#Offshore Lightning

[fantomcomics]

What’s Out This Week? 7/19

We’ll see y’all at our Live Zine Reading on the 22nd!

Big Game #1 (of 5) -  Mark Millar & Pepe Larraz The comics event of the summer is here! Okay, this is so top secret we can't even show you the main cover because it spoils something MASSIVE. Just trust us when we say that this is going to be the comic book event of 2023-and it's NOT what you're expecting. Does the crossover really go that wide? Yes, it does. BIG GAME pulls together KICK-ASS, KINGSMAN, NEMESIS, THE MAGIC ORDER, and ALL the Millarworld franchises in one special event!

The Bomb: The Weapon That Changed The World GN -  Laurent-Frederic Bollee, Didier Alcante & Denis Rodier

On August 6, 1945, at 8:15 in the morning, an explosive charge of more than 15 kilotons fell on the city of Hiroshima. Tens of thousands of people were pulverized, and everything within four square miles was instantly destroyed. A deluge of flames and ash had just caused Japan's greatest trauma and changed the course of modern warfare and life on Earth forever. The world was horrified by the existence of the bomb-the first weapon of mass destruction. But how could such an appalling tool be invented? In The Bomb, Didier Alcante, Laurent-Frédéric Bollée, and Denis Rodier have created an exhaustive and definitive work of nonfiction that details the stories of the unsung players as well as the remarkable men and women who are at the crux of its history and the events that followed.

Doom Breaker GN Vol 1 -  Blue-Deep

Zephyr is the last human fighting evil in a world abandoned by the gods. After being slain by Tartarus, the Demon Lord, all of humanity seems lost. However, much to the sinister amusement of the gods, Zephyr is reincarnated to save humanity and avenge those he loves. Can Zephyr finally have his revenge against Tartarus and save the woman he loves, or is he doomed to repeat the past?

Frontera GN - Julio Anta & Jacoby Salcedo 

As long as he remembers to stay smart and keep his eyes open, Mateo knows that he can survive the trek across the Sonoran Desert that will take him from Mexico to the United States. That is until he's caught by the Border Patrol only moments after sneaking across the fence in the dead of night. Escaping their clutches comes at a price, and lost in the desert without a guide or water, Mateo is ill-prepared for the unforgiving heat that is sure to arrive come sunrise. With the odds stacked against him, his one chance at survival may be putting his trust in something, or rather someone, that he isn't even sure exists. If you'd asked him if ghosts were real before he found himself face-to-face with one, Mateo wouldn't have even considered it. But now, confronted with the nearly undeniable presence of Guillermo, he's having second thoughts. As his journey stretches on, Mateo will have to decide exactly what and who he's willing to sacrifice to find home.

The Great Snake’s Bride GN Vol 1 -  Fushiashikumo

For 500 years, a giant snake god has lived in the ancient mountain. Miyo, an unlucky young woman from the nearby village, has been offered as a tribute: she is to be the snake's bride. Miyo always feared that the enormous talking snake would devour her whole, but once she's taken in by the god, he treats her like a wife rather than a meal. His flicking tongue vibrates through gentle words, his powerful slithering body wraps around hers in an embrace. This god is kinder than his monstrous form implies, and Miyo thinks she could learn to appreciate the non-human form his love takes. What does it truly mean to be the bride of a beast?

Heart Eyes Complete Series TP -  Dennis Hopeless & Victor Ibáñez

Sanity-eating monsters ended humanity. The unlucky few who survived now hide in the cracks of a broken world. And yet somehow, beneath the graveyard that used to be San Antonio, Rico met Lupe, the girl of his dreams. But how did she get here? And why is she smiling? No one survives out in the street. No one smiles where the monsters lurk.

Homicide GN Part 1 - Philippe Squarzoni & David Simon 

Homicide, the celebrated true crime-book from the creator of HBO's The Wire, is reenvisioned in this first volume of a gritty, cinematic graphic novel duology. In 1988, journalist David Simon was given unprecedented access to the Baltimore Police Department's homicide unit. Over the next twelve months, he shadowed detectives as they took on a slew of killings in a city where killings were common. Only the most heinous cases stood out-chief amongst them, the rape and murder of eleven-year-old Latonya Wallace. Originally published in 1991, Simon's Homicide became the basis for the acclaimed television show Homicide: Life on the Streets and inspired HBO's The Wire. Now, this true-crime classic is reimagined as a gritty two-part graphic novel series.

Imitation GN Vol 1 - Kyoung-Ran Park

As a member of the obscure idol group "Tea Party," Ma-Ha dreams of becoming a big star one day. Little did she know that she'd go viral so soon...by embarrassing herself in a popular talk show! But as the saying goes, there is no such thing as bad publicity...right?

Impact Winter: Rook One-Shot - Travis Beacham & Andrea Milana

Hundreds of years before a comet hit Earth and created a cold, dark world ruled by vampires...   A wandering Roman centurion saved a woman from being sacrificed by druids. Honor bound to return Fionnuir to her homeland, Rook embarked on a journey across ancient Britain, where all manner of human and inhuman creatures dwelled...but none more dangerous than the demon he'd sworn himself to.

Lovesick TP -  Luana Vecchio 

"Nature has a kind of innocent cruelty, while man... Why can't man's cruelty be called innocent?" In one of the most lurid corners of the dark web, subscribers pay a high price to be maimed, tortured, and killed by ruthless and irresistible dominatrix DOMINO. This is what they call love in the LOVESICK CLUB. But as Domino faces emerging threats and mounting pressure from a needy audience, what price will she have to pay for success in this literally cutthroat world? And what will she have to become to survive? LUANA VECCHIO invites you into a digital underworld of blood and neon to explore the limits of consent, love, and idolatry in one of the most erotic and extreme stories in recent years!

Marvel Comics: A Manga Tribute GN 

Experience a fresh take on the Marvel Universe with this collection of stunning illustrations from over twenty exceptional Japanese artists, including Yasuhiro Nightow, Akira Himekawa, Peach Momoko, Yusuke Murata, and Yoshitaka Amano. Marvel Comics: A Manga Tribute explores Marvel's rich and enduring legacy as a pop-culture phenomenon by paying homage to its most iconic characters and beloved stories. The book features a range of unique artwork, collected for the first time, celebrating characters from across the multiverse. A must-have for fans of Marvel Comics and Japanese art alike!

Mika & The Howler GN -  Agata Loth-Igaciuk, Berenika Kolomycka & Crank!

Meet Mika! Mika is a young explorer who faces familiar-yet-not-fully known objects and obstacles around her house. Today's newest challenge? The "howler" that roams her living room and hallways sucking up dust bunnies and even her socks! But the howler isn't as dangerous as it appears, and young Mika is soon brave enough to face it. The first in the series of books for the youngest comics readers, enjoy the sweet, simple, and delightful Mika and the Howler.

Misfit Mansion GN - Kay Davault

Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends meets Hilda and the Troll in this spooky and sweet middle grade graphic novel about a monster girl who sneaks out of her foster home and into a human town in search of a forever family but finds more than she bargained for. Despite her monstrous appearance, Iris has never felt like she belongs in a mansion filled with kelpies and gorgons and unicorns. She longs to find a family. Unfortunately, she and her housemates are trapped in a "foster home for horrors" run by former paranormal investigator Mr. Halloway. So, when a human boy named Mathias breaks the house's sealing spell, Iris and her companions are set free upon the town of Dead End Springs. What Iris doesn't know is that Mathias is also a paranormal hunter (the kind who seeks to capture and destroy the horrors), or that there are other dangers ahead. As Iris searches for a home, she makes human friends, explores a brand-new world... and stumbles upon a dark secret that Halloway has kept locked in the basement of the house. Will this long-slumbering mystery destroy the family Iris so desperately seeks?

Offshore Lightning GN -  Saito Nazuna

Nazuna Saito began making comics late. She was in her forties when she submitted a story to a major Japanese publishing house and won an award for newcomers. Offshore Lightning collects Saito's early work as well as two recent graphic novellas "In Captivity" (2012) and "Solitary Death Building" (2015), both focused on aging and death.

Pool Boys #1 - Josh Trujillo & Josh Cornillon

Pool Boys welcomes you to the interdimensional Solitaire Resort. This steamy romance focuses on found love, fleeting connections, and the fun we have along the way. Featuring pinups by Sina Grace, Luciano Vecchio, Jacoby Saucedo, and more, with a cover by David Talaski.  

Project Arca: Into The Dark Labyrinth HC -  Romain Bennasaya & Joan Urgell 

In the not-too-distant future, the planet Earth has been destroyed, its orbit withering and its citizens desperate to escape to the stars. The solution? The Arca, massive vessels bound for the distant promised land of Leonis. When the passengers of Arca III awaken from their long intergalactic journey, they realize they're not in Leonis. Not only that, their journey has taken much longer than the planned two hundred years, and has landed them in a starless, seemingly endless place. Eric Rives, the ship's second-in-command, and his partner Jia Tang are sent on an exploratory mission to investigate the dark labyrinth that surrounds them... but what they find is beyond belief.

Scrapper #1 (of 6) - Cliff Bleszinksi, Alex De Campi, Sandy Jarrell & Juan Ferreyra Blade Runner-style action mixes with big emotions as stray dog Scrapper and his buddy Tank fight for justice against the totalitarian forces of a post-apocalyptic domed city. But when the fight comes to his home, Scrapper will face losing what's most important to him-and gain a terrifying truth in the process. (Don't worry, Mom. The dog doesn't die.)

Star Wars Inquisitor: Rise Of The Red Blade - Delilah S Dawson

When the Jedi Order falls, the Inquisitors rise.. From the aftermath of Order 66 comes a new group of former Jedi, each with their own reason to serve the Empire under Darth Vader. Among them is Iskat, who survived the destruction of her old Order to claim a new destiny in the Force. Iskat joins the Inquisitors in the hope of uncovering her hidden past that the Jedi refused to share with her.

Video Game Of The Year SC -  Jordan Minor & Dan Ryckert

Pong. The Legend of Zelda. Final Fantasy VII. Rock Band. Fortnite. Animal Crossing: New Horizons. For each of the 40 years of video game history, there is a defining game, a game that captured the zeitgeist and left a legacy for all games that followed. Through a series of entertaining, informative, and opinionated critical essays, author and tech journalist Jordan Minor investigates, in chronological order, the innovative, genre-bending, and earth-shattering games from 1977 through 2022. Minor explores development stories, critical reception, and legacy, and also looks at how gaming intersects with and eventually influences society at large while reveling in how uniquely and delightfully bizarre even the most famous games tend to be.

Wanted 20th Anniversary Edition #1 -  Mark Millar &  J. G. Jones Celebrate 20 years of Millarworld this month with this special gold-logo edition of the comic that started it all, featuring the reprinted first issue of WANTED itself alongside exclusive interviews, sketches, and behind-the-scenes material! Learn how WANTED went from the page to the screen in record time and set a course for not only the Angelina Jolie movie, but the Netflix empire that came after.

Whatcha snagging this week?

[smashpages]

Out this week: Offshore Lightning (Drawn + Quarterly, $29.95):

In this volume, Drawn + Quarterly collects several early works of manga creator Saito Nazuna, as well as two recent graphic novellas “In Captivity” and “Solitary Death Building.”

See what else is arriving at your local comic shop this week.

[ljaesch]

The Offshore Lightning Manga Wins a 2024 Ignatz Award

The Small Press Expo awarded Offshore Lightning, a collection of short manga by author Nazuna Saitō, the prize for Outstanding Collection in its 2024 Ignatz Awards. The collection was nominated alongside Buzzelli Collected Works Vol. 1: The Labyrinth, Complete and Utter Malarkey, Gender Studies: The Confessions of an Accidental Outlaw, and Resenter. Drawn & Quarterly released the book in July…

[fluttershydolly]

🌊🐚🌊🐚🌊🐚🌊🐚🌊🐚🌊🐚🌊🐚🌊🐚🌊🐚🌊🐚🌊🐚🌊🐚🌊🐚🌊🐚🌊🐚

Percy Jackson x Mermaid reader

Part two

Part one ⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

(users kinda shy, cause well I am, also it's kinda Percys pov)

The rain came in sheets, soft but steady, turning the sky into a watercolor blur. Most people had long since abandoned the beach and camp for their dry cabins. Full of warmth. But not Percy, deep down he wondered if he'd see her

He floated just offshore, treading water effortlessly, his dark hair slicked back by the rain and salt. The waves were calm around him—unnaturally so, as if the sea itself was holding its breath again. But this time, he wasn't alone.

Perched on a jagged rock jutting out of the gray surf was you. Her tail shimmered even in the low light, the scales an opalescent blend of sea-glass green and storm-sky blue, each movement of her body sending ripples down its full six-foot length. She layed strew across the rock with her hand and tail swirling the water below. Her wet curls clinging to her shoulders and neck. Rain beaded on her skin, but she didn’t seem to notice or care. Her expression was calm but watchful. Closely observing Percy with her head tilted.

Percy swam closer, cautiously. Not out of fear—more like reverence and awe. “So,” he said, breaking the quiet, “you’re real.”

“I’ve always been real,” You replied, your voice lilting like a breeze over waves. “You just weren’t ready to see me before.”

He chuckled softly, the sound blending with the rain. “I’m ready now.”

She tilted her head more, studying him with eyes that looked older than any ocean chart. “You chased shadows. Most mortals give up when they don’t get answers.”

“I’m not most mortals, I'm not a mortal at all, I'm a demigod actually." Percy said, floating a little closer. “Besides, you were the one playing tag.”

Your lips curved just slightly—almost a smile. “You smiled when I splashed you.”

“You giggled first.”

They let that hang between them for a moment. The rain pattered gently against the rock, the only sound aside from the soft lapping of the sea. Eventually Percy moved closer, gazing up at her with his sharp green eyes.

“What are you?” Percy finally asked, not accusingly, just curious. “You’re not a nymph. Not a daughter of Poseidon, like me. But… the ocean listens to you.”

You blinked slowly. “I’m old. Older than most names you know. Some call me a spirit of the current. Some think I’m a myth. I was born when the sea was young, and I’ve watched it grow wild, then sick, then strange again.” You say as you gaze at the ocean, them back to Percy

Percy whistled low. “No offense, but you don’t look ancient.”

“Neither does the ocean,” You said simply.

He smiled at that, drifting closer until the tips of his fingers brushed the rock she sat on. “Why show yourself to me?”

“I’ve seen children of the sea before." You say lightly tugging and twirling your hair. "But you were, different, nice, playful. And I am, lonely."

Percy looked down, letting a moment of silence pass between them. “I’ve lost people to this ocean, you know. It hasn’t always been kind to me.”

“Neither have the gods,” You said, tone gentle.

He glanced back up at her. “You don’t like them?”

“I don’t answer to or work for them.”

That made Percy laugh. “Okay, now I definitely like you.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Careful, son of Poseidon. The sea is wide and full of things you’ve yet to meet. You may be the sea gods boy but that won't keep you safe from the deep sea."

Percy’s eyes sparkled. “Then maybe you’ll show me.”

For the first time, you smiled fully—warm and wild, like lightning reflected in deep water. “Maybe I will.”

The rain continued to fall, but neither of them moved. The world around them faded to just sea and stone and rain, and in that stillness, something ancient and new bloomed.

"PERCY?" A big voice called out that Percy turned too.

"Oh that's my bro-" I turned back a around to face you, but you were already gone. "Well, until next time" He sighed but right as he swam to leave, from down inside the ocean a flash of a smile and long tail appeared. A giggle "Till next time"

Part three⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

[warpdrive-witch]

It Worked (8/?)

16k words: Arguing, ultimatum, very upset Agatha.... and so much more.

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Pairing: Agatha x Rio x Reader Summary: “You’re going to leave?” It came out in a whisper but cracked the air like lightning. The kind that splits trees. The kind that sets dry fields on fire. And then— Silence.

When the Body Speaks: (Part 2)

Your mouth opened—reflex, some desperate attempt to explain—but she didn’t give you the chance.

“No. Don’t speak. Not yet.”

Agatha's voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It rolled in like thunder just offshore—heavy, inevitable, impossible to ignore.

“You lied to me,” she said. “To both of us. Maybe not with words. But with every unopened granola bar. Every unanswered text. Every time you said ‘I’m fine’ when your body was screaming otherwise.”

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, eyes locked on yours. Not cold. Not cruel. Just unrelenting.

“So now? You’re going to sit there. You’re going to listen. And then we’re going to figure out how we come back from this.”

But she didn’t stop. Didn’t let you breathe.

“You think we didn’t notice?” Her voice lifted, just slightly—grief pressing through the cracks. “The skipped lunches. The untouched snacks. The way you smiled through shaking hands and dizzy spells and called it a busy day.”

“I wasn’t—” you started.

“Don’t,” she snapped, the word sharp as a blade. “Don’t dare tell me it wasn’t that bad.”

“I was handling it—”

“No.” Her voice cut across yours, instant and firm. “You weren’t handling it. You were hiding it. You’ve mapped out your chapters, triple-checked your footnotes, planned for every classroom emergency—but you couldn’t tell us that you hadn’t eaten enough. That your body was failing under the weight of everything you refused to name.”

Rio stepped forward then—quiet, but her voice carried that low, breaking edge.

“We were right there,” she said. “We kept asking. You kept brushing it off.”

“I was going to say something,” you said, the words spilling out too fast. “I thought I had time. I thought I could finish the lecture and then—”

“You thought wrong,” Agatha snapped.

The words hit hard—too hard. Your chest cinched tight. Your breath caught halfway up your throat. Not because you were afraid. But because you felt it—every ounce of her fear, her fury, her heartbreak—pressed straight into your ribs.

She leaned in, gaze unflinching. Her voice didn’t rise. It tightened, drawn taut over everything she hadn’t been able to protect you from. “Do you have any idea what it felt like?” she whispered, each word a blow to the gut. “Walking in to find you half out of your chair, blood on your face, no clue if you were even breathing?”

The image hit her mid-sentence. She blinked—just once—but it cracked something loose behind her eyes. And then it all rushed in.

The thud of her knees on the tile. The way your name shattered in her throat. The sickening silence of your breath not answering hers. Blood catching in the glow of the projector. Cold skin. Clammy clothes. Her palm on your chest, waiting—begging—for movement that didn’t come. Her voice—usually the thing that steadied everyone—cracking as she told the dispatcher you were pregnant. Bleeding. Maybe worse. That she didn’t know how long you’d been like that. That she didn’t know if you were still—

She remembered the sound of Rio’s bag hitting the floor halfway down the hall. It had slammed like gunfire. And then Rio was there too, dropping to the ground beside her, whispering your name like it was the only thing anchoring her to the world. Her hands had shaken so badly she’d struggled to open the juice box. She’d held you. Spoken to you. Begged for your eyes to flutter open—just once. Even a twitch. Because any movement meant you were still here.

The silence had felt eternal. Every shallow breath was a countdown.

And then you moved. Barely. But it was enough. And then—God—you tried to sit up. You tried to say you were fine. “I’m okay,” you whispered. “I just need a minute.” Agatha’s voice broke again—not loud, but sharp with disbelief. “You passed out, and your first instinct was to lie to us again.” She stared at you, eyes wet and wild. “You couldn’t even stand, and you were already brushing it off. Already pretending you weren’t hurt.”

And both of them—Agatha remembered this with a brutal kind of clarity—both of them had collapsed inward, foreheads pressed to your skin, as if their own lungs only worked when yours did.

She had felt her own body come apart in that moment. Not because it was over. But because it hadn’t been. Not yet.

