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iiraven · 3 years

Text

Odyssey

Pairing: Poseidon!Armin x Reader

Genre: romance, smut

Warnings: slow-burn, minor character death, manipulation, stalking, possessiveness, Yandere behaviour, puppy play, piss play, body worship, throne sex, implied age-gap, oral(male receiving), hair pulling, collaring (without consent)

Word count: 9.8K

Synopsis: Armin’s quest for revenge leads him to you, daughter of a merchant and object of his infatuation.

Author’s note: thank you @bubbleteaimagines for hosting this collab and allowing me to join <3 Also, thank you @onyxoverride for teaching me how to write about pee!

Attack on Titan Masterlist

Present day:

If the river could speak, you wonder what it would say.

In the silence that surrounds the rushing of the water, you’re sure you would hear it. Sometimes, you’re sure you can hear it, but then you remember the dangers of trusting unfamiliar voices. Especially unfamiliar voices in a place like this.

No one goes near the river Shiganshina. And you forget the reasons why much too often.

It’s rocky, slippery, there’s no path to walk on, and the nymphs grow sharp teeth when men approach them, hissing and eyes glowing red. But that’s what makes it perfect for you.

Sasha first mentioned the river months ago, recalling the places on the island that her and her father avoided whenever they went hunting. You hadn’t paid much attention to it until days later, when Connie recounted with round eyes how Floch’s body was found beside the river Shiganshina, mouth full of water and eyes gouged out. You knew you needed to go there yourself.

A pearl necklace is what you stole. And under the guise of going to wash clothes at the well, you made your way south of your small island with only Sasha’s vague instructions and your intuition guiding you.

You could hear the ocean as you walked through the untouched woods, your heart hammering in your chest every time the waves crashed against the island’s cliffs. You weren’t allowed to see the ocean- you weren’t allowed to be around any large body of water, for that matter- but you still knew your island well enough to know that a step in the wrong place could lead you tumbling down the cliff.

You would die before you got to feel the water on your skin and that, you thought, would be the most tragic part.

As your feet began to sink into the muddy ground, you could smell the salty water, and a slight metallic scent behind it that only drew you in closer until you reached a clearing. It was small, crowded with foliage with only a few dead plants on the ground where you could only assume people had attempted to step foot.

And there was the river. It was small, its water emerging from underground before the tide pushed it to the edge of the island- to a waterfall. So loud that it could drown out any noise, any screams. You shivered. For a moment, you just stood back and watched. The water was was green, but so clear that you could still see the fish swimming beside the floating objects. Coins, silver, small statues, and whatever else hopefuls had tried to offer. You pulled out your own offering and whispered a short prayer before throwing the necklace in.

It could have been your imagination, but the water calmed. It was quieter. And, like that, you felt as if the river had opened up its arms to you. Strong arms that you have to be cautious not to spend too long within lest you get trapped.

Thankfully, you’ve learned to read the signs. You know when the river wants you to leave, when it wants you to keep your distance, when it wants to keep you close, and even when it wants you to bathe. Those are the special moments. It’s rare the river is calm enough for you to dip your naked body into, but surrounded by the cool water, you feel like you could stay their forever.

If the river could speak now, however, you’re sure it would tell you to fuck off.

Either that or it would tell you to come back when you have something more to offer its god than a single golden bead from your grandmother’s necklace. Only three are left on the thin string, though you think you might keep the last one to honour her death. After that, you’ll have to go back to offering coins and whatever other trinkets that will keep the god of this river sedated long enough for you to dip your feet into the cool water, maybe take a sip, and then return home before your father realises where you’ve been, much less where you’ve been unchaperoned.

The latter is hardly your fault. Sasha and Connie are too scared to step foot in the Shiganshina forest, let alone the river itself. And you can’t trust anyone else to accompany you, especially the servants whose tongue could slip at the drop of a golden coin. Your father would never forgive you for spending time in the territory of the God of the Ocean or- as he liked to call Armin- the destroyer of seas. And thus, being left alone seems to be the only way.

Well, that’s unless Mr Arlert decides to join you.

The owner of the stable who appeared on the island out of nowhere is the last person anyone would expect to be brave enough to spend time at the river Shiganshina. He mostly keeps to himself, only ever seen tending to his horses or immersed in scrolls of literature and poetry. And yet, he’s here almost as often as you are, almost as vulnerable as you are.

