#THEY WASHED ASHORE NEXT MORNING

[mx-misty-eyed]

NO THAT CANT BE THE FUCKING END THERE IS NO WAY I REFUSE TO BELIEVE IT THEY FOUGHT SO FUCKING HARD AND YET THEY NEVER GOT A CHANCE TO BE HAPPY

[asumofwords]

Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Slow burn, pining, kiss, fingering, smut, loss of virginity, creampie, longing, dirty talk.

Note: Hello my angels! First of all, thank you all so much for being so patient for this chapter, I know it came out later than it usually does and mummy has been starving you all, but life has been a bitch but here we are! I really hope that you enjoy this, and hope that all is well in your lives. Take care of yourselves <3 Enjoy!

Chapter 3: Prayers, Whiskey and Peaks

Aemond stayed true to his word. His desire to assist you with anything he could began the next morning when he woke, eager to please and already on his feet before you were.

He woke you from the couch as he passed to fill your kettle with water, using the pump in the kitchen, toned arms gripping the handle, before lighting the stove with the embers from the fire. 

Neither one of you mentioned your heated kiss, nor your silent confession, nor his pleading request. It was as if the night had never happened, the peak of your resistance breaking and the pull to him having been a mere passing thought. His attitude, however, immediately changed towards you, his teasing and smug responses became less, and he himself, became more patient, tender, and curious. 

But a small part of yourself missed the cheeky disposition that he once had, and you pondered for the days that passed if his sudden change was at all due to his discovery of your ‘condition’, so to speak. Yet this discovery did not stop his physical attentions, in fact, it seemed to exacerbate them. 

Unbeknownst to himself, or not, he seemed to gravitate towards you. Lingering touches of hands when passing him food, or lamp, or oil. The brushing of shoulders against your own, or even the way he would stand behind you, the heat of his body radiating into your back as you taught him all you knew about tending to the lighthouse, just as your father had. 

And not once, to your pleasant surprise, did you shy away from his sudden interests, or his new found fondness for learning all that you knew. For him to be involved in your teachings, your passions, and your excitement when he would ask questions that you thought he never would, brought warmth to your chest that you had not once felt before. 

You were excited to teach someone about your duties, excited to have someone listen intently, and for a moment you thought if this was how your father had felt when he had taught these thing to you. Or perhaps, when his father before him had passed down the metaphorical and physical torch to him.

Though, it was not without its obstacles. For each time he passed, body brushing behind yours, each time you felt the heated gaze of his eye roaming your body or face, each time his fingers would linger when passing food, or water, or supplies to tend the lamp, your heart would race as though trying to bolt from between your ribs, and your blood would burn hotly, heat rising in your cheeks, and a more familiar, though only to yourself, warmth would settle in your gut.

It did not help, that each time you spoke, or laughed, or managed to pull some sort of smile from his pouting lips, his eye would drop to yours, gazing at you with a longing that you had only just realised you had felt for far longer.

A longing to be held, and touched, and caressed, and what was more, loved. 

But he was to leave, eventually. And you would be alone once more. And that thought on its own pulled painfully at your chest, and on occasion, when in the privacy of the lighthouse, or tending to your garden, tears would prickle in the corners of your eyes.

On that day, a sudden and most flighty disposition possessed you, and upon Aemond letting his signature smirk pull at his lips, you had jumped from the lounge and began a tumble of thoughts that continued to fall from your mouth. He had not been unkind as you rambled, and had instead, been very patient. 

“The storm has passed now.” You had moved away, wringing your hands together, “And you are well enough to travel. I am sure your family would be eager to know of your survival and safety.” 

His lone eye had slightly widened at you, and you avoided his gaze, suddenly feeling a sinking pit in your gut, “I am sure that the swell and tide should be calm enough for me to take you back to shore.” You did not wait for his response, instead turning immediately on your heel to leave the cottage. 

Aemond called out your name, following after you in confusion as you marched towards the side of the lighthouse where your row boat was docked.

“Y/n, wait, please.” He called to you, but you would not face him, you would not allow yourself the embarrassment and shame of having developed any sort of feeling for the man, nor acknowledging that you did not want him to go. 

But he had to.

It was only logical.

And it would happen.

And you would be alone again.

“What are you doing?” He huffed from behind, his voice further away than yours.

Though he had recovered remarkably quickly, his lungs still seemed to take trouble with strenuous use, and occasionally still coughed and rasped when he tried to match your racing steps.

Without turning back to look at him, you called out into the open sea, hoping the winds that pulled would take your voice away with them.

“Getting the boat ready. I’ll collect all that I need and then we can pack you a bag full of my fathers belongings and take you to shore." The words bitter on your tongue, "We can send word from there, and William would let you take lodge in his home until you can sail back to your family.” You hoped that he didn't hear the way your voice cracked at the mention of him sailing home.

You could feel heat on the back of your head from where he was staring, but he made no move to respond, and if you had dared to look back, you would have witnessed his steps falter, and his face fall. 

But you hadn’t, so you didn’t.

Anxiety rocked through you, “It is no bother, truly.” You tried to reassure yourself more than him, “William would be gladdened to help, and I am sure I could ask a friend to let you take voyage on his ship to the nearest post.”

A friend.

Could you ask Dalton to help him? To take him somewhere closer to Aemond’s home?

You supposed you would have to try, and you also surmounted that it would likely come at a price, and one that would not be coins. 

This however, made your stomach pull, and not in the way that it used to, for now the thought of lying in bed with Dalton put an uncomfortable ache in your gut.

“If I am to be more burden to you, Miss," His voice was sharp, deep, and you could tell that he was upset in some capacity, "Then I shall take my leave.”

You didn't dare turn to face him, to see the way his lips pulled down into a sneer, instead focusing on how you finally came to the lighthouse, stepping down the few stone steps by the water to your makeshift dock. But instead of finding your small rowboat, all that could be seen was the sunken hull beneath the waves.

“Gods be damned!” You swore, looking down into the water at your sunken boat. You had been so distracted by Aemond being washed ashore, you had not even thought to take the boat up from the raging swell. 

The wooden row boat that was your fathers before you, had smashed itself to pieces as it was rocked by the waves into the cliffs face. 

“What is it?” Aemond rushed to you in concern, breath wheezing slightly as he looked down to where you were gazing. 

“The storm sunk my boat!” Your hands flew up into the air, “What have I done to deserve this, Gods? Have I not been faithful to you all?” Your hands gripped at your hair and tugged, pain pulling at your scalp, “I even prayed! Prayed to you. Nursed him to health, and this is how you repay me? You are mocking at me!” You spun away from Aemond, leaving him down on the steps to look at the sunken boat that had been your plan to leave the island, cursing the Gods as you moved.

You did not see as you mumbled and bitterly spat, trudging back to the cottage, focus solely on making your way back inside to drink from the whiskey you had been saving, that Aemond had smiled down at the ruins of your little boat. Not only had he smiled, he had whispered thanks to the Gods.

Aemond did not want to leave.

And the Gods had heard his prayers. 

You stomped back to your cottage, tears prickling in your eyes as your chest ached. That boat had been your fathers, and it would cost money you didn’t have to acquire a new one, or even attempt to fix the old. You were now, truly, stuck on the island, with no way to escape the man unless you sent word to William, who you doubted would come right away, and would only come when scheduled, as he himself had a job and duty to his family.

What was more, your forced proximity to the man, who your heart had begun to grow affections for, was now inescapable, and you felt, and then denied, that that was the true reason for your disconcert. You knew, deep down you knew, that this now was going to develop into something. That now that the both of you would be stuck for at least another week, and it would all come to a head.

The door to the cottage slammed open, the sun outside eventually moving to set as you rifled amongst your things for the whiskey you had hidden.

You needed a drink, you needed an escape, because a physical one you could not attain, so at least the sweet and familiar burn of whiskey and the numbness that followed could help in some capacity. 

You sat yourself down at the table, all but slamming the bottle and glass to go with it on its surface, eyes boring into the flames of the fireplace as you sat numbly, trying to suppress every ounce of emotion that you felt. You ripped the cork out of the bottle and filled yourself a generous pour, bringing the drink to your lips as you continued to stare blankly at the fire, one lone tear falling down your cheek. 

The first bit of the whiskey burnt, and you hissed slightly as you swallowed it. But then came the warmth and the sweetness of the alcohol that William had promised when he gave it to you. You sat for what felt like hours, and most likely was, nursing that one glass, and then another, as you stared into the fire. 

Aemond had not returned back to the cottage yet, and you thought that perhaps he was horrified at the thought of being stuck with you for longer, too embarrassed to come back to you and show you his disdain, and due to his upbringing, likely being a gentleman, allowing you to have your ‘womanly hysterics’ alone.

When the cottage door finally did open, you hadn’t turned to face him, and only brought the whiskey up to your lips to prevent yourself from asking him where he had been. 

It was no matter to you. He would leave soon and you would be alone.

That was what you told yourself weakly.

“The lamp is lit,” Came his smooth timbre from behind you, “You needn't worry about lighting it tonight.”

You blinked.

He lit the lamp for you?

“Thank you.” You breathed quietly, not tearing your eyes from the fire as it devoured the logs you put inside.

His footsteps thumped towards you before stopping and turning back to the kitchen, where the scrape of glass was heard, and Aemond came back, seating himself on the opposite side of the table to you, placing his own glass in front of him. 

He didn’t ask as he swiped up your bottle of whiskey, pouring himself a finger of the amber drink. 

The silver haired man sat in your periphery, bringing up the glass to his lips before he sipped silently on it. He did not hiss as you did, but instead hummed appreciatively.

“This is a fine whiskey.” He commented, swirling the drink in his glass.

You nodded, finally tearing your eyes from the fire to look down at your own glass, bringing it up to your lips, enjoying the heat that it paved as you swallowed, “A gift from William. Locally made by a man named Balon. Quiet man. Knows his whiskey.”

Another hum.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the sound of calmer waves outside and the crackling of fire, and the occasional thump of either of your glasses touching the table after having made their journey to your lips. And then in that comfortable quiet, Aemond having reached to refill his glass, and you having done the same, he finally broke it.

“I never thought I would be stranded so far from home.” Aemond began, long fingers tapping gently on the table to get your attention. It was only then did you look at him, meeting his lilac gaze, “In all my years of life, not once have I seen a storm as violent as she.”

You swallowed thickly, “Nor I. It felt as though my little island would have been swallowed whole.” 

Silver hair fell forward over his shoulder as he ducked his head, “That is what happened to Vhagar.” He solemnly smiled, “Oldest ship in my family, passed down generations. The largest on the known seas.” He paused, tapping his finger against the glass, “Or was. My ancestors have sailed her for hundreds of years. Could fit a crew of over a hundred men. She has seen war and battle, and won them all. But Vhagar was no match for the Lady Mistress Sea.” He took a large gulp of his whiskey, “A wave four times the height of your lighthouse came crashing down upon us.” Another sip, long finger tapping anxiously against the glass again, “I do not remember a thing but waking to your voice, to seeing your face above mine.” Your heart clenched with pain for him, for the anguish he must have endured, to losing his ship, his crew. 

Everything. 

“I am so sorry. I cannot imagine what it must be like.”

Aemond shook his head, “No need for your apologies. You have been a generous host, and the saviour of my life.”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and you nibbled lightly at your lip, fingers pressing into your glass of whiskey, “Did you know where you were?”

A nod, “Aye. We had set sail for the North, past the Iron Islands. I wished to see more of the world we live in, but the world did not wish the same for me.”

You frowned, “Where is your home?”

“A long way aways.” Aemond finished his glass of whiskey reaching to refill it, the sound of it being filled loud between you, “My mother is not fond of sailing, in fact, she begged me not to go. Perhaps I should have listened.”

“All mothers worry for their children.” You offered a shy smile.

“Hm.”

You fiddled with the glass in your hands, feeling the warmth of his gaze on your face as you looked away, “Do you have brothers or sisters?”

“Aye.”

No elaboration.

“Do you miss them?”

Silence. 

You met his gaze again, watching as his eye searched yours for answers. You couldn’t help but notice the way he sat again, rod straight, arm and hand politely on the table, and with this observation, you could not help but voice it out loud. 

“You’re a Lord.”

Aemond blinked, seemingly caught off guard by your words, before finally he nodded.

You suddenly felt more self conscious than before. Here was a Lord in your less than modest home, drinking from aged cups and sitting on older chairs. He must look at you with distaste at times, and with this observation came the ache in your chest that he would never be interested in someone like you.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you plastered a small and fake smile onto your lips, “And what family does the Lord of Vhagar descend from?”

You watched as Aemond pushed his tongue into his cheek, suppressing the smirk that threatened to break on his face at your comment. It made your stomach erupt with butterflies.

“Targaryen.”

You blanched. 

Targaryen.

That was the people William had told you about. 

They were Kings. They were-

“You’re royalty.” You blurted, heat rising in your cheeks again at your embarrassment.

The silver haired Lord’s jaw clenched as he looked at you, before nodding again, softer this time, as though he was uninterested in the title in that moment.

You immediately bowed your head,  wringing your fingers together nervously on the table, “My apologies, your grace, if I have been anything but untoward. My home is humble and small, and I am afraid I have not much to give or show for it. If you-“

“-Y/n.”

Your ramble was interrupted, and warmth engulfed one of your hands. You blinked down at the large pale fingers that were clutching your own.

“Please do not treat me differently now." He begged softly, "You have been nothing but wonderful to me, and far more gracious than any Lord or Lady I have met.”

You swallowed thickly before nodding, shifting in your seat, but Aemond refused to let go of your hand, instead keeping it held in his atop the table, a lone thumb brushing over your knuckles softly as you struggled to calm your racing heart.

"Do you miss them?"

Your question must have come as a surprise, for his thumb stilled against your hand.

"At times." His answer was barely a whisper, "I miss my sister. My mother. That is all."

"I am sure they miss you very much. I am almost certain they are worried for you." Your words tumbled out quickly, unable to stop, "They will be gladdened to have you home, hale and healthy soon. I know that your siblings and mother will weep with joy." You smiled, but it felt strained, his face entirely blank as he watched you, "Your father must be sending men to look for you."

"My father dead."

Your lips parted.

Fuck.

"I am so sorry. I did-"

"-Do not be. I hated the man."

If your mouth fall any wider, you'd swallow the table whole.

"Oh." You swallowed dryly, "Well then, I am sure your family-"

"-They do not care for me and what I do," He spat, anger simmering beneath the surface, "I can assure you of this. My own nephew took my eye." His hand lifted lazily to point at the long scar upon his face, clouded eye nestled within.

Your heart sunk.

His own nephew had done that? Had they fought? Was it an accident? A myriad of questions popped into your mind about this man and his family.

No wonder he was in no rush to get home.

You flipped your hand to grip his tighter, his gaze falling to your joined fingers momentarily before he looked out the window to the lighthouse. You followed his gaze, watching as the lamp illuminated out to sea, the darkness of night having fallen across the horizon.

And then he continued, "They only care that I fulfil my duties to society, and marry whom they think is most advantageous."

Oh.

He was to be married.

Your heart felt like it stopped beating, but his fingers rubbed against your hand softly, almost out of habit if it could be one, and so you decided to swallow the sadness that suddenly filled you, and move the converasation away from his family.

In an attempt to dissolve the sudden tension, you pulled your hand from his, noting the way his lips twitched at your absence, but you moved swiftly, filling his glass generously once more and yours again.

“I am gladdened for your company these past days,” You began quietly, “And more gladdened that you will not be dying any day soon.” You watched Aemond lift his drink to his lips, and felt a sudden wave of confidence come over you, and so you continued, “Otherwise if you died, it would be a waste of good whiskey.” 

Away the glass was pulled from his lips, and behind it, a full smile, teeth and all. Your heart fluttered in your chest at the sight. His full lips pulling into a sharp yet lovely grin, crooked white teeth nestled within on display, and the slightest of rosiness to his cheeks. You felt triumphant, and even more so when a soft chuckle came from his chest.

Gods, I am sorry for cursing you before. Thank you for this gift.

The night continued on, your eyes casting occasionally out the window to look at the lamp, to make sure that the lighthouse was still lit. You both dined on some bread, scones with jam, and some dried meat together, not wanting to tear yourself away from the comfortable conversation that flowed between you.

You were not drunk, however the warmth and buzz of alcohol certainly strummed in your veins, and not only that, you felt more emboldened to relax around him, noticing that the cheeky disposition that he once had, slowly making a reappearance. 

It wasn’t until you looked out to the lighthouse for a fifth time, did Aemond finally say something.

“Do you not trust my skills?"

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him. No, because that would mean not trusting your own knowledge and skills, and from the way he had actively listened to you, repeating your instructions and knowledge, and even going so far as to asking things further, it only solidified your belief that his skills were more than satisfactory. 

It was more so, that you did not trust yourself to look up from your glass of whiskey to meet his burning gaze. 

What you did not trust yourself to do was another thing entirely. 

“No.” You blushed shaking your head, “Not at all. I am the one who taught you how to do so. Unless you question my teachings?”

His response came far quicker than your answer, “Not at all. I would say you are by far the most knowledgable teacher I have had.”

A crooked smile wound its way on your lips. You looked up to meet his gaze, “I am sure there are many things that you could teach me that I do not know.”

You don’t know why you said it, you did not even truly mean to be so crass, but at your words, his gaze darkened, and Aemond looked at you through his silver lashes, “I am sure there are. What do you wish to know?” 

Heat rose up your neck and into your cheeks, core immediately clenching at his changed demeanour. Your mouth felt dry, and try as you may, you found you could not tear your eyes away from his lilac one.

“I-“ You wet your lips, “I’m not sure.”

The glass of whiskey pinged as Aemond clinked his signet ring against it, pursing his lips as he watched you.

“I don’t believe that.” Aemond’s hand dragged slowly across the table, one long finger reaching out to caress your hand, digit grazing over yours that held the glass.

Your breath stilled in your throat, and the air around you became charged, and still you could not tear your eyes away from him, “I suppose,” You swallowed thickly, “You could teach me about sailing." You diverted, "I have only ventured on my row boat, so I know little about what it takes to man a ship, let alone Captain it.”

The finger moved again, up then down, up then down, crackling energy moving beneath the skin leaving goosebumps trailing up your arm. Your breath became shallow, and that familiar warmth between your thighs amplified. 

“Hm.” Came his deep hum, “Sailing. Is that all you wish to know?”

In a moment of weakness, you looked away, cheeks burning hot and heart almost jumping from your chest. Your breasts heaved against your stay, and the finger that caressed yours slipped away. You looked out again, feeling completely overwhelmed, mind racing like the winds of a storm, crashing thoughts and crackling emotions swirling rapidly inside of you. 

You cast a cowardly glance to the lighthouse, your only escape, your only safety. The one thing you knew best, the one thing that was solid in your world, unmoving, unbreakable. Your one constant.

The scrape of a chair, and then, warmth. 

A hand beneath your chin, Aemond lifted your gaze up to his as he stood above you, his eye darkened with desire. You shivered, not from the cold, but from him.

Everything about him set you ablaze.

“Y/n,” He whispered your name like a prayer, drawing your attention to him and only him, “Tell me what you want.”

There was no going back. No stopping what was about to happen, and your heart didn’t want to stop it, your heart wished to continue, and in that moment, you took what courage you had left, and breathed your answer.

“You.”

His head bent down to you slowly, and you exhaled a shaky breath, watching as he came closer and closer, thumb and forefinger pinching your chin lightly, not at all cruelly, but rather to keep you there for him, and when his lips finally met yours, you melted.

Uncertain as you were, Aemond guided you again through the motions, his lips moved against yours slowly, your neck craned back to kiss him, lips pressed against his. He tasted like whiskey, and the sea, and smelt of the musk that followed him, sandalwood. 

A hand snaked around your waist, and gently pulled you to stand. Even whilst standing, you still craned your neck toward him, Aemond towering above you as you tried to stand on the tips of your toes to assist in reaching him.

Little by little you melted into his embrace, one hand coming to cup your cheek, the other pulling you in tighter by your waist, the warmth of his body seeping into yours hotly, and the smell of him engulfing you entirely. Your lips parted against his, and he hummed deeply, the vibration in his chest rumbling against yours. Your hands fisted into the front of his tunic, pulling him closer, desire burning you up. 

You had never felt such fire before, such heat. The pull to him, his embrace, his every being set you ablaze, a flame that you were sure, would last for a thousand years.

It felt as if you were burning together.

The hand at your waist tightened, and a moan fell from your lips into his. Tentatively, your hands loosened at the front of his tunic, sliding up to his shoulders, feeling the silky strands of hair between your fingers as you buried them into the back of his head. Aemond grunted in approval, and pulled you impossibly closer to him.

You could feel, much to your delight and nervousness, the hardness of his desire pressing against your stomach.

His lips pulled from yours, and you blindly chased after them, hearing a small chuckle emit from his throat, but his lips pressed to the corner of yours, then to your cheek, then below your ear, and finally, a whisper.