“Agatha—” Rio’s voice was low. Cautious. The kind of caution that came from years of knowing exactly what storms Agatha could survive— And what it cost her to weather them. “You don’t have to—”

But Agatha raised her hand. Not sharp, but absolute. It cut the air like a line she refused to let be crossed. Her fingers trembled, just once, before curling into her palm like she could hold herself back.

“No.” Her voice was quiet, but sharp as broken glass. “We need to have this conversation like this.”

She didn’t look at Rio. She looked at you. And the weight of that gaze—furious, raw, aching—pressed down like gravity. “Because whatever we’ve been doing?” A harsh breath escaped her, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “It’s not enough.”

Agatha took another breath, anger radiating off her in waves. Her voice rose, each word a tightly-controlled explosion. “We watched you unravel day after day—your hands trembling, eyes sunken, and yet you kept insisting you had everything under control. Do you know what that felt like? Watching you break in slow motion, knowing exactly how this was going to end, and being powerless to stop it?”

You swallowed, your throat dry and raw, but she didn’t pause long enough to let you respond.

“I’m furious, do you hear me? Not just because of today, not just because of the lies. I’m angry because you thought you could just grind yourself down until nothing was left—and call it courage. Call it determination.” Her voice cracked, brittle with the weight of her rage. “That’s not bravery. It’s cruelty.”

Rio moved slightly, her eyes wide, vulnerable—but Agatha wasn’t finished. “And you let it happen right in front of us. Right in front of me. How dare you think that watching you destroy yourself wouldn’t hurt us too?”

“Agatha—” Rio’s voice trembled, trying to soften the tension, but Agatha turned sharply toward her, not in anger, but in raw desperation.

“No, Rio. Not this time. We’ve been gentle. We’ve been careful. We’ve whispered around this, because neither of us wanted to push too hard. And look where it’s gotten us!” She swung back toward you, her eyes blazing. “We gave you space, hoping you’d come to us. We gave you trust, thinking you’d speak up before you fell apart. And every single time, you threw it back at us like it meant nothing. Like we meant nothing.”

The accusation hit you squarely in the chest, robbing your lungs of air. “You know that’s not true—”

Agatha shook her head sharply, the movement final, cutting you off. “It doesn’t matter what you intended. It matters what you did. And what you did was tell us again and again that you’d rather break than admit you needed us.”

Her voice lowered to a fierce whisper, still razor-sharp. “I won’t forgive myself if I stand here and watch it happen again.”

Your throat tightened. Your arms wrapped around your midsection, your body folding in on itself like maybe you could shrink down and become less of a burden. Less of a disappointment. The air around her trembled like a match just before it flares. She wasn’t yelling. She didn’t need to. The rage was in her stillness. In the way her jaw locked. In the way her eyes shimmered, but she refused to blink.

“I thought you were dead.” The words hit the room like a thunderclap. Not screamed. Just true.

“I thought—” Her voice cracked, and she bit down on the rest of the sentence before it could break her. “I thought you’d lost the baby. I thought—” Her chest rose, hard and fast, like she couldn’t get enough air. Her eyes flicked to Rio, then back to you. “I thought I was too late.”

Her hands clenched at her sides. Fingernails dug into her palms like if she let go—just for a second—she’d come apart completely. “And do you know what the worst part was?” she asked, voice trembling. “It wasn’t just the fear. It was realizing I wasn’t surprised.”

She swallowed hard. Her shoulders trembled. “Because you’ve been running yourself into the ground, and we saw it. We begged you to slow down. We tried—God, we tried—to make you see.” Her breath caught. “And you just kept pushing. Kept smiling. Kept saying you were fine, until we found you unconscious and freezing and—”

Her voice broke again, and this time, she didn’t stop it. She let it crack through the silence like a fault line giving way. “I keep replaying it in my head. Over and over. The blood. Your face. Your body slumped like—like a marionette someone let go of.” She paused, her throat working. “And I hated you for a second. Do you understand that? For a millisecond, I fucking hated you.”

Her voice turned sharp, slicing through the stillness. “I hated you for doing that to us. For doing that to yourself. For making me feel helpless.” Rio flinched—just slightly—but she didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Agatha shook her head once. Sharp. Final.

“And I hate that I had to feel that at all.” She blinked hard. “Because underneath it was just fear. So much fucking fear I didn’t know where to put it, and it became hate.” Her voice gentled, but it didn’t lose its edge. Her voice gentled, but it didn’t lose its edge. “I need to say this. And you need to hear it. All of it.” She looked at you like she was seeing all the way through.

Then—deliberately—she turned her head. Looked at Rio. “Because I will not lose either of you to silence.”  Her voice didn’t shake. But her eyes did. She looked between you both, gaze burning with grief and love and something close to desperation. A breath. “I will not let us come undone because no one wants to admit how close we came to losing everything. I love you both too much to let that happen.”

Rio’s hand came to your shoulder—light, steady, but trembling beneath the weight of everything she hadn’t said yet. “It could’ve been a message,” she whispered. Her voice cracked around the edges. “Just a quick text. ‘Bring me something?’ That’s all it would've taken.”

You swallowed hard. “I’m doing my best,” you said, and it came out splintered. Thin. “I’m holding everything together the only way I know how.” Agatha reached for your hands. Not gently. Not to comfort. But to anchor. Like she needed the physical proof that you were still here. Still solid. Still yours.

“Then your best,” she said, “is putting your life at risk.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No.” Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t have to. “It’s not fair. And it’s true.”

She didn’t blink. “You’re burning yourself down and calling it progress.”

“I’m doing what I have to do!” you snapped, the words bursting out before you could soften them. “This degree doesn’t finish itself. This pregnancy doesn’t pause because I’m tired. I didn’t ask for any of this to feel like I’m juggling glass every damn second—”

Agatha’s grip tightened, and the air shifted—sharp and electric.

“You don’t have to juggle it alone!” she shouted. The words echoed. Not through the room, but through you.

“We’ve told you that. Again and again. And still, you keep doing this like it’s only yours to carry.”

Your voice cracked open.

“Then why does it feel like if I drop one thing, I’m failing you?” you fired back. “Failing both of you!”

You blinked, but the tears still came.

“Failing you because I’m not good enough. Because I’m not doing the same level of work you did—not with this degree, not with this pregnancy, not with this life. Because you were both brilliant, you were unstoppable.”

You looked at them—both of them.

“And if I admit I’m struggling, if I can’t keep up, if I let anything fall—I’m letting you down. I’m failing you just by not being everything you were.”

That landed. Hard.

Agatha didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. She just looked at you—really looked at you. And it was worse than yelling. Because you could see it: the grief. The ache. The part of her that had already pictured your funeral. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. Soft—but sharpened down to the bone.

“You’re not failing us.” A pause. Her fingers flexed around yours—tight, desperate. “You’re failing your body.” She took one breath—just one—and it broke something in her face. “And that’s what’s killing you.”

You felt it split—something deep and old cracking open inside your chest. Not pain. Not yet. But shame. Thick and clinging, curling low in your gut, rising like smoke into your throat. Your voice came out small. Frayed. Already unraveling.

“I’m not trying to die,” you whispered. “I’m just trying to survive it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t judgment. It was worse. It was witness. You could feel both of them watching you. Not with anger—but with something heavier. With grief. “Every day I drag myself through deadlines and meetings and panic. I’m managing a committee that could care less, growing our child, and answering emails from students who think I have it together. I get up, I push through, I keep going because I have to. Because if I stop—”

Your breath caught. You swallowed hard.

“If I stop, everything falls apart.”

Your fingers curled reflexively, trying to pull away—but Agatha held on.

“You think this is what I wanted?” Your voice cracked. “To give everything and still feel like it’s never enough?”

Agatha didn’t blink. Didn’t move. She just stared, eyes dark and wild with unspeakable things.

“Your everything,” she said, slow and serrated, “is killing you.”

She hadn’t let go. Not once. Her grip was steady. Not cruel. Not comforting. Just there. Like she’d anchored herself to you—and wasn’t letting go. She leaned in, her voice lower now. Not a whisper. Not a warning. Just truth, stripped bare.

“You think asking for help makes you weak.” She didn’t ask. She knew.

“But that’s not our voice.” She shook her head once, eyes bright with fury and heartbreak. “That’s the voice you’ve been carrying since before we ever met. And I am so fucking tired of watching it lie to you.” Her thumbs pressed into the backs of your hands, grounding you.

“You spiral. You disappear. You brace like you’re waiting to be punished. Like needing something—anything—makes you a burden. Like love has to be earned through suffering.”

You flinched—not from fear, but from how true it felt. How deep it hit. “I’m not a child,” you muttered, but the words didn’t carry weight—not like hers had. Not anymore.

Agatha didn’t flinch. “Then why are you still punishing yourself like one?”

You froze. “Really?” you whispered. “That’s where we’re going now?”

“Yes.” Her voice was firm, steady in a way that only cracked because of how much it was holding back. “Because I’m not going to watch the person I love destroy themselves out of pride. Because you don’t get to be fragile and defiant at the same time. You don’t get to scare the hell out of us and then act like we’re overreacting.”

Rio’s voice came next—quiet, but shaking. She stepped beside you again, her hand returning to your back. Steadying. “Today broke my heart,” she said. You looked at her. She wasn’t crying. But she looked like if she blinked, she might. “I walked into that room and thought you were gone,” she said, voice low and uneven. “And I didn’t know if I was too late.”

She shifted to face you more fully. Her hand curled around your arm. “You were alone. Bleeding. Carrying our baby. And we didn’t know if you were alive.” She swallowed hard.

“You always try to protect us from your worst days. But this—this wasn’t protection. This was pretending we didn’t need to know.” Her thumb brushed your sleeve. A ghost of a touch, trembling. “And I love you too much to be okay with that.”

You blinked fast, your eyes burning. You didn’t know where to look—Agatha’s grip still anchoring your hands, Rio’s voice cutting through you like something holy and terrible all at once.

“You’re not a burden,” Rio said, softer now. “You never have been. But if you keep shutting us out like this... if you keep treating your life like it's a variable to be managed…”

Her voice broke.

“You’re going to shatter us.”

She didn’t yell it. Didn’t raise her voice. But it was the quiet that did you in.

And suddenly she was back there— The room too still. Your body too quiet. Her feet skidding across tile because she knew. Because something in her had already broken before she’d even seen you. The smell of blood. The flicker of your pulse. The cold.

She remembered Agatha’s voice—sharp, cracking around the edges—and the way her own hands wouldn’t stop shaking. How she had tried to pull you into her lap like it would anchor you there. Like love could fight biology.

The post-it. “You are loved. So deeply. We’ll all come home when you’re tired. ❤️” A note meant to carry you through your day, crumpled in her fist like it had betrayed them both.

She remembered whispering your name over and over, not knowing if you could hear her. Praying that you would. That some part of you would feel it. That love might be enough to pull you back. The moment your chest rose. How she’d clung to you, her breath catching like surf dragged under. The thought that haunted her since: What if it hadn’t? What if Agatha hadn’t dismissed her class early?

You looked at her—really looked—and saw it: The grief behind her eyes. The fear. The fight to stay calm because someone had to be, because Agatha was already trembling with rage and heartbreak and too many what-ifs.

“I don’t want to keep imagining the worst every time your location doesn’t change or we find you asleep on the couch,” Rio whispered. “I don’t want to wonder if the next time I walk into a room, I’ll be too late.”

Her hand slid from your sleeve to your thigh, a featherlight pressure meant to ground—but her fingers curled tight like she didn’t trust herself to let go. She shook her head. Once. Just once.

“We can’t live like that,” she said. “I can’t.”

And then— Agatha’s voice. Quieter than before but sharpened with something final.

“We’re not trying to control you,” she said. “We’re trying to keep you alive.” She met your gaze—and this time, her hands around yours weren’t steady. They were shaking. “Because I don’t know how to live in a world where I lose you.”

You swallowed hard, but the lump in your throat wouldn’t move. Agatha didn’t reach for you. Didn’t soften. She stayed exactly still. Too still. “You think I’m angry because you fainted,” she said. “But I’m not.” Her voice was stripped down to the bone.

“I’m angry because I’ve watched you do this. Watched you chip away at yourself and call it achievement. You treat your body like a machine,” she said. “Like pain is proof you’re doing something right. And now you’re surprised it broke?”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“I don’t care what you were trying to do.” Her voice was soft as ice. “I’m the one who found you bleeding. Rio couldn’t speak. I had to call emergency services because you didn’t think we deserved to know you were feeling bad. Your wives, who love you more than life itself, didn’t need to know you were feeling bad.”

Your breath faltered.

“What happened today, that wasn’t strength,” she said. “That was surrender.”

Rio didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. She stayed beside you, hand still on your thigh, her body a storm barely contained. Agatha stepped in again. Her voice shook now.

“You say you didn’t shut us out. Then what was it? Pride? Shame? That same voice you’ve carried since you were a kid—the one that says you’re only worth what you produce?”

“I didn’t think—”

“Exactly,” she said.

“You didn’t think about me. About Rio. About the child growing inside you—who needed care, and instead got silence.”

Another pause. Then Rio. Quiet. Cracked open. “I asked if you’d eaten.” “You had to have seen it. And chose not to answer.”

“I wasn’t trying to ignore you—”

“You did ignore me.” Her voice didn’t rise. It just fell. “Whether you meant to or not, you made that choice.”

Agatha inhaled sharply, her breath catching like it hurt to hold in her lungs. Still holding your hands. Still trembling. “I need you to hear me now,” she said. “Because I can’t say it again.” You looked up. She looked tired in her soul. “If this happens again—if you keep shutting us out, if you collapse alone, if we have to wonder whether you’re alive—”

She paused. Her voice cracked. “I don’t know if I’ll survive that.” It wasn’t a warning. It wasn’t a line in the sand. It was a confession. A heartbreak spoken out loud. “Not because I’ll stop loving you,” she said, “but because I won’t know how to hold the pieces after.”

It hung in the air like a blade suspended over the three of you. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Rio’s hand was still on your leg. Agatha’s fingers still wrapped around yours, trembling like they were the only thing anchoring her to the floor. And then—

Rio spoke. A whisper. “We can’t be the only ones fighting for you.” And Agatha— Her voice, razor-sharp and trembling.

“This is your last warning.”

You flinched.

Not because it was a threat. Not because it hurt. But because something inside you knew. This was it.

The words didn’t strike like punishment. They landed like grief. Like a line drawn in blood, not anger. A trembling boundary. A cry for help disguised as finality.

Your chest tightened. Your vision blurred—not with tears, not yet, but with pressure, like your body didn’t know where to hold all of it anymore. Your lips parted, but your voice cracked before it reached full sound.

When the words finally came, they scraped out of your throat—brittle and childlike.

“What does that mean?”

You hated the way your voice sounded—small. Hated how it exposed you.

Your fingers twitched in Agatha’s hands, but she didn’t let go. Rio's touch on your thigh grew firmer, grounding you with the gentlest possible pressure.

“What does that actually mean, Agatha?”

Your breath hitched again. You tried to draw it in, to hold yourself steady, but the inhale was shallow—like your body was bracing.

Agatha inhaled slowly—so slowly, it looked like it hurt.

As if she were dragging air into lungs that had forgotten how to accept it. Her chest rose, trembled, stilled. She blinked once. Her jaw tightened. And then it moved—just slightly—working through every word like it had to travel all the way up from her ribs.

Not from anger. From something deeper.

“It means I can’t do this again.”

“It means I can’t walk into a room and see you unconscious on the floor, bleeding.” Agatha’s voice wavered—shallow and cracked like she was breathing through splinters. “I can’t keep wondering if today’s the day your body gives out. And I can’t—” Her throat closed around the words. She pushed through it anyway. “I can’t keep pretending it’s okay when it’s not.”

You swallowed, but it didn’t help. The lump in your throat was thick and sharp. Your vision blurred again—not just from tears this time, but from the sheer weight of it all pressing down on your skull, your spine, your lungs.

And still, the question rose. Small. Crooked. Terrifying.

“You’re going to leave?”

It came out in a whisper, but it cracked the air like lightning. The kind that splits trees. The kind that sets dry fields on fire.

And then—

Silence.

But not the soft kind. This was the silence that hurts. That rings in your ears like pressure before a storm. That makes you wish you could pull the words back—unsay them, hide them, swallow them whole. Your body went still. Your heart kicked once, too hard. And then everything else—your breath, your hands, even your eyes—froze in place, waiting for a verdict you weren’t sure you could survive.

Agatha exhaled sharply, and it sounded like it cost her. Her hand lifted, dragged across her mouth like she could wipe the tremble from it, then dropped to her lap. Her eyes didn’t meet yours at first. They dropped—to the space between you, the floor, the empty air charged with everything you’d just said. And when she finally looked up, her gaze was wet and wild and burning with something too complex to name. Not fury. Not sadness. Something deeper. Betrayal by fear itself.

“Do you think I’d be here right now—saying all this, begging—if I was going to leave?”

Agatha’s voice shook, but not with rage. With grief. She blinked slowly, like the question had landed somewhere deep. Her hands stayed wrapped around yours—trembling, but steady. “We’re married,” she said softly. “We built this life together. This family. You think I’m going to walk away because you’re hurting?”

She swallowed, jaw working like it hurt to form the next words. “I’m not mad you asked.” A pause. Her eyes didn’t leave yours. “I’m mad that something in you believed it could be true.”

And gods, the way she said it—low, steady, heartbroken—you did know better. But fear didn’t always listen to knowing.

Your throat tightened. Shame rising hot behind your ribs. Because it had felt possible. Real. Like a door already halfway closed. Like something love might do if you weren’t careful enough, good enough, easy enough to love.

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out. You didn’t even realize you were pulling your hands back until Agatha stopped you—gently, firmly. Her fingers closed around yours—not to restrain, just to stay. To say: I’m still here.

And even then, you couldn’t look at her. Not yet. You couldn’t bear to meet the grief in her eyes. Because it mirrored your own.

Then—

Rio’s voice, slicing gently through the thick air.

“No one is leaving.”

Her words were soft but deliberate, every syllable placed like a stone in water. She didn’t say it to calm you. She said it to root you.

Rio’s fingers curled gently around yours, steady and warm. “Don’t even let that live in your head. Not for one second.”

The words landed like a blanket pulled over a bruise—soft, but not enough to stop the ache beneath it. You tried to believe her. Gods, you wanted to. But the fear had already rooted itself too deep. Buried in your marrow. Familiar in the way only old pain could be.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until Agatha moved. Not far. Just a subtle lean forward—her thumb brushing the back of your knuckles, her breath catching in her throat like something sacred and sharp had bloomed there.

She blinked—slowly, like it hurt to look at you. Pain flickered behind her eyes.

“You’ve been carrying that fear for so long,” she said, voice quiet. Not fragile. Not angry. Just… honest. Like she was naming a ghost she could finally see. You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“You’ve been bracing for abandonment like it was inevitable.” She shook her head—once, slow, sorrowful. “That didn’t come from us.”

And gods, the way she said “us”—it cracked something in your ribs. Like she was trying to hand you proof of love in a single word.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t fill the silence with promises she couldn’t make. She just stayed. Holding your hands like she was anchoring you in place. Like she could feel how close you were to disappearing into yourself again.

“You don’t have to hold it all,” she whispered. “Not alone. You’ve never had to.” Her eyes—sharp and glistening—locked onto yours.

“But you’ve been carrying that belief since long before us—since the people who should’ve protected you left you with nothing but your own two hands.”

