#and the sailor moon ones would be within reach so I can let myself turn into a child and play with them

[bootyful-seventeen]

My sailor moon figures came in and I’m only missing sailor Saturn now 😭😭

[the-king-andthe-lionheart]

So this is definitely in response to that certain dark section of our fandom (you know exactly who you are) who are throwing a fit about the Arya and Daenerys fandoms enjoying the possibility of a canon Daenarya friendship in the future.  So let’s look at all the quotes that possibly foreshadow a future Arya and Dany friendship and put it into context.

It was very dark right now, she realized. She hugged her bare knees tight against her chest and shivered. She would wait quietly and count to ten thousand. By then it would be safe for her to come creeping back out and find her way home.

By the time she had reached eighty-seven, the room had begun to lighten as her eyes adjusted to the blackness. Slowly the shapes around her took on form. Huge empty eyes stared at her hungrily through the gloom, and dimly she saw the jagged shadows of long teeth. She had lost the count. She closed her eyes and bit her lip and sent the fear away. When she looked again, the monsters would be gone. Would never have been. She pretended that Syrio was beside her in the dark, whispering in her ear. Calm as still water, she told herself. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. She opened her eyes again.

The monsters were still there, but the fear was gone.

Arya got to her feet, moving warily. The heads were all around her. She touched one, curious, wondering if it was real. Her fingertips brushed a massive jaw. It felt real enough. The bone was smooth beneath her hand, cold and hard to the touch. She ran her fingers down a tooth, black and sharp, a dagger made of darkness. It made her shiver.

"It's dead," she said aloud. "It's just a skull, it can't hurt me." Yet somehow the monster seemed to know she was there. She could feel its empty eyes watching her through the gloom, and there was something in that dim, cavernous room that did not love her. She edged away from the skull and backed into a second, larger than the first. For an instant she could feel its teeth digging into her shoulder, as if it wanted a bite of her flesh. Arya whirled, felt leather catch and tear as a huge fang nipped at her jerkin, and then she was running. Another skull loomed ahead, the biggest monster of all, but Arya did not even slow. She leapt over a ridge of black teeth as tall as swords, dashed through hungry jaws, and threw herself against the door. - Arya III AGOT

Here is the initial passage that has to do with dragons in Arya’s story.  She comes across the dragon skulls in the dark and feels afraid of them.  She feels as if the eyes of the skulls were watching her and did not like her. She also doesn’t recognize them for what they are.  She initially refers to them as monsters, but later she comes to realize they are dragons: 

This time the monsters did not frighten her. They seemed almost old friends. Arya held the candle over her head. With each step she took, the shadows moved against the walls, as if they were turning to watch her pass. "Dragons," she whispered. She slid Needle out from under her cloak. The slender blade seemed very small and the dragons very big, yet somehow Arya felt better with steel in her hand. - Arya IV AGOT

Now admittedly the first quote does sound like the foreshadowing could suggest antagonism between Arya and Dany, but the second quote doesn’t suggest this.  Arya thinks of them as if they are old friends.  That is the most notable sentence of the paragraph, not the fact that she slid Needle out.  But when you actually look at this paragraph you actually see a duality here.  The monsters did not frighten her.  They seemed almost old friends.  Yet she slides her blade out and feels better?  So for me this quote just seems to foreshadow that Dany will be Arya’s friend, yet Arya will remain wary of her dragons like anyone naturally would be.

So putting these two quotes into context, it tells us that if Arya and Dany will meet they will initially be antagonistic and wary of each other (most Daenarya fans I’ve seen acknowledge this will likely be the case).  However it also suggests that this wariness will eventually fade and they will become friends.  Arya doesn’t need to think she is wholly safe from the dragons to have a friendship with Dany.  EVERYONE is wary about the dragons, just like most people would be unsure and most likely afraid if they were in the same room as a large cat or a bear. 

But this isn’t Arya’s only dragon connections in the narrative.  Arya’s closest relationship is with Jon, who is half Targaryen.  In Braavos Arya is fascinated by the courtesans and the Black Pearl in particular:

"The Black Pearl," she told them. Merry claimed the Black Pearl was the most famous courtesan of all. "She's descended from the dragons, that one," the woman had told Cat. "The first Black Pearl was a pirate queen. A Westerosi prince took her for a lover and got a daughter on her, who grew up to be a courtesan. Her own daughter followed her, and her daughter after her, until you get to this one [...] - Cat of the Canals AFFC

The woman with him could not have been more than a third his age. She was so lovely that the lamps seemed to burn brighter when she passed. She had dressed in a low-cut gown of pale yellow silk, startling against the light brown of her skin. Her black hair was bound up in a net of spun gold, and a jet-and-gold necklace brushed against the top of her full breasts. As they watched, she leaned close to the envoy and whispered something in his ear that made him laugh. "They should call her the Brown Pearl," Mercy said to Daena. "She's more brown than black."

"The first Black Pearl was black as a pot of ink," said Daena. "She was a pirate queen, fathered by a Sealord's son on a princess from the Summer Isles. A dragon king from Westeros took her for his lover."

"I would like to see a dragon," Mercy said wistfully. - Mercy TWOW

There is even foreshadowing that Arya will form a closer relationship with the Black Pearl in the future by becoming an apprentice for her so Arya can refine her highborn manners so it’s easier for the FM to place her into highborn society to do their work, because why not utilize a highborn girl in this way?

But also notice that Arya/Mercy is friends with a girl named “Daena” which is ridiculously close to the name Daenerys.  And in the same conversation with Daena (Daenerys) Arya/Mercy also said she wished to see a dragon.  And no this isn’t “Mercy’s” wish, this is Arya’s wish:

As Arya crossed the yard to the bathhouse, she spied a raven circling down toward the rookery, and wondered where it had come from and what message it carried. Might be it's from Robb, come to say it wasn't true about Bran and Rickon. She chewed on her lip, hoping. If I had wings I could fly back to Winterfell and see for myself. And if it was true, I'd just fly away, fly up past the moon and the shining stars, and see all the things in Old Nan's stories, dragons and sea monsters and the Titan of Braavos, and maybe I wouldn't ever fly back unless I wanted to. - Arya X ACOK

Doesn’t really sound like Arya hates dragons or have any issues regarding them.  She wants to see them irregardless of any fear they may inspire within her that everyone would naturally have upon seeing a dragon.

Arya also expresses a wish to fly throughout her narrative and she also has wing symbolism in her arc:

If I was a crow I could fly down and peck off his stupid fat pouty lips. - Arya X ACOK

If I had wings I could fly back to Winterfell and see for myself.  And if it was true, I'd just fly away, fly up past the moon and the shining stars, and see all the things in Old Nan's stories, dragons and sea monsters and the Titan of Braavos, and maybe I wouldn't ever fly back unless I wanted to. - Arya X ACOK

I wish I could change into a wolf and grow wings and fly away. - Arya XIII ASOS

She might be bald and skinny, but Mercy had a pretty smile, and a certain grace. Even Izembaro agreed that she was graceful. She was not far from the Gate as the crows flies, but for girls with feet instead of wings the way was longer. - Mercy TWOW

Also lets not forget how similar Arya and Dany are to each other and how many parallels they share.  They are both lost princesses exiled and sent to Essos, specifically Braavos, after their father's deaths at the hands of Lannister's.  They each know what it's like to be bought and sold and to be enslaved – Dany as a child bride and Arya as a child soldier.  And they both have pretenders trying to take their claims.  Both have been forced into becoming smallfolk, living in poverty and starved.  And they both know what it's like to be hunted and scared.  They adapt exceedingly well into other environments and cultures, and their morality and sense of justice are very attuned, as they seek to protect those that can not protect themselves.  Very protective, they are both empathetic and maternal and care for the sick, ailing, and dying.  Both of them are survivors and have both suffered abuse and sexual assault (more so for Dany, but it's still there).  They are both clever and know how to manipulate people.  They are both polyglots and both of their deepest desires are for home and family/pack.  They both try to live up to the image of their older siblings (ie Sansa and Rhaegar).  Arya is said to look and act like Lyanna and Daenerys is compared to Rhaegar by the people that knew him.   They are both very close to their house sigils and even dream about them and the mystical beasts they both own.  They both love horseback riding and they both have encountered mystical prophets.  Wanted/considered becoming sailors and they both have fantastic people skills.  Not to mention that it was Arya who said that the slaves should have killed the masters, while Dany is leading a slave uprising to overthrow and yes, execute the masters.

Dany is also not some “mad queen” and she does listen to the people who knew her father and Rhaegar.  She is learning the truth about the monster her father was and learning to accept that.  So there is no reason why Dany should continue to feel antagonistic towards the next generation of Stark’s for something they didn’t do.  

I’ve also seen comments about how the fire devastation that is within Arya’s story must clearly mean “Dark Dany” and that Arya and Dany will be antagonistic towards each other in canon when they meet.  I’m assuming these people are referring to the burning barn scene:

"You take her!" she yelled. "You get her out! You do it!" The fire beat at her back with hot red wings as she fled the burning barn. It felt blessedly cool outside, but men were dying all around her. She saw Koss throw down his blade to yield, and she saw them kill him where he stood. Smoke was everywhere. There was no sign of Yoren, but the axe was where Gendry had left it, by the woodpile outside the haven. As she wrenched it free, a mailed hand grabbed her arm. Spinning, Arya drove the head of the axe hard between his legs. She never saw his face, only the dark blood seeping between the links of his hauberk. Going back into that barn was the hardest thing she ever did. Smoke was pouring out the open door like a writhing black snake, and she could hear the screams of the poor animals inside, donkeys and horses and men. She chewed her lip, and darted through the doors, crouched low where the smoke wasn't quite so thick.

A donkey was caught in a ring of fire, shrieking in terror and pain. She could smell the stench of burning hair. The roof was gone up too, and things were falling down, pieces of flaming wood and bits of straw and hay. Arya put a hand over her mouth and nose. She couldn't see the wagon for the smoke, but she could still hear Biter screaming. She crawled toward the sound. - Arya IV ACOK

Arya rolled headfirst into the tunnel and dropped five feet. She got dirt in her mouth but she didn't care, the taste was fine, the taste was mud and water and worms and life. Under the earth the air was cool and dark. Above was nothing but blood and roaring red and choking smoke and the screams of dying horses. She moved her belt around so Needle would not be in her way, and began to crawl. A dozen feet down the tunnel she heard the sound, like the roar of some monstrous beast, and a cloud of hot smoke and black dust came billowing up behind her, smelling of hell. Arya held her breath and kissed the mud on the floor of the tunnel and cried. For whom, she could not say. - Arya IV ACOK

This chapter does not mean that Dany is going to go “evil” or “mad” and start burning stuff to the ground.  You guys do remember that Dany has three dragons right?  And that Dany is only the dragonrider to Drogon?  That leaves two other possible dragons that could be stolen from Dany.  We have Euron/Victarion who has the dragon binder horn and then we have Aegon who may or may not be able to claim one of those dragons for himself.  There is also the possibility that Euron dies or Aegon dies and someone else will take their places as dragonriders via Targaryen blood or use of that horn.  So besides Dany we have Aegon, Jon, Euron, and Tyrion who may all ride dragons within the story as they all have the proper set-up and foreshadowing for it to be a possibility.  So why is it the automatic assumption that it will be Dany burning shit down?   

Not to mention, wildfire has the same types of language used as the two quotes above:

And then some vast beast had let out a roar, and green flames were all around them: wildfire, pyromancer's piss, the jade demon [...] From bank to bank there was nothing but burning ships and wildfire. The sight of it seemed to stop his heart for a moment, and he could still remember the sound of it, the crackle of flames, the hiss of steam, the shrieks of dying men, and the beat of that terrible heat against his face as the current swept him down toward hell. - Davos I ASOS

So considering there not only is there a ton of foreshadowing that it will be Cersei who destroys King’s Landing with wildfire, but also there is foreshadowing that Jon Connington will do something incredibly drastic to win and keep the Iron Throne for Aegon.  And may I remind the audience that the fires Arya went through and experienced in the Riverlands had zero to do with Dany.  They were the direct result of the Lannisters.

So if Arya IV ACOK is foreshadowing a future fire she is stuck in, there is no evidence that the fire will be caused by Dany nor that the fire is dragonfire.  And if you are going to point out the show as evidence, let me tell you something, go to the youtuber The Dragon Demands and watch his videos dissecting everything about the scene of Dany burning King’s Landing by using the script, listening to BtS content, looking at the storyboards, actually noting that a scene of Cersei looking out the window, depicting her watching people put barrels of wildfire on the battlements, etc.  Because the compilation he makes proves that Dany burning KL the way that she did in 8x05 was a last minute change.  It was supposed to be an accidental wildfire explosion before they changed it so they could justify Jon killing her.  But I’m sure even with the evidence you’ll still cling to the idea of Dark!Dany because you are incredibly insecure about your fictitious ship and your blatant mischaracterization of your favorite “pure as the driven snow /s” character, because there is literally nothing in the books that foreshadows Dany going “mad” or “dark”.  So why don’t you take your jealousies about Daenerys and Arya and the very possible Daenarya friendship somewhere else.

[pressedinthepages]

Wash

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Jaskier/Reader

Rating: E

Masterlist

a/n:  Reader Request: [Hi! What about Jaskier saving the female reader but getting hurt in the process. So she takes care of him after. One day she's helping him to take a bath and Jaskiers body is reacting a bit too excited. But she doesn't mind and decides to extend her help a little bit …]  ok so here’s the tea, i totally forgot about the jaskier saving the day part...so i wrote this instead XD

also thanks to @sometimesiwrite​ for being 10/10.

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: language, smut, fluff, blood

Jaskier stumbles into a tavern and finds a friendly face.

    Your chin rests in your hands as your eyelids grow heavier with each passing moment. It’s late, and there hasn’t been a guest in your tavern since the snow started falling when the sun set. Everyone headed home, leaving you here to watch the hours tick by. 

    Now, the moon hangs high in the sky and the snow falls steadily outside, blanketing the world in silent tranquility. That is, until the heavy door to the tavern bursts open with a flurry of snow and icy air, and quickly shut once more. But there was not only a light dusting of snow on the floor now.

    A young man, seemingly deposited straight from the pages of a maiden’s storybook, leans against the door. His cloak hangs askew on his shoulders and he is clutching an expensive-looking doublet in long, pale fingers. He looks up at you and you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips. His cheeks and nose are pink with chill, making his eyes look like they are glowing in the dim light of your tavern.

    Oh, and those eyes. Bluer than the clearest sea, and you can see that they hold depths beneath them that could turn even the most experienced sailor dizzy.

    “Ah, well met,” the man breathes, his chest heaving as he catches his breath in the warm room. He stands to his full height now, several inches taller than you, and slides his cloak off of his frame. You gasp when his chemise is revealed, the shoulder torn and stained with blood the color of rich wine. 

    You rush to his side, taking the cloak and his doublet from him and tossing them onto a nearby hook for travelers. Quickly throwing the lock down for the door, you usher him towards the rear of the tavern where your living quarters rest. “By the Gods, are you alright…?”

    “Jaskier, my name is Jaskier, dear,” he smiles, but you can see the twinge of pain now that you are a bit closer. “And while I have been better, I have certainly been in nastier scraps. Nothing to be worried about.”

    You give him your name in return before you turn to stoke the fire that had been warming water for your own bath that night. “Well forgive me, Jaskier, but I think that it may be a good idea for me to worry enough for the both of us.”

    He genuinely laughs at that, leaning carefully against the wall. Fuck, his voice drips like honey from a pot. Your cheeks warm a bit as you lift the pot, pouring the warm water into your tub on the floor. “We need to get you cleaned up so I can take a look at that.”

    Jaskier quirks a brow, mischief painting his features in broad strokes. “What, the local tavern owner is the healer too?”

    You shake your head good-naturedly, gesturing to him to join you. “The closest healer is in the next town over, but I have seen my fair share of injuries.”

    “Then I should count myself lucky that it was your tavern I found myself in.” Jaskier moves quickly, reaching up to pull at the already loose strings to his shirt. He undoes them and it falls open and off of him, cascading to the ground in a pool of creamy fabric streaked with crimson.

    His chest is broader than it originally seemed, and, Melitele help you, covered in dark hair. You can see the strength that his body carries covered by a gentle layer of softness, almost certainly from a good diet of wine and good company. 

    And then he flinches as his fingers drift to the laces of his trousers, his shoulder twitching in pain. “C-could you?” He looks up sheepishly, and your hands reach out before you can think twice about it.

    Your hands shake as the laces fall open and you look up and away to try and preserve at least some of his modesty, but you can feel how warm and solid his legs are as you push the pants down to the ground.

    “Thank you, sweet girl,” Jaskier says, holding his hand out to help you up. You lead him towards the warm bath you’ve prepared and help him settle in before pulling up a stool behind him.

    The moan that he lets out, though, when he reclines back in the bath, would make a priestess blush. The heat from the water flushes his chest and his head thunks against the rim of the tub and his blue, blue eyes blink open at you.

    You swallow in an attempt to quell the redness creeping across your cheeks, but it's no good. The best you can hope for is that your professionalism won't let you down. 

"We should get that wound clean and bandaged before you lose blood into the hot water," you say, having dealt with your fair share of injuries from tavern brawls and travelers. Even a witcher once came through with a bloody brow... took some convincing to let you clean him up, but he eventually conceded. He was nice, you thought as you got your med kit from behind the bar. Nicer than you'd've expected when he first came in, scowling and bloody and asking for vodka. You hum to yourself as you look for the right bottle.

“Do you sing?” Jaskier asks, seemingly unperturbed by his injury. You turn back to him with the bottle of clear alcohol in hand, your skirt swirling around on the floor. “Not typically, no,” you reply, sitting back down on the stool and uncorking the bottle. Your free hand finds his uninjured shoulder and rubs soothing circles over the tan skin. “This will sting.”

He inhales sharply and grits out a moan as the everclear wicks into his open wound, “Vayopatis that smarts!!” 

“I’m sorry. A bit of tough love, I’m afraid. Hold still.” Your words are firm but your touch is gentle and caring as you continue.

“So,” you ask lightly as you dip a clean cloth into the water, lifting it to the wound, “just how did you find yourself with this?” 

“Ah, nothing far out of sorts,” Jaskier replies, his voice thin and pained. “Heard someone speaking poorly of a dear friend of mine, so I gave them a piece of my mind. As I turned to walk away, they threw a knife at me! A KNIFE! Coward.”

“Seems you got lucky, looks like it just grazed the skin.” The wound has stopped bleeding now, and Jaskier seems to be melting a bit under your hands. “You still with me?” 

“Oh, very much so,” Jaskiers voice is thick and strained, and his neck has flushed a pretty pink.

“Would you like me to help, ah...wash?” Your voice trembles a bit as you reach down next to you for the soap.

Jaskier smiles, his shoulders relaxing and his knees poking up above the water as he gets comfortable. “I’ll never say no to a bath from a lovely lady.”

You roll your eyes and laugh a little, the tension easing away like suds in the water. You add some soap to the cloth and drag it across his back, over the lines of muscle and down his spine. You are careful around the tender skin of his injured shoulder, but he seems content to lay and let you wash him. 

The air turns thick in the room with the warmth of the water and you can feel sweat bead at the nape of your neck. You unlace the neck of your shirt and let it fall open, the soft skin of your breasts just peeking out into the night. You stand and bring the stool around to sit at Jaskiers side facing him, and you don’t miss when his eyes linger on your exposed bosom.

You hold out your hand expectantly and Jaskier’s gaze falls to your fingers. He stares for a moment, his mind drawing a blank as the air around him feels tighter and tighter. You clear your throat and wiggle your fingers, and Jaskier finally gets the hint. He slides his hand into yours and you hold up his arm, running the soapy cloth down from his shoulder to his wrist. The grime of travel is washed away with every stroke, and Jaskier swallows thickly with each passing moment, warmth blossoming low in his belly. 

You can’t claim to be unaffected either, for you can feel his gaze burning into your skin like a brand. But not in an unwelcome, perverse way. No, Jaskier’s eyes watching your every move feel curious, searching for an answer to a yet unasked question.

Once both arms are clean you lean in, pressing the cloth to the broad expanse of his chest. You drag it lazily over the crook of his collarbone and down through the soft smattering of hair on his skin. His breath hitches and his cheeks turn pink when you brush over his nipple, and you bite the inside of your cheek in an effort to stifle your own moan at the noise.

Your hand drifts lower over his stomach and you can feel it rise and fall with each of his breaths. You are just about to dip below the line of the water when Jaskier’s hand suddenly darts out and catches your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. You instantly retreat, cheeks growing warm with the ideas of what exactly you were about to do.

“Ah, darling, wait,” Jaskier breathes, keeping your hand tight in his. “I just-I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea...y-you’ve been so wonderful and I-uh, my body is ah, well. Very appreciative...” 

You blink as your heart does flips in your chest and you only barely resist the urge to glance down to the water between his legs. “Well, if you wanted...I coul-I could help?”

And then, Jaskier’s face does something truly remarkable. It turns from the soft, apologetic young man to something darker, more primal. His eyes dilate and he grins toothily, and he tips his chin up, exposing the graceful line of his neck. “If you’re certain, darling, be my guest.”

His grip on your hand loosens, though he keeps you well within his grasp. Your hand goes back to his stomach and your fingers drift lower and lower, teasing at the edge of the water before plunging in. Jaskier’s eyes flutter closed and his breath catches when you find his arousal between his legs, hard and straining just past where the eye could see. 

You carefully wrap your hand around the base, feeling the coarse hairs tickle your fingers. His cock throbs at your touch and you move your hand slowly, tugging gently up and back down. “Gods, woman,” Jaskier rasps, his fingers flexing where they now grip the rim of the tub, “h-how are your hands s-so soft?”

“Softer somewhere else,” you whisper, smirking with a wink when his eyes shoot open and grip yours with fervor. Your hand moves faster, just a bit, but enough to have his hips rocking up to meet you. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier’s chest rises high and falls far with every gulping breath that is pulled from him. You lean in and press your lips to his skin, hot and wet and by the Gods so are you. Warmth pools low in your belly as you watch Jaskier fall apart under your hand, and for a fleeting moment, you think about what it may be like to have this in your bed.

“C’mon, Jaskier,” you murmur against his skin, twisting your wrist and squeezing lightly around him, “let me take care of you.”

Jaskier nods and swallows thickly, his hips thrusting harder and harder, chasing a quickly approaching high. Water sloshes out onto the floor and he gasps for air as he grows closer and closer under your watchful eye. “P-please, holy hells, I ju-”

“Go on, Jaskier,” you murmur into the hollow of his throat, “give me your pleasure.”

And then, seemingly quite surprisingly to him, he does.

A ragged gasp tears from his throat as he throws his head back, stuttering up into your hand. Warmth coats your fingers and you slow, still intent on wringing every last drop from him. Jaskier in the throes of climax is a glorious sight, his cheeks pink and muscles tensed, teeth bared with every breath he pulls. His stomach tenses and you move your hand away, not wanting to push too far. You press your lips to his neck one last time before standing, crossing over to the drying cloth that hangs on the back of your door. 

“J-just give me a moment, darling,” Jaskier breathes, slowly blinking his eyes open. “I’ll gladly return the favor.” 

You bring your washing jug over to the bath and set it on the stool along with the cloth. “Don’t worry about me, Jaskier,” you murmur as you help him to stand in the bath, “I just wanted to make you feel good.”

You find the washing cloth and dip it into the jug, wiping Jaskier down from the now-soiled bathwater. Now that he’s standing and you feel a bit more comfortable, you are able to truly appreciate just how pretty his cock is. Long and just thick enough, with dark hair around the base between his legs. And, Gods be good, half-hard against his thigh. You look up at him through your lashes and find him reaching for you, fitting his finger under your chin and bringing you to close the gap. 

“And now,” he whispers darkly, danger dripping with honey, “I’d like to make you feel good.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

for mermay, 12 ot4 nsfw?

Here you go! 12 was “captured.” Barclay’s design is based on a basking shark, Indrid’s on a flying fish.

They’ve done it. 

The crew of the Washington has captured a live mermaid; not the remains of one, not the stories of drunk or scared sailors, but a genuine, breathing, swimming mermaid. 

Joseph keeps pointing out that, technically, they’ve caught a merman. One with a smooth, almost black tail, coppery hair and beard, and a human torso that puts sculptors to shame. 

Not that Josephs attention to those details is for any reason other than scientific curiosity. He, Captain Hayes, several officers, and Duck Newton, the botanist joining them for this mission, are all regarding the merman in the tank constructed for just this purpose. Their guest is pressed to the far side of the glass, watching them with frightened eyes. 

