#Feels nice to get to paint fish again :“”) missed doing it

[mintytrifecta]

Top ten fish most likely to love safety vests number one: this guy

[aliidarling]

writing this made me think of beth and now i’m sad. i miss beth😒

snowfall

DARYL DIXON x fem!reader

nsfw content — pls scroll if uncomfortable

summary: you’re out on a run with daryl when you stay overnight at a camp. the temperature drops to freezing and daryl notices how you’re shivering.

warnings: fluff and smut, more smut sided, mean daryl, a lot of banter, p in v, groping, riding, whimpering daryl, daryl learns his place, reader is on top but daryl is in control, hypothermia mentions, creampie, unorotected sex, cuddling with the tip in LMAO

no proofread cuz i’m lazy :P

nsfw content below!!

being on runs with daryl was hard. he was short tempered with a bitchy attitude all the time, gruff with his words and agonizingly quiet. you could hear a pin drop whenever you were with the older man, but the second he got angry it was like hell had been released.

it was a cold winter, to your luck. you were walking alongside daryl in the forest, the both of you sweating from the labor of having to put down walkers and walk miles.

“ya’ wanna settle down camp sum’ where?” he gruffs lowly, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. his words catch your attention, probably the first innocent words he’s spoken to you in hours.

“good with me.” you shrug.

he lets out a huff and nods, motioning you towards another direction. you mindlessly follow, wiping some dirt off onto your pants.

a few minutes pass before you eventually wander across a little clearing that seemed fit for a temporary camp. it was a small area, with trees surrounding it, completely silent so you could hear if any walkers came across you two.

“i’ll go hunt sum’ fish, make a fire.” he grumbles, throwing his stuff down on the grass and immediately making a beeline towards the sound of a nearby lake. you watch as he disappears into the distance, a frown painting your expression.

“uhh.. okay.. yeah, i’ll set up a camp n’ stuff.” you mumble to yourself, your words dying off as he leaves hearing range. he was just dying to get away from you, huh?

ten minutes later, you’re sitting infront of a small campfire, a tree stump under your butt as you wait for the older man to return from his little quest. picking at a piece of weed, you stared off as the fire blazed infront of you.

you flinch when you hear a twig snap behind you. you immediately turn, peering behind your shoulder with your hand hovering over your blade.

daryl appears behind a tree, holding a wiggling fish that looked big enough to feed you two plus seconds.

“do i look like a walker?” he says rudely.

“sorry.” you mutter, lowering your hand and relaxing your posture, staring at him as he steps forward and roughly drops the fish into the fire.

the impact sends some fire sparks towards you, making you tense and shield yourself lightly.

“could you not?” you snap, scowling at him as you sit back up. he rolls his eyes at you, sitting across from you without a word. the fire sat between the two of you as silence washed over the camp, the only sound being the fire sparkling.

“it’s pretty cold, huh?” you say quietly, giving him a small smile. your attempt at small talk was shot down as he immediately glared at you, making you shrink and feel quite silly.

“it should take up to ten, fifteen minutes to cook.” he mumbled after a few minutes of silence. you peeked up at him, frowning. what did he have against you?

you shivered as it began to grow colder every passing second, the wind picking up as the air grew thick. you wrapped your arms around yourself in hopes of warming your body temperature. he noticed but didn’t say a word, instead staring at the cooking fish and waiting for it to be ready.

“where are we sleeping?” you spoke up again.

he doesn’t respond until minutes later, hands occupied with skinning the fish and cutting it in pieces. he hands you a nicely sized portion, blank expression on his face. he never had much of an expression when it came to dealing with you.

“we’ll figure it out, but so far it looks like we’ll have to make do with the grass.” he huffs. he motions around the campsite with one of his over-exaggerated waves. “might snow tonight, so find a spot under a tree so you don’t fuckin’ die from hypothermia.”

you nod along to his words, munching on the fish he made with a hum. you glance back at him and narrow at his sleeveless arms.

“are you not cold?” you scoff lightly, a smile tugging at your lips. his lips twitch, readjusting his position as he suddenly feels very aware of the cold air brushing against his biceps.

“i’ll be alright,” he murmurs, taking another large bite of the fish. “what about you? you’re wearin’ a thin top.” he motions to your long sleeve henley.

“i’ll be alright.” you can’t help but grin, shrugging as you mock his words. he can’t help but chuckle lowly, glancing down at his half eaten fish before resuming his feasting.

after you both finish eating you’re quick to find spots under trees. both trees are next to each other but with a respectable distance, mostly because you both haven’t done nothing more then have a small conversation. a conversation that was less then twenty minutes ago.

the air grew more cold as the wind grew louder, leaves rustling and leaving you cold and huddled up into a tight ball. your weak attempt at warming yourself was proven useless when snow started to fall, painting the floor a frosted color.

“yer’ alright?” he breaks the silence. you peer over your shoulder and look at him. he was leaning against the tree next to yours, his biceps tense as snow fell on top of them. the sight was almost angelic, a big muscular man with snow falling on top of him delicately.

“s’cold.” you mumble quietly, curling back up as you quietly rock yourself. your lashes flutter close as you focus on your breathing and not dying of hypothermia. you shivered.

another few long minutes of silence pass, the sound of both your breathing the only thing audible. you can feel his eyes on your back but you don’t say a word, mostly out of stubbornness.

“jesus christ girl, you’re gonna die like an idiot, just c’mere already.” the words leave his mouth with a bitter tone. he didn’t want you that close to him but he would rather have you invade his personal space then straight up die.

you give him a confused look, your cheeks flushing as you see him pat his thigh in an impatient manner. a moment passes before you finally muster up the courage and shuffle onto his lap, your chest to his as you bury your face into his shoulder. the contact felt unfamiliar, but definitely not unwelcome.

his hands wrap around you immediately, one on your lower back and pressing you into him, the other gently petting your hair and twirling little strands between his rough fingers. you had never felt him be so gentle with you, heck, you were pretty sure this was the first time he had ever genuinely touched you other then the rude shoves and pushes.

you didn’t know why his body was so warm, but all you knew was that you wanted to be as close as possible to him. seek shelter in his arms and fall asleep by being rocked.

his rough fingers gently tug at your shirt hem, pulling it down in order to warm you more. his finger brushed softly against your flesh as he did this, making your heart skip a beat. you didn’t say a word, but the two of you could feel the tension thickening.

he stares at your body, your face, how your legs are straddling him and how your buried so deep into his chest. he brushes his finger against your skin lightly under your shirt again, wanting to see if he had imagined the way you reacted the first.

just like he assumed, your body language tensed just slightly, your hands wrapped around him tightening. a lazy smile forms on his face as he slowly pulls his hand under your shirt, resting against your bare back. you shivered, cuddling closer and tucking your head under his chin.

“you’re warm.” you hum quietly, trying your best not to let any more reactions slip as he rubbed his hand up and down your back.

“my bare skin is a lot warmer, sweetheart.” he says smoothly, no hesitance in his words. you gulp hard, blinking and processing his words before looking up at him through your lashes.

“i heard, uh, skin to skin is the best way at beating someone up.” you offer a sheepish smile, cheeks flushed from the cold and the feeling of being in his arms. he can’t help but chuckle dryly at your comment, his hands slipped to wrap around your waist and rub further up until one was playing with your bra clasp and the other was rubbing your belly. you curled up into his touch, a soft sigh leaving your throat.

“you want me to warm you up?” he says lowly, his voice a gentle whisper in your ear as he hoists you up further into his lap. his eyes flutter as he looks you up and down, taking in the sight of your body molding perfectly into his.

“yes please.” you nod and slowly sit up on his lap, your hands going to grasp ahold of his shoulders for balance as you started to lean in. he took the hint and gently cupped your waist, eyes flickering from your eyes to lips, watching intently as you grew closer.

a small moan left him as your lips connected to his. he tightened his grip on your soft skin under your shirt and rubbed it, kneading it as he kissed you. his adam’s apple bobbed as he leaned in, pressing his chest flush to yours and starting to slowly peel your shirt off.

you stopped him, frowning. “it’s too cold for that.” he rolled his eyes at your comment and reluctantly let your shirt go. a small huff left him as he looked back at your pretty face.

“let me at least—“ he mumbles, his hands slipping back under your shirt to grope your breasts. he runs his rough palms over your bra and pulls it down, letting your breasts out from its confinement. he could see your nipples poking through your top more clearly now, but he wished nothing more then to be able to feel them without anything in-between you two. maybe next time.

“so fuckin’ pretty.” a smile tugs at him as he gently gropes them, kneading and rolling your nipples between his fingers. he was gentle, watching your every reaction closely, fingers working at you like a professional. it felt like he was.

“please, i want more, daryl.” your voice sounded pitifully small as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck, straddling his thigh firmly and pressing your core down in hopes of relieving the tension. he watches you with a heavy gaze as you focus on rocking your sensitive core against his thigh, brows furrowed in concentration as you moan softly.

his hands continue groping and gently massing your breasts, rough fingers pulling at your nipples which earns a shallow gasp from you, and pulling you harder down on him. every moan that leaves your throat has him shivering and aching to be inside you more.

“s’enough, baby. c’mon, lemme put it in.” he mutters. his hands grab at his pants belt and he unbuckles it quickly, and in seconds his hard cock slaps against his abdomen, making your eyes widen at his size and his hard he was. you feel your pussy grow even more damp.

“y-yeah, okay.” you nod immediately and start to pull down your pants just enough to have your panties on display. you straddle his hips again, hovering over his cock, your pants around your ankles. it was cold as shit, but you chose to ignore it, too eager to feel him inside you to even care.

one hand on the back of your back and the other pulling your panties to the side, he slowly slides you down until his gruffy patch of hair above his cock brushed against your clit. your lips formed an ‘O’ shape as you felt the slow stretch of him entering you and opening up your inner walls. it felt so good.

“feels so good, daryl.” you cry out softly, shaky hands grabbing onto his shoulders to hold yourself steady on his cock. he hums in acknowledgment, nodding subtly as he wraps his palms around your waist. his fingers knead your doubly flesh, his eyes glued to where you both were conjoined.

“mmm, good girl, jus’ like that,” he grunts, his voice shaky as you start to bounce on his cock. his head leans back against the bark, almost whimpering as he feels your pussy go up and down so him. so god damn tight and wet, he could barely think. it hasn’t even been five minutes and he was already pussy drunk.

“you like that? does it feel good?” you ask breathlessly, eyes dazed as you repeatedly slam yourself down on him. you had never had such a strong and powerful man under you, whimpering as you rode him. you didn’t want this to end, ever.

“feels so good, baby. don’t stop— augh, don’t fuckin’ stop..” his hold on you tightens. maybe you would get bruises, it wouldn’t surprise you, he was holding onto you like you were his lifeline. your hip movements only quicken at his words, moans leaving your throat and eyes rolling back. his fat tip punched that sweet spot inside you everytime you slid down, making you repeatedly chase that feeling.

“i-i’m sorry baby, m’gonna cum,—“ he whimpers, grabbing your hips and starting to slam you down on him at his own speed. a gasp leaves you as your back arches, your hands going to wrap around his shoulders and bury your face into his neck. your body was repeatedly slammed down onto his cock, no break at all between thrusts. he was going fast and hard, eager to feel himself cum inside your soapy walls.

his eyes squeezed shut as he felt himself start to cum inside you, his hands growing faster in pulling you down on him. your tight pussy milked him dry as he whined into your ear, teeth gritted as his fat tip pressed hard onto your sweet spot. his large hand went to rub at your clit as he started to thrust upwards into you, looking to make you cum.

“cum ‘round me sweetheart, i’ve gotcha..” his fingers rub eight figures onto your clit. you shiver on his lap, whimpering loudly into his ear. your hole spasms around him and you clench down hard, making him groan. seconds later, your juices drip down his cock as you slowly go limp, laying like a lifeless doll on his lap with his cock still buried nice and deep inside you.

a few minutes pass of you panting heavily, the cold no longer a problem for you both. daryl held onto you tightly, rubbing your back gently as he calmed down. he eventually started to slide you off him, making you wince and grab onto him tighter.

“jesus— fuck, what’s wrong with ya?” he glares at you. back to his snarky personality, it looked.

“it’s warmer with you inside. just, don’t, okay, please?” you bat your lashes at him, sliding yourself down again, making him hiss at the friction.

“you’re gon’ be the death of me, girl.” he grumbles. he pulls your clothes back on the best he could without tempering with his placement inside you, trying to keep you both as warm as possible. you hum dumbly and snuggle back into his chest, nice and cozy.

[afewfantasies]

Lucky Strike 🎯 🎱 - Visions - VI

COMPLETE MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Pairing: Benny Cross (Bikeriders) X Reader

Summary: The reader extends her stay and Benny confronts her with how he's been feeling. They share their visions of forever before being confronted with unwanted visitors. There are fluffy moments and lots of physical touch.

Word count: 3.4K

He could feel himself getting angry standing at your side. He didn’t think it was possible but hearing you call another man sweet things took him there easily. It was gnawing at him again. How little he had to offer a woman like the one you’d become. The little engagement ring riddled in diamonds was something he could never give you. The wind blows and he tries controlling his temper only to hear the phone slam into the receiver and a few coins falling out. Turning to face him your eyes are all lit up as you chew your bubble gum. 

“We have two more weeks!” You giggle, taking his hands and hopping up and down with excitement. “Think that’s enough time to teach me to ride a Harley?” You ask as Benny’s energy settles.

“Why do you need to learn how to ride a Harley now?” Benny asks, wrapping his arms around you as he turns you to the parking lot.

“Well, my hobbies are much less thrilling” you pop your gum.

Benny smiles, eager to know more. “What are they?”

“My mother’s hobbies, shopping, reading, painting. Silence is the underlying theme.” You jest.

“I’m sure she won’t like you on a bike, your fiancé either” Benny adds fishing for more info on the man.

“Well that’s what friends are for Benny, you keep my secrets and I’ll keep yours. What they don’t know won’t hurt them. We’re on borrowed time so let’s get going so I don’t miss the picnics festivities” you stomp in good spirits. Benny’s smiling at you already indulging outbursts he shouldn’t. 

“What if we blew off the picnic? And just went somewhere just us two?” Benny asks.

“How much money for gas do you have?” You ask handing him a five dollar bill.

“That’ll get us far enough” he comments, pulling out another ten. “This’ll keep us fed” 

“What about if it rains or we need a place to stay?” You ask.

“We can figure it out. You trust me don’t you?” He asks and you find yourself smiling.

“With my life” you confess.

“Why are you so sunny today?” Benny asks, trying to get a hold of his own happiness.

“I get to spend seven more days with my best friend in the entire world who doesn’t expect me to wear stuffy proper clothes, or do anything really but be me and exist. To me that’s as exciting as a brand new shiny Harley is to you.” You explain.

“Now I feel special,” he says sarcastically, only it’s the furthest thing from a lie.

“Benjamin, don’t mock me, I'm being sincere.” you laugh shoving him playfully. Benny grabs your arm pulling you in closer as the two of you laugh.

“Y/N, if it was you or a brand new high performance Harley and unlimited gas. I’d choose you” Benny says.

“Oh wow, I am special. For a bike rider that’s practically wedding vows” you gape genuinely surprised.

“You can’t be surprised, you’re my best friend in the world” he asserts. “You grew up nice, I’d marry you too” Benny says cavalier. He shrugs casually and you laugh.

“Now I know you’re pulling my leg, I see the way you look at my clothes. I know what you and the guys think about my fancy style” you tell him to get on the back of his bike and slide back so he can get on.”

His good humour fades into a serious expression “Not pulling your leg. What’s so hard to believe? You don’t love the other guy and he’d marry you” Benny says and you take a breath closing your eyes. You blank when you try to picture your future with Benny married. He smiles amused that you visualise things in adulthood.

“We both have bikes” he says, starting you off.

“Mhm” you nod motioning for him to keep the visuals coming.

“We live someplace simple but near enough to a shopping mall to feed your habit” he says and you laugh.

You nod some more “Keep going…” 

“And I work at an auto shop or factory. You bake from time to time to make some money.”

Benny continues and you hold out a hand with your eyes till closed moving it from side to side to tell him that part of the vision is so so.

“When do you have time to ride and meet up with the guys?” You ask, opening your eyes and he shrugs.

“Weekends” he proposes.

“This bike is everything to you Benny. Don’t be so quick to give it up for a life of responsibility. We’ve had enough of that” you tell him disregarding his incomplete satirical vision of the future.

“So what your fiancé has more to offer you?” Benny snaps. “Or is an auto mechanic not good enough” he snaps feeling affronted. 

Your brows knit and it takes you a moment to realise it was real for him. You take in enough air to fill your lungs in absolute shock sitting there on his bike. Benny watches as it all comes to you. The revelation hurts, he’d been swimming in confusing feelings for you since he’d laid eyes on you and you hadn't given it a serious thought. He leaves you spinning as he heads in the direction of the outdoor pool to have a smoke and cool off instead of kicking up a fuss.

 Swallowing you look at your feet and then to his bike and then you relax as water comes to your eyes. The thought of hurting Benny is too much. You’d locked up your heart long ago. No expectations, no disappointments. When your fiancé came around it seemed perfect. You’d be tethered to each other out of chosen obligation, not something as fickle as love. He promised to care for you and he would. He’d never have to pretend with you and that there was real love enough. Just not the kind most couples hoped for. The world wasn’t yet ready for him to openly love the man of his choosing and so he opted for a wife that understood and accepted him. Your fiancé was a safe space who ensured that you wouldn’t be the only one playing a role while in public within your society. Pretending to be proper and well off when your humble beginnings suggested otherwise. Getting off the bike you make your way to the pool and find Benny sitting on one of the chairs. He’s gorgeous even when he’s upset. You smile, allowing yourself to see him as more. You sit down beside him and he kills his smoke on the concrete before looking at you with a clenched jaw.

“If you get mad so fast this’ll never work. I’ll wear down your nerves and keep your cigarette pack empty” you tease with a smirk. Benny swallows his own, unable to stay upset with you. “I wasn’t implying you don’t have enough to offer. I was making it clear I don’t expect you to sacrifice your happiness for my comfort” you explain.

“It would make me happy to keep you comfortable” Benny mutters.

“You could work for a bit and then we could save up and buy a mobile home. Huck would give us a truck. We could do something that keeps you on a bike as often as possible.

“That would make you happy?” Benny asks.

“We could drive anywhere, see this country and eventually maybe even the world. An extended adventure. That would make me happy.” you confess allowing yourself a dream.

“Not being a mother?” Benny asks.

“I’d like to live a little first so I can settle down and have something to offer a kid.” You explain. Bennys never heard such a thing. He scratches his head. People got married, got a home and worked until they died to provide for their families. That’s how adulthood had been put to him. “Benny, do you want kids?” You ask.

“Not sure, I mean if it happened I’d be okay with it” he shrugs. “A mobile home?” He asks, looking at you.

“Yeah, cheaper than hotels and motels. You can use it like a tent. A boy from my high school got one he drove all the way down to South America. Said it was life changing” you share.

“That’s what you want?” Benny says being the first to ask. You close your eyes again and you can picture it. Being on the road with Benny for hours. Exploring new places. Taking pictures, laughing, talking by campfires. 

“Yeah” you nod, opening them to him. He draws in a deep breath.

“I don’t know a lick of Spanish” he mumbles.

“We can figure it out,” you shrug.

He sighs. “Doubt your mother will like that”

“She’ll get over it” you shrug again. “Now let’s go to this picnic and have a good time.” You stand holding out a hand for him. Benny takes it, getting up and pulling you into a warm hug. You were his heart beating outside his body. Something he heard Johnny say about his daughter once. Now he finally knew what it really felt like. He gets on the bike first and you follow suit giving him space as he starts up. The running engine starts the motor and Benny settles back in his seat. Taking your hand from his side he pulls your hand to slide you closer to him so you’re body to body before repositioning your hand on his abdomen.

“Comfortable?” He shouts over the sounds of the bike looking back at you.

“Yeah!” You nod before resting your head on his back. He gives your hand a pat feeling like a new man as you pull off. Your mind runs wild at the possibilities and at the physical contact. You can’t help but wonder where all this has come from. Benny declaring his intentions.  He’d always loved you but had it really been more? He’d been in a relationship and you betrothed and there’d been no room in your heart for expectation or disappointment after a lifetime of it one way or another. You’d never really had anyone after you left Benny.  Your fiancé had been a friend turned potential life partner and overall good man. In your bid for normalcy you’d decided to adopt and maybe foster a child that came from a situation like yours. You wouldn’t be a mother but a friend, a safe space for the kids and him. It brought you enough peace. 

