#WE’VE TRAVELED THE SEAS

[egophiliac]

Serious question.

Do you think we’ll see the parents/family of each of the guys???

Like, We’ve been TEASED with Ace’s brother, that I’m starting to think it’s just a reference to that Alice in Wonderland park character in Japan and nothing else….

Jack’s family, Ruggie’s grandma, Falena, Maleficia, Ms.Rosehearts, Just now Vil’s dad is in the picture which I am really happy but now I’m wondering about his mom, and so Deuce’s mom.

I mean, some HAVE a silhouette!! It could mean they do have a design in the making/ready to show. They could’ve shown us Falena in the Tamashina (hope I said that correctly) event, but didn’t (prolly to make Leona not so σ(▼□▼メ) and it’s understandable)

Anyhow, any idea/headcannon about this? Who do you want to see first?

I'm wondering if everyone might eventually get a travel event? like they've now introduced with Vil's that it doesn't have to be specifically hometowns, so that opens things up a lot! (especially if they have to figure out how to do three separate Coral Sea visits) (how would that even work otherwise)

but yeah, I hope everyone gets a chance! there's a lot of backstory characters I would LOVE to meet. :D :D :D though I do think some of them don't really suit the more light-hearted tone of the events (pretty sure you're right about that being why Falena wasn't in Tamashina-Mina, that would've just been. too much for Leona.) so like...we're probably not ever going to meet the Rosehearts. or Maleficia (although I maintain that this would be THE funniest possible way to introduce her outside of the main story, and actually I would love this a lot, can we please Twst) (I need to see her to put Malleus in a froofy little outfit and tell him what a handsome boy he is). but they've sprung surprises like Kifaji on us, and honestly anyone who shows up and tells embarrassing stories about characters' childhoods is good in my book!

characters off the top of my head who I most want to meet: literally any of the Zigvolts, Azul's mom, Ace's brother, Che'nya's grandfather (<- I think he would be a good one for Riddle) (please just any non-terrible adult in his life), any member of Rook's family because I need to see how they managed to produce him, and...really just whoever they can come up with for Silver.

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART TEN

pirate poly!141 x reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, brief mentions of death/blood, gaz being a little shit, foreshadowing idk but we gettin into it masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

“You need new clothes.”

You glanced down at the loose fabrics swallowing your body.

You’d grown a routine of wearing various pieces of the men’s clothing apart from Ghost, given that your own clothes weren’t much to wear at all. They were old and dirtied, practically useless against the changing seasons of the chill that began to shift in the wind.

“We’ve got to stop on the Mainland, gather a few things for travels,” Gaz continued, eyeing the lousy clothes. “Would you like to shop for somethin’ new?”

“Really?” you asked bashfully.

It would be nice to have something of your own, something that was yours. While you weren’t doused in riches and gold back in your village, you had clothing that was to your own comfort and liking.

Men’s clothing was itchier than you liked, even with finer cotton.

“‘Course,” he assured with a warm smile. “Not that it’s not a bit humorous seein’ you wear our clothes for the time bein’, but I’m gettin’ sick of washin’ double the clothes.”

You smiled back at him, feeling a comforting warm burn through you. Gaz may have had his reservations in the beginning, but he was certainly becoming the most welcoming.

At the start, you thought he was cold, just as the rest of them. He was crude with the way he spoke, voice full of venom whenever he’d spoken to you, which was rare. Now, there was an underlying comfort, as if he felt the need to watch over you.

It wasn’t unwelcome, and was rather preferred. If you were going to be willed into this life of deadly chaos by no choice but Price’s own, then having somebody watching your back was certainly something you wouldn’t refuse.

“Clothes would be nice,” you sighed. “Thank you, Gaz.”

“No need,” he dismissed with a hand. “Consider it a loan. I get you new clothes, you owe me next time.”

“Next time?” You deflated, shoulders dropping. “I have no money to return to you, Gaz. Nor anything of consistency.”

Gaz laughed lightly, a hearty laugh that you always found contagious. It was full of life, lovely even.

The brief memory of him mentioning being a prince in his previous years always seemed to make its way back into your mind when you heard it. It wasn’t loud or boisterous like Soap’s, nor quiet and gruff like Price’s. There was a something more proper, more articulated when he laughed.

“You expect clothes for free, dove?” he teased. “I may be a gentleman in practice, but I’m still a pirate. Perhaps we can come up with a negotiation.”

“I have never been good with those,” you confessed with a heavy sigh.

“Mm. Let me think, then.” Gaz’s finger tapped mindlessly at his bottom lip, eyes narrowed in false concentration. As if a light bulb popped in his head, he snapped his fingers, pointing at you. “I will gift you coins for clothes as well as a few for our agreement. Once we’re on the Mainland, you go off and find me somethin’ I’ll like. If I don’t like it, then you must owe me for the clothes.”

You gawked at him, eyebrows furrowing. Gaz only smiled at you cheekily, a glint of playfulness in his eyes.

“That sounds less like a negotiation and more of a game that I am bound to lose,” you said flatly. He snickered.

“C’mon, birdie. Don’t you like games? Everyone does.” He leaned in close as if to mock you, hunching down to your level. You could feel his warm breath fan over your nose and cheeks.

The sudden proximity made you tighten up at the abruptness, taking a step back. His eyes flickered to your feet before back up at you. Something mischievous oozed from him, and it felt like Soap was the one teasing you rather than Gaz.

Why were you so flustered? Was it due to the absence of light-hearted mockery that you’ve now forgotten what it felt like?

“Okay, okay. I will find you the most brilliant gift on the Mainland,” you bragged, attempting to come off aloof.

Gaz’s smile grew, though he didn’t step away from you. “Excellent.”

You watched as he finally moved, straightening up. He radiated a boyishness, one you didn’t see often, so you allowed him the advantage. The two of you were growing friends, or at least that’s how it felt. You didn’t want to lose that feeling.

“Don’t let her out of your sight,” Price ordered his men. He said it with such warning, as if you weren’t standing amongst them.

It made sense, though you felt like a child with a leash on. After all, the last time you joined them on the Mainland, you ended up in a heated game of hide and seek with the soldiers you so stupidly entrusted.

Ghost stood silent, eyes peering over the side of the ship and to the faint view of the bustling town sitting several hundred yards away. He seemed on edge, more than he normally was, but you could only tell so much from his stiff body language.

You followed his view, squinting. The Captain decided it was best to dock the ship on a farther pier, away from the crowd. Out of sight, out of mind. Nobody would notice them unless they went searching.

“Aye, Cap,” Soap and Gaz synchronized.

Price glanced at Ghost, who shifted his focus off of the land and to his Captain. He gave him a curt nod, and seeing that Price was satisfied, the five of you began to head off.

Ghost was in charge of you this time, much to your dismay. It was evident Price was still weary of you running off, and it seemed Ghost was his most trusted candidate for the job.

The walk towards the busy town was quiet apart from Soap and Gaz speaking quietly behind you. You tried to listen in, but it seemed Soap had a keen sixth sense because before you knew it, his hands cupped over your ears, shielding you from the chatter.

You could very faintly hear Gaz snickering, so you frowned to yourself, disappointed.

You always wondered what they all spoke about when you weren’t around. It always felt like there was this lingering whisper in the air that spoke a language you didn’t understand.

The maps, the poem, none of it made sense to you and nobody was offering answers. Even when you tried to shush it in your mind as it played on replay, it never quite left. It was always in the corner, waiting to return once things got too quiet.

Glancing at Ghost from beside you, he gave no indication of… anything, really. Even after all this time, he was still an impossible read. He stood tall as always, walked with an edge to him, and kept his eyes forward.

You’d never met somebody so confusing yet utterly frustrating at the same time. One moment, he gave you hopes of a bright future on the ship—getting along, finding solitude in one another, empathizing understanding.

Yet as quickly as those feelings would come, they’d be squashed with a mere glare. A burning fire. Something reserved.

You didn’t think he understood himself, either.

When you came to the bounds of the town, Price stopped you. He glanced up at the sky, eyes squinting at the brightness on his retinas, before looking back.

The sun blared down on you from directly above.

“Return here when the sun falls to the west. If anythin’ happens, and I mean anythin’,” he paused, meeting your eyes before shifting back to his men, “then you run back to the ship and signal the bell. Am I understood?”

You really hoped Ghost was good with directions, or at least had a compass. You weren’t sure how to read the time through the sun’s positions. It was never a necessity before when you knew that it was nighttime when the moon came out to play.

You looked back at the ship that was now in the distance. It floated mindlessly along the lapping waves, bobbing back and forth as if saying hello.

The men confirmed with Price. Just as you were about to join them as they trudged on forward, Price stopped you with an arm held out, blocking you from walking.

“You aren’t goin’ to run off on me again, are you?” he asked quietly, though there was that familiar touch of authority to his tone. It wasn’t malicious, but you knew the implications—he wanted to trust you.

“No, sir,” you assured with a shake of your head. Out of the corner of your eye, you dared to look at Ghost, who was impatiently waiting if the tapping of his fingers on his crossed arms meant anything. “I won’t do such a thing.”

The Captain kept his arm up for a moment so he could look at you. His eyes searched yours, so much so it made you flustered.

“Good.” He nodded. “Go along, then.”

He dropped his arm, letting it fall to his side. He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but he simply cleared his throat and gave you a farewell with a nod.

You watched him leave, disappearing into the swarm of shopping townsfolk. Curiosity festered you like a tick, itching into your skin, but you knew it was best to leave it be for now.

“You comin’?”

Ghost snapped you out of your spell. You quickly came back to reality, offering a quick nod before jogging to catch up to him, sticking to him like glue as you entered the town.

It was loud and overwhelming as you followed Ghost around. He made haste with purchases which ranged from stock for food to new knives that glinted tauntingly at you in the light, all of which were shoved into the bag thrown on his shoulders.

You knew people were staring. Even if they were directed towards Ghost and his eccentric appearance, it felt like they were watching you for even being associated with him.

The whispers between women about it being scandalous, the chatter between men who felt imposing threat from Ghost merely standing there.

You didn’t know why, but a part of you felt more defensive than humiliated. Your image was one mocked for the entirety of your lifespan, but Ghost had done nothing to warrant it. Not to them, anyway. To you was a different story.

None of that mattered now, though. You were growing increasingly irritated at being looked upon like a circus act.

“Ignore it,” Ghost muttered. You almost didn’t quite catch it. “I can feel you gettin’ huffy.”

You scowled, crossing your arms and turning your head. Ghost paid you no mind, continuing to browse in the small shop you were in.

“I am not huffy,” you mumbled.

Ghost paused, turning his head towards you. He stared, eyes flickering over your face—first to your furrowed eyebrows, then to your narrowed eyes, then down to your lips tugged into a frown.

He snorted quietly through his nose, returning to his browsing.

The sound made you turn your head. Dare you say it sounded amused, though it could be your ears deceiving you.

You decided to ignore it. The last thing you wanted was to bring it up and have him reserve back to permanently scowling.

Ghost straightened up from the various knives he was looking at, uninterested. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder.

“Need anythin’?” he asked, sniffing.

You perked up, hand coming to rest on the small pouch resting on your hip. It contained the coins Gsz gifted you for clothing, as well as the surprise gift he requested of you.

Nothing came to mind on what to get him. You were clueless, and really didn’t want to owe him.

“Gaz was generous enough to give me coins to buy my own clothes,” you explained, shaking the pouch. Coins within the bag clanked together.

Ghost glanced down at the pouch. “I see,” he hummed, a touch of confusion in his words. Almost as if he was surprised.

He gestured with his head to follow him. The two of you left the quaint shop, stepping back out on to the dusty road. Ghost didn’t move from the entrance, and when you looked up at him, he was already looking at you.

A silent question. He was allowing you to make the choice on where to go.

Looking around, you realized you knew close to nothing about shopping for clothes. Not of these kind, anyway. You were used to the muted, colorless fabrics that never seemed to fit quite right.

You decided on a shop that displayed a variety of different clothes and colors in the windows. Some looked too delectable for your taste, and much too expensive, while some were more simple.

Stepping inside, the sight was positively overwhelming. Colors of all kinds lined the walls. Stuffed mannequins were pinned together with dresses.

Ghost seemed severely uncomfortable. You were elated. A taste of your own self was hidden somewhere within these walls, and you were going to find it.

“Go ahead,” Ghost gruffed from beside you. He shifted on his feet, eyes averting to nowhere. “Not my thing.”

You hummed in response, leaving to browse on your own accord. If Ghost didn’t seem to mind, then you wouldn’t rush yourself.

You took your time. You went through everything you can think of—greens, blues, purples, reds. None seem to fit you. Or more so, you wouldn’t fit with them.

Neutrals were their friends. Browns, grays, anything above the stars. So, naturally, that’s what you went for. Something to fit in and not stand out. You were facing that enough as is.

Once you focused your preference, you found quite a few options and went with what felt best.

Ghost watched you with muted curiosity as you fluttered around the store with a heap of clothes in your arms. He only looked away once he was caught.

As you were about to call your search a success, a glint of gold in the corner of your eye caught your attention. A beautiful miniature telescope sat locked away in a glass case, made from dark wood and detailed with an exquisite gold design.

The sight of it instantly reeled you in.

It was the perfect gift for Gaz. You came to learn that he had a love for the moon and stars, often leaving the room late at night to ponder beneath them. You knew you wouldn’t lose your game if you got it for him.

The only issue was that the price was hefty.

You looked down at your strew of clothes, contemplating. The coins in your pouch would be enough for your clothes, but not for the telescope as well.

The telescope called out to you, like a secret siren’s song pulling you into captivity. It chose you, and you chose it back.

Ultimately, you graciously returned some of the fabrics back to their original areas, leaving them tidy and neat. You approached Ghost with nothing more than a few clothings items, enough to get you by.

You were never materialistic anyway.

Ghost stood, silently observing but feigning disinterest as you made the big purchase for your clothes, then requested the telescope. He made no comment, eyes following your every move as you emptied the contents of your pouch, the coins clanking along the counter.

The merchant was happy to sell it to you, claiming that nobody seemed interested. You were pleased to hear that, and with a quick and easy exchange, the clothes and telescope were yours, placed carefully into Ghost’s bag.

“Is that it, then?” Ghost huffed, shifting the weight of the bag on his shoulder.

You nodded, satisfied with your purchases as you set off along the old roads to return to the rest of the crew.

As you walked, your eyes ventured along the way, taking in the varying crowds. Some mothers, some fathers, some alone on their own journeys. None paid you any mind.

Until one did.

A man. Not as tall as your crew, but certainly as threatening. His entire aura would be misty black if it was visible to the naked eye. His hair was a cropped mess on his head, brown like the dirt beneath your shoes.

His skin was scarred and tainted, dark eyes piercing into you. Even from a distance, you feared you’d combust into a bloodied, explosive mess just from the sheer look he gave you.

The worst was his smile. Cocky. Arrogant. Evil.

If death were a man, this would be its vessel.

His lips were moving, though you couldn’t hear him. He was too far away. It wasn’t until the wind bristled, rising goosebumps along your skin did you hear it. His voice traveled along the breeze until it whisked to your ears, flooding through.

“I’ll be seeing you, dove.”

[qingxin-dream]

“The Afterparty”

summary | lyney is the face of fontaine’s entertainment industry, stealing hearts with every flourish of his magic. however, in the night, lyney tends to entertain a different kind of crowd.

warnings | written pre-4.0, ooc lyney, light yandere themes (stalking/manipulation/obsession), a sprinkle of smut (creampie/implied dubcon) [18+, MDNI], brief mention of drugs/alcohol, reader is neutral but wears a dress, lyney uses a little french

genre | yandere, slight smut

word count | 1.6k

pairing | lyney x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

It’s no mystery that the Great Magician of Fontaine is a man of many talents. His shows are famous across Teyvat for their grandeur and flare. Beautiful venues draped in red curtains frame the scene before a sea of velvety theater seats, skilled acrobats maneuver themselves among rings suspended in the air. Blazes of fire erupt from the stage dramatically. A master of misdirection, the audience falls for his tricks every time as he effortlessly makes the impossible possible.

Lyney is incredibly perceptive. He knows how to read people, as a showman can read his audience, a small smug smile crinkling the corner of his eyes if you’re paying attention. It’s an art form—the way he flips through the pages of your soul, licking his fingers to reveal the next juicy detail with ease. Rarely ever does anyone truly surprise someone as cynical as him, who has been personally privy to the vile nature of the Fatui.

A life of fame is never kind to anyone. The planning and training for shows is incredibly rigorous. Executing the stunts in front of a live audience is equally thrilling and terrifying. Without fail, the crowd is mesmerized and the show ends in a shower of roses and marriage proposals. Rinse and repeat. Though, this is only what Lyney allows the public to know of him.

It’s after hours, when the theater is empty and the stage is dim, when the mask begins to slip.

Lyney is the lead, the star, and as such he maintains his appearance by rubbing elbows with the elite of Fontaine. You’d never catch him amid the nightlife of the city, no. You wouldn’t believe the sheer grandeur of the dazzling, flamboyant parties thrown every night at the country’s largest mansions.

It was Arlecchino who insisted that he attends these lavish parties, rampant with the city’s darkest vices between drugs, alcohol, and sex. But Lyney is a cynical man, so this much is to be expected of wealthy aristocrats.

It was all a façade, couldn’t they see? It sickened him, how gullible people were and how obsessed they were with status. Not to mention the inevitable hordes of women who threw themselves at him.

Nevertheless, Lyney played the game well and with a bewitching, handsome smile. Eventually he had learned to take pleasure in this little game.

As fate would have it, you let your friend convince you to crash one of these extravagant parties with them. You had heard whispers of what takes place at night behind the golden gates of Fontaine’s richest residences. Why wouldn’t you want to have a taste of the finest wine, dressed in designer, getting lost in the magnificent corridors of a packed mansion of partygoers?

It’s something straight from the movies.

You emerged from the bushes to sneak inside, which wasn’t that difficult surprisingly. You wore your best dress, not knowing what to expect. It was a floor length, silky black dress with a sexy slit that traveled all the way up to your mid-thigh. You had a lovely string of pearls dangling from your pretty neck. A classic choice.

Unfortunately for you, Lyney is a man who is extremely attentive to his surroundings. After all, an illusionist must be a master of his environment as well. The moment he spots you, a mere reflection of something new and fascinating for him to discover, he gravitates to you smoothly.

“Mm, I don’t believe we’ve met,” his voice is an alluring, a well-practiced approach. Before you could even answer, Lyney had already taken note of your little mannerisms and nuances just in these few passing moments. He had already adjusted the figurative mirrors of misdirection in this little trick, assuring your undivided attention.

You glance to your friend, who isn’t there. Oh. You had been cornered without even the opportunity to explore the party.

More of a wallflower type, you found yourself struggling to conjure up a confident answer. You were acutely aware of who this gentleman is, and his egotistical demeanor was already a huge turn off.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know who I am,” he chuckled lightheartedly, yet there was a peculiar undertone hidden beneath. It was hard to place. He kisses your hand. “Lyney, the Great Magician.”

You withdrew your hand, unable to hide the way your eyebrows crinkled together with disinterest. Perhaps you should’ve been more prepared for these guests to be more brazen and unapologetic when they see something—or someone—they want.

Taking no for an answer is not even in the realm of possibility for these people.

The party continued on, gorgeous partygoers dancing and drinking to their heart’s content. All the while, Lyney kept his eyes trained on you. It wasn’t necessarily out of admiration; rather, it was curiosity. Why didn’t you bat your eyelashes at him like a good girl? Bite your lip when he kissed your hand?

He followed you like a ghost, slinking through the crowd tactfully to observe you. You were a rare creature indeed. None of the other women could hold a candle to you. Archons, he felt this unsettling churning in his stomach everyone your glimmering irises met his. His heart would tense instantaneously, threatening to explode within his chest.

You saw through Lyney from the moment he kissed your hand, and he hated it.

Through the night, you both danced this delicate tango around the massive mansion, a palpable tension tethering him to you. He was equally appalled and fascinated by you, never wasting any opportunity to slip in an innocent question or two to learn about you.

“A beautiful lady like you in a place like this… Do you feel lost in Wonderland yet, Alice?” Lyney had persuaded you to follow him to an unoccupied balcony, closing the French doors behind him.

He stalks toward you, his soft lavender irises cool and calculated. In an ashy flourish of embers, a deck of onyx cards materialized in his gloved hands. It had taken all evening, but just enough wine had passed beyond your lips to give Lyney the opportunity to disarm you.

“Not scared of a little fire, are you, love?” His voice was warm and inviting as a hearth, though it held a hint of mischief like that of a crackling inferno. Each mysterious card in his hand is shuffled with a distinct flick.

You were much more susceptible to his charm now more than ever, allowing him to weave glittering silk strands of harmless sweet nothings to entice you. Had you taken a step back, you would’ve seen the web for what it is. The grand reveal was imminent.

“Now, now, don’t fret. I won’t let anything harm you, chérie,” Lyney chuckles lightheartedly, as if he hadn’t been playing and pawing at you like a cat ready to pounce all night.

Your poor little breath hitched at every whisper and touch he gifted you. It started by fatefully picking the Queen of Hearts from his custom deck of cards. You should’ve known better. Maybe you should’ve picked the one next to it. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered.

Lyney’s lilac eyes spark with intrigue at your choice. How fitting. Had you paid any attention to the magician’s sneaky maneuvers, you would have seen that every card in the deck was from the suite of Hearts.

The illusion of choice.

He takes this as an opportunity to step closer, his hands reaching forward. Your chest is beating wildly, begging for relief from how he intoxicates you with just a flutter of his long lashes.

Lyney rests his hands on the marble railing on either side of your hips, drinking in your anticipation, your fear, and your desire. A small, smug smirk pulls at the corner of his pretty lips. He takes the liberty of helping you meet his gaze by bringing his wrist to his mouth, white teeth tugging to remove his glove. Your body feels weightless when he lifts your chin with his bare index finger and thumb.

The Great Magician would argue that he took extreme precautions to ensure the success of this escapade. It was all carefully calculated and orchestrated according to his whim. He had you exactly where he wanted you, blissfully unaware of how deep these exhilarating feelings for you had rooted themselves into his guarded heart.

“Do you feel the magic in my fingertips? Hehe, tonight’s show will be a private event for only for you, mon trésor.”

The night was a blur. Fading in and out of consciousness, one moment you were dancing with him in empty halls and the next you were enveloped in his embrace against a wall. Lyney would pin your hands above your head before pushing you onto the bed, catapulting you into his next breathtaking trick like one of the acrobats in his show.

The silhouettes of your frames were shadowed in the moonlight that bathed the sheets in silver. Lyney skillfully unzipped your dress. Clothes fell to the wayside, vanishing in a flourish of passion. There was no denying it. He had to have you, and you were such a willing participant in his performance.

Of course, the wealthy partygoers were none the wiser, the echoes of pleasure the Great Magician was able to rip from your lungs were easily deafened by the music of their own opulent fantasies.

What is a magician if not an artist who must mark what is rightfully his—painting your womb with a decadent display, a growl escaping his throat.

However, Lyney is a perfectionist. When he catches a glimpse of his seed spilling out of you, he is quick to stuff his slender fingers into your overstimulated hole and seal the masterpiece with a final kiss on your bruised lips.

“Magnifique…” ❤️

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist.

[macguffinandco]

Hi - we're on Tumblr now!

I'm sorry, who are you?

We're @sashasienna​ and @jonnywaistcoat​, and we make tabletop RPGs as MacGuffin & Co.!

Tabletop what-nows?

Immersive storytelling games where you and your friends can dive into weird worlds, play fascinating characters and have harrowing adventures!

What, like Dungeons & Dragons?

*sigh* Yeah. Like Dungeons & Dragons

Ok, so what have you made?

Well, we've got a collection of system neutral micro-settings called Odd Jobs - it's eleven small and fascinating worlds to play games in, each with a campaign you can play through in a month. They're not designed for any particular system, so you can play them with whatever game you like!

Oh, and it won the 2022 UK Games Expo award for Best Adventure and was nominated for Ennie Product of the Year. Just sayin'.

We've just released a tarot-themed magical river game called Upriver, Downriver with our dear friend Ella Watts, in which you play the crew of a ship sailing the Great River, either travelling upriver to the mythical Source with it's magic and revelation; or downriver towards the unending Sea with it's freedom and horizon.

We have KER-SPLAT! - a high-chaos, full nonsense cartoon RPG we wrote with Ross Barlow, where the players can't die and the GM can't stop them in a hilarious cascade of silly jokes. Also, not to brag, but this is the funniest RPG rulebook you'll ever read.

We also have smaller games, such as Zero Void - a no-prep one-shot zine game, where you play a bunch of desperate space criminals trying to escape a space station before the law arrives.

Is there any way to keep up with what you do?

Well, following our Tumblr is a great start. We also have a monthly mailing list you can sign up to from our website that will keep you updated on what we do.

We also have a Patreon.

What was that? You're mumbling!

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But what if I want to see your faces?

Then I have great news! We stream boardgames and RPGs every Sunday at twitch.tv/macguffinandco! Jonny also streams videogames every Friday at twitch.tv/jonnywaistcoat, and Sasha steams their Jane Austen Bookclub every Monday at twitch.tv/sashasienna

Sounds cool - where can I find out more?

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Wait, so why are you on Tumblr?

Because social media is a nightmare hellscape and it's weirdly the chillest one left. We are on other social sites as well - you can follow us on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook - but this is our favourite.

[natailiatulls07]

Childhood Sweethearts

Charles Leclerc x female!reader

Summary - After years of being separated, the two childhood lovers reunite once again

Warning - Herve Leclercs death, anxiety

-

Growing up, the Leclerc’s and the L/n’s were close family friends. Pascale and Herve were Y/n’s godparents. Being the same age, the parents would often stick Charles and Y/n together claiming that they were future lovers and soulmates.

That’s how the two developed a crush on the other, an innocent and first crush.

It didn’t help that the two would unknowingly play into the scenario of young love, like this one time Charles had given her his lollipop because there wasn’t any left for Y/n. Or the time where Y/n offered to play football with him when Charles’ other friends couldn’t, despite the fact that she didn’t know how to play the sport.

Pascale and Y/n’s mum would always say “oh look at them, the cutest little couple ever”. Or Herve and her father would always convince Charles to buy Y/n a little gift with his pocket money which he happily obliged to.

However, in 2017, after Herves unfortunate and devastating death, the two families grew apart. They never wanted this to happen but sometimes in life these things do happen and we can’t control them.

They felt uncomfortable spending time together without the company of the late Leclerc. Losing contact was when Charles and Y/n had finally broken apart.

Yet their life long love for each other didn’t flutter away, they would still love the other the same but just miss them incredibly.

-

“Yes mum, I’ll be okay don’t worry” I had only just gotten off the plan in Austria when my mum called me, she has always been very anxious when I travel alone.

“Ok honey, when you do see Charles tell him that he should bring his mum over sometime” That’s why I was here in Austria, I was planning on surprising him.

It all started when his little brother, Arthur, reached out to me through instagram dm’s.

Hey Y/n, long time no see. I was wondering if you could do me a favour

So when he explained how Charles had been feeling a little down about his performance this year on track and that Arthur thought it was best if I came to surprise him, I didn’t hesitate to agree.

It was along before race day Sunday came around. I had arranged to meet Arthur at the paddock entrance and he’d be my guide for the day. I had butterflies in my stomach, what if he had moved on from our silly childhood love? What if he didn’t want to see me again? I had many what if’s which didn’t help my anxiety. “Hey! Hey Y/n!” I heard the voice of the youngest Leclerc brother as he approached me, snapping me out of my head full of questions.

“Arthur Leclerc! Since when did you grow?!” I had always remembered how he would be smaller than me growing up and now he has grown well above my height.

“Long long time in the making, unless you’ve gotten shorter” He teased before pulling me into a hug. “No seriously we’ve missed you and your family…” Arthur’s voice now growing more somber.

“I know, we miss you guys too…but hopefully after today we’ll get some more time together…” I knew it wouldn’t be the same without Herve but we’d honour him and reminisce on the memories. Taking a deep breath as we pulled apart.

“Let’s do this! He’s going to be so happy!!” There was an evident smile of excitement on his face, which I only mirrored on my mine.

-

The race had just finished, with Charles coming in at second. Both Y/n and Arthur had managed to keep her out of sight of Charles, leaving the surprise for the podium.

Standing just below the podium, she watched how Checo then Charles and finally Max took their places.

Y/n wasn’t sure he’d see her as she was amongst a sea of red, all the Ferrari engineers and employees. That was until Charles had looked down at the red sea, his eyes clicked on a familiar yet stranger of a face.

His hand flew over his mouth to show his shock, before jumping down from second place and running down to her. Many staff members tried to stop him, but his force was too strong.

Finally the man in the Ferrari racing suit had come face to face with her again. “What? How are you here?” Charles had many questions, beyond baffled.

“To surprise you, Charlie” Their cheeks were beginning to hurt because of how much they were smiling. Crashing her into his arms, they both felt at home and comfortable.

“Oh ma amour… I’ve missed you some much” Y/n was close to tears, she had never found anyone who loved her the way he did. She missed that love they had for each other.

“Missed you too Charlie” She managed to croak out through her tears. They were both too focused on each other to notice everyone around them.

Arthur was watching from just beside, happy that he could reunite the childhood sweethearts after so long. Fans were confused but cheering nonetheless as they could see the relief and comfort this brought to Charles.

You could see Max looking down from his spot on the podium to see the two reuniting. He had known of Y/n from their karting days where her family would join the Leclercs to support Charles on the sidelines.

Max would often remember how she was the first one to hug and congratulate Charles whatever the race result, he saw the love in their eyes.

-

It had been a few days after the race, and the two were once again inseparable. Travelling back to Monaco whilst the two families planned a small get together.

“So Y/n, how is everything? I’ve missed our girls days out with me, you and your mum” Pascale had pulled Y/n aside, she wanted to catch up with her goddaughter.

“All good but even better now! Yes we should definitely do a girls spa day soon” A bright smile was etched on Y/n’s face, showing Pascale that she was far from lying.

“Of course, tell me has there been any other men in your life over the years…” As much as Pascale hated the idea of Y/n with someone else and Charles with someone else, she needed to know.

“No…Charlie has always been the one with my heart…” There was a sigh of relief coming from the older women’s lips as Y/n revealed her love for him.

“Well you’ll be glad to know that I think you and Charles are on the same page there…” She could only smirk when Y/n started to blush.

“Thank you Pascale, you really are my fairy godmother” With that Pascale pulled her into a hug, a long and warming hug.

-

“So tell us Charles, who is the new lucky girl?” The interviewer asked. It had been just over few months since Charles and Y/n reunited and their love had become strong than ever.

“She’s nothing new, we’ve always loved each other like we do now but yeah she’s my soulmate, my other half” Anyone who could see him now could see the love in his eyes.

This wasn’t an ordinary love story, and you could tell. “I love her and she loves me, always have and always will”

-

[leonw4nter]

Hi hi, may I request a F1 racer Leon and photographer reader fic where reader somehow garners his attention in a sea full of people trying to get his autograph?? (Re4 Leon or Re2 Leon will do!)

Close To You

Racer!RE2!Leon x GN!Reader

You two lay in silence on your bestfriend Leon’s bed, staring up at the dark ceiling as you both listen to the soft whir of the ceiling fan overhead. He’s leaving in a few hours, right when the first few rays of pink illuminate the otherwise dark sky; in just a day, he’d be in a completely different timezone from you. He promises to call but you don’t expect him to stick to it a hundred percent; college will be a busier time in both your lives after all and with his aspirations, you don’t expect him to handle too many things all at once. It’s 2:20 AM and both of you should be fast asleep, him in his bed and you on your air mattress that Leon insisted on helping to inflate, but you both can’t find it in you to spend the last few hours sleeping.

