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justsome-di · 5 months

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The Fairest of All Stars Should Be Your Next Read: a presentation by Di, the author

The Fairest of All Stars is my most recent project! A sapphic romance, pirates, sirens--god, what else can someone ask for?

Stars is a fun, short novel. It's currently only being posted on Patreon, but you'll be able to read it for free soon(ish). This isn't an ad for my Patreon, I promise. It's just my system.

If you're not super into fantasy but like some elements from the genre--this is good for you. There's no big magic systems or other worlds, but there is lore behind the sirens.

You'll be able to read it for free in 2024:

On Patreon (join for free)

On AO3

Right here on Tumblr!

It'll be a good time.

Transcript of presentation under cut:

What's it about?

Are you in the mood for some lesbian pirate/siren romance? Of course you are! When are you not?

So, listen, we have Andy. Everyone’s favorite gremlin. She’s the captain of a pirate ship, recovering from not so great tropical fever that wiped out a good chunk of her crew.

One night, her ship comes across a siren tangled in fishing net, not doing so hot. Andy takes her aboard and while the siren recovers, learns a lot about her.

But uh-oh Andy is wanted by a Navy Captain, and he manages to find her ship after years of hunting.

Okay tell me about Andy and Syan

Andy:

Never meant to be pirate captain but here she is. Living the dream (not really).

Andy trusts very few people. Despite being brilliant, a brutal fighter and cutthroat at sea, she has a hard time running her crew.

Syan:

The runt of the litter. Not as strong as the rest of her choir, she got left behind during an encounter with fishermen.

She’s curious but prone to bad moods. She’s a loner looking for a place to belong.

More about them

Andy panicked years ago while cornered by Captain Bettridge and stabbed him through the hand. She’s been hoping to get her knife back ever since. Bettridge really wants her dead, though, so she has to be careful.

Syan and Andy would be pretty badass in normal circumstances but they’re poor little meow meows in this story

There’s another cool guy. His name is Pinkey. He’s the ship’s gunner. You guys will like him, I promise. He’s Syan’s bff.

Syan and Andy are immediately attracted to each other. Andy is a monster-fucker and Syan is into messy women who are hoarders and misplace everything under piles of junk.

Okay but tell me more about the story

Set in the Golden Age of Piracy, Andy and her crew come face to face with danger--mythical and imperialistic. There’ll be sword fighting and gun-wielding and all sorts of adventure.

It’s not really found-family, either, it’s more of like found tolerance.

Is this well-researched? No. Not really. But it’s fantasy, and it’s fun. We can make some excuses here and there.

*whispers* is there lesbian sex?

yes of course there’s lesbian sex you think Andy is going to pass up on that opportunity?

Can I read this anywhere?

Right now, the only place to read bi-weekly updates is my Patreon--but I promise this isn’t an ad for my Patreon.

I’ll be posting it for free once a substantial amount is up on Patreon. You’ll be able to find it on AO3, Tumblr, and you’ll be able to see it for free on Patreon once I made it public.

Keep your eye out for it! btw, you can also join my Patreon for free and get notifications for when the story goes public.

#writeblr #writblr #original writing #queer fiction #writing #writing community #original work #andy and syan #the fairest of all stars

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greyabditory53 · 1 month

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marissa meyer.

@greyabditory53

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crunchycrystals · 8 months

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lunar chronicles fans do you think fairest and/ or stars above are worth buying because i remember liking stars above but im not super sure about fairest so my doubt is extending to stars above lol

#crunchyposts #tlc #the lunar chronicles #lunar chronicles #stars above #fairest

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books-to-add-to-your-tbr · 1 year

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Title: The Lunar Chronicles

Author: Marissa Meyer

Series or standalone: series

Publication year: 2012

Genres: fiction, fantasy, science fiction, romance, dystopia, retelling

Blurb: Cinder, a gifted mechanic, is a cyborg. She’s a second-class citizen with a mysterious past, reviled by her stepmother and blamed for her stepsister’s illness...but when her life becomes intertwined with the handsome Prince Kai’s, she suddenly finds herself at the centre of an intergalactic struggle and forbidden attraction. Caught between duty and freedom, loyalty and betrayal, she must uncover secrets about her past in order to protect her world’s future.

