a devil, I probably would’ve laughed in your face and asked to have whatever you were having cause that’s crazy.

After years on the job and getting put into Tokyo Special Division 4, I guess I’m crazy because it happened. I’m also crazy lucky because I got the best devil there is, Angel.

I open the door to my apartment and sigh, honestly just thinking of them puts a smile on my face.

It was a struggle to get here, they still don’t want to touch but they’ve lowered their walls enough to call them mine.

It’s a shame we were put on different missions today, hopefully I can convince Makima to let me do like Power and Denji do with Aki and let him stay at my place…hehe maybe a little too soon to be moving in together but at least he’d get out more that way.

The buzz from my phone pulls me away from my thoughts, as well as a groan when I see Makima’s name. Great, hopefully nothing's wrong and she just needed to check something.

I answer the call with a polite tone, “Ms. Makima, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. Is everything alright ma’am?”

“Actually, a situation has come up and I need your assistance.” Fuck, what else should I have expected?

I move back to the front door, going to put on my shoes before I’m caught off, “Stay where you are. I just need you to stay on the line.”

That doesn’t make anything more clear for me, “Ma’am? What does that-”

“The Angel Devil was hit with another devil’s powers today during their mission and is in quarantine.” What!?

“Ma’am!” “No. Nobody can come into contact with the devil until they calm down.” “But-” “The power they were hit with is non-lethal to them but is causing them distress. We believe you can help by talking to them through it.”

I take a deep breath to calm myself, “So Angel isn’t hurt? Just…what kind of devil were they chasing?”

“They were hunting a devil known as the Lust Devil, and we believe their attack had an almost aphrodisiac effect on the Angel Devil but we cannot be confident that it won’t cause them to harm others so we are monitoring the situation as it passes through them.”

“So…you want me to calm them down? How can I do that through the phone?”

“I am aware the two of you are closer than most should be with devils, but if you can get a handle on the situation then I will overlook this oversight-” well now I can’t refuse, not that I was anyways- “From what we’ve observed, normally the effect wares off once the individual reaches sexual climax, however, it appears that the Angel Devil is unable to.”

Hand up to my ear, room silent, and I’m not completely sure I still heard her right.

After a moment of silence, she pipes back up on the phone. “Are you still there?”

“Uh- yeah no sorry I’m still here just…didn’t expect that-like at all.” I walk over to the couch and flop down on it.

“Ah, well if you’re a virgin then I can simply-“

I jolt up in my seat, cutting her off, “Whether or not I’m a virgin means nothing, I’m helping him. You just caught me off guard Makima.” “So you believe you can-“ “yes please stop talking and just- just let me talk to him.”

The line goes silent and I slump back into the couch again. I listen to her heels clack on the floor, low muttering in the background, before I hear a hard click that cuts to panting.

“Angel?” I softly call out.

A gasp is heard over the line before some quiet cries are made.

“Oh my little dove, what’s wrong?”

I hear more sniffles, until “It hurts, they say I have to fix it but I c-can’t.”

His sobs break my heart, “Oh love, I’m so sorry this happened. I’d be there if I could-“

“No!” He screams before groaning, “Don’t wanna hurt you..”

“I know, that’s why I’m gonna help you from here, okay?”

I hear movement from his end but I can’t tell from what, “Baby if you’re nodding I can’t see it, you’re gonna have to talk to me too.”

“Okay…I don’t want to do it alone though. Can you make it better?”

He sounds like he’s almost whining, how could I refuse such a request?

I swallow before responding, “Sure, I’ll do it too. Pretend you’re doing it to me if that helps, or that it’s my hands doing it to you, okay?”

“Hmh, what first?”

“Well normally I’d warm up to it but you need to finish if we want to stop the pain, so can you strip for me?”

He murmurs out something a mix of yeah and okay before I hear more movement on his end, I quickly slip off my pants and underwear too.

“Nhh-now what?”

“Breathe for me dove, tell me what I’m working with.”

I hear him breathing heavy as he answers, “I’m hard, so hard it hurts. Reddish and wet at the tip but that’s it.”

“You’re doing so good already, following my directions. Now spit into your hand.”

After I hear it on his end, I repeat the action in my side. “Now, bring your hand to the top of your dick and slowly cover your length with spit and precum.”

I lean my head against the couch as my hand touches myself, other hand holding the phone up to my ear.

As I breathe into the phone, I hear his breath hitching before slightly turning into whimpers.

“It’s okay baby, how’s it feeling?”

“Hot, but- aah -good.”

Fuck. “Fuck, that’s it. Wrap your hand fully and pump up and down. You’re doing so good, my love.”

His whimpers turn into moans and I start to feel the weight come off my shoulders more so I stroke myself faster.

“Good boy, keep going. Up and down, you can switch hands if you’re getting tired.”

His moans get louder before turning into whines, “I-it’s not enough.”

“You can do it, just keep stroking. Don’t stop.”

I stroke faster and moan louder, “Shit- Angel, listen to my voice, can you hear how good you’re making me feel? You’re doing that.”

The speaker echoes his cries, “Please~ I wanna cum, how can I cum?”

“Reach your other hand down and twist the two while pumping. Keep picking up speed until I say you can cum.”

I can hear the difference when he does, unbashful beautiful moans.

I start to pant as I feel myself growing close, luckily he’s doesn’t sound too far away either.

His cries are a mix of moans, begging for more, calling out my name, or pleas to cum.

“Angel, cum.” I demand.

His scream of my name pushes me over as I spill into my hand.

I lay back on the couch, catching my breath as I listen to him breathing too.

“Angel? Do you feel any better?”

A hard click cuts in, “The Angel devil passed out, but seems to have recovered from the attack. Thank you for your efforts, I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.” Makima then cuts the line.

#chainsaw man #csm #angel devil #angel devil x reader #gn reader #dom reader #reader #csm angel #sub character

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uglypastels · 1 year ago

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Not Wholly Evil |X| pirate!Eddie au

a/n here it is. the final chapter. I am so excited to share it with you all, just as much as it pains me that it actually is coming to an end. I've worked on this story for almost a year, and it had been a risk I had no idea how it would play out, but seeing how much everyone has enjoyed this story and supported me in my little experiment really made all the days I say in front of my computer screaming worth it <3 thank you all so so much for trusting the process

Series Masterlist

word count: 14.3k

"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. mention of severe wounds. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. near-death experiences. hanging. men are pigs: implied mentions of past abusive experiences [of background characters]. malnourishment and weight loss. paranoia. mention of poisoning. abuse. manhandling. lying. prison. capital punishment.

there will be several mentions of other ST characters in this chapter, and some instances might not be the most favourable of portrayals, but this is not to indicate my opinion on them. I am simply intertwining universes. there is also a name spelled differently than in the shows and that's just for the sake of the setting.

Chapter 10: Lock and Key

“Some pirates achieved immortality by great deeds of cruelty or derring-do. Some achieved immortality by amassing great wealth. But the captain had long ago decided that he would, on the whole, prefer to achieve immortality by not dying.” ― Terry Pratchett, The Color of Magic

Everything went into chaos, happening so quickly that you genuinely got the sensation of being frozen in time and space, just letting everything around you go by, unable to intervene. Your mind could not work at that speed to understand everything that was happening, too far down into a shock to catch up. But when you finally did, you screamed.

‘No, father, no.’ You tried to push yourself away from him, but his grip was too firm. Even if you had, the chances of getting past the barricade of armed bodies to Eddie was impossible. ‘You can’t do that!’ you trashed around in his arms like a wild fish out of water.

All your father did was pull you closer, further away from Eddie, who you could just make out from between the uniforms and bayonets. The glimpses you got of his face showed a stoic expression. He wasn’t even trying to fight it. The last thing you saw before you were turned around and practically handed over to someone was the chains on his wrists.

‘Take her away from here,’ your father told his closest guard, ‘she’s hysteric.’ And perhaps you were, as you kept screaming at them to let go of you. The pleas quieted down the further from the harbour you got, changing into silent sobs by the time you reached the gardens of your home.

‘It’s alright, miss,’ the guard tried to calm you as best as possible. ‘You’re safe now.’

The pearly white building towered over you as you entered its shadows, and as soon as you did, you saw almost the entirety of the house staff standing in the main hall, awaiting you. Their faces blurred with their welcoming greetings and sweet words of comfort. A woman took you from the guard, immediately guiding you up the stairs, mumbling something to him and shouting about to the rest of the people around. You could not place any name to her face, and having always been quite good with remembering people, you could only assume she had been a new addition to the staff since you had last been home. Looking over everyone around you, most of them must have been.