“I wish to take my time with you.” Aemond said huskily, a soft inhale pulling air into your chest as your core grew wet with want. Your fingers tightened in his silver tresses, pulling a low moan from him. 

Two large hands slowly skimmed down your sides, causing you to squirm in their grip as he mouthed at your pulse in your neck. Small whimpers and heavy breaths was all to be heard until his hands came beneath your ass, and then the kissing stopped, his grip tightened, and you found yourself pulled up into his embrace. 

You squeaked, legs wrapping around his waist, your hands pulling tighter in his hair as he grunted, his lips crashing against yours once more, hungrier. Starved. You could feel his hardness against your core, and timidly, you rolled your hips against his. 

Aemond sighed into your mouth, his fingers tightening against your flesh, his legs carrying the two of you to your bedroom blindly. Your back bumped into the doorway, earning Aemond a breathy giggle, which in turn earnt you a low apology breathed through parted lips.

With all his carefulness, Aemond gently placed you back on the ground by the bed, breaking apart from your embrace momentarily. You looked up at him through your lashes, watching as he pushed away the hair by your face reverently. It was so tender, so praising in its touch, you felt as though the world fell away and just left you both. And with those careful hands once more, hands that were roughened and calloused from years at sea, he skimmed them down your front, halting at the line of buttons that started at your collarbones and ended at your waist.

Aemond did not move to undo them, and instead kept his hands were they were, resting atop them as he waited for your answer. Waiting for your consent to move forward, your permission to allow him to see you bared as no-one else has.

Permission to touch you in ways that no-one ever had, not even yourself. 

Your heart raced in your chest, a nervous excitement making its way through your veins as you stared at up at him, your answer, you already knew, but right now, with the way he was waiting, with the way he was moving with caution and care, you could scarcely voice it. And so, without finding the voice that had been lost, you rose your own hands, placing them over his.

Aemond did not pull away, his chest rising and falling agonisingly slow, as though he was restraining himself, nor did he step away when your fingers skimmed beneath his and began slowly to pull your buttons through their holes, to show him that you very much wanted this as much as he did. And although your hands shook whilst you did it, his hands skating up to your shoulders and neck, then down to your waist and up again whilst you did it, you felt a blooming confidence to undress yourself for him. 

When finally the last button was undone, your dress sagged against your shoulders, Aemond’s warm fingers brushed the material over and down your arms, goosebumps rising on your skin. His hands continued, down, down, down your arms until the top half of your dress fell away, and the skirt of it held true, the belt and tie at the back not yet being undone. But it was not your fingers who pulled it away and to the floor, but his, reaching his hands behind you to assist until all that you were left standing in was your stays, slip and stockings.

His eye drank you in, gaze falling lower and lower, your chest pressing against the stays as you heaved in breaths of anticipation, heat erupting over your skin with every second that passed. His pupil had blown wide, swallowing the lilac to leave the eye almost completely black with desire, and only then did he step away from you, and begin to do the same. 

Away came his shirt, and then his shoes and breeches, until Aemond stood completely bare before you, all the while, your hands pulled at the strings of your stays, slacking its grip on your body, until it too joined the pile of clothes below.

Then came your slip, shoulder by shoulder strap, the silence around you deafening with each agonising moment that passed as you both watched each other, a slow reveal of what was to come, a slow reveal of each others bodies, and not once had you dared to look past Aemond’s shoulders at his nakedness in fear of what you would find.

For you knew without even truly knowing it, that there would be some sort of... sizeable member on his person.

Aemond stepped forth in a flurry of pearlescent skin and hair and captured your lips in his, his hands helping to pull down the slip that separated you both, no patience or care to wait any longer, the tension finally pulling his resistance taught until it broke. His thumbs dipped beneath the silky material and dragged it down your body, lips moving away from yours to mouth at your neck again, but Aemond did not stop at your shoulders.

The sailors trail of kisses moved from neck, to clavicle, heated lips seeking the skin hungrily, then he continued from clavicle to sternum, a sharp inhale breaking the silence around you, his eye momentarily peeking up at you as you looked down at him, hands on his shoulders. Turning his head, he kissed at the sides of your breasts, breathless sighs pulled from deep within you, and still he trailed lower, kneeling down in front of you as he pulled the slip with him. 

His face was aligned with your core, the slip held at your hips by his hands as he looked up at you, one last silent request to which you gave him a small nod of your head, inhaling deeply for courage.

When at last he let go, letting the silk fall to the floor below, his eye dropped away from your face and down your body, settling at your centre in front of him. You could feel a hot breath of air against your mound, as he let out the breath he was holding in. 

“Gevie.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to each of your hip bones, his hands skating down to the tops of your stockings on your thighs. Your hips jerked forwards, a small hum on your tongue as you looked down at him. 

Aemond ducked his head and mouthed at the crux of your thighs, a kiss placed on either side of your core, an exhale breathed into the hair atop your mound, a wanting inhale, which all the more set your nerves alight.

With the patience of a saint, Aemond rolled down your stockings on each leg, and tugged away each shoe, until the both of you were completely bare, and you had to force yourself to breathe deeply. Everything told you to hide your nakedness, to run, to apologise, but the way he looked at you, the way he kissed at your inner thighs, inching his way higher to your centre, you found you couldn’t, feet rooted to the floor completely. 

In the low candle light, Aemond looked a though he was praying, eye half lidded shut, on his knees, hands brushing gently along your thighs as he mouthed near your core, slowly inching his way closer and closer, eye focused on your face, until it finally happened. 

A low whine escaped your lips as Aemond pressed a kiss to your centre, bottom lip dragging along your pearl softly. Pleasure struck through you when he did it again, his eye sliding shut, his large hands wrapped around your thighs as though to keep you from running away. 

Each kiss was slow, wet lips pressed to your centre with practised ease, the man taking his time with you as you stood on shaky legs. His lips parted against you, and the wet of his tongue parted your folds, causing you to jerk your hips into him.

“Ah!” You squeaked, fingers gripping his shoulders tightly, unsure of what to do with them, warmth spreading up through you as Aemond pulled away momentarily to look up, tongue wetting his lips.

“Sīr dōna.” He purred, before dipping his head once more, tongue swiping up through your wet folds to pay attention to your throbbing bud. Each kiss was followed by a flick of his tongue, and you found yourself heaving breaths, and pleasure wound a familiar coil inside of you. 

Aemond’s hands slid from the backs of your thighs to the front, up to your core where he used his thumbs to part your folds, opening you up for him. You looked away shyly, a breathy moan passing through bitten lips as he focused entirely on your pearl.

He pressed himself against you tightly, nose bumping your bud as he licked lower towards your entrance, tongue scooping up your slick eagerly as he hummed, his speed and pressure gaining with desire. 

You were so close already, the coil tightening rapidly with every swipe of his tongue and press of his lips. You knew he could sense it, with the way your thighs shook and your stomach clenched, breathy sighs and moans falling from you as you writhed in his grip.

One hand slid down, the long digits tickling at your thighs as it moved underneath you to your entrance, it was then when Aemond broke away to look up at you again, gaging your reaction, and when you made no move to stop him, he rubbed a digit back and forth through your folds, gathering the wetness there before slowly pressing inside of you.

He kept his eye on you the entire time, the breath in your chest stilled as you held it, his fingers far longer and thicker than your own, already a minor stretch filling you inside.

You thought of what was to come, of what would eventuate from this all, how his length would be much larger than just one finger, and the thought alone caused you to clamp down against him. 

Aemond stilled and pressed a kiss to the tuft of hair at the top of your mound, “Relax for me.” He whispered, and with a deep breath you did, allowing yourself to feel the pleasure rather than the discomfort. 

“Good.” He praised, leaning forward once more to kiss and lick at your centre, the one finger inside slowly pumping in and out of you, not foreign to what you have done to yourself before, but foreign in the way that it was not your hands doing it. 

His first finger was met by a second, and although there was a slight burn as he pressed inside of you, it still filled you with a desire you had never felt before, a barely restrained whine filling the room as he paused, keeping them pushed deep within you to allow you to adjust as he sucked at your pearl, tongue flicking over it, molten heat spreading through your limbs. 

Your legs buckled forward, hips canting towards him, the tips of his fingers grazing the spongey patch within you causing you to cry out. Aemond’s brows furrowed, and tentatively, his fingers stroked at the patch again, a moan melting off of your tongue. He focused his intent, crooking his fingers against the patch inside, his tongue not once slowing down against your bud.

The coil tightened, tighter and tighter, and your hands flew from his shoulders to his hair, fingers tangling themselves in his pearly tresses and pulling, earning you a rumbling hiss, spurring his movements further. Your core tightened around him, your peak barreling towards you, and Aemond sensed it, mumbling against your wet folds as he fucked his fingers in and out of you wetly.

“Let go for me.” He moaned, sucking at your pearl with intent.

Heat burst through you, and you jerked with a cry, your peak ripping through you with such a force, if it wasn’t for your hands in his hair, and Aemond’s hand on your thigh, your knees would have collapsed beneath you. 

Aemond rode you through your pleasure, fingers and tongue not slowing once as he prolonged your peak. You breathed heavily, hands loosening in his hair as you tried to catch your breath, heat strumming in your veins as he pulled his fingers from you, placing calming kisses against the top of your mound and hip bones. His hands smoothed your hips as he finally stood, standing over you, his lips and chin wet with your essence. 

Pulling you close, he kissed you, and you could taste the tang of yourself on his lips, parting your own to lick at his mouth as he did to you. The heat built inside of you again, the fire in your gut beginning to burn once more, and slowly but surely, he led you backwards, pushing you to lay down as he moved to crawl atop of you. It was then that your eyes took in his whole body.

All of him. 

And there was a lot of him. 

Aemond’s length stood heavy against his hip bone, swollen and hard, his tip a ruddy pink as clear liquid leaked from the top. Pale veins creeped around his base, with soft silver hair dusted across his pubis. It was thick, and long, and far bigger than the fingers he had placed inside of you. 

Sensing your gaze and dry swallow, Aemond lifted your eyes back to his with a touch of his hand beneath your chin, a reassuring gaze meeting yours, “We will go slow.”

You swallowed again, nodding, not knowing how going slow would help fit him inside of you. But it was clear that this was not Aemond’s first time, and what was clearer was that he was decidedly sure of himself and his abilities, and that, at the very least, settled the lingering trepidation that you had. 

He crawled above you, body slowly lowering onto yours as he kissed you again, a hand skimming down your side as he shifted slightly, bringing his fingers down to your core once more. You hissed, feeling his digits dip through your folds, a burst of sensitivity shooting through you. And as if taking this into account, Aemond pressed one finger into you slowly, and then another, distracting you with a heated kiss.

Warmth began to bloom inside of you again, slowly building with each crook of his fingers, the sting of the stretch of a third finger dissipating with the heat of pleasure that began to grow and grow.

Each crook of his fingers brought that familiar pleasure back into your core, slowly building and building as you writhed beneath him. Your eyes fluttered shut, back arching as your chest pressed into his, the warmth of his gaze grazing along your face. You could feel your slick gathered between your thighs and fought the blush that rose in your cheeks, head turning to the side.

“Don’t hide.” He cooed, “You’re perfect.” His thumb swirled against your pearl.

The coil within pulled tighter with each swipe of his thumb, and you felt the warmth of his lips against yours as he brought you to your peak once again. You moaned into his mouth as he fingered you through it, lips trailing to your cheek and down your neck, whispering words or encouragement.

“Sīr gevie.” 

Dragging his fingers from your core you opened your eyes, looking up at Aemond who looked back down at you. His hand moved in your periphery, and you followed the movement. The sailor dragged his slick fingers along his length wetting it, your gaze locked on his hand as you watched him languidly stroked himself above you. Your core clenched around nothing.

“Are you ready?” He whispered, lone eye searching yours for confirmation. 

You licked your lips and swallowed, heart racing in your chest as you tried to calm yourself, muscles tightly wound in nervous anxiety for what was to come, but you wanted more, you needed more.

You needed him. 

It wasn’t until you nodded that a small smile pulled at his lips, making your heart flutter. Aemond adjusted himself above you, leaning some of his weight on an arm above your head as he lined himself up with your dripping entrance. The candle light in the room drenched the room in a warm glow, illuminating his violet eye and silver features. 

Gods he was beautiful. 

You could scarcely believe that this was real, that this was happening, that he was here, in your bed. That he had survived and lived with you for days, regaining his strength and now he wanted to do this with you, he wanted to take your maidenhood, and to you, it seemed that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

The tip of his length brushed through your folds, and your breath held in your chest. Aemond paused, keeping his eye on you, waiting until you nodded again for him, and then slowly but surely, pushed inside.

Every muscle tensed as he pushed inside, a sharp sting shooting through you. You winced and Aemond stilled, watching your face intently, his long silver hair falling over his face and down over you like streams of moonlight. 

Despite him being just barely halfway inside of you, you felt full and stretched apart on his length. You writhed underneath trying to alleviate the dull ache, core clamping down on him which made Aemond hiss above you, his cock throbbing inside of you.

His eye fluttered shut and the hand that had been guiding his length gripped your hip tightly, breathing heavily atop you. After a breath, his violet eye opened once more to gaze at you, head dipping to press a tender kiss against your lips before sliding inside to the hilt. 

You both breathlessly moaned into each other, feeling him press against every single part of you. Every ridge, every vein, you could feel as it brushed up inside of you, his tip nudging against your cervix snugly. You tightened around him, and if it was even possible, he jerked further inside with a tilt of his hips. You sighed into his mouth, the painful throbbing slowly ebbing away to make way for a new sensation.

Aemond broke the kiss once again, dipping his head again to look at you, “Good?”

You didn’t know how to respond, so instead, you arched back up to capture his lips, nibbling at his bottom lip lightly. This was all that he needed before he pulled out of you slowly, testing your reaction before he pushed back inside. 

Your hands, unsure of where to hold him, gripped his shoulders again, and the hand on your hip tightened further, no doubt leaving bruises in their wake.

Each thrust was gentle, slow, and he took his time, pressing kiss after kiss to your lips, trailing down to your neck where he nipped and sucked at your pulse point. 

“Gods.” You mewled, arching into him, grip slipping from his shoulders up into the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

Aemond groaned as you tugged him closer, his hips thrusting against yours, each pump of his hips pulling mewl and moan from you, soft grunts and sighs falling from his plump lips, his face nestled into the crook of your neck as you gripped him tighter against you.

You had never thought it could feel like this, so full, so deep, so entirely overwhelming, and with each moment that passed, Aemond brought you closer and closer to your third peak. His thrusts began to speed up, your breasts jolting with each pump of his hips, the wood of the bed softly creaking beneath you. 

Aemond lifted his head from your neck, looking down at you, his soft lips parted as he grunted, “Sīr sȳz. Gūrogon nyke sīr sȳz.”

You didn’t know what he had said, but the way he had said it made you whine, head thrown back as your core contracted around him, causing a sharp moan to fall from his parted mouth. The bed beneath you was damp from your slick, and with each thrust, the obscene wet sound of your folds filled the room loudly. 

The hand on your hip skimmed up your body to your breast, squeezing the mound softly before pinching at your nipple lightly.

“Ah!” You arched your chest into him, the new sensation creeping through your chest. 

“Iksā vok. Kesā sagon ñuhon. Sīr vok syt nyke. Eminna ao grevenka lēda ñuha rūs. Qogralbar.” Aemond’s hips made a particularly hard thrust, the tip of his cock pushing against the end of your walls.

“I don’t-” You moaned, hand pulling at his hair for purchase, “I d-don’t know what you’re saying.”

His lips pulled into a smirk, and his head dipped to kiss you deeply, tongue pushing into your mouth to lick at yours. You moaned into his mouth, feeling the coil begin to tighten in finality.

“You will.” He breathed, pulling away, resting his forehead against yours, “You’ll know soon.”

The hand at your breast travelled to your mouth, and your parted your lips instinctually, letting him rub two fingers over your tongue, coating them in saliva before they trailed back down your body to your swollen pearl.

As soon as he pressed them against you, you jerked, walls clamping down onto him.

“Good girl,” He praised, “Let go for me, want to feel you squeeze my cock.”

The obscenity of his words sent you over, the waves of pleasure crashing over you again and again, as you did exactly what he told you to do. Your eyes screwed shut, head thrown back, whining moan ripped from your chest loudly. Aemond cried out above you, and you felt his member throb within you, warmth filling you up as he slowly stilled. 

His forehead pressed against yours, the both of you breathing heavily, chests against each other as you came down from your highs. You didn’t even have the wherewithal to think about the fact that he had filled you, the only thought in your mind was the tingling sensation that spread throughout your limbs and the utter bliss of him inside of you. 

When the both of you came down, Aemond peppered gentle kisses across your face. First at your cheeks, your lips, your nose, until finally your forehead, where his lips lingered as he slowly pulled out of you. 

The empty feeling you felt as he pulled away was foreign after being so full, and you whined at the loss of closeness. Warmth began to seep from within you onto the bed beneath, but you couldn’t force yourself to care, your eyelids drooping as fatigue pulled you under. 

Aemond shifted in the bed to pull you to his side, your head resting against his bare chest, the thump-thump-thump of his heart loud beneath your ear.

With gentle hands, he trailed his fingers up and down your side as you tucked yourself closer to him, enjoying the feeling of protection and warmth that he gave you.

The room was still, and the candle light got lower and lower, as did your eyelids. When finally they drifted shut, Aemond shifted beside you, looking down to watch as you began to fall asleep in his arms.

You didn’t see the small smile that pulled at his lips as he watched you, or the way his eye creased with content, the only thing you felt was his lips at your hairline before you feel into a deep sleep.

I didn't put translations because the reader doesn't speak High Valyrian, so she wouldn't know what he was saying, but here they are if you're curious.

Translations:

Gevie - Beautiful

Sīr gevie - So beautiful

Sīr dōna - So sweet

Iksā vok. Kesā sagon ñuhon. Sīr vok syt nyke. Eminna ao grevenka lēda ñuha rūs. Qogralbar - You are perfect. You will be mine. So perfect for me. I will have you round full my babe. Fuck.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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[revasserium]

oh don't ask me for requests, you know I deliver. What about Zoro with number 30?

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

30. invention of the dictionary

opla!zoro; 882 words; fluff, teeth-rotting fluff, strawhat!reader, gn!reader, no "y/n", unconventional format, whipped!zoro

summary: truth, love, still, and stolen

a/n: been a while since i've written something so chill but i rly like this one u__u nice, short, and sweet!

He has never been a man of many words, but meeting you has made him wonder about the exact reason dictionaries were invented. What scholar (for it must have been a scholar, Zoro thinks) could have amassed such a knowledge of words and meanings that they decided the only way to keep track was to write it down? Or perhaps it was simply someone in love — someone who felt too much and yearned too hard and never had the words big enough or heavy enough, wide enough or deep enough, to fully encompass the way they were feeling.

Because he’s never been a man of many words, but meeting you has him reaching for the tattered dictionary they’d found in a treasure chest, washed ashore on a small, insignificant island — not unlike you. You with your windswept hair and your skin smelling of salt and cream and a thousand midnight mysteries. You, and the way your eyes hold worlds that Zoro’s certain he’d never have the privilege of seeing.

But sometimes when he kisses you, he thinks he can taste the remnants of their exotic fruits beneath the sweet of your tongue, and sometimes when you kiss him back hard enough, he can feel it in the crescent moon marks you leave inked into his skin. Like dotted lines on a treasure map.

You’d been a traveling bounty-hunter, not so unlike who he’d been in a past life, one that he can barely even remember. And your laughter had been just the right shade of lost for Luffy to take notice. No one had thought twice about it after that — and you blended in with the crew as a shot of rum in a morning espresso — which is to say perfectly.

He finds himself flipping through the thin, water-warped pages of the dictionary, pausing on words he’d always thought he knew — words like truth, and love. Words like still, and stolen.

And so, here are some words that Roronoa Zoro has learned and re-learned the meanings of. All because of you.

truth noun.

the quality or state of being true

a fact or belief that is accepted as true

a thing so fundamental that it never has to be questioned — like the rising of the sun in the east or the setting of the moon in the west; something that pulses with the very rhythm of the universe, like the ebb and flow of the tides or the way that autumn always feels a little bit like goodbye — or how birdsong will inevitably be followed by the sprouting of spring, and how March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, and how Zoro’s never questioned just how much he’s loved you, or even whether or not he’d fallen in love. He simply woke up one day and knew.

love noun.

an intense feeling of deep affection

a great interest or pleasure in something

you, your smile, the way you hold your chopsticks, how you press your hand to your stomach when you laugh, the way your lips feel as they trail along Zoro’s jawline, the way your heartbeat rhymes with the gentle rush of the sea

verb.

to feel deep affection for someone or something

to like or enjoy very much

to dream of a life with you, and all the things you might do — to lie awake at night counting your breaths as you fall asleep next to him, to press his lips into the seam of your hair and know that when he wakes up in the morning, you’ll still be right there next to him

still noun/adj./verb

not moving or making a sound

deep silence or calmness

to make or become still

the way the world feels the first time you cry, how the planets themselves seem to grind to a deadly halt, how Zoro’s world tilts on the axis of you and doesn’t stop until he wonders if everything around him is upside down and inside out — how you curl into yourself when the monsters in your past become more than shadows and whispers that creep in the dark, or when the darkness comes knocking and you bury your face in his shoulder, your voice a whisper as you beg — please… help me.

adverb

up to and including the present time mentioned

nevertheless; all the same

how he knows he loves you, the way that the sea loves the sky — even after a devastating rainstorm; how there’s blood on his swords, blood soaking through the wooden planks but he’s got you in his arms so it’s going to be alright; how you let him carry you and hold you close; how he lets you carry him as well; how the pair of you curve around each other like a parenthetical, two bookends to a library of memories stored in the negative space between you; how you are with each other after all of this, still.

stolen verb (*past participle of steal)

take without permission or legal right, without the intent to return

move somewhere quietly or surreptitiously

his heart, his mind, his body, his soul — and him with you.