“Why aren't you sleeping?” Leon asks in a hushed whisper. His head rests on his arm, his mop of ashy-blond hair sticking out in small strands due to the amount of times he ran his fingers through his tresses.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” You respond back with a slightly aggressive whisper, head tilted to face him for a moment. “You’re going to be travelling for five-and-a-half hours. Staying up is going to bite you in the ass later.”

“I can’t sleep,” he responds back. “I’m nervous and already homesick.”

“C’mon, you got this! Nothing like a new change of scene for Leon Kennedy, right? It’s going to be awesome, I swear.” You reassure him with a smile, though your heart drops to your feet again and the feeling of missing him creeps up on you but he hasn’t even left yet.

“I mean… It’s gonna be an experience being in a new place and all but… I’m going to miss you,” he softly confides. He turns to lay down on his side, a hand tucked under his cheek as he looks at you through thin strands of his hair obstructing his view. “I don’t think we’ve ever done anything without each other. It’s gonna take a lot to adjust to this new setting.”

He sounds genuinely anxious, his voice lacking the usual confident quality it almost always carried. As sad as this whole predicament is making you, you’re forcing yourself to look less defeated than you feel; you can do the crying later for when he can’t see you anymore.

“I know, it’s… definitely going to be hard for the first few months but we’ll get around this eventually.” You reassure him with a small grin. “It’s not going to be the same without you, though. I’ll really miss you so don’t forget to at least text me, okay? When you’re free, of course.”

“I’ll miss you too and yes, I promise.” He sighs, shoulders slumping with his hushed exhale. He stares at you quietly through the dark, trying to map out your features despite the darkness of the room.

It turns into a game of staring and who will be the first to interrupt that has settled over you two like a blanket but it wasn’t the kind of staring that was just an empty, zoned-out stare; it was the kind where you two were committing every single detail of each other’s features to memory, to get the most vivid mental image you both can. You find it hard to swallow down that this face is going to be on your laptop screen, composed of pixels that won’t do his beauty any justice. He finds it difficult to grapple with the fact that he can’t brush the hair out of your face anymore or wipe away a speck of food at the corner of your mouth with his thumb. Turns out, this isn’t just a staring contest– it’s a contest on who can hold off from giving in to the desires of their hearts.

“You’re going to have a lot of your firsts without me,” you speak up. “First love, first parties, first kiss…”

“So, Leon, have you ever been kissed before?”

You’re taken aback by your own boldness, shocked at this question. Of course he has; in the third grade, Patty Briggs gave him a valentine and kissed him on the cheek before skipping off to her friends. You’re not sure if Leon remembers but you do and that’s because you were fuming that another girl has taken his first kiss away from you.

“No,” he responds. His voice is steady but you know that his cheeks and the tips of his ears are probably warm.

“Yes you did,” you counter before telling him about Patty and her valentine.

“I wonder how it–kissing– felt. If it feels slimy and icky or if it’s soft and plush.”

“Do you want to find out with me? How kissing feels?”

And that’s how you and him shared a first kiss on his saggy mattress, in his cold and dark room a few hours before he had to leave for the airport. Leon got his answer: it felt perfect, addictive. He wanted to keep kissing, to relive the spark of your lips pressing delicately. He even got the courage to bring a hand up to your cheek and bring your face closer, making the kiss feel deeper. He very well knew that he was running out of air but he didn’t want to break away, just lost in the velvety warmth of your lips, though slightly chapped.

Even when he was hours away from you, now onboard a plane, all the lovey-dovey songs he had on his portable music player were reminiscent of you and your magical kiss. You, on the other hand, were alternating between tears and giddy giggles. You managed to look put together and strong when you were seeing Leon get into the cab, though glassy-eyed by this time, but tears raced down the slope of your cheek fast as soon as the cab’s engine roared to life as the distance between you and him quickly grew from an inch to full-on kilometers. It’ll be hard to sleep with the lack of each other’s warmths on both your beds.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Life was odd without the other, it didn’t feel entirely complete– bright moments would have been brighter if Leon was by your side, sadder moments would be less sad if Leon had you. You two promised to text and call as much as your conflicting and busy schedules could allow you both but soon the distance felt even more palpable, the five-hour time difference that would place you in his past too real and soon, you grew distant but you were not mad with him and he was not mad at you: you were both busy with your endeavors and life is a ball that keeps rolling, no matter how rough the terrain could get. No matter what, Leon still thought of you before sleeping, images of you flashing as he closed his lids; he thoughts about how you’d look now– if you cut your hair or styled it differently, if you got new piercings, or if you’d still smile at him with so much warmth. As if his fingers have a mind of their own, they travel upwards as the pads of his fingertips gently pat his puffy bottom lip as he thinks about the kiss you both shared before he left at the break of dawn’s first rays of light. He tries to fight back a smile, pushing down the giggle that threatens to rise from his chest and tries to contain it there until it dissolves into nothing. It doesn’t dissolve into nothing and the fizzy excitement that the mere thought of you conjures just doubles in amount; he has to do something about this and so he turns to his side, arms reaching underneath the pillow beneath his head, and brings it to his face as he laughs and giggles. He kicks his feet, occasionally poking out from his duvet. He realizes how stupid he must look now: a grown man giggling and shaking about in his bed when he’s supposed to be asleep at this time in the night but he doesn’t care, let a man explode into a fit of glitter and blue raspberry candies when he thinks about his best friend– wait, best friends don’t kiss on the lips. But you’re not exactly boyfriend-girlfriend either, you’d never said anything about it and neither did he but he’s positive that you like him back and so does he. Upon the realization, his giggles melt into a groan as he thumps on the pillow with a fist.

Like him, life has been fast-paced and seemingly unwilling to slow down for you. You had requirements to submit and organizations to attend to; things were busy for you but it kept thoughts of missing Leon too much at bay. You busied yourself with textbooks and leadership roles, a part-time job at a movie theater, being a photography studio’s assistant, and studies. You catch your thoughts slipping back to Leon– what is he doing with his life now? Has he got a girlfriend? How’s racing turning out for him? Has he been eating well? Does he still wear his retainer? You can only hold off for so long until all those feelings come to shock you in the middle of an otherwise lovely day. You wished that you both weren’t so busy or you both cared slightly less about whatever you were doing and talked for hours and hours again, maybe even watch a movie online, and discuss the cinematics of the film in full detail, maybe even share interpretation. You see his eyes on a clear blue sky, his hair in feather reed grass panicles, his voice in rock songs playing in music stores, and wrinkled blue t-shirts. You arrive home from university, dropping your backpack to the foot of the bed before flopping down to your bed. You lay silently, limbs spread out in a starfish position, and groan to let even a little bit of the stress and exhaustion leave your body. You move to sit up but your leg hits something, sending it cluttering to the ground.

“Fuck,” you hissed as you bent to pick the thing up. It felt light and rectangular and it clinked lightly when you moved it around. Switching on your bedside lamp, you noticed that it’s one of the cassette tapes Leon had given to you before. You look at it, a finger tracing on your name written in black marker with Leon’s angular penmanship.

“Oh, Leon,” you quietly mumble to yourself as you look around for your earphones. “Do you still listen to Queen? You still better.”

You find your earphones and slide the jack into the port, placing the buds on your ears and plopping back in bed once more as you face the ceiling. You click the play button, waiting for a song’s first melodies to come through. You expect an intro of drums and electric guitar but it’s a gentle piano that greets you instead and instantly you recognize it: ‘(Close To You) They Long To Be’ by the Carpenters. You and Leon had ‘your song’, a collection of songs that are strongly associated with each other and your friendship; most of them were songs like “Don’t Stop Me Now”, “Little Lies”, and “Total Eclipse of the Heart” but there were softer, calmer ones with that song being one of them. During camping trips with your family, you’d be sitting in the rear passenger seats sharing an earbud and singing along to the songs, most of the time going off-key but you were both happy regardless. You find yourself singing along alone, closing your eyes as you don't resist letting a smile tip the corners of your lips upwards.

“I hope you’re doing well,” you wistfully tell to no one. “I miss you.”

After several more songs, you fall asleep with the tape resting on your abdomen as ‘Eyes Without A Face’ by Billy Idol plays.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

After taking up several jobs and earning enough money to book a two-way flight, you pack your bags and head to the airport for a flight to Iowa for your semestral break. After having seen news of an all-too-familiar face slowly making a name for himself in the world of motorsports, you hunted down any bit of information you can get on when, where, and how much it cost to see him race. You thought about visiting him, catching up again like the good ‘ol times so hearing about Leon in this way just solidified your decision. Besides, it would be great to snap a different scenery for a change and it would look good on your portfolio. Energized by the cheap airport coffee, you go through the bag checks and take off your shoes as you wait for the officers to finish their inspection. After several minutes of inspection and waiting at the holding area for your flight, sketching the interior of the airport to pass the time, your flight is finally called and you get up to head to boarding. You finally get to your seat, right next to the window where you can get a perfect view of the clouds below. Unable to sleep last night, you went on a deepdive for the mechanisms of how an airplane flies. It was fascinating, to say the least, but it did make you slightly anxious; the thought of all the air in the Earth blipping out into nothing and the plane falling down to the ground scared you, making you shudder, but you pushed those scary thoughts away and replaced them with Leon. Did he grow any taller? Is he still that same dorky boy you knew? Would he still be down to be friends with you?

Leon did one last check on his car, a dark blue Panoz Esperante GTR-1 with white accents and subtle orange details before driving back to his hotel and getting some sleep.

“C’mon, Leon, she’s in perfect condition.” Marvin says, one of the engineers he consults with in order to maintain the condition of his car. “I checked her over and over and her diagnostics are all good but I’ll get up an hour early to do one last check up before the race.”

Leon nods, giving him a gentle pat to the back before greeting him good night.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

You tried to hold back your screaming, you really did, but when Leon crossed the black and white checkered finish line after several exhilarating laps you just couldn’t help but beam for him. You shot up and screamed at the top of your lungs, cupping your hands around your mouth as you chanted his name when he got out of his car and waved to the spectators. Now, you’re part of the crowd trying to get his autograph. You have your notebook and best pen in hand, trying to navigate the sea of people all flocking to him but you can’t blame them: he’s just naturally charismatic, something about his boyish awkwardness that’s endearing. You finally manage to squeeze yourself to the front, excitedly calling his name as you pointed your camera at him, adjusting the settings to make him the focal point– the focus as the world around him is a blur of colors.

“Leon!”

He’s in the middle of signing a teenage boy’s cap, making small chit chat with him as well. The photos are shaky, blurred, and sometimes obstructed by other people but you didn’t mind; you didn’t have to send these kinds of photos in, it’ll be kept near and dear to your heart though it’s imperfect and far from aesthetically pleasing. Your heart sort of squeezes at the sight, observing how his smile looks a little tired and feigned, overstimulated by the crowd hollering and pushing themselves at him but he still manages to be so nice and understanding. You decide to back off and wait until he finally sees you, not wanting to contribute to the added pressure of the moment. You laugh when he laughs, seeing some dads ask him for a photo and crack some corny dad jokes; you smile when you see him giving high-fives and fist bumps with little kids who were more than buzzing with energy to talk to him. Eventually, the sea of people around him thinned and you took the opportunity to try and talk to him again. You adjust your top and pat down your hair, doing your best to look fresh for when you get to see him for the first time in a long time. He’s just about to turn around and you skip ahead, patting the back of his shoulder. Woah, he’s a lot taller– his shoulders became broader now.

“Can I get a quick photo of you, Leon?” His body took a screenshot, freezing for a moment. He stares past the camera and into your eyes, taking in the sight of you all smiley and even more heavenly. You swear that his body took a screenshot, freezing for a moment. He lacks words and makes up for a hug, placing the notebook and pen down to the ground and wrapping you in a tight hug.

“Buddy,” you softly say as you reciprocate the embrace. “I missed you too.”

You swear that you heard a small sniffle come from Leon, patting his back as he stays still and keeps his head in the crook of your neck. After quite some time he pulls off, placing his hands on your shoulders and looking deep into your eyes. He breathily says your name, a hand climbing up to cup your cheeks.

“How… How’ve you been?” he asks in a shaky voice. “Woah, you look– you’re even more pretty now. Um, awesome– you look great! You– you’re… um— I-”

He stutters, cheeks burning. His hands leave their perched positions and his right hand travels to rub at the back of his neck. You giggle at this, smiling at him. He’s still awkward and dorky as ever.

“You look great too,” you compliment. “I love your arms, they’re a little bigger compared to the last time I saw you.”

“Yeah… I’ve- uh… been working out, yeah. Part of the… uh– job.”

“Yeah? Or have you been working out for a girlfriend?”

“Me? Girlfriend? Oh, uh– no. I don’t… have one. It’s just been– well, nevermind.”

“Hm? Go on, just been…?”

“I’ll tell you over coffee! How’s that sound?” he says a little louder, clearly eager to tell you more of his life since he’s moved. “If you want. Only if you want to, of course! No pressure.”

“I’d love to, Leon. We can have as much coffee as we want for quite some time– I’m on my break from school.”

“Great! I mean– me too. We can go now, if you want! I’ll just– I’ll just clean up a bit and check with my team and we can go! Sounds great!”

“Sounds great, looking forward to it.”

You lean in close to him, a hand fisted around the collar of his fire retardant suit and drag him forward to be eye level with you. You press a kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger a little longer before pulling away.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

He takes you to a quaint little café, offering to pay for both your drinks and pastries as you dine over a conversation between two friends catching up.

“So, yeah. It’s a little hard to juggle the police academy and racing right now but there's nothing I can’t do, right?”

“I thought about you sometimes, especially when I listened to our jam. I seriously thought about all the times we had to do a tense back and forth for borrowing calculators because I forgot.”

“I take it that you have a boyfriend?”

“No! I mean– no, I don’t. I’m free, single even. No dates or anything… so I’m up for more coffee dates.”

Leon smirks, reaches to you and wipes a flake of a pastry from the corner of your mouth.

“So, this is a coffee date for you?”

It’s your turn to be flustered and all flushed, setting down the scones you were happily enjoying with clotted cream.

“No! I mean– yes! Well, more like a reunion snack between two… um… best friends who haven’t seen each other in years!”

He reclines in his seat, arms crossed over his chest as an amused smile is on his face. He looks playful now, a lot less awkward than he was on the drive there.

“Two best friends don’t just kiss each other on the lips,” he retorts. “Would you like me to court you then?”

“Court… me?”

“Well yes,” he carefully broaches the topic. “I’ve been thinking about you over the years we were apart. I haven’t had any girlfriends, I can’t find it in me to be attracted to someone who isn’t you. I’d like to give us a try but only if you’ll let me, of course.”

You stare at him, cheeks slightly puffed out with your fingers frozen in grabby fingers from having previously intended to reach out for another pastry but his words just rendered you still in your seat.

“Um! Well, I’d… I’d love that!” You tell him. “Please, please do. I’ve been thinking about you too– no boyfriends for me, not a boyfriend who isn't you.”

He smiles, excited. He’s already coming up with ideas on how to woo you– he’ll do those birds’ attraction dances and flail his arms around if it means convincing you that he’s worth your time.

NOTE - first off, thank you to the anon who sent this!! I know you waited a long time so I hope this lived up to your expectations <3 !! next thing, fic drops will be a lot less frequent since i'm getting quite busy with things but dw since i'm getting close to completing all the requests in my inbox :) updates about how i'm doing umm... i've found out that I quite like collecting stickers, like random stickers. i found this out when i bought some stickers from business students selling them for a project. Anyway, that's it and thank you for reading my ficsss!!!!!!! I <333333333 UUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[novlr]

6 More Writing Playlists for Scenes and Vibes!

If you love music, you’ll love these playlists! We’ve added 6 more amazing playlists to our already-growing collection.

From sweeping classical themes to write a royal court, some eerie tunes and soundscapes for writing a creepy carnival, vinyl classics for a vintage record store feel, pumping euro tunes for a European road trip, sea shanties for ocean voyages, and some vintage and modern French melodies for when you need a French bistro vibe, we’ve got you covered.

Writing a Royal Court

The pomp and circumstance of a Royal Court are palpable in this collection. This classical playlist is perfect for writing grand palaces, stately homes, balls, banquets, and court intrigues. Be transported to a world of nobles and chivalry where life is decadent and opulent.

Writing a Creepy Carnival

Creepy carnivals are staples of the horror genre, so we’ve put together this collection to help you write it. Whether your carnival travels the world, putting up stakes and causing mayhem wherever they go, or if you’re writing a static circus where visitors inexplicably go missing, then this is the playlist for you. Terrifying ringmasters, creepy rides, and eerie rituals – whatever your carnival holds, this is the playlist to write it to.

Writing in a Parisian Cafe

Sitting in a window of a cafe in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, watching the world go by, the young writer puts pen to paper. The characters who pass by them every day inspire and come alive. If you can’t people-watch, you can certainly imagine it! A mix of classical, acoustic folk, and French pop tunes, this collection will make you feel like you’re really there. So grab a croissant and a coffee and bring the Paris to you!

Writing a Vintage Record Store

Indie record stores have a vibe and are always full of interesting characters. There’s something special about them, and they’re always full of people who love music. This is a playlist for those who need to write a modern vintage feel. It’s a mix of tunes from the 1960s to the early 2000s – the kind of records vinyl aficionados would love a first pressing of. Get in the creative space to write about some of the weird and wonderful obsessive characters you’d find in an underground record shop in your favourite city.

Writing a Journey at Sea

Beware, me hearties, for here be dragons! Whether you’re writing an arctic exploration, an ancient sea voyage, preparations for a naval battle, or a band of intrepid pirates, there’s something in this playlist for you. With a mixture of modern folk tracks, sea shanties, and sea journey-themed instrumental pieces, this collection will conjure images of the salt spray on your face and the wind whipping your hair as you stand on deck, exploring unmapped places.

Writing a European Road Trip

Travel is always an adventure, but there’s something unique about a European road trip where you can fit so many different countries and cities into a small space of time. It’s a whirlwind of sights, tastes, and sounds, so this collection of tracks from all over Europe is sure to get you in the mood. From visiting the sights to sampling the cuisines, and nights out in some of Europe’s most infamous superclubs, this collection is sure to inspire you.

[merakiui]

his blueberry eyes (anagapesis in paradise).

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, death/murder of reader, obsession, codependency, emotional manipulation, psychological abuse, mentions of self-harm/suicide attempt, brief mention of pregnancy + loss of baby, vague mentions of binge-eating/disordered eating, angst, characters written as 18+ note - the color blue haunts azul. // loosely based on clingy, codependent bf azul.

the prelude - forever lost in cerulean paradise.

Azul Ashengrotto, a man forever bound in burdensome blue, surfaces from the numbing sweetness of an all-consuming slumber and finds the tops of his hands are littered with deep, dark, desperate scratches. They’re furious and distinct, standing out like pearly teeth on black tile, spotting his pale, paper-thin skin like a child’s poor attempt at proper handwriting. Carefully, he runs a trembling finger over the length of one as it travels from ring finger to the delicate bone of his wrist. A wet laugh bubbles out of him, ink-stained and heartbreakingly pained. He wipes tar-colored saliva from the edge of his mouth, smearing it, and shudders through another laugh. The sound wavers as if caught in his esophagus, pronounced choked and raw.

“Ah… I did it again.”

He sits back on his haunches, small and scared like the squishy thing he once was all those years ago, and inhales a steadying breath. His vision, once narrowed so scarily slim, widens to encapsulate the rest of the sitting room, which is cast in a cool glow from the crystalline cityscape beyond. He spies his haunted reflection in the glass, his hair mussed and matted. From sweat, most likely. It’s unsightly, his unkempt, ugly appearance, but it’s him staring back. 

Looking on with those bewitching blueberry eyes.

Swallowing thickly, he pushes a swoop of silver hair out of his face and whispers, “I fell asleep…again. Right. Again. That makes it—what is it now? Four times in a week? No, not quite… I fell asleep, but then I…”

His gaze slides from the windows to the floor. Lying sprawled and stiff, amidst shattered glass and crumpled, lemon-hued tulips, is the love of his life.

“Ah, I see now.” He runs two fingers over the injuries on his hand. His nose wrinkles once and then twice. His throat is set aflame, constricting like a python coiled around its prey. Blueberry eyes sink in a rising tide, overtaken by tears spotting a weary lash line. “My world… My angelfish…”

He forces himself to stand on rubbery legs. He stumbles once, reaches for the coffee table’s reliable support like a newborn grasping their mother’s outstretched finger, and peers at a shattered portrait splayed on the floor. It’s you on your wedding day, flashing a toothy grin at the camera, while he holds you close, an arm secured around your waist. Clinging to you like you were the only buoy in a rocky sea. Planting parasitic roots by way of attraction, and you were simply too blinded by the charms of shimmering, sparkling cheer to realize. So was he in that regard—struck dumb with a too-large love, unable to handle the full capacity of what it meant to fall into a sugary-sweet romance.

It’s a happy picture, one of many, but then the memories of the many elude him at this moment. He, the brilliant, benevolent actor, struggles to differentiate the real from the fake. What is a smile if not another foggy reflection of something far sadder? What is laughter if not the sounds of a hollowed sweetheart howling joyous tunes to placate?

His fingers curl around the wooden table. It’s too familiar and, as if having touched something hot, he jerks away. Azul turns his hands over, searching for imperfections he’s already found. Slowly, he pivots to confront the body.

“My darling angelfish, please wake up. It’s not… It’s not very nice of you to play pretend. We’ve been over this.” He shakes his head and steps around the overturned vase and puddle of flower-spotted water. He lowers to your height, offering a hand you don’t take. “Please, my love. I’m sorry for scaring you. I won’t do it again. I… I’m getting better, you see. I’m doing it for us. I want to get better. I promised I would, didn’t I? Aren’t I a man of my word?”

You remain there, eyes shut in blissful permanence. Azul sucks in a breath through grit teeth. You’re always so…difficult. Sometimes. Not always. And even when you act like this, he still cherishes you. But fighting is not something he loves, and he wants this feud to end sooner rather than later.

Azul Ashengrotto hates the sharp, bitter sides to his marriage.

“I can be patient,” he says, though it’s more of a consolation than a promise. “I’ll be patient. But, really, being vindictive will get you nowhere, my dear. Haven’t we been over this?”

Still, no matter what he says, you don’t stir.

He allows silence to fill the room to a suffocating degree.

One minute passes. Then two. He drums his fingers along a newly forming bruise on his arm.

Now it’s three.

Four.

Five.

It’s too quiet without your pretty voice filling the empty room, filling the hollow in his heart, filling the gaps in his brain to snuff any other self-destructive thoughts from pushing through.

“I love you,” he whispers, less forceful this time. “And… And I’m sorry. Truly, I mean it. I’ll never put my hands on you again. Never. And I’ll go back to therapy. I won’t skip my sessions. I’ll even take my meds!” A crooked smile stretches across his lips. “I promise. I won’t lie to you. I’ll leave the cooking to you. I won’t touch sharp objects. I’ll stop hiding knives from you. I’ll be honest from now on. So please…” His voice cracks, weak and raspy. “P-Please… Please don’t ignore me…”

Azul reaches out to you, fitting his trembling hand in yours. It’s cold. He brings it to his face, kisses the top of it, and then cradles it close. His shoulders shake, wracked with silent sobs.

It’s cold.

His breath hitches.

You’re cold.

“Angelfish, please…” He sniffles. The tears are already falling in thick, salty rivulets. He’s always been an ugly crier. “Please don’t leave me. Without you I…”

His untrimmed nails dig into your palm, and a great sob shudders through his body when he presses his thumb into your wrist to check your pulse.

It’s stopped.

He scrubs his face with his free hand. A fruitless effort. The tears won’t cease.

Without you, I’m nothing.

He gathers you, stiff, cold you, in his arms and holds you like you’re a treasured childhood plushy who’s lost its stuffing. His reflection blinks back at him, blueberry eyes awash in watery tragedy.

Without you, I’m all alone.

He spies the markings on your neck and his throat closes up. He grabs your face between both hands, searching it for any indication of life. A lie, surely. You’re just pretending. You’ve always done that, putting on acts to keep him and everyone else pleased. You, the best actor, knew him better than he knows himself. Because, in spite of the loose, fraying seams, you took them, poured remnants of your heart into each tear, and stitched them up until they were better again. You’ve sewn him anew when he thought all hope was lost.

So it’s impossible. A lie, definitely.

You’re a pretender, and he’s the captivated audience member. Soon you’ll open your beautiful eyes and shout, “I got you! You should have seen the look on your face!” And the cycle will repeat itself. He’ll pretend to be okay and you’ll follow along with a sweet smile, chopping vegetables with the same knife he used to threaten his own life days prior.

You can’t fool him.

Only you do. And you have.

He peels your eyelids open. Your listless stare pierces something in his brain, wires the circuitry correctly so that Point A and Point B can connect.

With a horrified gasp, Azul drops your limp corpse. Your head smacks against the floorboards, but you don’t groan in pain. Because there isn’t any pain to be felt. Because you’re not going to wake up. Because this is the final act and the curtain has closed on your skillful pretending.

Azul Ashengrotto, a man forever bound in burdensome blue, has lost the very person who once made him feel so whole.

the first vow - to have and to hold.

“We should make a baby.”

In the first month of being newlyweds, you’d told him that. He leaned over to nudge you with his hip while you painted swirling designs on a blank kitchen wall. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not opposed to it.”

You pulled away from your canvas and grinned. “Neither am I.”

“Sooo,” he encouraged, nodding, unable to curb the glee in his curling smile. “What? Should we make one?”

“Can we?”

“This conversation feels rather circular, my dear.”

“You’re circular.” You stuck your tongue out at him and dipped your brush in a bright blue. “I’m gonna paint an entire field of cornflowers on this wall.”

Azul hesitated at the sudden change in subject, considered the meaning of a cornflower, and snorted in amusement. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “If you want a baby, just say so and I’ll give you one.” He nosed your neck, humming into your skin. Sneaky hands slipped under your loose cotton T-shirt to cradle your stomach. “I once read a statistic that claimed marriage improves the outcome of a pregnancy. Shall we see if it’s true?”

You rested your free hand over his. “If you help me paint.”

“You know I’m no good at art.”

“Anyone can be an artist.”

“Angelfish—”

You shifted in his arms and held up a clean paintbrush. “Anyone, Zul. That includes you.”

He stared at the brush, frowning. “I’m nowhere near as good as you.”

“I’ll have none of that talk.” You rested your head against his chest and peered up at him through your lashes. A pleasant smile softened your face. “I don’t want this wall to be my masterpiece. I want it to be ours.”

“Yes… Yes, I’m aware. But even so—”

“The best things come in two, don’t they? Come on. You won’t know if you’ll enjoy something until you’ve tried it.”

“But I have, dear.”

“Not with me you haven’t.”

Azul laugh-scoffed. “Stubborn,” he chided, pinching your side and shaking his head in disbelief. One hand slid out from beneath your shirt to grasp the brush. “I suppose I can try. An entire field of cornflowers won’t paint itself now, will it?” He winked.

“That’s the spirit! I think blue suits this room, don’t you?”

“I’m struggling to see your vision, darling.”

“It’s a nice color. One of my favorites. And…” You turned in his arms to press your lips to his cheek. “Blue is you.”

He was smiling; he could feel it—the tug of toothy jubilance. “Is that right?”

“It is! I thought that the moment we met. If it weren’t for your pretty eyes, I don’t think I’d have approached you.”

“Ah, right. You thought they were rather lovely, didn’t you?” His hold on you tightened as he recalled the memory. “How did you say it? ‘Sir, I just had to come up to you to compliment your eyes! They’re the nicest shade of bewitching blueberry blue I’ve ever seen.’ You said it like that, yes? And it was the first time I’d ever heard such a strangely specific compliment. Normally, most go for the outfit or the hair.”

“But you liked it, didn’t you?” you say, singing the question like a pansophical siren.

“I did. I…really did. I still do, in fact.”

Your body shook with your laughter. “Then it’s not so strange after all.”

“Not in the slightest.”

His fingers brushed your navel, a fleeting touch that turned giggles into shivers. You put your brush to the wall, but no designs bloomed. He did much the same, meeting your brush halfway, bristles dipped in friendly yellow. Only after he’d marred the wall with it did he realize his error.

You always ruin everything, he thought, resenting his clumsy ways. Everything you’ve ever touched, you ruin.

“Ooh, yellow and blue. That’s pretty. Like sunflowers and cornflowers!”

“But I… Your blue—I completely tarnished it.” He couldn’t help it; the words rushed out.

“What? No way! I like it.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, it’s true. It adds something to the blue. Makes it come together, you know?”

Azul stared at the wall, his face scrunched with poorly veiled vitriol. “I fail to see how that logic tracks.”

You gathered both brushes and set them down on the countertop before turning fully in his arms. “Hey, it’s okay. We can paint over it if you want. But… Well, personally, I think we should keep it.”

“Why?” It came out hushed, a broken murmur.

“Because it’s like happiness amidst sadness.” Like the angel you’ve always been, you reached up to cradle his face between your warm, gentle hands. He melted in your hold, weak to the ways in which you often lifted him up. “Too much of anything in abnormal amounts is unhealthy, so we need happiness to balance the sadness. Plus, if this room was solely blue, I might go crazy.”

He wanted to reject your explanation, gripe and groan about how it was much too fluffy and foolish, but you were right. You have always been right with emotions, reading him well enough to pick apart his tells.

It’s your lips on his that brought him back to himself. He blinked when you separated.

“You’re not perfect. No one is. Not even me, and this wall definitely isn’t going to be perfect either. But it’ll be special because we made it. Because it’s a unique combination of us.”

Azul felt himself nodding along.

“So don’t worry. Sometimes mishaps like these are for the best. They help put things into perspective—to show us something we might not have seen before.”

“Like painting a new picture.”

“Exactly!” You squeezed his hand. “So no pity parties, got it? Not unless we’re going to throw one together and have snacks and tea.”

He exhaled shakily, reciprocating your affectionate touch. “Thank you, my love.”

You smiled so beautifully that he was compelled to enshroud you entirely and keep you with him in a cage of limbs. To ensure you’d never leave. To keep you backdropped by a work-in-progress wall forever.

And for the first two years of your new life with him, you remained in that cozy, quaint house, adding details to the wall when you could. The kitchen shaped itself nicely, embroidered in an array of blue hues, accompanied by sunny yellows and frilly whites. Every morning, you’d stand at the counter and cook, ever the early riser, and he’d drag himself in just after the sun had peaked in the sky; and together you would eat in front of that wall, tied together by the bright, beautiful wonders of young love.

Sometimes it was the yummy temptations of good food that brought you together. Other times it was each other, bodies pressed flush. Clothes wrinkling and coming off in heaps. Windows left open in the aftermath to bring in sweet spring breezes. Gathering each other and sitting in the bath, giggling about something silly. More kissing and touching; playful squeezing while washing the other. If Azul’s life had been a tragedy before, then this was certainly something far better. A new chapter in a new book with crisp, unturned pages, each one ripe and ready to receive love in loads.

You fell pregnant just as the changing winds ushered summer in, and suddenly that storybook blossomed considerably, pages stained with all things good. He had pinched himself before just to ensure this wasn’t a delusion or a dream, and finding that it was neither proved that there was indeed tenderness in his world. It was destiny that you two would meet by pure chance, fall for the other’s quirks and charms, and agree to a whirlwind marriage, so swept up in the authenticity of redamancy.

Azul thought his life couldn’t get any sweeter. A perfect wife, a perfect job, a perfect house, a perfect paradise built for two. It was a future he’d only ever fantasized about, an illusion he imagined to be forever out of his reach. But he had attained it, miraculously grasped it with both hands, and from here it would only be days and days of wonder and whimsy.

Thirty-one weeks into a perfect, pretty pregnancy, you fell again. Down the stairs, crumpled in a heap of limbs and broken promises. He stood at the top of the stairs, his chest heaving with the remnants of some animalistic emotion. You shattered like porcelain, a marionette cut free from her strings. The baby fell with you.