That’s right. Your father had always been keen on replacing the staff but usually had been around to witness it, take in the new batch from the beginning, and, most importantly, say goodbye to the old ones.

You wanted to protest at every corner you turned up to your room, but the group of maids that had accumulated around you was like a forcefield, unbreakable. One of them opened the large double doors that led to your room. There was barely any time for you to sink in the feeling of being back in it after so many weeks as you were pushed through another pair of doors. There, a bath had already been prepared, the water steaming hot. You let yourself be dragged to the centre of the room and mechanically put your arms up for the ladies to take your dress off. Had they always been this rough?

They mumbled about the state of your dress to one another as if you weren’t even there, and in their defence, you weren’t. Your mind was miles away, barely aware of what was going on. The only thing that pulled you back into the room was the gasp of the women as your dress fell to the floor. You looked down at where all their eyes had locked in on.

‘Did they do this to you, miss?’ One of them asked, pointing in fear at the scar on your ribs. It had gotten much smaller over the weeks, but compared to the rest of you, you could imagine how grotesque it might look to people like them.

‘Uhm, no,’ you mumbled, ‘I tripped. On our ship.’ You barely recognised your voice as you spoke, too tired to put any emotion into them. The women looked at each other hesitantly before continuing on with their tasks.

You just about felt the hot water burn as they got you into the bath or poured it over your head to wash your hair. The scrub of the cloths over your limbs did practically nothing. All you could do was stare out ahead of you at the hawk engraved into the wood panelling on the wall across from you and how you had always seen it as a sign of comfort but now noticed how angry its eye looked. Staring directly at you at all times. You lulled your head slowly, trying to get it to look away, but it just followed you around until someone grabbed you by the side to stop you from twisting.

‘Sorry, miss. Just trying to get out this knot.’ One of them said as she combed out your hair, tugging your entire head back against the edge of the bath.

You had not even realised how much grime came with being on a boat full of pirates for weeks. Even though you had tried to wash yourself regularly, there was never enough fresh water. By the time the ladies were done, the water had gone cold, and your whole body was red and sore from the scrubbing. You could barely feel your fingertips, but your nails were perfect again.

Trembling, you got out of the bath and quickly were wrapped up in linen to soak up the water. Like any other day, they began to put your undergarments on, preparing you for a dress that you could not even think about the weight of, but no matter how many layers they put on you, you were still shivering.

Someone, you had no idea who, pulled a blanket over your shoulders and put a large cup of lemon tea into your hands. It used to be your favourite, but the sips tasted bitter no matter how much sugar you poured. You stood in the middle of the room, holding the cup and felt all their eyes on you, drinking your tea with a shaky hand. No matter how you held it or steadied your arms, the porcelain clinked together louder and louder until it smashed onto the ground, the hot liquid pooling around you. Before you could apologise, someone was on their knees cleaning it up.

‘I am so sorry,’ you cried out, tears already threatening to return despite it being only a few minutes since they had dried up. With water pouring over your face and hair in the bath, the tears would have been washed away, but now there was nowhere to hide them.

‘No worries, miss,’ one of the maids said. She looked you up and down, a corset in her hands, clearly seeing a mess of a woman in front of her. ‘We should get you ready; there is a meal waiting downstairs and I am sure you’re famished.’

‘I am alright, I just want to—’ you wanted to disappear. Get out of everyone’s sight. You wanted to lock yourself in your room or run away, just be anywhere but here, surrounded by these strangers. You wanted Eddie. Where was he now? He must have been dragged into the dungeons.

You pushed back the next load of tears that were breaking through.

‘Miss, we must insist.’ The maid said, somewhat concerned, and hesitated. ‘The food will do you good.’ And yet, the idea of eating now made you feel quite ill to the stomach.

‘I would really just like to be alone now.’ If you had more energy, your statement might have come out more pointed, giving you more edge over the staff. You would have fought them until you’d slam the door behind the last one, but instead, you let yourself be trapped into a dress—a beautiful green garment that the women were not shy to praise as they put it on you—and sent you off to the dining room.

Once, you would have walked these halls alone, with your head held high and letting the steps of your heels announce your presence in any room, but now the clicking against the marble floors made you wince and the presence of the maids and guards following you certainly did not help to put your mind at rest.

The dining table was set, filled from one end to the other with dishes, but you could barely stomach a spoonful. The same happened at dinner. You could not think of eating these extensive meals knowing that Eddie was kept locked up somewhere, most likely not given anything to eat since he had been arrested. Your mind was whirring with ideas, but each and everyone was immediately halted when you saw that there was nowhere in the house you could go without onlookers. The chances of you being allowed into the dungeons and speaking to him were close to zero.

Having eaten exactly two bites from your plate, you excused yourself back to your room, where people were ready to get you out of your dress and into your nightgown. Once done, one of the maids was prepared to blow all the candles out, but you quickly stopped her.

‘Wait,’ you called, ‘could you leave one on, please.’

The woman nodded and left one of the candles in the holder burning before leaving the room. You sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to catch your breath, but the room felt so stuffy—a ridiculous thought considering the room was bigger than Eddie’s quarters, possibly the double of it. The candle only gave light to its nearest surroundings, letting the rest of the space, and you with it, be eaten up by the night. It was overwhelming, together with the hot air swallowing you whole. As your chest tightened, you ran to the window, pushing it open. You greeted the cool night air with a sigh.

Nights at home were never quiet, but unlike in Saint Claire, it was not drunken brawls that kept the shores alive but the rustle of waves and the chirping cicadas. The streets buzzed with the sounds of nature, illuminated in silver by the moon, now an almost complete sphere.

You had always loved the view of your room, but now it felt more like a cruel joke as you could look out at the harbour and the gates of Star Port. It was like a million pinpricks stabbing into you. The Hellfire was nowhere to be seen. You didn’t expect anything less. With Eddie arrested, it would have been mad of the crew to stay behind, risking their own capture.

Still, the feeling you got at the sight of the empty harbour sank deep into your stomach, not helping with how you had felt before opening the blinds, and when you closed them again, the room seemed to have grown in size. Large, cold, empty, with you standing in the middle staring at your bed. Sitting on it, let alone sleeping, was impossible. The second you touched the mattress, you were scared you’d sink straight through the cotton, and the sheer size of it…

You lay there for hours, deciding whether to curl up and make yourself as small as possible or to spread your arms out in a poor attempt at taking up some of the space meant only for you. Every time you moved, your hand would grab for the sheets, hoping that one of those times, you would feel more than air. If you opened your eyes, you would see him sleeping peacefully by your side.

Most of your pillows had met the ground as you threw them in frustration. You had spent years in this bed, perfectly fine, and only several days with Eddie. So, why were you feeling this profound loss over his absence besides you? It wasn’t fair.

Eventually, you managed to fall to sleep, quite literally, as pure exhaustion tipped you over and made your head finally hit down. There were no dreams, nightmares or memories to haunt you, as you were awoken before any of them could take shape. Firm knocks on the door announced your maids, and they filled the room in their designated corners.

‘Good morning, miss.’ They said chirpily as they got you dressed and ready for another day. All you replied with throughout the entire process was a mumbled ‘’morning,’ which you hoped could be blamed for having only been awake for a few minutes.

‘Breakfast will be served soon,’ you heard. The mention of food again twisted at your guts, but an idea began to bloom in your mind.

‘Will my father be there?’ He seldom dined with you, leaving you to eat your meals in the company of the staff, but you assumed he would want to see you after all these weeks.

‘I assume so,’ the woman brushing your hair said. You nodded curtly, as much as possible, when someone held on to your head. The prospect of speaking to your father face to face brought a new energy into your step.

You walked out of that room determined and with your head held high, only to be disturbed by footsteps parallel to yours. Two pairs. At first, you thought it was a coincidence, and they just happened to be walking there, too, but they followed you down the hallway, around all the corners. By the time you reached the dining room doors, you had grown tired of it.

‘I am quite capable of walking on my own, thank you,’ you said, coming to an abrupt stop, making the two men behind you ‘have done it all my life, in fact.’

‘Yes, of course, miss,’ said one of the guards who you bumped into at your sudden halt. ‘It is just—’

‘Just what?’ You crossed your arms.

‘Well, your father—’ he stopped speaking at the sight of your unimpressed, somewhat annoyed expression. He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the confrontation. ‘We are here to protect you.’

‘From what exactly?’ This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

‘From any danger, miss.’