[huramuna]

wine red, tears gold - chapter 3.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

previous chapter | next

a 'what if aegon didn't get poisoned and the greens technically won the dance but at what cost' au. basically aegon, alicent, otto and jaehaera are the only greens alive. and larys i guess. someone get rid of this guy.

word count: 3.8k

no more taglists unfortunately (i always forget and then feel bad) so please follow & turn on notifs for @huramuna-fics

content: smut (specifics below cut), canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn, infidelity

jealous sea - meg myers • drinking lightning - AWOLNATION

warnings: oral (f receiving)

Waves upon a placid sea, bobbing with the tide. The warmth of the water enveloped her and was something akin to comfort— something she was severely lacking these days.

Lyanna imagined herself as a piece of driftwood lost in the ocean, strewn back and forth with the motion of the swells, wishing and hoping to wash ashore, but not actually moving.

Opening her eyes, she sat up in the tub, filling her lungs with air. Her maids gasped and fretted over her, citing that she could drown doing such things. Mayhaps she could, but it was unlikely. If the Gods were to strike her down and have her drown in a bathtub after being the queen for approximately a fortnight, then so be it. She would be of a similar laughing stock as Rhaenyra was around the Keep. The two of them would be dubbed ‘The Half-year Queen’ and ‘The Drowned Queen’. The jest almost brought a smile to her face– almost.

It had been a half-month since she had moved to her own chambers, since Aegon had dubbed her hideous and unworthy of his time. She fell into a deep depression for about three days, only allowing Alicent in her chambers. Tears weren’t shed, no– she was too numb for it. She felt as if she was living outside of her body, chained to her husk like a ghost.

On the fourth day, something in her snapped. Mayhaps it was the last of her innocence, of her girlish and naive view of the world finally shriveling up and dying– but the numbness didn’t hurt any longer. It was just there, an ever present reminder that this was her life now. As melancholy as she was, she felt it a duty to herself to atleast make an effort. So, on that fourth day, she picked herself up and requested a golden and green dress to wear, having her hair up in a half-do with intricate braids. Her posture was set rigid, her hands clasped over one another, now adorned in rings. She walked the gardens with Alicent and some other ladies, visited the Sept, and read in the library.

Aegon was nowhere to be found during those times and she wondered if he was avoiding her– it would be good, if so. Let him.

She decided to make a statement– to attend the Small Council meeting, another one of Alicent’s suggestions. Lyanna wished to be taken seriously, and should have her hand in many pots, so to speak, at the Keep and in King’s Landing. The Small council was one of those.

This morn, a half-month since her wedding, it was particularly dreary. Storm clouds hung above King’s Landing like an oppressing force, hiding away the sun and churning up the seas. Instead of indulging in the gloomy weather, she had her maids dress her brightly– a dress yellow like the sun, embroidered with gleaming jewels and a sweeping decollage to match, leading to an ornate depiction of a golden stag. Her hair was braided into two buns, fixated to her head with interweaving golden accents and pearls.

As she entered the council chamber, which was already in session, the heads at the tables turned to her. All of the men at the table stood up and bowed their heads except for one.

Aegon sat across the table, leaned back in the chair like a sloven cad, looking less than enthused at Lyanna’s presence. “My dear wife, dressed so brightly,” he mused, his fingers grasping around the marble ball at the table– his was golden and pink, an homage to Sunfyre– “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Husband,” she greeted back in a similar temperature, her facade warm. She looked at him head on, unwavering in her stance. Outwardly, she was the symbol of stalwart, a small smile gracing her lips. On the inside, she was remembering everything he had said, what he had done– she wanted to run away, to cower like a little girl. Lyanna smoothed down her skirt, “I simply wished to sit in on the meeting. Forgive me for my absence these past two weeks, my lords. I’ve needed much time to adjust to the capitol– but I am ready now to attend each meeting going forward.” she spoke evenly, moving towards an empty seat. It was across from Aegon’s. She pulled her own marble out from her pocket and put it in the circular ramekin– hers was colored gold and green.

“Each meeting?” Aegon drawled. “Certainly there is no need for that– mayhaps your time would be better spent with the court ladies, organizing luncheons and the like.”

Lyanna seethed beneath the surface, resisting the urge to pick at her cuticles. She took a deep breath. “Yes, each meeting. I don’t see why I cannot attend each small council meeting and organize luncheons with my courtiers, husband. Now, what is the topic of discussion?”

One of the lords spoke up, she recognized him as Ser Wylde, “Ah– yes, your grace,” he bumbled slightly, trying to remember the subject of conversation before she had come in, “There are… some emissaries from Dorne arriving on the morrow. We are ascertaining what sort of welcome they should receive.”

Otto Hightower was sitting near Aegon, his eyes not leaving Lyanna since she had arrived in the chamber. He seemed amused. “We were speaking of the cost it would be to give them a warm welcome. A feast, a celebration and the like– the coffers won’t support such an event.”

Lyanna perked a brow, her thumb and forefinger rimming around the marble idly, not dissimilar to how Aegon had been fiddling with his before– this was by coincidence, however– “Well, if I may be so bold as to put myself in their shoes,” she began, “It is quite a long and tenuous journey from here to Dorne, if I recall correctly. If I were a diplomat from Dorne getting off the boat after such a dreary travel, the last thing I would want is an extravagant party and hundreds of people to meet and entertain. What if we gave them a warm, intimate welcome? Mayhaps dinner with the King and I, some food and music, wine and a bit of dancing. Nothing overly… pompous.”

“They are from Dorne. They are overly pompous. Surely they would be bored of a small gathering and take it as an insult?” Aegon countered.

“What would you suggest then, my king?” Lyanna quipped back, leaning forward in her seat. Her leg was bouncing under the table errantly as she tried to contain her anxious energy.

Aegon stared blankly at Lyanna, the marble still rolling between his fingers. Then, he slammed it back down onto the wooden placing. “It is the best idea we have had. Very well. Small and intimate. Grandsire, you and mother shall attend as well. You’re much better at… diplomacy than I. Mayhaps we shall see how my dear Lyanna fares at her first taste of it, hm?”

After about thirty more minutes of back and forth about other subjects, the meeting was adjourned. The Lords left, leaving Lyanna and Aegon alone in the chamber.

She picked up her marble and placed it back in her pocket, straightening her skirts as she got up.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Aegon spoke then, having come up behind her quicker than she could register.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You haven’t spoken to me in over a ten-day and you show up to the council meeting looking like… a beacon of the sun– and challenging me in front of the council. That is what I am speaking about.” Aegon’s hand grabbed her wrist as it came back out from her pocket, looking over it.

Lyanna glowered at him. “I am simply doing my duty as Queen. A good queen is informed about the going-ons of her small council, is she not?”

Aegon snorted. “Oh, yes– another page out of my mother’s book. Arriving somewhere you weren’t invited to fashionably late wearing the loudest outfit possible with the subtext of wanting attention. Do you even have an original thought in your head, wife? First, you could only parrot your oaf of a father’s words, and now my mother is trickling her spew down your ear. Truly, you’re like a fucking puppet. Where are you strings, puppet?” he sneered, pinching at her bare collarbone.

She let out the tiniest of whimpers at his pinch, doubling down and smacking Aegon right across his face.

He answered with a whimper of his own, his bottom lip pouting out for a moment. “Still not original, little rabbit.” he growled, squeezing her wrist tightly.

Over her stint locked away in her room, she thought of many things she wished to do to Aegon– anything to make him feel a semblance of the pain he had put unto her. Her knee came up, knocking him straight in his balls.

“Fucking, fuck,” he groaned, releasing her wrist and doubling over.

She expected him to explode at her, unsheathe his sword and cut her down for raising a hand– and knee– to him. But, when he looked up, he was smiling. “T-that… was original,” he croaked out, chuckling. “I kind of enjoyed that.”

Lyanna’s lip curled up. “You’re a pig.” she promptly picked up her skirts and left the room, not entirely sure what had just happened.

–

Up until that moment, Aegon hadn’t felt anything but mostly indifference to Lyanna. She was boring, plain featured and nothing to write home about.

Still, even after all he had said to her– he had meant it– he still felt… odd that she hadn’t spoken to him since then. Being married to Helaena was a hell in itself, but even hell can become familiar. Aegon was a creature in need of affection, of touch. Even when it was his mother slapping him or his grandsire pushing him– that meant that they loved him, in some way, right? With Helaena, she didn’t like touch like he did, shying away usually. They came to a middle ground during some point in their marriage that when Aegon needed touch, he could lay his head in Helaena’s lap while she embroidered or talked to bugs. They wouldn’t speak to one another– they just knew, and so it was.

Helaena was gone now, though. And now it felt that the only physical contact he got from others was those that he paid for and those that he earned from his mother and grandsire. And now, Lyanna, apparently. Her hand was warm when it came across his face and her lip quivered like she was on the verge of tears again. He couldn’t resist getting another jab in– and neither could she, apparently, as she kneed him in the balls. That was a new one for him and it fucking hurt– but it sent an electric shock to the fucked up part of his brain– wasn’t that all of it? – and he somewhat liked it. Not in a sexual way, contrary to what one might think, but in a way that he needed… contact.

He mulled it over for hours after it happened, deep into the night. He wanted to knock at her doors and explain the entirety of his fucked up life and his previous fucked up marriage to his sister and how she used to let him lay his head on her lap– and if he could do it with her.

But he would be an idiot if he thought that would work.

The following day, into the feast welcoming the Dornish emissary, an unfamiliar feeling bubbled up in his chest as he sat at the table.

Lyanna, dressed in sunflower yellow, looking as radiant as the sun, was dancing with one of the Dornish men. Prince Qyle, he remembered. His hands were grasped firmly around Lyanna’s waist– she was corseted tighter than normal today, he noted– as they danced.

He tried to pinpoint the feeling– it was a warmth simmering in his gut, threatening to boil over at any moment if this man didn’t get his hands off of his wife. Aegon’s pulse thrummed in his neck, his blood searing hot in his veins.

She laughed– Lyanna laughed. Aegon didn’t think he had ever heard that noise before but he longed to hear it again. He bit down on his lip, drawing blood. Why did he care if she was dancing with him? Aegon didn’t even really like her– she… she wasn’t hideous, of course, and in the right light and colors, she was pretty but– she was boring! A boring woman with nothing to offer him, when he could easily procure any woman of his choice just outside the castle walls. A boring woman who… he had made cry. Who he had said horrible things to– who was now dancing with a fucking Dornish prince and laughing. A Dornish prince who had his hands on his wife, the fucking queen– he was jealous.

Jealous? Jealousy never really permeated him until he was intertwined with Lyanna. At their wedding, with the men pawing at her– and now.

His blood was on fire and he needed to quell it. Immediately.

Hours passed during the feast and Aegon didn’t make a move– until he saw Lyanna leave the hall and go back to her chambers. It was a horrible idea, in truth, to follow her– but he couldn’t help it. As she went to close the door behind her, Aegon stopped her hand, slipping in and closing it.

“Hello, wife,” he murmured, trying not to sound as if he was in pain– which he was, the blood of the dragon running through him like sweltering lava. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Lyanna looked surprised to see him, her big brown eyes glazing over once more like they had when they first met– like a rabbit in the snare of a predator. “Husband,” she responded slowly, her hands reaching up to pull the pins from her hair. “Yes, I enjoyed myself quite thoroughly. Prince Qyle is a fantastic dancer.”

“Oh– I’m sure. You let him put his hands all over you like you’re some sort of commodity.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tell me, did you like him touching you? Holding you close and no doubt whispering sweet nothings in your ear?”

Lyanna simmered for a moment, plopping down the pearl pins onto her boudoir. “Are you quite finished yet?”

Aegon bit the inside of his cheek, his blood still stoked to a flame. “No, the opposite in fact. It’s hilarious, really— how I was so ready to grovel at your feet last night, offer an olive branch to you,” he paced back and forth, twisting his rings, “But then you just have to throw it back in my face, hm? Parade yourself like a whore with a fucking Dornish prince of all things. Is this your idea of getting back at me? Hm? Notching your corset tighter and… looking like the sun itself and letting another man put his hands on you?”

She stopped fiddling with her hair as the last pin came loose, letting it fall down her back in dark brown waves. “You really have the audacity to call me a whore, Aegon?” she murmured, fingers gripped on the wooden edge of her vanity. “You are a whore, Aegon. As much as any of the ones you pay to sleep with you.”

The king scoffed, an unbelieving chuckle coming from his throat. “A whore. You call me a whore?” he glanced at her with red rimmed eyes, brow furrowed.

“Yes, you’re a whore. Mayhaps I should treat you like one. If I threw you some coin, would you grovel at my feet as you were so ready to do so last night, apparently?”

His mouth went slightly dry at the notion, his clothes feeling a bit tighter than before. Clearing his throat, he adjusted the collar of his doublet. “I have no need for your coin,” he retorted, “I’d do it for free.”

This caught her off guard and she turned to him. “… what?”

“I’ll grovel. I’ll prostrate myself for you like a whore— if,” his voice changed tone, something akin to uncertainty. It reminded Lyanna of their wedding night. “If you… will indulge me for the evening.”

Lyanna looked dumbfounded, her abashed confidence melting away. “You want to… couple with me?” she murmured with confusion.

“I can make you feel good if you just… let me sleep here tonight.”

She blinked profusely at his seemingly timid offer. She didn’t exactly know what he meant by it, but it made a warmth tingle within her at the thought. “… okay.”

Aegon’s eyes flicked up to her in disbelief, he didn’t expect her to say yes. He resisted the urge to smile smugly, as not to irritate her further. “Can I touch you?”

Lyanna nodded slowly.

He came before her as she sat at her vanity, very much still dressed from the feast. Kneeling down, he rucked up her skirts and dragged a testing finger near her inner thigh.

“… tickles.” she mewled, twitching slightly. They both must’ve indulged too much in wine this eve, or else this may not be happening.

“Damned skirts,” he growled, flitting through layers of tulle and silk. Throwing caution to the wind, he unsheathed the Valyrian Steel dagger at his hip, “Stay still.” he started at her chest, bringing the blade downward to slice the fabric apart like butter, effectively cutting her out of her outfit. She was left in her underclothes and corset.

Her face went beet red at the gesture, the unexpected precision of Aegon made that heat within her continue to build. “Y-you could’ve taken it off like normal, Aegon— this was Myrish lace!”

“Too much time and effort. I think you quite liked it as well,” he hummed, bringing the pad of his thumb to the apex of her thighs, feeling a growing wet spot. “Seems I was right.”

“… hmm,” she murmured, hiding her face behind her hands.

He pressed a hand to her corseted chest, leaning her back against the desk, his other hand prying open her legs further, to where she was positioned exactly how he wanted her. He hooked his arms under her thighs, effectively throwing both of her legs over his shoulders. Peering up at her from below, the way she hid her face, the edges of red blush eking out from her parted fingers, her now tousled hair falling over her like a curtain— it made something deep within him stir, something he couldn’t quite name yet.

Sliding the soft cotton of her panties to the side, he observed her form. He had been up close and personal with his fair share of cunt, but not usually in clear lighting and not black-out drunk. Her folds were a lovely shade of pink, curtained by dark brown curls. Parting them with his fore and middle finger, he found what he was looking for. His tongue prodded at her pearl experimentally, testing her reaction.

Her fingers opened slightly, the deep color of her eyes staring at him hazily. “W-wh— what was that?”

Aegon almost felt bad for her, poor thing had likely never touched herself before— surely this had to be an act of kindness and service that he was introducing this to her. “Your clit, dear,” he spoke before rasping at it again with his tongue, extracting a surprisingly delightful little whimper from her. “Feels good?”

Lyanna’s fingers were closed once more as she hid. “Mmhm…”

Wishing to hear her little noises again, he pulled her closer to his face, his hands gripping her bottom like a lifeline. He started slow, licking up and down her folds, savoring and enjoying her taste. Then, he decided he was done being merciful. His mouth latched onto her clit, suckling at it like he was a man starved. Her whimpers of pleasure turned into a siren’s song, breathy moans, broken strings of his name— she didn’t even know what she was asking for, but she wanted more.

“A-Aeg— w—,” Lyanna cried, the coil of warmth within her coming to a searing height, “S-some… something—,” her hand had autonomously threaded into his hair, pulling on his strands. He had seen the expression of bliss and ecstasy on her face, with the light of the candles illuminating the delicate planes of her face as she came and he thought she looked… beautiful. Her climax hit her hard and fast, her legs shaking as she unraveled completely, thighs snapping close around Aegon’s face.

He didn’t mind, of course— if he was to suffocate between a woman’s thighs after making her come, so be it. As a bonus, he kept up his ministrations on her pearl, not letting go until she pulled him off like a leech.

“S’too much— t-too much,” she heaved. Lyanna’s skin was pinkened, legs shaky still like a newborn fawn. “W-what was that? That wasn’t coupling— it wouldn’t result in a child.”

Aegon wiped his face with the back of his hand. “No, it wasn’t. It’s called pleasure, Lyanna. You surely have a lot to learn about it, it seems.”

“… I don’t understand.”

“That’s what whores do, they are experienced in the art of pleasure. It all isn’t just to make children— that isn’t the end all be all of it— sometimes, you can do it just for fun, for release, for pleasure— and also for love and romance and all that.”

“Hm.” she huffed, “So you aren’t… going to fornicate with me?”

Aegon smirked. “You put it so delicately, my queen,” his grin was toothy and made Lyanna feel faint, “No. Not right now at least— although, I am not opposed to it in the future. It is expected to conceive an heir but we have time for that.”

“Oh. Well… what about your… pleasure? Your release?”

His brow furrowed for a moment. This was the part where he’d have a whore ride him to completion or take him in her mouth— but he didn’t exactly feel the need to do it now. He was aroused, to be sure, but it wasn’t an overwhelming need like usual. He felt… satiated by satiating her. “No need.”

He helped her out of her corset and into her nightgown, relishing in how she subtly leaned into his touch.

“So, you just wish to sleep here tonight?” she asked as she climbed into bed.

“Yes— and I have… a request,” he climbed in after her, discarding everything but his small clothes on the floor. “Can I rest my head… here?” he pointed to her lap.

He fully expected her to laugh at him, to berate him— even if, deep down, he knew she wouldn’t— but she just nodded. “Just… lay?”

“Just lay.”

She pat her lap and he slowly descended, putting his head down. It felt… good. She was soft in all of the right places and she smelled… pleasant. And she was warm. He curled up next to her, bringing his body into itself and closing his eyes.

Sometime during the night, he felt her fingers glide through his hair, drawing soothing circles on his scalp as he slept.

He hadn’t slept better since he was a child.

this is what lyanna's 'revenge' outfit looked like.

[helios-writings]

Stupid in Love

Sanji x gn! Reader

Wc: 1.8k

Warnings: none

You’ve been in love with Sanji for a long time, but have never been brave enough to do anything about it, until now.

The breeze brushes against your face as you stare out at the blue sea, the rising sun peaking out above the horizon. You were up earlier than the rest of the crew, wanting to watch the sunrise before the day dove into chaos, as it was bound to do when Luffy was awake. You watch the rest of the stars disappear and then climb down from the crow’s nest, ready to begin your day.

You always woke up earlier than the rest of the crew, cherishing the alone time you got in the morning silence, the waves crashing against the Sunny being the only sound filling the air. You took a deep breath, letting the salty air wash over you, before the yelling started.

“Luffy, get out of the kitchen!” Sanji shouts, followed by the crashing of pans.

“But I’m hungry!” Your captain whines, and you laugh, before heading into the kitchen to herd him elsewhere.

“You should ask Nami about where we head next, I hear there’s a port nearby.” You tell Luffy, who grins in response before running off to bother the navigator.

Sanji sighs. “Thanks. Have you been awake long?”

You flush. “Who? Me? No.”

He cracks a smile like he doesn’t believe you and hands you a glass full of something to drink. “Well, you are welcome in here any time, as long as you clean up your mess.”

“Don’t worry about any mess from me! I’m as clean as they come, haha.”

You turn to walk out, run into the doorframe and contemplate walking into the sea, wishing you had eaten a devil fruit so you could drown. There was something about Sanji that made your brain short circuit and disconnect from your mouth, letting it run unattended.