Her thumb swept gently across your knuckles, grounding you with the smallest gesture— a pulse point of quiet defiance. When Agatha spoke again, her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. It carried the weight of every goddamn thing you never said out loud.

“That voice in your head—the one that says you have to earn being cared for, that says slowing down means failure, that tells you needing anything makes you unlovable?”

She looked straight at you. “That’s not ours.” Her fingers trembled where they touched you, but her voice didn’t break.

“That’s not love. That’s trauma. That’s manipulation. That’s your parents talking—not me. Not Rio.” You flinched—not because it wasn’t true, but because it was. She didn’t flinch back.

“That fierce independence you cling to like armor?” Her voice softened, just slightly. “That’s what they made you build. When they slammed the door and called it discipline. When they told you love had to be deserved. When they punished you for asking and ignored you when you didn’t.”

A pause. Her jaw worked like the words hurt to say. “You didn’t leave. They expelled you. Emotionally. Spiritually. Physically. They made you choose between being silent or being unwanted.” Her hand tightened slightly around yours. Not to hurt. Just to hold you here.

“They used your body. Your identity. Your queerness. Not because they didn’t understand it—but because it made them feel powerful to erase it.”

Her voice shook—just once. “They used your softness like a weapon. When it served them, they held you up as a lesson. When it didn’t? They turned away like you didn’t exist.”

You couldn’t breathe. The air in the room felt too sharp. But she wasn’t done. “You weren’t a child in that house. You were a crisis manager. A peacekeeper. A parent. You tiptoed around their rage like your survival depended on it—because it did.”

“You learned to apologize before you even knew what you’d done. You monitored their moods like weather patterns. You kept the house from burning down by burning yourself first.” A fresh tear slid down your cheek. You didn’t even try to stop it.

“You used to sleep in college libraries,” she added, voice cracking now, “because they kicked you out. Because you were gay. Because you told the truth and they called it rebellion.”

“You studied by day and hid by night. You stitched together your own safety out of cafeteria hours and borrowed blankets. And no one—no one—should’ve had to survive that.”

Her voice dropped lower. Fiercer.

“And you carried that with you. Into friendships. Into work. Into us.”

A pause. Her eyes shimmered. But she didn’t blink.

“You made a home out of silence. You wrapped your shame in productivity. And you taught yourself that if you were just strong enough, just useful enough, just quiet enough—maybe no one would leave.”

Rio’s voice came next, quiet and trembling. “They were awful to you. All your life. And somehow… you still learned how to love.” Agatha’s voice returned, but it was no longer steady. It frayed at the edges now, raw with love and grief. “You survived them. You survived everything they did to you. But that fierce, isolated part of you? That impulse to go silent, to disappear, to ‘handle it’ on your own?”

“That’s their legacy. Not yours.”

Your breath stuttered in your chest. She looked at you like she was willing the truth into your skin. “That’s the sorry excuse for human beings who raised you to believe that needing care made you weak.”

Her voice cracked. “That’s them.” She leaned in. Didn’t look away. “That’s not us.” A final breath. Soft. Shaking.“and it sure as hell isn’t you.”

You let out a trembling breath—barely audible, but it shook something loose in your chest. You weren’t even sure where to begin. Not with the shame. Not with the exhaustion. But with the grief of trying to hold it all together in front of the two people who once helped you learn how to stand.

“I didn’t ask for help because…” The words clung to your throat. You swallowed, but they stayed sharp—cutting on the way out.

“Because I didn’t think I was allowed to.”

You looked down—at your hands, still cradled between theirs. Still held. Still steady. Still here. Anchored.

“Not because I didn’t trust you,” you said, voice rough around the edges, “but because I didn’t want to let you down.”

A pause. A breath. A fracture, widening.

“I didn’t want to seem like I couldn’t handle it. Not the work. Not the program. Not the pregnancy. Not… any of it.”

You blinked fast—trying to outrun the tears that had been waiting for this moment for weeks.

“You’ve both done this. You know how brutal this life is. How isolating. How you’re taught to wear burnout like a badge. How people look at you sideways if you need to slow down, like compassion is something that disqualifies you from the room.”

You let out a breath—quieter this time, hoarse.

“I thought if I just kept going—if I pushed a little harder, worked a little longer—I could finish strong. That I’d prove I was strong. That I’d deserved to be here.”

Another pause. The silence didn’t press down—it waited.

“I thought that’s what strength meant.”

You looked up. Just for a second. And what you saw in Agatha’s face—Rio’s too—nearly undid you. Your voice softened. Slower now. Steady only in how sacred it felt.

“Long before I ever loved you… I looked up to you.”

Agatha’s fingers twitched around yours. Rio blinked fast, like she was swallowing something too heavy to name.

“Before I was your partner—before I even dreamed that could be real—I was just a name on a roster.”

“Just the student in the back row. Too scared to raise her hand. Too afraid to be seen.”

A breath. Then:

“But I saw you.”

You looked to Rio first.

“I took your class my first semester. And I remember thinking—that’s what it looks like when someone knows exactly who they are. You had this calm, quiet confidence. You never raised your voice, and you didn’t need to. People leaned in just to hear you think.”

“You made room for us. Not just in the lesson, but in the way you paused when someone was close to understanding something hard. The way you didn’t flinch when queerness or grief entered the conversation—you leaned in.”

You gave a shaky breath.

“You made the classroom feel like a place where we could be whole.”

And then you turned to Agatha.

“And you…”

“Your lectures were lightning.”

“You didn’t just teach poetry. You made it ache. Every time you paused on a line that hurt too good to explain, the room leaned with you. It was like… the air changed.”

You smiled through the tears now.

“You taught me how to see the world not just as it is, but as it feels. You made me believe silence could hold as much meaning as the text itself.”

Your voice dropped, reverent.

“I used to linger after class. Not to talk. Just to stand in the echo. To breathe in the energy of the space you’d created. Hoping some of it would stick to me.”

And then your expression shifted—softer now. Glowing.

“As I moved through undergrad… something changed.”

“The girl who sat in the back row became the one in the front.”

Your cheeks colored at the memory. Your smile a little sheepish.

“I started raising my hand. Started speaking. Not always confidently. But always—because I wanted you to see me.”

A tiny laugh escaped.

“I remember the first time I made a good point in discussion and one of you smiled.”

You blinked fast.

“It was like sunlight cracked through my ribs.”

And then—

“Your comments on my papers… they were never just corrections. They were invitations. To think deeper. To be braver. You didn’t just shape my writing. You shaped how I thought about myself.”

You swallowed. “You built the foundation I stand on. One note at a time. One margin comment at a time. You taught me that criticism could be a kind of care—that expecting more from me meant you believed I had more to give.”

Your voice grew quiet.

“And slowly… I believed it too.”

Then your eyes met theirs again.

“That belief—that strength—it gave me the courage to try.”

A breath.

“To flirt. To test the waters. To see if maybe… I could be seen in another light.”

You smiled through the tears. “And when you smiled back—when you saw me not just as your student but as a person… I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified. Or more alive.”

You pressed your hands tighter into theirs. “Because that was the moment the girl who once sat in silence realized she might be worth wanting.”

A pause. The silence held you. Not heavy this time—just real. And then the words came faster—too big to hold back now.

“So if I let this slip—if I let the weight crush me, or admit I couldn’t do it all—I was terrified I’d shatter the person I’ve spent years trying to become.”

You shook your head, tears sliding freely now.

“Not because you don’t love me. I know you do. But because I didn’t want to fail the version of me that you helped build.”

You looked from Agatha to Rio, voice barely more than a whisper.

“I didn’t want to let her go. Because she’s the bravest person I’ve ever been. And you… you’re the reason she ever thought she could exist.”

Your voice trembled again. “After we found each other—after the love—I wanted to make you proud Not just as your wife. But as the student who barely spoke but was watching everything.”

You swallowed hard. “Because you didn’t just help me survive this program.” Your voice broke. “You helped me find myself.” You closed your eyes, a sob trembling up your chest.

“You helped me become someone who could stand her ground in a room full of academics… someone who could debate the best of them and still come home to a place that felt like safety.”

You looked up again. Braver. Shaking, but steady.

“If I let this slip—if I let her slip—I’m scared I’ll lose the version of me you helped build.”

But your voice didn’t stop there. It cracked, softer. Smaller.

“And it’s not just her.”

Your hands curled tighter in theirs, your breath catching at the base of your ribs.

“I don’t want to let down the version of me who thought this kind of life wasn’t even possible.”

Your chest trembled.

“The kid who learned how to disappear in her own home. Who never dreamed a woman could love her—let alone two. I don’t want to let down the girl who used to press her hands to her ribs at night and wonder if she’d ever find a place where it didn’t hurt to be herself.”

Your voice wavered, raw and reverent.

“I don’t want to let down the woman you held after the attack—the one you carried through hell without ever flinching.”

A sob shuddered loose in your chest.

“You didn’t just help me survive. You stayed. You chose me. Even when I couldn’t choose myself.”

The silence swelled with memory. Then—

“I don’t want to let down the girl who sat in front of a computer, both of you on either side of me, watching as I opened my acceptance to the MA program and burst into tears because I never thought I was good enough.”

Your shoulders curled inward.

“Or the one who stared at the Ph.D. letter like it was written for someone else. Who turned to you, both of you, and asked, ‘Are they sure it’s me?’ because she still didn’t know how to believe in herself without your voices echoing behind her.”

Agatha’s thumb pressed into the back of your hand. Rio’s palm stayed firm and steady over your knuckles.

“I don’t want to let her down. Any of them. The scared girl. The hopeful woman. The one who collapsed and was carried home. The one who finally started to believe she could have a future that didn’t begin with pain.”

You looked up, eyes shining with too many versions of yourself to name.

“Because you didn’t just stand by me. You built me. With care. With love. With every kind word, every hard truth, every margin note that told me I mattered—even when I didn’t think I did.”

Your voice broke. Just once. And you let it.

“You saw something in me when all I had was ash and overcompensation.”

And then—

“I wanted to make you proud. Because I am who I am because of you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was everything. It pulsed between the three of you—thick and holy and too alive to break. Not yet. You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Your chest trembled with the aftershocks of what you’d said—what you’d finally let be said. All those versions of yourself still flickering in the air like candle flames. Raw. Real. Named.

Agatha’s thumb moved first. She brushed your cheek with the barest touch—so gentle it felt like reverence. Like awe. Her hand shook, but she didn’t pull away. Not this time.

Her breath hitched. You didn’t need words to know what it cost her to stay this soft, this open. But she did. For you.

Rio shifted beside you—closer now. Her hand never left yours.

“We see her,” she whispered, her voice breaking like dawn. “All of her. Every version. Every ache. Every ounce of fight.”

You turned your head, slowly, tears catching in the hollow of your throat.

“We see you.”

And gods, she said it like a promise. Like a vow. Not the kind spoken at an altar, wrapped in ceremony and spectacle. But the kind forged in quiet places— In hospital rooms, where breath was a battle. On bathroom floors, where tears fell in silence. In classrooms, where you relearned your worth one whispered answer at a time. In the fragile seconds after collapse— When love doesn't ask if it should stay. It just does. And love stayed.

Agatha leaned in—her forehead resting against yours, her breath brushing your lips, your cheek. Her hand, still trembling, cradled your jaw with reverence.

“I was already proud of you,” she whispered, voice low and laced with heat and heartbreak. “Long before the degrees. Long before you ever looked at me like I was more than your professor.”

She exhaled against your skin, breath warm and steadying.

“I was proud the first time you raised your hand in seminar. You were terrified. I saw it in your posture, the way you held your pen like it was armor. But you did it anyway.”

A breath of laughter, soft and breaking, slipped through her tears.

“And then you spoke. And the entire room shifted.”

A quiet smile touched the corner of her mouth, like she was reliving the memory in real time.

“You argued with clarity. With compassion. You took up space and didn’t apologize. And I thought—there she is.”

Her breath caught, but she didn’t stop.

“You used to linger after class. Always with more questions. Every paper you turned in was laced with margin notes—not to impress me, but because you were reaching. Searching. Caring.”

She laughed, low and reverent.

“You wanted to understand the world like it was a poem—messy, layered, beautiful. And I thought, gods help me, this student is going to break me open.”

She leaned her forehead against yours once more.

“And you did.”

Another breath. Another heartbeat.

“You think I love you now because of everything you’ve achieved. But I loved the version of you who stayed behind after class just to ask how a single line of Audre Lorde could ripple through generations.”

Her voice quieted into something close to prayer.

“The version of you who still flinched when someone raised their voice. The one who brought me poems, folded into your planner because you didn’t yet believe your voice belonged out loud.”

She reached for your hand, warm and steady.

“I was already proud of you then.”

Agatha’s thumb swept along your cheek, slow and reverent.

“I watched you grow into yourself like a sunrise. Slow. Relentless. Soft at the edges, but blinding when it rose. I saw the way you stopped apologizing for your ideas. The way you started to take up space—not with ego, but with presence.”

Rio’s voice joined, soft but unwavering.

“You started leaving your books on my desk. Little annotations, questions in the margins. Not because you wanted praise—but because you were still hungry to learn.”

Then Agatha’s voice returned—lower now, stripped down to its core.

“I was proud of you the day you walked into that courtroom.”

You flinched—soft, instinctive. But she held your gaze.

“You stood there, still bruised, still aching, and you told them what he did to you. You didn’t look away. Not from the judge. Not from the jury. Not even from him.”

Her eyes shimmered.

“I watched your hands shake when they swore you in—watched your voice catch when they questioned your memory. Your worth. Your truth.”

She swallowed.

“But you never folded. Not once.”

Her thumb swept beneath your eye, catching a tear.

“You didn’t just survive that day. You demanded the world witness your survival.”

She leaned in, forehead touching yours again.

“You didn’t owe anyone that strength. But you gave it.”

Her voice dropped to a hush.

“And then—gods—you came back. You started the new semester with bruises healing beneath your clothes, pain still flickering behind your eyes… but you stood tall.”

Her hand moved to your sleeve, thumb pressing softly.

“You walked into that lecture hall like you belonged there. Because you did. And you taught like your voice was still yours.”

She cupped your jaw again, like it was holy.

“You didn’t flinch when they stared. You didn’t shrink. You showed up anyway. And I have never been more proud of anyone.”

She smiled then—tender, trembling.

“And I was proud on our wedding day. Gods, you were shaking so hard I had to take your hand twice. But you still looked me in the eye when you said your vows. You said you chose me.”

She paused, voice softening.

“You never knew I’d already chosen you a thousand times before.”

Tears slid silently down your cheeks. You didn’t stop them.

Then Rio’s voice joined hers—warm and steady.

“But I think about our wedding day all the time.”

Her eyes softened—glazed with tears, but glowing.

“The way you looked at me when you said ‘I love you.’ Like the words were a lifeline, you had no doubt about.”

She laughed softly.

“You were shaking. Your hand in mine during the handfasting—it trembled the entire time. But you didn’t let go. Not once. And when I started crying so hard I forgot how to breathe, you leaned in and whispered, ‘Breathe, Mamí. We’ve got this. And gods, we did.”

Her voice cracked.

“And I knew you meant it. I’ve never felt safer than in that moment.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, her fingers brushing your skin with a reverence that made you ache.

“That’s the kind of woman you are.”

“But it’s not just the big things.”

Her voice softened, became something secret and sweet.

“It’s watching you hold Billy and Eddie’s son after they asked you to be his godmother. The way you looked down at him like the whole world had narrowed to one heartbeat.”

Her thumb pressed to your chest.

“It’s helping me in the garden—even when you overwater every damn thing and get personally offended when the basil dies.

You let out a watery laugh, and she beamed at the sound.

“It’s the way you laugh. Full-belly. Unfiltered. The kind that shakes the room. The way you dance barefoot when you think no one’s watching. The way you light up when a student finally gets it. The way you remember everyone’s name.”

The way you talk about your thesis like it might save the world.”

She pressed her palm gently to your chest.

“It’s how you remember everyone’s name. How you still make space for joy, even after everything. It’s the way you always reach for my hand when you’re scared—and the way you don’t pull away when I reach for yours.”

She touched your chest with her palm.

“You didn’t just survive, cariño. You grew. You loved. You built something with us. And I am so proud of you—not just because of what you do. But because of who you are.”

Her voice cracked.

“You’re my miracle.”

And finally, Agatha’s hand rose again—brushing your cheek, catching a tear.

“And you think we don’t see how much strength it took for you to become this woman?”

A pause, a breath.

“To build yourself from nothing but your own fire and grief and hope?”

She looked at you, steady.

“We see you.”

Agatha’s thumb swept beneath your eye, brushing a tear from your cheek.

“And we have never stopped being proud.”

Your breath broke open, sharp and sacred. They didn’t try to hush you. They didn’t flinch. They just held you. Like every version of you was holy. Because to them—she was

The words settled around you like a blessing—soft, sure, irrevocable. You were still trembling. Not with fear anymore. Not even with grief.

Just with the echo of everything that had been spoken aloud. All the versions of yourself—laid bare, witnessed, held. And still… still loved.

Your breath wavered as you drew it in. Then—

“I didn’t even realize how bad it had gotten,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Not until it was too late.”

The words tasted like surrender. But not the kind that meant giving up. The kind that meant letting go of the weight you’d carried alone.

Agatha didn’t flinch. Didn’t scold. She just… stayed. Her thumb swept gently across your knuckles, back and forth in slow, reverent passes—like a prayer being whispered straight into your skin.

“I know,” she murmured. “I know, sweetheart.”

She looked at you—truly looked—and you felt seen in a way that made your throat tighten.

“And I hate that it got this far before we made a change.”

Rio’s voice followed, quieter now but steady. Anchored. Anchoring.

“You’ve been doing more than any one person should ever have to.”

She shifted closer, her hand moving instinctively to your knee—her touch warm and grounding. Her thumb pressed into the soft fabric there like she was reminding herself that you were here, breathing.

“And that’s not even accounting for the fact that you’re pregnant,” she continued, voice catching with quiet reverence. “That you’re growing a whole little life while writing a dissertation, teaching, sitting on panels, fighting to be heard in rooms that still don’t know how to make space for us.”

You blinked hard, but the tears still came. Gentle. Exhausted. Cleansing.

Agatha reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear the same way she had on your wedding day. The same way she had in the hospital. The same way she always had, in every moment that required quiet courage.

“We should’ve made this call weeks ago,” she said, her voice low with guilt, with love. “We kept saying ‘just get through this part,’ or ‘after this week it’ll calm down.’ But it didn’t. And it won’t. Not unless we decide to stop.”

She leaned in, her hand moving from your cheek to rest gently—deliberately—over your belly.

“And we’re deciding now.”

Rio nodded.

“You’re not stepping back because you failed,” she said. “You’re stepping back because you’ve done more than enough. Because your body and your heart deserve peace. Because Bean deserves a rested, healthy mama who knows she doesn’t have to do it all to be loved.”

She smiled, eyes shimmering like moonlight across water.

“And because when they come into this world… everything’s going to shift. The way it should. The way we want it to. But you need time to breathe before that happens.”

You let your hand fall to meet Agatha’s, both of you holding the small curve of your belly together.

“We’re not asking you to give anything up,” she said. “We’re giving you permission to let go. Just for a little while. Just long enough to feel like yourself again. To remember that your worth isn’t rooted in what you produce.”

You exhaled, slow. Raw. But not brittle anymore.

The knot in your chest loosened—not all the way, but enough to make space for something softer. Something living.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Rio squeezed your hand.

“You deserve rest. Not as a reward. But as a right.”

Agatha leaned forward, pressed her forehead to yours, and stayed there.

