#my boy had the wind knocked out of his sails a bit by the end of retri haha | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

babbushka · 4 years ago

Text

Fathoms Below

Pirate Captain!Kylo Ren x Reader

17.2k ; CW: Graphic descriptions of violence, death, murder, sword fighting, blood & injury, mention of corpses, possessive behavior, NSFW (PIV, oral sex [F receiving] fingering, rough sex, praise kink)

Available on AO3

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He can still remember it, all these years later.

He can remember the very first voyage, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, flush of excitement high on the bridge of his nose. As Kylo’s crew sails the Silencer through the calm waters of the Atlantic, he cannot help but remember. The crew know better than to question him now, lest they fancy a trip off the plank, so as the deep blue waters of the ocean split beneath the bow of his ship, Kylo climbs up to the bowsprit and straddles the long wooden post, letting out a deep breath.

The horizon is unchanging, as she ever is. Kylo squints into the orange of the setting sun, watching as the waves catch and sparkle in the froth that it makes as it breaks against the wooden hull of the vessel he has commandeered now for longer than he has lived ashore.

“Where are you?” He asks out into the waves, casts his voice as far as it will go, desperate beyond measure, sick with the want of seeing you again, as he remembers.

Oh, I bid farewell to the port and the land

And I paddle away from brave England's white sands

To search for my long ago forgotten friends

To search for the place I hear all sailers end

As the souls of the dead fill the space of my mind

I'll search without sleeping 'til peace I can find

I fear not the weather, I fear not the sea

I remember the fallen, do they think of me?

When their bones in the ocean forever will be…

He had been naught but nineteen, when the maiden voyage of HMS Finalizer sets sail. A crew of nearly three hundred men hoisted the sails of the warship, led by the decrepit Captain Snoke as they embark on a crusade of sorts in the warmer waters away from Liverpool. The old man, a battle-worn scoundrel with a sunken in face and long white beard has given this young boy his first chance of the open seas, and said boy has taken it. On his first voyage ever, the young skipper leaves behind the world of the land to instead live out his days on the sea.

And what a magical world it is! A world of adventure, loyalty and trust, of code and honor – unlike the petty realm of government and policy which he has so quickly abandoned, the realm of his mother and uncle; no, a desk job was never in the cards for him, not for him. He longed for the sea, and now he has her. Much like a sponge that lives on the bottom of the depths, he soaks up knowledge and skill as fast as he can, they will not regret the day they brought him aboard. For weeks he studies and practices and learns the ropes, learns the nature of the Finalizer and how to care for her.

He meets a band of older gentlemen, who take him under his wing. Vicrul was the navigator, he taught the young boy how to read the stars with just his eyes and his compass. Cardo was the boatswain, and he taught the young boy how to seal the ropes so the braids wouldn’t rot, how to swab the deck until the floorboards shone. Ushar was the master gunner, who taught the boy how to load and fire the cannons, taught him to be grateful he wasn’t a powder monkey scampering through the rigging. Trudgen was the carpenter and taught the boy how to repair the holes which inevitably would find their way into the hull of their ship, taught the boy how to repair just about anything he could think of. Kuruk, the surgeon, taught the boy how to fix everything that Trugden could not.

And Ap'lek, why he might be the most important of the gentlemen of all, for Ap’lek was a musician and could play nearly any instrument placed in his lap. It is with Ap’lek that the boy spends much of his time, learning the melodies and harmonies of the sea, for it is by song which the whole ship works, and the ship does not work without it.

It is a song that they are singing now, the young boy in line with a row of far stronger and taller men. The salty spray of the sea splashes onto his face, as the skipper’s muscles are put to good use on the long-haul, as he and his brothers call out in time to the songs that the shanty master belts out with his strong lungs. That had been the one question Captain Snoke had asked of him,

“I’m fast, and strong, Captain, and am an excellent climber – ” He had boasted proudly, puffed his chest up to mask the lank of his limbs.

“Aye,” The old man had cut him off, glanced him up and down, “But can ye sing?”

Even if he hadn’t he would have lied, he supposes.

And even if he hadn’t, he would have learned soon enough. As he hoists himself up the ropes, as he feels the breeze and the sun in his hair, he thinks he might fancy being a shanty master himself one day. The work is hard, the work is brutal, but the songs make it worth it, they pass the time and fill everyone with a spirit that pushes the ship forward.

He had sailed halfway through the Atlantic fighting the enemy, blowing holes in the hull of their ships where he knew they had not a Trugden nor an Ushar to defend themselves, and in those few weeks he felt he had already outgrown this ship. Lying awake at night, he wished for a chance to one day commandeer his own, how he would be a far better captain than the likes of Snoke. If there was one thing he learned all on his own, it was that he would do anything to be rid of Snoke.

Oh, if only he had watched his words.

The storm comes as storms often do – a whipped up frenzy of wind and wave, Poseidon’s fury crashing down around them. Startled awake, his vision shorts out as the ship is illuminated by bright cracks of lightning as the sea churns inky black below. It crept up to them at night, with no warning save for the pressure in the air. That pressure, and the creaking groaning planks of the ship, the rocking of her belly.

By the time the storm was noticed by the rest of the crew, it was too late. Lightning strikes the staffs and catches the sails on fire, alarm bells ring, men shout and shout and shout and pray.

“All hands on deck!” Cardo’s booming voice rises above the thunder, above the shouts of concern that pour from the hammocks high in the rigging where the boys all sleep.

Down down down the shrouds they rush, shrouds which the wind whips and flings about in a panic. The integrity of the Finalizer is tested now, for they have survived cannons, but gunpowder is no match for the fury of the sea. The young boy feels a spike of adrenaline in his chest, this is the first storm he has ever seen, and he has a sickening feeling that it might be his last.

Heave and ho, the winds send the ship headed towards rocks hidden underneath the waves, a gash too large torn through the starboard side, water flooding in. He does not know which way to go – to pump the water out, to hoist the sails, to put the fires out; there is chaos, and he does not know where to begin. Men rush past him as the ship tils and lurches from one side to the next, chests and barrels and piles of supplies sliding dangerously to and fro, knocking crewmen over the sides before the swelling crashing deadly waves have a chance to sweep them off their feet.

Waves some twenty, thirty feel tall curl in on themselves and smash down onto the deck, and now those shouts turn to screams, as they realize, as they all realize there is no saving this vessel. Lightning strikes, and he is pushed, urged towards a small boat, and he does not know how if they cannot survive on the big ship, how a little one would be of much help.

“To the rowboats -- !” Someone calls, the boy does not know who, not in this frenzy. His vision is shaking, as he runs and runs from one side of the ship to another, trying to stay level, trying to stay upright as the Finalizer nearly capsizes.

“There’s no time!” Ushar growls, the pipe he holds clenched between his teeth nearly splitting in two, as lightning strikes once more, as flaming bits of sail flutter around and land on the flesh of men.

“Captain – where is the captain?” The boy demands, because surely Snoke must know what to do, Snoke is the only one who can give orders – except when he sees Snoke, he sees him frantically rowing out in the distance, far greater distance that he should have been able to row in the storm like this. The boy is thrown against the rail of the ship with another lurch from the waves, and he panics, “What is he doing?”

“Don’t be daft son, he’s leaving us to die.” Vicrul sneers, water sloshing in a grand arc behind him, lightning illuminating the mouth of gold teeth he sports, his mouth turned into a grimace.

That was the first time in the young boy’s life, where he truly felt fear. Snoke must have sensed the storm coming, and instead of raising the alarms, he had snuck out like a snake in the night. And in doing so, his captain had condemned them all.

“Will we?” The boy asks with terror in his wide brown eyes, as Kuruk and Ap’lek can only stare at one another (years later, sitting here on the bowsprit, he realizes that they were trying to find a way to say I love you before it was too late).

He does not get an answer, before the cold smack of water carries him off and away, as the body of the ship splits in two, as lightning and thunder sear into his brain. Someone shouts for him, but he cannot hear them, all he can hear is the rushing thrumming sound of the ocean.

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

Beneath the waves, it is calm.

More than calm, it is quiet. He cannot remember a time where it had ever been so quiet. Up above the waterline, he knows it must be hell, but down here in the embrace of the sea, there is naught he can do but listen to the quiet and feel the burn in his lungs. The world around him is black from the lack of the sun, but the flashes of lightning way above him send shimmers of rich emerald greens all around.

The currents are too strong, there is no fighting them. With the burn in his lungs only growing, growing more desperate for air that will not come, The boy sinks sinks sinks, a chest of cannon balls pinned to his stomach, sending him deeper.

He thinks of his mother, he thinks of the look on her face when he told her he would follow in his father’s footsteps for a life on the sea.

He thinks of his father, of the smuggler’s word he had given to come back home.

It looks like neither of the men in Leia’s life would be making good on their promises of return, he thinks.

An impossibly darker blackness creeps up through the corners of his vision, and he feels empty, so empty. The lightning a thousand feet up ahead crackles through the water, as he begins to slip away. A last burst of breath bubbles out of his mouth, the water is cold as his back hits the soft sand of the ocean’s floor.

He stares straight up and takes one final look at the watery world above him, and he resigns himself to his fate – when the last flash of lightning backlights a figure bolting towards him, arms outstretched, fingers spread in a frantic push to grab him.

With the last of his strength, though his body is crushed, he lifts one hand out to meet them.

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

He rests at the bottom of the ocean, as your fingers twine through his. Your hair is long and it flows around your face, a face which he cannot see and yet somehow can see perfectly. Your eyes glow white, so brightly that it illuminates the space like the lightning, but instead of a mere flash, it is a steady glow, much like a lighthouse on a craggy shore.

However it is not your eyes which captivate him, it is your body. For one, he has never seen a naked woman’s breasts before, and so the sight of your chest uncovered is a sight he fixates on, but only for a moment as he realizes very quickly that in the place where your legs should be, is a great and glorious tail.

It is long and glittering as the light from your eyes reflects off the scales, and he has a hard time believing that this is real, that you are real, especially when you open your mouth and speak aloud to him under the water, asking, “What is your name?”

The burn in his lungs is no more, he realizes, and when he breathes in, water does not fill the empty spaces inside of him.

“Am I dead?” He whispers, finding with relative ease that he can sit up, there on the ocean floor.

He looks around himself, sees the fallen sailors with whom he had just been singing not two hours ago, sees the debris of the ship which has sunk in large shattered pieces, nestled all around. The flag of Great Britain tattered and torn, mocking them all as the current creates an illusion that it is waving.

You smile curiously at him, settling yourself around him, your tail draped over his lap as you check him for injury.

“No, would you like to be?” You reply, and he’s not so sure he believes you, for such a thing as this cannot be possible, not in a million years, it cannot be.

“No – I – ” He stutters, watches as bubbles dance up to the surface.

“Your name, sailor.” You ask again with a gentle smile, and he hesitates.

His name, what was his name? He had one of course, but…but was that really his name? No, it wasn’t, he reasons. That was a name he had been given, one laden with expectation and pressure that he never wished to inherit. Even aboard the ship, he was not called by his name – although his nickname wasn’t much better. He makes a decision then, a decision he had longed to make when he was alive.

Because surely he was dead, and if he were a dead man, then at least he would die the man he wanted to be, as opposed to the man the world told him he had to become.

“Kylo Ren.” The name leaves his lips with a certainty that he did not know he possessed, especially for saying the name out loud for the first time. He had called himself Kylo in secret for years, and somehow, it felt good to have that secret come to light, even if it were too late.

“Kylo Ren.” You repeat, and he finds that it sounds even better coming from your lips, the sound almost intoxicating, your voice and cadence of speaking music to his ears. “’Tis a strong name, that one. How many years do you have under your sails, Kylo?”

“I – this is my first time.” Kylo admits, and your white glowing eyes widen, a hand on your chest in surprise.

“First time out at sea and already caught in my storm? You’re either very lucky, or very unlucky.” You shake your head, your hair following in a rippling motion, floating in the water.

“You’re beautiful.” Kylo says, as he feels his heart opening up, as he feels the burn of his lungs returning, the chill of the water a contrast on his skin once more.

“I know.” You grin, too many teeth in your mouth, and it is then that Kylo’s mind begins to catch up with him.

“Did you say your storm?” He asks, air bubbling out of his mouth, air that he didn’t know he possessed, air that he knows now that you’ve given him.

Kylo doesn’t know how, but he knows he is not dead, he knows that you have done something, you wield some power of the deep. He knows that you have saved him.

“Lucky, I think.” You laugh, the sound more melodic than any of Ap’lek’s songs could ever be, the sound filling filling filling Kylo with air. “Yes, I daresay you’re lucky.”

“I – are you an angel?” Kylo frowns, as he feels the chest of cannon balls slip away from his legs, feeling regaining in his limbs once more. The water rushes and thrums around him, but he doesn’t feel afraid, not as you take him by the hand and lead him slowly up to the surface.

“An angel? No, no I’m something far more sinister.” Your scales shimmer and glimmer and glitter in the moonlight, the waves are calm once more as you swim with him up up up.

“You’re so beautiful.” Kylo says, because he can’t think of anything else to say, and this pleases you, and he finds that he would very much like to spend the rest of his life making you happy.

Through the surface of the water Kylo’s face breaks, and all at once lungs fill with real air, salty briny moonlit air, and he gulps it down, coughs and splutters water. Kylo’s limbs are sore, he’s freezing cold, he feels sick – and all of this lets him know he is well and truly alive.

You’re watching him intently, watching him carefully, your eyes no longer glowing now that your face is out of the water. Guiding him to a rowboat which sits empty atop the water, you help him into it.

He doesn’t want to let go of your hand.

“Promise me something, and I won’t drown you.” You tease, although Kylo cannot tell that you are teasing, he’s too in shock of how he is here – of why he is here and his fellow brothers remain at the bottom of the ocean.

“Anything.” The word tumbles easily, quickly, and you tsk against the roof of your mouth, shaking your head.

“’Anything’ is a dangerous word to be said to a mermaid.” You whisper, but Kylo doesn’t care.

“I’ll do anything.” He insists, feeling in his heart, in his very core, that he wants to be with you forever. He’d sell his soul, to be with you forever.

So when you smile sadly at him, and give his palms a tight squeeze, before you slip your hands away and begin to sink back down into the water, until Kylo cannot see your beautiful breasts or your too-sharp teeth, until all that can be seen of you are your eyes which begin to glow once more, he panics with confusion.

“Grow up, big and strong, live long.” Your voice swirls around inside his head, and he rushes to the side of the rowboat to reach for you, even after you have submerged yourself fully, he still reaches, “Come find me when you have commanded the respect of the ocean upon a ship of your own. Find me, and tell me you’ll do anything for me then.”

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

Plot a course to the night to a place I once knew

To a place where my hope died along with my crew

So I swallow my grief and face life's final test

To find promise of peace and the solace of rest

As the songs of the dead fill the space of my ears

Their laughter like children, their beckoning cheers

My heart longs to join them, sing songs of the sea

I remember the fallen, do they think of me?

When their bones in the ocean forever will be

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

The black sails of the Silencer are puffed full with wind, full speed ahead as they exit Port Royal. Sitting atop the bowsprit, Kylo stares into the glittering ocean, the horizon casting golden rays of light through the deep blue sea. His crew is merry, the weather is pleasant, and yet still a sour feeling lingers in his stomach.

Where were you? Surely now was the time, was it not? Kylo had grown, oh how he had grown, both in size and stature indeed. But more than that, he had done as you asked – as he had always wanted to do. There were no man so fearsome as that of Captain Ren, no ship that saw the sails of the Silencer and won the battle which soon followed.

His chests were filled with gold, which he sold for a pretty penny to the highest bidder, and often reserved himself a chest or two to simply fill his tub with and bathe in the riches. His barrels were filled with rum and food, his crew never having gone hungry, not even for one meal. His wardrobe was filled with expensive silks and linens, donning himself in clothes fit for a leader, but ensuring his crew were dressed as lavishly – these reasons and more are why year after year his crew elected him Captain.

In fact, the annual election had just taken place at the docks of Port Royal, where it was a unanimous vote. Kylo should be celebrating, he should be naked in a brothel surrounded by gorgeous men and women – it was the 1660s after all – he should be drinking to his heart’s content and pleasuring himself with life’s greatest fortunes.

Instead, he sits up on the bowsprit, and speaks to the sea with a melancholic eye. A single eye, for that’s all he has left, the other blinded in a battle he fought many a year ago. His crew takes notice to this, and as they perform their mid-morning duties, a few of them gossip among themselves, as pirates are often wont to do.

“He’s up there again?” A nimble fingered lad named Mitaka, not more than fifteen years of age, speaks up as he braids rope with the efficacy of a man with decades of practice. He had just joined the Silencer’s crew, had practically begged Kylo to take him aboard back in Port Royal, and though the Captain had a reputation for being volatile and coarse, he never turned away a face in need.

“Aye, with the telescope, same as every day.” His hammock-neighbor, Thannison, pipes up from his spot not too far across the deck, on his hands and knees scrubbing away.

“What’s he lookin’ for d’ya reckon?” Mitaka wonders aloud with the sort of curious nature that only someone young as he could still possess.

Thannison looks around, checks over his shoulder and then casts a glance up to the Captain himself, to Kylo who is unmoving, sitting far and away high above them all.

“A mermaid.” He whispers, and even though he is careful, the breeze still carries his voice, the word reaching the ears of the Silencer’s navigator, an ex-General of the Royal Navy.

“A myth, more like.” Hux scoffs with a roll of his eye, drawing the attention of Victoria the First Mate, a woman stronger than half the men aboard the ship combined.

“Don’t let the Captain hear ye talkin’ that way, what he’s lookin’ for ain’t none of our business.” She stands at the helm, not that there’s much work to be done now on such calm waters. They’re traveling windward to their great advantage, and the skies do their part in keeping the seas steady.

“But it is, isn’t it? We’re his crew, we sail his ship, don’t you think it’s our business what we’re lookin’ for?” Hux mutters, where he is reviewing charts over yonder portside.

“I said – ” Victoria storms over with her thick soled boots, storms straight through the freshly scrubbed floor poor Thannison had just polished, to shove a menacing blade of her short dagger in the direction of Hux’s narrowed eyes, “Don’t. Let. The Captain. Hear.”

Little displays of animosity like this were not rare among the crew, as pirates generally weren’t the most easy-to-get-along-with types, but Mitaka watches with a curious eye as Victoria walks away, down through a hatch in the deck, no doubt to retire to her rooms for the afternoon.

“You’d think she’d be in better spirits, what with seein’ her wife ‘n all.” He offers up, makin’ just about everyone within earshot chuckle.

“We could have been in port for a month, and Victoria would miss Gwen the moment they part.” Thannison replies, and this at least, Mitaka can understand.

“Does the Captain miss his mermaid?” He asks, eager to learn everything, eager to know, “Is she even real?”

“He says she is, but no man nor lass has ever seen her, and certainly never come back alive. They say she saved him on the night the Finalizer sank – that he was the only one she saved.” Hux throws a wary glance up to Kylo, who remains unchanged up on the bowsprit.

“Why?” Mitaka wonders aloud softly.

“No one knows.” Hux replies just as softly, for this truly is the one question which hangs on everyone’s mind, the one question that only Kylo would know, but even he is at a loss for the answers. “But as long as I’ve been aboard this ship, he has been looking for her. Now, no more questions, don’t you have rope to braid?”

“Aye sir!” Mitaka busies himself with his tasks once more, and Kylo, high up above them all, is grateful for it.

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

Of course he knows the rumors that spread, the worries that he is going mad. Much like a man chasing an elusive ship, or a hunt for treasure that didn’t exist, those who knew Kylo knew him to be a man fixated on the impossible. They say he has been on the sea too long, that twenty years should be his limit. Others say he is a drunk, and that his stories of a finned woman with long hair and glowing eyes can only be the result of a blackout.

No one says any of this to his face, for they would be run clean through with his saber if they did, but he knows, oh how he knows they say it.

Kylo often wonders if maybe they’re right, if maybe all this is for naught. If perhaps, ‘twas a delusional vision of a boy clinging to death, an overactive imagination. He supposes he will soon find out, for if there were ever come a time where he was Ready, it would be now.

He has sunk a hundred ships, he has slain more than twice that number of men with his own sword. He has sailed to the very corners of the ocean, has made friend and foe in every port known to privateer. The world knows his name, even if they cannot catch his ship. But none of that would matter, if you did not think so.

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

The sunlight glimmers on the water, and Kylo’s eye is drawn to a shifting movement in the waves at once. In an instant, his heart rate picks up, for he’s certain he’s just seen a flipper, certain of it!

Standing up and steadying himself on the long wooden beam, holding onto the ropes which are tied down to the wooden mast for balance, Kylo sheds himself of his hat, his coat, his saber and gun, before he sprints down the length of the bowsprit, until there is no wood beneath his feet, and he is swan diving into the ocean below.

On deck, all activity ceases, as the entire crew races to the bow to try and see where Kylo had gone. His hat and coat and loose artifacts fall into the hands of the men and women that make up Kylo’s ship, and they all clutch to them tightly, for they know how much Kylo cares about his clothes.

“Captain?” Hux shouts, cups his hands around his mouth and booms with exasperation, “Captain Ren – oh god dammit, Kylo!”

“What in the blazes does that boy think he’s doin’?” A gruff voice sounds from further back, and everyone’s eye turns to the young boy who is shedding his clothes too, looking for all intents and purposes that he’s going to do something rash.

“We have to go after him!” Mitaka’s face is bleak with worry, thinking that Kylo might have fallen over or been knocked down by the winds, that he must be injured or drowned.

But the First Mate knows better, and with a shake of her head and a resigned sigh at Kylo’s theatrics, she whistles for attention and all stand still to listen.

“He’ll come back, let him go.” Victoria puts a firm hand on Mitaka’s chest to prevent him from jumping overboard too. Everyone listens to her, Mitaka included, although he cannot stop staring out at the sea, watching for Kylo.

Since that fateful night, Kylo had trained himself how to hold his breath and how to swim well, skills which serve him now more than ever, as he chases what he thinks to be your tail. His legs propel him, muscular thick thighs that work double time, as his rippling biceps cut through the water, his body built but streamlined.

Where are you where are you where are you?

It’s all he can think, until he cannot think of anything but air, and he kicks towards the surface as seagulls caw above him, the sun blinding in a blaze of orange. With a deep sigh, he allows himself to float, his arms and legs spread out like a starfish on a rock, the sun warming his skin.

“If I am not ready now, will I ever be?” He asks aloud, wondering, hoping that you can hear him.

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

When he returns to his ship, he is met with not a single questioning glance, and for this he is grateful. His pride is hurt, his ego wounded, he cannot understand what he’s done wrong to make you keep him waiting this way. Slinking into his quarters, he strips down out of his wet clothes before even checking to make sure the room is empty, and draws his sword when a creak from the grand chair in the corner alerts him.

“What were ye thinkin’ this time? Hm?” Victoria leans forward, her elbow on her knees. “That you saw her again?”

Victoria was the first person to ever give Kylo a chance, when he washed ashore at the port, a scared starving boy alone in a rowboat. With that chance, he built an empire of piracy unlike that had ever been seen, and he brought her along with him to share in the riches. She was probably the only one who could ever speak to him the way that she speaks to him now.

“As a matter o’fact, yes.” Kylo bares his gold teeth at her in a menacing sneer, and she only rolls her eyes and throws a warm dry robe into his arms. Kylo puts it on without hesitation, not really wanting to expose himself to a woman he considers more of his sister than the one he has by blood. “This is about where she was the last time, where it happened.”

Bundled up in his robe, Kylo pours Victoria a glass of rum, and she accepts it with a sigh as he lays down in his bed with a groan. She takes a sip and watches him carefully, cautiously.

“Twenty years is a long time, Kylo.” She says, and Kylo lets out a long, heavy sigh and rubs the tension from his forehead.

“Believe me, I know.” He mutters, voice deep, tired. He sounds tired, feels tired. “We stayed at port too long, I fear that’s how we missed her.”

“You know I do not doubt you that this woman once saved you. But have you thought about the possibility that something might have happened to her in all this time? That maybe she is simply not out there anymore, unable to wait for you?” Victoria speaks softly, not wanting to get Kylo angry, but wanting him to face the facts. “I worry for you sometimes Kylo, perhaps you might think of setting your sails on a different prize – ”

“She is not a prize.” Kylo snaps, leveling his First Mate with a deadly glare, the kind of glare that should send shivers of fear down a normal person’s spine. But then, Kylo deflates, and he casts his eye toward the porthole window, hoping for those flippers to surface once more as he whispers, “She is something far more precious, something that cannot be owned. If ye be so inclined to know, I spoke to her two nights ago.”

“You did?” Victoria’s eyebrows shoot up, eyes blinking in shock.

“Aye, in a dream. And she called to me, called me here, so here is where I have sailed.” Kylo spits back, and this only makes her expression soften once more. “And when we are reunited once more, you’ll all see.”

“For your own sake Kylo, I hope so.” She pats his ankle, before swinging back the rum and leaving his quarters for him to sulk.

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

He is nearly asleep, when he hears it. The whisper, the ghost of his name, drifting to his ears through that porthole window left slightly ajar. He likes to sleep in this way, likes to breathe in the salty crisp air of night, likes to listen to the gentle lap of the waves. The ship is calm, in the middle of the night, the crew asleep in their hammocks or rooms below deck. There is nothing but the creak of the wooden decks, the flutter of the sails, and the steady rocking that has Kylo this close to dreaming, when he hears it.

“Kylo Ren…” The sound makes his eyes snap open, makes his heart beat fast in his chest. He thinks he’s hearing things, maybe conjuring them up in his own mind, but no, there it is again -- “Kylo Ren...”

Out of his bed at once, he throws on clothing. Clothing he has reserved specifically for this moment, clothing he has purchased just for you. With stockings slipped up onto his legs, Kylo steps into his black breeches and tucks in a loose-fitting white linen shirt, securing his waist with a crimson sash. The very same crimson adorns his brocade waistcoat, which he buttons up so quickly and with such shaky fingers, that he has to redo it twice. He has three golden earrings in each of his ears, and two golden bands on each finger.

He doesn’t have the time to wonder if you’ll find the appearance pleasing, as he brushes through his long black hair and ties it back with a crimson ribbon, because your voice is growing louder and more clear, and he is compelled to answer it.

Buckling his boots, Kylo ascends from the suite he calls home and finds at once, a pair of white glowing eyes not far from the starboard side of the Silencer.

“It’s you!” He whispers, nearly chokes on his spit as he does it, rushing to the rail and practically falling over the edge.

He holds his breath, waiting, hoping, and then yes! Yes it is you, you flick your tail happily in the moonlight, your scales shimmering and glittering the way he has so often dreamed about. You disappear beneath the inky waves then, and when Kylo is about to protest, your beautiful body is propelled out of the water, you do an elegant flip, spraying him with seafoam playfully upon impact once again with the waves.

“I’m coming – just a moment, I’m coming!” For the first time in decades, a grin has split across Kylo’s surly face, his gold teeth reflecting the same way your scales do, and he jumps overboard, dives down into the water for the second time, knowing this time, you’re really there.

The sound of your laughter fills the spaces between the scars of his flesh, makes him whole, for the first time since he was a young boy. Your arms encircle him when he swims swims swims as fast as he can to reach you, and you surprise him by being faster – your tail propelling you forward more quickly than his mere legs ever could. Your reunion sings through the ocean, and he cannot take his palms away from your cheeks, he cannot look away from your glowing eyes, he does not want to, not now, not after so long.

You hug him then, floating on your back so he can be propped up atop your breast, and not accidentally pushed under the water. The two of you embrace in every sense of the word, and Kylo is thankful for the sea, for masking the tears of relief he feels.

When he leans his head in towards you, you do not deny him the kiss he so desperately seeks, and this kiss – though it is not Kylo’s first – fills him with a sense of completeness that has him groaning into your mouth. You smile against his lips, you let him wind a hand into your hair, another groping at your breast. The surface of the water is calm, there are no waves now to rock you both, and so you can indulge in one another like this lazily.

There is so much Kylo wants to ask you, so much he has to say, but in this moment, your union transcends language, as your minds meld together, a gate of sorts opening, letting the floodwaters free. He slides his tongue against yours and sighs into your mouth, clutches at you tightly, out in the open sea. If this were to take place inside his cabin, he knows the inside of the windows would be fogged from the heat that he can feel curling around your bodies.

“Kylo Ren.” You break the kiss at last, if only to give Kylo a chance to breathe, but you do not go far. You rest your forehead against his and he strains to look at you in the dark, through the closeness. “I have heard of the stories, how they echoed across the sea.”

“You’re here, it’s you, you’re real and you’re here.” Pride wells up in Kylo’s chest, his ego inflamed, knowing the tales of his legacy have reached you. That is all he has ever wanted, and it is indescribable the way he feels knowing that in this he has succeeded.

“Of course I am, I told you I would be when you were ready for me, didn’t I?” You pet back the long dark locks that curl and cling to his wet cheeks, a thumb soothing across his lips as you lean in for another chaste kiss.

“You never told me your name.” Kylo says, because it is something he has wondered for twenty years, a question he has had burning inside his soul for just as long.

“My name? Hmm I have had many.” Chuckling, you duck your head, bashful. No one has ever asked you for your name, not once. “Names that have been given to me, names I have been called, many names. But tell me, what do you call me in your mind? When you lie awake at night and think of me, what slips past your lips?”

This sends a shiver of desire down Kylo’s spine, the way that you lean in and speak into his mouth, the way you smudge the words against his lips, your wet lashes dragging and brushing against his cheek. He’s halfway hard as it is, the thick line of his cock pressing through the layers of his soaking wet clothes, and all he can do about it is sigh, as he gropes at your breast once more.

