#rise ye sunken ships

[damn-stark]

Chapter 19 My tears are blood

Chapter 19 of Moonlight

A/N- Daemon would be so proud of you

Warning- Swearing, fishing, ANGST!!, violence, blood and death!!, some fluff, SPOILERS FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Chapters- 434-438

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

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Black dense smoke is all you see. If you weren’t flying it would look like the sky was suddenly overcome by an intoxicating darkness, but you’re on top of your dragon and it's clear that all that pollutes the sky is black smoke rising off sinking or burning ships. It burns your eyes and brings them to tears, but it’s hard to rub the stinging away. It infiltrates your nose and burns your nostrils, making you want to stop breathing as you fly closer and closer to the Gullet.

But you can’t stop breathing and you can’t stop flying forward. You should, part of the Velaryon fleet is set ablaze or is nothing but polluting debris in the water, while what survived of the Triarchy fleet is fleeing from not only four dragons roaming the skies, but five, and one of them is not Syrax, it’s a small and ugly colored dragon; meaning the battle is over, you got here too late.

Yet how can you fathom leaving when you know nothing of your brothers or Rhaena? Surely if they were rescued most of the dragonriders would have returned to Dragonstone, but they’re all still chasing the Triarchy. All except Vermax and Jacaerys, where are they?

Maybe he took them back to Dragonstone? You can’t imagine he would let your mother keep him in Dragonstone while the others are fighting, so he must have saved them and taken them home.

Yes, that's it. Your mind fixates on that thought while your heart is reassured by it, letting you drive your focus to the small ugly dragon in the distance—You never saw it at Dragonstone while you were there, and the muddy brown and pink spots don’t trigger any memory of its mention, so it must be wild, but…why is it fighting?

“<Let's get closer to that brown dragon,>” you tell Astraea as you feel a bit starstruck by the wild dragon in the midst of battle. The rider must be someone truly incredible to have claimed a wild dragon.

You want to see who it is! Plus while you’re answering your curiosity you can catch Baela’s attention and have her assure you that your brothers and Rhaena were rescued. You can’t leave without knowing. You were eager to fight, the whole flight here all that occupied your mind was ways you could and would fight, but alas you were too late.

Nevertheless, as Astraea reaches the sea and flies over the polluted water, there past a thick cloud of black smoke is a Myrish ship with two men standing at the edge of the starboard yelling and shooting two arrows at something in the water. You follow their aim and the first thing you see floating in the murky body of water is Vermax…

You see part of his green wing entangled by chains, while his head poked out of the water. Yet even then he doesn’t thrash or scream, his eyes are rolled back and his neck is slowly being weighed down by a broken ship's mast. You search for the saddle to see if Jacaerys is caught, but that part of Vermax is sunken in the water, you can’t see your brother. He’s not on his dragon.

“Astraea,” you whimper, but she saw what you did; she sees Vermax sinking and flies low while she cries out in sorrow.

“Jacaerys!” You cry out even though you know your shout isn’t loud enough to be heard from the top of your dragon, not while the commotion of distant fire blasts and blood-curdling screams filter the polluted air. Yet you still call out desperately. “Jacaerys!”

When you approach Vermax, you pull off your restraints and shove your feet in the saddle's stirrups to crouch over the seat, while more men on the Myrish ship approach the starboard and aim their crossbows at something in front of Vermax’s head. Something you can’t see, but it’s still something that catches your breath, causing Astraea to react by picking up her speed just by a little, but enough for you to finally catch what it is that the men are pointing at; it’s…Jacaerys with an arrow in his chest and one in his stomach.

“Jacaerys!” You bellow out in panic and concern.

Said man manages to hear the sound of his name coming from your lips and begins to move his head, while the men in the distance get ready to shoot their crossbows thinking that the purple dragon is on their side and here to fight, but alas they’re proven wrong the moment you sneer out a single command. “Dracarys!”

Astraea opens her mouth and blasts out blazing fire, burning away the threat with a single cloud of fire, but alas, a moment too late. You were too late, Jacaerys was still hit.

“Jacaerys!” You cry out to let him know you’re here even if he already sees you approaching. “Just…hold on.”

A part of you wants to jump off your dragon, but you also know that won’t bode well for neither you or Jacaerys, so instead you trust your dragon to carefully grab onto Jacaerys with her claws to fly him to stable ground where you can help him. After all, the other dragonriders are taking care of the enemy fleet so you can help him. You can save him, it can’t be too late.

It can’t be too late. You couldn’t have gotten here too late.

You can save him. You can save him, you can. Yes, you can.

“It’s going to be okay,” your voice quivers, but you don’t cry, because you keep repeating to yourself that he’ll be okay. That makes you ignorant of the truth. It numbs you and makes you desperate.

That's why after Astraea puts Jacaerys down, you don’t wait for her to land. You frantically hop off your saddle with an ignorance pumping your blood that makes you sprint over to Jacaerys and throw yourself on your knees by his body.

“<I’m here,” you say breathlessly in High Valyrian. “I’m here.>”

You rip off the mask caging your face and tear away the headpiece off your head so he can see you. So he can be assured that it's really you.

“I’m here,” you whisper and press your hands over one of his bloody ones that he has pressed on the bleeding wound on his chest.

“You’re…here,” he strains to say between raspy and heavy breaths. “I thought Aemond wouldn’t let you come.”

You muster a strained laugh and shake your head. “He cannot tell me what to do. I came here to help our brothers.”

Jacaerys nods. “Mother was right…I was angry at you but she was right,” he mutters.

You glance at the arrows and know that you can’t pull them out. You know that much, so you just need help. You need a healer.

You look around for one. Maybe one rushed up ashore.

But all that you see is Astraea curling up around you and Jacaerys to protect you from any potential threat.

“Tell her…”

“Stop,” you snap at him and face him again. “Don’t, you will tell her yourself. You will.” You nod and move one hand off his chest to cup his face. “You have to hold on. Please Jace, please, please don’t leave me.”

His eyes water now, he can’t hold his tears back. “It…hurts,” he gasps for air and hisses as the arrows dig deeper into his flesh. “It hurts,” he lets you hear his vulnerability. He doesn’t hide his pain like he usually would so you wouldn’t worry, he’s honest and that makes your heart ache.

“I know,” you nod. “I know, but I cannot pull them out or they will bleed out more. Just hold on…” you trail off and look out desperately. “I need help! Please!”

“Listen to me,” he beckons your attention and uses his other hand to put it on top of yours. “Listen to me. Tell Mother I tried, okay? I really tried. And I’m sorry I let her down.”

Tears well in your eyes as your lips tremble.

“You did not let her down,” you try to assure him and stroke his cheek. “You didn’t. Just please, Jace,” you beg him. “Please hold on, we’re going home soon, okay? Me and you, I won’t leave again, just please hold on.”

Jacaerys nods weakly and tears of his own start to crawl out of his eyes.

“You know,” he heaves. “I-I..love you right?”

Agony starts to tear at your heart, but you keep trying to repeat the same words to yourself, “he’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.”

“I love you too,” you whisper and lean closer to him.

“It hurts,” he mutters again and his breathing turns more shallow indicating what’s to come, and pushing a part of you to speak mindlessly.

“We will meet again. Did you know that?”

The part of you that senses his end doesn’t let a word go unspoken. That part of you doesn’t let Jacaerys go without having him hear what you have to say; a last goodbye that you never got to share with Lucerys.

“I know,” he agrees with a tiny and pained smile tugging on his pale face. “I know.”

“I will look for you and Luke in every lifetime because, to me, you and him are the best brothers someone could have,” you speak sweetly as you stroke his face. “And I’m sorry for how I've acted lately, I’m sorry if you’ve felt alone, I really am.”

“It’s…okay,” he assures you and lifts his other hand to cup the one you have on his face. “You’re…here now.”

You nod softly and offer him a quivering smile. “We’ll meet again where the sea meets the edge of tomorrow.”

Jacaerys nods gently and holds your gaze as the corner of his lips attempts to pull on a wider smile.

Yet in his strained attempt, his eyes begin to dull, his hands that cup yours slowly go limp, and his lips slowly fall as a last breath escapes his lips, leaving him lifeless on the ground.

“Jace?” You cry out with ignorance to the truth even if it lies before you. “Jacaerys?”

His gaze once gleaming with tears is dull and lifeless. His shallow breaths don’t run anymore, he’s silent, deafening so, which only means one thing, but still, you can’t accept it. You can’t accept that you got to the Gullet too late to save your brother, so that part of you that once accepted the truth completely vanishes, leaving you trying to desperately get your brother to react; to take one more breath and live so he can hold on.

“Jacaerys?” You whimper and try to stroke his cheek. “Please, please, please. Don’t do this to me, please don’t leave me…we have to go home. Please let’s go home.” You come to a halt and wait for a reaction, just a single blink, but alas, he remains motionless, edging you to accept the truth, but not actually accept it yet. You first move your hand away from his face and shake him by the arm and chest.

“Jace! Jacaerys!” You cry out. “Jace?!”

Once again you wait, wait, and wait, but he doesn’t react in any way. He doesn’t blink and his chest doesn’t move. He’s there bleeding out and lifeless. He’s not breathing anymore, and his heart is no longer beating, no matter how many times you check not even a soft and weak ba-dum beats. He’s…lifeless. He’s gone, your brother, your little brother is gone, he’s…dead. And with him, the last fragments of your heart burn away and turn to nothing but ash that gets blown away here, where he died.

That’s why no heartbreaking sobs leave your lips. You don’t plead a moment longer. Astraea coos before her mournful song fills the air, while you stay quiet as you pull the arrows off his body and cradle him, letting your last stream of tears escape your weeping soul as you rock him back and forth against you until your legs fall asleep, your arms hurt, and Astraea unfurls her body.

“Jacaerys?” Another voice breaks through the silence without a snarl or a single snap of a jaw from Astraea, so it must be someone you trust.

“No…NO! NO!” Agonizing sobs pierce through the air, pulling you away from your brother's body to look over and notice Baela with streams of tears running down her soot-covered face.

At first, it seems she wants to make hundreds of excuses to deny the truth, but her mind works fast and breaks her heart even further by having her see that yes, Jacaerys really is dead. There’s no mistaking it, thus she breaks away from her spot and runs over to fall on her knees across from you.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can offer her before you let her take Jacaerys’ body so you can stand up and attempt to mount your dragon.

Yet before you can, you stop as you see Rhaena standing there with soot all over her face and hair as well, but completely unharmed.

“Rhaena,” you sigh with relief and stride over to her to throw your arms around her. “You’re okay,” you breathe out and clutch onto her.

And it’s while you’re hugging her that you see that little dragon again. This time the brown and pink dragon is on the ground, staring you down right across from you.

“Is that,” you gasp and pull away to face Rhaena. “Yours?”

Rhaena peers back briefly before she meets your gaze and nods. “Yes, that’s my dragon, Morning.”

Your eyes flutter as you’re hit with disbelief. “That’s…amazing,” you deal with your disbelief on the spot. “I’m proud of you,” you praise her and cup her cheek.

The corner of her lips twitch to smile but she can’t make the effort to offer you the kind gesture because of Jacaerys in the back.

“Do you know…” you trail off and drop your arm back to your side. “If Aegon, Viserys, and Joffrey are okay?”

Rhaena eyes flicker down and she lets out a shaky sigh before she responds. “Tyraxes brought Joffrey to Dragonstone when their cog was attacked, he's the one that alerted everyone of what was happening. We could not find Aegon or Viserys. They…” she trails off and starts to cry, whilst your chest is hit with a sharp pang. Yet tears fail to break from your eyes. You’re just riddled with more grief and agony.

“I understand.” You nod stiffly and begin to walk back toward Astraea, pulling Rhaena’s attention back to you.

“Where are you going?” She throws out in confusion.

You swallow thickly and grab the rope ladder hanging down Astraea’s side. “Back to Aemond,” you mutter.

Rhaena takes a step forward to try and grab you but you pull your arm away to avoid her touch.

“Why?” She demands to know. “Your place is with the Queen! With us!”

You glance over at your brother, the sole reason why you would return to your mother's side. And he’s dead now. Your place is with Aemond now until your last breath or until his. That’s where you belong because no matter what just happened, that resentment toward your mother and Daemon is still very much lively and raging flames.

“No,” you deadpan as you take your chainmail headpiece and put it back on your head, along with the silver mask that cages your face. “My place is with Aemond.” You tell her coldly with no hint of sorrow in your voice, making her part her lips to argue.

However, you don’t wait to hear another piece of argument; you quickly mount your dragon, and Astraea doesn’t fret to ascend to the sky or make a sharp turn away from the Gullet to direct yourselves back to where Aemond is, back home. She flaps her wings and gets further away, foot by foot, and your gaze remains cold and set in the furious morning sky. Your body remains stiff, every blink is done slowly as if it’s too much strain, while your breaths are slow and deep, and not a single thought occupies your mind which makes it easy to mindlessly drop your gaze on your hands and lose yourself on nothing in particular.

Alas, when your eyes land on your hands you see the bright crimson blood staining them. There’s blood on your hands and when you lift them off the handles of your saddle to study them, you look at them in disbelief until at last a thought goes through your mind; It’s not your blood, it’s Jacaerys’ blood. The blood from his fatal wounds is staining your hands.

Your brother's blood is on your hands…he’s dead, and all you have besides memories is his blood.

A shuttered gasp escapes your lips, but rather than having tears return to your eyes, something painful unravels where your heart used to be instead. Something so vigorous, something so piercing, and throbbing, that with each pulse, the blood rushing through your veins pumps faster.

“This will cost Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys their only remaining child. And it will cost my daughter…her father.”

Your lips twitch before they start to curl into a scowl, while that cold and mindless gaze starts to spark a fierce fire in your eyes.

“He—it broke him to leave you and your brothers behind, but he also knew that I needed more than he could offer for our sake. He was selfless. He did it because he loved us, because he loved you.”

You gently shake your head in an attempt to shake away what’s building inside you, but nothing stops you from returning your hands to your saddle with a deadly, and nothing holds back the once slow and deep breaths from growing shallow and quicker.

“It’s…okay. You’re…here now.”

Jacaerys’ last words echo through your mind now and at last, you recognize what it is that plagues you so. It’s raging anger. It’s blinding and agonizing. It torments your very soul and sets it ablaze while setting this dire need for bloody revenge there where your heart once used to be.

That is what is making your breaths so shallow and quick, that’s what is pumping through your veins, and that’s what completely burns away the mercy you had and the kindness you held for everything in this world that wasn't those you cherished. It's all completely gone.

Who you once were is gone, and this new bloodthirsty self cannot leave without destroying those who were responsible for the death of your brother. Thus with a deep exhale you nudge the handles to the side, and Astraea makes a big turn to return toward the Gullet.

This time rather than remaining vigilant and careful Astraea flies low once she reaches the water again as your eyes dart around the watery battlefield in search of one ship; the commanding ship that holds the commander of the fleet, and Ser Tyland Lannister, the one who made the alliance.

Honestly, it should not be hard, usually, the commanding ship always has a different flag to differentiate them from the rest. And if not well you can’t imagine Ser Tyland staying back to fight with the men once the dragons joined the battle, so he should still be nearby. You just need to find the right ship.

All the other dragonriders that were fighting when you got here now seem to be retreating as the Triarchy fleet is fleeing, so they look back at you confused as Astraea and you fly past them, but to you, it’s not like they’re even there. Nothing steals your attention, you keep your eyes set on the fleeing fleet to search and search.

Once you get closer to the fleet, what’s left of the fleeing Triarchy is clearer, but so is the fact that you’re not there on peaceful terms. The Velaryon men were instructed not to attack you regardless of what side you came to fight for, but the Triarchy was not given the same command. They see you coming and panic returns to their bodies after thinking they would be able to flee unscathed.

You could hardly care about the fodder though. You're dead set on one ship, but as you cross the line and start to fly over the Triarchy fleet, they bring out crossbows and grapples. And it’s true, arrows from crossbows can’t harm Astraea, her scales are too thick now to be harmed by something so minuscule, and your armor protects the most significant parts of you, but those grapples are the same that took Vermax down, and they’re the same ones that could possibly take Astraea down.

That's why you pull out your bow and arrows and crouch over your saddle as you see men approach the starboard of their ships in an attempt to bring your dragon down, completely unaware of your counter antics. They don’t expect you to have a way to fight back, they don’t see their fates coming to an end until Astraea tilts to one side to let you aim at one man on your left side, and shoot him down with one arrow. The second man on your left side sees what befell the other man, but he doesn’t quit, so as Astraea is flying past, you twist around and let the arrow fly into his throat.

Once that threat is left behind, you face ahead hastily, and there leading the escape is the commanding ship. It’s still standing, just as you assumed, and so that vigorous anger only burns more fiercely. It’s a blinding thing, letting you easily forget about any sort of consequence this direct attack may have.

All that occupies your mind is anger and revenge. It’s consuming and agonizing. And for once it threatens to bring tears to your eyes, it makes your chest grow tight as that need fills you, but rather than letting any tears escape, you let out a blood-curdling and painful scream that carries so much deepened pain that Astraea feels it too. She feels it in her own heart, making her release her own ache by opening her mouth and letting out a shrieking cry before she blasts fire out and burns down the ships in the way of the commanding ship.

Now there’s no mistaking who you’re after, the people on the commanding ship know you’re hunting them. They’re your prey, and so they try to fight back to defend themselves as they’re at their weakest, but rather than hitting them straight on, Astraea dives in the water, leaving them paranoid as to where you’ll appear.

They run to every edge of the ship to look in the water, and you’re easy to find. Astraea is long, and it would be pretty hard to miss such a large beast swimming in the water. That's why they assume you’re coming out from the other side to burn them down from the front, that's why they take their eyes off the water and frantically point their aim at the empty space ahead.

However, you don’t go for an attack from the front, Astraea swerves to one side, and you completely catch them by surprise when you and your dragon jump out of the water like ravenous sea creatures after they’re prey.

The warriors on the ship are quick to fix their aim, one is even closer to hitting the trigger, but they don’t know you’ve trained hard, they don’t know how hard you’ve pushed yourself, so you leave them all completely shocked when you jump off your saddle and let an arrow fly out whilst you’re in midair.

When the arrow hits the attacker you hit the floor harshly and sloppily, but you’re quick to push yourself to your knees and throw your head up to pierce your glare at the warriors before you.

“Give me Ser Tyland,” you snarl. “And your commander.”

Glances are exchanged, but no one utters a word, breaths escape their mouths, but no matter how menacing you proved yourself to be, their greatest threat is Astraea, your dragon circling around to fly back toward the fleet.

“Have it your way,” you grumble and hang your bow around you to instead pull out the mighty Valyrian sword, Blackfyre from its sheath.

Now the stillness that once kept people stuck to their spots breaks and a woman sets herself after you. She’s tall with long dirty blond hair, a long face, and a small scar over her lips. She pulls out a curved blade and swings low to try and slash your thighs, but you surprise her by swinging the sword down and meeting her swing with a loud clash.

“You want me,” she speaks, revealing herself as the person you’re after. “Here I am, Princess,” she spats with a playful smirk.

You tilt your head to the side as you grimace, and then throw your foot out to hit her knees, causing her to drop her hold and wobble. You proceed to not let her rest, you try to swing at her side, but before you can make your move, hurried footsteps come at you from behind, so you hastily spin around whilst you reach back for an arrow.

When your gaze drifts to the corner of your eyes, you catch the attacker and hurl the arrow at his face as you’re turning, so when you face him completely the arrow caves in their face and puts him down.

All while the commander has the same thought process as you and proceeds to try and overwhelm you by swinging from behind, but you twirl back around and clash your sword against her blade.

The commander then lifts her blade and swings again and again, but you block her every single time and actually end up making her laugh. “What a surprise you are,” she says with awe and amusement. “Here I thought you Valyrians were all prissy cunts, but alas, here you are. I would have loved to have drinks with you.”

You huff at her ability to talk at a moment like now and don't even think of returning any of her lightheartedness. You use all your strength and shove her blade to the side, making her falter. You then try to lunge forward, but suddenly a hand grabs the back of your head, pulling the chainmail off your head, while they also grab the back of your neck and yank you back.

You react with a groan and grind your teeth as they keep pulling you back with confidence since your dragon is setting other ships ablaze, and or ripping them apart by jumping out of the water right from under them. Yet your attacker's confidence was blinding, and they perhaps did not trust you to think quickly, but you do. You spin the sword around in your hand; in the same way Aemond likes to do it, and then fold your arm back to impale the man in the eye.

The man then cries out and you pull the sword out before you shove them back with your elbow, and then spin around to slash their belly. When they hit the ground you should leave them be, but your rage sends you on top of them, and has you using their own blade to stab their face over and over again, making blood splash on your face again and again until it’s like another layer of skin.

You’re so consumed by what you’re doing that you forget where you are, only your pain accompanies you, it’s loud and tormenting. And unlike when you were throwing your clothes off the balcony, this time Aemond is not here to pull you out of your emotional state, you’re kicked to the ground, and that is what snaps you from your rageful trance.

When you look up, there, overshadowing you is the commander. She shoots you a smirk before she lifts her leg and quickly tries to bring her foot down. Before you can be slammed by her foot though, you roll over to the side where your sword is to take it from the ground, and then press your hands on the floor as you bring your legs back to be able to throw yourself forward and land on your feet.

The woman quickly turns to face you and swings her blade, but you throw yourself back to avoid her swing. In doing so though, a man runs at you from the side.

You quickly give him your attention and twist the sword around in your hand before you sprint at them. When you get close, rather than clashing blades, you suddenly slide down and lunge your sword up to impale them through their stomach and slash down until you swiftly twist around on your feet, and push yourself to your given height.

Another warrior then tries to rush at you, and they give you some trouble, but you near an edge and you manage to kick them overboard, leaving you only with more warriors, but for one man you swing the sword so hard that you manage to cut their head clean off their neck. And honestly, that leaves you enthralled and smiling maliciously, while you also seek more danger, more blood, and violence. You’re relishing in the adrenaline that runs through your veins, wanting more, getting more, but not feeling satisfied.

Which is why after defeating more men, you turn and point your sword at the commander. She flashes you a wide and menacing grin before you both break from your spot. However, since you have the high ground right now, you hop off the top of the stairs that you’re on and bring your sword down.

The commander tries to block your thrust, but you end up swinging the sword, making the tip of the blade slash her across the face, and causing her to fall on the ground grunting and clutching at their bleeding face.

“<I found you,>” you say in High Valyrian between heavy breaths once you’re standing on the floor. “<I'll have you.>”

You twist the sword around in your hand and try to thrust down, but through her pain, she rolls to one side and quickly scrambles herself off her feet to run away. You try to run after her, but she ends up throwing herself overboard, and you would walk to the edge to shoot her with an arrow, but a tall and buff older man blocks your way with two blades in his grasp.

“I’ll send the Sea Snake your head, Blood Dragon.” He throws at you as he points a blade at you. “We’ll prove the Sea Snake can weep.”

You snicker and lunge at him, but he doesn’t falter, he counters your action by swinging his blades down and clashing them against your sword. You try to push his blades up and away from you, but he challenges you with his strength and pushes back so hard that you start to slide back.

You then try to move your sword to the side, but he doesn’t let you move an inch, he doesn’t budge, he instead tries to unarm you, but you fight back. It might be challenging, you might be groaning, but you dig your heels in the floor and push back, causing the tip of your blades to scrape on a wooden pillar as you both press and move against each other.

However, as entertaining as this little game is, you know you can’t hold on longer. He’ll overpower you, so you bounce off a crazy stupid idea that just popped into your head. It’s stupid and sudden, but you don’t have another choice.

You let your sword fall from your grasp, hitting him with confusion, and making him stumble. Just before the sword can hit the ground like he thought it would, you swoop down and catch it before you thrust the sword up and impale him through his jaw so hard that the tip of the sword comes out of his head, and blood pours out all over you.

“Damn,” you cough and spit out blood that hits your lips whilst the man hits the floor—“Forgive me this has been hell,” you direct at the twins as you press your hand on your belly. “Don’t worry, your father will try and be angry, but he’ll also be too busy creaming his pants to do anything about it.” You strain a chuckle.

“Blood dragon!” Some stupid man interrupts you catching your breath, forcing you to slowly turn and face a brave man. “I won’t let you leave this ship.”

You hold their gaze and rather than preparing to counter his incoming attack, a wicked smile starts to tug on your lips as you see Astraea approaching from behind, like a predator stalking its prey.

“Mad cunt,” he spats and bends his knees to get ready to run at you, but a part of Astraea’s shadow then casts over him and he goes paralyzed as he immediately figures out what threat is lurking behind him. He doesn’t need to look back, he feels the hot steam of her breath unfurling over his back and all over the floor, yet he still starts to peer back with thick beads of nervous sweat dripping down his face, and sees that the same wicked smile playing on Astraea’s lips.

Now you don’t need to say it, Astraea knows your heart's desire, but you’re dramatic, so you part your lips and say the words almost seductively. “Dracarys.”

The man’s face goes white, and he tries to run, but Astraea is quick. The moment she opens her mouth she bathes the man in her raging flames that manage to kiss you.

The man wails out in pain and his body mindlessly moves around as he falls to his knees, letting him capture the horrifying sight of you not wincing or moving a single muscle as the flames touch you just enough that they should be piercing and skinning you alive. You just stand there with an even more malicious smile.

“<Fire…demon>,” he says in Valyrian with his last breath before he collapses on the floor.