#the lunar chronicles #lunar chronicles #cinder #scarlet #cress #fairest #winter #stars above #marissa meyer #series #2012 #fiction #fantasy #science fiction #romance #dystopia #retelling

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thelordofgifs · 8 months

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the fairest stars: post v

The "Beren and Lúthien steal two Silmarils" bullet point AU is into its fifth post! Masterpost with links to all previous parts on tumblr (and on AO3, although that's lagging behind) here.

Part the twenty-sixth! The problem of Dorthonion.

Maedhros sends a letter to Beren.

I know you left Dorthonion long ago, he writes. But I fear Sauron may use his position there to attack Hithlum from the south. Have you any thoughts on how we can defend ourselves?

He includes his gracious thanks to Beren for returning the Silmaril to him, too, but Beren skims over these.

It was never about the Silmaril, really.

After he has read the letter twice over he sets it down with a troubled look and goes for an hours-long walk.

"Is Beren upset?" Túrin wants to know. "He said he'd play Dagor Bragollach with me."

Lúthien does not miss how tight the skin around Morwen's eyes go, hearing that.

"I don't know, dear," she says carefully. "He should be back soon. If not, I will play with you instead, one of the games we used to play when I was a girl before the Sun first rose."

Túrin seems to accept this as a compromise. He goes off to talk to old Sador while he waits.

Lúthien glances at Morwen, who is putting away the luncheon-dishes, having politely rebuffed Lúthien's offer of help. "He does not mean to make light of it," she says. "The battle, I mean. He is only a boy."

"I know that," Morwen says, rather sharply. Then she seems to regret her tone, for she takes a breath and says, more mildly, "So Maedhros Fëanorion is interested in Dorthonion, now?"

"It seems so," says Lúthien. "It would certainly be dreadful if a land which so many people love so well were to be turned into a stronghold of the enemy."

(The memory of Tol-in-Gaurhoth haunts her yet. Finrod loved that tower, once.)

"Well, yes," says Morwen. "But it already has been, has it not?"

Lúthien looks at her in surprise. "And so we must strive to retake it, surely," she says. "It is the land of your girlhood too! Do you not wish to see it restored?"

"Dorthonion is lost just as surely as my girlhood is," Morwen says firmly. "There is no use in mourning it."

"There is a use!" Lúthien protests. "If we do not fight, then – then Morgoth wins! It is all our duty to resist him, is it not?"

"Beren gave Dorthonion up," Morwen points out. "Even he could not hold it forever."

Lúthien lifts her chin. "Beren held Dorthonion far longer than anyone could have expected of him," she says. "And he was not wrong to do so."

Morwen just looks tired. "You say you were a girl before the Sun rose," she says. "Sometimes it seems to me you still are."

Lúthien thinks this rather unfair, but to her dismay Beren agrees with his cousin when he returns from his walk – at least insofar as Dorthonion is concerned.

"Let it go, Tinúviel," he says quietly. "Dorthonion is lost."

"And can it not be reclaimed?" Lúthien presses.

But the gaze her husband turns on her is filled with enough distress that she drops it.

"Maedhros does not want to restore Dorthonion," she points out. "Only be aware of its strengths, and how they might be turned against the Noldor."

"True," Beren says, with a sigh. "I can give him that."

He writes back to Maedhros, detailing the geography of his homeland as best he remembers it, the hidden pathways in which orcs might lurk, the high points of Ladros from which attackers can be seen for miles.

"What do you think?" Maedhros asks Fingon, making little marks on one of his maps with the new information.

Fingon is leaning over his shoulder, careful not to be seen touching him.

"We do not have the forces to launch an invasion," he says, with a frown.