The prospect of being with Benny was different. Exciting, terrifying, riveting. Your return had fed your soul in more ways that anyone could ever know. Love had never been in your vision for yourself. You tried it in high school but what your friends described and what you felt were totally different. Pretty dressed and pretending was all it was. After high school you were in a relationship with a guy your mom thought was great. You tried to let yourself fall but it didn’t happen. He was enamoured but you’d always been lukewarm. Smiling on cue, laughing at his jokes and he was none the wiser parading you around like a trinket. Sex was the nail in the relationship's coffin.

You went to the library at a women’s college the next day. A small penis and premature ejaculation were to blame for that god awful first time, in addition to a lack of skill. As you closed that book on sex you closed your heart and mind to the possibilities of love. Your fiancé came into town a few weeks later. The rest was history.

Benny takes his hand from the handles placing one over yours on his stomach. He’d never felt so full in all his years. Tearing through the Chicago roads his mind is fixed on your vision of the future. He’d never ever thought he could travel. Be free of this city. Be with a woman like the one you’d become. You start to hear a party as the cement turns into gravel and eventually dirt roads. There’s cheering at Bennys arrival. You hug a couple of the guys looking for Johnny’s wife Barb. You watch a couple guys on the grill and run around with the kids playing tag and frisbee. A few hours in, you and Barbara walk up the hill to sit in peace.

“Benny can’t keep his eyes off you” she says perceptively. Looking into your drink you smile and she laughs at your blush. “You’re good for him, he looks relaxed every time he sees you’re having fun” she adds. “Hear you two have been hold up in one hotel room”

“It’s not like that” you smile, knocking your knees against hers. “We’ve never fooled around,” you tell her honestly.

“I believe you, Bennys girls aren’t typically so sane” she jokes. You look at the sunset.

You sigh.“The girls say it’s not easy living a vandal”

“Because they love the vandal when they’re supposed to love the man.” She says.

“I love Johnny. He loves the club so I support that. And god does that man love me. Comes home every night unless he’s driving a long hall and works his ass off. He deserves a little partying and some beer every night. If riding around with his friends and sitting at the clubhouse makes him a vandal, so what?” She shrugs.

“Y’all get down here before it gets dark” Johnny shouts from below. You and Barb hold hands talking it slow. By the time you’re down it’s dark and the guys are tending a fire. The kids are asleep in cars and the party is getting started. You sit beside Benny and he wraps an arm around you.

“Alright?” He checks in.

“Yeah you?” 

“Mhm” he nods with eyes on your lips. You feel your heart flutter as he kisses your forehead instead. He’s golden in the hue of the campfire. You look away melting under the heat of being looked at as an object of desire from someone you actually love and admire. It’s an immense pressure. Your heart races and fear wins out, when you remember society’s expectations.

“I’m not a virgin Benny. I know it means a lot to some men so I thought I’d tell you now” you confess looking at him. His eyes hold yours before he smiles a little.

“Neither am I” he shrugs. You hold his gaze relaxing when you see he’s serious and it’s not a point of contention. “What, you thought I'd be upset? You gonna be upset that I’m not either”

“I don't know you could be. You’re a bike rider. I hear how these guys are and I hear you get all the ladies.” You recall.

“I’m not like that. I don’t run through women.” He says. “How about you?”

“It was once and it was terrible but at least it was quick.” You tell him and he frowns.

“Did he have your permission?” He asks with his heart in his stomach.

“Yes but it was … god Benny I’ve never said any of this out loud” you admit feeling bashful.

“It was what?” He asks pulling you in closer.

“Not good, I wanted it to end and him to get off of me and then it was over and he was asking for a few more minutes to make it up and apologising and I was getting dressed to go home.” You confess making Benny chuckle. “Sheesh” he says amused.

“It’s not funny” you say, misunderstanding his laughter.

“No it’s not but it is. Gorgeous as you are poor fool probably got too excited. That’s not how it should be.” Benny says looking down at you. It was a strange thing to be so open with a woman but it was you.

“No?” you ask.

“No,” he affirms.

You sigh not believing him.“I think that’s just for men”

“It’s not ask Barbara,” Benny advises.

“I’m not asking Barbara about her and her husband” you whisper aghast at Bennys suggestion. He chuckles some more and you realise you love to see him smile. “You’re being a terror” you smile getting up and he follows suit, enjoying winding you up now as much as he had as a boy.

“It’s not just enjoyable for men,” he says, pulling you close as you make it to a park bench away from the group. The city is sparkling below as you sit resting your head against his. 

“Tired?”

“Mhm” you nod.

“Let’s head back while you can still ride with me” he says standing. You find Johnny and a few others before  leaving and riding into the night. Benny parks and you get your keys for the hotel stopping when you see two big guys outside your door. You step back into Benny who steps in front of you.

“Y/N Y/LN?” One of the men says.

“Who’s asking?” Benny snaps.

“You have an outstanding debt. I was gonna collect it’s value from your step mothers house but she told me you could give me cold hard cash” the man says looking around Benny at you.

“I don’t have any, the man is dead, leave us alone” you tell him.

“You deal with me” Benny tells them and he scoffs.

“Fancy hotel like this. You have until tomorrow at midnight to clear the debt or I’ll beat one of the kids. Vandal, you know where to find me.” the man says before walking away. You feel your hands trembling. Benny takes the keys letting you in. You’re a kid again. It’s not the first time. Far from the first time men have showed up to collect.

“Even while dead” you sigh and Benny holds you.

“I’ll take care of it. Must’ve missed one” Benny promises.

“Benny it’s extortion, they’ll keep on now they think I’m well off. I can’t believe she sent them here?!” You snap.

“Y/N relax, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. Grab a shower and let’s go to sleep.” Benny suggests but just like that you’re too wired. A ball of nerves. A mix of fear and frustration. You sit on the couch and he follows pulling you onto his lap before cradling you like a child. His eyes assure you it’s handled. “Nothings gonna happen to you” he promises as tears fall. He wipes them away, taking on the role of protector like he had so many times before.

“Benny, I'll just take some things to the pawnshop for the cash. I don’t want trouble” you sigh, not wanting it to be bigger than it needs to be.

“I’ll take care of it,” Benny asserts.

“But B-“

“Shhhhhh, I have the cash. I’ll clear the debt” he asserts. You swallow looking up at him wondering how it was that you were so lucky to have him and then find him again. Sitting up you run your fingers through the low sides of his hair. His eyes watch you intently. 

“Thank you” you whisper and he places a kiss on your forehead and the nose.

“You never have to thank me,” he says, not needing it.

“I do Benny, and I love you” you confess. “Like a crazy amount” you say, breathing through your tears. 

“I know, and believe me I love you more” he says.

“Impossible” you smile as he wipes your tears away. Taking your chin he brings your lips to his several times kissing them quickly as he tries adding levity to the situation.

“It’s a fact” he asserts.

“Now go shower first” he whispers and you nod, getting up feeling a little better. You cry in the shower feeling as powerless to your father as you did in childhood. You get in bed as Benny heads to the bathroom. You don’t have to ask him to sleep beside you. He does. Getting in the bed pulling you to him and placing his hand under your silk top is resting skin to skin.  “I’m here okay?”

“Mhm”

“Forever” he promises and you turn to him.

“Forever” you agree. He’d gone from having nothing to everything in a matter of weeks. He never wanted you to worry again. This time your dad’s choices wouldn’t win. He’d save the day and keep. His hand slides up your back as he holds you and your heart beats sync.

Authour's Note:

Ok, ok, ok, so we're moving along. I know this one moved a little quick but it's longer than the typical update. How do we feel about them unthawing for each other? How do we feel about their vision for the future? How do we feel about that ending? Lets get into it!

Thanks for reading lovelies 🩵🩵🩵

TAGS:

@mrsalwayswrite @ughdontbeboring @astrogrande @palomavz @thesaturngurl @peggyao3 @thefallofthedamned @avidreader73

[floralpromise]

Just floating around // Rafayel x f!reader

Summary: Since the beach would be too crowded, Rafayel has to find a creative solution to it.

Warnings: Probs some ooc Rafayel bc I'm not used to writing for him. Some lore so slightly spoilers? (like what he is etc and some aspects from "ebb and flow"). Some silly fic bc somehow I can see Rafayel do something like that? Let me know if I missed any more warnings.

Genre: fluff, sfw.

Word count: 705.

Rafayel was lying on a floatie, floating around in the pool that was set up in the middle of his living room. A pair of black sunglasses rested on his nose as he was holding a glass in his hand with a colorful cocktail. A yellow straw and a red parasol in it as well.

Since it was a hot and sunny day in Linkon, Rafayel didn't feel like going to the beach, knowing it would be crowded with people who wanted to take a dive in the cold seawater. And so, Rafayel preferred to float around in his own pool in the safety of his own studio.

He rested his free hand behind his head, his tail slightly moving up and down as the edges dipped in the cold water. Blue scales adore his face and body. He felt beyond relaxed, forgetting about the unfinished painting that was hanging on the wall, waiting for him to finish it, but the Lemurian hadn't touched his pencils today and wasn't planning to do so. There was no rush in finishing it, not that he was able to do so since his inspiration wasn't really there and the hot weather wasn't helping either.

He peered up from under his sunglasses when he heard the door open and being closed again, watching your figure appear in his eyesight. A smile tugged at his lips as he watched your face, trying to read your emotions.

"Rafayel, what the-" You muttered as you placed your bag down and slowly started to approach the pool. "Couldn't go to the beach." He shrugged in response as you rolled your eyes at his words. "So you brought the beach here." You huffed as he simply shrugged. "It helps me spark my inspiration." He spoke, nodding his head towards the unfinished painting.

"That's what you said yesterday when we went out for food, and also the day before yesterday when we went to the beach to collect some stuff." You reminded him of how he had been procrastinating the past few things. "It's hot outside, a heat wave! Not my fault they didn't predict the weather right." He huffed, another excuse for his procrastinating. You stopped in front of the pool, staring at the artist all relaxed on his floatie.

He patted the floatie, on the tiny spot still free for you to take. "No, we both know you'll end up pushing me off." You refused as you crossed your arms. Rafayel furrowed his brows and a small pout formed on his lips. "How ridiculous of you to even say that!" He huffed, slightly dramatically raising his voice. "Denying my invitation for cuddles. So rude to deny a Lemurian" He grumbled, pushing the sunglasses back on his nose before taking an aggressive sip from his drink.

"And what if I drown? Would you rescue me or would you just walk away?" Rafayel went on. "You are a fish, Raf. You can't drown." You waved him off. "Fish can drown if they don't have enough oxygen in the water." Rafayel pointed out. "Please join me, it's getting all cold and lonely out here, alone in the ocean." He sighed, making dramatic movements with his arms.

You sighed and kicked your shoes out and took off your socks, dropping them near your feet before you stepped into the water. The temperature was nice, not too cold but cold enough to be refreshing. And not too hot, but hot enough to enjoy it. The water temperature was pretty much perfect.

A smug smile formed on Rafayel's lips as he watched you approach him, arms wide open as he made a bit more room for you on the floatie. The moment you reached him, he was fast enough to lean forward and pull you straight into his arms, only to make the floatie sway back and forth.

You yelped, afraid the two of you would fall over but nothing happened. You let out a relieved breath as you positioned yourself in a comfortable position on the floaties, his arms safely wrapped around you as he rested his head on your shoulder. "Happy?" You asked him as you playfully rolled your eyes. "Very." He nodded with a playful smile.

[gothushi]

white horse

pairing: simon x f!reader

warnings: canon s/a, simon feeling worthless, narrative paints him as pathetic because that’s how he feels, pining, one single use of y/n

note: went in a totally different direction for this but i’m happy with it. i think he deserves the world and more. i’ve left it open to your own mind whether you’re actually in a relationship with simon or not

word count: 5k

———————♡

Hands trembling, Simon hurriedly fishes his phone from his jeans pocket. Clothes scattered on the floor, pristine motel shower, towel wrapped too tight around his waist. His heart beats so hard he fears it may just pop right out of his chest, a sick feeling in his gut as he fights back his emotions welling up. Did he go too far..?

It’s subconscious, the way he dials your phone number, anxiously listens to the ring.. ring.. until you answer with a groggy “Hello?”

He steels his nerves, inhaling sharply when he hears your voice, neck straining with the effort to not break down into pieces right there. “Did I wake you?”

“Simon?” You had answered the phone before you realized you were even awake, just now registering it’s him. “No.. no you didn’t. What’s up?” You find yourself rolling over in bed, rapidly waking up. He doesn’t call often, much to your dismay, but you understand he’s undercover and isn’t able to as much as he’d like. So, to get a call so late at night, unprompted, stirs worry in you.

He feels his breath catch in his throat, shutting his eyes for a moment, “Uh.. it’s nothing.” A half truth. It’s been six days since he last called, but it hasn’t been because he doesn’t want to. If anything, he craves the comfort of your voice. He just can’t let you know he’s not okay. That he misses you. That he craves you. “I.. I just.. wanted to check in.” Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!

He slept with Brendan. Slept with him. Let Brady touch and touch and take. He can still feel his hands all over him, his tongue on his skin, rough and sharp. Even after taking a shower, gasping for air, scrubbing his skin so hard it’s sore, washing over his growing and current bruises enough to turn them a shade darker.. it’s still there.

You can obviously tell something is wrong, can hear the way his voice wavers, how he can’t seem to find his words. Sitting up in bed, you flick on your bedside lamp and see the book you were reading discarded beside you. “I must’ve dozed off while reading, so you caught me at a nice time.” You smile, letting him hear your calm and warm tone, not wanting to push immediately.

Simon’s breath is heavy, labored. It’s audible over the phone. He can feel his throat constrict and his hands are trembling, thighs weak. Memories of Brady flash through his mind, his hands, his- It’s not like he had a choice. He has to do whatever it takes. Right? “You sound.. sleepy.” He offers, words nervous like he’s choosing them carefully, “What were you reading?” Please don’t ask please don’t ask.

You can hear it, hear his gasping, as if you were standing right in front of him. The urge to ask what the fuck is wrong is so unbearbly strong but.. you know him. Know enough to wait a moment. Glancing down at your book again, you speak, keeping a soft tone, “That series I told you about last time.. I’m already on the third book.” You laugh a little, fixing the bookmark sticking out of the pages before getting up from bed, “What are you up to?”

Even in this state, a smile touches his cut lip, remembering the previous conversation about some fantasy book you had started. “Just… getting ready for bed. Took a shower.” Another half truth. He’s still wearing the damp towel, stood in the too bright bathroom and avoiding his own eyes in the mirror. He looks awful. “The book’s good?”

“Yeah,” your bare feet pad downstairs, going to the kitchen to get a drink, “I’m breezing through it, but the series isn’t even finished so once I’m caught up I’ll have to wait for the next book.”

This is nice, it’s helping to start to calm him down a little.. but.. his jaw clenches with the effort of holding back a sob. Brady’s hands yanking his shirt up, tongue licking his skin, roughly flipping him over with strength he never wants to feel again, bared before him whilst his lip drips blood onto the wooden floor. His eyes dart to his reflection. He looks.. defeated. Beaten. Bruises adorn his sides, jaw, lip bloody and rapidly scabbing over. The shower did nothing to wash away the ache in his bones, did nothing to cleanse the feeling of being used, his hands, the nails that scratched his back and the pressure of another body atop him.

“Simon?”

It’s too much. Did he go too far? He’s completely broken himself and for what? Revenge? Justice? Cam? Is it worth it? Of course it is. Anything for his baby brother. Even if it shatters him fully.

“Y.. yeah.” It’s whispered out, realizing he hadn’t spoken. The silence between the two of you lingers. He can hear the shutting of your fridge, the way that certain hallway floorboard creaks under your feet as you go back upstairs. It’s comforting really, let’s him know you’re there, real.

Back in your room with a glass of water, you sit back on the edge of your bed, taking a swallow of the cold liquid, “Simon.. what’s wrong?”

There it is.

The way you ask him.. makes his chest ache, and his voice cracks when he answers. He hasn’t told you much about what he has to do while he’s undercover but.. you’re intelligent. You can put things together. He takes a deep breath, willing himself to steady the shakiness of his breath and to not cry. “I..” his voice catches in his throat, almost raw, and he takes a couple more forced breaths.

He can’t. He’ll cry. His throat is tight, eyes blurring with tears. Brendan even patted his head like a dog when he was done.

“Did something happen with Brady? Are you safe?” Had you been more awake, that would’ve been the first thing you asked, if he were safe.

His throat trembles again at the mention of his name. “I’m okay..” he says, voice strained. “Just.. I’m..” He feels like he’s about to crack open entirely. He’s barely got it together as is, a few words and he might fall apart right now.

You know he wouldn’t lie to you if he were to be in danger, if he were at risk of being caught or something, so that eases your worry by only a millimeter. The tone of his voice, hoarse, how he can’t find his words.. “What happened love?” It comes out oh so softly, as if you were speaking to an abandoned animal.

It hurts. It all hurts. His bruises, where he was abused, deep in his chest, his head, it aches all over and he just wishes it were gone.

He nearly bursts into tears right there just from that, as pathetic as it may be. Another deep breath as he finds the words he’s been searching for. I shouldn’t be telling her this. “Just.. Brendan and I..” His hands are trembling, fingered curled around his phone until his knuckles are white.

“Simon.. tell me.” You urge softly. You need to know. Something is eating him apart to the bone and you can tell.

He can’t help it, he’s breaking and his voice quivers a bit. “We slept together.”

His throat hitches when he says it. He hates the way those words sound put together, hates that they’re even true.

It stuns you for a moment, you didn’t know what to expect but.. pieces are clicking in your head and your own throat tightens for a moment, “Simon.. you..” You can’t cry. You won’t. For him. Not yet. “You didn’t want it… did you?”

His legs feel weak, like he might collapse. Breathing is a foreign concept to him as he swallows down more tears, trying to will them back as he glances upwards at the white ceiling. “N.. no.”

His chest is caving in on itself, the reality of it actually hitting him. And the worst part? Come morning he has to do it all over again, slip into that facade he’s been playing for months. The thought makes him nauseous.

Silence lingers for just a few moments as you process the information. You want to begin crying, to weep for him before it’s even fully settled in what happened but you can’t you won’t, you have to be strong for him. “Does he..” you form the words as soft as possible, “Does he know you didn’t want it?”

Brendan tossed him around, punched, kicked, threw him overtop the little table that shattered under his weight, the ceramic lamp cracking and cutting a spot on his hand, his lip. They had been arguing before, that’s what spurred it on. But he needed to get to Brendan, to be trusted. So he played coy, tilted his head.. and kissed him. He formed the plan so quickly in his head he didn’t have time to think of the consequences.

“No..” He whispers. “I had… I had to. Had to act like I did.”

“Oh.. Simon..”

The rooms too bright, such a stark contrast to the darkness of the rest of the motel room. He has no where that feels safe to hide away, heart beating at his chest. A sob escapes him before he can stop it, holding the phone tight to his ear. I didn’t have a choice. This is the only way. This was the only way.. It repeats over and over in his head like a mantra, though the words do little to ease his pain. Knees hit the wet tile floor uncomfortably as he shakes with the effort of holding back his cries, rasped pants escaping him.

You have no choice but to just listen to him break. Your brows knit together in worry and you steady your own breathing, trying to remain calm even though pure sadness and anger flood your veins. “Simon.. love, breathe..” He’s panting too hard.

He wants to scream, weep until he passes out, but he tries. He tries. “I… I need you.”

He wants your comfort, needs it. Needs your gentleness, your warmth.. even if he doesn’t deserve it.

A frown forms on your lips. He can’t, it wouldn’t be safe. At least that’s what you think right now, have been told before. Even though you crave to hold him, to cradle him, whatever he wants. “I’m here.. I’m right here. Breathe..”

He just wants to lay next to you, to forget everything. Forget Brady’s wandering hands. He inhales a skaky breath, “I just-.. don’t wanna be alone. I just want you next to me… even if I don’t deserve it.”

“Of course you deserve it.” There’s zero hesitation, “You deserve the world Simon… after.. after everything you’ve done..” All this for his baby brother, laid in the hospital.

“I know.. I just..” Simon takes another raspy breath, fingers hurting with how tight he holds his phone. He wants to beg. He wants to tell you to come get him. All he wants is you. Needs you to tell him everything is going to be okay. “I wish you were here.”

“I am, I’m right here.. I promise.” The walls too cold against his bare arm as he slumps against it, chest heaving. “I’m sorry.. I can’t imagine how much you’re hurting.”