“Are you….okay?”

You’re almost certain there’s a mark on your forehead from the door, but you wave him off. “Never been better.”

You are definitely walking into the ocean when you make port, it’ll be less embarrassing in the long run.

Making your way from the kitchen, you run into Zoro, who is desperately trying to hold back his laughter. “That was-”

“Say one more word and you’ll be tied to the front of the ship as the new figurehead.”

He doesn’t take your threat seriously. “You’re this flustered over curly brow in there? Unbelievable.”

“I hate you. So much.”

He’s still cackling as you walk away, and you definitely don’t deserve Zoro to understand what you see in the cook, but Sanji was…..he was amazing.

You saw parts of him that no one ever did, like when you helped him in the kitchen and he hummed softly to himself, sleeves pushed up to his elbows as he washed the dishes. When you accidentally cut yourself with a knife and he doctored it right there, eyebrows furrowed in concentration but you were only focused on the impossible blue of his eyes, always focused on his eyes. Sanji was kind and gentle and brave, but no one else could see that.

Soon enough, the crew made port and you went ashore alone, desperate to avoid Sanji(and the more annoying Zoro) but mostly to find something to give to the cook, if you could sync your brain with your mouth long enough to have a meaningful conversation with the man. But what would you get him? He didn’t use cookbooks, and he bought his own ingredients(not that you’d know where to start, being as you wouldn’t be able to know what were good quality ingredients).

He wasn't a jewelry guy either, though he would wear it beautifully but then you remember a conversation the both of you had a few months ago.

Sanji sets the knife down on the cutting board with more force than necessary, startling you. He laughs lightly and apologizes.

“I need new knives, but I keep forgetting to buy any when we make port. Would you remind me?”

You flush and nod furiously but say nothing, just watch as he picks up the knife and starts chopping again.

You grin and make your way towards a stall you passed a few minutes ago, now certain that you were getting Sanji the perfect gift. At least you hoped so.

***

You were the first one back to the ship, box in tow, leaving it in the kitchen where you knew he would find it. You had decided that you didn’t have the courage to give them to him yourself, but hoped he didn’t think much of it. Maybe he would think one of the other crew members gave them to him.

Proud of yourself, you climb up the crow’s nest again to look at the stars, always seeming brighter when you make port. You hum to yourself as you do so, leg bouncing in anticipation. What if he hates them? Or he tells you that he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore? Were you risking your friendship over a set of knives?

Just as you had decided to return them, you heard the crew clambering back on deck and you curse, crouching low so they don’t see you. It works, because they soon start asking each other about your whereabouts. They don’t seem especially worried, since it’s a safe town and you’re more than capable of handling yourself, but it’s nice to know they care, even if they tease you.

The crew goes their separate ways, and the cook finally heads into the kitchen to start prepping for dinner and that’s when you begin making your way towards the lower decks.

You almost make it when he comes back and spots you. “Oh, there you are!”

You turn and grin. “Here I am, haha. What do you have there?”

You gesture to the box, though you already know its contents.

Sanji beams, and it’s so bright you fear you may go blind. “Knives! I don’t know where they came from, but they’re gorgeous.” He takes on out to show you.

It is gorgeous, that being the main reason you purchased them. A beautiful pearl handle, topped with a gorgeous steel blade. You knew he’d love them, even if your brain wanted to argue.

“That is really pretty, Sanji.”

“Did you leave them? I know we talked about knives a while back.”

This is your chance.

You shake your head no and shrug. “Sorry, wasn’t me, but I hope you find who left them soon.”

His face almost falls at the aspect of you not being the gift giver. “Oh, well, whoever it was picked out a really nice set.”

You smile at him as he bids you goodbye and you curse yourself for not telling him the truth. Oh well, you suppose it’s better than him rejecting you outright. It was kind of nice, leaving him anonymous gifts.

He seemed happy to receive it, but it was always nice to see him happy, especially since it seemed to be a rare sight most days. You wanted to continue making him happy.

***

A few days later, Zoro joined you in the crow’s nest before dinner.

“You know, the shit cook really wanted those knives to be from you.”

“Huh?”

He rolls his one eye. “You’re not serious.”

You say nothing.

“You are. The cook’s been staring at you and sighing hopelessly for days, it’s really pissing me off.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“He told Robin the other day he wanted it to be you. Plus, the whole crew can see that you two are in love with each other. Even Luffy.”

“I’m not going to take romantic advice from you of all people. Sanji and I are friends. Really good friends, a friend I have no intentions of confessing to.”

Zoro sighed, leaning his arms against the wood. “Do you remember when we got into that fight with that gang of bandits a few months ago? And you got injured real bad and were unconscious for what, three days?”

“Of course. Why?” You thought he was just changing the subject.

“Curls was the one taking care of you while you were out, making sure you drank water, helping Chopper clean and dress your wounds, sitting on a chair in the infirmary while you slept, he was really worried.”

You open your mouth to object, to say anything other than what was going through your head but he cuts you off.

“And don’t you say he would do it for any one of us, because that’s bullshit. Now go down there and tell him how you feel.”

The swordsman pushes you towards the ladder and you begrudgingly climb down and head for the kitchen. It wasn’t like Zoro to lie, in fact he was the most honest man you knew, so you knew he had to be telling the truth.

You knock softly on the door before you enter and find Sanji beaming at you. “Hey, what brings you by?”

“I….I think we should talk.”

He sets the towel on the edge of the sink. “Okay.”

You wring your hands as you sit on the counter, something that the cook used to object to but now has accepted as a quirk of yours. He leans next to you.

“I did buy you the knives. I was too scared to give them to you myself so I left them in here for you to find.”

“Why didn’t you say something when I asked?”

You aren’t looking at his face but you can feel his gaze burning you. “I really fucking like you, Sanji. It actually makes me stupid because I like you so much. You’re just so incredibly caring and strong and I like being around you because you make me happy and I didn’t want to ruin anything by telling you that.”

“You wouldn’t have ruined anything.” He tells you, voice impossibly soft.

“You sure?”

He takes your face in his hands, and you are trapped in the impossible blue of his eyes once again. “I’m certain, because I feel the same way.”

You laugh a little wetly as he kisses your hand and then your cheek before finally meeting your lips. It’s a little sloppy, but you have nothing to compare it to. You know he doesn’t either, and he told you as such one late night in the kitchen.

He pulls away grinning, cheeks a little red. “That was…nice.”

You lay your head on his shoulder. “Yeah.”

The two of you get one quiet moment before the crew charges in to tease you and you yelp as Franky wraps a particularly large arm around you and ruffles your hair, while the rest of the crew begins to tease Sanji for getting up to no good in his kitchen.

He yells and scolds them all while you laugh, and then when he makes eye contact with you over the chaos he smiles and everything is as it should be. Perfect.

[saccharineomens]

Laimay Day 24: Selkie AU

I didn’t finish my drawing for this prompt, but I did write a little fic for it! (~1.6k words)

—

Laios had been kicking himself all morning. How could he have been so careless as to forget his notebook on the beach the night before? He’d been half-asleep by the time he’d dragged himself off to his van, but that book was his *lifeblood*. It was more important to him than his next meal, or his parents, or his *sister*.

Well, that was a lie. Nothing was more important to him than his sister. Still, inside that notebook were all the coordinates of sightings, details on all the local legends, contact information of the park ranger, and various jokes and theories he had about the habits of different Cryptids. He couldn’t *believe* he’d been so careless with it, and Laios nearly tripped in his hurry down the rocky cliff side. The tide had come in last night, and with just his luck, it would have waterlogged the notebook if not pull it out to sea. He should have invested in waterproof paper, he *knew* he should have, but working odd jobs every other month didn’t pad his pockets as much as he’d like. 

His camera thudded against his ribs and gravel scattered as he hopped down a boulder and straightened, looking around desperately. He was right in this area last night, observing the bioluminescent algae that washed ashore. Laios caught his breath as he took note of his surroundings. Ahead, the water stretched out endlessly, the waves shallower after the tide had receded. Off to the north, a herd of seals were bathing in the sun-warmed rocks. Laios leaned to look into the reeds beside the path, searching for a glimpse of the tattered yellow cover of his book, but there was nothing but some littered chip bags and a broken beer bottle. 

“*Come on*,” he muttered, eyes sweeping the rocky shoreline as he walked further out to the water’s edge. The boulders were smoother and more damp, here, and his pace slowed. A few seagulls circled overhead, and to the south some were pecking away at something. A glimmer of hope flickered in his ribs as he picked up speed, jogging to where the birds huddled, but as one cawed irritably at him and took off, it revealed they were picking at nothing more than a dead fish. Laios’ stomach sank, heat draining from his face, and he swayed. *No, no.* No despair yet. Laios swallowed and looked back out at the ocean. *Think, Laios, think!* Maybe he’d dropped it on his way to the van, and it was on the trail somewhere? Maybe he’d passed it on his hurry to get back here. 

Laios’ thoughts were interrupted by a dark shape breaking the waves, and he instinctively grabbed for his camera. He hadn’t turned it on yet — *stupid* — and had to take his eyes off the water to find the button with his finger. The screen lit up, and Laios quickly removed the lens cap and stowed it in his bag before lifting his head.

A brown seal was coming up the beach at an alarming pace, round body lunging forward and flippers splashing with every landing. It…seemed like it was coming right towards Laios. Angling the camera, he took one quick photo before stepping aside to keep some distance between him and the animal. Seals could be nasty, and as cool as it would be to see one up close, their sharp teeth was much less friendly than their round, adorable faces. Laios wasn’t expecting the seal to change course, rounding toward him again, and his heart skipped in fear. He started backing up, trying to keep an eye on the beast, but the rocks beneath his feet shifted unevenly. He caught a weird movement from the seal in his periphery, almost like it was going on it’s hind legs like a dog, it’s flipper moving to a shoulder — *seals can’t do that* — and when it pulled away it revealed a pale flash of bare flesh. A blonde head rose, green eyes fixed on his, Laios’ heel caught on a stone and the world spun as he crashed backwards, his shout of pain echoing when his skull banged against cold rock, but he *had to look, he needed to see*—

Laios’ vision swam, he must be hallucinating, because the seal had become a woman — a *naked* woman — scrambling up the shore with eyes wide. Laios kicked at the rock below him, trying to get back to his feet, to run, or attack, or *something*. 

“Hey, you! You, human!” A voice? From the woman. Who was much closer now and *startlingly* nude, a seal’s skin folded over her arm and breasts swaying in her excitement — he quickly averted his eyes to focus on the swift movement of her arm as she shoved something into his face. “This is yours, right?!”

Laios blinked. The woman waited patiently for him to respond, but her grin lit the grey sky. A human woman from a seal. A selkie? *No way.* Laios’ head felt like seaweed in a current, trying to process what was in front of his face. The blonde, pretty!, woman was holding something white five inches from his eyes, and when he squinted he could make out his own handwriting.

“My notebook?”

“Yes, the thing you’ve been writing in this whole time.” The seal woman shuffled forward again and Laios felt his face get hot before she just sat back on her feet, flipping through the notebook with great interest. “You left it out here yesterday. You’re a writer! You’re a, a, what’s the word, a scientist?”

Laios wanted to laugh. He’d dropped out of college before he got anywhere near his degree. “Not exactly.”

“You’ve been studying us, right? You have that thing.” She pointed at his camera. “Humans always have those, but they aren’t like you. They usually take ‘pictures’ and leave, but you’ve been here two weeks.” She lifted the book and pointed at it. “Look. Not a lot of humans come here for *us*.”

It was his page on selkies. “You can read?”

She huffed. “That’s not the point!” She was right. The woman tossed the notebook at him and it hit his stomach with a wet little *plop*. “Look, the way I see it, we can help each other out. *I* l want to learn more about human technology, and *you* want to learn more about *us*, right? We can help each other out!”

Her long blonde hair was plastered to her skin, her pupils weren’t as large as Laios had hypothesized, and she didn’t seem to feel the cold air at all. Laios’ brain finally felt like it was returning to his body, checking the numbers and booting up the right programs to function. The seal’s pelt draped over her arm was fascinating, and had most of his interest, but she turned her body to tuck it behind her as a look of suspicion pursed her lips. 

“Look, do we have a deal?”

Laios hummed and picked up his notebook. The pages were soaked, but the ink was still legible in most places. If he dried it out right, he might be able to salvage most of it. “Why me?” He wasn’t normally one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but curiosity got the best of him.

“You don’t seem as dumb as the other humans,” the woman said, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Your notebook was right about some things. You call them ‘Bigfoot’, but they don’t come to the ocean if they can avoid it. They don’t speak like we do, they aren’t as good at mimicking humans.”

Laios’ eyes bulged. “So you aren’t human at all? And—Bigfoot’s *real*? You’ve met him—them? Them, *multiple*? Where do they nest?! Do they have family groups like apes do? Can you introduce me to one of—“

“*Shhh!*” The woman’s forefinger pressed to his mouth, and he froze. She was smiling mischievously, like she knew something he didn’t, which he supposed she did. “Does that mean you’re going to take the deal? You help me, I help you?”

Laios nodded enthusiastically, and the woman removed her finger with a satisfied smile. “What use does a seal have for human technology, though?”

Her expression soured in suspicion and she shifted away from him again, hand going to her sealskin. “That’s not really any of your business,” she said haughtily. Now that it appeared he wasn’t going to run she seemed to relax more, pulling her hair over her shoulder and starting to comb her fingers through it. “I’m not usually so careless, but when I saw you had come back to the shore I knew I had to hurry before you left again. My name’s Marcille, by the way.”

“Laios,” he responded, and it was hard to know where to look at her. She wasn’t human, according to her, but she still *looked* like any woman off the street at first glance. How did the evolution of selkies that passed as human compare to the evolution of humans themselves? Did selkies come first? Did that pelt of hers look just like a normal skin, or was it visibly magical in some way? Laios sat up, but Marcille froze and she scowled at him, so he raised his hands in supplication. “Can I look at your skin?” When he tentatively reached for it she smacked his arm away.

“Rude! Don’t you know to work your way up to those sorts of questions?!” Her eyes sparked with anger, and Laios rubbed star-struck at his arm where it stung. 

“I can do that,” he grinned. He wrote all his questions in his notebook, but he wouldn’t even need it at this point. Were selkies obligate carnivores, or omnivores? Did it depend on what form they were in? “Why don’t we start with dinner? That’s a common way for humans to get to know each other.” He offered a hand out to her, and after a moment of consideration she smiled and took it.

“Sounds good. Great to meet you, Laios.”

[menlove]

Hey have you read any good McLennon fix-its

OH BOY HAVE I. i love mclennon fix-its they genuinely heal my soul & they're for sure my favorite i'm ngl. here we gooooo. just pulling from my bookmarks in no particular order...

favorites have a 💖 next to them!

blood on the tracks by mynamesbetty

gen-mature. 66k modern au, 11 part series, eventual fix-it. He was a grown man, a rock star, richer than Croesus, emotionally stable, and more than capable of handling a surprise visit from his ex-husband. Paul married John when he was eighteen and divorced him at twenty-nine. Two years later, John pays Paul a visit.

'til touchdown brings me round again to find by wardo_weditit

explicit. 12k. It was one thing when he was doing this for Elton—yeah, because of a bet, but mostly because Elton is his friend and he wants to support him. It was just a one-off thing that seemed like it could be fun, or cool, or maybe even memorable. But now, if Paul’s going to be there, it takes on a hell of a lot more meaning because that’s the way it goes, that’s what things with Paul always do. Or, Paul comes to see John's surprise appearance at Elton's show, and grand gestures abound.

here you come again by harmonising

mature. 16k. (take this one w a grain of salt i can't remember if it's a full fix it? but well. john's alive, so) 1982. John comes back to England. He and Paul spend a weekend together.

Grow Old With Me by inherownwrite 💖

explicit. 8k. Paul breaks his arm, and John panics.

and when broken bodies are washed ashore (who am i to ask for more) by wardo_wedidit 💖

mature. 39k. “Jesus, took you long enough,” John says, adjusting the duffle over his shoulder. “Thought I might be out here til morning at this rate.” For a second he wonders if he’s drunker than he thought, but no. As far as he can tell, it is still 1980, and he hasn’t seen or so much as spoken to John in ten years. Or, John comes to stay with Paul in Scotland to ride out the press storm of his divorce to Yoko, and Paul learns to stop running away.

i was a younger man then (now) (post hoc) by fingersfallingupwards 💖

mature. 27k. (i'm not kidding i think this one is my favorite ever mclennon fics. it's only 27k but it feels like an entire novel. this lives in my head rent free forever. this is my heartstopper or whatever the kids are saying) John’s twelve when a bloke appears from a flaming pie and says, “From this day forward you are Beatles with an ‘a.’” The bloke is Paul. Or: paul and john meet at all ages and eras and john is the time-traveler’s wife the way only john lennon can be

Stop all the clocks by javelinbk

mature. 30k. For the following kink meme prompt: ‘1967. After Brian dies, Paul decides not to go ahead with MMT, and takes John up to Scotland for a month instead.’ Also based on the following comment on said prompt: ‘pls someone let them fuck tenderly in 1967’

I Need My Love to Be Here by notgrungybitchin

explicit. 8k. After John gets his first panic attack in Hamburg, he starts to realize that Paul might be the only person who can bring him back to himself.

[ghoultyrant]

Beachballs: a jellyfish story

Once upon a time, I spent a month at a beach on the Texas coast in the 'off-season' of that beach. My initial response to being there was to be kind of baffled as to why it was the 'off-season': it was sunny, a nice temperature, and all-around nice!

A week in, storms arrived. Brutal, oppressive storms, with torrential rain and high winds. And they kept going continuously for days, where a 'nice' day was one where the looming clouds weren't raining right this second and the wind was only moderately strong. (But the sky was still blotted out by the clouds all day long, and it still did rain on and off)

So that pretty straightforwardly explained why the of-season was, in fact, the off-season.

More interesting than all that was that one night the storms were particularly intense and I woke up in the morning to lots of jellyfish having been washed ashore by the waves: I'd previously read about jellyfish being beached, but I'd never seen it personally, and to my surprise these jellyfish largely didn't resemble what books and TV had depicted of jellyfish lying flat on the ground, dehydrated and clearly dead. There were a few like that, but most of them were actually curled up into a ball shape, mouth firmly shut, seawater trapped inside their skin. The contrast was pretty stark, because the live ones glowed a bit, while the dead ones had their internal lights inactive.

(I'd provide a picture, but this was over a decade ago, and I couldn't have taken one at the time anyway. I really wanted to, but didn't have the ability at the time)

My first thought was to figure maybe the jellyfish had gotten lucky; I already knew jellyfish don't have a brain per se, and everything I'd ever seen talk about jellyfish presented them as very passive... but the ratios made me doubtful. If it was luck, why did the living beachball jellyfish outnumber the flat dead jellyfish something like 10 to 1? That's awfully consistent for 'luck'.

After a couple hours of seeing the jellyfish continue to survive on the beach, I got curious; I had what I'm going to call a bucket (It wasn't a bucket, but explaining what it was would be a lengthy distraction), and I decided to scoop up some of these jellyfish and try to dump them back in the ocean, see if I could rescue them. (Partially because jellyfish are one of those animals nobody reacts to with It's Cute Or Something So I Feel Bad For It When It Suffers: if I didn't save these jellyfish, there was basically no chance somebody else would do it)

I very stupidly started by just walking out until the water was waist-deep and dumped them out right next to me; I didn't get stung, but I did immediately decide to not repeat that.

Even so, the result was interesting: the jellyfish immediately opened up and began pumping, orienting away from the beach, out to the open ocean. This was very striking: I'd read about jellyfish pumping to adjust their depth, but my science books and shows had never suggested a jellyfish might be capable of deliberate horizontal movement. And the fact that I dumped out 6 jellyfish at once and they all immediately oriented correctly made it difficult to believe they were picking a direction at random: they were picking the correct direction somehow.

This was promising enough -and I had nothing better to do anyway- that I took on the longer journey of taking jellyfish out to a nearby rock jetty to dump them out: once again, the jellyfish stayed curled up in a ball while they were in my bucket (Even the ones that were completely submerged by the water that was getting into the bucket), but immediately after they hit the seawater they opened up and began frantically pumping away, this time from the jetty. I did this jetty trip three times in total, and all 18~ of those jellyfish reliably made the correct decision in those conditions.

(By the third jetty trip, I was too tired to keep going, even though I kind of wanted to keep at it. By the time I had the energy plus time available, the remaining beached jellyfish had all gone flat and dark, dead. Alas)

So that was all fascinating and raised a lot of questions about jellyfish intelligence, senses, etc, not to mention made me heavily doubt the default Passive Filter Feeder characterization all my science materials had told me.

(Incidentally, I tried digging into if modern science documented this behavior in the over-a-decade since my original experience, but as far as I can tell, no: as of July 15, 2024, this appears to still be an undocumented behavior. All I can find is the same ol' same ol' stuff about helpless filter feeders washing helplessly up on beaches and dying with no attempt to stave off their oncoming deaths.)