The only person who looks less comfortable than him with this scenario is Duck. 

“I still say there’s no reason to keep the fella cooped up in here. Look at him, he’s terrified. And I don’t buy for one second the crew was gentle when they hauled him up. He fought at all, they probably got rough with him.”

“It is a good thing, then, Mr. Newton that you are not in charge of this endeavor.” Hayes says with a disapproving glance at the scientist. Duck frowns the instant the captain looks elsewhere. Joseph is more on Duck’s side, the mans willingness to speak up when he sees something unkind one of Joseph’s favorite traits. But he’s certain there’s room for compromise between the two views; after all, that’s why he’s here.

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

This is the worst day of Barclay’s life.

One minute he’s searching for urchins near shore, the next he’s being pulled towards the surface in a net. The last thing he sees under the waves is Indrid rounding the rocks, his red eyes widening in anger and sorrow as Barclay is heaved into a longboat. 

Barclay wishes he could tell him it isn’t his fault; the other mer has done so much to look out for him, but you can’t stay ahead of danger forever. Instead he’s huddled in the far corner of his prison, wanting to know what’s happening but terrified of drawing the human’s attention back to him. A parade of them come and go, some pointing at him or talking in circles while looking his way. One, black haired and tall, is in the room the most, writing at a desk and pulling books from a short set of shelves. His most frequent companion is another dark-haired man, shorter and stouter who keeps glancing at the first man whenever he thinks he’s not looking, then turning away with a pink color in his cheeks. 

The moon is up now, and only the tall human remains, writing by the light of a lantern. Cautiously, Barclay rises so his head is out of the water. At the splash, the human turns. 

“Oh, good evening. I, um, I’m sorry for not introducing myself sooner, but I decided it would probably be less frightening if I let you come to me in your own time. I’m Joseph Stern.”

“Barclay. Uh, are, are you the one who had them catch me?”

Joseph shakes his head, “No. I’m one of two scientists aboard this vessel. Her primary goal is to find new valuable riches for trade, but a secondary one is to collect knowledge of rare and exotic creatures, so that we might broaden our understanding of the world. I specialize in animals and my colleague, Duck, is an expert in plants.”

“...That doesn’t explain why I’m here. I’m neither of those things.”

The human sighs, “I know, but most of the sailors and officers view you as an animal.”

“But not you?” He narrows his eyes, swimming backwards. 

“Not at all. In all my research, I’ve found nothing to suggest merfolk are any less men than myself. The way you and I are talking now confirms that.”

“So I can go now?”

“No” he must notice the alarm in Barclay’s face because he sets his hands on the rim and the tank and adds, hurriedly, “but you’ll get to eventually. My job is to learn all I can from you, about your kind, your numbers, things like that. I’d prefer to do it in a more comfortable setting but I was, um, overruled.” He gives Barclay a reassuring smile, eyes bluer than open sea on a summer day, “You’ll be a free man in no time, I promise.”

Barclay nods, sinks back under the water, and eventually falls asleep. When wakes up at dawn, Joseph is still there, asleep in his chair. When Barclay asks if that’s how humans sleep, the man shakes his head, “No, we have beds. I just didn’t want to leave you alone your first night here, in case there was something you needed.”

His stomach growls as another human arrives with a tray of food and a pot of something that smells very, very good. He leans out of the tank, startling Joseph when he turns around.

“Oh! Um, I asked them to bring fish for your breakfast but you can try some of mine if you like. Assuming it won’t make you sick?”

“I’ve had human food before. But that’s new” he points at the pot, “Ma-, uh, the humans I know only drink tea.”

Joseph hands him the cup of what he soon learns is coffee and he sips it with a sigh; it’s bitter, but woody and dark in a way he enjoys. The human leaves, returns a few minutes later with a second cup, slides the tray within arms reach of Barclay and pulls a notebook from his desk, “Do you mind if we talk over breakfast?”

Barclay doesn’t mind at all. In fact, as the days go by he minds his captivity less and less. He and Joseph talk for hours, not only about mer society but about humans and their lives as well. About myths and stories, and a great deal about food, which Joseph brings him in abundance. Some of it gets soggy when Barclay tries to hold it, and they settle on Joseph keeping it between his fingers or in his palm while Barclay samples it. The first few times they do this the human blushes and looks away. When he finally meets Barclay’s eyes, the mer grins at him and licks his palm clean.

Joseph also takes great care to ensure Barclay isn’t bored. Barclay learns some chess and card games by watching Joseph and Duck play after dinner. In exchange he teaches Joseph how to play Five Shells High. When Joseph isn’t around, Barclay talks to Duck, and finds him good company, funny but also happy to let Barclay think in peace. 

He still longs for his freedom, for the ability to dive and swim in an endless sea. However, as Joseph sits beside his tank in the evenings, reading to him and smiling whenever Barclay reaches out to toy with his hair, he’s not in much of a hurry to get home as he should be. 

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

Any other time, Duck would tease Joe for mooning over a merman and reading him bedtime stories. Trouble is, he’s not much better. 

The night they brought Barclay aboard, Duck was halfway to bed when someone threw a crab through his open window. Peering out revealed another merman, silver haired and wary.

“Duck Newton?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, that is a relief. I was afraid I’d alerted the wrong human to my presence.”

“You threw this into my room on purpose?”

“Indeed. I, ah, foresaw you being both sympathetic to my plight and disinclined to tell others of my being here.” He stays close to the hull, voice a lilting whisper.

“The fella we caught today a friend of yours?”

“Yes, a close one. Is he alright? I, my visions show he is safe and that the human looking after him is kind but I, I am” his red eyes look sadly down at the water, “I am worried all the same.”

Duck wants to reach out to him, stroke that moonlight hair and tell him not to worry, “Ain’t no shame in carin about a friend. He’s safe, and he won’t be stuck on this boat forever. And the man stayin with him is a decent, honorable sort.”

The mer sighs, rests his head on the side of the ship, “Thank goodness.” When he turns his face to Duck, it steals the breath from his lungs, “may I come to you again for news of him?”

Duck smiles, “Sure.”

Indrid, as the mer calls himself, comes back every night. Luckily, Joe spends his nights in the cargo room with Barclay instead of in his and Duck’s quarters, so there’s no one to witness their conversations. It’s not that the other man would react badly; as much as Duck likes him, Joe is a little too inclined to defer to authority, and might put Indrid in danger without meaning to.

Better still, when Duck is ashore searching for specimens, Indrid keeps him company. The mer swims parallel to his path in the sand, or follows him up briny tributaries to show him rare plants. 

Unlike Barclay, Indrid has visible fins beside the one on his back; two he can extend from his sides. All are the same silver-blue shade that colors Duck’s dreams these days. 

Tonight they’re talking at the window about Duck’s travels when Indrid goes still. Then he sinks under the waves as the door behind Duck opens.

“Mr.Newton, who are you talking to? The men said they saw a creature off the side of the ship.”

“Uhhhhhhhh”

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

“I despise you.” Indrid glares over the edge of his tank.

“I said I was sorry! Ain’t my fault I can’t lie for shit.”

“No, but you could have told me about that issue before it got me imprisoned on a ship!”

“Hey, you’re the one who can see the future, you coulda warned me they were comin.”

Joseph and Barclay trade a concerned look; after an initial chirp of joy at seeing Barclay, Indrid directed all his focus to glaring at Duck while Woodbridge gave them their orders. 

“Um, Indrid, right? I’m sure Duck didn’t mean for you to be caught. And we’ll both make sure you’re comfortable while you’re here.”

Indrid spares a dagger filled glance for Joseph, then swims to the side of the tank closest to Barclay’s enclosure, popping up and leaning over to his friend, the two of them trading clicks and trills. The conversation calms Indrid some. Barclay explains later that he assured his friend the stay was only temporary and, while the conditions were not ideal, the company was good. 

All the same, any time Duck sits near Indrid’s tank, a silver tail splashes him with water. The botanist takes it in stride, seeming to accept it as a deserved penalty for getting Indrid trapped. 

Several days later, as they’re both working, the botanist sets down his pen, stands, and sets his back against Indrid’s tank. 

“Joe, gimme a hand please.”

Joseph pushes as hard as he can, and the tank scrapes across the floor.

“I can still splash you from here.”

“That’s not why I’m doin it. You and Barclay keep starin at each other all sad; seems mighty cruel to keep you where you can see each other but can’t touch.”

Indrid falls silent until they get the tanks side by side. Then he rises from the water and leans out to rub his cheek against Duck’s own with a trill of thanks. The research room is more peaceful (and much drier) after that.

Three nights later, dinner stops by the hold to see if either of the mers needs anything from him. He opens and then immediately shuts the door and backs away; he’s learned that mers are demonstrative, but heated, frantic kissing and moaning suggests something they’d rather not have him present for. Lord, why did it look like Barclay had two…

The hall is hotter than a furnace, and as he walks down it as fast as dignity will allow, Duck steps from the officers dining room. Wordlessly, Joseph grabs him and pulls him the rest of the way to their room.

“Everythin okay JoeOHfuck” Duck’s heads thuds back against the door as Joseph palms him through his trousers, “what’s gotten into you huh?” 

“I, I need, I saw, um” he rests his forehead on the door, hands gripping Duck’s hips, “Barclay and Indrid making use of their rare chance at privacy.”

“Uh huh” Duck kisses along his jaw, “and here I’ve been wonderin how to get you back into my bed since that night in Port Royal, when it turns out I just need to find some mermen and pay ‘em to fuck in front of you.”

“It’s not just that” Joseph looks down at him earnestly, “it’s you too. It’s so hard to keep my hands to myself, to maintain decorum and poise and not beg for your kisses every minute we’re at work. Seeing them together snapped the rest of my control, I need release but more than that I need you.”

“Right here, darlin” Duck pulls him down into a kiss, leaves a trail of them across his face, “so show me just how much you need me.”

He thuds to his knees, the two of them tugging and tossing at clothing until Duck’s legs are bare and Joseph can bury his face between them. He loves doing this, loves feeling enveloped by the perfection that’s Duck;s body. His hands grope and circle, relishing the muscle and fat beneath his hands as Duck holds him by the hair and tells him how good it feels, how well he’s doing, the grip tightening the closer his orgasm gets, until Joseph can barely breathe from how hard he’s pressed against him. 

He barely gets a chance to kiss his thigh in thanks before Duck hauls him up by his coat to kiss and spin him to the nearest bed. Black hair streaked with grey falls across green eyes as Duck grins down at him. 

“My turn.”

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

Barclay can’t look at Indrid without blushing; it’d been so long since they fucked and he’d forgotten just how nice it felt, how teasing and playful Indrid was as a mate. Case in point: as their kisses deepened, he whispered in Barclay’s ear that Joseph had seen them and was, as he spoke, pawing Duck in their room. Barclay moaned at the words and Indrid laughed, spread his side fins, and leapt into Barclay’s tank to lick and bite at the sensitive patch of tail that hid his cock. 

“My, my dearest, it seems Joseph is skilled with his tongue as well. Perhaps if you ask nicely we will use our mouths on you at the same time.”

Indrid is currently sighing as Duck combs his hair. Barclay takes a moment to watch the scene unfold: Indrid’s made no secret of his attraction to Duck (or Joseph for that matter), and Barclay likes seeing his friend happy, likes the way Duck touches him with the tenderness he deserves but will often deny himself. 

Joseph opens the door and calls, “Duck? Hayes wants to speak with us.”

The human departs and Indrid blows a kiss when his back is turned, then winks at Barclay. Barclay is about to ask if they have time to trade kisses of their own when Indrid freezes. 

“Oh no.”

Indrid cocks his head and Barclay follows suit, voices reaching him from the hall. 

“Captain Hayes, I must object to this plan. We can get all the information we need from my interviews with Barclay and Indrid, there’s no need to take them away from their home.”

“This is not about information, Mr. Stern. The company that funded this mission did so in the hopes that we would return with mermaids to sell. Which we have, and the two them alone will make not only the company but all of us rich men indeed.”

“Who gives a damn about riches? They ain’t fuckin treasure to be traded.”

“Mr. Newton-”

“Duck’s right, this is completely inhumane. If I’d known this was your goal, I’d never have agreed to this voyage.”

“The decision is final. And I’d advise you both to tread carefully from how you speak to me from here on; men of science or no, this is my ship, and what I say is the law.”

Indrid flicks his tail, swimming back and forth in agitation as Barclay curls his arms around himself; he doesn’t want to be taken away from home, and he certainly doesn’t want to be someone’s prized possession. Worse, Joseph doesn’t return, and so there’s no one to comfort him as he worries and Indrid sorts through unhelpful futures. 

He’s half-asleep when the door opens, gasps as a hand touches his shoulder.

“Can you heave yourself out of the tank?” Joseph whispers

Barclay nods, pushes himself up, out, and then into the human’s embrace. Across from him, Duck manages to carry Indrid in his arms on the first try.

“What are you doing?”

Joseph touches his face, “I promised you that you’d get to go free. I keep my promises.” 

With that they struggle out the door and up stairs, Indrid helping them determine when the coast is clear to reach the edge of the deck. He’s already dizzy, breath coming in gasps. Indrid wastes no time, launches himself into the sea with a graceful splash. 

“What, what will happen to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Joseph smiles sadly.  Barclay kisses him to the thunder of footsteps, then falls into the sea. 

The last thing he hears is Duck muttering, “Well...fuck.”

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

“Pirates would have at least given us a pistol.” Joseph lays on his back in the sand as Duck tosses rocks into the sea, The Washington disappearing on the horizon. 

“Yeah. That’s why Hayes ain’t one; he’d have to be too damn nice.”

Joseph chuckles, “True.”

Duck’s certain this is not even remotely what was supposed to happen, and it’s certainly not what either of them expected. Flogging, being thrown in the brig, brought up on charges when they arrived home all crossed their minds. Not being marooned on a small, deserted island with only the clothes on their backs. 

He doesn’t regret his choice. Joe doesn’t either. All the same, they spend a few hours on the beach bemoaning their fate or silently considering how to mitigate it. By evening, they determine it could be far worse. They’re study of the plants and animals of the region means they know what’s edible and what’s poisonous, there are fish in the shallows and a small spring hidden in the rocks and trees towards the center of the island. Duck suggests building signal fires when they can in case other ships are near, and they set up a rough lean-to as shelter from the sun. They spend the next few days figuring out how to survive, and Duck discovers just how charming Joe looks when he’s unshaven. 

(His budding facial hair also leads to the discovery that Duck;s thighs are incredibly ticklish).

They’re alright for now. Duck’s just worried about how long their luck will hold. 

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

Joseph is making a new spear, eyeing the storm clouds on the horizon, when Duck’s voice catches his attention. 

“Uh, you might not wanna wade out just yet. Looks like there’s a shark.” The other man points to a dark fin sticking slicing the water. 

“That doesn’t look like-”

“AHJESUS” Duck is knocked back onto the sand by shape with silvery fins and hair. His further commentary on the matter is cut off by Indrid kissing him, tail wiggling happily as he does. 

“I did not get to do that when we fled, there was no time, but oh how I wanted to.”

“Seriously, he kept saying I was smart to kiss you when I could.” Barclay’s entrance onto the beach is more graceful, using the surf to slide up the sand and settle at Joseph's feet.

“Oh yes, that reminds me” Indrid rolls off Duck, grabs Joseph’s shirt, and pulls him down into a kiss. 

“Y’all hunt us down just for some kisses?” Duck scoots over to join them, draping an arm over Indrid. 

“Nope. When Indrid’s visions showed us what they were gonna do to you, we knew we had to come get you. You, you’re here because you saved us-”

“It was the right thing to do” Joseph strokes the dark brown of his hair as Barclay rests his head on his stomach/ 

“And neither of us could stand the thought of losing you, especially not like this.”

“We would have arrived sooner, but we had to make arrangements for your rescue and get permission from the mer whose territory we’re technically in. 

“Fascinating. Are there borders, or identification or-”

“All in good time” Indrid purrs, nipping his ear. He shudders down to his toes as Barclay begins kissing his hips and belly. 

“Like the way you think, ‘Drid.”

“You will like how I do other things as well. Now come here” Indrid pulls Duck into his arms as Barclay crawls up Joseph’s body to kiss him properly. There’s salt on his lips, sweetness on his tongue, and Joseph sighs as he wraps his legs around the smooth, cool texture of his tail. Barclay smiles into the kiss, rolls his hips as Joseph teases his fingers up and down his sides. 

“I missed you so much.” Barclay murmurs, “nights aren’t the same without you keeping me company.”

“I missed you too.” He nudges his hips up, letting the mer know he’s heading in the right direction. 

“Holyfuck, you have-”

“Two, yes, is that not what humans have?” Indrid cocks his head at Duck. 

Joseph hides a smile, “See, Duck, I’m not the only one who finds you irresistible.”

“That and when Indrid gets going, he gets going fast.” Barclay adds. Indrid flicks water at him with his tail. 

“No kiddin. Joe, you gotta see this.” Duck climbs off Indrid, revealing two cocks protruding from the upper part of his tail. Joseph’s brain fails to supply any thoughts other than yes

Indrid preens under the attention, lazily stroking one shaft, “Are you all going to just gawk at me, or will one of you come and attend to the situation?”

“May, um, may I?” Joseph looks between the three of them, unsure whose permission he’s asking or what he’s asking it for. 

“Heh, oughta tell you two that Joe needs someone to order him around in bed.” Duck smirks as he crawls through the surf to kiss Joseph’s shoulders. 

“Is that so? In that case, be a good human and come ride my cock.” Indrid gestures to said cock with a flourish.

“But I was gonna go down on him.” Barclay mock pouts.

“We can do both at once. If he will hurry up and get his trousers off. Honestly, why do humans insist on so much clothing?”

“Because our dicks don’t stay nice and hidden until we need ‘em.” Duck disrobes along with Joseph. 

Red eyes rove across Duck hungrily, “I see. A lovely sight all the same. Now Joseph, come face away from me.”

He straddles Indrid’s hips on shaking knees, warm sand the perfect counterpoint to cool scales.

“Do not worry about taking both, my foresight suggests it will be too much right now. AHhnnn yes” he wriggles when Joseph strokes the shaft, bringing it into position. 

“The ridges are intriguing.” They also feel incredible on his hand, and he rushes to feel them inside him. 

“Do humans not have those either? Honestly, what do you haveAHahhhoh, oh nevermind, oh you’re so tight and warm, oh this is wonderful, Barclay, you have to try this.” The ridged cock bumps and thrusts into him, and Joseph tips his head back to moan. 

“I will. Got other things to do right now.” Barclay lays along Indrid’s tail, kissing both it and Joseph's legs before closing his lips around Joseph’s swollen cock. 

“Lord, ohlord that’s good, Barclay, Indrid, fuckplease.”

“Please what, Joseph?” Indrid thrusts more roughly.

“Just please, please don’t stop, it’s incredible, you both are.” His mind is going blank, his whole being thrumming with a singular desire; to be good, to filled and used and wanted.

“Fuck, Joe” Duck paints kisses along his back and shoulder, “you look damn good like this, takin it two ways at once.”

He pets Duck’s thigh, kisses him messily “You, someone should take care of you.”

“Yes they should” Indrid “come, sweet one, let me show you what I can do with my tongue.”

“Hell yeah” Duck scrambles away, and a moment later his moans fill the air, underscored by Indrid’s pleased laughter. 

Barclay hums, making Joseph jolt and squirm. The merman pulls back, winks at him, then drags his tongue along the cock not buried to the hilt in the human. 

“MMMPHHmmmmmm” Indrid’s garbled shout of delight makes the other three laugh.

“Jesusfuck, Barclay can you do that again, his mouth gets even better when you do.”

Barclay obliges and another moaning trill washes over the beach.

“God, it’s so fucking hot, watching him fuck you, wanna see it everyday” Barclay dives back down and soon Joseph’s orgasm crashes into him, his whole body twitching as pleasure overwhelms his nerves. Behind him, Duck lets out the singularly charming groan he always makes when he cums. Indrid is close behind him, spilling sticky and cool inside Joseph and across his thighs and Barclays chest. The other mer growls, roughly pulling Joseph off or Indrid and into the sand with him, the particles burning his knees as the merman grinds him roughly back and forth across his cock, not pushing in but not needing to, cumming in a few short seconds with a howl of ecstasy. 

They rearrange themselves, panting, so the mers are mostly in the surf and the humans mostly on the sand, he and Duck pulling their clothes back on to avoid sunburns in the worst possible places. 

“That was exquisite” Indrid sighs, resting between the humans with his silver tail draped across Barclay’s dark one. 

“No kiddin.”

“And we finished not a moment too soon.” Indrid points out to sea. 

Rounding the side of the island is a small sailing boat bearing the words  Amnesty.

“Man, I cannot wait to get us all home” Barclay smiles, kissing Joseph’s hand. 

The human leans down and kisses him back, “Me neither.”

[johaerys-writes]

Fandom: The Song of Achilles

Summary: During his two month long sea voyage from Phthia to Skyros, Patroclus makes an unexpected friendship.

Chapter 3: Fate, the final chapter of At the Water’s Edge, is up! Where Patroclus finally reaches Skyros, and has an important decision to make.

Read here or on AO3! Or read from the beginning

The sun had set, and the night birds were gliding into the fast-approaching dusk when we finally returned to the ship.

The rest of the sailors had already gathered for dinner, the wide galley filled with the sounds of jest and song, with the smells of the fish stew that was being prepared. I didn’t usually join the crew during their meals, preferring to take them in my room, by myself, but that evening Xanthos had insisted I stay. He was sitting next to me now, with his cheeks still flushed from our trek through the verdant hills back to the port, and the wind that had combed through his locks had given him a wild appearance. There was a gleam in his eye, that I imagined matched my own.

The fish stew was rich and savoury, heavy with the taste of the sea and spices. Not all ships fed their crew this well, but the captain was a generous man, or so Xanthos had told me. After we had both finished our dinner, a nearby sailor treated us to some watered down wine. It was from the northern plains, near Macedonia, I was told, and quite strong, with a heavy aftertaste of berries and honeysuckle.

“Xanthos,” one of the men called. He was a tall man, strong like an bull, with his large head shaved clean. He had a bright and easy smile, which always made me somewhat uncomfortable, especially now that it was directed at both me and my companion. His gaze fell on the bracelet on Xanthos’ wrist. “What’s that you’re wearing? A little too fancy for you, isn't it?"

Xanthos smiled brightly, seemingly unaware of the laughter that broke out over the wide space. He raised his arm to show his bracelet to everyone who had lifted their heads from their drinks to look. “Do you like it, Thaddeus? I wasn’t aware it would be to your taste. I thought the only place you liked to wear jewellery was on your teeth.”

The other men laughed and jeered, banging their mugs on their tables. The jab did not seem to deter Thaddeus, who grinned even more brightly, revealing several golden teeth. “Everyone knows that, boy,” he said, laughing. “Did your friend choose it for you? You and I both know you couldn’t pick something nice if your life depended on it.”

I felt uncomfortable with everyone’s piercing stares that suddenly fell on me. Xanthos turned his body ever so slightly towards me, as if shielding me from the sailors’ crude jests. “He did,” he said, waving his mug casually. “He has a good eye. Which is more than anyone can say about you lot.”

They all laughed again, and Xanthos and Thaddeus exchanged even more jests, some of them crude, but none ill-natured. Before I knew it I was laughing with them too, and soon some of the sailors had come to sit around our table. Talk shifted away from Xanthos’ bracelet and into other matters, the ship’s journey and the highest price the captain had been able to get for some of the oils and herbs they carried, the details of the trade.

“Barley always sells cheaper here than it does in the mainland,” they would say. “Don’t know why the captain bothers with the Sporades.” Or, "Piraeus has raised the cargo tax to thirty three talents. Soon, they'll be charging an arm and a leg just to let ships into port."

I listened to their talk, quietly sipping on my wine. Trading held little interest for me. I had never in my life had to barter, sell or buy anything, apart from the rare occasions that Achilles and I would sneak away from the palace and go to the harbour to watch the street performers and musicians that sometimes ended up on our shores. It was always fun and exciting at first, but I would soon grow weary of the chatter and noise, of the heavy and sour smells of discarded fish and sweaty human flesh, of the rattling sound of the dice games at every corner. We would quickly retreat back to the olive grove, or our small secluded beach, where Achilles could run and throw his spears undisturbed. I would sit back on the warm sand and watch him move for hours, watch as the muscles rose and fell under his skin, as shadows pooled and stretched across his features with the passage of the dying sun.