"No," says Maedhros; "nor do I think it possible were we to have three times the people we do at present."

Fingon glances at him. "Dorthonion is not Angband," he says. "I do not think it unassailable, at some point in the future."

"Perhaps," says Maedhros, who sounds unwilling to argue. "All the same, Beren seems to think it would be easy enough for Sauron to assault Barad Eithel from the south, should he wish to do so. It would not be wise to leave those paths unguarded."

Fingon chews his lip thoughtfully.

The Noldor of Hithlum are diminished since the Dagor Bragollach, and they can expect little help from other quarters.

He does not want to divide his forces, when the main threat is still Angband in the north.

"The thing is," says Maedhros, "if I am right that Sauron dwells in Dorthonion – or Taur-nu-Fuin, to give it its true name—"

"Dorthonion is its true name," Fingon says.

Maedhros flashes him a smile and carries on. "If I am right"—and it is plain to see that he is sure he is—"then Sauron may not actually be in communication with Morgoth at present. But he will wish to regain the favour he has lost, I am sure. So we can expect attacks on both fronts: but not necessarily coordinated ones."

"That is not a very great advantage," says Fingon.

"But something!" says Maedhros. He looks cheerful. War-talk always brightens Maedhros: he likes to have a problem to turn over. "You might set up an outpost in the Fen of Serech. Our people know those paths better than the orcs do, and they will be able to give us advance warning when the attack comes." His mouth twists wryly. "That might have been enough to save us at Himring."

Fingon sighs. "It would not, as you well know," he says. "But that is good advice, Russo."

Maedhros puts a hand on his arm, a gesture as close to a caress as he dares in this crowded hall. "It is a problem," he says. "I will think on it, and see if I can come up with any better solution."

"Please do," says Fingon; "only, you might talk your ideas over with me, too. You need not solve all our problems alone."

"All right, my King," Maedhros says, with a smile, and his bright eyes follow Fingon as he heads off to begin his duties for the day.

Beren's was not the only letter that arrived at Barad Eithel today.

Do you think, Lúthien writes to Maglor, Morgoth's corruption can never be reversed? Must Dorthonion be nothing but a wasteland full of pestilence for ever more?

I might have thought so, after the Dagor Bragollach, Maglor writes in response, for it seemed to me then that our Doom, so long-delayed, might be catching up with us, and the Valar spoke truly when they said we could avail nothing against Morgoth's might. But you and Beren cut two Silmarils from his crown – so I think there is more hope in the world than we believed.

In that case, answers Lúthien, perhaps it is worth trying to cleanse the land: if not by strength of arms, then by Song, and courage, and hope.

She does not lay the suggestion out plainly, but Lúthien has never been very subtle, and Maglor understands her meaning well enough. You forget, he warns, that even Finrod fell under the Doom of the Noldor, and all his strength in Songs of Power availed him nothing against Sauron. And I his cousin am a Kinslayer. I do not think it is within me to drive Sauron from Dorthonion.

Not alone! is Lúthien's blithe reply. But you would not be alone. Did we not come to an accord: that fate need not bind you forever?

Perhaps that is going too far. Perhaps Morwen was right, and she is just a silly girl, and to hope is childish.

But when Maglor's reply arrives, he writes, I am growing to believe my Oath can be – if not broken, at least dissolved. If we shackled ourselves with words, surely we might un-shackle ourselves the same way. But I know not how, and meanwhile we still only have one Silmaril, and it cannot be held at bay forever.

I know not how either, answers Lúthien, but I think you are right, and moreover that you do have the strength to hold it at bay until we have found a solution. You did so in Menegroth, after all. Do not lose faith.

Maglor wants, very badly, to believe her.

"You write often to Lúthien," his brother observes, one afternoon.

"I think," says Maglor, "she might be a truer friend than either of us deserve."

Maedhros squeezes his wrist affectionately. "Not you," he says. And then, "What do you write to her about?"

"Different things," Maglor says. "Dorthonion. The Oath."