Despite his solitary nature, Mr Arlert has been quick to make himself adored. Mothers swoon over his charm, scholars constantly indulge in his curiosity, and sailors are fascinated by his knowledge of the world and its oceans. He’s no warrior, and already in his late twenties, but he’s still without a doubt one of the most eligible bachelors on Paradis. And, yet, to any marriage proposal sent his way, he declines with a polite “A husband is not what I am fated to become”. Even Annie Leonhardt- whose father Mr Arlert would constantly visit- had her heart broken. But no one blames Mr Arlert, of course, who was there to comfort Annie, to make her realise that she just needs to be a better person, that’s all. It’s not his fault her heart broke, Mr Arlert reassured.

Thinking about it now, you’re amongst the handful of women who haven’t been offered to the tall blond. And with that comes a sigh of relief as you drag your fingers through the water.

It’s not like you dislike him- the opposite, actually- but being with Mr Arlert is like taking the hand of an invisible man in the dark and letting him guide you.

His words constantly have your thoughts spiralling in directions that they shouldn’t be. Thoughts about leaving the island, thoughts about going to the ocean, thoughts about becoming a priestess. Thoughts you aren’t allowed to have.

You fate is bound to the home you were born in, a thick rope tied to your ankle, only letting you go as far as this very river. And Mr Arlert sits beside that rope, a knife in his hand, blue eyes staring into your soul, waiting. You’re not sure what he’s waiting for. But what you’re sure of is that to be taken away from the life you know of is an inconceivable fantasy. The unknown is a dangerous thing, after all.

The small island of Paradis may lie far away from the rest of the world, but their core values remain the same. A woman must grow up to either serve her father or her husband. Your fate has already been decided for you. And, frankly, if it means not having to share a bed with an old man who marries you for your dowry, you’re very happy with taking care of your father until the day that he’ll be put into the ground.

But then there’s always the third option. A woman who serves neither her father nor her husband will serve her god.

You had never been given that option by your god-hating kin. Simply suggesting a future as priestess would earn you at least five lashes, so why… why can’t you stop thinking about it? Your instincts have you blame Mr Arlert, but you know that your fixation began before he arrived on the island; all he’s done is vocalise your thoughts.

As a gust of wind blows the leaves and the salt from the sea gently caresses your cheek, you wonder who your god would be. Do you resonate with Pieck’s beauty, or Zeke’s creativity? Maybe. But as you look into your reflection, you know that your god is no other than Armin, the god of the ocean. The fates must think this is hilarious, but you just want to scream.

“It’s getting late. I wouldn’t want your father worrying about you.”

You jump at the sudden voice, turning around at the familiar face, leaning against a tree with a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Mr Arlert.”

His footsteps are so gentle, as are his apologies.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ve come to invade your space, after all.”

“It’s not my space, it’s Armin’s. The god is only letting me stay here.”

He smiles a knowing smile, one that you would usually find patronising on any other man. But Armin is charming, too charming for you ever to think that of him. “I suppose you’re right.”

He comes to sit down beside you, taking his usual place at your right- the voice of reason. It’s quiet for a moment, before you remember.

“Lemnos,” you say.

The blond smiles. “I’m not named after a place.”

And you roll your eyes, as you’ve done every time he’s given you a useless hint. “That hardly narrows it down.”

“Well, I can’t make it too easy of a game.”

“You can’t make it impossible either!”

“It seems like I already have.” And you’re not sure if you want to wipe the smirk off his face or just stare at it.

“What about Tree?”

Arlert laughs. “No, but you have one guess left.”

“What?!” You sit up straight, eyes wide. Now you really want to wipe the smirk off his face.

“You have seven guesses, and in the eleven months we’ve known each other, you’ve used up six.” His explanation is calm and rational enough for you to almost convince yourself that the rule has been there from the start.

“Wait- wait. I never knew about this!”

“I thought everyone did. It’s traditional wager rules.” Mr Arlert’s tone is sorry, but you know he’s everything but. So, you cross your arms and pout, hoping that staring him down might at least give you the smallest chance of winning your wager.

He leans forward, mirthful and you feel a shiver go down your spine. “What is it, little puppy, sulking because you’re afraid you can’t win?”

You flush at the implication of your loss- “No- no not at all- no”- before registering his actual words are and only then can you feel the heat rise and you’re sure it’s doing you no service. “I know I can win!”

“I know you can too,” he assures you.