A pang of longing drove through me at the thought, before I was able to stop it. My memories of Achilles had always been gold- tinted, as if the brightness of his presence made everything it touched resplendent, just like he was. They had always been a source of comfort for me, yet now they just made me ache for him all the more.

“Do you play, lord?”

I blinked at Thaddeus, jolting out of my reminiscing. At my baffled stare, he nodded at the stretch of table between us, smiling. “Do you play?”

I followed his gaze, and there I saw them. Four dice, their pips staring up at me like eyes. They were not white and made of bone like I was used to; they were red instead, made of terracotta stone. The pips were carved on their flat and smooth surface and painted over with dark dye. The shape and colour of them mattered not, though, as I found myself staring at them for what felt like a lifetime.

It was then that I remembered one of the reasons why I never joined the crew during their meals. Sooner or later, the tables would be cleared, and dice would be drawn out for games that lasted well into the night.

My pulse thrummed in my temples at the images that promptly rushed through me in waves; my anger at Clysonymus, at his blatant disrespect, his mockery. His eyes that widened as he fell back, losing his balance; the crack of his head against the stone. His blood trickling slowly on the dry ground beneath him, mixing with the soil and turning it crimson. I remembered how bright it was, as if it were before me just then. My stomach turned.

“Patroclus,” I heard Xanthos say beside me, but his words reached me as if through wool. “Are you well? You are pale as a sheet.”

I think I muttered a brief apology before standing up, almost making my chair topple over in my haste, then half-running towards the deck. My heart was racing; my mind was spinning, spinning. I was shaking like a fish out of water when I finally reached the railing and clutched it with trembling hands, my breath clawing at my throat.

It wasn’t always this bad. The sight of the dice didn’t always leave me this shaken, but my nightmares, ever since I had boarded the ship, were the worst they had been in years. Almost every night I would wake up trembling and out of breath, with cold sweat running down my spine. Those memories, Clysonymus’ face, the dice that rattled incessantly in my head; all those things were part of me, embedded in my bones. Had I honestly thought that one half day of careless enjoyment would be enough to ward off those ancient terrors?

I squeezed my eyes tightly, willing the images that seemed to be lodged there away. The night was dark upon the world now, and I felt swallowed by it, a pebble sinking to the bottom of the sea. It seemed as though if I let go of the railing for even a heartbeat, the waves would rush up and swallow me, drag me into their dark depths.

I jolted when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to Xanthos, who was watching me with evident concern.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“I’m fine. Really.” I gripped the railing hard, taking in a deep, steadying breath. My heartbeat was gradually getting slower, and I could feel the fear that had gripped me only a moment before easing away. I stared out into the darkness, at the stars that now shone brightly above me.

“Did, uh…” Xanthos started shyly beside me. “Did Thaddeus do something to upset you? I could talk to him if you wish. He’s a rough fellow, but he didn’t mean to—”

“No. No, of course not. He did nothing wrong. It wasn’t… it wasn’t his fault.”

Xanthos remained silent. He didn't press me to speak further, to explain; still, I felt like I had to.

I took another deep breath, this time to ease the words out of me. I had never spoken about my nightmares to anyone but Achilles. Without him by my side, it felt like every memory, every image from my past was a stone, slowly grinding me to meal. The last thing I wanted was to dig them up again, but the need to share the burden, if only for a moment, was what urged my tongue to weave the words.

“There was a boy, once,” I started quietly. “When I was younger. We fought over… over a pair of dice. I pushed him. He fell and broke his head.” My fingers tightened so much about the railing, that my knuckles had gone white, the wood digging into my flesh. “I killed him.”

Xanthos did not speak then, but I could sense no judgement or horror in his silence. Only patience. His very presence there gave me heart, and I continued. “I did not mean to. It was an accident. Yet every time I see dice… they just remind me of him.” I glanced up at him, fearing what I would see in his eyes, but there was only understanding.

“How old were you?” he asked softly.

“Ten.”

He let out a slow breath. “To have seen something like this, so young…” He shook his head, and his eyes glinted oddly in the night, reflecting the light of the waxing moon above us. “I am sorry you’ve had to live with this burden all those years, Patroclus.”

The sympathy in his voice made a wave of bitterness rise within me. I swallowed thickly, but the knot in my throat remained. “At least I got to live,” I said quietly. “That boy didn’t have that chance.”

I had never admitted those thoughts to anyone, not even to Achilles. I wished to stop my tongue from forming the words, to think of anything else, anything at all, but could not. “Sometimes,” I whispered, “I try to imagine what might have happened to that boy, had I not pushed him. How his life would have been, if I hadn’t been in it. He would have been at marrying age now. He might even have had children. He would have inherited his father’s titles, his lands… He would have been a man, in his own right. But he got to live none of that. Because… because of a pair of dice.”

My eyes burned as I spoke. I rubbed them stubbornly, determined to not shed any tears. I did not want Xanthos to think less of me.

Xanthos kept his silence for a long while. When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle, mingling with the sighing of the crisp sea breeze. “The night before I boarded my first ship,” he said, “I was terrified. The priests of Apollo had spoken of a terrible storm that was to come, the worst we had seen in ages. They’d seen it in the blood of a lamb they’d sacrificed, on Apollo’s holy day. I did not want to go. I sat on my bed while the wind blew outside and shook with fear. My father came in and saw me. He told me something then. It stuck with me.”

“What was it?” I asked.

“He said… 'A man whose fate it is to die in a fire, will never die in a storm'.” At my confused glance, he laughed softly. “What my father meant was, every one of us has a path in life. The moment we come into this world, the three Fates spin their threads and decide what is to come. If my destiny was to die in a sea storm, even if I stayed on land and herded sheep all my life, the storm would eventually find me. ‘Meet your fate proudly, boy,’ my father told me that night, ‘because you cannot escape it.’ ” He turned to look at me, his dark, almond shaped eyes meeting mine squarely. “You have your path. So did this boy.”

“But…” My old pains and fears rose to the surface, the dreams that had haunted me for most of my life. I struggled to find a justification for it, for what had happened to me, for what I’d done, something that would make it all make sense. I could not.

“It is cruel,” I whispered. “Is it not?”

“It is life, Patroclus.”

His hand on the railing was so close to mine, I could almost feel the heat emanating from his skin. I thought of his words, turned them this way and that in my mind. I had my path. So did Clysonymus. It did not change what I  had done, his life had still ended too soon. His death was still my fault. Yet if I had not pushed him…

I would never have left Opus. I would not have gone to Phthia. I might never have met Achilles. I would never have known him, followed him, loved him. My life, as I knew it, would only be a shadow of what it was, what it could have been. It was still cruel, but it was my life. My path, the one the Fates had carved for me.

The Fates had never been kind, nor fair. But they were absolute. Inexorable.

My hand crossed the distance between us to land gently beside Xanthos’. The waves splashed against the ship’s belly, and the night owls at the shore cooed. We stayed silent, side by side, watching the night stretch endlessly before us.

The following evening, when I went to the ship’s galley for my dinner, none of the sailors were playing dice. It didn’t take long for me to notice that it was Thaddeus’ wrist that Xanthos’ bracelet was gracing now. When I glanced at him, the unspoken question lingering in my gaze, he only smiled and winked.

“Fate,” he jested cryptically, and took a large sip of his wine.

I didn’t see another die being thrown for the remainder of the days I stayed on the ship.

~

The day that the rolling hills of Skyros came into view arrived much slower, and much faster than I’d expected. The bay that we pulled up on shimmered golden in the early morning light. I could just make out the last of the Pleiades disappearing into the rosy fire of dawn when the ship was pulled to harbour. I leaned against the railing, my bag with my handful of belongings hanging by my shoulder, my heart beating in my throat. Somewhere on that island, perhaps in that palace atop the hill, Achilles was waiting for me.

Xanthos was by my side when the ship’s ropes were tied to the old and worn out palisades of the long and narrow wharf. I had thought he would go straight to his bed after his shift had ended, to get what little sleep he could before they would be setting off again, but he walked down with me, then followed me to the beach, where the wharf ended.

We gazed at each other for a long moment, standing ankle deep in crystal clear water. I found myself tracing the lines of his features, the slope of his nose, his strong eyebrows, his heart-shaped mouth. His eyes were kind and warm as ever, but there was something else hiding in their depths. During those heartbeats that we looked at each other I noticed everything, even things I had never paid much attention to before, as if I was trying to commit his features to memory, keep them safe with me.

“So,” he said softly, “it is time.”

I nodded. “It is.”

I expected him to leave then, to climb back up to the ship and sail to his own destiny. But he stayed there, gazing at me.

“We’ll be going back to Euboea now. To Kymi.”

“I know. The captain told me.” I smiled when I said, “And then you’ll be setting off for the Eastern ports, right?”

His lips widened in a smile that mirrored my own, but it was not quite as bright and effortless as I was used to. It was almost timid. He shifted on his feet, cleared his throat. “It won’t be for very long. Three, perhaps four months. And then we’ll be back.” A light, barely perceptible flush crept up his cheeks as he said, “I was hoping perhaps… I could see you. When I come back.”

I blinked, taken aback. I wasn’t rightly sure how long I’d be staying in Skyros, whether I would be going back to Phthia next. In my heart of hearts, I wished to find Achilles and leave with him straight away, return to Pelion, where Chiron was waiting for us. Yet all of my hopes seemed uncertain and hazy, like trying to grasp at shifting sand. Three, four months… I did not know if there was any way for me to plan that far ahead. Gods, I didn’t even know if Achilles was still where I’d been told he would be.

My stomach tightened as I told him earnestly, “I… I’m not sure where I’ll be in four months, Xanthos.”

“I know,” he said hastily. “I know that it’s all uncertain now. But… You could wait for me here. I could come back for you. And then we could leave together.”

"Leave?" I frowned a little as he spoke, my confusion increasing by the second. “Where would we go?”

“Anywhere. Anywhere at all. We could return to Phthia together, or… or anywhere else you like. Go to the mountains, perhaps. You like the mountains. Right?” His flush brightened, and his eyes flashed with something that I couldn’t quite decipher. Something akin to hope. “After my trip to the East, I think I’ll have enough gold to build a home. A small one. Like... like the one you told me about. With a garden out front…” He let his words trail away, searching my face. His throat bobbed when he swallowed. “We… could stay there. You and I.”

I froze when I finally caught on his meaning. He wanted me to… to go with him. To build a life with him. To be with him. To… love him.

I took a breath, preparing myself for the blow I was about to deliver. “I’m sorry, Xanthos. I… could not.”

I saw the joy and hope that had been there a moment before drain from his features. I saw his smile quiver, and his shoulders slouch. “Oh.”

“It’s not—” I started, then stopped myself. My fists opened and closed by my side, helpless. “I can’t give you what you want,” I said quietly. “This person I’ve come here to find… He’s everything to me. He’s…” I paused, looking about me. My mind worked furiously as I searched for words that wouldn’t hurt him anymore than they had to.

Xanthos spoke the words for me.

“Your fated one,” he said softly. He gave me a wan smile, his eyes kind and earnest as they met mine, but I could still see the hurt I’d wrought there. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” The sun was rising slowly over the mountains in the East, painting his sun-bronzed features golden and bright.

“Pepromenon fyghein adynaton,” he said. Fate is inescapable.

I nodded slowly, not knowing what else to say. He reached out and tentatively placed his hand on my shoulder. “I wish you all the best, Patroclus.”

“So do I.” I met his gaze, looking deep into his warm, honey brown eyes. “Thank you, Xanthos. For everything.”

His fingers squeezed my shoulder gently, feather-light, before he turned to leave.

I stayed there for a long while, at the water's edge, watching as the ship slowly rowed away. When its sails were nothing but a white speck on the golden horizon, I turned around.

Somewhere on that island, in the palace atop that hill, my fate was waiting for me.

[zebrabaker]

The Mermaid, A MLB Oneshot

THIS IS A ONESHOT, DO NOT ASK FOR MORE!

Adrien was bored. He was in yet another lesson, and his father was expecting him to spend time with Princess Chloe later. Better her than Princess Lila, at least. Finally, Madame Mendelieve closed her book, and headed for the door. Adrien sat still until she was gone, before jumping up out of his seat. He stretched his back and ran for the door that lead to the servant’s passages. He ran along the narrow, winding paths, before reaching the small courtyard where his best friend, Nino, was practicing his guitar.

“Hey man! How were lessons?” Nino adjusted his hat and looked up at him, smiling. This was why Adrien liked Nino. He didn’t treat him like a prince, but like a friend. It was refreshing.

“Boring as ever.” Adrien huffed, and joined his friend in the bench.

“Well I have some good news! Captain Theo has brought back something awesome from his latest trip! You’ll never guess what it is.”  Nino smirked and plucked a string.

“What? Another treasure chest?” Adrien scoffed.

“Nope. An actual mermaid!” Adrien froze. A mermaid? No way.

“Be realistic, Nino. Mermaids are just myths.”

“No! I saw this one myself! We can go see it tomorrow morning, I’ll set it up. It’s gonna be so cool!” Nino bounced, excited.

“Alright, alright. For now, let’s head in; it’s almost time for lunch.” Adrien gave Nino a hand up, and the two reentered the palace

X0X0X

Marinette swam back, assessing the glass that held her. She flicked her tail as she thought, before nodding. She angled her shoulders, braced her arms, and slashed her tail down. Her body jetted through the water, and she rammed against the glass and bounced off. With a growl, she watched the glass. Nothing. She had rammed the glass dozens of times and nothing had happened! A weak chuckle came from the outside of her tank, and she glared at the human leaning against the wall across from her enclosure.

“That won’t work, little fish. The glass is bulletproof. No matter how many times you ram into it, it won’t even crack. You may as well rest. The prince will be here to see you in the morning.” He smirked at her before strolling away. She had to get home. She couldn’t stay here! Without her, the sea would die! She swam back, assessed the glass, and readied herself again.

X0X0X

Adrien followed Nino deep into the basement of the palace. They weren’t near the old dungeons, but he still felt uneasy.

“How much further?” He hissed to Nino.

“Just through here. C’mon!” Nino grabbed his wrist and pulled him through the doorway into a dark room. Nino flipped the lights on, and Adrien glanced around. One wall was glass, and looked like an aquarium. The bottom of the tank was coated in sand, with pearls of various sizes and colors scattered about. There were a few strands of seaweed swaying in the water, and the largest clam shell he had ever seen was sitting open in the center. It looked like it could host a mermaid, but that was just it. There was no mermaid. Adrien turned to Nino and sighed.

“I told you, Nino, mermai- “Adrien was cut off when he heard a large thunk from the other side of the glass. He wheeled about, and felt his jaw drop.

Floating on the other side of the glass was an honest to god mermaid. Her hair was black, and her tail a vivid pink, almost red. Her eyes, which glared hatefully at him, were a shimmering blue. Her skin was paler than a pearl, and she had a splattering of freckles. She pounded a fist against the glass, and he realized she had been making odd sounds at them.

“Whoa. She’s…” Adrien trailed off, unsure of what to say. Lovely did not fit, nor did beautiful. She was flawless.

“Creepy? Yeah. I mean, it’s pretty and all that, but something about it just sets me on edge.” Nino shuddered. Adrien glanced at his friend, confused. She was not creepy! She was the most perfect thing he had ever seen. He glanced back at her and sighed. She was swimming away now, tail slashing through the water.

“Where is she going?” He asked Nino.

“It keeps trying to break the glass. It won’t work, though. The glass is bullet proof.” Nino knocked against the glass, smirking. “Just think, the kingdom of Agreste has it’s own personal mermaid. I hear that their singing can convince men to throw themselves overboard. Wanna see if it’ll sing for us?” Nino pulled his guitar from his back, and strummed a cord. Suddenly, the mermaid was there, face and hands pressed up against the glass. She was staring at Nino with her pupils blown wide. He continued to play, a small shanty he had learned from the sailors down by the docks, and the mermaid began to hum.

X0X0X

Marinette would never admit, but she loved human music. They could not sing, not like her people, so they had made things to do it for them. The darker human was using one right now, pulling at strings and watching her. She began to hum, wanting him to play more. When he did not stop, when she began to sing in her mother tongue.

“Oh, the waves roll low

And the waves roll high,

And so, it goes,

Under a bright blue endless sky.

Waves try to measure,

The days that we treasure,

Wave hello and wave goodbye.”

It was an ancient lullaby, one that every merfolk heard from their parents at some point as a baby. The humans were staring at her, wide eyed. The pale one hit the darker one on the arm, and said something she could not hear. The darker one gulped and began to play again. Marinette beamed and quickly thought of another lullaby, one Queen Anarka had taught her the last time she and her children had come to visit.

“Hush now, mo stoirin,

Close your eyes and sleep.

Waltzing the waves,

Diving the deep.

Stars are shining bright,

The wind is on the rise.

Whispering words, of long-lost lullabies.

Oh, won’t you come with me?

Where the moon is made of gold.

And in the morning sun,

We’ll be sailing.

Oh, won’t you come with me?

Where the ocean meets the sky.

And as the clouds roll by,

We’ll sing the song of the sea.”

Marinette held the last note, and sighed when it was done. She loved that song. It sounded better when her friends acted as her chorus, but it was okay on her own. The door opened behind the two humans, and let in the one who had caught her. He was tall and had dark hair, wearing a great deal of dark fabric. The two smaller humans spoke with him, before leaving with him. Marinette sighed. She hated being alone. Merfolk were social creatures, almost always together. Worst of all was that the small space she was kept in was dark, with no lava pockets or glow fish to give her heat and light. She shivered, and swam into the seaweed patch. Her family would get her out of here soon.

X0X0X

They returned the next day, the pale one and the dark one. This, time, neither carried an instrument. Instead, the sat and stared at her. The pale one began to sing, and the dark one reluctantly joined him. Marinette recognized the song. It was a love song! How dare this puny human try to woo her! She glared and sat down inside the large clam shell, turning her back. She was engaged, as any merfolk with eyes could tell. Of course, human’s might not be able to, but she still would not sing with them. She sat with her back turned until they left. She would be out of here soon enough.

X0X0X

Adrien burst into Nino’s room, beaming.

“Whoa, Adrien! Is everything okay, dude?” Nino stood from his bed, setting aside his headphones.

“I just had the best idea, Nino! A festival! We call for the most talented musicians in the land, and we have them perform with her! We can move her cage into the square! It’ll be great!” Adrien was bouncing in place.

“That’s a great idea, dude! We’ll have to ask Captain Theo, since he’s the one who caught it though.” Nino grabbed his headphones and headed for the door. “Let’s go ask!”

X0X0X

He had said yes, and preparations began at once. Adrien commissioned a large tank, big enough that she could swim around. Nino began sending invites to the best musicians in all of Agreste. Soon, the big day came. The tank was placed in the square, and the mermaid had been moved while she slept. She had woken up dazed and confused, swimming about and looking out at the square. She had caught sight of the water on the other end of the square, and had been staring at it ever since.

X0X0X

She knew humans were foolish, but this was extreme. She was within just a few yards of the ocean; she could hear it calling out for her! She hummed, low in the back of her throat, and waited. After just a few minutes, she heard the reply.

“We cannot reach you, princess! You are too far! Try to move closer!” It was Sir Pierre, head of the guard. She looked around, frantic. She was so close! She just had to move this tank! She rammed her shoulder against the side, and growled when nothing happened. She tried, again and again, to move closer, but all she did was slosh water over the edge of her tank.

“I can’t! The cage I am in is too heavy! I will distract the humans while you look for a way to get me out!” Marinette swept around the cage, looking at all the humans staring at her. She saw several in a line, each holding an instrument. The pale one who visited her was standing on a platform, facing the crowd. He began to speak, and one of the humans in line stepped forward. Two others came over and quickly assembled a device next to her tank. Once the machine was all together, he smirked at the crowd before pushing several buttons. The machine began to emit horrible sounds, but the humans seemed to enjoy it. She slammed her hands over her ears, and shook her head, trying to block out the noise. It sounded like the machine was trying to make music, but was failing. Horribly. It was dull and lifeless, lacking soul. After a few seconds of this torture, the pale one spoke again. The one controlling the machine yelled at him, before stomping off. The two humans form before disassembled the machine, and another human stepped forward. This one had vivid hair and dramatic clothes. It strummed at it’s guitar, and began to sing.

“Record scratch; Steve Miller Band, Tattooed necks and tattooed hands. Oh, how don’t you drown in a rain storm? Fresh regrets, vodka sweats, the sun is down and we’re bound to get exhausted and so far from the shore.” Marinette trilled when the human began the song. She knew this one from a few fishing boats playing it while they were working! She gladly joined in, shimmying her tail to the beat.

“You’re never gonna get it, I’m a hazard to myself, I’ll break it to you easy This is hell, this is hell! You’re looking and whispering; you think I’m someone else. This is hell, yes. Literal hell!” She struggled to form the words, as she did not speak the human tongue. “We don’t have to talk, we don’t have to dance, we don’t have to smile, we don’t have to make friends. It’s so nice to meet you, let’s never meet again! We don’t have to talk; we don’t have to dance; we don’t have to dance!” By the end of the song, Marinette was panting, and had almost been distracted from why she was doing this. A few other artists tried to get her to sing, but only one succeeded, a small girl with a violin. After her refusal of another artist, she saw a flash of teal out of the corner of her eye. She twirled in her tank, pretending to be jubilant, but really trying to make sure she hadn’t just imagined what she saw. There he was, hiding in a corner! He winked at her and she couldn’t help but trill.

The pale one was smiling at her, like she was a sea-lion who had just done some cute trick. How ridiculous. Another human came up to him, with long hair the same color as the pale ones. She wore a dress that trailed behind her, and sneered at Marinette. The pale one smiled at her, and the female said something to him. He nodded, and she approached the tank. She snapped her fingers, and a red-haired human approached, carrying a stool. The blonde sat, and began to sing. Marinette slammed her hands over her ear frills and whined. The girl couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket! The blonde snarled, and slammed a hand against the tank, causing ripples in the water that disoriented Marinette. She shook her head, trying to think clearly. The blonde stormed off, and the pale one addressed the crowd before chasing after her.

X0X0X

This was not going how he had planned! The mermaid was supposed to sing with all of the best musicians Agreste had to offer. Instead, she had sung with Jagged Stone and no-one else. He had finally decided to let the commoners try, but only a small girl with a violin managed to get the mermaid to perform. He had panicked, and turned it into a contest. Chloe had then decreed that she could easily make the creature perform, and had begun singing a song from her homeland. The mermaid acted as if she was in physical pain, and Chloe had thrown a fit before storming off. He had told the audience they were going to give the mermaid a break, and chased after her. It had taken half an hour to calm her down and drag her back. By the time he had gotten back onstage, most of the crowd had left, with only a few bored teens still gathered around the tank.

“Your Highness, may I try?” A tall boy with hair that faded to teal at the tips was standing by the stage, gazing up at Adrien hopefully.

“You can try, but there’s no guarantee she’ll respond.” Adrien shrugged. This boy didn’t even have an instrument that he could tell, but it couldn’t hurt. The boy nodded, and headed for the tank, where the mermaid was watching him approach. The boy sat on the stool Chloe had abandoned and smiled at the mermaid.

“Lavender’s blue, dilly, dilly, lavender’s green. When I am King dilly, dilly, you shall be queen.” The mermaid beamed and twisted about as if twirling.

“Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so?” The mermaid sung back, not in the stilted words of before, but flowing and smooth. There was a challenging look in her eye, one that was matched by that in the boys.

“T’was my own heart, dilly, dilly, that told me so.” He shot back, smiling. The two began to sing in unison, and it entrapped Adrien, making him unable to look away.

“Call up your men, dilly, dilly, set them to work. Some to the plow, dilly, dilly, some to the fork. Some to make hay, dilly, dilly, some to cut corn, while you and I, dilly, dilly, keep our selves warm. Lavender’s green, dilly, dilly, lavender’s blue, if you love me, dilly, dilly, I will love you.”

“Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly, and the lambs play. We shall be safe, dilly, dilly, out of harm’s way.” The mermaid took over, placing one of her hands flat against the glass, while the other was fisted over her heart. “I like to dance, dilly, dilly, I like to sing. When I am queen, dilly, dilly, you’ll be my king. Who told me so, dilly, dilly, who told me so? I told myself so, dilly, dilly, I told me so.” She pulled out the last note, and Adrien was shocked to see the usually hateful mermaid, smile tenderly at the blue-haired boy. Then, there was a crash from behind him. Adrien wheeled around, trying to find the source, only to see a broken vase laying in the road.