“The only sounds I utter are the groans of pleasure which come from the very thought of you.” Kylo’s voice rumbles through his chest and into yours, and you grin, ducking your head, bashful.

“You’re charming. You may call me (Y/N).” You whisper to him like it is some secret, something that neither the moon nor the stars is privy to hear.

“Will you come aboard my ship (Y/N)?” He tests the name out on his tongue, and your scales shimmer with the way it sounds. That makes his pride swell further, makes his cock harder, but not so hard that he loses the clarity of mind to ask, “Can you?”

Your smile falters, but not by much. That beautiful tail breaks the surface once more, shimmering, ethereal before him. Kylo is mesmerized, he has always been mesmerized by you, but you being here in front of him, mesmerizing him now, is far better than the way he has lost himself in his dreams.

“I cannot, not like this. If my scales dry, then I die. So, in the water I must remain.” You explain, and Kylo tries not to let his heart break.

“I see.” He refuses to accept this, even though he understands why it must be so. He refuses, he has not come this far to leave you now.

Noticing his apparent distress, you hug him closer, kiss at his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

“There is…a way.” You start, licking your lips nervously, your voice hushed in the night.

“Tell it to me, I want to help you, the way you helped me.” Kylo replies at once, a sense of urgency in his voice, thinly veiled desperation.

You turn your gaze away from him, your eyes like two beams of starlight, shooting out into the black abyss. Kylo had nearly forgotten that the two of you were floating in the open ocean just next to his ship, until you illuminated the world beyond.

“There is a cave ahead, beyond the craggy rocks.” You say ominously, half-afraid he’ll take you up on the offer, “Only a creature on two legs can reach it, for it is up above the water’s edge.”

“What secrets does it hide? What must I bring back for you?” He takes you up on it immediately, knowing that whatever he has been training for, whatever he has been doing with his life, all that he has learned, has led him to this moment for you.

“A golden medallion strung on a black cord.” Your eyes glow brighter with each word you speak, and Kylo finds himself getting pulled into your story with bated breath. “Decades ago, long ‘fore even you were born, ‘twas stolen from me by a man with a long white beard. He snuck upon me whilst I was asleep one day, tore it from ‘round my throat. I got my revenge on him -- killed him for it, sunk his ship in my storm, but the medallion was no longer in his possession when he drowned. I demanded to know what he had done with it, and with his dying breath he taunted and teased how I’d never reach it.”

“Until now.” Kylo assumes, because you are regarding him with such hope that he knows he cannot let you down. You saved his life, the very least he can do is repay you in this small way.

You crowd his space, your hands on his cheeks once again, your lips brushing against his own.

“I’ll go with you, I can show you the way.” You whisper, kissing him, thankful, hopeful, elated in a way that makes Kylo’s heart beat beat beat loud in his chest.

“When?” He demands, a voice commanding and fit for a Captain.

“Now.” You grin, taking him by the hand in a way that Kylo has memorized in his sleep, and leading him back to the side of his ship where he might climb up the notches in the hull to reach the deck once again.

“Now?” He blinks, having hoped that he could perhaps spend some time with you in his nice warm bed…he would have found a way around your hydration needs, he would have --

“We must go before the dawn breaks, the waters are dangerous when It wakes.” You interrupt his internal monologue, and there is something chilling about the way that your voice catches. “Take the rowboat, you’ll need your strength.”

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

Kylo rows the small vessel through the blackness of night, the clouds having covered the pale shine of the moon. It is no matter, because your eyes glow in a beacon of their own, as you swim beside him. Keeping in time with his pace, your fin lazily pushes you forward, and in the quiet, Kylo decides on which of his millions of questions he wants to ask you first.

“Do you live here?” He settles on. He means both the cove you lead him to and the waters around Port Royal, wondering why in all the time he has spent here, he has never seen you.

“Yes…and no. The ocean in her entirety is my home, I swim from place to place as I please, and sleep wherever my head rests.” You explain, your voice calm and thoughtful. Kylo commits your answer to memory, wanting to absorb every piece of knowledge about you that he can as you continue, “Sometimes that’s a port such as this, sometimes it’s an anchor on a ship, other times it’s on my back, floating in the sunshine. Although I’ve been nearly harpooned that way, so I don’t do it often.”

The humor in your voice at the harpoon mention is lost on Kylo, and he nearly stops rowing as he processes your words, as he dares not to get his hopes up. He does not, however stop rowing, because your earlier comment of a Thing in the waters makes him want to complete this mission as quickly as possible.

“When you say the anchor of a ship, you don’t mean…?” Still, he has to know.

You’re quiet then for a moment, and he knows his suspicions are confirmed, by the very hesitation in your voice.

“I check on you, now and again.” You admit, making him feel both absolutely fucking elated that he has been right all along, and devastated that you have been so close and somehow, somehow always just out of reach. “I always have, wanting to make sure you were safe.”

“And you never said anything?” Kylo doesn’t restrain the question, trying not to let his temper get the better of him.

He thinks of all the ridicule he could have been spared, all the doubt, all the sleepless nights of worry that he was losing his mind, if only you had said something. But then again, he reasons, he wouldn’t be the person he is today, had he not gotten into those fist fights for standing up for his dignity, and then maybe you never would have deemed him ready.

“I couldn’t interfere, that wouldn’t be fair to you.” You explain, proving his reasoning to be correct. You don’t sound apologetic, nor regretful for it as you say, “I wanted you to become a person of your own right, your own making, free of influence from anyone, even myself.”

That hits him hard, square in the chest. And at first he doesn’t know why, but then he realizes…you’re the only person he has ever known to want that for him. He thinks back through all the people in his life; his mother wanted him to be a politician, his uncle wanted him to be a educator. His father was gone, and Snoke…well.

Snoke only found him useful to meet his own ends, and much like the rest of the world, cast him aside when he had had enough. Even the gentlemen with whom he had spent most of his time before that fateful night had hoped he would one day grow up like them.

Kylo cannot be angry with you now, he knows, not that he was ever really angry with you to begin with. How could he, when you are the only thing in the world who has never had any expectation of him, other for him to be himself?

“I spoke to you, night after night I spoke to you.” Kylo whispers into the dark, thinking of all the nights he had spent up on the bowsprit, above a masthead carved in your image, speaking to the wooden mermaid wishing wishing wishing instead he were speaking to you.

Your tail cuts through the water as you swim alongside him in the rowboat, and you whisper just as softly, “I heard you.”

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

The rest of the short journey is done in silence, mostly so that Kylo can prepare himself mentally for whatever awaits him. It looks sinister, a gaping maw protruding from the water, like a mouth with craggy and jagged teeth of rock. The light from your eyes shines into the opening of the cave, but it only shines so far before the dark of the dark swallows it whole.

“Do you see it? The cave?” You ask him softly, drawing his attention from his own thoughts to the massive structure before you both.

“Just up ahead, yes. It’s dark, but I can see it.” He answers, taking in a deep breath. He had never been particularly afraid of the dark, or of the unknown, but there is a distinct sinister energy that crackles through the air that Kylo can feel; it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“You must leave the boat behind now, do not be afraid, the water is warm, and I am here with you.” You assure him, offering him a hand that like moth to a flame, he is compelled to take.

He finds that the water is not deep here, he can wade through it and it only reaches his knees. You lay low, your free hand trailing along the soft sand as your tail swishes through the water, moving forward with him as he leaves the rowboat behind.

“You’re coming with me?” He frowns, unsure if he wants you in as much danger as you warn there may be.

But then again, he should know better than to question you in something like this, particularly when your eyes glow brighter and they shine across the sea, as you nod. Swimming beside him, neither in front nor behind him, you assert yourself as his equal in this regard, heading into the dark unknown together.

“As far as I can go, I am coming with you.” Your eyes glow, and he somehow, feels safe.

The water grows cold, the closer to the cave you and Kylo get. Kylo’s legs can feel the chill, can feel the change in the temperature. There is a humming from within, a rumbling sound that he cannot identify, and so in response, he trains his eye and his ear to be on high alert. The only other noises are the intermittent drip drip drips of water from the roof of the cave landing in the pools below – pools, because the deeper into the cave, the more shallow it becomes, until there is no more depth for you to stay submerged in.

Kylo looks at you, and you blink, the light from your eyes blipping momentarily. You turn your gaze towards the chasm before you, your eyes a lantern of their own for Kylo to see by. He doesn’t want to part from you, but he knows that when he returns, you will never have to part again.

“You must not dawdle, it must be fast.” You murmur softly, not looking at him, looking instead at the chasm, your voice taking on a strange quality that he cannot place. It sounds too familiar, like the way it had all garbled under the water when you saved him from drowning. The hair on the back of his neck does not go down. “Get in, grab the medallion – and only the medallion -- and get out.”

“Why?” He can’t help but ask, the pet-name slipping out of his mouth before he can think to ask if it’s alright, “Darling, what will I find in that cave?”

You still do not look at him, your gaze unwavering, unchanging. It is more unsettling than the rumbling, but Kylo doesn’t bring any attention to it. The medallion is in there, and you want it. You want it, and so Kylo will bring it to you.

“I do not know. Only, I have never seen anyone come back out, once they have gone inside.” You eventually say, quickly following up with, “You need not go, if you don’t think you are ready.”

There is no thought in his mind that Kylo would risk death for you, not know. In many ways, he has spent the last two decades living on borrowed time. In many ways, he has been a dead man walking for half of his life. If he were to die in this cave, it would be a death long overdue, Kylo knows.

“I have trained for twenty years to be ready. There is nothing more I could do to prepare me, if I fail now, I will have failed another twenty years ahead.” Kylo dismisses the idea of turning back now as quickly as you have offered it, pulling his sword out of its sheath which is strapped to his hip.

The metal glints from the light of your eyes, for they have finally turned to face him, the full effect of their glow making him feel as thought it were day, as if time had stood still in a moment of lightning.

“You are strong, you will not fail.” You speak with reassurance, and with those parting words, he steps out of the shallow water and onto the slippery rock floor of the cave, his descent into the chasm begun.

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

The deeper into the cave Kylo goes, the colder it becomes.

Soon he is out of the scope of your powerful eyes, and has nothing but the feeling of his fingers brushing against the cave wall to guide him. His eye does its best to adjust, and he curses himself internally, for maybe if he had both his pupils, he could see better in the pitch black. His footing is careful, the floor is slippery. Even though his boots are meant to withstand such slide, he still takes caution to not step somewhere which will twist his ankle, which will buckle his knee, which will make him fall to depths he cannot see.

His ears are trained still, and he halts at every moment in which he hears something that could be a threat, pausing just for a second or two to ensure that he need not his sword nor his fists to protect himself. Every time, he decides he is safe. He does not let his guard down, but Kylo moves through the cave with a bit more confidence; clearly if something were to kill him, or present itself as a challenge at least, it would have done so by now.

And what’s more – light, up ahead! A gap in the ceiling allows the moonlight to shine through, the clouds which have covered it having moved along on their path across the sea. Never before has Kylo felt so grateful for the moon in all his years, and as he steps into the light that it shines, his eye widens at the sight before him.

Gold, mountains of it. Piles taller than he stands, and oh does he stand tall. Glittering twinkling gold, but wait, no, not just gold, jewels too, diamonds and rubies and emeralds, pearls and strings of precious beads. It surrounds him, overwhelms him, blinds him with how brightly gold it shines. Where could it be, the medallion? Kylo tries to think, tries to strategize. It couldn’t be thrown in among the piles, no, whomever had stolen it from his precious mermaid would have known how important it is.

And so Kylo ignores the riches around him altogether, knowing that time is of the essence. He is careful to step around the piles, around and around them all, forcing himself to stay on task. The medallion, he is here for your medallion. He wishes he had asked for more of a detailed explanation, because he soon realizes that fuck, there are possibly a thousand medallions here.

Taking a moment, he sighs, turns in a circle, careful of his footing. It has to be somewhere obvious, he decides. Pirates are not that smart, and they certainly have a flair for the dramatics. Whomever stole it would want all to see it, would want all to know just how –

There! Up upon a pedestal made of rock, that must be it! A large circular disc of gold laced through a black chord rests propped up in direct line of the moonlight. It glows softly, ever so slightly, a golden pulsating light that draws Kylo towards it.

“There you are.” He whispers, his eye growing wide, filling with the golden light. There is a symbol, possibly writing in a language Kylo does not recognize, etched into it, that glows and glows and glows brighter as Kylo comes nearer.

He reaches a hand out but then quickly yanks it back. It could be a trap, what would he do if it is a trap? He chews at the inside of his cheek, hesitates for a moment. Looking up and all around for any signs of anything that could come crashing down, or shooting out at him from the sides, he waits.

Until he is certain that no such thing will happen, at which point he can wait no longer.

Holding his breath, his hand stretches up, fingers extended as far as they can go, for the rock pedestal is taller than he is even on his toes, and he does not exhale until he can feel the black cord nestled in his grip, and he pulls the medallion down.

…Nothing happens.

Suspicious, Kylo decides not to tempt fate. He has managed to escape death a second time, or at least, he will if he is able to return to you. Now that the medallion is in his hands, it glows so bright that the entire cave illuminates, and he can hear the faint echo of music, the very same music that has haunted his dreams. Your music, he realizes, and his heart beats knowing that he has done what you asked.

He is so pleased with himself, that as he climbs back down from the pedestal and passes through the piles and towers of gold and jewels, something catches the corner of his eye. A tiara, made entirely of gold and pearls, rests innocuously at his feet. It is carved into the shape of seashells, carved so well that if Kylo did not know of the wonders of goldsmiths, he would have assumed someone dipped the shells themselves in the soft metals.

“Well hello.” He bends down to inspect it, to get a closer look. Small golden chains with pearls beaded around it twinkle in the beam of light from the medallion.

The longer he stares at it, the more he notices; a tiny starfish here, a proud seahorse there, the mix of clam shells and snail shells, tusk shells and those spiraled ones which remind Kylo of the narwhals of the north – they are arranged so delicately, so carefully, that before Kylo can even think too much about it, he is reaching for it.

“You will look beautiful atop my darling’s head.” He is convinced of this, and he cannot see the harm in taking it, he is on his way out, he has obtained what he came for, there should be no issue here.

Oh, how wrong he is.

The moment his fingers touch the tiara, a sharp gust of wind bellows through the cave. It hurls towards him in a fury, in a rage, and even as he drops the tiara and lets it fall back onto the pile, it does not cease. The clouds return to cover the moon, or is it the ceiling of the cave itself is closing? He does not know, but he brandishes his sword in the low light, only the medallion’s incandescence giving him enough to see by.

The rushing wind draws the warmth from his bones, until he is chilled cold, frozen, fingers hurting as they clench around the hilt of his sword. He looks all around, ready to take on whatever may attack him, until the deep dark chuckle of his nightmares sounds around him, bounces against the walls in a way that Kylo cannot tell which direction to brace.

“Ickle Ben Solo, my how you’ve grown.” The voice muses, and Kylo freezes at the sound.

The impossible sound.

With clenched teeth, Kylo slowly turns, the hair on the back of his neck raising once more, the vein in his jaw throbbing with rage.

Captain Snoke, exactly as Kylo remembers him, stands in the middle of the cave. Face sunken in, long white beard, remorseless eyes squinting at him. The only difference from years ago and now, is that now, Kylo has grown taller, and when Snoke looks at him, he is forced to look up.

He knows this must be a trick of the cave, because all at once it hits him that the reason you conjured that storm was to kill him – him, the man with the white beard who snatched the medallion from your pretty neck. You had killed him, and yet here he is. Snoke is between Kylo and the exit, the just beyond where Kylo knows he will see the glow of your eyes once more.

This Snoke cannot be real, and so Kylo knows somewhere in the back of his mind that he could simply push his way past him and make way to you…but this is a chance Kylo will not pass up, and so with the medallion clutched in his hand he swings his saber and levels it directly at Snoke’s throat.

“Draw your sword.” The words snarl out of him in a grimace, as the rage of nearly three hundred fallen crew members sing through him.

At once, Snoke’s sword is conjured up out of thin air, and parrying Kylo’s away, shoving with a force much stronger than Kylo would have expected.

“I am but an old man, I cannae do nothin’ ta harm ye now.” Snoke taunts and teases, and Kylo spits at his feet, unable to hold back any longer.

“You lying cheating conniving bastard – I’ll kill you!” He lunges forward, poised to attack, his sword coming up to clang immediately and clash with Snoke’s.

It is regrettable, he thinks, that Snoke was the one who taught him how to fight, because the man can anticipate his moves. However, he only taught Kylo the basics, and in this regard, Kylo finds himself feeling lucky, feeling emboldened to push back harder, meaner, as he swings his sword, making sparks fly.

He manages to make a combination of moves which catch Snoke off-guard enough that he stumbles backwards, and this angers the old man, whose jaw clenches all his own.

“If it’s a fight yer after,” He sounds strange, his voice echoing throughout the cave as he backs away, “It’s a fight you’ll get.”

Kylo will not let him get away, not the way he had last time, not the way he had snuck out in the night when he knew no one could catch him. He immediately runs after Snoke, chases him down down down back the way he came, further and further from the entrance.

As he runs, he realizes that there are things moving around him, and he nearly trips as a hand encloses around his ankle.

Out from the piles of gold slither the bodies of men who had been trapped, ensnared by the cave, men who had died unpleasant, undignified deaths. Kylo cannot be bothered with them, he must get to Snoke – he will get to Snoke, so he slices his sword through the limbs of the men who have fallen, failed on a quest of their own. He hacks away at them without care, does not look back when they collapse and clutch at their bleeding wrists.

They swarm around him, and Kylo can do nothing but kill them as they come crawling out from the depths of the cave, scores of them moaning and groaning, dying all over again. Kylo kicks their teeth in, stabs them through the heart, shoves them away from him even as they claw and cling to him, tearing his clothes, ripping at his shirt and his breeches, trying to grab the sword out of his hand.

Their long blackened fingernails scratch at his flesh, and he has to resist the urge not to be sick with the decay he finds in their faces as he punches and hacks his way through them.

It is suffocating, but Kylo grabs at the medallion almost on accident, and he does not know how, but a pulse of light shocks out of it and knocks them all away. The golden pulse from the medallion, from the symbol which now has morphed and changed into something else entirely, is protecting him, and he does not waste the time it allows him.

Snoke’s laughter guides him, and Kylo chases until there is nowhere left to run. On a tall bridge of rock, Kylo and Snoke find themselves engaged in battle, meeting one another sword for sword, grunts and groans of effort spilling out of their lips.

“This is for Vicrul,” Kylo shouts, as he pushes forward, forces Snoke backwards. The old man’s eyes widen before he frowns, realizing the bridge is becoming more and more narrow, “And this is for Cardo!”

Snoke fights back, their swords locked, shooting sparks all around as they meet clash for clash. Snoke’s footwork is light, he is fast for a man of such age. He manages to slice Kylo’s arm, slicing straight through the fabric. Kylo bleeds, and that pain only eggs him on, a lesson he had learned many a year ago – the pain fueling his rage.

“For Trudgen, and Ushar!” Kylo’s voice is loud, grows louder and louder as the blood rushes down his forearm, staining his shirt and dripping around his clenched fist, staining the metal of his sword as they meet time and time again, as Kylo gains the advantage.

“Ben wait –" Snoke calls him by that name again, and Kylo can only growl loudly with the rage of it all, for how dare Kylo disrespect him now?

“For Kuruk and Ap’lek.” Kylo continues, before managing to fling Snoke’s sword away from his hand, managing to send it flying all the way down a deep trench, water rushing through the cave below them.

Kylo can hear it when it hits against the rocks a thousand feet away, and suddenly gets the strongest urge to hear that sound again, although with Snoke’s head instead of his sword. Like the coward he is, Snoke backs himself up as far as he can go, until he is teetering on the precipe of the edge, on the very last foothold he has.

Kylo lunges after him, letting out a shout of rage as he runs his old captain through with his sword, cutting out the bitter shriveled blackened heart. Kylo holds it in his hand, squeezes any possible remains of life left there and drops it.

Snoke’s eyes widen, almost in shock, for even in death he had not been so injured.

He does not bleed the way Kylo is, but that does not mean that he cannot hurt.

“And this, Captain,” Kylo’s face shakes with rage, as he grabs Snoke by the throat and hoists him high up off his feet, dangling his body right over the trench, “Is for me.”

Snoke opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it is is lost in the scream that spills from his lips as Kylo not only drops him, no not something so careless as that – he throws Snoke down the trench, the glow of the medallion giving Kylo the ability to watch him fall.

He is reminded then, of how it felt to sink to the bottom of the ocean thanks to his carelessness, his cowardice. He hopes that Snoke receives no such mercy, as the one you had shown him that day.

You! He must get back to you, he must –

There is another rumble, from beyond the cave. Kylo startles, as the bridge beneath him begins to shake, and he realizes that the bridge is beginning to collapse.

No, not just the bridge, but the entire cave.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Kylo runs, his boots carrying him as fast as he can go, the medallion glowing and pulsating, music guiding him through the dark, slipping and skidding on the wet rock, Kylo runs. He is chased by large rocks which fall from the ceiling, falling onto his head and only just barely missing. If one were to pin him down, it would surely kill him.

He doesn’t realize how deep into the cave he had gone, until he can finally see the white light of your eyes, and your scream for him to hurry, after what feels like an age of running, his limbs burning, legs and lungs sore from the speed of it all.

“Kylo!” You rejoice, joy thrilling through your body as you reach for him, arms extended and a great big grin on your face.

“I did it, darling my darling I did it!” Kylo shouts at you from the mouth of the cave, outrunning its demise, outrunning his death once more.

“My handsome man, I knew you could do it, I knew you could!” You reach reach reach for his hands, and the second he grabs you, you yank him to your chest and your powerful tail propels you forward faster than his legs could ever run, as you carry him to safety once again, laughing all the while, “I knew you could!”

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

When at last before my ghostly shipmates I stand

I shed a small tear for my home upon land

Though their eyes speak of depths filled with struggle and strife

Their smiles below say I don't owe them my life

As the souls of the dead fill the space of my eyes

And my boat listed over and tried to capsize

I'm this far from drowning, this far from the sea,

I remember the living do they think of me,

When my bones in the ocean forever will be

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

The rowboat reaches the side of the ship, and it rocks for a moment as you hoist yourself inside of it. Your body takes up much of the space, or rather, your tail does, and Kylo cannot stop looking looking looking at you, the thrill of victory, of success, coursing through his veins. There is just one problem – he cannot lift the rowboat from down here.

Thankfully, a lantern sticks over the side of the ship, followed soon thereafter by an inquiring head, belonging to Kylo’s First Mate. He is conflicted at once – he wants to revel in the satisfaction of being correct all these years, but he wants to protect you more, and he is unsure of what Victoria will do now that you are so close.

“You are real!” Victoria says in a loud-whisper, smacking a hand over her mouth for a moment or two.

You wave up to her, a knowing smile on your face, and Kylo’s cheek burn. He is embarrassed, because now you know he has told everyone of importance about you, that he has bragged about you, that he has sang your praises. Giving his hand a tight squeeze, your fin slaps against the rowboat, and that is signal enough that Victoria needs, to send down the ropes.

Once the rowboat is hitched and lifted up out of the water, you slip the medallion around your neck, and immediately it glows a bright gold, brighter even than the white of your eyes, which now fade to the beautiful natural color of your irises.

Kylo is still unsure though, still not certain how this will help you, even as the medallion glows and glows.

“What does it do -- ?” Victoria has the same thoughts as Kylo, the same questions, but both of their thoughts are interrupted by the golden light which glows larger and larger, encompasses your body.

You rise up into the air, and Kylo is hesitant to let go. He knows he must, so he does, and instantly regrets not being able to hold your palm against his own. He steps onto the deck of the boat where it is sturdy and safe, and watches as some otherworldly magic you wield spins around your tail.

Suddenly, there is a great flash of light, and your fin begins to morph and split into two legs, two human legs; thighs and knees and calves and ankles and even feet and toes. Kylo cannot believe it, Victoria blinks and has to shield her eyes from the brightness of it all, but it is not long after that the glow fades, and you are gently lowered by your magic onto the deck.

Kylo’s arms are there for you at once, your naked body bracing itself in his embrace. Although there is no one on the deck who is awake aside from the three of you, he still wishes to shield your body from sight, a protective possessive simmer bubbling up in his chest. It also does not help that it has been a long time since you stood upon human legs, and he does not want to risk you falling, not now, not ever. He will never let harm come to you again, not as commander of the seas.

“Incredible,” He whispers, kissing your face, holding you tight while you get your footing, “You’re beautiful.”

“You keep saying that.” You laugh, your hair spilling over one shoulder as your arms loop around Kylo’s neck. You smile at him so radiantly, that it could have been high noon for all Kylo knew.

“It is the truth, I will continue to say it until the day I die.” He leans in to kiss you once more.

When his mouth opens for yours and he begins to hum against your tongue, Victoria clears her throat rather loudly, and scratches the side of her face awkwardly. You break apart only enough for him to shoot her a harsh glare for ruining the moment, but Victoria only rolls her eyes.

“Show her your cabin, Captain.” She says with no hint of subtlety, “I daresay she will be eager to see it.”

Kylo looks at you, and your pupils grow wide wide wide in the dark, and he knows you are eager indeed.

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

Kylo has never given much thought to his quarters, not until this very moment. Of course he knew what he had and he knew the degree to which his nice things were nice, but he never had wondered what you might think of them – or if they would be of any consequence to you at all.

It was a long room right at the very port of the Silencer, a vast open area split off into smaller sections by way of furniture arrangement. The floors were all covered with handwoven Persian rugs, the windows draped with fine linens. Up against the windows at the far back of the room was his large mahogany work table and chairs with plush velvet cushions, where he held meeting with the higher members of the crew. Along the wall were various chests and bureaus which housed his clothing, all carved with intricate designs and all having brass handles and clasps. Towards the front was his bathing area, a grand tub and all sorts of implements to improve his hygiene – he abhorred the idea that a pirate need be a filthy man.

And finally, off to the other wall, sat a grand canopy bed, with curtains which could be pulled shut to prevent any light from seeping through, should he want to sleep in on one particular morning or another. The bed frame was gold, inlaid with jewels, carved and decorated to tell the tale of a mermaid saving a young boy.

He waits for you to make the first move. He wants you, desperately, terribly, but he will not push, will not do anything which you do not explicitly ask for. He does not want to pressure you in any way. He has waited for you for twenty years, he could wait longer if you asked – as long as you are here, he doesn’t care.

But he doesn’t have to wait, for you have already laid yourself down in his bed, your arms spread out as your legs rub against the soft blankets, one finger beckoning him to join you. It does not take anything more for him to shed his clothes and do just that.

Kylo’s skin is still slightly wet from the cave, but if there is a chill that washes over him from being so exposed, he doesn’t pay it any attention. You are watching him curiously, your eyes trailing up and down his body as he steps towards you, climbs his way up the bed.

Immediately, your arms open for him, and he settles himself above you, kisses at the warmth of your throat as your hands find their way into his hair.

“Do you prefer me this way?” You muse playfully, rubbing your foot against the back of his calf, making him shiver shudder gasp with anticipation, continuing, “With legs, like you have?”

Kylo continues to kiss your neck, to worry his lips along the muscles there, grazing the gold-capped edges of his teeth up and down, making you shudder in return. He cannot describe the thrill that fills him with, knowing he affects you so.

“I prefer you either way, although I will admit, there is so much we can do like this.” He whispers, finding some way to broach the subject, the subject of his desire, his lust for you. God he wants to fuck you, wants it so badly that one of his hands wanders down to your lower stomach, asking with a silent hesitation for permission.

You grin and nod, and Kylo sucks in a breath, lets his fingers dip down lower, until they are brushing through the hair that has replaced your scales, pushing between your folds, your legs falling open and welcoming him. At once, you hum out a longing moan, a sound that Kylo has to chase, simply has to. He crooks two inside your pussy, revels slowly, softly, in the way that your body reacts.

“Aye, now the question becomes, do you have the stamina to do everything I want?” You chuckle as his lips part from the sensation of how wet you are, wet in every sense of the word. Kylo has large hands and thick fingers, but somehow your cunt takes him with ease, welcomes him and sucks him deeper.

Pulling back ever so slightly, Kylo looks up at you, his fingers busying themselves with working you open, pushing and rubbing through your folds, your pussy dripping around his knuckles. It makes his mouth water, makes him have to swallow hard, especially when your pupils darken and grow wide with lust of your own.

“You’ve – you mean to say you have experience?” He doesn’t know why this shocks him, Kylo certainly was no virgin.

“I’m nine hundred years old, I daresay I have more experience than everyone on your ship, O Captain.” You laugh, and something about the laughter bubbles anger inside him, makes his face harden.

He knows he’s a hypocrite, he knows. He’s fucked women all over the world, taken his pleasures from helping hands on more than one occasion. He knows that you must have done the same, so why does he get so possessive? Why does he get so immediately blood-thirsty? He has to fight the desire to rip heads off of necks, to hunt down those who did not deserve you – hell he almost stops fingering you from the sheer rage that stings the back of his throat like bile.

“Ohh does that make you jealous? That others have had a taste of me?” You notice, cupping his cheeks and kissing him sweetly, legs curling around his waist, voice deceptively calm as you whisper into his mouth, “Don’t be, you should know I killed them all right after.”

That makes his cock twitch, appeals to the primal side of his brain which had already begun to plot. You simply grin, turned on further by the way he is so ready to kill for you.

“Good.” He very nearly snarls, thrusting another finger to join the two that have already found comfort in your pussy, deciding that he would show you just how much better he could make you feel, than all those others combined.