Then came the darkness: creeping, encroaching, all-consuming.

Then came the lies.

Then came the obsession with omniscience.

And all throughout it, you’d continue to imprison yourself in his eyes.

the second vow - to love and to cherish.

“You shouldn’t work so much.”

By the fourth year, he had told you that.

You looked up from your plate, which you’d spent most of dinner pushing the food around rather than actually eating. Meals carried out in this fashion, a cyclical routine you dreaded. Ever since he’d purchased a penthouse suite and moved you to the city, abandoning the life you had built in the tiny, two-story house with its friendly neighborhood of faces, your world became the sky: sad and cloudy. Always rainy. It was empty up there, and the luxuries he provided did nothing to fill the holes in your shattering heart.

You couldn’t paint any walls here, for they had already been colored in boring monochromes.

“But I like the coffee shop. Everyone’s really nice to me, and the hours are reasonable. I’m paid well, too.”

“It’s minimum wage, (Name).”

“Still…”

“I make enough to support the both of us.”

And it was true. He’d just opened the first branch of the Mostro franchise, an elegant, high-end eatery stuck right in the heart of the city. Money has never been an issue, not when he was so determined to see each of his dreams through to the very end. You were dragged along through the wild currents of those ambitions. Simple luxuries were no longer sleeping in on weekends or watching the sun rise and set in the garden. Now it was extreme excess and opulence, devouring you with designer brands.

“I’d rather not be home all day. It’s lonely.”

“Jade or Floyd can provide company should you need it.”

You stared at him, your mouth agape. “I don’t need babysitters. I’m an adult, Azul.”

“They wouldn’t babysit—” He sighed, shook his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re welcome to accompany me to the office instead.”

“But I like my job. I like talking to customers and taking orders and making drinks. If I quit, I wouldn’t have anything else.”

“That’s not true. You’d have me.”

“The regulars would miss me. So would my coworkers.”

“Darling… Angelfish, I don’t quite care for them and I don’t think they care for you either. At the end of the day, all of you are working a dead-end job, putting up with nonsense from rude, impatient customers who never bother to tip despite having full pockets. You’re not working.” Azul smiled, his blueberry eyes ripe with a strange sort of light. “You’re surviving, and that’s not a quality of life you should shackle yourself to.”

You pushed food around on your plate, unconvinced. “I just don’t feel right about lazing around and doing nothing. It’s not very fair if you’re the one doing everything while I just sit back and reap the benefits.”

“Why not? I hardly mind. Besides, I enjoy spoiling you. You deserve this and so much more.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “If I could, I’d package the world in a little box and give it to you, my dear.”

“We had that once and you broke it.”

His body stiffened, eyes flicking to your mouth. He couldn’t meet your eyes. He’s never been able to—not since that day. Neither of you can figure out whether it was intentional or an accident, or maybe it was something more: an intentional accident.

“P-Pardon?”

“I had the world and you broke it.” You set your fork and knife on your plate, perfectly vertical in accordance with proper etiquette. “Back at the old house.”

“Darling, you know we couldn’t stay… We were due for a change of scenery.”

Furiously, you opened your mouth, tears springing forth, but no words came. Instead, you clamped your jaw and stood from your chair, turning away from the table in a hurry.

“(Name), sweetheart, please wait!” He stood as well, nearly stumbling over himself as he moved to intercept you. “My love, you know I never meant for that to happen. If I could, I’d go back and I’d fix everything so that we’d never have to experience such sorrow again.”

He reached for your hands, but you slapped them away and took a grand step back. “You knew we were at the top of the stairs. You knew, Azul. You knew it was wrong because you moved me away so no one could question it!”

His face contorted with offense, nose scrunching as if he had just smelled something foul. “I did not.”

“You did! You pushed me down those stairs and you watched me. Watched me cry and groan because it hurt and the baby was hurt. You watched and you waited because you knew.”

“I did not!” he said, louder this time, his face blue with rising frustration. “I was in shock, (Name). You can’t possibly expect me to jump into action when I was frozen stiff and horrified. And it was an accident. We’ve been over this before. I’ve apologized numerous times.”

“Sorry, but words aren’t gonna fix anything. See? I’ve said it and nothing’s changed. It’s not words that fix broken things, Azul. It’s action.”

You stomped out of the room in a huff, blinded with tears and rage. You weren’t sure if you were more frustrated with the circumstances or Azul himself, but it might have been the latter when he pursued, insistent like the worst kind of thorn. One that’s wedged itself so deep you couldn’t possibly pluck it free with your fingertips.

You’re not sure tweezers would work either, for the hold he has on you was and still is a nasty vise.

“I… (Name), love, darling, I’ll do better. I’m trying.”

Though he made these claims, he expressed them rather pathetically—his arms outstretched, palms up, as if to show you he was no longer a threat to your mental and physical well-being. His face was in poor shape; he was blue all over, flushed from the rush of emotions, his eyes much too small. He looked almost deranged in a desperate, animalistic way. As if someone was cutting him into meticulous slivers with a precision so painful it would leave him to bleed out for hours.

You inhaled a deep, shaky breath, freezing the red-hot anger for a moment. I have to be the bigger, better person. Fighting isn’t going to accomplish anything.

“Look, if you want to make a conscious effort to be better I’m all here for it. But you have to actually try, Azul.”

“I am—I… I will!”

“I’m serious.”

“As am I.”

“Then please let me do things for myself. Marriage is about fairness. It’s you and me. We have to work together. And if that’s you supporting us with your business and me working part-time for extra cash, then let it be that way. That’s togetherness, not forcing the twins to babysit me like I’m senile or convincing me to quit a job I enjoy doing. Money shouldn’t matter if we’re both making it and we both trust each other to be responsible about it. So, while I appreciate surprise purchases, I’d much rather we do things together like before. That’s more meaningful and priceless to me than materialistic ploys meant to win me over.”

He swallowed thickly. Blue bled into the rest of his scleras. You watched him gradually inflate with relief. “I… I understand. I’m sorry. Truly, I am…”

“Stop telling me that. Show me. Please. And mean it.” You held your hands out. Hesitating, he fidgeted on his feet before gingerly placing his palms in yours. They were ice-cold. “Every relationship has its faults. Ours is no different. I’m forgiving you for the past, but I’m not going to forget and I’m not giving you a free pass either. I want to trust you, Zul, and I want you to trust me.”

“I do…” he began, only to curb himself. “I… Well, you know I worry. I know you have good friends, but when you’re out so late… O-Or when you don’t text me back… I’m always worrying.”

“Don’t.” You smiled and squeezed his hands. “I can take care of myself.”

His face darkened at that, a slew of stormy emotions brewing behind blue eyes. “Still.”

“I don’t worry about you when you’re at work or flying out for business trips. I trust that you’ll be okay because you know what you’re doing.”

“That’s different… That’s—”

“I’m happy that you care so much, but I promise I’m always safe when I’m out. You know this.”

“Yes. But… Well…” He sighed and shook his head. “At the very least, please let one of the twins drive you to and from your destinations.”

You fixed your lips into a moue. “Azul.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning softly. “Yes, I know how that sounds. I know.”

“I’m not asking you to change overnight. No one can. It takes time. Everything does. I understand that you worry, but I’ve proven to you more than once that I’m plenty capable on my own.”

“All right.” His eyes flicked open at that, and without warning he tugged you into his chest. The embrace was constrictive with an alarming tightness that seemed to mean: I can’t lose you, so I’ll never let go. He buried his face in your hair, clinging to you out of sheer need. “All right. From now on, let’s be together.”

You nodded, slow to reciprocate. “No more gloomy dinners?”

He shook with awkward laughter. “No more gloomy dinners.”

You thought you had it under control. You thought you could reel him in and sculpt him from the shards—take all of the hateful, broken parts he harbored and glue them whole. You thought it’d be safer to organize his medication with encouraging notes each morning in hopes that he wouldn’t neglect it. You thought you’d ease into discussions with a gentle approach, if only to avoid stoking the flames of something monstrous. If only to ensure neither of you would scream at each other until your voices were spent.

You thought you were making progress when he showed you all of the secret spaces in the penthouse, admitting to squirreling things away out of weakness, out of greed, out of some tangle of complicated feelings. The majority of his stash was comfort foods, each one more unhealthy than the last, accompanied with a tiny notebook he’d used to scribble calorie counts. The pages were brittle and stained when you flipped through them; he had been crying each time he documented the amounts. Pieces were beginning to fit themselves together. On days when he surpassed his recommended calorie intake, he hardly indulged in dinner, preferring to pick at his plate. Instead, he would feast on empty conversations with you and those would be enough to sustain him.

Throughout all of this, Azul kept his gaze firmly glued to the floor and tore at the skin near his nails. The tips of his ears were flushed blue with humiliation.

“I hate eating,” he muttered, tapping his foot in quick, anxious rhythms. “I hate it so much.”

“Azul,” you said, soft like linen, “do you really mean that?”

His eyes found yours, glossy and defeated. “I… I…” He shook his head, the truth spilling free like paint dripping from a slain canvas. His arms, trembling and twitching, rose to his face. “No, I don’t,” he wailed into his hands, the sound echoing in the hall. “I really, really don’t.”

You shut the diary. It’s because you love food so much that you hate it, you thought, pitying him and the self-deprecating notes he’d scribbled alongside columns of calculations. Because when you eat, you don’t want to stop. Because if you aren’t thinking about numbers, you enjoy it. It makes you happy. And you restrict yourself and this happiness because it hurts to have any more than the bare minimum. Because the bare minimum also hurts, but it feels better when you have less in your stomach so you can eat the rest in secret.

“Let’s start small,” you offered, placing your hand on his arm. He lowered it to reveal a snotty, teary face, blueberry eyes darting to and fro. “Let’s plan our meals together. If we know what we’re eating in advance, we can avoid falling into bad habits. And meal plans are a good way to budget.”

Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he sniffled. “I’m…not opposed to the idea.”

You had it under control.

But then the knives would go missing, later turning up when it was most convenient. When he needed a clever way to get you to stay.

You had it under control.

But then you would forsake plans with friends and family in order to help him through another spiral.

You had it under control.

But then it felt like he was breaking himself into pieces nearly every day, at every hour, over the smallest of inconveniences. Working a minute too late. Eating dinner before he could get home to join you at the table. Going out on your own without supervision from Jade or Floyd.

You had it under control.

But then his shadow was stretching too far and too wide, swallowing you in a portrait of possession.

You had it under control.

But then that was at the cost of your sanity.

the third vow - till death do us part.

“Hypothetically speaking, if I were to die tomorrow, would you grieve me forever? Or would you simply get over it and remarry?”

By the sixth year, just a few hours ago, he’d asked you that.

You looked up at him from the notebook in your lap, where you’d been aimlessly scribbling in circles. The lines overlapped, ink blotting together in manic patterns. Originally, you were going to write a grocery list. But now all you had were jagged lines and not-quite-right geometry.

As if you had rehearsed it prior, you answered smoothly, albeit with an edge to your voice, “But you’re not going to die tomorrow.”

“I could.”

“You won’t.”

Azul slumped back against the sofa and pulled his knees into his chest. “Maybe not. I have a clean bill of health.”

Not mentally, you thought, morbidly wry.

“You shouldn’t sound so disappointed. It’s good to be healthy.”

“You won’t care for me as much if I’m healthy,” he mumbled, gazing out the window at the sparkling cityscape with those dull, dreary blueberry eyes of his. “I wish I was sick. Then I could take a week off from work and just…exist.”

You frowned at him from where you sat opposite in a comfortable chair. It was the only piece of furniture he took from the old house. For sentimental reasons, of course. Sometimes you thought it still smelled like home, even if the scent of home was so warped and far-off now.

“You’re the boss, aren’t you? If you need to rest, take some time off and recuperate.”

“I want to, but my schedule can’t afford any interruptions. Not now.”

“Don’t overwork yourself.”

“I’m not.”

The conversation flatlined, only to soon breathe again when he suddenly added, “We should go on a trip.”

“A trip?”

“New scenery would do us a world of good.”

“Oh. Um, okay. Where should we go?”

“Anywhere.”

“Anywhere is too broad. Plus, we’d have to plan it in advance. Make sure everything’s covered. Expenses and whatnot.”

Azul’s expression soured. “Ah. Right.” He hummed his contemplation, drumming his fingers along the sofa’s armrest. “We could go somewhere nearby. Hospital food sounds good.”

You speared him with a sharp, stern look. “Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not!”

You set your notebook and pen on the coffee table, aware of his powdery hues tracking your every move. “Azul?”

“Mhm?”

Your heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Relentless, the sound skyrocketed into your eardrums and joined in chorus with rushing blood. But you had to tell him. You had to broach this subject. It had been gathering dust and cobwebs, aged by many tiresome years. You couldn’t do this anymore.

“Azul, I think—” You swallowed hard, your fingers curling up into tight fists. “I think we… I think we should get a divorce.”

His head snapped up from where it had previously rested on his knees. He stared at you for a long, silent time.

And then, sucking in a breath, he asked in a fragile, breathless whisper: “What?”

“Um… I… We…” Your chest heaved with your exhalation. “We’re not happy.”

“We are.” He blinked at you, owlish and unwilling to look past the gilded lie. Unable to stop playing pretend. “We’ve always been.”

“No… No, we haven’t. Azul, it’s—really, it’s so exhausting. I’m so tired.”

“Then let’s sleep.” He lowered his feet onto the floor, intending to stand.

“Mentally, Azul. I… Fuck, I’m so tired. I really can’t do this anymore.”

Color seeped from his eyes. His pupils widened and shrunk, and then a wobbly smile overtook his gaunt features. “Angelfish, that’s not a very pleasant joke…”

You could only offer him your most forlorn look, finally defeated after six years. Six years of pushing a stone up a hill, never to advance and never to succeed. This conversation was well overdue.

Azul rose to his feet, his apparent horror dawning. It molded his features into something wrong and fearsome. Something panicked and cornered. “Darling, you’re not serious about this, right? You… We’re just going through a bit of a rough patch, but we’re okay. I’m okay. Yesterday’s session went so well. I’m getting better. I… I’ve done all of this for you—for us! So we don’t need to do anything rash. We don’t need to get divorced. We just need to—”

“You’re not okay. Azul, I’ve tried so hard. I really have. I’ve done everything, but I just can’t keep exhausting the same tricks.” You heaved a dry, tearless sob. “I can’t keep doing this anymore. I want to go back to work, but I can’t because I never know if you’ll be okay on your own. I want to trust you, but I can’t. We’re not communicating. We’re just—we’re playing the same delusional game and it’s getting us nowhere. You and I both know we’re not working. We stopped working the day you pushed me down those stairs.”

He froze, his lip quivering. “Darling, please… Please don’t say that. You don’t mean that.”

“I want you to get better—genuinely get better—but I’m not the help you need.”

“That’s not true. You’re all I need—all I’ve ever needed. With you here, I’m whole. I’m happy. What was it you told me? That marriage is togetherness? That it’s you and me? So as long as we’re together—no matter what may come between us—we’ll always be happy. We have our disagreements, yes, but every relationship is like that. It’s normal, my dear. So please don’t say those things. I am better, and I’ll continue to be better until my final breath.”

“Azul, you’re not listening.” Now you were standing from your chair. “Togetherness is not this. This—” you gestured to yourself, to the way your clothes hung from your body, a size too large, before pointing at him— “isn’t healthy. We’re not healthy. Every day I’m with you is hell. I need a break as much as you do. We can’t keep doing this. Let’s save ourselves the insanity and misery, and let’s be sensible adults. A divorce is the only—”

“You’re wrong.”

The rest of your tirade stuck in your throat. “W-What?”

“Divorce is an expensive, lengthy process.” Azul stepped around the coffee table, his stare blank and haunted. Twin pools of the darkest ocean bored into your skull. “I can easily afford it, but it’s a price I’m not willing to pay.”

Despite what little confidence you had before, it’s all but diminished now. You shrunk away from him. “A-Azul, calm down. You… You’re scaring me.”

“Well, that’s nothing new now, is it?”

“Azul—”

“You want sensible adults? Very well. Let’s have an actual discussion instead of picking each other apart like this.” He peered down at you from where he stood, his head angled in such a way that his acknowledgement of you appeared contemptuous. “So sit back down in your chair and talk like a sensible, mature adult.”

Opening your mouth, you intended to respond. But the words wouldn’t come. They were lodged in your throat, coagulating with raw, rich fear.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

I can’t say anything, you thought, your body petrifying with every passing second. I’m scared…

“If you put just a little more thought into your brainless idea, you’ll find it’s quite…lacking. Divorce ruins our togetherness, splits us apart and condemns us to two different worlds. And if I’m no longer able to cross into your world—if you forbid it and leave my world—I’ll truly die. I refuse to let that happen. So, no, darling, we won’t be getting a divorce. I won’t agree to it.”

Perhaps it was the hopelessness in your heart that forced fresh tears from your ducts, or maybe it was the final straw in your weakening defenses, but the words came bursting out in a hurry.

“I don’t care anymore! I want you to die!”

You slapped your hands over your mouth. Azul stared at you, stupefied.

“I… I want to be rid of you,” you continued, your words muffled and distraught. “I’ve always thought… Always hoped you might just disappear one day and I’d finally know peace… Please, Azul. Let’s end this. I don’t want to be stuck in this cycle. I don’t even love you anymore. I’m just…done.”

“You don’t mean that…” He made a strange sound, a hybrid between a gasp and a laugh. “Y-You’re just saying that. You still love me. You don’t actually want me gone. You love me… R-Right? Please say you do. Please, angelfish. My love… Please…”

“You’re not well, Azul. I think… I think this is for the best.” You turned away from him. “I’m going to stay in a hotel tonight. Please take some time to calm down and then we’ll talk more in the morning. I… I’m sorry. I really do want you to get help, but I can’t be around you any longer than I already have. It’s draining. You’re draining.”

You took one step further and something inside him splintered.

His power was cut, a line between consciousness and reality severed.

You did not love him. You wanted a divorce. You did not love him. You wanted a divorce.

Did not love him. Divorce. Did not love him. Divorce.

Did not love did not love did not love did not love not love not love not love.

Divorce divorce divorce divorce divorce.

Not love not love not love.

All alone.

Alone like before.

Back to the disgusting creature he once was.

You were walking away, your back turned on him.

He was going to lose his world. It was slipping through his fingers, fleeting and frail.

He couldn’t lose his world, for it’s all he’s ever had.

Azul lunged, seizing your wrist and dragging you down.

Your scream was cut short when his hands clung to your throat.

From then on, everything was a blur.

Two blueberry eyes swallowed you whole, entrapping you in cerulean paradise.

the epilogue - there will never be two without you.

“They used to call me all manner of cruel things when I was a child,” Azul admits to the desolate quiet of his penthouse suite. “I was ridiculed every day. I couldn’t even recognize myself in the mirror. Isn’t that just terrible?” He leans against the sofa and exhales slowly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “But then you told me I was pretty and suddenly the mirrors blinked back at me. Suddenly the world looked just a little wider and…brighter. So bright! The sea swallows so much color, my dear, and so you’ll never know just how vibrant the surface is to us merfolk.”

He deflates with a wet, wheezing laugh. “No one’s ever told me I was pretty. No one’s ever loved me. Not in the way that you did.” Sighing, he runs a hand down his face. Tears track his cheeks; his blueberry eyes exist in a field of splotchy red. “You were such an angel. To love a filthy, hideous thing like me… Only an angel could do that. Only an angel could look beyond every flaw of mine and love so gently.”

Azul lowers his arm and peers at the knife clutched tightly in his other hand. “I never deserved you. I’ve treated you so horribly. I—” He chokes on a rising sob and shakily lifts the blade to his wrist. It presses against his skin for a moment before he’s yanking it away.

“Fuck,” he spits, his voice trembling. “I… I can’t do it.”

You’re a coward, his inner critic berates. A cowardly, clumsy fool of an octopus.

Gritting his teeth, he steels himself and tries again. The blade digs deeper into his flesh, enough to draw the tiniest pinprick of blood. Pain flashes through his nerves, prey instincts firing off commands. He attempts to push past the curtain veiling his thoughts—Stop before you hurt yourself! Stop before you kill yourself!—but then he spies the blue rising to the surface, pooling under the blade, and he retreats immediately. Horrified, he discards the knife at once. It soars across the room in an imperfect arc before settling on the floor with a clatter, just inches from your body.

“Fuck,” he whispers, closing his hand around his wrist to halt the bleeding. “Fuck. Fuck!”

I really can’t bring myself to do it…

He throws his head back against the cushions, eyeing the ceiling. “I’ve done such an unforgivable thing to you and yet I… I can’t do it to myself. I just can’t.” He shuts his eyes, inhales deeply, and opens them again. “I so selfishly took your life, but I’m clinging to mine like a spineless loser.”

Azul lowers himself onto the floor, curling into a fetal position. He grips his wrist in a tighter hold. His glasses are somewhere in the room, likely cracked or worse. He can’t be bothered to seek them out.

“Did you ever believe in soulmates? Ah, what am I saying? Stupid… But I truly think we were soulmates. Perhaps not in this lifetime. But somewhere on a distant horizon…” He smiles dreamily, pressing his cheek against the cool floorboards. “I wonder if we’ll ever meet again. It’s a matter of luck and fate. Sea Witch below, I hate those odds.” Another noisy sob bubbles up in his throat. He shakes with the force of it, his throat raw and ruined. Another onslaught of tears pours from his eyes. “I was r-really happy that day you approached me. I was so happy… More… More happy than you’ll ever know. Thank you for looking at me and seeing me and opening your heart to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t cherish you more than this.”

He forces himself up onto his arms and then, as if just learning how to walk again, rises to his feet on wobbling legs to cross the slim distance to arrive at your body. Like a sinner on trial, he drops to his knees and gathers you in his arms as if you are his Madonna della Pietà.

“Without you, there is no world,” he murmurs, holding you close for a moment longer before lowering you to the floor. His tears dot your cheeks like somber rainfall. He reaches for the knife next, his mind made up. “Thank you for loving me. Sincerely. Truly. You’re the only one I’ll ever love. For that, I’m grateful. Because of you, I was able to know the taste of romance. And…” He hiccups through his bawling. “And it’s so very sweet.”

Blue blood spatters the floor, spilling from a messy gash in his abdomen. The knife is sharper than he thought.

Azul flops onto his stomach beside you, reaching out to run his fingers over your cheek. He inhales a weary breath and agony fills his lungs.

The world is dyed a brilliant, burdensome blue.

Azul Ashengrotto wakes in captivity. Bandaged, dressed in a plain gown, and cuffed to the bed, he is alive.

He moves his wrist, each of his senses filtering in at once. His other arm is turned over and pierced with an IV. Groggily, he lifts his gaze to the machines humming around him. Blue blood sits heavy in a bag, and he watches the liquid travel down, down, down through the tube. He blinks. His eyes are crusty. Has he been crying?

Assessing the handcuff once more, he turns up empty.

Why is he here?

Why does it hurt to move?

Why are there so many bandages around his stomach?

Most of all, where is his world?

What is this place?

It’s a hospital, yes, but why is he here? He has a clean bill of health.

Where is his world?

It’s when he starts actively struggling against the restraint, his breath coming in terrified huffs, that the nurses file in to tend to him. They check his vitals, run some harmless tests, ask him a few questions—it’s a lot all at once. He goes through the process as if stuck in sludge.

“My… My wife,” he croaks, unable to think of anything else. His heart tightens in his chest. “Where is she? What happened? Is she okay?”

Nervously, the nurses skirt around his questions until, eventually, he loses patience and tries to tear himself free from the bed that confines him.

“Where is she?!” he’s screaming, thrashing on the bed like he’s Frankenstein’s monster—a haunted reanimation shocked with electricity. “Answer me! Where is she?! She has to be here. Please… Please tell me she’s safe. I need to see her—need her here right now.”

They hurry out just as he curses at them.

“You can’t keep her away from me! She’s my wife—mine! If you lay a hand on her—”

A new face appears in the doorway; it’s a man dressed in striking attire. A police officer. Azul stares at him, his nostrils flaring wildly. For a short beat, they simply watch one another. Eventually, the officer nods towards a chair.

“May I?”

“What do you want?” He narrows his blueberry eyes, immediately suspicious.

“I’m here to have a chat with you. It’s about your wife. Is that okay?”

At the mention of you, Azul’s thoughts stall out. “Do you know where she is? Is… Is everything okay?”

The officer lowers into the chair and casually crosses one leg over the other. Casual in the friendly sense, Azul realizes. He really doesn’t like this man. Any longer here and he’ll start trying to build rapport.

“We’ll get there in a second. First, I’d like to introduce myself.” He goes through the motions; Azul is only half-listening, replying when it’s beneficial.

(Name). She’s safe, right? She must be. She has to be. Everything’s okay.

(Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name).

Where are you? Do you realize how worried I am? Oh, this must be my fault. I did something foolish again.

I must have tried to hurt myself. Angelfish, please wait for me. I’ll be okay. You’re safe and so am I.

Safe. Yes. Right. Safe. Safe. Safe.

Safe… Right?

Right.

Right?

“Had your friends not called in, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

That brings Azul back to the world. He blinks at the officer, one eye at a time. “What?”

“You were on the verge of bleeding out.”

“Friends?” He’s slow on the uptake. “Jade and Floyd?”

The officer nods. Silence fills the space. Azul wonders when he’s going to open his mouth again.

“What about them?” he asks instead.

The officer frowns. “Do you not recall anything?”

Azul thinks long and hard about this. “I… I was having a discussion with my wife. It was something about a trip. No, not that. Um… Something…important. Something else, perhaps?” He shakes his head, unable to turn up anything useful. “I haven’t a clue. Why? Is something the matter? Where’s my wife?”

Silence is his only reply.

Somehow that tells him everything and nothing all at once.

Somehow he suspects it. His body knows. His fingers twitch with phantom spasms, curling inwards to cut off airflow. The puzzle is scrambled and the image is fuzzy, but he knows.

He knows because he’s already crying, and there’s only ever been one thing that can bring out the inner crybaby he despises so.

It’s always been you.

Azul Ashengrotto is the sole speck of blue in this white hospital room.

And he certainly feels it.

He’s right back where he began: alone and clumsy, an octopus out of water, viewing the cramped, compact, colorless world with his bewitching blueberry hues.

[neiptune]

ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

c/w: 11k wc, SUGGESTIVE, summer romance, strangers to fwb to lovers, eren is a surfing instructor, overall it's just a light and hopefully enjoyable story full of sea, conflicting feelings & newfound friendships! it's been a minute since i published anything but i'd love to come back with part 2 if you guys enjoy :)

i've read i wish you would by @meowzfordayz so many times i eventually got inspired to write my own lil summery piece 🤍

PART 2

Eren doesn’t think anything of it.

He’s used to being watched as he runs back and forth by the shoreline, salt drying on his tan skin and surfboard faithfully tucked underneath his arm.

He’s used to drawing the interest of girls, women and some men whenever he hangs out at the beach cafe with his friends. Eren actually gets a kick out of the thrilled glances he receives as he travels from thick towels to colorful beach umbrellas, in search of strangers bold enough to take part in a volleyball match against his team.

But it’s the third day, your yellow towel is always in the same spot and he finds himself glancing back at you more often than not. You’re a tourist, most probably from the city. It’s clear from how you shield yourself from the sun and the way you keep attempting to brush the sand off your legs with a frown he finds comical. You’re a reader, if the thick book you carry around in that straw bag is an indicator. You’re also alone, he’s never seen you in the company of a friend or a relative. Or a boyfriend.

Somehow, you manage to pique his interest, if only for the smile you grant when meeting him halfway to give back the ball Sasha’s serve has conveniently thrown too far away. As he watches you walk back to your towel and right as he manages to catch the brief glance you shoot him from over your shoulder, Eren thinks he just needs the right chance to try his evergreen luck once more.

Fortunately, the perfect opportunity comes earlier than expected.

He’s fresh out of the water, one hand running through brown locks rendered thicker by ocean salt. The pace is cheerful as they walk towards the cafe, hungry as ever after what felt like hours on end of catching waves, adrenaline slowly flowing out of their bodies and heart rate calming down. Eren spots you right away, suddenly so distracted he doesn’t reciprocate Jean’s playful shove nor does he wince in annoyance when he flicks his forehead.

You’re sitting across from Connie and Sasha, polite smile that turns into laughter at what’s most probably one of his friend’s lame jokes. Despite Jean’s yo! that loudly announces their presence, it’s Eren’s the face your gaze flickers to. The smile is still there and wouldn’t it be unkind of him not to return it?

“Man, I’m so hungry I could eat a horse” Jean is absolutely oblivious to your presence and ungracefully lets himself fall down onto one of the rattan stools.

“Burgers are on their way” Sasha pushes her plate of fries towards him and he thanks her with a grin so bright it’s blinding. Her hair is still wet from the lazy swim she took shortly after they arrived at the beach, auburn hair drenched in enough red saturation to contrast with her magenta bikini. 

“I don’t think we’ve met” Eren hasn’t let his eyes shift from your features, so relaxed while witnessing his friends’ antics. You lazily return your attention to him once more and, with a pleasant squeeze of his stomach, he senses the anticipation. Is this encounter so casual, after all? Or is everything going exactly how you’ve been wanting it to? Either way, he’s more than fine with it.

“We haven’t” you reply with a sweet smile, offering a hand he oh so easily envelops in his.

Connie introduces you and your name rolls off from his tongue with a fond inflection already.

“She’s gonna spend the summer here and doesn’t really know anyone—” he interrupts himself to land a protective slap to the back of Jean’s head. He’s been choking down way too many of Sasha’s fries.

“She was asking for some advice on what to do, where to go” Sasha takes it from there, flashes you a smile “so we invited her to join us tonight”

“And I already said I don’t want to intrude” you shrink in your seat a little and Jean scoffs at your demeanor, a lazy wave of the hand to brush your concerns off.

“It’s cool. The more, the merrier”

“Besides” Eren worms his way into the conversation “you’re gonna need reliable allies if you want to survive in the wild”

Genuine amusement settles at the corners of your lips while you take note of the jovial glint in his mirth gaze.

It’s exactly what you must look like to them, you think while trying to decide what to wear for the impending night out. An outsider in need of some guidance, the right companionship not to feel too lost while attempting to navigate the pathetically lonely summer ahead of you.

The simple truth is that you don’t really mind being on your own. This was a last minute, impulsive trip you had booked without thinking too much about it. You sort of wanted to get accustomed to the quieter life, idyllic days puncuated by late brunches, ocean waves crashing against the shore, the familiar rustle of pages of your favorite books, perhaps a movie or two while comfortably snuggled in the big, soft bed your small vacation rental came with.

All you’re actually after is a peaceful summer but sure enough you don’t mind meeting a person or two, nice people you can have a chat with at the beach instead of spending hours on end listening to true crime podcasts. You don’t mind having an excuse to finally put on something other than your sleeping shorts, pull out the only lipstick you have carried with you halfway across the country and actually spend some time outside of your room.

You definitely don’t mind having the chance to get to know hot surfer boy either, pretty much the embodiment of any summer romance trope a girl could think of. Doesn’t take a genius to understand that he’d be the main character in each individual one.

Attractive? Check. Charming? Check. Residing on a remote island in the middle of the ocean? Check. Eats, sleeps and breathes just to flirt with anything that moves? Most probably, check.

And although romance is definitely not what either of you are after, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to have some harmless fun.

Isn’t that what summers are for?

That’s the thought you carry with you as you approach their table at the bar, a confident smile hopefully concealing the slight tension in your shoulders. In the end, you opted for a striped blouse and a simple, white denim skirt.

Connie enthusiastically chirps your name and Eren, who is seated on the outer edge of the booth seating, makes room for you right away. The space is cramped enough for everyone to be basically leaning against each other and you think it’s not exactly a coincidence that your thigh has to be flush against Eren’s in order to fit in the booth.