By the time he turned back around, the blue-haired boy had thrown something into the tank. The mermaid grabbed it, and leapt out of the tank, flinging it about her shoulders. She landed not as a girl with the tail of a fish, but a seal. The boy scooped the seal into his arms, and ran for the water. He tossed the animal in, before turning to face Adrien.

“Take her again and we will sink your nation like we did Atlantis!” He bellowed, before diving into the water. Adrien ran to the edge of the dock, and waited, frantic. The boy was human, he would need to breathe eventually. He stood, frantically searching the water, before he saw them. The two were holding each other tight, wrapped in each-others arms. She was back to being a mermaid, her tail flicking just below the surface. When the young prince finally dragged his gaze to the boy, he was shocked. He now had a tail, longer than hers, that shimmered green and teal. The two were speaking in a language he did not understand, but from the way his hands cupped her cheeks it was a private moment. The mermaid flashed him a furious glare, before diving into the ocean.

“What just happened?” He asked.

“Dude.” Nino muttered. “I think your pet just ran away.

[incensuous]

sick shark babies

fandom: free! characters: rin & gou, sousuke rating: G, gen words: 3265

read on AO3

When Gou got sick as a kid, nothing made her feel better than sleeping next to her big brother. So, when Rin gets sick, Gou takes it upon herself to take care of him.

Whoa, I guess I had never cross-posted this on tumblr. I can’t believe I wrote this in 2014. It was before I had this blog!! Not sure if it’s worth it to post here, but I still have a soft spot for this fic, even if the writing feels clunkier.

A seven-year-old Rin frowns as his sensitive ears pick up a muffled cough for the thousandth time in the hour.

“Gou, you’re sick,” he points out bluntly. “You need to take medicine.”

His sister petulantly shakes her small head. “No, I feel fine.”

He turns around at his desk to stare at Gou, all curled up in her bed, trying to read her favorite book, the one she always begged their mother to read to her, even when she could do it herself. He’s made the effort to shift his body just so she can get a full view of his spectacular eye roll.

“Take the medicine or else you’ll get worse and then you’ll get everyone sick. If I get sick, Mom won’t let me swim,” he grumbles, as he stands up to walk out of their shared bedroom. He figures he’s getting too old to be sharing his room with his baby sister but it seems like Gou would never be able to take care of herself if he’s not there.

He asks his mom where the cold medicine is and Gou frowns. How could he betray her! She’d done a good job of not coughing too loud so their mom wouldn’t realize her daughter had been feeling under the weather.

Just as Rin finishes asking their mother, she comes in herself with a stern but gentle look with the tell tale small plastic cup, filled with purple liquid.

“Gou, it’ll make you feel better, I promise,” their mother insists. “I’ll let you eat some candy afterwards, okay?”

“Mom, I feel fine,” Gou refutes and backs her small body up to the edge of her bed, as far away as she can get without falling off.

Rin bounds into the room and tries to sweeten the deal for his sister. “I’ll let you pick the next TV show we watch.” He adds, almost reluctantly, “For a whole hour.”

Gou’s red eyes flit between the two. She purses her small lips and breathes deeply before grimacing as only a six-year-old can.

Sensing her daughter relenting, their mother swoops in and holds Gou’s mouth open.

“Pinch your nose, it’ll help,” she gently warns.

When Gou doesn’t move, Rin knows from experience their mother speaks the truth, and reaches over to pinch Gou’s little nose for her.

Gou fidgets, threatening to have the cough syrup spill, and she whines but manages to swallow it all. Her face is mottled in her displeasure and as soon as she gets her mouth clear, their mother knowingly pops a candy into her daughter’s mouth.

Rin watches as Gou sucks on the treat, still seeming unhappy from her traumatizing ordeal. Regardless, by the time they’re getting ready for bed, Gou’s coughing lessens significantly. When their mother measures her temperature, she’s displeased to see Gou’s fever is still high, and instructs her to get a lot of rest.

Therefore, after Rin brushes his teeth, he climbs into bed. But instead of his own mattress, he’s situated himself next to Gou in her pastel comforter and she’s surprised by the sudden intrusion from her brother. Rin wants to explain to her he knows she likes to sleep next to him, so it’s only natural as her big brother, he’d help her get the best rest.

But rather than questioning it, Gou simply puts on her animal-printed face mask and happily snuggles close to his side. Rin huffs before closing his eyes and dozing off.

His slumber is so peaceful when he wakes up the next morning, he almost doesn’t mind when his sister declares, “I want to watch Sailor Moon!” Almost.

. . .

Samezuka is a good enough distance away from Iwatobi that try as she might, Gou honestly feels out of touch from her brother’s life. On a beautiful Friday afternoon, she decides to surprise her brother with a visit.

She texts him briefly, hoping he isn’t too busy. Are you in your room?

She waits outside the dorm building, staring at her phone’s screen. She beams when the screen lights up. It is only recently Rin has been replying to her texts. She doesn’t even mind they’re barely a few words and very sparingly given; she’ll take what she can get.

Yeah, why?

Come down and let me in!

What? Why are you here?

Gou is just about to type up a reply when another follows. Never mind, be down in a minute.

The dorm building’s door opens, and Gou widens her eyes at the sight. Her brother looks terrible.

Well, as terrible as Rin can when he possesses muscles like his, which are strangely covered up by a large sweater on a warm 70-degree day. “Onii-chan!” Gou exclaims, running towards him, her hair bouncing behind her.

He frowns. “What are you doing here, Gou?”

“I just wanted to visit,” Gou pouts before peering closer at his face. “Good thing I did. How long have you been sick?”

Rin looks at her in surprise. “What do you mean? I’m not sick.”

His little sister stares at him, entirely unconvinced. “If only you had told me, I would’ve asked Mom to make some soup to bring over.”

For a second, Gou thinks her brother is going to try and keep up the charade, insisting he’s only tired from studying and not suffering from the flu. Instead, he sighs and shrugs. “It’s okay, I can take care of myself.” Gou realizes he must really be sick if he let the topic go so easily.

“Of course I know that, but you don’t have to,” she retorts haughtily before dragging him towards the proctor to have her signed in.

Once they make it to his dorm room, Gou spies Sousuke reclining on the top bunk. “Sousuke-kun!”

At the sound of his name, the dark-haired teen peers down. Smiling, he greets her. “Hey Gou. So that’s who Rin was texting.” He hops down onto the floor. “Did you stop by because he was sick?”

Gou shakes her head. “I had no idea.” She turns to glare at her brother, who pointedly looks away.

“I’m the older one here, Gou,” he argues, wincing as a cough breaks his sentence. “It’s not even that bad.”

Gou turns to face Sousuke again. “And you!” She points an accusatory finger at her brother’s best friend. “You didn’t tell me!”

Sousuke is caught off guard. “Wha—?”

“Gou,” Rin places his hands on her shoulders to calm down his sister. “Hey, I told him not to tell you, okay?”

She falters, eyebrows creasing. “But why didn’t you want me to know?”

“He didn’t want you to worry,” Sousuke supplies, helpfully. “He always says you have a lot on your own plate.”

Upon hearing this, Gou spins around. Rin expects to hear something along the lines of “thanks Onii-chan, you’re the best,” but instead, she smacks his arm. Hard.

“Hey! Gou, what—”

“Stupid Onii-chan,” Gou scolds, while frowning and the expression reminds Rin of himself. “You’re my only brother, I’ll always worry!” She whirls back to Sousuke who looks like a young deer facing a well-armed hunter. “Sousuke-kun, how long has Onii-chan been sick?”

“Three days.”

“Sousuke!” Rin squawks at being given away so easily by his friend. He doesn’t get a chance to say much else before small hands are pushing at his back. The red-haired Samezuka captain finds himself being steered towards his own bed and Gou peers around the room once she’s done shoving her brother around.

“Have you been getting any rest at all? Don’t tell me you’ve been running around half-naked when you’re sick, Onii-chan.”

“Things have been really busy, Gou, I’m the captain—”

“What about taking medicine?”

Suddenly feeling like a child again, Rin purses his lips when Gou lands her prying gaze on him.

Again, Sousuke feels it’s an opportune moment for him to intervene. “He hasn’t.”

Rin fixes a death glare on his friend. “Why, you…”

“I’m going to the store right now,” Gou declares, before turning to Rin with a pleading expression. “Try to get some rest, I’ll be back soon.”

Rin is about to argue, I have a paper due, I have a test next week, regionals are coming up… but he makes the mistake of looking at Gou’s face, with her large, glossy eyes and small pout. His words die on his tongue and he sulks before nodding and lying down.

As Gou happily beams and turns away, Rin plans on the ways he’s gonna kick Sousuke’s ass the second his sister is out the door.

“Sousuke-kun, do you mind coming with me?”

The man in question startles at being addressed, his attention being on warily eyeing Rin. “Me?”

“Who else?”

Rin gapes. Why was she asking Sousuke to come with her?

Oh, that’s right. They must’ve gotten quite close in elementary school, after he had left for Australia. But still, if anyone is going to go with his sister to the store, it should be her own brother!

“Wait, Gou, let me come,” Rin protests, shoving off the covers he’d bundled around himself.

Gou swiftly fixes him with a stern glare. “Where do you think you’re going?” She presses a hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up and you’re shaking. Stay in bed.”

For years to come, Rin will fervently deny pouting when his sister instructs his eighteen year old self to take a goddamn nap and refuses to let him tag along with her and Sousuke.

He resigns himself to the mattress to wait, mulling to himself he’d have to threaten Sousuke within an inch of his life to never let the rest of the Samezuka team find out about his predicament.

It takes almost twenty minutes for them to return and by then, Rin has fallen into a fitful sleep, his fringe clinging to his sweating forehead.

Gou gently shakes her brother awake to coerce him into taking some medication. She makes a mental note to take a trip to the grocery store on her way home.

For the next hour or so, Gou finds herself fussing over Rin and he is too tired to care. She finds topics to chatter away about to Sousuke and Rin, who occasionally pitch in. Eventually, Rin drifts off to sleep again and Gou decides it’s getting late. She says goodbye to her childhood friend then presses a kiss to Rin’s forehead, when she thinks Sousuke isn’t looking.

. . .

When Gou returns to the Samezuka dorms the next afternoon, she’s again worried her brother will be too busy to reply to her. Instead, a familiar face appears at the doorway to invite her in but it’s not the face she’d been expecting.

“Sousuke-kun? Where’s Onii-chan?”

“Rin’s taking a nap,” Sousuke grins down at the girl he’s practically adopted as his sister. “I saw his phone was vibrating. Figured it was you.”

“Onii-chan? Napping?” Gou repeats in disbelief. The eighteen year old glances at the large pot she has in her hands. It looks heavy, so without even asking, he takes it easily from her grasp.

She gives him her thanks and they quietly make their way to his and Rin’s dorm. True to Sousuke’s word, they find Rin tucked into his blankets. At least he looks a little more comfortable than last night.

“He slept in this morning, barely made it to practice. Then, he came home and fell asleep again,” Sousuke informs her.

“He didn’t even go for a jog?” Gou inquires, incredulously. If she knew one thing about her brother, he always stuck to his exercise regimen.

Sousuke shakes his head, his expression grim. “It’s that serious,” he agrees with her shocked expression.

Gou sighs. “I hate to wake him up, but he should take his medicine and needs to eat.” She gently shakes Rin’s shoulder through the blanket and instead of the usual no-nonsense waking up Sousuke had come to expect, Rin burrows further into his sheets.

With some more nudging, Rin finally blearily opens his eyes.

“Wha…? Gou?” He furrows his brows. “What time is it?”

“It’s four P.M., Onii-chan,” she whispers, treating him as if he was a child. Rin doesn’t pay her delicate attitude any mind, and instead groans.

“I didn’t even do my morning jog…”

“That’s not important,” Gou waves his concerns over the loss of muscle tone away and brandishes two pills and a bottle of water. “Take these.”

He obliges and finally pushes himself into a sitting position. His skin is flustered and sweaty from the slumber spent under thick blankets, the cool evening air making him shiver.

Gou frowns and sets to microwaving some of the soup. It’s only then Rin notices the large pot sitting on his desk. He blinks as the smell wafts to him, reminding him of his childhood. He probably hadn’t had that soup in years.

“Did Mom make that?” he asks, his voice raspy from sleep.

He watches as Gou blushes and for a second he’s worried he’s infected her with his flu. Then she shakes her head. “No, I made it.” She turns around with the bowl. “It’s probably not as good, but it’ll be easier to digest than the food from your cafeteria.”

Rin takes the ceramic from her hands and sips at the liquid. He feels the warmth pool in his stomach and the tendrils of heat curling around his body.

“It tastes like Mom’s,” he says nonchalantly before taking more spoonfuls. Gou lights up as he says this, taking it as a rare compliment from her precious brother.

The two red-haired siblings are sitting on Rin’s bottom bunk, while Sousuke is at his desk. Much like last night, Gou rambles to Rin, who tries to pretend he's indifferent when she does this. Sousuke knows better though and listens to the two of them talk. Sometimes, they’d include him, but after all these years, he still remembers how close the two were when they were younger.

Part of him is annoyed at Rin for ignoring Gou all this time. He remembers when she had eventually turned to him and asked if he’d heard anything from her brother. And it was then Sousuke realized Rin was desperately trying to distance himself from something from Japan, if he’d even taken to ignoring his sister.

As Gou is the manager of the Iwatobi swim club, it makes sense a lot of their conversation revolves around its members. Sousuke isn’t blind—he is completely aware Gou is hardly athletic and it’s far too coincidental she just so happened to join the swim club full of the very same people Rin had transferred to Iwatobi for. Then he ponders to himself absently if his friend is aware she’d done all of it just for him.

Gou mentions how she’d been trying to learn how to cook more things recently. When Rin asks what had brought on this new curiosity, she beams and informs him the Iwatobi swim club is aspiring to ingest healthier meals.

“Huh?” Rin blinks. “Then that means you cook for all four of them?”

She nods excitedly. “But Nagisa-kun is the only one who actually likes the protein powder,” she pouts.

Rin grimaces. “Even I don’t love protein powder.”

“Not even the strawberry banana kind?”

The two male teens gag at the very mention of the supplement. “That’s the worst!”

Pitying his old relay team, Rin decides to give his sister tips on incorporating healthy protein into meals fit for any swimmer and how to better use the powder.

“I can’t believe you make lunch for four grown men,” Sousuke comments. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Rin pouting. Gou is oblivious as she is seated right next to his side. He can’t help himself from adding, “You shouldn’t feel jealous, Rin. She made you soup, after all.”

The Samezuka swim captain’s face colors and he barks, “As if, Yamazaki!”

Gou giggles and holds her brother’s arm tighter. “I’ll visit you more often then,” she announces.

“No! You don’t have to do that,” Rin unnecessarily shouts, before having a coughing fit. Gou’s face is horrified.

“Oh no, how could I have forgotten? You’re sick, and I’ve been keeping you up instead of letting you rest,” she fusses, before maneuvering her six foot tall brother into a supine position on the bed.

He attempts to protest but realizes it would have been futile. He’s feeling a little sleepy anyways. Gou makes sure he’s completely covered by his sheets before lifting up the corner and tucking herself in beside him.

Rin blinks, surprised and is about to tell her she should go home, they might get in trouble, but Gou anticipates his arguments and refutes them the best way she knows how. She clasps her hands and stares pleadingly into his eyes. “You’ll sleep better this way, remember?”

For a moment, he’s about to ask what she means, but then he remembers a week of listening to Gou’s coughs and sneezes, nights spent curled together in the same bed, coupled with several mornings of “in the name of the moon, I will punish you!”

His eyes soften before sighing and simply says, “Go get my mask.”

Gou lights up and rummages through his desk before returning and loops the strings of the plain black face mask behind his ears.

She texts their mother informing her she’d be staying the night at her brother’s dorm. Then he tells her to take one of his shirts to sleep in and she eagerly looks through his drawers, making a mess he’d have to clean up tomorrow, before fishing out one of his old black tees. She slips into the bathroom to change and when she returns with her hair down and her clothes draped over her arms, Sousuke has already made his way to his own bunk, turning off the lights.

“Good night, Sousuke-kun,” Gou chirrups, worming her way into Rin’s side and resting her head on his chest, like when they were children. In response, he curls his arm underneath her to wrap around her shoulders.

“Night, Gou,” Sousuke replies, his tone amused. “Night, Rin.”

Rin grunts in response, already feeling the effects of a long day spent battling his illness. “Night.”

“Good night.” Gou leans up to press a kiss to his cheek.

Rin cracks open an eye to peer down at the top of her head. “Night,” he says again, but in a softer tone. When she returns to duck her head under his jaw, he turns his head so his lips press gently against her forehead through the thin fabric covering his face.

Gou’s eyes widen slightly before sighing happily and drifts off to sleep, but not before murmuring, “Love you, Onii-chan.”

She isn’t sure if she’s already dreaming when a moment later, her brother mumbles, “Love you too.”

[mithrilwren]

Dedicated to my own persistent insomnia over the last number of months, and the fact that I’ve never written a Fjord-centric oneshot, which is frankly criminal. This is Fjord/Caduceus, but leaning more towards the queerplatonic side of of the die than explicitly romantic (smooches are nice but have you heard of unfaltering emotional support?) [also on ao3]

the morning calls your name (fjorclay, ~5000 words)

It’s not so much that Fjord stops sleeping. It’s more that it’s begun to taper down: the number of hours he spends with his eyes closed. 

There was a time that he got a full seven hours a night, sometimes even more than that, though it seems a far off memory now. Ship life is lousy with routine, the kind that can ruin the wrong sort of man - drive him mad with boredom, or make him rabid for the first sight of land, or trouble - but for Fjord, the routine was all part of the draw. You always knew the time your shift began, and when the bell rang and your berth beckoned, you went. His body got used to that predictability. It knew how to lull itself off to sleep without his help. All he had to do was lie there, let himself be drowned in the creak of the bulkheads and the briny surfside air, and then he’d be out, just like that. There wasn’t a trick to it. It just happened. 

A month ago, he would have settled for six. Now he tells himself that five is still enough to go on. Five hours is all that Vandren took - and after all, why should Fjord need more than him?

It’s when the number gets to four that it starts getting harder to convince himself that everything is the way it should be. That everything is fine, just as it is.

But, of course, he does.

—- 

One night over dinner in some backwoods tavern, Caduceus catches Fjord by the wrist. “Are you running a fever?” he demands, already reaching for Fjord’s forehead with the hand that isn’t occupied keeping Fjord’s still. The spoon between his fingers steadies, and the last of its soupy contents are saved from sloshing back into the bowl, or onto the table.

Fjord hadn’t realized he was trembling quite that badly, if he’s honest.

The meat of Caduceus’s palm is cool against his skin, a soothing pressure that might have been easier to bear in a less public venue. Embarrassed, he pulls away before the others can see. Maybe he is catching ill. It could explain why his face seems determined to flash between flushed and clammy with giving him a moment’s rest, and why the shivers running down his spine are more electric than your typical chills.  

Fjord puts the spoon down and places his hands in his lap. If he presses down on them, his fingers quiet a little. Better.

Caduceus lets him go without a fuss, which he’s grateful for, but… gods, he misses the hand once it’s gone. It was nice to have something to lean against, if only for a few seconds. It’s too early to go to bed, but his head already feels impossibly heavy.

“Don’t think so,” Fjord answers finally. “Must just be hungry. Low blood sugar, maybe.” He can’t pretend like Caduceus didn’t see what he saw, though he’s still hoping Caduceus might. And after all, if it isn’t sickness, maybe it is hunger. It would make sense. Food’s been turning his stomach lately, the type or quality not seeming to matter. He hasn’t really examined it too closely. He was raised a kid in an orphanage that never had enough to go around, then a sailor on a long haul vessel, where the hardtack was all that was left by the end of the voyage. A lack of appetite has never been anything but a blessing.

“Mmm,” muses Caduceus. “Then you should make sure to finish that.” He nudges Fjord’s meal towards him. The sodden vegetables that sank to the bottom of the bowl swirl in a lazy arc as it inches closer, leaving streaks of oil all through the thin broth. Fjord’s stomach does a flip.

Caduceus is one to talk, he thinks. If there’s anyone who needs a lecture on feeding himself enough, it’s their resident vegetarian. But Fjord doesn’t say that. Caduceus will (rightly) read his words as deflection, and redouble his efforts to get Fjord to finish the bowl. Which would be simpler to do, if his hands would just stop shaking for two damn seconds. 

It’s a bit of a conundrum - a circular problem, really. Eat, then feel better, then it makes eating less of a trial. He just has to pick a point and start. 

He reaches for the spoon. And that’s as far as he gets.

Nott and Beau are arguing about something across the table. Somebody stole someone else’s mug, there’s not enough pork belly to go around, some circumstance has off and upset Caleb; who knows what it is tonight. There’s always something to bicker about, but at least tonight it’s keeping the rest of the group’s attention occupied. 

“I could help, if that would make things easier,” Caduceus offers, a hint of a smile playing over his lips, and this time Fjord’s face flushes with a definite heat. Shame slinks down low in his belly, enough to overpower the nausea in his gut, enough to spur him to pick up the bowl, spoon be damned, and swallow the rest of the broth in three mighty gulps. When he looks at Caduceus over the rim of the bowl, already regretting the decision, his expression hasn’t changed. He’s still smiling, like he’s pleased either way, so long as the soup made it into Fjord. 

He definitely doesn’t feel better.

“I can feed myself,” Fjord insists, wiping the corners of his mouth with his hand. He means to be scornful; it comes out defensive. The shame coils a little tighter, curdling the soup to bile in his belly. He isn’t a child, but he’s doing a fine imitation of one. 

“I know you can,” Caduceus says, unmoved. “Did it help at all?”

“Yes,” Fjord lies. Then, because he’s starting to feel like an asshole, “thanks.”

He shouldn’t have snapped. Like always, Caduceus is just trying to help. He’s not searching for ammunition, or picking him apart for things to whisper to the others:  proof that Fjord is unable to shoulder his own load, yet again. 

He wouldn’t do that. Others might, others have, but Caduceus won’t.

At least, Fjord hopes. 

They really haven’t known each other that long.

—

It must have started with the dreams. Or… well, then again, maybe it was the shipwreck that did it. The two experiences are indelibly linked; you don’t get one without the other. Could have been either. Might have been both.

Probably both.

Either way, the months drag on, and Fjord finds his eyes opening a little earlier each night. At first, that seems like a good thing. There are things that need doing, and not enough capable hands to do them. Nobody else can mend a spoke like he can (that’s a lie - Jester’s magic does in an instant what his hands can in an hour), or keep a fire going on a damp night (that too - and Caleb doesn’t even need wood to do it), or-

There really isn’t much, is there? Things he can do, that the others can’t. 

More nights than most, he ends up just lying awake as the moon glides slowly overhead, curled with his blanket below his chin and his eyes squeezed tightly shut, like a little more pressure might help him nod off for good. Occasionally, he gives up and wanders a bit off from camp. Finds a log, leans his back against it, counts the leaves in the trees above. He does his best to ignore the scratch of rough cotton against his chest, and the salty particulate that dries hard and irritating within the weave of coarse fabric, that doesn’t come out no matter how hard he scrubs. The discomfort is as good an excuse as any for why he doesn’t want to lay back down. But in general, the group doesn’t ask. Everybody has their own shit to deal with.

He does find, alone in the cool night air, his eyelids fluttering, listening to the birds greet the new dawn, that he rests a little easier. He still can’t usually sleep, but a light doze is manageable.

When there’s a tavern, he shares a room with Molly. Molly, who drinks and carouses and comes back at all hours of the night - sometimes alone, sometimes in company, always loud . And if Fjord wakes up once, that’s it for him - the end of whatever meager rest he’s managed to eke out, though truthfully, if it’s a night involving company, a hallway sit or chatting with the bartender till sunrise is preferable to being present for what follows, asleep or no. 

It’s annoying at times, sure, and he begins most mornings bleary-eyed one way or the other, but it’s not that bad, all in all. The nights when Molly is present and it’s just the two of them, Fjord sleeps well, and deeply, and the dreams tend to come less often than they otherwise might. 

Those are the good nights.

Then comes Shadycreek Run. Then comes Lorenzo, and darkness, and endless nightmares that spill into the waking hours, and when they all emerge into the light of day once more, Fjord can no longer bring himself to wander too far from camp at night, not without someone else watching his back.

And Molly is gone.

And Caduceus takes his place. And they all move on.

And Fjord still sleeps, on most nights. Just a little less.

—-

“Hey, there. That’s alright. That’s fine now. You want to take a few steps back towards me?”