With three fingers in, and his thumb on your clit, Kylo kisses you passionately, swallows down the mewls of pleasure and little hiccuped gasps that he elicits from your throat. His eyes are pinched shut because you are too beautiful, it hurts him to look into your gaze the same way that he has always been warned not to stare into the sun. But he doesn’t need his eye to see you when he can feel the way your body undulates and rocks underneath him, the pulsating warmth of your flesh sending goosebumps of pleasure rippling down his spine.

When he’s decided that you’re good and ready, when you’re stretched out enough to accommodate him, he sucks those fingers into his mouth to chance the taste of you. It is beyond that which Kylo could have ever dreamed, and spit strings off his rings when he hoists your leg up enough to properly thrust his cock through those warm plush folds.

“Fuck,” Kylo grunts unexpectedly, as the angle allows him to shove his way through with ease, the fingering having relaxed you enough to take him. But only just enough, it would seem, for despite the attention, you still are tight, and Kylo is sure that he could die like this and die a happy man.

Kylo’s body sings at the contact, at the vice-like hold your cunt has on his thick throbbing cock, and he pushes it deeper deeper deeper still inside you, not stopping until he bottoms out completely, not stopping until he has stuffed you full of his hot hard length, not stopping until your mouth drops open with surprise.

Smirking, Kylo positions himself in a way that he can support his weight and pull back, hips pistoning hard and fast all at once, making the bed creak louder than the rocking ship. He has decided he will never fuck again, if he cannot fuck you – he is ruined for anyone else, ruined in the way you push your pelvis up to meet him thrust for thrust, giving him as good as you get.

“Kylo – oh yes, yes! Take me, give me everything Kylo, give it to me.” You gasp, one of your hands digging into the scarred meat of his back, the flexing muscle of his shoulders moving under your palm.

The praise makes him moan, a deep rumbling purr in his chest that you exploit, a litany of yesyesKyloyou’resogoodgoodgood dropping from your lips, spurring him on, making his pride and cock throb, his hips rolling against yours, balls smacking harsh on your flesh as he clamps his teeth down onto your shoulder.

“Stars above, oh God – you’re beautiful, so beautiful.” He chants, feeling and savoring the way his cock spears through the tight wet velvet heat of your pussy, better than anything he has ever felt, clenching around him perfectly, fluttering and pulsing against his engorged veins and swollen head.

Your back arches underneath him, pushing your breasts with perked swollen nipples right into his face as he bends himself down to meet them, desperate to latch his tongue to your chest and suck. You moan moan moan, and he does not hold back the grunts of his own, the low noises from the back of his throat that muffle against your flesh as he suckles and licks the salty sweat off your skin, cock never once breaking in its rhythm.

“Fuck, fuck that’s good.” You pant, your body bouncing on the mattress, letting yourself go, letting yourself be moved this way and that for Kylo to pleasure you as he sees fit. Your eyes roll back into your head, your teeth bite at your lower lip, and Kylo can hear the way your pulse flutters from his spot on your breast.

“You like my cock?” He laves his tongue over your nipples one at a time, pinches at them with his lips, eager and ecstatic that he is making you feel this way.

“Yes!” You sigh loudly, no regard whatsoever for his crew – he doesn’t care either, in fact your volume makes him grow bold, grow demanding.

“Tell me how much.” He orders, shifting your positions so that he can take one of your legs and stretch it up up up over his shoulder, ankle resting near his ear, fucking into you hard and fast, so fast that his own voice shakes, “I want to hear you say it, say how much you like getting fucked by my big cock.”

You laugh, not at him but in sheer simple bliss, arms thrown over your head, hands tangling in the sheets. The moonlight shines on your body as he fucks into you, listens to the squelch of your cunt as it drips and drools on his cock, your tongue doing its best to stay in your mouth as you take the pounding he gives you.

“Kylo! It’s so big, I – oh fuck, oh! I’m so full!” You moan and whine, voice high and loud and music to his ears, as you hiccup and giggle out of your mind, especially when his thumb falls on your swollen clit, begging for attention.

The dark curling possessive feeling floods through him then, wanting you like this all the time, wanting you happy and pleased, wanting to be the man which gives it to you. The medallion practically smacks against your chest, and he grabs a hold of it in his hand so that your pretty skin won’t be marked by bruises that he does not give you.

“I’ll fill you up, fill you right to the fucking brim,” Kylo growls -- seethes, “I’ll knock you up and pamper you and make you come every day, coming on my cock and fingers and tongue – ”

It is then that he stops entirely, his hips halting at once, brain tripping up over his own words. You give him a whine and a light smack to his shoulder, protesting that he has stopped, especially when he pulls out. Before you can question him verbally though, he’s shuffling down the bed as fast as he can, pulling your folds apart with his golden clad thumbs and burying his face in place of his cock, his tongue stroking and sucking and thrusting through you.

“Oh!” You gasp happily, pleased with this attention, and Kylo’s arms wind underneath your thighs, your knees squeezing the sides of his head as he eats you out.

Kylo eats your pussy like a starving man confronted with his first meal – he is sloppy, he is aggressive, he is desperate. His nose prods up against your clit and rubs and bumps as he sucks you down, as he swallows the slick that pools on his tongue. You taste like the ocean but also like something otherworldly, and Kylo thinks that this is already replacing his most favorite of rums, the wine of your body far more addicting.

Keening each time you yank on his hair, Kylo kisses and makes out with your pussy, tears welling up in his eyes from the sheer overstimulation of his scalp and his cock, which ruts against the sheets. The laundry boys will kill him, he just had the sheets washed not two days ago, but he doesn’t care.

A grosser part of him thinks he will never have his sheets washed again, but as he drinks down your slick and moans and pants into your pussy, he thinks no, he wants nothing but the cleanest bed for you to be fucked on. You deserve nothing but the best, and his hands clench into fists as he groans out the sheer desire to give it to you.

In the back of his head, Kylo knows that this cannot last forever, and a sharp pang of sorrow hits his heart, because he cannot think of anything more important than this – eating, drinking, sleeping, no, nothing compares to the way you sob on his tongue, sob with pleasure that has been denied to you for so long.

His brain cannot make up its mind, whether he wants to bury his face as far between your legs as it can go, or his cock, and he wishes there were some way he could fuck you and taste you at the same time.

“Kylo, I’m going to come.” You warn with a shuddering moan, and that makes up his mind for him, for he wants to come alongside you, wants to come inside you, together.

So, regretfully he pulls away from your pretty pussy and gives your clit one last kiss, and pushes the head of his cock back into you, resuming the thrusting pace he had built, feeling how his cock has to work hard to shove itself into you, your cunt tight tight tight.

“Will – can – where -- ?” He feels like a fool for the loss of his words, but you, even blissed out the way that you are, you understand what he’s trying to ask.

“Come in me, handsome, fill me up like you promised.” You order, and though he has proven himself to be stronger than any man alive, he is weak for the tone of your voice.

That heating warming desperate coil of pleasure winds winds winds up in his stomach, until it is shooting out of his cock in throbbing pulsing ropes of hot come, spreading through your cunt, dumping his load as your body comes and shudders and shakes around him, your thighs trembling, toes curling, back arching clean off the mattress. He pants and gasps for breath as he curses long and low in his chest, pumping the last few thrusts of his hips against yours until his arms give out and he collapses down on top of you.

The medallion glows gold, sends a pulse of light across the ocean – you are grinning so wide and so beautifully that Kylo knows whatever has just happened between the two of you, is only the beginning.

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

Now that I'm staring down at the darkest abyss

I'm not sure what I want but I don't think it's this

As my comrades call to stand fast and forge on

I make sail for the dawn 'til the darkness has gone

As the souls of the dead live for'er in my mind

As I live all the years that they left me behind

I'll stay on the shore but still gaze at the sea

I remember the fallen and they think of me

For our souls in the ocean together will be

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

The sweat cools on the both of your bodies for a long while, and still, somehow, Kylo feels like he is in a dream.

The Silencer creaks and groans gently in the night as he traces patterns across your back, little looping nothings that have you humming softly. Your legs are twined through his, braided like the rope which hoists his sails, and he wonders if you can hear how fast his heart is beating, even in the calm. You must, you have to be, for you are tucked up against his broad chest, your cheek nestled into one of his pecs, your arm curled around his thick waist.

What he wouldn’t give to have both eyes again, to be able to see you the way he wishes he could.

It is surreal to think that you are here, after so long. After twenty years of the world thinking him crazy, not only has he proved them all wrong, but he has proven himself to you. You wear the medallion around your neck, the very same medallion which was stolen from you so long ago, by the very captain that once tried to steal Kylo’s life.

Now he was gone, and you are here, and he has just fucked you through nearly to sunrise, and he thinks if he had but a small glass of something to drink, he could have the strength to fuck you some more.

“I have never felt more complete, than I do in this moment.” He confesses, looks down at you. You meet his gaze, and your irises grow huge in the low light. He leans in to kiss your forehead, his hand rubbing your back up and down, “I cannot believe at long last I have found you.”

You sigh happily, so happily in fact, that the scales on your hip begin to shimmer and glow, and Kylo thinks he would kill Snoke a thousand times over, if it meant he could have you so calm, so at ease.

“I thought about you all the while, heard stories about you across the deep. I am so proud of the man, the terror you have become, my Kylo, handsome Kylo.” You whisper, kissing the spot underneath his chin, where his scar drags across his throat.

Suddenly, he grows panicked, his arms tighten around your body, because he does not know the extent to your visit, he does not know if you only are granting him this one night. He holds you tightly and you hum with a question in your tone, making Kylo’s cheeks grow red hot with embarrassment and shame.

“You cannot go again, you cannot leave me. Please don’t – I’ll do anything, anything to stay together.” He clings to you, like the boy he once was, drowning and dying alone out at sea, the very sea which he now commands, which he now holds in an iron grip.

“’Anything’ is a dangerous word to be said to a mermaid.” You tease him the very same way you had teased him then, but this time Kylo knows what he’s asking for, and oh how he has waited so long to ask it.

“I meant it before, and I mean it now, I will not be apart from you again.” There is that deep baritone that has sent fear into the hearts of a thousand ships, and you grin at the sound of it, pulling your bodies flush together.

“You won’t have to, handsome.” Licking your lips, you allow him to tilt your chin up.

“Let me kiss you?” He asks, and he asks it so sweetly that you don’t even have the time to answer, you’re already nuzzling your nose against his, already rubbing at his lips with yours.

The kiss, much like the ones from seemingly an eon ago – or was it only a few hours? – begins as a chaste nothing and works its way into being something passionate, something heated. It is in this kiss, that Kylo knows now wherever you go, so too he will follow, even if that’s to the very edge of the Earth, down to the very pits of the deep.

As he closes his eyes and kisses you once more, his hands cradle your head and holds you tight to his body. He worries you’ll burst into seafoam or stars, worries that now that he isn’t looking at you, you’ll disappear. His pulse jumps because of it, pounds in his throat so strongly that he thinks he might be ill – but you’re here still, he knows it, he feels the press of your lips against his own.

Kylo opens his mouth, and you slip your tongue through, making him melt and groan deep in the back of his throat, his hands clutching at your naked body, your scales shimmering in the moonlight that pours in through his cabin window. This medallion, the one which has granted you your legs once again, glows golden. He can see the burn of the symbol behind his eyelid, as you push yourself to straddle his waist, to pin him down to the mattress.

“Fuck!” He feels the white hot brand of the medallion then suddenly, and his shouts of pain are swallowed down your throat, you shush and soothe him with your otherworldly touch, even as something hot hot hot courses through his veins.

You have done something to him, something that he doesn’t know, doesn’t dare to ask. He trusts you, wholly and completely he trusts you – you have never given him reason to doubt, so he doesn’t, not even now.

You kiss and kiss and kiss and he doesn’t realize the ship is sinking, doesn’t realize that twenty foot waves have spilled over the side of the Silencer. He doesn’t hear the alarm bells or the shouts of his crew, he doesn’t care about anything else besides you. No, he sucks the air from your breath until there’s salt water in his lungs, but he doesn’t choke, he doesn’t splutter, he lets himself be pulled down down down, your hands in his hair, his arms around your waist as your legs disappear.

There is music then, music all around, inside his body and out, and he wonders if this is the ballad of the sea, of the souls you have claimed, the souls he has stolen at the hand of his sword. Kylo can feel them, their presence, in the in-between, calling and reaching out to him in a tearful melody, but knows he will not be joining them. Kuruk, Ushar, Ap’lek and Trudgen, Cardo and Vicrul’s faces all ghostly images of their younger selves, so young and fit that Kylo nearly doesn’t recognize them.

He regards them with a mournful eye but they shake their heads, not a single one of them angry. They don’t want him to join, Kylo realizes, they don’t feel betrayed that Kylo has lived while they have died. He makes them a promise, sends out the thought through the sea, that he’ll live out the years they had stolen as best as he can, and this is enough for them to stop haunting his dreams. To the tune of the music they dance and sing off into the ether, freed from the shackles of the in-between, finally free once more.

And then he realizes the music is coming from you, a siren song that fills his ears and his eyes and his very heart, it is the most beautiful thing he has ever heard, and he is filled with an euphoria unlike that he had ever known, because he realizes he gets to listen to it forever. Kylo had once asked if you were an angel, and you had said no – now he knows better, he knows what you are; you are heaven herself.

“We’ll be together forever like this.” He hears you say, your voice distorted and watery as your teeth grow sharp, as your hair grows long, flows about your head in a death defying halo. “Not a single man alive could harm you now. You’ll remain like this forever, just as you are, with me by your side.”

Kylo should be afraid, he knows this, he knows he should – but how can he be when you’re holding his hands and kissing his palms? How can he be when he opens his eyes and he finally breathes, a sucking sharp gasp of the ocean that fills him up?

He cannot explain it, but he is transformed into something, something otherworldly just the same way that you are. He looks the same, but he can feel it inside his body and inside his mind, as the medallion glows and so too does the brand on his chest, marked forever by a mermaid’s kiss.

But instead of that kiss sending him to the Locker or a watery grave, he keeps his lungs open and he remains unafraid, as you smile with too many teeth in your mouth, you laugh and you cheer and you sing so very loud. And when he blinks he sees you crystal clear through both of his eyes, you grasp for his hands and he knows now he can’t die, his ship sails under the water manned by his crew, who too look completely unchanged.

You swim above the ship and perch yourself atop the masthead, the breaking light of dawn shines down through the waves, making the watery world feel like an elixir of life, of immortal dreams come true. Kylo chases you, with strong limbs he climbs up up up the rigging of the ship to join you, and as he climbs, so too does the ship rise, until the Silencer breaks through the surface once more.

The crew rejoices, they dance in circles around the bilge pump and throw their hats in the air, the sunrise golden and beautiful as your fin smacks happily against the wood of the ship, laughter at the antics on deck. Kylo sets you in his lap there high above the water’s edge, and seagulls fly and call from the disturbance of the ship ascending from the depths.

“I love you.” He says it, says the words that he has been practicing inside his mind for decades, the words he has rehearsed in front of the mirror. He never thought he would have a chance to say them to you out loud. “I have loved you from the very first moment I saw you.”

It hits him then, the realization that Kylo will be able to say them to you forever.

“Why do you think I rescued you?” You beam at him, and he laughs, elated, that his feelings are returned.

Looping your arms around his neck, you kiss Kylo, salty and briny and bright. Kylo holds you in his lap tightly so that you don’t fall, one of his hands on your cheek, adoring, caressing. He leans his forehead against yours, and the medallion glows, and when he meets your grin it’s with a smile of his own, because he has given you his soul fathoms below.

I remember the fallen and they think of me,

For our souls in the ocean together will be.

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

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fallen-gravity · 3 years ago

Text

the good kind of scared

Luz takes Amity out on their first date as an official couple.

Amity can’t stop thinking about certain circumstances of a certain night.

Notes:

WARNING: This fic contains major spoilers for Season 2, Episode 8 (Knock, Knock, Knockin’ on Hooty’s Door) of the Owl House. Read at your own risk.

Here’s my first shot at an owl house fic! I love Luz and Amity so much, they remind me so much of myself and my journey as a young wlw, and I wish them nothing but the best on their relationship journey.

AO3

Luz regrets telling Eda she wanted to ask Amity out.

It’s not that she’s being mean or judgmental about the whole ordeal, and it’s not even that she’s being overprotective and going full Owlbeast on Amity for getting too close, or threatening to break something of hers if she breaks Luz’s heart.

Oh no. Luz would absolutely prefer Eda threatening to drop Amity off in the middle of the wilderness for hurting her to what she’s actually doing.

Every time Luz even mentions Amity, even if she’s just talking about her day at school, Eda’s on her back with a nudge of her shoulders, a hip check, and a wink. It’s always “How’s your girlfriend doing, Luz?” this and “When are you bringing your girlfriend home, Luz?” that.

If Luz’s face could burn any hotter she’s sure it would catch on fire.

(She shudders at the thought of how much more embarrassing her mother back home is going to be about it).

Honestly, it’s a miracle she was even able to plan their first date without Eda butting in at all.

“Bring her home by midnight!” Eda singsongs, tossing her staff to Amity as the two of them are heading out the door. “Now go have fun, you crazy kids!”

Luz scrubs her hands down her face and groans into them. Beside her, Amity giggles nervously.

“I’ll try,” she murmurs under her breath, and it only makes Luz’s blush even worse.

“I’m so sorry about her” Luz groans once they’re outside and Eda is out of earshot. “I begged her not to be embarrassing about this whole thing, but she just laughed at me and told me that was her job”

Amity laughs, bashfully covering her mouth with a hand. She’s so cute. “It’s fine. You wouldn’t believe how Edric and Emira acted when I told them where I was going. I thought I was going to be stuck at home with all of their squealing for hours before they finally let me go”

Luz can’t help but laugh. “Are you ready to go? I kind of want to get out of here before Hooty catches wind at what’s going on” she gestures with her thumb towards the door behind them. Hooty is, thankfully, too asleep to have heard any of that conversation.

For the briefest of seconds, Amity’s eyes go wide. “Right,” she says, and offers Eda’s staff back to Luz. Her eyes dart to the ground as her entire face begins to flush pink. “Well, where did you want to take me? You said no asking until I got here”

That’s right. Luz can feel her own blush burning into her cheeks. She’d completely forgotten it was supposed to be a surprise, and that this date was the date to determine all of their future dates going forward.

Luz clears her throat to clear her thoughts, and sits down on the staff to wake up Owlbert.

“Hop on!” she tells Amity beside her, her voice cracking into oblivion. “You’ll know when we get there”

Amity giggles, but she complies, sitting behind Luz and wrapping her arms around her waist to keep herself steady.

...This is the end of her, Luz thinks, her face turning redder than apple blood. She’s dead. She’s dying. She’s no more.

But before Amity has the time to ask her what’s wrong or pull away, Luz takes off into the sky, perhaps a bit faster than she intended to. It takes a moment for their flight to steady, since she’d accidentally startled Owlbert from taking off too quickly, but once he’s calmed down it’s smooth sailing to their destination.

And even now that everything is all smooth and balanced, Amity still has her arms around Luz’s waist, which means that it has nothing to do with keeping herself steady at all, that Amity just genuinely wanted to sit that close to her and hold her throughout the entire duration of their flight, and hooo, boy, Luz isn’t quite sure her fragile little hopeless romantic heart can handle that information.

Focus, she tells herself. You’ve only got one shot at a first date, and everyone knows the first date is the most important.

She takes a deep breath in and slowly exhales to dispel her spiking nerves.

“Look, Amity…” She starts, and though Amity does not move her arms from around her waist, Luz can feel Amity’s hair brush against her cheek as she sits up to meet her eyes. “I know that you’ve lived here your entire life, and I’ve only been here for a few months, and there’s probably not much here that I could show you that you haven’t already seen hundreds of times. And I know I keep talking about going home, and everything I like about living there, but...I think it’s only fair that I show you the reason I fell in love with this place, too” she coughs, her blush returning to her cheeks again. “B-besides you, I mean”

Amity’s entire face goes pink, and she buries it into Luz’s shoulder. “Luz…” she whimpers, so unlike the cool and collected Amity that walks the halls of Hexside, and somehow it has Luz’s heart flipping in her chest even more.

“I know it’s not much, but….” Luz gestures outward with an arm, and Amity finally finds the strength to pull away from her shoulder. Upon following Luz’s gestured arm with her gaze, a small gasp escapes her.

It’s the same view of the Boiling Isles that Eda had shown her on her first day on the Isles. It’s the entire view of the Titan’s skeleton, yes, and the lit homes of all the residents of Bonesborough, but most importantly it’s the sky. When Luz had been up here with Eda the sun was setting and Luz was sure that it was the most beautiful thing that she had ever seen, but tonight’s sky takes the cake (...again, besides Amity). Tonight the sky is clear as can be, twinkling with thousands of shining stars. There’s a distant galaxy streaking across the sky; not quite the Milky Way, but equally as beautiful, and, if Luz looks long enough, a few scattered shooting stars.

“Woah,” Amity gasps behind her, and tightens her grip around Luz’s waist ever so slightly. “It’s all so…” she pauses, her gaze shifting from the night sky to Luz, “...beautiful”

Luz squeaks. “You’re beautiful” she murmurs, burying her face into her hands once again.

Amity laughs at that, but if Luz unburies her face from her hands she’d see the blush permanently branded into her girlfriend’s face at the compliment.

For a few moments after, the two of them fall into a comfortable silence. Amity’s arms remain where they are around Luz’s waist, and Luz does her best to lean backwards into her touch. They don’t move, and don’t focus on anything but the night sky and the quiet, gentle flapping of Owlbert’s tiny wings if they listen hard enough.

It’s...peaceful. A dramatic shift in pace compared to the past week for sure, but it's a change that Luz is welcoming with open arms.

She’s about to close her eyes and let herself soak everything in when Amity speaks up again, nearly startling her out of her skin.

“Hey, actually…now that we’re alone, can I…ask you a question?”

Luz swallows. It must be crucial relationship business if whatever this is had to wait until they were on their date, as far away from other prying ears as they could possibly get. Trying her hardest not to let her nerves show, Luz carefully shifts on the staff so she’s sitting beside Amity rather than in front of her.

“Y-yeah! What’s up?”

Amity’s face goes pink and she starts nervously playing with her hair, like it’s killing her just to even think about asking whatever this crucial question is. Just as quickly as the blush appeared, though, she’s clearing her throat and patting her hair back into place, steeling herself for whatever Luz’s answer could be.

“Was...was the tunnel of love really Hooty’s idea, or were you just saying that because you were…” her blush appears, twice as red as it had been a moment ago. “...anxious about telling me how you felt?”

Luz is, once again, feeling like her face is on fire. “Ugh, I’m so sorry about all of that” she scrubs a hand down her face. “Hooty had this whole thing going on about insisting he needed to help people, and he must’ve gotten it in his head that he needed to help me with-”

She’s cut off by the sensation of Amity gently taking her free hand in her own, rubbing gentle circles into the back of her hand with her thumb. “Sorry?” she giggles. “Why are you sorry?”

Luz finally finds the strength to meet Amity’s eyes despite the blush burned into her cheeks.

Her eyes are shining, which is just about the prettiest, most adorable thing Luz has ever seen, hands down.

“I mean, Hooty kidnapping me was…” she trails off, shuddering, “but...everything else? It was so cute, Luz. It was so much like you to make this grand old gesture for me. I was terrified just kissing you on the cheek the other night, and there you were, being so extravagantly...you”

...She liked all of that? She didn’t think it was dumb, or embarrassing, or completely and utterly laughable??? She thought it was sweet?

It’s decided, Luz Noceda is officially the luckiest girl in the world. Nobody else in the entire Boiling Isles has better luck than her.

Luz sighs, and returns Amity’s gesture by taking her other hand in her own. “I guess...it’s because everyone back home thinks I’m too schmaltzy. Every time I talk about this new romance book I’d read, or this new fic I finished writing, or the proposal I was working on for this guy I wanted to ask to homecoming, they’d just...laugh at me, like there goes Luz again, doing too much for things that don’t matter that much. I’m so used to being shot down for being too much that I felt...scared”

Amity snorts. “We waltzed together to defeat Grom, Luz. I don’t think you can get much schmaltzier than that. Besides…” she inches ever closer, planting a kiss on Luz’s cheek. “There’s no such thing as too much of you, Luz. If nobody back home saw that, then they didn’t deserve you”

A smile tugs at Luz’s lips. “More like I don’t deserve you, you big sap” she gives Amity’s cheek a kiss in return, and she beams at the sensation, adorably scrunching up her nose. The beam stays plastered on her face when Luz pulls away, and Amity gently touches the spot on her cheek where Luz had just kissed her.

“Well, what about right now?” Amity asks, the shine returning to her eyes. “You’re not still feeling scared, are you?”

The phrasing of her second question suddenly makes Luz very aware of how close they’re sitting to each other. Her heart starts pounding in her chest at the very real possibility that they are close enough to kiss, actually kiss, on the lips, if they so wanted to.

“Yeah,” she answers honestly, but leans her head in closer to Amity to test the waters. Amity realizes what she’s doing pretty quickly, but shows no hesitation in meeting her halfway.

Luz can’t help the beam spreading across her own face as they pull away from their first kiss. “...but I think it’s the good kind of scared.”

#my writing #lumity #toh #the owl house #knock knock knocking on hooty's door

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ad1thi · 4 years ago

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underrated stevetony fics rec list (P1)

i feel like a lot of really good stevetony fics get swept under the rug because this is such a big fandom and sometimes people miss out on quality content?? so this is a rec list of some of the stevetony fics i feel like everybody should have read/ be reading

Edit (31.12.2020): this got very long (i had almost 50 fics on my list, so ive decided to split this list into two parts. part 2 will be out soon!!)

Edit (20.02.2021): part 2 is out now!!

picture me in the trees: @ifmywishescametrue

Tony and Steve were childhood friends that almost became more, but Tony moved and they lost their chance. Thirteen years later, a chance meeting brings Tony back into Steve's life.

Free: @iwanttopizzamanyou

"Steve reads, and the words dance in front of his eyes, because while this used to be his dream, what he wanted, all he can think about is how this Hell will soon become his full time life."

Steve discovers fame, with fans waiting for him in the lobby and girls passing him their numbers after the shows. It used to be what he wanted, he supposes. Except his future managers keep asking more and more from him, and he's not sure his old life will survive. Tony is ready to help, and compromise, but Steve maybe isn't anymore.

making it work: @/ironarm

“Just tell him you don’t want to see him anymore,” Clint replies, finishing the end of his burger and starting to crumple up the wrapper, “It’s not like you love him or anything.”

“Clint, if I thought I could get rid of him about a week ago, I would have. But for some fucked up reason, I can’t lie to him. It’s like, I see those baby blue eyes, and bam. Whatever barrier that I built up from childhood trauma is gone.”

Clint chokes on the last piece of his burger, almost resisting the urge to smack Tony on the side of his head.

Tony was a fucking idiot.

Boys Like Us: @naferty

The video had been a mistake. One of the biggest mistakes he had ever done in his life, and considering Tony Stark had done a bunch of shit in his younger years, and even older years, that was saying something.

It was just that none of those things were as embarrassing as that video.

He blamed Clint for everything

Stained Fingertips: @thesoundofnat

“I don’t really believe in magic,” he said, clearing his throat. “But I’m almost certain you’re a goddamn wizard, Steve Rogers.”

Steve would remember those words for the rest of his life.

(Or, Steve is maybe slightly obsessed with drawing Tony. Not that Tony minds.)

Inhale, Ex-Sail: @summerpipedream

"Rich pirates decked out in top-of-the-line black market gear,” grumbled Tony, ”why don’t I have the budget to make those again?’

Rhodey inched back so that he and Tony were back-to-back. “We’re apparently law abiding citizens now, which means having to pay taxes.”

Tony scowled. “Urg, right. Remind me why I wanted to do that again?”

Rhodey rolled his eyes. “What was it you called him last time? Your sweet tart? Your apple pie in the sky? The wind beneath your wings? Hopefully he’ll fly here fast enough so we don’t get killed. Or worse, mugged.”

Tony Stark Bingo K1 - AU: Steampunk

As Constant As A Star: @atsadi

The Swan Princess AU

As young children, Prince Anthony and Princess Natasha of neighboring Midgardian kingdoms are betrothed, and spend their summers together every year until they are wed. Tony adores his headstrong friend Nat: it’s her scowly little companion Steve he’s not thrilled about at first. But soon Steve goes from being a thorn in Tony’s side to being his dearest friend – and much, much more than that. Despite Steve feeling the same way about Tony, the pair still dance around each other for years as Steve struggles to accept his feelings for another man: especially one already betrothed to another. Not to mention that Tony is a prince, and Steve is nothing but a squire.

But before they can make peace, Tony is kidnapped and dragged into the beginnings of another conflict in the nearby magical kingdom of Asgard – he really hates magic. With his potential usefulness diminishing by the day, Tony races to escape even as Steve, Natasha, and their friends race to find him and bring him home.

And—just to make matters worse—Tony has been trapped by a powerful spell and turned into a swan, of all creatures. He really, really hates magic.

Always Yours: @hollyjollyhope

Getting kidnapped is normal for them, at this point. But there's nothing normal about this.

And suddenly, Tony has a choice to make.

Oxeye Daisy (patience): @s-horne

“You make me want things I can’t have.”

Steve startled at the voice from behind him and turned around to see Tony standing in the kitchen doorway. He stared straight at Tony for a long moment. The room was quiet, time stretching out in a thick and uncomfortable silence as neither man dare to move nor opened his mouth to speak first.

White Clover (a promise): @s-horne

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Tony lifted his head as he tried to focus on Steve’s voice. When he managed to open his eyes and blink a bit of the blurriness away, he was rewarded with a gentle smile being shone down at him.