You watch the skin and flesh melt off his bones with a cold and emotionless expression painted on your face, while Astraea swoops down and catches a man trying to sneakily jump off the ship.

When she has him in her jaws he begins to shriek as her large and sharp teeth pierce in him. He desperately cries out for your help, but only pulls your attention to him in the sky to watch him try and squirm away out of instinct as his body hangs over her jaw; in doing so annoying your dragon to the point that instead of burning him to eat him, she chomps down on him, making blood and pieces of flesh rain down on you as she flies by.

And rather than turning your head away, you close your eyes and welcome the rain of blood. You relish in it as if you were withered up and that rain of blood and flesh was the very salvation you needed.

When you open your eyes again and tilt your head down there in the distance is none other than the man you missed, Ser Tyland Lannister.

His eyes are unmistakably on you, wide and horrified by the vile display, but also caught in awe; that’s what leaves him paralyzed to the floor, you. Regardless of the fact that you’re trudging toward him with the tip of Blackfyre scraping against the wooden floor, he can’t make himself move because he sees you walk through that violent dragon fire without a single wince, or cry. It’s as if the very dooming fire bowed to your feet, like if your flesh was fire made like a dragons; it made you captivating, alluring, and otherworldly ethereal. Much more than any other Targaryen he’s ever met before.

Alas no matter how much he wanted to keep watching this almost demonic display, you make it out of the fire with a wicked smile only aimed at him and he knows with that menacing look alone that you will not hesitate to slay him like you did almost everyone else on this ship. So he doesn’t even attempt to try and fight back, not with your dragon circling back around. He runs into the cabins instead.

You chuckle dryly and change your trudge into a quiet stride that makes you almost like some haunting ghost. But that’s it, almost, your breaths are heavy and that’s what gives you away when your footsteps don’t.

Yet it’s not like you care that he hears you. You want him to hear you coming, your heart races with excitement at the fact that he’s scared and running away from you like some scared prey.

“Ser,” you call out in a sing-song voice in such an alluring way that it makes that Siren alias all too fitting. “Ser.”

You push a wooden door open with the tip of your sword and slowly trudge in about halfway. When you see that the cabin is abandoned you continue with your search, looking from cabin to cabin until you come across a locked room.

“Ha,” you breathe out and step back to swing the sword across the door and make a long slash across the wood. You proceed to make another and another until there's a large enough gap that you can see through. After that you approach the door and peek inside, catching the valiant knight inside like some cornered rat.

“There you are,” you roll out and flash him a wicked smile before you back away and make a last slash across the door so you’re able to walk through it.

“We’re on the same side,” he throws out nervously as you stomp toward him.

“Are we?” You retort and twist the sword around in your hand.

Confusion flickers on his face before his eyes widen and he scoffs. “You’re one of them. A black.”

You stop walking and fold your arm back to hang the sword over your shoulder and tilt your head. “No,” you don’t hesitate to say. “Wrong again.”

You roll your head back to place and slowly tilt it down. “You,” you grimace with a piercing glare that burns through the windows of his soul as you refuse to lose your prey from your sights. “…you killed Jacaerys,” you finally announce the meaning behind your fury, and as you stand there across from him a soft beam of sunlight peeking through a round window catches on your face, letting him see how the blood that rolls down your cheeks like tears gleams against the sunlight.

“And now,” your voice quivers. “I am going to kill you.”

The corner of your lips curl to a scowl seconds before you lunge forward, but come to a halt when he meets your lunge with a block.

You grunt and push yourself back to swing at his side, but a sharp cling echoes in the room as the metal from your swords sings.

“I did not kill the Prince,” Ser Tyland tries to explain, and you know that. You know that, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters besides trying to satisfy the anger that’s eating away at your soul.

Which is why you throw swing after mighty swing and grow even more frustrated over the fact that he keeps blocking and countering you. You want him dead, you want to feel like you got some sense of justice to try and ease what’s growing inside you, but he keeps evading and blocking your every move to the point that when you bring your arms back to throw another swing at him, you leave yourself open, letting him use his foot to kick your chest.

When you hit the ground you let out a sharp cry and quickly swipe your sword off the ground, but Ser Tyland falls over you to straddle you and clash his sword against yours.

“I will not hurt or kill you,” he says between pants.

You scoff. “<Because you’re scared,>” you snap back in High Valyrian. “<The Prince Regent won’t be forgiving when he hears you were responsible for my death.>”

Ser Tyland swallows back nervously and looks at you confused as he doesn’t understand what you’re saying to him. You just sound mad.

“<Do it.>” You snarl. “Do it!” You yell in the common tongue in an almost inviting manner. “Do it!” You cry out.

Ser Tyland parts his lips, but as he does the door from the wardrobe in the corner rattles before it slightly opens.

You slide your eyes to the door and there in the shadows you see a glimpse of golden-silver hair before you make out who was hidden inside. It’s your brother, Aegon.

And Ser Tyland knew. That’s why he came in here, to use him against you, or take him. Either or, you drift your gaze to Ser Tyland and grimace before thrusting your knee up to hit his groin.

Ser Tyland groans and falters letting you push him off you and then quickly follow up by kicking him in the face so hard that he passes out.

“Aegon,” you call out in a complete change of tone and demeanor; from rageful and menacing to soft and reassuring. “Aegon come out.”

You return the sword to its sheath and reach the wardrobe to open the door and let him know it’s okay, it’s just you, his sister. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s just me.”

Aegon takes a look at your face and his bottom lip trembles as his eyes fill with fear and tears.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you try to assure him. “Come so you can go to Mother.”

He hears that last word and his attention perks.

“Mama?” He mumbles and wipes his eyes.

You nod softly and approach him to carry him away with you as you return to Ser Tyland's unconscious body and grab him by the collar to drag him out with you.

“You’ll be okay,” you continue to try and comfort your little brother. “You’ll go home soon.”

“Home,” he repeats.

You hum and offer him a tiny smile before nuzzling your forehead against his cheek as a wave of reassurance hits you over the fact that even if no one could find Viserys, you found Aegon. Not a lot may matter to you right now, but finding Aegon matters.

Is feeling the relief of finding your brother enough to return you to your mother’s side? No, it isn’t, but you’ll hand him to Rhaena or Baela, they can take him home.

With that in mind, you walk back outside, and the first thing you’re welcomed with is Astraea hovering over the burning ship as she waits for you.

“You need to hang on,” you advise Aegon. “It will just be a short ride, okay?”

Aegon looks at you and utters, “Aeri.”

You chuckle. “No, Aerion is not here, but perhaps you will see him soon.”

Aegon lays his head on your shoulder and when you reach the ladder hanging from Astraea’s saddle you let Ser Tyland go to hold onto the ladder with a tight grip.

You don’t climb to your saddle because one, it would be hard doing so with a toddler on your hip, and two, what’s the point when it’s a short ride to land? So you just hang onto the ladder and Astraea takes flight, but not without snatching Ser Tyland off the floor with her feet first.

When you reach land, Astraea discards Ser Tyland on a patch of grass before she lands near Seasmoke and lets you hit the ground where you’re greeted by both Rhaena and Baela, who both sport red and puffy eyes now after crying so much.

“Take Ser Tyland to Rhaenyra, or your father, or leave him here, I do not care, just take Aegon home,” you direct at the twins as you glance over at Addam departing himself from Seasmoke and slowly looking at your blood-covered figure up and down.

“What happened to you?” Rhaena asks with concern and disbelief. “Are you alright?”

“Rhae!” Aegon points out before he pulls away from you to throw his arms out to garner her attention.

“I’m alright,” you deadpan and steal another glimpse at Addam and can’t offer him a kind or even a faint smile, the thought of him stealing your son's title as heir plagues your mind, making you roll your eyes away from him with disgust.

“Viserys?” Baela asks whilst Rhaena takes Aegon from your hold.

“I only found Aegon,” you speak quietly and with a hint of disappointment and sorrow in your voice. “Take him home and be careful, okay?”

You turn to return to your dragon, but once again the same question as before is thrown out. “Where are you going? Are you not going home?” Baela is the one who asks now.

This time you don’t stop what you’re doing to face either of them. You continue striding toward your dragon while ignoring Addam and mutter back. “I am going home.”

——

*LATER*

They had moved while you were gone. Not far, but they still did, making you fly low over the treetops until you manage to find the green dragon, Vhagar, hidden amongst all the greenery.

When you land and hit the ground, rustling behind you puts you on guard as if you were still fighting on that ship. So you swiftly pull the sword out of the sheath before you spin around and press the blade against your armguard to point the blade at the threat.

Once the lurker comes out of the shadows of the forest a heavy breath leaves your lips when you see that it’s just Aemond.

When your husband sees you he finds his breath caught in his throat when his eyes land on your blood-covered figure, puffy eyes, and cold and distant look. You couldn’t see it, you haven’t looked at a mirror or any reflection, but this heavy sullen look paints your face, letting him know that what you lived while you were away was anything but pleasant.

The way you roll your shoulders back to bring your arms down from their defensive position, and the way you avert your gaze to avoid looking at his current emotions only proves that further.

“Rhaena bonded to a wild dragon,” you share in the same bitterness that has taken control of your face. “Viserys is dead, and…” you trail off and get close to him, but as his eye falls heavy on you, you still look distant. “…Jacaerys,” the name makes your lips tremble. “Is dead.” You breathe out deeply and walk away without hearing a word of what he most likely had planned since he found out you left. You just don’t want to argue, he’s mad, you know, you don’t need to look at his face or hear him to know. It will only be the same argument, so you just walk away, making Aemond trail behind you.

Once you reach the camp, everyone stops what they’re doing to stare at your bloody and shell-shocked figure striding toward your tent. No one says anything; no one dares. They all just stare and share the same disbelief and slight chill that crawls down their necks. When you approach your tent the first person who dares to get a word across is your sworn protector.

“Princess,” he gasps and slowly walks after you. “Are you alright?”

“Quite,” you deadpan and don’t give him the time of day, you just go in your tent to find your privacy there.

Aemond quickly tries to storm in after you to throw out his argument that he’s been building up since you arrived, but he’s stopped by a strong hand before he can open the flaps of his tent.

“Stop.”

Aemond twists his head to the side and sees that it’s his uncle who dared to stop him in his wrath. “She does not need to be yelled at right now. She needs her friend, husband, not a commander.”

Aemond narrows his gaze to a glare and curls his lips to a snarl. “She’s my wife, I may talk to her as I please. Why do you not mind your own business, uncle,” he spats spitefully and shoves past him to enter the tent, finding you seated on a wooden chair and starting to undo the braids drenched in dry blood.

“I know you’re upset,” you break the silence in an exhausted tone. “I left and I’m sorry, so please…just don’t say anything…I don’t feel like arguing. Besides,” you let out a shaky sigh. “I’m not leaving again…there’s nothing to go back to.”

Aemond stays stuck by the entrance and watches with his lips parted after you completely stole the breath he was going to use to argue.

He is going to walk back out, but he does remember what his uncle tried to suggest just moments ago and instead goes out to grab a bowl of water, making you slouch in your seat and frown as you think he just left to not be with you.

However, a couple of minutes pass by before Aemond returns to the tent, grabs another chair, places it in front of you to take a seat, and gently starts to wipe the dry blood off your face with warm water, making you immediately pause what you’re doing to look at him with a soft and thankful gaze whilst butterflies flutter in your stomach, and your cheeks grow warm.

Nothing is shared though, not your thanks, and he doesn’t ask what happened. He can already sort of imagine what happened by what you told him when you arrived, by your bloody state, and the bloody sword. Yet neither of you mind the silence, it’s not filled with anger or tension. The silence that sits in this tent is comforting and peaceful. You feel embraced without the need of his arms and feel appreciated and loved without the confirming words. Especially when he starts helping you undo your braids.

Still albeit after a while, as a bath is getting drawn for you, you can’t help but finally fill that silence. “You should have seen me, you would have been impressed.”

Aemond lifts his gaze to meet your eyes already on him and a faint smile twitches on his thin lips. “I do not doubt it. Look at you. Not a scratch on you.”

A smirk pulls on your lips and the warmth now creeps all over your face.

“How was the sword?” He asks.

You sigh proudly. “Lighter than I imagined. Sharper too, I cut a man’s head clean off his neck.” You grin and turn, making the braid Aemond was undoing slip from his fingers. “They called me Blood Dragon and Fire Demon,” you share proudly and with a small giggle that can’t make Aemond mad, the corner of his lips twitch up.

“And,” you add enthusiastically. “Astraea and I jumped out of the water, and I managed to land a hit from the air.” You share and try to motion your actions with your hands. “Like I jumped off and landed a hit.”

Aemond hums softly and you turn back around to continue undoing your braids, and letting Aemond continue to help.

“You should have told me you were going,” he manages to finally find the moment to at least get that across. “You can’t just leave like that.”

You sigh and your smile slowly falls. “I know, but would you have let me go otherwise?”

Aemond stays quiet and you find your answer in his silence.

“I overheard about the Triarchy, and my brothers getting in the way, and I…had to do something. Not like my efforts mattered either way,” you mutter coldly now which is such a fast switch from that honey and excitement in your voice just now. “I was late.”

Aemond watches your face and catches the flicker of rage and agony dancing in your eyes like wildfire, letting him know that this first battle you just fought in was just a mere taste of blood for you. You want to feast in it, he sees that hunger taking root within you. And who would he be if he denied you such pleasantries?

Like him, you will gorge in it.

But until then, once your braids are undone, once all the pearls and rings that decorated your hair are gone, and the armor you donned is off and your gown is on the floor, you dip in the bath and feel as if a weight lifted off you as you wash off all the blood.

“Have you heard anything of Daeron?” You ask Aemond as he sits by the bathtub.

Aemond sighs. “He fought in his first battle and was knighted, Ser Daeron the Daring.”

You blink with surprise and slowly turn to fold your arms over the bathtub and look at Aemond with a playful look. “When will they knight you?”

His eyes fall and a timid smile grows on his face. “That does not matter to me. You know that.”

“Ser Aemond the Sapphire,” you tease, causing his eyes to snap to you—“Ser Aemond…the Prince Regent.”

A laugh escapes past his mouth and you can’t help but laugh with him.

“That,” he breathes out and looks at you with a softened look. “Does not matter to me.”

You hum and reach your hand over to intertwine your fingers with his, making him lean in closer to you.

“Are you okay?” He finally asks.

You blink repeatedly as you try to fight the lump that begins to form in your throat and you can’t keep away. You can’t stop your chest from tightening either. You’re consumed by his genuine concern and you can’t lie even if that’s what you want.

Yet you don’t utter a word, but it doesn’t matter. Even though you can’t form a single word to express what you feel, he knows and cups your face right away to gently caress your cheeks.

You lean into his warm and soft touch and bask in it for a lingering moment before you reach over and take his eyepatch off to look at him as he is.

Aemond watches you longingly before he presses a gentle kiss on the heel of your hand, making your lips tug to a soft smile before it disappears as you wrap your arms around him to take him in for an embrace you immediately melt into. One Aemond doesn’t mind. Even if your body is dripping, he welcomes your embrace and returns it, making sure to press a kiss on your head and caress the back of your head before he nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, and you do the same with him.

There are so many things you want to say, so many things that you want to let out of your chest at this specific moment, but all those kind words are shared in your loving embrace, in the kisses you press against his flesh, and in the way you cling onto him like you’re afraid he will die in your arms like your brother did.

You almost don’t want to let go of the soul you hold, you want to keep embracing the love of your life forever, but nothing is forever and the embrace cannot be forever, so after a long while you let go of each other. And after a while of just Aemond and you finding solace in each other's presence, when you’re clean and in a new and elegant black gown you find yourself in a meeting. One not so pleasant by the look on Ser Criston’s face.

“We lost Lord Jason Lannister,” he announces with his head down, but as serious as it’s meant to be, you snicker.

“And so the mighty lion is no more. I suppose having those lions in the field did not save him after all,” you comment, making Aemond snicker in amusement, and Ser Criston Cole to slowly lift his head and look at you with a pointed glare.

“I have received some conflicting reports,” he pauses and looks at you up and down. “It's said Ser Tyland was seen being taken by a dragon from a burning ship.”

You slowly roll your eyes his way and follow him as he stands up straight and begins to walk around the wooden table in the middle of the room.

“And that the men on the commanding ship were brutally slaughtered, and the Commander was maimed as they were sailing away after they retreated and won the battle,” he says through gritted and snaps his eyes to you.

You rest your arms on the chair's armrest and lift your nose in the air as you offer him a proud smirk you don’t feel ashamed of. You relish hearing the report and take it as a job well done, especially because they made the report travel here so fast.

“Princess, you were there,” Ser Criston finally drifts the spotlight to you hoping you would feel belittled and ashamed, or feel some kind of guilt, but you keep smirking. “Why not give some insight.”

You hum and hold his gaze. “It was me,” you confess proudly. “Astraea and I killed those men on that ship. I slashed the Commander's face, and I was the one who delivered Ser Tyland to the enemy.”

Eyes fall on you and Aemond starts to grow tense over your confession, but you don’t flinch or show remorse. Your gaze is cold, and your voice is filled with a sense of cockiness and that same coldness that was playing in your eyes.

“I attacked them because it was what felt right, because it was what I wanted,” you say with a hint of honey oozing in your voice, making a faint smile flicker on Aemond’s lips.

“They are our allies,” Ser Criston sounds frustrated. “They will take your attack as personal and pull back.”

You scoff. “There were hardly any of them left. The other dragonriders almost eradicated the entire fleet,” you explain even if you really shouldn’t. “I just attacked the commanding ship because they made me angry.” You shrug and Ser Criston scoffs and shakes his head.

“Both sides took heavy losses,” Aemond finally cuts in. “We still have the rest of our fleet on the way. The Princess Regent actually did us a favor by killing what remained of them.”

You blink in surprise and can’t help but steal a glance at him. You suspected that Aemond was going to be mad because of what you did, but he honestly surprised you.

“We don’t need them anymore, and the Princess took them off our backs before they could try and be greedy and ask for some reward.”

Ser Criston turns away furiously after not getting support from your husband, making you smile at the tabletop before you lift your head and find Aemond’s eyes on you. Not with a hint of some hidden anger, but flames of desire. And you can't help but mirror the same look in your eyes before you focus on Ser Gwayne as he walks toward Ser Criston.

“Our own fleets will arrive shortly and destroy what remains of the Velaryon fleet,” Ser Gwayne offers some consolation. “As of now we must continue forward and attack the army Prince Daemon cultivated. If we start tonight we shall arrive by first light,” he says and points to the map. “Aemond and the Princess will remain here and join us the following day.”

Aemond nods. “He will be anticipating our arrival with the army after he saw Astraea. Going the day after guarantees him being vigil all day as he anticipates us. We will catch him by surprise.”

Ser Criston shakes his head. “And if he is not there because he saw Astraea?” He spats and shoots daggers at you. “The plan was for you not to be seen,” he points at you. “It was a scouting task—”

“If he’s not there then he’s a coward who ran,” Aemond cuts him off as he tilts his head and starts to return his glare. “It's not that complicated,” he mocks him, making Ser Criston look away and clench his jaw.

“Now if it’s not complicated for you Ser, you should start getting ready to head out,” Aemond adds and stands from his seat. “Night is approaching.”

You hide your smirk and Ser Criston bows without bothering to look at his Prince. He just proceeds to leave.

“Princess. Nephew,” Ser Gwayne offers his goodbye along with a proper bow.

“Good luck in battle, Ser,” you offer him kindly while you take Aemond’s hand so he can help you to your feet.

“Thank you, Princess,” he says with a smile before he heads out, letting you face Aemond as you're left alone.

“Thank you for having my back,” you interject, making Aemond let out a deep sigh and stroke your chin as he looks at you with a half-lidded gaze that lights your entire body ablaze, and makes you lean in to close the gap with a kiss. However, he then tilts his head away like a tease and slides his thumb up to brush it over your bottom lip.

You take in a deep breath as you hold his gaze and then lean your head down to part your lips and slowly close them around the tip of his thumb. When he feels the warmth and wetness of your mouth he grins before he drags his thumb down as he can’t resist you a moment longer, he leans in and slams his lips over you.

You quickly wrap your arms around his neck without breaking contact. You then drag him to the table where he proceeds to push you against the end before he hooks his hands on the back of your knees and lifts you up to sit you on the edge. To secure him against you, you wrap your legs around his waist and lose your hands in his long blond-silver hair to ball some in your hands and pull him even closer to you.

When you pull back for air neither of you take too long apart, neither of you want to lose touch out of fear you will lose yourselves if you don’t keep your mouths connected and moving sloppily yet in sync with each other. If you stay too far apart you fear being too cold, so neither of you stray far. When you rip his clothes off he stays in between your legs, and when he pulls your gown off you stay on the table to make sure you reconnect quickly, like reconnecting a piece of a puzzle to complete the beautiful art.

That’s what your souls are like, two pieces of puzzle that fit perfectly together, that belong together. Separate them and the puzzle can never be completed, they can connect with others, but…the puzzle will always be lacking one or the other.

——

*THE NEXT MORNING*

You dreaded the morning because it meant you had to live the next day. You had to get out of the comfort of Aemond’s warm embrace as he slept away with his head on your chest, and his arm lazily hooked around your waist.

Waking up meant having to move forward and join the army of men in Harrenhal to fight Daemon. You want to stay here and keep hearing the birds singing on the branches. You want to keep smelling the fresh scents of nature—albeit the rain is something you don’t mind leaving.

You just don’t want to live throughout the day. You want to remain in bed forever in your husband's arms and blanketed by his vulnerable and nude body. Why can't you just stay here in your tent with Aemond? Why do you have to get up?

Alas, you get up, making sure not to wake Aemond to let him sleep in while he can and while he’s not being pestered or waited on. You throw on a black gown that has Aerion’s swamp green Shrykos embroidered around the skirt curtsy of Helaena, and then don a golden breastplate before you walk out with your bow and arrow.

“Come, Ser Jason,” you tell the knight who stayed behind to protect you and Aemond.

“Wh-where are we heading?” He stammers out as he gets up from the log he was on and quickly trails after you, leaving the campfire unintended. “What of the Prince?”

You disregard his fear of Aemond and quickly try to assure him—or more so brush him aside. “I’m letting him sleep in while I go hunt for our breakfast. Besides I left a note of where we’ll be if we haven't returned by the time he wakes.”

“But—”

“Relax, we won’t be gone long, the creak is not far.”

You hear Ser Jason’s lips part, but he just bites his tongue and follows your hurried pace to the creak a few clicks down north. When you arrive to the rushing creak you miss Ser Jason’s panic as you carelessly hop down large rocks to reach the creak’s bed.

“Princess—”

You throw your hand up to shush him and carelessly step in the water without caring that the end of your gown was getting soaked, or that your boots were dipped in the cold water.

“You’ll scare the fish if you’re loud,” you whisper and carefully align your arrow as you lock your eyes on a fat silverfish.

“I could hunt for you if fish is what you require,” Ser Jason whispers sharply so he can be heard from the high ground.

You track the fish with your eyes as it starts to swim away and shake your head to not leave the man ignored as you hold your bottom lip between your teeth before you let the arrow fly out.

When the arrow hits the fish and leaves it motionless in an instant, Ser Jason claps.

“Thank you,” you respond to his praise as you reach over and pick up the arrow that has the fish clung to it. “And no need, I can hunt on my own. Just two more and we can head back.”

You proceed to hunt and catch another fish when it comes to the third and last one, you don’t struggle to find it. You let the arrow go, but all it does is scrape the fish because it seems to be too smart for its own good and swims away, leaving behind a trail of blood in the water that you follow as you quickly pull out a fourth arrow.

Once you have it cornered you let the arrow go and this time you manage to kill it, making you grin and whisper a small, “yes,” to yourself before you run over and collect your trophy.

However, it’s when you’re holding the arrow in your hands that the fish slips off the tip, making you quickly reach out to catch it, and getting your hands stained with its blood that leaks out of the gash you left.

Normally you don’t mind blood. Just yesterday you were covered in it, but right now as you see the blood on your hands your mind plays a cruel trick on you by flashing the memory of Jacaerys dying in your arms, and your hands stained in his blood.

You see him there in the creak, floating lifelessly in the water, his eyes rolled back, and his fatal wounds bleeding out and staining the creak.

You remember him, his last breath, and the red blood on your hands flashes in your mind again and again and again, taking your breath from your chest, and leaving you paralyzed.

You want to snap out from the trance your mind has you under, but he won’t go away, and the blood won’t stop flashing. You want to breathe, you want to get away, but tears well in your eyes, your hands begin to tremble, and you’re there again watching your brother die, getting covered in his blood without the ability to bring him back to life or heal those fatal wounds. All you can do is watch him until your world is red and rage begins to seep through.

Rage you bring forth to pull yourself out of your trance. Once the vision of your brother's corpse is gone from the water, you crouch to very harshly wash the blood off your hands and then head back to camp with that excitement gone and rage now twisted on your face.

Ser Jason notices, he wants to speak up about it many times, but he fears upsetting you further, so let’s the silence mingle until you’re the one who breaks it. “Do you have any siblings Ser?”

Ser Jason blinks and gapes in disbelief, thinking your voice is some mind trick until you peer back at him and press your question with a lift of your brows.

“N-no,” he shakes his head. “None, just me.”