Fjord blinks, the shattered shards of glass crystalizing in his vision into something a little less metaphorical, a little less abstract.

The cup. He dropped it. 

Oh.

It’s well past midnight, though in the absent light of Rosohna, there’s no good way to tell. There’s also no good reason for Caduceus to be awake, down here, watching Fjord make a mess of things as he fumbles for a glass of water in the dark.

He’s not really sure why his eyes are burning. It’s just a glass; they have twenty, of all shapes and sizes, and none of them expensive. What a stupid thing to be upset over.

He’s just tired.

He’s just tired .

“Fjord?”

Oh, right. Caduceus is still standing there, waiting for Fjord to back away from the hazardous region now strewn across their kitchen floor, like a normal person would. 

The first step is easy enough to keep steady. The second is harder. Caduceus grabs a hold of his shoulders by the third, guides him into a chair that definitely wasn’t there a moment before. “There you go,” Caduceus encourages him. “Let me just get that cleaned up, ok? Just a couple minutes. Don’t go anywhere on me.”

Fjord opens his mouth - to offer to help, or to apologize, he’s not sure which - but his tongue is lead-weighted, his throat too closed off to form sound. Caduceus grabs a broom, and Fjord takes deep breaths, and watches someone else clean up his mess. 

“Thank you,” he says as Caduceus pads back over his direction after depositing the broken glass into a basket by the door. His feet are bare, but he doesn’t seem worried about any shards that might remain. “You didn’t have to do that.” Vandren’s accent cloys in his mouth, too difficult to maintain properly at this time of night. His ‘r’s are beginning to morph into something smooth and clipped, rather than long and drawling, and his words come slower as he tries to choose simpler ones, the kind that don’t require an effort. “You should… bed. Sleep. We’ll have a long day tomorrow.” Shit, he almost made it, but that last one nearly ended in a flipped tongue. Fjord shuts his mouth before it can betray him any further.

“I’d offer you a metaphor about glass and houses, but it seems a little too on the nose,” Caduceus teases. He goes to the wall and lights a little lantern, summoning a dim glow that neither of them technically need to see, before kneeling in front of Fjord’s chair. Caduceus’s height being what it is, that brings the two of them just about to eye-level. “May I?”

Fjord nods, not quite knowing what he’s agreed to, but feeling it’s owed, regardless. Caduceus places a few fingers beneath Fjord’s chin, turning it this way and that, tipping his jaw back to expose Fjord’s throat in a way that sends his blood singing from root to fingertip. When he swallows, his gorge rises against the soft fur that carpets Cadcueus’s knuckles. He shivers - not quite afraid, not quite not.

“Can you look down at me? There. That’s perfect.” Apparently, Caduceus finds what he’s looking for with little effort, because he barely meets Fjord���s eyes longer than a moment before his gaze shifts away. Or maybe Fjord’s does; it’s hard to tell. He’s been having trouble keeping his eyes focused, recently.

“What- what was that for?” Fjord stumbles, trying and failing to land in the realm of ‘curious’ rather than ‘irrationally frightened’. 

“I was just wondering… hmm. Did you know, you can tell a lot about most animals, just by looking at their eyes?”

“I... did not.” 

“Oh yes. If an animal is fatigued, or in distress, their pupils tend to dilate and contract rather rapidly. Haven’t you noticed?” If this is an allegory that ends in his health being measured against Jester’s weasel, he’s laying full claim to the right to quit the team for good.

“Can’t say that I spend a lot of time looking into animals’ eyes.”

“I highly recommend it.” Caduceus cocks his head to the side, pausing to mull over whatever his next words will be. His shock of pink hair tickles the edge of Fjord’s collarbone. Fjord swallows again. “Your eyes are telling me quite a bit, Fjord.”

Maybe there’s a bit of animal in him after all, because Fjord’s first instinct is to bolt like a cornered one. “Like what?” he asks, a question he doesn’t want the answer to.

“That this isn’t the first night you’ve been up wandering at all hours. That you could use a little more sleep than you’re getting.”

Fjord huffs a laugh, then forces himself to shuffle the chair back out of Caduceus’s reach and stand. Caduceus follows suit, quick enough to block Fjord’s path before he slips out of the kitchen. He’s lithe, but tall and long-limbed, and Fjord would have to shoulder-check his way out to get past him. He doesn’t think Caduceus would put up a fight. He wouldn’t force him to stay. 

There’s no reason to feel as trapped as he does.

“I should probably get to bed, like you said,” Fjord offers weakly.

Caduceus doesn’t move aside. “Will you sleep, when you’re there?” A whine is building up in Fjord’s throat, desperation and frustration mingling into something easier to call anger than dread. 

“As much as I ever do,” he forces through gritted teeth, not quite there enough to lie. “Let me past, will you?”

Caduceus’s willowy arm branches towards the doorframe - at first a barrier, and then an acquiescence. A beckoning, guiding Fjord through. “...Go ahead.”

Would you come with me?  

The question is so unexpected, even in his own mind, that it startles him back into some measure of wakefulness. Once he has it, it rests on his tongue like a buzzing insect, begging to be set free. He hasn’t gotten a good night’s rest since Molly died, and Caduceus wouldn’t read the same implication into the question as others might- But it’s too late to ask for that now. It’s all too late.

When they first got this house, Beau and Jester claimed a room together, like there was no question that one would stay without the other, and he really had wanted his own space back then, he had wanted it, had been desperate for it, because it was safer to be on his own - less time he had to spend hiding the salt-water stains, and the accent slips. He wanted it, and he can’t complain now about loneliness when Caduceus is already gone and settled into his own private sanctuary on the roof, when it’s all been decided and laid down in stone. The sheer neediness of the request chokes him. He can’t always be the one asking for help. He can’t be-

Fjord-

He can’t-

Fjord…

He can’t-

“Fjord.” 

They’re at the top of the stairs. 

How did they get there? 

Caduceus is still at his arm, still talking. “Will you be alright?”

“Always am,” he says mechanically, because it’s true. He’s kept going this long.

There are blankets being handed to him, hands guiding him into bed, hands smoothing back the hair from his forehead. His mind leaps about, springing from one thought to the next with alarming speed, and the one incredulous thought at the center of it all: that he used to want something like this, in the years before he taught himself not to want anything from parents that were never coming back.  

“I could stay, if you’d like.” Did Fjord say it after all, then? He doesn’t think so. He would have remembered - but the trip from kitchen to bedroom is still rather hazy. “Do you want me to stay, Fjord?” Caduceus asks again, uncertain, like he doesn’t already know the answer to his own question. That’s a first.

“M’ fine,” he mumbles into his pillow. Now that it comes down to it, the prospect of having someone else there when he wakes goes back to being terrifying, though the reason why eludes him, lost somewhere in the sparking cavalcade of exhausted thoughts. Maybe there isn’t a reason. Maybe he’s just scared of everything. That tracks.

“... alright.” Caduceus isn’t pleased with his answer. That tracks too. He’s not usually good at giving them. He’s not usually good... 

“Sleep well, Fjord.”

And he does, for the hour or so before another dream comes, and when he wakes it’s to the visage of a yellow eye burnt into his eyelids. But somewhere beyond that, in the periphery, there’s another sight too: the memory of two pink irises, and a soft hand against his throat, so different from Avantika’s sharpened nails or Uk’otoa’s slithering grip. 

It’s been a while, since someone has touched him there, and not meant for him to choke.

—-

It’s fitting, he’ll think many years later, that the end of it all came in a dream too. That he should have woken again in the ocean’s embrace, but safe on dry land as well. The kelp that embalms his limbs protects rather than pulls: warding against an icy death, rather than dragging him to it. There is no struggle to reach the surface - no call to fight, to destroy, to dominate, to consume. There are only gentle words, gentler warmth, and an ever-greening light - not a promise of salvation, but a path towards it. 

He dreams, for as long as it takes for his friends to pull him from his cocoon. Once he’s finally found his feet again, his legs are stronger beneath him than they’ve ever been. When he reaches out to summon the sword, his fingers are steady. No hint of a tremor in his wrist.

It feels like being awake, for the first time in a long time. 

—-

They take a long, long rest in Halas’s armory, or what’s left of it. Honestly, Fjord would have rather kept going. He’s all too cognizant of the time that’s passing in the outside world. The last time the group went on an indefinite sojourn into the unknown, they came back to find Felderwin in ruins, destroyed in their absence. He hasn’t forgotten how Nott could have lost her husband and child for the sake of his stupidity, his hubris. How they all could have brought about the end of the world if he’d just pushed it a little farther. How even now that he’s left that life behind, even now that the Wildmother has - somehow, impossibly - deigned to make him her paladin, he still has a lot to make up for.

The rest of the party is already asleep, all pressed to the edges of the dome like fish in a barrel, circling Caleb’s huddled form beneath the apex. Even in the faint light from the glowing runes of the two magical ballistae, Fjord can make out the beginnings of an angry bruise at the base of his throat, where the golem’s collar snapped shut and bit into the flesh. Caleb’s hand twitches every so often towards the injured spot, worrying the absent collar even in sleep. He understands; Fjord doubts he’d be able to forget something like that any quicker than Caleb.

From his perch in the gunner’s nest, there isn’t much to see - just a closed door to the tower, and the still-smoking remains of the golem at its foot. 

Off.

Who knew it could be that simple? One word from Caduceus, and the lights go out. If he’d known, he thinks with more humor than bitterness, he might have asked Caduceus to try it on him months ago, just to see if it stuck.

Fjord told the others that he didn’t need to rest with them, that he felt fine. And it was true, truer than it’s been in a long time. He’ll be tired when the party wakes, but not deliriously so. That’s the thing - when you get enough sleep on the regular, missing a night or two here or there isn’t unbearable.

And funnily enough, he has been. Sleeping, that is.

At first, he thought the shift was Melora’s doing - a depth of dreaming she invoked to keep Uk’otoa’s eyes off him. He was alright with it being nothing more than her failsafe against his being taken back - anything for an extra few hours of shut-eye. But the change wasn’t all at once, a one and done thing. There are still plenty of nights that he tosses and turns, wakes sweat-soaked and exhausted, paces the length of his room while he waits for a socially appropriate hour to start on breakfast. Still, he’s found that not dreading the mornings to come is helping at lot with staying asleep. There are still problems and worries to face when he gets up, but far fewer that he has to handle on his own.

He didn’t really realize, until now, how much the facade was taking out of him. 

Though he wishes he could, Fjord doesn’t meditate the way Caduceus does, at least not when he’s alone. He’s tried before, but he never seems to know the right words, the right rituals, the right state of mind. But he’s learning. He’s getting there. In the meantime, Fjord does what he can: he thinks the night away. He ponders lakes and dustlands and marshy swamps; all the places they’ve been, all the ones they haven’t visited yet. He hears her voice in the remembrance of crashing waves, and calls that close enough to worship. 

He thinks, for him, it is.

When the rest of the party finally comes to, Fjord hasn’t slept a wink. Still, he doesn’t feel exhausted. He’s fine, actually.

And you know what? This time, he really might be.

—-

The girls have their tattoos finished by the time the three of them return to the ship, bellies heavy with greasy food and hearts a little lighter. Caleb goes to check on Nott, already asleep in their room, and a wincing Jester drags Beau around the middle and pulls her off to bed, both trying not to jostle the other’s fresh ink. Which just leaves Fjord and Caduceus on deck, and Orly, who’s in the process of wrapping up his tools into bundles and tying them off with leather twine.

“Your cabin’s waiting, Cap’tn,” Orly says, catching Fjord’s eye. “Finally got the last of Avantika’s things cleared out, if you’ll be wanting a bigger space.”

He’ll never quite be comfortable with that title, nor the privileges it seems to afford. “No,” he hedges, “that’s- my old room’s fine. Plenty of space for me.” Caduceus clears his throat and Fjord flinches, all at once reminded that he’s not the only one impacted by his refusal. “Unless you’d rather have the room to yourself, Caduceus? I could- or you-”

“Whatever you prefer is fine with me,” Caduceus says, pleasant but noncommittal, then heads for the hatch to the lower level. Fjord stares after him, not really sure what to do with that. 

“Well, I’m off to bed,” Orly says, finally breaking the awkward silence. “Night, Cap’tn.”

“Night,” he echoes back. Orly disappears below deck, and then it’s only him, left with nothing but his indecision to ward off the night chill.

It’s not like he has to make the choice right away - Avantika’s former quarters are on the way to the rest of the crew berths. He’s somewhat surprised to find that no one else has taken up residence there. Like Orly said, they’re far more generous than the typical room. But the way he had said it… it’s almost like they were keeping the space open. For the Captain, whenever she- whenever Fjord returned. 

Fjord staunchly swallows past the lump in his throat, then turns the doorknob to Avantika’s quarters.

There it all is, just as they left it, if a bit more barren - a desk, a bed, a poorly sealed hole in the floor, an empty alcove where a shrine once sat. It’s a fine room, and well insulated from the outside world. With the doors to the balcony closed, he can barely hear the ocean’s rock against the hull.

Fjord sits on the double bed, presses a hand to the sheets. Still the same mattress as when- as the last time. He can tell. It’s not hard like a typical berth; Avantika had a taste for the richer things in life. She was particular. She was…

His throat closes up a little more, not from emotion this time, but a memory. He looks down at the pillow, and sees red hair spilling like silk from a careless hand, sees his own grip come up to match hers. Sees how easily a slender throat can snap, with enough pressure. If the mood is right. If it’s what has to be done.

Avantika never once asked him to stay. 

He doesn’t know what it’s like, to wake up in this bed. He doesn’t want to.

...He doesn’t have to.

Caduceus is still awake by the time Fjord finds his way back to their old room. There’s a little kettle going on the dresser, which has to be against some sort of shipside regulation, but without an open flame he can’t find any reason to complain. Caduceus doesn’t comment on his tardiness, but he does offer Fjord a cup. 

Fjord can’t help but notice that there were already two set out.

“So, how’s it feel?” Caduceus asks as Fjord takes a seat on the opposite bed. 

“How’s what feel?”

“Being back here, on this ship?”

Fjord sips his tea - herbal, loamy, not bad - and takes the time to consider his answer. He wants to give an honest one. He’s been working at that. “Good,” he decides. “I missed this.” What this is is somewhat nebulous, even in his own mind, but it feels right when he says it.

“Good,” says Caduceus. “Glad to hear it.”

They sit a while in silence after that, drinking their tea, exchanging the occasional friendly glance over their respective cups. This feels… safe, in a way that Avantika’s chamber didn’t. 

“Hey, Caduceus? Can I ask a question?”

“Mm?” Caduceus hums, setting down his tea and giving Fjord his full attention. “Sure.”

“It’s just… something that I’ve been wondering about.” He laughs, the old self-deprecation still creeping into his voice, though not as heavily as it once did. “It’s stupid... you probably don’t even remember this. But there was a night, back in Xhorhas, when you helped me clean up a broken glass in the kitchen.”

“...I remember,” Caduceus says after a moment, expression unreadable. 

Fjord’s heart is pounding harder than it has any right to.

“Did I… did I ask you, to stay with me?” Fjord ducks his head, knowing that his embarrassment, as always, shows too clearly on his face. “I mean- just because you said, you know- I wasn’t sure.” He cuts himself off before he can stumble back into the neverminds and forget its. They can only protect him so far, and he really does want to know, as much as he fears the answer.

Caduceus breaks into a soft smile. “Well, not in those words, no. But it seemed to me that you were asking for something, for a very long time. We just weren’t very good at hearing you.”

Fjord laughs again, rubbing at his neck. “You have to actually speak for people to hear what you’re saying.”

Caduceus watches him, rolling over Fjord’s self-effacing tone with painfully solemn honesty. “I don’t think that’s always true.”

Fjord stares at the walls, not really able to keep on meeting eyes that always seem to see right through him. “I wanted you to stay,” he admits - not quite a whisper, but not quite there either. “ I was afraid to.”

“Why’s that?” The question betrays nothing more than curiosity, but Fjord treats it with the seriousness it deserves.

“Vandren always taught me that there’s nothing weaker than saddling other people with your problems. I didn’t want... to need that kind of help. To be weak, like that.”

“Even if I wanted to give it?”

It’s Fjord’s turn to look at Caduceus, to really look at him. Insight has never been his strong suit, but Caduceus seems genuine, in the way that Fjord wants to be, has been trying to be. 

“Why?” That’s the crux of his confusion, the one thing Fjord can’t wrap his head around. “Why would you want that?” What am I to you, that you keep on giving, when all I do is take?

“Because I care for you.” He says it like it’s true, like it’s what he really feels. I care for you . What does that mean? “You don’t believe me,” Caduceus states, impossibly understanding, but still disappointed.

“No,” Fjord is quick to correct him, not wanting to throw his words back in his face, “No, it’s just…” Why bother with me, of all people? “It just seems like it shouldn’t have to be your responsibility.”

“You make it sound like kindness is a burden.” Fjord shrugs. Caduceus leans forward, knees a breath away from brushing his own. “You are not a burden to me, Fjord.” 

His eyes are burning again. Fjord grips the edges of the mattress, tries so hard not to hear those words for what they are, and what they mean, because the moment he does he knows something will break.

“You don’t have to believe me. But can I… may I show you?” The other mattress creaks, and then his own dips as Caduceus sits down by his side, waiting for an affirmation. When Fjord nods, he takes both hands and places them on either side of his chin. He turns Fjord until they’re nose to nose - breathing the same air, filling the same space. The pads of his thumbs soothe along the rabbiting pulse that courses beneath Fjord’s skin. 

Fjord closes his eyes, overwhelmed, as Caduceus lifts one hand and traces it along the edge of his cheek.

“I wondered, for a very long time, if I was on the right path. Whether what I was doing was really what the Wildmother intended.” His fingers move to the line of Fjord’s nose, pausing over the scar that cuts a jagged crease over his eye. “You were the first sign, that I had found my destiny. I knew, from the moment we met, that there was something broken in you.” Fjord flinches, but Caduceus’s other hand squeezes his neck gently, keeping him from turning away but not forcing, never forcing. “But you found your way out from the darkness. I may have lit the way, but you pulled yourself out. And I am so proud of you.” 

Fjord’s mouth parts involuntarily as the words seep into his chest, caught between a gasp and a whimper. The burning behind his eyes finally spills over. “You- every part of you, even the ones you hate- deserved to be saved. So if anything, it’s me who was selfish in all of this. Because I wanted to be the one to do it.”

He doesn’t remember the last time he cried in front of another person. He’s not sure he ever has. He should be mortified. But as Caduceus’s thumbs smooth away the wetness from his cheeks, he can’t bring himself to feel any shame. The tears seep like poison from an old wound - too long held inside his chest, too long carried beneath his skin, and hidden away. 

He lets his head drop to Caduceus’s shoulder. Lets himself be held. Lets himself hold on in return. And doesn’t feel guilty, for any of it.

—-

Crew quarters aren’t nearly as finely made as the captain’s cabin. Here, you hear everything - every groan of the hull, every buffett of wind, every shuffle of rigging from those still above deck. 

Fjord wakes to all those familiar sounds, and some that are new - gentle snores, puffs of warm breath, a heartbeat slower than his own. The seagulls are just beginning to herald the dawn, their cries sharp and biting, urging him to get up and start the day.

A little longer, Fjord thinks hazily. Just a few minutes more. 

He pulls one elbow out from where it’s fallen asleep beneath Caduceus’s side, then presses the tip of his cold nose back into the warmth of the silken shirt in from of him. Caduceus stirs, but doesn’t wake, and the arm that covers Fjord’s shoulders pulls him in a little closer. He lets himself be pulled. Lets his eyes fall closed.

Before he knows it, he’s asleep again. 

[searchingwardrobes]

Your Love is a Song

Happy Birthday, @let-it-raines ! For anyone who doesn’t know, Raines is an amazing writer and an all around sweet person. I was honored to have her as my Captain Swan Secret Santa, not only because she gifted me with an absolutely perfect fic but also because chatting with her was a blast. I am so blessed to have come to know her as a friend. I hope you have a fantastic day, Raines!

I got a prompt on Ao3 from a reader with the user name Adidas. Sweetie, wherever you are, I hope you read this because I don’t know your tumblr url or even if you have one. Anyway, the prompt was that Emma used to be into music but stopped. Then she meets musician Killian, and her family notices she’s started playing again. I wasn’t sure I could do the prompt justice since I am only a lover of music and not a musician myself, but then I was listening to the Switchfoot song “Your Love is a Song,” and this came to me. I was also working on Raines present, and it just all seemed to come together!

Summary: Emma Swan is having a pretty horrible night when she hears the voice: gravelly, sultry, with a touch of melancholy, accompanied by an acoustic guitar. She’s never heard the song before, but after that night, she won’t be able to get it out of her head. Or the dark haired, blue eyed man singing it.

Rated M, but only for brief mentions of nudity. It’s really light M with no smut, but I wanted to ere on the side of caution.

Words: 4,500 or so

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kday426 @winterbaby89 @teamhook @bethacaciakay @thislassishooked @tiganasummertree @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @optomisticgirl @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @branlovestowrite @shireness-says @distant-rose

Emma is bone weary, her dress is too tight, and she broke a heel chasing her latest skip. She’s walking barefoot through downtown Boston, which can’t be good. She had to run three blocks to catch the guy who – oh yeah – spilled wine all over her only nice dress. They were only a block from the nearest precinct, so she’d cuffed him and hauled him in on foot. Only now she’s trudging four blocks barefoot to get back to her Bug.

She’s leaning against the nearest storefront to massage her aching feet (they weren’t particularly happy with the stilettos in the first place) when she hears it. A voice; gravelly, sultry, with a touch of melancholy, accompanied by an acoustic guitar.

The dawn is fire bright against the city lights. The clouds are glowing now. The moon is blacking out.

The lyrics catch her attention too: poetic and speaking of a hope that’s belied by the tortured voice of the singer. He’s good too, whoever he is, with a voice that is powerful and melodic. Like a sailor drawn by a siren, Emma follows the music into the small, smoky bar. It’s one of those places below street level, the type of dive bar that locals swear by and tourists don’t know about. The source of the music is there, alone, in the corner of the bar. The place is too small and unpretentious for a stage, the crowd thin even for one in the morning on a weeknight. With her small clutch in one hand, and her broken heels in the other, she slides on to a stool at the bar, eyes glued to the dark-haired man singing in the corner.

When the bartender approaches, she asks for a beer and stays only long enough to finish it and hear one more song. She worries it’s the type of place where the bartender tries at being a part time therapist, but he leaves her alone. He can probably sense she’s not having the best night: her attire and the smell of wine saturating her dress screams bad date. Of course, who has good dates on a Wednesday night?

On second thought, maybe the bartender thinks she’s a hooker in her honey-trap dress. Oh well, like she ever cares what people think. (And it shows just how much of an idiot her skip was that he didn’t stop and think why a woman would be willing to hook up on a week night.)

She finishes her beer, pays the bartender, then rises to leave. The last notes of Pearl Jam’s “Better Man” linger behind her as she leaves, yet it’s the song that drew her into the bar in the first place that keeps haunting her mind. Even after a warm bath and her soft bed. For some reason, it fills up her apartment with a lonely cry.

********************************************************

Emma’s not entirely thrilled when Graham calls her the next day with some bull shit about paper work for the night before. She’s pretty sure it’s a thinly veiled excuse to ask her out. Again.

It is.

Prickly as she is, Emma still doesn’t take pleasure in turning the man down yet again. He’s nice and all, but . . . well, that just might be the problem. At any rate, she’s dragged herself out of bed for no purpose but to stomp on a nice man’s heart.

So maybe that’s why she stops in front of the bar. Maybe. She knows it probably won’t be open yet, and it isn’t, but she can at least scan the posters of musical acts littering the door. She startles when the door swings open.

“May I help you? We don’t open until after lunch . . . “

It’s the bartender from last night, and he’s narrowing his blue eyes at her with suspicion. She wonders if he recognizes her.

“Of course,” she says with a wave of her hand, “I was just looking for a musician on your posters. I stopped in for a beer last night, and he was really good -”

“Oh, . . that’s just my brother,” the man tells her. “Killian fills in on weeknights. We’re just a local dive, you know, and we can’t afford to pay for acts every blessed night.”

She realizes then he has a British accent, and she assumes his brother does too. Funny how you can rarely tell a person has an accent when they’re singing. Country music notwithstanding.

At least the bartender’s smiling at her now. “I remember you. Red dress, right?”

“Yeah,” Emma chuckles, tugging at the ends of her hair, “it had been a long night.”