“There you are,” Steve said. “Was worried I was going to have to talk to myself.”

Though his tone was light, Tony knew what he meant. It was no secret that Tony was physically weaker and a hell of a lot more human than Steve was and was therefore struggling more with the lack of regular nourishment that came with being held hostage.

“Course not,” Tony said back, voice hoarse but plastering a smile on his face all the same. His head was pounding and his eyes couldn't stay open. “Would I ever do that to you? You’d never get a sensible answer.”

Acta non verba: @firebrands

unapologetic fluff about two idiots who can barely keep it together with how hard they're crushing on each other

or:

tony has to help steve with math + a halloween party = a good time for everyone, eventually

you take me higher than the rest (everybody else is second best): @firebrands

tumblr fill for adi & anthonydarling, who asked for "'Prank' war, but the kind to see who can make the other blush the most in public" from this prompt list

Adjacent, Against, Upon: @firebrands

A political AU!

Steve Rogers is running as the Mayor of somewhere, America. Tony Stark, his campaign manager, deals with a candidate who isn’t interested in lying, and just wants to do good by these citizens, god damn it.

song of unrest: @omg-just-peachy

How was Steve supposed to reconcile all of this? The way he looked so different but still felt so much the same? It made Steve’s head spin. He knows he shouldn’t care so much, that he is what he is, but he just wants to know.

Paint The Town Blue: @omg-just-peachy

Ten years since he’d seen or spoken to Tony Stark, ten years since they’d broken up to go away to school. And now this email. It could be his only chance to see Tony again.

Camelot: @weethreequarter

For one shining moment, there was Camelot.

In 2019, Karen Page meets Captain Steve Rogers to conduct an exclusive interview on his late husband, President Tony Stark.

In 2007, Steve meets Senator Tony Stark and falls in love.

he thinks he’s lancelot (but he’s more of a sir lamorak): @theotherwasdeath

Tony knows firsthand that violence isn’t funny. So why oh why does he think that the scene playing out in front of him, Steve and Victor Von Doom in a knock-out, drag-down fist fight, is absolutely hilarious?

wildflowers: @tinytonysnark

“So,” Steve begins, clapping his hands together, “the city of SHIELD is in debt. The big ups have sent for financial advisors, all the way from DC! They’re gonna take a look at the city’s spending and make some cuts.”

He squints at the camera against the morning sun shining through the courtyard, “I’m not that worried. Everyone here in the parks department is an important member of the team and absolutely needed.”

The camera swings towards the office where from the large glass window, Natasha can be seen picking up the ringing phone before immediately slamming it back down onto the receiver.

[A Parks and Rec AU]

trinkets of your affection: @starklysteve

Kissed him once for every year I loved him, Steve had written.

By that count, Steve owes him five more kisses now.

Tony traces the words, hands trembling, and tips back a shot of Howard's ancient whiskey. None of it burns anymore.

One day, he'll have lived more days without Steve than there are words in the diary.

For the first time since he'd woken with shrapnel in his chest, Tony fears the future.

----------

Or, five things Tony keeps to remember Steve by, and one thing Steve gives him to remember.

#adi's rec list #stevetony #superhusbands #steve rogers x tony stark #steve rogers/tony stark #steve x tony #steve/tony #underrated stevetony fics #this is part 1 of this rec list #part two will be out soon!!#im planning on doing this for other ships!!#so let me know if there's any ships you wanna see this for

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wistfulcynic · 4 years ago

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The Thief of Time

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @optomisticgirl!! You are one of the loveliest and most supportive people in the fandom, a loving cat mom and brutal murderer who would die for a fictional plant and has the t-shirt to prove it. I am so, so honoured to have you as a friend ❤️❤️.

This fic came about because B sent me this post and I immediately said "Yep, Killian would be a wizard or an artificer." And B, unrepentant evildoer and witch!Emma's foremost fan, planted seeds in my head that would not stop growing. This is the result.

SUMMARY: Killian Jones, pirate-turned-artificer, has suffered blow after blow from life and all he wants is to go back to the past and make things right. If only he could get his bloody time machine to work.

Emma Swan, witch, has the ability to See through time and space and the responsibility to stand down any threats to either of them. When an artificer from 300 years ago in another realm devises a machine that could blow a hole straight through the multiverse, it’s her job to stop him.

What they find when they meet is an improbable connection, an understanding that bridges the distance between them. A distance that is in all practical ways insurmountable—by everything but love.

(And one very determined pirate-turned-artificer.)

Words: <9k Rating: T Tags: magic au, witch!Emma, artificer!Killian, angst, Killian Jones is a sad boi, a dash of hurt/comfort, time travel, realm travel, HEA

AO3

The Thief of Time:

Once upon a time there was an artificer.

He wasn’t much of an artificer, it must be said. Artificing, as everyone knows, requires patience, perseverance, and attention to detail, and while Killian Jones possessed a rock-solid stubbornness that stood in well for perseverance as well as a fine eye for detail, patience—at least when it came to tedious, laborious tasks—was not among his strengths.

This is perhaps why, on the particular bright morning when his life changed forever, Killian could be found in his workshop surrounded by shards of glass and a puddle of pale brown liquid oozing through his floorboards that until a moment before had been a bottle of rum. Until Killian, in a surge of frustration at yet another failure, had flung it furiously at the wall.

The rum bottle had been a more or less innocent bystander, a casualty of proximity, a stand-in for the machine that sat on a rickety table in the centre of the hut that served as Killian’s workshop—a machine that continued nonchalantly failing to function even after the rum bottle had met its tragic fate.

It was almost, thought Killian, as though the device didn’t care how many bottles came to an untimely end, it still had no intention of ever working.

He held out his hand with fingers curled like talons and let it hover menacingly over the machine before tightening it into a fist and shaking it. “I should bloody well smash you to bits,” he growled. “I should—”

He had no real idea of what he should do, beyond demolishing the bloody thing, heaving its carcass into the sea, and abandoning this foolhardy plan for good and all. It hardly mattered, though, as the machine made no reply—not so much as a tick of motion to indicate that it cared in the slightest about its own fate. Killian gritted his teeth and with effort reined in his temper. He reached for another rum bottle—there were always plenty standing by—and groped for a moment before he remembered he had the awl attachment connected to his brace and grabbed the bottle with his hand instead.

The bottle was stoppered with a tenuous scrap of cork; this Killian gripped between his teeth and dislodged with an expert twist of his neck, then spat it at the machine and watched as it struck the hammered copper facing with a satisfying thunk. He took the bottle to the porch of his hut—‘porch’ being the word with which he flattered the platform of weatherbeaten boards raised on hunks of driftwood—collapsed into the hammock strung across the corner of it and stared out to sea with the rum bottle cradled in his lap.

Tropical sun beat down on the shack and on the swaying palms that shaded it, and on the stretch of white beach that curved beyond it, and on the azure water glistening beneath the blazing sky. A tumbledown shack on a lonely atoll was not, so Killian had been given to understand, generally the sort of place in which most artificers chose to set up shop. They preferred tiny rooms atop winding staircases in tall university towers, so he was told, or for the more eccentric among them perhaps an derelict castle or even a dark forest hut. Somewhere close and damp and chill, where they could work by artful firelight draped in hooded cloaks and tuck the secrets of their craft safely away amongst the shadows.

Killian cared very little for such things, however, as he was not most artificers. He wasn’t, as has already been remarked, much of an artificer at all. A sailor by blood, a naval man by training, and a pirate by circumstance, this was Killian Jones. And now an artificer, by desperate last resort.

He took a long swig from his bottle and glared at the sea, at the ship that bobbed gently on the waves, anchored just to the left in the atoll’s curving bay. If he had any sense he’d end this foolishness, he thought with a bitter twist of his lip. He’d take his ship and find himself a crew, sail off and vent his frustrations on royal cargo vessels and navy frigates rather than haphazardly assembled collections of wood and scrap metal that would certainly never do more than than sit there smugly not working, taunting him, and—

Click.

Killian froze, with every muscle in his body. He waited. And waited. And—

Click.

Again. Killian exhaled slowly, cursing the faint vibrations of his breath in the air. He waited. And waited. And—

Click.

It was working.

—

A week later and Killian’s temper once again was hanging by the barest thread; the click of the device that had at first spurred him on now plucked at the frayed edges of his nerves and rattled inside his head each time he tried to focus. It was clicking, the mechanism was turning over, he had everything he’d thought he needed but still an element was missing, something vital that he couldn’t put his finger on, that hovered just at the edge of his perception like some fey spirit sent to taunt him.

Maybe you should just give up.

Killian spun around at the sound of the voice, a woman’s voice, with a wry tone and an unfamiliar accent. His eyes scanned the empty room. “Who’s there?” he called out, though it was plain to see no one was there. He was alone.

Quite alone.

He knew he was alone, of course, though the tingle between his shoulder blades did not concur, and remained even when he turned his attention back to his work. The sensation of being watched by unseen eyes is frequently a distracting one, but Killian stubbornly disregarded it and focused on his task. The sensation persisted.

He worked doggedly for several minutes, then set down his tools. “Lass,” he said to the room at large, “it’s bad form to stare.”

He swore he heard a chuckle.

“I do understand how it can be difficult for women to take their eyes off a devilishly handsome rapscallion such as myself,” Killian continued, “but I’m trying to work here so if you wouldn’t mind…”

He turned back to his workbench and as he did his elbow struck the edge of it, knocking over his latest rum bottle and sending a shooting pain up his arm. He squeezed his eyes shut and spat a stream of vicious curses and very nearly stabbed himself with the awl before recalling that he had no hand with which to cradle the afflicted elbow and rub away the pain. When it finally subsided and he opened his eyes once more, the sight that met them had him swearing a new and even bluer streak.

His device now sat bathed in a pool of rum, with sparks shooting from behind its copper face and very ominously not clicking. With a snarl Killian slammed his fist down on the table and ground it into the wood. He’d have to mop up the rum and wait at least a day or two to be certain whatever had seeped into the mechanism was completely dried before attempting to open it again to determine whether he could repair the damage. If he couldn’t he’d have to start over.

Or you could just give up.

“Are you responsible for this?” he demanded of the voice. “At long bloody last I was on the right track, and now—now—” He slammed his fist into his workbench again, sending rum droplets flying.

Look, don’t get cranky, mister. I’m just trying to stop you doing something stupid.

“Oh?” Killian snarled. “Is that what you’re doing? You’re a bit bloody late.”

What?

“I’ve done many a stupider thing than this, unhindered by any disembodied voices. You couldn’t have stopped me doing any of them?”

I—

“Where were you, for example, when I lost my brother in a cursed land, travelled back from that land, and then in a fit of rage burned the only method I had of returning there?” he demanded. “Where were you when I threw away my naval career, stole my brother’s ship, and led her crew into piracy? Where were you when I ravaged the land of my birth? Where were you when I fell in love with—” he broke off with a choking sound, then sat with his forearms resting on his knees, staring at his hand and at the leather brace where its twin should be. “I don’t know why I’m even saying this aloud,” he murmured, “you’re not truly here.” He ran his hand over his face then through his hair. “Perhaps I’m finally going mad. It’s an occupational hazard, or so I’ve been told.”

A breeze rustled through the shack, gentle and soothing. It whispered across his skin in what could only be called a caress. Despite himself, Killian felt comforted.

I’m sorry for what you’ve suffered. The voice’s compassion was undoubtedly genuine. But I couldn’t have prevented those things. They were not my business to See.

“And this is?” Killian demanded.

Yes.

He shook his head. “Who are you?”

There was no reply. The soothing breeze was gone, leaving the late afternoon air heavier and more still in its absence. His neck no longer tingled. He was alone. Again.

Always.

Killian pressed his fingers to his eyes and sighed, then grabbed a fresh bottle of rum—plus a second, upon further consideration—and headed out of the shack. Headed to the rowboat and the Jolly Roger, and, with any luck, a drunken stupor that would last until he could work on the device again.

“Hear this, lass,” he murmured as he paused in the doorway. “I will be back. I’m not giving up.”

We’ll see about that, whispered the voice, once he was gone.

—

Three days later and Killian’s hangover throbbed between his eyes, but his device was dry and in a less disastrous state than he’d feared. He tapped the magical stone that powered the mechanism until it sparked sharply in response, reconnected a few fine filaments of copper, snapped the gears back into place and held his breath.

Click.

Killian exhaled. It was still working.

Sort of.

He sat at his workbench and glared at the device, as though intensity alone could help him see what was missing in it. When it did not, he reached into his satchel with a long-suffering sigh, and withdrew a book.

He really should have gone to the books first. That’s what the other artificers had advised. Research before experimentation, a solid foundation of scholarship on which to build. In another life another Killian would have listened too, would have loved the prospect of hours, days, weeks spent in a library, absorbing the wondrous knowledge that it held. But that eager boy had long been lost, and the man who remained had spent too many years in wasted endeavours, hunting elusive magic beans and fairy wands, anything he heard of that he thought might aid his quest. When every lead he could scrounge all came to nothing he’d had no choice but to alter his course, and no bloody time to start from the beginning and do the thing properly. He’d already wasted so much time.

But perhaps, he conceded now, that had been a mistake.

The book had a weighty heft that testified its age, as did the brilliance of the jewelled ink on its vellum pages. Modern books with their rag-paper and plant inks were lighter, more fragile, less vibrant. Cheaper to produce of course, and more accessible, but the earnest, bespectacled scholar that still lived in Killian’s heart found them far more difficult to love. This book had been scribed centuries ago, by the hand of a monk whose name had long since vanished into time but whose skill was evident in the carefully crafted words and illustrations, the diagrams of fantastical devices that he had seen only with the eyes of his mind, never in reality.

Killian traced his finger over the lines of an engraving, squinting through his headache and the glaring sunshine to make out the tiny words that labelled it. With painstaking strokes he massaged his temples and let himself fall into the book, lost in study for the first time in many a year.

The hours sifted away like sand through his fingers, until a soft breeze ruffled through his hair and he became aware of that telltale tingle at the nape of his neck.

“Lass,” he said wryly, “has no one ever told you it’s rude to read over a person’s shoulder?”

It’s the only way I can find out what you’re up to.

“And just what prescisely makes that any of your concern?”

It just is. I can See it.

Though he could not have said how, Killian was certain she didn’t mean the sort of seeing one did with one’s eyes.

“So tell me then, what do you make of my choice of reading material?” he inquired.

Seems a bit dry.

He chuckled. “It is at that. But useful.”

You’re still planning to go ahead with it, then?

“I am. As I told you before, I don’t intend to give up.” A sharp smile flashed through his memory, the smell of sea salt on skin and in wind-whipped chestnut curls. His fist clenched. “I can’t.”

The breeze swirled up around him, wrapped itself about his shoulders in the gentlest embrace, and for a moment—just a moment—Killian let go. Let himself be comforted. Let himself relax. Tears prickled behind his eyes and his tired heart sighed. He swallowed hard.

You won’t find what you seek in this book, said the voice. Not what you really seek.

“Perhaps not. But it’s all I have left.”

Without warning the soft breeze stiffened, whipping up with force behind it and sending a half-full rum bottle teetering dangerously—but if Killian was prepared for anything these days it was betrayal. He caught the bottle before it could fall and set it safely aside, away from his device and his book and anything else that had the potential to be harmed by it.

“Nice try,” he sneered. The wind huffed a frustrated sigh.

This isn’t over.

“Why are you so determined to see me fail?” he demanded, but the words fell flat in the still and empty air—the absent prickle on the back of Killian’s neck informed him that she was gone again. “It’s not like I need any extra assistance in that area,” he grumbled. “I can fail perfectly well on my own, thank you very much.”

He bent to pick up the rum—a drink to soothe the ache in his heart—when his gaze caught on a diagram he hadn’t spotted before. He frowned and leaned closer, the rum forgotten, and began to read again. Soon he was absorbed once more, his eyes voracious as they scanned the pages. He made notes in the margins as he read, and tiny drawings and equations, and muttered half-formed thoughts to accompany the scratching of his pen. The clicks from his device soothed him now with their regular beat, and the tingle between his shoulder blades, when it returned, did not so much as register in his mind... though it lingered there as he worked, as the afternoon waned, until the sun began to sink below the horizon and Killian packed up his notes and his book and not his rum, and made his way back to his ship.

—

The next day found him in his workshop early, his mood uncharacteristically bright. He’d awoken that morning without a hangover for the first time in far longer than he cared to remember; the resulting clear head and sharp senses made the bright sunlight less oppressive in his perception, less like its exuberance was a judgement on his choices. Even his shack appeared cheerier than he recalled it, quaint rather than run-down, its slight slump to the left charming and not at all ominous. Killian was dangerously close to whistling a merry tune as he approached it, with his satchel slung over his shoulder and heavy with books.

He had brand new ideas to test.

His workshop itself consisted of the shack’s lone room and a single, long table that sat at the centre of it. On the table was his device, looking right at home there in the sense that it too was rickety, haphazardly constructed, and pitched to the left. Killian had told himself that the appearance of the thing didn’t matter so long as it functioned, but after it failed for so long to do even that he had begun to treat its exterior as a sort of whipping boy for his frustrations. The wooden casing bore deep gouges from his hook and other implements he’d attached to his brace; the copper facing was tarnished and dented. Hairline fractures criss-crossed the glass that covered the three small dials on the front and the long copper pole that was meant to be attached to the rear casing sat forlornly in a corner, looking as though it would dearly love the ability to rust, just as a way to express its feelings on the situation.

Looking at his device for the first time with clear eyes, Killian found that he felt rather bad. He really had made a dreadful hash of it. And although Killian Jones was frequently reckless, sometimes rash, and from time to time even a bit unhinged, he had never before been incompetent. Making a firm mental note to pick up some new materials the next time he made a supply run, he hefted the satchel onto his worktable, seated himself on the bench before it, and removed a book from the bag.

If he’d had two hands, he would have rubbed them together in glee.

Whatcha reading?

She appeared so suddenly that the prickle on his neck didn’t even have time to warn him. “I’m certain you can see the title for yourself, from wherever you are,” he replied.

Arithmetical Principles of the Mechanics of Time? Not very snappy.

“Never judge a book by its title, love.”

I thought that was by its cover.

“Title’s on the cover, isn’t it?”

So it is.

The voice sounded amused, and Killian chuckled to himself as he settled in to read. The tingle on the back of his neck remained as the unseen woman read along with him. He could feel her presence there, her eyes on him and on the book as he made his customary notes in the margins: quick diagrams and calculations and questions he would need to answer before he could proceed.

He was astonished to discover how engrossing the book was and how easy it was to lose himself in its pages, just as he had done the day before. How long had it been before then, since he’d allowed himself the luxury of a full day spent reading? Years, certainly. Time and tides, as the saying goes, wait for no man, and nor do rival pirate captains or deep-sea hellbeasts—they certainly do not wait for a man to finish his chapter before launching their attacks. Lazy days like this one took him back to his time in the naval academy, the long afternoons in the library there, the wonder he’d felt at all the knowledge contained in the books that surrounded him. An entire realm at his fingertips, just waiting for him to explore.

He had explored it in actuality years later on his ship, sailing her to the edge of the maps and beyond, but that first exposure to all the wonders the world held still shone as a jewel in his memory. For a young boy who until that moment had known only abandonment, drudgery, and abuse, the discovery that the world was far, far larger than he could ever have dreamt had been an invaluable treasure.

You love books.

Killian started; the voice sounded different now. It no longer echoed in his head, instead it seemed to come from somewhere to his right. He turned, and as he did perceived a shimmering in the hazy air, one that disappeared the moment he looked directly at it.

“I did,” he replied. “Once.” His mouth quirked in a wry smile. “Are you in my head, then, lass? Reading my thoughts?”

Of course not. It’s just obvious from your face.

“You’re familiar with the expression I’m wearing then, I take it? Perhaps because you’re inclined to wear it yourself?”

It was a shot in the dark, but it seemed to hit its mark. The shimmer grew more solid.

I—I’ve always loved to read. When I was a child it was all I had.

Something in the tone, a wistfulness perhaps, struck a chord in Killian. “You were alone, as child,” he said. “The books were your refuge.”

Yes.

Silence stretched for a moment, then he spoke again. “When I first arrived at the naval academy I could barely read,” he said slowly. “I was twelve years old. Where I come from literacy is a privilege of the wealthy, which my family was certainly not, but my mother’s father had been educated and he taught her to read and write. He was the younger son of a nobleman, disowned when he fell in love with a village girl. My mother in turn taught my father and also my elder brother. She had started to teach me as well but she grew ill and I was still so young, and then…” He trailed off, choked by the decades-old memory that still had the power to wound.

Then she died.

The voice was soft, so soft, and it settled around his shoulders like a blanket. He nodded. “Aye. She did.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes, just briefly, then continued. “After she passed, Liam, my brother, took over with my lessons, but there was never much time for such things. We were cabin boys on a large merchant ship by then, worked most days from dawn to dusk—but in what moments we had, we did try.” He shook his head. “Liam did the best he could, though our resources were so scarce his efforts produced little result. I was years behind the other lads my age at the academy at first, something they found highly entertaining.”

But you didn’t let that stop you.

“I did not,” he agreed. “Instead it spurred me on. In less than a year I had matched them, and in a year surpassed them. It was satisfying to make them eat their words, but in truth that was not my motivation.”

You wanted to know a world beyond the one you lived in.

“I wanted to know a world beyond the one I lived in.” He smiled at her, at the shimmering air in the corner of his eye that he almost fancied formed the shape of a woman. “As, I imagine, did you.”

Mmm.

Killian quirked an eyebrow at the shimmer. “Another orphan, I gather?” he pressed. “Alone in the world, unable to see a way out? Escaping into books for adventure, for a sense of the potential that lay beyond the narrow parameters of your life?”

You read me pretty well for someone who can’t even see me.

“You’re something of an open book, darling. If that metaphor isn’t too on the nose.” And perhaps, he thought, it wasn’t necessary to see someone to know them.

Faint laughter rang through the room. Open books read both ways, Killian Jones, her voice whispered, and then she was gone.

“Touché,” he muttered, as the tingle in his neck faded and a wave of magic pulsed in the air. A sharp snapping noise sounded from the device, followed by an echoing boingggg. Killian’s lips twitched. Softness followed by sabotage was becoming rather a thing with her.

He opened the casing and after a moment’s poking around in the mechanism identified the target of her attack—a small coupling in the box responsible for managing temporal currents. Killian felt himself grin. He was certain his unseen nemesis wouldn’t trouble herself to destroy anything that wasn’t crucial to the functioning of the device. He turned back to his book and flipped to the section on temporal flow.

“Thanks for the tip, love,” he murmured to the empty air.

—

Over the next month Killian worked doggedly on his research, leaving the device untouched and himself unhindered by tingles or voices or shimmery thickenings of the air. He read every book in his rather considerable collection, all the texts he’d… liberated from the universities and private collections of the realm’s best artificers then barely glanced into before he began constructing his device. He took a week off for a supply run, to collect the materials and bric-a-brac he’d need to construct the thing properly along with even more books, which he read eagerly at night on his ship, greedily absorbing the knowledge they contained as he lounged in his bunk.

Every day he thought about the voice, and about the very real woman he now felt certain was behind it. She wasn’t just a voice in his head, a symptom of madness or loneliness, or both. She existed, he had felt her, though he had never seen her face. He’d felt her presence and the connection between them—a peculiar sort of connection to be sure, but no less genuine for it.

The thought of speaking to her again helped spur him on.

Once he was back his workshop armed with resources in the form of both knowledge and supplies, he threw himself into a flurry of activity. He constructed shelves for his books, so he would not have to lug them to and from his ship every day. He built a sturdier workbench, with drawers to hold his tools, and a new, robust and polished casing and face for his device.

This was close work, requiring dexterity and concentration and the careful application of several magical items that had previously seemed to go out of their way to thwart him. As it turned out, Killian reflected wryly, he had simply been using them wrong. He still made mistakes, of course, and his lack of hand still proved a challenge. But gradually he found that he lost his temper less and less, that as he grew more knowledgeable and skilled he did not give in so easily or so frequently to despair.

He had almost entirely stopped drinking.

He spent a full week tweaking and refining the temporal current regulator in his device, until he was satisfied that not only near impervious to any further sabotage but also featured a clever adjustment of his own devising. Take that, Other Artificers.

He had done it. He knew he had. He had built his device and built it well. It would work now, and not because he threatened it or stumbled by happenstance upon the proper configuration. It would work because he knew what he was doing, and this time he’d done it right.

Killian Jones, artificer.

—

The stage was set.

The device was ready. More than ready. Its polished wood casing gleamed in the playful caress of the afternoon sunlight, which shimmered also off its copper facing and the smooth glass of its dials. The copper tube came up from where it was attached to the rear of the device and curved over the top of it, ending in a wide opening directly over Killian’s head. The rhythmic click of the mechanism was smooth and sonorous, each coupling attached and every gear well-oiled.

Click, went the device, tremulous and eager.

Click.

Every last thing was in readiness. Killian had only to flip the switch.

“You don’t want to do that.”

He paused with his finger poised above the small brass switch and smiled. “Back again, lass?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

The floorboards creaked, under boots that were not his. Leather rustled. Killian froze, then spun around. His jaw dropped.

“Bloody hell,” he gasped.

The woman stood in the centre of his workshop with her hands on her hips and lips curved in a wry smirk. Loose golden waves tumbled over her shoulders to frame an exquisite, fine-boned face and eyes that glinted green. She was dressed... well, she was dressed as no woman he’d ever seen before, in tall boots and tight-fitting trousers with no overskirt to cover them, and a leather jacket in the most outrageous shade of red. Killian blinked.

“You’re—I’m—what?” he choked.

“I said, you don’t want to do that,” she repeated. “If you do, you’ll blow a hole in the universe or—or something, I don’t exactly know. But it’s bad, and I can’t allow it to happen.”

Killian shook his head. He blinked again, harder this time, then rubbed his eyes. The woman was still there.

“What?” he shouted.

“Seriously?” snapped the woman. “You heard my voice in your head and didn’t even blink and I know you felt my presence. But now I’ve actually manifested and suddenly you’re at a loss for words? I thought at least I’d get some kind of smartass quip out of you. ‘At last a face to match the voice, lass’ or something.” She shrugged a single shoulder. “I don’t know. Something.”

“That’s—” Killian’s voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “That’s your idea of a clever quip?”

She scowled. “Look, I said I don’t know. You’re the smartass.”

“Well you might at least give a man a minute to adjust his premises before you start demanding cleverness from him, when you appear from out of nowhere in his workshop,” retorted Killian. “There is in fact a world of difference between voices in the head and full fledged hallucinations, you know.”

“I’m not a hallucination,” she huffed.

Killian knew that of course, but he still felt on rather shaky ground, metaphysically speaking. “Well what are you then?” he demanded.

“I’m a manifestation,” she replied, as though it were obvious.

“Oh yes of course,” he shot back. “A manifestation, how foolish of me not to have known that.”

She rolled her eyes. He smirked.

“A manifestation of whom, precisely, if I might enquire?” he drawled.

“Emma Swan,” she proclaimed, in a tone one might use to announce the arrival of a queen. “Witch.”

Killian regarded her with his smirk firmly in place, to which he now added a raised eyebrow. “A witch, you say?”

“Yep.”

“Indeed.”

She sauntered over to his workbench, hips swaying in a manner that Killian told himself firmly he did not find enticing, and leaned over, peering at the device. “This looks a lot better than the last time I saw it,” she remarked.

“Yes, well, I’ve been working hard since then.”

“I can tell.” She flashed him a look that had his muscles tensing. “Too bad it’s all for nothing.”

“What the bloody hell is that supposed—”

“Why do you want to travel in time anyway?” she interrupted, turning to face him and crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s a risky business, you know. Loads of people have tried and it never ends well for any of them.”

“That’s rather a bold statement from you, love, considering you are clearly not from this time,” he retorted.

“What makes you say that?”

Killian let his gaze sweep over her. “Red leather jackets aren’t exactly in vogue here,” he said loftily. “I’d be very surprised if they even exist. How did you get it to be that colour?”

“How the hell should I know, I didn’t make it!”

“Fair enough. Still stands out like a sore thumb, though.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not staying then.”

“Aren’t you?” Killian felt a twist in his gut at that; he was so enjoying sparring with her. “Shame. I suppose you ought to run along then, and let me get back to my work.”

“Ah, no. That I can’t do.”

“And might I enquire why not?”

Her expression, which had been sparking with the same joy of snarky battle that Killian felt himself, grew solemn. “If you’re successful then the repercussions of your work will echo all the way into my realm, in my time,” she said. “And I can’t allow that to happen.”

“Indeed?” he taunted, before he could prevent himself. “And just how do you propose to stop it?”

Her eyes flashed. “Oh you are so going to regret asking that.”

She raised her hand and twisted it, the merest flick of her wrist that sent a powerful pulse of energy through the room. He felt it throb through his body and he was rocked by its wave. What followed was silence.

Silence. No clicks. Not a one.

Killian spun round in fury and glowered down at Emma Swan, witch, who did not so much as flinch away from him. On the contrary, she appeared quite pleased with herself, and thoroughly unfazed by his very finest pirate snarl.

“I’ve never managed that so successfully cross-realms before,” she remarked.

Killian’s temper snapped. “What the bloody buggering fuck do you think you’re doing?” he roared. Her nonchalance was infuriating.

“I told you,” she reminded him coolly. “I can’t allow you to succeed.”

“I wasn’t succeeding, though, was I?” he hissed. “I’ve been not succeeding for the best part of a year now.”

“I know.” Her smug expression softened into an empathy that set his teeth on edge. “But that was about to change.”

“Oh was it?”

“Yep.”