‘I was not aware this house was so full of threats.’ You rolled your eyes. ‘I appreciate the efforts, gentlemen, but I doubt you will be needed.’

‘But your father, miss.’ The other man tried to argue, but you were not having any of it.

‘I will not be patrolled in my own home!’ You shouted, pushing the doors to the dining room open. Your father sat at the opposite end of the large table, fork mid-air to his mouth. ‘Father, this is absurd.’

‘I think it is perfectly reasonable to want to protect my daughter. What is absurd,’ much to your annoyance, he spoke in his usual collected and cool-toned manner. He waited to continue speaking until you sat at the table. ‘Is you being held hostage for weeks at the hands of some barbarians.’

‘They are not barbarians, Father,’ you ignored the hands that spooned food onto your plate. ‘They took rather good care of me, actually.’ You bit your cheek, trying not to think of the days you spent in a cage. But even considering that, you were aware of your fortune with the circumstances you had been put under. Many more people had encountered enemies at sea, and few had been able to return home and live to tell the tale… or the preferred version of events, at least.

‘Is that why you look so sick and frail?’ he spoke bluntly, taking you back. ‘Because of how well they treated you?’

‘They did their best with what they had,’ you believed. It was your choice to starve yourself for the first days on board, refusing to eat anything they gave you. And you could hardly expect a feast such as you held in front of you now, every day in the middle of the deep waters. Even on board the Red Tail, the meals had been somewhat shoddy. ‘I just do not think that…’ you stopped yourself from using his name. ‘That man deserves to be in prison.’

‘Of course not.’ Your father took a bite. ‘He will be hanged for his crimes.’

‘W-what?’ Your fork clattered onto the ground. ‘Father, you cannot— I know he had tried to take money from you but—’ Murder and high treason. That is what he was arrested for. Had your father somehow found out about the Red Tail? But how could he… there were no survivors.

No survivors. He killed them all. He had—

‘Do you know who that man is?’ Something in your father’s voice sounded sharper, more pointed.

‘I thought so,’ you hesitated. Yes, you had spent your days and most tender moments with him, but what did you know about Eddie Munson?

‘Then you should understand the severity of this situation.’ Only if you were to believe hearsay and talk of the people on the streets that shaped this image of a blood-thirsty monster that roamed the seven seas, killing everything in his path. It is what you believed him to be yourself until not very long ago until practically every fibre in your body had been proven wrong.

Or at least, God, you hoped you had been wrong.

Your father sighed, ‘I know it is difficult, after all you must have spent a lot of time with them on that ship, and I do not know what lies they had fed you, but these are serious matters that begun long before any of this and need to finally be taken care of.’

‘Well, explain it to me because I would like to know what is happening.’

At this, he scoffed. ‘All you need to know is that man is a dangerous criminal and should be treated as such.’ But then, what about everything Eddie had told you? What about all the pieces you had managed to gather of the crumbs he and everyone else left you? There was more to it all, and maybe you did not understand yet, but you would.

‘When?’ you plucked at your food on the plate, defeated, ‘when is the hanging?’

‘In four days.’ If you had been well enough to eat, you would have choked. You had barely come to terms with returning home, if at all, and now this. Prisoners were usually held for weeks before a date was set for an execution. They were clearly adamant about taking care of him quickly.

For the sake of everyone else, you ate a bit of your breakfast, each bite sticking uncomfortably heavy in your throat. After that, you got up without saying another word. The two guards who had walked in with you were on high alert again, ready to follow you, but stopped to look nervously at the governor when you glared at them.

‘Let her go,’ he waved them off, ‘but keep an eye on her.’

You huffed out a breath and walked away.

The rest of the day you spent walking around the town, mainly the alley of the market that led to one of the entrances to the dungeons. You had no idea why you were there, considering there was nothing you could do. Besides the fact you could clearly see the new set of guards appointed to follow you around the streets, they seemed utterly futile, considering all eyes in the street were on you. Every person there was highly aware of your presence.

You used to walk around the market nearly daily, making polite chats with the salesmen as you bought fresh fruit to later eat at the shore or in the garden. Most people knew that you had decided to join the Red Tail on their voyage primarily because of your enthusiasm to finally leave the island and go on an adventure.

It must have taken quite some time, they would say in some form or another, to convince your father.

I can be quite persuasive when I have to be; you remember how proud you had felt. After months of begging everyone around you to let you go, promising them that you would be safe and careful and not get in the way of anyone, finally, they let you go. Under Admiral Carver’s watch, you spent weeks enjoying the breeze and the waves, awaiting what the rest of the world would bring.

The ship sailed for four weeks to another naval post. You did not know their exact business, nor did you care, as you now had a whole new land to explore. The city was larger and nothing like home. The people looked different and spoke an entirely different language, but you still managed to get around and on the market behind your house. It had been excellent and eye-opening, only making you more eager to see what else to discover. But unfortunately, there was only so little time, and before you knew it, you had to return home. You remember the last day. It had been raining, but it did not stop anyone from loading the new supplies. Somehow it seemed like much more needed to be brought on board for this half of the journey than the first.

What’s in those barrels, you asked, but no one ever replied. They barely ever did. It wasn’t your place to ask questions in these matters. You were simply a passenger on the ship, verging on stowaway, spending your days in the quiet of your own room for the most part until…

It was the middle of the day, and the sun burned above you brightly, yet you shivered. You had always known to trust your father’s judgement and his decisions, but there was no possible way in which this was right. That this was how it would end.

The alleyway practically screamed at you for you to go and run in and get him out of there, but with so many people watching, it would be hopeless. The guards would get you before you had even reached the stairs. You would have to wait.

‘It’s good to see you again, miss.’ A voice pulled you out of your thoughts. It took you a few slow blinks to realise who it was.

‘Oh, you too, Mr Bowman.’ you smiled towards the merchant as he smiled at you through his bushy beard. He was sitting next to his table of… you were not sure what to call them. The man was quite the eccentric, and you had barely ever seen him actually make a sale on any of his products, but you doubted he was there for business anyway. ‘Have I missed much in the past months?’ You could always count on him for good stories about the townsfolk. The man had all his senses on sharp, constantly vigilant of everything around him.

‘I think your return is the biggest news we’ve had in a while.’ He scratched his beard, ‘That, and well, the upcoming execution, of course.’

‘People already know?’ You blinked, not having expected that to be public knowledge yet. Then again, it is an event like no other. Preparations have to be made.

‘Edward the Banished gets arrested, and you expect people not to know?’ He laughed almost mockingly as he usually did, but you looked at him blankly.

‘The Banished?’ you had heard much about Eddie, but this name was new to your ears.

‘Yes, ridiculous name, if you ask me,’ he waved it off, ‘Pure sensationalism as it rolls smoother on the tongue than deserter or runagate, quisling, traitor—’

‘I understand,’ you stopped him nervously. ‘But how did he get this name? What did he do?’

‘HA!’ he startled you with volume. ‘What didn’t he do, you should ask.’ This caused many of the other merchants around you to weigh in on the subject.

‘I heard he abducted the governor’s daughter.’

‘That’s her. She’s right here.’

‘Oh. Well, he had attempted to assassinate the king of England!’

‘The Prince, you blockhead. And he did kill him!’

‘He has burned entire islands down. All over a game of cards.’

‘Stole an entire fleet and handed it over to the Spanish, just like that.’

‘He drinks the blood of his enemies!’

‘Sold his soul to the devil!’

Everyone looked at the old man that shouted this out. You were afraid to ask more questions, so let the others do this for you. ‘What do you mean, he sold his soul?’

‘He did! Did all those things to offer himself to Satan and do his dirty deeds here on earth. He is cursed to sail the seas in his wicked ship with the unrighteous crew for all eternity.’

‘Well, that eternity won’t last much longer.’ Someone commented, resulting in a chuckle around the street. Most of the people laughed, but you stayed quiet, your mind going back to Eddie, his body covered in unexplainable scars. The wind suddenly grew stronger.

‘I’m telling you,’ the man continued, ‘we won’t get rid of him yet! Not until Hell freezes over!’

‘Someone give the man a hat; he’s had too much sun,’ Mr Bowman called, rich coming from him, whose balding head was burning bright red. He then turned to you, shrugging as the rest had clearly proven his point. ‘And that is why I do not mess around with pirates, deary, no matter how charming they may seem.’

‘Excuse me?’ were the first words coming out of your mouth in the last few minutes, and you quickly regretted having them form into another question.