He nods, humming in solidarity. “We all have those from time to time. It’s what bars are for, am I right?”

“One reason I guess,” Emma says with a shrug of one shoulder.

“Well, come again,” he says, easing back into the doorway, “on another week night if you like my brother.”

She opens her mouth to clarify that last statement, but the door is already closed.

*******************************************************

Emma tries to stay away from the bar, she really does. Especially because of the way the bartender could have meant the whole “if you like my brother” comment. If he actually mentioned her to said brother, it would be all kinds of humiliating.

Yet here she is, nursing a beer at one in the morning again. The brother – Killian – is indeed once again strumming his guitar in the corner, playing “Pictures of You” by The Cure. She tries not to stare, but the intense way he closes his eyes as his lips practically caress the microphone is too mesmerizing. She practically jumps when his brother addresses her.

“Another beer?”

“Oh,” Emma mutters, flustered as she gazes down into her empty mug, “uh, yeah.”

He regards her with almost amusement as he takes it, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he fills it at the tap.

“I didn’t mention you, if that’s what’s worrying you,” he tells her.

Her eyes widen and she feels warmth creep up her neck. “Um . . . thanks.”

He’s chuckling and shaking his head as he walks away, and Emma begins to wish she’d never come. Until Killian transitions to another song – the song.

I hear you breathing in. Another day begins. The stars are falling out. My dreams are fading now, fading out.

It’s all she can do not to close her eyes as the words wash over her. Though she does find herself humming as she finishes her beer and the song winds to a close. Killian says into the mic that he’s taking a break, and that jolts Emma out of her reverie.

She’s out the door before his guitar is back in its case.

When she gets home, she strides to her bed, not a trace of hesitation within her. She gets down on her knees and reaches underneath to pull out the hard case, running her hand longingly across it before flipping open the latches. She lifts the lid and exhales long and slow, just gazing at the acoustic Epiphone nestled in red velour. She takes it out almost reverently, settles on to the floor, and situates it on her knees.

The first strum is like a flame flickering back to life.

********************************************************

Emma comes to a complete stop in the middle of the bar the next night, frozen in place amidst the Friday night crowd. Friday night – shit, she’s an idiot! His brother said he only played on weeknights, and everyone knows Friday night kicks off the weekend. So of course, Killian is behind the bar, smiling at a flirty brunette, and over in the corner are a pair of women with guitars doing their best Indigo Girls impression. Emma thinks of turning and fleeing, but before she can, Killian turns in her direction, and his eyes meet hers. If she were the type, she would swear it was one of those moments in rom-coms when everything else in the room gets fuzzy and time slows down.

But she isn’t. The type, that is.

Leaving would be too obvious, though, so she gives him a nervous smile and approaches the bar. Up close, he’s even more handsome, and she can now see that his eyes are blue. Extremely blue. His brother’s were blue, so she should have figured, but Killian’s eyes. Damn. They make his brother’s seem colorless by comparison.

“So we finally meet,” he says, extending a hand. “Killian Jones.”

“Emma Swan,” she tells him as she takes his hand. And maybe there’s a spark, but again, she’s not that type. “Your brother told me he didn’t say anything.”

Killian cocks his head. “Liam?”

“So that’s his name.”

“Aye, but – why would he say anything?”

Emma’s face is on fire, and maybe leaving wouldn’t have been so bad. “You know – about me showing up Thursday morning looking for your music flyer.” She gestures in a ridiculous way towards the door.

“You did?” His broad grin makes her feel slightly less idiotic.

“I did,” she admits, “but you didn’t have to know that embarrassing detail, did you?”

He leans on the bar and chuckles. “I noticed you Wednesday night.”

“You did?”

“Why do you think I played Better Man?”

“Um, I don’t follow.”

“You came in with your heels in your hand, a wine stain on your dress, and a scowl on your face. Anyone who would leave you in such a state is clearly a jerk or an idiot or both. So . . . Better Man.”

He stands then, crossing his arms over his chest, and Emma notices how toned they are. She’d noticed as he strummed his guitar, but up close it looks even better. His head is cocked, one eyebrow raised, and a smirk tilts his lips. The cocky bastard.

“Let me guess,” Emma deadpans, leaning across the bar. His gaze flits to her cleavage, and she flashes a smirk of her own, “you’re that better man?”

“I could be,” he quips, his tongue swiping at his lower lip.

She rolls her eyes. “Well, I hate to devastate your ego, but you’re not the reason I keep coming back.”

Now he waggles those eyebrows, and she can’t help the brief chuckle that escapes her lips. “Oh no?”

“No. It was the song.”

He leans close again. “Which one, love?”

“Not your love. And it was the one you were playing Wednesday night when I first came in.”

“Aww, I see. And what’s it worth to you?”

She props her chin in her hand. “You do know there’s this thing called Google.”

“Yet here you are.”

She presses her lips together in a thin line. “You didn’t seem so full of it when you were playing your guitar.”

He laughs then, completely self-depracating, and she hates how it makes her heart flip. Then he tilts his head at her and pouts like a five-year-old, and that makes a traitorous smile fill up her face.

“Just that you’ll come back next time I play, Swan, that’s all I’m asking.”

She rolls her eyes again. “Fine, done. Now – the song.”

“It’s a Switchfoot song,” he says softly, all trace of flirting gone as he leans against the bar again, “one of my favorites. It’s called Your Love is a Song.”

Her breath hitches involuntarily at the intensity in his eyes. Someone yells for the bartender, and Killian yells back for them to wait a damn minute.

“You better go,” she tells him in a breathy whisper. She’s really piling up the rom com cliches tonight.

He sighs, but goes to serve the customer. The second his back is turned, she’s gone without evening ordering a drink.

When she gets home, she pulls out her guitar, this time settling cross legged on her bed. She finds the song online, with the chords, and starts to pick out the tune. She stays up most of the night before she gets it, her skills a bit rusty.

I’ve been keeping my eyes wide open. I’ve been keeping my eyes wide open.

*******************************************************

She waits until Monday night to return to the bar, and Killian is once again in the corner with his guitar. His eyes find her as she walks in the door, and he winks even as he continues to croon Free’s “All Right Now.” Instead of sitting at the bar, she takes a booth in his line of sight, and orders a beer once again from a red headed waitress. She could say she isn’t giving him sex eyes over the rim of her mug, but she’d be lying.

“This one’s for the blonde in the corner.”

And it’s her song. Your love is a symphony. All around me, running through me. She can’t help singing along under her breath, and when it ends, he stands.

“Sorry folks, but it’ll have to be the jukebox for the rest of the night.”

She can’t help the beaming smile that fills her face at his words, and her heart beats triple time when he puts away his guitar and saunters over.

“May I?”

“You may,” she says with a flip of her hair over her shoulder, and God, could she be any more cliché?

“How are you tonight, Emma?”

She shrugs coyly. “I’m better now.”

“Now that you’ve heard your song?”

She nods as she takes a sip of her beer. “I learned it last night. Took me hours, but I did it.”

His eyebrows raise in admiration. “You play?”

“It’s been awhile,” she says, “but yes.”

“I would be in a dark place if not for my music.”

She looks into his eyes, so sincere and intense. It’s as if he’s opened a door, inviting her in, fully

knowing she might not take it.

“When I was sixteen,” she begins slowly, running her finger through the condensation on her mug, “my foster mother bought an Epiphone for me from a pawn shop for Christmas. No one had ever done that for me before.”

“Bought you a present?”

Emma nods, the understanding in his voice giving her courage. “Not only that, but actually asking what I wanted for Christmas to begin with and then actually listening. She even payed for lessons.”

“I started playing around the same time,” Killian says, leaning back in the booth, “it helps during lonely adolescence, doesn’t it?”

Emma smiles and shrugs. “Cheesy I guess, but yes.”

He laughs lightly, and Emma finds that she loves the sound.

“Anyways, Ruth, that was her name, she encouraged me in my music. She and my foster brother David came any time I did talent shows and stuff. Then, when I put together a horrible garage band, they came to all our gigs.”

“So why did you stop?”

“Someone told me it was dumb, and I listened,” Emma lifts one shoulder to brush it off, though Neal’s biting words still echo in her mind. “He was right in a way. I wasn’t good enough to make a career out of it. And I’m good at what I do now . . . I like it -”

“Emma,” Killian cuts her off gently, placing a hand over hers, “just because art isn’t your career doesn’t mean its dumb or that it can’t be part of your life. If playing brings you joy, then play. Don’t let anyone stop you.”

His words are like a warm bath on an icy cold day. Ruth and David, even Mary Margaret and Ruby, have told her the same time and again. But for some reason, coming from Killian, a man with such talent in his voice and in his hands, it means so much more.

They continue to talk over drinks, the time going by much faster than Emma can believe. Before they know it, it’s closing time. Liam is berating Kilian for flirting instead of playing, but the smile on his face tempers his words.

Killian walks her to her car, and when he kisses her, she practically melts against the side of the Bug. Her hands tremble with want as she slides them up his chest, past his shoulders, finding stability when she digs her fingers into his hair. The melody of her song plays in her ears.

“Will you go to dinner with me,” he whispers against her lips.

She can barely collect herself enough to speak, but she does say yes. The next two weeks go by in a haze of bliss, with both lunch and dinner dates, and many hours at his and Liam’s bar. And any time she isn’t with him or working, she’s finding solace with her guitar.

************************************************

Emma is leaning against the sofa in her living room, her guitar once again on her lap, her tablet propped up on the coffee table as she strums through the chords of a new song she’s learning. It’s another one Killian had played at the bar. The verses are giving her trouble, but once she gets to the chorus, she belts it out, her eyes closed. When she gets to the next verse, she opens them to glance at the chords and screams when she sees a figure looming out of the corner of her eye.

“Shit, David,” she gasps, pressing a hand to her heart, “you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Well, you weren’t answering your door,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest in that pose of brotherly intimidation.

“And you couldn’t hear me playing?” she grumbles, putting her guitar back in its case and rising to her feet. “I gave you that key for emergencies only.”

David gives her a side hug and a kiss to her temple. “Well, you not answering the door classifies as an emergency.” Then he grins broadly, setting his hands at her shoulders. “But you’re playing again, that’s great! What changed?”

She bites her lip as she feels a traitorous blush rise to her cheeks. “I just . . . felt like it was time.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “Mhm, right Emma. And what else?”

“You know,” Emma says, stepping around him, “MM and Ruby are waiting for us at the restaurant.”

*****************************************************

“Emma’s playing again.”

The table falls silent as her friends turn to her with joyful expressions.

“That’s great!” Mary Margaret exclaims.

“But she won’t tell me what inspired her,” David adds, “and I know something’s up with her.”

“Why would you think that?”

“You haven’t been around much lately.”

“He’s got a point,” Ruby says, then her eyes widen and she gasps. “You met someone, didn’t you?”

“I . . . um . . . why would you think that?”

Ruby points at her, “Aha, see! You’re stumbling over your words, and your face is bright red.”

“Okay, so I did, but it’s not a big deal.”

“Oh Emma,” Mary Margaret breaths, “that’s wonderful!”

“Now slow down, MM, it’s only been a few dates.”

“How’s the sex?” Ruby asks, and David groans.

“There’s only been kissing,” Emma clarifies, shooting daggers at her blunt friend.

“What’s his name? How did you meet?” Mary Margaret is much too giddy, her chin resting on her fisted hands eagerly.

Emma sighs and tells them the whole story, starting with hearing him singing in the bar and not being able to get the song out of her head. Ruby and Mary Margaret are practically swooning while David is scowling.

“I need to meet this guy.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Don’t go all overprotective on me, David.”

“Well, I’m your brother, it’s part of the job description. “

“What was it?” Mary Margaret asks, ignoring her husband.

“What was what?”

She rolls her eyes. “The song. What was it?”

“It’s by Switchfoot. Your Love is a Song.”

Mary Margaret lets out a little gasp and presses her fingers to her lips as tears well up in her eyes. “Oh, that’s so beautiful! It’s fate!”

Emma eyes her warily as she hands her a tissue. “Slow down, MM, this isn’t a rom com.”

She waves her hand in front of her face as she dabs at her nose with the tissue. “I’m sorry. Pregnancy hormones.”

And suddenly the table erupts in another round of emotions with Emma and Ruby trying to hug Mary Margaret at the same time. Thankfully, the attention is off Emma. For now.

********************************************************

There’s a knock at Emma’s door the next night, and she’s surprised to see Killian standing there with grocery sacks in his arms. She tilts her head in confusion.

“I thought I was meeting you at the bar.”

“Aye, that was the plan,” he looks at her hesitantly, “until your brother showed up a little while ago to give me the third degree. You never mentioned he was a detective with the Boston PD. A mite intimidating.”

Emma groans. “Oh my God, I am so sorry! He gets a little . . . overprotective.”

Killian chuckles. “I can relate. Liam tends to be the same. At any rate, David parked himself in a corner booth and informed me he would be staying there to keep an eye on you. All night.”

Emma liftes her hands to her temple and massages her brow. “For the love of God, David!”

“So, I thought we could either hang out with both our big brothers watching, or I could come over and cook you dinner. In privacy.”

A flirtatious grin fills Emma’s face. “Now that sounds like a plan.”

With an eager smile of his own, Killian comes in and heads for her kitchen. She closes the door and sags against it, watching him unload the ingredients he brought over. It’s so domestic, and feels so right, and suddenly words to the song – their song runs through her head.

With my eyes wide open, I’ve got my eyes wide open, I’ve been keeping my hopes unbroken.

That’s the feeling sweeping through her – hope.

*****************************************************

As Emma stumbles backwards into her room and almost trips on a pair of shoes in the middle of the floor, she vaguely thinks that maybe she should have straightened up in here while Killian was cooking. But he doesn’t seem to care about her mess as he kicks the shoes out of their way and maneuvers her to the bed. Emma giggles against his lips as she falls backwards. He catches himself before he can fall on top of her, his hands braced on either side of her. He’s grinning wider than she’s ever seen, almost goofily, his hair a riotous mess. And in that moment, she knows.

She grasps his biceps lightly, caressing the muscle with her thumbs. “I love you,” she says, amazed that it doesn’t terrify her.

He waggles his eyebrows. “I know.”

She groans and rolls her eyes, more giggles falling from her lips. He swallows them with more kisses.

“That was so cheesy, Killian.”

“Was it?” he mumbles as he kisses a path down her neck. She digs her fingers into his hair and tugs so she can look into his eyes. They’re dark blue with desire. He nuzzles his nose with hers and speaks against her lips. “I have loved you since the moment you walked into the bar.”

“There’s no such thing as love at first sight, Killian.”

“Well I hate to tell you love, but that’s how it happened.”

She laughs again as she tightens her arms around his neck.

*****************************************************

“You still haven’t played for me,” Killian mumbles against the bare skin of her back, trailing kisses as he speaks. They are both sated and content, Emma wrapped up in his arms, her back to his chest.

“I can’t,” she protests, distracted when he lifts her hair to kiss the nape of her neck, delicious tingles running down her spine.

“Why not?”

She turns in his arms and buries her face in his chest. “Because you’re too good, and I’m . . . not.”

He kisses the top of her head, then lifts her chin gently. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

He kisses her once more on the forehead, then rises from the bed as if it’s decided. He goes to the corner where her guitar is propped up, then brings it back, holding it out like an offering. She sits up in bed, the sheets pooling at her waist.

“Do you think the offer is more appealing because you’re stark naked right now?”

He gins salaciously. “Perhaps.”

She shakes her head, messy curls falling across her forehead, but she reaches out for the guitar nonetheless. “Should I put some clothes on?” she wonders before she settles the guitar in her lap.

“Please no,” Killian pouts, “a beautiful woman playing the guitar in the nude has always been a fantasy of mine.”

Emma laughs, shaking the hair out of her face. “Okay, that’s rather specific.”

“Humor me, Swan.”

She winks at him, and his answering smile calms the butterflies in her stomach. Still, she closes her eyes and breaths in through her nose, her nerves still on edge. Her eyes fly open.

“What should I play?”

“Our song, of course,” he tells her softly.

“Right.”

A peace steals over her as she strums the first few chords. She closes her eyes as she begins to sing: I hear you breathing in. Another day begins. The stars are falling out. My dreams are fading now, fading out. I’ve been keeping my eyes wide open. I’ve been keeping my eyes wide open.

When she begins the chorus, Killian joins her, and the harmony of their voices together is more breathtaking than she ever could have imagined.

Your love is a symphony. All around me. Running through me. Your love is a melody. Underneath me. Running to me. Your love is a song.

Killian goes quiet again as she sings the second verse, but now she’s singing out strong, with power. His belief in her, his support of her, giving her voice strength.

The dawn is fire bright against the city lights. The clouds are glowing now. The moon is blacking out. I’ve been keeping my mind wide open. I’ve been keeping my mind wide open. Your love is a song.

By this time, tears are streaming down her cheeks, and she isn’t sure why. Killian gently takes the guitar out of her hands, and sets it carefully on the floor by the bed. Then he takes her in his arms, lowering her to the bed, and kisses all of her tears away. He cups her face tenderly as her eyes flutter open, her tears spent.

“I love you, Emma Swan. And you’re bloody brilliant, amazing.”

A year later, they sing the song – their song – at their wedding in exchange of vows. It may not be traditional, but in the lyrics is the very story of their love.

Your love is as symphony.

Your love is a melody.

Your love is a song.

[thesunglassesgamer]

The Talk, part 10

Sorry it’s late. My fault.

Jackie sat with her legs tucked into her chest as she watched Jam sleep comfortably on her hardwood floor, his chest moving up and down in time with his breathing. The encompassing darkness of the room was only broken by the streak of moonlight that broke through her bedside window, allowing her the sight of the alleged son's scars and bruises. Like the darkness, the silence that surrounded her was only broken by her own breathing, synced to Jam's own. Her body lay still in the darkness, eyes now fixated on a patch of darkness beyond Jam, while her mind raced too fast for her body to rest.

Why did it have to get so complicated and strange? Her mind had asked herself after an hour of pensive silence. Jackie had never imagined that she'd find herself stuck in love triangle with Marco Diaz and an American version of Sailor Moon, their future kids they might each have coming to interfere, her having to save Marco from a green bird… thing, and almost dying trying to escape. She was supposed to be dealing with stupid high school drama, what clothes to wear and who to wear them with, who to date, what classes to take… Things that she would make fun of herself later for caring about. Not adventures. Not real danger.

It's Star's fault, she heard in her head. Except that it wasn't Star's fault. Or at least, she couldn't be blamed for it. Sure, technically Star's arrival in Echo Creek had led to the events of the past two weeks, but she couldn't have known what was going to happen, or that Jackie was going to end up joining in the adventures and almost dying. And it was because of Star that Jackie had gotten to know Marco.

Marco. All of Jackie's introspection kept leading her back to Marco. Her eyes travelled down from the blank patch of darkness back to Jam's torn face. Her conversation with Jam floated back into the front of her mind as she went over the night's events:

"Jam?" Jackie had asked, her voice unsure, unconfident. "Are… you alright?"

"Ugh," He'd replied bitterly, hands still over his watery eyes. "It's mostly my pride that's hurt."

Jackie bite her lip and didn't respond. She walked on through the dimly-lit sidewalk, guiding Jam with her hand on his shoulder. The air smelled of morning dew as it lightly caressed their bodies, causing them to shiver involuntarily. The night hadn't been terribly cold; summer was soon to approach. Yet Jackie and Jam could not ignore the occasional breeze that pierced through their shallow layers of clothes. Another wave of wind hit Jackie, winding up from her waist and up her spine until it reached the nape of her neck and she let out a small gasp. Jam let his hands fall slightly and looked worriedly up to Jackie, his eyes now only a little red at the edges.

"Mom?" His voice was that of a worried puppy, looking up in fear for its master. "You okay?"

Jackie shrugged and kept walking. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Jam stared blankly at her for a moment, then, in one sweeping motion, took off his jacket and handed it to her. She looked abashed at the offer, but before she could refuse, he stated, "I'm fine. I've been in much colder weather than this with less on."

Jackie returned his blank stare and a long pause before furrowing her eyebrows. "Jam?"

"Yes?"

"Why did I marry Marco?"

The question that had lain heavy in her mind now dominated the environment. The noises of the Echo Creek nightlife (while admittedly very subtle to begin with) seemed to evaporate at the question's introduction, despite the sounds continuing on in the background. The question seemed to confuse Jam. He opened his mouth, closed it, blinked a few times, then opened it again, now accompanied with an odd look.

"What do you mean?"

Jackie kept her blank stare on Jam, yet he could detect that it had gotten ever so slightly harder than before. "Why did I marry Marco? In the future? Why? I mean-" Her lock on him broke as she looked down at the street, eyebrows furrowed harder, hands open and rising to her sides, as though ready to catch the answer. "I like him. It's been a very fun couple of weeks, he's nice, smart, and cute to boot, but-"her hands fell down to her sides and she looked up warily at Jam. "It's… kinda hard to see myself marrying him. I don't know, it's just… weird."

Jackie looked into Jam's eyes, hoping to find reassurance in them. To her unfortunate surprise, Jam looked mortified.

"Well, I- you said it yourself, you've only been with him for a couple of weeks, I mean- he IS very kind and smart and stuff… just- just-"He sighed, letting out a heavy sigh that seemed to have been weighing him down. "I don't know."

Fear started to grow within Jackie. The only reason why she wouldn't have told Jam something that important would be… "Why? Didn't I tell you when you were young?"

Jam shook his head, despondent. "No. I never talked to you much. Same with dad, although I talked with him a little more. You were both so busy with keeping the starcopalpse down that I only saw you when you were training me to survive. Until-" He trailed off. Jackie got the picture. Jam stared off down into the seemingly never-ending rows of houses, each one filled with families. Some would be incomplete, Jam knew, but never as incomplete as his.

"When?" Jackie asked, her eyes now glued to ground.

"Recently. It's why I'm here now." He held his head up high and refused to let any tears stain the ground he walked on. "I will stop the starcopalpse. I will save you and dad. We will have the life we deserved. And you," he stated as fact, voice now shaking, "will know why you fell for Marco Diaz."

He walked off down towards the row of houses, determined to get the sleep he needed to fulfill his goal, until Jackie's voice called from behind him: "That's not the way to my house."

Jam stopped. Blushed. Turned around and kept his mouth shut.

Jackie hadn't said another word to Jam that night until she was in bed and he was in a sleeping bag on her floor.

"Night."

"Night."

Yet Jackie did not sleep.

She was going to die. Or some future version of herself had died, prematurely. Something about Marco had made her willing, happy to marry him and live through a war with him. She didn't know what it was, but Jam presence made it clear that she would. Or might. Elizabeth existed, after all. Maybe Jackie would never get serious with Marco, and she'd move on. Star could have Marco, and live happily or unhappily with him. Should she let Star get Marco, knowing that Star's future with him was probably much better than her own? Was Marco worth dying young in a fruitless war? She wondered if future her would have made the same choices, knowing the outcomes. Of course, Jam could be right: maybe he could fix the future, and allow her to live happily with Marco. Assuming she would be happy with him in the first place.

Her head fell down unto her knees and she sighed. It was hard to be the chill skater-girl with so much chaos around her. It was also, apparently, hard to stay awake after so much chaos. Even the thoughts that haunted her couldn't keep her body from eventually winning out. And so darkness finally fell as the first beams of light from the sun rose up over the horizon.

Real talk: This was the worst chapter to write. This must have been the 3-4 draft of it, and each other draft got scraped after it was half-way done. It's currently 12:06 am as I'm writing this, because if I didn't write it now, it'd never get done. I apparently lied about the 'multiple chapters in April' promise, and I'm sorry. Unfortunately, I can do much more than say "I'm sorry" besides post another chapter. Honestly, if it hadn't been for korra-naga-mako lover 2112 and their 8-9 chapter review spam, it might never have happened. I don't want to make any more fake promises, so please be patient. Thank you.

[infinite-beginnings]

Ok I've got a prompt for you: Remember when Betty said she was all about "the beast within?" Werewolf Betty! Werewolf Betty! Lol. I'm thinking more funny than dramatic but go where the muse takes you!

Okay, when you first said werewolf Betty my mind immediately went to the Teen Wolf type wolves and Jughead being her anchor. So this isn’t really funny, it probably falls more along the line of dramatic…but I tried to keep it pretty light for you. I hope you like it!

“Hey Bets” Jughead jogged to catch up with her after school.

“Hi Juggie” Betty stopped as he leaned down to kiss her softly. “How was the end of your day?”

“Eh, it was school. Do you wanna go to Pop’s for dinner tonight?” Jughead linked their fingers together as they walked.