He knew it was. But she... “And how the bloody hell could you possibly know that?”

“I told you, I’m a witch.”

He scoffed. “Is that supposed to impress me?”

“Well... yeah, I guess it kind of is.” She frowned. “You know what a witch is, right?”

“Of course I do. A witch is a person, most commonly a female, who is possessed of magical or supernatural powers, typically focused on medicine, the body, nature, and the spirit,” Killian recited.

Emma blinked. “That’s… very precise.”

“I’m well versed in defining the various types and levels of magical practitioner,” he informed her. His surge of anger was draining away and he found he lacked both the energy and will to hold on to it. “The Guild is most insistent that registration be precise.”

“Guild?” Her frown deepened. “Registration?”

“Aye. To both.”

“You had to register? With a guild?”

“I did.”

“Register as what?”

“As an artificer, of course. Despite my lack of skill in the discipline, the Guild insisted. Firmly. Fists were involved.”

“I—see.” Her lips twitched. “That seems unethical.”

He barked a laugh. “Welcome to the Enchanted Forest, love.”

Emma’s eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. “Is that where this is?”

“Aye. Though strictly speaking this”—he gestured at the space around them—“is on an atoll in the Far Southern Sea. But the Artificers’ Guild is in the Enchanted Forest, and they care very little for such things as venue or jurisdiction.” He looked at her curiously. “Didn’t you know?”

“Nope.” She shook her head. “I’m not really here, you see.”

Killian had been so caught up first in wonder then in fury that he hadn’t truly looked at her, at least not beyond what was required to note her striking beauty and odd attire. A manifestation, she had called herself, and once he knew what to look for it was plain to see—the faint translucence and hazy outline of her form. Cautiously, he reached out his hand. It went right through her shoulder, with no more resistance than water in a bathtub.

“Huh,” he said. “Curious. So where exactly are you then, Emma Swan, witch, if you’re not here?”

“I’m…” Emma’s brow furrowed and her nose wrinkled. Killian told himself sternly that it was unwise to find a nose adorable when it sat on the face of the corporeal manifestation of a witch from an unspecified realm. “Well, I don’t really know how to describe it,” she said. “I’m on Earth. About three hundred years in your future. Though I suppose this must be Earth too, really.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. I think so? What do you call it? This… place. Bigger than the Enchanted Forest. You… you know there’s a place bigger, right? Beyond the, um, the forest?”

His lip quirked. Her stumbling attempts to explain were also not adorable. “That I do, lass,” he replied. “I spent years sailing the seas of this realm and have travelled to many a land.”

“You’ve travelled the Earth, then,” said Emma. “Or your equivalent of it. What would you call it?”

“Terra, I believe is what you mean.”

“Yes!” She snapped her fingers then pointed the index one at him. “That’s got to be it!”

“So if I understand you, you’re saying you come from Terra as well, but a different version of it, which you call Earth?”

She gave an eager nod. “Yeah, basically. My Earth was called Terra once too, by people who lived in my past, in a different country. But in my language and my time and my country we say Earth.”

“I... see,” said Killian.

“Yeah.” Emma looked a bit sheepish and waved her hand in a vague arc. “It’s a whole thing with multiverses I don’t really understand, if I’m honest. I’m not a wizard, you see.”

“No indeed. Nor I.”

“Well, I mean, you’re not even much of an artificer. Or at least not until recently.”

She was attempting to tease, he could tell. To keep the mood light between them. But all he could hear was the death knell of his last resort, the only hope he had left of honouring his vow. Without warning, the weight of everything he’d been through, a lifetime of struggle and defeat culminating in his attempt to build a time machine that would apparently destroy multiple realms were it allowed to succeed, settled on his shoulders. It was all he could do not to collapse beneath it. He sank down onto the bench and ran his hand down his face.

“No. That I certainly am not.”

He sensed rather than felt Emma sit down beside him—there was barely more than a shift in the air to mark her movement.

“I’m not an artificer, not even now,” he told her, staring at his hand and brace. “All I am is a desperate man looking to right a terrible wrong.”

“A wrong you need to go back in time to fix?” she asked gently.

“Aye.”

“What happened?”

Killian clenched his jaw. He did not wish to discuss Milah. He never actually had, though others besides Emma had tried to make him, insisting he would feel better if he spoke of it. If he gave vent to his anger and his grief. But he could not—the words caught in his throat each time he tried, stopped by the anger that sat hard and curdled in his chest.

“There was… a woman,” he ground out, faintly astonished to hear the words fall from his lips. “I loved her and she me, but she was married to another. A cringing coward of a man who valued his own comfort and meagre security above her happiness and her health.” He breathed slowly through the anger that still rose up at the thought of it. “She tried her best with him, for years she tried, but ultimately she came to realise that he would never change. She saw the remainder of her life stretched out before her, a grim slog through a grey world of misery, and she knew she had to do something, whatever was necessary to change it. For the sake of her own survival.” He risked a glance at Emma. “But she was a woman, thus her options were limited.”

“So she ran away with you,” said Emma. He searched her face for judgment, but there was none.

He nodded. “She ran away with me.”

“You saved her life,” she said harshly. “But you shouldn’t have had to.”

He blinked, startled at her tone, and watched as her face grew tight with anger. “In my land and my time, women have choices,” she hissed. “We have to fight for them every day, but we have them. We can leave marriages and we can have jobs and we can own our own houses and have our own lives. We don’t rely on men unless we choose to.” She looked up to meet his eyes. “I’m guessing that’s not the case here?”

“You guess correctly.” Killian’s voice was choked, his chest drawn tight by the depth of her compassion. Compassion for a woman she’d never met, who had died long before her time. He cleared his throat. “Milah had nowhere to go and no means to go there. I offered her an escape. It was all I could do.”

A moment passed before Emma spoke again.

“What went wrong?” she asked.

His lip curled. “I expect you can guess.”

He could sense the catch in her breath, though it made no sound in the quiet room. “Her husband found you?”

“Aye. Rather a predictable storyline, isn’t it? But there's an unpleasant twist to this tale, I fear.”

“What twist?” she demanded.

Killian swallowed. “Have you heard of the Dark One?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Well, yes. I’ve read the lore of course, but… are you saying the Dark One is real?”

“Very much so.”

He watched as comprehension dawned in her eyes. “And he—your—Milah’s husband—”

“Had become the Dark One, aye. At the cost of his soul, of course, but for some men that's a small price to pay to punish an errant wife.”

“Wow. I mean—wow.”

“I’m not familiar with that particular expression but it certainly seems to suit the case,” said Killian drily. “Wow indeed.”

“He murdered her, didn’t he?” Emma said, in a voice like the lash of a whip. It was not a question.

“On the deck of my ship,” Killian replied, “as I watched, helpless to prevent it. He tore her heart from her chest and he crushed it to dust.” He held up his brace, catching the sunlight on the curve of his hook. “And then he took my hand.”

Emma exhaled, long and slow. “So that’s why you want to go back. To stop her murder.”

This was also not a question, but he answered it nonetheless. “Aye. I promised to protect her and I failed. I have to make it right.”

“You know you can’t do that, Killian.”

The empathy in her voice, the understanding, the way she said his name… Killian’s anger rose again and he snapped at her. “Well not now that you’ve destroyed my bloody time machine!”

“You couldn’t have anyway.”

“And just how the devil—”

“Look, I told you, I’m not a wizard,” said Emma insistently. She shifted on the bench until she was facing him fully, one leg tucked beneath the other. “I don’t know all the ins and outs of how the universe works, or like, the multiverse or whatever. All I know is that if you turn on that machine it will blow a hole in all of it. Every realm and at every time would be destroyed. It would end the world.”

Killian scowled as his mind sought frantically for a loophole, a counterpoint, a way. His fist was tightly clenched and pressed hard against his thigh, his breathing shallow. “The books said—”

“The books don’t know,” she interrupted in that same insistent tone. “No one’s ever done this before. No one’s ever even come close.”

“And here I thought I wasn’t much of an artificer,” he sneered.

“Like I said before. You weren’t.”

Killian thought of all the reading he’d done, the careful cross-referencing of books that likely had never before been seen by the same pair of eyes. He thought of his temporal current regulator, the refinements he’d made to it. How certain he was that it would work.

He looked over at Emma to find her watching him, with gentle sympathy and not a hint of pity. “You can’t go back, Killian,” she said softly. “The past has already happened. All you can do is go forward.”

“So what you’re telling me is I need to move on,” he snarled. How he loathed that expression.

She nodded. “In more ways than one.”

Cautiously she reached out and placed her hand over his clenched fist, and though he could not feel her touch he felt it, the warmth of her compassion and her strength and her magic, drawn from another realm in another time. He let his hand relax and held it, palm up, beneath hers. He drew a deep, unsteady breath and then released it. Then he drew another.

They sat in silence for some time.

“I can’t recall the last time I considered what Milah would think if she could see what I was doing,” said Killian, finally, in a low voice. “I thought about her all the time, at first. But then… it got to the point where every time thoughts of her came into my head I would drink them straight out of it.”

“Because you knew that if she could see you she wouldn’t like what she saw.”

“Because I knew that if she could see me she wouldn’t like what she saw,” he echoed. “She wouldn’t have wanted me to lose myself in this—obsession. But then I have always been prone to obsession and she knew that better than anyone.”

“Obsession is just another word for intense dedication,” declared Emma, “once you add a bit of healthy perspective to it. It’s sincere devotion to what you value. Maybe all you need is just to shift your focus a bit. Find something new to work on, and another motivation to drive you.”

“Something new,” he repeated, then gave a hoarse, choking laugh. “I confess I’ve no idea what that could be.”

“You’ll find something.” The look in her eyes as she watched him was amused, wry, soft, and sad all at once. An odd sensation twisted in his chest. “I wish—” she began, then broke off with a shake of her head.

Killian realised their hands were still clasped. He wished he could close his fingers around hers, truly feel the touch of them against his skin. “What do you wish, love?” he pressed.

She shook her head again. “It’s just—after today I won’t be able to See you anymore. Once you’re no longer a threat you’ll stop appearing in my visions. I just wish I could watch what you do next, that’s all." She flashed him a grin. "I have a feeling it’ll be something epic.”

He laughed and after a moment she joined him, with a tinkling, joyous sound that made his heart feel lighter than perhaps it ever had. Maybe she was right, he thought. Maybe he could do something different. Something not driven by loss or anger or greed. “I don’t know if I can promise epic,” he told her. “But I do promise I'll do something. Something important to me. I promise you, Emma Swan.”

She smiled, gorgeous and heartbreaking. “Good.”

Killian could swear he felt her hand tightening on his, felt it in the echoing squeeze in his chest. He heard her next words before she spoke them.

“I have to go.”

He forced himself to nod. “I know.”

She reached up with her free hand and traced her fingertips across his cheek. “Goodbye, Killian Jones,” she whispered… and then she was gone.

Killian sat alone in his workshop with an empty hand and a silent machine, and a brand new ache in his heart. And for the very first time in a life full of loss, he allowed himself to grieve.

—

Killian didn’t drink.

He wanted to. The rum called to him, a siren’s song of numb oblivion, but that was a pit into which he no longer wished to fall. He had things to do now, crucial things, and they required a clear head.

He took the Jolly Roger and he sailed away, far across the seas to a place he'd sworn he’d never go again. The small port village where Milah had lived, and where she’d died. Whose harbour he’d put at his bow for less than an hour before he’d tipped her body into the depths of the sea.

It was the nearest thing he had to a gravestone.

He stood on the deck with his hand on the railing, staring down into the choppy waves below. His throat ached and his chest felt tight.

“I’m so sorry, Milah,” he whispered. “Sorry that I failed in my promise to protect you. Sorry that when I lost you I lost myself as well. I let myself fall so deeply into despair that I lost sight of who I was—and in doing so I sacrificed the man you loved. I’m sorry I became something you’d have hated me to be.” His throat closed up and he swallowed through it, forced the next words out. “When you died I swore to avenge you, but my love, I think—” he exhaled slowly “—I think I have to let you go.”

A brisk wind swept in off the water and ruffled through his hair as Milah’s fingers used to do. It stroked his cheek with the touch of her lips and whispered with her voice in his ear.

I love you, it said. Go.

Killian let his eyes fall shut as he breathed in the scent of her skin, closed his fist in her curls one final time. When he opened them again he was alone.

Alone, but for the first time in many a year, hopeful.

The past is done, he thought, and can’t be changed. All you can do is move forward.

Somewhere, some time, there was a green-eyed witch with golden curls and a sharp tongue and the softest heart he’d ever known. One who could read him like a book and understand the story it told. And he was an artificer who knew how to build a bloody time machine.

It was time to move on.

—

The afternoon was warm and hazy as it often is in August on the coast of Maine. The air was heavy and humid and buzzing with the hum of bees and midges as they swarmed and bumbled their way through late-summer flowers. Flowers that bloomed in full riotous colour in the remarkable garden of a thoroughly unremarkable grey clapboard house.

A figure approached the garden gate, tall and oddly dressed for this realm. He wore a long and sweeping leather coat over an ornately embroidered waistcoat, tall leather boots and a matching heavy satchel slung across his back. He paused, and regarded the gate with a raised eyebrow and all the deference he could muster.

Killian Jones knew magic when he sensed it.

“May I come in, lass?” he inquired of the air and the gate and the bumblebees, and whomever else might happen to be listening.

The gate swung open.

Killian favoured it with a small bow then sauntered through it, through the bright and fragrant garden and up to the porch steps and the door atop them. It opened as he approached to reveal a woman with long curling hair, a tight white tank top and very short shorts. She placed a hand on her hip and smirked.

“Took you long enough,” she said.

Killian climbed the porch steps and dropped his satchel, hooked a thumb beneath his belt buckle and treated her to his flirtiest grin. “Time is relative, I think you’ll find,” he replied. “Also an illusion. And there are some philosophers who claim that—”

His words were cut off by Emma’s lips, her fingers tight on the lapels of his coat as she pulled him in close. She was solid and real against his chest, her mouth hot and her skin so soft. Killian groaned as he sank his fingers into her hair, as he kissed her back with everything he’d held in his heart since he saw her last.

The kiss was short but rich with feeling, with potential, with hope. When it ended they paused for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other’s breath.

Emma spoke first. “You came forward,” she said. “You actually did it.” She laughed, and thumped her fist lightly against his chest. “I can’t believe you actually did it.”

“Aye, well, as it turns out, I’m a hell of an artificer,” he replied, and she laughed again. He pulled her against him, wrapped his arms tight around her and sighed as she tucked her head beneath his chin.

“And the rest of it?” she inquired softly. “Milah, and the Dark One—”

He took a moment to consider how to answer. There were many things he could say, so much he wanted to tell her. But it would wait. They had time. In the end he said simply, “I’ve made my peace. It’s done.”

“Good.” She looked up at him with that glorious smile and his heart sang with happiness. “That’s good.”

—

@ohmightydevviepuu @thisonesatellite @katie-dub @kmomof4 @mariakov81 @stahlop @spartanguard @killianjones-twopointoh @captain-emmajones

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hellowkatey · 3 years ago

Text

it's late night writing hours my guys. so here's a little bit of what happens before and after Echo gets absolutely wrecked by a cafeteria tray in Aftermath

2.6k words ~ CW: PTSD/panic attacks/medical trauma

For a glorious moment, Omega revels in the chaos she had started. She isn't quite sure what foodstuffs make up the greasy loafs that are served in the trooper's mess hall. Whatever they are, they make a satisfying splat noise when hitting armor, and get quite a bit of air when thrown.

Now, the revolting loafs are sailing through the air from every direction. Omega ducks behind Hunter as he decks one of the clones clear across the table. His other hand reaches back to lightly pat her upper arm, as though to make sure she's still there. Her heart soars at the gesture, and she grins as wide as her face allows while jumping on the table to chuck another handful of food at a trooper winding up to punch Echo. It smacks him in the cheek, distracting him long enough for Echo to land a left hook of his own.

Crosshair is still seated, ducking out of the way of projectiles while continuing to shovel food into his mouth. Omega watches with great amusement as Echo is kicked backwards— straight onto Crosshair's tray. His face begins cycling through the stages of grief, and ends on anger. She can't help but giggle at him slamming his fist on the table and whipping his ruined tray like a frisbee, hitting three separate troopers in the process. Though he seemed hesitant to engage earlier, he lunges at a clone that has Tech in a headlock, sending all three of them in a tangled heap.

Omega's adrenaline is pumping, heartbeat in her ears as she takes a running start and throws herself onto the shoulders of a clone. The room blurs as he whirls her around, hands trying grab her small arms. When he can't seem to whip her off, the clone suddenly bends forward at the hips, bucking Omega down onto the table. He obviously didn't expect her to be so light because she slips from his grasp and slides toward the end of the table, the air getting pushed out of her lungs. She lies still for a few seconds, breathing heavily.

What she's above makes her adrenaline high suddenly vanish. In the window that overlooks the cafeteria, Lama Su glares down at the food fight. Standing next to him is a military officer— high ranking by the looks of him. He sneers at the flying food and the troopers, saying something to Lama Su with his lip curled in disgust. She's seen his expression before on the faces of others that come to tour the facility. People revolted or offended by the very idea of clones. They're the type of people that seem little too interested in the decommissioning process. Omega has not idea who this is, but he looks official and that gives her a bad feeling.

With her breath back in her chest she rolls to her stomach just in time to see Echo sitting on the floor in the midst of the fighting. He also stares up at the officer and Lama Su, disgust across his own pale face. Does he know him? she wonders.

But as he is distracted by their spectators, the clone he knocked to the ground picks up an abandoned tray and raises it above his head.

"Echo, watch out!" Tech yells, reaching out to the cybernetic clone, but getting tackled to the ground before he can do anything. Omega's eyes widen in horror as the trooper puts his entire strength behind the tray as it swings, slamming into the side of Echo's head.

"Echo, no!" Omega screams as he pitches to the side, eyes already closed and mind dead to the world before he even hits the ground. She quickly presses a button on her commlink that alerts medical to her location and jumps off the table to weave through the troopers that have been momentarily distracted by the jarring sound of a metal tray hitting cybernetic implants.

Tech has fought his way to Echo's side, two fingers pressed against his neck as he yells out his name. The rest of the Bad Batch has taken notice of their fallen brother now, and suddenly the entire atmosphere turns serious. Wrecker isn't laughing anymore as he picks up clones and literally throws them out of the way to clear a path. Hunter and Crosshair, who were displaced to the other side of the caf, now run across the top of the tables, landing punches and throwing trays without breaking stride. Tech has hoisted Echo over his shoulder as the rest of their squad form a protective circle facing outward. Omega slips behind Hunter, unable to take her eyes off Echo's unresponsive face.

"We need to get him out of here," Tech says, his eyes flickering to every one of the cafeteria entrances. Probably doing a calculation of some sort for the quickest way to the med wing.

"Medical is on their way, we can meet them in the corridor," Omega offers, but the others don't seem to process that she's even there. She cowers at Wrecker's side, anxiety that they're upset with her eating away at her heart.

"Keep tight, let's move," Hunter says, and they all seem to know exactly what that means. Wrecker, Hunter, and Crosshair flank Tech on both sides and at his back as they run toward the exit.

They nearly pass the medical droid rushing toward the caf with a stretcher.

"Wait!" she yells, louder this time. Even if they're mad at her, at least she can try and make it up to them. This time, they actually listen to her. "This stretcher is for Echo,"

The boys look at one another and then seem to accept this. Tech gently places his unconscious brother on the stretcher as Nala Se comes rushing around the corner. The medical droid wastes no time and performing a quick scan.

"CT-1409 preliminary assessment: head trauma resulting in loss of consciousness. Patient is stable but require further testing."

"Echo isn't going to like that," Wrecker mutters.

Nala Se's blank eyes flicker from the unconscious clone to a food-covered Omega a she comes to a stop at the foot of Echo's stretcher. The medical assistant can already tell she is in for a big lecture after this stunt.

"Take CT-1409 to the medical-wing," the Kaminoan scientist says in her airy voice. "Omega, assist in the transport."

Omega places her hand on the side of the stretcher, avoiding the hard gaze of her mistress. "Yes, Nala Se."

The Kaminoan now looks at each of the others. "All clones involved in the cafeteria incident are required to be assessed for injuries," she says. "You will report to the lower level medical wing immediately."

A weak chorus of "Yes sirs," rings out and the Kaminoan continues down the hall toward the caf.

Omega starts pushing Echo's stretcher toward the medical wing, feeling the heavy footsteps of four shadows trailing behind her. Apparently a direct order wasn't enough for them.

"They won't let you guys in while he's getting tests run." Omega says while staring straight ahead. Looking at them now will fill her with too much shame.

"We're staying with him," Hunter replies as-a-matter-of-factly.

"You'll get in trouble."

"We're already in trouble, what's breaking one more rule?" Wrecker says.

Omega suddenly stops, forcing herself to look at them. They all have varying degrees of worry etched across the faces. She locks eyes with Hunter, hoping she can at least get him on her side. The last thing she wants is to be the reason they get in trouble again. "At least go get your check-up and clean the grease off your armor. If you show up with me, covered in food, then you'll have to change into medical gowns... and I'll get in trouble." Hunter's eyes soften slightly, but she can still see his hesitation. He doesn't want to get her in trouble, but this is also one of his brothers she's telling them to leave. She knows how deep loyalty runs for these men. "I promise I won't leave his side until you come to see him."

"We'll be back in ten minutes," Hunter says after a heavy sigh. "If he wakes up before then, comm us."

"You got it," Omega nods in understanding. Though the others don't seem too happy about leaving Echo, he gives him a pointed look and their shoulders slouch with compliance. Omega starts pushing the stretcher again and is halfway down the hall when Tech appears at her side.

"Echo does not do very well with medical tests," he explains, staring at Echo's prone figure rather than directly at Omega. "I recommend, from experience, to wait until he is conscious and aware of what is being done to him before performing any procedures outside of contactless scans."

Her eyes wander over the complex configuration of wires and tubes that wrap around Echo's head and body. She looks back to Tech, nodding.

"Thank you for telling me. I will do what I can to make sure he's okay."

Tech gives her a small smile, turning around, but then pausing. "Oh, and when he does wake, he might start swinging. So keep your distance and remove any possible projectiles." With that, he starts jogging after his brothers. She cannot tell if he was joking or not.

Omega lets out a shaky breath, holding back the urge to cry as she pushes Echo into the medical wing. AZ takes over as she ducks into the scrub room to change her soiled clothes.

Somehow trying to stand up for her friends has turned into one of them getting hurt— she didn't want that to happen she just... wanted to show them she was on their side. For a little while she did feel that incredible rush of belonging. But was it worth landing Echo in the medical bay?

Of course not. They'll never let me be one of them now.

It was dumb. Provoking a room full of troopers that already have it out for the Bad Batch was a thoughtless act. Nala Se is no doubt going to remind her of that and use it keep her sequestered from now on.

Omega emerges in fresh clothes as AZ is completing the brain scan. Echo is still unconscious.

"Is he gonna be alright, AZ?"

AZ's bug eyes always make him look like he's pitying whoever he's looking at. "CT-1409's"

"Echo," Omega interrupts him. "You can call him Echo."

The droid pauses, taking a moment to process that request.

"Patient CT-1409, a.k.a. Echo's scans are clear of skull fractures or bone contusions. My preliminary assessment is that he has sustained a mild concussion consistent with blunt force trauma. He will require a brain tissue scan to ensure there is no bleeding or clotting,"

"Good," Omega lets out a sigh of relief. "That's good."

"Your services will not be required further, Omega. You are free to return to your assigned duties."

She glares at the droid, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm staying, AZ. I promised the guys."

"But mistress Nala Se summoned you to the sub-level medical wing. You must go."

"No!" There's no way she's taking orders from a AZ. Even if he is her friend. "I'm staying here until he wakes up."

AZ shakes his head, his unexpressive droid face somehow looking disappointed. He hovers over to Echo to begin performing the tissue scan, and Omega goes to look for a blanket or something to make their patient more comfortable.

The distinct whirring of the scan is interrupted by a sharp gasp. Omega turns as Echo starts to flail.

"No! Get them off," he gasps, his arms swinging but hitting nothing. There's a clouded look in his panicked eyes as they frantically search the room.

"But my tests are not yet complete," the droid tries to explain while continuing to move closer. Omega is already running across the room, shoving AZ to the side.

"Echo, Echo, it's—" his unfocused gaze shifts from the corner filled with bacta tanks to her. "It's okay. It's me, Omega." His chest rises and falls as though he's been running for miles, and she raises her hands so he can clearly see them. "I understand." As his breathing slows, she realizes that AZ must have attached a heart and respiration monitor to Echo while she was changing. She slowly reaches down to pull them off of him. "I don't like being hooked up to their machines either."

A few brief memories float passively through her mind. Wires and needles and tubes coming from various places on her body. The sticky feeling of bacta on her skin and gathering between her fingers and toes. Silent tears streaming down her face every time she saw the instrument cart was full for the day.

Omega releases him from the monitors and looks up at him. Echo is still coming out of his panic, but he seems calmer now. He looks at her as though she has seven eyes and two noses, but at least he finally sees her.

"Hello CT-1409," AZ pipes up.

"His name is Echo," Omega reminds him.

"My name is AZ-34521189..." as he drones on with his serial identifier, Echo and Omega exchange glances. She offers him a comforting smile and though he doesn't really react, he does scoot himself further from AZ and closer to her, which is good enough for now. When AZ finishes, his body spins around on its axis, and Wrecker's voice suddenly rings out through the med wing.

"Ha! Told you he's alive!" The rest of the squad, now clean of grease, stroll in. "You owe me two credits," Wrecker says, jabbing a finger at Crosshair. They seem surprisingly relaxed, most of them nodding or even smiling at Omega as they gather around the foot of Echo's bed. The fact they even acknowledge her is unexpected.

AZ turns to the rest of them to give his assessment. In the mean time, Omega turns her attention back to Echo. His eyes aren't glazed over anymore but he still seems uneasy. Definitely uncomfortable sitting on a medical table. Omega has overheard the rumors of what happened on to him— how Echo was an ARC trooper that got captured and experimented on. It's obvious from his chemically bleached skin and the complex assortment of cybernetics that he's been through a certain kind of hell. But judging from how he reacted to a simple scan and heart monitor, she cannot imagine how bad it must have really been.

She decides to take the risk and lays her hand gently over his. His wide brown eyes look from the rest of his squad to her hand atop his, and then finally to her. Echo gives her an appreciative nod and a slight smile. Warmth fills her body again, stronger than it was when they were joining her in her food fight pursuits.

The young medical assistant looks to the others now, only to find Hunter has been ignoring AZ's grand reveal that they are genetically defective and is instead watching her. The sergeant's lips form a curious half-smile as he watches her pull her hand away from their injured brother. The giddy warmth in her chest builds even more. They aren't mad at her after all. In fact, she gets the feeling that they might even like her. Or, at least, acknowledge her existence-- which is progress from earlier.

Omega realizes that maybe grand gestures shouldn't be her approach in trying to get them to notice her. Maybe just showing them how much she truly cares about them is enough.

Definitely no more food fights... unless one of the others is the one to initiate it, of course. If that's the case, Omega will be the second one to throw the greasy Kamino caf loafs.

#not me whipping out one shots when I should be working on stuff that's due soon #lets call this a warmup exercise #Kate writes #insomnia check: it's 1am #cw: ptsd #cw: panic attack #the bad batch #the bad bath aftermath #s1e01: aftermath #echo #tech #hunter #wrecker #crosshair #omega #echo whump #echo ptsd

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uncommoncold · 4 years ago

Text

Treasure

Summary: After a lengthy chase, Park Seonghwa finds himself face to face with the dread pirate Hongjoong. Will he find a blood thirsty pirate or dashing rogue? Will he lose the one thing that he holds most dear, his heart?

Word Count: 11.2k

Content Warning: Top Park Seonghwa, Bottom Kim Hongjoong, Pirate-teez, Boys Kissing, Oral Sex, Two Sex

The flag whipped violently with the gale winds and blistering rain. “Captain, if we keep going like we are, we’re going to break apart.”

“I know but unless you’re looking for a long drop and a short stop, we have to keep going.” He peered through his cabin window and into the storm, trying to make out the shape of their pursuers. The fact that he couldn’t see them gave him hope.

At first they had kept their distance, following just far enough away to make him think perhaps he was mistaken. But they had followed for two days, getting closer the closer they got to the islands. He knew what that meant, they were being hunted.

Not that he wasn’t sure that someone thought he deserved it. He had done more than enough to put himself a few people’s sights.

“They can’t possibly see us if we can’t see them.” Hongjoong mused.

“Let’s head for the leeward side of this island.” He pointed to the map. “There’s a cove there we can shelter in. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they already took refuge from the storm, or better yet, maybe they sank.”

His first mate, Yunho smirked and nodded.

A short while later, they were pulling into a sheltered cove. It was a risk, if their pursuers were still chasing them, then they were stuck with nowhere and no way to run. However, it was sheltered enough that if you didn’t know it was there, you could sail right by and never see a ship. The island wasn’t populated by more than flora and fauna but it would do to sit out the storm.

Normally, it would have been a good time to pull out the casks and enjoy some downtime but he didn’t dare when they didn’t know who was on their tails. It seemed unlikely that whoever it was was hunting him to give him birthday wishes. He couldn’t count out revenge or the authorities.

***

“We’ve lost them sir.” Seonghwa informed the captain.

“It’s this blasted storm, keep looking. I’m not letting that son of a bitch slip away again.”

“Again sir?”

“I’ve been looking for him for nearly three years since he took my last ship. Brazen, cocky, and slippery as an eel. I’ve been so careful… I’ll have the reward and see him dance on the end of a rope yet.”