Maedhros looks at him swiftly.

"You cannot deny," says Maglor, "that it is a problem."

"No," says Maedhros, with a sigh. "No, I cannot deny that." He pauses. "What has Lúthien to say about it, then?"

"Only that she does not believe we are bound for ever," Maglor says thoughtfully.

"Káno," says Maedhros, and then he pauses. "I know – you said you did not wish to – but have you thought of asking her again? If she will speak to her father—"

"I have not asked her," says Maglor. Maedhros is standing tense and pensive beside his chair. Maglor leans his head against his brother's side and tries to explain. "Lúthien left her father's kingdom for a reason, Nelyo. I know not if Thingol will even listen to her. And besides—"

"Besides?" Maedhros prompts gently, after he is quiet for a while.

Maglor stares at his fingers. "It isn't the right answer," he says. "I don't know if I can explain why. Yes, that Silmaril does not belong to Thingol, and yet..." He looks up at Maedhros. "But I will ask her, if you command it."

Maedhros takes a sharp step back, and then another. "No. No!" His face is white. He takes a breath and smiles, with noticeable effort. "I am not your lord any more, Káno. Himring is fallen. You need not take command from me."

Maglor does not like the violence of his distress, and still less how swiftly he masked it.

"It was never about Himring, Nelyo," is all he says.

"Then what?" Maedhros asks, his voice low.

Instead of answering Maglor reaches out a hand, and after a moment Maedhros hesitantly comes close enough to touch again.

Maglor twines his fingers with Maedhros' and says, "I really do think there is a way out, Nelyo."

Maedhros manages another smile, and says nothing.

While all this letter-writing is going on we must turn our attention to a city that receives no letters at all (because nobody knows where it is).

Maeglin and his force of Gondolindrim are ready to depart.

"We do not know when the attack will come," Turgon says, "so do not reveal yourselves too hastily. Perhaps you will be able to return to Gondolin unheeded, if all goes well."

Maeglin hesitates. "Of course, uncle," he says smoothly.

He understands Turgon's caution, but he wants his glory! If Turgon will not be there to witness it, he wishes at least for tales of his exploits in battle to be carried home on many admiring tongues, to have all the city saying, Lord Maeglin – no, Prince Maeglin slew a dragon, and Prince Maeglin saved the High King's life, and Prince Maeglin's quickness of mind meant none had fewer losses than the Gondolindrim—

Perhaps Idril will smile to hear them, and favour him with an admiring look.

"I may be sending you forth too soon," Turgon says, troubled. "My brother fears an attack will come, but that does not mean—"

"Father," Idril says quickly, "think of how pointless it would be if the attack came before we were there, and Glorfindel, Rog and Maeglin ended up revealing our presence after everything was already lost. Better that they go now, by the secret ways in the mountains – there is no harm in their waiting there for a time, to see whence the Enemy will attack."

Turgon cannot deny the wisdom of this.

Maeglin can, and does, later. "You just want to get rid of me," he accuses, coming across Idril in the corridors of the King's House later that day.

"I see now why you are named for your powers of perception," Idril says, coolly; "they are mighty indeed."

"I might die," Maeglin says. "Shan't you be sorry then, Idril?"

"I have nothing to be sorry to you for," Idril says.

"You won't even let me leave you something to remember me by," Maeglin says. "I could make you a new foot—"

"We have been over this," Idril says. "I don't want a new foot, or anything else. Leave me alone, Maeglin."

Maeglin looks at her mithril prosthetic with disdain. "You are too sentimental," he says. "I could make you a far better one than that old thing."

"You're arrogant, certainly," says Idril, "but for all your confidence you are not yet the equal of Celebrimbor my cousin – either in the forge or in general agreeableness. If you do come back from all your heroic deeds, try to do so a kinder person. Or, better yet, don't come back at all."

Maeglin glares at her, but Idril walks away before he can respond.

The force sets out the next morning. Turgon sends them with his blessings, and with quiet, grave words of encouragement for the three commanders.