You hum. “You’re lucky then,” you mumble but he doesn’t catch what you say, your words get lost in the sky as you look away to watch the grey clouds rumbling overhead.

“I did…” he trails off and sighs. “Love someone like they were my sibling. She died though, just before she could leave and see some of the world she wanted to see.”

You blink and lower your gaze to watch your path ahead. “How?” You ask.

Ser Jason hesitates to answer, but he doesn’t deny you the knowledge of knowing what you asked for. “Killed by someone important who covered up her death.”

You nod stiffly and let out a deep breath that is followed by quiet words full of rage. “Then you know what it feels like…to want to burn the world because it took them away from you.”

Ser Jason parts his lips and stares at you in disbelief. He’s felt anger, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t still upset, but the kind of rage you express just now with what you said is something he can’t relate to. If he’s being honest what you said scares him to the point he can’t follow up with anything else that would feel right to say. That and what if he says something that upsets you? So he stays quiet instead and wonders if the reason you returned to camp all bloody is because of a brother you speak so gloomily about. After all, he knows you have brothers, he knows Queen Rhaenyra has a lot of children, and that you lost a brother at the start of this war, so this new rage he hadn’t heard you express before must be due to why you were gone.

He doesn’t want to ask if it’s true, he fears your reaction with how upset you already sound, so he just keeps quiet. Besides, he can’t really ask more even if he had the balls to because you walk away faster, as if trying to escape the topic from developing any further, leaving the rest of the walk back to camp tense and awkward, and leaving you like the brewing storm passing overhead.

That is until you reach camp and see Aemond out stoking the fire.

“Look!” You announce and show off the fish you caught. “Breakfast. I wanted to have it done before you woke up, but…”

“I heard you when you left,” he finishes for you, making you grin before you skip over to his side in front of the fire.

“Well then now I guess I’ll show you how it’s done,” you interject and plop yourself down on the log. “Just so whenever you find yourself alone or lost somewhere you can make your own food.”

He scoffs. “I can make my own food,” he mumbles, pulling your eyes to him, and making you flash him a teasing smile.

“Okay, sure my Prince,” you tease him and yank a fish off an arrow.

Aemond watches the way you handle the fish as if you have done this multiple times and can’t help but probe. “Where did you learn how to skin a fish?”

Your smile falls and you tilt your head away before you give him a short and stiff answer. “My father.”

Aemond hums and then sits down beside you to put his hands over yours and take over what you’re doing.

You try to fight him, but he’s stubborn and overpowers you.

“I wanted to make some breakfast for you.” You mumble and rest your chin on your hand, making Aemond chuckle.

“I’m being serious!” You exclaim and throw yourself on his side to fix his hand's position before you rest your chin on his shoulder and watch him do what you were just doing. “We’re alone…kind of, and I wanted to take advantage of it. After this, who knows when we’ll be alone like this again.”

“I’m sure we’ll find a moment,” he tries to assure you, but you aren’t reassured whatsoever.

“Where did you even learn how to skin a fish?” You retort and tilt your head to the side to lay your head on his shoulder instead.

“A book,” you both say in sync since you know the only way he would’ve learned how to do this is from a book. He’s a book nerd.

“Hm,” Aemond hums in reaction to you knowing what he was going to say, and you can’t help but laugh and then lean in to press a kiss on his cheek.

“Well thank you I suppose. You took over what I wanted to do, but it’s nice. I enjoy seeing you get your hands dirty.” You grin, and he stops what he’s doing to turn his head and meet your gaze with a serious look.

You keep smiling at him and whisper against his lips. “The twins and I anticipate your cooked fish.”

He hums and he can’t beat down the smile that spreads on his features.

“Maybe you should cook for us more often,” you tease as he continues. “And maybe we should do stuff like this more often after the war. Even if you end up being King, hm?”

Aemond stiffens for a second and doesn’t react or respond with anything, he just stays still, watching nothing in particular until a raindrop hits your hand and you rip away from him to look at the sky in horror.

“No,” you complain, and as if in retaliation the rain comes down harder—“No! It’s raining!” You whine and stand on your feet to be closer to the damn sky and glare at it.

“We can finish inside the tent,” Aemond offers some reassurance, but to someone who’s already upset, this mishap just finds a way to tear you down.

“Come on,” Aemond urges you and grabs your hand, but you drop your head and stay put, causing your hand to slip from his hold.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to whisper over the pattering rain. “I’m sorry.”

Aemond puts down what he has in his hand and turns to approach you and grab your hands to tilt your face up so you can meet his gaze.

“I,” you part your lips. “I know why we’re out here, I know what we have to do, but I still wanted to make the most of the time we have alone, and now…” you trail off and shake your head. “It's ruined. I’m sorry.”

Aemond glances up, letting raindrops fall on his face before he looks down and leans in closer. “It’s just rain,” he says sweetly. “It’s just water.”

Raindrops roll down your cheeks, but tears don’t fall from your eyes. You frown deeply and your eyes droop, expressing a great sorrow that fails to bring tears to your eyes, but if you look closely, like he is, you would see your soul weeping.

“You’re here,” he takes his turn to whisper against your lips. “That’s all that matters to me. You’re here with me, that’s all I care about.”

“Yeah?” You ask for reassurance, and he nods softly.

“Yeah.”

You let out a shaky sigh and even shakier words. “I love you Aemond, and there’s never a day where I’m not grateful that you’re with me,” you share from the depths of your soul as if you feared something, he just can’t quite figure out what yet. He just hears that fear in your voice. “Because if you weren’t here, I would have burned the world and I would’ve disappeared with it.”

“Don’t say that,” he presses sharply, but you don’t regret a word because it’s what you know you feel.

“People I love are getting taken away from me. My mother lied to me, and my father left and died,” you continue sharing as if time is running out and this is the last moments you have together. “But I still have you. You’re all I need, you’re all I want, you’re the only person I trust in this world.”

His breath shudders, and his eyes are quick to fill with tears as your words ache his heart in the best way possible.

“You’re all I ever desired. You are all I want and need and love with every part of me, of who I am, who I was, and who I will be in this lifetime and any other I find myself in,” he whispers as he presses his forehead against your damp one, making the pouring rain now fall over your joined heads. “You occupy my every dream and every inch of my heart.”

You laugh softly and cup his jaw to caress his cheeks. “<I love you, Aemond. Selfishly. All my love belongs to you. You…are my morning and evening star,>” you share your intimate and love-filled words in your native tongue.

“<I love you too,>” he doesn’t hesitate returning those same feelings in the same tongue, making you hold his awe-struck gaze for a lingering moment before you wrap your arms around him, and pull him in a tight embrace, letting him know at that moment as he returns your embrace and kisses your cheek, what it is you feared.

You fear this being your last moments together. You fear that this is the last second you have and the last breaths you’ll take together. The thought of this moment in time being the last one you have together frightens you.

What a foolish fear.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- :) Harrenhal is comin!!!

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens

[windriverdelta]

The two towers (prophecies) of ASOIAF, with a consideration about arbitrary prophecy interpretations

From a smoking tower, a great stone beast took wing, breathing shadow fire. . . . mother of dragons, slayer of lies 

This is the third of the HOTU "slayer of lies" prophecies, and the least clear one. Often, people think it refers to the stone dragons Melisandre wants to awake, Jon Snow's parentage or Jon Connington's greyscale.

Here's the problem with interpreting the smokeless Tower of Joy, the volcano Dragonstone or the castles Winterfell or Griffin's Roost as a "smoking tower": If Daenerys is seeing a non-smoking tower as smoking, or calling a castle a tower, how can we trust any of her narration? If a castle is a tower, then is the sword actually a torch? The crowd just one person? How can anyone discern a meaning in something this ambiguous? This wouldn't be a prophecy anymore, but meaningless drivel. Especially since the first "lie" - Stannis as Azor Ahai - is discussed as such in-story by Jon Snow, Maester Aemon and Melisandre, and is actually quite straightforward, making it improbable that the "smoking tower" is a castle or a mountain. (There are additional problems with these interpretations)

Euron Greyjoy is an oft-cited candidate, and he actually fits most requirements. As we see from the Aeron TWOW chapter and Samwell's last AFFC chapter (the sigil on the sunken ship is Euron's), he is preparing to attack Oldtown, which features a prominent tower with a beacon fire (AFFC prologue), the Hightower. Also, in AFFC Euron says that as a boy he dreamed he could fly (c.f Bran's coma-dreams) and that "Perhaps we can fly. All of us. How will we ever know unless we leap from some tall tower?" - perhaps he leaps/takes wing from the Hightower? Aeron TWOW has visions in which Euron is "no longer human" and wearing something called "scale armour" - stone beast. And he is seeking Daenerys('s dragons) so he has a connection to her. The "breathing shadow fire" part however is problematic; Shade of the Evening isn't a smoke and the Horn of Joramun "waking giants from the earth" according to TWOIAF refers to earthquakes not any kind of fire. Dust clouds from collapsing buildings as "shadow fire" is far-fetched.

Then the towers by the sea, crumbling as the dark tide came sweeping over them, rising from the depths.

"If it comes, that attack will be no more than a diversion. I saw towers by the sea, submerged beneath a black and bloody tide. That is where the heaviest blow will fall."

"Eastwatch?"

Was it? Melisandre had seen Eastwatch-by-the-Sea with King Stannis. That was where His Grace left Queen Selyse and their daughter Shireen when he assembled his knights for the march to Castle Black. The towers in her fire had been different, but that was oft the way with visions. "Yes. Eastwatch, my lord."

This is from Melisandre's POV chapter. Most interpretations of this vision disagree with her that the "towers by the sea" is Eastwatch, given her habit of confusing similar-looking things - e.g Alys Karstark for Arya, Renly's armour for Renly. Moreover, the black and bloody tide is associated with prophecies and visions involving the Ironborn - Moqorro sees an one-eyed kraken (Euron Greyjoy) on a sea of blood, Aeron sees Ironborn ships burning on a boiling blood-red sea and Jojen Reed's green dreams of Winterfell being submerged by a tide. That has nothing to do with the Wall.

So, many people read this vision as referring to Euron and his aforementioned attack on Oldtown. Euron has moved on from the Iron Islands, so Pyke and Ten Towers aren't plausible candidates. Nothing places Ironborn currently at Harrenhal, never mind that numerous characters refer to its towers having a characteristic melted appearance that Melisandre presumably would have remarked upon. The Shields and Oldtown itself aren't a collection of towers, it's the same problem as "smoking tower" meaning castle or non-smoking tower.

That leaves two possible identities for the "towers by the sea":

The Citadel, which the AFFC prologue says has multiple towers. They are however "upriver", not on the sea, and have domes too.

Three Towers, the castle south of Oldtown on the Whispering Sound that also faces the Arbor and is mentioned in Samwell's AFFC chapters. According to Aeron TWOW, Euron is setting sail from an island close to the Arbor and preparing for battle against the Redwyne and Oldtown navies, so the fleets will likely meet close to Three Towers.

One thing not often remarked upon is that it's not "Then some towers by the sea". It's "Then the towers by the sea". To me, it sounds like Melisandre has seen this vision before, explaining why she speaks of a bloody sea even though the vision we see doesn't mention blood. I actually think Melisandre is right when she says that it's where the heaviest blow will fall - the vision appeared multiple times because the "towers by the sea" are A Big Deal. Whatever Euron or whoever is intending there will have huge reverberations.

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN || SEASON 3 EPISODE 09 || THE DOLDRUMS ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

The moon rose huge and fast and golden, a great glowing disc that slid upward, out of the water and into the sky like a phoenix rising. The water was dark now, and the dolphins invisible, but I thought somehow that they were still there, keeping pace with the ship on her flight through the dark. It was a scene breathtaking enough even for the sailors, who had seen it a thousand times, to stop and sigh with pleasure at the sight, as the huge orb rose to hang just over the edge of the world, seeming almost near enough to touch. Jamie and I stood close together by the rail, admiring it. It seemed so close that we could make out with ease the dark spots and shadows on its surface.

It seems so close ye could speak to the Man in the Moon,” he said, smiling, and waved a hand in greeting to the dreaming golden face above.

“‘The weeping Pleiads wester / and the moon is under seas,’” I quoted.

“And look, it is, down there, too.” I pointed over the rail, to where the trail of moonlight deepened, glowing in the water as though a twin of the moon itself were sunken there. “When I left,” I said, “men were getting ready to fly to the moon. I wonder whether they’ll make it.” “Do the flying machines go so high, then?” Jamie asked. He squinted at the moon. “I should say it’s a great way, for all it looks so close just now. I read a book by an astronomer—he said it was perhaps three hundred leagues from the earth to the moon. Is he wrong, then, or is it only that the—airplanes, was it?—will fly so far?” “It takes a special kind, called a rocket,” I said. “Actually, it’s a lot farther than that to the moon, and once you get far away from the earth, there’s no air to breathe in space. They’ll have to carry air with them on the voyage, like food and water. They put it in sort of canisters.” “Really?” He gazed up, face full of light and wonder. “What will it look like there, I wonder?” “I know that,” I said. “I’ve seen pictures. It’s rocky, and barren, with no life at all—but very beautiful, with cliffs and mountains and craters—you can see the craters from here; the dark spots.” I nodded toward the smiling moon, then smiled at Jamie myself. “It’s not unlike Scotland—except that it isn’t green.” He laughed, then evidently reminded by the word “pictures,” reached into his coat and drew out the little packet of photographs. He was cautious about them, never taking them out where they might be seen by anyone, even Fergus, but we were alone back here, with little chance of interruption. The moon was bright enough to see Brianna’s face, glowing and mutable, as he thumbed slowly through the pictures. The edges were becoming frayed, I saw.

“Will she walk about on the moon, d’ye think?” he asked softly, pausing at a shot of Bree looking out a window, secretly dreaming, unaware of being photographed. He glanced up again at the orb above us, and I realized that for him, a voyage to the moon seemed very little more difficult or farfetched than the one in which we were engaged. The moon, after all, was only another distant, unknown place. “I don’t know,” I said, smiling a bit. He thumbed through the pictures slowly, absorbed as he always was by the sight of his daughter’s face, so like his own. I watched him quietly, sharing his silent joy at this promise of our immortality.

I thought briefly of that stone in Scotland, engraved with his name, and took comfort from its distance. Whenever our parting might come, chances were it would not be soon. And even when and where it did—Brianna would still be left of us. More of Housman’s lines drifted through my head—Halt by the headstone naming / The heart no longer stirred, / And say the lad that loved you / Was one that kept his word. I drew close to him, feeling the heat of his body through coat and shirt, and rested my head against his arm as he turned slowly through the small stack of photographs.

“She is beautiful,” he murmured, as he did every time he saw the pictures. “And clever, too, did ye not say?”

“Just like her father,” I told him, and felt him chuckle softly.

Cap 43~ VOYAGER

[pilferingapples]

(only answer this if you're in the mood for it of course) If you had to choose one colour and one single object for each of the five books in Les Miserables, which ones would you choose and (optionally) why?

oooh what a fun complicated question, I love this question! SHOCKINGLY I got long-winded about symbolism in the Long Winded Symbolism Book:

Tome 1: Fantine Color: Gold/ yellow gold for Fantine's hair, and also as a color strongly tied to wealth; no other volume is going to focus quite as much on finances as this chapter, from the Bishop and the wealth he rejects, to Valjean and his rising economic status, to Fantine and the commodification of her life to gain a few gold coins here and there. Object: a cart-wheel. I thought about the candle-sticks, and jet beads, and ships, and even teeth,but it's gotta be a cart-wheel. The wheels that carry the passengers and drivers of society but have no energy of their own; the wheels that crush anyone who falls underneath them, that take enormous force and energy and even demand the risking of life to move, break and splinter when needed to right injustice, and block all progress when stilled. The cart-wheels that stop when the horse dies, block off all hope of success at the Waterloo Inn, crush Fauchevelent and almost stop Valjean from saving his own soul. Frigging cart wheels.

Tome 2: Cosette Color: Black the color of a night in the dark forest, the inside of a grave or sunken road, Paris in the silence of a dark chase, a nun's habit. The color of despair, sure, the color of imprisonment, yes, but also the color of concealment, meditation, the unknown, peace. Object: I also considered: a water-bucket, a broken chain (for Cosette and Valjean both in this Book!), and Catherine the doll-- but it has to be a coffin. I'd say a tomb, but a coffin is more visually iconic and , of course, more immediately relevant to JVJ . LM is full of tomb and coffin imagery, but this is THE Tome of Tombs and coffins -- the impromptu tombs of the sunken road of Ohain, the chosen symbolic tomb of the convent itself (the nuns have to symbolically die and be reborn to fully enter!), the literal and ironically lifesaving coffin that Valjean is buried in. Tome 3: Marius MAN THIS ONE WAS SO HARD

Color: Green I REALLY AGONIZED ON THIS , it was Green or Blue though ; but the only real strong Blue imagery here is it being part of Marius' vision of Cosette

Green though! the color of growing things and spring and little seedlings just starting to grow, and flowers and Flora, and of Marius' secondhand coat , which looks black at night. New beginnings hidden in mourning , despite the losses of the past; flowers and growing things as signs of loss and loss as a beginning! It's what this Tome is all about, growth from grief and loss, and the grief and loss that comes from growth. Object: a piece of paper, folded into a letter. We won't get Marius' Epic Love Note until next Tome, but letters have enough of a starring role here as is! The letters Gillenormand burns to keep Marius apart from his father; the letter that doesn't burn that sends Marius to his father's deathbed; the note from his father that becomes his talisman (until lost); the letters that Thenardier sends to beg (and extort?) money, that connect Marius to Eponine and then Cosette again; letters as proof of status, proof that " we weren't meant to be like this--" ; letters as proof of identity, as love, as warnings, as traps. Letters as connection across time and generations and class and death. Tome IV: The Idyll and the Epic Color: Red Object: The Barricade look maybe both these options are stereotypical here but they are also correct. There's a whole song and years of Tumblr jokes about everything Red symbolizes and it's all in play here. It's desire and dawn and wine and warmth and death and revolution and warning and blood and fire and flowers and love. Especially love.

And the barricade is not just the single biggest Symbolic Object in the novel, it's especially the symbol of everything together, every loaded Symbolic Object in the whole book, wagon wheels and windows and doors and letters and stones and carts and yeah, probably coffins, the way this part of the novel is everyone's storylines coming together. A heap of joy and a heap of sorrows, all coming together to fight desperately for something better. Sometimes things are iconic for a reason.

Tome V: Jean Valjean Color: White White for dawn that's not the hour of waking; for Cosette's wedding gown; for a bottle of ink; for untouched marble and stone after the writing is washed away. Object : THE CANDLESTICKS I almost went with these for Tome I but no!! they belong here! in Valjean's Book! HIS symbols, that he finally gets to pass on , and oh geez if I get going on that I will NEVER post this, but you get it anyway right? you get it. It's gotta be the candlesticks, here at the end.

Thank you ! this was very fun to think about!!

[the-bar-sinister]

Crimson Sunset, Azure Dawn (9838 words) by VickytheSnake, thesavagesabretooth Chapters: 3/? Summary: Mihawk would have been content to finally give Shanks the duel long owed him. Buggy swore he simply wanted to give him a piece of his mind. Crocodile just wanted the pair to have some measure of closure, difficult as it might be. No one expected the rising star of the scarlet emperor to crash so suddenly and violently to earth. No one expected to fish a lost and broken Shanks out of the wreckage of his ship.

But maybe it takes disaster for old flames to flicker back to life, and for Cross Guild to bring in its most surprising member.

catch up here

-

Practically the whole crew had been gathered on deck by the time Cabaji got to Shanks, and Buggy towed them back up out of the jaws of the sea. 

Mihawk had hurried up on deck with Crocodile when they both heard shouting, but he hadn't expected the scene in front of him.

Mihawk saw Shanks, his old rival and lover, soaked to the bone and collapsed against Buggy’s man as the clown hauled them by the rigging out of the sea with the help of his crew.

His eyes narrowed and darted to the sunken ship beyond. "...I never thought I’d see him in such a state." 

Crocodile slowly took the cigar out of his mouth, staring along with him. "What the damned hell happened? Is he alive?!"

"He's breathing!" Cabaji called.

"Thank fucking HELL." Buggy roared. "If he’d died, if he…ARGH!"

MIhawk walked towards the rope, grabbing it to help haul them the rest of the way. "...Red Haired Shanks would never simply allow his ship to be decimated like this. Something…quite serious happened."

"Everybody on high alert!" Crocodile growled. He started barking orders at the crew that faded into the background of Mihawk's consciousness while he helped Buggy pull the pair out of the water.

Cabaji came up over the rail with the unconscious man in his arms. Red Haired Shanks looked limp and fragile. It had been a long, long time since Mihawk had seen him in such a way, if ever.

Even after their legendary duel Shanks carried himself in a way that so rarely said ‘fragile’ . Even injured and bleeding…this was new.

He walked over, as Buggy put his hand nervously on Shanks’ back, and looked him over. "...he looks in no shape to fight." 

"Yeah, he looks like he just lost one," Cabaji agreed, still holding the man cradled in his arms. Shank's shirt was torn, and now that he was out of the water, it was clear that blood was soaking into it.

"Ssssss…" Buggy hissed softly through his teeth. "Shiiiit….shit shit shit! Someone grab the ship doctor! Hurry!"

Mihawk bent on one knee to get a better look at Shanks’ face as he lay limp and unconscious …and the wound across his chest. "....yes, he won’t be a danger to us in this state…" 

-

It was chaos on the ship. Every crewman was on alert for threats. Swimmers had been organized in boats to trawl the wreckage for other survivors. Shanks had been brought into the infirmary and laid out on the cot there, stripped and examined by their doctor, while Crocodile, Mihawk and Buggy hung back. There were cracked ribs, and some deep cuts that were being addressed.

Buggy leaned against Crocodile, feeling the sick turn in his stomach as he looked over the damage "someone really messed him up..I mean. I know Mihawk took him to task before but…"

"He usually left our fights about as damaged as me with that asinine little smile of his." Mihawk answered. 

"Yeah," Croc grumbled. "Well, Hawk, you weren't actually trying to fuckin' kill him. Whoever did this? They were."

Buggy twisted his glove in his hands. "But who the hell is crazy enough to go after an Emperor and WIN? Aside from fuckin’ Straw Hat Luffy, I mean." 

Crocodile's gaze lingered on Shanks' wounds. "Straw Hat doesn't use a blade."

Buggy nodded. "I KNOW that, intimately. Thanks!" The memories of the countless punches the manic little terror inflicted in the last three years.

Mihawk tilted his head. "And I doubt Zoro would do this without good reason, or a direct order." 

"Kaidou?" Crocodile suggested. "Their ship left headed the other direction, but if they doubled back, or pulled some trick…"

"The man didn’t exactly have an armada anymore, I’ve heard." Mihawk mused with a shake of his head.

Buggy shifted , rubbing his hands together with another low hiss. "This was not how I expected this to go AT ALL." 

"Nobody fucking did," Crocodile growled. "That's three emperors blown out of the damned water inside a week. If you two can manage without me for a few minutes, I'm gonna go see if I can raise Doflamingo's ship on the transponder and see if his surveillance team has anything."

"Please…" Buggy said breathlessly as his hand floated over to lightly poke one of the few non-wounded places on Shanks’ body— the top of his head. "Seriously, this is …Guh…" 

Crocodile squeezed Buggy's shoulder. 

"I get it, Bug." He pressed a kiss to Buggy's cheek and did the same to Mihawk. Crocodile was often like this, surprisingly tender in moments of worry. "I'll be back."

He left the two of them in the room with Shanks and the doctor, who didn't seem too pleased with Buggy prodding the patient, but certainly wasn't going to say anything about it.

He’d never seen him so weak and battered. Not even when they were kids. It hurt to see him banged up this badly, taking him back to one of their misadventures. The worst that’d happened was a bad gash on Shanks’ arm after they got into a fight they struggled to handle, but…

Nothing like this.

"He ever look this bad after your fights?" Buggy asked. "You said never, right? I…I've been phasin’ in and out."

"Rarely this bad. Always standing." Mihawk murmured. "Whoever is behind this is a dangerous man indeed…"

That was when Shanks groaned, and shifted uncomfortably in the cot— the first sound out of him since Cabaji had pulled him out of the water.

Buggy jolted back, latching onto Mihawk with a hiss of breath. "Aw fuck he’s wakin’ up! Hawky! Knock him out again!"

"No." 

The doctor looked over at them. 

"Ah, it might be a good idea to give the patient some space?" he offered timidly. Frankly, it sounded half way like he was hoping they'd ask him to leave the room instead.

"Shut up or I’ll pin you to a flagpole!" Buggy pointed his finger at the doctor. It wasn’t one of his guys… or rather, not one of his direct crew. But even so, they all looked up to him, right? He quickly added, "buddy ol’ pal! Just a joke! But I’m stayin’!"

Mihawk sighed with a shrug. "I would like him to see us when he wakes up." 

The doctor nodded, cringing obsequiously to Buggy. "Would you like me to try to bring him around, now?"

"Whenever you feel it’s safe." Mihawk assured. 

"He needs rest," the doctor considered, reaching for a bottle of something hesitantly. "But I suppose I might be able to offer better treatment if I knew what happened."

Buggy nodded, leaning forward to look Shanks over again. "Yeah…exactly. If we know what happened you can find like hidden injuries and shit." 

"Alright," the doctor nodded. "I'm going to wake him up. Try not to do anything to upset him when he wakes up, ah, please. Sirs."