‘I saw you two yesterday at the arrest.’ Of course, he had. Nothing around here ever escaped this man. He looked proud of himself for having witnessed the events. ‘It was quite dramatic, seeing lovers have to be broken apart like that.’

‘I think you might have had too much sun today,’ you tried to sound casual as you laughed it off.

‘I am not here to judge,’ he said, putting his hands up in surrender, ‘simply to advise.’

‘Thank you, Mr Bowman.’ You smiled politely, ready to escape the conversation. You had been used to him often throwing around false and farfetched accusations, and even listening to this conversation, you knew it was nothing if not complete nonsense, just gossip gone too far along the years. So now that he had actually been correct, it stunned you, even maybe scared you. What would the people around you think if they knew what happened between you and Eddie? How would they react if they knew how you felt about his death sentence? You would be deemed mad.

Of course, the not-so-inconspicuous guards followed you back to your room, where you stayed for the rest of the day until it was time for dinner. Your father did not join you this time. As hunger finally struck you, fighting nausea caused by the stress of the last few days, you ate everything served to you.

On the ship, you had thought that once you came back, you wouldn't be able to stop eating all the things you had been missing for months, but nothing tasted as good as you remembered. In fact, nothing was as good as you remembered. The food was bland, the flowers not as vibrant, and the people not as joyous. Once, you had heard laughter and chatter, but it seemed like the streets grew cold and silent, leaving you alone to your thoughts.

After your meal, you walked out of the room but turned left instead of taking the right towards your room. People immediately caught on.

‘Miss? Where are you going?’ A guard called out.

‘Oh,’ you attempted to sound like you had not expected this exact conversation when you moved, ‘just thought of going on a stroll. The night air does me rather well.’ You grinned in a way you hoped would come off naive.

‘I do not think that’s a good idea.’ The guard said. ‘I would suggest that you return to your room,’ he spoke in a tone telling you that it was not a suggestion at all. Not in the slightest.

‘Am I on house arrest?’

‘See it more as a curfew.’

You scoffed at the idea, or more that you had very little choice but to obey. There was a moment in which you stared up at the guard, switching between expressions to get him to crack and let you go, but to your disappointment, he cocked his head toward your room.

How were you ever supposed to get to Eddie if they constantly watched you? The question kept you up another whole night and the next day. Just for the sake of it, since they so desperately needed to be with you at all times, you decided to sit in the library for about four hours with no book in sight, just staring out the window, letting them stare at you. At a certain point, you had caught one man actually yawning.

‘I am absolutely certain that there are at least fifty things that would be more productive for you to do then this,’ you broke the deafening, maddening silence, still looking out the window. You had counted all the leaves on the tree branch that kept hitting the pane in the breeze and had recollected every corridor and door in the house. In the reflection of the glass, you could see the guards glance nervously at each other, and with a smile, you turned to face them. ‘You can just go. I won’t tell anyone.’ But they stood their ground. With a groan, you sank back down into the chair.

It would take much longer for them to break, so much more time that you—that Eddie—did not possess. Three days left before the execution. Three days left for you to take the chance and do something. Save him. There were a million ideas, one worse after the other, with so many risks and problems that it could eventually end in your own hanging.

You shut your door at the end of the day, and it must have sounded through the entire house. Another day gone, and you had gotten nowhere. You could see the shadows of their feet come through the gap underneath your door, and they would be there the next morning when you awoke. Sleep deprived from tossing and turning as long as the sun was down. The bed still felt too big for comfort. At one point, they had run into the room at the sound of muffled screams, just for you to pull your head out of your pillow to yell at them to get out.

You walked towards the dining room for breakfast, this time wearing a rose gold dress, surprised not to be followed by a parade of footsteps but halted at the sound of voices coming from inside the hall.

‘I think it is safe to say that she does not require any supervision, sir.’ one of the guards said. You never bothered to learn their names, too frustrated to care, but you learned to recognise their voices from the amount of squabbling you had done.

‘Is that so?’ your father munched away.

‘She does nothing but mope around all day, quite harmless, I’d say… uhh, sir.’ The other added.

Mope? You did not mope, if only because they sucked your life out with their constant “supervision”. As much as you wanted to burst into the room, you composed yourself and listened on.

‘Does she seem well, in the head, I mean?’ Your father asked, but they did not reply. Not verbally, at least; you could imagine them looking at each other in the way they did, and just the idea made you clench your fists until they turned pale.

‘She’s stubborn, a bit immature, a bit aggressive.’ One of them chose his words carefully and slowly.

‘So that’s a no, I take it,’ your father concluded. You took this as your opportunity to announce yourself with a few loud steps, moving back a few paces to repeat them with exaggeration.

‘Good evening, father,’ you said as you took your seat, not giving him or the other man any more of your attention. The guards glanced at you nervously before leaving the room.

‘Terrorised the guards, I see?’ he asked.

‘No more than they did me,’ you replied in the same emotionless tone as you ate.

‘I just wanted what’s best for you. It had been a tumultuous time, and you had gone through quite– ’

‘Is that a reason to… to lock me up and have me followed around like some kind of—’ You were at a loss for words, so instead, opted for a frustrated groan and stuffing your face with a forkful of lamb.

‘Well, you’ve proved me wrong. Clearly, you can still care for yourself.’ he wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up. ‘I’ll make them let you be from now on,’ and with that, he walked away. You couldn’t suppress the smile that rose to your lips once the doors closed behind him, immediately knowing the first place you were heading to with your newfound “freedom”.

The kitchen.

Well, that is not exactly the first thing. You had to wait for all the dishes to be cleared from the dining room, so you wandered around the corridors and then headed down the stairs as quietly as possible to not raise any attention to yourself.

As suspected, the kitchen was empty. Most of the food on the plates still untouched. Quietly, you grabbed a basket and began picking things out here and there, those that would go unnoticed by anyone walking in to grab a midnight snack. The only thing that might have caught someone’s attention by going missing was one of the larger bottles of rum stacked on a shelf.

You placed a napkin over the basket's content and grabbed one of the staff member’s hoods to cover yourself up with before heading outside. It would help against the cold night air and hopefully make you a bit less noticeable, as the grey hood did not stand out as much as your extravagant dress. As you took the first steps out into the garden, the idea came to you that maybe that was another idea of them trying to keep you inside these walls. After all, while you had always had nice clothing, it did not compare to the dresses you’ve worn since your return. It could be seen as a welcome home gift, but it was undeniable that the dress you wore now could be spotted from miles away.

You pulled the cloak tighter over yourself.

Besides a few men who were too drunk to notice or care who you were, the streets were also empty. The men standing at the prison doors were half asleep, and either way, you were not too anxious about them as they were usually more preoccupied with keeping people in than out. You slipped through the shadows into the alley and only dared to breathe once inside. The steps leading further into the building were uneven, especially in the dark. The only light was half-burned-up torches lining the path. A crinkly small corridor that eventually led to a crooked staircase. You could barely keep yourself up straight, almost tripping over your feet. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, where the dungeon's entrance stood, took almost longer than the walk to the building across town as you held onto the cold wall, doing your best not to fall.

Now, you could only pray that the final door was not locked. The handle wiggled and creaked open.

You hesitated. What would await you inside? This whole trek had been based on your intuition that he would be put in one of the isolated cells, away from the petty criminals. But what if they kept him somewhere else? What if they had done something to him and… well, there was only one way to find out.

As you stepped into the caved-out room and almost instantaneously, never before had you felt such a cold fall over you. Maybe it was due to the thick walls absorbing all sound or how the slit-like windows below the ceiling only let through the tiniest slivers of moonlight, obstructing any of the day’s heat from entering the room. Or maybe it was the sight of him in the pale torchlight that chilled you to the bone.

He was seated on the ground, framed by a cell jagged from rock and steel bars. The moonlight managed to just about frame his face, exhausted and fragile. His eyes were closed in pretend sleep. You could tell that much as his brows furrowed at the sound of your footsteps. You tried to call out to him, but your throat was stuck. But you didn’t need to say anything. He called your name in a weak voice, in a hesitant manner, as if he was making sure that what he saw was real. If you were really there.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked in disbelief.

What were you doing here? You had been asking yourself this the entire walk up to the cells, trying to find a reason why it meant so much to you to see him again, to help him, and yet you still could not come up with anything. There was no response besides holding up the basket with a weak smile and saying, ‘I thought you would like some dinner.’

Eddie sat straight, pulling himself up by one of the cell bars. As you walked up to his cell and sat down on the ground beside him, you could feel his eyes on you. Pure disbelief at your presence, the food. You held the meat out to him, but he did not move.