Maeglin and his House of the Mole have been working for some weeks, while the muster progressed, on making hidden tunnels through the Encircling Mountains, leading north from Tumladen to the Fen of Serech. They are not yet finished, but the army will hollow them out further as it journeys, and with all luck they will be able to return from the battle undetected.

It seems to Turgon, now, that he is sending his people – and his sister-son, Aredhel's only legacy! – into a gaping maw of darkness, and he knows not if they will ever return.

"I should be leading them," he tells his daughter, troubled.

Idril puts a hand on his arm, a gesture both stately and affectionate. "You are not doing wrong, Father," she says.

There is a little wobble in her voice. Alarmed, Turgon glances at her to see that there are tears in her eyes. "Itaril! What is the matter?"

Idril smiles and wipes at her eyes. "Nothing," she says quickly, "nothing."

"Are you worried for your cousin?" Turgon asks. "He is very young, I know, to command a whole force."

Idril chokes out a laugh. "Worried! No, I am not worried for Maeglin."

She looks down to where the force, arrayed in shining armour, is beginning to disappear into the tunnel.

Maeglin, slight and proud and dark-haired, is just visible at its head. He pauses to look back at her.

The sun gleaming bright off her golden hair, her chin lifted, her blue cloak whipping about her in the breeze: she is a promise, thinks Maeglin, or a challenge, or a guiding star.

Don't come back at all. Well, maybe he will not – or else he will come back worthy of her.

(to be continued)

#silmarillion #my fic #bullet point fic #the fairest stars #beren #luthien #morwen #maedhros #fingon #maglor #maeglin #idril #we're getting there WE'RE GETTING THERE

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crymeariveronceagain · 2 years

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I finished Stars Above in case you were wondering why you were getting so many asks about it haha

And I'm literally starting Fairest like NOW

lmao you're good i hope you like fairest

i never actually read fairest

tried to start it, felt sick to my stomach, never picked it back up

i ended with Stars Above

#tlc #fairest #stars above #wires and nerve tho #10/10 reccomend

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fictionalmenjusthitdifferent · 11 months

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You CANNOT tell me 'the lakes' by Taylor swift isn't Meahdros and Maglor's song

@thelordofgifs

#tfs coded #the fairest stars #just ugh #Spotify

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thelunarchronicles-kaider · 2 years

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Omg another tlc fan WHO’S YOUR FAVE CHARACTER AND SHIP LOL

thank you so much!!

my favorite characters are probably cinder and thorne, cinder is just such a good lead character and she really holds the series together and i just adore thorne, i think his character is really dynamic and he goes through the most amount of growth throughout the series

my favorite ship is and has always been kaider, i'm so obsessed with them it's not even funny

(winter x jacin are a close second though)

#the lunar chronicles #cinder #scarlet #winter #cress #linh cinder #emperor kaito #carswell thorne #marissa meyer #scarlet benoit #crescent darnel #winter hayle blackburn #jacin clay #stars above #fairest #kaider #winter and jacin

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cosmicnovaflare · 11 months

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Cinder from The Lunar Chronicles

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justsome-di · 1 month

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The Fairest of All Stars: Chapter 3

Andy didn’t mean to become a pirate captain, but after killing the captain of her ship, she finds herself thrust into the role. Years after the incident, she is fierce and feared and recovering from a tropical fever that wiped out half her crew.

Just as they’re about to dock, they find an injured siren left behind by her choir. Andy, drawn to her, pulls her onto the ship and decides to keep her there until she recovers. But with the Navy hunting for both pirates and sirens, Andy has just made her ship an even bigger target for an iniquitous captain looking for revenge.

Warning for suicidal thoughts and violence. Will contain mature scenes.

Also available for free on Patreon (paid members are five installments ahead and will get exclusive bonus stories) and on AO3. If you enjoy reading Stars please consider leaving a comment on AO3, Patreon, or reblogging these chapters! Follow for more updates!