"When have I ever upset anyone, huh?" Buggy huffed, "right Hawkie?"

"At least twice a week," Mihawk murmured, before grabbing Buggy by the back of the neck "don’t worry. I’ll corral him."

The doctor nodded again, and uncapped the bottle, waving it under Shanks' nose. Shanks groaned and squirmed, his eyelids fluttering open. The doctor put a hand on his shoulder carefully.

"Easy there. You're pretty heavily wounded."

"Where?" Shanks murmured, trying to sit up.

"You're on our ship, you fuckin' duuuuuhhharling—" Mihawk squeezed the back of Buggy's neck halfway through his sentence, the end of it rapidly changing as he squirmed in his grip.

"Good morning, Red Haired Shanks." Mihawk intoned darkly.

The doctor had been trying to keep him down, but when Shanks heard Buggy and Mihawk he sat up quickly– too quickly– clutching his head as an obvious dizzy spell took him.

"My crew– where?"

"Dunno," Buggy crossed his arms. "Look, uh, when we found you things had already gone to shit, Shanks. I'm not gonna answer that until I'm sure you're not gonna pass out over it."

Shanks' eyes seemed to be having trouble focusing as he stared at them. He put his hand to his head. "Great. I… I was in the water, wasn't I?"

"That you were, Shanks" Mihawk tilted his head. "...and who put you there?" 

Shanks touched the old scar over his eye and scowled. "Teach."Buggy mouthed the name, before he sputtered out. "B-Blackbeard? That shitty upstart? The bastard from the Summit War???"

Mihawk's eyes narrowed. "Ah. The man who took Whitebeard's Devil Fruit and somehow survived eating two. We had word he was in this area…" 

"The same," Shanks said. There was anger in his voice— but very little fire. It was almost strange how hollow he sounded. His unfocused eyes stared at the wall for a moment, and then he laid back down on the cot.

"Eugh…." Buggy grimaced. That lack of fire… that… void there. It was either the blow to his fucking head or something worse. Something that died in the dismantling of that ship, maybe.

"I knew he was going to be trouble the moment he arrived on the scene…" Mihawk mused. "But I never thought he'd beat Red Haired Shanks."

"Hah." The single syllable rang just as hollow in Shanks' throat. "I need a drink."

The doctor fussed over him. "Absolutely not. Ah, sir, I think you have a concussion."

"Does that mean a drink would kill me?" Shanks asked.

"Ah, possibly, yes," the doctor murmured, pushing his fingers together and looking worriedly at his patient.

"I need a drink," Shanks repeated.

Buggy took a few steps forward, looming over the cot with a cross of his arms. "Shanks. Lookit me." 

Shanks barely turned his head. "Hi, Buggy. Long time no see."

Buggy's lips twitched. It'd been years… years… and years since they'd even seen one another. The man had a concussion, Buggy couldn't hold it against him if that was all his addled mind could think to say.

'Long time no see'.

But still. 

Was he selfish for hoping for a little more than something you'd give a half-remembered acquaintance or a drinking buddy you hardly knew the life of?

"Yeah. It's been a fucking while. What the hell happened to you?"

"Oh, nothing much," Shanks said conversationally, staring at the ceiling. "Luffy hates me. He beat me in combat and sent me packing. My life's mission turned out to be complete shit and then when I was sulking about that, Teach wrecked my ship. Mihawk, I see you standing there, will you get me a drink?"

"If you're that eager for an ignoble death in a cot, then far be it from me not to humor you. Doctor? Get this man a drink." Mihawk snapped his fingers.

"....." Buggy pointed his finger at Shanks. "Luffy hates you. That kid who never shut up about how you were his fucking hero. The kid wearing your fucking hat. That kid. He hates you?" 

"Yep." That was all Shanks said. Just 'yep'.

The doctor squirmed. "Ah, Mihawk, sir, I can't just let a patient poison himself…"

"He's done a good job of it himself already," Mihawk glanced down at him. "Shanks. The Doctor doesn't want you to die."

Buggy's eye was twitching, his lips pulled tight in his wide smile as he hissed a breath through his teeth. "Yep." 

It was happening all over again, the leadup to their big fight. That look on his face when he gave up on everything they'd stood for and headed for some 'life's mission' with only a cursory offer for Buggy to be his hanger on. Only this time it was worse.

At least then he still had a dream, now he was just…

"Cool. Good to know, cute kid…very violent." he clapped his hands together. "What's this about that mission of yours?" 

"Don't worry about it," Shanks said. "It was pointless anyway. Your doctor sucks."

Mihawk barked a sharp laugh. "He's doing his best with what he's got, Shanks. A doctor's only as good as his patient."

Buggy's hands shot out and grabbed Shanks' shoulders, his eyes wide and his smile wider "Shaaaanksssss…." he said slowly, his voice lilting in a way he KNEW happened when he got particularly annoyed. "I'm going to shake you."

"You could kill him like that," Mihawk added, his arms crossing over his bare chest.

"You hear that, Buggy? You could kill me like that." Shanks grinned the same miserable, grimacing grin at him. His body was limp and covered in bandages and he really looked like maybe he wanted to die. "You could tell everybody you killed Shanks."

"It's tempting at the moment," Buggy hissed down at him. "It's real tempting. But I don't wanna add another pointless tragedy to this damn mess."

HIs fingers tightened harder against his shoulders. his voice shook. "b-besides…" "I..wouldn't…I mean.."

"Buggy," Mihawk stepped over and put a hand on his shoulder.

"No , Hawky, I gotta …" Buggy sniffed. He'd miss Shanks. He'd been missing him for years now, always too bitter and angry to reach out. So why now, when he finally got the balls to reach out and have it out with the guy to maybe fix something for once. "Shanks. I know you're feelin' like shit right now. But trying to get your ex-boyfriend to put you outta your misery is… it fuckin' sucks." 

Shanks met his gaze for the first time, and held it, barely. Dazedly. "Just thought it might be romantic. Hah. No… fuck, sorry," he murmured, looking away again. "You're right."

"There's nothing romantic about making me kill you, moron," Buggy huffed sharply "Even Mihawk would rather give you a proper death in a duel or some shit."

"He's not wrong," Mihawk nodded slowly. "You've fallen from grace, but you're still a warrior."

"See that?" Buggy lightly shook his shoulders, thumping him against the cot. "So don't pull that shit with us, got it?" 

Shanks winced at the shaking, light as it was. "Guh… after all this time. After finding me like this? You two have any kind of respect for me left? I guess you both are crazy."

Shanks's voice was full of regret and something else. 

Shame.

Shanks sounded ashamed of himself.

"Perhaps it's nostalgia. Or perhaps it's an understanding that we are all one bad day from losing everything. Or maybe it's simply madness." Mihawk shrugged his shoulders.

Buggy snorted softly, looking down into his eyes. "Sounds like things really went to shit, Shanksy. I don't care what it is, we were crewmates once. You're still some of that guy I grew up with. I ain't gonna just let you drown. Even if I am still pissed off!" 

Shanks almost laughed. "And here I almost believed you when you said we'd be enemies. Guess all it took to change that was losing everything."

After that there was another awkward silence, before Crocodile thumped on the door.

"Get out here, you two. We need to talk."

The only person in the room who looked relieved was the doctor.

-

Crocodile dragged Buggy and Mihawk to the captains' quarters and lit a fresh cigar— offering them around— before he said anything.

Mihawk gratefully accepted one, though Buggy seemed to be keen to share his. The air was heavy with things unsaid, Buggy seemed to have a surprisingly grave expression on his face. 

Crocodile had been expecting the encounter with Shanks to be fucking dire, but he hadn't expected this. Shanks was an emperor. He'd turned himself into a legend in the last couple of decades while the three of them had sulked through failure after failure. Crocodile had expected the problem to be that Shanks was a cocky, arrogant and self-assured bastard who was "too good" for Croc's guys.

Coming across him at this— what had to be the man's lowest point— had thrown everything into chaos. It showed on Buggy's face— even on Mihawk's. The two of them were lost at sea with this encounter.

Crocodile wished he had better answers as he puffed on his cigar. "So Doffy's crew gave us an update. Blackbeard's on his way toward Winner Island right now. And according to his crew's chatter, he's definitely the one who blasted Shank's ship."

Croc had always had mixed feelings–intense feelings, but mixed– about Doflamingo. But he couldn't deny that his people were a hell of an asset to Cross Guild in terms of surveillance if nothing else.

"Apropos fucking island for him to go to," Buggy muttered darkly as he reached for Mihawk's cigar, who passed it to him with a low sigh.

"Blackbeard…to think the wretch was able to bring even Shanks low." Mihawk murmured.

"Yeah," Crocodile growled. "To say I'm not thrilled is an understatement. Another fucking poisonous legacy of the Moby Dick. Doffy turned course to follow at a distance-– against my recommendation."

Teach hadn't joined Whitebeard's crew until Crocodile had been long quit of his father's tyrannical crew. It was maddening— and apropos— that the old man who had had no faith in Crocodile was a bad enough judge of character to cause this… mess.

Buggy hissed through his teeth. 

"...Doffy'd better be careful. I like the guy, the last thing I want is him gettin' sunk too. Not after…yeah." He shifted against the sofa , his eyes flicking down. "I remember seein' him at Marineford." 

"I'd guess we all remember," Crocodile murmured, leaning back in his chair. He blew a breath of smoke out, and looked at Buggy and Mihawk. "So how's Shanks? Doc think he's gonna pull through?"

"He was ready to chase us out of the room once he got his wits together," Mihawk snorted. "But he thinks he shall pull through, just barely."

Buggy's brow furrowed. He puffed at the cigar. "It…wasn't supposed to go like this. Not one bit." 

"It sure fucking wasn't," Crocodile grumbled. Somehow the whole thing made him even more pissed off at Shanks. How dare Red Hair disappoint Buggy and Mihawk like this? He scoffed. "Doubt you're gonna get that duel any time soon, Hawk."

"Tch…" Mihawk's eyes closed as he took the cigar back from Buggy. "I doubt it. The fire's been snuffed out inside him. I've never seen him so… desperate to give up."

Buggy's teeth grit together, and his eyes darted up to Crocodile. "He tried to get me to kill 'im!"

Crocodile puffed his cigar thoughtfully. 

So Shanks had lost everything. So he was suicidal and ready to give up. Just lay down and let the consequences eat him.

Right where Crocodile had been two years ago after Alabasta.

"Alright. So what do you two want to do about him? Do we dump him in the sea? Throw him in the brig?" He let the question hang in the air and watched their reactions.

Buggy winced, visibly curling into himself. "We ain't dumping him in the fuckin' sea! I barely got him to talk to me…I ain't gonna let him die."

"He's not going to be dangerous, either…" Mihawk put his hand on his chin. He seemed distracted, lost in his own head. 

That was about the reaction Crocodile expected from both of them. 

He took another long puff of his cigar, turning it in his fingers, letting the moment linger, as if he was thinking about it. As if he hadn't already made up his mind.

"So we're going to thump his shoulders, light his fire, and drag him kicking and screaming into Cross Guild, eh?"

Buggy crossed his arms with a snort. "Of course we are. And then I'll shake the bastard as soon as it won't kill 'im!" 

Crocodile nodded to Buggy and turned to Mihawk with a cock of his head. "Hawk? How about your thoughts?"

Mihawk frowned at him, cigar in his mouth. 

"I don't like seeing him like this....Shanks was many things, but this…" He looked down at his folded hands "I think we could re-light his fire, with effort." 

"So is he worth the effort?" Crocodile urged. "That's what I'm asking. I know you both had a thing for him, well, now we've got him in our lap. We can either rehabilitate him and bring him aboard or finally say 'good riddance to that' and move on with your lives."

Buggy seemed physically conflicted, arms crossed over his chest. "I've tried to move on for years, Croccy. I'm tired. It never works."

"How about you, Hawky?" Crocodile was pretty sure that he already knew the answer.

"I didn't cut the rope to dump him back into the ocean," He said, glancing up at Crocodile. "...I'd like to see if he manages his second chance." 

"Then it's decided," Crocodile nodded. As if there had ever been any real doubt. "We'll wine and dine your ex, and bring him back into the fold. The three of us got our second chances. I don't think we have another twenty years to wait around for him to take his."

Buggy's face lit up, even if he tried to smother the smile. "Good. We probably don't, the way he's goin'. So we'll seize the day NOW! He'll be a proper pirate whether he likes it or not!" d

Crocodile sat back, satisfied. "Good. I get the feeling it ain't gonna be easy, so you boys better prepare yourselves. Maybe we oughta come up with a plan of attack."

[johannestevans]

The Lighthouse Keeper's Selkie

This story on Medium / / This story on Patreon

Note warnings for non-graphic violence and butchery, themes of captivity, and cannibalism.

---

Dún has been watching the man in the white tower since he arrived.

The white tower has been there at the end of the peninsula for some decades now – the surfacers call it a “lighthouse”, because there is a great fire burning at the top of the tower, and at night time, or when it storms and it is very dark, a mirror spins to send out that light in a wide beam, that ships are not dashed upon the nearby reefs and rocks.

He is a bad man, the lighthouse keeper.

Dún considers himself no expert in the morality of surfacers, but he knows that they look unkindly upon the killing of their own, and as any species does, look even less kindly upon killing without reason, indiscriminately, which it seems to Dún this one does.

Now and then people become lost, and they wander up and down the beaches before they make their way to the lighthouse. They knock on its door on dark and foggy nights, and never does the lighthouse keeper permit them entry, or give them solace within – he gives them directions, and sends them wandering out into the fog, sometimes out onto the reefs themselves.

They fall from outcrops and hurt themselves, or sometimes are simply swept up in the waves – Dún has feasted on their corpses, and shared them out amongst his people.

It is the suspicion of the selkies, and of the mermen too, that this man is perhaps imprisoned here for some crime or other beyond those he now kills, because up ‘til now, the lighthouse has run on magic, with no keeper to attend it.

He is thin and bony, as many surfacers are – he has a hard jaw and deep sunken eyes, and sunken cheeks, and hair that is black with streaks of rocky grey.

One morning, as the sun is dawning, Dún creeps up the rocky embankment to the head of the peninsula, and he pauses on the rock, staring at the keeper. He is sitting on the step of the lighthouse, the door open behind him, and he is holding a metal cup, is drinking from it.

Steam rises from the cup, and Dún looks through the steam to the lighthouse keeper’s face.

Dún is very close to him. Some fifteen or twenty paces away, he is, perched on one of the larger, more stable stones – in the summer time, this is a very nice place to sit and warm oneself, enjoying the heat absorbed by it, but it is still winter, and the spring thaw has yet to arrive.

The keeper does not reach out for him, or speak to him. He does not compliment Dún’s fine hair or his handsome whiskers, nor the beautiful dark shine of his eyes, or the sharpness of his teeth – he does not ask Dún to give him his pelt, or even compliment it.

Instead, the keeper simply stares at him warily, saying nothing.

Dún pushes back his head, revealing the other he wears underneath, to make it entirely clear that yes, he is a selkie, and a very beautiful one. He doesn’t say anything – it’s only proper that the keeper should greet himfirst, when Dún is of much higher social status than a prisoner such as he is, and thin and ugly besides, and a surfacer.

He steps even closer, and the keeper casts a glance around, then rather than say anything, offers out his mug.

Dún takes it from him, sniffs it, tilts his head. It is no longer steaming, the two of them have been sitting and staring at one another for so long, but it is still warm inside the metal cup, and Dún takes a sip. The warmth is strange where the liquid slides down his throat, and he is unused to the taste.

“It’s tea,” says the lighthouse keeper. His voice has a hoarse quality.

“Is it poison?”

“A sensible young man might have asked that before he drank it.”

“I’m not any of those things,” Dún points out.

The keeper nods, then stands and turns back inside, closing the door behind him. Dún stands there with his skin about his shoulders, finishes the mug, and sets it down on the step before he goes back into the water.

* * *

Now and then, in the weeks following this, Dún will come back and the keeper will share something from his plate each time – a biscuit, a piece of rabbit, a piece of fish, a vegetable Dún doesn’t know the name of. Dún returns the favour in kind, of course – the keeper eats penguin meat when it is offered him, and fish, and seal meat, too.

“Do you like it?” asks the selkie as he chews on a piece of the blubber.

“No,” says the keeper.

“Why eat it, then?”

“You gave it to me.”

Dún smiles, because for a human, this is remarkably sound thinking.

He is an unkind man, Dún has no doubts about that.

He is cruel and unkind to the humans that come too close – Dún comes to listen the next time one comes along, hears the keeper’s stony, cold demeanour with her, a woman lost in the rain and confused by the mist, hears him bid her go the wrong direction.

He and the others eat of her corpse the following day.

But he shares his paltry meals with Dún, and he politely eats that which Dún gives him in return.

* * *

The first morning Dún creeps to the lighthouse’s door and comes inside, the keeper startles. It is a sunny day and the lighthouse’s fire is running without his supervision – there are windows, but they are shuttered, and it is dark inside.

The keeper does not move as Dún lays his pelt over the chair and clambers into the keeper’s bed. He doesn’t touch Dún right away, just lays still beneath him as Dún straddles his waist and arranges himself on his chest.

“I am not for you,” murmurs the lighthouse keeper.

“I don’t see anybody else laying claim,” replies Dún.

The keeper’s hands land not on his back but at his sides, thumbs touching the edges of Dún’s waist. It is comforting, to curl into a male and not be caged by it – Dún’s body is thick with muscle and layered over with fat, and while the keeper has some of the one, he has almost none of the other. Dún’s flesh flows over his, and he is glad for the padding he is, else surely the keeper would cut him with the knife-sharp edges of his hips, his knees, his ribs.

“My heat will come soon,” says Dún, and leans back enough that he can tug the keeper’s hand beneath the swell of his belly and the paunchy flesh over his cunt. He tugs the keeper’s fingers to feel where Dún is wet and warm, and he shudders.

His pale, grey-drawn cheeks have darkened to something almost like red, and his body has gone stiff – as has his cock.

“You will aid me with it,” says Dún.

“Will I?” asks the keeper faintly, and although his voice is soft, there is a note of challenge in it. In his eyes is a spark of power, of burgeoning command – before he was sentenced here, what was his status? Was he valuable, amongst the surfacers he was born of? Was he rich, or influential?

“Your cock works, doesn’t it?” asks Dún.

“It certainly seems to right this moment.”

“You will fuck me now,” Dún tells him imperiously.

The keeper laughs – there is a jaggedness to the hoarse sound. “Take what you wish.” His cock is hard, and thick, which is good. “Ride me, if you want to. I don’t see why you would.”

“There are surfacers uglier than you.”

“Are there?”

“Probably. I can hardly name an example.”

The keeper looks up at him, his lips pulled into a small, haggard smile. His deep sunken eyes are shadowed heavily, but up close like this, Dún can see the colour in them, a paler grey than the grey of his hair.

“May I kiss you?”

“Kiss me?” Dún repeats, uncomprehending. “What is that?”

The keeper reaches up for him, gently cupping Dún’s face with the hand not trapped between their bodies. One of his fingertips curls about the back of Dún’s neck, pulling him down, and Dún allows himself to be coaxed closer.

The keeper presses his lips to Dún’s, softly, and his tongue swipes at Dún’s lower lip – when Dún’s lips part in surprise, the keeper slides his tongue inside, touches Dún’s own. Dún is surprised by the heat of it, the pleasure of the sensation, the messiness of it, before he pulls back.

The keeper is breathing heavily, so much so that Dún wonders idly if his weight is too much for him, but the keeper keeps hold of Dún when he tries to lean back, keeping him close.

“That was a kiss?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Again,” Dún commands him, and the keeper nods, and obeys.

* * *

The lighthouse keeper’s name is Carnell.

He reaches for Dún’s pelt once, and only once, several months after the first time Dún removes it before him – he brushes his fingers over it, feels the skin, and then pulls back his hand.

“Do you like how it feels?” asks Dún.

“Yes,” says Carnell.

“Why don’t you take it? You might keep me here – you might bind me, such that I will obey your word, and you need not obey mine.”

Carnell smiles at him thinly. There are many lines around his eyes. “There are some things better not stolen,” he says.

This is wise indeed, for an unkind man.

* * *

Dún abhors his heats, and always has. He cannot be impregnated – or at the least, in his two hundred years, it hasn’t happened yet – and yet still they plague him thrice or four times a year, a burning heat lighting beneath his layers of skin, his cunt hungry, his whole body throbbing with the ache of his need.

The others are too rough, touch him too greedily and too eagerly when his heats come – he is very beautiful, and ordinarily does not allow his brethren to touch him, particular as he is about the ways he likes to be touched. When his heats come, he has no choice, and they squeeze and pull and tug at him, bite him, fuck him between them.

Carnell only touches him where Dún guides his hands, where the pain is too much to go without them. His cock is not as large as Dún would like, but big enough to satisfy.

“You can touch me where you please,” Dún tells him after they fuck, on one of the occasions between his heats, still lounging in the keeper’s bed.

“I like to touch you where you want it,” murmurs Carnell. He is running water over one of his plates, cleaning crumbs from it. “It seems to me that my touch is an agony you need at times, but I would not have it harm more than it helped.”

“I like it when you touch me,” says Dún.

“Not always,” says Carnell. “Not everywhere. Not without warning.”

Dún examines his fingernails. His claws are attached to his skin – his fingernails without it on are the same black as his claws are, but more similar in shape to Carnell’s, short and blunt, finishing the tips of his human-like fingers.

“I could stand it,” says Dún generously.

“I couldn’t,” is Carnell’s reply.

* * *

Dún does not visit the keeper every morning. Sometimes he stays the whole of the day, but when the keeper attends his work, it bores him, and so he goes out and he hunts, or swims about, or travels, or weaves, or carves, or does the ordinary things that would entertain him.

One heat, perhaps the sixth or seventh he’s spent with Carnell, is particularly awful, has Dún in the most terrible grip. Carnell abandons his work to fuck him instead, and allows his hands to be puppeted as Dún requires.

When Dún sobs, frustrated and pained and exhausted, fucking himself on Carnell’s cock for hours upon hours, Carnell soothes him.

His hands do not roam Dún’s body, do not grasp or grab unless Dún arranges his hands and pushes them to squeeze – he soothes with his voice alone. His taciturnity gives way to soft, sweet whispers, hoarse assurances that the storm will soon be over, that Carnell has him, that this too will end.

“Do you?” asks Dún blearily afterwards, when he is laid, exhausted, in the keeper’s bed beside him.

“Do I?” repeats Carnell.

“Have me?”

“As I might have a book from a library,” says Carnell. “Borrowed, but not forever.”

Dún is familiar with books, but, “I do not know what a library is.”

“I have you while you’re here,” Carnell elucidates. “When you’re not, I have no claim over you.”

“Why not stake your claim?”

“Fuck you?”

“Not like that. Forever.”

“I am not forever,” says Carnell. He sounds as though he’s already done his grieving over the fact.

“But you could take me in the meantime,” says Dún. “Take my skin. Make a wife of me.”

“Why would I? What would it benefit me, holding you hostage in my lighthouse as I work the light, instead of letting you swim and wander as you choose?”

“You would know I was waiting for you.”

“I know that now.”

“Do you like me?”

“Yes.”

“You like to touch me?”

“I do. I like to soothe your pain,” says Carnell. “It is not something ordinarily in my nature.”

“Why don’t you hold me?”

“Because you don’t want to be held.”

“Perhaps I do.”

“Perhaps you think you should.”

“Other selkie males would hold me.”

“You don’t let them, though, do you?”

“Other menwould hold me.”

Carnell, who had been mild in tone and seemingly in good humour, comes over very grave, and gives Dún a hard look. “I kill other men,” is his reminder.

Dún falls back onto the bed, and opens his arms in invitation.

* * *

His next heat, his last of the summer, is too hot by far, too long, too demanding. When Dún cries into Carnell’s neck, overwhelmed by it as it ravages his body, Carnell folds his arms around the base of his back, holds him gently without gripping at him, without wholly caging him in.

This makes Dún sob louder.

His touches are featherlight as they land on his body, only pressing harder when directed, and Dún does not command, but begs him to move faster, move harder, no, slower now, deeper, yes, please, like that.

Carnell obeys without hesitation.

“Drink,” he says when it is over – this heat had lasted days, and Dún is too exhausted to refuse the order. Carnell is even paler than usual, though he has been eating and resting as Dún has fitfully slept between their sessions – now he brings the cup to Dún’s mouth and does not draw it away until Dún has finished it.

“I keep you from your duties,” says Dún. He does not regret it, nor really care, but he thinks it should be said.

“I could not care less what men dash themselves on these accursed rocks,” growls Carnell. “My duty first and foremost is you.”

Dún likes that, but he is too tired to show his approval.

* * *

Some nights, while Carnell works the light, Dún chooses to linger in his quarters. He lies in his bed, examines the pictures in his books, listens to the surfacer music that can be played from a complex machine. He packs a plate, a supper of meats, to greet Carnell when he descends the stairs., as though Carnell has stolen his pelt, and made a wife of him after all.

Carnell always smiles when Dún does this, though still, he leaves Dún’s pelt untouched.

* * *

One night, observing from the water, Dún sees another man come to the keeper’s door. He wants for no directions, no assistance.

His destination is here.

Dún does not approach until the man departs again, when the sun is setting the following day – only then does he crawl up the rock and slip inside.