“We’ll hold the rest,” she whispered. “You hold Bean. That’s all you need to do right now.”

Agatha’s hand stayed where it was, cradling the curve of your belly, her thumb moving in soft, thoughtless circles. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy.

It was deliberate. Sacred. A space carved out by love to make room for rest.

You nodded once, then again—smaller the second time, like your body was still learning what permission felt like. Then you said it out loud, to feel the shape of it in your mouth.

“I need to stop.”

Neither of them moved right away. But their eyes—god, their eyes—held so much. Relief. Grief. Pride.

Rio shifted first, brushing her thumb against your knee.

“Then we stop,” she said. “Today.”

You swallowed hard. “I need to email the department. My committee. Let them know.”

Agatha gave a small, approving hum. “We’ll help. Right now, if you want.”

You blinked, surprised by how quickly the fear returned—how easily it whispered, But what if they think I’m weak?

Agatha saw it before you spoke. She leaned in, voice steady.

“They’ll understand.”

“And if they don’t?” Rio added, firm but warm. “That’s their failure. Not yours.”

You nodded again.

“I’m not sure what to say.”

Rio squeezed your knee gently.

“Tell them the truth,” she said. “That you’re stepping back. That your TA assignment for spring needs to be reassigned before break is over so no one’s scrambling mid-semester.”

Agatha’s hand still rested over your belly, thumb moving in soft, thoughtless circles.

“Let them know you’ll be working on your dissertation only,” she said. “The edits are in progress, and you’re preparing for your defense. But that’s it. No more teaching. No more submissions. No more conference deadlines.”

You let out a shaky breath. A piece of you unclenched.

“Everything else was extra,” Agatha added softly. “All the teaching, the panels, the publications. You’ve already done enough. More than enough. And we’re done watching you break yourself to prove it.”

A pause. Then Rio leaned closer.

“And it’s time to tell them about the pregnancy.”

Your breath caught.

Agatha reached for your hand again, steadying it between both of hers.

“You don’t owe them your body,” she said gently. “But this isn’t about explaining. This is about drawing a line. Letting them know what the rest of this year is going to look like—on your terms.”

You swallowed hard, nodding once more.

“We’ll send our emails, too,” Rio said. “Let the department know we’ll need someone to cover the second half of our spring classes. That we’ll be home with you. That we’ll return next year.”

Agatha’s voice was cool steel wrapped in velvet.

“And if anyone has an issue with it?” She smiled. “They’ll be hearing from us directly. And trust me, we’re very persuasive.”

That pulled a small, wet laugh from your throat.

Rio smiled, brushing your knee once more.

“We’re making space. For you. For Bean. For us.”

Agatha tilted her head, brushing her knuckles along your cheek.

“And we’re done asking for permission to do it.”

You didn’t speak for a long moment.

You just stayed there—hands wrapped in theirs, breath evening out, body finally beginning to believe the storm had passed. That you were safe. That the decision had been made.

Not for punishment. Not for shame.

But because you deserved it. Because rest had always been your right.

Your body trembled—not with fear, not anymore—but with the echo of everything that had been named and finally released. The aftershocks still reverberated in your ribs, but they no longer splintered you. They softened.

Rio’s thumb moved over your hand in slow circles. Agatha’s palm still rested over your belly, her other hand curled around your wrist, as though she could anchor you there with just her presence.

“Can I get you something?” Rio asked softly. “Tea? A snack? Maybe something warm?”

You shook your head—not in refusal, but in something quieter—a silence that didn’t come from absence but from being full. You didn’t know what you needed. Not yet.

“I feel like I should want food,” you murmured. “Or a nap. Or both. But mostly, I feel… heavy.”

She just moved—crossing the short distance to the couch where you still sat, your body heavy with exhaustion and the echo of everything that had been said. She knelt first, one knee sinking into the cushion beside you as if she were approaching something sacred. And then, without ceremony but with reverence, she slid in beside you and opened her arms. Her hand never left yours.

“Come here, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t even a request. It was an offering. A promise. A place to land. You blinked at her, startled for a heartbeat. But then you moved—almost without thinking. Your body remembered what to do before your mind caught up.

You folded into her like muscle memory—like gravity—letting her draw you against her chest, your face tucking beneath her jaw, your knees curling into the bend of the couch. You let her pull you into her lap like she’d done years ago before anything between you had a name. Back when safety just looked like her arms and the warmth of her shirt against your cheek.

Her arms came around you with practiced ease, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other splaying wide across your back.

You heard the breath she let out—not ragged, not sharp, but steady like relief.

Rio joined a moment later, sitting on your other side, shoulder pressed to yours, her hand finding your knee and squeezing it once, gentle and sure.

No one spoke. No one needed to. The room held the hush of aftermath—of something not shattered, but remade. You breathed in the scent of Agatha’s shirt, still faintly spiced with lavender and the ghost of old books. Her heartbeat echoed steady against your cheek.

“There we go,” she murmured, her hand beginning to trace slow, grounding circles along your spine. “That’s it.” Rio leaned in, her voice low. “We’ve got you. No more falling through the cracks.” And gods, you didn’t even realize how tightly you’d been holding yourself together until then.

You let go. Just enough.

Let yourself press into the shape of her. Let Rio’s warmth curl around your side. Let your tears fall again—quiet, spent, grateful.

No one asked you to explain. No one told you what came next.

They just stayed.

You let your weight melt into them both. And for the first time in too long, you didn’t brace yourself. You didn’t have to.

Then Agatha’s voice came, low and thick with feeling. “I love you.” You closed your eyes. She tightened her hold on you just slightly, not enough to cage, but enough to make sure you knew you weren’t drifting.

"I love you," she said, her voice a hush against your skin. "So much it terrifies me sometimes." She kissed the crown of your head, her lips warm, lingering. "And yes, I love Bean—I already do—but this isn’t just about them. This is about you. I need you to be okay. Because I can’t imagine a world where you’re not here with us."

Her voice broke then—just a little. You turned your head just enough to look at her.

“I’m so sorry you had to carry all of this,” you said softly, your hand coming to rest against her ribs. “I hate that I scared you. That I made you feel like you couldn’t help.”

Agatha’s eyes flicked down to yours—glassier now, but still unflinching.

"You don’t have to carry anything alone anymore. I don’t care if you miss a deadline. I don’t care if the dissertation gets messy. I care that you’re breathing."

Rio pressed a kiss to your shoulder, her voice gentle.

"That’s all we want. To be enough of a reason for you to stay. To rest."

“I don’t just love you,” you whispered, your voice frayed but steady. “I need you. Both of you. And I didn’t mean to shut you out… I just didn’t know how to stop.”

Agatha didn’t answer right away. She just kissed your temple—soft and sure—and let her lips linger there like a promise. Like maybe, if she stayed long enough, she could press all the fear out of her body and leave only calm behind.

Rio’s hand moved over your back again, slow and steady.

“You don’t have to know how,” she murmured. “That’s what we’re here for. We’ll help you remember when it’s okay to rest.”

The room exhaled with you, soft and sacred.

Eventually, the silence shifted—but not out of urgency. It moved like tidewater, slow and inevitable. Agatha didn’t say anything for a long time. She just held your hands, thumbs brushing slowly over your skin. Not soothing. Just steady. Like she knew words had done enough for one night, and now it was time to speak with action. With presence.

You didn’t want to leave Agatha’s lap. Didn’t want to let go of the steady drum of her heartbeat beneath your cheek or the warmth of Rio’s arm curled around your waist. But your body was starting to ache. The exhaustion was no longer just emotional—it was physical. A dull throb in your lower back. A heaviness in your limbs. The undeniable pull of a body that had carried too much.

Agatha felt it. She always did.

She shifted first, just slightly, adjusting her hold with care. One arm slid beneath your knees; the other cradled your shoulders. Her movements were smooth, practiced—like carrying you was second nature.

Like you weighed less than the fear she’d held all day.

“Let me take you to bed,” she murmured, her breath warm against your temple. “Let us take care of you now.”

Then, quietly—barely above a whisper—she asked, “Let me take you to bed.”

You nodded against her collarbone, too tired to speak. Too trusting to argue.

Her arms came around you like a promise. One under your knees, the other at your back. The world tilted gently as she rose, her heartbeat steady beneath your ear. She didn’t grunt. She didn’t stagger. She just held you like it was the most natural thing in the world—like her body was made to carry you.

Your arms looped around her neck without thinking, fingers twisting into the soft cotton of her shirt. Her scent was faint and familiar—clean skin, the subtle bergamot of her tea, and that quiet earthiness from the linen spray she always used on the bedding.

Rio walked just behind you silently, her footsteps soft against the floor. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her presence wrapped around you like a blanket, trailing behind Agatha’s strength with a kind of fierce gentleness.

In the bedroom, the light was low—golden, warm, touched with the hush of nightfall.

Rio moved ahead, pulling the comforter back slowly, smoothing the sheets with her palms like she could coax peace into the fabric. The lamp by the bedside cast gentle light across the room, and for a moment, it felt like everything had narrowed down to this: the hush, the glow, the safety.

Agatha set you down on the edge of the bed as if you might still break. Her hands lingered at your hips. “Arms up,” she said softly. You obeyed, slowly lifting your arms.

She pulled your shirt over your head with quiet reverence. There was no rush in her movements—only care. Only presence. Her fingers brushed the curve of your ribcage, then slid away, but her eyes remained on you.

You felt her gaze sweep down—over your chest, your belly. And you didn’t flinch. You didn’t reach for anything to cover yourself. You didn’t need to. You wanted the air on your skin. You wanted them. You wanted to feel something—not fabric. Not distance. Just the truth of this moment, unfiltered.

Agatha helped you out of your leggings next, drawing them down with slow, steady hands. You lifted your hips for her, and when she reached your ankles, she paused to press a kiss just above your knee.

Slow. Lingering. Not a kiss of desire, but of reverence. Like even this part of you—the tired, swollen, aching part—deserved worship. Deserved to be honored.

You were left in nothing but your soft, low-rise sleep shorts—the only thing you could tolerate around your waist lately. Your belly was exposed, round, and alive, and for once, you didn’t feel self-conscious.

It didn’t feel like something separate anymore. It felt like something shared.

Agatha’s hands came to rest gently on your thighs. She knelt in front of you, looking up. “Perfect,” she whispered.

You reached for her face. Your thumb traced the edge of her jaw, the slope of her cheekbone. She leaned into it like someone parched.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. You leaned forward, catching her lips with yours—softly, lazily, like you weren’t kissing to ignite anything, only to feel. Only to be near her in the way that didn’t need fixing or explanation.

She kissed you back with that same slowness, her mouth gentle and steady, one hand rising to cup your jaw. She didn’t deepen it, didn’t rush, didn’t take.

She met you.

And it made your eyes sting again—how much you loved her. How much she was still here.

Rio settled onto the bed behind you, her arms wrapping gently around your waist, her chest warm against your back. She rested her cheek against your shoulder, lips brushing the slope of it in a kiss so light you almost missed it.

You didn’t lean away. You leaned into her. Into both of them.

“Come lay down,” Agatha whispered, breaking the kiss, her breath warm against your lips.

You nodded, easing backward into Rio’s waiting arms. She helped guide you down, her fingers brushing your hair back as she tucked you into her side. Agatha slid into bed beside you, curling around your front, one leg hooking loosely over yours.

But she didn’t stop there.

She leaned in again, her hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing along your temple as she kissed you once more—slow, searching, like she couldn’t quite get enough of the reassurance that you were here.

That you were still you.

You parted your lips for her without thinking, your fingers curling into the sheets as her body came over yours—tentative at first, like she didn’t want to crowd you.

But you needed it. You needed her. The fear of earlier had left a hollowness inside you, and only this—them—seemed to quiet it.

Agatha hovered over you, one arm propping her weight, the other still cradling your jaw. Her body moved with care, every inch of her held in restraint and reverence—like she was waiting for something. For you to ask. For you to want.

And you did.

She kissed you again—then again—each one deeper than the last. Lazy. Lingering. Not rushed. Not ravenous.

But deliberate. Her lips pulled at yours like she needed to remember the shape of you. Her body pressed warm and solid to your side, and you felt the slow drag of her hand slide from your cheek to your hip, grounding you there like a tether.

You moaned softly into her mouth—not from hunger, but from relief. From the weight of the day fading under her lips. From the way she kissed you like you were something sacred and breakable and still hers.

Rio pressed in closer behind you, her chest flush to your back. Her arm curled around your waist, her palm resting wide over the swell of your belly. Her lips brushed the curve of your shoulder—featherlight. Worshipful.

You were surrounded. Cradled.

Bare except for the thin cotton still clinging to your hips, but you didn’t feel exposed. You felt held.

Agatha’s thigh pressed against yours, warm and steady. Her stomach brushed your skin with each breath. Her kisses never strayed far—your mouth, your jaw, the corners of your lips, your chin—as if she were remapping your face one kiss at a time.

You sighed into her, your hand rising to rest over her ribs, fingers curling slightly.

“I need this,” you whispered against her mouth. “I need you.”

Agatha answered with a kiss that said yes, I’m here. Deeper now. Slower. Her hand slid up your side, splaying wide over your ribcage, holding you in place with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

Her breath trembled as she pulled back just enough to look at you. You didn’t wait.

You slipped your fingers into the hem of her shirt, tugging her down until her mouth met yours again—this time deeper, messier, no longer lazy but craved. You arched into her, needing to feel something solid, something real beneath the softness of her hands. Her shirt was gone in a second, her bare skin pressing flush to yours.

Her thigh slid between your legs with a quiet urgency, the heat of it sparking something low and aching in your belly.

“I need you,” you whispered again, lips brushing hers as your hand cradled her face. “I need both of you.”

Agatha’s breath hitched audibly. Her hand moved to your waist, her fingers curling into your soft flesh like she needed to hold onto something—you—to keep from trembling. Rio shifted behind you, her touch anchoring. Her voice was quiet but certain.

“We’re here,” she murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “We’ve got you.”

Agatha’s breath brushed your lips—slow, warm, trembling slightly with restraint. Her fingers curled around your waist, anchoring you as if she needed the reassurance just as badly. You could feel the tension in her—how close she was to losing that careful composure she’d fought to maintain all night. Not out of frustration. But out of love.

You kissed her again, softer this time, your hand trailing along her side, brushing the line of her ribs, the curve of her spine. Her body arched slightly into the touch. You felt the way she shivered against you, how the breath caught in her chest.

Behind you, Rio pressed her mouth to your shoulder again, slower now, her lips parting just enough to taste your skin. Her palm splayed over your belly, fingers spreading wide like she was trying to protect everything inside you. You felt her exhale—a warm hush against your back—and it made your spine arch just slightly between them.

Agatha pulled back half an inch, her eyes searching yours. “Are you sure?” she whispered, voice low, reverent. “I don’t want to rush anything.”

You nodded. Not because you had the words—but because your body already knew.

“I need to feel you,” you whispered, and Agatha let out a breath like she’d been holding it for hours.

“Okay,” she murmured. “Okay.”

She kissed you again—deeper now, her body sliding over yours with slow, deliberate care. You felt every inch of her—warm skin, the weight of her thigh, the soft brush of her hair as it fell across your cheek.

Rio’s hand drifted lower, slipping just beneath the band of your sleep shorts, her fingers trailing lightly over your hip. Her touch was gentle—tentative—but grounding, like she was there to remind you: I’ve got you. I’m here.

And you were there. You were safe. You were wanted.

You let out a soft moan into Agatha’s mouth as her hand moved to your thigh, then up—slow, steady, reverent. The moment wasn’t fast. It wasn’t hungry. It was worship. It was coming home.

Agatha kissed you again, then leaned her forehead to yours. “Let us take care of you,” she whispered, her voice barely holding together. “Just let us.”

Agatha’s mouth moved from your lips to your cheek, then your jaw, then lower—trailing reverent kisses down the line of your throat. She worshipped you there, lips brushing the places that pulsed with life, with survival. Every movement was a promise: I’m here. I’m staying. I’m not afraid of your need.

You arched into her without thinking, your chest rising to meet her as her hand slid up, cupping you fully. Her touch wasn’t hesitant. It was claiming—gentle, but certain. Like she needed you to know you were hers, not because you’d earned it, but because you’d always been.

“I see you,” she whispered, her breath catching against your skin. “Every version. Every moment. And I have never—never—stopped being proud.”

Her thumb brushed over your nipple, and you gasped, the sensation electric, grounding. You reached for her blindly, curling your fingers around her shoulder as your hips shifted—searching, needing. She moved with you, pressing her thigh more firmly between yours, her body fitting against you like gravity had written it into the stars.

Rio’s hand slid lower over your belly, anchoring you in the present, her palm wide and strong and safe. She kissed the curve of your shoulder, your neck, your ear, her voice barely more than breath.

“You’re safe,” she murmured. “You’re home.”

Her other hand slipped beneath your shorts, warm and sure, cupping you without hesitation. She didn’t move fast—she didn’t need to. Her fingers just held you there, tender and steady, the heat of her touch grounding you even as you trembled between them.

Agatha pulled back just enough to look down at you, her hair falling loose over her shoulders, eyes shining in the low light.

“You don’t have to be strong right now,” she said softly. “Let us.”

And gods, you did.

You parted your legs for her, chest heaving, your eyes never leaving hers. Agatha bent down again, her mouth finding your chest, worshipping with slow, open-mouthed kisses that burned like praise. Rio’s fingers began to move—slowly, reverently—slipping through the slick heat she’d found between your thighs. Her touch was unhurried, her breath warm against your skin.

“You’re so loved,” Rio whispered. “You always have been.”

Agatha’s hand found your other breast, her thumb brushing in tandem with her mouth, her body half covering yours now as she kissed down your sternum. Her hair brushed your skin, her breath warm and rhythmic. You were surrounded, suspended between them, your hips rocking without thought, every part of you aching with how much you needed to be touched. Not just for release—but to be known.

“Please,” you whispered. You weren’t even sure what you were asking for. But they understood.

Agatha’s hand moved between your thighs to join Rio’s, her fingers curling gently over yours as she slipped beneath your shorts. They moved in sync—one above, one below—so careful, so in tune, like they’d done this a hundred times and never stopped listening.

Agatha’s lips hovered just above yours, her breath warm and uneven. One hand cupped your cheek, her thumb stroking a line beneath your eye like she was trying to memorize the shape of your softness.

“You’re here,” she murmured, more to herself than to you. “You’re still here.”

Rio’s hand slid slowly down your spine, fingers tracing the curve of your back, grounding you in every place you were touched. She pressed a kiss to your shoulder—light, trembling—then another to the space just behind your ear. “We’ve got you,” she whispered. “Just let go.”

And you tried. Gods, you tried. Your hips rolled against Agatha’s thigh, seeking friction, anchoring yourself in the slow rhythm she gave you. Her hand between your legs moved with practiced reverence, not teasing, not rushed—just steady, measured, holy. Like she was coaxing truth from your body one stroke at a time.

Your back arched instinctively, head tipping toward Rio as a cry caught in your throat. But Agatha shifted—slow and sure—pressing forward to kiss you again, this time with heat beneath the softness.

She swallowed your sound like a prayer.

When she broke the kiss, her hand didn’t still. It curled lower, pressing deeper, until your breath hitched and your thighs trembled. “Look at me,” she whispered, her forehead pressed to yours. “Please. I need you to see what we see.”

You blinked, lashes wet, breath shaking. “I—”

“You’re not too much,” she said, her voice shaking now too. “You never were.”