“Sorry, I can’t. I have a lot of homework to do tonight.” Betty tried to casually turn down his offer.

“You can do it at Pop’s. I have some work to do too.”

“Sorry, I just have this difficult paper and I really need to be someplace quiet.” Betty knew she was acting suspicious, she never turned down an opportunity to spend time with Jughead, but she couldn’t be with him tonight.

“Okay, well how about I come over to your house and we can do our work together.” Jughead was looking at her quizzically

“No!” Betty said a bit louder than she intended, she quickly backtracked, “Sorry Jug, I just am really stressed about this paper and I think I will focus better on my own. Having you around is a bit of a distraction.” Betty smiled up at him and kissed him on the cheek. Jughead smiled and kissed her on the lips.

“You’re right. I would probably want to do a lot more of that.”

“See?” Betty broke away and continued walking, glad that Jughead appeared to buy her excuse.

“Okay, but I’ll be at Pop’s for a while if you happen to finish early.” Jughead said when they arrived at her house.

“I’ll let you know” Betty leaned up to kiss him goodbye knowing full well she would not be making it to Pop’s.

*****

Jughead didn’t go to Pop’s. As soon as Betty’s door shut he ran and hid behind a bush next to her house. He knew something was up and he was determined to find out what that was.

Jughead had put two and two together almost by accident. Two months ago, Betty had flaked out on hanging with the gang. Jughead had walked home and looked up at the giant full moon and thought that Betty would enjoy the sight.

Then last month, Betty had once again given him a lame excuse about why she couldn’t spend the night with him. He became suspicious when he saw that it was once again a full moon. He tried to tell himself that it was a coincidence, but he didn’t really believe in those.

Tonight was the next full moon, and Jughead had tested Betty, pressuring her to spend time with him more than he normally would’ve, but she hadn’t budged. Jughead wasn’t sure if she was in a cult, or maybe practicing witchcraft, but whatever it was, it had to do with the full moon.

Jughead was going to figure out what was going on with his girlfriend. He hated to sneak around like this, but he was worried that something might be really wrong. He really hoped that he was just going crazy and imagining things. He hoped that Betty would stay in her room all night and he could call himself an idiot for thinking those things.

His hopes were crushed when an hour later, Betty snuck out of her back door, dressed in black and carrying a big backpack.

“Damn it, Betty, what are you doing?” He muttered under his breath as he followed her for a distance. They walked for what felt like hours. Betty headed directly out of town and into the woods that surrounded Sweetwater river. Finally, she stopped at the base of a huge tree. She scanned the sky. Jughead guessed she was looking for the moon, which hadn’t risen yet. Betty then dropped her backpack, which landed on the ground with a loud rattle. Jughead’s anxiety about the situation rose 100% when she reached down and pulled heavy chains out of her bag. When she started securing herself to the tree with the chains, Jughead reached his breaking point. “What the hell are you doing?” He asked, stepping out from his hiding spot. Betty froze and slowly turned to look at him.

“Jughead…” She said in shock as the chains slipped from her hands to the ground.

“Betty, you better answer my question before I completely freak out.” Jughead walked closer to her.

“Um, it’s sort of hard to explain.” Betty fidgeted nervously, she kept glancing from Jughead to the sky and back. “But I promise I will tell you everything tomorrow. Right now, you need to get out of here.” Betty put a hand on his arm and started to push him away, but he shrugged her hand off.

“No, no way am I leaving you out here in the middle of the woods until I know what’s going on.”

“I can take care of myself.” Betty said giving him a small smile. “Now please leave” She said desperately.

“It is witchcraft, are you a witch?” Jughead asked and then blinked in surprise when Betty laughed.

“You think I’m a witch?” She asked, still laughing. Jughead couldn’t help but feel slightly offended. She was the one out in the woods chaining herself to a tree and she had the audacity to laugh at him for thinking she was a witch.

“Why else would you come out to the woods dressed all in black every month on the full moon?”

“Oh, is it a full moon?” Betty tried to act nonchalant.

“Don’t act cute, for the past few months you have canceled our plans every time there was a full moon. Now answer the question. What the hell are you doing?” Jughead knew that he was yelling, but he couldn’t help it. He was frustrated and confused and scared and he just wanted to know what was going on with his girlfriend.

“I can’t…I don’t…” Betty took a few steps back. She looked like she was having a hard time focusing on the conversation. “Please, it isn’t safe.” Betty looked at him and this time he saw fear in his eyes. What that fear for his sake or for her own.

“Betty,” Jughead closed the distance between them and grabbed her hands. “Whatever is going on you can tell me. I promise it won’t change the way I feel about you. I just want to help you.”

“I’m a werewolf.” Betty blurted out. Jughead looked at her in shock, trying to see if she was teasing him again, but this time her face was deadly serious. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The full moon, the chains, her nerves.

“How?”

“It happened on my internship. A rogue alpha bit me. The local pack tried to help me manage my changes, but there was only so much they could do in the two months I was there. I have a pretty good handle on it, but I still struggle on the full moon.”

“Oh my god…you’re actually a werewolf.” Jughead said as it really began to sink in. She wasn’t messing with him, he could tell. “Werewolves are real?” He shook his head in disbelief

“Yes, now you really need to leave before the moon rises. I can’t control myself.”

“I don’t want to leave you. I don’t think you will hurt me.”

“You have no idea.” Betty stepped away from him and walked over to the chains. “If you won’t leave, then at least help me.” She held out the chains to him. Jughead hesitated, he didn’t want to chain her up, but she was right, he had no idea what he was dealing with. With a nod he took the chains from her. Betty stood with her back to the tree and Jughead wrapped the chains around her torso and the tree. He secured them in the back with a giant lock.

“Is that good?” He asked, watching as she tested the chains.

“Yes, now leave.” Betty looked like she was in pain. Jughead figured she was trying to resist the change

“I can’t” Jughead would never forgive himself if he left his girlfriend chained up in the middle of the woods alone. “You said the pack helped you control yourself, how did they do that?” Jughead’s mind was moving a mile a minute, trying to figure out a way he could help Betty.“They…told me…pain makes you human….and to find…an anchor” Betty said between gasps.

“Okay, what’s your anchor?”

“Not what…who.” Betty managed to give him a small smile. “It’s you”

“Oh Bets” Jughead found himself incredibly touched that she choose him to draw her strength from. Before he could say anything else, her entire body convulsed. Betty slammed her eyes shut and clenched her fists. “Betty?” Jughead asked hesitantly. Betty opened back up her eyes and Jughead was shocked to see them glowing a bright yellow. Suddenly, Betty began to change. She bared her teeth, which were now fangs, her face grew more wolflike, and her hands opened to reveal claws. Jughead couldn’t help but take a step back in shock. It was hard to identify his sweet Betty in the fierce looking creature in front of him. She snarled and struggled against her chains. “Betty?” Jughead asked again. Her yellow eyes snapped to him, but there was no sign of recognition. She only snarled and struggled harder. Jughead did not like how much the chains were creaking.

He took another step back just as the chains broke and Betty launched at him. She knocked him on his back, landing on top of him. He felt sharp claws rake across his arm and he cried out in pain. He tried to push her off, but she was way too strong for him so he decided on a different strategy.

“Betty! Betty, it’s me Jughead. Your boyfriend, remember, your anchor. It’s Jughead.” Betty stopped trying to claw him. She looked at him, confusion apparent in her glowing yellow eyes as if trying to place him. “I remember another time when we ended up in this position in these very woods. Do you remember? It was the summer after second grade. You, Archie, and I were playing sailors and pirates and I was a pirate who stole your treasure. You tackled me to get it back, do you remember that? After that, I always made sure to be on your side.” Jughead spoke quickly, hoping that this was working. Betty wasn’t moving, which he counted as a win since she wasn’t trying to claw him.

“Jughead?” Almost in slow motion, recognition made its way across Betty’s face.

“Hi baby” Jughead said with a smile, watching in fascination as Betty’s face transformed back and her glowing yellow eyes faded back to their beautiful green. After a few moments, Betty seemed to notice their position and gave him an apologetic look.

“Sorry,” She went to climb off of him, but he wrapped his arms around her waist, keeping her in place.

“No worries, I like my women fierce.” Jughead said with a grin. Betty gave him her adorable crooked smile and relaxed against him, laying her head on his chest.

“I can’t believe you did that, you got me to change back. You really are my anchor.” Betty said softly.

“Yeah, I can’t believe that I did that either” Jughead responding, taking deep breaths and attempting to slow his racing heart.

“Crazy boy” Betty said, lifting up her head to give him a loving look. Then she suddenly gasped and sat up, grabbing Jughead’s arm. “Juggie, you’re bleeding.”

“So I am” Jughead, who had forgotten all about his injury looked at his upper arm. His flannel was ripped revealing four long cuts.

“Oh I’m so sorry, I’m the worst girlfriend ever” Betty looked on the verge of tears.

“Bets, you’re a werewolf, that makes you to coolest and best girlfriend ever.” Jughead said with a grin.

“But I-”

“But nothing, tis but a scratch.” Jughead stood up and held out his hand to help Betty.

“Are you really quoting Monty Python right now?” Betty shook her head in disbelief, but she took his hand.

“I am” He kept hold of her hand and pulled her close. Jughead leaned down to kiss her softly on the lips. “My girlfriend’s a werewolf, seriously that’s the coolest thing ever.” He said when he pulled away. He was glad to see a smile on Betty’s lips.

“Alright you dork, let’s go home and get that arm cleaned up.” Betty took his hand and started to lead him away.

“Um Bets?”

“Yeah Juggie?”

“We should probably bring the chains with us.”

“Yeah probably” Betty said with a laugh. She ran and stuffed the chains back into her backpack before returning and taking his hand again. They walked in silence for a while, Jughead was still trying to absorb everything that had happened. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him and he started laughing.

“What are you laughing at crazy boy?” Betty asked, stopping to look at him in amusement and confusion.

“You’re…all about the…beast within” Jughead managed to get out between laughs.

“What?” Betty said, but then clarity lit up her face. She joined in Jughead’s laughter. “I couldn’t resist.”

[emilyplaysotome]

Part 4 - Orientation

Down the Voltage Rabbit Hole is an ongoing story about our MC, who could easily be anyone in voltage fandom. She woke up in hospital bed only to discover that she’d somehow been transported Voltage universe:

Part 1 (Down the Voltage Rabbit Hole)

Part 2 (The Tres Spades)

Part 3 (The King, The Prince, and the Lion)

Part 4 - Orientation

Teorus leaned close to Soryu, who sat staring at me in a catatonic state. He reached out with a gloved finger and poked the gangster’s cheek. Behind him Karno silently gazed out the penthouse window, admiring the view, as sounds of Aigonorus slumbering filled the suite. In front of me stood Leon, Huedhaut, and Tauxolouve. They’d been taking turns staring into my eyes, looking for stars, but to no avail. It was clear that my existence was a bit of an enigma to them as they bickered amongst themselves, trying to formulate a plan to get me home. Even though in this world, I was no fallen goddess, they were still able to tell that I was out of place.

All six of them were beautiful, and yet I found myself attracted to none of them. Their outfits reminded me of bad regional theater, and there was something unsettling about how graceful their mannerisms were, if only because they reminded me how inelegant I was. Leon especially, struck me as a man who would take longer to get ready than I would, which is perhaps one of my biggest pet peeves, having always been fairly low-maintenance.

“Goldfish,” Leon finally called out. “Can we get back to you?”

I sighed.

“I suppose I don’t have much of a choice.”

I’m not entirely sure why I thought these Gods would have the ability to solve my problem any more than any other character in this universe, but it was becoming clear to me that they offered just as little insight as the bidders would. If I was going to figure out a way home, it would probably be up to me to do so.

WIth that said, before Teo could snap his fingers and restart time I turned to Leon and asked, “In the meantime, would you help me with something?”

Time restarted, the Gods excused themselves, and Soryu awoke from his catatonic slumber to find me unpacking a suitcase. Seeing as how I had no money, and no clothes, I figured if I was going to pretend to wait around for the Wishes Gods to solve my problem, I might was well have them materialize a change of clean clothes and underwear. I learned that with the Gods, nothing is simple, and in order to get this one suitcase, I had to allow the six of them to contribute. My underwear ranged from comfortable and practical hip hugging boy shorts (thank you Karno), to a scrap of silk fabric that Tauxolouve insisted was a tasteful thong. 

I couldn’t complain though. Without that suitcase I’d be stuck wearing the utilitarian outfit I’d arrived in, with dirty underwear no less. In addition to the practical items like deodorant, and toothpaste, Tauxolouve had also insisted on providing me with jewelry. I graciously accepted his gift, full well knowing I’d pawn it tomorrow in exchange for some much needed cash. With that one visit from the Gods, I was back on my feet, and had hope that I’d at least last the week in this strange new world. Soryu looked puzzled as I held the barely there thong in my hands, before bashfully looking away.

“That’s right”, I thought to myself, a lightbulb going off, “he’s actually pretty shy and innocent.” I purposefully took out the matching barely there bralette, in the hopes it would cause Soryu such an extreme amount of discomfort, he’d leave me to my own devices. Instead, his face turned a deeper shade of red, and he took a mystery novel off the table in front of him and started reading - Midnight Murder by Kazumi Kagami. Hoping to provoke him further I took out the sleeping clothes Tauxolouve had given me (and by clothes I mean a sheer nightgown that felt as if it belonged on Elizabeth Berkley in Showgirls). I held it up and stealthily stole a glance at Soryu through the translucent fabric. His cheeks were still burning, and it appeared that he wasn’t reading at all. “Where’d that stuff come from?” he finally muttered.

“Dunno. Someone brought it while you were sleeping. My guess is Baba,” I said, holding up the chemise.

“Probably.” I had more to say, but stopped myself. 

I could not be lured into a false sense of security just because I had a change of clothes and some money in my pocket. I dug through the suitcase and pulled out the clothes Aigo had given me for sleeping - a matching sweatshirt and sweatpants set that was softer than anything I’d ever felt in my life. I said a quiet prayer of thanks to Aigo, and wordlessly headed to take a shower. Much to my relief, Soryu didn’t follow me.

I fell asleep on the couch that night, only to wake up in one of twin beds in Soryu’s room. It was clear to me that he had carried me while sleeping to the bed, and taken my spot on the couch. If I had been anyone other than me, I would have been charmed...but I knew better.

At breakfast, I allowed him to struggle as he tried making something for himself, and watched in silence as he cursed intermittently under his breath at the eggs that wouldn’t seem to cook properly. I wanted, so desperately, to just make him a nice omelette and call it a day, but I knew that any act of kindness could be misinterpreted, and thus, I let him continue to struggle, burning plate after plate after plate of eggs.

“Oi.” He grunted at me. “Do you cook?”

“Depends. Do you know a good pawn shop?”

“Yes,” he said, with a puzzled expression.

“Then I can give it a try.”

I purposely overcooked his eggs. They were edible of course, but I made sure they weren’t great. I dropped the plate in front of him, and pushed my phone towards him.

“Deals a deal,” I said, trying my best to ensure my actions couldn’t be misinterpreted as flirtatious, or even cute for that matter.

Soryu took a bite of his food and smirked. It was the first semblance of a smile I’d seen on him since I arrived. He took my phone, entered an address, and pushed it back to me.

“You scared of me?”

I shook my head no. I took the phone, and put it in my jacket pocket.

“You don’t say much, do you?”

I shrugged, “Nothin’ to say.”

“You’re not like other women. You’re different.”

It was in that moment that I realized my plan to not speak had fucked me royally. Soryu hated most women. He hated how they yammered on and on, he hated their perfume, and how superficial they were, and here I was deciding to be all utilitarian and silent.

“It’s ‘cuz I’m terrified of you!” I blurted out. “I lied before. You’re scary. Your face is terrifying. I just need those papers so I’m trying not to get myself killed, you know?”

It came out as word vomit, and anyone with half a brain could see that I wasn’t being honest. Soryu smiled at me kindly and reached his large hand out. He patted my head affectionately.

“The eggs are good.”

I pulled away and yelled, “No they’re not! They’re overcooked.”

“They’re better than I can do.”

“That’s just because you suck at cooking.”

He laughed and said, “See. You’re not scared of me.”

“Sure I am! You’re the Prince of the Ice Dragons.”

He wasn’t buying it.

“I’ll get you those papers today,” he said, gazing at me warmly. “What’s your name?”

“Ami Mizuno.”

“Ami. That’s a pretty name.”

It wasn’t mine. I’d only blurted it out because it was the only Japanese name I could think of in the moment, other than Sailor Moon’s earth name and no one in their right mind would think an American would be named Usagi.

But...there he was, gazing into my eyes and calling me Ami. I was in deep, deep trouble.

I had accidentally chosen him as my love interest.

I fretted over the events of the morning as I arrived at my staff meeting/maid-training orientation ten minutes early. The manager Kenzaki gave me a nod of approval as I introduced myself with my new name.

“Ami - it’s nice to meet you. Mr. Ichinomiya alerted me you’d be starting today.”

“I’m looking forward to working with you,” I said bowing slightly. “I’m going to do my best!”

Kenzaki seemed satisfied at my MC impression, and moved on to start the meeting. I recognized all of them - Sakiko, Chisato, even Erika and the twins. For the most part, they operated within the parameters I’d grown accustomed to. After the meeting, Sakiko and Chisato instantly added their TalkTime information in my phone, while Erika bitched and moaned to Kenzaki about the fact that I’d be working in the penthouse. From there, Sakiko and Chisato taught me how to make a bed. I attempted to do it as flawlessly as they could but truth be told I wasn’t a bed-making kind of girl. Despite going from room to room, making the beds poorly, for some reason they praised me for being a fast learner. I also noticed that when I cleaned, it didn’t matter if it was correct or sloppy - either way they informed me I was doing great, and that they couldn’t believe it was my first day. After a few hours of this, I was sent me up to the penthouse where I found Mamoru lounging, lit cigarette in hand. Before him, the table had somehow accumulated more dirty glasses. I looked at the mess for a minute, and then, remembering what happened during orientation, grabbed a large trash bin and threw a glass into it. Much to my surprise, the glass disappeared, only to reappear on the drink cart a few feet away, completely spotless. I laughed to myself at the newfound cleaning powers this new world had gifted me, and in a sweeping motion pushed every item on the table into the trash bag. Just like before, everything reappeared where it should, and even the previously dirty table was now sparkling. “Sorry,” Mamoru mumbled. “Your asthma…” He put his cigarette out and smiled at me, before stretching back out on the couch, and falling asleep like a lazy cat. The gesture to put his cigarette out for me had been a sweet one, but I had to remain vigilant. I was fairly sure I'd triggered a romantic route this morning and I didn't want to find out if triggering more was a possibility. I quietly took my magic trash bin with me and headed towards the suites, careful not to wake him.

Similarly to how the penthouse lounge went, bed making, and cleaning of the suites was a breeze. My celebration was short lived, as I began to fret more and more that the ease to which I’d taken to my new profession was merely a side effect of becoming the object of Soryu’s affection.

As I finished Eisuke’s suite, the last on my list, I found myself sinking into a pit of despair. What if I was stuck in this universe for the rest of my life? What then? Could I be happy here?

From Eisuke’s penthouse window, I gazed out on a version of Tokyo that I’d barely explored, and with my cleaning done for the day, headed to the locker room to change out of my uniform. I slipped out of the hotel unnoticed, headed straight for the pawn shop Soryu had recommended, and left with my pockets full of yen.

The errand itself took less time than I expected, and with the desire to think over my next moves carefully, I entered the first bar I saw and ordered myself a drink. In retrospect it had been careless to not even glance up at the name of the pub, but at the time I was far too stressed to do anything other than drink.

My mind was finally free to think as I sipped the “Asahay” beer before me. I was out of survival mode, and could potentially figure out how to gracefully exit the route I was currently in. I decided to buy some strong smelling perfume on the way back, but I contemplated if that in itself would be enough to deter Soryu from falling in love with me. One drink became two. Two became three. And three made it difficult for me to stand. As I slammed my cash down on the counter, the bartender looked at me with a concerned expression. “Miss,” he said. “Have some water before you go.”

“I’m faiiiiiiine.”

“Just - wait two seconds ok?”

I rolled my eyes, in a drunken attempt to deter him from falling in love with me too. This whole damn world was full of landmines disguised as men and I wasn’t going to trigger any more of them.

“What is it Agasa?” I heard a man, a few seats down ask.

“That girl - I don’t want her walking home unattended, you know?”

“I’m FINE!” I insisted.

I wasn’t fine. The room was spinning. Even if this was all an illusion it was a fairly convincing one as I felt pretty damn drunk. “Sure you are,” a handsome man with a kind smile said as he strolled over to me, hands in his pockets. “But I’ve had too much to drink, and I’m hoping you’ll see me home.” “I’m not about to walk home with some random dude. I’m sober enough to know that’s a worse idea than walking home alone at this hour.” “Oh!” he exclaimed, pulling his wallet out. “But I’m not just some dude...I’m a cop. You can trust me...see?” I squinted, hoping to focus my eyes long enough to read the name on the badge before me: Hiroshi Kirisawa.

"Am I at Station?"

Hiroshi nodded, "You know this place? I'm surprised. I come here a lot and...I would have remembered you." He smiled that kind, boyish smile at me once more with a faint blush in his cheeks. I cursed myself for not being more aware of my surroundings, and then (I would be told) promptly passed out in his arms.

To be continued…in part 5 (up now!)

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Drink Up Me Hearties Yo-Ho CH.3: My Jolly Sailor Bold

Hey everyone! 

Here is the next chapter for my Mermaid/Pirate AU! I’m really excited about the feedback I’ve received for this story so far, and I want to thank everyone for it. I hope you all like it!

Master List

Ch.1, Ch. 2

Enjoy!

***DISCLAIMER: I do not pretend to be well-versed in sailing ship terminology.

CH. 3: My Jolly Sailor Bold

My heart is pierced by Cupid I disdain all glittering gold There is nothing can console me But my jolly sailor bold. 

Five Years Later

Felicity swam slowly toward the brigantine, her tail helping her glide silently through the water, unseen by the naval crew above her. The new moon in the sky not only hid her approach, it made the ship light up like a Christmas tree with all of the torches and lanterns hung around the deck. 

Felicity swam along the starboard side of the ship, toward the stern. There was something very specific that she wanted to make sure of before she and her sisters ripped the ship, and its occupants, apart. Normally, they would hunt quietly, feeding unnoticed by those who called land their home. But this was not a normal hunt.

As her head reached the surface, she could hear the muffled voices of the likely drunk crew much more clearly. She paused in the water, hidden in the shadows. 

“Captain, are you sure we should be sailing this route?”

“What’s the matter, Norrington? Don’t tell me you actually believe the superstitions.”

“Of course not, but you can’t deny the evidence. Four other ships in our fleet have wrecked around this area, with no survivors and no explanation as to how. They didn’t run aground, there weren’t any storms, and the ships didn’t sink. They were destroyed.”

Felicity grinned wickedly at that. Seems that she was building quite the reputation.

“Commodore Seldon wants the cargo aboard this ship to reach its destination as soon as possible, and this is by far the fastest route we could take. Not to mention that the Interceptor is the fastest ship in the Caribbean. I understand your concerns, Norrington, but this ship has enough ammunition to take down a veritable army. We’ll be fine.”

Felicity froze. Then she swam, as quickly and as quietly as possible, to the stern. Looking above the name emblazoned on the back, she saw the flag of the British Royal Navy. Felicity laughed in incredulity. She couldn’t believe her luck!

At the sound of her laughter, much of the noise on the ship silenced. A crew member on the ship spoke up, “Did you hear that? Is there someone out there?”

Felicity shrunk even further into the shadows to make sure she wouldn’t be seen. She wanted to take her time with this ship, and she would be damned if they spoiled her fun. She held her position, hoping to hear some more information, but the sailors who spoke had moved from their position out of hearing range. 

As the sounds of the ship grew quieter and all but a few of the lanterns were snuffed out for the night, Felicity soundlessly slipped beneath the surface of the water, calling out for her sisters. 

It was time. 

Taking the lead, Felicity’s head surfaced just outside the reach of the light from the lantern near the bow of the ship. She could hear the two soldiers on their watch shift walking slowly up and down the ship, moving to keep themselves awake. When one of them moved closer to her position, she carefully swam into the light reflected off the water from the lantern, making just enough noise to attract the eye of the soldier. His head whipped around, scanning the blackness outside the safety of the ship for any hint of movement. It took him a moment to notice the young, beautiful blonde head bobbing in the water. 