Carnell is lying on his side in his bed, barely covered by one of his thin sheets. It is a balmy night, and Carnell has sweat on his skin.

“You are not to tend the light this evening?” asks Dún.

“Fuck it,” is Carnell’s muffled reply.

Dún slips forward, delicately arranges himself against the keeper’s back, and lingers there. He spreads one palm on Carnell’s naked back, and feels for new marks, but there are none.

Carnell remains still. His cheeks shine in the dim light, Dún doesn’t know whether with sweat or also with tears, and he wipes a thumb over the wet skin, then brings it to his mouth. Salty.

“He has your pelt?”

“He has me.”

“I will kill him.”

Carnell reaches back, brushes his knuckles over Dún’s shoulder. The touch is very delicate, as though he thinks Dún is a fragile thing.

“It’s not forever,” says Carnell. “Two years more, and my sentence ends.”

“He touched you?”

“No.”

“He hurt you?”

“No.”

“He did something.”

“He did.”

“He talked?”

“Yes.”

“And other things?”

“Yes.”

“Sentences are given for crimes,” says Dún, feeling that this mode of conversation might lead him somewhere better.

“Yes,” agrees Carnell.

“What crime did you commit?”

“Thievery.”

“Oh. Was it worth stealing?”

“Not so far.”

“My sympathies.”

“Yes.”

“What happens when your sentence is finished?”

“I give it back.”

“You have it now?”

“In a way.”

“Is it the light?”

“No.”

“Your music device?”

“No.”

“Is it—”

Carnell turns in bed to look at him, his grey eyes gentle in the dim light. “Hush, would you?” he asks.

It is phrased as a request, not an order. Dún allows it, and is silent.

* * *

Dún swims further afield for some time, exploring the coastal changes as summer gives way to autumn. Weeks have passed when he returns to the lighthouse.

Carnell looks surprised to see him, stands to his feet from his supper table – his hands twitch as though to reach for him, but they do not dare until Dún catches his wrists and brings his palms to land on his body, gently holding Dún by the waist.

“I am sorry,” says Dún, “for leaving you.”

Carnell replies, “I would have you swim all the world’s seas, if you wished it. But I am grateful that you return to tell me of them.”

“I didn’t swim quite that far,” says Dún. “But I can tell you all I saw.”

He does. Tells Carnell of the changing sands and the changing currents, the shift in the temperatures in the waters, the different movements of fish, the changes in plant and animal alike.

“What did you see?” he asks, when he is finished.

“Men in boats,” says Carnell dispassionately. “Men on foot. Men on horseback. Women, too, but they’re not ordinarily sent toward the lighthouse.”

“You don’t like them.”

“No. Other surfacers.”

“Why?”

“Why should I?”

Dún is on top of him, his hands folded over Carnell’s chest, his chin rested on top of his hands. His body blankets Carnell’s entirely as it always does – he is surprisingly comfortable to lie on top of, and Dún finds he has missed this, how easily he eclipses this hard, hard man.

“I like you,” says Dún. “You are trustworthy.”

“No,” says Carnell.

“Why do you kill?” asks Dún. “Send the surfacers to their deaths?”

“Because it breaks the monotony,” says Carnell dully. “Because it means something happens. Because it no doubt frustrates the man who put me here.”

“Where will you go when your sentence ends?”

“Back to where I came from.”

“I don’t want you to. I would like you to stay.”

“It isn’t for me to decide.”

“This is your prison.”

“Not the lighthouse. The peninsula.”

“And if I kill your gaoler?”

“My sentence goes on forever.”

“I’ll kill him,” Dún offers. “If you want to stay.”

“Don’t kill on my account.”

Dún touches his fingers through Carnell’s hair, feels its texture under his fingertips. “Where is back?” he asks.

“Where I came from.”

“Where is that?”

Carnell is quiet.

Dún sits back, and spreads his legs apart. “You don’t have heats,” he observes aloud.

“No,” agrees Carnell.

“Would you fuck at all, if not for me?”

“I don’t expect I would, no.”

“If I denied you, would that frustrate you?”

“Somewhat, perhaps, but I would make no demands.”

“I wouldn’t deny you,” says Dún. “I wouldn’t deny myself – a heat would be too painful without you, and your body gives me pleasure as mine does yours. Your cock is convenient.”

“Is it?”

“It sows no seed.”

“Seems too messy to be the case.”

Dún sees no reason to explain to a surfacer that he is barren – best he thinks it is his fault. He wonders if Carnell sees the importance of the matter at all. Dún sticks his tongue out, and Carnell smiles up at him.

“I have come to you three years now, and bear no children,” Dún explains. “This is good.”

“I’m glad to provide such service.”

“I like your body.”

“I like yours too.”

“It’s not really the same,” says Dún. “My body is good.”

Carnell laughs at that, but he makes no argument. “It is good,” he agrees.

“You would freeze in winter without me,” says Dún.

Were he the sort of man to keep score, Carnell would say, “You would suffer in summer, without me.” Because he is not – or if he is, he does not voice it in Dún’s presence – he says, “A kind service you do me.”

“Your gaoler doesn’t fuck you, does he?”

“No.”

“Do you fuck where you came from?”

“No.”

“I couldn’t beat that,” says Dún. “What do you do there?”

“Labour.”

“You are indentured?”

“Yes.”

“What didyou steal?”

“Me.”

“Oh,” says Dún softly. “Do you miss liberty?”

“Yes.”

“It has been a long time, I suppose, since you were free.”

“Decades.”

“I will kill your gaoler,” Dún decides. “And free you from your bonds.”

Carnell doesn’t seem to be listening. He leans up for a kiss.

* * *

Dún takes the gaoler by surprise, the next time he arrives on the peninsula. There is a sort of wooden box where people leave offerings for the lighthouse keeper as they pass by – biscuits and trinkets and teas, that sort of thing. Dún launches himself from his place hidden behind it, and tears into the man’s throat before he can approach the tower.

The flesh is lean, salty, too tough to be good – the man is old.

It is polite to share, though, and Carnell takes the strip of flesh offered him, and swallows it without chewing.

“He tastes bad,” says Dún.

“I expect all men taste like that.”

“No,” says Dún. If to be told this fact disturbs him, Carnell makes no indication.

Dún pulls the body down into the water with him, and shares the flesh about for others to use. It is bad eating, but a worthy bait.

* * *

That night, he crawls into Carnell’s bed.

“May I hold you?” asks the keeper.

“Yes.”

“Show me how.”

Dún slides into his lap, knees tight against his waist, and lies on top of him, bringing Carnell’s hands to rest on his hips. His hands stay where they’re placed.

“You are free now,” says Dún smugly.

“No,” says Carnell, not impatiently. “I told you my sentence would go on. Without my gaoler to break the spell, I stay bonded to this place.”

“Oh,” says Dún, and frowns. He does not apologise. “I wasn’t really listening,” he says, which is true.

“It’s alright,” says Carnell softly. “I like this better than the alternative. You share your freedom with me, when you tell me where you go.”

“I’ve had my last heat of the summer.”

“Yes.”

“Soon, I will go far away. Bring you whatever you desire.”

“What do you think I desire, Dún, if not you?”

Dún smiles, and pulls Carnell’s hands slowly up and down his back, guiding him to rub the skin in a way that is pleasant, and not too much.

“I do not mean to hold you captive,” says Dún. “Perhaps I could find someone to set you free. Would that my skin could free you, as it could capture me.”

“Stay here with me a while first,” whispers Carnell. “Won’t you? I am most at liberty here beneath you.”

Dún kisses him, and stays until Carnell lets him go.

* * *

He leaves on foot, when the time comes, to go for help.

He wears old clothes of the last lighthouse keeper’s, and leaves his pelt at the lighthouse.

Carnell sleeps beneath it every night Dún is gone.

FIN.

---

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The Mermaid and the Dockworker — 4k, rated T. MB. A merman saves a fisherman from drowning, once. Just a cute one here with a merman who saves a fisherman from drowning, and the fisherman saving him back! There are descriptions of fear and drowning in this, but no other particular content warnings. Adapted from a TweetFic. On Medium / / On Patreon.

[gloriousmonsters]

Mememememe I want to see

please enjoy a selection from you're on a path in the desert, chapter 2: 'The Ancient', brought about by wondering what ganondorf's motivation is and being honest and brash enough he kind of likes you and is like 'sorry, kid' while murdering you to attempt a breakout in the first chapter. narrated by Zelda, starring Link and Ganondorf.

--------

You're on a path in the desert. Or... it's more of a beach, isn't it? You can hear the sea. Small crabs scuttle and hide among rocks smoothed by eons of lapping waves; the pristine sands glitter, here and there, with old coins and jewels set in tarnished metal. Pirate treasures, as if a ship was wrecked here long ago. A lonely blue sky arches high above, unmarred by a single cloud. A path of scattered white rocks, like sun-bleached bones, lead toward the edge of the water. At the end of this path, a man with evil eyes is imprisoned. A king. You, hero, must slay him; or it will be the end of the world.

Voice of the Curious: He didn't seem that bad!

- Yeah, he wasn't as bad as she hyped him up to be.

- Bad? He was very bad! I'm completely on board with the 'slaying' thing now.

- Hang on, how are we here? Didn't we die?

> I see what you mean, but he did very much kill us. That was a thing that happened.

Voice of the Curious: I guess, but he was so... sad. He just wanted to escape. He seemed like he'd been there for a really long time.

> He did.

Excuse me, who's this? And what are you saying about dying? Please don't tell me—

Voice of the Curious : We died and we came back to life!

- More or less.

- I died and it was terrifying and now I'm me and also this other part of me and they're both me and I don't know how that works or what's going on and I'm going to start crying probably

> This isn't the first time we've been here. Your 'man with the evil eyes' was the one that killed me, not the other way around.

He's not mine, and... It wouldn't be the same, the other way around. You need to slay him, not kill him.

- I get it. I'm a human, and he's a monster.

> Semantics.

Very important ones. Listen to me, hero. I hoped that this wouldn't happen, and I didn't want to scare you with the possibility. But please believe me—we're walking a fine line, now. All is not lost, but every failure widens his chance at escape.

Voice of the Curious: Really?

I do not like how you said that. This... voice, whatever it is, it seems very young. Don't let naivety influence you, hero. One failure means he's already found a chink in your armor—it is even more imperative you keep your guard up. Whatever he said, whatever he did, put it out of your mind. Focus on this. He is evil, and he will destroy everything if he escapes. You are the hero, the only one with the power to stop him. I—everything depends on you.

Voice of the Curious : That's a lot of pressure...

- I love pressure.

- I hate pressure.

 > Are you really sure I can do this?

Yes. You’re the only one that can. 

Voice of the Curious: Wow, she sounds... so serious. I don't know if I trust her, but I think she likes you.

Ha. That's... You matter a great deal to me. By definition, of course. You’re the hero, you matter to everyone. But we don't have time to sit here and talk about our feelings, whatever they might be. Your quest is the same, hero. It's time to go forward.

> (proceed to the prison)

N: At the edge of the water, the path of rocks continue—for a little while. Soon they're fewer and farther between, and in their place are footholds of debris, half-rotted hulls of wood, old chests rammed up on some invisible sandbank below the water. There have been many wrecks here, and as you pick your way forward, you see the largest of them up ahead. Splintered and broken, its massive hull impaled on the tall and jagged rocks that rise from the hidden seabed, like towers of some sunken castle. The rest of it is remarkably intact, but it looks ancient. Weathered, by years that have sapped color from cloth and wood and leached memory from material. Every detail blurred. The figurehead is faceless, nearly formless, like the... like the image of a loved one long forgotten.

> Are you all right?

Your path ends—or rather, takes a new form—at the side of the wreck. An old rope ladder leads up the barnacle-encrusted side. The old wood creaks as you ascend, but even that sound is... muted. This ship isn't just wrecked, it's becalmed. The muting of that sound makes you acutely aware of the absence of others. No birds cry in the sky; no fish splash in the water. The land behind you is already lost in a hazy fog. This is a lonely place.

Voice of the Curious: She's making it sound so depressing. It's sad, but it's also sort of cool, right? It's like an old pirate ship! It doesn't feel like a prison, it feels like... like a hideout!

Please be quiet. It's a prison. It might look... odd, but it's a prison.

Voice of the Curious : Do you think there's treasure?

...No.

Voice of the Curious: ...You want there to be treasure too, right?

I'm not interested. We have a very important job to do. To your left, across the weathered deck, a door leads to the fo'c'sle. It's not locked, but it's encrusted with barnacles, warped in its frame. Beside it, a sword is embedded in the wall, as if left there after a battle long ago. It gleams with its own light—

Voice of the Curious: It's not glowing, though. It's just a sword.

It's not—but... Ah. Yes. Well, it doesn't need to glow, does it? It's the hero's sword. It's made to kill evildoers and monsters. It's meant for your hand, and your hand alone. Take up the sword, hero. You'll need it if you want to save us all.

- But it's not glowing. Didn't you say it was important it glowed?

- What if I don't want to save everyone?

> take up the sword

- don't take up the sword

Sword in hand, you force open the door, rusted hinges screeching as you shove your whole body's weight against it. Before you is a sheer drop, lightless, only the first few feet visible in the foggy sunlight that filters past your shoulders. A rope ladder hangs over the ledge at your feet, vanishing into shadow. The air is musty, damp, and smells of moldering spice and rotting silk, wood permeated with gunsmoke and worried by the icy teeth of the ocean over the course of centuries. If this is the prison the king's been confined in, killing him will be a mercy.

His voice echoes up from the darkness, tired but commanding.

The King: I knew you'd return. Come here, boy. Let us speak face to face.

Voice of the Curious: He remembers us! And he sounds... older. I mean, he was already older than us. But he sounds much older now. 

Of course he's old, he's been in prison for a long time. Don't dwell on it or wonder about it, the more time and thought you give him the more dangerous he is. Just get down there and accomplish your quest.

> proceed down the 'stairs'

After what feels like half an hour of nerve-wracking descent, feeling for foot and hand-holds in the darkness, light begins to bloom below you. When you come to the bottom, a few minutes later, you find yourself facing another door—this one richly carved wood, remarkably well-preserved considering the state of the ship. It's hard to make out much in the light filtering through the cracks around it, but you can see intricate, geometric patterns, and the snarling face of a boarlike beast carved huge in the very center.

Voice of the Curious: What—

You waste no time fooling around and asking questions, and open the door. Striding within, you find yourself confronted with a surprisingly lavish room, dimly lit by old oil-lamps. Rich rugs cover the floor; a huge bed stands in the back of the room, partly hidden by curtains, and a huge desk carved with intricate details dominates another side of the room. Tapestries, paintings and maps nearly cover the walls, save for a section that seems dedicated to a number of weapons—at a glance you see twin swords and a trident. Everything feels a little... oversized, as if you're a child venturing into the room of an adult. When you look closer, you can see signs of wear and age—cracking paint, books with pages puffed by soaking and drying out, scratches in the fine wood and dust on the tapestries—but the overall effect is still opulent, overwhelming. This feels right for a prison meant to confine a king; it would be suitable for an emperor, confined to his office by the new regime, allowed to keep a pretense of dignity.

But across the room from you, there's a strangely bare section of the wall, interrupted by only two things: A porthole filled more by spiderwebbing cracks than glass, showing only blank darkness, and the King, who stands tall and studies you thoughtfully with pale gold eyes.

The King: You approach me, yet again, with your blade in hand. Interesting.

He's a big man, broad and heavy, a physique that might impress as brutish or sedentary if not for the way he holds himself. Straight-backed, imperious, with a hint of a fighter's grace in the way his stance shifts as his eyes track the step you take forward. There's no gray in his hair, or deep wrinkles on his face, but something about him gives an impression of great age and greater weariness. His face is craggy, but his eyes are delicately lined with black; he wears a topaz on his brow, and fine robes that inspire ideas of entrenched and confident authority. As he seems to reach an internal resolution in his appraisal of you, his teeth bare in what is hard to determine as a mocking smile or a grimace of pain.

The King: I suppose that if you try to kill me this time, it will only be fair. But I'd rather we talk.

Voice of the Curious: Ooh, talk! Yes! I want to know what's going on! Just, um, maybe we should stay at a distance.

Remember what you're here for. Don't listen to him, or him. Please, hero. Kill him now.

- slay the king

- kill him?

- You killed me last time, I'd like an apology before we do anything else.

> All right. Let's talk.

[thesevro]

[cassius bellona] sit, goodman

Cassius Bellona/Male Reader Smut Word count: 2.7K words Minor Light Bringer spoilers below the cut.

CW: Sex (i.e., oral sex, exchanged masturbation), vulgarity Reader constraints: Gold-born, an engineer of the Rising

Lyria, literally filming every horny interaction between you and Cassius with the audio: “If you don’t let me suck your dick, I’m going to kill myself. Take your pants off right now, or I’m going to pull the trigger!”

——

The days on the Archimedes have settled to take on a daily rhythm of hustle between every member of your crew. Cassius watches you weld a piece of scrap in making a miniature ship engine from scratch. He acts as an ostensibly ‘innocent’ supervisor of this engineering endeavor by his favorite engineer (he can’t even build a rubix cube via holo). Lyria knows he isn’t because you are half-naked and every bit of your skin is built with toned muscle that ripples with each movement. And you’re sweating like hell. Cassius hasn’t ever made you sweat like this in bed, not even when you’ve had him up against the wall. Lyria knows because he has told her all about his grand adventures withyou. In appropriate detail of course.

Lyria secretly films Cassius’s hungry eyes. If you don’t let me suck your dick is a line from the audio playing on her datapad. It fits perfectly with the way Cassius’s face changes as you move away from the miniature engine to heave a huge lump of scrap over your head to carry it towards the engine. Take your pants off right now, or I’m going to pull the trigger is the line that plays as Cassius swallows, desperation finally catching in his eyes as (Name) sets the scrap piece down with a hard grunt. 

Cassius calls out encouragement in what might be defeatist attempt at pulling himself together. “(Name), you’re doing well! Be careful to let the crankshaft anneal properly, lover.”

He sounds like he still has two functioning and so not-horny brain cells, at least. You give a measured nod without even looking back at Cassius. The only things you’ve ever been so enamored by aside from Cassius are engineering machine parts and numbers. The level of the focus flow you have sunken into must be staggering.

When his professional Engr. Husband has finished, Cassius moves toward you and tosses you a towel. You mutter your thanks, barely audible to Lyria, and sigh. A soft groan leaves you as you stretch your neck and the muscles there pop. Soon as the sound leaves your mouth, Lyria leaves. She knows what comes next, especially after seeing Cassius’s hungry eyes on you.

“Tired?” Cassius asks in a low, quiet voice. Damn near sensual. He’s turning on the charm, but you don’t notice. Even when he gives you that cocky smile, all smug with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. You only continue to stretch your sore muscles, using the grip you have on his shoulders to contort your body into long stretches.

You give another sound of relief as the tight joints in your shoulders pop. A sound that goes straight to Cassius’s loins. This, you know. This, you use against him. There are times when acting sexually stupid provides some of the most satisfying rewards. Today, you will be rewarded with Cassius lifting you up the wall by your ass to spread you open and show you what he really wants and what he really means by that hooded look he’s giving you with his pretty golden eyes. Oh. No, he’s giving you the ‘I’m getting on my knees for you’ look. 

You wonder if you’ll taste a little better with the briny sweat beading all over your body, like he does after training with Darrow. 

“A massage will do you a lot better than hanging onto me like a baboon,” he jokes. You laugh. 

Then you go serious after three seconds of laughter. “Don’t call me a baboon.” 

“Yes, sir. Now sit.” He pulls away from you to move a chair and push you into it. You fall with the intentional force of his hands. “You ought to relax. You keep working yourself to death like this and you’ll end up like Darrow with his twelve dozen knee surgeries.”

He sounds sincerely concerned. Knowing your schedule, you’ve barely done half the work Darrow has in three years. “Cassius. I’ve fought in forty-eight hour long corridor fights with thirty minutes of sleep in between. This is less than a walk in the park.” 

“Hm.” For a moment, he looks discontent. You observe him. Your words are a reminder, you find, of all he chose not to be of help in. Again, he chooses to be unfair with himself and his heart. “Close your eyes. You won’t be fighting for even a minute with me around or while we’re here, lover.” 

You do as he says. You hear the shift and rustle of fabric as he moves. You feel his hands slide over your bare torso. You heard no footsteps, so he must still be in front of you. Cassius’s rough palms caress the V-lines of your pelvis then under the bulge of your chest muscles. Beneath his touch, you shiver. 

“Cassius,” you sigh. “Bit sore around the thighs. Been squatting, carrying—”

“240 pounds of metal. Nothing for you, or me, but do it enough times and anyone would get tight muscles.” He clucks his tongue, and oh gods do you love it when this man starts taunting you. Your eyes open and you peer down at the man on his knees before you. He shakes his head. No. You don’t want him to be disappointed in you. You’d do anything to please him. “You start listening to me when I tell you to rest.” 

Your pants are suddenly very tight.

“Are we clear?” he says. You nod. 

“Crystal, Cassius.” You smile. “Will you help me through it, husband?”

Cassius rests his head against your thigh. “In many of the ways I love to.” 

At his mercy, you submit. He gives you a wolfish grin. “Should I help with the biggest muscle first or the others?”

“I need you, Cassius.” You know how good that gets him. And you’ve always been an easy catch when it comes to him. You pull Cassius’s hand into yours. With your grip over the top of his hand, your thumb splayed over his knuckles, you brush his palm over the hardness in your pants. You shudder at the fleeting touch, at the way his gaze morphs into something darkly predatory. “I need you to touch me here.” 

Without hesitation, he slips your pants down your knees and off your feet, raising you up with a hand on your hip to get it all off. You sit naked on the chair, knees apart as he sighs with satisfaction at the glory of you.

He’s been waiting all morning, so he chooses to give into instinct and swallow your cock whole. You melt like butter in your chair, body softening up as you slide over to the edge to angle your cock deeper into his throat. Contrary to the universal belief of all who know Cassius, he is nothing short of a lascivious Pink who moans like the most erotic star in a holo-film. 

You’ve always refused Pinks' advances and services before, but you are familiar with their sounds. Cassius has made you more so because he sounds so much like one any time you touch him. He takes your cock so deep in his throat, all with purpose, so that he gags and the muscles in his mouth seize. He moans each time saliva pours from his throat and onto your cock to coat you slick with his spit. He makes audible gagging noises that sound fit for some ero-film saved on his datapad. 

“On the tip,” you gasp softly. “Please focus—please, on the tip!”

Cassius relents. Pulls back from your cock, sighing all the way as he slides your length from his mouth. His tongue slips out to catch at leftover precum that drools from your cockhead. When he closes his eyes, savoring the flavor—maybe the tang of your sweat or of your cum or both and kisses the tip of your cock affectionately, you feel the fullness in your balls culminate. 

And much like a Pink, unfortunate given their forced circumstances of course but a blessing for you with Cassius as a living god of sex, your husband leans further forward once more to press open-mouthed kisses to your length. In salacious tandem with his lips, his tongue kisses your cock in suckling strokes. Cassius moans lewdly against the swath of your cock, heady with satisfaction as he looks up to measure if his ministrations are up to his standards based on how wrecked you look. You can see the gauging measure in his gaze. You can’t help but take your bottom lip between your teeth at the weight of his eyes. Naked on a chair in the repair room on his ship, with your friends walking around and at least one of them on the cameras, you—

“Cassius oh shit, someone’s on the cameras right now—”

He pulls back from you. “Already took care of it (Name). Commed Aurae in an hour ago, we’ve been dark since I started eating you up with my eyes. Which you probably noticed.” Reaching up, Cassius sets a hand on your stomach and pushes you back into the chair. He keeps it there, serving almost as a command for you to let him lead. And you know you are a man at his mercy.

Your head falls to rest on the back of the chair as he returns to giving you the best head a man with a history rife with sexual exploits can give. In truth, it’s the best kind of head. Cassius moves his tongue under your foreskin to tap it into your frenulum with all of the pink muscle, has you shuddering as the warmth of his mouth swallows your length whole once more. 

Miraculously, you last five minutes under his relentless assault, moaning ‘Cassius, Cassius!’ with absolute abandon while favoring with choice approval the praises Cassius murmurs into the skin of your cock. 

Taste like a dream, (Name). 

Fuck you’re so thick. Need you inside me.

You feel the clench in your balls. You twitch in the seat. Breathing with a hard shudder as you collect yourself to offer fair warning to Cassius, all until he gives a disgruntled noise and pulls off your cock.

“...Cassius?”

“Slag this.” Cassius pushes the chair and you toward the wall and makes space for his knee on the seat, right next to your thigh. Then he slips his pants down, spits thickly into his hand, and presses his length to yours as it springs from his underwear. Something inside you gives, gorydamn near breaks and a hot, noisy moan tight with surprise leaves you. 

“Ungh!” You only squirm as Cassius grips your cock and his in a powerful, rough hand. “Cassius! Oh gods, please please please I’m gonna—”

Already lubed with his spit, the slide of your cock against his is slick. Sticky. Your moans leave you as cries as the ache tingling right at the base of your cock thickens. You reach up, grasping for purchase with a hand around his hard bicep as you writhe against him, cornered in your chair between his body and the wall as he fucks your cocks together with his strong hand. Cassius bends down and nudges his lips to your ear, panting there as he whispers for you to cum. 