[moonlit-midnight]

A gentle sunrise (to guide you back home)

Characters: Azul Ashengrotto.

Genre: Friendship, Romantic Fluff, Angst with a happy ending.

Summary: After three years of a beautiful friendship, Azul thought he lost you forever when you disappeared for eleven years.

Warnings:

Reader is a female and has long hair.

Set in the real world where portals exist. People can cross back and forth, but the inhabitants of the magical worlds can’t cross into ours.

—

You and Azul Ashengrotto crossed paths at the age of fourteen.

It happened during your older brother’s wedding when you decided to wander around before the ceremony started. Time slipped off your mind upon stumbling on a purple portal in the stairway leading to the rooftop.

The enchanting gateway was glowing brightly as if beckoning you to cross it, so without hesitation, you stepped inside the portal.

You thought you were going to land on solid ground, but you fell straight from the sky, only to be caught by a pair of strong arms.

Fluttering your eyes open, you were greeted by the wondrous view of the sunrise sky, and dreamy sea-blue eyes looking at you with a wonderstruck gaze.

Judging from his appearance, the boy belonged to the merfolk.

You knew because this was possibly the realm that your parents stumbled onto once upon a time. Growing up, they would tell you tales about their adventures in a strange world called Twisted Wonderland and the magical beings that dwelled in there.

“Are you alright?” The teenage boy chimed in, still holding you in his arms.

“I’m okay, thanks to you.” You said, heart hammering in your chest.

“Did you perhaps come from the mortal realm?”

“How did you know?”

“You have no trace of magic. This is also the seventh time a non-magical person tumbled down Twisted Wonderland this week.” The boy said in a soft tone, hoping he didn’t offend you.

Ah! So this is really the world that my parents always gushed about fondly.

You felt your face growing warm upon realizing that you were still snuggled securely in the young merman’s arms. As if he was able to read your mind, he carefully lowered you down on the shallow rock pool that he was in.

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” The silver haired boy muttered timidly.

“No worries. I’m the one who’s sorry for disrupting your activity.” You said, giving him an apologetic look.

“It’s alright, I was admiring the splendor of the sunrise. It’s a glorious scenery, isn’t it?” He motioned you to sit next to him.

“It is a glorious view indeed.” You sat beside him, eyes skyward.

After watching the majestic beauty of the sun rising over the horizon, you excused yourself, thanking him once again for saving you from falling.

“May I know your name?” You asked before departing.

“Azul Ashengrotto.” He waved at you, flashing you a smile.

“I hope to see you again.” You returned a sweet smile as you went back home.

★ —

Two days later, you ventured into Twisted Wonderland again.

The portal was still in the wedding venue, and you were lucky it was located close to your house.

Since it was summer vacation, you would visit at least four times a week and spend two to three hours with Azul. 

As if it was fate, he was always around every time you arrived.

In a span of five months, you bonded. Azul was your kindred spirit, and you were his favorite companion.

As many months passed and seasons changed, your friendship blossomed beautifully.

During your times together, Azul would transform into human form to make it easier spending his time with you.

On spring mornings, you would wander by the ocean, collecting seashells and gathering colorful beach flowers that got washed ashore.

On summer nights, you would stargaze at midnight and venture through the woods chasing fireflies.

On autumn afternoons, you would visit old bookshops, and bask beneath the warm sun after sweeping off dead leaves.

On winter evenings, you would sit by the fire, talking about the stars and the deep blue seas.

Your adventures might not be grand and fancy, but it was fun and it meant everything to you and your dearest merman friend.

★ —

On a warm, spring afternoon, you two were sitting on the sand.

You watched the fluffy clouds go by in the sky while Azul was weaving yellow beach flowers into a crown. He loved adorning your hair with those.

“Your heart,” Azul began.

“What about my heart?” You asked in a sing-song voice.

“I love your kind heart.” He gently placed the flower crown on your head.

“I love yours too.” You kissed his hand, thanking him for the pretty crown.

A comfortable silence fell upon the place as you returned to gazing at the infinite blue sky. 

Azul on the other side was observing you quietly.

Recently you noticed his ocean blue eyes often fixed on you.

He struggled at eye contact with others, but he liked staring at you as if you were an artwork worth admiring.

“Hey Azul, I wonder why do you like staring at me as if you’re looking at the stars through a window?” You teased him, catching him off guard.

“I can’t help it…” Azul trailed off.

You gave him a soft look, signaling him to carry on.

“You’re breathtaking, and you’re honestly the most beautiful human girl I’ve met, both inside and outside.” His voice was shaking, but he was honest.

“So are you. I’ve always been fascinated and charmed by you.” You hugged him, whispering to him that he was the most spellbinding creature you’ve ever seen in this land.

Azul never doubted your genuine words, always filling his heart with light and sincere happiness.

“I’ve been thinking if you would like to go on an adventure under the sea? I brewed a breathing potion last night.” He asked, slowly pulling away from the hug.

“Finally!” You raised a fist in the air. “Took you two years and half to ask me. Of course I’d love to.”

You were thrilled to embark on a new, unforgettable adventure with Azul, but little did you know that this spring afternoon would be the last time you’d see each other.

★ —

It’s been eleven years, and not a day goes by where I don’t miss you, my dearest friend.

Across many separating years, the twenty seven years old silver-haired merman didn’t forget about you.

Azul was still missing you, and aching for your presence.

He had a hope more powerful than the sea waves that you’d come back one day.

There were still lots of memories to create, adventures to embark on and new places to explore. He didn’t want to die until he had seen everything with you.

He would keep on waiting because there was no way he lost you forever.

During his time in NRC, Azul tried many ways to distract himself from his heartbreak caused by your sudden absence. It almost worked, but that was until he started his third year, you began haunting him in his dreams.

They were pleasant dreams, but the ghost of your beautiful face and your soothing voice often sent him crying.

Years after graduating and establishing his own business, you continued appearing in his sleep.

Azul was happy to see you in his dreams, but still, the closest he could get to you still wasn’t close enough.

★ —

Azul wasn’t a fan of attending extravagant parties because these occasions suffocated him; the blinding lights, the unnecessary gossip, the loud chatters, and the nosy strangers asking him personal questions.

On one chilly, autumn evening, he was invited to his colleague’s engagement party, and he only showed up out of respect since he was good friends with the man.

The party started nicely, but Azul forced himself to leave in the middle of it when the place grew too crowded and the voices became too loud.

Once outside the venue, he loosened his tie and ran to the beach nearby the place. 

The instant he reached there, he carelessly plopped on the white sand, hugging his knees close to his chest.

He stayed like that for a long time until his senses caught a whiff of an oddly familiar scent of sweet pea and freesia.

Slowly raising his head, his eyesight was met by none other than you; his long lost human best friend.

“Hello, Azul.” You were seated in front of him, gentle hands resting atop his knees.

His breath hitched at the sight of you.

He quietly took in your features; your soulful eyes full of wonder, your kind face lit with delight, and your hair tied in a messy bun as usual.

It was you indeed, and you looked even more beautiful than before.

“This is not a dream, right?” Azul blurted, eyes brimming with tears.

Shaking your head, you beamed a tender smile before taking him into your warm embrace.

You felt him shuddering as he cried in your arms, so you tightened your hold to assure him that he wasn’t hallucinating.

“I’m here for real.” You whispered and kissed his temple.

Later that night, you told him the unfortunate events that unfolded during your absence.

Eleven years ago, on the day Azul promised to venture with you under the sea, you got caught in a horrific car accident on your way home from school.

The taxi cab you rode collided with a truck, and the impact was severe that it put you in a comatose and caused you critical injuries.

You woke up after a year and half, but despite your survival, you suffered from slight memory loss due to the trauma and harsh impact on your head.

Your new life wasn’t easy. You became homeschooled until your final high school year because it was hard being around people while you were in a slow stage of recovery.

You got accepted in a decent university, but you withdrew after a few months, and thankfully your dear parents were supportive of your decisions.

Your mind wasn’t in your studies, so you pursued something you were passionate about since childhood which was baking.

Your oldest maternal aunt hired you in the bakery shop she owned, and since you were good at baking, you eventually became a full time employee.

Fast forward to the present time, you were fully recovered and you restored the remaining memories you lost.

Once you remembered the name Azul Ashengrotto, you wasted no time to go through the purple portal hovering in the backyard of your house.

For the past eleven years, it was always there, but you never bothered to cross the portal since you lost your memories of Twisted Wonderland, and your condition didn’t allow you to venture through the many other portals scattered across the human realm.

“I thought I lost you forever. I’m glad you recovered, and I’m glad you’re back.” Azul released a sigh of relief.  

“Me too,” You breathed softly. “I’m happy to be here with you again.”

“Say… do you have someone in your heart?”

“Yes, there’s a good man who holds my heart dearly.”

“Hmm, good for you.”

“What about you Azul, are you dating someone?”

Azul stared at you for a long time, pondering on your question.

“No, I’m not. I haven’t thought of pursuing a love life all those years.” He gazed at your kind eyes with an aching yearning. “I was waiting for you. I’d rather be blue over you than be happy with someone else.”

Hearing his confession, you felt your heart blooming with endless delight.

Who would’ve thought that the merman you fell in love with when you were sixteen reciprocated your romantic feelings all these years?

“I love you, Azul.” You declared, a sunshine smile touching your face.

“I love you too, dearest.” He echoed the same radiant smile, pulling you in a gentle kiss filled with years of longing and endearing affection.

[dawnbreakersgaze]

I have such an extra special fondness for Raf's sea god outfit in the photo booth because together we look like the silliest rom-com, will they/won't they couple

"She was just an average run of the mill artist who took a trip to a secluded beachside cabin to try and regain her inspiration after a brutal breakup. That was until the fateful day she saw a beautiful man washed ashore while on her morning inspiration walk. After getting him inside and warmed up, her life would be forever changed when she found out he was the soon-to-be God of the Tides.

Could this ridiculous, dramatic man really be a God? And could he actually help her reclaim her lost muse? And could Rafayel really find a faithful follower in this scatterbrained, sarcastic, broken soul?

Tune in next week on- My Roomate is The God of the Tides"

[avonne-writes]

Hope

Short lucemond drabble

TW: implied death

Luke survives Shipbreaker Bay. He’s washed ashore soaked and unconscious, and Aemond finds him like that on a rocky beach. Flooded with relief, he checks Luke for wounds, then picks him up gently and flies back to King’s Landing with him in his arms, trying to keep him warm despite the still raging storm.

When they arrive, their whole family descends on them. Aegon congratulates him, Otto schemes to use their little prisoner to their advantage, Alicent frets, unhappy with Aemond and worried about the consequences. Suddenly, Helaena rushes into the room and her face contorts in devastation when she sees Luke there, laid down on a bed and examined by a maester. She starts crying, mumbling about hope being the cruelest death. Aemond and Alicent both try to comfort her, but it's futile.

When Luke wakes up, he’s scared and angry. He’s tortured by shivers and coughs, but the fire in his eyes is as scorching as ever. Aemond visits him in his confinement as often as he can just to tease him and keep an eye on him while Otto tries to negotiate with Rhaenyra.

At first, Aemond starts feeling proud of himself for securing Baratheon and a bargaining chip in one go.

But the cough doesn’t get better.

Lucerys has a strong build and healthy organs, but it was cold and windy that night in the storm, and the sea was as welcoming as liquid ice. He’s suffering from a sickness that doesn't go away.

Aemond throws in a few jabs about it in the beginning, sitting in a chair by Luke’s bed as the maester rubs balms on Luke's rattling chest, but the quieter Luke’s retorts get, the deeper Aemond's concern spreads. When Luke stops getting out of bed, he forces him, thinking it can only be a fluke, or that not moving will only make Luke weaker. Luke’s fatigue is so heavy that he doesn’t even say anything to the accusations.

The next day, Luke comes down with a fever. Aemond is beside himself with dread and worry - something in his chest begins to tighten, almost like a shadow of his panic from that day in the bay. But it's a shadow that only grows, looming behind him ever darker as his sun's light weakens.

Luke sleeps through most of his days now, and even when he’s awake, his eyes are hazy, delirious. They slide off Aemond's face as if they don't recognize him.

The maesters try everything they can. None of their medicines work, the leeches only make Luke cry, and the cold cloth on Luke's forehead is lukewarm within minutes from the burning heat of his body. It's as though while barely escaping Vhagar's jaw, a lick of dragonfire caught him and began eating him from the inside out.

Helaena cries and mutters riddles about hope.

Aemond hopes. He wakes with it every morning, his heart pounding and trashing in an ever tightening cage as he walks the halls to Luke's room. Today, he’s going to glare at me and call me dragonkiller. But his hope is crushed every day as his gaze lands on Luke's sunken cheeks and pallid skin. He dies every day. It's just like those few minutes above Shipbreaker Bay when he thought Luke was gone.

Over and over again, he hopes and despairs in endless circles. But he feels his doom impending like winter in the North.

When Luke stops eating, he sits by his bedside and spoonfeeds him, opening Luke’s mouth for him between coughs like a puppeteer moves his doll. He whispers kind things to Luke, he apologizes, he begs for forgiveness, prays for recovery, but the weak spark of his hope dwindles.

When the maesters tell him there's nothing more left but that hope, tears spring to Aemond's eye sockets. He understands it now. There's nothing crueler than a slow death. Nothing more painful than watching the consequences of your recklessness progress day by day towards an inevitable end. A litany of if only-s looping in your mind in the rhythm of those whistling, struggling breaths.

"Please, don't." Aemond whispers with his forehead pressed to Luke's motionless shoulder. His regret tastes like bile.

"Mum..." Luke whispers, tear tracks trickling from his closed eyes.

At that moment, Aemond knows the venomous truth that has been dripping into his veins drop by drop.

Kinslayer, his shadow hisses as it opens its mouth to swallow him like a dragon broken loose. And still, he clings to the most painful of hopes.

[reap-the-game]

He never felt it, as he should have, when his storm claimed another ship—only saw it after the fact, when the wreckage and the bodies of drowned, battered sailors washed ashore.

If they washed ashore and weren’t simply dragged to his depths, never to be seen again. He would not know, though. Would not feel it. What, then, did it make him feel when his island, his prison, became thus decorated by the debris of shipwrecks? How did he feel those times such as now, when he walked along a tropical sandy beach and idly picked through the detritus for any trinkets of interest? His storm always darkened the horizon, a danger to any ship that strayed too close, but a shield to him. Above him, clear skies, the blazing sunlight of the late morning warming his skin.

He felt as ever. Loss, but not over the life his storm claimed. The bruised bodies he walked by went ignored. No, his storm and the wreckage only reminded him of his loss, of everything he was denied that should have rightfully belonged to him.

Gia’s ears canted back as he straightened from picking up a prettily painted pot that had survived intact despite the undoubtedly harrowing ordeal of the ship carrying it getting caught in the storm. There it swirled where the sky met the sea, dark and foreboding and always in motion. Always churning the waters, always with its winds raging and its rain falling without cease—he looked at it, and his heart thrummed hollow where the sea had been carved straight out of him.

How many years had it been by now? He didn’t know, had utterly lost count. There had only been the island and its unyielding solitude for so, so long, and still the solitude was preferable to the alternative. He knew what would happen if he let his storm calm.

He could not allow that. No matter how many more ships strayed into it only to be torn apart by the towering waves and howling winds, he could never let it stop.

The prettily painted pot was tucked under his arm and Gia continued along the shoreline, staying well clear from the peacefully washing waves that refused to be disturbed by the distant storm. As he went, he tried to guess what manner of ship this one had been. A merchant ship? Military? Pirate, even? The clues were scarce, leaving things largely up to his imagination—a crew fighting for their life as their course proved dangerous, orders yelled over the rain pounding on the ship’s deck and the unrelenting scream of the wind.

All for naught, in the end. All in futility as their mistake became fatal and all hands were lost.

Or… Most hands.

He wasn’t sure what alerted him first. Was it simple intrigue over the unmistakable Vieran ears, so similar to his own even if their color and length of fur was different? Was that what had him glancing a second time, this time to take notice of the body’s color that wasn’t quite so dead as that of all the others ready to be picked by the seagulls and the rest of the island’s wildlife?

Did his ears even catch the bare wheeze of breath?

Gia froze mid-step, those ruby-tipped ears of his now rotating towards the body of the tan Viera. His clothing was torn and his body littered by bruises and wounds from no doubt being tossed and thrown against the ship’s debris at the very least, if not the rocks and corals as well.

But his chest rose, then fell. Then rose again.

He was… Alive?

The prettily painted pot was discarded immediately, falling into the soft sand with a thud as Gia ran those remaining steps between himself and the other Viera and came to stand next to him. He looked unconscious, no surprise, but without a doubt now…

He breathed.

And Gia dropped to his knees, hesitating with his hand hovering mid-air before he most carefully laid it upon the man’s shoulder. His clothes were still wet; the sun hadn’t had the time to fully dry him yet. When Gia brushed strands of hair from the man’s face, his fingers touched cool skin.

But he was alive. Barely, perhaps, but…

Very unlikely was he to stay that way if left here, though, that much Gia knew even amidst his shock.

What to do?

He wasted precious seconds considering that, idly listening to the wind in the palm trees and the seagulls and other birds making their sounds above and around him. He could leave the man, the man would most likely die, and nothing would change. Things could continue as they had for hundreds of years already.

But did he want that?

Or he could try to save him and from there on… Not be alone.

Oh, to not be alone. To hear the voice of another, feel their touch, share their company…

Decision made, Gia moved, and as carefully as he possibly could, picked the man’s dead weight up. Were he not used to doing every task in his life by himself, carrying this or that no matter how heavy it was, well, he could only imagine how poorly the feat would have gone. Even with that experience of moving heavy things from one place to another, the near-drowned man was not small, and his weight across Gia’s back was a struggle when his second opponent was the hill his cabin sat at the top of.

But he made it. With great difficulty but even greater determination, he made it, carrying the Vieran man all the way up the hill and into his little cottage where he carefully set him down on his bed.

Once there, his wet clothes were cautiously removed and tossed aside to see the end of their days as rags or kindling—all they would be good for anymore, with the state they were in. The now naked body was covered with a blanket before Gia rushed to his shelves of herbs and other useful these and those, picking some apart from their brethren with deft fingers and quickly mixing them together into a murky liquid. A sniff confirmed the smell of the finished concoction was as it should be—that was, absolutely vile, prompting him to make a face, but at the very least it should do its job of disinfecting the man’s wounds.

A bucket of boiled fresh water and a clean rag later Gia returned to the side of his bed, setting the bucket onto the floor before he began the process of wiping the man’s body clean. Special attention was paid to his wounds, salt and dirt rinsed out of them in preparation for him to use his potion on them afterwards. As one among the injuries the man had sustained was a cut on his face, right under his eye, and Gia was particularly careful as he dabbed that clean. He frowned at the eye it seemed to have affected—though both of the man’s eyes were closed, this one had bloody tears running out of it steadily. Damage to the eye itself, then?

After a moment’s consideration, he leaned over the prone body and gently pulled the upper lid out of the way a bit, only to… Confirm the eye behind it was a mess. Gia’s frown deepened, and though he made a mental note of mixing together something to put into the eye… Well, he doubted he could save the sight in it, even a little. Most likely that was already gone irreparably.

But if he could make sure the man kept his life… Surely the sight in one eye was a small price to pay when the alternative was to simply join the innumerable unnamed bodies in the sea?

So Gia went about cleaning his new companion from head to toe. He was a handsome man, that much was apparent despite his injuries. Tall, strongly built, with auburn hair and black-tipped ears, his warmly toned skin holding a color that suggested he was quite used to being under the sun. And Gia… Found himself truly wishing he would survive. As he took his potion and poured a bit of it into each and every wound, hoping the man was unconscious enough to be spared the sharp sting of it, he… So wished. There was only so much he could do beyond seeing to it his body stayed warm, his wounds clean and free of infection, the deepest of them gently bandaged, but if the man had a fighting spirit, then perhaps… Perhaps he wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.

He left the man on his bed, tucked under a blanket after dressing him in trousers he judged to be the only pair he owned large enough to fit him, and went about his life around him. There was still his garden to tend to, food to cook, things to clean, water to fetch and boil, traps to check—the day passed into night and Gia cleaned the man’s wounds again before taking a spare pillow and blanket and making himself as comfortable as he could in a chair, worried as he was about joining this addition to his island on his own bed lest he worsen his injuries by accident.

Come morning, again would there be a procession of daily chores performed with familiarity, but now… Things were a little different.

Things felt a little different. There was a nervous excitement, a shy but insistent hope as he stole countless of glances at the man and wished for him to pull through, to wake up, and did what he could to aid his newfound company in achieving that. His wounds were kept clean and dressed where appropriate, and as Gia waited and hoped, hoped and waited for him to fully regain his consciousness, he took some of his cotton cloth from storage and began on a shirt that would properly fit the other. Keeping himself busy and optimistic was far preferable to the endless fretting he was only going to succumb to otherwise.