‘It is not poisoned,’ you smiled sheepishly, ‘if that is what you’re wondering.’ Even when you handed him the food to eat. He did so slowly, apprehensively at first, still unable to look away from you. Perfectly understandable. You had barely gotten used to this. How the beading and frame of the dress poked at you from every angle. Your feet hurt, and your hair had been pulled into an intricate hairstyle, causing you to walk around with a headache for hours. Not that it was anything to compare to Eddie’s circumstances. He sat in his cell, too small to stretch his body out in, with no bed, just the cold hard ground. They had removed his jacket and belt, leaving him to sit out the cold of the night in just his shirt. You also noticed a new bruise forming on his jaw, which certainly had not been there when you last saw him. All this to break him down, yet the way he looked at you—you could have sworn you were still lying together in his bed, far away from all this.

He glanced down at your dress, how it pooled around you, almost leaking through the cell barriers up to him in all its opulence. ‘How the tables have turners, haven’t they, princess,’ he chuckled, and you had never thought to be so happy from hearing such a simple sound. The nickname felt deliberately chosen at this time, too. You pulled at the edges of your dress, collecting it closer to you.

‘I know, I look ridiculous.’

‘I think the word you’re looking for is beautiful,’ he said between bites, but you ignored the compliment, knowing that if you let it get to you, it would come together with a shower of tears. As he kept on eating his food, you sighed, letting your side hit the wall as you leaned up to him. You handed him more of the food that you had brought him and the rum, then let him finish in silence. His mere presence beside you already was more than enough. The sound of his deep calm breaths was enough to put you to rest, and it pleased you that the sea had not left him just yet. He still smelled of it. That fresh sea salt air was simply stuck in his hair. You refrained from combing your fingers through it.

This was already so far from what you had expected things to go like. You had thought that once you came home, even with his request for a hefty payment, he would still be welcomed as a hero. That you could make things work and somehow, maybe, naively, be together. Even now, you thought that if he saw you here, you would have some kind of moment of clarity where everything became crystal clear and easy to understand. That you would know exactly what to do, and it would be glorious. You thought he would be happy to see you. Never had you imagined him asking you again, ‘What are you doing here? Really.’

‘I wanted to see you,’ you said, but he could read past all your layers. ‘And… over the past few days, I have heard things. About you. Things that I can hardly believe to be true and yet are seen as such by the majority of people, so I hoped you could clear some things up for me.’

‘You don’t believe your own people but would believe me?’ He took a swig of the rum, already handing it back to you, but you declined, giving it back.

‘I have given you my trust more times than I should have, and so far, it has not led me down any dark paths, but I can only hope that you will not break that bond now.’ After all that you had been through? Was he in any position to do so? ‘So I hope you will tell me what really happened. I—I remember you, years ago, meeting with my father and Carver. You were in the military, right?’

Eddie let his head roll back, hitting the wall behind him with a shallow thud. ‘You remember me?’

‘It came to me during the storm. A memory of you walking with them in the garden. For the longest time, I could not make sense if it had been real or if my mind playing tricks on me, but I realised now what it was. You looked different, but it was you, wasn’t it? You were like them?’

‘Turns out, maybe I still am, and more than you’d think,’ he sighed, ‘or less, depending on how you look at it.’ He took another sip of the drink.

‘Will you tell me, please?’ You pleaded, eagerly awaiting the answers to what you had been trying to figure out long before you had returned home. Eddie looked apprehensive.

‘What good will it do?’ He turned his head in your direction, still leaning against the wall. You moved over to be closer to him, your legs almost touching.

‘Perhaps nothing, but—’ you sighed, ‘All my life, I’ve been protected. I’ve had everything handed to me without any trouble. I had spend most of my years never further away than these shores and always under someone’s watch. I had never had the space to make risks or mistakes. There was no such thing as danger. Even now, I had been under constant watch. No one will answer my questions or even listen to me because they want to protect me. Because they think I’m fragile and cannot handle it.’

At this, Eddie scoffed. ‘If anything, they cannot handle you, darling.’

‘Meanwhile, you,’ you smiled, ignoring the heat burning over your cheeks, ‘Well, perhaps not all your methods were ideal, but you never treated me like I was made of glass. You pushed me, and it actually, for once, made me feel alive and like I am worth being in the room with.’

Eddie reached for your hand. ‘You’re worth so much more than that,’ he mumbled against your knuckled as he kissed them. He held on to you as he began talking slowly, choosing his words wisely. ‘I had joined the navy younger than anyone should have—my parents couldn’t afford me, so I had to make myself useful quickly, and that felt at least somewhat commendable, no matter how it would end.

‘Started right at the bottom, but I wanted to prove myself. I followed orders, did everything what was asked of me, and more, and I moved through the ranks. As I gained more of a position, I got more of an insight into the men I was working for and with.’

As he spoke, you watched his eyes pale, haze over with memories. The dam he had built around them had broken up, flooding out, and he could not stop it anymore. He wanted to continue, but he hesitated, glancing your way, but you encouraged him to go on with a nod of the head. Even then, he scratched at his face nervously and took a deep breath.

‘We would find ourselves everywhere around the world, and a certain power comes with wearing a uniform. It is universal, one that everyone understands and is willing to abuse. It was easy to see yourself as better than the poor locals, to excuse yourself from the import taxes and all the bureaucracy around the travel. I had done it myself, flashing a grin with the mindset of superiority.’ He hid his face in his hands, groaning. You reached out for his arm.

‘Hey, it’s okay,’ you hushed, but was it really?

‘When you get that taste of power when it hits right, it is hard to let go. It had never sat well with me; every time I got away from a port without paying for my ship, I stayed up entire nights as the guilt ate away from me, but it had been what everyone else was doing, and you don’t want to fall behind. It had become a pressure to boast your power over those who did not have any.

‘And this power…. it turned darker as simple actions of business turned to abuse. Swindling merchants of their products, conning drunks with games, and stealing their money. Taking advantage of… everyone. It had become a sport to them.

‘I was aware of it, but it had somehow never seemed that serious—it happened so gradually—until one day I saw one of the commanders with this girl…’ his breath hitched. You squeezed his hand to remind him that you were there, that you were listening. ‘She was just a child, and when I saw what he—I lost control of myself, lashed out at him. It had been stupid trying to argue with someone that outranked me. There was no one I could tell that would do anything about it, not when they were all just as bad.

‘Then Carver came up to me one day. Said that together we could make a change.’ Eddie’s jaw clenched. ‘I should have known better. He had always been too close with the rest of them, but we planned on making a change.

‘But on the day we were about to tell your father about everything that happened on our voyages—the day we saw each other in the garden, in fact,’ he squeezed your hand back. ‘We never got the chance because I was sent away.’ Something in you caught your breath, making him smile lightly.

‘There had been talk of a war, and so I was sent out with a fleet to take charge. Carver had promised me he would take care of everything in my absence, but—’

‘He didn’t,’ you finished the sentence for him.

‘In a way, he did. Of course, it was all a hoax. He had needed an excuse to get rid of me. It took me three months to get back, having found no signs of possible ambushes, and when I did, I returned to the news that Hargrove, the commander I had attacked, had been found dead that same evening I left. And there was the missing gold and the rumours of a coup, among other things. Somehow, he had convinced everyone I had gone above and beyond in betraying our country, but the murder charges hit the heaviest. They thought I had killed one of our own.

‘The only people on my side had been those on the ship with me, and they had given up all they had by giving me their trust. They were marked as traitors just for standing up against the accusations. I already had lost everything I had to lose and could not stand by it, so I left. I took my ship and my crew, and we sailed off.

Bowman’s words rang through your mind as Eddie said this. Deserter. Runagate. Quisling. Traitor. You still wanted to ask him so much, but you let him speak before interrupting.

‘The sea was a liberation. We were free to do whatever we wanted, so we did, but I always felt like I was tied back to this place. Like…’ he laughed, ‘like a rope was hanging around my neck, dragging me back here. At first, I thought it was guilt, so I did my best to reprimand everything they had done. I wanted to do something for all those men and women we had hurt, give them some form of protection against those uniforms.

‘But no matter what I did, who I helped, that feeling did not stop. In a way, it grew worse. I got angry and felt like the only thing that would help me was revenge; I stayed up most nights thinking of unimaginable things. I got lost in the darkness of it. If it wasn’t for Harrington, I don’t know what would have become of me.’