“It’s not just the hurting..” He whispers back, barely able to force the words out. It’s like his heart’s trying to claw it’s way up his throat. Tears burn his eyes, wetting his cheeks and sticking to his lashes. “I hated it.. I hated having to… to.. touch him. I know it’s for-.. I-.. he thinks I enjoyed it and I wish I could just-.. wipe it all from my mind.” It’s a miracle he’s even able to speak right now, even though getting the words out is like nails on a chalkboard. Unbearable.

Blinking back tears of your own, you ask, “Simon..” you would never once doubt his love for Cam but.. “Is it worth it? Will.. doing this all be worth putting him in jail?”

“It has to be..” He has to believe those words. It has to be worth it. He has to believe it. “If it just stopped now.. then it would all be for nothing.” That’s what he has to believe, otherwise.. who knows, maybe it is.

A slight nod to yourself, understanding his words. Cam wouldn’t want.. this.. The thought crosses your mind but God, you’d never say that out loud to him. “You just.. have to keep him convinced.” You confirm softly, understanding his actions.

“Yeah..” He whispers again, raspy. His thumb rubs up and down on the side of his phone. “I just.. wish this was over now.” His voice cracks with another sob.

You heart breaks, tears welling up in your eyes as you exhale softly, “Sweetheart..” How can he do this..? How can he manage to keep this front up with Brady? Your heart is just breaking and you want nothing more than to kill Brady with your own hands.

“It’s just..” His words come separated, panting, crying, “It’s all so hard.” His eyes squeeze shut, head pounding with a deep ache that may never go away.”I don’t-.. how much longer do I have to do this?” He whimpers.

This case is important to him… to get justice for Cam.. to lock Brady up.. but..

“I don’t want you to do it anymore..” You breathe out, tears spilling over your lash line.

He tenses at your words, even his breathing halting, “I have to do it..” His eyes squeeze shut again so tightly they hurt, deep behind his eyelids. A couple of shakey inhales and exhales before he speaks again, “Please.. just please don’t ask me to stop.” If I stop, then I’ll hate myself more than I already do..

Your heart is breaking. It’s cracking into two and you have no idea how to stop it. You can’t. “Okay.. I won’t..” You curl up beneath the covers, leaving your bedside lamp on. The call now on speaker, you set the phone beside your pillow. A weak little thank you comes from him, whimpered, tired. “Just… don’t hold it in. Please… I’m right here and ‘m not leaving, so just let it out..” Your voice is pleading, knowing he only has tonight before going back to playing the part. Know he has to get his emotions out now before they’re shoved back down again.

He’s still white knuckling his phone, trembling, slumped against the cold tile wall as the light above the sink hums annoyingly. “I…” He felt stupid, as the tears begin to flow again, another sob clawing its way out of his throat, “I hate this.”

“I know..” You wish you were with him. You haven’t seen him in months. “Just breathe..”

Another strangled sob, words cut off, “I wish I was with you..” He’s so afraid..

“I know.. I know..” You try to soothe, keeping your voice steady even as tears slip into your hairline as you lay in bed, finger rubbing along the side of your phone like you wish it were his face you were caressing.

He feels weak, pathetic. He wishes he were strong enough to handle the fact that he’s alone in this, but he doesn’t want to. Wants you. Needs the safety of your presence, your touch, to bury himself in your chest and never move.

“Hey.. y’said you took a shower right? Why don’t you get dressed and get into bed..” The suggestion leaves you in a soft voice, like you’re speaking to a child. Despite not being there physically, you want to help the best you can.

“I.. yeah, I did.” Laid against the wall, his tired eyes scan the floor where his shirt and underwear lay before out into the dark room. He takes the time to get to his feet, nearly stumbling, trying to follow your instructions. He’s thirsty, so he gets a glass of water from the tap and downs the entire thing before getting dressed, eyes trained on the increasing time of the phone call to keep himself reassured that you’re there, before crawling into bed.

“All comfy?” Your voice almost startles him as he lays his head down. The bed is.. alright. The blankets are soft, fleece, bringing a contrasting warmth to the chill his damp hair sends through him.

“Yeah.. I...” A moment of silence passes before he resumes speaking, his voice so quiet, “Can I ask you something..?”

“Of course.” He could ask for the moon and stars and you’d present them in the palms of your hands.

“What would you do if I asked you to come and get me..?”

That would ruin everything, his mission, and he’ll never be able to look his Lieutenant in the eyes again, maybe even be fired. It’d also risk you, put you in danger. He knows all that, yet, the desire to have you here right now still lingers. Selfishly, he wants you.

“I’d do it.” No hesitation. That seems to be a theme for you and him. You stare at your phone, hoping this is him asking. You’d do anything for him, yearn to hand him anything he desires.

“You’d.. you’d come?” He’s almost certain this would ruin everything, all these months for absolutely nothing… but would.. would it really? Is this worth what it’s doing to him? “Please.. just…” He trails off, thoughts battling each other.

You, on the other end, stay dead silent. If you let your lips part, you’ll start begging him to let you come. Beg for him to leave it all behind, consequences be damned. So you wait, swallowing, listening to his even breathing as he sniffles.

…

…..

“Could… could you come get me? Please?”

There, he’s done it.

You’ve already begun sitting up before the words finished leaving him, picking up your phone. You stand, feeling the wave of panic and relief flood your system, blowing out the candle you had lit, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.. please.” It’s almost a sob, maybe it is one. Tears start to soak his face again, “Just please come get me. I don’t want to be alone. I-.. I wanna see you.”

There’s no thinking anymore as you rush downstairs, shoving your feet into the nearest sneakers you find and grabbing your keys. Simon can hear the front door shut and gravel crunch beneath your feet as you get into your car. “I need to know where you are.” The engine of your car purrs to life, already backing out. He weeps out the motel name, the bed and breakfast showing up as nearly forty-five minutes away once entered into your GPS. Fuck.

—

He wants to beg, continue to plead as he wails into his pillow, muffled. He doesn’t know how long he lays there, half asleep, body in survival mode and trying to shut down all in the same breath. You make the drive in thirty minutes, your voice startling him out of his half dozed state, “Love? You awake?”

“Mm..” Simon blinks, focusing on his phone, heart speeding up, “Yeah.. yes.. I’m awake.”

“I’m outside.” This almost doesn’t feel real. After being separated for so long and now you’re just… here. You have to stay strong, get him out of here first. Your eyes scan over the big buildings with multiple rooms, seeing the dim lights on them. A silver car is parked a few spaces away from yours and… next to it, Simon’s bike. There’s some shuffling, sniffling, feet thudding on the floor before the call ends and movement catches your eye. Up on the second floor of one of the buildings, the door opens and a tall figure slips out, jacket over his arm. He’s walking with a limp, and the sight of him makes you almost start to wail. You sniffle and wipe at your eyes, leaning over to unlock the passenger door and push it open as he nears.

He looks a mess. His lip is cut, eyes sunken and tired, face wet with smeared tears. He slips into the passenger seat, not even daring to look at you and neither do you dare to continue to stare at his face for a moment longer. You can’t, you’ll break. However you waste no time reversing from the parking spot and driving off, back out onto the road in the direction you came. It’s silent for five entire minutes and you don’t dare stop, just in case, but you do however reach and blindly grab his hand, linking your fingers together. Part of you fears he won’t even want to be touched, but it’s squashed with the way he clutches onto you for dear life.

You’re actually here. With him. You’re really here and he’s really out. He breathes in deep, trying to calm his racing heart, stow his emotions for now. Even just being in your car helps, because it smells familiar. Even as more stifled sobs leave him, he doesn’t let go of your hand, squeezing so tight it must hurt you.

—

He’s nearly cried himself to sleep again, barely feeling the way the car jostles as you pull into your driveway, the gate sliding shut behind your car. Undoing your seatbelt and reaching over, you undo his and slowly unlink your hands, not daring to look at his face yet. “C’mon, let’s get inside..” He listens, slowly, following you up to the front door, taking in the surroundings of your house again. Garage to the right, big gate and large brick walls lining the property. He’s been here countless times but.. oh.. the warmth he feels as you both step inside. A table to the right along the wall for your keys, coats hung up on a wall rack to the left, shoes scattered on the tile entrance way floor. You push open the door to the main hallway, the heart of the house, and he feels so much better.

You finally turn to look at him, both stood in the middle of the hallway, and in the dim light you fear he may see the way you crack open a bit.

He looks… broken. A bruise covers his jaw, scabbed over cut on his lip, eyes red and wet, cheeks flushed yet he’s pale. Bags hang under his eyes, dull, sad. Your hand reaches up instinctively, but you pause mid action, as if it’ll scare him.

He blinks slowly, sniffling, your touch so close yet so far.

But you pull back, “Go upstairs, get in bed. I’ll bring you some water, okay?”

He obeys, feeling comforted by your voice, the simple instruction. He doesn’t need to be pointed to the stairs, the carpet plush under his socked feet as he somehow makes it up there without his legs giving out. Not even considering the guest bedroom, he goes to yours, crawling underneath the duvet and he almost sobs again at the warmth, the smell, you. It smells like lavender and vanilla, the candle you have on your bedside table, mattress made up with a different bedspread than he remembers.

After a minute he hears your footsteps, watches as you come inside with a glass of water, kneeling onto the bed to offer it to him. Now he notices you’re in some pajamas, a cute matching set that he’d compliment if not for the circumstances. He sits up on an elbow, taking the offered drink and sipping some of the ice cold water, before handing it back to you with a whispered thank you. You set it aside and just stare, really looking at him now. “Simon…”

It’s obvious how tired he is, and the way he stares back up at you makes him feel vulnerable, not in a bad way though. “..yes?” His voice is small, barely a whisper. He’s feeling so many overwhelming emotions and doesn’t know which one to settle on. He feels grateful, safe, even though the last thing he feels he deserves is your forgiveness and warmth.

However you reach out again, mirroring your action in the hallway, pausing before your skin meets his, ‘Can I..?” Your fingers curl into your palm, nervous he won’t want the touch.

But he does want it, wants it so badly. To feel the comfort of your hand, the love of your fingers… Simon reaches up, his own hand curving around your wrist. He tugs softly, pulling your hand forward, feeling the tickling touch of your fingertips before you lean more into it and cradle his cheek. His eyes flutter, he could start crying again, if he had any more tears in him. He whimpers as his hand drops from your wrist, pushing into the touch with his eyes closed. The warmth on his bruised jaw feels so good, so safe. He looks so defeated, so broken, he’s had everything ripped away from him except you.

“Y/N..” Simon utters, it’s all he can do.

You’re so gentle, as if calming a skittish animal, thumb gently brushing the cut on his lip. “I’m right here…”

It almost brings tears to his eyes again. This is where he feels safest.

“I’m sorry..” He leans into your hand, the touch slowing his heart, and for the first time in he doesn’t know how long, he relaxes.

A frown finds its way to your lips, cradling his face, “What for?” you ask back, keeping your voice just as low as his.

“For.. everything, for..” The words won’t fully come to him, eyes fluttering halfway open as he gazes up at you, watering again, “I’m sorry, I..”

You shift, laying down ontop of the covers whilst he’s tucked under them. Your other hand comes up, and you falter for just a fraction of a second before it slides against his other cheek, cradling his face in your palms. “You have nothing to be sorry for Simon.”

He can’t help it, the moment you lay down he reaches out and pulls you close. His arms loop around you in a hug, burying his face against your neck. “I missed you.” He sniffles, lip wobbling against your skin. You cradle him back, one arm curling under his head for support and the other loops over him, hand finding his hair and petting it gently. It almost startles him, because Brendan did the same thing, albeit rougher, but your hand is so… it feels much nicer, your fingers tangling into the clean locks and scratching at his scalp.

“I missed you.”

The sensation of you caress is enough to make him curl into you more, face pressed against the base of your neck. Simon inhales deeply, smelling your body wash, the compassionate hug making him relax. His arms are tense though, as if he’s scared you’ll be taken from his grasp. Fingers paw at your back, pressing into your shirt, feeling. He needs to know you’re real. And you know that, so you let him even if it hurts a little, “Do you want me to turn the light off?” He answers with a shake of his head, a quiet ‘mm mm’, trying to wiggle impossibly closer. Now that he has you he doesn’t want to let go, fearful you’ll slip away.

“Do you.. want me under the covers?” Even if it sounds silly you have to ask for permission, petting your hand down his hair and over the nape of his neck, where Brendan’s lips were.

One little word slips from him, “Please..”

He is tired, exhausted, sore and scared, but the thought of snuggling with you, feeling your heat, your body against him, is enough to keep him awake. Your hand on his nape brings a small whimper from him, he’s so relieved you haven’t pulled away from him. He feels used, like he doesn’t deserve this touch, but here you are. Your nails scrape over his skin and it makes him shiver in a good way, bringing back memories, a comforting feeling.

A whispered okay is your response, twisting to lift the duvet up and slide yourself under it. He’s immediately pulling you into his arms again, right to his front so not an inch is found between you. The touch makes his heart race, nuzzling back into your neck, breathing in your scent like a hungry animal. He whimpers again, clinging to you for dear life.

“Shh.. I’ve got you, you’re safe.” Your chin is ontop of his head, hand back in his hair to pet and scratch, soothing him. The sensation is enough to break him completely. His lip wobbles again, blinking as tears flood his eyes, legs tangled with yours. He’s really here.. It’s all over.. he doesn’t have to go back.. He can feel your heartbeat, steady and solid. The moment the tears slip from his eyes, his grasp on you tightens desperately. He buries himself closer, wanting nothing, not even oxygen, just you.

“Don’t..” He chokes out, trembling, hiccuping a little cry.

You give him a squeeze, cradling his head and keeping him close, “What?” You whisper, “What d’you need Simon?” It’s pleading. Anything. You’ll do anything for him.

“Don’t let go. Please.. Don’t.” His fingers tense again so much they hurt, wanting to make sure you don’t fall through his grip. He needs you now more than he’s ever needed you before, your hands in his hair, your heartbeat sounding in his ears.

“I won’t.” You tilt your head down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “I promise. You can go to sleep, I’ll be here, I’m not leaving.” Your hand tangles in his hair in a light grip, enough for him to know you’re there. Leaning into him, he grasps so hard it hurts, but you’d prefer the bruises of his fingertips over the absence of his body.

This is all he needs, all he wants. Forget everything else, he doesn’t want to turn to that life anymore, wants to forget it all and stay hidden away tucked beneath your duvet. Reality can wait.

———————♡

[yourmomsgranddad]

— 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

— CHAPTER TWO: We can stay at home and watch the sunset but I can't help but asking are you bored yet

— SUMMARY: Kate and Y/n's reunion isn't what Kate expects.

— WARNINGS: two curse words i believe, sexual themes but no smut, mention of blood

Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!

That was all that was going through Kate's mind right now. Her brain was still trying to comprehend what her mom said but at the time was feeling at the emotions all at once. She wanted to cry, she wanted to rejoice and she definitely wanted to go to the bathroom.

"What do you mean 'she's coming back'?" Kate was trying to make sure she heard her mom right before she flew off the handle.

"Well I guess her and her mom wanted to see New York and she found out we lived here so they are hopping on the first plane and they will be here by tomorrow."

Yup, she heard her completely correctly. Now she could commence her freakout.

She laid on the floor. She wanted to burst into tears but instead her brain was seeing everything, everywhere, all at once. All of her memories of you were rising to the top.

That creaky swing that used to be in your backyard, the way you used to dress, the bright purple you insisted on painting Kate's bedroom by yourselves and ended up being purple for a few months.

She missed you so much. She didn't know what she was worrying about, she was excited to see you again.

"I'm having a party tomorrow night and they're going to be there if you want to come."

Not that excited! She couldn't see you so soon.

"I don't know why I said it like it was your decision. You're coming, I cannot handle Claire by myself."

Claire was your mother and she was like Godzilla and the Boogeyman mixed together. She always enjoyed having Kate in her home but something in her just absolutely couldn't find it to pretend to be nice to Kate's mom.

Kate never understood why she could be so nice to her but not her mom, it didn't make sense. Nevertheless, she definitely could chill things down if she was there.

"Fine. I'll be there." She rolled her eyes. But her mom didn't care, this was a win in her book. She was going to celebrate.

And Kate was about to do something brash, maybe a tattoo?

Could she pull off a bob?

Both answers were a no so she just went to bed. Today was kind of draining even if she barely did anything.

Next day, Kate woke up determined. She was going to dominate this party and see you, and have the best time ever.

Yeah, no, none of that happened.

The moment she got inside the building, all of bodily functions started to act against her. First, her bladder attacked. She had to take the longest piss known to man. She was in the bathroom for like 18 minutes.

No one had seen her in while.

Next, she got a cramp in her knee. That doesn't seem like a problem but this event had no chairs so she had to sit on the floor, not being able to stand up.

And lastly, her nose started bleeding. Like gushing blood. It's like her nose was having a period.

Trying to fish for tissues, she banged her knee against the table. "Ow." Like her night could get any worse.

"Katie?! Why are you on the floor?"

She looked up and it's like someone was just cackling at her, they did not want her to succeed. Surely enough, you were standing above, looking more beautiful than when she last saw you.

Well the last time she saw you, you were like 10 but that doesn't matter because you were here.

"I cwamped my leg and can't stand. And I'm bweeding from the nose." Her words sounded funny since she was full of tissues and a whole lot of blood. You couldn't help but giggle.

"Well either way, it's great to see you." You got down to her level and pulled her into your arms, completely not thinking about the blood.

"Sorry. I got blood on your clothes."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

You situated yourself to sit next to her, getting as close to her as possible. She missed having you this close. She almost thought it was a dream but then you touched her.

She hadn't felt your touch in years. Feeling it again was like eating your favorite food again after a while and finding out you still love it.

"So how are you? Besides having everything happen to you at once."

"The best. Now that you're here." You smiled. You reached forward, helping her release her hand from the blood. Instead, you held them for her.

"Why do I feel like I've seen this before?" Kate's mom popped up, crossing her arms at the two of you. "Our girl's always hurting herself, isn't she?" You scrambled off the floor, going over to her mom for your hug.

Kate couldn't hide the blush that was spreading from hearing you call her 'your girl'. Maybe it was the blood. Who knows?

"So Miss Bishop, how's life? Kate still giving you trouble?" You chuckle, looking back at Kate for a second, who just seemed to be trying to hide her face.

"Always. And I told you, you can call me Eleanor. I've known you for a while." She tried, your hands still in hers.

"I know but you're like my mom, Miss B. And I wouldn't call my mom by her first name." You shrugged.

Kate's brain was making sure to remember every part of this moment, she never wanted to forget when you walked back into your life. (although she was gonna keep out the part where she was laying on the floor and bleeding)

But her thoughts got disrupted when she noticed your mom walking right over to the two of you. Oh no. That brought Kate to her feet, even if she wanted to scream in agony.

"Claire! So lovely to see you!" Kate greeted first. She saw the look on your mom's face, she was unhappy. Kate figured hop on it before she could.

"Katherine! Always a pleasure!" She went in for a hug but then looked down, noticing the way Kate was trying so hard to hop on her other leg. "Oh no! Kate, what happened?" A sudden worry washed over her.

"My body doesn't like me. How are you?" She tried to shift the conversation to her, hoping to forget about her pain.

"Normally fine but this one over here is giving me a run for my money." She gestured to you, looking like something was definitely bothering the two of you. She wanted to ask, but figured she could hear when the two ladies walked away.

And it was like they heard her brain since they walked away, going to talk to someone else, leaving the two of you alone.

"So what was that about?"

You rolled your eyes, not taking your eyes off of your mom, making sure she was far away.

"She is so worried about me. I dropped out of college a few months ago and she thinks I don't have any 'prospects'. She brought me here, hoping your mom could give me a job. She's so annoying."

This was new territory for Kate. She had never heard you speak anything but highly about your mom.

"Well she's right about one thing. My mom will definitely give you that job, she loves you." You smiled and all of a sudden, the pain from her leg vanished. There was something about your smile, it could make the clouds disappear.

"Well I do love your mom."

And there was that shift, that shift that Kate was afraid of, the shift that haunted her dreams. The shift that let her know, things were going to be different now.

She knew once she saw you, it wasn't going to all shiny and rainbows and you would go back into your old routine. You were like 12! You were adults now, things were going to change and she definitely didn't want to them to.

So she tried her hardest to bring the past the present.

"Remember when you glued my hair to my bedroom door?" You looked down, chuckling, you remembered the moment exactly.

"Well it wasn't my fault. You said you were going to tell Jake Faraday that I had a crush on him and you wake up earlier than me. I had to do something to stop you."