[tainbocuailnge]

the time travel in lb6 isn't that hard to follow ingame because they slowly reveal and explain each part of the three layers of timeloop but i love how insanely complicated it makes the plot of lb6 seem to just lay it out like this

14000 years ago sefar attacks earth. because the six fairies had not made the holy sword out of selfish laziness, sefar cannot be stopped and earth is reduced to a lifeless ocean, turning this world into a lostbelt. when the six fairies go to the surface to see what happened they find they cannot return to paradise/avalon because they are no longer innocent and are stuck living in the endless ocean. paradise sends the god cernunnos to punish them, but cernunnos is too kind to go through with it and instead holds back the waves so the fairies have a calm sea to play in. initially they are grateful for the mercy, but cernunnos' mere presence reminds them of their wrongs and eventually they decide to kill cernunnos and turn his body into land to live on so they can go back to normal.

over the span of millennia they expand the land with countless fairy corpses until it has taken the shape of britain. from the six fairies form six clans that frequently war with each other. from the corpse of albion that washed ashore is formed the lake district and the northern fairies. cernunnos' priestess is cut up and cloned into artificial humans to supply the fairies with a concept of civilisation to copy as they live out their facsimile of normality.

4000 years ago morgan arrives in fairy britain from paradise, tasked with saving britain. using the nickname tonelico she travels with her companions and protects britain against the calamities that happen every 100 years. the fairies are invariably ungrateful and she has to go into hiding after every calamity is resolved lest they kill her.

2000 years ago the great calamity that happens every 1000 years destroys britain and turns it into a wasteland.

about a year ago, beryl arrives in this wasteland that remains of fairy britain. he summons ruler class panhuman morgan as his servant. since morgan as paradise fairy has strong ties to the land, and she existed in this lostbelt as well, she gains a rough awareness of what happened. from her own summoning she extrapolates how rayshifting works and then kills herself to send her panhuman memories and knowledge back in time to the tonelico of 4000 years ago

4000 years ago, tonelico with her new panhuman knowledge of king arthur's round table comes up with the plan of unifying the six clans under a human king so that together they can stand against the great calamity. she repeats the same 2000 years of ungrateful work while preparing for this plan.

2000 years ago, the would-be king is murdered at the coronation ceremony and the six clans turn on each other. tonelico snaps and decides she will not save the fairies, only the land. she fakes her death and returns as the tyrant morgan, who swiftly unifies britain with her unparalleled ruthless might and establishes the queen's calendar in what conveniently corresponds to 0AD in panhuman history. almost all the fairies die in the great calamity, but she had built her throne to be able to revive them using a system similar to servant summoning, thus ensuring fairy britain will survive as long as she sits on her throne. morgan deals with the calamities by sending each disaster into the past for tonelico to deal with, made possible by the fact that her fairy britain is effectively a singularity of the lostbelt, meaning only everything in the queen's calendar is "real history" and the events leading up to it can be smudged as long as tonelico's failure remains fixed.

about a year ago, beryl wakes up the next morning to find the endless wasteland has been replaced by a whole fairy kingdom with his servant berserker morgan at its head.

present day, chaldea arrives in the fairy kingdom and the plot of lb6 starts to play out. mash loses her memory and takes up the identity of fairy knight galahad for a while. she meets back up with guda and regains her memory, but almost immediately after she is caught in morgan's spell and sent to tonelico's time.

a little over 2000 years ago, mash joins tonelico's entourage and becomes known as fairy knight galahad. together they investigate the great pit at the center of britain and find cernunnos' cursed corpse at the bottom, thus learning that the cause for the calamities is britain trying to kill itself because it should be dead. the coronation fails again like history said it would. in between faking her death and returning as morgan, tonelico seals mash in a crystal coffin in orkney so that she will survive until present day unscathed and be able to reunite with chaldea. because the start of the queen's calendar is fixed morgan will not remember her, but "mash kyrielight" was not part of this history and can take the knowledge she gained with her to the present.

present day, guda unseals the coffin in orkney and reunites with mash. she shares what she learned with the rest of chaldea and the remaining plot of lb6 plays out.

[shu-box-puns]

Shell-Shocked

(Neteyam x Reader)

Previous Chapter <- Part 2 -> Next Chapter

If you prefer to read on Ao3, you can find the fic here!

Summary: When you try to clear up a misunderstanding but things are getting worse before they’re getting better.

Word Count: 11,719

Metkayina Reader uses they/them pronouns.

The Cove of the Ancestors was always prettiest at night. 

Honestly, it was gorgeous at all times of day. With its arching stone limbs framing the sun and the ethereal glowing fan-like leaves of the Spirit Tree underfoot. Without the sun to dim its splendour, the Tree shone brighter than even the closest star, rivalling the soft glow of the colossal moon that sat lazily upon its throne of curved rock overshadowing the cove.

And at the centre of it all, was Ronal, the bridge between Eywa and Her children. 

Backlit by the moon, the Tsahik sat tall upon her tsurak, oozing power despite her silence as she commanded the small procession of young hunters with but a wave of her hand. 

She was draped in a flowing cloak of blue sea grass, whilst shells that represented every symbol of her people were weaved between the locks of her hair. You recognised the bright pink conch of her courting gift from Tonowari, to the bright white of blooming friendship no doubt collected after a successful alliance with another sea clan. Your gaze absently caught on the jade of a smaller shell which represented the camaraderie of warriors, before catching on a fist sized black shell set at the centre of the tapestry of her intricate hairstyle. As death was the path in which every na’vi returned to Eywa, and Eywa was at the centre of everything a Tsahik did for their people, it was only common sense that this was the symbol Ronal had chosen to place most obviously within her hair. Ominous but beautiful in the most morbid of ways. 

You had a vague memory of the morning that particular black shell had washed ashore upon the beaches of Awa’altu. The way Ronal had paled and reached for it with shaking hands as an unsettled murmur had started up from the onlooking villagers. How Tonowari’s expression had grown pinched and distant, his grasp on his spear turning unforgiving. The new stars had appeared in the sky that night. Spearing across the inky heavens like lost fragments of stars. Falling towards Eywa’eveng at frightening speeds. Scouts carrying the news that the Sky People had returned reached the sea clans within the following few days.

The elegant turn of Ronal’s tsurak in the water, drew your attention back to the present. Despite its impressive size, the powerful mount barely stirred the waves with its movements as its rider looked upon the four young hunters that she had led from the village at the beginning of eclipse. Her gaze briefly flickered over you and the two others brought along to supervise the visit whilst Ronal oversaw the ceremony itself.

With the season of the tsurak migration on the horizon, Ronal had gathered a select handful for an unprompted communion with Eywa. Whilst the others had no doubt been hand selected by Ronal for the journey, she had all but stormed into your hut with little to no warning and ordered you help her escort the less experienced hunters. She had demanded you cease your stupid pitying and be useful, to which you could do little besides grabbing your hunting spear and call your ilu.

Her judgemental gaze had glared daggers into the side of your head throughout the entire journey to the cove. Having ridden side by side, Ronal had had no shortage of opportunities to shoot probing questions your way, swiftly followed up with annoyed um’s and ah’s when your answers were clipped and short.

You hadn’t breathed a word of what had happened a couple days ago. The embarrassment would have killed you if you had had to look Ronal in the eye and tell her honestly what had gotten under your thick skin. Like Aonung, her response would be unpredictable and you would much rather avoid addressing anything. 

Naturally, you doubted that she was unaware of what had happened. She was Tsahik afterall, and there had been plenty of eyes and ears around to witness the entire mortifying situation.

But for now, you were spared by Ronal’s duty to recite her greetings to Eywa. You joined the others in bowing your heads in respect, before taking up a post near the rear of the small group. Spear in hand, you set your mind to surveying the waters as Ronal called each young hunter forward one by one. You heard the deep inhales and the lap of unsettled waves as she guided each beneath the surface to connect to the Spirit Tree. 

On the off chance you would glance back when they resurfaced, the young hunter would always be smiling with some new sense of determination. Their resolve to pass their iknimaya refreshed by whichever lost loved one had appeared to them through Eywa. 

Soon, you would be among them.

But not yet. Clearly, you were nowhere near ready. 

Neteyam’s betrayal still sat heavy above your ribs, sometimes growing unbearably suffocating. You would be continuing with your duties, only for the action of another clan mate to bring him fluttering into your mind. Something as simple as teens messing around in the surf by the beach, made you recall all those times Neteyam had tried to trip or drag you down into the waves with him after some quick retort you’d fired at him. Even now, looking at the young hunters, you could see a watery reflection of his joy at a successful dive rippling across their beaming faces. 

You could practically see the cute scrunch of his nose. Could imagine the disarray of his braids, how a couple would get stuck on his ears even after he tried to brush them back. You could practically feel the neat links between your fingers as you fixed them for him-

A flash of pink in your peripheral abruptly soured the fond memory. 

Gaze narrowed, you glared down your spear shaft to the obnoxiously bright shell currently clinging to the blade like a limpet. It felt like an act of defiance as you pulled the weapon in and mercilessly scrapped the offending object off with your thumb. Certain that no one else had seen it, you wound back your hand and pointedly threw the blasted thing as far away as you could. Your ilu straightened at the sudden motion, but watched with you as the pink landed with a plop and was swiftly swallowed by the calm silver of the dancing moonlight on the waves.

An authoritative tut had your spine instinctively straightening. 

Even without turning, you knew Ronal was behind you, and she was greatly displeased.

<”Never so rudely discard a gift from Eywa.”> She said coldly, with the authority of her station, even as she tread water at a level that forced you to look down to meet her gaze. <”It’s fine.”> You found yourself blurting out stupidly, despite the fact you’d grown up alongside this woman’s children and knew your excuses would fall on deaf ears. <”She’ll just send me more. Bet I’ll find another before we even get back to the village.”> 

Ronal was already shaking her head in displeasure, the shells woven into her hair gently clicking together. <”You do not think clearly.”> She finally stated, as sharply and quickly as a slap on the wrist. <”Now come. It is your turn to go see Her.”>

Your nose scrunched at the order, eyes briefly glancing to the young hunters, who were now mucking around in the waves whilst Ronal’s back was turned. Even the escorts were glistening in the light of the moon, their hair sticking to their scalps, having clearly already descended to the Tree for a reunion with Eywa.

Before you could unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, Ronal was taking your spear from your lax grasp and tossing it to the nearest escort with barely a word of warning. Luckily, he caught it easily and rested it across his knees. 

With that, Ronal sharply dragged you off your ilu and urged you to follow her under. You went easily enough, ducking under the waves to find yourself briefly soothed by the sudden silence that came with the embrace of the water and the underlying humm of life that always inhabited the space between the waving limbs of the Spirit Tree.

Ronal swam down in front of you, the lilac light reflecting off the shells in her hair as she led the way. You kept pace easily, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting as Ronal approached a certain branch with purpose and urged you to forge the connection.

Stopping at her elbow, you pulled your kuru forward over your shoulder. The braid was a familiar weight in your hand as you reached forward, the tendrils at the end eagerly emerging to fuse to the Spirit Tree’s offered limb. 

You expected to be greeted by a distant relative, maybe some faceless Goddess, but instead, you opened your eyes to a beach. To sand between your toes and the lull of the waves at your side. The smell of meat cooking over fires and the sounds of the village accompanied the calm crash of the waves. 

There was someone standing beside you, drawing your attention from your surroundings with a soft touch to your shoulder. You tore your gaze from the village to find Neteyam at your side. He stood tall, the vision of confidence, but you could tell from the anxious sway of his tail that nerves were threatening to overwhelm him. The smile that pulled at his lips looked strained. A thought which made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

Why him? Why had Eywa sent him to greet you? 

Before your eyes, this phantom version of Neteyam seemed to pull himself together. You watched an odd expression seep into his gaze. And although it was different, you could somehow tell it was the echoes of something soft hidden within the depths of his eyes. 

If you were still a lovesick fool, you might have mistaken it for affection.

But you knew better now. You knew that Eywa had made a mistake. You knew that Neteyam did not want you. That he did not even wish to be your friend.

You had reminded yourself of this in the days that had followed the fight on the walkway. The truth had turned you bitter. Prompting Ronal to drag you from your hut with some half-assed excuse of being a scout for her visit. 

You knew and yet this version of Neteyam looked at you as if you’d hung the stars. What was even more unsettling, was that he wore your courting necklace. The bright pinks of the shells gorgeously contrasted his complexion as they cruelly supplied you with the image of what he would have looked like wearing them. If he had given you a chance to prove yourself.

<”What are you looking at?”> He asked you now, a bright laugh lacing its way between his words. He shifted, appearing suddenly at ease. 

In contrast, you felt yourself subconsciously stiffening. 

<”Nothing.”> You said simply, and he hummed. 

Unexpectedly, one of his hands strayed from his side to reach for your hand. His fingers were long and warm as they easily wrapped around your wrist, as if to anchor you in place. Holding you in place with a gentleness that was foreign to you. <”You’re a bad liar.”> He said, his words barely registering in your mind as the warmth of his hand pressed into your skin. 

He pulled away suddenly, and you immediately cursed yourself for feeling disappointed by his withdrawal. You’d think you were used to it by now. 

Neteyam didn’t notice. His expression had brightened as he spotted something at your feet. Quicker than your eyes could follow, he stooped to pluck something from the sand. 

His fingers closed around the object, his grin bright as he carefully opened his hands and showed you what he was holding. It was a shell. A very large and very, VERY pink one at that. 

You knew your tail was wagging at an unnatural pace, but couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed. Or stop for that matter. Your heart was pounding and doing happy flips at the sheer size of the shell presented to you now. You were grinning despite yourself. Eagerly reaching for the beautiful shell under Neteyam’s bright eyed watch, your heart swelling in your chest with the amount of affection you harboured for this sweet boy and his cute smile. 

Alarmed shouts sounded from the village, stilling your hand. The smell of the cooking fires turned acidic, like the burning of metal. You glanced away from Neteyam for half a second to find that the beach was suddenly awash with screaming na’vi. Hunters were grabbing their spears and skimwings were being called, whilst Metkayina villagers ran for the sea. Some were on fire, screaming the whole way. Whilst others shepherd children out of the pods, and friends dragged each other across the sand. The drums for war were sounding, thunderous and ominous in their volume, making your heart race and your happiness evaporate.

In contrast, when you turned back to him, Neteyam was the vision of calm. <”Y/n?”> He asked lightly, acting as if you had been rendered speechless by the shell, when you could in reality see the burning of your home reflecting in his eyes. 

You managed to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, hands coming up to grip his bicep, ready to haul him towards the sea, only for your actions to freeze. Your eyes bugged at the sight of his necklace. At the shells that once resembled the forest, and now shone black in the burning light of the out of control fires. 

He was still smiling. Still grinning without a care in the world like a love-drunk fool. Comically, he tipped his head towards the shell caught between your outstretched hands. 

Again, you followed his unspoken prompt, breath stuttering at the once pink shell that had crumbled to a black husk between his hands. Everywhere his skin touched it, it shone a dirty black, whilst the part that your fingers brushed had softened into a milky white. It was a sickeningly beautiful contrast. Riddled with signs and messages that only a Tsahik could successfully interpret. 

<”Do you not like it?”>

You looked up at him once more. Heart clenching painfully as you realised that his freckles were no longer glowing, despite the darkness and the illuminated dots adorning your own skin. You didn’t need a Tsahik to know what that meant. <”No, it is beautiful.”> You promised him, and he laughed with such ignorance that you knew in your gut that he couldn’t possibly know the meaning. 

The snap of woven fibres breaking apart startled your gaze from him. Your gaze darted to the village, your home, currently being consumed by hungry tongues of flame. Pods were collapsing in on themselves as the fire spread. Their strong structures weakened as the ribs of the trees they were secured against began to blacken and buckle. A few collapsed under their own weight, tipping the People running along them into the raging waves.

Neteyam was unnaturally still at your back, the flames dancing in the gold of his eyes as he stared blankly at the ruins of your home. He did not appear surprised by the destruction, as if he had seen it all before.

The world shifted on its axes, and you stumbled back a step, only for your foot to hit something lukewarm and solid as the unsettled waves sucked at your heels. 

Unsteady, your gaze lowered to the object, only for the breath to still in your throat at the site of a body in the water. Eyes frozen in death, the na’vi stared blankly at the ruined village, his throat slit.

More bodies littered the sand. Turning the white beaches into a bloodbath of gore and red.

Your breathing picked up, even as you realised that these were not the bodies of sea na’vi. Their clothes were alien. Their features were wrong. Their noses were too sharp and strips of hair hugged their brow bones. They were forest na’vi, but not.

Not that it seemed to matter much, because someone had taken the time to kill them all. Bloody gashes stained the sand and tainted the waves. Ugly, unclean swipes of a blade that did not reflect the ways of the People. These were not clean kills.

A hand grasped your shoulder.

You lurched, hand swinging up to smack the person away. 

Neteyam was still there. Still wearing that foolish necklace. Still watching the destruction of the village. He caught your wrist easily, eyes not once moving from where they were fixed. And not a moment too soon, as you realised you were clutching your bloodied blade in that hand.

Red was smeared from the knife to your forearm, covering the ripples of your aqua stripes. Tainting the fine leather of your blade. It was only now, you could feel the stickiness of the substance splattered across your torso. Along your arms, dripping from your chin. You could feel something stuck between your teeth, and you feared it wasn’t fish judging by the sizable bite marks carved into some of the dead na’vi’s bodies.

Your disconnection from the Spirit Tree with a lurch, as if Eywa had severed your connection personally and shoved you backwards and out of her realm. It was disorienting to go from the screaming destruction of the village, to the muffled silence beneath the waves. For a few heart pounding seconds, you couldn’t tell up from down. 

A light touch to your shoulder made you jump. Your body wanted to fight, but you managed to keep from reaching for your knife long enough to recognise Ronal’s concerned expression at your elbow. 

/Who did She show you?/ The Tsahik signed, her expression pinched.

Your mind was spinning too fast to answer. You could still taste the copper on your tongue and feel the stickiness of the blood splattered across your skin. Your lungs burned as if you’d inhaled acidic smoke, and you desperately wanted to breathe it all out. You needed to surface. To inhale the seaweed and salt of the cove and allow the watery moonlight to wash away the harsh orange of the fire. Anything to get the taste of ash off your tongue and the feeling of flesh between your teeth to dissipate.

You noticed the underbellies of the other’s ilus mucking around on the surface without Ronal’s guidance. The lazy circles of the warriors helped to orient you, to give you a direction. 

Panic was still clawing up the back of your throat. Shaking your hands as that black shell flashed in the back of your mind once again, making your ears instinctively pin back. The inky blackness of their colour. The crumbling edges.

You were kicking for the surface before you realised you’d never given Ronal an answer. Your burning need for the sound of the waves tugged you higher and higher as you clumsily moved away from the Spirit Tree. With powerful kicks of your legs and the rhythmic sway of your tail, you started rising to the surface. In your haste, everything you’d learnt about swimming since infancy went out the window. Your tail worked out of sync with your legs, as your hands clawed uselessly at the water despite knowing that having your fingers apart would only slow your ascent. 

In contrast, Ronal was a calming presence at your back, easily keeping pace before she seemed to lose patience and swept you up into her arms. Despite the addition of your weight, she ascended smoothly to the surface, pressing you into her side, mindful of her swollen belly as she gracefully left the Spirit Tree behind. 

You broke the surface with a gasp, something you had NEVER done before. Coming up for breath was normally a calm procedure. Now, you greedily sucked down lungfuls of air. 

<”Suvio, guide the young hunters back to the village.”> Ronal’s voice was calm and clear as she broke the surface with the same elegance as usual. Her grip was firm around your waist as you struggled to calm yourself.

The hunter Ronal had addressed dutifully nodded as the young hunters immediately scrambled to fall back into the formation. She yipped to them before leading the way out of the cove, the other scout bringing up the rear. 

Ronal watched them go until the soft glow of their freckles disappeared against the stars of the night, offering you some desperately needed privacy. Your cheeks were warm from the torrent of your frightened tears, more obvious now that the ocean didn’t whisk them away the moment they slipped from between your eyelids. 

<”What did you see?”> Ronal asked, her voice startlingly loud against the stillness of the cove.

You sucked in a sharp breath, as you struggled to set the events of the vision into order. Ronal soothed you with a firm hand running up and down your back, easing the tension from your shoulders as she waited. 

Instead of looking at her narrowed gaze, you focused on the pool of her hair floating around her shoulders. The shells woven within the strands glowed softly, their contrasting shades of bioluminescence standing out against the raven black strands.

It was hard to speak, but you pushed yourself to anyway. Your hands were too busy clinging tightly to Ronal to be any use in signing to her. <”She, she sent me an omen.”> 

Ronal stilled. <”More shells?”> She pressed, her tone probing. There was no amusement in her question, her demeanour completely typical of the Tsahik instead of a concerned parent. 