‘Harrington?’ You could see how that would happen, but the mention of him somehow startled you. It's another piece of the story that made it feel so real.

‘He had been in a similar position as me. His commanding officer had been asking him to do all these dirty jobs until he had had enough. It had only been a couple of days since he had given up his post when we met one night at a tavern. He wouldn't have joined us if it had not been for a game of cards. Neither would have Robin.’

You had no idea how long you had sat there, just enough for your body to grow cold and stiff on the ground, but you could not care less about any of that, too focused on his story. As he mentioned Steve and Robin, his smile reached his eyes for the first time since you had arrived, revitalising you, knowing that there was still something in his life that left fond memories behind. You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand as you listened on.

‘Either way, I had fallen into a deep, dark pit, and Steve pulled me out. He showed me what I was doing did no good for anyone but them. It was eating me alive, killing me from the inside.’

‘But you still killed them all.’ The words left your mouth sooner than you could think them through. Knowing his reason behind it all made you understand, but it did not lessen the impact of the deed.

Hearing you say that, Eddie quickly turned his entire body to you, pulling himself as close to you as possible, almost pushing himself through the bars. His eyes were full of an intensity that burned through your soul.

‘I am not trying to make excuses. I did what I did—I led my crew towards the Red Tail and let them sink that ship, but not for myself. That is what Harrington made me realise. I did not need to see them die, but they needed to pay for everything they had done. For ruining all those people’s lives. You must understand that?’

He didn’t need to see them die. Moments flashed before you of your very first seconds on the Hellfire. Of Eddie walking up to you, the words he spoke in front of you.

– Carver? Where is that pesky little bilge rat?

– Bled out on the ship.

– Shame. Would have like to have seen that. ‘You weren’t even there.’ you whispered.

‘It wasn’t about me.’ He shook his head. ‘Besides, if I had been the one to kill them, it would have only satisfied them. To see me become what they had told the world I already was. All I wanted was for them to be gone. Just gone.

‘None of this,’ his eyes darted over your face. ‘Was meant to happen to you. My men were simply looking for the things in the office that had already been stolen. But then they saw you under that table, they couldn’t leave you. You were innocent.’ His hand reached out to brush over your cheek. Only at his touch did you realise that you had started to cry as he wiped down your tears. ‘And to you, I am truly sorry for everything I put you through.’

You had nothing to reply with but a kiss, pulling him close to you. The steel bars of the cell caused an awkward distance between you, yet you never felt closer. It was as if now, you finally, truly, knew who it was you were touching. The kiss had been brief, but the silence that followed stretched on. The two of you sat there, sinking away from reality, but the questions you still had kept you grounded. Just as Eddie had said, a noose dragging you back.

‘Eddie,’ you called him carefully. ‘What about the letter?’

‘What letter, princess.’ His hand kept rubbing over your tear-stained cheek.

‘You know which one I mean,’ you pulled back slightly to be able to look properly at him. ‘Who was it for?’

He laughed, the saddest laugh you had ever heard come from him, and it pained you from within. ‘What does all this matter? I will be dead soon. The less there is left of me here, the better.’

You watched him pull himself up again to sit, tap his knuckles on his knee. His answer had angered you. ‘Because…’ you took a deep breath, taking the leap you had been too afraid to take. ‘it just gives me that much less time to know the man I have fallen in love with.’ You wanted to keep as much of him as possible. That is what you could do by listening. To give him that voice in his own story.

Eddie fell silent. His mouth opened to speak, but no voice came out for several tries. He searched for the right words until he finally blinked slowly and looked up at the ceiling. His jaw clenched once again, in the way that he sucked in a deep breath. As he released it, he said: ‘Her name was Christina.’

‘Your wife?’ Again, you thought of what he had told you earlier. I already had lost everything I had to lose. He must have had people who cared for him before all this had happened.

‘Fiancée,’ he corrected, not that it mattered to either of you. ‘We had known each other our whole lives, having grown up on the same streets. We kept each other strong with this promise that one-day things would get better. That we would escape from all the burdens and create our own paradise. She was the reason I—’ he couldn’t speak of it out loud, and you didn’t need him to. You didn’t tell him to continue the story when he eventually did.

‘Foolishly, I had not told her anything of what went on. I told her things would finally be good for us when I returned. We would leave and never turn back. I thought I was protecting her by keeping it all from her, but it was the final nail in my coffin.

‘She had been the first person I saw after my return, and I could sense that something was wrong. Then the guards knocked on the door, and she opened it like she had been expecting them.

‘I could only assume it was Carver. That he told her what he told everyone else. She wouldn’t look at me, touch me, speak to me. No matter how hard I tried to prove myself, he had poisoned her with his words. In the end, she only saw me as a monster.’

The last word stung you in your chest, knowing how often you had used that exact word to describe him yourself. How often have you called him a monster or even worse? But his openness triggered more memories to come up. Your conversations with the crew of the Red Tail. Their stories and lives.

‘Christina…’ you mumbled the name with familiarity. ‘That was… that was the name of the admiral’s wife.’

‘It does not come to me as a surprise,’ he chuckled that sad laugh again. He had clearly expected to hear those words eventually. You looked at him, feeling the sting in the corners of your eyes. The tears were coming right back, but he quickly wiped those too. ‘Please, don’t. I do not need your pity. I have told you everything there is to know about me, and that is all I could or ever will ask of you again.’

‘I don’t—’ you wanted to speak, but he quickly went on. As he held your face in his hands, his thumb brushed over your lips,

‘And I will cherish these moments, every second I spent with you, until my last breath. I will think of you as the sun sets, I promise you.’

‘What—what are you talking about?’ your voice choked between sobs.

‘I never expected you to come here,’ he kissed you, passing all the feelings he had voiced earlier over to you with the touch of his lips, ‘but don’t come here again.’

‘What? No!’ You pushed yourself away. This wasn’t the plan. You were going to help him. You were going to get him out of here. As you got up to your feet, so did he, reaching for your hand again.

‘Listen to me.’ he gritted his teeth in desperation. ‘There is no way out of here, and it will only get worse for me.’ As he said so, your eyes flashed back to the bruise on his pale skin. ‘I do not want you to see me like that. Let this be where we say our goodbyes.’ He held your hand, finger over your knuckles, soothingly. You hated that he was comforting you at this moment.

‘No,’ you whimpered, head shaking. You turned your hand around in his to grab onto his fingers. One of his skull rings slowly began to slide off, and so you stopped before it dropped.

‘Please,’ he squeezed your hand.

‘No!’ you shouted, not caring if the guards outside could hear you. They might storm inside any second now and drag you out, they could try, but you wouldn’t let them. ‘I won’t let you die.’

‘It’s okay.’ He said. With every sentence he spoke, a new piece of the puzzle had been allotted to its place, but the final picture still blurred before your mind. It only seemed like even more gaps needed to be filled in, but it was slowly coming together, and when it did… You wanted to cry out.

Eddie held you as best as he could through his restraints, the faintest smile painted over his lips.

‘You knew, didn’t you?’ you stood there, defeated. ‘That if you would come back here with me, that this would happen. You knew you would be arrested and hanged.’

‘At least now I truly deserve it.’ All the crimes he committed at sea trying to help others, what he had let happen to the Red Tail. ‘So, please, just go. I promise, it will be alright.’

You wanted to scream at him. Hit him, punch him, and much more for all of this. You wanted him to hurt as much as you did as he told you to leave, but in reality, you doubted anything you could do to him would match even half of the pain you felt as you stood there. You wanted him to hurt, but all you could do was take one last step forward and pull him in to kiss you.

When you left, you could still feel him on your lips. That feeling let you move step by step out onto the street. Everything else felt not quite right, not quite real. You walked mindlessly across the empty market, barely aware of your surroundings, until you suddenly stood in front of your room door. You dropped the empty basket at your side and practically floated onto the bed.

It was late; you had no idea what time exactly, but too late for anyone to help you get out of that corset. You lay on the bed, now unable to get up, unwilling to move even if you could, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe you never stopped staring or fell into a slumber, but the next morning you still lay on your back, barely changing position over the early morning hours.

You sat in your room, looking at the tide coming and going, pushing the sand and the rocks through the hours. The hours blurred; days became night, and the moon turned into the sun. The following two days passed, and you spend them in silent disbelief and confusion, just fighting to not return to the prison cell.

There must be something you could do. People you could convince or pay or bribe in any other way to not let the execution take place. Help him escape.

This could not be the end.