Felicity could hear him mutter, “What the bloody hell?...” He then caught himself and called out to her. 

“Miss? Can you hear me?”

Swimming closer, Felicity nodded.

“What are you doing in the water so late at night?”

Felicity shrugged what the soldier noticed were bare shoulders. “I felt like a night swim. I’m a very good swimmer.”

The second soldier, seeing the first leaning over the edge of the ship, called out, “What’s going on over there?”

The first soldier, grinning, called back to him, “It seems we have a little mermaid out for a night swim.”

Felicity smirked wickedly. You don’t know how right you are, sailor.

After a moment, both men looked down at her in the water. The first one said, “While you may think you’re a good swimmer, milady, it’s dangerous to be out in the water at night. There are any number of frightening sea creatures that come out at night. Maybe you should come up here with us and we can take you home in the morning, hm?”

Felicity sent a flirtatious smile at the men, lifting herself out of the water just enough to show them that the only thing covering herself was her hair.

“Maybe you should come down here and join me for a swim instead.” Felicity floated over to the side of the ship, pulling herself upward toward the sailors so she could look them in the eyes. “The water is so very nice this time of night.”

Both of the men leaned closer to her, their eyes glazing over. Felicity turned to the one on the left, saying, “You should jump in first and make sure it’s safe for all of us. But be quiet; we don’t want to wake anyone else up, do we?”

The sailor shook his head, his mind blank and his body immediately doing what she wanted. The sailor slipped into the water, barely making a splash. The cold shook him out of his stupor slightly, but before he could sound an alarm, one of Felicity’s sisters surfaced in front of him. Her hands framing his face, she looked him in the eyes. 

“I’m inclined to simply take you as my meal and be done with it, but my sister is leading this hunt tonight.” Turning to look at Felicity, she asked, “Can I eat him? I’m getting hungry.”

“Just a moment, Nerissa.” Felicity looked at the other sailor still on the ship. He hadn’t, moved, hadn’t made a sound.

“What is your name, sailor?”

“James.”

“Well, James, if you can provide me with the information I seek, you’ll get a reward. Would you like that?”

He nodded vigorously, locked in her compulsion.

“What is this ship carrying?”

“Weaponry and supplies.”

“How important is this ship to Commodore Seldon?”

“Incredibly. The last two ships carrying this cargo never made it to port. Our reserves are dwindling and this shipment is meant to restock everything.”

“How many men are on this ship?”

“Twenty, including myself and Charles in the water.”

The two mermaids shared a hungry smile. “Enough for a meal and half for each of us, right Nerissa?”

“I have a feeling tonight will be fun,” said Nerissa. She looked at Charles, her grip tightening on him. Looking him in the eyes, her face began to morph into the predator she was. Her skin took on a scaly sheen, her teeth sharpened into fangs made for tearing flesh apart. But it was the eyes that always brought forth that delicious fear.

Seeing her for the predator she truly was, Charles began to scream and thrash in her grip, the water around them churning and splashing. Then Nerissa lunged for his throat.

Felicity watched for a moment while Nerissa ate, then looked at James. She brought her hand up to caress his cheek.

“James, there is one more thing I want you to do for me.”

“Anything,” he breathed.

Felicity grinned, her teeth sharpening.

“Sound an alarm.”

With that statement, Felicity allowed the predator within her to emerge in full force, her face changing and morphing the way Nerissa’s did. She barely heard James’ screams over the sound of her blood rushing through her veins in anticipation of the hunt. Gripping his shirt, she sank her teeth into his neck and ripped. 

Holding on to her writhing meal, Felicity jumped back into the water and began to chow down underneath the surface. 

The water quickly began to run red.

Felicity and Nerissa heard the other sailors on the ship running up to the deck to see what all the commotion was about. They left a couple of pieces of their meals floating on the surface within the light of the lantern to signify what was about to happen to the rest of the sailors. From the shadows of the ship, the mermaids watched as the pieces were discovered and as everyone armed themselves on the deck. 

A beat of silence as the sailors struggled in vain to see into the water.

Then...

Chaos.

Mermaids leaped out of the water, their tails propelling them over the railings lining the sides of the deck. Before the sailors could do anything but shout, their throats were ripped out. Blood spatter was rapidly staining the wood of the deck as more and more sailors were slaughtered. 

Felicity watched from the water for a moment, her hunger already sated. The screams of the sailors and the wet tearing of flesh gradually died down as the mermaids ate their fill. Then, one by one, they pulled themselves over the edge of the ship and back into the water, letting the current wash away the blood marring their faces and scales. 

Felicity hoisted herself back on to bow of the ship, where a lantern had managed to remain lit. Taking a hold of it, she looked around the deck, spotting what she was looking for. Taking careful aim, Felicity threw the lantern at the powder keg near the main mast. 

BOOM!

The explosion of fire and gunpowder knocked Felicity off the bow and into the water. Surfacing, she and the other mermaids watched as flames consumed the ship. The fire spread quickly, climbing up the masts and fanning out to the sails. The twang of ropes snapping apart and the creak of wood splintering echoed through the area, though only the mermaids were around to hear and watch the ship go down. 

The other mermaids, finished, began to swim home to their cove, satisfied at another successful hunt. 

Felicity stayed and watched as the ship burned and broke and sank, until nothing but debris was left. 

Unlike Cooper, Felicity would stay until she saw her task completed.

0o0o0

The next day brought warm sunshine and not a cloud in the sky. On days like this one, Felicity liked to lounge in her special spot in the mermaids’ cove, the sun glinting off her scales and warming them. As her mind wandered, she began to reminisce about her time as a mermaid and how much she had changed.

Nearly five years ago, just a couple of weeks after Felicity’s transformation.

Felicity sulked in her special spot, frustrated and disgruntled. Her sisters had just returned from a hunt and had brought the ship’s bounty with them. Included in the loot was a tightly wrapped bundle, which, when opened, contained what looked like important letters and manifests. When Felicity saw written text in front of her, she rejoiced. Being a mermaid did not allow for Felicity to indulge in her hobbies from her previous life. 

However, upon holding the papers in her hands for only a few moments, she noticed the ink on them rubbing off rather quickly, and the paper was rapidly beginning to deteriorate beneath her fingers. Soon all she had were a few scraps clutched in her hands. Felicity had been so thrilled to see the written word again that she momentarily forgot that water and paper don’t exactly mix. Angry, she swam away to her spot to sulk. 

She had never realized being a mermaid would be so vexing.

Mirena’s “hello” shook Felicity out of her brooding. She greeted her elder quietly, still upset.

“What is wrong, child?”

Felicity sighed, feeling tears gather in her eyes. “I’m just realizing that there are things about my time as a human that I will truly never get back. Make no mistake, I am profoundly grateful that I now have a chance to make Cooper face justice for what he’s done, but I suppose some part of me deep down thought that I could have my old life and have my new one. Holding that book and then watching it disintegrate in my hands... was like watching that human part of me die all over again.”

The sympathetic look on Mirena’s face nearly made Felicity let those tears go. Mirena climber up next to her and took her hand. “Felicity, none of us expect you to immediately be an expert at being a mermaid. We have all been where you are. Each of your sisters, including myself, took time to accept the fact that we would never see our old lives again.”

Felicity squeezed Mirena’s hand in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Mirena.”

“You’re welcome.” Mirena’s expression changed, turning contemplative. “Felicity, you loved learning when you were human, yes?”

Felicity nodded, intrigued. “Yes. Due to my position, I had the opportunity to learn from some of the best tutors in the country. I surpassed their curriculum fairly quickly, though, so my father simply let me read and learn whatever I wanted. It might have simply been a way for him to keep me occupied, but I enjoyed it none the less.”

“Well, would you like to put that mind to use and learn about us?”

Surprised and elated, Felicity said, “Yes, of course! I have so many questions.”

Mirena laughed. “Then, little mermaid, come with me.”

The two of them breached the surface of the water and began swimming toward the other mermaids.  

As the two of them swam together, Felicity let her curiosity loose, asking question after question that Mirena seemed happy to answer. 

“So what exactly is “the seas”? Is it some sort of higher deity? Do you worship it?”

“No. It is simply...there. Did you not feel it during your ceremony?”

Felicity paused, remembering. “I felt something, but I didn’t know what it was.”

“I suppose you could think of it as...the answer.”

“To what question?”

“When we use our voice, sing our song in the water, it is what responds.”

“...I still don’t understand.”

Mirena’s chuckle was heard through both of their heads. “Give it time, little one.”

Changing the subject, Felicity asked, “Why are there no mermen?”

“Because there is something unique about us, Felicity.”

“What?”

“How we died. Every one of us is the victim of being killed by the sea. In your case, it was your new husband. In mine, I was stowing away on a ship bound for Brazil. A couple of the crew members found me and brought me to the captain. He believed that it was bad luck to have a woman aboard, so he had his men throw me overboard. We were nowhere near land, and my body grew tired before ever reaching shore.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Sometimes tragedy offers us a gift for the suffering we have endured. The ocean chooses us for a purpose, Felicity. As we were killed by those who believe they can control the ocean, we exist to remind them that they can’t. We were made to guard the seas, and we protect our home from those who wish to take more power than they deserve.”

“Do the other mermaids have stories like yours and mine?”

“They do. Would you like to hear some of them?”

“Of course! If they’re comfortable with telling me, that is.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Like I said, we age much more slowly than humans. For many of your sisters, their deaths were decades ago.”

And that was how Felicity learned of how the members of their sisterhood became a mermaid. 

Arista was kidnapped by a pirate when they came to loot her tiny village.They kept her on their ship for weeks, brutalizing her, until they no longer had enough supplies to feed her and the rest of the crew. So they knocked her unconscious and dumped her overboard. 

Nerissa had been thrown off a cliff after being convicted of witchcraft. Another girl in her town was jealous of the fact that a man was showing affection for Nerissa, so she spread a rumor that she was bewitching him. She was immediately imprisoned, having gotten no chance to defend herself.

Callisto had been beaten unconscious by her abusive husband. Thinking she was dead, he dumped her in a deep part of the nearby river, where she washed into the ocean. She never found out what happened to her husband.

Isla had accidentally been the witness to a murder in an alley. Before she could get away, the men committing the crime caught her and stabbed her. Not realizing she was still alive, the criminals tied rocks to her feet and to the body’s feet. Then they took both her and their other victim and dumped them in the bay, where they sunk to the bottom. She was the one who came back up.

Delphine was actually a child when she became a mermaid, and had been one the longest second only to Mirena. Delphine’s father thought she was being possessed by a demon, so he sought to perform an exorcism on her He hung her from a high branch of a nearby tree, hoping to choke the demon out of her. All it did was nearly kill her. Thinking that if he hadn’t exorcised the demon, he had at least killed its host, her father wrapped her up in an old cloak and sailed out, far from shore. When he had sailed far enough, her father pushed Delphine into the sea.

Just a few of the stories showed Felicity that they were all similar. 

Each woman, the victim of someone else, their choice taken away from them. The way hers was. 

They truly were sisters, not in blood, but in bond. 

They were her family now. 

And while justice may not be served to the ones who hurt them, maybe helping her with her plan for Cooper might give them some closure. 

And besides, it isn’t as though Felicity had anything left to lose.

So there is chapter 3! 

Think of the way that mermaids hunt as something similar to POTC: On Stranger Tides

A great big fat humongous enormous gargantuan THANK YOU to @superhero-bastards for your help with this chapter. Luv ya Dani! Hope you’re staying safe!

A huge thank you to @diggo26 for your help on this chapter as well. Mwah!

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[thiswasinevitableid]

#3 with Sternclay? If you could, from Stern’s perspective? He’s one of my favorite characters and I love how you write him :)

Thanks, I love writing from his perspective! Prompt 3 was “Song” and went with SFW

Joseph Stern has more house than he knows what to do with. His father has given him this building on the coast of Virginia, no doubt in hopes of hiding his eccentric--and only remaining--son from polite society. 

But the house may as well be a cave, a country full of strangers, a vast and cold space that Stern has no idea how to fill beyond the ghosts of the past it already contains. He has no lovers, no children, and the servants, used to his father’s temperament rather than his, give him a wide berth. And so he fills it with his books, his research into the strange and unusual, politely eats the meals the elderly cook prepares even though his eyesight seems to have given him the habit of mistaking one spice for another.

He’s also taken to having a nightly constitutional along the beach. It’s stormy and grey more often than not, but it suits his mood. Usually he’s perfectly alone. But tonight he must not be, because on the wind, he hears someone singing.

While the raging seas did roar

And the stormy winds they did blow,

And we jolly sailor boys was up, up aloft

And the landlubbers lying down below, below, below,

And the landlubbers lying down below.

It’s a rich baritone, longing and sad, and Stern wanders the beach up and down twice before he gives up on finding the singer. He resigns himself to it being a one time occurrence. 

But the next night, the voice finds him again. 

As we lay musing on our bed,

So early morn at ease,

We thought upon those lodging beds

Poor sailors have at sea.

This time he follows it through the second chorus of the song. And there, in the fading grey light of evening, a man is perched on an outcropping of rocks. He has shaggy hair, and even in the poor light Stern catches sight of copper within it. His beard is messy, and he’s bare-chested, a baffling choice in this weather. 

As Stern makes his way across a nearby patch of rising tide, he loses his balance and splashes onto his knees. 

By the time he looks up, the song is over and the man is gone, though he sees no sign of him upon the beach.

The third night, Stern is ready. He finds the outcropping, hiding himself down out of view of all but one side of the shore and sea. 

Just as he’s starting to shiver and curse his poor judgement, a low, sweet humming begins. It’s the same melody, and he wants to dive into the voice, let it drown him if need be. The man hums a good portion of the song before his voice carries across the windy shore. 

I'm sorry for my mother dear,

I'm lost in the salt, salt sea.

For last night, last night, the moon shone bright,

And you know that she had sons five,

Tonight she may look in the salt, salt waves

And find but one alive, alive,

And find but one alive.

The singing ceases, and in it’s place he hears a sigh. Cautiously, he sits so that the man can see him.

“That was wonderful.”

The man starts, turns to leave and Stern, in a moment of unusual impulsiveness, grabs his arm, “Wait, please, I just wanted...to..say…” He stares at the silver and blue tail that starts at the mans waist. 

“Please let go.” The man says with the air of someone trying very hard to mask their panic with calm. 

Stern drops his arm at once. 

“I, I didn’t mean to alarm you. I’ve heard you singing the last few nights and I wanted to see who you were, I meant to show myself right away but I got caught up in the song.”

Brown eyes narrow, “Is that all you want?”

“Yes. I’ll admit I also have a multitude of questions based on this new development.” He gestures to the tail, “but-” 

A wave crests, drenching them both.

“Damn it.” He shivers. 

The merman chuckles, “yeah, that’s why all sensible humans stay off these rocks.”

“I’m plenty sensible.” Stern mutters, shivers again. The merman seems to reach for a coat that isn’t there, then sets his hands on the stones. 

“Come back at midday tomorrow if you really do want to talk.”

“Should I bring anything? Something for your trouble.?”

Calloused fingers drum on the rocks, “Cake? Or even just bread?”

“I can manage that.” He holds out his hand and the merman shakes it, then dives into the rolling sea without another word. 

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

“Uh, I don’t mean to be rude but where the hell did you get this bread?” The merman, who introduced himself as Barclay when they met at the edge of the waves, looks down at the chunk of bread skeptically. 

“My cook made it. I, um, am trying my hand at it as well. For perhaps obvious reasons.”

“I could teach you. Or at least tell you what to do so you could write it down.”

“How on--are there ovens underwater?”

“No” Barclay tosses the remaining bread to a waiting gull, “I remember from, well, from before.”

“You became merman rather than being born one?” He wants to press further, but the sorrow darting across Barclay’s face suggests that is unwise. 

“The ship I was one went down. I...well, I tried to save people. According to one of the few other mers I know, if someone dies at sea while trying to do a selfless act, sometimes that’s enough for them to turn into mer. Not really clear on the mechanics beyond that.”

“Incredible.”

“Glad you think so.” Barclay’s expression is turning glum, and so Stern tries a different line of conversation. 

“Are sea monsters real?”

Barclay chuckles, “Gonna ask about those instead of sunken wrecks laden with gold?”

“Those are far less interesting.”

“Kraken is real, sort of. There are some very large squid down there. Fish bigger than you can imagine, sharks too.”

“Say more.” Stern offers him the flash of tea he brought and Barclay eagerly accepts it.

“Well, some of them are harmless--are you writing this down?”

“Just for my own records. Please, keep going.”

And so pass their first few meetings, Stern electing to bring Barclay food from town after the first time, reveling in his delight at the meals. They eat and talk, Barclay eventually comfortable enough with Stern to come fully ashore. On warmer, sunny days they even lay side by side on their backs, and sometimes Barclay’s tail will brush or tap Sterns leg.

He doesn’t mind at all. 

One day, after Barclay bemoans his inability to trim his beard to his liking (“water and sharp metal aren’t friends), Stern comes down to the water with his razor, soap, hand mirror, and brush, swearing that if he can successful keep himself clean shaven in the terrible mirrors in the house, he can trim Barclay’s beard without disaster. And so Barclay lays, tail in the surf and head in Sterns lap, as the man meticulously sets about his task. 

When he’s done, Barclay sits up and looks into the hand mirror.

“That’s much better. You got some clever hands there, Joseph.” He grins and Stern tries to distract himself from the double meaning by brushing stray sand from his beard. 

This backfires harder than a mis-built canon. Barclay rests his hand atop Sterns own, rubbing his cheek against his palm with a sigh.

“You take such good care of me, Joseph. God, if I weren’t as I am, I’d take such good care of you right back.” His free hand traces the line of Stern’s cheekbone, dips down to caress his jaw. 

“You, you’ve been wonderful as well, I’ve learned so much, and it’s so nice to pass the time with you, even if you cannot follow me home or takeover the kitchen.”

“I could be even better to you, if you’d let me.”

“I will let you do whatever you want.” Stern shuts his eyes to better feel the touch of Barclay’s hands, “I will follow you like a beacon.”

The hands leave his skin. When he opens his eyes to search for the reason, Barclay’s tanned face has gone pale. 

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no it’s, I, just, you reminded me of something.” He pulls away from Stern, turning to face the sea. Stern doesn’t follow, although he aches to.

“Would you feel better if I left?” He asks softly. 

Barclay shakes his head, “No, but I’ll feel better, in a way, if I say this. I told you I was in a shipwreck. That much is true. I told you I was a cook before, that was true as well. But what I didn’t tell you was that I was a cook one town over, for a family who was, well, they had more than enough money but that didn’t stop them from wanting more. So once a month, at the new moon, they’d go to the cliffs by the rockiest, most dangerous part of the coastline and hold up lanterns.”

“They were wreckers.” 

A solemn nod, “When the ship was sunk, they’d go down the next morning and plunder the wreck. I never helped them, but I knew what they were doing long before I tried to stop it. Then one night, I couldn’t take it anymore. I rowed out to the target, tried to tell them not to go towards those lights.  They wouldn’t listen, held me prisoner thinking it was a trap. When she went down, just as the water covered my head, my legs twisted and changes into a tail and I could breathe beneath the waves. Making me the only man to make it off the Golden Willow alive.”

Stern gasps, covers his mouth in shock.

“The Golden Willow was the ship my brother was on when he died. A merchant, traveling with his stock.”

“I’m sorry.” Barclay’s eyes are wet, and Sterns turn that way as well as the mer dives into the sea, shame etched in his face. 

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

Call for boats, call for boats, my fair Plymouth boys,

Do you hear how the trumpets sound?

For the want of a long-boat in the ocean we're lost

And most of our merry men drowned.

“I don’t blame you, you know?” Stern stands in the sand, several books clutched to his chest.

Barclay doesn’t reply, but does turn to look at him. 

“And, if I’m right, you think your being a merman is as much a curse for your inaction as it is a blessing for your attempt to save the ship and her men.”

A nod, accompanied by Barclay wiping a palm beneath his eye, “God, I miss so much. I, I’m glad I’m not dead, but I miss my kitchen, I miss the markets on summer mornings, food that isn’t fish.” He flicks his tail in frustration, “I miss sleeping in featherbed, not that I ever really got to being a cook and all, I miss my friends, my little sister, everyone.” 

As he speaks, Stern hurries up the rocks to join him, guides him into his arms. He doesn’t cry, but he breathes heavily, holds tightly to the front of Stern’s coat. 

“I looked through my library, did hours of research,” he inclines his head towards the books, “I found a few supposed means of transforming a merman into a human. I have no idea what is myth or anecdote and what, if anything, will work. But if you want to be human again, I’ll help you.”

“Thank you.” Barclay whispers, and Stern continues holding him, face stinging with salt spray, and stroking the planes of his tail soothingly until the other man is ready to let go. 

Over the next several weeks, they try every potion, prayer, and process Stern was able to find, all to no avail. They’re sitting, dejected, side by side on the sand, when Stern spots one recommendation he dismissed as the stuff of fairy-tales.

“I have something to try. Um, please close your eyes, because I have a feeling I’m about to look very silly.”

Barclay obliges. Stern cups his cheeks, kisses him soundly, certain this will be the only time he gets to do so, no matter how much he longs to do it each day. 

Barclay chuckles, eyes still shut, “Was that really a suggestion, or just an excuse to-”

Then he groans, head falling forward to rest on Stern’s shoulder, his whole body convulsing. Stern watches in awe as his tail slowly shimmers and dissolves, leaving feet and legs in it’s place. 

“Really? Really? That was the solution?” Stern giggles, “of all the nonsense I read, I didn’t think ‘kiss of a lover true’ was worth a second look.”

“Kiss of what now?” Barclay shakes his head to clear it with a woozy, yet knowing, smile. 

“I, um, I-” Stern blushes, both from his admission and from spying that Barclay is now completely naked. 

“Joseph” Barclay kisses his cheek and he melts into the sand, “you think that after all that talk of wanting to treat you well, I wouldn’t want you kissing me?”

“I didn’t want to presume.”

“You can presume whatever you want. Fuck, Joseph, I’m in love with you and you just gave me the one thing I thought I’d lost, you could ask anything and I’ll give it.” 

“In that case, would you come home with me? Though we may want to get you some clothes first.”

“What? Not enjoying the view?” He rolls onto his back, and Stern gets a full glimpse of just how good a view it is before shielding his eyes.

“I didn’t say that.” He smiles, laughs when Barclays beard tickles his throat and his teeth nip his ear, “but I think it would be enjoyed even more in my nice, feather bed. Don’t you?”

[fantasyfollower]

tagged by: @homosexual-supporting-cast​

Rules: Answer the questions, and then tag ten writers!

1. What made you start writing for the first time?

I have no idea, I think I’ve always been scribbling little things since I was a kid. I remember trying to write this atrocious story that was a mix of Sailor Moon/X-Men kids saving the world with different powers that could turn into animals. It did have like 6 parts tho xD In all seriousness, I guess it was the space to express myself without bothering anyone about it; just my own little world I could modify at all times.

2. If you could only write about the ocean, the forest, or the desert for the rest of your life, which one would you pick?

While I’m really fond of the aesthetic and symbolism of the ocean (well in a way, it also reminds me of drowning eternally and I might doom my characters to perpetual suffering), I would go with the forest. There’s a connection to forests, how personal each walk or search can be within it, that really appeals to me.

3. Would you ever write a memoir?

I would, though it would be much more sentimental on everyday decisions than anything else. I’ve been more of the observant on many events to acquaintances and friends; so I could gather ideas from there more than anything.

4. Do you like writing by hand, or writing with a computer?

I enjoy them both, but it depends on the need. If I just need to let something out at the moment quickly, I prefer writing on a computer, I can barely keep up with the rant on the computer, let alone on a pen. However if I need to think about something, to craft it out and mold it, then I prefer taking my time writing by hand.

5. Would you rather be popular among many readers, or unpopular, but loved by critics?

I guess I just want to reach others, to write something that connects with the readers and have it mean something to them. I don’t think I write for the glory or name it could give, it’d be nice of course, but that’s not what would drive me.

6. Do you listen to music while you write? What is the best writing music?

Most of the time I do, it’s rare that I sit down to write without it. It depends on what I’m writing and how I’m feeling at the moment. I don’t think I have a ‘best writing music’ theme set out, I guess whatever connects with me at the moment.

7. Do people you’ve met find their way into your writing?

Definitely, in some way or trait they do. I suppose I believe in the cliché that writers immortalize their loved ones in their writing, but also because my imagination in how others behave is often becomes limited, so I reach out to the perceptions I have or tweak of others to help me out.