“You have to try this, it’s amazing!”, Sasha grins while gently pushing her drink towards you, the glass leaving a trail of condensation on the mahogany table. You lean over to take a small sip from the green straw. It’s a classic piña colada, the frozen blend of pineapple and creamy coconut a little too sweet for your liking.

“Think I’ll go with a moscow mule” you smile an apologetic smile and she just shrugs, unimpressed.

“I second that” a gentle yet unfamiliar gaze meets yours, copper mug raised in a metaphoric toast “I’m Armin, so nice having you with us tonight!”

“Thanks, Armin” with a soft chuckle you introduce yourself as well.

They’re such a diverse group but manage to fit amazingly well together, you find. The common denominator is genuine friendliness, there’s not an ounce of fabrication in the kind tone used to direct questions your way, each and everyone of those present genuinely curious and determined to make you feel included.

“You can’t be serious” Connie’s nose scrunches in a displeased grimace “books? Tv shows? Is that seriously what you’ve been doing?”

“I’m technically on vacation” your weak attempt at justifying yourself is laughed at.

“A great reason not to stay indoors the whole damn day” Jean downs his third beer of the evening and points a finger in your direction “consider yourself under our wing from now on”

“Not sure sweating under the sun while jumping after a ball matches my idea of fun” you give him a skeptical albeit playful look.

Sasha, three piña coladas in, slams her fist on the table .

“That’s exactly what I tell them every summer!”

“No one forces you to play like, ever” Connie smirks her way “wish you’d spare us the agony of having you on the team actually”

“He’s kidding” Armin is quick to chime in, alarmed by the childlike astonishment suddenly filling Sasha’s big brown eyes.

“What’s your idea of fun, then?” a deep, warm voice pulls you away from the funny scene taking place in front of you.

“This night is fun” you smile, gaze finally meeting sage eyes that have been so intently focused on you throughout the evening. Your leg is still shamelessly pressing against his, more of an intentional touch than a forced one. The amount of warmth radiating through his jeans is enough to send a shudder down your spine.

Eren mirrors your smile.

“We’re fun people” he concedes “what else?”

You pause, pensive for a moment. It’d be great to actually be the mysterious, secretly entertaining stranger from the city he’s probably picturing but the sour truth is that you own a boring, quite ordinary personality.

“Reading at the beach instead of my bed?” you crack another smile, met with a chuckle and an eyeroll this time.

“Ever tried surfing?” despite the amused expression, it’s clear he’s not mocking you.

“I literally live in Tokyo”

“Not even on vacation? As a kid? Ever?”

It’s cute, the authentic shock painting his features. So you smile again with a slight shrug.

Eren clicks his tongue.

“I’ll teach you. You’ll never be the same again”

This time it’s you who’s laughing as he frowns.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just trying to picture how many girls you must’ve said that to”

Slightly taken aback, he offers half a smile.

“I don’t need to say that to girls, I’m actually an instructor”

“Right, so they come looking for you anyway”

“What’s this sudden interest in how I get girls?”

You innocently cross your ankles underneath the table, which causes your leg to press against his a little more.

“Not sudden”

Another boyish smirk splits across his face as he leans slightly closer, a dangerously inviting scent enveloping your senses already. He’s not even wearing any cologne.

“Seriously, come take a look tomorrow” Eren pauses for a second, intentionally, eyes travelling down to the soft curve of your lips “I usually make it fun, or so I’m told”

Sulking in your seat, you playfully raise your eyebrows because this is a game two should play.

“Does that mean you’re not gonna show me your place tonight?”

Without missing a beat, Eren fakes a pensive hum, magnetic gaze shamelessly lingering on your lips again.

“I might. If you promise to come take a look tomorrow”

He’s not one to be intimidated and, as a matter of fact, he has been fighting the urge to place a hand on your thigh for the entire night.

You huff, newly found boldness courtesy of the second moscow mule and the thrill of the unknown. Surf is something you’ve never been interested in and you sincerely doubt all the women telling him how good of a teacher he is weren’t simply after the same thing you are being offered right now. But if a little stroke of the ego and some acquiescence will get you what you want, which is for him to finally just touch you, would you really be dumb enough to miss the perfect opportunity?

“Fine. I’ll stop by” you concede but whatever he has to say in response gets harshly sucked in by Sasha’s sobs.

The invisible bubble that had shortly enveloped you both suddenly bursts with a pop as you redirect your attention to the rest of the party. Jean seems genuinely horrified, Connie is just laughing with literal tears in his eyes as he watches Armin whisper comforting words to their friend.

“What the hell did you say to her?” you’re slightly surprised to hear the protective annoyance embedded in Eren’s tone, especially when you thought he’d just laugh the whole situation off.

“Nothing!” panic makes Jean’s voice squeaky and Connie only laughs harder, slamming a hand on the table.

“She thinks the ocean has dried up!” he can barely spell the words out before erupting in another fit of laughter right as Sasha’s desperate sobs increase in volume.

“Sash, I promise nothing has happened to the ocean” Eren attempts to gently take one of her hands and move it away from her face but she just harshly slaps his fingers away.   

“I don’t believe you!” she wails so heartbreakingly Armin deems wise to catiously hide what’s left of her drink behind one of Jean’s beer bottles.

“Sasha” you softly chime in and perhaps it’s because your voice is still unfamiliar that she looks up, puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks “I just got back from the beach, with a gift” it takes everything in you not to laugh as her eyes widen in shock when you pull out a glass of water from underneath the table.

“Special ocean water, just for you”

“How did you get that?” before you even have the chance to come up with a believable answer, Sasha gasps so audibly a few people turn around to look at your table “are you a mermaid?”

Connie is howling with laughter at this point, as Jean slaps a hand to his mouth to no avail. Eren just sighs.

“Why do we let her drink every time?” he mutters under his breath.

You ignore each and every one of them as you inch across the table, palms facing upward.

“You can’t tell anyone” the conspiratorial whisper is what probably gets her as she leans over in turn, absolutely amazed while inspecting your wet fingertips.

“Guess it’s time to take her home” with a sigh of relief, Armin finally relaxes in his seat.

“Your turn” Connie grins mischievously at Eren, who just rolls his eyes.

“I could use a hand” his lips conveniently brush against the shell of your ear as he pretends the sudden proximity was nothing but a natural consequence of his standing up. You follow suit with a soft smile and so does Sasha, who refuses to let go of your hand.

“We’re not like this all the time” Armin looks exhausted and something tells you he’s usually the one responsible for keeping tabs whenever things get out of control. It suits his kind nature, or at least that’s the impression you get after spending a few hours with him.

“Will you come to the beach tomorrow? I’d really like to continue that conversation about confessional poetry” and so you smile at him, no ulterior motive besides the genuine pleasure that comes with meeting a new potential friend with interests so similar to yours.

Sasha impatiently pulls you by the hand as Eren balances her body against his, an arm around her waist to make sure she stands.

“Yeah” warmth radiates from the tired albeit gentle smile Armin offers you “I’ll bring my Robert Lowell book”

“Remember what I said” Jean scoffs impatiently as Connie waves goodbye with a pestiferous grin glued to his face “our wing. Fun summer. No more indoors”

“Aye aye, captain” you chuckle.

“Let’s go!” Sasha tugs at your blouse twice and Eren has to literally keep her from collapsing on the floor when she clumsily stumbles upon her own feet.

You gently untangle your hand from her grabby fingers and secure her arm around your shoulders, careful not to fall yourself as she suddenly leans in to press her nose to your cheek.

“Your hair smells like the ocean” she mumbles dreamily and you can’t hold back the giggle that bubbles from your throat while you help her out of the bar, Connie’s chuckle the last thing you register before stepping out in the humid hair of the night.

“Everything okay over there?” Eren can’t help but smile when he glances in your direction, sincerely amused by the way his friend is all over you.

“Absolutely” your smile is intended for Sasha instead, who is walking pretty much blindly since her undivided attention is still focused on something that’s entirely different from the sidewalk. With a careful brush of your thumb, you clean off some of the smudged mascara underneath her eyes.

“Maybe someone should’ve stayed with her” you discreetly whisper over her head.

“She’ll be fine. I’ll tuck her in, make sure she wakes up with water and some painkillers nearby” Eren meets Sasha’s gaze and laughs when she grins widely at him.

“You’re my best friend!” she cheers so loudly you jump a little “the best Eren I know!”

“I’m the only Eren you know” he gently flicks her forehead, fingers barely grazing her skin.

You chuckle again, too caught up in the moment to realize how disarmingly nice and attentive and attractive he actually is.

Sasha is not steady enough on her legs but you can barely feel the weight you’re supposedly sustaining, Eren most likely doing the majority of the work. He hums and distractedly mumbles reassuring nothings in response to his friend’s incessant nonsense, still more amused than annoyed. When you reach her apartment at last they both insist you step in with them, Sasha being particularly excited at the thought of showing you her seashell collection (“it’ll make you feel at home!”) but you kindly refuse and watch as he quite literally drags her inside while she enthusiastically waves and promises to visit you the next day. Whether she means to come by your place or dive underwater, you can’t tell.

Because of what you’re wearing, sitting on the sidewalk is a hard pass. Still, Sasha doesn’t live far from the beach, much like basically every other island resident. You don’t mind waiting outside, not when you can hear the faint sound of crashing waves and the brackish breeze gently ruffles your hair.

It’s relaxing, really, getting to quietly stand by as everything else drifts before you. Couples taking a stroll by the shore nothing more than dark silhouettes barely discernible from where you’re standing, an old man slowly pushing a gelato cart and then stopping to take a break, groups of friends loudly making their way through the street as some bystanders direct them glances expressing disapproval.

“Hey” Eren materializes next to you out of thin air, a smile tugging at his lips when you wince “want one?”

With a small nod, he indicates the ice cream cart. You smile back.

“Ah, no, thanks. Is she okay?”

Something passes through his handsome face, some sort of indefinite emotion gone before you have the chance to even fully notice it, the apology remaining tucked up in the corner of his mouth.

“Out like a light. C’mon, I want one, we can share”

He doesn’t give you the time to decline again. You just have to promptly follow him not to fall behind as he marches towards the vendor. They seem to know each other: Eren calls him uncle Katsu and the older man seems delighted about the encounter. He asks if his favorite customer wants the usual but Eren glances at you, amusement conquering his relaxed features once more.

“Nah, she wouldn’t understand. Give me something more tourist friendly”

Brows furrowed, you open your mouth to protest but you’re cut off by Katsu’s boisterous laugh.

Sullen, you end up with a butter pecan cone Eren lets you hold more than a fair amount of time for two people who are supposed to be eating equal amounts of ice cream.

“What’s the usual?” you grumble and he grins walking beside you, hands shoved in pockets and pace comfortably slow.

“Pineapple, with chunks”

“Nice” the attempt at playing off your skepticism as nonchalance fails miserably.

“You’re gonna try it eventually, I’m just giving you some time to get accustomed to the wilderness first”

With a huff you pass him the cone, trying to ignore the pleasant flip of your stomach at his words. Is he assuming you’ll hang out more than just this once?

“You really like living here” it’s a sincere observation that just slips out, past all the casual facade you’re trying to keep up.

Eren shrugs but there’s fondness in the way he looks at the ordinary street ahead of him.

“I do. Can’t imagine myself anywhere else”

The affection vibrating in his tone makes you bitter. You never experienced that sense of belonging, not to a place, not even to your own family. The only person who’s ever been the closest at becoming home has let you down so violently, so suddenly, your scarred skin is still having a hard time healing itself.

Eren peers down at you, taking in your pensive expression. He wonders why you look so gloomy all of a sudden, if your friends ever call while you’re busy spending your days all by yourself on the other side of Japan. He wonders why you’re here on your own.

“What about you?” his tone is light, poised between genuine curiosity and the urge to elicit a shred of actual information “how come you’re staying here all summer?”

The gloom dissipates so abruptly it hardly looks natural.

“Ah, my rich parents agreed to pay for the vacation so why not take full advantage of their kindness?” you shrug with a smile that hopefully covers up the lie well enough. His furrowed brows indicate that he’s not fully convinced but genuine intimacy and heartfelt confessions in the middle of the night are not what you need nor what you want, therefore it’s only fair to batten down the hatches.

“So, where’s this place of yours? Far from here?” you jokingly ask with a light shove of your shoulder to his arm.

Eren pauses for a second, seeming so taken aback you feel your face getting hot with embarrassment.

“You actually want—”

“You don’t—”

Both of you look at each other with furrowed brows, until he stops in his tracks.

Fuck.

“Uh” you let out a nervous chuckle “I’m so sorry. That was weird of me, I don’t know what I was thinking. Probably stood in the sun too long today. Anyway, I can totally walk myself home, don’t feel obligated to—”

He too laughs but, again, it’s not to poke fun at your pathetic little self.

“Not much of a talker, huh?” the playful glint in his eyes only contributes to embarrass you further, so he promptly softens his tone “I should be the one apologizing. I just thought you wouldn’t want to, you know, after Sasha and everything”

You blink a few times, candidly confused.

“No? I mean, I like Sasha. I like all your friends” it’s the unexpected truth, one that makes him smile.

For a split second, he considers asking if you like him too, even if your willingness to let him take you home already speaks volumes. But why would he? If Sasha getting absolutely plastered and almost throwing up on you wasn’t enough of a turn off, Eren should just shut the fuck up and savour the opportunity he’s been waiting for ever since seeing you at the beach for the first time. He’s been picturing the pretty creases of that blouse on his bedroom floor pretty much the entire evening.

“I’m just a few blocks away” therefore he smiles that attractive smirk of his, right before taking one last bite of the crumbly cone in his cream-stained hand.

“Don’t feel compelled to—”

“You look beautiful right now” Eren cuts you off abruptly, words dying in your throat as you look back in shock “the whole night, actually. The last thing I’m feeling is compelled” his noses scrunches slightly, as if feeling nauseated by the ridiculous assumption alone.

Another beat passes before you allow your lungs to deflate with the release of a breath.

“Okay” you mutter, still dazed by the sudden, straightforward flattery.

Eren’s smile grows in softness this time. An entire second is spent thinking that smile suits him more than the confident smirk of a moment ago.

“Okay” he says back.

When he arrives at the beach the next morning, earlier than usual, he spots you right away. You’re sitting on your yellow towel and seem engaged in a heated discussion with his best friend, both of you interrupting the other with a frantic gesturing of hands.

Eren stops for a second, surfboard planted in the sand for good measure, one hand on top of the other as he just takes a moment to observe you. His mind travels back to the slight disappointment swallowing the convenience of waking up with an empty spot next to him, the sun bleeding through the shutters because he’d forgotten to close them. How could he had remembered with your fingers running through his hair and the goosebumps blossoming on his forearms?

He didn’t have the time to explore you like he had intended to, he couldn’t take his time because you were so eager and it was surprising how impatient Eren found himself to be in turn, how rapidly you adapted to each other. He even remembers genuinely enjoying the short, embarrassing incidents that came with growing accustomed to such a sudden yet highly anticipated proximity: your head bumping into his while straddling his lap, him knocking over the lamp from his nightstand, airy laughs swallowed by each other’s mouths.

Little to no foreplay was needed, the memory of your fingers closing around his wrist to confidently guide his hand between your legs still pulsing in his mind. He barely got the chance to kiss you, nowhere near as how he would’ve liked to, his lips being hastily reclaimed everywhere else.

He’s not even sure why he’s still lingering there, uncertain. Eren’s had countless one night stands before but once both parties got what they needed none of them were really there to hang out again, certainly nowhere near his friends anyway. He’s had longer affairs with tourists, mutual attraction and harmless fun lasting from days to weeks, his conquests eventually recognizing Jean or exchanging a few pleasantries with Connie. But this has never really happened. He’s never made plans with someone before even getting to the point of having them in his bed, for the next day no less. He’s never frowned upon waking up alone and he’s definitely never chuckled while barefoot in his own kitchen, the messily scribbled note you had tucked underneath his french press in hand.

Your coffee sucks.

You didn’t even bother to wash the mug abandoned in his sink but still you made sure he’d wake up to a freshly brewed serving anyway.

Eren’s never truly liked any of his one night stands enough to frame them as potential friends in the long run and so it was a little unsettling, the feeling that you were just about to change that.

“Can you believe they deemed this as lazy writing?” Armin’s finger skims across the page he’s holding open, underlining a particular verse “now the hot river, ebbing, hauls its bloody waters into holes; a grain of sand inside my shoe mimics the moon that might undo man and creation too”

You hum, appreciative.

“It’s the absence of flowered language. Nobody liked reading about raw trauma and dramatic events but at the root of hypocrisy is always fear and low self-esteem” with a little shrug, you smile “essentially, they were a bunch of assholes”

“You can’t truly appreciate poetry if life scares you” for some reason, Armin’s words make your insides twist for a second. You remember one of your favorite Anne Sexton’s poems and its brutal honesty: suicides have a special language, like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. It felt dangerously similar to how you were living.

“Enough of this unsettling realness” Armin closes his book with a loud thud and gently places it between your bodies, on your soft towel. You wonder if he’s noticed your sudden gloom or if he just genuinely wants to talk about something else. “Anything fun planned today? I know Jean can be insufferable but we do have some cool activities around here” he smiles.

“Eren wanted me to check out his lesson but I’m not sure surf could ever be my thing” the smile you return is shy, because you don’t want to sound ungrateful nor make the conversation weird. It’s pretty evident that you’ve spent the night with him, if only from the hickeys scattered at the base of your throat. Armin has just been nothing but a gentleman, too polite to even stare at them.

Once again, he doesn’t even falter at the mention of his friend’s name.

“Still, you should give it a go! I used to think the same and now I can’t go a day without riding a wave. Even when I’m not on vacation, if the weather’s nice enough I’m here as soon as I’m done working” he grins.

“I never asked what you do, by the way”

“I’m a copy editor in a publishing house, mainly work from home but sometimes I travel to Tokyo. Leaves me a lot of freedom, really. What about you?”

You hesitate. But he’s looking at you so candidly, head slightly tilted to the side, that you can’t find it in yourself to lie.

“I’ve been laid off a few weeks ago, actually. I was a winemaker at a pretty famous winery in town”

Armin lets out a slow whistle.

“That sounds so cool!”

You chuckle.

“All I do is monitor the maturity of grapes, oversee the process and place orders”

“I’d love to visit once you start somewhere else. I’m sure it’s gonna happen in no time” he places a warm hand on your shoulder and briefly squeezes it. You’ve never experienced the kindness of a stranger, not at such a high level anyway. As you thank him with a touched smile, for the first time this impulsive vacation doesn’t feel like just a way out anymore.

“I suggest you two sit closer to the shore, the first group of the day is gonna be here soon” a playful voice interrupts your chitchat and you look up to find a familiar figure silhouetted against sunlight right before your towel. A flash of embarrassment seems to take over his features for a few seconds as he takes notice of the now very much noticeable marks on your skin. But then he just smiles that friendly smile of his, one that tells you there’s a chance of not letting any potential awkwardness stand in the way of what could become a harmless friendship. You appreciate the maturity.

“Wanna help me out?” Eren then looks at Armin, who’s squinting his eyes in attempt to stare back.

“I’ll keep her company. Maybe later, with the kids”

“You’re pretty special, he never skips the chance to hop on a surfboard”

As you get up and start collecting your things, Armin’s book secured underneath your arm while he helps you out with the towel, you briefly glance at Eren with half a smile.

“Let’s see if you’re good enough to convince me to get on one in the first place”

He rolls his eyes, feigning exasperation.

“Just watch me”

And so, you and Armin look at each other with an equally amused smile, the complicity over a moment so simple warming your heart.

While sitting there with him, feet sunk into where the sand is cool and damp, you observe Eren with genuine curiosity. The variegated group he’s handling consists of ten people, it’s most probably not their first class as everyone seems to already know what to do.

They’re going over what they’ve learned until now, Eren repeating instructions out loud and nodding proudly as his students comply. Two girls, friends by the looks of it, keep asking him to help them position their bodies better on the surfboard. When the blonde one fails to properly stand up and her foot theatrically slips, with an exaggerated grimace she begs him to support her weight as she tries again. With Eren’s hands on her hips, she succeeds in hopping up with a form so perfect you can hardly hold back a scoff. Armin chuckles beside you.

“It’s pretty much always like that”

“No way” you mock “that’s crazy!”

“I mean, it’s kinda part of the job to go along with it” he shrugs.

Does he think I’m jealous or something?

“You didn’t have to stay” there’s softness in your tone, just to make sure he doesn’t take it the wrong way, but he blushes nonetheless.

“It doesn’t happen as often to me” the spluttering makes you giggle. You’re not blind: he has arms, he has abs, shoulders wide enough to well pique one’s interest and a smile so sweet he’s probably the favorite instructor of more than one student.

“I find that hard to believe” the implied compliment tints his cheeks with a richer pink and he runs a hand through his fair hair to conceal the embarrassment.

“But I didn’t mean it like that” you decide to put an end to his misery “I just meant, feel free to go ride some waves”

Armin shakes his head.

“I have the entire day to do that” he smiles “and no one else likes to talk about books with me”

“But your group is great. You guys seem pretty close”

“We all grew up here, I’ve known Eren since kindergarten and I met everyone else along the way. Some of us you didn’t meet actually, like Christa and Mikasa”

“They don’t live here anymore?”

Armin sighs, plants his heel in the sand a little deeper.

“Yeah, they moved for college and never really came back. They prefer the city”

You can understand that, to be honest. You grew up in a small town near the countryside and although it’s not nearly comparable to an even smaller island, you remember the primal need to run away, driven by the firm belief that there’s surely more to explore, better ways to live and opportunities to seize in the big city. Back then, Tokyo felt like a dream. An endless pool of magical possibilities.

“You probably think it’s insane, wanting to stay on an island that only comes alive a few months per year” Armin’s gaze is lost across the ocean, so you look ahead too. Eren’s group is in the water now, paddling in and taking off on the foam that propels colorful surfboards onto the waves. Most of the students previously warming up by the shore succeeds in remaining upright, cheered on by those who have either been less brave or simply not balanced enough.

“No, I think wanting to stay requires a lot of love. I never had that for the place I grew up in”

“And are you happy now, in Tokyo?”

You force your lips into a smile, not daring to look him in the eyes.

“Yeah, I’m happy”

Another cheerful fit of screams has you both returning your attention to the group challenging the ocean, one particular figure paddling perpendicular to an exceptionally big wave, angling his take off perfectly to the left before popping up and digging the inside rail of his surfboard into the water. Knees bent, he’s a sight for sore eyes as he beautifully rides along the vertical center of the wave, the sun complimenting his tan skin.

“Showoff” you snort and Armin laughs.

“Let’s go get a drink, Sasha makes a killer frozen lemonade”

“Sasha?” you ask, surprised.

He nods.

“She should be on shift today”

“She works at the cafe?”

Armin smiles.

“Her family owns the cafe, actually. She just helps out in the summer, whenever she can catch a break from the internship she’s doing”

And sure enough she’s actually there, all smiles and cheerful pitch behind the counter.

She turns ecstatic as soon as the spots the both of you, calling you by your name with such warmth your cheeks hurt a little from how wide you’re smiling already.

“Hey! How’re you feeling?”

You and Armin sit on the rattan stools opposite to the counter and she leans over with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Amazing, whoever left that ibuprofen on my nightstand has my endless devotion”

“T’was Eren’s turn to take you home” Armin shoots her a good-natured glare, which elicits her silvery laugh.

“I don’t think he was too bothered about it” Sasha’s intentionally looking at you and her grin has your cheeks grow hot.

“Leave her alone, make us some frozen lemonade” Armin gently grabs her chin and directs her attention to him.

“Oh come on, none of Eren’s special friends ever hangs out with us, I want some details!”

“Sasha!” he hisses as you shrink in your seat, head hanging low in embarrassment “you can’t remember this but she’s been nothing but caring last night, they both took you home”

“Armin, there’s no need to—” you mumble but he shows no sign of having heard you.

“It’s none of our business what they do” he grumbles, letting go of Sasha’s chin “now, please, lemonade. Before I die of dehydration”

She juts her bottom lip out, sullen, eyes back on you.

“I’m sorry, I was just curious. Don’t get me wrong, I’m actually happy I get to finally spend some time with another girl”

You shake your head with a soft smile.

“Please don’t apologize. You’ve all been way too kind to me”

Truth is, the fear of being seen as nothing but their friend’s easy fuck has been nagging at your brain. Especially since deciding you actually, really like them and wouldn’t mind tagging along if they’ll have you. And, of course, if Eren isn’t bothered. The last thing you wanna spend your summer doing is imposing your presence to a group of childhood friends just because you’ve had sex with one of them. That’d be gross.

“Here, it’s on the house” Sasha slides two tall glasses of frozen lemonade across the counter.

Armin grabs his with a sigh of relief, the creaminess of his drink rapidly decreasing in quantity as he gulps it down quickly. You carefully mix it with your straw, then have a first taste and have to keep yourself from moaning.

“I’m gonna need ten of these” you mutter and they both laugh. It’s genius really, the idea of combining the consistency of a milkshake with the tanginess of freshly squeezed lemonade.

You end up staying at the cafe to keep Sasha company while she prepares orders and entertains you with the latest gossip concerning people you don’t even know. You wonder where she gets all that energy from but you also think it suits her, that bubbly aura she so effortlessly carries around. If customers smile a little brighter and leave generous tips, it’s probably thanks to her never ending friendliness: she remembers their names, special orders and always offers free ice cream to kids. She even has special ice cream for dogs.

After a while, Armin leaves to help Eren with his next group of students, as promised. They’re all children this time, so you doubt they’ll bring them into the water: the whole class consists in some training by the shore, Armin and Eren patiently showing them how to paddle and corretly stand on a surfboard over and over again. When what you can only guess are some heated protests erupt, they patiently allow the kids to practice some paddling as close to the shore as possible. You catch glimpses of Eren’s smile and hear his laugh when two kids start splashing him with water, deaf to Armin most probably attempting to draw their attention to the lesson once again.

Eventually, he’s forced to surrender too, as one particularly agile kid climbs onto his shoulders and demands to be carried around. The whole class turns into nothing more than a game session and you find yourself smiling.

After each kid is collected by their corresponding family member, Armin doesn’t waste any more time and he swiftly grabs his bigger surfboard to jump into the ocean once more, finally free to chase waves at its own pace. Eren seems to hesitate, lingering by the shore for a moment, looking around as if searching for something. Then he turns around fully, seemingly scanning the cafe and meeting your gaze although, from that distance, you’re not completely sure he’s looking at you specifically. You’re quick to redirect your attention to the pasta salad Sasha has recommended.

“Ah, here comes the athlete” she pulls a face “let’s see how many wraps he’s gonna down, last time it was three”

“Hello, ladies” the familiar voice is so close you feel a shudder run down your spine as memories from the previous night resurface. He’s leaning on the counter, body facing you and arms crossed showcasing swollen biceps you’re surprised are not carrying any signs of the crescents you very clearly remember being a consequence of your tight grip.

“You’re dripping on my napkins” not nearly as dumbstruck as you, Sasha shoos him away with the impatient push of a hand. In response, Eren shakes his head like a dog would after getting a bath, splashing both his friend and you with ice cold water. She flips him off.

“You’re an ass”

“Will you make me one of your delightful wraps if I behave?” he grins like a child while taking a seat next do you.

“One?” Sasha skeptically raises an eyebrow.

“Make it three”

You chuckle as you meet her knowing look, which causes him to turn to you. He’s even prettier up close, salt already drying on his smooth skin, cheeks slightly flushed.

“So? Opinions on getting started with the best sport in the world?”

Pensive, you bring a forkful of pasta to your mouth.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to give it a go”

You had half an idea of teasing him by suggesting Armin be your instructor but the way he quite literally beams at your words forces you to shut right up.

“I’ll pick you up later this afternoon”

“Pick me up?” you frown, confused.

“This beach is way too crowded, there are better places to go”

“So considerate” Sasha loudly places a plate in front of him and Eren just rolls his eyes.

“You don’t even know where I’m staying” trying to swallow yet another lump of awkwardness, you keep your attention on the now almost empty bowl in front of you.  

He huffs, brushing your concern off by gesturing vaguely with a hand.

“I know where all vacation rentals are. Of course, if you wanted, you could make it easier for me”

A funny sound comes out of Sasha’s nose and this time you go along with her demeanor with the raise of a brow.

“If you want my number, just ask” the challenging words roll off your tongue playfully, you don’t really think anything of them.

But much like every other time you thought you had him cornered, he simply looks up from his plate and plants those resolute eyes in yours without so much as a hint of hesitation.

“I want your number”

Why your heart picks up its pace as you both let a beat pass while staring at each other, you don’t really understand. Nevertheless, as the corners of his mouth upturn in a smile with yet another one of Sasha’s scoffs in the background, you think it’s convenient that he’s pretty much doing all the work. Because of course you want his number too.

The place you rented is nothing more than a small beach cottage and while Eren doesn’t exactly live in a penthouse, his house is bigger and way cooler than yours. A mere 100 yards from the beach, it comes with a colorful, eclectic exterior and cute double doors opening out to the porch where he keeps his surfboard, a lounger, one whimsical sign that reads it comes in waves and a small table with two chairs. You don’t really have a porch, just three steps that lead to the front door, which is where you’re sitting while you wait for him to come pick you up. Your straw bag is resting at your feet, filled with the few things he recommended you to bring: sunscreen, a swimsuit, water, all wrapped in a towel. It’s later than you had anticipated and you nervously wonder if he’s actually gonna show up, how long it’s gonna take before you’re done. How ridiculous you’re going to look.

And then he pulls up by your little house with the peeling white paint, window rolled down and one arm gracefully hanging out a silver pickup truck. The two surfboards stored on the bed are reflecting the late afternoon sun.

A light honk has you standing up, his warm smile so wide you can guess the excitement shimmering behind those dark sunglasses.

He pushes the door open for you, so you rush to the car and climb onto the passenger seat. Eren barely gives you the time to fasten your seatbelt before his foot is on the clutch pedal again: his hand swiftly moves the gear shift to the left and then up and the accelerator pedal is pressed down way more harshly than needed.

“You do know that this is probably going to suck, right? I have no idea what to do” you anxiously shift on your seat, to no avail because your back remains glued to it.

Not bothered in the slightest by the ungodly speed he’s driving at, a genuine laugh slips out of him.

“It’s gonna be amazing, I’ll teach you everything you need to know! Plus, I’m taking you to one of my favorite spots, consider yourself lucky” he glances at you with a toothy grin and you let out a panicked sound.

“Look ahead!”

Eren laughs again but complies, not a care in the world or so it seems as he sprints through roads that are way too narrow and bumpy and lacking concrete for him to be driving like that.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, why’s my coffee so bad?”

It’s the first actual semblance of a reference to the previous night. You swallow.

“Too bitter. Coffee shouldn’t be too strong, aggressive and off balance. It definitely shouldn’t have just one flavor either”

“Just like wine?”

Surprised, you just stare at him until he cracks another smile.

“Armin told me. You’re kinda cooler than what you come across as”

Eren fakes a groan when you smack his shoulder.

“I just meant” he refrains from looking at your scowl “you don’t really do yourself justice. All that talk about tv shows and books and spending the summer alone—”

“Those things can be cool too. Sorry, not all of us feel the need to live and look like olympic athletes” you cross your arms, stubbornly averting your gaze from his handsome profile to look ahead like a cross child. That’s how you miss a smirk he promptly suppresses.

“I wasn’t trying to offend you. I really do think you’re cool, regardless of your career”

A beat passes before you reluctantly eye him again.

“You’re tolerable, I guess”

The laugh he lets out is so genuine you have to fight back a smile yourself.

His good mood remains seemingly unaltered throughout the ride, lithe fingers absentmindedly drumming on the steering wheel as he strives to make conversation. By the time you arrive at the secluded beach he’s chosen for your first lesson, your nerves are calm enough for you to be actually excited about what’s to come.