Rio’s fingers slid beneath your breast, curling around it like it was something sacred, her mouth pressing kisses along your shoulder. “You’re everything,” she breathed. “You’re ours.”

And then Agatha did it—moved just right, just enough pressure, her thumb circling, her fingers curling, and your mouth fell open with a sharp, wordless sound. You gasped, eyes fluttering shut—but Agatha caught your jaw, her grip firm, grounding.

“Don’t close your eyes,” she whispered, voice low and unwavering, thrumming with something ancient and tender. “We want you to see us. Want you to see how much you’re loved.”

And gods, you obeyed.

Barely. Shaking. Shivering. But you did.

And what you saw unraveled you from the inside out.

Agatha’s gaze—dark and endless, burning with something holy—was locked on yours like a vow. Like gravity. Her thigh, strong and sure between your legs, moved in slow, purposeful rhythm, grinding against you just right—deliberate, commanding. And behind you, Rio’s fingers curled deep, her palm slick against your heat, her touch a slow, devastating prayer. Her soft breath spilled across the back of your neck, and when you whimpered, she let out a sound like it broke her—like your pleasure was pulling something sacred from her chest.

Their hands held you. Filled you. Worshipped you.

Every version of yourself—brave, burnt-out, brilliant, broken—all of her was here, and all of her was being adored. Revered. Not in spite of the pain. But because of it. Because you’d survived. Because you were still here.

Agatha leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“Look at me,” she said, her voice thick and trembling. “You are not alone. Not anymore. Not ever again.”

That—that broke you open.

You arched, a soft cry escaping your throat, not from pain or need, but from how impossibly safe it felt to finally fall apart.

You moaned their names—Agatha, then Rio—your voice shattering with awe, your body alive with everything they gave. Agatha’s thigh rocked against your center, firm and relentless, slick with you now, her breath hot against your jaw as she kissed your temple with aching reverence. Behind you, Rio’s fingers moved with practiced grace, curling inside you, coaxing every tremble, every gasp, her lips tracing your spine with kisses that felt like vows made flesh.

“You’re doing so well,” Rio whispered, her voice cracked and breathless. “So good for us, cariño. So loved.”

Your hands scrambled for something—sheets, skin, the curve of Agatha’s ribs, the anchor of Rio’s thigh behind yours—and you clung, half-sob, half-laughter breaking loose from your chest.

The pleasure built in waves. Deep. Relentless. Your thighs trembled. Your belly clenched. Every breath came sharper, shallower. Your body rocked between them—Agatha’s thigh pulsing firm against your core, Rio’s fingers moving inside you like she already knew the exact rhythm of your unraveling.

And then Agatha cupped your cheek again, her voice almost breaking as she said, “You don’t have to be strong right now. Just be ours.”

That was it. That was the undoing.

You came with a cry—shattered, soaring—your entire body convulsing as heat bloomed through your core like fire and mercy intertwined. Your legs shook. Your head tipped back against Rio’s shoulder, your voice catching on a sob that didn’t sound like pain or pleasure but a surrender to both.

Agatha held you through it, her thigh still pressing rhythmically, her voice soft and urgent, “That’s it, baby. That’s it. Let go. You’re safe.”

Rio kissed you everywhere—your shoulder, your temple, your spine—her voice steady and sure through the storm of your release. “We’ve got you,” she whispered, her fingers slowing inside you, coaxing you down from the edge. “We’re right here. We see you. Every part.”

They held you like something sacred.

Like something that had already earned this.

Not because of what you’d accomplished. But because of who you were. Every breath. Every break. Every version of you, held reverently in their arms.

Agatha leaned in, brushing her lips over your forehead like a benediction.

“You’re ours,” she whispered. “And we are so fucking proud of you.”

And this time, when the tears came, you didn’t hold them back.

Your body trembled, breath coming in soft, shattered bursts. But they never let go.

Agatha stayed right there, her thigh still nestled between yours, her palm warm on your cheek as if she could hold the moment in place. Her eyes shimmered with tears she hadn’t shed yet—but not from sadness. From awe. From the way you had opened for them, trusted them, let yourself be seen. She leaned in again, kissing the corner of your mouth, then lower—your jaw, your throat, your collarbone—each one like punctuation. Like she was writing love into your skin where it could never be erased.

Behind you, Rio was still holding you, still inside you—her fingers gentling with each pulse of your breath. She whispered something soft in Spanish, voice hoarse and reverent, and pressed her lips to the shell of your ear like it was sacred. Her other hand smoothed across your belly, then up to your heart, feeling the beat still fluttering there like the wings of something barely caught.

And in that moment, everything else fell away.

The deadlines. The exhaustion. The ache of having carried too much, too long.

All that was left was this—the breath between you, the heat of their bodies, the overwhelming truth of how deeply you were known, and how wholly you were loved.

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

Hours later, your body sank into theirs, boneless and spent, the heat of your skin wrapped in the steady rhythm of their breath. Agatha’s fingers remained inside you, unmoving now, held there more for connection than for sensation. A tether. A promise. Rio’s arm curled protectively around your middle, her palm still firm over your belly like a vow she didn’t have to speak aloud.

None of you moved for a long time.

Only the sound of breathing, the rustle of cooling skin, and the soft, humming life between your ribs.

Then, gently, Agatha shifted.

Her fingers slipped free with reverent care, drawing a soft, involuntary gasp from your lips. The loss wasn’t sharp—just tender. Like the end of a song you hadn’t realized you’d memorized. She leaned in and kissed your cheek, lingering there, her eyes tracing your face like she was still making sure you were still here. Still breathing. Still hers.

“You okay?” she whispered.

You nodded, voice hoarse. “I will be.”

You turned into her neck, breathing her in, nuzzling there for a long moment before the words you’d been holding cracked through.

Agatha’s fingers brushed gently across your stomach, still bare, still warm from their touch. She didn’t move with urgency anymore. Just reverence. Thoughtfulness. Her breath skimmed your skin as she watched you, and something in her expression softened even further—beyond fear now, into something deeper.

“Have you felt any flutters since… everything?” she asked quietly, her voice wrapped in care.

You nodded slowly. “Right after. While you were holding me. Just for a second. And now again…��� You paused, your voice catching with quiet awe. “They’re moving. Stronger this time.”

Agatha’s face crumpled for the briefest moment—too quick for panic, too soft for grief. Just the flicker of someone trying to let go of the terror they’d been holding all day. Her shoulders tensed, then released as she nodded slowly, swallowing thickly. Then—quietly, almost reverently—she laid both hands over your belly.

“Oh, thank God,” she whispered.

She didn’t feel it—not yet. But the way you said it, the steadiness in your voice, was all the proof she needed for now.

You reached for her instantly, your fingers sliding through her hair with the familiarity of something sacred. She folded without hesitation, her body leaning forward until her forehead pressed gently to your stomach. And there it was—the moment she exhaled for the first time since the fall. Since the blood. Since she thought she’d lost everything.

The sob that left her wasn’t loud. It wasn’t sharp. It came in a trembling wave, pulled from some deep, hidden place inside her. Like a dam breaching slowly, the water rose in her throat and spilled from her eyes.

You felt her breath stutter against your skin. Felt the tears she didn’t try to hide soak into your belly. She didn’t move. Didn’t try to explain. She just stayed there—held in place by grief and love and the crushing weight of almost.

Her hands didn’t leave your body. They were splayed wide now, fingers trembling, grounding her as she tried to anchor herself back to the reality that you were here. Alive. Whole. Still carrying the tiny heartbeat that had survived everything.

It wasn’t just that she had feared the worst—it was that she had seen it. For too many seconds, she had lived in the world where it had already happened.

After a long, quivering silence, Agatha shifted. Slowly. Like her bones had forgotten how to move. She curled lower along the bed, resting her head on your hip, with the reverence of someone laying down at a shrine. Her cheek pressed against your skin, one hand curving protectively around your belly, the other curling into your hip like a tether she couldn’t release.

She didn’t speak at first. Just breathed you in. Let her tears fall. Let herself feel.

And then, finally—softly:

“Hey, little one.”

You felt a flutter. Stronger than it had been before. Like they were trying to reach out, show Agatha that they were here, to show Rio they were growing, to prove to you that their spark didn’t flicker out. To prove to you all that they felt your love.

You smiled, a tear falling yourself at the new stronger sensation, and moved Agatha’s hand to where you felt them flutter. “Sprout is here. Their little flutters are stronger than the last few days.�� Even though Agatha knew she couldn’t feel them yet, she pressed gently to where you guided her hand, splaying out as if to shield them and to have a private conversation no one else could hear.

“Like the sound of Mommy’s voice, huh? First, the ice cream, and now this. You’re gonna be Mommy’s little mini-me, aren’t you?”

You hadn’t thought about that—not really. Not in the way that stopped your breath and filled your chest to the brim. But the image formed anyway—sudden and whole, as if it had been waiting at the edges of your mind all along, just needing this moment to step forward.

A tiny Agatha, with solemn, steady blue eyes and fierce, unflinching heart. Curls bouncing as they ran barefoot across the sunlit hardwood floors, light catching in the strands like gold spun from warmth. A little one who’d grow up knowing what Agatha hadn’t—a mother’s love without conditions, without cold silences, without punishment laced into affection. Her laughter echoing down hallways Agatha had once walked through quietly, unsure if she belonged.

A miniature Rio with wide, curious eyes and a face that could barely contain joy. Chaos and color and volume: Talking a mile a minute about space facts or bugs or fossils, wearing grass-stained knees and glitter-painted fingernails. The one who would beg to sleep in a tent in the backyard and learn constellations by name, who’d call out for Mamì across a crowded playground like her name alone could part seas. You saw Rio coaching a little T-ball team, shouting encouragement too loud, crying the first time they caught a ball without flinching. Loud love. Certain love.

And then—yourself.

A tiny version, soft around the edges but brilliant where it mattered. Imagination spilling from their hands like confetti—drawing dragons and cities in the margins of their homework, reading stories past bedtime, lips moving to silent songs they’d made up themselves. A child who’d be told they were magic, not too much. A child who’d never have to earn softness or shrink to be loved.

You saw all of it.

You saw scraped knees kissed without hesitation. Foreheads pressed together during thunderstorms. Bedtime books read three times in a row just because they asked. Pillow forts, flashlight puppet shows, tears wiped gently without shame. The first fall off a bike—arms swooping in to catch, not scold. Tantrums met with patience. Mistakes met with understanding.

And music—always music. You saw them standing barefoot on the piano bench beside Agatha, her voice soft and patient as she guided their fingers across the ivory keys, every note a new word in the language of feeling. You pictured Rio on the floor with them, drumsticks in hand, laughing as they banged out rhythms on pots and pillows, then showing them how to find the heartbeat of a song in their own chest. You imagined the weight of a guitar in their lap as you taught them how to cradle it gently, how to let their voice rise into the mic like a secret they could trust the world to hold, learning how close to hold it, how not to fear their own voice in an open room. Evenings spent turning the living room into a stage—kitchen concerts with hairbrushes and tambourines, the three of you clapping along like it was the finest performance you’d ever seen. Kitchen concerts in pajamas. A childhood filled with noise that was never too much—just theirs.

A home where they could grow without fear. A life where love didn’t come with conditions. They would be known. Fully. And loved, not in spite of who they were but because of it. Not for perfection. But for being. The way you had longed for. The way these two had finally taught you was possible. Was real.

Your breath caught, your vision blurred, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell if the ache in your chest was grief for the child you had once been or joy for the one already growing inside you. Maybe it was both.

You reached for Agatha’s hair again—steady, slow—holding the moment in your hands like something too delicate to name. Rio must’ve sensed the shift inside you. She nestled closer from behind, pressing her lips to your shoulder, her voice barely a whisper as it reached your ear.

“God,” she breathed. “They are going to be so loved.”

You turned your head just enough to meet her eyes. Your lips parted, but the words never came—not because you didn’t have them, but because they were already spoken in the weight of her gaze, the way her thumb traced slow circles along your side.

Agatha didn’t move from where she was, curled around your belly like it was sacred. You could feel the way her breath slowed, the way her body softened as the tension of the day finally began to leave her.

She shifted, ever so slightly—just enough to rest her cheek more firmly against the slope of your thigh. Her arms folded beneath her, her hands still splayed protectively over your stomach like she was shielding the life inside from anything that dared come close.

Then she let out a breath—a quiet exhale, like she was finally, finally letting herself believe that everything would be okay.

And when she spoke next, her voice was quiet, but it carried just enough warmth to cut through the heaviness of the day.

“Now that I have your undivided attention…”

Her voice curled like silk over your skin, soft and reverent, laced with everything she couldn’t say earlier—grief, relief, love too big to hold. She shifted just enough to press another kiss to your stomach, her hands never straying, her fingers spread wide like they were still shielding the little life beneath them.

“Big day today, huh?” she whispered, lips brushing the curve of your belly. “Let’s try not to do that again, yeah?”

You let out a soft breath—half laugh, half ache—and kept combing your fingers through her hair.

Agatha exhaled slowly, grounding herself against you like your body had become the center of her universe. Then she pressed her cheek more firmly to your skin, her voice barely audible now, softer than breath.

“That’s enough excitement, I think, for the rest of the time you’re growing in there,” she murmured. “Let’s make a deal, okay?”

She sniffed, not bothering to hide it anymore. Her thumb rubbed a small circle across the highest curve of your stomach.

“You grow nice and strong, and I’ll make sure Mama eats like she’s supposed to. I’ll hold her to it, promise.” She kissed you again—this time to the side of your navel, slower, steadier.

Her hand swept gently across your stomach in slow, soothing circles.

“I want you to know something, little one,” she murmured. “I’m gonna protect you. Always. I’m gonna look after Mamì. And Mama. Because you deserve a whole world full of softness and light. Not just from the three of us—but because of us.”

Her hand resumed its lazy rhythm, drawing slow circles just above your navel, the motion hypnotic.

“I’ll read to you,” she continued. “Poems about love. About the way the stars shine through tree branches, about the hush of snowfall. I’ll tell you stories about forests and oceans and faraway places. I’ll teach you to listen. To feel. To find beauty in small things.”

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the images her voice painted. Agatha never had this kind of love growing up—but she was building it now, brick by brick, word by word, with every breath she gave to this baby.

“You’ll know your family,” she promised, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye onto your skin. “You’ll know safety. And softness. And wonder. And love that doesn’t ask you to shrink or change or be anything other than exactly who you are.”

She paused for a long moment—just breathing, just existing, her forehead resting against your stomach.

Then—softly, like a leaf landing—she whispered, “I’ll make sure Mama rests now. Really rests. Not just when someone’s watching.”

You let out a shaky breath—half a laugh, half a sigh—as a tear slipped down your cheek. Your body was still sore, still heavy, but for the first time in days, it didn’t feel like a battlefield. It felt like a home again.

Agatha’s voice returned, quiet and steady, warm as dusk. “Your Mama’s body scared the hell out of us today. But it also protected you. Even when she forgot to care for herself, she still carried you through. That’s not just strength.” She looked up at you, eyes shining. “That’s magic.”

Behind you, Rio pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, her breath catching in her chest. Her arms tightened around you—silent promise, silent prayer.

And then Agatha’s next words came, low and certain, like a vow offered at the altar of your skin.

“You’re safe now. We’re all safe. And I swear—on every poem I’ve ever loved—I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know it.”

-----------

@6stolenangel9 @ahintofchaos @peskygremlin @holystrangersalad @loveshineslikethesky @dandelions4us @mustangmopar @maydaythingz @stevieswildheart13 @myharkness

Still Love Me? Let me know what you think of the chapter.

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For those who ask, yes, this story, outside of being pregnant, is a glimpse into my life and the moments my wife and I have had. From her helping me heal my body after trauma to her calling me out when I forget to take care of my body, it’s all a little slice of my life. As a grad student, this story is not just a fun way for me to connect with ya’ll, but a way to share a little about me.

[skeletondeerart]

Sacred Waters, Sacred Hearts Chapter 3

A Male OC! Metkayina x Fem Human! Reader | Word Count: 2810

Masterlist & join the taglist

A/N : Both Rukan and reader are in their mid 20's

TW: Injury (broken bones), storms/cyclones

" " = direct speech | ' ' = Metkayina sign language | Bold = English

I toss and turn in my bunk sleep evading me, eyes staring at the metal ceiling as the violent wind gusts and caws of birds make me uneasy, the creaking and groaning of the pod reverberating through my skull, I huff and sit upright, sheets pooling at my hips and I shuffle my bare feet off the edge of the bed. I take my tablet from the nightstand and pull up the storm radar only to see SIGNAL LOST. Damn it, a branch must have knocked the dish. I stretch as I put on my mask, open the roof hatch and climb up the ladder to the roof. The airlock alarm blares as I emerge and clamber onto the roof. My stance is wide as I shuffle across the slippery surface bracing against the heavy winds. The rain started to patter as I saw a palm frond had fallen on the dish. I re-adjusted the antenna and reconnected it, the map reconfiguring until a black mass appeared a few miles offshore.

Oh, Shit- a colossal storm cell is heading straight towards me. I frantically climb back down the hatch before activating the heavy-duty storm shutters and covering fragile equipment with thick blankets. I can only pray the pod stands a weather test, this was by far the most intense storm I had seen on Pandora. As the storm approaches deafening winds cause the room to sway and items to slide from the shelves, glass shattering everywhere as jars of organic matter spill out. I clamber under my desk covering my body in another thick blanket, I stare helplessly as the windows rattle. A loud bang rings out as I scream; various alarms blare out as the walls are compromised by debris, I clamp my hands over my ears and hold my mask desperately to my face as I watch in horror as one of the walls caves under a fallen tree. Rain poured through the gaping hole in the hull, waves crashing and sending icy water spilling over my feet. Panic gripped me, blinding and overwhelming, as debris flew in from the breach with each storm surge. A sharp crack echoed through the vessel as another branch let go. I tried to shield myself but it was for naught, in an instant darkness swallowed me the world fading into nothingness.

POV Rukan

When I saw the storm gathering on the horizon, my thoughts drifted back to her—despite myself. I couldn’t shake the worry that tugged at me, though I couldn’t understand why. She was only a tawtute, a sky person, I had no obligation to protect her. The tawtute was nothing like the stories, she was... vulnerable. Harmless. I couldn't imagine such a creature being involved in such destruction...

Whenever I think of her, I’m left uneasy, unable to untangle the truth from my instincts. She should mean nothing to me, a passing ripple in a vast sea. But instead, her presence lingers, constant and consuming. I don’t understand it. She brings only confusion and questions that leave me restless and torn. I have lived by the traditions of my people, seeing the tawtute as enemies. So why, with her, do I feel something that defies everything I thought I knew?

The skimwing roared as it glided over the churning waters, waves doubling in height and crashing down, diving periodically against the tide and coming up for a breath, my eyes gazed towards the belly of the storm, ominous clouds spiralled, rumbles of lightning and vicious winds whipped hair into my face. I raise my arm to shield my face from the onslaught of rain and diving back down hightailing it trying to get to her before the worst of it hits. Even the best of the Metkayina swimmers would have trouble in this storm. Rounding the bend my gaze fell onto the shore, my heart constricted in my chest as I witnessed the carnage. Large branches of the mangrove tree had collapsed on her metal marui, belongings scattered along the beach and alarms rang out, my ears folded back at the shrill sounds as I called out.

“TAWTUTE!” I yell out over the raging winds. I sensed no movement, maybe she had already abandoned her post? But I had an inkling that she was still here. I untangle my queue from the skimwing as it quickly rushes away underwater. 