"Glue? Really, Y/n? That was your first option." She furrowed her eyebrows, till this day she was still confused about your choice.

"In my defense, it was either glue or attach you to the ceiling and I knew you had a fear of heights. I wanted to send a message, not scare you half-to-death."

Her heart swelled. You remembered her fear after all these years, maybe there was hope for you yet.

So all night, you stayed dormant, reminiscing about everything that the two of you ever did.

The time you crashed the cool kids' party and they called your moms. The day you both went around the arcade, putting your high score on every game. Even the time you both almost met Justin Timberlake.

"Remember when we both got mono from each other?"

Her eyes went wide. Some part of her definitely wanted you to bring it up but something told her it was a bad idea. But here it was. Whether she liked it or not.

"Yeah. Do you know how hard it is to explain to your mother how you and your best friend both have the kissing disease but 'didn't kiss each other'?" You let out a wry chuckle.

"I gotta say Kate, even if you did give me a disease, still one of the best kisses I've ever had."

She froze. The kiss that she was cursing herself for having, the kiss she stayed awake thinking about, the kiss that changed her life, it was the best you had ever had. She didn't know how to process.

But before she could get you to add on, you had to go. Not from the party, just to the bathroom and you would be right back.

She was ask when you came back.

It had been almost 30 minutes and you hadn't came back.

Kate's bleeding stopped and her cramp was retreating. But she was now completely worried about you and she didn't know what to do.

She still saw her mom and yours so you were definitely still here but you could be having issues in the bathroom, something could be wrong and you might need help. She needed to find you.

So she started running around, looking in every bathroom in the building, hoping to find you in one. Even the men's!

Little note, you were not in the men's. I don't know why she thought you would be.

But she had checked every bathroom on the floor the party was on and not one of them had you in them. Maybe you were on a different floor. Maybe you weren't in the bathroom at all. Maybe you were dead!

Kate was thinking about too hard.

You probably went home and couldn't text her since you didn't have her number anymore. Yeah.

She was about to quit her search and go tell her mom she was going home, she served her purpose. If you were gone, chances are your mom was right behind you.

But something stopped her.

She heard moans and groans coming from the closet she was standing next to. At first, she figured someone must be hurt and she was about to burst in there and become Captain Save A Ho.

But as soon as the door swung open, she knew it was the complete opposite. And she looked on with fear.

You were inside the closet with some boy's lips on your neck.

Holy shit.

[glysaturn]

man i miss eastshade. it's not like the best game i've ever played or anything, it didn't turn my world upside down by completely changing my vision on what video games can do, that type of game. but hell it might as well be one of them. considering how it hit all the right spots i didn't even know needed to be hit. it really is the definition of cozy. it's the walking simulator, the term that i kind of hate, in the best possible way. because it really does capture all the best things about like, well, having a nice walk. you're just wandering around, exploring, finding curious things, admiring the beautiful nature. and the small gameplay mechanics fit so well into that concept. picking various stuff off the ground, like herbs for making tea, and you can find recipes for certain teas or you can just experiment with ingredients and discover them yourself; having to return to the inn for the night before you can get yourself a warm coat so that you won't freeze, which forms a little routine in your days; talking to people and piecing things together by learning new things, riding around on a bike, riding in a hot air balloon, taking a soak in hot springs, fishing, reading, and of course painting. you can paint for yourself just because you liked something, or you can paint for others because they've mentioned a particular thing they like so you'll make them happy, or you can do commission art which makes you search for just the right things to draw. it all makes you enjoy the most mundane things. there's beauty in everything. and it's magical. and it's once again proven by the game mechanics, because any time you find or do something new, something cool, it rewards you with inspiration points. which is like.. it is like real life, you really do look at beautiful scenery and be like wow that makes me feel things. the locations in this game are stunning, and there's a big variety of them, too. when you think you've seen it all already, the game surprises you with something new entirely. the music fits the setting and the overall vibe of the game perfectly as well, it's very calm and relaxing, i personally enjoy this type of instrumental music. there really is no rush in this game. you can do whatever the hell you want, take your time and just.. enjoy this virtual life in a virtual magical place. go look at the flowers or something. truly amazing. i'm an artist and i love nature so it couldn't be more of a perfect fit for me. but still i don't think any game has made me feel exactly the way this game made me feel. and i've played a fair share of "walking sims", enjoyed many of them, too. but this one really was different, special. all of its components created such a unique, lovely experience that fills you with joy and makes you appreciate the smallest things about life.

i miss it because i'll never feel the same way i've felt the first time i've played it. but i guess.. someone else can. so if you enjoy games like this, if you want something cozy and relaxing. can't recommend enough.

[winterwhisperz-blog]

hi hi!! hope you’re doing well :]

i was wondering if you could just do some general Mhin hcs? nothing in particular i just haven’t seen much written about them and bby needs some more love

thank you and have a wonderful day/night :]

YES OMG, tysm for this ask because I love Mhin so much—definitely think they deserve more attention—WHICH I SHALL DO MY BEST TO PROVIDE (also ty I hope you have a wonderful day/night too :D)

Again, hopefully these haven’t been done before—my memory sucks and I consume a lot of media so I might accidentally repeat stuff I’ve seen 💔

ALR LES GO

Warnings: None I think

General Mhin Headcanons

Plays the piano- OKAY HEAR ME OUT-

Imagine Mhin playing the piano, maybe because music helps them express their emotions better-maybe I’m just projecting but Mhin seems to have a harder time expressing how they feel through words(twins??) so they turn to music.

And maybe they also play music because it calms them down, and helps them stay grounded. Also it just paints such a pretty picture and I JUST LOVE IT SO MUCH

LIKE IMAGINE THEM PLAYING FOR U

Okay I’ll move on because I’ll probably become feral if I think about this too much

Ahem ahem

Had two pet cats—named Nyxia (meaning night sky EEEEEE) and Estella (star- or divine strength)

Like maybe they’ve always fed strays, and one time they even adopted two that followed them home.

One, probably Estella, was white and fluffy—and Nyxia was all black and silky.

Mhin is a cat parent, and now all cats flock to them

NOW SPEAKING OF STARS

Mhin LOVES STARS—and is interested in astrology

Before they became a hunter or before everything went downhill for them, it would’ve been rlly cute if Mhin was studying astrology and was RLLY getting into it

Like they’re such a nerd for the night sky and space and constellations and it’s SO CUTE because they’ll talk about this stuff for HOURS if people would let ‘em

I would let them 😇

Alr Alr Alr next one—

Unlike fellow Touchstarved LI—Mhin can cook.

Like they don’t usually have time to cook something extravagant—but when they do—Omg their meals are TOP TIER

They know how to spice things JUST right, and make the best desserts (though be careful—these are packed with sugar and sometimes are overly sweet)

They also cook special animal-safe food for the cats. Cute lil fish treats.

AWWWWWWWW

Okie this one is inspired by the Love Quiz thing and Mhin’s results.

Loves Spooky stories and exploring said spooky places—they have a weird love for the genre and ghost hunting too

They also come up with the best spooky stories and they tell them with the most deadpan expressions so no one ever knows if they’re true or not 💀

OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY SO

Definitely the type of person that would randomly hand you a pretty rock that reminded them of you. (Without saying it did- you just get a random rock and look at them like “Thanks? 😳” ) you return the favor by handing them random mushrooms and snails

They do this for anyone they like. Kuras has a nice little collection of rocks in a secret drawer

Though they love cats and cats love them— BIRDS, are another story

Birds and Mhin don’t get along (A slight hint at their monster form but also because CROWS KEEP STEALING THEIR PRETTY ROCKS)

Perfect person to explore with, THEY LOVE EXPLORING. And since they can slide into the shadows and waltz around without being detected most of the time—they know a LOT of places, and definitely more secret exits and entrances(they’ll show you them at some point)

EEEEEEEEEEE

ALR, WE ARE DONE

Tysm again for the ask !! Mhin is just— GAHHHHHH

I think they’re my second favorite LI, RLLY EXCITED FOR THEIR ROUTE OMG

They are just such a nerd but can also kick ur butt and I just think that’s cool.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed those! And have a wonderful day, listen to a playlist full of your favorite songs, do things that make you happy, and get a bunch of fun compliments! (When the Sun’s missing from the sky, flowers turn to you instead !! 🫶 hehe, there I helped with that one- OKAY BYE NOW LOVE U)

[mulitfandomshipper100]

Author Notes: PSA: I have no idea what fishing is actually like, I just write for the plot aka “Elenaomi” . Since there are so few fanfics of Elenaomi I’m making my own, but only available on Tumblr.

Chapter 1

The Boat

Looking out at the sea Naomi spied a net the crew forgot to haul up. After securing the net, fish tumbled onto the deck. The next day Naomi set out again with her crew until the sun set. Sailing was easy for Naomi, but it got lonely sometimes. All day she would hear the crew talk about their spouses and parters; and families back at shore. Don’t get her wrong, having her Dad to sail back to every day helped, but she waned to go on grand adventures and see the world!! And maybe… one day settle down; have a family someday.

What she didn’t know was that her future wife would come barging into her life in the form of the royal princess. Naomi started her day as she usually would. Eating breakfast, changing into work clothes, and helping to prepare the ship. As the squeaking wheels of the yet to be delivered fish rolled down the pier she heard two locals talking about the boats that kept disappearing; likely someone was stealing them, but no one had seen anything yet. The royal guard had found nothing for days on end… , but there was nothing that could be done.

Spotting the huge dark brown sign “Trading post of Avalor” Naomi walked in. “Same order today Naomi?” the owner said. “Yes, of course” Naomi replied her lips upturned slightly. “Have you heard about the third new ship that was stolen in last 24 hours?” Jamie said with worried tone. “What!? How!? Naomi stuttered, “I need to let my father know right away!!” She sprinted out the back door and up the stair.

“Dad, another ship’s gone missing” Naomi said, breathless from running all the way there. “I’m with the princess, Naomi.” Her father scolded her. The princess? Naomi thought, what is she doing out here in the port? Her train of thought abruptly stopped when she saw the princess’s eyes. Amber brown eyes like the color of a ship that had been freshly painted. She didn’t realize how beautiful the princess was until that moment, but that was to be expected, she was a princess after-all she reasoned. After helping Elena save the boat and her sister, and the daring adventure of riding a jaquin, she was exhausted. She wanted to sleep, but the royal crowing of princess Elena was that night and her father would expect her to be there with him, along with many other guests.

Naomi arrived at the ball in a purple and pink dress. She had trouble picking the right out fit because she wanted to look stunning for the ceremony. “Hey! Naomi nice to see you here! Mateo greeted cheerily. Hi, I didn’t know wizards were invited to these kinds of things.” Naomi jumped! She wasn’t ready for the laughter behind her back. “I’m glad I put you on the grand council! At least now I have someone to balance out Esteban’s humor” Elena said sarcastically with a smirk. Naomi felt her heartbeat speed up at the compliment and her face flush a light red. Naomi was about to thank the crowned princess for the compliment, when it was announced that the palace was closing down for the night.

No one noticed Naomi’s reaction to the compliment, except her father watching with a keen eye and serious expression. “Naomi what do think about the crowned princess” Nomi’s father said with a neutral voice. “Dad, She has a name you know”, Naomi said teasingly. “I think Elena will bring a new age of peace a prosperity to Avalor, with the right people by her side” she said thoughtfully. That was all her father needed to hear, to see that Naomi had built a strong friendship with the princess. It seemed like Naomi did not realize the strong feelings she had for the princess, and only time would tell whether or not it would bloom into something more, he thought to himself smiling. “Well, Elena is young and has much to learn, but I’m sure with your guidance she will make a great Queen”, Naomi’s father replied smiling.

Laying in bed that night, Naomi couldn’t stop thinking of the grand adventure she had and how she felt excited to start her new job as part of the grand council. She still felt nervous about work with the princess, but maybe that was because of how beautiful she is; Naomi thought casually.

Author Notes:

Let me know how I did with the first chapter. I don’t know when I’ll finish the second one because school is really busy for me rn.

Comments are really appreciated! Sorry for any mistakes in my writing, I’m seriously the worst writer you’ll ever read. (Feel free to repost, with credit to me of course.)

[greypetrel]

What is the first thing each of your OCs does when they wake up?

Hi Mo! ✨

Ok, this got me thinking a little and it's become a morning routine description, oops? xD Alyra on top and the rest under the cut!

(hi, if you're reading, feel free to ask me about my blorbos! :3)

Alyra: Grabs the knife under her pillow better. Just to be sure, she checks she's alone in the room. She found out three assassins this way, don't blame her. She gets up, get dressed, has a quick breakfast up to her room as she reads her mail and reports. Cleaning up takes longer, she has a very precise routine (she's the one that in a modern AU will go fully Korean routine), carefully braids her hair so by the time she walks out she's in pristine condition. If she's with Morrigan, the first thing in the morning is greeting Kieran and teach him to wield a dagger. Mages can use some self-defense too, keep that dagger straight, you don't want to cut yourself. (it's a real dagger? Yes. He'll pay more attention like this). If she's with Alistair, the ritual includes waking him up when she's done with her hair. "You can't braid anyway, why would I wake you up sooner?" "You're so romantic, my heart is melting." "Don't let it trickle on the carpet, please."

Raina: Rolls over, groans loudly, begs Beowoof to let her sleep and to go to her brother (but scratches his ears anyway because he is a good boi). When said brother arrives and free her from the dog, she falls back asleep for some times more, if she's not particularly stressed or anxious. Stays in bed anyway. When she wakes up for real, it's a kiss to Merrill and one to Bela, and then she goes kick Fenris out of bed (he's very happy about it, yes, only besties threaten each other of very painful deaths. "Yes yes you can take my uterus first, please do if it'll free me of periods. Here, I'll raise my shirt for you, suit yourself.") and get some exercise together. He was the one to train her with some better form with her daggers, they kept the habit. By the time Garrett is back, everyone is ready for breakfast.

Garrett: Stretches and smiles to the new day, kisses Fenris good morning, dresses, retrieves Beowoof from Raina's room. Goes jogging as he walks the dog, enjoys the city in the hours of dawn when just the bakers and fishermen are up and about. He won't really miss Kirkwall, but he will remember fondly running around with the dog, greeted by the early workers and enjoying the sky painting in nice colours, enjoying the quiet and be able to think better than in the house. Plays some with the dog, buys some baked goods for everyone and then heads back home for breakfast.

Aisling: Rolls over and cuddles the person she sleeps with as she rests for 5 minutes more. When she's alone she fights her maid, Frida, that gets her out of bed each morning and scolds her because she stayed awake to the wee hours again and she is surly and groggy now and she left her room a mess. The scolding task was officially left to Cullen with a relieved sigh when he moved over to her room. A pity he sleeps as little as her, so poor Frida now has to wake up TWO people who slept to little and are groggy. After then it's breakfast time. Post Trespasser, she'll walk the dogs and go feed the animals as Cullen cooks breakfast for them.

Radha: She wakes up naturally each morning at the same hour. Doesn't stand too long in bed and gets up. She's very grumpy when she's just awake, and the first thing is always going to get some tea to wake up, which she sips while reading. After she has her tea, she is functional and can be spoken to and can properly start with her morning activities. The clan knows she's even less talkative in the morning, she makes herself scarce in Skyhold until she's functional. Solas learnt quickly that every greeting before tea is only met with a "No." (he finds her cute).

Max: Switches off her alarm clock, wakes Liara up if she's there with a horribly cheesy pet name. She uses a new one each day. Feed the fishes and hope they won't die, feed the hamster and then some light exercise, a shower, get dressed and fix her make-up. Then she goes to the kitchen to brew some coffee herself because nobody is allowed to touch her moka pot anymore after Gardner washed it with soap, and coffee is the only one thing her petty-italian gene will run strong about (she eats pineapple on pizza and breaks the spaghetti, would live on junk food and fizzy drinks, but coffee? Espresso or death). A cup of coffee, some biscuits as she reads the news, and she's good to go to.

[r0-boat]

could we get a continuation of the mermelli scenario? maybe reader actually gets to talk to him (and thank him for the pearl gift)!

-espeon anon

Yes of course I love to write you a continuation.

This is a part 2 of this mermelli story

Release

Cw: thalassophobia

The old wood of the pier creeks with each step you take the salty air of the ocean greets you once again. The cold salty welcome that you've missed. The fog impaired your site but you could still see the fishing boat floating calmly in the water. A sense of nostalgia filled you looking back at the old building that used to be the fishing and boat rental shop. 2 years, 2 years of lockdown was all it took to close this place. a place where you could be at peace was now sitting abandoned.

Nostalgia quickly being replaced with fear.

It's been 2 years.

Would he remember you again?

You clench your necklace taking a deep breath before continuing over to the boat. The white paint was peeling and the wood once smooth as if it was hand-carved to perfection in the care of a professional now sat soft and slightly eroded, but it still seemed usable.

It looks like luck was on your side today. After a few pumps, the motor hummed that familiar tune as it came to life once again. Carefully getting into the boat, creaking with each movement, you unhooked your trusty steed from the pier and rode it into the fog.

You weren't sure how far you were from Shore. You just picked a direction and went. It was quiet, with nothing but the cries of gulls and the waves keeping you company.

With nothing else to do left but wait, you kicked your feet on the other side of the boat and just lay there, enjoying this rare moment of peace. The controlled movements rock you like a baby in a cradle. Colorful jellyfish float about in your mind as your eyes start to droop.

You couldn't help but wonder what it's like to live in the ocean yourself. Living on land was fine and all. But it starts getting boring after the first couple of years. Only about 5% of the sea has been explored—so many places, things, and animals to see underneath the Great Sea. Maybe if you had a fishtail like he, you could go see him yourself. It seemed nice choosing to escape all the responsibilities and problems that waited for you on shore over a life of adventure and excitement...

"Nah..." you chuckled to yourself. You would miss your phone and internet way too much. It was a nice thought, though. If, hypothetically speaking, something like that were to happen, maybe you would give it a second thought.

You are just about to enter the Sea of Dreams until a splintering sound jolts you awake . Your heart drops to your stomach when you feel something wet and cold fill your shoe.

Water! Water was filling the boat. the realization hits you in the face as well as something that shatters your dreams of living in the ocean.

You can't swim.

You sat frozen as the boat continued to sink, your whole body shaking your coat that kept you warm this entire time, now freezing as it soaked up the water now up to your stomach.

You struggled against the same waves that kept you afloat, threatening to pull you back down with the boat that left your feet. You cringe at the taste of salt water as you try to cough it back up. Your heart practically stops in your chest when you feel something smooth brush against you. Your brain is doing what it does best, thinking about what horrors await in the deep blue that wanted to pick your bones clean from your lifeless body. Whatever it was, you couldn't see it, and that was the scariest part.

The air was stolen from you as soon as you submerged. Your lungs burn as they filled with water. You couldn't keep your eyes open. The last thing you saw light blue scales before going completely unconscious.

---

His whole body shook his only mission was to get you back on Shore humans didn't belong to the ocean they couldn't even last a second without the precious oxygen they needed to survive.

You weren't far from Shore holding you as if his life depended on it swimming as fast as he could until breaching the surface, laying you on the sand with the same pile of rocks blocking you and him from the view of anyone.If anyone even came to this place anymore...

Melli tried to shake you worry in, fear filling his heart. He didn't know the first thing about humans! Oh, please, Lord Kyogre! Don't take Them from him!

Tears welled up in his eyes the first time seeing you, and for what seemed like forever, he lost

You again. Melli lays his head on your chest. His eyes widened when he heard a shallow heartbeat. A hand brushing against his back scared the scales off of him when he immediately started coughing water being hacked up from their lung as they greedily took in the fresh air.

Melli throws himself off you, waiting for you to catch your breath and regain consciousness.

After rubbing your irritated eyes you sat up your hand feeling the sand underneath you—the distant memory of the ocean dragging you below.

you look over and your eyes met his. Before you can say anything, he explodes, tears streaming down his face as he goes off

" What were you thinking?! It's been 2 years and you pull a stunt like that! Going out in the water in a flimsy little death trap! Are you humans always this Reckless?! Are you humans always the stupid and dumb-!"

You didn't know what to say. This was all happening so fast... Did Melli save you?

He throws himself into your chest his fist slightly hitting you. Until he notices a familiar blue.

There dangling from your neck now sticking to your wet shirt. A blue pear. The same blue Pearl that he gave you.

"You kept it?" Melli's voice quivers

Finally getting a word in you spoke up

"Yes! I'm sorry I couldn't see you again, I wanted to I did! It's just a lot of stuff was happening for 2 years I-I couldn't!"