The beach is nothing less than a little slice of paradise, sand so white it almost looks fake and turquoise water so inviting you can’t wait to jump in. For the first time, the island presents itself as something other than an overpriced magnet for seasonal tourists: it’s raw in its beauty, so quiet it’s hard to believe you’re not the only two people currently on an uninhabited piece of land in the middle of the ocean.

One thing you’re learning quickly is that Eren is scarily good at easing unnecessary tension. Perhaps it’s because he never seems to feel any, always so relaxed and ready to handle any unexpected circumstance or setback. Sure, he’s outgoing enough for people to easily like him but there’s something about the genuine smiles he offers to everyone, in the attentive care he reserves to his friends. Despite his well-trained figure and intimidating good looks, his touch is gentle and at times timid. He blushes just like everyone else if you trace the line of his jaw with sweet kisses and emits pleased hums when you run your hand through his hair.

You can tell this isn’t something he has set up to lure you back into his bed: how could it be, with that child-like excitement embedded in the instructions he’s giving you? You don’t even feel self-conscious nor ridiculous wearing the wetsuit he’s brought for you, he’s that great at making it fun and keeping it professional. Well, mostly professional.

For the nth time, you jump up with your feet planted and arms out to your side, stabilizing yourself and feeling the breeze flow through your hair as your personal instructor hums.

“Again” he demands and you huff.

“Are we gonna get into the water eventually? I feel like it’s been an hour of this!”

“It has been an hour of this. Now, do it again”

With a pout, you lie belly-down on your longboard once again. You practice your paddling motion once again and then place your palms on the flat of the board just below your chest. In one quick motion, you push your body up with your arms and tuck your feet up and under you. You had started by getting up to your knees first and then bringing up one foot at a time, but you have gained more confidence over the endless minutes spent practicing the same movements over and over again.

“Look at that. You’re a natural” he finally grins, letting some warmth leak through the all too serious facade.

“Thanks to a good teacher” you smile back and he rolls his eyes, barely refraining from uttering a cocky comeback to your obvious statement. He steps closer, calloused fingers gently placed on your hips and warm breath suddenly ghosting over your cheek.

“Don’t spread your legs like that” he mumbles, his own foot gently pushing from behind your left ankle to guide your foot into a better position “this might feel comfortable but it actually makes it harder to control your movements. Balance is always side-to-side, never front to back”

You comply quietly, the sudden closeness leaving your mouth dry. What the hell? It’s not like you weren’t on top of him just a few hours prior. What on earth could be making you so nervous, like some damn bashful teenager?

“Eyes up” Eren gently grabs your chin to lift your head up “always look in the direction you are going”

His other hand is still on your hip, your skin burning so much at the contact you’re positive his fingers are going to leave a mark somehow.

As he lets you go, you’re left so cold you actually shiver.

“Okay! Let’s take it into the water” he gets down on one knee to secure the leash around your ankle, the pads of his fingers grazing your skin once again sending an electric buzz throughout your veins. What the fuck.

Perhaps he senses your weird bodily reactions because he stands up again and motions you to take your board with the impatient wave of a hand. He has his surfboard too, although after seeing what he’s actually capable of doing with it, you doubt it’s gonna be used to ride an actual wave.

“Just get comfortable first, see how it feels” when you’re both waist deep into the ocean he holds your board for you, helping you lie on it again and chuckling when you slip right off a few times.

“You shouldn’t laugh at your students” with a grimace, you try to hold on to it by curling your fingers around the edges. He untangles your grip immediately, one hand gently pressing on the small of your back to keep you balanced on the slippery surface immediately after.

“Never do that, your hand’s gonna slip off and you’re gonna slash your chin open” a subtle teasing is still laced into his tone, so you roll your eyes.

“Okay. I can do this” you mutter, as determined as ever not to fall off the stupid thing again. You haven’t even started yet.

“I know you can” he sounds so goddamn sincere it’s a pain to refrain from glancing in his direction and actually focus on what you’re supposed to do.

With a deep breath, you start paddling around and although you drink your fair share of water in the process, after a while it starts feeling more natural. Your board planes across the waves, nose slightly up, your feet rightly positioned with your toes grazing the leash string. You paddle with long, deep strokes, and Eren keeps shouting instructions and encouragement even if you stray too far from him.

Adrenaline starts circulating in your system and your confidence gets a boost the first time you manage to pop up and shakily cruise on what’s probably the smallest, insignificant wave in recorded history for three entire seconds before slipping back into the water.

But you shout your astonished cry of victory nevertheless and Eren smiles so widely, so proudly, you let excitement cloud your senses and quite literally jump into his arms. It’s not embarrassing, not even when you realize what you’re doing, because he hasn’t tensed a second and is actually hugging you back, happier than ever for the smallest of accomplishments of someone that’s not even him. Of someone he barely even knows.

“Let’s go” you mutter and actually have to take a poorly balanced step back because he’s not, by any means, the one breaking the impulsive hug “I wanna do it again”

This draws an airy laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’re already hooked, aren’t you?”

“I just can’t believe how good it feels!” you beam, absolutely euphoric “hate to admit it but maybe you had a point”

“Yeah, that happens a lot”

“People being skeptical whenever you say anything?”

Eren huffs and then inches closer to brush some wet hair away from where it’s sticking to your cheeks and forehead, his touch pleasantly cool on your heated skin.

“Me being right” he doesn’t let go of your face, seemingly conflicted about whatever is going through his mind. Oh, he looks good like this, like he belongs to the sea and the summer and whatever beautiful scenery he may be surrounded by. He just fits in. He’s like a tanned Apollo peering down at you, if his hands weren’t on you it would be alarmingly easy to think he’s just a figment of your imagination.

The adrenaline rush still hasn’t worn off, perhaps that’s why you crack a smile.

“Anything else you feeling right about?”

The self-discipline Eren has to exercise not to kiss you knocks the wind out of his lungs for a moment. Because what would become of him if he’d let himself yield to a temptation he doesn’t even completely understand yet? It’s just day two of knowing you.

Get a grip.

“I think we’d be good friends” it’s not lying, he tells himself. It’s just telling a partial truth. And he wishes so badly not to notice the disappointment that flashes in your eyes for a second, as you take a wobbly step back and force another smile on your pretty lips.

“Totally, I agree”

Eren clears his throat and runs a hand through his disheveled hair, which he hasn’t tied back like he had in the morning.

“The sun is about to set, I think you’ve trained enough for today. Let’s head back”

“Can’t we stay a little longer?” you peer up at the sky, only then noticing the soft orange hues painting it “just ten minutes. I haven’t been anywhere this quiet in a while”

“Ten minutes” he agrees and straddles his surfboard, hands pressed on the surface in front of him as he looks up as well.

You imitate his position and sit on your board as well, reveling in the gentle way the waves are lulling your body.

Eren thinks you look beautiful like this, eyes shut and facing the setting sun, features relaxed and hair wet. He can easily see himself dating you, someone who has already won his friends over and whose touch he seems unable to stop craving. But what would be the point? He’s all too familiar with what being an islander means. It’s a fluid state of being, his existence nothing more than a fleeting detail in the lives of those who come and, inevitably, go.

Insularity is painfully romanticised and although most times he gets a kick out of the benefits that come with belonging to a place so distant from the mainland, he also realizes the downsides.

You won’t be here when the days will get shorter and tourists will fly back to their dull lives. You won’t witness the way leaves turn a deep shade of crimson and fall from the trees of his beloved cedar forest, you’ll never take part in one of Connie’s notorious christmas parties nor you’ll taste the Kansai-style ozoni Sasha always brings to their new year’s dinner.

And so, Eren will just keep doing what he does best. Remaining nothing more than a fleeting detail in someone else’s summer.

“Thank you for doing this” your voice snaps him back to reality. He cocks his head, confused.

“I didn’t do anything”

You smile with a little, timid shrug.

“You were up early, training group after group and still took the time to indulge me. I can only guess how tired you are, let’s head back”

He’s not tired. He’s so not tired, he would gladly spend the rest of the evening sitting on a surfboard in the middle of the ocean just talking to you, apparently. Perhaps one of his students’ boards collided with his head?

Eren notices your subtle shivering and clicks his tongue on the way back to his car. He carries your surfboard too and secures it on his truck once again, right next to his. He then undoes the tab at the back of your neck, pulls it down and unzips it to help you out of the wetsuit, patiently waiting on the other side of the car while you get out of your wet swimsuit and slip back into the white sundress you had on earlier that day.

“All done!” you walk around the vehicle, eager to climb onto the warm passenger seat once more. But Eren sees the goosebumps blossoming on your arms and another shudder is enough to inch forward to keep the door of his car locked. You turn around to look at him, a questioning look on your face.

“Come to my place” he blurts it out before he has the chance to stop himself. Your brows knit.

“Why?”

“You’re obviously cold and my house is closer” Eren does his best to play off his tension as sense of practicality “just take a shower, warm up and then I’ll drop you off. I swear I’m not gonna try anything, it’s not—”

“Okay” you interrupt his pathetic rambling and he blinks back the surprise.

Oh.

“Okay. Good. Let’s go then” Eren clears his throat and opens the door for you.

It feels a little weird to be honest, but you’re not uncomfortable as he drives back to his place. This is probably the last time you two will hang out anyway, so what’s the harm in accepting a friendly offer, especially when you can’t seem to stop shivering?

“So… what d’you do once summer ends?” the quietness is slightly unsettling, so you take it upon yourself to make some small talk. He glances at you, no panicked reaction elicited this time as he’s driving more carefully.

“My family has been in the fishing industry for decades, I mainly help them out and try to catch whatever job I can handle from home”

“Do you ever travel? Like, to cities”

Eren huffs out a laugh.

“Yes. You think I’m some kind of savage?”

“No!” heat crawls up from your neck to your cheeks “of course not, I didn’t mean—”

“Relax, I’m kidding” he grins “my college was in Osaka. Lived there four years, got my degree, came back”

“Which degree?” still a little flushed, you avoid his amused gaze.

“Mechanical engineering”

“And you’re not offered engineering jobs?” there’s outrage laced into your tone.

Eren just shrugs.

“Yes. But they all require my presence in an office on the mainland”

You don’t say anthing, mainly because you don’t want to risk blurting out another poorly phrased sentence. It would come out all wrong, it would sound as if you’re looking down on him.

Eren senses everything that’s sitting behind your silence and he’s not bothered. His personal life is not really any of your business and although he understands you mean well, yours is an opinion he’s heard way too many times before. It’s a topic not even worth discussing, least of all with someone he’s barely just met.

When you arrive at his place, your hands and feet are ice cold, your hair painfully frizzy. He asks to give him a second and disappears into the bathroom, rattling sounds coming from behind the closed door making you smile as you hop onto the kitchen counter and take a look around. The small living room is messier than it was last night, or maybe you simply didn’t have the time to really look around on your very first entry to the house.

He comes out of the bathroom with a folded drying rack filled with clothes in his arms (I forgot I was drying laundry in there) only to disappear into his bedroom once more, the sound of closets being harshly opened and closed alongside what you can only guess are wardrobe doors slamming against the wall makes you chuckle.

“What are you doing?” amused, you have to shout the question from where you’re sitting.

He comes out of the room with arms full once more and directs you a quick smile before heading back to the bathroom.

“Fixing you towels and something to wear, that dress won’t do!” he shouts too, which makes you giggle.

“Don’t give me your clothes!”

“They’re clean!”

You laugh again, shaking your head.

Eren finally walks into the kitchen, seemingly exhausted, all the way to the counter you’re sitting on.

“Okay, the bathroom is more guest-appropriate now” a small smile tugs at his lips and you notice the wet stains on the front of his black shirt. Has he cleaned it?

“Thanks” you mutter, a sudden, small lump of uneasiness you can’t seem to swallow.

“I’m such an idiot” he snorts “you must be thirsty. Water? I also have orange juice somewhere, or maybe iced tea”

Right as he takes a step to walk past you and towards the fridge, your body moves on its own accord and your fingers instinctively grab the hem of his shirt. Eren stops, surprised gaze flickering from your hand clenched around the fabric of his clothing to your face.

“I’m sorry, Eren” your brows knit in a frustrated frown “I didn’t mean to come across as judgmental, or worse, an elitist asshole”

You exhale, unable to sustain the look in his eyes. “It’s not my place and definitely none of my business. But please know I really didn’t mean—”

“Fuck” he curses under his breath, cutting you off abruptly “you’re making it very fucking hard for me”

Disoriented, you cock your head.

“I’m making what hard?”

Eren plants his palms onto the counter, on either side of your hips, body inching forward. He’s biting the inside of his cheek, forehead dangerously close to be leaned against your own. You can’t resist the urge to gently nudge the tip of his nose with yours, an insignificant gesture that somehow has him sucking a sharp breath in. You’d love to giggle, the teasing question does kindness turn you on? dancing on the tip of your tongue but then his tongue is peeking out to wet his bottom lip a second before he leans forward and traces the soft edge of your neck with the tip of his nose. His mouth follows along somehow, not quite kissing your skin but certainly grazing it, anticipation having your breath quicken.

“You said we should be friends” you whisper, regretting it right away. Eren emits a frustrated huff, breath hot on the neck his parted lips are still gently exploring.

“I said we’d be good friends. And we can be” he places his hands on your thighs, a touch so incandescent the thin fabric of your skirt may as well not be there at all “friends who do this” and just like that he finally closes the gap between you two, capturing your lips in a burning kiss that draws a sigh of relief as you pull him closer. He tastes like the ocean, the strands you have buried your fingers into not as soft as the night before, rendered dry by the salt he still hasn’t washed out.

Eren is an eager kisser, right as his grip on your thighs tightens his tongue is languidly slipping past your parted lips with a satisfied hum vibrating in his chest. Head tilted into yours, he kisses you so hard you think your lips might bruise, he kisses you until you start getting dizzy from the lack of oxygen and he does too, although he wouldn’t mind challenging something as silly as the chance of his organs shutting down if it meant keeping his lips moving against yours and having your hands cradling his face.

You break apart first, a panting, breathless mess when you rest your forehead on the curve of his shoulder. He relaxes the grip on your legs, chest heaving with the depth of his own ragged breaths. So long for self-restraint.

“I meant it” he whispers and you find it in yourself to lift your head and meet his gaze “I didn’t invite you here to—”

“Lure me back into your bed?”

Eren senses the playfulness laced into your tone and smiles.

“Yeah”

When he attempts to take a step back, you wrap your legs around his waist to keep him in place. Except he doesn’t offer any resistance, allowing you to effortlessly pull him closer until he’s flush against the counter and the tip of his nose grazes your cheek.

“I know” you mutter, honest “and I appreciate that. But, if you’re down, I’d really like to take that shower with you”

A beat passes.

Two days of knowing you and Eren thinks you hold all the right tools to drive him absolutely insane already.

PART 2

[rosiecqtt]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Summary; Your back in the capital for the 75 annual Hunger Games waiting for the opening parade ceremony to begin when one of the victors, namely the male from four, comes over to talk to you which sparks certain emotions in Peeta.

Notes; Okay so I’m thinking of maybe perhaps writing a rewrite fic for the Hunger Games because, like a lot of others, I am once again in my Peeta Mellark phase. This is a little snippet from that said potential fic. Read it and let me know if you’d be interested in more? Let me know if you think its lacking anything or has too much, any feed back would be great. 

Word Count; 3.3k

Warnings; It is the Hunger games, so mentions of violence and death. It gets a little spicy at the very end, Kissing and hickeys mostly.

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The last several days had seemed like a blur, and now here I was. Back in the capital dressed in an elegant costume waiting to be paraded for all of Panem to see, literally. Cinna had walked me to the elevator, but he had more things to attend to before it started so he had left me to travel down alone.

The elevator all too quickly arrived at the ground floor of the Remake Center, which houses the huge gathering place for the tributes and their chariots before the opening ceremonies. I'm hoping to find Peeta or Haymitch, or both, but they haven't arrived yet. So I once again find myself alone.

Unlike last year, when all the tributes were practically glued to their chariots, the scene is very social. The victors, both this year's tributes and their mentors, are standing around in small groups, talking. 

Of course, they all know one another and I don't know anyone, and I'm not really the sort of person to go around introducing myself. Back in twelve, I was often teased in school for not being more social, but eventually, I grew to not mind so much. 

 Instead of mingling and trying to find allies, I just stroke the neck of one of my horses and try not to be noticed. 

It doesn't work.

 The crunching hits my ear before I even know he's beside me, and when I turn my head, Finnick Odair's famous sea-green eyes are only inches from mine. He pops a sugar cube in his mouth and leans against my horse.

 “Hello, Y/n,” he says, as if we've known each other for years, when in fact we've never met. 

“Hello, Finnick,” I say, just as casually, although I'm feeling uncomfortable at his closeness, especially since he's got so much bare skin exposed.

 “Want a sugar cube?” he says, offering his hand, which is piled high. 

“They're supposed to be for the horses, but who cares? They've got years to eat sugar, whereas you and I ... well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it quick.” he says with a flirty wink.

Finnick Odair is something of a living legend in Panem. He won the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games when he was only fourteen. So besides Peeta and I, he is one of the youngest victors. He was from district four and was a Career, so the odds of him winning again, were in his favor. I had to admit that he certainly was extraordinarily beautiful. He was very tall, probably six foot two. He has a very athletic build, with golden skin and bronze-colored hair, and those incredible eyes.

I find it hard to form an argument against how beautiful he is. But I can honestly say he's never been someone I would want to be with. Maybe he's too pretty, or maybe he's too easy to get, or maybe it's really that he'd just be too easy to lose.

 “No, thanks,” I finally say, refusing his offer of the sugar. 

“I'd love to borrow your outfit sometime, though,” I say attempting to tease him as my eyes scan his elaborate outfit. 

He's draped in a golden net that's strategically knotted at his groin so that he can't technically be called naked, but he's about as close as you can get. I'm sure his stylist thinks the more of Finnick the audience sees, the better. 

“And you're absolutely terrifying me in that getup. What happened to the pretty little-girl dresses?” he asks. He wets his lips just ever so slightly with his tongue. Probably this drives most people crazy, and I can’t deny that it didn’t raise a blush to my cheeks.

 “I outgrew them,” I say simply looking back at the horses. 

Finnick leans closer to me and takes the collar of my outfit and runs it between his fingers. I look up at his face my eyes watching him closely, trying to calculate his next move.

“It's too bad about this Quell thing. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted.”

 “I-I don't like jewels, and I have more money than I need.” I stutter out flustered at his close proximity.

I clear my throat and take a step back “What do you spend all yours on, anyway, Finnick?” I say. 

“Oh, I haven't dealt in anything as common as money for years,” says Finnick.

 “Then how do they pay you for the pleasure of your company?” I ask, genuine curiosity seeping into my voice. 

 “With secrets,” he says softly with a charming smirk. He tips his head in so his lips are almost in contact with mine and my face grows hot. 

“What about you, girl on fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?”.

 “No, I, uh I’m an open book,” I whisper back. “Everybody seems to know my secrets before I know them myself.” I lie hoping he will back off. He smiles. 

“Unfortunately, I think that's true.” His eyes flicker off to the side and I find myself letting out a breath.

 “Peeta is coming. Sorry, you have to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must be for you.” He tosses another sugar cube in his mouth and saunters off as anger fills my chest.

 ‘How dare he’. I think bitterly to myself. Did everyone truly think that I was simply faking my love and adoration for Peeta? Did I really come across like I was some horrible bitch using Peeta to make myself look good? A wave of sadness washed over me and I started to question if maybe everyone is right. 

 Peeta's walking up beside me snapped me out of my thoughts. He’s dressed in an outfit identical to mine and my blush returns full force as my eyes scan his body.

 “What did Finnick Odair want?” he asks, a strange tone to his voice. I turn to face him, a frown evident on my face.

 “He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets,” I say.

 Peeta laughs. “Ugh. Not really.” 

“Really,” I say with an anxious laugh.

Peeta hums in response, watching as Finnick walks up to some other victor he seemed to know. He clenched his jaw tightly and looked back over to me. I thought it was strange but chose to not comment on it as the parade music began signaling for everyone to mount their chariots. 

“Shall we?” He says turning to me and stretching out a hand to help me into the chariot. 

I smile and gratefully accept it, climbing up and pulling him up after me. “Hold still,” I say, as I reach up to straighten his crown. He smiles down at me, and I return it glad that I don’t have to be here alone.

“Have you seen your suit turned on?” I ask him as I step back to make sure the crown is perfectly straight. “We're going to be fabulous again.”, I said teasingly, mocking the strange capital accent.

 “Absolutely we are”, he said with the same one. “But Portia says we're to be very above it all. No waving or anything,” he says more seriously. I nod, Cinna having said something similar.

“Where are they, anyway?” I asked eyeing the other chariots, they had set our costumes ablaze at last year's chariot ride but they were nowhere to be found.

“Maybe we better go ahead and switch ourselves on,” Peeta suggests noticing the panic growing on my face. 

So we do, and as we begin to glow, I can see people pointing at us and chattering, and I know that like last year we are going to be the talk of the opening ceremonies.

 When we’re almost out the door I crane my head around once again looking for them, but neither Portia nor Cinna, are anywhere in sight. 

With a frown, I look up into Peeta’s blue eyes that no amount of dramatic makeup can make truly deadly, and remember how, just a year ago, I thought he was prepared to kill me. I spent most of my entire time running away from him during the game, when in the end he was pretending to hate me all along so that he could protect me, which then created our start-crossed lover's story. I smile at him warmly and grab his hand without a second thought.

 We will go into this as one this time.

The voice of the crowd rises into one universal scream as we roll into the fading evening light, but neither one of us reacts. 

I simply fix my eyes on a point far in the distance and pretend there is no audience, no hysteria. But I can't stop myself from catching glimpses of us on the huge screens along the route, and we are not just beautiful, we are dark and powerful.

 We are the star-crossed lovers from District 12, who suffered so much and enjoyed so little of the rewards of our victory. We do not seek the fans' favor, grace them with our smiles, or catch their kisses. 

We are unforgiving. And I love it. Last year I craved the attention of the audience, knowing deep down that they loved Peeta more than me. I was desperate to gain the fan's attention in order to save myself. But not this time. This time I don’t care because I know I won’t win, nor do I care if they want me to. Peeta is the one who should have more fans. This time he will be the only one going home in the end. 

As we curve around the loop I hold Peeta’s hand tighter. I try to keep my gaze forward, not wanting to meet the faces of the other tributes, but I find it hard to not glance at all the others in front of us. Thankfully the ride goes by quickly and soon I find myself back in the training center but I dare not move until the doors close behind us. It seems Peeta thought the same thing because as the doors do finally close we both let out a long breath. 

Not letting go of my hand Peeta helps me off the chariot then jumps down beside me and together we walk towards our newly appeared stylists. Cinna and Porta are waiting on the far end of the room seeming very pleased with our display during our ride.

Haymitch has made an appearance as well, only he's not standing with them, he's over with the tributes of District 11. I see him nod in our direction and then they follow him over to greet us. 

I know Chaff by sight because I've spent years watching him pass a bottle back and forth with Haymitch on television. He's dark skinned, about six feet tall, and one of his arms ends in a stump because he lost his hand in the Games he won thirty years ago. I'm sure they offered him some artificial replacement like they did Peeta when they had to amputate his lower leg, but I guess he didn't take it. 

The woman, Seeder, looks almost like she could be from the Seam, with her olive skin and straight black hair streaked with silver. Only her golden brown eyes mark her as from another district. She must be around sixty, but she still looks strong, and there's no sign she's turned to liquor or morphling or any other chemical form of escape over the years.

 Before either of us says a word, she embraces me. I know somehow it must be because of Rue and Thresh. Before I can stop myself, I whisper, “The families?” 

“They're alive,” she says back softly, understanding what I meant before letting me go with a soft smile. 

Chaff throws his good arm around me and gives me a big kiss right on the mouth. My eyes grow wide and I jerk back, startled, while he and Haymitch laugh. Peeta watched Chaff with a clenched jaw, giving him the same strange look he gave Finnik earlier. 

I open my mouth to say something about it to him but the Capitol attendants are firmly directing us toward the elevators. I get the distinct feeling they're not comfortable with the camaraderie among the victors, who couldn't seem to care less. 

As I walk toward the elevators, my hand still latched tightly with Peeta's, someone else rustles up to my side. A girl pulls off a headdress of leafy branches and tosses it behind her without bothering to look where it falls. 

Johanna Mason. From District 7 Lumber and paper, thus the tree. She won by very convincingly portraying herself as weak and helpless so that she would be ignored. Then she demonstrated a wicked ability to murder. I admired her greatly and in the games last year many people assumed that I was following in her footsteps with my meek attitude. But unlike Johanna I was not as skilled at killing, just the hiding and playing dumb bit. 

She ruffles up her spiky hair and rolls her wide-set brown eyes. “Isn't my costume awful? My stylist's the biggest idiot in the Capitol. Our tributes have been trees for forty years under her. Wish I’d gotten Cinna. You look fantastic.” She says with a wink. 

My face flushes and I feel Peeta’s grip on my hand tighten further and I find myself growing increasingly curious as to why. 

While we wait for the elevators, Johanna unzips the rest of her tree, letting it drop to the floor, and then kicks it away in disgust. Except for her forest green slippers, she doesn't have on a stitch of clothing and my face grows hot at the realization.

 “That's better,” she says plainly, very unbothered at the fact that she was naked and surrounded by people. 

We end up on the same elevator with her, and she spends the whole ride to the seventh floor chatting to Peeta about his paintings while the light of his still-glowing costume reflects off her bare breasts. When she leaves, I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding and. I watched as the doors close behind Chaff and Seeder, leaving us alone.

We both remain silent for a moment before he looks over at me with a smirk. 

“What?” I ask nervously turning to face him as we step out on our floor.

 “It's you, Y/n. Can't you see?” he says.

 “What's me?” I say confused. 

“Why they're all acting like this. Finnick with his sugar cubes and Chaff kissing you and that whole thing with Johanna stripping down.” He tries to take on a more serious tone, trying to mask the one he's had since Finnick had spoken to her, but he was unsuccessful 

“They're playing with you because you're so ... you know.” 

“No, I don't know,” I say. And I really have no idea what he's talking about.

 “It's like when you wouldn't look at me naked in the arena even though I was half dead. You're so ... pure,” he says finally. I blush, my face turning red again at the implication. “No, I am not!” I exclaim. 

“Yeah, but ... I mean, for the Capitol, you're pure,” he says, firmly. ”And honestly, it's very attractive." He said 

I paused at that, glad that he was behind me, and could not see the blush that seemed to darken my face. I felt his warm hands wrap around my waist as I tried to think of something to say to defend myself.

“I know we are engaged, but no one seems to understand that you are mine, Y/n” Peeta says softly, resting his head on my shoulder as he holds me against him. 

“They don’t respect that you are mine, and I don’t know how to show them that you are”. He said. “But I can show you,” he whispers seductively into my ear. "Yeah?" I ask softly, not trusting myself to be able to say anything else at this moment. 

“Oh yeah, will you let me do that sugar cube?” He asks gently, teasing me with that nickname. I know he was alluding to Finnicks offerings and I couldn’t help the amused smile that fell on my face. I remained still as his hands moved across my waist only to stop and rest on my hips. 

I nervously chew on my bottom lip and nod softly, growing both excited and nervous to see what he had planned. Suddenly his behavior since my encounter with Finnick all made sense. He. was. Jealous. Soft, affectionate, and kind Peeta, my Peeta, was jealous, and it was oddly very attractive. I felt a soft, wet kiss on my neck that snapped me out of my thoughts.

 “I need an answer sweetheart,” he said placing another kiss on the opposite side of my neck.  suck in a deep breath and lean further into him, “Yes”, I say breathlessly and I feel him smirk against my skin. 

 He kisses my neck once again, and I melt into his embrace. He pulls away and looks into my eyes, his pupils were dilated and his breathing was heavy.  “Hold tight then,” He says seductively before spinning me around. I gasp at his sudden movements and cling to him as he backs me up against the wall in his room and pins me to the door with his hips. I gasp and he takes that as an opportunity to kiss me deeply, letting his tongue explore my mouth. I soon find myself pressing back against him and matching his hungry kisses that seem to devour me. 

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and he holds my waist tightly, pushing himself closer to me and I can’t stop the moan that leaves my lips. “Peeta”, I say breathlessly as his mouth leaves mine and he opts to kiss my neck. 

He hums in response and moves his hand up to my neck to where the buttons of my top sit. He starts to undo them, and I let him. Once unbuttoned he pulls it down my arms and rids me of it, leaving me in just my bra and pants. He stares at me for a moment, his eyes taking me in before he moves in closer. His lips press against mine, sending a jolt of electricity through my body. I let myself get lost in the moment, in the sensations he's making me feel. I feel my body melting into him and I reach my hands up into his blonde hair, tangling my fingers in it to ground myself.

He slowly kissed down my neck, nipping and sucking as he went. Dark red and purple marks decorated my skin as he went, successfully marking me ask his. Usually, he was gentle and sweet and though this wasn’t the first time they had kissed, it certainly seemed like the most intimate and hungry. 

He spent what seemed to be hours littering my chest and neck with his marks, successfully marking me as his, and he probably would have continued if Effie, Hamitch, and the others hadn’t gotten back and called for them. 

Pouting I looked up at Peeta, my eyes glassy and my pupils just as dilated as his. He chuckled softly and gave one last kiss to my swollen lips before resting his forehead against mine. 

“Hopefully now you’ll remember and understand that you’re mine Y/n,” Peeta said.  I smiled at him my heart racing in my chest as I looked up into his blue eyes. I nodded as I whispered, "I do." He leaned in and kissed me one last time before disappearing into his bathroom to quickly change. I stood against the door for another moment trying to process what had happened. 

After several seconds I laughed to myself, “Wow”, I whispered to myself as I looked around his room for something I could change into myself so as to not seem suspicious to everyone else. “Just wow”. I whispered shaking my head. My nickname in the Capital was the Girl on Fire, but it seemed like I wasn’t the only one who burning. 

[aethersea]

so if the May 3rd entry was about entering into “the orient,” May 4th is about the ultimately doomed attempt to prize Civilized Reason over backward superstition. and it’s just such an incredibly classic horror trope, isn’t it? a carful of city slicker teenagers are driving to a cabin in the woods, and when they stop for directions the menacing old hillbilly tells them to turn back now if they value their lives. a young woman traveling alone mentions offhand that she’s staying at the old motel on the outskirts of town, and the gas station cashier grips her hand and begs her not to go. the locals Know Something, and our modern enlightened protagonists are certain it’s just unfounded superstition. 

and this is the first thrill of fear, before we get to the monsters or demons or serial killers or whatever. this is the hook that catches the audience, because it taps into an anxiety woven through the very foundations of our oh-so-modern society: what if we’re wrong? what if the things we left behind in the name of progress were actually important? what if, in making ourselves suited for this brave new world we’ve built, we’ve left ourselves vulnerable?

we are masters of the world, we tell ourselves. we’ve cracked the codes of chemistry, biology, physics – all the secrets of the universe laid bare, and we have used that knowledge to stripe the landscape with roads and railways, fill the air with radio waves, conquer the skies and the seas and all that lies between. we rule it all, and nothing can surpass us anymore.

right?

[torkhin]

…so I’ve made some connections

(spoilers for all of TMA and TMAGP (as of Episode 15))

Lady Mowbray seems to have a lot of visual similarities to depictions of Scylla from Greek mythos. A woman of violent power with hounds at her hips and a taste for human flesh. The resemblance is uncanny, even with the added flavor of her being a capital-L Lady.

It’s interesting to me to see how the “fear powers” we’ve been introduced to so far in Protocol’s universe seem to have connections with Odyssey antagonists.