“Come on, lover,” Cassius encourages. “Baby. Mm. Yes, just like that. You’re throbbing against my cock.” 

You jolt in your seat at the description. Gasping for breath, you lay your hand on top of his and squeeze his hand, telling him to grip you at the tip. He follows. Deftly, his fingers maneuver around your cockhead. Cassius rubs his thumb into the slit spilling precum on your aggravated cockhead and fingers around the swath of your tip. Gods he knows where you’re most sensitive. 

His hips move to thrust his frenulum, sitting at the underside of his cock, into yours in small movements. At this he moans softly in your ear. Your name falls from his mouth as a strained moan, “(Name).”

Your back arches off the chair. The muscles in your stomach convulse as your body follows, cock spurting cum all over Cassius’s stomach. With your Gold genetics, the force of your orgasm has your cum hitting Cassius’s toned abdomen with thick noises that, if you were in a humorous mood, you would rightly call akin to the sound of boots on metal. But all you can call it is the hottest sound of your life.

You lose the sensation of Cassius’s breaths in your ear and know he’s watching you. Your orgasm curls to a heightened inflection as you feel your cock pulsating against the skin on his own length, and when you open your eyes your gaze finds focus on a shot of your cum falling flat onto Cassius’s cockhead. Your cum slips down his cock to slicken up the way of your cock sandwiched against his. Cassius groans, deeper than you’ve ever heard him, panting at the sight of your cum sliding down his abs and trickling down his cock to leave his length coated in your seed. 

It takes you two minutes to finish. You squirm against Cassius as he continues to pump your lengths together. Pant into his mouth as he reaches for you and presses your lips together with his. 

“Not prepped for you,” he says, almost whining with disappointment. “Can’t take you inside.”

“Cassius, I don’t know if I can…”

“You can take me,” Cassius says as he tilts your head to level his gaze with yours, his fingers on your chin. “(Name). As I will take your cock inside me.”

He melds his mouth to yours as he pumps your cum over his cock and yours. You revel at the throb of him against you, a telltale sign that he’s close. But he pulls away as you weakly push at his tongue. Wracked by oversensitivity and a long orgasm even for your Gold genes, you watch him with a cock that has only begun to twitch up towards your stomach as he licks your cum off his fingers. Cassius watches you in the same starved way while the bitter flavor of your seed floods his palate. Thing is, your cum belongs anywhere except outside him. So he will take the taste and cherish it as it slips into his system.

“Think you can walk to our room with that in your pants?” you ask. Measuring, and teasing.

“Let’s not beat about the bush.” Cassius reaches out to you with a clean hand. You take it and stand, cock hanging as you stand in the machine shop naked as the day you were born. Your husband doesn’t mind at all and eats you right up with his eyes as he speaks, “I’ll dress you. Don’t leave me hanging, though?” 

You glance downward, to his cock spilling out from between the open seam of his pants and pushing at his underwear. His balls are hanging out and every inch of his length is wet with your cum. If he weren’t hung like a Sunblood, you would laugh. “When have I ever done that, Cassius?” 

He contemplates this seriously. “Hm. Yes, well, you never have. Not even when I was milking you dry throughout our honeymoon.” 

“Wonder why you take it so good then?” you ask, pulling him towards you. Cassius is almost fully clothed, his tight shirt only riding up towards his chest, his pants clearly revealing why exactly he lets you fuck him. Naked against him, you feel the fever of his lust burgeon. Soon, he will be a man entirely at your mercy. 

For a moment, he savors what it feels like to have you pressed up against his body. You without clothes. Your cock at half-mast, hanging just below his line of sight—he can only feel it nudging against his thigh. And when you pull him into a kiss, he releases his lust as a soft moan into your mouth.

“My pants are hanging by the engine,” you tell him. He rushes over. “Darrow and company have never minded me naked, but you think they’ll notice these baby-tracks?” Bits of cum are drying on your stomach. Most of it dries on Cassius’s stomach beneath his shirt.

“They won’t so hurry it up. Hah. Baby-tracks. You’ve left quite a path inside me throughout the years,” he says and leans back, overtaken by a loud laugh at his own joke. For a moment, he stands golden, this moment solidifying as amber in your memory as he shines with his laughter. Then he hands your pants to you and heads to the door. You dress yourself with a private smile and follow him, holding the door open for him. You lead him outside with a hand on the small of his back. Until you get to his bedroom, you’ll be a man of grace.

[moinsbienquekaworu]

And now, by popular demand, the latest post in the series of me listing fics I have enjoyed reading: Kylux edition! (dedicated to @romanticvampire and @zeawesomebirdie <3)

Usual disclaimers apply, that is to say I have my own personal tastes & biases, I prefer longer works, I read a lot of smut + people write a lot of smut for this ship, there are very few kinks I won't read, I love omegaverse, and there's lots of fucked up dynamics for these two, so read the tags carefully before reading!

Obviously I'm not saying those are the only good fics ever or the best, just that I had them downloaded to my phone/in my AO3 bookmarks and thought they were at least a fun read. You're free to think I have bad or weird tastes, but keep that to yourself.

All the links work as of late june 2023, so if you can't see one of the fics, it's probably archive locked. Sometimes I add comments but sometimes I don't, and obviously I have stronger opinions about certains works than others, but it also can just be that my memories are vague or that the summary just sells the fic better than any comment I could add. The fics are sorted from longest to shortest.

Onto the list!

First, here are authors whose names I Remember, most likely because I dug through their entire AO3 to find more cool fics back when I was really into Kylux, but also maybe because I realised while making this list that they'd written a few works I like but hadn't connected to them before. It doesn't mean those are the only authors worth reading, they really really aren't, they're just authors whose names I recognise and who wrote multiple fics I liked! They're listed in alphabetic order.

– callmelyss/(a)roseofgalaxies

• From the Last Whelming Sea (42k, 10 chapters)

By now, Kylo might have recited the story himself, how it had been before, how there was once a mighty republic—or an empire—or both?—between the many planets. How it had fallen into war and chaos. How, in insolation, their world had changed, the oceans rising, the cities tumbling. How the people had changed afterward, taken to the life still possible under the waves. – Generations after the Republic, the Empire, the Force, and terrestrial civilization have fallen from memory, Kylo is a prince on the cusp of fulfilling his destiny as leader of his people, who live among the sunken remnants of the world before. That is, until he meets Hux, a cantankerous tinkerer with an affinity for technology and the old relics, who challenges his understanding of everything he thought he knew about the oceans, the galaxy, his family—and himself.

• And All That Road Going (38k, 4 chapters)

Kylo regards the pair of them. Phasma’s pale hair haloes her paler face; Hux’s eyes are dark, unfathomable in the shadows. The city’s lights glitter behind them, beckoning them all back, but neither spares a glance that way, at that luminous oasis. They’re both looking at him, expectant, and at the road ahead. And it would be much easier to do this alone; he didn’t want to involve other people, least of all two strangers he’s just met. – Kylo Ren, AKA Ben Solo, the son of a prominent California Senator and a mechanic, flees his past and the authorities, trying to leave both behind in the Nevada desert. Along the way, he picks up a cynical waitress and a sharp-tongued con artist in need of their own new beginnings. Together, in his father's '77 Plymouth Voyager, they find more than the road between the edge lines.

• My Baby's a Devil in the Bedroom (20k, 6 chapters)

“Oh, obviously.” Kylo let out a shaky laugh and ran both hands through his hair. “Wait, no, you’re serious. You’re a fucking demon.” “Well, yes, not to put too fine a point on it.” Hux smiled, clearly pleased with himself at the joke. “Or more accurately, I’m a succubus. A sex demon.” – Kylo has an unusual squatter. He's pretty fine with it.

• Monster, Lovely (8.9k, 2 chapters)

“Wait, what?” The redhead—previously with his tongue halfway down Kylo's throat and his hand jammed into the front of his jeans—takes a halting step backward. He raises his fingers into the grimy light from the bathroom window. No mistake: they’re glistening with secretion and glowing a faint violet as he turns them this way and that, studying them. “Huh.” – It was supposed to be a casual party hookup. That was before Armitage knew about the tentacles.

• Hesitation Change (8.2k)

“I—" Kylo says. Meaning to explain. Except he doesn’t know that he can. Account for the impulse just now, to go against this precisely coordinated spectacle, to answer an unposed question, what it would feel like to kiss him in front of the entire expanse of known civilization, and, perhaps most pressingly, whether his lips are as soft as they look (softer). – The Supreme Leader marries his Grand Marshal.

-> absolutely insane about this author. Monster, Lovely is always lurking in my brain. From the Last Whelming Sea and And All That Road Going altered my brain chemistry. The author made all the works private while I was finishing up the list and I waited until they made them publicly available again because I could not post a Kylux reclist that didn't link to them. Lyss (if that's still what you go by?) if you're reading this you changed my life a little and I don't know you but I love you.

– Camellia Cook

• Catch and Release, in collaboration with armoredsuperheavy (19k, 4 chapters)

Six months after the death of Supreme Leader Snoke, Hux feels like he’s all that’s holding the First Order together, but he’s barely managing to keep himself together. He’s stressed out and exhausted, unable to step away from his work long enough to truly relax. Kylo Ren is intimately acquainted with the feeling of being overwhelmed by one’s responsibilities. Looking at Hux, he remembers a long-ago encounter that helped him escape that feeling once, for a little while. He’s certain he could do the same thing for Hux, if only Hux would let him.

• Decadence; Or, Five Times Hux Tempted Kylo Ren and One Time Ren Tempted Him (17k, 4/7 chapters)

Hux is horrified to learn the depths of the new Supreme Leader's asceticism, and so he personally sets out to convince him that there's nothing wrong with enjoying yourself from time to time--for the greater good of the First Order, of course. A little pleasure might go some way towards decreasing Ren's famous volatility, after all. Not that kind of pleasure, though. This isn't a seduction. (Yes, it is, but Hux is the one being seduced.)

• Moonlighting (11k)

When Hux decides to visit a famous red-light district in search of a little stress relief, he’s disappointed in the selection until a tall, broad stranger in a skirt and heels catches his eye. When he gets closer, he finds that the stranger isn’t a stranger at all--it’s Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order, selling himself on a street corner. It must be some sort of undercover work to track down a resistance operative--surely that’s the only possible explanation. There’s no way Ren could be doing this just because he gets off on it… right?

• masters of the fucking universe (5.8k)

Kylo Ren, CEO of First Order Peacekeeping Solutions, plucks his top engineer, Armitage Hux, out of his lab and brings him along to a high-class fundraiser to help sell their newest innovation. Hux is just trying to keep up, and not give away the enormous crush he has on his boss--which is made much more difficult when Kylo decides he wants some company after the event.

-> I keep thinking about Moonlighting, I would safely put it in the top 10 of the hottest fics I have ever read (hottest to me personally of course). I will forever mourn that Decadence didn't get finished, but the 4 chapters we have are already incredible.

– flyting

• In A Crowd of Thousands (1.2k)

Hux recalls the time he met Ben Solo, unaware that Kylo remembers it too. “It was Endor Day,” Kylo realizes. He remembers those parades, distantly, through the veil of another life. A hot, cloudless summer day and a cheering crowd. “Yes,” Hux says. “I didn’t realize it at the time or I wouldn’t have-” he stops, shutting his mouth. “Wouldn’t what?” “I suppose I got rather into the spirit of things. I was twelve. It was warm and there was music, and everyone was so excited. Someone gave me a free iced chocolate. It was the best thing I’d ever tasted.”

• Breaking Down Like Fractions (6.9k, 2 chapters)

For the TFA-kink prompt: AU where Ben Solo never became Kylo Ren, but he's still the same man who *could* have become Kylo Ren. He's prone to fits of temper, he's very strong in the Force, and... he's a Jedi. He's developed a soft touch on people's minds (because Uncle Luke is so disappointed when he's mean to prisoners, although Uncle Luke is disappointed in him anyway) and he's the Resistance's interrogator of last resort. And then the Resistance captures a prize: General Hux of the First Order. He's building a base somewhere that can destroy an entire star system at once. And Ben is the only one who can find out where it is.

• Reputation (15k, 9 chapters)

Kylo finds out Hux is an omega. Functionally it makes no difference -- everybody in the FO takes hormone control -- but every so often medical deems fit to have someone go through a rut/heat. Alpha/omegas are uncommon enough that it doesn't present real disruptions. Kylo is excited. He's an alpha, and has never experienced being around an available omega. Omegas are supposed submissive, needy things -- according to Han's old romance novels and Snoke's gender essentialism 101, at least. And the glut of porn. Subjugating the general sounds appealing. It turns out heat makes Hux mean. He's aggressive, hostile, and doesn't seem to give a fuck about Kylo or his fancy dick.

-> Reputation has been on my wall list of fanfics I like since July 2021 and the author writes great (that's the end of the sentence, their writing is great)

– imperialhuxness

• Brighter Visions (14k)

Then: Free-wheeling arms runner Kylo Ren sells illicit kyber to a disgraced general with nothing left to lose. Now: The Emperor doesn't cope well with lateness from his best clandestine operative. – "Kylo’s chest clenches, and he pulls Hux closer. The Force is glowing again at the margin of his consciousness, something warm and golden and alive threatening to burst out of it. Thirty years of life, and he’s been three different people: the failed padawan, the misfit criminal, and the Emperor’s one-man death squad. Only the lattermost has been happy."

• Love, Your Crooked Neighbor (11k)

When Snoke assigned Hux to bring in his newest asset, Hux was expecting some everyday Coruscanti underworlder on a low-profile Core World. Predictable. Routine. What he gets is a burning compound on a nameless hunk of rock, a confused young pseudo-Sith, and oh, yeah. Feelings.

• Super Fade (8k)

After Ben returns to his hometown from a disastrous first semester of college, his dad attempts to revive one of their oldest father-son bonding activities: picking out New Year's fireworks. His going-places high school ex is the last person he expects to find on the other side of the counter. – Over a gray v-neck—not a button-down, what the hell— that bares his pale throat and prominent collar bones, the guy’s wearing a leather jacket. An enamel pride flag pin shines on his lapel. “Oh, my god,” Ben breathes. “Armitage?” What has to be Armitage fucking Hux looks him up and down. “How‘s Yale?” he says, and adds belatedly, “You may set your items on the table.”

-> Once again, Super Fade changed my life, it is so very memorable to me for personal reasons. Love, Your Crooked Neighbor is an extremely fun read also, not like funny but very enjoyable to me

– Kyluxtrashpit @kyluxtrashpit (who is still posting about them even though it's been years, thank you for your service, I haven't read for these two in a while but I'll swing by for your last fic)

• Floss Me (2k)

Hux, Kylo's boyfriend, is aghast to find out how rarely Kylo flosses (i.e. never) and he can't take it anymore, so he decides to take matters into his own hands. Kylo's mind, however, takes things in a different direction, and it turns out both of them enjoy the rather unexpected results.

• Aural (2.7k)

Hux fucks Kylo's ear. (Yeah you read that right)

• Monthly Reports (3.1k)

Kylo Ren's tantrums are expensive, and those extra expenses always complicate Hux's paperwork. Rebalancing the budget takes time, time that could be better spent doing something useful. So, of course, he devises a punishment for Ren.

-> Now those may sound a little... strange. Especially Aural. And it would be reasonable of you to think "ew I'm not reading that" but what is life if you never read fics that sound insane and are actually also very good? Huh? You can check out the rest of their works because they're also good, this is just the few I had downloaded on my phone. Floss Me is more normal and I am still a little obsessed with it <3

– notlikelybutpossible (all archive restricted!)

• the Fall Out Kylux series (148k, 3 works of about 50k each)

Inexperienced alpha Kylo Ren gets stranded on Hoth with reluctant omega Armitage Hux. Guess who’s going into heat. Guess who has to help him…

• My lonely heart calls (37k, 3 chapters)

Irreverent werewolf Kylo Ren meets repressed furry Armitage Hux. They're perfect for each other.

• the Dick in a box series (8.7k, 3 works)

In which Kylo Ren presents Hux with his dick. In a box.

• Once A-Pawn A Time (7.2k)

Hux has seen the mysterious man around a fair bit over recent months – he's hard to miss, with his height and build, not to mention the scar that runs all the way down one cheek. Hux is reasonably sure he’s living out of the battered Ford that he often leaves in the Walmart parking lot. But he's never come into the pawn shop before…

• Yours, desperately (6.7k)

Ren discovers Hux has a secret kink. And, being an emotionally fluent, boundary-respecting adult, decides his new purpose in life is to convince Hux to share…

• Holding out for a Hero (3.6k)

When Kylo Ren emerges from the waves before him, Armitage Hux is far more interested in his cock than, y'know, the fact that he's a centaur...

• Tie me down and use me up (2.1k)

"I just think that Kylo's massive cock deserves to be edged or used as a dildo for someone else's pleasure. Preferably with little to no regard for the pleasure or satisfaction of the man it belongs to." (@ProteanKylux, 28 July 2021, Twitter)

• Oil and fire (2k)

Kylo, a friendly liquid blob monster, encounters a human hiking through the forest who entrances him like a flame entrances a moth. He wants to touch.

• Soggy Biscuits (2k)

Kylo Ren was not prepared to deal with a very drunk, very uninhibited Hux bragging about how fast he can masturbate. But... he also wasn't prepared to just let him win.

-> I'm insane about all of those but especially the Fall Out Kylux series, Alpha Dog and Omegalomaniac lives in my brain still. I also remember clicking on the AO3 email for Soggy Biscuits <3 Once A-Pawn A Time is weird to read once Anakin becomes your blorbo as well but the concept charms me so much

– sigo

• Homecoming (13k)

“Ren, it’s midnight,” Hux sighed at his infuriating coworker. “Get to it.” “I may have informed my entire family previously that we were dating.”

• Whitecap Violence (5.2k)

When Kylo had first wanted to bring Hux along, Hux had protested. Bad enough that the Supreme Leader was always off galivanting planetside somewhere. The Chancellor should stay on Coruscant. Kylo would hear none of it, and here Hux was.

• The One with the Eggs (4.9k)

Hux turned on his heel, but hardly made it two steps before running straight into Kylo Ren. He knew his face betrayed his dismay. He didn’t have time for this.

-> Eggs are not everyone's thing but when they're yours it's really hard to find good fics, thankfully this fic exists. Homecoming was a kinda strange but fascinating read, by which I mean I read it once years ago and I still remember it pretty well, and Whitecap Violence is easily one of my fave titles I've ever seen

– solohux

• Screaming Colour (38k)

For as long as Hux can remember, he's been able to see everything in brilliant, vivid colour. His mother tells him that it means that he's got a soulmate somewhere in the galaxy who's waiting for him and little Hux is excited to think that his soulmate can see things in the amazing colours that he can. But one day, the colour begins to drain from Hux's world. (Soulmate AU where you see everything in perfect colour until your soulmate dies)

• What We're Made Of (13k, 3 chapters)

On the morning of your 5th birthday, you'll wake up with a new toy beside you, one that is made in the image of your destined soulmate. Young Ben has a little wooden General with orange hair and a woolly greatcoat that matches his little cap, whilst young Armitage has a soft plush of a Jedi, one with soft dark hair and two brown buttons for eyes. The two boys are happy with their new toys. Their families, however, are not. It shapes them.

• Emergency Consort (7.2k)

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren is close to sealing a deal with a highly influential council that’ll help sway the war in their favour. The only issue is that the council only deal with alphas who are mated as they believe that they’re much tamer and more level-headed this way. All Kylo needs to do is pretend to be mated whilst visiting the planet to sign the agreement. He seizes the opportunity to offer Hux a promotion in return for pretending to be his mate. Hux agrees, and their courting begins.

• Pander To The Prince (4.7)

Armitage Hux is a pillow prince, leaving it up to his Sugar Daddy, Kylo Ren, to do all of the work for him in the bedroom.

• The Sixth Drink Instinct (2.2k)

Drunk student Hux spots his hot professor in a bar and goes over to him.

-> What We're Made Of and Emergency Consort were some of my first Kylux fics I think and I have such a deep fondness for them! Also just the concept of What We're Made Of is incredible.

– sternfleck

• the Arcana Imperii series (56k, 9 works)

Based on the “Duel of the Fates” leaked alternate script for Episode 9.

• Nestful (5.5k)

Out of everyone in the First Order, only Kylo Ren knows the truth about Hux: the General is half alien...and entirely appealing. Or: Hux builds a nest out of pillows and clothes when it’s time for him to lay his eggs. Kylo wins his trust to enter the nest and give Hux the reward he deserves. For Kylux Positivity Week 2.0, Day 8. Prompt: “Wild Card."

• salt & he was still hungry (2.7k)

“I don’t see why it’s so crucial that I share this childhood experience of yours,” Armitage grumbles, cuddling Millicent closer even as he leans back into Ben’s arms. “We’re adults. We’re old enough to have children of our own, if we were so inclined. Surely there are better ways to spend our time than in surrendering to nostalgia.” Ben only hugs him tighter, one big arm around Armitage’s waist, while, with the other hand, he pulls a pillow into Armitage’s lap and rests the open picture book across it. Then, with a last kiss to Armitage’s temple, he begins to read. In the light of the moon, a little egg lay on a leaf. - Soft grown-up boyfriends Ben and Armitage cuddle in a blanket nest and enjoy Ben's favourite picture book together. At least, Ben enjoys it. Armie, on the other hand, has many thoughts about caterpillars, child development, and their romantic future.

-> The whole "salt-verse" thing is fascinating to me tbh. Remember what I said about egg fics being rare? Yeah, this is My Egg Fic™ for Kylux (and one of my egg fics of forever across everything I've ever read). Is it weird that I have one, yes, is the fic deserving of the spot it's been occupying rent-free in my brain for years, also yes. I hate to say this but Arcana Imperii is the vibes I wanted for the end of another Kylux fic lol.

And now, the actual list of fics! Some of those authors also wrote other fics (cough cough hollycomb) but if they're not on the list it's that I just never read them/found it easy to pick a favourite, not that I think they're bad!

• Dollars to Donuts by ktula (183k, 24 chapters)

Kylo just wants to ask Hux out on a date. That's all he wants. Sure, he's been closeted since he figured out he was gay, and he's never gone on a date with anybody before, and also Hux intimidates the hell out of him--but how bad could it possibly be? (It could be 'proposing a celibate fake marriage to the guy you've been in love with for two years so he can get his inheritance' bad, Kylo. That's how bad it could be.

-> Classic, I can't not include it but it's probably super popular and you might have seen it somewhere (I don't know I don't look at stats or talk to people). Personally not only did I like the fake dating (love that stuff) I also appreciated the author including a commentary at the end of chapters, it helped me Get the fic and it was cool.

• Ad Augustana per Sciencia by Star_flaming (157k, 12 chapters)

Hux prided himself on being a man who managed to have interests outside of the military. His newest interest; history so old that many thought it useless in the modern age. And he could have been quite content, reading articles and books on ancient cultures if it wasn't for Kylo Ren, who seemed to have made it his goal to inject himself into Hux's academic pursuits when he wasn't destroying the ship through his apparent self-destructive tendencies. Or: Academia brings two idiots together and builds a new regime

-> I never finished this fic but the worldbuilding is absolutely insane and I say that with all the love in my heart. The concept of space children makes me foam at the mouth it's so cool and I want to see that energy in canon SW so bad. Incredible. Also love when there's Ancient History <3

• In The Days Still Left by carefulben (154k, 23 chapters)

The instructions are clear, but following them will take more strength of nerves and willpower than either General Hux or Kylo Ren could have anticipated. With Starkiller Base destroyed, they are sent on a mission that will test their loyalties and bring things to light that may have been better off kept in the dark.

-> Add it to the pile of never finished fics I should really really finish. I remember it vaguely but I know it was cool and good.

• Reach Out and Touch Faith by for_autumn_i_am and ktula (146k, 10 chapters)

New Contacts (1): General A. Hux [Finalizer] - Kylo blinks. Sits up, and carefully presses the button. It’s—fuck, it’s a professional holo of him. Full colour, instead of the wavering blue of the hologram unit embedded in Snoke’s throne, and General Hux has—General Hux has red hair, and green-grey eyes, and he’s so focused, so settled. Like he knows what he wants. Like he knows how to get it.

-> Okay I'm going to be honest I read that one because of the title haha. It might even have introduced me to the song, but I'm not certain. Almost no memories of it but it absolutely cannot be bad, look at that summary, look at those authors, I just know it's good.

• The structural fabrications series by kyluxtrashcompactor (133k & 3 works, 40-50k per work)

Six months ago, Armitage Hux fabricated a fiancé, never expecting to have to drag him to a funeral in Georgia, pretending to be something they weren't. The problem was, Ben Solo was everything Hux had ever wanted. Ben Solo had hidden his love for his roommate for years, thinking that someone as perfect as Hux would never want a broken soldier like him. But he was wrong. Sometimes you have to tell a lie to find the truth.

-> This series was so.... yeah. If you don't want to Feel Things inside your heart right now you should keep it for later but it's great. I read the first fic, knew I couldn't handle the two others right then, and unfortunately didn't come back, but that first work was insane and incredible and a ride.

• Beauty Beneath (Beyond) by dallystrings (104k, 11 chapters)

“You know Ben, he’s a disaster when it comes to planning in advance,” Hux laughed lightly, dropping his hand to entwine his fingers in Ben’s. “I’m Hux, his boyfriend.” or, the one where Ben really doesn't want to go home, and Hux is just trying to be a better friend. or, or, the 2020 newly edited version of Beauty Beneath (2016)

-> I like fake/pretend relationships okay!! It might not be the single best I've ever read but it does the job and it does it well.