Melli did vaguely remember hearing something about something he did notice less and less people coming to the pier.

Melli finally let's go of you murmuring apologetically.

Your mind kept wondering back when you are drowning seeing blue scales. the same hue of blue that was his tail.

"D-did you?"

His face becomes a deep purple " yes! You were absolutely stupid and Reckless consider it Payback!"

'payback? What?'

You are still really recollecting your thoughts when you realized you were soaking wet and it was November.

you couldn't stay for long you didn't feel like dying of hypothermia after just being rescued.

" thank you"

" for saving your life?" Melli said giving you a deadpan look.

You let out a nervous laugh " well yes that too, also the gift." gesturing to the Pearl.

His face goes purple again. Noticing you getting up from the sand. He instinctually grabs at your still soaked coat. He looked like a lost puppy.

" I'll be back don't worry"

" You promise?"

"yes"

melli let's go of your coat holding up his pinky

" it's a ritual that humans do right I've seen it all the time once you do it you have to keep the promise."

You couldn't help but chuckle.

"w-what's so funny?!"

" nothing nothing." you smile holding your pinky and wrapping it around his.

You promised each other at a certain time at least once a week on the same day the two of you would meet at the same spot.

[scary-movies-on-netflix]

HOUR OF THE WOLF (1968)

This is a horror movie by renowned Swedish director Ingmar Bergman.  The only other Swedish horror movie I’ve reviewed is “Let the Right One In” (2008), which was really good.

We start off with Alma talking directly to us, the audience, about her missing husband.  Johan is a painter, and he and the pregnant Alma live on a Swedish island.  He suffers from insomnia, and Alma sits up with him as she shows her his drawings, which she doesn’t seem to especially like.  During the daytime, an old woman stops by the house and tells Alma where to find Johan’s diary (“dagbok” in svenska).  She reads it and discovers that Johan has been meeting different people on the island, and having visions of an old lover, Veronica. 

They attend a dinner party with some local aristocrats, which is terrible.  Their conversation is insipid.  The camera is framed tightly on faces and moves from one to the next.  Johan drinks too much.  Everyone is summoned to the library for a puppet show.  Instead of a marionette, as you might expect, we see a tiny person on the puppet stage.  There is then a conversation about art.  After a bit more, Johan and Alma are invited to a bedroom to look at a painting by Johan, of Veronica!  We do not see the painting ourselves, naturlich.  On the way home Alma tells Johan that she feels that something terrible is about to happen. 

Intermission

We witness another of Johan’s bouts of insomnia.  He tells Alma about a bad childhood memory, he talks about the hour of the wolf, and then he confesses to killing a child!  Johan was out fishing, and some nosy kid showed up and started to bother him.  They started to fight and Johan ended up bashing his head with a rock, and then he dumped the body in the ocean.  Alma is mortified, but then it’s sunrise and one of the aristocrats shows up and invites them to another dinner, and Veronica will be there!  He also gives Johan a gun, for protection from all the “small game” on the island.  After the dude leaves, Alma demands to know more about Veronica, and she reads to Johan from his diary.  She tells him that he’s “frightened,” and “you want to stay here and possibly be killed!”  Nonetheless, she says that she’ll stay with him.  Johan picks up the gun and tells her to leave, and then he shoots at her!

Johan runs to the castle and interacts with the aristocrats.  One walks on the ceiling.  Another, an old woman, takes off her hat, and removes her face as well.  A final man puts makeup on Johan’s face and dresses him in a nice robe, and then he leads Johan to Veronica, who is lying on a table draped with a cloth.  He touches her naked body.  She gets up and starts to kiss him, but then Johan sees that all the aristocrats are watching.  He faces them and says, “I thank you that the final limit has been transgressed.  The mirror has been shattered, but what do the splinters reflect?  Can you tell me that?”

We return to Alma, back at their cottage.  We’re back at the scene from the beginning of the movie.  She talks to us and explains that she was only slightly wounded in the arm.  She explains that, after Johan shot at her, he left the house.  She went back inside, but then he returned!  She hid herself and watched while he wrote in his dagbok “for hours.”  He then left again, but this time Alma followed him.  We see her walking through a forest, and she finds Johan and hugs him, but then he is gone and an aristocrat is there instead!  Alma turns around to see Johan standing on a ridge.  The different aristocrats approach and start to attack him.  Alma goes up to the ridge.  Johan is not there.  She finds only his satchel.

Finally, Alma talks directly to us again.  She wonders if she could have loved him “more” or “less,” and if it would have made any difference.

I had to watch this twice, and I’m going to agree with the majority of modern reviewers who state that this is a great film.  As horror, it’s both “gothic” and “psychological.”  We’re presented with a mix of pragmatic “reality” (from Alma) but also “dreamlike” hazes (from Johan because as we’ll recall, the man can’t sleep).  What happened to Johan?  Does it matter?  In the end all we have is Alma asking us if she ever knew him at all.

[philliamwrites]

SWYAATL 14: The Happy Years

Pairings: Eren Jaeger x fem! Reader

Warnings: they're all horknee

Summary: “May Queen!” the girl shrieks, and throws a bright flower crown with frightening precision on your head. She then points at you. “We’ve found our May Queen!” Oh. Oh no. “Oh no no no no no,” you say out loud the moment someone swoops you up your feet. Nausea rolls through you—you hate hate being picked up, hate how it makes you feel like the small kid from five years ago during Shiganshina’s attack—before you start hyperventilating, you glimpse Jean in the crowd, doubled over and supporting himself against Marco, laughing at you so hard he almost topples over. Bastard.

Notes: [01] || 13 | 15

Words: 9.5k

A/N: Sorry updates are so scarce! Everything is changing for me with the apprenticeship but it’s a good change and I’m very, very happy where I am right now!! Might go into hiatus for a while because writing just isn’t doing it for me at the moment though. I’ll definitely bring Cadet Corps Arc to an end though, it’s only one or two more chapters after this one!

Don’t flock me, but this might slip a little into Reader/Jean (with Eren/Reader endgame, I promise). Also I’ve decided from this chapter on they’re all finally 18, you’re welcome. They’re all gay, they’re all horny, whoopa.

14: The Happy Years

January, February, March. The winter is a torrent of snow. Falling slow and fat. Falling quick and bright. The sun, if it rises at all, is a weak white flame until spring marches into the battle with all her blossoms and light, banishing the cold for another year.

This time, you were put into farm duty, something you’ve been looking forward to ever since the ground, formerly brownish or covered with snow, is now painted in greener tones. It beats having to prune trees or vines since you’ve always enjoyed working with soil and what the earth grants. There is also the benefit of seeing Dolly again, the only compound ox used to draft the ridge and furrows where you’ll plant this year’s harvest. Apparently, cadets long before your corps named him, realising too late that he was a male—as though the pointy horns are easy to miss—but the name has stuck ever since.

You’re leading the old boy over the field now, towards the other handful of cadets assigned to the duty. Reiner and Marco are tinkering with the bullock cart, checking if, after the long winter, anything has broken and needs to be fixed. Annie, standing a little apart from them, gazes out at the field. She looks as though she could think of a hundred different places she’d rather be. You can get a little behind her indifference. Many consider this task as a waste of time, for every compound receives the majority of vegetables, fruits, fish and dairy from outside farms and fisheries. The annual harvest you yield around autumn is only meant for reserves and emergencies should the usual deliveries not make it on time—which hasn’t happened in the almost three years you’ve been in the military.

You don’t mind the work at all—it is a nice diversity from the tasks you usually get, and you enjoy working outside in nature, where the air is fresh and the last hint of winter still lingers in the air.

“We’re ready,” Marco says now, rising from where he was perching in front of the cart. Already, his pants are dirty where he has knelt in the soil. “All good to go.”

“You two lead the old boy, Annie and I will be right behind you.” Reiner shakes his small basket with cauliflower seeds as you put the cart before Dolly and give his nose a good rub. He flicks his ears and trots after you across the field, occasionally bumping his snoot against your arm as if saying Look, I’m doing it! What about a little treat?,and of course you scratch him under his chin until his eyes fall close for a second in sheer contentment.

“He’s very enamoured with you,” Marco says, watching you two from the side. Even though it’s still cool outside, he’s rolled up his sleeves, showing his strong arms streaked with hard cords of muscle. Recently, his harness seems to be a size too small, cutting into his body parts that were extra thick with muscle such as his arms, thighs and upper chest. Not that you’re complaining about the sight. “Are you hiding treats or something in your uniform?”

“It’s my natural charm,” you say, grinning. “I don’t have to use cheap tricks like that.”

Marco laughs at that, and you notice how he doesn’t disagree. You continue down the field in companionable silence, only making comments whenever one of you spots a falcon gliding over the fields in search of mice. It feels like the build-up to something, but what exactly, you don’t know until finally, Marco says, “Only two more months left now. Those three years passed so quickly, I can hardly believe we’re almost done with our training.”

“Why are you in such low spirits then?” you ask. “What happened to all that enthusiasm of being able to serve the king once you join the MP?”

Marco’s silence makes you look over at him. There’s something wistful about the way he looks out at the fields—his mind seems to be as far away as the rising and sinking curves of the mountains in the far south.

“It’s weird, I know,” he finally says, scratching his chin where you see a dark stubble. “I also thought this was something I’m sure of. Graduate with a good score, join the MP and work my way up into the King’s Guard. But lately…” He gives a half-hearted shrug. “I had this weird dream, you know? There was a parade and the King was there as well but something wasn’t right. There were orphans crying and people seemed distressed. In my dream, I heard rumours about the true nature of the Operation to Reclaim Wall Maria a few years ago, and when I woke up, I realised this must have been because I talked to Armin and Eren recently. Armin told me that there was a parade back then as well, after his grandfather died, to distract from the disputes on food; to have the people be lenient towards the King’s sentence. And weirdly enough, I started to wonder … do I really want to protect the King, or is there maybe something else I should be protecting.”

Marco looks at you now, and there’s something bare in his eyes that makes you turn your head away. All you manage to answer is, “Jean will be very sad if you change your mind last second, you know? You’ve become one of his closest friends and …”

“And what?” Marco inquirers—part hopeful, part reserved.

And I know there’s more, but you’re afraid of it. One afternoon on a rare hour’s break in the barracks, you went over to the boys’ to get Marco for laundry duty, who had slipped inside just a moment ago. Standing in the entryway, you found him and Jean alone. Jean was sitting with his back turned to the entry and Marco used that moment to leap upon him in a fit of enthusiasm, screeching and squawking like a child at play. Jean wrestled Marco off him and they rolled around on the floor, grabbing and jostling, laughing at nothing. When Marco had Jean in a clinch, pinned to the floor, his knees on either side of Jean’s torso, he looked down at him and smiled, his dark hair falling into his eyes.

Even from that distance, you were sure that he had looked at Jean’s lips for a moment, turning his head a little and staring at him, his body arching forward just a touch. Jean raised his knee slightly and risked a smile. They looked at each other—“Ah, Jean,” Marco said mournfully, his voice soft—and then their heads both swivelled around at the sound of creaking wood beneath your feet as you shifted your weight to make a silent retreat, positive that you had walked into a private scene not meant for anyone to see.

Marco jumped up, turning away from Jean. He looked at you, startled, unable to catch Jean’s eye. After a moment of silence, Jean, to lighten the mood, had simply asked if you had lost something, and when the moment was over, everything had returned as if nothing had happened between them.

“And nothing,” you say now. Whatever is between Jean and Marco, it is none of your business. You don’t think Jean would appreciate you poking your nose into his business—especially one that seemed a foreign territory to even himself. Ever since the incident with the wolf last winter, he’s become curt—sometimes even downright nasty whenever Eren is around or you so much as mention him. The only reason you can think of is that with graduation drawing closer, they’re both reminded how opposing their future wishes are, and suddenly nothing of what has happened before—standing together against Victor; fighting the robbers and saving Christa—seems to matter.

“Yeah, I still need to talk to him about that,” Marco says, cutting off your thoughts. “If he’ll join the Scouts.”

“The Scouts?” You almost trip over a mound of dirt, saving yourself only by flinging your arms around Dolly’s strong neck. He snorts appreciatively. “Why the Scouts?”

“You know … the way Jean is, I feel that if he joined the Survey Corps … he could save a lot of lives.”

You give that some thought, and initially, nothing about it seems wrong. Jean is an exceptional soldier, both capable in ODM and analysing the situation in battle to find the best outcome. Funny enough, Jean’s talent seems specifically the reason why Eren keeps blowing the fuse whenever they talk about their future goals—Eren can’t seem to understand why anyone would waste their talent like that. You’ve stopped bringing that up with him. It seems easier to get along with him if you two don’t try to bust each other’s heads about which Corps to join after graduation.

With the field ploughed, the seed sown, you take a little break. The sun stands high on the zenith, and the work has left you sweating. Dolly, freed from the cart, lies on the ground. His tail flicks at flies in lazy swipes, and whenever someone bends down to pet him, he closes his eyes in cosy satisfaction.

“Did I hear that right, you’re thinking about joining the Scouts, Marco?” says Reiner now. He’s perched beside Dolly, and gives his back soft claps. You have a hard time not staring at his thick thighs. “How come?”

Marco, leaning sideways against the fence enclosing the fields, shrugs with one shoulder. “Feels like I might be able to do more if I join them.”

“The Scouts will be happy with a guy like you,” Reiner continues. “You’re a great soldier, Marco.”

Marco ducks his head as if he can hide the red tinting his cheeks. “What about you guys?” he quickly asks. “You’re both at the top as well.” Reiner throws Annie a quick glance which she promptly ignores.

“It’s gonna be the MP for me.” Reiner isn’t shy about his decision, giving Marco a crooked grin. “I’m pretty sure that’s where I can do my best as a soldier.”

A snort comes from Annie’s direction, so quiet that you think you’ve imagined it were it not for Reiner turning his head in her direction. She’s looking down at Dolly’s head resting on top of Reiner’s thigh, and something in her eyes is short enough to send a shudder up your spine.

“Best as a soldier?” she scoffs. “You think anyone joining the MP has such a pretentious, noble goal in mind?”

Even though Annie and Reiner didn’t seem to get along well, or have any common history you’re aware of, sometimes she is capable of saying things that make him go silent for a moment—like right now. Maybe that was just Annie’s expertise—saying things people didn’t want to face.

“What about you?” Reiner turns to you, choosing to run from Annie’s glacier-cutting gaze. “Changed your mind yet? Your performance has dropped, but you can still make a comeback in the final exams next month.”

You look up from where you’re crouching on the ground, digging your hands through the soil. The smell calms you, and nothing is quite a testimony to a hard day at work than the dirt and grime under your nails. “Nope, still don’t care about the MP,” you chirp.

“Really? Has Eren finally convinced you to join the Scouts, then?”

“Eren?” You throw a quick glance at him. “No, why would he have anything to do with that?”

“After everything you’ve been through, I thought you two are like this,” Reiner says, crossing index and middle finger. You throw a handful of dirt at him and pretend it doesn’t please you that the others think you and Eren are that close.

It shouldn’t be a surprise.

Not after you’ve survived the wolves; not while you two gradually gravitate towards each other like moths to a flame. Certainly not when every time you practice together in hand-to-hand-combat, it is like rough, desperate fucking where no one wants to relinquish the upper hand—and dominance—to the other. There is no finesse to your fighting, unlike Annie or Mikasa, you two just rely on brutal force and a desperation to win that is downright frightening at times.

Last time, you had almost won. Almost, if you hadn’t been so blind with joy and stroking your own ego having handed Eren his ass. Then, everything happened so quickly. He hooked his feet behind your ankles and tugged, swiping your legs from under you. Not even a second on your ass, his feet locked behind the back of your knees, he turned to the right, forcing you to turn with him, and suddenly you were the one on all fours, bending over. You had tried to scramble back up, but Eren snatched one arm from under you and his other hand found the back of your neck, pushing your face into the dirt, the other pinning your arm behind your back. His hips pressed hard against your ass. Stunned, you had remained still, and you could have sworn Eren had muttered something along the lines of “Right where I want you,” but you couldn’t be sure because a moment later, Jean was already there, kicking Eren off you. You didn’t pay any attention to their squabble—you didn’t pay attention to anything happening that day because your mind kept conjuring very unnecessary images of Eren using his strength to manhandle you in a bunch of different other positions.

“I made my decision a long time ago,” you say now before your mind can venture to those fantasies again, “and I’m not going to change it. Just like Eren won’t change his mind if I tried talking him out of joining the Scouts. Besides—” You clamp your mouth shut. Three pairs of eyes stare at you, waiting for you to continue, but you can’t just tell them about the deal you’ve made with Ymir.

She approached you two months ago, on a grey, rainy day—though maybe ‘approach’ was too tame a word for how she had slithered after you like a snake sneaking after prey for days on end. It was a simple, small mission; heading out to a long-abandoned manor close to Wall Rose and checking the damage after a vicious storm had swept through it. The rain had subsided enough to venture out, and during a short break under the coverage of a tree’s canopy, you had veered off the group to refill your water bottle with fresh rain water.

The landscape was not gentle and rolling, but harsh and foreboding. Green hills dotted with grey gorse swept up into crags of dark rock. Long lines of mortarless stone walls, meant for keeping in sheep, crisscrossed the green; here and there was dotted the occasional lonely cottage. The sky seemed an endless expanse of white, brushed with the strokes of long, dark grey clouds.

You had noticed Ymir shadowing you all week prior to that conversation. Standing in dark corners, watching you with her unnerving, small eyes like little pinpricks of a dagger’s sharp tip aiming for your throat. You’d known it was only a question of when she’d corner you, and when on that day, she had risen behind you, you were already expecting her, meeting her eyes only slightly obscured by the hood drawn over her face from her cape.

“What do you want?”

Ymir had stared at you, unblinkingly. And then she’d thrown her head back, barking out a laugh that cracked like thunder. “Right to the point, then. I like how you turned out after that whole fiasco with the dogs in the woods.”

“You mean when I almost died? Yeah. Great times.”

“Oh, come on.” Ymir rolled her eyes and joined you kneeling at the ground, wiping forth her own water flask. “You survived. You grew a pair of balls most of the guys here don’t have. It wasn’t all bad.”

You gave a gruff sound of acknowledging her words—the compliment. Ymir never handed out compliments unless one was small, blonde and named Christa, and the fact in itself only proved your theory that she was after something.

Staring at you some more, Ymir’s grin didn’t cool, but it sharpened. A muscle in her jaw clenched, as though she was chewing on her words before she spoke. Finally, she said, “I need you to do something.”

“You need me,” you repeated, just to check that you didn’t mishear, “to do something for you?”

Ymir nodded, a single curt movement as one would chop up wood. Or someone’s head. You felt as if ice water had been dumped down the back of your neck, shoving you to full alertness. “And what exactly would that be?” you asked.

Ymir stood still as a statue, unblinking. You felt as though something very serious was happening right now, and allowed her to take time to find the words. Then, she finally looked up, and said, “You don’t care about the ranking. Let Christa have your spot.”

“Hmm.” You watched the rain droplets collect at the mouth of your flask where they didn’t disappear in the narrow black hole. The wind picked up, whipping your coats left and right. So many thoughts whirled inside your head until they finally settled. “You want Christa in the MP, even though you won’t be able to follow her? Why?”

“None of your business,” Ymir snapped, not even trying to bite back a sharp retort. “Just say Yes or No. I’ll figure out something else.”

“Is it because you love her?” you continued, ignoring her. “Or are you arranging everything so that she’ll help you from inside the Inner Wall later?”

Ymir didn’t respond for a while. When you didn’t think she’d answer at all, she gritted out, “I want a safe life for Christa. Don’t pretend you’ve never had anyone like that.”

You pressed your lips together. The water in your bag had started spilling. You watched the water flow over and soak into the already wet earth.

“Okay,” you said.

There was only a brief pause. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “It’s like you said, I don’t care about the ranking.”

Very quietly, you heard Ymir exhale a long breath. She rose to her feet, looking like she wanted to seal the deal somehow. With a handshake or a clap to your shoulder. Maybe even pat your cheek like she had done when she’d talked to you for the first time all those years back. Ultimately, she preferred her hand intact and wouldn’t gamble with you biting it off, and stood to go back to the other cadets.

“Ymir,” you said before she left. Ymir stopped. Slowly, she turned. “What’s in for me?”

She positively flashed her teeth at you like a cornered wolf as though you have not already learned how to dance with wolves. You were not afraid of them anymore. Screwing the water flask shut, you closed the distance between you two. “You didn’t think I’d just do you a favour with nothing in return, right?”