But Eddie had made his final wish clear. You were not to see him again, and what could you do when no one would listen to you? When everyone on the island had his mind set on what Eddie was? You were paralysed with helplessness, and no matter what you tried to do or what to think about, it just would not go away. It grew inside you, impossible to ever leave you again, and you were slowly making peace with that. Your own price to pay for not being able to do anything for him when he truly needed it.

Even when you arrived at the square, which was filling up with an audience hours before the event, were you trying to look for escape routes, but the more people arrived, the more challenging a wall they created to penetrate. You would never be able to run through it, but you thought of it. Holding his hand, never looking back.

The sun that afternoon was flaming hot, burning through all the layers of your dress that pinned into your ribs as you sat down. The governing families got the best seats on the raised platform in the house, with plush chairs to wait on while everything was prepared. There was only the cool breeze of your fan to cool you down, but it did nothing on your nerves. They burned within just as much as the sun's rays.

You had not been sure if coming was a good choice or if you were prepared to witness Eddie’s death, but your absence would surely be questioned and… and you could not pass on the ever last possibility of seeing him. The dubiety ran through you with a threat of tears.

But more and more people came around to see, and you traced each face to find someone who could help you. Someone on your side. A familiar ally, but no luck. They were all prepared to see a man die tonight. The mumbling amongst them turned into chatter, and the conversations of local gossip turned to absolute mudslinging.

‘I heard he has killed over a thousand men with his bare hands.’

‘Well, I heard he had planned on taking over the army in order to become the next king!’

‘And I heard—’

‘I heard—’

I heard… One thing after the other, each one worse than the last. Could they not see this? All of it nothing but hearsay. They were putting a man on death row for things overheard at the market. Of course, no one would listen if you were to say this.

The sky slowly turned a warm orange, glowing on the buildings like a soft fire. The bell in the church tower struck seven times, half through instinct and half through custom, people’s heads turned in one direction. All but yours because as they all looked at the procession—the court man carrying a large scroll of parchment, followed by the executioner, who pulled the chains that were locked around Eddie’s wrists and the two guardsmen behind him, weapons at the ready—you stared ahead at the gallows. The rope hanging on it looked short and could only mean one thing.

A slow and painful death.

The clanking of the shackles echoed through the entire square with each step Eddie took. He was barely visible through the crowd, but the length of the executioner in front of him ensured everyone could follow the death march.

Eddie looked ill—pale and fragile. His steps were shaking, not improved at all by the heavy chains that pulled him forward. He stumbled around up the stairs to the gallow. You could see his eyes look up in fearful amazement at the construction of the gibbet. His Adam’s apple choked up and down, and then his eyes caught sight of you.

Everything began to move at a slowed-down pace.

He must not have expected you to come or hoped you wouldn’t because the brave and confident facade cracked for the tiniest moment. The sadness dominated his features for a glimpse of time, but it was all you could see. Too occupied by his view, he had missed his call to step up. The hangman shouted something from underneath his black hood, kicking Eddie forward. You flinched as Eddie kept his balance not to fall to the floor. You couldn’t do this. You could not watch this go down, but you did not want to leave him behind. Not ever. This could not be the end.

The court man stepped forward, unscrolling his parchment as he cleared his throat. It was enough for the people below, standing on the pavement, in the shadows of the buildings, on the balconies, to quiet down and listen as he read:

‘On this day,’ his voice carried through the entire square, ‘we bear witness to the punishment of Edward Munson, pirate, for his admitted crimes of theft, perjury, extortion, abduction, desertion, high treason and murder, sentencing him to death as decided by the governing council.

‘He shall hang here for God to give his final judgement and remain a reminder for any wrong-doers and sinners to come!’

You glanced at your father, who sat by untouched. Was Eddie’s body here to stay forever? You could not imagine having to walk around this town every day just to see his body be taken by the elements.

The sun was nearly at the horizon, shining bright at all of you, its heat still heating your skin.

The people cheered as the rope was put around Eddie’s neck, who waved to them as if they were not cheering on his demise. One hand pulling the other up, making the chain between them clink. A smile pulled at the corner of his lips, and it astonished you to see that he managed to stay his entertaining self even now. Always playing a role for the other man. Here to entertain. To provoke. To distract.

But the smile faded, body stiffened as the noose was pulled taut.

‘That’s a bit tight,’ Eddie commented, and in response to that, the hooded man pulled it even tighter. It dug into his skin. He looked down at where the floor would soon disappear from underneath him, then up at the sky and with a slight choke, he spoke out his final words, embellished by the last spark of his life:

‘To reign is worth ambition though in hell: Better to reign in hell, then serve in heaven.’

People gasped, mumbling amongst each other once more until hushed to silence by the hangman walking up to the lever that would set everything into motion. As Eddie took his final breath, everyone held theirs in anticipation. Your hands were shaking; every breath you took felt like a betrayal to him and like a stab in your lungs. Your fan moved faster, the small gushes of wind barely doing anything to cool down your face. This could not be the end. Not this. Not now. It couldn’t be—

The arm was pulled, and it was as if it had removed the ground from underneath your feet; that’s how deep the drop in your stomach was as you saw Eddie fall. It was as much as you could bear seeing before you turned around, hiding your face in your hands, hiding your tears from everyone else.

When hanging a person, two types of noose could be used. With the longer drop, the fall's impact would cause the neck to break and bring instant death. The shorter rope prolongs the act of dying as the rope digs into their throat, cutting off their air. During this, the square is filled with the sound of choked gasps, encouraged by the hundreds of onlookers.

If you had been one of them, down there on the ground, with easy access to the podium, you would have stormed it. Cut the rope loose. But you sat on the balcony, surrounded by your father and the other gentlemen and guards, unable to move anywhere. So you could only hope that there would be someone to do what you wanted to do. That someone would show up and save him like you wish you could. But when no one came, and his strangled groans became more sporadic, you had had enough. You couldn’t do this. You could not sit by and watch or even listen to what was happening before you.

Your father’s call of your name was muffled by the public, and your own internal screams as you ran out. Arms reached for you, but you pushed past them all. As soon as you were out of everyone’s sight, the tears started to flow, and they would not stop no matter how far you ran. And you wanted to run as far away as possible, as far away as your legs could take you. Off this island, away from these people. Yet, you eventually carried yourself back to the square. Each step made you dizzy through the corridors and down the stairs, but you could not stand still.

You had thought you were faster, but as soon as you pushed the heavy doors open and saw the stream of people walking away, the truth sank into your bones. You pushed your way past the crowd back to the open marketplace. As soon as it was done, people lost interest and continued with their evenings as if nothing had happened, ready for whatever next was to come eventually. By the time you reached the foot of the gallow, there was practically no one else around you.

The sun was saying its goodbyes, and his body was a dark shadow across the obscuring sky, hanging limp, still swinging from side to side but with every second coming closer to its final halt. Something about the movements looked so serene that you could not come to terms with that this was really it. Just like that… he was gone, but it happened so quickly, so easily. Too quickly.

You stood in front of him as the last people left, and the sun disappeared at the end of the world until the real darkness fell upon you, and your tears finally dried out until your throat screamed for water and air, and you could barely stand up straight.

This could not be the end.

And you were one of the first people to hear of it.

First, there was the prickling of the fire in the reading room, the flipping of the pages as you stared ahead at the words of the book, making yourself seem present in the room as your father sat by. Then there were the rushed footsteps in the hallway. The hushed whispers of hesitance behind the closed door as the men contemplated what to do. A creak of the door as they walked inside towards your father and leaned in to whisper so you would not hear what they had to say.

But the room was so quiet, you heard it quite clearly.

‘Sir, there is an…a problem.’

‘What is the matter?’ Your father, as always, did not find much need to express himself largely, but at the guard's response, his eyes grew wide, and for a moment, the glow of the fire seemed that much cooler.

‘The body…. It’s gone, sir.’

‘What do you mean,’ he composed himself quickly, ‘he is gone? How can that be?’

The guards never looked so small. ‘We do not know sir, but he is. It is like he has disappeared into thin air.’

‘Absurd,’ your father got up, and so did you. Before you got to say a word or take a step forward, he quickly stopped you. ‘You stay here.’

‘Absolutely not.’ Was all you replied as you rushed out of the room ahead of anyone else.

You had already made your peace with never stepping a foot inside the town square ever again, not if you would have to be reminded of that afternoon, of everything that happened in the last months, but as you walked back up to it, you could not have been happier that you had returned.

Only the rope left was where his body had hung and where it had meant to hang for days to come. Its perfectly knotted noose swayed like he had the last time you saw him.