- Lady Mowbray aligns with Scylla

- The Sea (the Vast/Buried amalgamation from Ep. 11) aligns with Poseidon/the ocean (or possibly the Sirens)

- Mr. Bonzo aligns with Polyphemus

- The tree from Ep. 3 and the snakes from Ep. 14 align with Circe

- Needles seems to align well with Charybdis

- The starving crowd from Ep. 8 aligns with the Lotus Eaters (or possibly the Sirens)

Heck, even the Man on the Screen from Ep. 5 could align with the Oracle and the traveling merchant (responsible for the violin in Ep. 4 and (probably) the dice in Ep. 9) could align with Hermes (though I would hesitate to call either the Oracle or Hermes antagonists). Which leaves Ink5oul, the volunteers in Ep. 7, and the gambling app from Ep. 13 without any solid equivalents.

To be fair, I think basing all of TMAGP’s antagonists on a single epic may be too small-scale and isn’t enough for a solid theory, but the connections are interesting to dissect 👀

[ameagrice]

Capsize

chapter thirty | fine line

percy jackson x fem reader

There are silver streaks shared by Annabeth and Percy, scattered through their hair.

It’s something that will connect them forever, you know for certain. It’s a symbol of a shared strength.

It’s just one more thing to make your heart melt.

Realistically, you should feel nothing but proud of them both, and in your own way, you do. But there has been too much loss to feel any sort of good from the ending, and you can’t get Zoe Nightshade’s death from your mind.

“I can see the stars, my lady,” she whispered, so gently you’d barely heard her at all. The wound on her side gaped, and bled, the golden ichor of an immortal on her way out. An inch of a smile appeared on her face, struggling, before it dropped, and the light faded from Zoe Nightshade’s eyes. A wisp of silvery light lifted from her lips, drifting up into the air, before it, too, faded.

In the sky, the stars showed an image of a girl, running across the sky. Zoe Nightshade had, finally, found her peace.

Atlas was in his rightful place. His daughter had been stolen from the world. Luke Castellan was kicked to his death by Thalia’s action.

Except, they couldn’t find a body.

Body, upon body, upon body. They just kept piling up.

Bianca; Zoe; Luke. Lost lives; people who could have had so much more than they were given.

But Gods who couldn’t care any less.

And if you had to, you’d bet they didn’t even know their names.

You could see now, just why Luke was so angry. Because you felt it too. And it was terrifying.

“You don’t believe me about Luke,” Annabeth said, sounding faded amongst your thoughts. “We’ll see him again. He’s just under Kronos’s spell.”

Thalia jolted away, somehow seemingly unbothered by the height at which you travelled in the sky, Artemis in the lead. “There it is,” she pointed, sitting up. “It’s started.”

“What’s started?” Percy leaned forward, catching your hair between his hand on the seat he held onto. You didn’t say anything.

High above the Empire State Building, Olympus was its own island of light. A mountain ablaze with torches and braziers.

“The Winter Solstice,” she breathed. “The Council of the Gods.”

In the early-morning darkness, torches and fires made the mountainside palaces glow twenty different colors, from bloodred to indigo. Apparently no one ever slept on Olympus. The twisting streets were full of demigods and nature spirits and minor godlings bustling about, riding chariots or sedan chairs carried by Cyclopes. Winter didn’t seem to exist here. The scent of the gardens in full bloom, jasmine and roses and even sweeter filled your senses. Music drifted up from many windows, the soft sounds of lyres and reed pipes.

Towering at the peak of the mountain was the greatest palace of all, the glowing white hall of the gods.

You touched ground outside towering, silver gates, just inside the courtyard. Pegasi travel was rather terrifying, and you were much more than glad to be alive and on the ground. Olympus glowed with warm, the kind that settled in your bones. The warm wind, blowing from nowhere, shifted your hair when you clambered down to the ground.

“Yeah,” Percy muttered.

“Huh?”

Percy froze. “Uh—the horse. Sorry! Pegasi.”

A laugh escaped you, startling in the night. Thalia turned, eyebrow raised. “Why are you talking to a horse? It didn’t say anything.”

“Didn’t I tell you? Haven’t I told you?” He averted his gaze.

“What,” you landed your hand on your hip, waving the other to the pegasi. “You talk to animals now, too, like Grover?”

“Just sea creatures. And horses. Pegasi, sorry!”

“Yeah, you’ll really have to explain that later,” you trailed off. “We’ve got more important matters at hand.”

The Pegasi flew off, leaving yourself, Percy, Thalia and your sister together. You liked to think, years later, laying on the glass floor of a ship, that you were all trying to gather the courage after everything to step inside the giant building, and face gods you had once only ever heard about in stories.

Side-by-side, you walked into the throne room.

Twelve enormous thrones made a U around a central hearth, just like the placement of the cabins at camp. The ceiling above glittered with constellations—even the newest one, Zoë the Huntress, making her way across the heavens with her bow drawn.

All of the seats were occupied. Each god and goddess was about fifteen feet tall. Under their judging eyes, despite your own mother being one of them, you were uncomfortable.

“Welcome, heroes,” Artemis said.

“Mooo!”

That was when you noticed Bessie and Grover, the latter standing at the side of a pool of water which Bessie swam in.

“Grover! You made it.”

He started to run towards your friends, then stopped, and looked back at Zeus, who up close, felt a lot scarier than he looked. You only realized then, that there was a major difference in terror of humans, and the intimidation of gods. You could deal with this kind.

“Go on,” Zeus nodded once. But he wasn’t looking at Grover—he was looking at Thalia.

None of the gods spoke. Grover’s hooves echoed on the marble floor, Bessie the Ophiotaurus mooing warmly at your arrival.

You took the time to observe the gods up close, because you might never get the chance to again. Artemis, looking as if she hadn’t ever even been hold hostage, watched the exchange between Percy and Grover. Percy’s father, Poseidon, dressed so casually you might have laughed in other circumstances, had this sort of barely-there smile on his face, bright eyes shining just the way Percy’s own did, too. Apollo, sunglasses covering his eyes, had his earbuds in, golden head of hair tilted back to the ceiling. And…

Ares. It was impossible to not feel him looking at you. Why the special interest, you wanted to ask. Do you see yourself in me? You wondered. Do I see myself in you?

Your eyes met his dark ones, a stark difference, between the extreme fatigue, and the colors. Your eyes burned with exhaustion and the tears you had shed since yesterday. He wore his signature black leather jacket, dark, dark hair being tousled by Aphrodite’s touch. When it was obvious her husband wasn’t looking at her, perched at his side, her love-ridden smile slowly fell away, and those sparkling eyes fell on you as well.

Or maybe it’s you, I see myself in. Too romantic. Too caught up in feelings. After all, you only had so much love to spare between friends, and the dead ones.

What do you see in me? You were desperate to ask, curiosity clawing at your chest. Why am I the way I am?

Gods sometimes took a special interest in heroes. All the tales told you so. You just had to wonder, what would come of this.

Ragged and bruised, you felt as though you were being picked apart under the watchful eyes of so many olympians.

You hadn’t realized Grover was doing the rounds until he yanked you into a hug. You found it in yourself to hug him back—at least he was still alive.

“Glad you made it,” you whispered.

“You too.” He nodded. Neither of you smelled amazing after this quest, but it went uncared for. A trouble shared is a trouble deeply understood.

“You have to convince them,” he said to the remaining four of you. “They can’t do it!”

“Do what?” You blinked.

“Heroes,” Artemis called. The goddess slid down from her throne and turned to human size, a young auburn-haired girl, perfectly at ease in the midst of the giant Olympians. She walked toward your little group, her silver robes shimmering. There was no emotion in her face. She seemed to walk in a column of moonlight.

“The Council has been informed of your deeds,” Artemis spoke loudly, addressing everyone in a steady, clear tone. “They know that Mount Othrys is rising in the West. They know of Atlas’s attempt for freedom, and the gathering armies of Kronos. We have voted to act.”

There was some mumbling and shuffling among the olympians, as if they weren’t all happy with this plan, but nobody protested.

“At my Lord Zeus’s command,” Artemis said, “my brother Apollo and I shall hunt the most powerful monsters, seeking to strike them down before they can join the Titans’ cause. Lady Athena shall personally check on the other Titans to make sure they do not escape their various prisons. Lord Poseidon has been given permission to unleash his full fury on the cruise ship Princess Andromeda and send it to the bottom of the sea. And as for you, my heroes…”

She turned to face the other immortals.

And that, was the moment you saw your mother for the first time.

Dressed in a beautiful white dress, draped over one shoulder, her eyes, as gray as your own, as gray as Annabeth’s appeared lost in thought. You took the chance to just look at the woman you never thought you would meet.

“I gotta say—” Apollo cleared his throat. “These heroes did okay.” He began to recite. “Heroes win laurels—”

“Um, yes, first class,” Hermes interrupted with a side-eye in his brother’s direction. You were unable to help the smirk. “All in favor of not disintegrating them?”

A few tentative hands went up: Aphrodite, Demeter, Apollo—waving his iPod.

“Hang on a minute,” Ares growled, sitting up on his throne. He pointed at Thalia and Percy, on the other side of Annabeth. “These two are dangerous. It’d be much safer, while we’ve got them here—”

Don’t say anything, you begged yourself. Even Annabeth elbowed you.

“Ares,” Poseidon interrupted. “They are worthy heroes. We will not blast my son to bits.”

“Nor my daughter,” grumbled Zeus. “She has done well.”

You leaned forward around your sister, who visibly shook, pale, in need of a lie down from the looks of things. Thalia blushed—you grinned wickedly. All the things you could do with this moment in the future.

Athena cleared her throat. Annabeth sighed. The goddess leaned forward. “I am proud of my daughters, as well. But I agree—there is a security issue with the other two.”

Annabeth elbowed you a little too late, this time.

“Mother!” You exclaimed.

Your heart dropped and splattered on the ground. Never had you addressed her as such. And never had she looked you in the face the way she did now.

Too late to back out, now.

“How can you just—”

Athena cut you off with a girl, but calm look. “It is unfortunate that my father, Zeus, and my uncle, Poseidon, chose to break their oath not to have more children. Only Hades kept his word, a fact that I find ironic. As we know from the Great Prophecy, children of the three elder gods…such as Thalia and Percy…are dangerous. As thickheaded as he is, Ares has a point.”

“Right!” Ares said. “Hey, wait a minute. Who you callin’—”

He started to get up, but a grape vine grew around his waist like a seat belt and pulled him back down.

“Oh, please, Ares,” Dionysus sighed. “Save the fighting for later.”

Ares cursed and ripped away the vine. “You’re one to talk, you old drunk. You seriously want to protect these brats?”

Dionysus gazed wearily. “I have no love for them. Athena, do you really think it wise to destroy them?”

“I do not pass judgement,” she said. “I only point out the risk. What we do, the Council must decide.”

“I will not have them punished,” Artemis cut in hotly. “I will have them rewarded. If we punish heroes who do us such a great favour, then we are no better than the titans, are we not? If this is Olympian justice, I will have none of it.”

“Calm down, sis,” Apollo scoffed. “Chill. Jeez, you need to lighten up.”

“Don’t call me sis! I will reward them!”

“Well, perhaps. But the monster must be destroyed. We have agreement on that?”

“Bessie?” Percy burst out. “You want to destroy Bessie?”

Your heart swelled. Gosh, he cared. It was lovely.

And then you wanted to slap yourself.

What was up with the emotions lately?

Poseidon frowned. “You have named the Ophiotaurus Bessie?”

“Dad,” Percy said. “He’s just a sea creature. A really nice sea creature. You can’t destroy him.”

Poseidon shifted uncomfortably, a trait Percy shared with him, you noted. “Percy, it’s power is considerable. If the titans were to steal it, or—”

“You can’t,” Percy insisted.

Zeus opened his mouth, looking as though he was getting antsier by the second. But you had experience with this sort of thing that needed a good negotiation, so you cut in.

“Controlling the prophecies never works. Isn’t that true?” You tried, stepping forward. All eyes landed on you, and you swallowed. “Have we not just experienced it? Are we not experiencing it now? The Ophiotaurus is innocent. Killing something like that is wrong. It’s as wrong as Kronos eating his children just because of something they might do.”

Zeus looked to be considering it. You breathed heavily, in a mild panic after consulting the king of the gods head on. If he wanted to, you could be zapped out of existence in less than a second.

“And what of the risk? Kronos knows full well, if one of you were to sacrifice the beast’s entrails you would have the power to destroy all of us. Do you think we can let this possibility remain? You, my daughter, will turn sixteen on the morrow, just as the prophecy says.”

“You have to trust them,” you tried, pleading with your eyes. “Please, you have to trust them.”

Zeus scowled. “Trust a hero?”

“She is right,” Artemis nodded slowly. “Which is why I must first make a reward. My faithful companion, Zoe Nightshade, has passed into the stars. I must have a new lieutenant. And I intend to choose one, but first, father Zeus, I must speak with you privately.”

Zeus beckoned Artemis forward, leaning to listen as she whispered to him.

“Annabeth,” Percy whispered from behind you. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Look, I need to tell you something. I couldn’t stand it if—I don’t want you to—”

Artemis turned. “I will have a new lieutenant, if she will accept it. Thalia, daughter of Zeus, will you join the Hunt?”

Your jaw almost dropped. Stunned silence filled the room.

“I will,” Thalia said firmly. She moved to your side, and then a little bit further ahead. Confident.

Zeus rose, his eyes full of concern. “My daughter, consider well—”

Don’t let him change your mind, you prayed. Hold your ground.

“Father, I will not turn sixteen tomorrow,” she shook her head. “I will never turn sixteen. I won’t let this prophecy be mine. I stand with my sister Artemis. Kronos will not tempt me again.”

She knelt down before Artemis, and repeated the same words Bianca had uttered what felt like years ago at the cliff side in the snow and weary sunlight.

When she had finished, she hugged each of you and said a few words. You felt awkward, putting your hands into your coat pockets, when Thalia stood in front of you. For once, there was no spiteful comments from either one of you. She smiled small, looking rejuvenated the same way Bianca had, as if the quest had never happened.

“You’re a good friend,” she nodded. “You’re brave. You’ve got what it takes to help them with this prophecy.” And then she leaned in, and hugged you just as she had with Annabeth and Grover and Percy. “Trust yourself.”

Thalia went and stood with Artemis, and the atmosphere changed instantly.

“Now, for the Ophiotaurus.”

“The boy is still dangerous,” Mr. D. opposed. The beast is a temptation to great power. Even if we spare the boy—”

“No.” Percy said firmly. “Please. Keep the Ophiotaurus safe. My dad can hide him under the sea somewhere, or keep him in an aquarium here. But you have to protect him.”

“And why should we trust you?”

“I’m only fourteen. If this prophecy is about me, that’s only two more years.”

“Two years for Kronos to deceive you,” Athena uttered. “Much can change in two years, young hero. It is only the truth. It is bad strategy to keep the boy alive. And the animal.”

Poseidon stood. “I will not have the creature destroyed if I can help it. And I can, help it.”

He held out his hand, and a spear shimmering with blue light appeared. “I will vouch for the boy and the safety of the Ophiotaurus.”

“You won’t take it under the sea!” Zeus stood suddenly. “I won’t have that kind of bargaining chip in your possession.”

“Brother, please,” Poseidon sighed.

Zeus’s lightening bolt appeared in his hand, and the whole room filled with the smell of ozone.

“Fine,” Poseidon nodded. “I will build an aquarium for the sea creature here, with the help of Hephaestus. The creature will be safe. The boy will not betray us. I vouch for this on my honor.”

Zeus thought about it. “All in favor?”

A dozen hands went up, besides Mr. D, your mother’s, and Ares just sat looking bored.

“We have a majority. And so, since we are not destroying these heroes, I imagine we should reward them.”

—

There are parties, and then there are Olympian parties. And Olympian parties are filled with gold and beautiful colours, exotic flowers and the Muses music, braziers of fire, and delicious food and drinks. It became busy very quickly, and before you knew it, you found yourself stumbling into a corner to get yourself together. All you wished to do was go to your cabin and cry. To let it all out.

“This doesn’t look like you’re partying.”

“What the hell are you? A spy? Just leave me alone.” You shoved yourself further into the corner just away from all the partying, a quiet corridor devoid of anything but cold marble and tall, golden ceilings.

Ares hummed lowly. You didn’t have to see him, shoved into the corner like a child, but you knew he was just on the other side of it.

“I’ll let you off just this once, demigod.”

You rolled your eyes. The marble edges dug into your back uncomfortably from how hard you were trying to disappear for a few minutes. “What do you want? Spit it out.”

“If you weren’t her’s, I would say you’re one of mine. You’ve got the fire, I’ll give you that. And my wife has taken a special interest in you and that boy. Her business is my business, you’ll understand. Since you’re her business, now, you’re my business, too.”

You wanted to scream at him to leave, to go away so you could breathe for five minutes. But…you really wanted to know what he had to say. Curiosity always got the better of you.

“I don’t want to be anybody’s business,” you settled on, weakly. “I’m my own person.”

“Whatever, kid. I’m just here to pass along a message.”

“Which is?”

“She says, you’re doing exactly what you should be doing.”

“Oh, really?”

You shoved away from the corner, and paused.

He’d already gone.

—

Making your way back into the crowd was the last thing you wanted to do, but it would be best to show your face for a little while. Eventually you made your way back to Percy. He smiled as you popped up next to him, and then slowly frowned. His green eyes glistened under all the lights.

“You’ve been crying,” he reached up, and then lowered his hand, unsure of what to do.

You laughed pitifully. “Yeah.”

Because, really, what more could you say? It was rather obvious. And you sounded as if you’d just developed the world’s worst cold and stuffy nose.

Percy still stared at you, concerned. It was touching, really.

“I’m just tired.” You nodded. “I promise. When we get back to camp you might not see me for a couple weeks. I’m about to fall off the face of the earth in sleep mode.”

He smiled, tight-lipped, those eyes dancing across your face. For the first time ever under Percy’s eyes, you felt self-conscious.

“I’ll clean up later. My dad always says I look like I’ve just done thirty rounds of coke after crying. It’s funny because it’s true,” you tried lightly.

Percy’s dark curls shook. “No,” he denied. “I think you look…I think you look pretty—uh—I mean—”

Your heart jumped into your throat, and suddenly it was difficult to breathe. Because AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

“Uhm—” you frantically tried for something to do; hair behind your ears, leaning back and forth on your heels. “Thank you. Thanks.” Heat flooded your cheeks. Percy was already scarlet in the face, nodding frantically, avoiding your eyes.

When you looked up, Athena watched from a distance, and then looked away, as if she hadn’t been interested at all. But you weren’t about to let her ruin what just happened—Percy called you pretty.

“I was thinking,” he shoved out. You turned your head, blinking expectantly. “I owe you a dance, don’t I? We got interrupted at Westover Hall, right?”

This time, you allowed yourself to smile, your heart and lungs expanding.

“Right.” You took his hand, shaking.

The music played on, a gentle tune of the future, the past, and the present.

—

Chiron greeted you all at the Big House with hot chocolate and toasted cheese sandwiches. Grover went off to his satyr friends, telling them all about his brief experience with Pan.

Annabeth, Percy and yourself sat with Chiron by the fire. A couple of others joined you, too—Clarisse, back from a quest of her own it seemed. Her hair was cut short, like somebody had hacked it with scissors without a care, and there was a jagged scar on her chin. For once, she kept quiet.

“I got news,” she said glumly. “Bad news.”

“I’ll fill you in later,” Chiron said with forced cheerfulness. “The important thing is you’ve prevailed. And you’ve saved Annabeth!”

The Stoll brothers were there, too. You hadn’t even looked Travis in the eye. The high of the short dance with Percy had worn off, that tiny spark of normality had gone, and left you with the sadness you’d been feeling before it. You struggled with getting Bianca and Zoe’s deaths from the front of your mind, and Thalia’s moving on. Everybody was leaving, it felt like. And everybody was too happy for what had happened along the way.

Percy, sitting next to you in front of the fire, felt the same. You could tell by the sheer look of something bordering on a deep sadness he had.

You didn’t speak.

Annabeth talked about Atlas, and where she had been kept. She yawned the whole way through, still shaking with weakness even after some ambrosia.

Chiron’s positivity spread a little bit to you tired campers, but in the end, the unwavering need to go somewhere and cry won. You set down your mug of hot chocolate, and walked away. Another chair scratched the floor behind you, as you walked away toward the fields.

“Let her be,” you heard Chiron utter. “She needs time.”

You heard happy babbling just as you wandered away, boyish, childish talking. You looked to the left, and there was Nico di Angelo, two figurines in hands, talking to himself the way children tend to do. Every organ in your body twisted painfully, and you got away before he could see you. You couldn’t be the one to tell him Bianca was long gone. You still didn’t want to believe it yourself.

The air was bitter cold, your fingertips numb already. Snow fell lightly as you wandered into where you probably shouldn’t have been. You didn’t get far until his voice caught you up.

“Scout?”

You stopped, the snow crunching quietly. Behind you, Travis grew closer until he was right in front of you. You hadn’t even realized how tall he’d gotten until you saw him again, like seeing him in a different light.

Bundled in a red sweater and jeans, a coat and scarf atop of that, he still shivered.

“I just need to go for a walk. I’ll be alright later.” You shrugged.

Silence captured the air. Until he said, “Chiron…mentioned what happened to Nico’s sister. And the Hunter girl. Zoe. I’m—I’m so sorry.”

The first tear fell without any effort. And then you grew too cold too quickly. And crumbled.

He enveloped you instantly, as if without thought—like the action would be unknown, to hesitate in your arms. Against his warm, soft chest, Travis’s heart beat gently against your ear, his hands coming up carefully to your back, to your shoulder.

Safety.

And at the end of it—Travis.

You allowed yourself the tears. Your hands scrunched at his shirt. He smelled of the outside weather, of wind

of life.

—

PAIN. So, we’ve reached the end of Titans Curse! How are we feeling so far about relationships and eve thing? Feedback is always appreciated!

taglist: @bl6o6dy @embersparklz @lilyevanswhore @rottenstyx @rory-cakes @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @marshmallow12435 @lantsovheiress @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @twsssmlmaa @gayandfairycore @padsfirewhisky @emu281 @charlesswife @jessiegerl @crackerphobic20 @mata0-0mata @jccc1000 @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @nothankyou138 @i-love-books-and-the-bible @obxstiles

if they’re not highlighted, it wouldn’t let me tag you!

this chapter’s quite short. I didn’t want to drag it out too much.

aaaaand I’ve added a few more songs to the playlist (on my profile if you don’t have it saved!) if you want to give them a listen. thanks for reading!

[ashensgrotto]

Never Had a Friend (like Me) - Part 1

Original art piece by pfbatakopd on twitter (Used only for Header. Do NOT REPOST ORIGINAL ART)

Part 1 (You Are Here) Part 2 Part 3

YandereSoulmate! AU:

Part 1 (Am I Feeling Love?)

Part 2 (Protective)

Part 3A & Part 3B (Poor Unfortunate Souls)

Characters: Azul Ashengrotto X F!Reader

Word Count: 9,105

Synopsis: A chance for redemption comes in the form of a wish…

Author’s Notes: Ok, here we go. I received an anonymous message in my inbox for the next part of the Yandere!Soulmate series and I was actually going to work on it - but with the arrival of GloMas, working on the next part of ‘Raison D’être,’ wanting to finish “Weren’t You Aware, Angelfish?”, AND the holidays, time got away from me and I forgot about Scarabia’s segment for a short while. 

However, because you all seem to enjoy this and want to know if the tako has redeemed himself - I figured I would work to get this part done. Now, warning - Pompefiore’s part is going to take a bit of time to complete because I will have to wiggle my way through my memory bank and replay a few parts of it (which is approx 76 chapters in length for those players who haven’t made it that far into the game yet) since I’m working so deep into Ignihyde’s chapter right now (which is a doozy - I’m still in chapter 67-tower 1, oof help).

This one is also going to be split into three parts - I promise it will not be a long wait for the second & third parts as this is my Christmas gift to all of my readers <3

Thank you all for your continued support!

Warnings are as follows: yandere behaviors, manipulation, imprisonment, & hypnosis

***

I’m in the mood, to help you dude

You ain’t never had a friend like me.

***

It had been weeks since the last overblot incident… and just as long since Azul last saw you.

He sat in his office, looking over paperwork for the last quarter and rubbing his brow with worry.

The profits had started to steadily decrease following his overblot, causing the Monstro Lounge to slowly suffer the loss, like an infection slowly eating away a mer’s life. He had no one really to blame but himself for that… Azul had lost control, let his obsession get out of hand and had hurt the people closest to him.

Jade… Floyd… you.

Azul let out another large sigh and set the report down, taking his glasses off and rubbing his face. He had considered going back to the Coral Sea for holiday, but was unable to due to two reasons; one, the ice floes would’ve made the journey too dangerous to travel alone - especially since Jade and Floyd had already prepared to stay at NRC for the holidays, and two… you were still here.

Not in Octavinelle where Azul had wanted you to be, but in a rundown shack on the school property.

The building had been a dorm, once upon a time, but ghosts had moved in and scared the students to the point that the building was deemed ‘unsafe.’ However, with your charms and personality, the ghosts were easily persuaded and welcomed you in with open arms - though Azul had a sneaky suspicion that both the headwardens of Savanaclaw and Heartslabyul had likely persuaded the otherworldly spirits in exchange for access to both of their dorms. Regardless, with you no longer in Octavinelle and now at the mercy of the headmage’s “generous” nature, Azul could only watch from the shadows as you now tended to the school property in a janitorial role.

Azul leaned back in his chair, his thoughts plagued by you before an obnoxious ringing noise filled the office.

He grumbled, picking the phone up, “Monstor Lounge, this is Azul speaking.”

“Hello baby, how are you?” the familiar voice of his mother on the other end made Azul jump in surprise.

“Mother,” Azul coughed, “Hello - I apologize I hadn’t had a chance to call you. We’ve been busy lately.”

“Oh, I know, sweetheart,” his mother answered, “It’s been busy here too… but everything’s been calming down since the ice floes came - though I was surprised to see your letter that you were considering coming home for the holidays.”

‘Shit…’ Azul had completely forgotten about that - when (Y/N) had lived in the Octavinelle at the beginning of the year, Azul had entertained the idea of potentially inviting her to his home for the holiday, slowly and suringly getting her accustomed to the idea of staying with him - although it would prove to be a difficult task, especially now.

“However, I’m assuming that you changed plans at the last minute,” his mother continued.

“Y-yes, I was indeed planning on coming… however, Jade and Floyd both decided to stay behind so I chose to stay as well,” Azul answered, the lie slipping easily off his silver tongue, “Someone has to keep those two in line, after all.”

His mother snickered, “Don’t be saying that in front of their father though. Sevens knows what the moray will do if you say anything like that.”

Azul nodded, clearing his throat, “Um, well… What's going on with you, then? The restaurant still alright? How’s Finn?”

“Finn’s well - busy as always,” his mother answered, “Business has been getting better - hired several new staff members as well… a few sweet mers around your age, Zully.”

Azul rolled his eyes, “Mother… we’ve had this talk. I’m… not interested.”

“You might not be, but it will happen one day,” his mother’s voice was calm and soothing before she sighed on the end of the phone, “However… I have a sneaky feeling that you’re still upset about what I told you all those years ago.”

Azul bit his lip, answering, “Of course not… Soulmates? That’s ridiculous.”

“Azul…” his mother’s voice turned into a scolding tone, “There are plenty of fish out there - I know you’re still pretty young to be thinking about it, considering a mer’s life is longer than most, but shorter than a fae’s… but I only want you to be happy.”

“I am, mother,” Azul tried to smile, “I’m content where I am - I’ve gotten stronger, my business is growing, and… I’ve learned so much.”

“Perhaps, but allow me to give you a little insight - it’s something I learned long ago,” his mother prompted, “Happiness, though may be defined as ‘the state of joy or contentment,’ is typically filled by three main parts of life; success, dedication, and personal. Dedication and success go hand in hand with each other - if you work hard and are dedicated, you achieve success - even if the tasks prove to be difficult to the point that you might fail over and over again. Personal can mean time for yourself - spending time with your hobbies or doing what you love… spending time with those you care about even.”

Azul listened to his mother’s words, thinking.

“I know that you are successful and you’re dedicated,” his mother continued, “But you won’t achieve happiness if you just focus on those two things - take time for yourself now and again, look for stronger connections within your friendships… and look for someone that will want to support you and you support them.”

“I… I think I understand…” Azul answered, “I’ll… take your words into consideration.”

“I hope so - your grandmother taught me that when I was still a little octo fry many years ago,” his mother answered, a teasing tone caught in her voice.

Azul couldn’t help but smile, “Yes… Nanna always did know what was best.”

“Yes, she did, still does even… Well, I should probably let you go, then - you have a lot of stuff going on there,” his mother let out a sigh, “Just remember… I love you, baby. Merry Christmas.”

“I love you too… momma. Merry Christmas and I’ll see you at the end of the year.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Zully. Stay safe.”

Azul smiled and hung the phone up, sitting back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling. 

“Finding that so-called ‘other half’ is like - well - like the story of the mermaid princess and her longing to be with a human. It’s a rare occurrence that only happens once in a millennium if not longer. Anyone can be happy with or without their soulmate, Azul. There’s no reason you should go to such lengths to be with someone who may not even exist…”

Azul shook his head at the memory of that day years ago - he wanted to forget… but sevens knows he couldn’t forget you.

A sudden loud crash had Azul bolting upright, his features twisting in annoyance. As far as he knew, the only ones in the lounge were Jade and Floyd… which could only mean one thing. 

Trouble.

“Those two morons…” Azul gritted his teeth, standing from his chair, “If I catch the lounge in a disarray again…”

He grabbed his jacket, tossing it over his shoulders, before placing his hat upon his head, the magestone pen morphing into the headwarden’s silver octopus topped cane. He hurried from his office and headed into the lounge.

Entering the lounge, Azul’s eyes widened at the sight.

The lounge was damaged - several tables and chairs were overturned, marred by huge cracks and scratches while lamps lay in pieces on the floor, the glass orbs scattered into a thousand fragments on the carpeted flooring and the magestones cracked and shattered as well. Azul’s eyes narrowed on Jade and Floyd’s figures, but realized they weren’t alone after all. Several students from the Scarabia dorm were there as well, their wands out and at the ready - pointing them at Jade and Floyd, who seemed to be guarding something on the floor.

Azul’s eyes widened in surprise at seeing Kalim’s magic carpet as well as Grim hiding behind the remaining two members of Octavinelle - and they weren’t alone.

You were there as well, cowering behind Jade and Floyd’s intimidating heights as the Scarabia students glared daggers at you.

“There’s no escape for you now, thieves!” 

“Surrender quietly!”

“Mrow?!” Grim held his paws up, “You chased us all the way here?! You guys are seriously stubborn, you know that?”

Azul remained quiet for a moment, his eyes shifting to look you over - noticing how you had one arm close to your body. Were you hurt?

Azul’s eyes narrowed as he approached, his shoes echoing in the lounge as his stern voice addressed the situation, “What is all the commotion at this late hour?”

The students turned to look at Azul, one of them speaking quietly, “Y-you’re… Azul Ashengrotto, the housewarden of Octavinelle!”

“Would you care to explain what is going on?” Azul asked calmly, moving to stand in front of you with Jade and Floyd behind him.

“It’s none of Octavinelle’s business,” another student tsked, “Just hand over the two of them quietly.”

Azul crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head as he eyed you and Grim out of the corner of his eye, “Now that I’m looking closer at it - it appears to be (Y/N) and Grim sprawled out on our floor, quivering and covered in dust. Heh - I almost thought they were a pair of dust cloths.”

“Azul, please,” Azul met your gaze, “save us with your spirit of benevolence.”

“Hmm…” Azul turned back to the group of Scarabia before him.

“If you refuse to hand them over, you’ll be blamed for their wrongdoings as well,” the student warned.