My feet batter the sand as I run up to the metal marui looking for a way in. I clamber over foreign machines, I hauled the branch out of the way and crawled through the gap in the hull, bending my large frame inwards to search for her or just a corpse.

My eyes soon fell on a hand sticking out from under a pile of debris. I grappled through it, hissing as glass sliced my palm. A muffled cough was heard as I pulled the thick blanket from her head. I prepare to pull her out but her hand darts out and clasps my forearm harshly, I stumble confused. I was saving her, wasn’t I? She stays silent, in shock perhaps and her gaze trails down her body settling on her leg – correction, her broken leg. Twisted crudely, her skin discoloured from blunt trauma, she lay helplessly like a newborn. I groan as I tug one of my netting arm braces off and secure it around the limb. She cried as I tried to be gentle but had to limit the bones' movement. I tore twigs from the fallen branch and slid them on both sides of her calf as a makeshift brace. I was no medic, but it was sufficient in these circumstances.

The brunt of the storm was fast approaching, so I had to get her out of there. I deliberated my choices: staying on the shore was fatal, and taking her to the village would be hopeless. I was only left with finding shelter and waiting out the storm. An underwater pocket would be safe from predators and deep enough to avoid the storm, but it wasn't like I couldn’t protect her. I remember a pocket a couple of kilometres out that would be sufficient for the night before she could get better medical treatment. Surely she was still in contact with the Omaticaya and could call for aid in the morning.

After pulling her from the wreckage I pulled her into my chest and slipped back out of the gap, ensuring her mask was intact as I stood on the ropes overlooking the reef. It looked grim, dark rolling clouds engulfed the skies and the waves churned fiercely, no sealife was seen, all huddled away in the depth. Much like we are going to be, I glance down and shuffle her in my arms briefly, rolling my shoulders before pencil-diving into the waters.

POV (Y/N)

The chilling waters shock my system from its stupor and I groan as my shattered leg pushes through the currents. Easing into a stroke, Rukan glides effortlessly with the currents, his teal complexion blending perfectly into his surroundings. Worry seeps into my bones as questions arise. I tap his chest and he briefly glances down at me.

‘Where are you taking me.’ I sign. His hands are full as he huffs, bubbles escaping his nose before flicking his head to a cave. My eyes widened, questions left unanswered as he continued to descend. Picking up the pace, his tail propels him with urgency as the currents intensify and the marine plants shrink into themselves. The cave system was pitch black, my only source of light was Rukan’s own bioluminescence. His freckles cast an enchanted glow over his entire body and I couldn’t help my eyes running over his form, I realised my ogling, my face erupted in embarrassment and swiftly turned my head forward. We reach a dead end and before I can express my concerns Rukan suddenly thrusts upward and bursts through the water. I gasp for breath as I blink away the oxygen fatigue and take in the new surroundings. An air pocket full of lush moss and flowering vines. Rukan lifts me onto the stone platform and then pulls himself up. He shakes, rings the water from his hair then pulls out his ponytail, letting his wavy hair cascade down his back and fall to his hips. 

“We will stay the night. Wait for the storm to pass” He states simply sauntering over the vines plucking some berries I've never seen before and tossing me a couple. It was semi-transparent and had a jelly-like consistency. I unseal the bottom portion of my mask and put one in my mouth, it pops suddenly, and a flavour similar to mango coats my tongue. How strange! I wish I had my camera to document this new plant.

“Good right?” Rukan hums settling beside me crossing his outstretched legs and leaning back on his palms. His gaze fell to my leg. “Looks like it hurts.”

“You think?” I deadpan.

“Sorry tawtute, I’m no Tsahik-”

“(Y/N)... please.” I sigh looking off in his general direction. I noticed Rukan fell quiet, I could see the cogs turning in his head, mulling over something…

“You alright over there?” I question, rolling my neck trying to relieve its stiffness. No response. “Rukan?” I urge.

A deep sigh is heard as Rukan refuses to face me. He plays awkwardly with one of his bracelets.

“...We grew up hearing the stories from the Omaticaya that were passed through the clans and preached through the Metkayina merchants and storytellers. They spoke only of the carnage and turmoil the tawtute brought to our world. Recalling tales of agony and the killing of our fellow Navi; our brothers and sisters, and how they took on fake Navi skins to infiltrate our tribes and steal our resources – if that was your only perspective on that species, wouldn’t you also be naive to the few pure-souled ones?” He breathes, shaking his head, staring out at the rippling water.

I sigh remorsefully, hanging my head in shame. “No, forgive me – I know sorry doesn't do your people justice. But I sacrificed everything I had to come to Pandora, to understand your world and if we could learn how to fix ours. The waters of my homeland are polluted beyond recognition. Our reefs have long gone grey and crumbled, and oil and trash clog our waterways – It is shameful that we would bring our wastefulness here. I can’t fathom why we would do this, I’m sorry for the pain my people have caused Rukan...”

Rukan rumbles in reply at a loss of what to say. We sat silently while listening to the drips hitting the stone floor.

“Tell me more… about your home” He prompts. "What was it like before it got sick?” He looks at me through his lashes, his curiosity evident.

I drifted off in thought momentarily as I recalled the crisp sands and curious marine life as a child. “Well, I was only a little girl at the time. My family lived close to the beach with beautiful white rolling dunes, clear waters and cascading rockpools where tiny crabs and other animals liked to live. I recall my father teaching me about the soldier crab. They were sea animals with shells and claws, so tiny they could sit in the palm of my hand. They migrated in droves scuttling across the sands, burying themselves as we walked by and my father made it a game to dig them out of their burrows and chase me with a handful of them.” I laugh thinking about him holding a handful of crabs with a grin on his face, running after child me as I screamed in terror at the droves of tiny pinchers.

Rukan snorts at the thought of a younger me running away from something so tiny. “But they are so small, why were you terrified? Surely they were harmless.”

I laugh “No, no. I was more so running from my father, I thought he was gonna put the crabs in my hair that my mother spent so long braiding…” That made Rukan grin at the thought.

He pipes up “There was a time when I was a child, we heard stories on how the Omaticaya were skilled climbers. I thought climbing trees was going to be easy… I was sorely mistaken. I gloated to my friends that I could climb to the top of the mangroves and harvest their apples. So an overly confident me began scaling the massive roots and I when reached one of the first branches... I looked down and realised how high I was – long story short I started the bawl my eyes out and call for my parents” He sighed with a shake of his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking, we weren’t built for climbing trees. Luckily an Omaticayan merchant had come to the village to trade goods and they kindly came up and carried me back down.” He wrapped up his story flushed with embarrassment. I couldn’t stop grinning at an overly-cocky Metkayina kid stuck high up in a tree with no way to get down, muffling giggles behind my hand.

“It was scary! I was so high!” He complains running his hands down his face and falling on his back dramatically.

“Ok, ok I believe you” I say in jest, trying to empathise with the irritated Metkayina.

“I was grounded for a week for that stunt…” Rukan sighs before his eyes light up “Another funny story was when I was a young teen. Father was teaching me how to throw nets to catch small prey. I insisted that I could throw the huge net all by myself and despite his reservations, he just stood back and let me try. I bundled it up in my arms and tried to fling it onto the water's surface. But I forgot to let go of the net… It snagged on my fin and I got flung into the reef bundled in the net. Father dove in to untangle me and dragged me out by the ear. I wasn't allowed to net fish with him for a while.” Rukan laughs thinking of his father’s horrified face as he got swept up with the net.

“Damn, looks like your parents had their work cut out for them.” 

“They sure did,” Rukan replied with a laugh scratching the nape of his neck.

We spent hours going back and forth with stories about our lives. As we opened up I felt that we had grown closer. During our conversation, we didn’t notice either of us shuffling closer together, knees resting against one another. Soon a yawn escapes me, Rukan looks down at me with a new-found fondness as he follows with a yawn of his own.

“Tired?” He murmurs. I hum in reply as I rubbed my eye with my knuckles. 

I think of what's going to happen tomorrow. My base was torn to bits and the fact I needed proper medical care, there was only one viable solution. “...I’ll call the guys in the morning. I'll stay with the Omaticaya for a while as we get a new pod transported back to the shore and I get treated.” I state. Rukan’s head darts to meet my eyes, exhaustion quickly morphing into shock.

“Wait – when are you coming back?” He urges.

“Not sure, when they deem my leg has recovered, I guess” I groan exhausted. The pain from my leg ebbed in the back of my mind, not wanting to start a drama when all I needed was some shut-eye. “But I need to get checked out, plus it's unsafe here without my pod…”

Rukan purses his lips with a distinctly unimpressed expression. “I can-” but he cuts himself off quickly, shaking his head “...I - I will miss you.”

I looked at him for a split second wondering what he was going to say before replying “You barely know me yet...”

“I want to get to know you”

Silence takes over again but I can’t wipe the faint smile from my lips. I lay down slowly, arms folded behind my head, bones heavy after today's events. Reclining and shutting my eyes I listen to the lapping of the water and Rukan’s light shuffling. My arms are nudged away causing my head to rise. Rukan’s large tail snakes behind my neck, he looks at me with an expression that says to relax so I gingerly lay my head on the wide plane of his tail. Surprisingly comfortable he made no expression of discomfort so I exhaled letting my weary figure fall into a deep slumber.

I didn’t catch the forlorn look on his face, his ears dropped at the prospect of this newfound kinship coming to an abrupt end. 

Enjoy the next chapter in my Masterlist! & join the taglist

[where-dreamers-go]