• Suit Porn by for_autumn_i_am (77k, 9 chapters)

Armitage Hux has worked tirelessly to become CEO of First Order Corp's UK office, however his counterpart in the States, Kylo Ren, is the most infuriating man with whom to exchange emails. When Hux is called to New York to meet with Ren, he encounters a delicious man in a suit, who wants to do unspeakable things to him. But when Hux walks into his meeting the next morning, he's in for a surprise and the beginning of a relationship that is far more than just business.

-> I had no memories of this one so I went to read it and I don't think it's present-me's jam anymore, but it sure delivers upon its premise if that sounds interesting to you!

• Sweet Home Arkanis by Gefionne and minzimpression (68k, 8 chapters)

Hux is engaged to the man of his dreams. There’s just one catch: he’s already married to his high school sweetheart, Ben Solo. Now he needs a divorce, and he needs it fast.

-> Do you think those cliché hallmark movies are entertaining if not very good? Well. Fanfic version, ie automatically more enjoyable because at least there's no weird sexism. I'm selling it all wrong, don't listen to me, it's just really good, I have great memories of that one.

• There's no escape from my authority by The_Marron (67k, 20 chapters)

Hux refuses to go to Snoke like a schoolboy waiting for punishment he did not deserve. Now he has two weeks until they reach the Supreme Leader's quarters to stage a coup and take Snoke out of the equation. To do that he will not only need his crew, but also the loyalty of his rival. Nobody said becoming an Emperor was easy and pleasant.

-> I only remember the title but it is a really cool title. I think it was good? That summary is certainly making me want to take another look at it

• All Hearts Come Home For Christmas by aaelandair (66k, 8 chapters)

"Do you want to come home with me and pretend to be my boyfriend for a week?" Hux stares at him incredulously. "What the actual fuck, Ren? No." - Kylo desperately needs a fake boyfriend for Christmas, so his family won't be disappointed in him once again. Hux would be the perfect candidate for the job, except for the part where he doesn't want to do it. Convincing him that this is actually a good idea should be easy, though. Right?

-> Aand some more fake/pretend relationship! This one is really good at that trope and a very fun read <3

• Status: It's Complicated by PangolinPirate and sunnywritesstuff (61k, 8 chapters)

Armitage Hux is a graduate student working hard to make ends meet. To ease the financial strain he offers tutoring lessons. Enter one Kylo Ren, an apparently spoiled rich kid whose struggling to pass his law classes and is in danger of loosing his considerable inheritance if he can't improve. Kylo has everything Hux wishes he had when he was an undergraduate: Money, connections, parents who gave a shit about his education. Kylo asks Hux to be his tutor and what started as a side gig for cash turns into feelings. At first, Hux is unimpressed with the spoiled man-child student, but slowly realizes he can’t hide from it anymore— Kylo Ren does something to him that no other person ever has before, and to hell if he won’t indulge in that.

-> Didn't finish that one either, I'm a fanfic magpie and AO3 is full of very shiny jewels, but the beginning was fun

• the Kylux Animal Welfare AU (Madame, That's Not A Hedgehog & co) by GenerallyHuxurious (57k & 11 works for the whole series, 21k & 7 chapters for the main fic)

Armitage Hux is an animal welfare officer with First Order Animal Rescue, one of the biggest animal charities in the world, he spends his days saving animals and his nights home alone with his three-legged rescue cat Millicent. Kylo Ren's mother helped him open a private wildlife clinic in the hope that he'd stop causing international incidents in the name of animal rights. Hux hasn't had a date in six years and Kylo's been trying to work out how to ask him out for the last four. Now he might have spotted his chance…

-> ASPEC HUX!!! This is not a drill!!!!! He's aspec!!!!! He's demi!!!! The plot is also immaculate obviously but aspec Hux!!!! It touches on animal abuse so be careful, I know the last chapter really shook me, but it stands out in my memory and I love it a whole lot. Aspec Hux also once again.

• Dire Oversight by ezlebe (54k, 7 chapters)

“Thvala has a long tradition of binding political alliances with marriage,” Captain Pforn says, looking up from the heretofore agreed contract and folding his hands over the data pad. He has a smile like what he said isn’t absolutely senseless, “It is the will of Sovereign Andeles that you and Prince Gheralt fulfill this aspect of the contract.”

-> Fake marriages my beloveds. I keep reccing fics with that trope but they're all fun!!

• On Bended Knee by rudbeckia (47k, 10 chapters)

Armitage Hux, just out of an unhealthy long term relationship with an older man, is on vacation. On his first night, the complete stranger from the next room proposes. The handsome complete stranger with shoulders that look like he could wrestle a ram and hair that would make a poet weep. Armitage says yes. That’s no basis for a lasting relationship. Is it?

-> Ohoho I am insane about that one. The start of their relationship. The development. Hux's ex. I won't spoil but there is Something in their relationship that is different from what you usually see in romance and it's great.

• Young Couple Arguing in IKEA, 2016 (Mixed Media) & First Love, Late Spring by hollycomb (7k, 38k & 3 chapters)

Ren drags Hux to IKEA and asks him what he thinks about cacti. Hux does his best to avoid a full nervous breakdown.

"Hux felt like he had nothing left to lose and ended up back at the apartment Ren shared with his cousin and her husband, indulging in what he assumed would be a reckless one night stand. It was reckless indeed, but Hux was still there three days and approximately nineteen fucks later." Ren's POV on bringing a lonely ginger criminal home and never wanting to let him go.

-> ALSO obsessed with that one. Obsessed obsessed. It hit me right in the feels and it was absolutely insane and I am in genuine love with it. You can read them in whichever order, I think I read First Love, Late Spring first? It comes first in in-universe chronological order but that doesn't really matter. BTW, if you have not, listen to First Love, Late Spring by Mitski, it is also an insane song that makes me feel shrimp emotions.

• Hotline Bling by minzimpression (37k, 4 chapters)

Hux wants a dick pic from his recent hook-up. Unfortunately, he texts the wrong number.

-> If I was serious-insane about the others I'm silly-insane about that one. It's very very fun to read, at least in my eyes.

• What we want by mssdare (37k, 7 chapters)

Kylo is doing Community Service in a state-run assisted living facility outside NYC. He hates his job, his life, and mostly--himself. One of the patients in the facility is old Colonel Hux. His son, Armitage, is the most infuriating, stuck up man Kylo has ever met in his life.

-> And back to more serious-insane. I think if you read all the fics that Resonate with me you can tell what's wrong with me. ALSO! ASPEC HUX!! Yeah I have to shout it from the rooftops because I love it. More aspec characters everywhere. I love his relationship to sexuality there.

• On the Waves by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles (34k, 7 chapters)

Armitage Hux is forced to join his father and step-mother on a 14 day cruise hosted for high society families to network and debut their children to the world. Now that Armitage is 25 years old he is expected to marry someone whose family will strengthen the Hux business and if by the end of the cruise Armitage isn’t engaged, he’s in trouble. Worse still is the fact that Armitage is gay and his father would disown him if he knew. Resigned to a miserable two weeks, Armitage is caught off guard when he catches the eye of Ben Solo, who is on the cruise with his own family. It doesn’t help that Ben is exactly his type and although Armitage tries, he can’t resist temptation as he and Ben become close. For two weeks their affection grows in secret with one question remaining: what happens when the cruise ends and their time together runs out?

-> The plot is straightforward, the fic is fun, there's some Rey and Phasma in there too if you like them!

• Something About Volcanoes by betts (28k, 5 chapters)

“Think about it.” Hux makes a grandiose, sweeping motion with his arm. “The drama. The chaos. The rumors. The only thing better than a destination wedding is a heartwarming coming-out story to take the spotlight away from your selfish loved ones and their horrid pursuit of emotional fulfillment. Then you wait a few months, and announce it was all just a phase and you’re in fact happily engaged to…I don’t know, one of those body pillow things.”

-> Yet more fake dating. I just love fake dating. They're assholes in this one and I love assholes.

• fingerprints smudging the stars by TheSpaceCoyote (21k, 2 chapters)

For years Hux has carried himself with the poise and power of an alpha, his true endotype hidden with the help of fake scents and powerful suppressants. But on the cusp of Starkiller's completion, something slips through the general's carefully crafted failsafes and threatens to undo everything he's built up over the years. Hux has never been one to accept help, but with an unexpected problem mounting—not to mention the interference of unpredictable alpha Kylo Ren—he might have to.

-> Dope title and I have very few memories of this one but it sounds like a neat omegaverse. I also trust the author to do words good

• The Wildflower Prince by PangolinPirate and solohux (21k, 4 chapters)

Armitage Hux is an omega, locked away in a tower until his alpha father can find use for him. His tower is deep in the enchanted forests and surrounded by an impenetrable circle of magic, so Hux lives a very lonely and quiet life. That is, until gifts begin appearing upon his balcony.

-> I really like omegaverse too! Sue me! This one is neat and simple and a great read, it has Rapunzel vibes and it's fun.

• Caim by Eiramma (20k)

Hux is stolen from his academy bunk late one night and is dumped on the frozen waste land that is Ilum along with a small handful of his other classmates. Despite never having dreamed a night of his life, on his first night on this frozen planet, Hux finds himself in the body of an angry padawan, Ben Solo. As his stay on Ilum continues, it becomes apparent that pair of them share some sort of deep connection forged through mysticism of the Force, that permits them spend their dreams in one another's waking lives, and Hux has no idea why. But with danger lurking around every snow covered tree, Hux begins to wonder if he will be able to live long enough to understand the mystery of their bond, never mind deal with the growing fondness for the other boy that has begun to bloom in his heart.

-> not on AO3 anymore but I have an epub file if someone's interested, just hit me up in private! I love love love this kind of dyad thing, and I have a fondness for teen!Kylux.

• the Galactic La Leche League series by gundamoocow (17k, 2 works)

Kylo Ren’s jaw hangs loosely and his eyes are steadfastly fixed on Hux’s chest. He hasn’t moved an inch since Hux unclasped his tunic hook by hook to reveal a tight, flattening undershirt that leaves little to the imagination. Hux shirks the tunic off and drapes it over a chair before pulling the undershirt over his head. Removing it is always a struggle, but he manages with enough grace for Ren not to notice. He is topless now, wearing only his boots and jodhpurs, standing awkwardly in his room while Ren appears frozen in time with his eyes glued to Hux’s torso, surprise plain on his face. Hux frowns. “Surely you were aware?” Ren shakes his head. “No,” he utters, his voice weak as if winded. “I had no idea.”

-> Now I know what you're thinking, what is this, why are you reccing this, etc. Well the fic is fun to read, and it's hard to find male lactation without mpreg or children in the picture but the idea has potential to be really hot, so. There. Cringe culture is dead, live a little and try a good lactation fic

• Family Values by SpookMouse (16k, 8 chapters)

“Alone on Thanksgiving? Mad at your dad? I am a 28 year old felon with no high school degree, and a dirty old van one year younger than me painted like Eddie Van Halen’s guitar. I can play anywhere between the ages of 20 and 29 depending on if I shave. I’m a line cook and work late nights at a bar. If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Thanksgiving, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you, to torment your family, I’m game.” Or, Hux brings Kylo home for the holidays.

-> I think the summary just sells that one on its own. Look at this. Incredible Kylo energy.

• Unknown Pleasures by gundamoocow and hexgoldyloins (16k, 7 chapters)

Kylo Ren and Armitage Hux are rival employees at First Order Engineering, a multi-disciplinary engineering company headed by the elusive CEO Snoke. For years, Kylo and Hux have been at each other's throats, vying for power and advancement within the aerospace division. An opportunity to have an audience with Snoke presents itself, but it involves forming an unlikely alliance and going undercover…to a BDSM sex club.

-> Also reread that one for the list and hmmm yeah it's good. The BDSM etiquette could be better but if you compare it to canon they're doing so well <3

• Nothing but a Flickering Flame by leviathanofthesky (14k, 7 chapters)

General Hux’s father visits the Finalizer after Snoke’s death to pay tribute to the newly crowned supreme leader. Unfortunately for Armitage, Kylo’s sudden interest in him and the fact that his shipment of suppressants seems to be lost in stars-know-where doesn’t help the situation at all.

-> Hmm, good old Brendol bashing <3

• Reptile Husbandry by koi_boi (13k)

Hux is an accomplished researcher who's having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad time in the field. He stumbles into a cave filled with secrets and one very large, very curious snake. Hux gets fucked in more ways than one.

• There's a Desert in My Blood and a Storm in Your Eyes by frapandfurious (12k, 5 chapters)

Hux and Kylo have been on the road together for over a year. They're free and they're in love. Until a ghost from Hux's past finally catches up with them.

• Give Me a Shot to Remember by decotex (11k, 6 chapters)

Everyone on the Finalizer has at some point had to listen to the General and their resident Dark Lord's flirting. They are not subtle. Someone points out Kylo Ren's soft spot for a certain First Order general. Hux contemplates this over vodka. Feat. heavy drinking, a ship full of gossipers, and no subtlety whatsoever.

-> I found a fave song of mine in this fic. The last chapter was an Experience and I re-live it every time I listen to Goodbye to a World.

• Lapdog by Antique_Mango (11k)

“I’m willing to listen to what the Supreme Council has to say,” Ren continues like they are having a reasonable conversation, and not like Hux is half a moment away from losing every last bit of his hard-earned decorum, “as soon as you sit down.” “On your lap.” – After his fall from grace Hux is barely keeping it together, convinced that everyone wants him dead (himself included.) Kylo tries to change his mind.

-> Oh yeah baby, amplify those emotions! Make them feel things! More!!! I left a loonng comment on that one because it fascinated me so much.

• A Whisper In My Ear by Ellstra (10k)

A minute reaction of Hux’s inspires Ren to suggest adding some spice into their sex life. Hux isn’t entirely certain what to expect but he’s definitely on board.

• Young Men at the End of Everything by partialresonance (9k)

Kylo thinks he can get used to life in exile, so long as Hux is there to live it with him. But a random stroke of fate suddenly throws Hux's life into jeopardy, and Kylo has to turn to an unlikely source for help.

-> The title is great the old lady character is great it's a good read and pretty memorable for a 9k fic

• an insult to basic geometry by brawlite (7.4k)

It's not that Kylo wasn't trying to summon a demon; it's just that he didn't think it would actually work. He also didn't prepare himself for the hypothetical demon that he probably wasn't going to summon to be so damn hot. And now the demon is asking him what he wants -- and the only thing Kylo really seems to want is the demon himself. That's within the terms and conditions, right?

-> Dope title, check, demons, check, I follow the author on here and am slowly getting into other fandoms they've also written for, check. (no but for real when I saw their name looking for Venom fic it felt like seeing an old friend, great surprise)

• Pheromones by EmberSH (6.2k)

After a blind date gone wrong all Hux wants is to have a drink and find a distraction for the evening; Best case scenario someone who'll treat him a little rough. Kylo Ren is so much more than that.

-> This was the hottest fic I'd ever read for a looong time years ago. Genuinely, it completely blew my mind when I was like 14. The follow up was less fun because I am Not a noncon person and I really really wasn't back then but it's also good. The fic has vampires, go read it if you like vampires.

• silk & heat by surrenderer (5.2k)

When Ben gets home, Armitage has some exciting plans for the rest of their day together. For Year of Kylux's "Omegaverse" week!

• A Decent Proposal by PaperPrince (5k, 5 chapters)

Hux is very happy not being in a relationship with his roommate and best friend Kylo Ren. But when Kylo faces deportation, they find themselves re-evaluating their co-dependent lifestyle. What is marriage really? Two people who is on the cruise the rest of their lives together. So what difference does it make if you take sex away from the equation?

-> ASPEC KYLO!!!! Not the best writing in the entire world, but the concept and aspec Kylo got me.

• Botanical Exercises by need_more_meta (3.9k)

Hux finds a flower on his bed. Then another one. And another one. For Kylux Positivity Week 3.0, Prompt: “Flower Language” with a dash of “Oh No He’s Hot.”

-> It reminds me of Dites-le avec des fleurs <3

• When Christmas Comes by Pizzzazlut (3.6k)

"Kylo bit his lip as he tried not to show Hux how much that simple touch was already affecting him. Because an Alpha shouldn’t want this. An Alpha should never crave for his sweet albeit feisty Omega to fuck him into submission like this, to make him beg for more with each delicious thrust." Or the one where Alpha Kylo bottoms for his lovely Omega.

-> People who do fun stuff with A/B/O dynamics are galaxy brained and so very right and I love them.

• What Couples Do by Mesmeret (3.4k)

Kylo likes matching with Hux. At first it’s socks but they gradually figure out ways to share things together that keep them company when the other is away. My contribution for the Soft Issue of the Kylux Zine Project.

• How Not To Train Your Not-Sith Enemy by humane (3.1k)

"Forgive me, master." Hux murmured, head bowed in shame, "I feel it again. The pull from the dark. It tempts me more each time." Luke arched a single bushy eyebrow. You? Tempted? it seemed to say. "It's Kylo Ren." Hux admitted. Sympathy and profound understanding blossomed on Luke's face, the likes of which could only be observed in individuals that had personally experienced the unique brand of disaster that was Kylo Ren. "Are you tempted by his chaos?" he prompted. "His unbridled power? His seeming freedom? None of those are the way of the force." Hux frowned, puzzled. "No." he said, "I'm just tempted to decapitate him." Or: In which Hux is an EXTREMELY uptight jedi knight and Kylo is the not-sith that gives Hux aneurisms with the sheer blazing power of his incompetence.

-> I don't know how well this meshes with prequels lore, I read it back when I didn't care about anything beyond the sequels, but the premise is great

• Blood, Bitemarks, and Stupid, Stupid Love by TheSilentUnderworld (3k)

Being roomates with an annoying Alpha Werewolf was fine. Until he started messing with Hux's mail.

-> Werewolf x vampire <3 <3 <3

• I'll Be the Sun, You Be the Moon by need_more_meta (2.1k)

Chancellor Hux is preparing for a ball. He enlists Ren’s help. For Kylux Positivity Week 3.0, Prompt: “Put It on Hux | Put It on Kylo.” For Year of Kylux, Prompt: “Duel of the Fates Timeline.”

• Sweet Redolence by Jakathine (2k)

What happens when the desire to best your opponent turns into a desire to bed them instead…and then fate pushes you together rather Forcefully.

• Rabid Curs by Potboy (1.9k)

In which Kylo, all alone in the First Order with a master who mistreats him, goes to the wrong man for comfort. Unfortunately Armitage Hux is all he's got, and he's not a very comforting person. They do their best - it's all they can do.

• Dirty White Boots by BlackHellKitty (1.6k)

A Kylux-story based on the song "Dirty White Boots" from Lenny Kravitz. Kylo and Hux do some roleplay sometimes. Just pure PWP without any kind of big story. :3

-> The reasond Dirty White Boots is a Kylux song to me

• Come Morning by elfriniol (1.5k)

True, Kylo liked Hux. A lot. He couldn't imagine his life without talking to him about Star Wars trivia and offering judgmental commentary for shows they occasionally skimmed through on Netflix. Or going out for drinks. But if Hux wanted something else – that proverbial, dreaded more – Kylo wasn't sure of himself.

-> ASPEC KYLO!!! Oh how I love it when they're aspec.

• After by Davechicken (1.1k)

Aftercare, and emotions.

• Living in Close Proximity in Case of Sudden Yet Inevitable Betrayal by 5ofSpades (874 words, 9 chapters, drawings)

In which the Supreme Leader gets himself two ginger roommates.

-> This. Is not a fic. It's drawings and I cried at the end like a BABY. The artist's art style is impeccable, it inspired me a whole lot back when I 'read' it.

And this is IT folks! I didn't @ anyone (except Kyluxtrashpit) because I only know a few authors' tumblrs and I didn't want to discriminate, plus the fandom is pretty old and I would assume most of them have moved on or are inactive. If you know that someone on the list would like to be tagged don't hesitate to do it/tell me though, those fics all mean(t) a lot to me!

Hope the list is good & you, the reader, find something new and interesting to read! I really don't know which fics are considered popular or good or whatever, I don't talk to people usually. Okay bye bye thank you for reading <3

[hinatastinygiant]

17 | Fairytale Gold

Pairing: Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Pirate's Treasure Masterlist

Y/N'S P.O.V.

It's a new day on the island. Another morning is beginning to rise as you wait for Bakugou to meet up with you. He had asked for you to wait in the sand as he got one final surprise. And so, you're standing outside, the wind in your hair, and a smile on your face.

It's hard to believe that this is real. Hard to believe that you're still here, and not back at home. Part of you worries for your grandfather, but the radio at your waist is comfort enough to keep those feelings at bay.

He'll be okay.

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply and relishing the feeling of the warm breeze tickling your skin. And when you open your eyes again, there he is, walking towards you. The first rays of sunlight hit him, making him seem as though he's glowing. He looks beautiful, golden, like the sunken golden ship from his past.

"Good morning," he calls out, his hands behind his back.

"Morning," you greet him with a grin. "Where've you been?"

"Around," he replies. "I had to get something before we go."

"Are you going to tell me what it is?" you smile hopefully.

"Not yet," he shakes his head.

"Fine," you sigh dramatically, causing him to chuckle.

"Don't be such a brat," he teases, ruffling your hair. "Come on, let's go."

Together, the two of you walk along the newly created pathway to the project you had spent your last three months working on together.

"Do you know what day it is?" you ask him, looking over at him.

"Why are you so sappy about dates?" he sighs.

"So you do know," you beam. You knew he was keeping track of time.

"So what if I do," he scoffs. "Now will you shut up and stop asking me dumb questions?"

"Fine, fine," you laugh. "But happy three months," you hum as you place your hand in his.

A few moments later, the two of you arrive at your finished project. The house that the two of you built together. It's a small, one-story building made entirely of bamboo and palm leaves.

"This is it," you say, looking at him. "Our new home."

"You're so fucking weird," he laughs, shaking his head.

"Maybe, but it's not like you didn't agree to it," you reply.

"Tch," he scoffs.

"Now come on, let's go inside," you tell him, tugging him towards the front door.

Once you step inside, Bakugou finally agrees to show you what he's brought- the wooden box that held the map to the gold.

"You wanted to bring it? I thought you said-"

"Yeah, well, figured it was about time to bring the last of my crap here," he mutters, a faint blush tinting his cheeks.

He then stops you before you can take a step further. "Hold on a sec. I want you to have it," he says, presenting it to you as if it were a precious gift.

You take the box, running your fingers over the smooth wood. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he nods.

As you lift the lid, you find the map inside – the same map that led you to this island, to him. Bakugou watches your reaction closely, most likely wondering what you will do with the map now that you're no longer hunting for the treasure.

"It's the last thing tying me to that damn ship," he admits, his tone softer now. "And I thought you might want to keep it. You know, as a reminder of how we got here."

You look from the map to Bakugou, a rush of emotions welling up inside you. This map is more than just a piece of paper; it's a symbol of your shared journey, everything you've faced together, and the bond that has grown from the chaos. With a grateful smile, you pull Bakugou into a tight hug, your arms wrapped around his neck.

"Thank you, Katsuki," you whisper, and Bakugou, for a moment, lets his guard down, returning the embrace.

"Whatever," he grumbles, but you can hear the fondness in his voice.

"I love you, Katsuki," you murmur, your face buried in his neck.

"Yeah," he answers. "I love you, too."

Pirate's Treasure Masterlist

Taglist: @nemisimp @boopjuice @stevenknightmarc @lem-hhn

[athailandsquid]

A Thailand Squid - S.O.S

set scene,

on a yacht,

somewhere in thailand,

stranded, on a rocking boat sinking, in flames,

black smoke, exiled, panic,

panic insueing, heart at race, your time is coming,

fuck the life preserver, I want to feel the water,

fill my lungs, to the brim,

passengers running for safety,

desperate,

grabbing their children, brothers, sisters, whilst,

I'm running to my demise, at peace, swaggering,

allowing the boat to rock my body, it's motion,

stranded, on a sinking reality, on fire,

in flames,

unfortunate passengers, banging, banging, trapped,

the water has reached halfway, holding them,

captivity, sealed page, fucked,

don't fight the inevitable, recarnation,

your fucked, my eyes widen like a jolt, your fucked,

just like your living waking self,

a regular average Jane doe,

water rising, building up, feet ankle deep,

S.O.S,

calling out a,

meaningless,

pointless,

S

.

O

.