Seonghwa wasn’t entirely sure he liked the malicious light that lit up his captain’s eyes as he talked about seeing the pirate they were chasing hang. It wasn’t that he was ignorant of crime and punishment, he just preferred not to watch it and he took no joy in death. The captain was no longer a young man and he was determined to have the pirate Hongjoong in his grasp before he died.

“Since we’ve lost him, I suggest we shelter from the storm at one of the nearby islands, sir.”

For a long moment, the captain was quiet before heaving a weary sigh and nodding, “Alright, take us in. We’ll pick up the search after the storm dies down.”

“Yes, sir.” Seonghwa went out on deck and informed the helmsman of the captain’s decision and they fought their way into the bay of a nearby island. It was just in time as well as the storm was only getting worse. It was just a little spit of land, mountainous and good for nothing unless you liked coconuts and sea birds.

***

“Captain!” Yunho tore into the room.

Hongjoong had been nursing a headache but he bolted upright from his bed, “What is it.”

“A ship pulled into the bay sir. They’re making no moves toward us but if they get any closer, they’ll surely spot us. What do you want to do?”

Hongjoong headed up on deck and looked through his telescope at the ship’s colors. Shit. He knew exactly who that was, he had been chasing him for nigh on three years now, ever since he took his ship. In fact, it was his ship that he was using now. He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the railing. He could send the men with the cargo inland but there were no promises they wouldn’t go looking for them and they would be vastly outnumbered… “I have an idea.”

Yunho turned slowly, Hongjoong was grinning broadly at him. “I don’t like that smile.”

“It’s a really stupid idea that just might get me killed but will ensure everyone else’s safety.”

“I really don’t like this idea.” Yunho crossed his arms and glared at his captain sternly.

“You haven’t heard it yet.”

“I’ve heard enough to know I don’t like it, not if it might get you killed. The last time we went with a plan that might get you killed, I ended up running naked through town.”

“You won’t end up naked this time. I promise.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“No, you won’t like it.” Yunho tended to think of himself as Hongjoong’s keeper, he chased after him when he needed to be chased. He protected him from his own most dire instincts. He was the best first mate and friend Hongjoong could ask for. This time he wasn’t joking, it really might get him killed. It was a roll of the dice, then again, life was a roll of the dice.

Yunho groaned, “Alright tell me.”

Yunho listened to Hongjoong’s plan and it was absolutely the daftest thing he had ever heard in all of his life but if he could pull it off, it would save the lives of everyone on board but it still would leave his own life in a precarious place. Honestly, he couldn’t think of a better plan. They were a small ship and they had two guns out of commission. He also knew that Hongjoong put the lives of his crew above his own, it was part of why he was so well loved. He was a great captain… and friend. “Why do I get the feeling if I say no, you’ll do it anyway.”

“Because I will.”

“Shit.” Yunho ran his hands through his hair and braced his hands against his hips. “Fine, I can’t stop you.”

They set to work, loading one of the dinghy’s with provisions and a small amount of the treasure they had accumulated. It took a little cajoling but he had Yunho punch him a few times.

Hongjoong then cut his head with his trusty knife and let the blood run down over the side of his face and ear. “How do I look?”

“Like a man who has had a rough time.”

“That’s how I want to look. Let’s go.”

“Be careful.” Yunho grabbed Hongjoong in a tight hug. “If you get yourself killed I’ll never forgive you.”

“How do you think I’d feel about it? I’m not ready to die yet.” Hongjoong grinned brightly and stepped into the dinghy. He waved as it hit the water. Happily, the wind was on his side, he sailed out to where he should be able to be seen by the larger ship and lowered his sail. He then lay down in the boat and waited. It didn’t take long before he saw two boats break away from the larger boat and come his way. “Ahoy!”

Hongjoong put on a show of struggling to lift his head before raising a hand, “Ahoy!”

They towed him back toward the bigger ship, when he was brought on board, he spun a tale of intrigue. There had been a mutiny on his ship and he had just barely managed to escape. The men who had picked him up were enraptured by the tale he told. Seonghwa stood by and listened, he certainly looked the part. He had seen better days. There was something about his story that niggled at the back of his head but their guest was still a man alone with few provisions and just looking for a lift to the closest populated island.

They were a full crew of able bodied men with arms. Seonghwa was just about to show him to a cabin when the captain came out. Immediately he began pointing and sputtering. Hongjoong paled when he saw the captain. The old man immediately lunged at Hongjoong and caught him right on the chin with a forceful left that knocked him to his knees. In all truth, it had taken Hongjoong by surprise. He wouldn’t have thought that someone of his age could have come up with such speed.

“What’s he doing here?” The captain said as he stepped back nursing his sore knuckles.

Seonghwa told him the story that had been relayed to them. The captain’s expression slowly shifted from incredulous to gleeful. “All of these years and I’ve finally got you where I want you. Toss him in the brig.”

“Yes, sir.” Seonghwa grabbed one of Hongjoong’s arms and another sailor grabbed the other.

Hongjoong shot a look of pure venom at the captain.

“What are you going to do? Swim? We’ve got your boat and this island is uninhabited. Maybe the magistrate will be lenient on you but considering you're a wanted man, I doubt it. Oh and one more thing…” The captain hauled off and punched him again and again. “That’s for my ship.”

By the time he was thrown into the brig, his head was swimming and his ears were ringing. Yunho hadn’t pulled his punches, nor had the captain. He was alive… for now. Considering that they didn’t go into battle, nor were the rest of his crew joining him, his ruse had worked. He breathed a sigh of relief and waited.

Eventually, the storm passed. He could hear sounds overhead of the crew making ready to get underway. It was another hour that he strained his ears for every little sound before deciding that they really were underway and heading back out to sea. Only then did he risk laying down and closing his eyes.

Seonghwa lay in his bunk and stared at the ceiling. It seemed almost miraculous that the very man they were looking for just happened to have a mutiny and just happened to end up in their hands. He couldn’t think of a reason why he would just hand himself over to someone who wanted him dead. Surely stranger things had happened in the history of the world. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him, pirate or no. He had had a string of really rotten luck.

Since the captain hadn’t given him any orders to not feed the prisoner, he took it upon himself to bring him down some food. The fact that the captain just so happened to be busy when he did was purely coincidental… mostly.

The prisoner looked a good deal worse for wear, bruises had formed on his cheek, jaw, and left eye into his hairline. The swelling had gone down though. “I brought you some breakfast.”

Hongjoong lifted his head and offered a half smile as their eyes met.

Seonghwa’s heart skipped a beat. He immediately looked away, unable to account for the strange feeling.

“I’m going to guess this wasn’t the captain’s order?” He said as he reached out to take the bowl of porridge. There were bits of some sort of meat in it, salted fish if he were to take a guess.

“How did you know?” Seonghwa looked back surprised.

“Someone who has been chasing me as long as he’s been chasing me, is not likely to be the forgiving sort. I doubt he would be worried at all about my comfort and would probably like to see me suffer as much as possible.” He took a bite, their ship’s cook wasn’t as good as Wooyoung was but it was passable. He was lucky he was getting anything at all.

“I guess you weren’t expecting to end up here.” Seonghwa watched Hongjoong take another bite.

“No, I have to admit, it was a big surprise to me. I’m not sure what I thought would happen when I left my ship.”

Hongjoong paused for a moment before asking, “Are you supposed to be talking to the prisoner?” Despite what might be a harsh question, there was an almost mischievous light in his dark eyes.

“No, probably not.”

“A man who likes to break the rules, I like men like that.”

“Are you trying to charm me?” Seonghwa asked. It was unusual to find someone as charming as he found their prisoner. He found himself wanting to get to know him. His smile was a physical weapon he could wield as surely as a sword or a pistol.

“Only if it’s working. If not, then of course not.” Hongjoong flashed an easy smile.

That forced a surprised laugh from Seonghwa. There was that smile again, the weight of it hit him and he found himself gazing at Hongjoong’s lips. For some reason Seonghwa was suddenly wondering about the details of his mutiny. He seemed like an easy man to like, which meant that wasn’t why his crew had mutinied. Still, he was going to have to face the fact that they were probably taking him to his death. Then again, maybe he was entirely different here than he was with his men, perhaps he was a tyrant but something whispered to him, told him that wasn’t the case.

He didn’t like it.

If the prisoner was a pirate, then he had killed dozens of people. He found himself asking, “How many men have you killed?”

Hongjoong looked surprised at the sudden question, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you?”

“That means it’s either very high or very low.”

“Very low.” There was no hint of teasing when he said it. There were times when killing someone was unavoidable but every single death had repercussions, if not for himself then for someone, somewhere and he took each death as something that should be respected and honored, no matter who his foe was.

“Really?” Seonghwa asked, genuinely curious.

“There are usually many, many ways to get what you want without resorting to murder.”

“Then why are you wanted?”

“Ah, now just because I’m not a wanton murderer doesn’t mean that I haven’t broken any laws. I have broken more than a few laws and I don’t feel bad about that in the least.” The smile was back and this time he turned its full power on Seonghwa who felt more than a little shaken by it. Bruises and all, the pirate Hongjoong was a beautiful man and a fascinating one. He opened his mouth to ask another question when someone bellowed his name from above.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll bring you something later.” He turned and started to walk away.

“How far are we from shore?”

“We’re about three days out from the nearest port that I know you are wanted at.” He might be a pirate but he wasn’t a big enough name to be wanted everywhere. However, one group of people that wanted to hang you was more than enough.

“Three days… I didn’t catch your name.” Hongjoong said.

“Park Seonghwa, you?”

“Kim Hongjoong. For what it’s worth, I appreciate the food, even if it is going to waste in a dead man’s belly.”

“If it gives you comfort, then there’s no waste.” Seonghwa walked away then, heading up to find out who was calling him.

Hongjoong played with his food while he thought about his guest. He wondered if he might be inclined to help him escape. He drummed his fingers against his knee as he contemplated it. Yet his thoughts kept drifting back to the man himself, he was almost heartstopping in his physical beauty. There was a gentle aura around him that made him seem like someone he would want to protect. He sighed and pushed the thought of his sparkling eyes and sweet smile out of his head.

Despite what he said, he had no intention of dying. There were a thousand ways to get what you wanted, he had managed to save his crew now hopefully, he could find a way to save himself.

Over the next few days, Seonghwa continued to bring Hongjoong his meals and they spoke at length. Seonghwa told him all about his home, his family. His father used to have his own ship but he had decided that with the pirates, it was safer on shore so he had retired from the sea to run his own shop, which proved to be an excellent move on his part. Their family business did far better than expected and he had managed to secure an excellent retirement for himself and his family.

Hongjoong had planned on playing it close to the vest but he found himself opening up to Seonghwa, he told him of his ill-spent youth, why he had turned to piracy. He told him a good deal more about himself than he ever intended, he found himself waiting anxiously for just a glimpse of Seonghwa’s face through his day. It wasn’t just because he was bored either, it was because he genuinely enjoyed his company. He loved listening to his deep smooth voice, he loved listening to his stories. He was going to be sorry to lose him when there was still so much he didn’t know about him. Unless he could swing it so that he didn’t have to.

There was a buzz in the air on the fourth day since Hongjoong had been captured. He wasn’t sure what time it was when two burly men came down to his cell to let him out. When he was brought up on deck, the captain was standing there looking like the cat who caught the canary. Seonghwa was standing nearby but the expression on his face was conflicted. There were three men waiting, they looked like town guards and perhaps a magistrate. They handed the captain a small purse, presumably the reward for catching the dread pirate, before they clapped Hongjoong in irons and began to drag him away.

“Bye bye, I’ll see you at your hanging.” The captain called after Hongjoong.

Now that Hongjoong was taken care of, the captain turned a brilliant smile on Seonghwa, who couldn’t help feeling a little sick. “Now that I’ve seen to it that that miscreant will hang, what say you we have a talk eh?”

Seonghwa took a last look at Hongjoong’s back, he wanted to run after them but he managed to suppress the impulse before following after the captain who headed into his cabin. “You’ve proven to be an excellent first mate, have you ever thought about captaining your own ship?”

“Sir?” Seonghwa looked puzzled at the question.

“Well now that I’ve done what I wanted to do, I’d like to retire, head back home to my wife and family. That means this ship will need a captain, I’d like to hand her over to you. You keep running it in my name and we split the profits, what do you think?”

It sounded like a dream come true, “Are you sure, sir?”

“I think it sounds like a fine plan. Your first task as captain is to let the men have shore leave for the next week.”

“Yes sir!” Seonghwa did as he was bid to the delights of all of the crew

Seonghwa himself headed into town and found an inn. He was looking forward to sleeping in a bed that didn’t sway and a fresh meal. As he sat down to his lunch he couldn’t help but imagine Hongjoong in jail. In the days they had spent together, they had grown to know each other quite well and he just couldn’t stand the idea of him locked up without a friend nearby to hear his woes or maybe help to make him a little more comfortable. If he were completely honest, the man he had gotten to know didn’t deserve the hangman’s noose. He deserved his freedom. He kept telling himself that he wasn’t going to interfere but still he found himself asking the locals as to the location of the local jail.

It was in a small wooden building, the front was where the guards sat and the back was the jail. It was a small town and it didn’t look like their city guard was the largest employer in town. It was a small and run down building. He couldn’t imagine it would be particularly warm or well insulated.

“What am I doing?” Seonghwa paced back and forth. He wanted to go see him, make sure he was alright. But he already didn’t like the idea that he was going to die. He didn’t like the idea of him being hurt or suffering at all. Maybe he was too soft hearted. By the time he finally made up his mind to go, it was getting dark. He marched up to the guardhouse. There was an exceptionally tall man talking to one of the guards animatedly.

He approached the other guard who was sitting behind a desk smoking a pipe and looking bored. “Excuse me, I was wondering if I could see a prisoner.”

“Sure, I’d ask who but there’s only the one?” The man drawled as he pulled his feet from the desk and sat up.

“Kim Hongjoong.” Seonghwa said anyway.

The man who was talking to the other guard looked momentarily surprised and stopped talking but seemed to shrug it off and returned to his conversation. He couldn’t tell since it was at his back but the man was now watching him.

The guard took him back into the back of the jail, there were only two cells and only one of them was occupied. Hongjoong was stretched out on the floor staring blankly up at the ceiling, when he heard the footsteps stop in front of his cell, he said without looking over, “I was wondering if you were going to come see me.”

“I almost didn’t.” Seonghwa said as he grabbed a chair from the corner and dragged it over to sit by the cell.

“What made you change your mind?” Hongjoong sat up and turned to face his visitor.

“I had a question for you.”

“Oh?” Hongjoong perked up and gave a curious tilt of the head.

“Is it true?” Seonghwa leaned forward, lowering his tone and resting his elbows on his knees.

“Is what true?”

“How you came to be on our ship?” It was the one question that he hadn’t asked that he had wanted to.

Hongjoong was quiet for a moment as he contemplated Seonghwa, “Let me ask you a question, how close are you to the captain?”

“He’s my employer. He took me on after my father retired. It’s purely business and if I’m completely honest…” He looked around and added, “I don’t really care for him much.”

Hongjoong pursed his lips thoughtfully, “Hm… Then in that case, I don’t feel bad letting you know the truth. It was a plot.”

“A plot?”

“A plan, a ruse, a machination, you see… my ship was harbored in the bay that your ship sailed into. If I didn’t do something, then we would have been stuck with no way to run. Your ship is a good deal larger than mine, we were outgunned, outmanned and trapped. My crew means everything to me and if I could save them by sacrificing myself then I would… and I did. I was kind of hoping for an opportunity to escape but one never came.” Hongjoong sniffed and brushed the back of his finger against the tip of his nose.

“Is that why you were so friendly with me?” Seonghwa asked.

“Yes and no.” He answered honestly. “If you would have given me the chance, I would have taken it but you didn’t. I don’t hold it against you and I don’t regret having spent time with you. I-”

Hongjoong looked thoughtful, carefully thinking about what he wanted to say. He finally gave up with a sigh and shrugged, “I like you. I like talking to you, spending time with you. Even if we had met under different circumstances, I would have still liked you.”

Seonghwa opened and closed his mouth a couple of times and dropped his head thoughtfully. Conflicted emotions reflected in Seonghwa’s face, “I almost wish I had, you sacrificed yourself for your men. That’s not an act that should be punished but celebrated. I think, believe it or not, you might actually be a good man.”

Hongjoong smiled brightly, “That’s a hell of a thing to say to a man sitting in a cell waiting for escape or the hangman’s noose.”

“I believe it.”

“Then,” Hongjoong scooted closer to the bars, “if I asked, would you help me?”

“Help you how?” Seonghwa was completely cognizant of the fact that he might be being played but he didn’t think that Hongjoong was playing him.

At the skeptical expression on Seonghwa’s face, Hongjoong waved his hands. “No, it’s nothing like that. Could you take a message to one of my crew, I know they are here. There’s no way they would let me swing without trying… something.”

“Only a message?”

“Only a message.”

“What’s the message and who am I taking it to?”

“There’s an inn on the far side of town, away from the harbor, near the blacksmith. There’s a man named Choi Jongho, he’ll be staying there.” He proceeded to describe him down to the fact that he dressed far more nicely than you would expect of a pirate, a bit of a dandy and his jewelry.

“Would you tell him that if the weather’s fair then open the sails and if the skies are threatening, to fold up the sails and ride out the weather.”

Seonghwa frowned at the message, it sounded plain and harmless enough but he wasn’t a total fool. He knew there was meaning to what he was being asked to say. “Alright, I’ll deliver it.”

He took a deep breath and looked at Hongjoong squarely, “If you get the chance…”

Hongjoong turned a brilliant smile on him, “Absolutely. I’m a man who takes every opportunity he gets.”

“After I deliver your message, I’ve got some business to attend to but I’ll come back to see you again.”

“You know,” he paused and then nodded, “I think I’d like that very much. I’ll look forward to it.”

Seonghwa bid Hongjoong farewell feeling both better and worse than he had when he had arrived. He now knew the truth of how he had come to be on the ship but now that he knew the truth, he couldn’t just let him sit in a cell until they hung him.

He followed the directions he had been given to the inn near the blacksmith. When he asked for Choi Jongho the man eyed him coolly until he said he had a message from his captain. He repeated it back to him word for word. “He would say that. Idiot.”

He looked Seonghwa up and down, “Why did he send you with it?”

“I told him I wanted to help him if I could. I don’t think he deserves to be executed, maybe some prison time but not executed.”

Choi Jongho laughed outright, “Hopefully, it won’t come to that. Thank you for the message.”

If the captain trusted him, he felt like he ought to extend him the same but the captain tended to fly by the seat of his pants sometimes and he was more cautious than that. He bid Seonghwa farewell and called together the other members of the crew to tell them about the captain’s message and then they all waited for Yunho and San to return to find out whether or not the guards were bribeable.

It was quite late when Seonghwa got time to go back to the jail. He should probably just wait until the morning but he didn’t want to leave Hongjoong waiting to know that his message had been delivered, assuming it was as important as he thought it might be. Much to his surprise not only was the door unlocked but there were no guards to be seen. Did they go home at night? That would be strange wouldn’t it? It wasn’t as if they had a lot of prisoners to watch but what if something happened? What if someone escaped? Although, in this case, he wished someone would escape. If it was empty and the keys were nearby...Yes, he would let him out.

If his men were here then that meant that his ship was here and they could escape. The captain would be livid if Hongjoong escaped but he didn’t care about the fragile ego of one vindictive old man who spent three years chasing someone because of one lost ship when he owned a whole fleet.

Seonghwa turned back to look at the open guardhouse door when he heard a sound behind him. He turned to see Hongjoong and then just as suddenly, he felt the other man’s lips close on his, his hand reaching up to cup Seonghwa’s cheek. He was too startled to remember to respond or push him away or react at all. He felt the hot wet brush of his tongue against his lips before he pulled away.

All he could manage was to gape at the shorter man who had just kissed him. Finally he managed, “You’re out.”

Hongjoong smiled, “I am and I’m getting out of here. Wanna come with me?”

“With you?”

“Whether you're coming with me or not, let’s get out of here. The guards won’t be gone forever.” Hongjoong grabbed Seonghwa’s hand and tugged him out of the guardhouse and toward the docks. As they walked, Seonghwa looked down at their still joined hands in total bemusement. He didn’t know what to do or say but he did notice when a man intercepted them.

“Captain.”

“San, is the ship ready?”

“Sort of.”

“I can’t really linger around these parts, we need to go - Now.”

“We had more damage from the storm than we realized and by the time we got into port… There’s no way the shipwright can have the repairs finished by the time we needed so…” San gestured for the pair to follow him. He spared a glance at Seonghwa, wondering if that was the man who had delivered the captain’s message to Jongho.

If the captain thought he was good to join the crew then it was alright by him. The more the merrier. However, the way they were holding hands made him think it might be something else. He guided them to the docks and right to Seonghwa’s ship. Seonghwa stopped before following up the gangplank when Hongjoong pulled up to a stop, “Are you serious?”

“It really was the best option,” said San.

“And Yunho was feeling vindictive.” said another man who was a little shorter than San and bore an open smile. “It’s good to have you back captain. If you ever do anything like that again, I’ll keelhaul you myself.”

Hongjoong laughed, “It’s good to see you too Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung grabbed Hongjoong up in a warm hug and squeezed him tight. Hongjoong gave a little squeak at the force with which he was hugged.

“Where’s the crew?” Hongjoong asked as he canted his head toward the ship.

“Shore leave.” commented Seonghwa. All heads turned to look at him questioningly.

“This is Park Seonghwa, he was the first mate on this ship but he’ll be joining us now. Right?” He turned to look at Seonghwa.

Finally Seonghwa snapped out of the haze that he had been pitched into when Hongjoong kissed him. “I-”

Did he want to go with them? It surely meant being hunted, they were wanted men after all. Hongjoong was an escaped prisoner, a thief, a pirate, and who knew what else. Yet he was thinking about it, seriously.

“Go on, I’ll catch up.” Hongjoong said to the assembled men before he turned back to Seonghwa. “Are you scared?”

“Yes.”

“But you want to.”

“Yes.”

“Well then there’s only one thing to do, come with us and you can say you were asleep in your room when we took the ship, so we accidentally kidnapped you. If you change your mind later, then we can let you off at the next port of call.” Not waiting to see if Seonghwa agreed with him or not, Hongjoong grabbed his hand again and dragged him behind him up the gangplank.

“Captain.” Yunho walked out onto the deck and smiled broadly.

“How much did it cost?” Hongjoong asked.

“They really should pay their guards more because it didn’t even take a quarter of our last haul to see to it that they found something else to do for half an hour.”

Hongjoong nodded, “Good, good if everyone’s on board, let’s shove off shall we?”

“Aye, aye captain.” Yunho turned and began to bark out orders. The men all jumped to and began to make way to set sail.

“By the way Yunho…”

Yunho stopped what he was doing and turned to look at his captain.

“Thank you.”

Yunho smiled and nodded, “You’re welcome. It’s good to have you back captain.”

“It’s good to be back. This is Park Seonghwa, he’ll - hopefully, be joining us permanently. He was the first mate of this ship but I think he needs a little time to get to know us first… or maybe just me. Seonghwa, this is my first mate Jeong Yunho. After we get out of here, I’ll take you around and introduce you to everyone. We’ve got some really good people on this ship.”

“Energetic people.” Yunho added with a touch of mirth.

“Maybe we have too much energy.” Hongjoong posited.

Yunho snickered and went back to work. As they cleared the harbor, the town bells sounded, likely announcing that there had been an escape. Hongjoong turned to Seonghwa, “Want to show me around? Show me the captain’s quarters. I know the brig well enough, it’ll be nice to see the rest of the ship.”

Seonghwa still wasn’t quite sure this all felt real. One minute he had been trying to think of the best way to help Hongjoong escape, the next minute he was on a stolen ship making their escape. Then it occurred to him exactly what they had just done. They had stolen yet another ship from the man who had spent three years chasing him down for having stolen his ship.

Would he immediately outfit another ship and give chase again? He knew that his wife held the purse strings and she wanted him back home. Somehow he couldn’t imagine her sanctioning another three year long wild goose chase. He was likewise sure that Hongjoong wouldn’t allow himself to be caught again so easily, unless his men were on the line again. That didn’t seem like the kind of situation that happened more than once. The real question was, now what was he doing here? Was he perhaps infatuated with the dashing pirate? That was the only reason he could think of that he had accepted the offer of joining them as a trial run. His family was going to kill him if he became a pirate. He was supposed to take a few years out to sea and then come home and learn the family business with his brother, not take up piracy because he had a crush on a pirate.

“Sure,” he said after perhaps too long of a pause. “I’ll give you a tour, we can start at the bottom and work our way up.”

Fifteen minutes later they were standing at the door to the captain’s quarters. The door was locked but Seonghwa had the key.

“I guess he trusted you.” Hongjoong commented as he watched Seonghwa unlock the door.

That gave him a pang of guilt as he pushed the door open, “He offered me the captaincy of this ship after they took you away.”

“So I stole your ship?” Hongjoong asked as he followed Seonghwa into the room and closed the door behind them. It was poshly appointed. The furnishings were over the top in the extreme, it was as if the former captain was furnishing a mansion instead of a room on a ship. No wonder he had locked it.

“I hadn’t exactly taken control yet.” He said. It hadn’t actually sunk in yet that this ship was going to be his. Perhaps it was his ship that had been stolen but it didn’t feel that way.

“That’s not right, I don’t steal from friends.”

“Friends?”

“We are friends aren’t we?” Hongjoong took a step toward Seonghwa.

Seonghwa felt his heart pick up pace and he swallowed hard in a suddenly dry throat. “Are we?”

“Unless you want to be more…” Hongjoong reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers over Seonghwa’s cheek.

“What do you mean more?” Seonghwa’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat.

“I want to be your lover. You don’t know that already?” He asked.

Without really realizing he was doing it, Seonghwa took the final step forward, closing the distance between the two of them. There was nothing that separated them now. He leaned down, eyes intense as they met Hongjoong’s before he kissed him. The softness of their lips played together, their tongues met giving an electric thrill.

Seonghwa gave a small sound of pleasure as they sank into one another, their arms stealing around one another, bodies flush together. Their hands began to roam over each other. Seonghwa’s lips traveled down over Hongjoong’s jawline, down to his throat. He tasted his pulse thrumming against his lips, he scraped his teeth over the silken skin of his neck. “Why am I so captivated by you?”

“The same reason that I can’t get you out of my head.” Hongjoong gasped and sighed.

“I know the feeling, every time I close my eyes I see you, hear your voice, I can’t stop thinking about you. God you taste so good…” He leaned back in and reclaimed Hongjoong’s lips.

Running his hands up over Seonghwa’s stomach, he caught the material of his blouse and pulled it up, his fingers grazing against his bare skin as he did so. They traveled further, slipping under the soft linen as they moved over his bare chest, the slightly long tips of his nails raking over Seonghwa’s nipples. They tightened at the delicate scraping. A soft moan slipped between their joined lips, let out with a sigh.

Seonghwa pulled his jacket from his shoulders and let it drop at their feet, Hongjoong caught his shirt and pulled it up over his head, immediately dropping his head to rain kisses over his bare chest, to taste his skin.

Seonghwa moved to pull off Hongjoong’s clothes as Hongjoong worked at his partners’. They moved in concert back toward the bed, Seonghwa moving over the smaller man as they moved. The heat of their bodies grinding together, their cocks sliding together. Hongjoong reached between them, wrapping his fingers around their lengths, trapping them against one another as he stroked.

Seonghwa’s golden skin was beginning to glisten in the low lamp light. A drop of sweat trickled down over his smooth chest, running down to where their naked bodies pressed together. His kisses traversed their way down over Hongjoong’s chin, his throat, suckling and biting his nipples before continuing down. The muscles in his stomach trembled as Seonghwa’s lips brushed down over his ribs to his hip bones. Hongjoong squirmed, his hips rising up as Seonghwa’s beautiful lips wrapped around the head of his cock. His finger’s winding in Seonghwa’s thick dark locks, a heady sigh falling from his parted lips.

He had never wanted anyone so badly as he wanted Seonghwa and his body was on fire and Seonghwa’s touch were the flames that consumed him. He watched the way his lips glided over him, consuming him. He was so beautiful, their eyes met and Hongjoong smiled, “You’re going to make me cum if you keep that up.”

“Maybe I want you to cum… or maybe I just want to make you squirm.” Seonghwa smiled in return as he flicked his tongue against the sensitive underside of Hongjoong’s throbbing prick. Then quite suddenly, Seonghwa dropped his head down, pushing Hongjoong’s cock all the way to the back of his throat before bobbing his head up and down.

A sudden hiss and a sharp inhalation of breath as Hongjoong slammed his hands down against the bed, his hips arching upward without his bidding. His orgasm was ripped from him as he fucked back against Seonghwa’s face.

The first spurt of sticky sweet cum hit the back of Seonghwa’s throat as he sucked milking him for every last drop.

Slowly he let his lover’s cock slip from his lips as he crawled back up over his body. He caught Hongjoong’s lips in a sultry kiss before murmuring against him, “We need-...”

“I came prepared.” Hongjoong interjected before he turned and leaned over the side of the bed to capture his clothes. From a pouch tied to his belt, he produced a small corked bottle. As he wiggled back onto the bed, he held it up and shook it slightly.

“See?” He pulled the stopper and poured a liberal amount of oil into his palm and reached for Seonghwa’s swollen length. Seonghwa’s head fell back, throaty groan slipping past his full lips. He rested back on his hands, presenting himself for Hongjoong’s attentions.