<”A warning.”> You confirmed, voice wobbly. <”A Black shell.”> You continued, <”big enough to fill both my palms. It was ancient. Crumbling.”>

Ronal’s ears flattened. And then after a moment of contemplation, she yipped for her tsurak. <”We must return to the village.”> You grabbed her arm before she could pull away, feeling uncomfortably raw for the blatant vulnerable action, but needing to ask anyway. <”What does it mean?”> 

<”You know what it means.”> Ronal replied simply, and you did.

You recalled that morning on the beach, eavesdropping on Ronal and Tonowari as they hastily discussed the meaning of the black shell that had just washed up. <”Someone is going to die.”> Ronal had said then, and Tonowari had been powerless to shake his head at her accusation. She had been right, afterall.

>_<

Neteyam looked down at his freshly woven token. 

He was sat in his hammock, swarmed by the copious amount of pink shells that somehow managed to invade his sleeping quarters regardless of how many times he cleared them out, and trapped deep in thought. 

Absently, he ran a thumb over his weaving, gaze critical as he compared the pattern to a necklace Tsireya had gifted him to take inspiration from the day before. He was so used to weaving the Omaticaya way, that it had taken an embarrassing amount of time to learn the Metkayina way of knot working, but he thought the necklace was just about ready now.

Forcing himself not to spiral or think too hard about it, Neteyam glanced at the contents of his hammock in search of the perfect pair of shells to attach to the centre of the piece. Ideally, he wanted two halves of the same shell, so he could accent them to sit above each collar bone instead of hanging too heavy in the centre of the throat. A design choice he’d stolen from one of his mother’s old necklaces where two jade river stones took the place of the shells.

Whilst he busied himself, Neteyam tried to put together an action plan. 

He had no idea where Y/n was right now. They hadn’t shown up to lessons for the last few days, nor had he stumbled across them in the village. None of his siblings had in fact. Even Tuk hadn’t been able to track them down. 

<”What’s with the long face?”> His Dad asked from the doorway of the pod, still dripping from hauling himself out of the water only moments before.

Neteyam felt his cheeks heat, the courting necklace at his throat suddenly too tight. He hadn’t talked about mates or courting with his Dad before, certainly not since the Sky People had returned. It was simply not something they’d ever discussed. 

But his Dad was more relaxed now. A thought Neteyam confirmed with himself as his Father crossed the pod, a net full of fish in hand. He sat himself down beside the cooking pot, focused on his catch so he wouldn’t pressure Neteyam into talking before he was ready. Which he appreciated.

Talking it out would be nice though. Especially to someone who wasn’t part of the entire mess.

“It’s complicated.” Neteyam finally replied with, responding in English to help himself say it. It felt safer somehow. His Dad gummed quietly, somehow knowing there was more, and that Neteyam would give it up eventually. 

”How did you know Mum was the one for you?” Neteyam found himself asking, eyes glued to his token instead of his Dad who had ceased his rustling to look at him. There was a mement of stillness in which Neteyam knew he was being assessed. Luckily, Dad let it drop, responding in English. ”She tried to kill me.” Neteyam could hear the amusement in his tone, could picture the adoration glinting in his Father’s eyes like it always did when he thought of Mum. Honestly, it was sickening sometimes how infatuated they still were with each other. ”What’s this about?”

Neteyam swallowed, still hiding behind his braids. “The Metkayina have a concept of their mates being chosen by Eywa.” “Ah. Mo’at told me something similar. Something to do with shells if I’m not mistaken.” Dad confirmed, the hiss of his knife leaving its sheath indicating he was continuing with his task. “I take it from that look that someone’s taken a fancy to you.”

“Dad!” He hissed through his teeth, ears burning. 

His Dad barked a laugh. “What can I say? Sully men got game-”

”DAD!”

”Fine! Fine. I’ll stop.” He was grinning, so Neteyam feared he wouldn’t. But to his relief, or horror, Dad swung the conversation back on track. ”So, who is this mysterious soulmate?” “It doesn’t matter.” Neteyam hurriedly dismissed. “They won’t even look at me anymore.”

”Come on, you’re kids. It can’t be that serious.”

”You can’t compare every situation, to you betraying the clan for the demons.” ”I said no such thing.” ”You ALWAYS imply it.”

“There you go.” Dad mused, to which Neteyam suddenly realised he’d finally come out of hiding during the heat of the conversation and was now glaring down at his Father on the floor. Seemingly satisfied, his Dad continued to speak, his attention drifting down to the fish he was gutting. ”It’s Y/n, right? Friend of Tonowari’s kids?” Dad pried, glancing up long enough to confirm his suspicion with a weak nod from Neteyam. He chuckled in amusement. “Tough cookie that one. Very serious.”

“You don’t say.” Neteyam replied dryly. “I’m worried I’ve messed it up before it could even begin.” “Well.” Dad began, “you’re a smart kid. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” “That’s it? You’re not going to give me any real advice?” “I doubt you want advice from me.” Dad reassured him, “Even in my old age, I don’t have the best head on my shoulders.” “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

His Dad laughed. “Fine, if you want my advice, I’d recommend-”

The curtain across the mouth of the pod was promptly swept aside before Dad would offer up anything decent to help Neteyam along. “Do not give our son any of your stupid ideas.” His mother ordered, striding into the pod with her visor sat low on her brow bone. “You will get him a black eye.” 

“What can I do?” Dad mused, “he insisted.”

Mum scoffed at him, playfully swatting his cheek with her tail as she passed. She did not take off her visor, nor did she stride for her own hammock.

In a matter of seconds, Neteyam found himself sat in his hammock with his Mother’s shadow casting over him. “Do you wish to court this na’vi?” She asked him bluntly. 

Neteyam spluttered. 

His mother smiled knowingly, but did not wait for his excuse as she ploughed on. “You do.” She told him. “And I will tell you what I told Lo’ak. You are going to grab them by the ear and make them notice you. You are going to present them with the best woven token and refuse to leave until you get a straight answer. And afterwards, you will stop this moping. You are a Sully. We do not mope, we thrive.” “Yes Mother!” Neteyam replied quickly, feeling both encouraged and chastised.

His Dad chuckled again from the floor. “You’ll be surprised how effective your mother’s methods are.” Miraculously, he did not want to know what he meant by that.

>_<

Upon returning to the village, Ronal had ordered you to return to your pod, to which you had been too exhausted to argue.

There had been a flurry of movement beyond your woven walls as the message of your vision had spread and the adults had begun preparing. You had focused on cooking yourself something to eat.

Tonowari had turned up at your door not long after you’d finished descaling your fish, having apparently been banned from his own pod because Ronal and Tsireya needed complete concentration to look further into the issue using their herbs or whatever methods Tsahik’s favoured when searching for answers. Which led to now, sitting beside Tonowari in companionable silence. The Olo’eyktan had propped his spear up against the wall and immediately sat on the opposite side of the cooking pot. For a long while, he was quiet as he assisted you in cooking, and in return, you were sure to make enough for him to take back to his family for their own dinner. 

Your time spent with the Olo’eyktan was always calm like this. A gentle silence that was both soothing and comforting. Unlike your time spent with Ronal, which often left you feeling chastised or tired, her mate was a pleasant opposite. Not that you disliked spending time with the Tsahik, it was merely because she could be rather intense at times.

Of course, Tonowari was the gossip of the two, so he often had his moments.

<”I was surprised by your decision to stop teaching the Sully kids.”> He said casually, eyes never straying from the simmer of the cooking pot. You, in contrast, felt yourself wind tight with tension. Your gaze flickered up to his tattooed face, only to find him pretending to be the picture of ease as he focused on his task. He had taken up the stirring stick and had begun to mix the pot with slow, calculated strokes.

And then, just when you thought he was done and you could get away with not responding, he continued. <“Little Tuk looked awfully upset this morning when Tsireya told her you were attending to other duties.”>

The sneaky bastard. 

You forced your shoulders to loosen before you responded. <“Aonung needs to start pulling his weight. You cannot baby him forever.”> <“We both know this is not about Aonung.”> Tonowari returned calmly, and promptly steered the conversation back to where it was. <“So tell me, what is wrong?”>

You bit your lip to keep yourself from responding. So Aonung hadn’t been lying when he said Tonowari had noticed. 

When you did not respond, Tonowari took it as an invitation to continue to pry. 

<“You have ceased teaching a class that you were otherwise eager to help out with.”> He pointed out plainly. <”Tsireya tells me that you rarely go out anymore unless it is to complete your duties. Whereas your pod is now completely devoid of shells, when only last week you were tracking them all over the place. Ronal was tearing her hair out with how many she kept finding around the village.”> He chuckled softly to himself at the fond memory, probably having gotten a kick out of seeing his otherwise composed mate losing her composure because of something so small.

<”The other hunters and I have never seen so many of the same kind. Not since my grandfather’s time as Olo’eyktan, which very few of the older clan members recall.”> He continued almost nostalgically, <”so whoever this person is, Eywa must be incredibly insistent on this match.”> 

You tucked your chin to your chest to avoid looking at his cocky expression and to ensure you didn’t give anything away. 

<”Aonung told me of a disagreement that occurred on the walkways a few nights back.”> Tonowari probed, <”he spoke of a misunderstanding that is yet to be resolved-”>

<“Can we talk about something else?”> You interjected before startling as you realised you’d just cut him off. Your ears flattened as you glanced sheepishly at the Olo’eyktan who simply smiled back. There was a note of victory glittering in his eye, and you knew you’d just unintentionally revealed your hand. And like an akula with fresh prey in its jaws, there would be little chance of distracting Tonowari with a subject change. 

<”Please.”> You found yourself trying anyway, even if it would be a useless attempt. <”Anything but bloody shells and signs from Eywa?”>

That seemed to unsteady Tonowari for a heartbeat. <”Shells are part of our People.”> Tonowari lectured, the same story you’d heard since before you could walk. Since you’d shown interest in the pretty coloured shells that the People wore or adorned their homes with. <”They speak of good and bad times. Foretell our relationships and our losses, you will do well not to disregard them.”> <”I know.”> You implore him, and it’s true. You do know. You might even know better than anyone. The statement slips from between your lips like a forgotten prayer. Quiet and small like the words of the child you’re always pretending you’ve grown out of being. <”I’m sorry. It’s been a difficult few days.”>

He nodded. <”Care to share?”>

You swallow. <”Eywa made a mistake with the shells.”> You told him bluntly. 

Tonowari chuckled softly to himself, making your stomach twist. <”Eywa does not make mistakes on such a matter.”>

<”But she has!”> You insist more passionately than you’ve been this entire conversation. <”He-”> you swallowed loudly. <”He can’t be my fated, Olo’eyktan-”> <”Tonowari.”> Tonowari quickly corrected, helping to lighten the mood.

You scowl playfully at him and continue to address him with his title just because you know it makes him feel old. <”Clearly, Eywa has made a mistake, Olo’eyktan, because he’s terrified of me. Your mate is not supposed to be scared of you!”>

Tonowari hummed thoughtfully over this statement for a moment or two before an amused smile tugged at the right corner of his lips. <”You know, I was fearful of Ronal.”>

Your eyes widened at the blatant admission. <”Really? But you’re so comfortable around one another.”> <”Oh, we are now.”> Tonowari said simply. <”But before I knew her, and before we received any pink shells for one another, she scared me worse than any akula. I’d avoid her in the village and if she ever struck up a conversation with me, I’d desperately think up the first ridiculous excuse I could to get away.”>

He smiled fondly at the memory, not a hint of embarrassment on his expression. You watched his tail sway lazily, the picture of a doting mate thinking about the woman he had taken as his Tsahik. 

<”And, how did that change?”>

<”My brother, Totxa, tricked me into going on a two day hunting trip with her.”> Tonowari mused, grinning now. <”The ass only told me when I was packed and astride my tsurak that he was planning to woo his own fated and sent me on my way. Ronal had already saddled up and ordered me to follow so I was essentially trapped.”> 

He chuckled, nostalgic of a time long past. <”It was on that trip that Eywa sent the pink shells, and Ronal of course figured it out first. And she confronted me about it. Demanded to know why I was so spineless. Of course, calling me a coward immediately hurt my pride and she was rather amused by my sudden courage. We started courting on our return to the village.”> Somehow, you could see it. Tonowari and Ronal, much younger than you know them now, lost in the sea and the islands beyond the village, navigating the way and each other. You knew that the pair must have bounced off of each other well once they began to see eye to eye. And judging by the strong mated pair that watched over the village now, you knew that Eywa had not been mistaken in her decision for this match.

Even now, the pair wore tokens of their bond upon their person like ever fated couple. Ronal usually had a pink shell woven into her skirts, whilst in the low light of the fire, you could see the shine of Tonowari’s courting shell woven into the braided hide of his hunters band. The shell was located near the top of the special garment, above his heart. 

<"Where are you going with this?"> 

Tonowari studied you for a moment, head tilted in understanding. <”You are uncertain.”> He told you simply, <”you believe Eywa has made a mistake and you’re unsettled. But from where I stand, it seeming you’re truly the one scared, not whoever your fated is.”> He stated with wisdom that was usually bestowed by Ronal. <”Give it time. A village is not built in a day.”>

It was then that the curtain across the entrance of your pod was abruptly swept back and a figure stormed in.

Tonowari’s head snapped up from the cooking pot, as you turned sharply to find Neteyam stood awkwardly in the doorway of your home. His expression swiftly melted from that familiar determined scowl, to an ear lowered face of surprise and regret. 

You hadn’t seen him in days, having taken the time to purposefully avoid him whenever you could, and despite yourself, you found something in you soothed to see him back in your home like he had been so many times before. Looking all bashful as he seemed to shrink in the doorway.

<”Olo’eyktan.”> He greeted smoothly, touching his hand to his forehead.

Tonowari reflexively returned the gesture but made no move to stand from his spot by the fire. <”Neteyam.”> He greeted pleasantly, <”I assume you’re here to take Y/n off my hands?”> Neteyam spluttered, going unnaturally still as he stared unblinkingly down at the older man whilst you glared at him yourself. Tonowari, always the picture of control and calm, simply raised his gaze to meet the younger man. His voice was unfaltering in his next statement. 

<“They’ve been awfully upset as of late.”> He continued to your mortification. <“Very prickly. You wouldn’t happen to know why, would you Neteyam? They’re more secretive than the Great Mother sometimes.”> He chuckled to himself as if the joke was hilarious. 

You could feel your face burning as you continued to glare daggers into the side of Tonowari’s face.

Neteyam didn’t seem much better as he struggled to string together enough words for a response.

Not that you were paying attention now, as the world seemed to still when your gaze fell upon the necklace at his throat. Your mouth went dry, as if you’d eaten handfuls of sand, as your gaze locked on the sloppy knotwork and pink shells of your courting necklace. The very same necklace that should have been swept away from the current and lost to the depths of the sea. <“Where did you get that?”> You blurted accusingly, finding yourself rising to your feet with your teeth bared. The thrash of your tail and the scowl on your face could have rivalled Ronal’s fury. To his credit, Neteyam did not shrink away from you. If anything, he seemed to grow more confident in the face of your rage. 

<”We need to talk.”> He told you, but you brushed his demand aside to step closer, to draw yourself up and glare with all your might. <”Where. Did you get it?”> You repeated, slowly. Threateningly. 

His chin rose in defiance, Tonowari completely forgotten as his attention turned solely to you. <“My ilu returned it to me.”>

You scoffed at his choice of words. <“Returned?”> You repeated. <“You don’t-”>

Your words faltered as Neteyam broke eye contact and briefly returned his gaze to Tonowari. You followed his attention, catching sight of Tonowari nodding before you were startled by hands grabbing your knees and the wind getting knocked out of you as you were swung up and over Neteyam’s shoulder. Stunned by his forwardness, you stared dumbly down Neteyam’s back as he gave Tonowari a polite goodbye and began carrying you out of the pod.

Tonowari, the bastard, smiled encouragingly at you and waved. You stared back at him, jaw slack in shock.

It was only when Neteyam didn’t put you down and started carrying you down the walkways that your senses returned to you.

<”Put me down.”> You snarled.

He ignored you. 

So you began wiggling. Neteyam simply held you tighter, quiet and focused on his task. You made sure to complain the entire time, tugging at his braids, obscuring his view with your tail and trying to kick him in the stomach. All of which he either ignored or simply grabbed to make you stop wiggling. 

Deciding to conserve your energy for a master escape attempt once he let his guard down, you pretended to accept your fate as he approached the outer rim of the village that attached everything to the island. You could feel the amused gazes of the People on you as Neteyam confidently paraded you in front of their homes. It was when a hunter whistled at you that you found yourself losing your cool all over again, and you instead occupied your time in captivity by spitting every curse under the sun at anyone who looked at you funny. 

Eventually, the bounce of the walkway ceased to give way to the crunch of sand underfoot, but Neteyam did not pause once he reached the beach. He did not so much as glance around as he strode for the treeline. You could do nothing but watch Awa’atlu grow smaller and more obscured by leaves as the man carried you into the forest and out of sight.

Perhaps he’d find somewhere secluded and murder you to get out of having to be your mate. Or maybe he was finally going to blow up at you and make it official that he didn’t want anything to do with you. It would be a rather dramatic touch if he suddenly ripped off the courting necklace and threw it at you. Even you would respect the time and planning that would have been put into such an act. 

Before long, you began to recognise where he was taking you. You could hear the babble of a brook and knew that he was approaching the pond that sat at the centre of your secret place. You recognised the orange glow of the flowers that had begun to bloom along the banks and noticed the arched limbs of the tree Neteyam tried to teach you to climb up once. It had left you with a limp for several days when you had inevitably fallen out of it. 

Neteyam was gentle as he paused by the pond and carefully lowered you down to your feet. You tore away the moment your toes touched dirt. Expression venomous as you glared at him.

<”If you ever humiliate me like that in front of my people again, I will-”> <”Of course.”> Neteyam cut in, hands raised in a calming gesture. Your gaze caught on the bob of his throat making the necklace jump before his words drew your attention back up to his face. <”I understand, but hear me out first. There has been a huge misunderstanding.”>

You were both impressed by his sudden backbone and annoyed by his pleading look. In the soft glow of the plants, his glowing freckles looked more intricate than any galaxies you knew. They drew your attention from the determined line of his mouth, up the sweeping arches of his nose to his eyes, which were open and honest as he waited for your response.

He did not smile at you. And you did not scowl at him in return.

Instead, you struggled to inhale a much needed breath in an attempt to dissipate some of your annoyance. You had wanted to talk, and now you were being given a chance for an explanation. 

<”Speak.”> You instructed simply, turning briefly to find your usual rock that overlooked the small pond. Glowing insects swirled along the surface of the shallow water, weaving between the stems of plants and dancing along arching leaves. Despite their presence, the spot was quiet in a way the village was not. Willing to offer the illusion of privacy.

You sat on the rock with your attention still on Neteyam. He remained standing, fiddling with his hands as his tail swayed in his attempt to gather his words.

It seemed he was fumbling to continue. Perhaps having believed he wouldn’t make it this far. Which you found privately reassuring, in that he wasn’t aware of how easily you would bend to him. How willing you were to listen to his every word. How desperate you were for his attention. Even now, it was pathetic how utterly gone you were for him. 

With a deep breath, Neteyam spoke. <“I don’t want to be friends.”> He said plainly, and you found you would have preferred a punch to the gut instead. He paused, eyes expectant, and you realised he wanted your input. 

<”You don’t want to be friends?”> Your parroted back, expression twisting in confusion when he eyes blew comically wide in alarm. 

<”NO!”> He practically yelled at you, taking half a step closer, only to freeze when you jerked at the sudden outburst. He apologised before continuing. <”That’s not what I meant.”>

<”So you do want to be friends?”> <”No! Yes! Wait!”> In his growing panic, he was tripping over himself and cursing in his father’s tongue. If your heart wasn’t pounding so painfully, you would have found his struggle amusing. Finally, he sighed and muttered to himself, <”Eywa why is this so bloody hard!”>

You tried to prod him along. Your meal would be finished soon, and if you were away too long, Aonung was bound to eat your portion behind Tonowari’s back. <”So you find it difficult to be open with me?”> <”No!”> He declared for the third confusing time. <”That is not at all what I’m saying. What I’m trying to get at is-”> He faltered before, slumping in defeat. He dragged a tired hand down the side of his face, before closing the distance between you and dropping heavily down onto the rock beside you - his usual spot. Curling in on himself, he ground the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, as he groaned to himself. <”How have I already managed to royally fuck this up so quickly?”>

You didn’t bother responding, knowing that he was berating himself instead of looking for a proper explanation. 

With a deep breath, he pulled his hands away and turned to you with refound resolve. <”That is not at all how I intended for that to come out. I meant I don’t want us to be just friends. I want to be more than friends. Like we were. Before everything went to shit.”> You blinked, having not expected that response. 

<”What are you saying?”> <”I’m saying-”>

He paused, eyes catching on something. You went still as his hand slowly rose from his lap, ghosting over your ear and pulling something from your hair. It was so familiar of a gesture, that you couldn’t help but be soothed by the familiarity in which he did it. His ears were fanned out now, curious. You expected him to offer the shell to you. You expected the pink to be bright and glowing with newfound love and understanding.