“Summertime” Leon S. Kennedy x Reader — Part Three

(A/N: Part one and two are up. We’re back with lifeguard Leon Kennedy! What happens after Reader and Leon’s date? Does Reader ever get his number? Does the Reader’s friend get to see the pairing they’ve been cheering for? Have you had water recently? The last part will be part four. Warnings: Mentions of sea creatures, fluff, romance, Leon being Leon with phrases, puns, and kissing. Word Count:  4,514 words)

~~~

Blue skies and happy vacationers made for a bright summer.

Thinking of the previous evening spent with a certain handsome lifeguard made the summer utterly delightful. It made getting out of bed in the morning easier.

You were happy; eager for a new day.

Within your wishes of the day, you hoped that Leon was also happy.

Being a lifeguard held huge responsibilities. Each day was different and Leon held his own while under pressure. He had dealt with people yelling in his face, rip tide, and lost children. That wasn’t including everything a lifeguard had to do either.

I hope today is a calm day for him, you thought. He definitely deserves it.

“Lifeguard duty again, I see.” Your friend stated from beside you.

The pair of you walked towards your preferred spot on the sandy beach. A little ways ahead of the lifeguard chair that was in clear view as you approached.

“Don’t be weird,” your friend added and zipped ahead.

“Sure, thanks.” You called after them. Shaking your head, you walked closer to the chair shaded by a red umbrella.

Sitting with an elevated view of the beach sat the very handsome man you had been crushing on for multiple vacations. One who happened to set out the lifeguard chair closer to the water and to where your friend always set up the towels. The larger lifeguard tower sat quietly behind it all, slightly off in the back, but not by much.

Just be casual. It’s fine.

“Hey Leon.” You grinned at him.

He leaned over the armrest and removed his sunglasses, a soft smile on his lips. “Hey you. Any adventures planned for today?”

“Might go swimming later.”

His smile widened. “Have fun. I’m here if you need me.”

“I appreciate that.” With a wave, you went to join your friend.

On the towels, your friend crossed their arms. “I’m going to need more salt in these chips to counteract you two and your sweetness.”

“Sure.” You stretched out on the towel, grinning unapologetically.

“I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know.” You chuckled and tilted your head back to take a peek at your favorite lifeguard.

Leon’s smile only grew upon meeting your gaze. After a tiny wave, he put his sunglasses back on.

Oh, that smile, you thought and brought your sights ahead of you once more.

What could that smile do to you?

If only you could see that smile of Leon’s more often.

***

Summertime held the perfect atmosphere for grilling, swimming, and sweet treats. Hot weather also brought a collection of clouds. Some of which caught attentive people’s notice.

Lunch time was around the corner and an offshore thunderstorm was quickly rolling in to meet it.

That’s a little too dark, you thought while eyeing the horizon.

Glancing over at Leon seat at his appointed chair, his gaze was focused on his phone. A rarity in his position. He nodded to himself before putting the device away.

Having locked with your gaze, Leon pointed out towards the water and said, “I’m going to start calling people in. The lightning is getting too close. You should get indoors for safety.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. You knew what lightning could do, especially the risk on a flat, sandy beach.

Together in record time, you and your friend packed up your belongings. The air around you had already felt different, charged and ready. The two of you scurried off of the long expanse of sand before the sky broke open into a downpour.

***

Much later, after thunderstorms and an early dinner, you headed to the gaming room. You were in dire need of entertainment. Checking the weather and hearing your friend repetitiously give critique on how you should talk to Leon more was enough to push you outdoors. The idea of playing in the arcade was rendered the preferable option.

Only a couple of minutes walk across wet concrete and various paths took up your time. Thunder still rolled in the distance, but the worst had passed, as you expected.

What you had not expected was to see Leon as you entered the gaming room. Well, his back, anyway; a clean white shirt and red swimming trunks. The man was leaning forward with full concentration over the pinball machine across from the main door.

Walking closer, you did your best not to startle him.

But who were you kidding? He was Leon.

“Checking on your high score?” Leon asked as you stepped up beside him.

“Maybe. Just curious.”

Risking a glance, Leon sent you a half-smile that weakened your knees.

How did you manage such strength the day before?

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m trying to put what I learned from you into practice.”

“And how’s that working out?” You watched the pinball ricochet through the middle section.

“I could use your professional guidance.”

“Yeah?” You peeked at his score, as his numbers had yet to put him in the top players.

Letting out a small grunt, Leon barely saved the pinball from dropping out of the game.

How should I do this? You thought, eyes flickering between his stance and the pinball itself.

“Would it help my case if I said, pretty, please?” Leon hit the side buttons repeatedly and unnecessarily. The newly placed pout on his lips made his attempts at pinball appear more desperate than initially seen.

“It wouldn’t help your timing,” you chuckled lightly and inched closer. “May I?” Your hands hovered over his on either side of the machine.

“Go for it.”

With most of your subconscious mind screaming, you proceeded to help Leon with his timing by placing your hands over his as he played. The small bit of logic in you hoped it would teach him to anticipate the pace of the game.

“Keeping the pinball in play for as long as possible,” you pressed his right fingers against the button, “is almost more important than getting the highest points on the board.”

“That sounds counterproductive.”

“I mean… If you’re only focused on getting the ball to those higher points, only, rather than keeping it in play, you’re going to lose out on more points in the long run.”

“Long term goals versus quick and big points. All right.”

As you two spoke, the pinball sped from one side of the board to the other. The traction leading it closer to following the loop towards the bottom.

“Okay. You can’t be too early because it’ll either fall in or you’ll be holding it there before trying to get the momentum back. It’s a tricky spot—so try avoiding that.”

The pinball was hit, its direction more favorable.

“Got it. Strategic not over zealous.”

“Exactly.” You kept your eyes trained on where the pinball traveled. A much more difficult task as Leon leaned closer to your level.

Goodness, you could smell him. It reminded you of vacation mornings and the baking aisle. Light and sweet backed with a quiet earthy scent. To be wrapped up in it for even an hour would be heavenly.

Focus. Focus. Fo— Crap.

Time ticked by without your attention on anything but the task set before you.

Spending one on one time teaching Leon ended up much more intimate than you imagined. He learned quick and not once did he downplay your own playing abilities.

The final pinball fell away. Lights and sounds ceased as a score was finalized.

Leon had gained a high score under your own. The illuminating numbers displayed for all to see.

Removing yourself from him quietly was a test of your composure. Your hands felt colder without his.

“Not bad.” He mused, eyeing the scoreboard. “Room for improvement, that’s for sure.”

Turning to you, Leon and yourself shared a smile as you gazed at each other. All warm and familiar.

“You did great.” You said softly.

“I had professional help.”

“Is it my turn?” A voice piped up from behind the two of you.

Startled, you both looked over to see a kid, no older than ten, waiting patiently and a tad confused at whatever he just witnessed.

“Oh!”

Apologizing to the kid, the pair of you quickly sidestepped away from the pinball machine.

“Oops,” you covered up a laugh. “Good game though.”

“Thanks.” Reflexively, Leon checked his watch and his eyebrows rose. “Ah. Didn’t realize it was that late. I should head home.”

“Oh. Get home safely, okay?”

“I will.” Leon’s smile was small, but incredibly sweet. “May I call you some time?”

Flutters erupted in your stomach.

It’s happening.

“If that’s alright?”

“Yes— It’s…it’s fine. Uh.” You dug out your phone and he did the same.

In a blur of numbers and bashful laughter, you both exchanged numbers and bid one another a good night.

***

The following day, clouds were building higher in the sky. Still blue and exceedingly warm. A promise for a fun summer day.

“Hey.”

You turned to see Leon jogging up to you. A minor interruption on your way back to the rented condo to give your friend their favorite snacks.

“Hey, Leon,” you greeted him happily.

“Hi…uh.” He pulled at his shirt. No lifeguard or safety symbol in sight. “Are you busy today?”

“I’m on vacation.”

“Right.” Leon rotated the watch on his wrist. “Are you all right with aquariums?”

“Sure. Depends on the aquarium, I guess.”

“Would you like to go with me as a date?”

You smiled.

“To the aquarium. There’s one in the town over. I can drive us there; it’s only about twenty minutes or so.”

“Today?” You asked.

“Yes. Today.”

“Right now?”

“Oh! We don’t have to go right now. Not if you don’t want to. We—”

“I’d love to.”

Leon’s shoulders visually relaxed.

“Let me just change shoes and we can go. If you’re ready?”

“I’m ready,” he said quickly. “I’ll wait here.”

You gave him another smile and discreetly rushed inside.

***

Your date had assured you that the aquarium was both a research and animal rehabilitation center. No catching creatures for show and profit. Only education and hopefully giving the animals better lives if they could not be released back into their home. A home so close.

Leon had picked you up and drove you out on about a twenty minute drive. The time spent in the vehicle held various music choices and comments of other people’s driving skills. It wasn’t necessarily awkward, just a new environment. Leon made it fun either way.

“So, which animals are you most excited to see?” He questioned after paying for your ticket.

“Sharks.”

“No hesitation.” He chuckled, walking beside you.

“Well, we can see the other animals too, obviously.”

“Yeah, but now I’m learning which is your favorite. All the shark’s teeth meant something, huh?”

Leon slipped his fingers along your palm and your hands effortlessly clasped together.

“It did.” You smiled to yourself. “And thank you again for helping.”

“Of course.”

Shades of blue and a wide spaced interior offered a calm atmosphere. Not crowded or loud. Out of the way, signs directed visitors towards specific exhibits and animals, colorfully spaced every so often. Nothing overwhelming to deter you from exploring.

Your date, delighted as he was to be in your company, eagerly and curiously walked with you towards a wall of thick glass. Beyond it, fish of all shapes and colors swam between their decorated environment.

“I heard they keep their octopi locked up pretty tight.”

“Octopuses.” You corrected.

He raised an eyebrow.

“It would be octopi if the word octopus was latin, but it’s not. It’s weird. I know. Sorry.”

“Knowing isn’t weird.” Leon gave your hand a squeeze. “Knowing is understanding more about the world.”

“And hopefully respecting it.”

“Yeah. Hopefully.”

In front of you both, a large fish with old scratch marks languidly swam by. Possibly an injury from propellers of a boat or netting. The fish was, without a doubt, not young and may have even been in a few scraps with others sea creatures.

The sea and the creatures within were a wonder. 

Swimming closer to the glass, the fish slowly passed.

“Okay,” you added. “That one was pretty big.”

“It could probably eat me whole.”

“No.” You hushed his outlandish thoughts.

“It could. You saw that thing, right?”

Walking along the tank, you said determinedly, “I’m not letting any fish eat you. Not on purpose and not on accident.”

At your words, Leon held himself higher and gave a satisfied look over to the fish. “Hear that? I’m off the menu. And not just because I’m on a date.”

You laugh came suddenly and short.

He’s a goof too, you thought while shaking your head in good humor.

Further inside the aquarium, after seemingly traveling through a tunnel with tanks on either side, you two spotted multiple pools in the center of an area. The small pools had numerous people gathered around them; even to the point of leaning against ‘Do Not Touch’ signs around the short exhibits.

Probably fish and stingrays, you thought. Not the delicate ones though.

“I’ve seen videos where fish keep circling back to get scratches.” You told your date as you two strolled passed.

“A dogfish?”

“No.” You bumped his arm lightly.

“A catfish?”

“Neither of those and I don’t remember what it was.”

Leon nodded and said in a serious tone, “Could definitely be related to a dogfish.”

Laughing quietly, you pulled him along towards the next exhibit of interest.

“Oh,” Leon exclaimed playfully. “I think I see where you want to go.”

“Hmm?” Following his line of sight gave way to a bright smile on your lips. “Oh, yeah.”

“Called it.”

Mutual delight added a skip to each step.

The pair of you headed toward an unobstructed view of another tank, taller than either of you could reach. Watery depths decorated with corals added more color to the shades of blue. One of the far sides were indistinguishable to its true distance as it kept a large environment for many fish; neither rectangular or perfectly round. An informational sign listed more than a dozen sea creatures in that tank alone.

Of all the fish, one caught your attention first. A hammerhead shark.

Hands intertwined, you and Leon observed the few visible hammerheads as they as almost swiveled through the water with their flattened head. It was peaceful. Everything there an ease to approach in order to learn and witness animals almost as if through a screen; close and mostly clear.

“When I was little, hammerheads were the first shark I liked.” You stated, wistfully thinking of a moment in your childhood. “No one ever told me they were scary or anything. I could just look at them without being fed terrifying tales.”

“Are they still your favorite?”

“I may be a little partial to great white sharks.”

“Movies didn’t scare you off?”

“Nope. I’ve watched too many nature documentaries for that.”

Softly, Leon’s thumb caressed the side of your hand. A soothing and comfortable gesture; touch that came naturally as if done a dozen times before.

“Nurse sharks are really nice too,” you said as you spotted one at the bottom of the tank. “They’re still cool even though people don’t get all crazy hype about them. They’re important too.”

“Important animals should be considered cool regardless. Or at least not badmouthed in groups. Do you know how many shark movies there are where the shark is the antagonist?”

“More every summer, I’m sure.”

“There’s always someone at the beach trying to scare people or asking if there are any sharks in the water.” Leon gestured widely with his free hand. “Technically, yeah, there are sharks in the water. It’s just a huge body of water. They’re likely not near shore depending on the time of day.”

“And time of year.”

“Yeah. I hope there’s not a new shark movie this year…”

“Nah. I think it’s romcoms and zombies.”

“Great.” Leon chuckled sarcastically.

Patting his bicep affectionately, you steered him around a curve of the tank to see more.

And more was seen amongst all blues and greens. Both of you enjoying the views full-heartedly. The large tank of sharks held true as a definite highlight.

Minutes turned into hours and comments lengthened into conversations. The pair of you went through almost every exhibit sharing facts about animals and memories of each other’s past.

A lovely date nearing its end.

Near one of the exits of the aquarium stood a well-lit gift shop. The two of you wandered into it with curious eyes. It was small, but stuffed full of merchandise.

You could easily be in there for half an hour glancing around.

Somewhere between souvenir cups and being distracted by detailed figurines, you did not see Leon’s movements. When you had peered over next, you found that Leon had disappeared from your side.

Huh. Where’d he go? You thought as you glanced around the shop. Did he find something?

Finally, you spotted him at the register being handed a bag.

He bought something. Okay… Not a big deal, but why’d he veer off so quickly?

Upon grabbing the bag, Leon turned away from the counter, eyes scanning the shop.

Raising a hand, you gave a tiny wave.

His bright smile greeted you once he found you. In a few strides, Leon returned to you with an air of excitement.

“Found something good?” You asked.

“I did. It’s for you.”

“What?”

Seeing your smile, Leon grabbed your hand and lead you out of the shop.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Wait ‘till you see it first.” Leon held open the bag for you to look inside.

Peering up at you was the grey and white face of a plush great white shark.

“Really?” You practically squealed in glee as you lifted the plush out of the confines of the bag.

“Yeah. All yours.”

“He needs a name.” You announced as you begun rotating the soft plush in your hands, checking every detail of cuteness.

Leon hummed in thought.

“Something that makes sense.”

He hummed again.

You turned the plushie at different angles before poking its nose.

“Finn.”

“Finn?” You looked to Leon with an approving smile. “That’s so cute.”

“Well, he is yours.”

“I love it. And I love him too.” You gave the plush a light hug. “But… I didn’t buy you anything.” You glanced back at the gift shop.

“Trust me, giving you Finn is better than anything in there.”

A bubbling warmth filled you, eased you and made you smile continuously.

How is Leon real?

***

Another hot summer day and window shopping was on the agenda. You and your friend went exploring the local shops to your hearts content. Options wide and catered to tourists. The perfect opportunity for your friend to ask a hundred questions about your date from the day before. At least your friend and your own curiosity for artisan goods could be satisfied more directly. Just the two of you. A normality during and outside of vacations.

Late in the evening, back in the rented condo, your phone alerted you of a text.

It was from Leon, asking if you’d be up for a swim in the pool later. The pool at the beach club had lights and usually people were gone by nine o’clock the latest.

You informed your friend before they could ask.

“Go with him.” Your friend urged.

“But it’s already late.”

“You stay up late. What’s the difference?”

“I’m inside when I stay up late.” You stated.

They fell back onto their bed.

Hugging your little shark plushie closer, you said, “I’m just….a creature of habit.”

“Do you want to go swimming with a fun, kind, and super fine with-and-without-a-shirt man that saves lives for a living?”

“Yes.” You answered quietly.

“Then what’s stopping you from answering the man? He’s into you.” They pointed to Finn and then the shark teeth. “Very into you.”

Taking a few deep breaths, you replied to Leon.

Sounds fun. I haven’t been able to use the pool yet. :)

Then it’s a date? (crossed fingers)

Yes, I’ll have to leave Finn here then.

Break the news to him gently. Don’t need him tearing up the room (fish)

I’ll do my best. :D See you later!

Can’t wait. ;)

“He sent a winking emoji,” you exclaimed.

Bolting upright, your friend squealed, “Show me! Oh my god!”

“There.” You turned your phone.

A little exchange of enthused exclaims later followed before you went to freshen up and change into a swimsuit.

***

Folded towel held in the crook of your arm, you found your favorite lifeguard standing beside the pool chairs.

“Hey you.” Leon’s smile was infectious.

“Hey.”

“You ready for a swim?” Tilting his head, Leon’s eyes held your gaze warmly.

“Yeah.” You set your towel on a lounge chair.

In one swift movement of flexed muscles, Leon had removed his shirt.

You swore that your brain malfunctioned for a whole five seconds.

Giving you a cheeky smile, Leon hopped into the pool. Water droplets sprinkled along the tile by the seating.

My brain really needs to catch up with me, you thought while regaining your sense of self amidst the small splash.

You knelt by the edge of the water as your date’s head breached the surface.

“Finn isn’t too mad at me for stealing time with you, is he?” Leon asked and shook his hair out of his eyes.

“A little, but I think he understands.”

Carefully, you slipped into the water. It was a comfortable temperature despite the late hour. You swam further out into the pool to join Leon.

“That’s a relief. Don’t need him bumping his nose into me when I least expect it.”

“Cant’ have that.” You smiled softly. “We’ll make it up to him.”

“How’s fish crackers and Jaws sound?”

“Fin-tastic.” The words left you before you could filter them out.

Bringing his hand up through the water, Leon splashed you. He laughed as soon as you retaliated. The two of you went back and forth until you were wiping water from your eyes.

Now is not the time for this. You internally scolded your eyes.

“Sorry about that. Does it sting?” Leon asked. His voice was incredibly close.

“I’m fine.” You opened your eyes, but squinted almost immediately.

Leon shook his head. “May I see?”

You nodded.

Gentle hands cradled your face as he inspected your eyes one at a time. His thumb prodding your skin only enough to nudge your eyelids to open more.

“They might get a little irritated from all the chlorine they put in here. You should rinse with some water when you get back to the room, but you’ll be alright.” His warm breath fanned over your face, sending a chill down your side. One of his thumbs rubbed across your cheek affectionately.

“Nothing serious?” You questioned quietly.

“No, you’re—” Leon’s voice caught in his throat as his gaze locked with your own.

The pool’s water settled. Sounds of the waves in the distance were mere whispers.

Leon’s hands remained in place as you lost yourself in the depths of his blue eyes. Neither of you shied away from the vulnerability.

How were you suppose to react when all you wanted was to know more?

Your attempts at steadying your breathing was near impossible.

Bravery had its moments and yours came as your fingertips ghosted over Leon’s biceps. His gaze flickered down to your lips. Just centimeters away from his own.

“Leon,” you whispered.

“May I?” He swallowed and added quietly, “Please?”

The questions melted your heart.

How could Leon be so….endearing?

Fingers curling around his arms, you answered softly, “Yes.”

Eyes fluttered shut as your lips were greeted by a light pressure. Tenderness seeped into your skin every second Leon kept you close. Everything else faded away.

All too soon or much later, you couldn’t tell, the kiss ended.

The beauty of it still shined in Leon’s eyes, more stunning than the night sky. His smile tickled every ounce of happiness into light. So genuine and sweet.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Leon asked softly.

“Like what?”

“Like…you discovered something. Like you’re looking at something for the first time.”

You ducked your head, smiling then. “In a way, I guess.”

“What?” He chuckled and lifted your head to look at him again. “You discovered that I don’t kiss weird?”

Grinning, you shook your head. “I’m happy with you.”

Steadily and all over, the humor on Leon fell away to reveal open gratefulness. Pure and fully content.

“I’m happy with you too. So happy.” Circling an arm around your waist, Leon brought you even closer. The warmth of your bodies very evident, arousing.

Something within you both clicked.

Lips met again, firmly and passionate in each minute movement. A series of affections on repeat between quick inhales for air.

A light bump to your back signaled that Leon had you both by the pool’s edge for support. One strong arm at the edge to keep you both afloat. His lips traveled along your jawline. Exciting and thorough. Your hands tangled into his wet hair and encouraged him to continue kissing down your neck.

You sighed blissfully. Letting one of your hands travel down his toned back.

At the junction between neck and shoulder, you felt his open-mouthed kiss slow. The warmth of Leon’s exhale raised chills down your back. He gave another kiss. Still the same spot, well heated from the intimacy.

But how much further would you two go? In a public pool, mind you.

“Leon.” You whispered.

In response, he hummed. A delightful vibration that made you almost change your mind.

“We should…slow down a little.”

Leon raised his head to see your face. “Are you okay?” His eyebrows knit together in concern.

“Yeah.” You breathed out. “Just…” Trailing off in words, you glanced around you at the few overhead pool lights and dark buildings.

He nodded.

Chills ran over your water droplet-covered skin as the night air touched you. A fair reminder of where you two were.

Ever the observant one, Leon nudged his forehead against yours and stated, “Why don’t we get you warm in a towel?”

You smiled and gave a small nod.

Taking ahold of your hips, Leon lifted you out of the pool to sit on its edge. He snuck in a kiss to your knee. It was healing nicely.

He’s so attentive, I might melt or…something.

Leon waited for you to stand before pulling himself out of the water. Another glorious view of his being.

After making sure your towel was securely around your form, Leon kissed your forehead.

“Let’s get you inside.”

The short distance walking you back to your rented condo was filled with lingering looks and one of his arms wrapped around you.

“Good night,” Leon kissed you on the lips tenderly.

“Good night.” You smiled as he bumped your nose affectionately and squeezed your hand one more time.

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

Leon Scott Kennedy Tags: @

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

[000marie198]

It's done. Phew *passes out* here, please accept this little prologue, I've planned a multichapter for this.

Here's my entry to Nine Tailed Travel Guide Through the Multiverse. Juuuust short of time running out. Takes place in Synergy Au

.

.

Unsynched

The sea lit up in a thunderous white flash, lightning striking the mountaineous waves with vengeance, their turbulent surface swallowing million tiny craters and being struck by million more.

Rain fell in torrents, bulleting streams of water speeding downward lit by the blinding flashes every few seconds. Wind screamed and wailed as it hunted within the deadly storm, one of the bigger ones this area had seen since the Rift.

At the edges of a secluded shore, the rumbles of thunder sounded muffled inside a locked up facility, the safety of reinforced hangers and labs failing to hide the chill caused by nature’s wrath. Even as the world slept peacefully, most of the staff was on high alert. That included the operators dutifully running continuous scans at their respective stations.

A large computer set up at the radar control station began to beep in alert, one of its monitors displaying a red dot pinging offshore over the regional map. The agent stationed by it reached for the controls, slipping a headset over his ears to report what the monitor displayed.

“Commander, we've picked up on an energy anamoly fifteen miles west.”

“Another beast?” The gruff voice on the other end inquired almost immediately.

“Negative,” the agent responded, “this signature does not match the one given off by the Breachers.”

There was a pause on the other end, likely due to the other consulting about their next course of action, before another voice crackled through the comm links.

“We are at Hanger 5, prepared for deployment. Allow clearance for investigation.”

“Commander?” The agent prompted for confirmation.

“Send off The Tempest,” the first voice ordered. “We cannot take any chances.”

“Affirmative.”

An intensifying hum sounded from Hanger 5 as mechanisms powered up and the reinforced gates slowly rose, the icy claws of the storm reaching in with a vengeance.

……….....................................