“Hey - are ya yankin’ my tail here?!” Floyd’s eyes widened dangerously, his teeth peering out from behind his lips, “Who do ya think yer talkin’ to?!”

“No fighting of any kind is permitted in the Monstro Lounge,” Azul kept his arms crossed over his chest, his focus reshifting to address the situation at hand, “This is a place for gentlemen.”

“What was that? Are you interfering?” one of the students asked, “Fine, we’ll just do this the hard way.”

“Hmph, I think it’s time we asked these ill-mannered patrons to leave,” Azul growled, clicking his tongue in annoyance, “Jade. Floyd. Show them the door.”

The eel twins grinned as they moved quickly, going after the Scarabia students like the set of predators that they were. Azul was quick to move and cover (Y/N), his overcoat covering your form to protect you from the fighting, “Don’t look, my dear, I do not wish for you to see such behavior.”

“Azul - I’ve seen worse,” your voice rattled him to the core as he huffed.

“I... don’t need the reminder.”

It didn’t take long for the Scarabia students to fall back, Jade and Floyd repocketing their pens.

“Go on an’ scatter, ya bunch of minnows!” Floyd laughed eagerly.

“We’ll be eagerly awaiting your next visit to our lounge,” Jade smiled.

As the last of the students disappeared, Grim jumped for joy, “Mya-haha! We did it! You see that?! That’s what you get, you bunch of jerks!”

“We, Grim? I think you mean they - Floyd and Jade - did it,” you ask before shaking your head and turning toward the trio, “Thank you, all three of you - I don’t want to think what they would’ve done if you hadn’t stepped in.”

“Thanks are unneeded, my dear,” Azul answered, standing and offering his hand, “However, I’m afraid we’ll have to bill you for repair fees for the tables and chairs - not to mention the lamps and assorted dishwear that was damaged in that fight. Not to mention our own labor rates, since we were dragged into this affair.”

“WHAT?! You’re charging us for that?!” Grim asked, throwing his paws up in the air.

“Surely it’s a small price to pay for us rescuing the both of you from the inky depths of peril? After all, (Y/N) did ask for my spirit of benevolence.”

“Azul, please,” you asked quietly, “There’s a reason that the Scarabia students were after us.”

“I’m assuming it has something to do with Kalim’s magic carpet.”

“... Not really,” you answer, “We were being held hostage.”

Azul frowned, not liking the word one bit, “Explain, (Y/N).”

***

Azul muddled over what you had just told him, Grim piping up every so often to include details about the Scarabia situation to add more information as the cunning octopus thought deeply. As Azul thought, his eyes kept shifting to you, his thoughts going deeper into self-loathing; if you had remained in Octavinelle, none of this would have happened - you would’ve been safe, not having to walk to an oasis down and back again every morning before even eating, or sleeping in a closet under lock and key, or even doing battles with other students of magic when you couldn’t even cast a spell yourself.

His poor little angelfish…

Azul’s eyes widened, an idea appearing in his mind… a chance of a lifetime had just been given to him and he would be damned to let it go to waste.

A knowning smile spread across his features, “...It sounds like we should go to their aid.”

“Myra?! Did you hit your head or something when I wasn’t looking?!” Grim asked.

“Of course not!” Azul feigned harm, lifting his gloved hand to his chest, “I’ll have you know, my dear Grimmy, that the last incident forced me to reflect on my greed. I came out a changed man!”

“Oh, really?” You asked, folding your arms across your chest, “Care to explain?”

“I decided to contribute to the school as a whole, in honor of the Sea Witch’s spirit of benevolence,” Azul explained, his features turning coy, “It’s common knowledge that the housewardens are typically the ones their students go to in times of need or struggle - even the vice wardens are responsible for that as well. However, the power has to be shared equally between both the house and vice wardens - and Scarabia’s all over the place. It’s faced with a crisis now and my own classmate is in need of help - I can hardly ignore them in their time of need.”

You watched Jade and Floyd give each other knowing smiles before the twins looked at Azul, Jade asking, “What is the plan?”

“Here’s my idea,” Azul proposed, “The five of us head to Scarabia tomorrow - we’ll go under the guise that we are returning Kalim’s carpet as well as offering assistance with the dorm’s studies, this will ensure our stay especially since Octavinelle did overwhelmingly well on their finals before break…”

“No thanks to your study guides,” Grim huffed.

“Grim,” You warned.

Azul coughed and continued, “Once we’ve secured our spot within Scarabia, we’ll be able to do a bit of sneaking around to figure out what’s really going on.”

“And I’m assuming you have an idea on how to do so?” Jade asked.

“Let’s get to that point before we make any rash decisions,” Azul answered.

“I think that is a wonderful idea,” you agreed.

“(Y/N)?! Are you crazy?!” Grim asked, “We can’t go back there!”

“Grim, we really have no other options,” you turned to the feline demon, “We’ve tried contacting the Headmage, the other students can’t get into the school because the dark mirror is closed off, we have no way of contacting Riddle or Leona either… Azul’s plan is the best we have right now. Personally, I’d rather not go back, but with the way things are looking for Kalim…”

“You’re afraid there’s going to be another overblot, aren’t you, pearl?” Jade asked.

Azul blinked, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Yes, Kalim’s behavior was erratic, but it couldn’t be enough for the headwarden to go into an overblot… would it?

“I’m afraid so,” you admit, looking over at Azul, “I noticed that… when things got a little out of control, someone overblotted. I can’t bare to see another student go through that, much less a housewarden again. I’d like to try and prevent it from happening again, if possible.”

Azul nodded, “No worries, angelfish - I’ll make sure mine was the last one you saw.”

You give the housewarden a small smile of relief - thankful that he seemed to understand.

Azul remembered during his blot how the memories of his childhood came forward; the root cause of his pain and suffering that eventually became his thirst for power that festered and grew until it snapped - and you had seen it all. Whatever this strange magical gift was and how you received it, Azul was certain that it was your own form of unique magic - one that was so powerful that it may even make Malleus Draconia afraid if he knew about it; the power to look into one’s past and see everything that shaped them into who they eventually became was strong powerful magic indeed - but, of course, Azul didn’t want anyone else to know about it, considering he was victim number three to the overblot crisis that appeared to be happening this year.

Azul reaches out, offering his hand to you, “(Y/N), as headwarden of Octavinelle - allow myself and Jade and Floyd to help you and Grim solve the mystery of Kalim’s strange behavior. I’m certain the five of us plus Jamil will be able to ease Kalim’s troubles and bring back the peace Scarabia so desperately needs. Do we have a deal?”

You look at his hand, the memory of the first day you met him and the day you lost your legs both playing in your mind - but what choice did you have? You look at him and take his hand, squeezing it.

“Promise - this will make us even?”

“Indeed. I promise.”

[ichangedmycornyahhname]

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤

𝔹𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕪!𝔸𝕠𝕟𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕩 ℕ𝕒’𝕧𝕚!𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

Warnings: A little angst | Aonung being a bitch | Not quite smut but spicy (might be smut if I make a part two) | Dry humping | Humiliation kink | Choking | Degradation etc.. | Slightly proof read | if I’m not lazy I’ll make a part 2

Summary: After hearing about an incident with the Sullys, Y/N travels to the metkayina clan with Norm to help out. While she would’ve loved to enjoy the trip, it would seem a certain someone was there to make her life absolutely miserable. (Part two here)

The chopper buzzed in her ears as the cool breeze cut against her skin. Her hands fiddled with the small keychain she’d taken from Norm, her adoptive father of sorts. After the fall of the great tree and the loss of her parents, Norm took her in along with several others. She’d always had a strong connection with him, viewing him as her father figure. With her parents passing when she was only a baby, she didn’t have any real memories of them. Only stories that others told, praising them of their great feats and contagious personalities. Y/N always enjoyed hearing about those stories, to hear about how her parents impacted other peoples lives. All except for hers.

An exasperated sigh left her lips as she allowed her head to rest against the back of her seat. Across from her sat Norm, a small smile on the face of his avatar form. “Hey, what’s up?” He leaned forward, placing a hand lightly onto her knee. She could only smile in response, shaking her head at his question. “It is nothing. Just thinking.” She chimed as she slipped the red keychain into the pocket of her jean shorts. Y/N knew it was odd for her to wear manmade clothing rather than the traditional omaticayan attire. It was just what she felt comfortable in, and what she saw around her as a child. Her eyes flickered over to Norm’s once more, her smile fading away just as quickly as it had appeared.

“Kiri, do you think she’s okay? Jake sounded worried when he called for us.”

Norm gave her knee a squeeze before his hand retreated back to his lap. “I’m not sure what to think, but I’m hoping everything will be okay.” He replied, his gaze softening at her concern. “Hey-“ Norm leaned to the side, peeking his head outside of the chopper. “We’re here. Cmon grab your things kid, we need to be quick.” He said as the chopper began to descend. As it did she peeked over the edge just as Norm had done. She was in absolute awe. Y/N had never truly visited the sea. In fact, she’d never left the forest. The only reason she even tagged along was because she had missed the Sullys, but now that she took in the beauty of the metkayina clan, she was awestruck. The pale sands, the crystal like waters, and the beautiful metkayina people entranced her. She hurriedly went to grab her supplies as norm had asked. Tossing her bag over her shoulder she awaited the ships landing. As soon as the chopper met the ground, she hopped out, her feet meeting the warm sand. The minuscule grains crunched beneath her feet and sunk between her toes, managing to draw an airy chuckle from her. “Cool.” She murmured to herself before Max shouted her name, urging her over. “I need you to wait for us here okay. We’ve got this, so just chill for me.” Y/Ns expression contorted into one of disbelief, her jaw slack as a brow quirked. “What? That’s so unfair Max. I came all this way to help and now I have to sit like a kid and wait? Ugh.” She rolled her eyes, her tongue clicking as she stared down at him.

“Y/N I’m being serious, just wait here and watch the ship. Now I’ve got to go help. Stay, here.” He gave her a stern look as if he was warning her not to disobey. “Yeah yeah..” She sighed, her arms folding over her chest as she leaned against the air ship. She could feel the eyes of the metkayina people on her, watching her and the ship closely. To say that it was awkward would be an understatement. The longer she stood there, the more she desired to escape their judging stares. That, and she wanted to explore the beautiful island. Y/N thought about it for a moment, going over different scenarios of how Max would lecture her if she left the ship. He’d probably say what he usually did. “You can’t just do that Y/N— No Y/N go to your room— blah blah blah.” She almost laughed at the thought. Except she remembered his words. He said that she had to watch the ship, and she could easily watch the ship from another part of the island couldn’t she? She pushed herself off of the ships side, the warm metal no longer against her back.

“Alright Max, I’ll watch the ship.” She chuckled to herself before departing from the coastal side. As she wandered deeper into the island, she observed even more. The exotic flora, the beautiful fauna, and the metkayina people. To her, they were just as mesmerizing as the rest of their home, yet their stares of distaste and confusion began to make her think. Y/N knew she was different from others, she was used to the stares of her own people. Even they believed what she wore and how she acted was odd. Yet the metkayina people looked completely different around her. Their skin was lighter, allowing them to blend in with the crystalline waters. Their ears were smaller, and they also wore traditional clothing. Y/N was the odd one out, again. Her confidence fell, along with her gaze. The sand suddenly seemed much more interesting than the harsh stares from the people around her.

Y/N wasn’t paying any mind to her surroundings, that much was apparent. Her gaze was locked on the sand padding beneath her steps, and less on the approaching group. Thud, she stumbled back, a gasp leaving her as she steadied herself. “Sorry..” She muttered as she peeked up through her lashes, her gaze falling on the man in front of her. His eyes narrowed, watching her intently as he laughed maliciously. Y/N noticed the other laughs surrounding her, the sight of three other boys around her age pointing and gawking at her. “What’s wrong with the way she talks? Sounds so weird. And look at her tail, it’s so skinny.” One of the boys chimed in as they attempted to grab at her tail, before she swatted him away with her hand. “Stop it..” Her voice was quiet, unsure.

“Stop it.” Another boy mocked before laughing once again. “Are you another one of those forest freaks? I mean, I can tell. What are you wearing freak? You’re dressed like one of those demons.” The one she’d bumped into spoke, his eyes trailing along her body as he circled around her. His eyes wandered her unusual figure, her annoyingly dark blue skin, her big amber eyes. Just the mere sight of them boiled his blood, irked his entire being. Yet, she drew him in like a moth to a flame. Which is why Aonung found himself circling around her, a smirk slithering onto his face as he took in all of her features. Her thin striped tail and the way it whipped around as he teased at her. Her odd clothing and the way it hugged her body just right. What a freak. “Hey, you think she’s even a real forest freak? I mean look at her.” He pushed at her back as he walked behind her, though didn’t use much force. This irritated Y/N, causing her to hiss and slap his hand away. “Why are you being such a jerk? I don’t even know you and you’re trying to bother me.” Aonung didn’t bother responding. Instead he grabbed her wrist, pulling it up to show it off. “Ha look at her thin little forest arms. Probably can’t even swim can you freak.” His grip tightened as she attempted to pull away, yet he didn’t want to let go. No, he loved the pretty look on her face. The way her lashes fluttered as she attempted to blink the tears out of her eyes. The way her brows furrowed as his pestering got to her. The way her chest heaved as though she were about to try and throw a punch, or break down into tears. He would’ve been fine with both, really. All he truly wanted to see was that precious look of frustration on her face.

“Y/N?” A voice of concern chimed from behind them. Everyone turned, observing the way the approaching man flared his nostrils angrily. Neteyam, the (was) soon to be olo’eyktan. Y/N felt a sudden wave of relief wash over her, a sort of confidence returning to her as she yanked her wrist out of Aonungs grasp. Neteyam strides forward, standing between her and the group. His hand rested on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze of reassurance. “Are you alright?” He questioned as he studied her face, the gloss of her eyes, the twitch of her ears. A sigh aired from her nose as he turned to face Aonung. “Quit messing with my friend.” With each word his finger poked into the chest of Aonung, forcing him back a step or two each time. Y/N was used to Neteyams overprotectiveness. They grew up together, hunted fish together, took care of his siblings. He was like an older brother she could always call for help. With a delicate smile she placed her hand over his, assuring him that she was fine.

“Neteyam let’s go. I have to return to the airship before Max jerks a knot in my tail.” She joked as she tugged him along by his hand, inching him away from the group. All the whilst her eyes stole glances of her new acquaintance— or bully. Y/N wasn’t sure what to make of Aonung. He was a jerk, that was clear. As the two distanced themselves from the group of delinquents, they found themselves in a soothing silence. A silence that only those who’ve known each other for years could understand. Then Neteyam cut through it with his sharp tone. “I should’ve gotten there sooner. That Aonung guy has been a jerk to all of us, I even got into a fight with him a few days ago.” Her eyes widened at the statement.

“Did you win?” She asked, only to receive a chortle from him in response. He slapped a hand against her back jokingly, only shaking his head at her question. “Come on skxawng, you did say you wanted to visit Kiri.”

-

She slipped through the curtain of the large tent, stepping in cautiously with Neteyam trailing not too far behind. The room was dim, just as the look on her friend Kiri’s face. A small coo left Y/Ns lips as she knelt down to greet the young woman. “Oh Kiri, are you feeling okay?” She wrapped her arms around the smaller girls frame, cupping her head with her hand in order to hold her close. Kiri only sighed in response, her hand coming up to grasp at Y/Ns arm. “I understand if you don’t want to talk. I’m just glad you’re up, that’s all.” She took a seat next to Kiri, her arm circling around her in order to keep her close.

The two remained in the position, tangled together in a close hug and simply enjoying one another’s presence. Well, that was until Tuk rushed in with her usual toothy grin to drag the two out. “C’mon c’mon!” Kiri groaned, rolling her eyes as Tuk tugged her out of the tent home. Y/N followed close behind, a small smile on her face as she watched the two. Y/N always adored the way Tuk could make anyone smile. That and the way she balanced out Kiri’s sarcasm. They were perfect for each other.

Y/Ns curious eyes watched as the metkayina people dived into the waters eagerly. She wasn’t exactly sure why they were so excited until— her mouth fell open, awestruck by the sight of the large sea mammals in the distance. Their beautiful fins and colors. She suddenly understand why Tuk was so giddy to drag Kiri along with her. They clicked their tongues, a small fishy creature swimming towards them with a squeal.

“Woah! I’ve never seen anything like them. What is it?” She questioned as she knelt down behind them, watching as they both hopped onto the back of the aquatic creature. Tuk was the first to answer, giggling as she spoke. “They’re called Ilu! She’s so cute right?” Y/N nodded in response, a large smile on her face as she observed the ilus anatomy. It had pretty swirls of color across its small fins, and big black eyes. Beautiful, she thought as she watched the two swim away. “We’ll be back Y/N!-“ Kiri shouted from a distance as she waved back at the young woman. “Have fun you two!” She shouted back before standing back to her full height. All she could do was watch as the clan greeted their friends and swam through the sublime waters. Well, until Neteyam surfaced the water with his own ilu.

“What are you doing just standing there. Cmon.” He grinned as he waved for her to join him. Y/N obliged eagerly, slipping into the cool ocean and hopping onto the ilu. Her arms wrapped around Neteyams slim torso, keeping herself secure before he swam forward. Neteyam felt warm against her, his body heat contrasting the waters low temperature. She enjoyed moments like these with him, especially after the Sullys big move. She inhaled, his scent flooding her nose as she rested her head against the muscle of his back. He chuckled, the vibrations causing her to smile. “I’ll take it slow okay? I know you aren’t used to the water yet” He said as he drifted out into the sea, the ilu swimming along the surface of the water. The cool waves washed against her thighs, drenching her clothes as they neared the commotion. Perhaps commotion wasn’t the correct term. The reunion, yup that sounded right. A reunion between the metkayina and the incredible sea life.

“Teyam, what’re they called?” She inquired as one of the beautiful mammals passed by. Neteyam looked just as mesmerized as she did, perhaps even more. “Tulkun I think. Wow, they’re incredible.” He answered. The slowly the ilu came to a halt, allowing the two to observe the sight around them. The smiles on each of the peoples faces, the chirps and coos of the tulkuns. The mere sight made her heart warm. That and the feeling of Neteyams handing cupping over hers. “Let’s go under!” He exclaimed before disconnecting his queue and dragging Y/N beneath the blue water. The water flooded her ears, and while it was uncomfortable she found herself distracted by the tulkun passing overhead. It’s large shadow washed over her, the intricate designs and patterns on its belly causing her smile to grow. The sight was magical. Y/N tugged on Neteyams hand, their fingers still interlocked within the water. Drawing his attention, he beamed up at her as she pointed to the creature soaring over them. Moments like these would always last, burned into their memory for the time to come. Her best friend, Neteyam. She wouldn’t see him again for a long time once she returned home, but that was okay. She’d always remember.

They swam around a bit longer, pushing through the relaxed waters as they lingered around the floating tulkun. She swam across from Neteyam, doing her best to keep up with him. His swimming had certainly improved since the last time she saw him. He was a short ways ahead, but far enough to not notice her lagging behind. She slowed down, eventually stopping as her heart thumped in her ears. Her lungs stung uncomfortably as she came to realize she hadn’t come up for breath. With this new revelation, she began to swim to the surface with an intense urgency. Yet the water seemed as far away as before, as though she were traveling down a never ending hallway. Just as she was about to succumb to the waters commands, she felt someone tug at her arm, now dragging her up until finally they surfaced.

“Thank you..thank you so much.” She sputtered as her breathing calmed, now becoming slow and steady. Her vision cleared, no longer blurred from her suffocation. Her eyes found her rescuers, and instantly she darted from their arms. “You.” She mumbled nervously as her eyes fell anywhere but the face of the man who had been pestering her not long ago. “Me? You act as though I did not just save your life. I do expect something in return forest girl.” He bossed. Y/N didn’t respond, instead remaining silent as she eventually found his eyes. His eyes, Eywa they were burning, scorching her soul as they stared her down.

“Thank you then. That’s what I give in return.” While the words were intended to come out rude, her wavering words and shaking lips only egging him on. However, he controlled himself, instead opting to pull her closer and allowing her to float against him. “What is your name forest girl?” He asked as his arm wrapped around her waist to hoist her closer. Their bodies pressed against one another, their legs tangling together in the water. Her eyes searched his, hesitant to answer. She didn’t understand why he would save her after saying such cruel things about her. And she certainly didn’t understand why he held her so close. With a gulp, she finally answered. “Y/N..and you?” He grinned, that familiar sadistic look finding his face. “Aonung. You know, you’re cute for a freak forest girl.” He professed as his eyes observed her appearance. This insult hiding within a compliment confused Y/N, causing her mouth to fall agape as she searched for a response. Thankfully she didn’t have to come up with one, her friend Neteyam popping out of the water with a grimace. “Y/N, are you alright? I didn’t see you come up.” His brows furrowed with concern as he watched the two skeptically.

“Yes I just…needed some air.” She muttered as she pushed herself away from Aonung who only cleared his throat at the sudden awkwardness. She swam closer to Neteyam, taking his hand and tugging him away. She didn’t want to be in the situation any longer, so she used Neteyam as an escape. They swam away, creating a distance between them and the metkayina boy.

“Did he do something Y/N?” Neteyam questioned as he pulled her to a stop. Y/N couldn’t meet his eyes. Instead she frowned, finding herself uncomfortable with the topic. Neteyam could see this and brought his hand up to rest on her head. “You don’t have to tell me now, I just want to make sure you’re okay that’s all. Now let’s go, it’s getting late.” He gave a sympathetic smile before calling his ilu, and soon they were off.

-

She felt full after eating dinner with the Sullys, the taste of Neytiris cuisine lingering on her tongue. She had departed from the family tent a few moments ago, now strolling along the shore of the midnight beach. It was eclipse, the sun no longer out and one of the moons replacing it. The stars were bright and flickering, weaving together to create beautiful constellations. The stars were always her favorite. Something she could enjoy alone without any bothersome scientists or siblings. She found a good spot on a mossy rock, taking a seat on its cool surface with a sigh. Her hands rested on the rock as she leaned back, allowing herself to relax for the first time that day.

The day had been eventful to say the least. She’d been harassed by some stupid boys, got to see new animals and people, and almost drowned. She winced at the last thought, cringing at the idea of her drowning the day she visits the Sullys. That and the fact that she’d been bullied by those boys, one in particular. Aonung, the stupid bastard. She didn’t like him, not one bit. She didn’t like the pretty jewels he wore, or his soft curls. She didn’t like his smug smirk, or rough hands. She didn’t like it at all. His annoying voice, his soothing accent.

“This is my spot.” She jolted, a gasp leaving her as her hand slapped against her chest. “Oh my fuck— you can’t just- oh, it’s you.” Her arms pulled her legs against her chest, wrapping around her calves as she glared at the water. “Go somewhere else forest girl, this is my spot.” He approached, now taking up her space. He stood over her, his intense presence beginning to make her feel uneasy. “You can’t claim a rock Aonung.” She snapped back. For once she legitimately had something to say, and Aonung took notice of this. His hand found her jaw, tilting her head to force her to look at him. “So, you aren’t a complete mess forest freak.” He slouched over, his face in the proximity of hers. His breath fanned over her face, warming her skin and causing her cheeks to flush. She gulped, just as before she found herself struggling to find a response to his patronizing. “Cmon freak, speak up. Or maybe you can’t understand me because you’re not a true na’vi.”

She whimpered at his words, shaking her head from his jaw and shifting to slip off of the rock. Aonung however wasn’t finished. His hand pulled her back by her neck, his calloused fingers circling around her throat to keep her still. This caused her to whine, her hands grasping at his wrist as she glared up at him. “That look in your eyes is so cute forest girl. Aw, about to cry?” He taunted as she blinked tears back, her lashes fluttering to contain them. “Shut up..” Her whiny tone caused him to chuckle, his hand coming up to rest on her cheek as he watched her closely. Slowly his finger found her bottom lip, caressing it gently as he gazed into her eyes. And then suddenly she found his thumb intruding her mouth, pressing against her tongue as his gaze suddenly turned dark. “Suck.” He demanded, the words causing her brows to raise in surprise. Though the surprise wasn’t from his words, but in fact from her eagerness to oblige. She found herself sucking at his finger, her gaze never faltering from his as she witnessed him suck in a breath.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you? So eager to satisfy. Or maybe you like when I treat you like the freak you are.” He gushed as his hand left her neck, now wandering her form. His hands squeezed and fondled at her curves, taking in her perfect body. It wasn’t like she was the first woman he’s had sexual relations with. She was just so damn fun to degrade. To tease her until she broke, until she was crying his name. He huffed out at the thought, his hand now resting on her ass. He hated the clothes she wore, sure they hugged her body just right, but they also kept him from what he wanted most. Grunting he pulled her against him, their bodies meshing together as his now growing length rutted against her. This drew a whimper from Y/N, causing her to halt her actions with her mouth. “I didn’t tell you that you could stop, did I? Can never put that mouth to good use can you?” He spit out as his thumb left her mouth, a string of spit connecting the two. “Well aren’t you so good for me. Hm? Fine, you want to take my spot? Then you’ll listen well.” He said as he shoved her against the rock she once sat on, and pushed her legs apart. His thigh rested against her cunt, the muscle pressing against her teasingly. This caused her to let out a shaky breath, her hands now grasping at both his biceps as he leaned over her. He stared down at her, watching as she jutted her hips into his thigh in desperation. “Fuck, you really are desperate aren’t you? Cmere forest girl.” His large hands found her hips, using them to rock her against his thigh. “I’m not going to stop until you’re moaning my name, got it forest girl? So get to work.”

And get to work she did. She rocked her hips at the perfect angle, her clit grinding against his thigh with each roll of her body. Her hands now rested on his back, scratching and grasping at his skin as she attempted to keep up with the pleasure she felt. Being a virgin, this was a new experience for her. Feeling his muscular thigh against her cunt, pressing against her in just the right way. His hot breath on her neck as he planted kisses and hickeys along the length of it. His grip on her hips grew tighter, more forceful as he himself grew more aroused. “Taking too long pretty girl, I need you to cum now.” He urged as he began to bounce his leg, further stimulating her senses. She mewled out, her core tightening as she grew closer to her high. “M’trying nung. It’s so good..so close.” She moaned at as her head fell back. Aonung used this to his advantage, his teeth now piercing her skin and sending that jolt of pleasure she needed to reach her high through her. Her legs tensed, her nails digging into his back as the throb of her clit caused her to moan out. “Aonung..!” She cried as her orgasm ripped through her. Her body felt hot against his, the friction causing her to pant unevenly. “Too good..too good.” She blubbered as she finally began to come down.

Aonung had witnessed her high, leaning back to take in the way her eyes squeezed shot. The way her nails dug into his back and urged him on. The way her thighs tensed around his own, the warmth of her cunt causing his cock to strain within his loincloth. Eywa, this woman had him losing his composure. His hands left her hips, now pushing her away as he groaned irritably. “Fuck, you’re so annoying.” He cursed out. This clearly was a shock to her considering he was the one who told her to cum on his thigh, not the other way around. She looked at him, baffled by his sudden switch in demeanor. “What— you were the one who sai—“

“I know what I said forest freak. Just— fuck. Can’t wait until you leave.” He seethed, his jaw clenching as if he were fighting himself. His eyes fell back onto her, searching hers before his lips suddenly found hers, biting and licking at her lips until they were swollen. And just as quickly as he pulled her into a heated make out session, he pulled away. “Don’t go bragging about this Y/N. It was an accident, that’s all.” He said before finally he left, disappearing into the island before she could get in another word. He just left her there, cold and drenched in her own juices. God she was gullible. She cursed under her breath as she gathered herself. She really, really hated Aonung.

[heich0e]

begin - nicholas wolfwood/f!reader (trigun) prequel to the poly!au, bounty hunters!au, wild west-ish, tw BLOOD/INJURIES, reader is patching up a bullet wound so warning for all the expected nastiness that entails, tw mentions of attemped assault (not reader and not in detail), mentions of sex work, gratuitous mentions of nico's stubble

BOUND - poly!au masterlist

You live in a nothing town, in the dead middle of nowhere, called The Bend.

It’s called that because a long time ago—long before your days, or your daddy’s days, or even your granddaddy’s days—there used to be a wide, rushing freshwater river snaking through the valley, and right where the town centre now sits is where it used to turn east to the far-away sea. 

But the river’s dried up now, and it took the green grass with it.

The sea is farther than you could ever hope to travel. 

And the B on the sign that marks the border into your dusty little nothing-nowhere town has rusted off and decayed away with the years, which means the only warning that any misguided traveller has to tell them where they’re heading is an ominous old sign, half-rotted, that reads:

Welcome to The  end.

It’s fitting, you think. An omen to give anyone who wanders within spitting distance of the border a final caution that they have one last chance to turn around. A choice to get out while they still can.

It’s a choice you never had.

You were born and raised in The Bend. Your blood runs thick with the dust that coats the decrepit old town. It’s all you’ve ever known, and all you ever will know; your beginning, your middle, and your miserable, inexorable end.

Because that’s the thing about The Bend: few people ever show up here and those who do aren’t stupid enough to stay. And the unfortunate few that are born from the dusty earth and dried up riverbeds, like you? Well, those ones never leave.

There’s some comfort to be taken from that, you suppose; a kind of stability that comes from monotony. From certain inevitability. Every day the same, unchanging. A familiarity to the nothingness of your little town, your little house, your little life.

But then, on a night just like any other, something changes.

One night, you meet him.

Nicholas isn’t quite sure how he ended up here, but he isn’t all that surprised either. 

There’s something kind of undeniably fitting about bleeding out in the middle of fucking nowhere, supported on either side by two of the finest prostitutes The Bend has to offer—and flanked by a handful more as the group guides him through the dark, dusty night.

The Bend isn’t the first hellhole town Nicholas has ever stumbled into. His line of work has brought him to more than his fair share of seedy dumps just like this one. Towns like this are the perfect place for someone to hide from the law after all, because not many people would bother to come looking for you in places that might as well not exist. Most bounty hunters don’t even know about this particular town, and they don’t care to learn, especially since half the maps on the market don’t even bother marking its sorry half-existence down.

But Nicholas isn’t like most bounty hunters.

That’s what brought him to The Bend.

There’s a vicious flash of lightning that suddenly forks through the sky overhead, lighting up the dim, depressing town and the dusty valley beyond it as brightly as the midday sun for just a blink. It’s followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that makes the packed earth under his unsteady feet tremble, and Nicholas knows that means the lightning’s closer than he cares for it to be.

“’s it gonna rain?” he slurs, tearing his eyes away from the sky and looking over to the woman supporting him on his right (or is that his left?)

He wracks his hazy, addled brain as he tries to remember her name. Starts with a V, he’s pretty sure. Victoria? Viola?

She snorts, her ruby rouged lips lifting at one painted corner. “Honey, it’s been almost five months since we’ve seen a drop of rain around here, and even then it was nothin’ to write home about. You just focus on puttin’ one boot in front of the other, and don’t go gettin’ your hopes up.” 

All at once, Nicholas is reminded of the burning pain in his arm; the searing, radiating agony of a bullet nestled deep into flesh. 

Oh. Right.

He got shot.

It’s not the first time he’s suffered a similar wound, nor will it likely be the last if he makes it through the night—God, or whatever all-knowing bastard’s out there, willing. That doesn’t make it any less of a miserable bitch to deal with, though.

How the hell did he get shot, again?

He ponders this question for a moment, reflecting on it through alcohol sodden introspection, and the answer comes back to him in bits and pieces as he keeps aimlessly shuffling along through the night.

The sound of heels clicking overhead at the town saloon—that’s the first thing he remembers. The clacking metronome of Big Annie’s working girls crossing the wooden floorboards of the brothel that operates above the only place in this awful little town to get a half-decent drink.

A drink. 