Instead, Neteyam held out a black shell. 

You felt the colour drain from your face.

<”What does this one mean?”> 

Someone is going to die.

Ronal’s words from that distant day on the beach rang in your ears as you stared blankly down at the aged shell in Neteyam’s hands. There was no doubt it was the same one from your vision. Staring down at it now, you could see the similarities of the situation. From Neteyam’s confused question, to the courting necklace at his throat. 

You swallowed dryly. <”We must return to the village.”> You told him quickly, rising from your feet and grabbing at his wrists to drag him up after you. His curiosity morphed into confusion. 

<”What? But we just got here? We’ve barely said anything.”> <”It must wait. This shell, its appearance does not foretell something good. It is a bad omen. A warning. We must go!”>

<”Wait. Wait. Slow down, you’re not making any sense.”>

<”There is not time!”>

His brows furrowed as he pulled back on your arms, trying to keep you in place, but you were stronger. Just barely, and managed to drag him forward a step or two. Neteyam’s tail snapped, his confusion morphing into frustration, but you didn’t care. You had to get him somewhere safe. You had to warn Ronal. Something wasn’t right. 

As if on cue, something rustled in the bushes on the opposite side of the pond. Neteyam went still in your grasp, which was the opposite of what you needed him to do. Both of your ears pricked as you heard panicked footsteps charging through the undergrowth, headed straight for you. 

Neteyam was still clutching that blasted shell in his hands. 

The footsteps were drawing closer. Small and fast. You felt your heartbeat picking up and drew your knife at the same time that Neteyam reached for his. 

The bushes were shaking harder now as someone or something pushed through, before stumbling to a halt before the riverbank. It did not glow like the rest of Eywa’s children, which immediately turned your instincts alert and defensive. It was breathing hard, shiny from sweat and smelt of smoke and salt. 

Neteyam drew in close to your side, stiff as the pair of you stared down the unnaturally small creature. Even at a distance, you knew it would only come up to your bicep, whereas it was dirty and skinny, with a shock of dead grass coloured dreads matted at its scalp. You caught sight of faded blue stripes against unnaturally pale skin, but knew this was not any kind of forest na’vi.

With that part of your vision not matching up, you found yourself calming slightly. Across the pond, the creature spotted you with wide, brown ears. Its face was sealed away behind some sort of see-through contraption, not that you had time to focus on it for long, because Neteyam seemed to recognise it.

He called out to the little creature, using that odd language that all of his family spoke. He even went as far as to wave it over. You grabbed his hand again, growling lowly to quiet him from encouraging it, but Neteyam paid you no mind.

Across the pond, the creature had stiffened at the use of that odd language. It took an unsteady step closer, and you found yourself snarling a warning, which startled it back a step or two. 

Neteyam touched your shoulder, drawing your attention away from it. <”Be calm.”> He soothed, with the voice he used to his ilu. You scowled back, feeling anything but calm. <”He is my brother.”>

Your face scrunched in confusion as you allowed your knife hand to drop a little. Studying the hesitant creature again, you found no similarities between Neteyam and it. <”He is your brother?”> <”I am?”> The creature questioned, sounding just as confused as you. Your attention snapped back to it, mildly distracted by its fluent na’vi.

Neteyam huffed. <”Of course you are. Where the hell have you been? You’re supposed to be kidnapped.”> <”I escaped.”> The creature returned, finally finding the courage to round the pond and approach. It kept a wary eye on you, and walked closer to Neteyam than your scowling form. <”Did a hell of a lot of running and swimming to get here. Quaritch was investigating one of the nearby sea clans and I made a break for it when the bastard had his back turned.”> It looked quite pleased for itself for a moment before a realisation crept into its expression and its eyes widened comically as it remembered something. <”But Quaritch is after me! We have to go!”>

Neteyam’s posture immediately changed. <”You led him to us?”> <”There’s a tracker in my mask.”> The boy pleaded. <”I didn’t have a spare.”>

As if on cue, more thunderous footsteps disturbed the undergrowth. Your ears pricked, picking up on the heaviness of the tread and the snap of twigs underfoot. There was a metallic click from deeper in the trees. Your eyes narrowed, as the moonlight glinted off of something unnaturally shiny. The reflection was long and narrow, whilst the plant life of Pandora usually omitted a gentle and rounded glow. The shine shifted, and a face appeared near the back of it. You stiffened as you recognised the unnatural features of a forest na’vi.

The first bang startled the birds from the trees.

By the second, Neteyam had tackled you from the side and sent you sprawling into the dirt. The air was punched from you as you landed hard on your back, only managing to suck in a breath when Neteyam lifted off you to grab the creature by the wrist and drag him down with you. 

<”Hide!”> The little thing hissed, rising onto its knees to crawl through the undergrowth away from where the sound had come from. Rattled by the loud noise, you numbly followed. Neteyam lurked close to your side, a hand on your back to keep you low, whilst he clutched his knife tightly in the other. You don’t know when he dropped the shell, but you were thankful it was gone anyway.

“What is it Mansk?” An alien voice hissed from the shadows.

“Thought I saw a couple of na’vi with the kid.” 

There was a thoughtful hum in response.

The three of you kept crawling, making sure to keep to the thicker cover and to disturb as little undergrowth as was possible. You found yourself leading the way. You’d grown up foraging these woods, you knew of the cave system tucked away on the east side, should your pursuers get between you and the village. 

“Tracker says he’s this way.”

A moment of stillness. 

“Got ‘em.”

The forest was lit up by the orange of a fire before a second bang made your ears ring. You dart to the left, biting down hard on your knife handle so that you had both hands free. 

Neteyam and Spider disappeared briefly between the leaves. 

You heard your pursuers approaching loudly and pressed your back into a tree. Sliding up the bark so you were back on your feet, you slowly rounded the tree, ears keeping track of where exactly each were. 

“There he is.” You were behind the pair of them now, knife back in hand as you took in the weird armour of the na’vi in your vision. The unnatural weapons and the arrogance of a race that had been the apex predator of their ecosystem. These people had clearly not grown up alongside the rules of Eywa. You noted the line of destruction in their wake. How the grass they had trampled no longer glowed with life and how they had bent branches and bushes out of place to force their way forward instead of finding natural breaks and openings. 

<”We have to go!”> Neteyam’s brother yelled from somewhere in the darkness, and the pair of alien’s snapped to attention. Both raising their destructive weapons that harnessed fire. 

<”This way.”> Neteyam replied, and you saw the grass wave as someone passed through it. 

The aliens saw it too, tensing as they aimed, so you did something Ronal would punish you for later. You allowed your foot to drop on a twig, feeling the bark crunch and snap under your weight. Both soldiers went unnaturally still. You twirled your knife into a more secure grip before charging. 

The duo spun, one firing as he turned. Whilst the other let out a scream as you descended upon him. He backpedalled desperately at your swift approach, clearly terrified that something of your stature could move so quickly on dry land. His companion kept firing. Landing hits to your abdomen. Leaving wounds in your legs. Your arms. Trying and failing to slow you down as you tackled the first demon.

<”GO FOR THE NECK!”> Neteyam’s brother yelled from the bushes, guiding your hands as you slammed the demon down flat on its back so that its head connected with the earth hard. Its weapon slipped from its grasp, disappearing between the glowing trees as the visor protecting its eyes from you slipped down its nose. Too small, terrified, golden eyes stared up at your snarling face as you brought your knife down hard. 

Its neck split open easily on your sharpened blade, allowing red to stick to your fingers. It gargled, choking on its lifeforce before it let out a last wet sound and promptly died. 

Its companion barely gave you a moment to rise from the body before it was slamming the butt of its weapon into your temple. The weapon crumbled in on itself from the force as a weak pain shot through the side of your head. Slowly, menacingly, you turned to glare up into the face of another demon, who stared frozen down at its ruined weapon. A weapon which had been no match for the reinforced bone of your skull.

You heard the demon audibly swallow and felt its fear stroke your ego as you effortlessly shifted your weight from your knees to the balls of your toes so that you were crouched over the fresh corpse. And with a precise swipe of your blade, you forced the soldier to deflect your knife with its battered gun. Reeling from the force it took to keep your weapon from slicing into its abdomen, you pushed down hard on the weapon to force them back a step before snatching the knife back. The demon struggled to keep its footing, arms windmilling, which gave you just large enough of an opening to dart forward and sink your knife up through its ribs. 

The breath was punched from the alien as you hit a lung. 

Yanking your knife free, you rose to your feet as the body collapsed with a wet thump. The glowing freckles dotted across its cheeks flickered as the demon tried sucking in another breath before going still. The light produced by the body followed suit as it died and went dark. 

Adrenaline kept your guilt at bay. It had not been a clean kill. A clean kill would have been an instant death without the wasted spilling of blood which could be used. 

“Holy shit.” 

Your head snapped up to find Neteyam’s brother emerging from between the leaves, staring down at the corpses with mild awe. <”How did you make that look easy?”> He demanded with a pinched smile. There was something unknown plaguing his face when you looked down at him, something that made your stomach pinch uncomfortably.

Not that Neteyam gave you any time to analyse the boy, because he came charging out of the undergrowth with little to no warning. His eyes flickered from the bodies to your bleeding form, knuckles tight on his knife. 

<”Are you both okay?”> You found yourself asking, although you couldn’t see blood on either of them.

<”Us?”> Neteyam bit back, sounding more hysterical than furious. “What the hell was that? Do you know how dangerous they are? You almost gave me a heart attack! They could’ve killed you at least twice!” That alien language was back now, making his brother smile as Neteyam grabbed your head between his hands and shook you.

<”I don’t understand.”> You asked uncertainly.

<”Never do that again!”> He yelled at you, and somehow you knew the simple sentence didn’t match up to the abundance of words that had just split out of him. <”Eywa, you scared me.”>

His hands slid back into your hair, grabbing at the back of your head and pulling your head down into his chest where he held you for a moment. You found yourself soothed by the frantic pace of his heart, and how he was willing to touch you despite the blood that was no doubt being transferred to his skin.

“As cute as this is Neteyam, and as much as I want the full story, there’s still recoms after us.” 

“Right.” Neteyam replied before switching back to na’vi. <”We need to go.”>

<”You should have gone earlier. What were you still doing lurking in the bushes?”> You argued as you pulled back far enough to shoot him a displeased look. <”I wasn’t going to leave you!”>

<”You should’ve gotten Tonowari!”>

<”It doesn’t matter now. We’ll go together.”> He made quick work of his suggestion, grabbing your hand in his and encouraging his brother to stick close. 

It didn’t take long to clear the forest. The three of you emerge onto the beach out of sight of the village due to the curve of the island. But if you remained hugging the treeline, you’d reach it within no time. 

No one spoke. The brother had taken to picking up rocks as he walked, which you assumed he’d use if you came across anything else lurking in the undergrowth. Whilst Neteyam kept a firm hold on your hand as he walked closest to the treeline. 

<"How are your injuries?"> He asked quietly, gaze still flickering between his brother and the trees. You were warmed by how protective of the boy he seemed to be. Clearly, there was a complex history here. 

<"I can’t feel them yet."> You said honestly, even though you knew that the minute you stopped to breathe, you’d be able to do nothing BUT feel them.

Neteyam squeezed your hand knowingly. <"Once we get you looked at by the Tsahik, why don’t we go for an ilu ride? I’ve missed it.">

You glanced up at him, caught off guard by the sweet comment. He was already looking at you, all bright eyed and open faced, warm despite the situation. 

A genuine smile emerged onto your face at the suggestion as something in you loosened. <"I would like tha-">

A bang had all three of you instinctively flinching.

You pulled at Neteyam’s hand, trying to drag him to cover, only for him to grunt and trip over his own feet. A pained wheeze escaping his lungs as if all the breath had been knocked out of him. His brother let out a wounded sound, and despite the danger, raced back to his side as Neteyam didn’t move. His grip remained strong on your hand for a heartbeat before he abruptly crumbled.

Between you, you managed to keep him from splitting his head open on some concealed rock hidden beneath the sand. 

Within heartbeats, there was blood everywhere. Slipping out of the gaping wound in his shoulder, spilling down his chest and over his stomach, running over his shoulder and wetting the sand. His brother was quick to press his little hands down against the entry wound, but there was so much blood. It dirtied the courting necklace at his throat which jumped and shivered at each desperate, sharp breath he dragged into his weak lungs. 

<"Neteyam?"> His brother begged, but the sound was distant, as if you were back underwater suppressing a panic attack. Neteyam was grabbing at him weakly, trying to find words, but struggling to breathe more. <”Oh no. Neytiri is going to kill me!”>

Another click of that stupid weapon from the undergrowth.

Your head snapped up.

There was something white hot and writhing collecting in your belly. Something deranged and unnerving. It clouded your vision and coaxed you into pulling back your lips and barring your fangs into a ferocious hiss at the alien hiding between the trees. Neteyam was grabbing weakly for your arm, trying to keep you close, but you only had eyes for the threat.

You knew you were thinking clearly as you rose to your feet. You knew that the stress and fear had finally made you snap. You also knew that you wanted them to suffer. You wanted to see them bleed. You wanted them dead.

Neteyam was still grabbing at your arms. His eyes wide and panicked, his every breath punched out of him with a painful, twisting wheeze. You couldn’t leave him like this. 

<”We need to go!”> Neteyam’s brother insisted, and you found yourself nodding. The instinctual fog that had fallen over you made it hard to form words, so you followed his instructions instead.

With your bloody knife clutched tightly between your teeth, you stooped to grab at Neteyam’s armpits. He squirmed and screamed in pain as you hoisted him up. His voice hitching up in octaves, his pained wails chasing after the waves as you began frantically dragging him away from the trees, towards the village. 

His brother kept pace. Speaking hurriedly in his alien language. Frantically glancing from Neteyam to the trees and back again. You could feel yourself growing more frantic, your pupils narrowing into slits at the smear of red Neteyam’s limp body dragged down the white sand beaches.

It was because you were staring blankly at the bloodstain that you noticed the token slipping out of Neteyam’s belt and flopping uselessly to the sand. The pink shells were streaked with red, which the sand quickly clung to. 

Neteyam started squirming anew. Struggling against you and making aborted reaches for it. <”S-st-op.”> He begged, his syllables slurring together. 

<”Don’t worry Neteyam.”> Spider assured him, darting back up the beach to retrieve it. You kept dragging, and Spider ran to catch up with you. <”I’ve got it.”> He promised, showing Neteyam the bloodied necklace. The body in your arms lost some of its tension at the sight of it. 

<”Th-ank yo-u.”> He whispered repeatedly, soft as a prayer. <”Tha-ank yo-ou. Thank y-ou.”>

Movement from the trees drew your attention from the pair. Your head snapped up, to find yet another demon stepping out into the moonlight. A companion was seconds behind, its weapon already raised and aimed. 

<”Go away.”> You snarled around your knife hilt, panic making you pull Neteyam along harder. His brother went rigid, a single stone clutched in his tiny hand which he tightened around it. Preparing to hurl it. 

The demons did not do as you warned.

Your fury was resurfacing. Faster and faster. Higher and higher. Hotter and hotter until you could hardly contain it. 

Slowing your pace, you spat your knife into your hand as you began lowering Neteyam’s wounded body to the sand. <”Stay with him.”> You hissed at Neteyam's brother, who’s breath faltered. He met your gaze, and you found that he looked terrified. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded. 

The demons were jogging towards you now. Yelling in a language you did not speak. And advancing with microexpressions that screamed aggression. That practically invited you to lose your shit.

<”Go away!”> You repeated, a hiss slipping into the words.

They kept coming closer.

You made to pull away from the pair, but Neteyam grabbed at you. His grip was weak but his expression screamed panic. He was hurting badly. But he still clung to you. Making sad, frantic sounds. His brother helped you pry his fingers off, just in time for you to deflect the first strike of one of the demons. 

From there, pure, unfiltered instinct took over. You bit and clawed like a na’vi possessed. Every blow you struck was fueled by all your pent up stress and frustration of the past few days. You moved with precision. Whilst the strikes of the demons flowed into one another, your only beat was the pounding of your own hear. Where the demons struck with finesse and practice, you moved like a restless tempest. Relentless and unforgiving.

It was over before it truly began. 

The demons were dead at your feet. Their blood staining the sand, and your skin. There was skin stuck between your teeth and sticky blood beneath your nails. But you did not care.

As the last one lay dying, you turned back to your friend. To his brother, who had thrown himself over his much larger sibling in some pathetic attempt to protect him. 

Blood dripped from your chin as you approached, weaving scarlet rivers down your chest towards your feet. What a sight you must have made. 

And yet, somehow, Neteyam was bloodier. His body collapsed at an uncomfortable angle against the sand, a hand clenched around his bloodied token. His face was pale, but his eyes still saw you. Still looked into you with more knowledge than anyone had the right to.

He did not look afraid, despite the state of him. Despite witnessing what you had just done with only a knife and your teeth. In fact, he almost looked proud. But that was clearly just wishful thinking on your part.

<”Don’t just stand there!”> His brother abruptly screamed, tearing you out of your head. You blinked back the fog, struggling to find autonomy over your limbs again as you realised that the kid had tears streaming down his face behind his mask. <”Help him! He’s dying!”>

Previous Chapter <- Part 2 -> Next Chapter

[aristocratic-otter]

Hey, I made it before midnight!

Thank you to: @messofthejess, @artsyunderstudy, @nightimedreamersghost, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @nausikaaa, @prettygoododds @facewithoutheart, @hushed-chorus, @shemakesmeforget, @that-disabled-princess, @prettygoododds, @youarenevertooold, @confused-bi-queer

First, slightly more than six sentences, because I’m so excited to share with you: From Saving Simon Snow:

I haven’t tried this yet. Ever since I felt the heat of Baz’s magic during the marriage ceremony, I’ve thought about it. But I was afraid it might be a fluke. That it might not mean what I think it means. 

If I’m going to keep Baz safe, it’s time to find out. Still, I whisper the spell almost under my breath.

“In Justice. In Courage. In Defence of the Weak. In the Face of the Mighty. Through Magic and Wisdom and Good.” 

As reliably as if I’d never lost my magic, the Sword of Mages materialises in my hand.

From Snow Fox

The first thing he did once most of the sick were well enough to walk, even if they wobbled a bit, was to order every man jack of us (including me!) into the river to wash off the accumulated grime of months living out of doors. 

The men grumbled, but it made a world of difference. With skin clean and free of itches, they already were smiling more easily and laughing again. And then he set the men to shaving and trimming each other’s overgrowth of head and facial hair, and that made us all look a right smart set. 

Baz took care of my grooming personally, in our shared tent the night after the communal bath. I still shiver at the memory of his hands smoothing over my skin as he shaved the sparse whiskers off of my chin, and at how his hands threaded delicately through my curls as he snipped at the excess length. 

From Stars, Flowers, and Children,

I don’t get what’s going on in Baz’s head. He’s seemed to enjoy the Christmas celebration we’ve been putting together. He threw himself into the decorating and carol singing with obvious pleasure. But today, he’s silent and sad again. Even when we took our morning swim/bath, and I tried to tease him into a game of tag like we used to play around the reef, he wouldn’t look at me and went ashore after only a minute or two. 

I don’t know what to do. 

And the last is under the cut for a hint of spice:

From TikTok Dancer

So, instead of answering the rest of his question, I turn to him abruptly and ask, “Can I blow you?”

His eyes bulge out and his mouth drops open. Then he just stares at me. I wait, patiently. I’m used to this. Most humans, even the not-shy ones, aren’t nearly as open about sex as my species is. 

His mouth works for several seconds before he finally manages to speak. “But we haven’t even kissed yet…” he says weakly. 

Big waves hello, and Tagging for next week: @chen-chen-chen-again-chen, @angelsfalling16, @bazzybelle, @bookish-bogwitch, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @palimpsessed, @frjsti, @fatalfangirl, @ic3-que3n, @larkral, @letraspal, @martsonmars, @melodysmash, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist, @mostlymaudlin, @onepintobean, @rimeswithpurple, @raenestee, @theearlgreymage, @tea-brigade, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @upuntil6am, @whatevertheweather, @whogaveyoupermission.

[kawaiichaoscrusade]

I made a new crossover au : Tmnt2012 × Trolls! I love the trilogy very much, so I decided to combine them both

Here's the plot of the au ; Ok so in my AU, Splinter is an troll who belonged to an mysterious yet secretive group of trolls based on the Traditional Japanese Music called Nagauta and one night while gathering food, he spots an lone pop troll egg stuck in an tree so using his hair, he was able to get the egg down and he takes it home, where it hatches to reveal an baby boy, and Splinter, knowing that this baby would need someone to raise it, decides to keep him and inspired by his love for art, names him Michelangelo and by the next morning during a hike, he finds an rock troll egg on an mountain and immediately he takes it home, the same thing happens again when an techno egg washes ashore where Splinter and his two boys were relaxing, And Finally the following day, an Neighbor came over to Splinter to show him an egg they found near the entrance of their tribe but have no idea where it came from or which genre it belonged to