Expecting to appear on solid ground as he had the past few times he walked into a new world, Nine hadn't anticipated the portal to deposit him thirty feet high, in the middle of the ocean.

A startled yelp escaped him, quickly turning into terrified scream as rain, wind and lightning blinded his senses, flashes preceding blasts of thunder that shook him to the core.

The world was an earthquake and he was at its epicenter.

His heartrate sped up as he fell. Loud beats thudding through his veins mirrored the thunder’s claps like symphonic war drums. Pupils shrunk into pinpricks and something buzzed across his fur, skin, flesh– every single cell.

Adrenaline.

He was familiar with adrenaline. With its fight or flight instincts.

He had honed them for years to choose fight. With practice and struggle, pain and blood, a lifetime of suffering. Nine squeezed his eyes shut and let them take over, trusting them to keep him safe.

Seven metal tails clicked apart and spun, two organic ones joining them and the kit slammed to a halt midair, the harsh shift in momentum barely shocking him. Black waves below and grey clouds above sandwiched the wind and rain that tried to push him down but he held on, though barely.

Raising an arm to block the droplets, Nine squinted through the shower, flinching as more strikes lit the stormy horizon. He needed to find someplace to land. Now. Being in the air increased the risk of his metallic appendages attracting lightning.

Just stabilizing while hovering in same place was difficult enough, if he couldn't find land soon- he pressed his lips, glancing down at the MTC- he'd have no choice but to leave this universe unexplored.

For the first time in many multiverse adventures, he wished Sonic and Tails would show up. He had internally complained about it before but he could really use some help right now.

Well, no matter, if they couldn't find him, he'll do it himself. A harsh gust pushed at him from the side, Nine grunting as his tails strained to fight against it. Right, he'll try to find them after he was sheltered and not under the mercy of a heavy storm.

Reaching for his yellow handheld, he turned mid air so his back was to the rain’s direction, shielding his front just enough for him to huddle over the device and activate its wave scanner, trying to find a satellite signal he could hack.

In any other case, he would've shot down the thought immediately, considering he's been through universes where such technology didn't even exist, but Nine had checked the readings of this particular world before deciding to teleport here. It seemed to be advanced in technology just as much, if not more, than New Yoke. And it had a strangely strong reading, similar to the fixed Green Hill did compared to the other shatter spaces. He'd looked forward to exploring it.

If only he hadn't ended up in the middle of the storm.

“C'mon, work,” Nine muttered with frustration as the device took longer than it usually did to pick up a signal, the weather hindrance still playing its part.

Finally, it pinged with an alert, the fox not taking another moment to jump on the frequency, launching codes to bypass firewalls and access the available GPS and maps. As he pulled up the one which showed his location, he paused, brows furrowing up in confusion.

“What?”

The live map had his coordinates, which made sense considering he connected through the database, but it also showed location of another signal, heading straight towards him.

He felt the air trmeor with a deep rumbling thud, it's sound blending with the storm’s so well, he hadn't realized it could have a different source.

Nine froze, his fur pricking up as another rumbling thud sounded, louder. Closer. The lightning that would accompany the thunder impossibly staying static, not flashing off within milliseconds.

Nine was not alone.

He held his breath as waves rose like curtains, a deep groan vibrating the moist air like whales’ songs after a last thunderous thud. Glaring beams shone down at his back, framing his sharp shadow flickering with the waves as he hovered with his handheld gripped tight, the other signal blinking right behind his own.

Swallowing back his growing fear, Nine turned around, finding himself face to face with a gigantuan mech’s dark visor, piercing beams from its shoulder pads focused directly upon Nine.

.......

To be continued in Unsynched

[bishonenspit]

questions from the manga ask post by tomoyoo:

1. your top reads of 2024

17. a manga you weren't expecting to like

20. what's your 2025 reading list?

1: Top reads of 2024 - This is really hard tbh, this year I sort of restarted reading manga bc I'd been stagnant for like the last few years so there's a few..... some standouts would def be My Name is Shingo and Baptism by Kazuo Umezu, The Inheritance of Aroma by Nakamura Asumiko, Keiko Takemiya's Sunroom Nite short story collection, Offshore Lightning by Saito Nazuna, and Yoshida Akimi's California Monogatari 17: Manga you weren't expecting to like - This is also insanely hard for the sole reason that I generally don't read manga I expect to dislike 😭 especially because I buy a lot of the manga I read in physical volumes so I really rarely go into buying a series with negative expectations? Maybe NO expectations is more common for me idk....more often than not I am let down by BL manga LMFAO so maybe some of those but tbh no manga really stick out in my memory 20: 2025 reading list - I REALLY want to read A Cruel God Reigns so I hope to try that next year but damn it is long. Lmfao. Ik that's not the typical issue with it but omfg I struggle to get through longer series. I want to reread The Poe Clan and Kazeki in the new year just because they are long and frankly my memory is insanely short term lol...In terms of new stuff tho I still need to read Oniisama E and I want to read Naka Tomoko's Fashion Fade as well. And as always more BL, whatever meets my preference really. I have a bunch on my mangadex plan to read lol

[papertowness]

hello I'm at the point in my hyperfixation where I want to make lockscreens of my guys. but I'm finding it harder than usual to associate colours/vibes w them bcos in the show everything's just kinda,,,,blue??? so I wanna know if u associate them w any colours etc . . . . (ps this the kinda lockscreen I usually make)

WAIT I LOVE THIS . guys may i have a lock screen too … please …..

youre getting my head canons on their favorite colors and what color i associate them with . because i want to .

-> there is no gentle way to say this but robby’s color is definitely orange . he says it’s blue because heather made fun of him one time for his favorite color being orange BUT to redeem him it’s the sunrise sunset orange . the orange he gets to watch when he walks to work every morning . i will be basic though anf say i associate him with a stormy dreary blue .

-> collins’ favorite color is purple and i associate her with specifically royal purple just because i think she would look STUNNING in it and i just idk she gives purple . when ( WHEN . WHEN . ) she gets to be a mother she picks out cute little lavender purple baby things for its room

-> landon’s dumbass favorite color is fucking blue because hes annoying and basic ( SOOOO LOVINGLY ) . i will say his car is like this stunning pale offshore blue but the only reason it’s not the heinous cobalt blue he wanted was because abby picked the color . but he likes obnoxious blue because he is in fact obnoxious . anyway i associate him with uhhhhhhhhh bright blue . scrub blue .

-> jack i associate with green for obvious reasons but my heart is just screaming at me that SOOO much of this man’s furniture is brown . i don’t know why . the brown barely matches . his boring ass house with most of his late wife’s decorations on the wall . he just likes shades of brown . i love him . he makes me insane

-> mckay likes red but NOT because of her hair because harrison had so much red themed stuff as a younger kid ( cough lightning mcqueen cough ) that she just likes the color because it reminds her of harrison . heart . uhhh she also gives like shades of green to me . or maybe pale yellow ?

-> SAMIRA USED TO HATE PINK BUT SHE LOVES PINK NOW . I DONT CARE . SHE’S A PINK GIRL . SHE HAS A PINK STEERING WHEEL COVER IN HER CAR . THIS IS TRUE . TO ME . PINK ALL AROUND FOR SAMIRA .

-> mel my friend my love of my life she likes green . she likes the pale foresty aesthetic green so much . green covers on her bed . green accents around her and her sister’s house . green <3 . i also think yellow when i think her but i think it’s bc she’s so sunshiney sigh heart eyes i love her guys

-> santos likes blueee . she genuinely gives tomboy while she was growing up . half her wardrobe is probably dark blue . yup , i definitely associate her with deep ocean blue .

-> WHITAKER MY BEST FRIEND WHITAKER . he actually likes yellow and i DEFEND THIS WITH MY LIFE . all his brothers liked blue and red and all the “ boy colors “ so he picked yellow to like and STOOD BESIDE IT . anyway he also gives like burnt brown / green aesthetic . fall .

-> javadi’s favorite color issssssss also purple . but like lilac purple , i have the feeling that she always liked “ girly “ colors like that . she gives like pale pink to me . soft pink :3

-> DANA FINALLY . MY MOTHER . she gives really liking like rustic colors like a deep rustic rose red or brown or orange , idk i just feel like she has the type of house you’d see in old polaroid pictures in the eighties , where everything is just so cosy . and i also associate her with those colors , like darker shades of red or orange hehehehee

more than u asked for but . idk i just like headcanoning random things

[jariten]

My Favorite Manga from 2023: Part 1

And now that the themes are over and done with, here are my general favorite reads from 2023:

夕暮れへ (Offshore Lightning), Saito Nazuna [Drawn & Quarterly, trans. Alexa Frank]

柔道部物語 (Judo-bu Monogatari), Makoto Kobayasho [Kodansha Bunko ver.]

ZERO, Taiyo Matsumoto [Shogakukan Bunko ver.]

Midori no Uta: Shuushuu Gunfuu/Lü Zhī Gē - Shōují Qún Fēng (緑の歌 - 収集群風 -/綠之歌 -收集群風-), Yan Gao

動物たち (Doubutsu-tachi), Panpanya

月館の殺人 (Tsukidate no Satsujin), Noriko Sasaki & Yukito Ayatsuji [Shogakukan Bunko ver]

I will skip the latter three titles as I already talked about them in earlier roundups, but let me once again say that they're very good and I enjoyed them so much.

I always seem to find a work that gets stuck in pre-order purgatory and in 2023 Offshore Lightning finally made it out. After Talk to My Back and The Sky is Blue With a Single Cloud I was really looking forward to seeing who Drawn & Quarterly had picked this time. Of course I wasn't disappointed (and surprised that it was a one-shot collection I had been half eyeing in Japanese for a while). Saito Nazuna delivers some poignant stories about families at a breaking point as well as life and death. I was personally very taken by In Captivity and House of Solitary Death, which are the more recent stories in the collection.

I got my sports manga fixes in this year too. First one I had hyped myself up for for years and the namesake of a previous favorite...the oft referenced in the Makoto Kobayashi-verse: Judo-bu Monogatari. When Sango Jugo (whose name is literally the kanji numerals 3 5 15) gets tricked into joining his school's low ranking Judo club. After surviving a brutal hazing ritual it would seem he's only sticking around out of spite, but after what seemed to be a fluke win could it be that he actually got a talent for this sport? Thus begins Jugo's 3 year journey as a high school Judo athlete. I already knew that Kobayashi is one of the best sequential artists in the game but I'm just blown away over and over by him andhis mastery of the comic format. Add the trademark outrageous visual comedy and the charming cast of characters; I rank it with Slam Dunk as one of the few manga that get physical reactions of true excitement and happiness out of me. (In fact, Makoto Kobayashi is named as one of Takehiko Inoue's influences)

I also finally read Matsumoto's ZERO which had intrigued me since the editor's afterword in Ping Pong that described the two works as related. And I don't know where to begin, blown away, entranced, had me thinking and wondering, absorbed in one sitting. The bunko edition also included extras from the 2018 edition like a editor's and author's retrospective, and a short comic written by the scriptwriter of Takemitsu Samurai, Issei Eifuku who was around for the development phase of ZERO.

[ljaesch]

The Offshore Lightning Manga Is Nominated for a 2024 Ignatz Award

The Small Press Expo has revealed the nominees for its 2024 Ignatz Awards. Offshore Lightning, a collection of short manga by author Nazuna Saitō, is nominated in the Outstanding Collection category. Drawn & Quarterly released the book in July 2023. The book includes Saitō’s earlier works, as well as the stories “In Captivity” and “Solitary Death Building,” which debuted in 2012 and 2015,…

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Lights of Southeast Asia

An astronaut aboard the International Space Station took this nighttime photo while orbiting near the Andaman Sea in Southeast Asia. In the foreground, bright flashes of lightning from a thunderstorm loom near fishing boats offshore of Burma’s largest city, Yangon. This view from the space station looks across a populated region where the countries of Burma (Myanmar), Thailand, and Laos share borders.

At the time of this photograph, little to no moonlight illuminated the scene. This allows astronauts to see and photograph a variety of light sources with a high degree of contrast against the dark land and water surfaces. Bright light associated with lightning is a common occurrence during the monsoon season across Southeast Asia.

City lights can be seen throughout much of the landscape. Several interconnected cities, such as Chiang Mai and Phitsanulok, are located within Thailand’s central river valley, where the Chao Phraya River runs. Beyond these city lights, the darkness leading toward the horizon indicates the vegetated landscapes of rural Thailand with few light sources.

Another frequent sighting from the space station is the green lights from fishing boats, seen here clustered offshore near the storm. The bright green lights are used to attract plankton and fish to the boats and stand out against the dark ocean water. Looking toward Earth’s horizon, a faint green layer of airglow hovers between the darkness of space and the land below.

The southernmost part of Burma, shown here in October 2024, experienced some damage from the magnitude 7.7 earthquake that struck five months later in March 2025. The earthquake epicenter was located near Mandalay, Burma, approximately 628 kilometers (390 miles) north of Yangon, just out of frame.

Astronaut photograph ISS072-E-125247 was acquired on October 27, 2024, with a Nikon Z9 digital camera using a focal length of 50 millimeters. It is provided by the ISS Crew Earth Observations Facility and the Earth Science and Remote Sensing Unit, Johnson Space Center. The image was taken by a member of the Expedition 72 crew. The image has been cropped and enhanced to improve contrast, and lens artifacts have been removed. The International Space Station Program supports the laboratory as part of the ISS National Lab to help astronauts take pictures of Earth that will be of the greatest value to scientists and the public, and to make those images freely available on the Internet. Additional images taken by astronauts and cosmonauts can be viewed at the NASA/JSC Gateway to Astronaut Photography of Earth. Caption by Andrea Wenzel, Amentum-JETS II Contract at NASA-JSC.

[demifiendrsa]

Final Fantasy VII Rebirth details Kalm and Under Junon characters, playable Red XIII, synergy abilities and skills, more

"The Story So Far" Recap trailer

■ New Art

■ Regions of the World

The world is comprised of multiple regions, each boasting unique environments for players to explore and experience on their adventure.

Kalm

A halcyon hamlet kept safe from the outside world by a sturdy stone wall. Though it lacks a reactor of its own, it thrives thanks to a steady supply of mako piped in from the metropolis of Midgar, which is visible from atop the town’s famous clock tower.

Mythril Mine

A once-bustling mine that connects the grasslands with Junon. Though once prized for its rich mythril deposits, the quarry fell into disuse after Shinra developed a superior mineral of their own, and the miners that once worked its tunnels have been replaced with monsters.

■ New Characters

Broden (voiced by Mick Lauer in English, Shinshu Fuji in Japanese)

Owner and operator of the Inn at Kalm. He bears a grudge against Shinra, offering to help Cloud and friends escape their would-be corporate captors. His gaunt appearance may be due to his recent bout with an unknown illness.

Rhonda (voiced by G.K. Bowes in English, Rei Igarashi in Japanese)

Mayor and sheriff of Under Junon. Her home, once a prosperous fishing village, fell into decline after Shinra constructed a military fortress overhead and a deep-sea mako reactor offshore. Despite Cloud and friends’ status as alleged terrorists, Rhonda still allows them to pass through her town.

Priscilla (Voiced by Reese Warren in English, Rikako Oota in Japanese)

A cheerful young girl who lives in Under Junon, often seen swimming with the dolphin she trains. The offshore mako reactor has contaminated the surrounding waters, and Priscilla fears for the safety of her dolphin friend and other aquatic creatures.

Billy (voiced by Paul Castro Jr. in English, Yuusuke Shirai in Japanese)

Grandson of Bill, owner of a chocobo ranch in the grasslands. Having lost his parents at a young age, he and his sister were raised by their grandfather. This young ranch hand kindly offers to teach Cloud and company the ropes of chocobo wrangling—on the condition that they patronize his sister’s shop.

Chloe (voiced by Trinity Bliss in English, Hisui Kimura in Japanese)

Billy’s younger sister, she runs a shop on the ranch where she sells crafting materials and other curios. Warm and kindhearted, she engages politely with Cloud and company and is grateful for their patronage. At the same time, she is worried about her brother’s fixation on making money.

■ Combat

Red XIII

—Basic Attacks

Red XIII slashes at foes with his sharp claws. Hold down the button to unleash a wide-range attack that helps build ATB quickly.

—Abilities

Red XIII boasts a vast array of skills, from lightning-fast physical strikes to ranged magical attacks. Stardust Ray conjures an exploding orb of light that scorches all foes caught in the blast.

—Vengeance Mode

Block incoming attacks to fill the vengeance gauge, and unleash that energy to enter vengeance mode, enhancing his physical attacks and his evasive prowess. Siphon Fang delivers a powerful blow while absorbing some of the enemy’s HP—all without expending ATB.

Aerith

—Unique Ability: Ward Shift

Aerith can instantaneously warp to any sigils she has created, allowing her to move about the field with ease and maximize the impact of her magic.

New System: Synergy Abilities

Powerful attacks in which two characters team up to turn the tide of battle. More abilities will unlock as you increase the party level─ a numerical expression of how closely-knit your team is─and deepen the affinity between party members. Fill the synergy gauge by using abilities, then unleash a synchronized assault!

—Cloud / Tifa: Relentless Rush

Cloud launches Tifa toward an enemy to attack in tandem.

—Barret / Red XIII: Overfang

Barret sends Red XIII flying toward an enemy at high velocity.

New System: Synergy Skills

Two party members team up to activate useful abilities without consuming ATB. These commands can be executed while blocking, and provide a wide array of beneficial effects. Each pair has their own unique set of abilities; some deal damage, while others offer support.

—Cloud / Aerith: Spell Blade

Gather strength, then team up to unleash a charged magical attack.

—Barret / Cloud: Mad Dash

Team up to charge forward while guarding against incoming attacks. Activate in sequence to trigger a three-hit combo.

Summons

Setting summoning materia will grant access to the power of the gods. A conjured deity will follow the player’s lead and fight enemies automatically, but you can also instruct them to use special abilities. Before they depart the battlefield, summons will unleash one final attack that will wreak immense havoc.

Kujata

A bovine deity that charges around the battlefield wielding the power of fire, ice, and lightning. It throws foes with its enormous horns and unleashes magical attacks that strike even distant enemies’ weaknesses.

—Kujata bounds towards foes with reckless abandon and manipulates its elemental affinities to deliver magical attacks. Blazing Horn launches a concentrated burst of fiery energy at an enemy, blasting them back.

—Kujata unleashes Tri-Disaster just before leaving the battlefield, a powerful wide-range attack imbued with the powers of fire, ice, and lightning—sure to hit many foes right where it hurts and potentially wipe them out.

■ World Intel

Chadley enlists your help with deepening his understanding of the world. As you explore the various regions, you will uncover new areas rich with treasures and natural wonders. Data points accumulated in your travels can then be spent to develop useful new materia.

Protorelics

Protorelics are artifacts of unknown origin that emit a unique energy signal. These elusive antiquities are hidden throughout the world─but with the aid of activated remnawave towers, Chadley should be able to point you in their direction. Be warned, however: they seem to alter space-time, and are known to cause strange phenomena.

Materia Development

Assisting Chadley with his world-spanning research will allow you to accrue data points, which can then be spent to develop new materia. Some offer access to spells of multiple affinities, while others grant the use of unique abilities—all of which are sure to prove useful against even the most formidable foes.

■ World: Customization

Chocoboutiques

Chocobo ranches are also home to chocoboutiques, stalls at which you can freely customize and recolor your bird’s equipment from head to talon. Gear will impact its performance in chocobo races, so find an ensemble that suits your style and go for the gold!

■ System: Combat Styles / Difficulty Levels

Final Fantasy VII Rebirth offers multiple combat styles and difficulty levels for players of all persuasions.

Combat Styles

“Active” mode offers players total control over their characters’ every move, allowing them to execute advanced strategies. “Classic” mode automates characters’ basic actions, giving players time to focus on specific command selection.

Difficulty Levels

“Easy” difficulty allows people to focus on the story rather than battles, while “Normal” provides a reasonable challenge for most players. In the newly added “Dynamic” difficulty, enemies grow stronger as your characters do—perfect for players who crave constant challenge.

Final Fantasy VII Rebirth, the second game in the Final Fantasy VII remake trilogy, will launch for PlayStation 5 on February 29, 2024.

[becauseplot]

Oh god, it's you.

!!SPOILERS FOR 11/18 PURGATORY STREAM!! “GATINHO!” They’re holding him back. There are hands clutching his arms, fists curled into the back of his jacket, fingers digging tight enough to bruise, and he fights it he fights it he fights it he fights it he fights it— “GATINHO!” “Roier!” someone shouts. “Roier stop, the boat—” “NO!” “—has already pulled away, we’re too far offshore, you can’t—” “NO!! SUÉLTAME!” He throws an elbow behind him and hears a low grunt as he nails someone square in the gut. A set of hands releases his arm, but they’re replaced by another, lightning-quick, before he can even take a single step towards the railing of the ship. He thrashes and kicks and screams because he has to, because there is a lone, motionless figure up, up, up on the cliffside. It’s nothing but a dark shadow against the crimson sky, but he knows. He knows.

Or, Roier and Cellbit's final moments, and the distance between them.

(OR or, I wrote a more complete version of this post but because of how I decided to format it, I think it looks better on ao3.)

✨✨REBLOGS GREATLY APPRECIATED✨✨

HAPPY READING :D

[cbairdash]

Author’s note: Hoist the Colors may eventually inspire fiction. Most likely will and I’ll gladly write it. But right now, it’s a role-playing game setting with what I hope is an interesting take and look at an “Alternate History” of Earth. It isn’t really “steampunk”, though I can see how someone would get that impression. For me, it’s more a “flintlock fantasy” set on Earth of 1722 in all it’s historical mess… that I’ve stirred up even more!

So, this time we're diving into supernatural effects in Hoist the Colors! Arcane Gates!

Arcane Gates

Arcane Gates appeared right after Crossing’s Fall. They changed the world and how we scurry over it. But make no mistake, those portals are a harbinger of just how dangerous the world has gotten. Even if the Gates are a necessary evil.

Captain Elias Driftwood, Captain of the Mystic Seas

Once the Rainbow Bridge collapsed, or so the story is told, the shattered remains of Otherworld crashed to Earth. This caused all manner of catastrophes, disasters, and changes. But the one that stand out most are the Arcane Gates.

These gates, either natural or temporary, are glowing sentinels to how much the world was changed. Arcane Gates are portals of raw magical power that stand silent watch in the Earth’s oceans and seas. Menacing, glowing portals that towered over the tallest ship’s mast by 100 or even 200 feet or more.

Once visible, they often appear as magnificent arches with frames of ever-shifting glowing knotwork, mystic amber symbols, and ethereal images from myth and legends. In the center flows a cobalt-blue, water-like power, as turbulent as the ocean. A mystic energy flowing and undulating within the archway, while fog billows up and out where the entire mystical structure touches water.

No one understands why they only appear in oceans and seas. But one thing quickly became clear, a ship can use one to travel from one side of the world to the other, or to Otherworld remnants, in a second. Arcane Gates changed the nature of travel, trade, and naval power forever.

About the Gates

Some Arcane Gates are natural. Mysterious structures that appeared immediately after the Crossing’s Fall disaster. As best as the most skilled Navigator or Wavebinder understand, these are a direct manifestation of the Etherwave Arcana itself.

These Arcane Gates sit in certain locations on both Earth and the shattered remains of Otherworld. Places where the veil between Earth, Otherworld, and the Etherwave Arcana is at its thinnest. But, for unknown reasons, these nexuses of power are only in the ocean, even if offshore from a mainland or island.

The gates resonate strongly in the Arcana. They are felt by anyone who can Channel the mystic powers from miles away. It isn’t a direction as accurate as a compass, but a strong feeling. A compulsion drawing a person attuned to the Etherwave Arcana to these natural magical knots.

Once a ship sails close, such as a cannon shot away, the gate appears in a flash of emerald lightning. Power boiling along their edges waiting to be used. But, while Wavebinders can sense the Gates, the raw chaos mixed with the forces of nature, it eludes their control. Only a skilled Navigator has the mind and arcane skill to plot a course through them that allows a ship to wind up where it should be on the other side. Many a ship with her crew have been thrown against rocks, shattered against the side of a Gate itself, or vanished forever, without the help of a trained Navigator.

Most wonder why, since it should be a matter of sailing straight through. Which would be simple enough, but sailing through a gate isn’t a matter of setting a course ahead. The power in between the magical arches is as thick as the most blinding fog. Sailing through a gate is a matter of resolve. Seeing where you want to go, since sailing through an Arcane Gate, is also sailing through the Etherwave Arcana itself.

To Harness Chaos

Casting a gate isn’t like dusting crops or lighting candles with the Arcana. It takes a bit of skill and willpower. It’s a bit like trying to lasso a hurricane.

Lyrandar Starwhisper, Navigator of the Sea Path

For the rest about Arcane Gates in Hoist the Colors, see the link above!

Taglist: @thelaughingstag