“I was hoping you’d be that naive, yes.”

You gave her a smile. It was not a pleasant smile. “No, you’d hoped I’d let you use me. But I’m not letting my chance at having you owe me pass.”

Ymir clicked her tongue. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, and looked mildly annoyed. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know yet,” you answered truthfully. Ymir’s mild look of annoyance grew into a very physical, very palpable thing she looked like she might use and whack you with.

“You had me thinking you’re badass and smart for a second. Who’s to say you hold up your end of the deal but I’ll disappear forever?”

“I’m not worried about that,” you said, climbing after her back up the hill. “I will find you and make you hold up your end of the bargain, Ymir.”

Ymir didn’t stop to look at you. “Is that a threat?”

“No. It’s a promise.”

***

Two years away from Trost, you have almost forgotten how badly crowded the narrow streets are. Carriages roll side by side with costermongers’ carts piled high with fruit and vegetables; women shawled and carrying shallow baskets full of flowers dive madly in and out of traffic as they try to interest the occupants of various carriages in their wares; and cabs come to a full stop in the midst of traffic so that the cab drivers can scream at one another from their seats. The noise adds to the din—ice cream paddlers shouting “Hokey-pokey, coin a lump,” newspaper boys hawking the day’s latest headline, and someone somewhere playing a barrel organ.

It is a vast contrast to today’s morning exercise where you’ve practised evacuating the civilians during a Titan breach, the streets empty save for the giant wooden Titan dummies and a few citizens acting out an emergency. The instructors dubbed it a simple exercise, but everyone knew it was part of the ongoing final examination that had started a week ago and is slowly creeping towards its end.

You’re surprised how easy it is to perform badly. Ymir’s deal gives you a nice way out of carrying the responsibility to make a choice after graduation. Already, other cadets have been mumbling “what a waste it is” that you would “only” join the Garrison when so many would use your rank and buzz off inthat hside the Inner Walls. Now that you’re leaving the spot to Christa, it’s like a weight has slipped from your shoulders.

Shadis notices, of course. The first two weeks had been the beginning of your military training all over again—screaming at you until his spit ran down your face in rivers, penalty drills for slacking off, threats to send you back home where you could pick up and sell shit from the gutters for all that he cared.

You’re still here a week later, though now you wish you weren’t because slowly, you’re running out of patience to deal with Jean’s bitching.

“And why would she just barge in like she owns the place?” he repeats for what must be the third time today. “I told her I’d drop by eventually.”

“Like you dropped by the last time we were stationed near the farms and didn’t visit her?” You haul another basket stacked to the brim with flower garlands onto the cart, pushing it to the very back against the other caskets you’ve already stored. As a little girl, you never noticed how many flowers were involved in the May Day. You were way too busy stuffing your mouth with sweets and pastries, and playing at the game stalls while the adults staggered past you with heavy beer and ale filled jugs, hollering and screeching songs.

The excitement for the holiday is like a charged up buzz jumping from person to person. A day and night full of revelries and pleasantries, games and drinks and good food. A break for cadets before their graduation—and a little pick me up for the Scouts as they’re heading out for another expedition outside the Walls the week after.

You’re mostly looking forward to the food and enjoying a great time with your friends before everyone goes their own way. Who knows when you’ll see each other next time. If you see each other next time.

You shake your head, banishing these thoughts to where they don’t wear down your excitement.

“What do you mean, No?” Jean asks incredulously, which is a problem because he stops and you walk right into him, and the second basket you’re carrying bounces off his back and right into your stomach as you walk into him.

“Ooof.” You glare up at him. “Do you mind? I want to finish this work before lunch break.”

He stares at you, and realises too late, “You didn’t listen to anything I just said, did you?”

You don’t bother trying to look contrite. Jean looks like he might throw his hands up, but the basked in his hands makes that impossible unless he’d prefer a broken foot. Instead, he settles for pulling a face at you.

“I can’t believe I’m pouring my heart out to you like that and you don’t care.” He drops the casket unceremoniously into the cart so that half its contents spill, and turns around to you, thick arms crossed over his broad chest. His white shirt sticks to his skin from the hard work, outlining the strong chords of muscles running along his arms, his abdomen. He always used to be taller than you, but now after years of hard, rigorous training, he’s also broader, and he has no problem letting you know that during hand-to-hand-combat practice or whenever he wants to make a point and hands your ass to you.

“It’s hard to be on your side when all you do is bitch about having a mother who’s looking after you,” you snap. The effect is immediate. Jean takes a step back as if he has been punched and doesn’t know where the blow has come from. When he stares at you, it’s like he’s seeing you for the first time. Something inside his face shuts close.

“You don’t understand—” he begins, but immediately seals his mouth shut.

You cock your head to the side, challenging him. “Why? Because I don’t have a mom? No parents who can fuzz around and worry about me?”

Jean goes very quiet. “That’s not what I meant.”

You stare each other down like two strangers trying to determine if the person standing before you is a threat. It is as though even after these three years and everything you have been through, Jean feels more distant lately.

Before you can open your mouth, a female voice shouts from across the plaza, “You two, stop slacking off and move your asses! We’ve still got too much work to do!”

“Let’s go back,” you say, subdued.

Jean sighs and makes an after-fucking-you gesture. You move to the next row of baskets in silence. Working with your body is easier than working with your brain on how to undo the damage. But one look at Jean tells you his face is still a closed door. You have no patience for delicate lock-picking, and instead decide to kick the door in.

“I’m sorry,” you say at the same time he blurts, “I didn’t mean to be an asshole.”

You look at each other. Smile. Order has been restored.

“Ida just means well. After graduation, she won’t be seeing you anytime soon,” you say. The next basket is full of white daisies, tulips and roses. You stare at the soft-petalled mount, feeling the strange urge to shove your face right into them and inhale. Maybe you’ll get high on the sweet smelling pollen.

“I know, I know.” Jean waves his hand. “I’ll visit her. After that stupid cook off next week.”

“Why did you want to participate in the first place?”

“You think I’d let Sasha and her big mouth go around and tell everyone she’s a better cook than me?”

“Oh, woe is men and their fragile pride.”

Jean shoves you with his elbow, only hard enough to make you lose your balance.

You finish your work, the next assignment already waiting for you on the other side of the District. Your supervising officer orders you to join with the others who are already busy setting up the sets of tables and benches, and the minstrels’ stage.

You walk the same streets as three years ago on the day you signed up for the military. The District hasn’t changed at all, but you two have. You don’t miss how Jean tilts his face upwards, examining the roofs and crenellations of the buildings. Looking for anchor points for his gear. You’ve also categorised the best advance points by height. The whole world looks different since the ODM gear has become a part of you.

As you cross the plaza, Jean throws an apple at you, a leftover from Ida’s surprise visit last week. You catch it with ease, your reflexes sharpened to an arrow’s tip precision over the years. Turning it over in your hand, you barely dodge a cart transporting a row of stacked benches onto the plaza. Good service those reflexes do you. But Jean has pulled you into his side for good measure as well, staring daggers after the cart.

“Bloody Hell, it’s like suddenly they don’t know how to manoeuvre those things,” he says.

You glance at his hand still closed tightly around your upper arm.

“They’re just excited,” you say. “And a little nervous. They still haven’t found a May Queen.”

“I wonder why they don’t just pick a random chick, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“The people of Trost think differently about it.”

Jean mumbles something to himself and lets you go. “That’s why you don’t change tradition. If they’d just pick a pretty lass, we wouldn’t be under this pressure.”

“Anyone specific in mind?”

Jean looks down at you, snuffling. “Mikasa for example.”

“Wow. Okay.”

“What? Do you want to be May Queen?”

You raise your chin. “I mean, I don’t, but why do you sound like I wouldn’t be able to pull it off?”

“I mean…” Jean kneads the back of his neck. “I don’t remember the last time you wore a dress.”

“It’s not like I forgot how to move in petticoats and girdles,” you say. “I just prefer not to.”

“Come on, how hard can it be?”

“Hmph,” you say. “I’d like to see how you’d manage sitting and standing up straight in stays and petticoats for a whole night.”

“So would I,” says Marco, appearing out of nowhere with a table thrown over his shoulder as though it weighs nothing. Jean and you share a moment of silent appreciation for Marco’s arm muscles.

Jean shakes his head. Either about your comment or to clear his head from whatever images Marco’s sight conjures in his mind. “Whatever. I only really care about the food, and after that, it’s straight up inside the Inner Wall and away from this sewer of a District.”

You question that ‘straight,’ but you question even more if Marco has managed to talk with Jean about a change of heart. When you give him a sideways glance, Marco catches your eye and subtly shakes his head. Not yet, it seems.

“You know, if there’s ever a chance I’ll meet your Military Police regiment, I’ll do my best to embarrass you and tell them all those funny stories about little Jeanie how he got trapped naked in a rose bush,” you say, and drop the apple Jean has given you in a beggar-woman’s lap as you enter the wide, open marketplace.

“You wouldn’t—” Jean begins, but is interrupted by cheers erupting like a thunder storm around you. People scream, their hands thrown high in the air. You’re the definition of confusion. Marco almost drops the table and crushes a little girl darting between the adults crowding you three like ants climbing over themselves to reach food.

“May Queen!” the girl shrieks, and throws a bright flower crown with frightening precision on your head. She then points at you. “We’ve found our May Queen!”

Oh.

Oh no.

“Oh no no no no no,” you say out loud the moment someone swoops you up your feet. Nausea rolls through you—you hate hate being picked up, hate how it makes you feel like the small kid from five years ago during Shiganshina’s attack—before you start hyperventilating, you glimpse Jean in the crowd, doubled over and supporting himself against Marco, laughing at you so hard he almost topples over.

Bastard.

“No sense of modesty, not one of them,” you spit, holding your breath as Mina, Hannah and Christa try to get you into that prison of a dress made specifically for this year’s May Day celebrations. The seamstress who worked on the dress, Hilda, smiles patiently.

“Well, the people … and I mean the women, have been complaining for years that only choosing the most beautiful girl seems a little unfair. I liked that no one new this year’s criteria. I’ve heard a woman in Stohess adopted a litter of kittens, and another performed a handstand for hours and hours in Jinae. Acts of kindness make for a far better queen than her appearance, don’t you think so too, girls?”

They grunt their replies, too focused on tying the bodice on your back.

“Since we’re at it,” you wheeze, feeling as though your lungs are being crushed and all your organs squeezed into a pipeline, “how about we change the dress code as well?”

“Now, let’s not get too hasty,” Hilda says, smiling. “Or I will be out of a job.”

“But I will be out of a life.”

“Beauty is harsh,” Hilda provides unhelpfully, “but you will be the most powerful woman tonight.” And with that, she jitters away like a little excited bird to grab more silk ribbons. It’s probably the first and last time you will ever wear something so expensive.

“Last chance,” you say, turning to your friends after Mina finishes tying the last knot at the back of your corset. “Any volunteers? Christa? You would make such a better May Queen than me.”

Christa beams. “Nonsense! You look so stunning, [Name]! And I think this is exactly what you need after dropping out of the ranking.”

Gods bless her heart. You don’t know what to say should she find out you do this for her sake.

“All eyes will be on you tonight.” Mina takes your hand and twirls you around as if you are a princess and she is asking for a dance. The frilly, heavy dress brushes against your thighs and leaves a sliver of skin visible, showing exactly where—and how tight—the white tights you’re wearing end. “I can’t wait for all the festivities and drinks and music!”

“I heard the Scouts will be there as well,” Hannah chimes in. She lets her hand roam over the different fabrics Hilda has laid out before deciding which colour would suit your eyes best. “They’re off to another expedition next week, right?”

“Just a small one. I can’t imagine most of the execs joining tonight though. There’s still the final test at the end of this week, and then the official choosing of our branches.”

“It’s so weird,” Mina whispers, her grey eyes big. “We’ll graduate tomorrow.”

She’s met with silence. Between most of the cadets there is the unanimous agreement that nobody talks about the graduation; about the friends you’ll part from. You look over at Mina, oh and there it is again, the expression on her face you have recently come to see—and loathe—more often: as though her saint has forsaken her and now she is facing a brewing storm all alone.

Mina catches your eyes and gives you a sad, little smile. You have already been instructed that if you join the Garrison, you will be stationed at your home districts. You will stay here in Trost, but Mina will return to Karanes District. Even the promise that you will visit each other is only bitter-sweet knowing the first two or three years will be strictly to settle in your new unit.

“Oh, stop making those faces,” Christa says. “Tonight is a night of fun! I won’t allow you to go out frowning like that.” She grins and takes your hand, and in that brief second something flashes in her eyes that is so unlike Christa that you hesitate when she starts pulling you towards the shop’s front door. It makes her stop dead in her tracks—and there it is again, the timid look etched onto her face like a painting you’re more familiar with after all those years.

Mina must have realised Christa’s plan. She takes your other hand and kicks open the door. “Come on, we’re done taking measures. Let’s go and see the plaza.”

“I don’t think Hilda is done with the dress—” you begin, but your protest falls on deaf ears. Mina’s eyes sparkle with mischief. You have always been unable to tell her No when the Saint of Adventures holds her captive.

She pulls you outside the small tailor shop and into a narrow street where vibrant garlands of flowers hang from the roofs like exotic snakes. Already, the streets are filled with mouth-watering smells of food, the sound of laughter and joy.

Mina plucks a colourful flower wreath from a vendor’s stand. The man’s face behind the counter, just a moment ago a brewing storm, immediately clears of any wrinkles and lights up when he sees you. He bows like a knight courting a princess, greeting you with a loud, jolly “Maienkoenigin!” and with that, you are in the centre of attention.

You’re pretty sure the revelries would have started with a small speech from Trost’s mayor during Commander Pixis’ presence, but now that the people see you are out on the streets, they’ve taken it into their own hands to toast to you.

From all corners you see flower petals thrown in your direction. “Maria Maienkoenigin, wir kommen dich zu gruessen. Oh holde Freudenspenderin, sieh uns zu deinen Fuessen!” they sing the holiday’s song in honour of the May Queen and Wall Maria where the May Festival five years ago should have taken place.

Boys and girls dance around your knees, grabbing for your skirts to get your attention and accept their little flower bouquets as the crowd moves to the plaza with you in the middle. Tall poles stand at the entrances, decorated with more flowers and paper garlands snaking around them to the very top. The May pole, this year a birch tree, has already been erected in the centre where a wide square has been outlined to mark the dance floor and where later boys and girls weave the colourful ribbons around the pole.

Surrounding it are multiple, long rows of tables and on the side, right next to a wooden square where the band plays, officials have prepared a celebratory banquet fit for a queen. Your mouth waters just thinking about all the delicacies waiting to be devoured.

Were it up to you, you’d immediately charge for the food. But Mina has other plans. She pulls you towards a table—you didn’t even notice your training corps has gathered and selected one closest to the banquet.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mina announces. “Our May Queen!”

A round of polite applause sounds until they get a better look at you.

Connie starts howling like a wild animal.

Somewhere Ymir is screaming her case that Christa should wear that dress instead.

Jean, sitting at the very front, just stares at you—and that of all lashes uncertainty across your chest like a spiky whip. You don’t think you have ever felt self-conscious in front of him, but now you are painfully aware of the low cut of your dress, the corset hugging your body tight and pushing your tits up into full, round mounds. It feels as though one move too much and your tights will rip in two. You are very aware of how you look as you slide onto the bench next to Jean. He doesn’t scoot over to make you place, leaving your thigh pressing right against his, but turns his head away and takes a big swig from his cup as though his mouth is parched.

Compared to Eren, Jean has manners, at least. Ever since you have joined, he hasn’t stopped staring blatantly at your tits.

“Hey,” Jean snaps. Eren doesn’t blink. “Hey, Jeager!” He snaps his fingers right in front of Eren’s eyes. “Eyes up, you freak.”

Eren startles, and blinks as if he’s just woken up from a dream. He looks from you to Jean, and very intelligently says, “Huh?”

“You look very pretty,” Marco mumbles into his cup from Jean’s other side because he is the only gentleman in this rowdy round of pigs.

“I could do with a little less cleavage,” you admit. “And a little more breathing.”

“Well, it’s tradition.” Jean fumbles with his wooden spoon as if it is particularly hot to the touch. When he drops it and it falls in the non-existing space between your touching legs, he glares at it very hard as if by doing that, he might will it back into his hands. You pick it up, hold it out to him. Jean stares at you as if he sees you for the very first time.

“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with a tradition that puts women into skimpy dresses?” you ask. Jean needs a full minute before he finally takes the spoon from you. It is deliberately careful as though you are handing him a sharp tool rigged with thorns that might jump at him any second.

He makes a point looking right into your eyes. “I just think you made a lot of guys very happy today.”

“Meaning how?”

He shrugs. “We guys just talk about stuff.”

You look sideways at him. “Anything interesting?”

Jean gives you a quick once-over and says, “Oh, you have no idea.”

You can tell he wants you to ask what, so you don’t.

Once the excitement settles and the feast begins, you slowly begin to feel more comfortable. You don’t think you’ll get used to the stares and gawking, and you can’t wait to wear your comfortable uniform again where the greatest offence is someone staring at your ass. But for only one day it is nice to be revelled for your womanhood, for your beauty, and the power a woman holds for bringing forth life from her womb.

The food is more delicious than anything you had during your trainee days. You don’t remember the last time you had meat. Roasted pig, a fatty chicken broth with fresh vegetables. Familiar recipes from your childhood are served at the banquet: raviolis, tardpolane, blancmange and clarer. The mead and beer flows in rivers, served by beautiful girls who all wear a distinct flower in their hair. Children come and share their treats with you, piling hills of sweet rolls, candies and honeyed biscuits onto your table. You’re glad Sasha is already working on it.

District Mayor Singman holds his speech about work and prosperity, about the great solidarity that made this feast possible in the first place and the great harvest waiting as a reward later in the year. Commander Pixis is next, but you barely listen to his praises about the recruits showing great promise and how he can’t wait to welcome them. You’re too busy peeking over at Eren who is peeking back at you from time to time. His pupils are blown black whenever his eyes trail over the crimson ribbon holding your front together—one pull on that ribbon alone and your whole dress would come undone.

 So you don’t pay much attention when Jean and Sasha and their teams go to the front and hold their competition. Only when the familiar scent of Ida’s omelette wafts to your table, you look up and see Jean standing up on the podium, looking a little lost as he presents his culinary creation to Commander Pixis. The fact that he used his favourite meal, one of Ida’s many dishes she has perfected over the years just so her little Jeanie would go nuts with joy, unfurls something in your chest, making you feel a warmth that you know has nothing to do with the mead in your belly.

Jean wins, and thus the festival’s games begin.

Everyone who wins a small wooden chip can switch it for a free drink, a treat or a small token of affection from yours truly, the May Queen—all in accordance with your consent, of course, and you’re glad Garrison and MP soldiers on duty make sure no one oversteps your boundaries. You doubt anyone is out for quarrel and blood today, anyway. Revelries like this one are such a rarity that nobody wants to fight.

Most have been very sweet so far. Old grannies and grandpas give you their gifted tokens to hold and pat your hand, telling you their stories—about past May Days and the games and feasts and joyous times before Wall Maria’s fall.

Sometimes you stop listening because you spot a handsome young man or pretty young woman throwing starry-eyed, flirtatious gazes your way from a distance, their chips held close and dear to their chests, unsure if they can come closer. You’ve only had a few sips from the mead served at every table, but you feel so warm, so comfortable. You always smile back at them.

Others would come to chink glasses or invite you to a quick dance under the intoxicating sound of a jolly fiddle and the beautiful voices of a bard duo.

Not even an hour in, the first familiar face emerges from the crowd of strangers. Reiner grins down at you when you roll your eyes in a teasing way.

“Popular, aren’t we?” he says, flipping the chip between his fingers. His shirt is torn at the collar, dust and dirt patches adorn his cheeks and the lower part of his shirt that’s half-tugged into his breeches. Behind him, Bertholdt trails him like a shadow, looking anxious as always when he’s swallowed by a foreign crowd. It isn’t the first time you notice that he’s attractive in this non-conventional way. He doesn’t stick out even though he is so damn tall; he isn’t overly handsome but you really adore his nose and his pale green eyes. Bertholdt catches your eyes and gives you a small, sheepish smile. He looks as though he’d rather face a dozen Titans than asking someone for a quick dance.

“Why am I not surprised?” You smile, slightly leaning forward as you prop yourself up on a fence you’ve been leaning against. Reiner’s eyes immediately drop to your neckline. He mirrors your smile, and you feel all warm and tingly in your belly, the honeyed taste of mead still sweet and heavy on your tongue. “But you look like someone roughed you up real good.”