S

damned passengers,

damned to hell, sealed fates,

S.O.S

they are calling out on a,

meaningless, pointless,

S . O . S

set scene,

genesis in full frame, panic behind him, screaming,

pale white skin, white dress, glamour, demonic,

I begin to undress, popping buttons off, my dress,

kicking off my heels, seductively face ready,

walking towards the drowning deck below,

a view of a captain yanking me away, warning me,

I yank my arm away from him, my nails scratch him,

walking, creeping, deeper,

wiping off my wetted lipstick, my hand purpled,

my back hand graffitied, by a vandal,

poetry is all I know, fucking you,

fucking you,

fucking your soft,

mind environmental,

boat rocking, mind fucking,

environment,

wet, purple dripping, liquid, liquidcity,

walking, flocking, lower deck,

bodies floating seemingly,

lost souls, on a lost ship, white yacht,

only wearing my bra, unneeded, flat chested boy,

undone, unfastened attire,

I'm in anti christ mode,

locked in a metallic corridor, genesis's sleek legs,

exposed like a naked navel, soft skin,

my wetted body from the oceans embodiment,

water droplets, singing down his curves, singing,

slip, sliding down his soaked clothing, dampened,

clothing constricted against my skin, tight, wet,

cold yet warm at the same time, this body,

my body the warming temperature, rising,

rising, rising and warming, warming it all,

luke wetted water against my clothing, against my,

bra, panties, socks, dress,

lips, mouth, chest, tummy,

this ship is sinking, gracefully, ever so slowly,

I can't fathom a feeling other than this moment,

this moment that is going to take me, suck me in,

suck me in like a whirlpool deeper, drown me,

all passengers now gone, lower deck, pipes burst,

a view of my feet under the water, murky

my black nail polish bleeding into the water,

like a beautiful black smoke swimming, melting,

combination with the oceans accepted, yes,

take me, take me to your depths, cold depths,

leave no trace of my existence, just leave it,

my feminine demons, crying out onto you,

crying onto you like a new born child, crying,

the water has reached the ceiling, full capacity,

the water has entered me, full capacity,

the ship has sunken and hit bottom, deep blue,

deep blue, just like my schematic nature, blue,

blue, bleak, torn little doll, ripped to shreds,

the shark now may feast on his emotions,

the fish can now feed on my heart, chowder,

feasting and dining, red candle lights,

feasting on my body, this cold environment,

his body now apart of the world, contributed,

calling out an s.o.s, a meaningless, pointless,

S . O . S

[ayeathelas]

[Chapter 4: The Warlord and the Tollmaster] Lost - One Piece and Naruto Crossover

(UPDATED: 04/05/23)

This is a story about a tollmaster.

He gets up every morning, checks on his daughter— good, she's sleeping and still tucked in, nice and warm— and makes himself breakfast, which consists of two baked fish, both on the smaller side, with two slices of bread. Then he grabs his gun, hooks it to his belt, and walks to the docks, which are really only about a few hundred feet from his small home. He sits on a barrel and stares at the sea, waiting for visitors to arrive, and thinks of how to make this more enjoyable for himself (because, there was no way he was enjoying this).

There wasn't always a need for a tollmaster. Before, he was just a humble fisherman. But the Warlord came and so the farmers turn to slaves, merchants turn to traders, and the fisherman becomes a tollmaster, hoping that the money he makes from his forced job is enough to appease his master and keep his daughter alive.

This is a story about a Warlord.

He arrives by boat (a freighter, really— the gigantic metal ship he uses for his mode of transportation is no mere boat) and disembarks surrounded by his loyal soldiers, who are oddly sweaty and don't dare look him in the eye. The first thing he does each time is visit the tollmaster, to collect the tolls and taxes due to him.

There have always been warlords. And this one is no different— seizing land for the sake of power, subjugating people for the sake of his convenience, using their money for his entertainment. After all, they only yet live to serve him.

Warlords and tollmasters may exist on the same plane, but they live in different worlds.

The green-haired man does not know this yet, nor does the man dressed in bandages, nor does the young boy who accompanies him. They only see their boat, sunken at the bottom of the sea, and the tollmaster playing his role to a T.

The Warlord steps off the ship's metal ramp and onto the docks. The whole ship shifts with his weight. With an arrogant smirk decorating his face, he approaches the tollmaster, who looks terrified out of his mind. His knees are still shaking from his encounter with two missing-nin, and he bows his head quickly when the large man arrives in front of him.

"Welcome, Lord Kaizuko," he stammers, clasping his sweaty hands together.

"Where are my brothers?" the huge, imposing man demands. His voice echoes across the dock. "Tell me where they've gone."

The tollmaster shivers slightly, his shoulders tense, though he does his best not to show it. "I am sorry, my lord. They left of their own accord. They did not ask for anyone to guide them. All that I know is that they headed straight towards the Land of the Moon."

"Those fools... they think they can escape my wrath!" the large man snaps angrily. "Pino," he barks at the tollmaster, "I'll be having words with you. You weren't supposed to let them go!"

"I-I apologize, my lord." Pino trembles as he kneels, his head bowed in shame.

"And as for you," Kaizuko snarls, motioning to Zoro, Zabuza, and Haku. "State your business here!" he commands, pointing his thick finger at the three of them.

They all share a look between themselves before Haku begins speaking.

"We're just visiting and would like to request passage through your village. We have relatives that live in Oujisama City," he lies politely. "So, please allow us to pass without causing trouble. Our family is waiting for us in the capital."

Kaizuko pauses for a moment, thinking it over. A sly smile crosses his face as he replies. "Of course, we will not stand in your way. We welcome visitors here, in Haruki Village. I'm sure everyone will make you feel welcome. Pino!" he barks, "see to our guests." His eyes are full of double meaning.

"Y...yes sir," Pino mutters softly, rising from the ground with his head lowered.

The sound of the Warlord's boots hitting the pier echo in the still air as he makes his way away from the group, toward one of the many huts lining the dock.

The three men remain silent as the tollmaster motions for them to follow him. The people who had come to watch the spectacle disperse, and the three strangers follow him.

Once he's gotten inside his home and shut the door behind them, he takes a deep breath and then sighs heavily. "Please forgive me," he says.

"Forgive you?" Zabuza questions, grabbing his sword. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't slice you down right where you stand."

Pino pales, and out of the corner of his eye, Zoro sees a small girl walking in the hallway. She runs past Zabuza (whose sword is still in his hands) and launches herself into her father's arms.

"Daddy!" she exclaims, looking happily at the man and hugging him tightly.

Pino looks startled by her arrival and then smiles awkwardly at her. "Hello, my little one. How are you feeling today? Did you sleep well?"

"Yep. Who're they?"

Haku stares at Zabuza, who reluctantly puts his sword away.

The tollkeeper clears his throat nervously before replying. "These gentlemen are from Oujisama city. They are very important travelers here."

"Ohhhh." She looks back at the other two, studying them closely. "You look kinda scary. Is that real hair or are you just pretendin'?"

Zoro smirks as he reaches down, tugging on his green hair. "It's real," he says.

She giggles. "It's pretty."

"Thanks," he replies. "The name's Roronoa Zoro. These guys are Zabuza and Haku."

"I'm Rera!" she greets. "Do you want some lunch?"

They sit around the table, set with five plates that each have a portion of fish and rice. The fire is crackling in the fireplace, and though the tollmaster's house is small, it is not stuffy.

"So," Zoro begins, wiping his mouth, "What's up with that Kaizuko guy?"

"A warlord," the tollmaster mutters. "All I know is he shows up every month to collect taxes off us in exchange for our protection. If we don't meet the quota, we become fish bait, or worse— target practice."

"Taxes?" Haku inquires curiously. "Isn't that money supposed to go to the Daimyo?"

"Ah yes," Pino responds. "That's why he's such a bast—" he stops, glancing at his daughter, before correcting himself— "a terrible man, because most villagers never get any revenue whatsoever. So our tax money goes off to the Daimyo, and our living money goes off to the Warlord."

"He's such a bastard!" Rera parrots proudly, playing with her food.

"That's awful," Haku whispers, a look of appalled horror on his face.

"Yes, it's terrible," Pino agrees with a sigh. "Not much we can do about it."

"Why not?" Zoro asks. "Why don't you all fight back?"

"And what, risk our families and lives?" Pino asks incredulously. "It would be a massacre.”

"So you're just going to let it happen instead?"

"Listen, we're just trying to stay alive," the tollmaster mutters. He picks at his food sadly.

Zabuza and Haku are eating their fish, eyeing Pino and Zoro throughout the conversation like it's some kind of game to them. Rera is happily munching on her own portion, not paying attention to the conversation at hand.

Zoro leans back, debating whether or not he'll open his mouth and say what is on his mind.

"Listen up. I've got a tale to share," Zoro begins. "Back in the day, I sailed the seas as a feared bounty hunter."

Zabuza tenses up, mid-bite, and Haku draws out a senbon, poised to strike the swordsman if need be. Pino's gaze darts between the three of them.

"Didn't know a bounty was the price for a free meal," Zabuza mutters, a hint of apprehension in his voice.

"Relax, will ya? I'm not a bounty hunter anymore, that was in the past. Let me finish," Zoro continues. "I used to hunt pirates on the open waters— they called me 'Pirate Hunter' Zoro. Where I come from, Marines do the dirty work for the World Government, taking down pirates who are their enemies. Bounties were their way of putting a price on their heads. It was a good gig, really. I honed my skills, became stronger and the money was fair.

"At some point, I was approached by a brat with big dreams of becoming the Pirate King. His name's Luffy. I thought it was ridiculous, but something about him made me join his crew anyway."

"Pirate King?" Rera interrupts. "What's that?"

"Hmph. The definition of a Pirate King varies depending on who you ask. Some believe it's about power or wealth, and that they rule the seas. But my captain has a different idea. To him, being the Pirate King means being the freest person in the world. It's about chasing your own dreams and living without any restraints. That's what we strive for.

"Regardless, I've been sailing with Luffy's crew ever since. We've got a good crew, though there's always been something fishy about one of them. Nami's our navigator, but she's got a habit of picking pockets and insatiable greed for money. Turns out, there was a reason for that.

"Nami's past is a dark one. She grew up in a village that was taken over by a ruthless fishman pirate named Arlong. He killed her adoptive mother right in front of her eyes." Zoro pauses, his expression darkening. "Nami was forced to become Arlong's navigator, but she never gave up hope of freeing her village from his grasp. She made a deal with him to buy their freedom for 100 million berries. It was a lot of money but Nami was determined. She worked tirelessly, day and night, stealing from pirates and building up her savings until she could finally buy her village's freedom." He shakes his head, a mix of respect and sadness in his eyes. "It's a testament to her strength and determination that she was able to pull it off."

Zabuza scoffs. "Hmph, as if. Why would he spare them? That's not the way his kind operates."

Zoro nods. "Exactly. Arlong had no intention of freeing Nami or her village, not even after she had enough money to buy their lives back."

Pino shakes his head in sympathy, taking another sip of water.

Zoro continues. "Nami's village was in dire straits, with Arlong and his men tightening their grip on the people. It was clear that something needed to be done." His eyes glint with fierce determination. "Luffy wasn't going to stand by and let innocent people suffer. When Nami reached out to us for help, our whole crew rallied to her aid. We fought with all our might and took down Arlong, driving him and his men out of the village." He pauses, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Of course, the Marines didn't take too kindly to our interference. But we took care of them too."

"Your captain Luffy sounds like a true hero," Pino says, watching his daughter eat her lunch, "But getting rid of Kaizuko is impossible. There's no evidence of his crimes, and no one is willing to step up and help us. We're a small village, and even if we could afford it, we can't even hire shinobi to protect us." He sighs deeply.

Zoro shakes his head, narrowing his eyes. "Listen, we're not here to force you to do anything. But if you want to stand up against this Kaizuko and create a better future for your daughter and your village, you need to be willing to take action." He leans forward, his voice firm. "We've faced our fair share of tyrants and oppressors. We know what it takes to fight for what's right." Zoro pauses, his hand resting on his sword hilt. "So, if you're willing to fight, we'll stand with you."

Pino stands up from his seat at the table and lets out a sigh. "Thanks for the offer, but I'll keep it in mind," he responds.

Rera giggles. "What's your captain like?"

"Well, he's a rubber man, for one. He can stretch his limbs like crazy, and bullets just bounce off his skin!"

Such power! thinks Haku. Could this be learned?

"How's that possible?" Rera asks, with the curiosity only a child could have.

"He ate a devil fruit," Zoro shrugs.

As the small girl interrogates the pirate, Zabuza sits silently at his table, staring at Zoro.

Contrary to what you may expect, he doesn't actually trust the green-haired man. Zabuza isn't stupid. He's got the kid on his hands, and while Haku may be just a weapon, it's not one that he wants to see fall out of his use any time soon.

Zoro's an unknown, a missing variable. And there's something that's not right about this whole story. If his crew were here, the news would have spread around about it already. Maybe he was marooned, and he just doesn't want to talk about it.

Zoro's still relaxed, entertaining the questions the kids have been asking him as if there hasn't been a tense moment taking place at all.

He'll have to keep an eye out for that guy.

Haku manages to slip away that night. Pino's nice enough to let them stay at his small home, but Haku can't help but feel that there's more going on here than what meets the eye.

Earlier that day, following lunch, Pino had Rera take them on a little tour of the village, and they passed by a large home that Rera explained belonged to Kaizuko. So, Haku's going to do a bit of exploring and see where Kaizuko keeps all his money. Just for informational purposes, of course.

It's not difficult to sneak out. Zabuza, despite being the large, hulking figure he is, knows a thing or two about stealth (hello? Demon hidden in the mist?) and taught Haku (so he wouldn't hold him back, of course) how to stay out of sight and do a bit of snooping.

It's a skill that Haku has gotten much better at over the years.

Haku moves through the city with the fluid grace of shadows. He slips through narrow alleyways and darts behind carts and buildings, always moving with purpose and precision. The darkness cloaks him like a veil, rendering him almost invisible to any casual observer.

The streets are mostly empty, except for the occasional drunkard staggering out of the tavern. His steps are silent as he walks towards the large house, ducking behind a wall when he sees a soldier at the gate.

Haku slowly approaches, keeping low until he notices that the guard is passed out and snoozing, leaving the door wide open. Careful not to make a sound, Haku sneaks inside, moving cautiously through the open gap between the iron gate and the fence.

As he reaches the doorway into Kaizuko's home, he can hear loud laughter coming from inside the room. The source of the laughter belongs to Kaizuko himself. He is surrounded by a group of his closest advisors, all of them gathered around a low table. The air is thick with the scent of incense and the soft glow of lanterns casts flickering shadows across the room, and he holds up a bottle to his mouth, pouring its contents directly into it.

They are circling a round wooden table with many colored chips strewn across the surface. The man next to Kaizuko says something, and the warlord nods, the man in front of him pushing a pile of gold in his direction.

Haku slips closer, peering through the slats of the shoji screen doors. The warlord is laughing and joking with his companions, his normally shifty expression replaced by one of mirth and enjoyment. The sound of clinking coins fills the air as the game continues, the players throwing down their bets with increasing enthusiasm. Haku wonders if the heavy gold chains around their necks make it hard for them to breathe.

"You know what they say," one man chuckles. "Once a gambler, always a gambler."

Kaizuko chuckles. "Aye, but who would accuse a rich man of his wages? Now, come on now— don't tell me that you aren't itching to lose again? I'll raise the wager; these peasants have deep pockets!"

All of the men chuckle, sinking back into the heady atmosphere of liquor and gambling.

Haku presses his back against the wall as he hides. It seems these men are gambling away the money they took from taxing the poor. He eyes the mountains of ryo on the table, knowing they won’t last in their perfect piles for long before they will all go to waste. And then the men will tax the merchants and shipwrights and grocers and tollmasters, and they will begin this vicious cycle all over again.

Haku slips out of the house the way he came in and leaves without a trace.

Gambling. This is the Warlord's vice. And Haku hopes it will be his downfall.

[LOST masterlist]

[warmbluejumper]

the tide comes in

a poem about the ever building rise of tension

and there comes the rise of seasonal tension

the absolute affinity for romance and wreckages

though my body is still a ship broken in the moor

and mind and love alike

treading in old shoes

through the same gravel

up the beach

and I wish

for a season with no heightened odds

a hope to reach dry land without another

drowning

a Merry Christmas

to another wave

that subdues this sunken body

in the depths of the sea

-

yes but

it's ok to relax

to find yourself in unfunny videos

and the day off work

feel unbias yet not confusion

find confidence in a lack of association

and go to bloody sleep

I love you kid

even if you don't sometimes x

[sassenach77yle]

The moon rose huge and fast and golden, a great glowing disc that slid upward, out of the water and into the sky like a phoenix rising. The water was dark now, and the dolphins invisible, but I thought somehow that they were still there, keeping pace with the ship on her flight through the dark. It was a scene breathtaking enough even for the sailors, who had seen it a thousand times, to stop and sigh with pleasure at the sight, as the huge orb rose to hang just over the edge of the world, seeming almost near enough to touch. Jamie and I stood close together by the rail, admiring it. It seemed so close that we could make out with ease the dark spots and shadows on its surface.

It seems so close ye could speak to the Man in the Moon,” he said, smiling, and waved a hand in greeting to the dreaming golden face above. “‘The weeping Pleiads wester / and the moon is under seas,’” I quoted. “And look, it is, down there, too.” I pointed over the rail, to where the trail of moonlight deepened, glowing in the water as though a twin of the moon itself were sunken there. “When I left,” I said, “men were getting ready to fly to the moon. I wonder whether they’ll make it.” “Do the flying machines go so high, then?” Jamie asked. He squinted at the moon. “I should say it’s a great way, for all it looks so close just now. I read a book by an astronomer—he said it was perhaps three hundred leagues from the earth to the moon. Is he wrong, then, or is it only that the—airplanes, was it?—will fly so far?” “It takes a special kind, called a rocket,” I said. “Actually, it’s a lot farther than that to the moon, and once you get far away from the earth, there’s no air to breathe in space. They’ll have to carry air with them on the voyage, like food and water. They put it in sort of canisters.” “Really?” He gazed up, face full of light and wonder. “What will it look like there, I wonder?” “I know that,” I said. “I’ve seen pictures. It’s rocky, and barren, with no life at all—but very beautiful, with cliffs and mountains and craters—you can see the craters from here; the dark spots.” I nodded toward the smiling moon, then smiled at Jamie myself. “It’s not unlike Scotland—except that it isn’t green.” He laughed, then evidently reminded by the word “pictures,” reached into his coat and drew out the little packet of photographs. He was cautious about them, never taking them out where they might be seen by anyone, even Fergus, but we were alone back here, with little chance of interruption. The moon was bright enough to see Brianna’s face, glowing and mutable, as he thumbed slowly through the pictures. The edges were becoming frayed, I saw.

“Will she walk about on the moon, d’ye think?” he asked softly, pausing at a shot of Bree looking out a window, secretly dreaming, unaware of being photographed. He glanced up again at the orb above us, and I realized that for him, a voyage to the moon seemed very little more difficult or farfetched than the one in which we were engaged. The moon, after all, was only another distant, unknown place. “I don’t know,” I said, smiling a bit. He thumbed through the pictures slowly, absorbed as he always was by the sight of his daughter’s face, so like his own. I watched him quietly, sharing his silent joy at this promise of our immortality.

I thought briefly of that stone in Scotland, engraved with his name, and took comfort from its distance. Whenever our parting might come, chances were it would not be soon. And even when and where it did—Brianna would still be left of us. More of Housman’s lines drifted through my head—Halt by the headstone naming / The heart no longer stirred, / And say the lad that loved you / Was one that kept his word. I drew close to him, feeling the heat of his body through coat and shirt, and rested my head against his arm as he turned slowly through the small stack of photographs.

“She is beautiful,” he murmured, as he did every time he saw the pictures. “And clever, too, did ye not say?”

“Just like her father,” I told him, and felt him chuckle softly.

Cap 43~ VOYAGER

[tejvirani]

Leave it to Zaid to hurl insults while trapped in rising seawater. And waited for someone else to bring help. Typical.

Tej shook off the fact his ex knew him well enough to practically hear his thoughts. And if Tej was wiser still, he wouldn't respond at all. "Yeah. I wasn't the genius who opened a restaurant in the middle of a pandemic, hm?" He could certainly sharpen the vocabulary of Zaid's trade like the finest chef's knives, to inflict further damage on Mr. Sensitive's self-importance. Even waited for the chance as Zaid made himself the center of attention in a room already literally filled with multiple disasters. (As Tej ignored a plea from a total stranger to get on with it, help him!!)

When he climbed into the sunken galley, regret lodged around the water level at his chest. Yes, pyaar, a familiar rasp he hadn't heard in ages, one which used to make his heart race in a different way. Tej could not tell if the remorse felt was for refusing to jump in immediately or the actual act of swimming over to Zaid. Both choices seemed damned.

Memory had mercy. It only allowed the briefest flashes of reminders from a parallel moment, the worst moment of their lives. Also sea soaked and water-logged, as the two were now. Like scattered light reflected off a tall building, the glare temporarily blinded. The urgency that began to creep into Zaid's tone and dig of his fingers triggered an image. One of a tiny rainbow-colored sandal floated in shallow sea foam, unclear if it was lost on the spot or washed up on a wave.

Not again. "Okay, okay, for fuck's-- just come on!" he said to the sputtering impatience at Zaid's congratulations, as if Tej unveiled a masterwork after years of toil. He didn't. He moved a damn obstacle that realistically Zaid should've handled himself. Pressed towards the shelving, Tej gripped Zaid's wrist to drag him along.

Zaid's mouth on his felt like a car crash. Touch starved in the truest sense, his lips parted automatically to what still felt familiar. Tej wanted to be fed, to fill the gnawing empty pit inside him. Then, the whiplash. I knew you wouldn't leave me. It struck him like a slap in the face. Not at all what Zaid meant by leaving, but all Tej could think was his own (maybe faulty, perhaps wrongly twisted) perspective: you left me!

In a delayed response, Tej shoved at Zaid. "Get the fuck off me!" A spike of venom tore through his expression. Whole frozen fish rocked around them, caught in the turbulence. A real fish splashed through to contribute to the surreal scene. Pissed at Zaid. Angry at himself for not listening to a foreign thought to leave Zaid behind.

Tej started up the shelves. There was a nauseating noise below them, a compromise in the ship's decking that the water found, breached, and widened. At the same time, the shelving gave a massive metallic cry as the anchors began to tear from the wall.

He moved faster, prepared to crawl over anyone in his way and kick at any grabbing hands that tried to stop him. The weight of so many using the shelves as an escape route toppled the structure. They were all swept around once by the whirlpool before being hauled under.

Tossed and tumbled, the water funneled everyone out of the kitchen and in deep water. Long, terrifying, a lung-bursting moment of uncertainty in the darkness and no knowledge of which way was up. Just as he felt ready to take in a fatal breath of ocean water, they were all spat out into the cavernous dining area next door. The deathtrap of the galley reshaped and sculpted into the wide room where the water ran in shallow streams along the slanted floor. Tej caught himself by the leg of a table in the corner, bolted to the floor. He looked around the room. Did he want to know what happened to Zaid?

It was like Zaid read Tej's mind - "Yeah, go on then. Waste your time, yeah. You wouldn't have the imagination for an installation of this calibre." The bitterness dripping from his tongue like sand, salt, and seaweed - a potent blend that Zaid tasted only a few months ago. Pounding and flailing in dark sea water, calling at Tej, and howling for their poor little -

Someone trapped in the galley gave a paltry effort to freeing him on Tej's command. Yeah, such leadership, our Tej. Always one step ahead of himself, and everyone else. A trait that used to fill Zaid with wonder and admiration - how thoughtful Tej was, how he made considerations and concessions for Zaid's needs, with a knowing and insightful gaze that could see through the thickest walls - Zaid's included. Tej was strong and magnificent, a stunning soul to match his stunning looks.

(When things started to fall apart between them, Zaid thought he'd found the truth: Tej didn't have any crystal-clear, 20-20 vision on the world. He was just a glass. Tej was a teardrop of mercury, that reflected the world around him. All mirror, no substance. And dangerous to hold onto so tight.)

All these terrible thoughts swam in Zaid's head about Tej, until he watched Tej himself slide into the ocean water, pushing someone else towards the escape. Swimming towards Zaid. His hero, his saviour! His protector, his steady rock with a mind's eye like no one else in the world. Zaid reached for him, all gratitude and sorrow. "Yes, pyaar. Come here. You won't leave me, yeah? If my life ends here, then you'll be right -"

Are you fucking lying to me.

Zaid's mouth snapped shut as he considered this, watching Tej dive underwater. Of course he wasn't lying, that other bloke confirmed - the mixer pinning him was too heavy. Zaid watched Tej below, tempted to just...press his hands down on Tej's neck. Dig his fingers into those taut, sleek muscles and hold him down. Tej might struggle, like - like she'd struggled. Like she'd tried to fight for survival too. It'd be so fitting for them all to drown here, each of them fractured, alone.

Tej broke surface, hair tossed back and chest expanding with air, like a flawless model in a cologne advertisement. The little whirlpool swelled nearby with a terrible sucking sound, a harmony to the shifting groans of this...ship, or whatever they were in. Wordlessly, Zaid dug into Tej's shoulders, but not to push him back under. Use him as a brace to give himself some wiggle room. All the while, staring directly into Tej's eyes, unwilling to break the contact until Tej did first.

Or perhaps Tej would just see through him, like Zaid was the glass.

With a loud CLUNK, Zaid gasped as his leg was freed. Numb like deadweight, but at least he could move. "You did it!" Zaid exclaimed. Of course Tej did it. Tej always executed tasks intentionally and exceptionally, from his gorgeous paintings to mind-blowing sex. Tej never got anything wrong, never made any fuck-up he didn't want to make. Tej, always right because being wrong was too crippling to his roiling, beautiful, tragic ego.

Zaid pushed Tej towards the shelving, half-expecting the other to resist out of pure obstinance. "Go on, you climb up first, yeah? I'll be right after you." And then, in a fit of compulsion, Zaid held Tej's face still between his hands, and forced a kiss on Tej's salt-brined mouth. "I knew you wouldn't leave me."

[typindirty]

We Are Augustines - Juarez