Yes, it was something bitter and dark—completely nauseating to presently even think about. It burned on the way down, and now it sloshes unpleasantly in his stomach as he walks. The girls had made him down the better part of a bottle after he’d been shot—to help with the pain, they’d said, and he’d been anything but reluctant to heed their advice—and he’d already had fair a few glasses earlier in the evening as he’d occupied his table in the corner of the bar on top of that. Panic had palpably sizzled between the women while they watched the tattered cloth Nicholas held to his arm ink steadily darker with scarlet in the lamplight of the old bar following the shooting—the tension building amongst them like the perspiration beading at his temple. They were bickering about something then.

No, not something.

Someone.

“We gotta take him to see Mama!” 

It was Charity who said that, he recalls—the pretty little thing with full lips and a mane of thick, curly hair that Nicholas had complimented the first time he ever saw her traipsing through the saloon. She can’t be a whole lot older than 20, and her voice is still high and childlike; even more so that particular evening as she stomped her foot petulantly, looking over at him with worry-filled eyes as she made her plea to the other girls watching him bleed out in the musty wooden booth.

“Mama won't want anything to do with this one.”

That was Violetta who’d replied to Charity’s fractious appeal. She’s one of the older girls who works for Big Annie at the brothel. She’s got a sort of seasoned air to her, with a husky rasp in her voice—like the sand that blows through the empty streets in town has roughened it. She’s still undeniably pretty, but she comes across a little tougher than the rest of them. Doing the job she does in a town like this one, Nicholas doesn’t blame her for it.

Violetta’s the one currently supporting his right side, leading him through the night towards the woman who’s supposed to be his saving grace.

Towards Mama.

But who the hell is that?

He’s sure he’s heard the name in passing while he’s been kicking around the town saloon between his work, nursing half-noxious drinks and flirting harmlessly here and there with Big Annie’s working girls—who seem to have taken a liking to lingering around his table between visits from johns. 

Nicholas wasn’t even supposed to be staying in The Bend long, only for a day or two to follow up on a bounty lead he’d caught wind of three towns over—but the lead went cold, and a few days turned into almost a week. Nevertheless, while his stay may have been extended, he just he never thought to ask any more questions about this mysterious matriarch all the working girls seemed to know so well and speak so highly of. But now, as those very same girls are dragging his half-conscious ass to the other side of town in search of this Mama, he wishes that maybe he’d dug a little deeper.

“Mama’s gonna get you all fixed up, handsome,” little Charity appears on Violetta’s other side, her eyes wide enough as she stares at him that they reflect the next flash of lightning as it rips through the dark of night. She looks worried, in spite of her words—even in his present state of drunkenness and blood loss fuelled delirium, he can tell that much. 

They all do. Even the toughest, Violetta—though she seems reluctant to let on as she stands stoically at his side and shoulders his flagging, stumbling weight. 

Charity nods, but it’s a gesture that seems more to reassure herself than anyone else. “Mama always takes care of us; she’ll have you good as new by morning.” 

Ah, so this woman must be a doctor of sorts—or as close to it as a shithole little town like this can offer.

It’s Nicholas’ turn to nod, a bobble of his cotton-filled head the only recognition he can muster to her words, as he just keeps staggering on under their guidance. He’s lucky that The Bend even has some kind of doctor to look after him, even if it’s just some old lady who looks after the saloon girls.

The unlikely group soon arrives at the doorstep of a little house at the edge of town—as slummy and dilapidated as all the rest of them—and Queenie, the girl who’d moments before been supporting Nicholas’s injured left side, raps sharply on the door.

“She’s not gonna answer,” Violetta mutters dourly under her breath, still at Nicholas’ right side.

“She will,” Charity counters with her arms crossed over her chest, punctuating the assertion with an indignant little huff for good measure. “Mama always answers when we come knockin’.”

But Nicholas worries for a moment—a long moment as the door stays firmly shut—that Violetta might just have a point. It’s the middle of the night after all, and this ‘Mama’ could very well be sleeping like any other reasonable person would be at this hour. 

Queenie knocks on the wooden door for a second time, this time with an open palm. This series of raps is a little louder. A little more insistent.

“Mama? It’s us! Open up!” she calls, casting a worried glance over her shoulder at Nicholas—who’s got his entire weight slumped over onto poor Violetta, now.

Nicholas is bleeding out on the front porch, and part of him still almost feels bad for waking up some poor, unsuspecting old—

The door flies open.

“What the hell do you want?”

Oh.

Nicholas knows that his eyes travel up your frame in a way that can only be considered wholly impolite. But he’s not really in his right mind, after all—or at least that’s what he tells himself as he justifies his immodest stare. He starts at the uneven cuffs of your paper-thin trousers, before climbing up, up, up your body to the tight white undershirt your wear—appreciating the way it clings to the curve of your waist and sits snug around your chest, and he particularly admires the pretty little edge of lace that frills around the neckline at your breasts. Finally, his gaze makes it to your face, and you look irritated to say the absolute least on the matter.

He’s not all that sure what he was expecting to find on the other side of the chipped paint of this shabby front door, but he can say with a steady hand to his foolhardy heart that it certainly wasn’t you.

For a moment, Nicholas is convinced they’ve got the wrong house—as improbable as that might be in a town as small as this one. At the very least, he waits for someone else to come to the door—a mother, or grandmother even—because surely you can’t be the one that these women have been calling—

“Mama! You gotta help us,” Queenie exclaims. She’s luckily perceptive enough to stick out her foot once she sees you fully process just what’s waiting for you outside, keeping the door jammed open with her heeled boot as you rush to slam it shut.

“I haven’t gotta do anything,” you counter sharply from around the edge of the door, your face pinching in a blatantly vexed expression at the way the woman is keeping it ajar.

Your eyes flicker over to Nicholas through the gap between the door and its frame, surveying him with a look of disdain that might just have been enough to offend him if he were a little more himself.

“Mama, he got shot!” Charity suddenly bursts into what can only be described as a spectacular display of tears—blubbering noisily between each word as she elbows her way through the group towards your door. She reaches across the threshold and desperately clutches at the front of your shirt with both hands as she pleads to you. “P-please let us in, y-you’re the only one who can h-he-help him.”

“Bertie, what in God’s merciful name is wrong with you?” you sigh aggrievedly, roughly batting her hands away from their grip on your clothes. In the next breath, you wrench open the front door to your home, stepping back to allow your unexpected visitors the space to cross through the doorway. “And cut the waterworks or you’re gonna wake up half The Bend and get us all shot.”

As the girls help Nicholas inside and across the gnarled, warped floorboards of your little house, you slip wordlessly away into another room out of sight. When you return moments later, you’ve pulled on a creased button-down over that pretty little undershirt of yours. 

Nicholas can’t help but notice that you’re dressed practically like a man, especially in comparison to the painted faces and petticoats of the other women in the room. But it strangely suits you, for reasons he can’t quite place.

“He got shot fightin’ some bozo tryin’ to rough up Ada on her way home,” Violetta explains when you look to her with an expression that demands context. She’s the most level-headed of the five woman gathered in your tiny home, so no one can blame you for turning to her first. 

Nicholas feels dizzy, the modest lamp-lit room around him reeling like a child’s toy spinning top gaining speed. 

Did he do that?

He remembers hearing something out back in the alley that runs behind the saloon and the inn when he went out to take a piss late into to the evening, well after it had dropped dark. He was already sufficiently drunk by that point, but there was no mistaking the sound of a woman putting up a fight the moment that he heard it. He followed the racket and found the pair quickly—on instinct more than anything—grabbing the drunken man by the scruff of the neck and hauling him off the poor girl he was trying to force himself on. In the ensuing scuffle, the man pulled a gun that Nicholas wasn’t expecting. With his senses drink-dulled, he didn’t react quickly enough to miss the shot entirely and caught it in his arm—but he’s lucky the guy had such terrible aim to begin with, or the night could have turned out a whole lot worse.

But who’s this Ada? He thought the girl he’d helped’s name was Priscilla—having met her a few times in the saloon. She was always quieter than the rest of them, a little more reserved. She didn’t say much to anyone from what Nicholas had witnessed in his time spent in The Bend. But Ada’s not the first name he’s heard since showing up at your door that’s unfamiliar to him.

“You've got a lot of nerve dragging some no-good, half-cocked brute to my door like this in the middle of the damn night, Sarah Jane,” you hiss through your teeth, your eyes flickering from Violetta over to Nicholas once more.

Violetta snorts, but offers no argument.

“Please, Mama,” Priscilla (or is it Ada? Nicholas can’t keep track anymore) says quietly, though her tone is unmistakably earnest. It’s the first time she’s said anything since the girls came stumbling through your door with the injured man propped between them. First time he remembers her saying anything at all—at least other than when he heard her screaming and chased off the scum that was hassling her.

Your attention suddenly turns to where Priscilla stands just off near the corner of the little room, with Theodosia (another one of Big Annie’s working girls) at her side with a comforting arm looped around her waist. It’s not hard to see the way the woman trembles as she holds her shawl around her shoulders. She’s got a bad scrape across her cheek, and her lip is split—evidence of the ordeal she’d gone through earlier in the evening. Her skin still looks clammy and sallow from the shock. 

Your expression softens as you contemplate her.

“C’mere, Adaline,” you beckon to her, reaching out a hand. “Step into the light and let me take a look at you.”

She approaches you without any reservation, and you carefully inspect her wounds after taking her face gently in your hands. A long, resigned sigh slips from your lips once a moment has passed, having turned her face this way and that to fully scrutinize her condition. You look around at the women gathered in your home, and the man slumping between them, then your head hangs in defeat. Your hand lifts to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Bertie, go grab my bag from my room. Georgie, fetch some clean water from the basin in the kitchen.”

Charity and Theodosia move briskly once you’ve issued the order—like they don’t want to give you the opportunity to change your mind.

Nicholas finds it a little funny how easily these women yield to you, though most seem to be your seniors—you’re just a scrappy young thing, only a few years into your adulthood if he had to guess. As he watches you, he sees that you carry yourself with a  certain quality that’s beyond your years—every action and word steeped with a sort of weary assuredness that you haven’t even lived long enough to properly earn. 

He watches you move with the grace of a woman, and listens to you speak with the authority of a man—and It could be the blood loss talking, but Nicholas thinks you might just be the most interesting thing he’s stumbled upon in this god-forsaken little town.

“You’re a doctor?”

You freeze, your head snapping in his direction when you finally hear him speak.

Your lip curls and you bare your teeth to him, and Nicholas is suddenly reminded of those city cats that wander the back alleys in Julai, hissing with their hackles raised when you happen across their path.

“Do I look like a doctor to you?” you sneer at him derisively.

For some unplaceable reason, Nicholas almost wants to laugh—the sensation bubbling up in his stomach in the wake of your harsh words.

(Though, that might just be the liquor.)

“Her daddy was a doctor,” Queenie whispers to him quietly as she and Violetta help Nicholas up onto the wooden table at the centre of the room at your instruction, leaning him back until he’s laid flat across it with a grunt. “Only one The Bend’s seen in the last 80 years."

“Prudence, you better shut your damn mouth if you want me to do anything about this mess,” you snap without looking up, busy rifling through the ancient leather medicine bag that Charity just dragged in from the other room.

You tend to Priscilla first, fixing her up with a compress on her cheek and a salve for the cut on her lip. She’s not the most desperate case in the room, but no one tries to turn your attention to the man on the table until you’re good and ready to do so of your own accord—a unanimous, though entirely unspoken, pact of silence lest your precarious agreement to help be withdrawn. Once you’re satisfied that the woman’s been sufficiently looked after, leaving her once more in the dutiful care of Theodosia, you finally turn to Nicholas.

The lamplight is fairly dim, even though you’ve moved it closer to the table to help illuminate your work—and there’s very little oil in the grimy reservoir of the glass lamp to keep it burning.

You approach him slowly.

“You a lefty?” you ask him, plunking yourself down in the wooden chair nearest to his injured left arm.

“Luckily not,” he slurs, his head lolling over to look at you as you sit beside him at the table.

“Luckily?” You huff, and Nicholas thinks that maybe it’s as close to a laugh as someone as mirthless as you ever gets. “You must not’ve heard: luck left The Bend years ago, and it’s not coming back.”

Nicholas really does find himself laughing then in the face of your plain, bur distinctly dour expression—and he immediately winces as a sharp pain shoots through him from the strain of trying to hold it back.

Your eyes survey the sopping, blood-soaked handkerchief he’s holding to his injury, then you lean over towards the medicine bag and begin digging through it again. He watches as you pull out an inhumanely large needle and some thread.

“Clear out, ladies,” you remark flatly to the group of onlookers without glancing up from the contents of the bag before you. “None of you are gonna wanna see this.”

The girls delay momentarily even after you bark out the order, as though worried that once they leave the room your willingness to help may exit with them.

You lift your face in their direction, some gauze and a corked flask of an indistinguishable transparent liquid in hand. Your lips pull down noticeably at the corners when you see the way the women are hesitating. “Go on, then. I’m making this exception for you once, and never again. Get Ada back home safe, and then the rest of you oughta do the same.”

Still, no one seems keen to heed your words.

You and Violetta share a pointed look, and it’s clear your patience—hardly-there to begin with—has worn dangerously thin.

“Alright, whores—clear out!” the older woman says, turning on her heel and corralling Queenie, Charity, Priscilla, and Theodosia towards the door with her arms outstretched. “Unless one of y’all are keen to be the next one who needs stitchin'!”

It takes a moment to get everyone moving—Charity in particular putting up more of a fight than the rest of them—but eventually Violetta succeeds in ushering them out. She casts one final glance back from the doorway, and Nicholas catches the exchange of almost imperceptible nods of thanks between you.

It’s unbearably quiet once they’re gone.

You move swiftly but silently, and set to work without a single word exchanged between you and the man stretched across your table. Without hesitating, you drag a thin blade in two strokes up the front of Nicholas’s bloodstained shirt—one cut along the torso and then another up the sleeve—and then pull off whatever’s in your way. You don’t so much as bat an eye as the tanned skin of his chest and abdomen is suddenly bared; there’s no distinguishable emotion or thought on your face that Nicholas can make out, but he’s also fairly distracted as he bites back the groans of pain that threaten to slip out each time you jostle his injured arm too roughly. 

Next, you begin cleaning the surface of the wound—as best you can given that it’s still unstitched—in preparation to fish out and remove the bullet still stuck inside. That little flask from earlier has some sort of antiseptic in it, which Nicholas discerns by the acrid smell and unbearable burning that rips through him as you let it trickle over the open gouge in his skin. He cries out as it happens, and the sound even takes him by surprise—guttural and completely instinctive.

“Don’t be a baby,” you sniff, dabbing away at the blood and antiseptic around his wound with some clean gauze.

“Sorry,” Nicholas mumbles through his panting breaths, pressing his opposite hand over his mouth in an attempt to keep himself quiet.

Your eyes flicker up to his briefly in the wake of his apology, and your gazes meet. You’re the first to look away after the momentary hold.

Next, you tip the flask into your hands, coating your palms in the stinging, astringent antiseptic. The lamplight catches in the little droplets as you shake them from your fingertips.

“My daddy told me once that doctors have to tell lies to keep their patients calm,” you say quietly, your lips pursing forward as you wrap one cool hand underneath his bicep. “Said that it’s just part of the job.”

You suck in a little breath, meeting his gaze briefly once more.

He can’t help but think your eyes look pretty when the light reflects in them like this. 

“But I’m no doctor—and this is gonna hurt like fresh hell.”

Outside your rickety little house on the edge of this forgotten, nowhere town, another peal of thunder roars.

You don’t often patch up bullet holes.

In fact, you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve tried.

But you’re not a professional, and you’ve never claimed to be; you’re just a doctor’s daughter who used to follow her father on his rounds through town, helping out whenever and wherever it was needed. Unavoidably, you learned some things along the way—like treatments, and time-honoured remedies, and how to sew a stitch so it won’t pucker when it scars—but you’re about as far as anyone could be from trained. You’ve got no education beyond your reading, writing, and basic arithmetic—what little education the school house in town could offer you until you just stopped going altogether—and your experience is limited only to the care you offer to Big Annie’s girls: whether it’s cleaning up the messes left by their particularly nasty customers or treating them as best you can when they fall ill. 

You don’t bother telling any of this to the man bleeding all over your table, though. You doubt it would do him much good.

Daddy used to deal with gunshot wounds all the time. They’re about a dime a dozen in a town like The Bend, after all, where tempers are high and spirits are low—not to mention where the men outnumber the women by about ten-to-one. 

And if there’s one thing you know about men, it’s that they all love slinging guns but less than half of them ought to be allowed to—because it always leads to injuries like this. It’s rarely ever women who walk around town getting themselves shot.

But in spite of all that, and your lack of experience, you watched your father go through the motions frequently enough that the movements come to you now like second nature: disinfect, remove, keep pressure, suture, bandage. You know the order of things, and you find your mind clear and your hands steady as you set to work—starting by cleaning him up as best you can to prepare to extract the bullet. 

You can see the very butt of it in peeking out from inside his ugly wound; a pesky little thing, slick with blood that catches in the light when his arm twitches towards the lamp. It’s not nestled too deep in there, thankfully, and he’ll probably be fine if he lets it heal properly—but it’ll still hurt like a bitch to pull out. 

But that’s his problem, not yours.

Unfortunately, you don’t have a pair of tweezers you trust to pluck the bullet out—at least not a pair that isn’t rusty—so your god-given tools will have to be what you use for the undertaking. You disinfect your hands as best you can before you begin.

“Would you stop squirming?” you mutter under your breath as the man on your table flinches the first time your fingers graze his open wound.

“Sorry,” he mumbles back, and your eyes flicker up to his face again briefly. 

This man keeps apologizing to you. 

It’s unsettling.

His dark eyes are heavy lidded, but you can still sense them tracing along the lines of your face as you work. There’s visible sweat beading at his temple as he lies flat on his back atop the wooden table in the centre of your home, and his bare chest rises and falls with heavy, laboured breaths that shake every so often on the exhale—the lamplight at your side catches in the perspiration glistening there too, near the little smattering of hair that sits at the highest point of his sternum.

This guy—this stranger who’s bleeding all over the table you eat your meals on—really pisses you off.

He’s got an awful lot of nerve to show up here in the middle of the night, looking for your help after he went and got himself shot. A small part of you knows that’s not entirely fair to think, because he got shot helping Adaline and it was the girls who’d brought him to you in the first place, but you still can’t help but be resentful. 

You feel yourself frown.

Your fingertips dip inside the wet heat of his wound for the first time, and he lets out a gasping, wretched groan from deep in the centre of his chest—so loud it almost makes you flinch.

“Don’t pass out,” you warn him flatly, pinning his injured arm more firmly to the table and prodding further in as you try to get a grip on the evasive little bullet with the very tips of your fingers. “You’re dead weight if you’re unconscious, and I’ll drag you outta this house in parts if I have to.”

“Noted,” the dark-haired man says through clenched teeth, his eyes squeezing shut as he attempts to stomach the pain.

You don’t have anything to offer him to dull the sensation—though you’re not sure you’d waste something so precious on him even if you did. After a while, and a bit more poking and prodding, he seems to acclimatize to the agony anyway. 

Or at the very least he gets better at masking it.

“I’m Nicholas, by the way,” he grits out after a while of you unsuccessfully trying to remove the bullet—frequently having to pause and wipe away the blood that’s continued to seep from the wound, slicking you down to your wrist. It stains the cuff of your shirtsleeve now, and you regret ever pulling it on to begin with, because you know it will be a nightmare to pound out in the wash.

“Didn’t ask.”

“I know,”—miraculously, he manages to laugh a bit, even as you’ve got two fingers digging around inside his arm—“just thought I’d tell ya anyway.”

You don’t bother replying, your eyes honed in solely on the task at bloody hand.

“‘M grateful for your help, y’know. Even if it’s just an exception,” the man—Nicholas—slurs next, his head tipping to the side on your kitchen table. You can tell that he’s talking, if nothing else, to distract himself. A lonely bead of sweat drips down his throat as he looks at you. “It’s awfully nice of ya to take pity on a no-good brute like me, Mama.”

You feel a crick of irritation tighten in your jaw then, as he parrots your earlier words back to you. Your fingers, still poking around to retrieve the bullet in his shoulder, twitch—and you aren’t sure the gesture is entirely involuntary. The man on the table before you yelps, flinching away from the pain, and you lean closer with your eyes still fixed on the wound piercing his skin.

“Don’t call me that,” you hiss through the dull scrape of your teeth grinding tightly together.

Nicholas lifts his right hand to his mouth, curled into a fist, and his pearly teeth bite down hard into the flesh at the base of his thumb as he pants through the pain. You finally, mercifully, manage to get a grip on that damned bullet, plucking it out and tossing it into the waiting dish atop the table with a delicate, terribly anticlimactic clink. You swiftly press a pad of clean gauze to the wound to staunch the bleeding while you reach for the stitching needle you left set off to the side.

“Hold this,” you order him, and the man lets his hand slip from the bite of his jaw to do as he’s told while you rifle through the bag at your feet. You can see the marks his teeth left in his skin as he takes the gauze from your hand into his own and begins to apply pressure.

You stand and wash your hands off as best you can in the basin of water Georgie brought in for you earlier, poised at the end of the table. The liquid tints pink as you first dip them in, and then slowly it turns an even darker, uglier colour as you properly scrub his blood from your skin. You shake as much of the water off your hands as you can, and then use the front of your shirt to sop up the rest—faintly rust-tinged handprints left in the cotton.

You take your seat once more, and Nicholas watches you through mostly-closed eyes as you set about sterilizing the needle.

“How come I can’t call you that?” 

You light a candle using the lamp at your side. Then you swish the needle around in antiseptic before running it through the flickering flame until it sparks—careful not to let it lick too close to your fingertips. Your eyes slide over to Nicholas as you pluck it from the fire.

With his face tilted towards you, another little drop of sweat has tracked down his cheek towards his prominent nose, and it glistens against his flushing skin in the warm light of your oil lamp. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, too—from what you don’t doubt is the combination of pain and whatever booze he’s been guzzling to numb it—and lips part on a shuddering exhalation as you survey his face.

“Call me what?” you mutter, averting your eyes and turning again to search through your medicine bag for a clean roll of bandage.

“Ma—” A sudden, harsh glare cuts him off before he even has the chance to say it. He smiles a little, the expression half-delirious, and you can’t help but think that if he weren’t so weakened from the pain that wracks him, he might have even managed another laugh.

You kiss your teeth quietly. “Only the girls call me that.”

The man bleeding out in the middle of your table clearly knows your tone of voice means not to push it, because he doesn’t. Instead, he turns his head until he’s staring up at your dingy ceiling once more, though you can tell from the faraway look in his eyes he’s not seeing much at all. 

“The girls,” Nicholas remarks quietly, speaking more to himself than anything. “You don’t call ‘em by their names.”

That’s right: he’d only know the girls by their working names. You’re surprised he even caught that.

“The hell I don’t,” you mutter, turning back to face him in your seat once more with your last roll of bandage clutched tightly in your hand. You set it down atop the table as you set your supplies up just how you like them. “I call them by the names their mothers gave them.”

Nicholas hums thoughtfully. “Sarah Jane, that’s Violetta?”

You grunt out an affirmative, threading the freshly cleaned needle with nimble, dextrous accuracy. 

“And Charity, her real name’s Bertie?”

“Bertha May,” you correct him, snipping away the excess thread with a little pair of mostly-dull scissors—careful not to take more than you’ll need, but still giving yourself sufficient supply to work with.

“Priscilla’s name’s Adaline,” Nicholas continues, his eyes still tracing the cracks in your ceiling. “And what about Theodosia and Queenie?” 

“Georgina and Prudence,” you supply flatly as you secure a tight knot in the end of the stitching thread.

Nicholas sighs before slurring, “’s a lot to keep track of.”

You snort. “Wait until you find out Big Annie’s real name.”

He looks over at you with wider eyes than you’ve seen on him since he came staggering through your door. He catches the expression on your face and his own softens, clearly sensing that you’d said it only in jest. 

Annie’s just short for Annabelle, after all. Madam’s rarely need to take up new personas—why would they need to be someone they’re not if they aren’t the ones doing the dirty work?

Nicholas watches as you tug on the stitching thread one last time to test its strength—eying the glinting needle warily. You set the threaded implement carefully off to the side once you’re confident it’s ready.

“So you learned all this stuff from your daddy, huh?” he asks you next.

You swallow over the unpleasant lump you suddenly feel in the back of your throat and reach up, nudging his hand away from where he’s holding the gauze to his wound. He’s become a real chatterbox now, and part of you wonders why you’re even tolerating it.

You clean the area with antiseptic again—and Nicholas is just as dramatic as he was the first time as a low moan of pain tears through him. For a moment you worry he really might be on the brink of passing out, the whites of his eyes taking over as they begin to roll back, so you know you need to keep him focused.

“He used to take me with him on his rounds,” you mumble a reply to his earlier question. 

Nicholas’s eyes open a bit wider when he hears your voice, a little more focused now than they had been.

“My daddy, I mean,” your tone is dismissive and flippant, but it seems to be an effective distraction. “I just picked things up here and there while I watched him work.”

“You’re a natural.”

You snort mirthlessly in the wake of his reply. “Don’t know about all that.”

“You just pulled a bullet outta my arm with your bare hands, that’s gotta count for something.” Nicholas hisses as you press the antiseptic-soaked gauze to his wound one last time, then he sucks in a sharp breath. “And the girls trust you a lot, so you must be good at it.”

“Somebody’s gotta take care of them.” 

Lord knows no one else around here does.

You set the scarlet saturated gauze aside in the dish with the discarded bullet, then pick up your needle.

You make neat, even sutures through his skin, and you take your time to do it right. You’ve always been good at this kind of thing, even when you were young. You were born with a keen eye for detailed work like this, and your daddy used to get you to finish up the smaller wounds he was called to treat that needed finer stitching—said your little hands were just better at it than his own big, life-roughened ones. He always used to tell you that you got your steady hands from him, but your nimble fingers from your mother.

Not that you’d know anything about that.

Nicholas has stopped flinching now, a little more relaxed than he’d previously been, and you can’t help but look up at him every so often as you work—wondering if that steady, even rise and fall of his chest means that he’s finally knocked out. Especially since he’s suddenly gone so quiet. 

But each time you check, you find his eyes are still open—though only just barely—and are peering up towards the ceiling. Sometimes you catch him glancing at you too.

Once the wound has been fully closed in a tidy little line of stitches, you wrap the roll of bandages around it with some gauze tucked underneath, just in case.

“You’re all done,” you say quietly, slumping back in your chair once you’re finally finished.

All at once, you feel exhausted—the adrenaline you didn’t even know had been rushing through you disappearing in a blink. It reminds you of how the wind dies in the valley in the wake of a bad storm, like it took the breeze with it. You’re all too conscious of the fact that it’s the middle of the night now, and that you ought to long be asleep.

“Thank you,” Nicholas says as he pushes himself up onto the elbow of his uninjured arm, though he still winces at the movement. You don’t make any attempt to help him.

His shirt is in pieces, and he discards it since it’s of so little use to him now, shaking his right arm to free it from the only sleeve that remains in tact on the garment. You watch as he pushes himself fully upright, throwing his long legs over the side of the table to stand. When he does, he dips slightly—like the sudden movement makes him woozy, and his knees are weak—and his right hand shoots out to balance himself on the edge of the tabletop on instinct. You suppose it’s not unexpected given the amount of blood he lost.

You watch his toned, tanned back as he stretches himself out as much as his injury will allow; observing how his skin pulls taught over the defined musculature that surrounds his spine. He’s littered with scars—a map of wounds that weren’t stitched as neatly as the new one on his upper arm—and part of you can’t help but wonder how he got them all. Can’t help but wonder what stories those marks tell, written in a language you don’t know how to read.

You look away, feeling an inexplicable heat flood rapidly to your cheeks.

You stand and quickly slip off your own overshirt—just some old button-up left behind from your father, though you have no memories of him ever wearing it. You clutch it in your fist and stick it out for him to take.

He eyes it in surprise for a moment before accepting it.

“Those blood stains are yours, anyway. You might as well have it,” you say, eyeing the red mark at the cuff on the right-hand sleeve as the garment passes from your hold into his, “in any case it’s in better shape than the one you came here with.” 

It saves having to clean it, too. So it’s all the same to you.

“I’ll pay you,” he slurs, still unsteady on his feet as he begins rifling awkwardly through his pockets with his only useable hand. He almost tips right over in his haste, but you quickly slip beside him and steady his frame.

“Yeah, you will,” you agree, holding tight to his right arm to keep him standing. “Worry about it tomorrow.”

Nicholas’ bare skin radiates warmth with only your thin, lace-trimmed undershirt left separating you as you stand pressed into his side. He peers down at you curiously, blinking slowly like he’s being called to sleep. From this close, with him standing properly upright for the first time, you realize just how big this man is—tall, with a broad chest and defined muscles, and stubble dusted along his sharp jawline that you hadn’t noticed before. You take a sudden step away to put much needed distance between the two of you, these realizations making something stir in the pit of your stomach that makes you feel squeamish. 

“Do you know your way back to the inn?” you ask him, your arms crossing over your front.

Nicholas bobs his head in a completely unconvincing nod. It’s not like the town is big enough to get lost in in the first place—and he very well might know his way if it were daylight, or he weren’t half delirious—but sending him out into The Bend in his current state would be as much of a death sentence as it would have been to turn him away when he first showed up at your door. 

You sigh in resignation.

“Just sleep on the floor here for tonight. I’ll check your stitches again tomorrow morning before you leave.”

The man looks taken aback, but he nods quickly—as though he doesn’t want to give you time to rescind the unexpected offer.

You fish around in the depths of your father’s old medicine bag, eventually pulling out a bottle of murky liquid as Nicholas gets settled with an old cushion and a threadbare quilt near the unlit hearth of the fireplace. You use the edge of your nail to uncork it, take a quick whiff to make sure it’s the right one, and then tread towards the man on the other side of the room.

He peers up at you from his makeshift bed on the floor, resting with his knees apart and his long legs sprawled out in front of him. You pass the little glass bottle to him, your fingers brushing as it passes from your grip into his. “Drink this, it helps to fight off infection.”

He eyes it warily. The outside of the bottle is suspiciously grimy, and the putrid colour of the liquid inside is no less reassuring. “What is it?”

“Hog Fennel.”

He grimaces, peeking into the opening of the bottle with one eye closed. “Sounds foul.”

You snort. “It is."

Nicholas doesn’t draw it out any longer, tipping the vial back an draining it all in one shot. He winces once he swallows it down, his pink tongue peeking out a little as he pants through the taste—which you’re sure is bitter and disgusting.

“How was it?” you ask him wryly.

“I’ve had worse, honestly,” he says, shooting you a little grin you can’t believe he’s able to manage not only in the wake of such a disgusting concoction but considering what he’s been through that night.

You blink, your brow furrowing, and then eventually nod dismissively before turning and shuffling off towards the other side of the room where the door to your bedroom is found.

“Thank you.” 

Nicholas speaks again as you’re just shy of crossing the threshold into your room, you consider pausing in your shock but then think better of it.

“You already said that,” you reply, your tone annoyed, and shut the door behind you.

You open it again a second later to poke your head back out towards him.

“I’ve got a gun in here, by the way, and I won’t miss. Just in case you were thinking of trying anything funny.”

Across the room, Nicholas is already laying down on his pitiful excuse of a resting place, looking strangely content.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says with a smile, though his eyes stay closed.

Part of you is annoyed at how comfortable he seems. How easily he talks to you. How normal his presence feels in your home.

Another part of you—one that’s deeper, locked away and hidden out of sight in a place where you think you’ve lost they key—isn’t.

You slip back into your room and close the door behind you with a soft click. 

And in the silent stillness of your little bedroom with your shoulder blades pressed back into your bedroom door, you realize that the thunder outside has stopped but you can hear the softest, faintest pitter patter of raindrops through cracked glass of your window.

Rain came back to The Bend.

Maybe luck would follow.