“Grappling.” He gives a lazy shrug, but you can see that he’s secretly pleased to have won. “You should see the other guy.”

“Tell me then, what affection do you seek?” you recite the quote—not for the first or last time for this night.

His only answer is a suggestive grin, and then he leans over and brushes his lips over your cheek. It sends a bolt of electricity from your face down to your legs where your knees turn to cotton. Satisfied with your reaction, he saunters away, leaving you feeling warmer than after any dance so far. It takes a minute or two until your heart stops thrumming when the next suitors already wait in line.

“Just like I predicted,” Christa beams up at you. She’s circled by Ymir and Mina, and judging from the rose-red blush on their cheeks, you aren’t the only one who’s a few drinks in. They’re wearing flower crowns as well: blood-crimson and virgin-white petals sit proudly on their heads. Except Ymir. You can hardly imagine her a queen anyway. A knight seems more likely. Christa’s virtue has always been Ymir’s biggest priority during trainee days.

Mina sways a little. It takes a moment for you to realise she’s trying to pull something out of her pocket, and when she finally manages it without losing balance, she proudly presents you a wooden chip. “I have a chip,” she declares, just to make sure you don’t miss it. She holds it under your nose as if you might still doubt her. “It was Christa though who won it,” she adds very sadly.

“Yeah, but I’m the only one who can give Christa anything,” Ymir quickly butts in, throwing her arms possessively around Christa’s small frame.

You’re about to blurt that allowing Christa entrance into the MP is already more than anything one could get around here, when Mina slaps her hands on your cheeks and smashes her mouth on yours. Her lips are very, very soft, and she tastes like sweet apple cider.

As quickly, she pulls back, a happy smile spreading on her face.

You grin back. Before joining the military, you’ve kissed one or two boys in Trost, their names already long lost and withered in a garden where you’ve pledged to take care of new flowers that have grown over the last three years. The bouvardia’s little pink heads shake in excitement today.

Mina takes your hand and weaves you surprisingly soberly through the dancing and laughing crowd, dodging expertly whoever tries to reach for you because they want to invite you for another pint or dance. She leads you to a table a little off the main plaza where couples and children dance in never-ending circles to the music, and only when you sit down, a little confused from the new surroundings, you notice the familiar faces of your squad.

Connie and Sasha, arm in arm, sway to the music, singing gibberish lyrics that could be the right ones, could be their whole new take on it. Daz and Samuel try to outdrink each other, not caring about how unkindly their bodies will repay them come tomorrow. You notice Annie, Reiner and Bertholdt are not present and wonder what they might be up to. In your half-drunken state there’s only one answer you arrive at, one that makes you giggle into your mug and almost choke on the mead.

“What are you laughing at?” Jean asks. He has Marco and Armin in tow—one distinctly blushing, the other too aware, too attentive for your liking. Clearly, Armin hasn’t touched any booze yet, and clearly, that is about to change.

The moment he sits down, on cue, a bartender from the closest counter swipes in and distributes new mugs spilling over with beer.

“Here’s your drink, stranger,” he says. “Bottoms up.”

Armin obediently starts getting up.

The bartender gently presses him back down. “The drink, lad.”

“What’s it like, being the popular one for one day?” Jean asks as he leans over the table, wearing that stupid smug smile you’d love to punch off his face. Maybe with your mouth even. The thought whips you sober; kicks up dust that’s settled in a corner for such a long time that you forgot all about the feeling it’s hiding and what it’s like to mourn her.

Answer. You still have to answer, even though you’re afraid you might choke on that dust.

“That’s a whole day more than you’ll ever get, Kirschstein,” you say, quickly locking your lips to your tankard because your mouth feels too dry.

Jean flips you off. Beside you, Marco is fiddling with something in his lap, and when you take a closer look, you see he’s pushing a wooden chip into his palm with his thumb. He catches your gaze and flushes furiously.

“Jean,” he begins, startling Jean opposite from him. Quieter, Marco continues, “Jean won it.”

You level Jean with a long, silent gaze.

“What?” Jean mumbles.

“You saying you wouldn’t wanna kiss [Name]?” Connie shouts from the other end of the table.

Suddenly, it’s deafeningly silent.

“It’d be like kissing my own cousin,” he shouts back, his voice loud enough it almost breaks. From nervousness? From disgust?

The table laughs.

You laugh.

Suddenly, the mead sloshes heavy in your stomach like acid. Maybe you’ve just drunk too much.

The jest unlocks something that’s been holding Marco back. He quickly snatches your hand and presses his lips to your knuckles before dropping it again and lifting himself from the seat. He flees into the crowd of dancers, ears crimson red, Sasha’s cries to bring her more of the sticky honey roast falling on deaf ears.

When you look over at Jean, he’s staring at you, then at Marco, as if he’s just realised something, and his pupils grow large, black. Fathomless.

You need to know what’s going on in his head, but before you can voice your question—bold by wine and pleasure, you’re ready to cross the line—a storm in the form of Eren appears right beside you, trailed by Mikasa who—do your eyes deceive you?—looks as though she’s trying not to smile. She catches Armin’s eyes, and they both share a silent glance.

Eren announces his arrival by slamming a wooden chip right in front of you as though you have insulted him and now it’s his right to demand reparations to his status.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he demands.

You blink up at him, and it takes time before your eyes meet his as your attention gets lost on the way to his face: on his biceps, on his sharp collarbones winking at you from under his white shirt.

“What’s so hard to understand about it?” Jean snorts into his tankard. “It’s just for fun, Jaeger. Maybe you should look it up in a dictionary.”

Eren does look a little as though he’s never heard of that. You also can’t imagine him participating in a game for fun. He’d make a game of can knockdown into a question of life and death.

“You can give it to me, if you don’t want it,” Connie pipes up.

“You scared of girls, Jeager?” Jean continues, talking over whatever Connie has in mind with you. “This might be your only chance ever getting kissed by one before you head out beyond the Walls and die a horrible, pathetic death.”

“It’s stupid,” Eren says to you, as if you are the inventor of the May Queen’s tradition. “It cost me two coins to play the damn game and this is what I get?”

“No one is forcing you—” Connie tries again, sneaking his hand across the table to swipe the chip.

“Ohh, look at you, Eren, trying to pretend like you’d hate it,” you speak up now, slamming your hand over the chip and almost squishing Connie’s fingers under your palm. He jerks back, cradling his hand close to his chest. “You want to kiss me so bad, it makes you look stupid.”

Once more, laughter rises from your table. You look into the faces of your friends and relish in being the reason for their joy.

Eren doesn’t think it’s funny. Eren Jaeger is fucking determined to prove you wrong. He slaps his hands around your cheeks, holding your head in place. Every sound dies at your table.

You’re about to tell him it’s just a joke, no need to get his knickers in a twist, but he’s dead set on his mission: Giving you a concussion because he smashes his mouth against your forehead and almost knocks you both out cold.

Jean, who’s still been laughing until this point, goes dead silent, looking sickly grey.

“Hey—” he begins, but gets knocked over by an over-excited and slightly drunk Connie, splashing beer all over himself.

Eren reels back, hand pressed against his mouth, his bottom lip bleeding where his teeth have grazed it. Your head throbs and you’re pretty sure your cheeks show red lines where he’s pressed his fingers into your skin with a bruising grip.

“Oh my God, don’t you know how to kiss someone?” Connie hollers, banging his fist on the table hard enough it shakes and you hear a distinct crack. Jean starts to climb over the table, ready to administer rough justice, but his foot gets stuck at the edge and he topples off the table right to the feet of a few girls who misinterpret it and haul him up to drag him away to the dance floor. Your whole table is attacked by merry dancers, and you’re yanked away from your friends when the minstrels begin their performance and the music picks up again. The sounds swell to a roar—as do the guest’s voices when they chime in with the jolly song.

The Fishmonger’s daughter, ba ba The Fishmonger’s daughter, ba ba The Fishmonger’s daughter, ba ba The Fishmonger’s daughter, ba ba ba

A great classic to start off the night. Ring-a-ring-of-roses it goes as the guests dance in a wide circle, arm in arm, shouting in tandem. You don’t know the faces to your left and right, but their smiles are infectious. You laugh so hard your belly and cheeks hurt. The circle breaks, pairs find together like bees to flowers. Now that everyone is on their feet and in a dancing mood, the minstrels start a new song. On and on in circles it goes—left and right, from partner to partner until faces blur and become unrecognisable.

Your head feels light, as though filled with cotton. You want to stay in this moment forever—dancing, singing, laughing.

A strong hand gently settles on your underarm. You look up at strong, broad shoulders and arms the size of logs. The man has slicked his blonde hair back neatly, and when he walks through the crowd, it parts naturally as though he is a force of nature to be reckoned with—and then he turns, and you look up in the sharp, blue eyes of Survey Corps Commander Erwin Smith.

A/N: Fingers crossed I'll upload the final chapter of the first act at the end of October.

***

Taglist: @arisu003, @brooki, @prttyangelbaby, @honeylmnade, @berriesandcrem

[pbandjesse]

Happy May Day!

I am glad I stayed home today. I still wasn't feeling amazing. But I was able to enjoy my day. Even if I was still nauseous.

I slept alright enough. The new curtain next to my head blocks the light a lot better and while I still woke up, I was able to more easily fall back asleep. I was awake enough to be aware of James saying goodbye. And went back to sleep for an hour.

When I woke up I was a little off. But mostly I was good. I cleaned my face and got dressed. And would just wander around the house for a long time. I spent some time just cleaning up. Putting things away. I tried to vacuum but our vacuum keeps thinking it's jammed. No idea what is up with that. I would change the kitty litter though and Clorox some stuff.

I would spend time with sweetP. Just hanging out. I had egg salad on toast. I would go out to the car to get the last of my car chips. It was beautiful outside but a little hot directly in the sun.

I started working on a little painting project. Sat on the front door step and started laying out the hearts I wanted to paint on the door. The sun was a bit to bright but I have the outlines done. I'll go back in with paint soon.

I came back inside and would hang some stuff in our room. James was going to hang the last panel of wallpaper tonight so that was exciting. The bedroom walls could finally basically be finished. And I am really happy about that. I still would like to get a small rug for the floor but everything else feels really finished and that feels really nice.

We are having our little house warming this weekend and so I want the space to at least have some areas done. And I think we have done a pretty excellent job overall. Like there are still projects for sure but it's coming together and that feels really good.

I spent a long time today working on cleaning out the one fish tank. I might be getting a frog for in there. Haven't 100% decided but I moved out all of the decor and washed the rocks. Took a while but it wasn't to bad. Was nice to try it all clean.

I would answer some work emails. And lay in bed. Lay on the couch. Lay around. I didn't feel amazing. And whenever I tried to do to much I felt sick. But I kept drinking water and trying my best to be okay.

I remembered that the new labor exhibit was opening at the museum tonight. I very much wanted to go to that and me and James decided I would just meet them there. Felt like a good plan.

I had a phone meeting today with Salvatore from the national guard and it went really well. He seems really sweet. Retired military, daughter in the girl scouts, loves working with the kids. They want to get me in the schedule for sometime in July and then again in the fall. Excellent. I love working with the national guard kids so I really hope we can continue this going forward.

After my phone meeting I would catch up on April's knitting. I still need to sew down thr edges but the last 11 days I was missing is done. And I can start May. That took a while though. I had put the little screen in the studio window so Sweetp could have somewhere to sit and watch the world and I would knit and listen to a video. It was nice. I was having fun.

I made a little microwave pizza as a late lunch. And got myself ready to go to the museum. But that would not be my only stop.

My first stop was Petco. I wanted to look at their frogs and things. This Petco never has a very good selection but it was still fun to look. And I enjoyed seeing different options. I may chose to get a tomato frog? I really would like a turtle but I don't have the infrastructure (or a large enough tank) right now. But maybe that is where I will end up. I'm not in any rush.

I went to the museum next. And was very excited to see Jessica because she just announced today that she's pregnant with baby number 2!! So excited for her. It was also just really nice to see everyone else.

After giving James many hugs I went to go get a drink and ran into Margaret. Who asked if we could talk on the phone tomorrow because there has been discussion about brining me on part time to help run events. This is an amazing opportunity for me. It would be flexible hours, a pay increase, and I would get to be doing something I really enjoy! And as my grant position at camp comes to an end this would just be really great. A next step, somewhere I already love.

I would also go and find Jesse to talk to him so I wasn't going into the conversation with Margaret blind. He gave me some ideas of what to negotiate for, when I could actually start (immediately), and how Meril would also be in on this. And honestly the three of us would be such an amazing dream team the museum wouldn't know what hit it. I really hope this works out.

I really also just enjoyed talking to people. About our trip. And seeing the new exhibit! Which I think was done so well. I already know a lot about union history, but seeing more contemporary and Baltimore specific stuff was awesome. And the layout and design choices were great. I really enjoyed it.

I would hang out at the desk with James. I got some food and would watch the desk while James got some too. And it was just good. People watching. Chatting with friends and guests. It was a good night.

I was excited to come home though. A little later then I had thought but that's okay.

When we got home I would go and change. I watched my frog tank for a while and actually saw my loach. No omelet sightings today but I did see him yesterday. I also moved the very hearty snail from the other tank to this tank and I hope he's as strong in here as he has been in the other.

James is in our room hanging the last piece of wallpaper. It wasnt going super well and I left the room because I thought I wasn't being helpful just sitting there writing this. But I am going to go check on them now before I take a shower and we get ready for bed. It has been a long day. But I am feeling a little better. Still not great but not as perilously bad.

Tomorrow I have a feild trip and it's the brave bee program. I really like that one. And then I have my phone meeting with Margaret. And me and Celia just made plans to go to the Dutch market after work. I am looking forward to the day. I hope the heat is t to bad and I'm not nauseous anymore.

Wish me luck and good vibes. I love you all. Goodnight!

[welldonebeca]

Miss, PhD (VIII)

WC: 1.2k words Warnings: Fluff.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and helps a lot while I go through these hard times.

Masterlist

Steve was tense as he paced back and forth in front of the mall, anxious as he waited for Natasha to arrive.

Alright, so maybe he was feeling a little guilty.

He had given you the hardest time around him, had judged you and been a major asshole.

The very least he could do was get you a birthday gift.

The problem, obviously, was that he didn’t know what to give to you.

Which was why Natasha was here with him.

“You look miserable,” his friends spoke as she strode to his side, holding a cup of coffee and not bothering to take off her sunglasses.

“I feel miserable,” he mumbled.

Shame hurt a little, which he didn’t know before this. He was feeling very guilty, and there was something deep in him that Steve couldn’t quite name. Or rather, didn’t want to name.

He wanted you to be happy and associate him with happy things, not with the asshole he’d been to you.

“What are we doing here?” she asked, moving in the direction of the door, and he followed her.

“We’re looking for a gift,” he pushed his hands into his pockets, a little too anxious.

Nat hummed along.

“Let me guess,” she took off her glasses. “You new boyfriend or girlfriend?”

Steve felt his cheeks burning in embarrassment.

“Natasha!” he hissed.

His friend gasped, turning to look at his face.

“You’re in love?” she asked, looking surprise.

Steve opened and closed his mouth, feeling like a damn fish out of water all of a sudden.

“I… you…’ he stuttered. “I mean…”

Her face softened, as if she could read his mind.

“Alright, they don’t know yet,” she decided. “We’ll find something nice for them.”

Once again, he was left to open and close his mouth, just shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. It was best not to say anything.

Damn, Natasha.

“I’m not in love,” he answered, at last.

Saying that phrase made him feel like a six feet tall toddler insisting they weren’t sleepy.

“Sure,” she looked over her shoulder to him. “If you say so.”

Steve scoffed, and tried hard not to cross his arms as he followed her along, looking around, trying to get something to call his attention.

Window shopping wasn’t his favourite activity, be didn’t find anything good enough online, and how could he be sure his data was safe on those websites? And he didn’t want things to take too long to arrive, he wanted to have your gift in his hands before his neck class, he knew he could just walk by your department and then give it to you there.

“Is it Stark?” she looked at him.

Steve raised his eyebrows, caught off guard.

“Who?” he asked, surprised.

Nat rolled her eyes.

“The gift person,” she explained. “Is she the one you’re getting a gift to?”

He cleared his throat.

“Yes,” Steve confirmed. “It’s Miss… uh, doctor…” he looked for words. “It’s Stark.”

Dammit. He didn’t even know how to call you anymore.

You were a doctor, so it would be disrespectful to call Miss. But he’d spent so much time with you that it felt weird to call you Doctor Stark. Or even just Stark.

You had a name, for fuck’s sake. And yet, Steve didn’t feel worthy enough to be calling you by it.

“And do you even know her enough for that?” Natasha asked, confused.

Steve just looked away.

He hadn’t told anyone he’d spent the night in your home - not even Nat and Buck, who were his best friends and even knew his bank information, for safety - and wasn’t too comfortable sharing that information.

“I know a bit,” he decided.

His friend stared at his face, moving a hand and taking off her sunglasses, seemingly waiting for a full answer.

“She likes paintings, and plants,” he told her, clearing his throat. “And pasta.”

Nat nodded slowly.

“And playing piano while eating pudding with popcorn?” she teased him.

Steve blushed.

“It’s what I know, okay?” he insisted. “Three things that can help us.”

Natasha shook her head and sighed.

“Alright, let’s see if we can find something for someone who likes pasta, paintings and plants.”

He rolled his eyes, but continued to follow her.

“And does she have any pets?” his friend asked, looking curious.

Steve raised his eyebrows in questioning, and she rolled her eyes.

“Pun not intended,” she assured him.

Appeased, at last, Steve shook his head.

“She doesn’t,” he answered, quick to add. “Not that I know, at least. I never asked.”

None of your pictures had a pet in it, and there wasn’t a single sign of a pet in your house.

So you probably didn’t have one.

Nat pointed at a store, and he followed her inside, seeing a few mugs displayed.

“It makes sense,” she noticed, looking around. "One of my students said to this generation, pets are the new kids, plants are the new pets and air fryers are the new plants."

Steve blinked slowly, a bit confused.

“Air fryers?” he repeated.

Those cooking things?

“He is Brazilian,” she explained herself. “I think it is trendy there.”

He shrugged, and turned to look at her when she picked up a mug, showing it to him.

“Pasta Lover,” she showed the wording in the porcelain material. “It’s nice.”

He tried not to scoff. It was a nice mug, but it wasn’t something he saw you even holding. Now that he was thinking of it, he hadn’t seen any interesting mug in your home.

“She is not mug kind of person,” Steve decided.

Natasha put it back into place and Steve looked around, keeping his eyes open to find something interesting.

He was a little surprised and interested when he saw the tall thermic glass with the drawing of plants in a white background.

“I like this one,” he turned to Natasha. “It’s useful.”

His friend, however, pointed him to some decorations on the walls, and he was surprised to see the plant hangers in it.

They were a way better idea, yes.

“Excuse me,” someone called by his side, and Steve looked at his side to find an employee.

“Can I help you with anything?”

He turned back to the plants hangers and pointed at them.

“I would like two of those,” he asked. “Please.”

The girl nodded.

“I’ll go pick them up on the back,” she told him. “You can go ahead and wait for me in the paying area.”

Steve nodded, following to a counter, but his eyes were caught on something behind a glass.

A necklace.

The shop worker walked in his direction with the plant hangers, and Steve cleared his throat quickly.

“Hey,” he called her. “Can I see that necklace?”

She unlocked the glass door and took a box from behind it, opening it for Steve. It was a little lotus flower, very dainty and discreet, with a text over and then under it.

Green Thumb. Noun.

Something possessed by a very special kind of person who spreads joy in the world through growing lush gardens.

“I’ll take this too,” Steve decided. “And it’s a gift. Can you wrap it, please?”

“In green paper?” the shop worker offered, smiling.

Steve couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes, please.”

. . .

"Miss, PhD" was posted on my Patreon back on January! To read the full story before anyone else and have early access to all of my works, subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month!

. . .