Everyone else was right behind you, but just before they reached the platform with you, you noticed something in the corner of your eye. A shine against the moonlight on the wooden beams. You could just barely reach it, but with a stretch of the arm, your fingertips just about managed to get a grip on it. Before you could look at it, you heard your father shout orders at the guards, making them search everywhere in the nearby surroundings. Maybe whoever had taken the body was still somewhere nearby.

Whoever took it… was that what happened? Before you could look around for more signs that could clarify the situation, you were called to return back home. It would do little good to argue now, so you followed the guard tasked with escorting you to your room. Only when he closed your door and you sat down at your drawing desk that you opened your fist to reveal what it was you had found beneath the rope.

The pair of hollowed-out eyes of the skull ring stared back at you. There was no possible way for you to know what this meant if it even meant something, but you couldn’t help but smile. The ring was loose on your finger, but you kept it on.

This could not be the end of Captain Eddie Munson.

It wasn’t.

For most people, he lived on as a ghost story, and as you had learned from a very young age, dead men tell no tales. The living pass their stories around, mouth to mouth, page to page. Blurring the truth with their urgency for clarity, they try to make sense of things they cannot understand. Secrets become myths and legends that barely resemble the truth.

In most cases, it takes years, decades, if not centuries, but here, on this small island, the conversations on the street already trickled with gossip and rumours the following morning.

I did not want to believe it, but it must be true, what they say. He did sell his soul to the devil! And it came to retrieve his body.

I told you! It is useless to try and kill the unkillable! No, did you not hear what he had said? “Better to reign in hell!” But he is the devil incarnate!

Well, I’m surprised they caught him in the first place! Why he must be a ghost. The lot of them on that wicked ship. All cursed, and now he will return to haunt us for the rest of our lives!

Who was to say out of all of them what happened on that square once darkness fell? No one was there to see it or tell the truth, as all who could had long left the island.

They left at night, days after everything went down after the search for Eddie’s missing body had been called off, “officially” said to have been stolen but never confirmed. Those who knew what happened to it stayed in hiding until it was safe to come out until all suspicions were blurred with the gossip and basically forgotten. Quietly, they ran to the harbour, unseen by anyone, swift as the wind.

Unnoticed by anyone…but you.

Like most of the nights, unable to fall asleep, you had been looking out your window out at the harbour and the sea. The ships that calmly stood anchored there and the waves that pushed against them. Slowly, they put you to sleep, and so at first, you thought it was just a blur of your tired gaze, the dark spot in the far distance. It wasn’t a ship. And there, on the shore, there were no people preparing a boat. Not this late…

You rubbed your eyes, trying to better understand what they were doing. Packing in a hurry, throwing things into the bottom of the rowboat. As you watched, you told yourself that it was just the exhaustion speaking, that you were fooling yourself with this hope, but you could not let the chance pass you by.

You left your room without bothering to put anything on over your nightgown. Quietly to not gain any attention, but still as quickly as you could manage. Who knew how much time you had left before they would leave? Then once out of the house, you ran as fast as you could. The past few days, it felt like it had been all you had been doing, running to and from things, running after something without even knowing what you were looking for, but now you knew. You ran until your lungs began to burn from the warm and dry air. Until your feet were ready to give in and until you reached the sandy beach.

As much as you wanted to scream and shout, you kept quiet. You walked carefully up to the two figures at the shore until they noticed you next to them. It happened when you were only a few feet away; they heard the scuffle of your feet or your shaky breath and pulled their guns out. They were ready to shoot, but the second they needed to notice you in the dark saved your life. That is when you locked eyes with the man in front of you.

‘Eddie?’ you cried. Before he could say anything, you took the final few steps and closed the gap between you, pressing your lips against his. Just to know it was real. Just to make sure you had not gone completely mad. You pressed yourself against every inch of him that you could.

With the need for air, you pulled back, and instinctually, your palm met the side of his face. ‘How? I saw you—’ You both breathed heavily, chests raising drastically as he turned back to face you with a smile and press his lips against yours again. Like the last pieces of the puzzle, his hands fit on your body perfectly.

Then he pulled you apart, with his hands on your face, wiping away the tears that had formed along the way. ‘I know,’ he whispered, but the words were so close you could feel them. You could feel him. Just the feeling of his fingertips on your cheeks assured you that this was real and that it was really him. ‘And I’m so sorry.’

‘But why?’ You were trembling in his arms.

‘I had realised very early on that the only way to truly escape this place was to die,’ he smiled the smile you thought you would never see again, ‘but, well, I was not ready for that just yet.’

‘But I saw you— I watched it all happen there—how did you—’ his being broke you. You could not stop staring at the man in front of you. At all the little knicks and cracks in his skin. The fading bruises, the scars, and the long red gash along his neck that proved everything that much more.

‘I told you everything would be alright, didn’t I?’ And he never broke his promise. But still, as the truth settled in around you, it opened up a space for a new kind of hurt.

‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why let me believe that you were gone?’

‘It was the one thing that actually killed me, believe me,’ he pushed the loose hair out of your face, ‘but I needed you to believe it like anyone else. If you believed it—it would make everything so much easier.’

You wanted to ask him what on earth that was supposed to mean, but that is when you remembered the boat at his side. And when you noticed Steve waiting impatiently behind him, the oar already in his hand.

‘You’re leaving.’ It wasn’t a question. Of course, he was. He couldn’t hide here forever. Out there, in the waters, he would be genuinely free.

‘It’s all for the best, and with me gone for good, you could live on; move on,’ he said somberly.

‘Do you think I could forget about you that easily?’ Your fist had clamped onto the material of his shirt. ‘Do you really think I think so little of you? That I had not spend every minute of the past days mourning you? Missing you?’ and now you had him… just to lose him again.

‘But it would all pass. You can find someone else, someone better, and be happy.’ He looked down at your hand to see the ring you had kept on your finger for the past few days. He kissed his ring and then looked back up at you. ‘Let me go, darling.’

‘No,’ you shook your head, much like you had in the dungeon, but this time, you were more adamant this time than ever. ‘I won’t let you. Not this time.’

He mumbled your name, trying to argue, but you were ready with a rebuttal before he even said anything.

‘I do not want to spend another day without you. Not if I know you are somewhere out there—’ you had been looking at the ring too, but then looked at him again as an idea formed in your brain. ‘Take me with you.’

‘I can’t do that,’ his smile was airy and light but filled with regret. ‘You belong here.’

‘No, I don’t. Remember what I told you when I came to see you?’ You pleaded with him. ‘Do you remember?’ You pushed the words out when he didn’t say anything.

‘Yes.’

‘So, please, don’t leave me. Not again.’ At this point, you punched every word into his chest weakly as you began to cry again, and he let you. Then, when you were finally done, he held you, telling Steve off when he tried to put this to an end, even though he was right. There wasn’t much time left. The sun would come up soon again, and people would awake and see you, and it would all have been for nothing.

‘I wish I could give you the world, darling,’ he said, ‘I call you a princess, but we both know you should be treated as a queen and get anything you ask for, but I can’t do that for you. I am not the man you should be with.’ He kissed the top of your head. ‘Please, forgive me.’ And with that, he let you go.

You had let him do many things in the past, but not this time.

‘Well, I don’t forgive you.’ He had already turned around to get to the boat, but you just stepped past him, stunning him and poor Steve, as you got in. ‘If you wanted the easy way out, Munson, you should have thought twice about who to kidnap.’

The two men looked bewildered momentarily, too stunned to respond, but Steve was the first to respond. ‘She’s right,’ and he followed you in. The boat rocked from side to side. You sighed as you looked at Eddie as he stood in the sand.

‘I’m not scared, Eddie.’ you reached out your hand to him. ‘I want this.’ You wanted him. You wanted this life with him. You wanted to travel the world and have a life of adventures. You wanted to be free.

Eddie looked at you, still in apparent shock at your sudden assertion. You might have thought you had changed so much, but he still saw the same stubborn woman as that cursed day when you were hauled aboard his ship. On the contrary, he had been the one that changed, and he realised that as he cursed himself there on that beach. He knew he might come to regret this, but he thought he had regretted most of his choices, most of what he had done in the past months, and yet, he could not have been happier with where his life had led him, as it all led him to you. So, he took your hand and pulled himself into the boat.

You dropped the weights that had kept you anchored and made your way out into the sea where the Hellfire lay by patiently, waiting for her Captain and his Princess—despite what their titles actually may be—to return home.

The End.

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