The teasing smile was back on Hongjoong’s lips again as he lifted the bottle and poured some of the oil over Seonghwa’s chest and stomach, leaving him glistening as he ran his hands down, to return to stroking. He bowed his head to suckle Seonghwa’s balls and nibble the insides of his thighs. God he was so beautiful in the lamp light, his eyes filled with a universe of stars as he stared at him with unabashed lust, his golden skin aglow.

His breathing grew short, he could feel himself getting close so he reached out and caught Hongjoong’s hand and brought his fingers up to kiss them. “I want more than that now, I want you.”

Hongjoong licked his lips and nodded as he leaned into Seonghwa’s and kissed him. Seonghwa’s arm slipped around his waist as he leveraged Hongjoong back into the mass of pillows, slipping easily between his thighs. He buried his face against his throat and breathed, “I want to be inside you.”

Hongjoong gasped at the nip of teeth at his neck, he could feel Seonghwa’s cock sliding against him, not as eager as his words made him seem but slowly and methodically grinding against him. He wriggled against his touch as Seonghwa’s reached between their bodies and slid his slick, oiled fingers against him and into him.

“I’ve never done this before…” Hongjoong breathed. “But for you, I want you.”

Seonghwa raised his head and looked down at Hongjoong, instead of teasing or darkly lustful, there was supreme tenderness and affection. “I’ll go slow.”

As he promised, he slowly worked against him not going any further than his virgin’s body was ready for. Incrementally, Hongjoong began to relax beneath him. Only when almost all resistance was gone did he begin to enter him. Jesus, so hot, so tight. As he hilted himself he let out a sigh and for a lingering moment, he just held still, “Are you alright?”

Hongjoong nodded, “Yes.”

While the slow entry had spared him any discomfort, it had driven him slowly insane so that now he would have killed any man who dared to try to separate them. “Now fuck me.”

Seonghwa’s tongue flicked out to lap at Hongjoong’s lips before he languidly and fluidly began to move. “As you command.”

With little rolling lifts of his hips, Hongjoong rose to meet each and every thrust. His lover’s cock stimulated something deep inside of him, driving him nearly wild. They moved together, their pace increasing with a shared urgency.

Hongjoong’s fingers dug into Seonghwa’s back, leaving small crescent indentations. His balls tightened as molten sugar unwound in his stomach, slowly reaching its burning tendrils through him. The first spasm forced him to slam his head back into the pillow, the second brought a cry as his cum shot up between their joined bodies. Seonghwa’s arms sealed around him as he began to fuck him with ferocity. Each thrust brought a deep guttural growl, his cock swelled, balls tightened, and then he came, filling his lover with wave after wave of his seed.

For a lingering moment, they lay still, both lost in their own little world of pleasure. Seonghwa was the first to move, turning his head to pepper Hongjoong’s neck and ear with little kisses. Eventually, he sighed and rolled off to the side, grabbing a pillow and tucking it behind his head as he pulled Hongjoong into his arms. Hongjoong took a deep breath and let it out in a rush as he laid his head on the pillow beside Seonghwa.

“I think,” Hongjoong began as he adjusted himself in the bed. “I’m glad this all happened. Sure I had to spend a few days in a jail cell but I got you.”

Seonghwa chuckled and let his eyes fall shut. He hadn’t realized exactly how stressed he had been, not until he felt the last of that stress flow out of him with his orgasm. “My new captain is making me feel quite welcome indeed.”

“Are you sure you can do it?” Hongjoong lifted his head and looked at Seonghwa seriously.

“Do what?” He reached up and ran his long, slender fingers over Hongjoong’s sweaty hair and face.

“Piracy.” While he had no doubts that Seonghwa would stay with him if he asked him to, he wanted to make sure that it was actually something that he wanted. He was equally sure he had the other man’s affections but was this life really what he wanted or had he allowed himself to be swept away.

Seonghwa bit the corner of his bottom lip thoughtfully, “I don’t know, really. I never thought I would become a pirate. I also never thought I’d help a fugitive escape jail and a hanging and then steal my ship.”

“Take some time and think it over.” Hongjoong sighed and laid back down. “It’s late and being in a comfortable bed reminds me of how little sleep I’ve had the last few days. It’s late, what say you we get some sleep?”

“Alright.” Seonghwa hadn’t really been giving any thought to his predicament. He had, as Hongjoong thought, just allowed himself to be buoyed along. Now that he had time to think about it, would he be able to do it? He wasn’t a fighter, he never had been and had only fought when his life had deemed it necessary and that wasn’t more than a couple of times. What would it do to his family? He was quite close with his family and he didn’t want to hurt them.

There was another matter, he was quite sure he was falling in love with Hongjoong at breakneck speed. If he were to stay with him, he would hurt his family and perhaps shorten his life. If he were to leave then… then he would break his heart? He wanted nothing more than to give into his heart but what should he do? It was the same thoughts chasing each other around his brain until he finally fell asleep in the small hours of the morning.

He awoke early as he felt Hongjoong slipping out of his arms. He opened his tired eyes to see the other man smiling down at him before brushing a kiss across his lips and whispering, “Go back to sleep, you deserve it.”

Seonghwa didn’t argue. His eyes were already closed before Hongjoong’s feet hit the floor and he was already returning to slumber before he reached the door.

Yunho gave him a look as he sat down at the officer’s table, a knowing smile on his lips.

“What?” Hongjoong asked the younger man.

“Me? I didn’t say a word.”

It was obvious from the expressions on the faces of the assembled men that the entire crew probably knew but none of them seemed inclined to ask the questions. Silent smirks and two looks of feigned innocence, one from San and the other from Mingi, were all Hongjoong received as he looked down the table.

“So!” Jongho broke the silence, “What position is our new crewman going to have? Yunho is the first mate, that’s not to say you couldn’t have two first mates… I think I heard Park Seonghwa was supposed to be captain of this ship?”

Hongjoong’s own smile faded a little at that. He wanted Seonghwa to stay but he wasn’t sure he should. Most of the men under his command had come to him from other pirate vessels or had their own situations that made serving with him ideal. Seonghwa’s situation was quite different and as much as he wanted to keep him with him, he wasn’t sure it was best for him. The thought of letting him go twisted his heart into knots. He had never been in love before but he was getting dangerously close to loving Park Seonghwa. Maybe he already did, it was hard to say never having felt this way before. Sure he had slacked his lusts but love? Never.

“What new crewman?” Mingi asked.

All of the heads at the table turned to look at him.

“The new crewman who came aboard with the captain last night.” Wooyoung answered.

“I didn’t see him. Where is he now?” Mingi asked for more information.

Yunho dropped his head into his hand and Wooyoung’s grin grew a little wider as he decided to answer again, “I imagine he’s still in the captain’s quarters.”

Yunho peeked up at Mingi through his fingers as if to beg him with his eyes alone to cease his line of questioning before it got uncomfortable.

Mingi started to open his mouth when he yelped in pain. He was seated at the end of the table between Yeosang and Wooyoung. He shot a look at Yeosang who was an expert at looking like a beautiful serene statue. Whatever he had done, his expression hadn’t changed but Mingi seemed to get the hint. He reached under the table and rubbed at his leg.

Hongjoong shook his head, “We can decide that, if he decides to stay. I’m not sure he will yet.”

“Why wouldn’t he stay?” San asked curiously.

“I’m not sure he’s cut out for the pirate’s life. He’s got a good family, a good job if he wants it.” Hongjoong shrugged and reached for his breakfast.

San straightened his spine as he said, “We’ve got the best family.”

All of the men hurrahed at that and breakfast settled down into something more normal… and boisterous.

The next three weeks were like a dream for Seonghwa. He sailed with the men of the Treasure, spent his days working beside them, spent his nights with the man he had come to love but there was a growing unease. He knew that Hongjoong was avoiding other ships but he was a pirate and he couldn’t avoid other ships forever. The men were looking forward to their next great haul. Hongjoong was not just a pirate but a successful one and the day they rather accidentally ran into some low hanging fruit was the day he knew.

Seonghwa stood outside the door listening as he heard Yunho and Hongjoong arguing about the validity of the target, a poorly defended merchantman carrying fewer than 8 guns. He knew Hongjoong was avoiding getting into any scrapes to protect him, he couldn’t let him keep doing it. A very angry looking Yunho stormed out of the captain’s room and he went in. “You should take it.”

Hongjoong didn’t look up from the map he was looking at, “Why’s that?”

“Because the only reason you haven’t already gone for it is because of me. The men are restless as it is. You can’t keep avoiding it because you think I can’t take it. This is, as much as we might like to have it otherwise, a pirate’s ship and you are a pirate. If I’m to stay with you, I have to learn to live with this part of life. If I can’t do it then…” Seonghwa let his words trail off, a knot forming in his throat.

Hongjoong finally looked up and met Seonghwa’s eyes and sighed. He was determined. Hongjoong was silent for a long moment before he nodded and walked over to Seonghwa and kissed him. “Alright, tell the men.”

Seonghwa clung to Hongjoong for a lingering moment before he turned and briskly walked out of the cabin. The next few minutes were an absolute whirlwind of activity. All of the usual silliness, chaos and levity were gone and they became a force of nature. They were focused and deadly accurate. They carried out the strike perfectly. Seonghwa watched with a semi-detached air. Could he do this? The first thing that hit him was the thrill, the exhilaration but he wasn’t sure.

The two ships collided. The men from the Treasure poured onto the decks of other ship. Blades clashed and the men of the Treasure worked as a well oil machine. Hongjoong found their captain readily, he was old but still defiant as they crossed blades. What he lacked in youth, he made up for in sheer bloody mindedness. He concentrated as he fought the captain, there wasn’t a man alive who wouldn’t tell you his next move if you were attentive.

There! Hongjoong feinted to the left as his opponent made a move to block but he left himself open. He struck, bringing him down. Just as he struck he heard a voice yell, “No!”

The rapport of a pistol shot rang out across the deck and momentarily all fell silent. Directly behind Hongjoong, a man lay supine. He had been just inches away from burying his blade in the pirate captain’s back. Seonghwa stood with perfect form, holding his pistol, smoke wafting up from the tip.

Seonghwa had just saved Hongjoong’s life.

The men were elated with the booty they had looted, it was far more than anyone expected. The casks were opened and the alcohol poured freely as the men rejoiced.

Seonghwa sat silently in the captain’s quarters in the dark. He hadn’t even realized that the sun had set, so deeply lost in thought was he. It wasn’t the first time he had killed a man and he had done it in defense of another. He didn’t feel badly about it and that was what bothered him. The captain had been the only man who had died today but he wouldn’t be the last. Every single man of the Treasure would fight to the last to protect one another and their way of life. They loved it, they thrived on it. He too had felt the touch of exhilaration, the rush of blood in his veins. The only thing that came close was making love with Hongjoong.

He knew he could do it. He knew he would grow to love it if he stayed. That was what scared him.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

A voice yanked him from his quiet reverie. “Oh, yes.”

“We’re headed in, we should make port in about eight days.”

“Eight days? I didn’t think we were that far from shore.”

“We aren’t but I thought it might be nice for you to go home, see your family.” Hongjoong didn’t put on a lamp, but just walked over to stand behind Seonghwa’s chair, putting an arm around his shoulders.

“I see.”

The silence was thick and heavy between them but neither seemed inclined to break it.

“How did you know?” Seonghwa asked at long last.

“One of the things I love best about you is your tender heart. What kind of man would I be if I destroyed the one of the things that I loved best about you?” Hongjoong’s voice was barely above a whisper but it carried in the darkened space.

“Promise me something.” Seonghwa said as he turned to look up at the moonlight kissed visage of the man he loved.

Hongjoong cocked his head slightly to one side, reaching to run his fingers over Seonghwa’s hair, “What’s that?”

“Promise me that if you ever decide to retire from piracy that you’ll come find me.”

Hongjoong smiled and drew a slow breath, “I will come find you.”

“Bring the rest of the crew too, we always need more hands.”

“You’re part of the crew. They’ve grown as fond of you as I have.”

“Have they really?”

“Well, maybe not quite as fond as I have.” Hongjoong turned his head and pressed a kiss to Seonghwa’s cheek.

Seonghwa closed his eyes and concentrated on the warmth of that small kiss. Eight days…

***

Seonghwa stood on the cliff by his family home looking out toward the sea. It had been three years to the day since he had said farewell to the crew of the Treasure and its exceptional captain. He hadn’t really known whether he would see Hongjoong again and he regretted his choice everyday. Now with three years between him and the roguish captain’s smile, he could see clearly. Life only gives you chances at real love maybe once if you’re lucky.

He had his chance and he had surrendered it because he was afraid of change, because he was afraid of the lifestyle. He had been wrong and now there was no way to go back and change it.

Hot tears trickled down his cold cheeks and he sniffed before reaching up to wipe them away. He knew now he would never see Hongjoong again and he had to live with that, as much as it hurt him everyday.

“Can’t you find him?”

Seonghwa turned and saw his mother standing behind him. She was the only one he had ever told the truth about his ‘accidental kidnapping’. The only one he had ever told the truth about the only love he would ever have. Not entirely trusting himself to speak, he shook his head before looking back at the sea.

“You don’t have to go through with this you know. I know your father is pressuring you and Soojin is a nice girl but…” His mother sighed. The wedding was in two days and she had tried to talk Seonghwa’s father out of it but he didn’t see the problem. Seonghwa was a good looking, polite boy from a good family. Soojin was a good looking, polite girl from a good family. They made for a good match and they seemed to like each other as friends at least. It was as good of a start for a marriage as any, so her husband thought. It was better than the beginnings of most marriages these days. She understood his reasoning but he hadn’t been the one to hold Seonghwa as he cried his heart out as he explained what happened.

She knew it wasn’t as if you could just post a letter to a pirate. If she could see his broken heart mended, she would go find this pirate herself and send her son to him but she didn’t know any better how to find a man who was constantly on the move and didn’t want to be found any better than her son did.

“Come on, let’s go inside. You’ll catch a cold and you don’t want to catch a cold right before your wedding.” She caught Seonghwa’s hand and he gave one last lingering look at the horizon before turning to dutifully follow after his mother.

“Why don’t you go down to the market and buy some of those buns you and I both love?” His mother suggested to take his mind off of things.

“Why don’t you come with me, mother.”

“Your father will be home soon, I wanted to talk to him when he gets home.”

“You’re going to try to talk him out of the wedding again aren’t you?” he asked with a sad smile.

“I’ll talk to him about what I’ll talk to him about. If it was for your ears, I would ask you to be there. Now shoo.” She swatted his behind lightly and bodily shoved him off toward the market while she stood watching him go.

The market was bustling, he had to squeeze his way between bodies to make his way to the vendor he was looking for. Someone bumped into him without apologizing or even slowing down. They hit him hard too. He turned and caught a glimpse of a familiar face, Choi Jongho? No, it couldn’t possibly be. He turned and tried to follow after the man, trying to push through the throngs of people who were all trying to go in the opposite direction. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make any leeway. He finally caught a pocket of space and managed to break through. He raced after the man he thought he had seen and caught up to someone wearing a jacket the same color as who he thought he had seen. The man turned and it wasn’t him.

Of course it wouldn’t be.

It was all he could do to keep from breaking down there in the middle of the market. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He turned around and made his way back to the vendor who was selling the buns he had been sent to buy. He wasn’t hungry anymore but his mother wanted them. The entire way home, he scanned the faces of the crowds of people around him. Surely who he had seen had just had a resemblance to his old friend.

He realized how much he missed them then, not just the love of his life but the entire crew. He had grown close to them all and it felt just as much home to him as the place where he had grown up.

What a fool he had been.

The entire next day, he moved through a haze. It didn’t feel like he was going to get married. He liked Soojin, she was a nice girl but she never could or would be the one he loved. Yet he would do what his father wanted him to. Maybe she could help him find some kind of, if not happiness then contentment.

His wedding day dawned bright and early. The families had planned the wedding for the late morning. He honestly hadn’t been too bothered by it one way or another. Actually, he hadn’t really cared about any of the wedding arrangements and only nominally cared about the choice of the bride. He checked the time and got dressed. He was just checking the mirror before heading out when a sound caught his attention. It sounded like someone saying, “Sorry about this.”

Just as he started to turn, there was a sharp and sudden pain behind his left ear and consciousness faded. The last thing he saw was the ground rushing up to greet him.

When he opened his eyes, it was dark but the room was warmly lit with lamp light and candlelight. At first, he had no idea where he was. There was something familiar though, a scent, old paper, candle wax, the tang of the sea. No. He had to be dreaming there was no way.

“How’s your head?”

Very slowly, he turned to see Hongjoong sitting beside him. His jaw slowly dropped open and he stared open mouthed at the very man he had been dreaming of for the past three years. “Hongjoong?”

“I’m glad you remember me. I would be heartbroken to think we had gone to all of this trouble and you didn’t even remember me.”

“Like I could ever forget you.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Hongjoong smiled and put down the book he had been reading.

“Wait.”

“Hm?”

“You kidnapped me!” Seonghwa accused.

“Well, technically I didn’t do it. San, Jongho, and Yeosang kidnapped you but I did ask them to and I was in on the planning. I was on the distraction team, I didn’t think I could hit you.” He reached out and gingerly brushed his fingers over Seonghwa’s hair.

“Why did you kidnap me?” Seonghwa asked, wholly bemused.

“When I found out you were getting married, I wasn’t sure that you would walk away from it. You know I can be a little impetuous sometimes and I’ll be honest, I was a little hurt.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. It’s been three years…”

Hongjoong winced, “I know but I wanted to be sure that I was the man I wanted you to come back to… and I love you.”

“Hongjoong…”

“I’ll be completely honest, I was so hurt I was ready to walk away and let you get married. Wooyoung was the one who decided we needed to kidnap you, for your own good. If you want to go back then we can take you back. If you want to stay-”

“I want to stay. I know I was wrong, there hasn’t been a day I haven’t regretted the choice I made. I missed you, every minute of every day. Every night I would lay in my bed wishing I could turn back the clock to make my choice again. If I could have, I would have never walked off of this boat.”

“Are you sure?” Hongjoong asked leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything. I want to be here. I want to be with you. I want … I want the ocean, I want to sail the world beside you. I want to be part of this family.”

A slow smile curved Hongjoong’s lips and he blinked his eyes, overbright with unshed emotion. “How dare you try to make me cry.”

“I’m not trying to make you cry.” Seonghwa said innocently.

“I know, that makes it worse.” Hongjoong drew a shaky breath and reached out for Seonghwa’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being on my side, for wanting to be with me.” He leaned in, their noses almost touching.

Seonghwa squeezed Hongjoong’s small hand in his, he leaned further, closing the distance between them, sealing Hongjoong’s lips with his. God how he missed the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him. He tasted tears, he wasn’t sure to whom the tears belonged but he didn’t want to stop kissing him, not ever.

“This is only the beginning,” whispered Hongjoong against Seonghwa’s lips.

Seonghwa smiled, his eyes still closed. “Here’s to our beginning.”

Again their lips came together, Seonghwa reaching up, his fingers slipping into Hongjoong’s wild locks, pulling him closer. Hongjoong rose and climbed into the bed beside his lover.

“I missed you so much.” Hongjoong murmured into their kiss.

“I’ll never leave your side again.”

“You better not, I’ll just have to kidnap you back again.” he teased with a nip of Seonghwa’s lips.

“Who knows, I might start to like it.”

Their lips, their bodies, their destiny came together in joy and love.

NOTE: Other words can be found on my master list.

#ateez #ateez imagine #Ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #seongjoong #honghwa #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez smut and fluff #kpop smut #kpop imagine

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justkeeptrekkin · 5 years ago

Note

Prompt: Crowely tells Az he loves him by accident while going on a big long rant about (dealers choice) Az catches right away and just smiles and waits as Crowely comes to the realization of what he said

Anon. Anon. I love you for this.

***

“See, thing is-”

Crowley’s words elude him- as they have a habit of doing, the sneaky buggers. He watches the white lines in the middle of the road streak by, feels the tarmac roaring beneath the car. It’s a rainy evening and they’re driving home from a restaurant north of Watford that Aziraphale has been banging on about for months. Since the world had ended- and then promptly not ended- the angel’s zest for food hasn’t lessened in the slightest. In fact, it’s only gotten bloody zestier, as if their near-apocalypse experience has made Aziraphale realise that life is too short. Even an immortal life such as his.

Crowley loses his track of his thought entirely. “Thing is…”

“You were talking about-”

“KINDLES!” Crowley exclaims, taking his hands off the wheel to celebrate this eureka moment. Aziraphale straightens out beside him nervously and grabs a fistful of his corduroy trousers. Crowley slaps the leather of the steering wheel enthusiastically as he continues, “Kindles. Are not. Demonic! We didn’t come up with them- that was all you, I’m certain!”

“Why on earth would I invent the Kindle, dear boy? Do you even know me at all?”

“You-plural, not you-singular. Angels you, Heaven you.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t sanction it.”

“Alright but- listen- what’s the problem with kindles? Why’re- what’s the problem? I mean really, it’s a book, isn’t it. Just a book on a screen. What’s the problem?”

“The problem-” Aziraphale begins confidently, bordering aggressively. Then the wind appears to be knocked out of his sails. “Well,” he tries again, a little weakly. “The problem, the problem lies therein. In that. Well-”

“See! See, it’s clearly a good thing, I don’t understand what all the fuss is about- all these people going ‘oh, ho-ho, oh dear, books aren’t physical anymore, what a travesty! Let’s all- grab our pitchforks! And lament the loss of our children’s education’.” He adds a mocking, whinging voice to this last bit.

Aziraphale tuts, stretches his legs out in front and crosses them.

“No, you’re wildly misinterpreting the argument, Crowley.”

“You know it’s true, don’t deny it! People are only against them because humans don’t like change- they get all squirmy and anxious about it. As if, you know, as if the transition from a physical book to a little screen is the end of the world- and! Now that they’ve actually had a taste of the apocalypse, they really haven’t gained any more perspective, have they? I mean, you’d think they’d start worrying about global warming properly, but instead they’re just sad about kindles and- oh! That’s another thing, kindles aren’t paper! Less deforestation! Clearly- listen, come on, that’s got to be angelic work.”

Aziraphale pouts and averts his gaze, brows slightly raised in indignance.

Crowley snorts. He notices the lines of the road streak by a little slower, presses down on the accelerator.

“Aha!”

Crowley flicks his gaze over to Aziraphale, who’s turned his whole body towards him in his seat eagerly. A smug finger pointed in his face.

“What? No,” Crowley shakes his head. “You- don’t try and argue with me on this, I’m absolutely certain-”

“Amazon! Kindles are owned by Amazon, notoriously corrupt!”

Crowley scowls, rolls his head wearily. “No, angel, they weren’t always bad, we only got to them a couple of years ago. You can’t argue that-”

“Amazon. Invented. Kindles! Thereby, kindles are evil. The end, full stop. Fin.”

“That’s just- you’ve been around long enough to know that’s not how it works.”

“And you can’t honestly argue that books are bad just because they’re made of paper. Books are knowledge! Books are the weapons against the armies of ignorance! Righteous tools-”

“Righteous tools,” Crowley snorts.

“Against the dark forces of evil!”

“Not this bollocks again. Look, books are fine, books are all well and good, but not everyone’s into them, are they? Times are changing, angel, you can watch things like Netflix or whatever it’s called and, listen to podcasts and- the way people share knowledge is different now. Listen, I love knowledge, love the stuff. You know I do, I was the one who got Eve to eat the apple after all, but even then, even then I’ve never really read books, unless I really have to, the only reason I read Pride and Prejudice is because I love you, and admittedly, yes, it wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever put myself through- actually, I think trying to read A Tale of Two Cities was what really did it for me, Charles Dickens- Christ alive, did you ever run into Dickens, angel? Miserable sod.”

Crowley drums his fingers against the steering wheel expectantly. The road side lights cast an orange glow in the car- brightening and darkening, brightening and darkening as they drive past one after another. Aziraphale is silent.

And it’s only then that Crowley realises his mistake.

It dawns on him the way a glass fills up slowly with water in the washing up bowl and sinks to the bottom. Slowly, then a sinking feeling. And then hitting rock bottom.

He keeps his eyes on the road. His fingers tight on the steering wheel.

“You…”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t. Just don’t. Alright?”

“But Crowley-”

“I said don’t.”

Quiet fills the car. There isn’t even the sound of Freddie Mercury to assuage the nauseating pain in his stomach, the feeling of his throat closing like he’s having an allergic reaction. He wants to cry. He wants to cry for the first time in a very, very long time. He blinks away the feeling, and holds himself together with pure will power, just like he held together this car a few weeks back.

Only, he’s been holding himself together for roughly six thousand years. It’s getting close to too much. His metaphorical knees are buckling. Atlas only wishes he were as resilient as Crowley.

Aziraphale exhales- a long, shaky breath. Crowley doesn’t turn to look, can’t bear it.

Besides, he’s known him- loved him long enough that he can see him in his mind’s eye easily. Eyes sometimes dreamy, brows sometimes pulled together in concern. Lips sometimes twisted in disapproval, sometimes beaming with so much unreserved joy that Crowley has to tease him. Just so he doesn’t end up gazing, bathing in the brightness of that smile.

And then Aziraphale huffs to himself- a determined little noise that sets Crowley on edge. And he’s already too close to the edge to handle. He’s only just got a hold of himself as it is, hands shaking on the wheels and knee bouncing. The threat of tears still there, threatening to make him choke on his breath- it gets stuck in his throat.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says. So gently.

That’s almost what does it- it’s almost what makes Crowley lose control, teeth grinding painfully and eyes stinging. The motorway stretching out in front of them, empty. Time stretching out even further.

Then the angel speaks again. “You can go faster, Crowley.”

The words trickle through his brain slowly, like drops of water building at the rim of a tap. Then- drip. Understanding. Crowley’s throat clicks as he swallows, painfully.

“That is- of course, only if you want to,” Aziraphale rushes, waves his hands desperately, “You can- drive- go- uh, you can go as slowly as you like, only, don’t feel obliged to go slowly on my account. Anymore.”

The angel clears his throat. And Crowley turns to look.

He’s smiling. He looks absolutely bloody terrified, eyes a little wide and watery just like that day-

You go too fast for me, Crowley.

-except now he’s smiling. A quiet, wobbly smile to himself as he stares out of the rain streaked window. Crowley watches the way the orange street light passes through his silver hair, making it appear more like brass. He watches him bite his lip, then continue.

“We could. Oh, I don’t know. We could do that picnic we talked about. Or, perhaps a walk through Wimbledon Common. Together. Or.” He pauses. “Or, if you wanted to, you could drop me off and come in for a night cap. I have some rather nice port hiding somewhere in my office.”

Aziraphale turns to meet his eyes. A look filled with welcome and kindness and understanding. Light catching his face like a Vermeer painting. And Crowley lets himself stare.

“Eyes on the road, my dear.”

He only realises that his mouth is hanging open when he tries to forumlate his next words. He shuts it, then says, “What?”

“Eyes on the road, Crowley. Before we both get discorporated.”

It takes another moment to register. But then his head snaps forwards and he looks ahead again, the road continuing into the dark towards London. He can feel all the air rush out of him like a balloon. And then something else replaces it- something lighter than air, something that makes his mind feel like it’s drifting to another plane. Something weightless.

“Picnic,” Crowley eventually says, nodding to himself. He scratches his chin nervously. “Picnic then walk. Or, walk then picnic.”

Because- and Crowley can’t quite believe himself for this- he thinks a night cap might be a bit too fast for him.

“Lovely,” Aziraphale says. The word comes out in a whisper. “You can pick me up at midday tomorrow. If that’s-”

“That’s.” Crowley stalls. Nods his head compulsively like a nodding car-toy. “That’s. Yeah. Midday’s good. Midday it is.”

“Crowley?”

“Angel,” he replies seriously, business-like.

There’s a moment of hesitation. Aziraphale breathes deeply beside him, like a man stepping off the train from London to Cornwall, taking in the countryside air for the first time in years.

“I do love you. An awful lot.”

Crowley continues to nod. But he can feel the facade slip. He can sense his bottom lip wobble, so he clamps his jaw tight shut. To no avail. He continues to drive them down the M25, although at this point he could be in St James’ Park, or in the middle of a desert, or on another planet- his mind is entirely elsewhere.

It’s not a conscious decision to stretch out his hand over the gear stick towards Aziraphale. It’s something desperate in him, something needy and disbelieving. He feels Aziraphale take it without pause, his clasp warm in his own.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #anon #my writing #prompts #fic prompt

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hoyaanae · 3 years ago

Text

The beautiful dialogue of Lovely Us

Ep 01

"Once people become parents, their memory begins to become biased. They always remember they are their children's most reliable parents, but often forget that they are also children loved by their own parents. When they are waiting for their children to come back home, they forget that their own parents are also waiting for their return in a similar mood."

"When I'm absent from the concert, my idol won't know or feel sad. But when I don't go back to accompany my mom to celebrate her birthday, she'll know it. I don't want to make her sad."

Ep 02

"A lot of things are good at hide and seek - the old scarf I bought last year, the new eraser, Mom's favorite sewing needle, and a feeling of heartbeat for someone. We try to find them, but in vain. Then when we give it up, they just appear somewhere unexpected - on the back of the chair, in the book, in the cotton thread, and behind my back.

Human heart beats 60 to 100 times per minute on average. That day, I failed to count my heartbeat per minute. Even the water droplets falling from the umbrella were disrupted together with me. The joy, the thrill and the butterfly in the stomach converged into the restless heartbeats. On this raining day, a girl's heart beat 101 times in a minute."

Ep 03

"Huang Chengzi, why is the starry sky beautiful? Do you think it is because of the brightest star? Of course, everyone might say "Look, the Venus" while pointing at the brightest one. However, for those stars shining together and forming the Big Dipper and Orion, don't they look beautiful? They cannot be described as a foil. Anyway, I think some stars that keep shining might be more beautiful than the brightest one however dark they are."