Andy choked on the taste of her father’s tobacco, coughing herself awake as it seized her chest. She felt his fingers in her hair. He pulled it off her forehead and laid a cold cloth in its place. His hands, like always, were calloused and dry. They scraped against her skin—not painfully, just hard enough that she could remember the sensation after he moved his hand away.

When Andy opened her eyes, her father disappeared. It was Joseph next to her. Tending to her.

Her cabin was dim. It was still night. Few lights were lit. And she remembered how she put herself in such a sorry state. The cold water, the frigid rocks she had knelt on. Her hands burned from pulling fishing net off scales. Her body was chilled all the way through still.

Andy’s father told her stories of sirens. Her mother didn’t approve of them. She said that sirens were nothing but monsters made up by drunk, bored sailors and that the British Navy was only pretending to have them to boost their own prestige. It was just something to hold over the colonies’ heads. Something to scare them. Until she saw one with her own eyes, she wouldn’t believe that they were real.

But Andy’s father would let her sit up with him, late at night. He would tell her the stories just as his crewmates told them, blowing smoke up to the ceiling from his pipe.

“He said his grandfather almost caught one. He said he swept one up on his boat by accident, but he let her go.”

“Aren’t you supposed to sell sirens?”

“You don’t have to. He could have gotten a pretty penny for her, but he got something better. He got to marvel at this thing, alone. He got to go home and be the only man in his village to have seen a siren. It was like he kept her for himself. And that was worth more than any money, Andrea.”

“Was she pretty?”

“Oh, she was as beautiful as his mother, his wife, and his daughter combined.”

Her father drew crude sketches for her. The top half of the creatures were always women, and the bottoms were always fish. Their scales were so beautiful, they reflected light like a rainbow, he said. And their faces were always the most well-sculpted any man had ever seen.

In his drawings, their hair flowed long behind them. Their arms were long. Their breasts bare. At the time, it had made Andy’s stomach flutter. She traced the sketches with her fingers as her father went on.

“But you shouldn’t get close to one. Not if you can help it.”

“Why not?”

“They can be temperamental things. For every man that gets to walk away, another three get pulled into the water.”

“What happens to them?”

“Well, we don’t know. They can’t come back up and tell us, can they? I was told the sirens eat them.”

“But then how do people sell them to the British? People have caught them, haven’t they?”

“They get lucky. Or they get cruel.”

If only her father could have watched her pull a siren out of the middle of the ocean. It would have been a grand story to tell him. She would have told it to him just like he told his stories, blowing out smoke from between her lips and holding out her hands to show just how big the siren was.

Her tail was this long. Her shoulders this wide. Her hands this flat.

Joseph laid his hand over Andy’s cheek. When she opened her eyes again, not realizing they had fluttered shut, she could barely see him sitting at her side.

Her bones felt like they had shattered inside her. If she moved even an inch, pain shot through every joint and limb.

Joseph fell into the shadows around them. He slipped in and out of her vision as yellow light swung back and forth.

There was a lantern—a spot of light—hanging from the ceiling that seemed to be a mile away. At the end of the long stretch of room was a fainting couch stolen from some fancy naval captain. It was old now. The cushions had lost volume. Besides that, it took up an obnoxious amount of space. But it was one of Andy’s favorite trophies, so she kept it. There was little else to do with it, anyway.

Andy’s eyes strained to focus on it. There was a lump on top of the couch.

She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, her eyes were covered in just a little less tears and grime. The edges of her vision were a little less blurred. The couch came into focus.

The siren was wrapped up in a ratty blanket. She was unconscious and gagged with a rag between her teeth, tied up behind her head.

Andy tried holding her hand toward her. Her arm fell out of her bed, and she groaned in pain. One finger uncurled in the direction of the siren as every nerve inside her seized and lit themselves on fire.

Joseph took her wrist and tucked her arm back by her side.

“Don’t move,” he whispered. “You’ve relapsed.”