Forever Tags: @emoryhemsworth​​​ @amythyststorm33​​​ @shaelyn102​​​ @yknott81​​​ ​​ @maximofftrash​​​ @kgbrenner​​​ @thefridgeismybestie​​​ @magpiegirl80​​​ @mogaruke​​​ @shadowhunter7​​​ @musicalcoffeebean​​​ @megasimpleplan4ever​​​ @deemoriarty​​​ @05spn18​​​ @malindacath​​​ @kdcollinsauthor​​​ @random-fandom-fangirl2112​​​ @widowsfics​​​ @frozenhuntress67​​​ @averyrogers83​​​ @notyourtypicalrose​​​ @nerdypinupcrystal​ @giruvega

Marvel forever tags: @its-daydreamer23​​​ ​​ @random-fandom-fangirl2112​​​ @tayrae515​​​? @indecisiondecisions​​​? @afanofmanystuffs​​​? @patzammit​​​? @thevanishedillusion​​​? @widowsfics​​​? @alexisshoto​​​ @princess-evans-addict​​​ @dreams-of-feysand​​​ @xoxabs88xox​​​ @dragonqueen0606​ @izbelross @isabelle-faith

Miss PhD: @cosmic-darikano

[books-of-the-great-leviathan]

Chapter 9- Luca

***

Atana Bateleur, daughter of the pirate lord Bateleur, lady of An Gholam and mistress of the Fishcutter, stared at Luca from across the stateroom, her small hands clasped atop Captain Irene's map table. The Belmont cup- the tiny whaleglass chalice that healed who drank from it- sat by her hands, glimmering like a spark of starlight under the lamps. Luca noticed it was rarely far from her reach. Captain Irene herself leaned against a wall, picking at her nails with a knife, while Nadya guarded the doors, massive arms crossed over her chest.

"Is that really necessary?" Luca asked, gesturing toward Nadya.

She laughed, low in her throat. "Try running, little prince. See how necessary I can be."

"Of course she is," Atana said. Her voice was high and clear, her blue eyes far too hard for a child's. She was a girl of twelve or so, with deep brown skin and abundant cinnamon-colored curls, her posture straight-backed and rigid in the marrow-wood chair. She stared across the map table at Luca and Cereza, who sat watching her in turn.

Luca couldn't help but feel he was on trial. He was, in a way. Atana and Irene had listened to his account of the Leviathan's island, the Witchhunters' attack, Cereza's death and her resurrection, the way the Great Leviathan had dissolved into its maelstrom. Before that, they'd given him and Cereza and Sirin time to rest, to recover, to eat something besides raw fish and hardtack. Luca had trimmed his hair and shaved, and his face still tingled. Still, he didn't miss the way the pirates watched him, how their hands never strayed too far from their weapons. He might not be in the brig, like Severin Azare, but he, Cereza, and Sirin were prisoners onboard the Fishcutter all the same.

"You're here for a reason, Luca," Atana told him.

"I can only tell you what I saw."

"Only?" Atana frowned. "Your sister was dying of a terrible curse last I saw you. And this...this creature..." She nodded at Puppy, who sat in Luca's lap, watching Atana with a steady blue-and-gold stare. "I don't know where to start with that."

"I suppose it's only fair you have a lot of questions," Luca supplied.

"Damn right it is," Irene said, digging her knife under her thumbnail.

Luca poured himself another glug of honey whiskey from a Buyani porcelain jug shaped like a pair of entwined platefish, scales painted with patterns in delicate blue. He'd need all the help he could get tonight, and drinking himself senseless seemed as good a method as any. "What do you want to know?"

"Is it true?" Atana said. "Is the Leviathan dead?"

"I'm not sure," Luca admitted. "All I know is...I spoke to it. Inside..." He touched the side of his head, fingertips pressing through the untidy waves of his hair. "It's nothing like we understood. It dies. It dies and comes back again, resurrecting itself over and over, and when the Witchhunters shot it, it was at the end of its death cycle. It didn't do me the courtesy of explaining more."

"Bloody lot of good that does us," Irene muttered.

"I think it's a damn good story," Matteo said. He sprawled in a window alcove, picking at a battered old lute. He strummed it, the melancholy twang reverberating through the cabin. "Wouldn't make a bad song, either. I've already composed most of a lovely little tune about your victory against Bateleur's white sarkyvor. Would you like to hear it? Of course you would."

With another twang of the lute Matteo began to sing in a pleasant tenor. "Prince Luca Valere, he came from the East- through cunning and courage, he vanquished the beast- when the fight it grew futile, and hope it grew dim- he plucked up his courage and did the beast in-"

"If you sing any more of that bloody awful song," Irene said, interrupting Matteo mid-note, "I'll restring that bloody lute with your guts."

"That's not a very nice way to talk to your brother."

Atana held up her hand. "Shut. Up."

Matteo shut up. Luca smirked at him, and he smirked back. Irene muttered something under her breath, her whaleglass eye a point of blue-white winking in the gloom.

"And the creature?" Atana went on.

Puppy yipped. Luca set his hand to the curve of its head. "It was left behind after the Leviathan was gone. I think it's part of it. Some remnant."

"That can't be the Great Leviathan," Irene muttered.

"If you have an alternative hypothesis, please," Luca said, a note of strain in his voice. "Do enlighten us."

"Bold of you, boy," Irene said. The oyster knife was a wink of steel in her hand, sharp enough to take out an eye. "Don't forget it was you who brought the Witchhunters to our shores, brought spellfire to our city-"

"Don't forget it was you who kidnapped and chained and made to enslave us," Luca shot back. "I wouldn't get too righteous."

"You stole my witch."

Luca gave a choked laugh. "You stole me!"

"Enough!" Atana stood, clutching at the silver-banded plait of white hair she wore around her neck. Her father Bateleur had worn a matching one, and whatever it meant to her, Luca was certain it was precious. She looked from Luca to Irene and back again. "Arguing is pointless. It helps nothing. It doesn't explain my missing ships."

"Missing ships?" Luca asked.

"Three captains didn't return with their spoils," Irene muttered.

She pressed her fingertips to one of the maps, weighted down with a pair of fossilized ammonites inlaid with fire opals. The map spread, gloriously colored. Currents arced across the Inner Sea, islands and sea boundaries flung across its expanse. Buyan and Vodyenai, Ishvol and Noga, broken archipelagos and treacherous ghost-lands, the Gulf of Storms and the Ork Roads illustrated with all manner of strange monster bristling with spume and bared fangs. Even the Sunken Ruins of Rashavir were there, far to the north, surrounded by vast ice tortoises and inhospitable sheets of never-melting ice.

In its midst Luca made out Lapide and Estara, tiny flecks of green ink in an endless sea. His throat tightened.

"Here. And here." Irene indicated where the ships had gone missing, sketching a deft course from the String of Pearls toward the border waters of the Outer Sea. The tightness of tears settled into a weight in Luca's guts. The Great Blue. Their courses had charted them to the boundary line at the edge of the Great Blue.

He glanced sideways at Cereza and found her looking back, her fist clenched over her heart.

"Every one of them knew Bateleur would feed their guts to the gulls if they didn't pay what was owed," Irene went on. "They'd have no home in An Gholam. No safe harbor, no friend on stone nor sea. It's not a treason done lightly."

"Maybe they're late," Luca said. "Storms come like demon spirits in midsummer, all across the Inner Sea and the Outer-"

"You think the Leviathan's death didn't warp the world, boy?" Irene snarled. "You think you didn't damn us all when you rode out there with the Witchhunter on your back?"

Luca let out a strained laugh. "Come on, Irene. Don't pretend you’re here for any reason other than the Lapidaean gold I promised you."

Irene fixed him with a stare, then reached for a bucket and tipped it onto the table. Its copper lid clattered over the wood. The smell of rotting fish filled the cabin, blistering in these confines. Cereza pressed her hands to her face, and Luca stood slowly, his brow furrowed.

Fish slithered from the bucket, unfamiliar creatures with long, trailing tentacles and spots of dawn-pink bioluminescence. They must have been gorgeous when alive, but it took Luca only a moment to realize something was deeply wrong. Their bodies were warped, twisted with tumorous growths, hard and faceted.

Not growths. Crystal. It shone in the lamplight, iridescent and glimmering, like Cereza's scars, like whaleglass.

"Plenty more where those came from," Irene said. "We netted them on our way out to find you."

"What is it?"

"We were hoping you'd answer that."

"I've never seen anything like this before. It's almost like-"

"Almost like me," Cereza murmured.

"-Like the crystal is growing from inside them, like it's..." Luca's mind whirled. He wanted his workshop, his scalpels and lenses and skulls beneath bell jars, the countless books of the Palace library. "Like they're cursed, too."

He touched a spike of crystal. It seemed to erupt from inside the dead fish, growing out from its innards.

"A curse on all things," he murmured.

Light spat at his fingertips-

He saw. A rush, a splintered blur- the moons in the sky, churning darkness, waves to shatter islands. The ocean split by an impossible form. A howl, storm and maelstrom and rage, unending rage, power rising to meet it. The moons split and cracked apart, and the shadow rose, and so did the anger, enough to bring down the sky, enough to break it apart and cast it into the sea and make it into nothing-

Luca flinched back. He tasted blood, thick on his tongue. His pulse thudded in his throat. The walls were hung with charms, and they chimed softly, bird-bone and fish teeth, silver ornaments glimmering like eyes in the dark.

He touched the crystal again. Nothing happened. It was cool and smooth under his fingertips. Whatever power he'd felt in it was gone.

He withdrew his hand and set it to Puppy's fur. It sparked against his skin with the little creature's anxiety. He stroked it, calming it, centering himself.

Consequences, the Leviathan whispered in his voice.

Luca ground his teeth. Why didn't you tell me more? Why didn't you tell me anything that could help you?

"Then let me make it right," he said once he trusted his voice not to shake. "All of this."

"How?" Irene said.

"I don't know for sure," he said. "But I promised the Leviathan I would. I don't intend to go back on my promises to a god. Do I look like a liar?"

"Sort of," Matteo said, with a shrug.

"Whatever we do," Atana said, cutting off Luca's retort, "it's useless trying to plan in the middle of the ocean. We'll recruit the wisdom of my pa's trusted commanders once we reach An Gholam. I am trusting you, too, Luca Valere. Don't prove me wrong."

***

He went to his cabin and sat on the bunk with a huff. In the corner leaned the old harpoon, the one he'd stolen from Valeris Palace's library months ago. Its rusted point looked even more battered in the shadows of the cabin, but the trace of whaleglass along its blood fuller lingered, brilliant as starlight.

Luca didn't reach for it. Its weight wasn't a comfort anymore. As a child he'd fit his small fingertips into divots along its shaft, worn by ancient whalers, and imagined what it must have been like to stand at the bow of a god-hunting ship. To throw the harpoon, watch its arc and the burst of radiant blue unfurling in the water. To cup the salt sea in his hands and drink godsblood, raw and teeming with power.

He knew what it felt like now. He remembered clenching the harpoon shaft, arm cocked back to throw. Cereza's corpse sprawled below him. The poison of rage and grief, vengeance pounding a hole in his heart.

The Leviathan was gone, its body disintegrated into the ocean. What if there was no way to bring it back? What if whatever it had given him was just an echo of its song, fading already?

Maybe this was faith, the belief he'd held so close for so many years. Hope, cruel and wounding, clung onto past all reason.

The Triune can take reason, Luca thought, and kicked himself upright and to his feet once more. He'd sworn he would make this right. He wasn't about to give up now.

He left the close heat of the cabin and made for the deck, Puppy trotting at his heels. Waves surged and hissed as the Fishcutter coursed ahead, toward the edge of the Great Blue and back into the charted waters of the Inner Sea. Isozi, the blue-skinned mercenary women sworn to Bateleur, and now to Atana, patrolled the decks, moonslight gleaming cobalt off their skin. Niive soared above, keeping the sails filled, so high she almost looked like an ordinary bird.

Curses and cheers and the ring of steel to steel pulled his focus. Lanterns illuminated the circle of pirates gathered near the mainmast. Steel flashed from within: a pair of fighters armed with sword and dagger, darting, circling, clashing. It took Luca a moment to recognize one of them as Sirin.

He hurried over as she whirled, nimble as a dancer, barefoot on the tarred planks. She wore clean shirtsleeves rolled to her shoulders, her grin bleached white by the moonslight. Her opponent was massive, easily twice her size and banded with muscle and monster tattoos, sea-orks rippling over his biceps and neck and barrel chest.

His braids whipped as Sirin struck out, a whirlwind of steel, feet scarcely brushing the deck. Steel clanged, a resounding bell warp; the crowd cheered as the big man stumbled back, blood spattering the deck from the fresh slash over one slablike pectoral, beheading one of his tattooed sea-orks.

"You're fast, witchborn," he panted. Sirin flashed him a grin and clanged her blades together. Luca ducked through the crowd of pirates and stood, watching. The big man gave Sirin a smile in turn, silver-capped teeth glittering. "But how tough?"

He moved; Sirin tensed, but she didn't react fast enough to avoid his fist. Dagger in hand, he cracked his knuckles into her face. She whipped to the side. An arc of her blood streaked the planks. His knee slammed into her stomach. Sirin tottered back, hunched, her weapons screeching against the deck, leaving scars in the wood.

"Figured Rostov would get her," muttered a toothless old woman, a salt granny dressed in fish skins. "He's a hale lad, that one."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Luca told her, settling back against the mast. "She's not half bad herself."

She cackled. "Just you wait, boy."

Coins clinked from hand to hand- bets, Luca guessed, in the currency of countless islands, square bronze coins stamped with crude images of shellfish, wafer-thin discs of abalone strung on knotted cords, gold coins heavy as stones and bearing the profile of some unknown regent.

"Bet you one of the gold ones she downs him," Luca told the salt granny.

She crowed again. "You're on, and a fool besides. I'm never wrong."

Sirin stumbled against the onlookers, and one pushed her back into the arena. Blood streamed from her split lip as Rostov paraded, blades held high, soaking up the cheers.

Sirin didn't move- but as Luca watched she lowered her head and closed her eyes. Darkness gathered around her feet, and Luca tasted a wash of magic, bitter as salt. The air surged- a strange thing, like wind with no source, a ripple of power. She lifted her head, and the shadows rose around her, a swirling, whipping column of darkness, Sirin's short hair dancing in the breeze.

Rostov whirled, but he was the slow one this time. Sirin's shadows shot toward him; he sprang to face her, but they snared him, wrapping his arms, his ankles, his throat in shadowy chains.

She made a fist and wrenched. The shadow chains twanged tight, flinging Rostov off his feet. He flew through the air and slammed again to the decks. The crowd stumbled back, eyes wide, gasps and curses flying like startled gulls. Sirin stared, rigid. Veins stood out against her skin, her face slick with sweat.

The chains tightened. Rostov let out a yelp, his hands splaying wide, fingers trembling. Luca tensed with a frown.

All at once she let him go. He slumped, his breathing harsh, his shoulders hunched. Pale welts covered him where her shadows had touched, stark against his red-brown skin. A ragged cheer rose from the onlookers. More money changed hands, pirates bearing Rostov to a canteen of whiskey and a censer of sweet kaffa.

"Guess you're wrong today," Luca told the salt granny.

She scowled and flicked him a coin; he caught it one-handed and winked at the old woman before turning to Sirin.

"Well done," he called.

She shivered, then seemed to notice him. She returned her weapons to a nearby pirate and strode over. Were you watching the whole time?

"Just waiting for you to win." He noticed the blood webbing down from her lip. "Are you all right?"

She didn't look it. Her eyes shone bright and wild. She hadn't stopped shaking, though the night was balmy. She'd called her shadows in the moonslight, like she had on the schooner, like she had in An Gholam, and even Luca could see what it took out of her.

More than all right. I feel...I feel stronger.

"You don't look stronger."

Annoyance flashed in her eyes. Did you come out here just to chide me?

"No, no, of course not. Listen."

He told her what he and Atana and Irene had discussed, and what he'd seen, the whaleglass inside the dead fish. Her expression didn't shift as he spoke.

An Gholam, she signed once he was done, and let out her breath. The last time they were there it was an inferno Spellfire and screams, Bateleur's blood on the stones. A temple, burning. A city calling for answers, for Azare's blood.

"I know, I know," Luca said. "But look. You remember the temple? The carvings in its lower levels? They were like the ones in the Aiatar temple, on the island. The monsters, the black stone. They weren't just similar, Sirin, they were the same."

What are you saying?

He pressed his hand to Puppy's head. "An Gholam was an Aiatar temple. I'm saying there could be answers down there. Answers about the Leviathan, about its nature, about whatever in all Hells happened to it. How we can make this bastard of a situation right again."

Sirin watched him as he spoke. They stood by the railing, far from the celebratory moil of the pirates, clapping Rostov's shoulder while he drank them all dry. Someone had found a lute and was playing it with considerably more skill than Matteo, the twanging notes rising desultory through the warm night breeze. Luca turned from them, out to sea. Here, the running lights gleamed cold green off the waves, the starlit road of the sea unmarred, an expanse of silver and black and deep, fathomless blue.

Luca felt a chill course through him, his pulse in his ears.

"There's so much I don't understand yet, so much I can't repair," he said. "But, by the Triune, I will." He gripped the railing near her hand. "We will. You and me. The Leviathan, and then the war. When we get back to Lapide, my mother-"

Sirin cut him off with a stare, sharp and black. I am not returning to Lapide.

"Sirin, I have to go back."

And if you do I am not going with you.

He stared at her, brow furrowed. She breathed with short, hard gasps, her pupils ringed in white, wisps of shadow curling from her skin. Her blood had crusted on her chin in dark rivulets. How would I return, anyway, Luca Valere? she signed, her movements jerky. As your prisoner?

"Triune, Sirin-"

She wasn't done. Her hands moved in flicks and spurts. Then how? As I left in chains, so I return-

He caught her wrists, and she stiffened. Her skin was icy, her shadows stinging his hands. He loosened his grip, his fingertips brushing the hard spur of bone at the joints. He felt the rush of her blood inside her, the rush of her power, heady as the air before a storm. Maybe that was just her effect on him.

"Sirin," he said again, softer. "No."

He released her wrists and examined her face, the drying blood, her split lip. Already it had begun to knit back together. She healed fast come night; her power was always stronger then, miraculous, some part of the cycle of sundown and moonrise, the great balance of all things.

"Come back with me," he urged. "There's a place for you, there, by my side. Lapide took your home, so let me give you one. Come with me, and belong-"

Cold hissed at his fingertips. He winced, and flinched back, and shadow curled between her skin and his fingers, thick and clinging. Sirin's eyes had darkened- no starlit reflections, nothing but light-drinking black, the tremble of her lashes and the glint of teeth between her lips. She advanced, forcing Luca a step back.

I have a place I belong, she signed. A black beach at the end of the world. You suggest I forget that? To sit with you and drink my people's blood from gilded teacups?

"No, of course not- Triune, Sirin-"

Shadow unfurled from her, smoky and dense, surrounding her in a diffuse column. Luca remembered the first time he'd seen her, a monster of darkness leaving a swathe of death behind her. Falcii dead and broken, his country sundered, his sister cowering in terror.

Sirin must have seen the fear in his eyes. Her brow furrowed, her jaw clenching tight. Is that what you want, Luca? Your lady monster, chained and toothless?

"No." He reached through her shadows and gripped her face, cupping it in his hands. "I only wanted-"

Her face twisted as he touched her, eyes dulling. She didn't see him, he understood in a snap. She saw past him, through him and into cold, blank horror. She snarled a silent scream, her throat-slit scar pale against her dark skin. Her hand snapped around Luca's arm; he had only an instant to jerk back before her hand tightened, her shadows too, veining under his skin and wrenching tight.

Cold shattered through his arm. He heard bone crackle; his vision pulsed red, then white, then darkness, sudden as a wave, taking the moonslight and the blanket of stars and sweeping them into nothingness.

Luca yelled and jerked away. The small of his back hit the railing as he clutched his arm. His skin was bleached pale where her shadows had touched him, a perfect imprint of her hand seared into his forearm. It throbbed- not broken, he thought, maybe a sprain- but that was scarcely his first concern.

Magic hung in the air, echoes of her power. She'd dropped her shadows, and stared at him, her eyes wide. Her hands, trembling, shaped his name.

Luca.

"What..." His voice sounded rough. The stars shone; had they blinked out before? He wasn't sure. His head swam. "What was..."

Luca, she signed again. She reached out as if to touch him, then whirled and fled. Shadows swarmed her, blurring her outline, and she melted into the darkness. Luca wanted to call out, but his voice felt crushed inside him, disbelief overwhelming pain or shock.

Fear, too. Of Sirin, and for her.

Balance, the Leviathan had whispered. Sirin was part of that balance, like all things. If Irene was right, and the natural order had been thrown off, then so had she.

So had her power.

Luca lifted his hand into the moonslight and flexed it, examining the pale welts Sirin had left behind. He still tasted her bitter power, the raw strength of it, unchecked and monstrous.

He'd felt it before, when he touched the crystal.

They felt just the same.