Ep 07

"The audio frequency of the sound when a snowflake falls on the water surface is over 50,000 Hz. Because it falls beyond human beings' hearing range, this snowy day is still so quiet that it seems I can only hear my own heartbeat and that it seems there is only me and the person in front of me on this planet with a population of 6.6 billion. I hope this world can be noiser so that I can pretend that I've never discovered this secret."

"Do you have such a feeling? People around you always tell you that you are already standing on the top of the mountain, but when clouds and mist scatter, you find there is another higher peak waiting for you. After going out, I've found there are so many people who work harder and are more excellent than me. It's just like in an originally easy marathon race, I suddenly find all the people around are sprinting. So, I must run faster. Otherwise, others will surpass me. I'm a little bit out of breath."

"At the age of 17, we all have our own secrets. We are trying to hide those secrets, but they are still going to be discovered. We are unwilling to admit those secrets, but the more we conceal them, the more conspicuous they become. We are very clear about those secrets, but eventually, we are still willing to turn them into memories. And these secrets that cannot be told, are found so similar to each other after a long time. It turns out they are all about unexpected feelings for someone."

Ep 08

"I've always been content with what I have and I'm in need of nothing. I can remember what I read and I'm surrounded by nice people. My life has always been smooth and I thought the life that had been planned was not bad for me. Just like a sailing ship, with enough food, I didn't look forward to rains and storms. I just wanted to follow the prescribed route and go back fo the safe zone of the harbor in the end. That was my perfect ending. But from the very beginning, you've been determined to brave the storm and to see the bigger world. Wind and rain can't knock you down and the waves can't overturn you. You've shown me a life course that's completely different from mine. So, since her dream is to explore this world, I just can't let her go through it alone. Zhu Jinxiao, I like you."

"At the age of 17, the first habit developed by boys is to hide their affections. They think that the probability is just 0.01, so they put on the emperor's new clothes, trying to hide their affections with magic. But affections are not that easy to hide. Even if the probability is pretty low, it will be revealed at a certain moment. So on that rainy night, while looking at her back, he found that the most obvious evidence of falling in love with her was the feeling of easement in his heart and the smile on his face when he looked at her."

Ep 09

"In the past, we always felt a year with 365 days was exceedingly long, but only when it comes to this moment do we understand that we become one year older all of a sudden. The significance of spending the Spring Festival, extending from ancient times to the present, is shining brightly like fireworks, giving us the courage to heal each other many times. And then we can have a new start. It doesn't matter that you can't eat steaming hot dishes. It doesn't matter that you perhaps don't know the secret hidden in the couplet. It doesn't matter that you listen to your grandma's nagging sometimes. Even if it takes too long on the way back, as long as there are people we care about, we won't be lonely. We will return to the home we are familiar with."

Ep 10

"Actually we never forget the happy hours with our parents in childhood. Maybe the so-called alienation is because we walk so fast while our parents are staying where they are. One meter, a hundred meters, a kilometer. The distance becomes farther and farther until we can't hear them calling us. That's why we mistakenly think love is silent. So while we are confused, our parents feel the same too. They are confused about how they can give us their deep love in a smart manner."

"Those who love hiding their feelings most in this world are fathers. They hide their inarticulate concerns in warm lights. In every precious certificate of merit, they put their unmentionable encouragement. Besides, there are many silent surprises they carefully arrange in every day when we are marching to the future. They firmly care about us with such silent fathers' love, and we firmly love them."

Ep 11

"We think that many things and many people in this world can wait til tomorrow. So when you pause it or when you turn around, you think that everything will still be the same tomorrow, or you won't even realize this hope in your mind, because you think tomorrow should be the same as today. And you think nothing will change as time flies by. But this time, the moment you let go and turned around, some things completely changed. The sun went down and before it rises again, some people will leave you forever. We always thought that there would be a big ceremony to say goodbye, so we keep waiting for a warm hug, a refreshing drink, and a heartfelt goodbye. But in the end, we realized that most goodbyes in our lives are all silent."

Ep 12

"At that silent corner in my mind, there are a number of weird illusions. For example, can I become Alice who enters the wonderland with White Rabbit? For example, can I become the little girl who enters the forest with Totoro? For example, is there some special switch in this box which can teleport me? No, none of them exist. There's no flying dragons or knights, and I'm not the heroine of some comics for girls, either. However, the only thing I'm sure about is that this escape greatly shocks my world. My palms would sweat, and my sight would be indistinct. Then my view becomes narrower and narrower until there's room for only one person in my eyes. After a long time, I know such a moment is named adventure, in which the one in your eyes is irreplaceable."

Ep 13

"In the summer of 2008, in retrospect, the most impressive thing may not be the world-famous Olympic Games, but the silly things we did because we were fearless. What is shining and unexpected is everything that is closely related to friendship. We wanted to pick the brightest stars and make the most beautiful wishes, so we became the bravest boys and girls. While crying and laughing, with the bond between each other, toward the most beautiful end of youth, we keep running all the way and never stop."

"The familiar chirping of cicadas on summer nights, the familiar bear doll who must lean by the lamb, the familiar lovely girl who frowns even when she sleeps, and the 17-year-old time wrapped by the sense of familiarity never seem to have changed. The only difference is that when I look at the familiar him, I feel a flurry and uneasiness that I have never expected."

Ep 14

"That night, it was the first time I found there's magic hidden in my mom's smile. Those feelings between adults and children which I thought are hard to express in words don't have to be spoken out. They can be understood through her smile. Indeed, adults don't often say I love you, and seldom say sorry. But it doesn't matter. Action speaks louder than explanation. There's no need to express deep feelings in words. If you stand there quietly, you can automatically receive all their love for you."

"There are many new days like today. Today, he holds my hand. Today, he holds me in his arms. Today, he carries me on his back and runs in the street in the early morning. Many days with him like today will eventually become my unforgettable past days. I'll remember days like today for a long time."

Ep 15

"In the last hundred days, I heard countless times "Hurry up to walk! Hurry up to eat! Hurry up to take the notes! And hurry up to go to the toilet." But it's strange. When you try to seize time by the forelock, it goes faster. Then after the exams, we graduated."

"I just want to be an ordinary person. I'll live on a small fruit stand in the future or continue your small shop, which makes me happy. This is life. It's my own choice and I will bear the results. Different people have different dreams. Let those extraordinary people be extraordinary. I just want to be a happy and ordinary person."

"Friendship means so much to us. It brings us close, and makes me flinch, so sometimes we just tell ourselves that as long as we're together, I can be just a friend of hers. But the taxi that I failed to catch, the phone calls that have been hung up, the time that's flying and my restless heart are telling me eagerly that in this world, both love and friendship are important. Every detail related to you is reminding me that we can't be just friends. So when it's still not too late, I have to tell you the things that I want to tell you as soon as possible. Huang Chengzi, I like you."

Ep 16

"In this world, it seems like all wishes have a guardian. Wishing wells, shooting stars, the aquarium's white whale. They're all hiding in the corners of the universe caressing the sorrow of loving someone alone. It's just that the god of happiness can't bless everyone out there. They let some people be happy and their wishes come true, and let some be sad, but they can't admit how sad they really are. The feeling of being in love is like a butterfly gently flapping its wings, that stirs up a hurricane in people's hearts. The second you realize it, then there's no escape."

"That's you when you're happy. And that's you when you're mad. Over there is the jealous you, and you when you're being naughty and pretending to cry. I was just going to draw one to start with, but every expression you have is floating around in my head, and I really love every single one of them."

"I've never been afraid of growing up. And I've never worried that growing up would be lonely. Not because I'm so strong, but because I have faith that I will never be alone. The guy who held my hand will continue to grow up closely together with me. The guy who's in my diary and I in his, will exchange even more secrets in the future. All of us have walked together through the years and will continue to walk together farther into the future. This world never lets lovely people down, and we are all lovely."

#如此可爱的我们 #Lovely Us #Lovely Us Cdrama #Cdrama #李明德 #Li Ming De #田曦薇 #Tian Xi Wei #李寅崟 #Li Ying Ying #李明源 #Li Ming Yuan #尤浩然 #You Hao Ran

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deniigi · 4 years ago

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i have been sick in bed with a stomach bug and re-reading a bunch of your series and these questions have plagued me so pls, for the sake of your fellow samuel chung lover, if sammy was in the Selkie verse, would he be a fae? if so, what kind? ALSO, what would his interactions with jack be like (either in the selkie verse or in the lying by omission verse)? pls and thanks <3

hi!

I’ll answer asks in a bit, but for this one I have a fic that explore a What If Jack Lived/Mike existed scenario with Sam in the Inimitable verse? I know it’s now what you asked for, but it is like 4k already written so that might be smth--an LBO Sam would be tricky because Sam would be itty bitty and Matt wouldn’t have the same kind of relationship with him.

As for selkie-verse Sam? I would have to do more research on Chinese spirts/fae/folklore, but for now, he’s not fae, just human 💖He’s like 12 and can make himself invisible though, which would be very confusing for Sue if she ever bumped into him

(Sue: baby boggart??? come here I love you I will look after you.)

(Sam: please stay exactly 5037 feet away from me! Thank you and I’m calling my mom!)

Here is the What If Jack and Mike thing from the Inimitable Verse.

Jack Murdock was the size of a house. He made Matt look dainty. He made Kirsten look like a kids’ mannequin. And he made Foggy laugh until he wept.

Sam could not understand a goddamn thing he said. Nor could he understand the guy he’d brought with him, who appeared to have had some serious plastic surgery to look exactly like Matt.

Sam could take an unintelligible giant. What he couldn’t take was an unintelligible Matt, and before him, somehow, in this ring of ginger, he’d been presented with two unintellible Matts.

His head was spinning.

Kirsten patted at him sympathetically.

“I’m from New York,” Sam told her mournfully.

“I know, hon.”

“How is this even possible? You’re from New York. How are they—what are they saying?”

Kirsten shook her head.

“Only Foggy knows,” she said. “It’s okay, he’ll translate when he gets back up.”

Mr. Murdock, the tallest of the gingers, might have been a good three to four inches taller than his boys, and he might have had the biggest hands that Sam had ever had the opportunity to touch in his life, but he was really nothing but a big, shaggy sheep dog.

The reasons Sam couldn’t understand a single fucking word he said came threefold.

1) Mr. Murdock had grown up in mid-century Hell’s Kitchen. That was just how accents from those parts used to sound. They’d lightened with time.

2) He had an extra layer of what Matt called a ‘brogue.’ He was first-generation American. Both his folks had immigrated from Ireland. He talked halfway between the way they talked and the way that the kids in his neighborhood growing up had.

And 3) The man had a lisp?

It wasn’t super noticeable. Sam sure as shit couldn’t hear it among the other layers of stuff going on, but Foggy said it was there.

Apparently, it came out more when he was anxious.

Apparently, he was anxious a lot.

Foggy told Sam to just give it an hour and he’d understand.

“So your name is Sam?” Mr. Murdock asked him while Sam tried to keep his mouth from falling open.

Matt was holding his facial-copy-cat against the wall by his lapels. The copy-cat had started making kissy noises at him. He egged Matt on to punch him right in the face.

No one was stopping them.

Kirsten cleared her throat and brought Sam back down to earth.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sam. Mr., uh—”

“Call me Jack.”

Never.

“Matty hasn’t said much about you, sorry to say.” Mr. Murdock explained. The more he spoke directly to Sam, the more Sam found, to his relief, that he could understand him. “He don’t like sharin’ things his brother can get ahold of and take from ‘im.”

Sam looked from him to the ‘brother.’

“There’s two of them?” he asked.

Mr. Murdock hummed.

“God help us, every one,” he huffed.

You can say that again.

“How long has there been two?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“Mm? Oh, uh. Christ with the math,” Mr. Murdock said, “Michael—Michael—boy, you knock that off; that’s how you lose teeth—how old are you now?”

Nevermind. Sam didn’t need to know.

“I’m ageless, Pops, remember?” ‘Michael’ said, grinning at Matt’s sneer in his face, “Everlasting, never dying. Immortal. Timeless. I’m—” Dude got the wind knocked out his sails from Matt aiming for his solar plexus instead of his face.

“Maitiú,” Mr. Murdock said sharply. “He’s your brother.”

“He earned it,” Matt snapped back at his dad. “You said ‘no teeth,’ I ain’t even touched his goddamn teeth.”

“No, you coward, you wouldn’t, would you?” Michael threw back at Matt with no sense in his head. “You scared of gettin’ stuck on all that metal, huh?”

“I ain’t got my tetanus booster,” Matt deadpanned.

“Oh, get the yellow fever one next time, it’s a hoot—”

“I’m mailing you back to Thailand in a crate.”

“Oh mail me, why don’t you?”

“I’m gonna.”

“Boys,” Mr. Murdock said, exasperated. “Knock it off. You love each other. We get it.”

Kirsten shook with giggles.

“I’d drown you in the open ocean and then kill myself,” Matt said through gritted teeth. His nose was maybe an inch from his brother’s.

Michael just beamed.

“Aw, babe. You’d do that for me?” he gushed.

“HHhhh—”

“Maitiú.”

Sam had never heard someone said ‘Matthew’ this way. It was delightful. It made Matt’s shoulders go stiff as a board and then squirm in barely contained fury.

“Thank you,” Mr. Murdock said. “Drop ‘im.”

Matt didn’t want to, but he released his grip on his sibling. Michael slipped down and then caught himself and straightened himself out.

“Well, I’ll never,” he said. “We come all this way to visit you on your deathbed and—”

“I’m not dying,” Matt said.

“—you worry Dad sick for months on end. Don’t call. Don’t write. He thought the Californians had eaten you—"

“—I told him that it was a dislocation and I’m fine—”

“—and of course I told him, ‘no Dad, there ain’t any more cannibals in California than there are in New York’ but who listens to Mike, huh?”

Mr. Murdock had only been in the house for 15 minutes and he already looked exhausted.

“Where are the dogs?” he asked Foggy.

---

This was the weirdest time-out session Sam had ever experienced and he’d decided that he was living for it. Mr. Murdock went out onto the deck and locked himself out there with the dogs. Matt and his brother had never been more guilty.

Quickly the arguing turned towards scheming, which turned towards climbing out a window, which turned towards getting stuck on the roof and pleading with the Father to lend a hand.

Mr. Murdock observed Matt sobbing with laughter over Mike’s sudden anxiety of stepping from the roof to the deck’s arm railing with only hollowness.

“Mike’s not very super,” Sam pointed out to Kirsten.

“Nope,” she said brightly. “He is refreshingly normal,” she said. “Even the conman part.”

The what?

---

Matt climbed off the roof with ease and took the opportunity to finally give his old man a hug, which Mr. Murdock seemed to appreciate. He smoothed a giant mitt of a hand through Matt’s hair tenderly, like he was a baby.

It was kind of cute.

Mike scowled at them both and announced that he was pretty fine, by the way. He’d just stay there on the roof until the vultures got him.

“Matt’s the younger twin,” Foggy told Sam cheerfully. “He can do no wrong.”

Sam felt like he could suddenly see the forest for the trees.

“And Mike?” he asked.

Foggy snickered.

“He and Jack live together to keep each other in good cardiac shape,” he said. “They drive each other nuts.”

“But they still live together?” Sam clarified.

“Yeah,” Foggy said. “Mike’s what happens when you give a used-car salesman ever so slightly too much brain. He travels all over. Gets shot at and held hostage a lot. He’ll do just about anything for a couple bucks, no matter how hard Jack’s tried to get him to go straight over the years.”

“And Mr. Murdock? He doesn’t mind his son living with him?” Sam asked.

Kirsten and Foggy softened.

“Matt used to check on him more when we lived back home,” Foggy said. “Without him and Mike, Jack’s by himself. He’s got friends and work, yeah, but you know. If it weren’t for Mike, he’d come home to an empty apartment every night. Man’s got too much head trauma for that to be any kind of good. Mike looks after him—probably more than he lets anyone else. He’s too stubborn to let Matt try to help him.”

Aw, cute.

“Be prepared, Sammy,” Foggy said. “Jack’s already adopted you.”

Say what now?

---

Mr. Murdock didn’t outright say that Sam was puny and he was going to fix it, but Sam could see it in his disappointed gaze.

“Don’t like bread?” he asked as Sam chewed his way through an Uncrustable at the kitchen table. Sam froze with the sandwich in hand. He stared at it.

It was bread.

Surely, this was bread.

Right?

“Uh?” he tried.

“Don’t like the crusts?” Mr. Murdock asked him more gently.

Oh.

“I don’t mind them, these are premade though. You know, convenient,” Sam explained.

He got a stare impossible to read.

“Stay there,” Mr. Murdock decided.

It took too long for Sam’s brain to work out what had just happened, and by the time it had, it was too late. Matt stuck his head in the room and asked Sam why he’d told his dad that Matt was starving him.

Sam floundered and tried to explain the sandwiches. Matt absorbed this and rolled his whole head.

“Well, now he’s makin’ a week’s worth for you,” he sighed. “Wants you to eat the crust.”

Dude.

“It’s easier not to question it,” Matt sighed. “What kind of jelly do you want?”

---

Matt didn’t interrogate his father, but Mike did. Unrepentantly. He walked in as Sam was emphasizing that he didn’t want any kind of jelly and he’d make his own sandwiches and understood the entire situation faster than Sam could have possibly explained it.

“FATHER,” he roared. “Leave the boy alone, he’s not starvin’, he’s just short.”

Flattering. Thanks, asshole.

There was no response from the kitchen. Matt told Mike to ease off. Mr. Murdock was trying to be nice.

“There’s nice and then there’s rude,” Mike said.

“And you’re rude?” Matt offered.

There was a pause.

A warm hand found the space in between Sam’s shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry about both of ‘em, kid, they got rocks for brains, it ain’t their fault. Our grandfather was a caveman, you know how it is,” Mike said kindly.

Matt was not amused.

“It’s not a big deal,” he repeated. “I’ll eat ‘em if Sam doesn’t want ‘em.”

“And subject yourself to peanut butter hell for multiple days in a row, Maitiú?” Mike asked, scandalized.

Matt glared in the direction of the stairs.

“Some of us enjoy nut protein,” he said.

Sam blinked in shock as big hands slapped themselves over his ears.

“There are children present,” Mike hissed.

Sam found the guy’s middle fingers and yanked. Mike swore. Matt chuckled.

“He ain’t a baby,” he said fondly. “Sam’s a tough cookie.”

You’re damn right he was.

“Charming,” Mike grumbled as Matt abandoned them for the kitchen again. He scowled down at Sam. “What’s your gimmick then?” he asked.

Sam wondered if he could make his contacts come out by blinking slowly enough. It would be cool as fuck. It definitely wasn’t happening.

“I control typhoons,” he said.

Mike winced.

“Fuckin’ vigilantes,” he said.

---

Mr. Murdock gave Sam a second sandwich. He’d cut it into quarters.

“Matt says you don’t like jelly,” he said. “Bananas are better?”

Sam couldn’t help but like him.

“Yeah. I don’t eat much bread generally,” he said. “My family has always been more about rice.”

Mr. Murdock analyzed him.

“I can do rice,” he said.

Bless. It was okay, really.

“Do you like spicy things, Mr. Murdock?” Sam asked.

“Jack.”

Nice try.

“Spicy?” Sam repeated.

Mr. Murdock considered it.

“Not sure,” he said. “You mean like hot sauce? I ain’t fuck with that ghost pepper shit.”

Sam hummed.

“Before you leave, I’ll cook for you in return,” he said. “I won’t make it too spicy, cross my heart.”

Mr. Murdock considered this and then got a look in his eye that made Sam’s cheeks start to ache a little.

---

Matt told Sam to play nice. Matt told his father to play nice.

There was to be no hiding chilis in Mike’s pasta.

They were caught and scolded.

“Not to worry,” Mr. Murdock told Sam fondly, “There are other ways.”

---

Sam had never seen such outrage over a knot in a shoelace. Matt crossed his arms over his chest, seconds away from tapping his own foot.

“You said you were ready,” he reminded Mike for the fourth time.

“I know what I said,” Mike snapped at him. He’d dug through all the kitchen drawers to procure a metal skewer to apply to this situation.

“We’re going to be late,” Matt said. “I wait for my guide, she doesn’t wait for me.”

“Well she’s waitin’ today,” Mike said. “I swear to god—”

Mr. Murdock stroked the top of Tuesday’s head and asked Mike if he’d tried putting baby powder on it. Mike spat at him to mind his own business and went back to the knot. He managed it get it untangled and the shoe half on just in time to find the second one stuck in the third hole down.

He just about vibrated with fury.

Matt sighed loudly.

“Borrow mine already,” he said.

“Never.”

“Mike.”

“They’re blue. This outfit tolerates only warm colors, Matthew. ONLY warms.”

“We’re late.”

“Style waits for no man.”

“Well, clearly that ain’t the case, is it?”

Mike stood up sharply.

“I’m going to change,” he said. “And whatever elf tied these will rue the day. Mark my words.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll tell the elf—oh, my bad, the clown, Mike. It’s you. Get your life together. We’re late.”

Hilarious.

---

“Why don’t you move out here?” Sam asked Mr. Murdock as he watched Sam sand away at his latest secret project in Matt’s absence.

“Sun’ll kill me,” Mr. Murdock deadpanned.

“I thought so too, but it’s not so bad,” Sam said. “I miss the snow sometimes.”

Mr. Murdock cocked his head and then knelt down to take the sanding block out of Sam’s hands. He gestured for Sam to give him the hunk of wood in his hands, too.

“Matty says you don’t got papers,” he said.

Sam was surprised. Matt usually kept that secret locked tight. But Mr. Murdock didn’t seem to have any adverse reaction to it.

“No,” Sam admitted. “My mom brought me here when I was really little. I didn’t know what it meant to overstay a visa.”

Mr. Murdock hummed.

“Makes flying tricky,” he said.

Yeah.

“Bus, not too bad, though?”

Mm. Bus was better, yes.

“Train?”

Depended on the train.

“Hm. Well, if you get homesick or need busfare, you just give a shout, ya hear? You’re always welcome to stay with us.”

Aww.

“Or if you really hate yourself, I’m sure Mike would love to come pick you up.”

Oh god.

“He can drive?” Sam asked.

Mr. Murdock paused and held his face in his dusty palm.

“The day he got his license was the worst day of my life,” he said.

Sam snickered.

“Did you guys drive all the way here?” he asked.

“No, thank god.”

“Can you drive?”

“Son.”

Sam looked up from the block of wood into Mr. Murdock’s hazel eyes.

“I take two steps out of New York and I’m gone, that’s me dead. No, I don’t drive. Why the hell would I drive? Where the hell am I goin’?”

Wow, mood.

“I tried to drive once,” Sam said. “Reversed into a fire hydrant. Matt laughed so hard he cried.”

Mr. Murdock handed back the woodblock. It was much smoother than it had been. Sam was chocking that up to the muscles and the practice.

---

Matt and Mike got home and Mike announced that he was disowning that ‘putrid being’ that was the Swamp Monster beside him. Matt told Mr. Murdock that Mike didn’t approve of the swimming part of triathlon.

Mr. Murdock picked leaves out of his hair with supreme patience.

---

“So Dad’s officially decided that you’re his grandson,” Mike informed Sam out of nowhere that Sunday. “He prayed for you at church today.”

Sam almost dropped his wrench. That was so endearing his teeth hurt.

“It’s ‘cause I do woodwork,” he said. “He can smell the handyman on me.”

Mike cocked his head to the side. His eyes were blue like Matt’s. Their mom must have had blue eyes—or maybe hazel like Mr. Murdock’s.

“No,” Mike said. “It’s ‘cause he’s also been a grocery bagger, a janitor, and a contractor.”

He what now?

“He wants to know why you aren’t in college.”

Oh. well—

“Matt tried to explain, but you know, it ain’t clickin’. He don’t get the politics part of things sometimes. Gets confused why people make such a big deal when there’s obvious solutions in front of ‘em. It’s not all his fault, he barely got a highschool diploma back when ‘critical thinking’ wasn’t even a testing category. Anyways, he wants you to go to college. Thinks you’re too smart to be pushin’ paper.”

Sam was going to cry.

“I think he sees a lot of Matt in you,” Mike said with a squint. “So just as a warning, he’s unbearable. Always—well, no. More like 95% of the year. He’s alright around New Years when he’s tired. You can tell him to fuck off at any time, though.”

No, no. It was okay. It was nice to have…more family. That’s what it was.

“I hope you know what this means, Samuel,” Mike said.

Mmm no?

Mike’s hand clasped his shoulder.

“You can call me ‘uncle,��” he said.

Ah.

No, thanks.

---

Foggy and Kirsten couldn’t look at Sam without bursting into merciless laughter, which Sam had realized was a result of Mike’s vocal distress at his rejected offer of uncle-dom. Sam didn’t know what to tell him.

Mr. Murdock was nice. Enormous, yes, but very well meaning and gentle. His and Sam’s priorities and experience in life aligned neatly and Sam was slightly charmed by the way that he expressed himself verbally only to Matt and Mike.

Sam also didn’t hate Mike. He just didn’t want him to have uncle privileges. He didn’t see what was difficult about this.

“Mike’s got a history of rejection,” Foggy said. “And by that, I mean that every woman on the eastern seaboard has rejected him and he tries anyways.”

---

Matt came downstairs and told Sam to ignore everything Mike said to him all day. He also said that they were going out that night, so don’t burn fingers on the soldering iron.

Sam saluted in acknowledgement.

Forty minutes later there was a rap at his door followed by Mike saying through it that he wanted to show Sam something.

Sam did not open the door.

He heard Matt’s name being cursed on the other side.

---

Twenty minutes later there was another knock, this time with Mike saying that Mr. Murdock wanted to bond with Sam.

Sam nudged open his curtains and squinted hard into the backyard where he could see the vague shape of Matt chatting to his dad on the deck stairs, both apparently having a beer and shooting the shit.

This was a scam.

Sam would not be scammed.

He went back to the suit.

There was more cursing outside the door.

---

About half an hour later, there was a knock, followed by Mr. Murdock’s voice this time, asking Sam if his shoes were supposed to be on the front porch.

They were not.

This was playing dirty.

Sam ventured out to go right this wrong and ended up outside on the front porch with the conman himself. Mike closed the door after him triumphantly and proceeded to get them both locked out.

“Are you supposed to be a good conman or?” Sam asked.

Mike gaped at him.

“The best conman,” he said. “Don’t worry, kid, I’ve broken into a thousand houses and won two horses. I’ve got this.”

That was not comforting. Sam was not comforted.

“First, we gotta test all the windows, and, failing that, we get a rock or a gun,” Mike told him with a knowing finger.

Sam blinked at it and then up at Mike. The man’s shoulders twitched.

“Uh?” Mike said.

Ah. The eyes. No contacts today.

“Do you like them? They’re Prada,” Sam said to absolute silence.

“A brick,” Mike announced abruptly. “A brick works too. Like a rock but bigger.”

Okay, so they weren’t talking about it, gotcha. Look, a whole family’s worth of repression styles. Sam was glad that they had a full set of methods.

---

Sam broke into his own bedroom through the window. Mike clapped for him outside. Sam opted to leave him there.

---

He was sort of sad to see the Murdocks go, especially after seeing the effect that the most senior of them had on Matt.

Sam hadn’t seen him this chilled out. He visibly relaxed under his dad’s hand on the back of his neck. He tolerated the fussing and constant hair fixing and the fingers brushing at his cheeks and elbows. Mr. Murdock guided him with the same practiced ease that Foggy and Kirsten did, but his guiding was accompanied by a quiet, ongoing commentary about the street around them, which Sam hadn’t actually heard Foggy do in the same kind of way.

It was like Mr. Murdock was telling Matt a story everywhere they went.

He told him when there were flags hanging up a story above, waving in the wind. He told him about the hanging wire baskets of flowers that Sam forgot about. He huffed a bit while he talked about lines of traffic in the street and a vast lack of color in the group due to the absence of so many yellow cabs.

Mr. Murdock of course, had been Matt’s first ever guide. It only made sense that he had a specialized style of it, just for Matt.

And for Matt’s sake, Sam didn’t want him to go, but alas, New Yorkers, man. The city called them back to the coast like a siren.

“You take it easy, y’hear, kiddo?” Mr. Murdock told him at the airport.

Sam smiled and said that he’d try.

“Take care of yourself. I mean that. Out at night too.”

Copy that, big guy.

“Give us a hug.”

Oh??? A hug??? Sam loved hugs. Hugs were great. He was—er. Leaving this one with double the ribs from the cracks apparently.

Mr. Murdock released him to go break Matt in half and then Foggy and then Kirsten. Mike told him that he couldn’t avoid flying again by hugging people. He also warned Kirsten that he’d see her soon and that then, she was sure to fall for his charms.

Kirsten said that she would be waiting with bated breath, and then that was it. Three Murdocks again whittled down to one.

“God, I should have married your dad,” Foggy moaned.

Matt laughed at him.

“He’s plenty busy avoiding the gaze of every person over sixty in his building. Let him live,” he said. “Sam? Not too traumatized, I hope?”

Mm. Not so bad.

“Are you sure Mike’s your brother?” he asked.

“Unfortunately.”

Too bad.

“It’s fine, if we ever need a guy to distract the police, we’ve got him on retainer.”

That was true.

“They’ll come back?” Sam asked.

Matt paused before feeling for his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said. “Or we’ll go to them. I think you’d enjoy watching them in their natural environment.”

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Hope that’s something for you anon!! I also hope you feel better!

#samuel chung #jack murdock #matt murdock #mike murdock #inimitable verse #fic #ficlet

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