Joseph owned a dirty, old Gladstone. The leather was discolored and cracked so badly that flakes of leather were starting to fall off every time he opened and shut it. He dug into it now to pull out jars of salve.

He scooped a generous amount into his hand and began rubbing it into Andy’s bare shoulders. Joseph worked it into her skin and then moved down to her elbows, then her wrists, then her hands. The smell choked Andy. It reminded her of being so ill only weeks ago, laid up in bed all greased up and unable to do so much as blink without being in excruciating pain. She had been covered in the salve for nights, and she had no memory of whether it helped or not.

He was loyal, Andy had to hand it to him. During her first bout of illness, he always seemed to be by her side. If she ever woke up to him gone, she didn’t have to wait long before he showed up.

Joseph bled her regularly—which she despised but could not complain much about—and took her temperature so often that Andy’s tongue felt sore from his thermometer. He would talk to her, tell her that he needed to find more medical supplies when they docked. There was only so much he could get his hands on anymore, but with some extra money, he hinted at Andy, he would be able to get some decent stock.

Andy had wheezed out a laugh. She told him that if she survived, he could have a larger share of their money. There wasn’t much, but he could buy whatever an extra coin could get him.

Joseph pulled Andy’s bed sheets from her. He began working on her ankles and moved up her legs until he reached her hips. His calloused hands massaged around her waist and swept briefly around her crotch. To be a gentleman, still, surely.

His hands were warm. The salve was warm, too, but it tangled up and hardened in her hair.

“Stay put,” Joseph told her, screwing the lid back on the salve. “If you move, you’ll only make yourself more ill.”

He covered her with her bed sheets. He had such a good bedside manner. It made Andy sick. What a shit pirate. She had only brought him on board so he could dig bullets out of them. Not to be tender. Andy almost hated it.

Joseph stood and moved to the siren’s side. Andy followed him with her eyes only. He had a funny way of walking, she thought, bemused. Old joints tightened up in the cold, and his gait was similar to that of a toddler.

The siren, surely, wasn’t dead. If she were, the crew wouldn’t have dumped her in Andy’s cabin. They would have dumped her overboard before she began to decay. The less trouble and cargo, the better.

Unless Tobi was cooking up some scheme for her corpse. The body could be given to the Navy. Just in case they ran into trouble. The Navy would accept sirens dead or alive, they were always so desperate for something. The awards were very handsome, and every year merchants and fishermen packed extra fishing nets and ropes and claimed themselves perfectly capable of snagging a siren.

But there were few confirmed cases of anyone actually selling one. There were maybe one or two caught every half-century. A handful of hoaxes cropped up here and there—fake corpses made of paper and clay, mutilated carp combined with hair from barbers.

In a better state of mind, Andy would be able to think of all of this and come to the conclusion that she had a rare treasure on her ship.

But her eyes were slipping shut, and her brain seemed to be boiling in her skull. What she really thought in that moment was that she wasn’t going to give that siren over to the Navy. No matter the price. No matter any pardon or immunity it could give her as a pirate in an emergency.

“Don’t give her up,” she tried saying, but her voice was rough and weak. She could barely hear herself, and her throat was tearing itself to shreds.

“What was that, captain?”

Pinkey knelt in front of her with her only briefly wondering how he materialized out of thin air. He leaned in close to her, his ear close to her lips.

“Don’t give her up,” Andy repeated.

“The siren?” Pinkey asked. “Don’t worry, sir, I’m guarding her with my own life. If anyone wants her, they’ll have to get through me. And it’s not all that easy to get through me—you know that.”

It was maybe the only time Andy appreciated hearing such a thing from her crew. Such cockiness. Pinkey wasn’t so bad. Whatever kinship he felt for the siren, Andy would exploit it.

Because she, too, wouldn’t let anyone get to that siren. That beautiful monster lying in the same room as her—Andy would fight to keep her by her side.

#the fairest of all stars #writing #writblr #writeblr #writing community #sapphic fantasy #sapphic romance

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