You frown. “Are you being sarcastic?”

It’s his turn to flush. “No, not at all! You can win- the water god favours you, after all.”

And although you shrug, his words stick. They always do.

Before you go home, you pass by Armin’s temple and place at the foot of his statue the remainder of your grandmother’s necklace.

A year ago:

Amrin knew how fickle the gods were and he thought that this knowledge made him impervious to those feelings. He watched how Eren jumped from woman to woman daily, how Reiner picked and chose his battles without a care, how every single fixation a deity would have never lasted more than a year. He thought of how stupid it was to spend a life of immortality indulging in such temporary pleasures. And he looked down on his kin for that very reason.

It was only after one argument too many that Armin finally let it slip. The god of the sea was usually quiet, offering soft smiles, casual conversation, and minimal conflict. That was his only rule: keeps quiet before the gods of the pantheon as he takes his anger out on the humans below. But that day, he forgot about his rule.

Maybe it was the years of silence that caused the Eathshaker’s outburst, or maybe it was just Eren’s bored expression as he talked about his mistresses in front of Mikasa. Armin couldn’t take it. Gathered at a marble table beside all the Olympians, he scowled and told them how stupid they all were.

“Don’t you realise? You’re all wasting your immortality by being so idiotic, so fickle! Everything you touch becomes a temporary pleasure, ruined by your inability to act like real gods.”

He should have stopped; he really should have stopped. But the crack in the glass bridge had been there for years, and now the shards of glass were dropping down into the sea. “You might as well be human!”

The room went silent. Eyes went wide, and mouths gaped, but the gods opted for silence. Every deity wanted to speak up, maybe even draw their swords, but they were more intelligent than Armin was in that moment, which was more unusual than one might think. He had never snapped so violently before. Armin may have been aggressive, but he knew his place. Knew when to be docile. Now, he felt like he could crumble Olympus itself with his rage and bury the Olympians with their dead parents.

The king of the gods, however, leaned forward. His emerald eyes were unmoving, devoid of emotion though his lips tilted into a monstrous grin.

“You’re just as fickle as the rest of us, brother,” was all Eren said.

When Armin lunged at him, knocking the fine glass off the table, it was Mikasa who pinned him down. Arms locked behind his back, all Armin could do was watch as mirth flooded Eren’s face, and the god of the sky laughed. The bastard laughed and laughed and licked the small wound on his hand from a shard of glass. It healed immediately. Even their pain was temporary.

And like he had been doing for the past millennia, Armin found solice in his only rule: if he couldn’t take out his rage on his brother, Armin would take out his frustration elsewhere.

His first instinct was to find a woman, but the thought of seeking out temporary pleasure, from a mistress no less, reminded him too much of Eren. So, he descended to earth, trident in one hand as the other gripped the reigns of his horse and they rode for three days and three nights. That’s all it took for the god of the sea to find what he was looking for- someone deserving of his hatred.

There are many humans like the merchant. But most of their hatred is silent. And when it’s not, blasphemy often falls upon deaf ears. The merchant just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time when his drunk rambles led him up on the deck screaming out Armin’s name like it was venom in his throat, until he could scream no more. He was drunk, but the merchant’s hatred for the god of the sea did not cease when he was sober.

And when Armin heard his name, the god wasted no time calling forth a storm to sink the merchant’s ship. He took care to ensure that the arrogant man watched each and every one of his men be swallowed whole, their bodies only resurfacing lifeless, before the storm calmed.

It took five days for the merchant to swim back to his island.

He never returned to the sea.

As the weeks passed, he relocated his home to help him stay away from any body of water and made sure that his family followed suit.

But Armin followed, and the merchant’s father died weeks later with saltwater water found in his lungs.

Unfortunately, that was not enough to sedate the god of the sea’s need for vengeance. Fortunately, it was not enough to sedate the merchant’s hatred either. The hubris didn’t leave him. Instead, it just grew and grew and grew until the merchant considered himself more of a god than Armin would ever be.

“Oh, oh.” Armin couldn’t help but smile as he watched the man urinate before his temple. “This is perfect, so perfect.”

Armin was going to show his uncaring brother how different he was from the rest of the miserable Olympians. As he stood above the island of Paradis, golden hair blowing in the ocean wind, the god vowed to begin his Odyssey. An eternal Odyssey. A journey that would last longer than the ten fleeting years he had with the Greek hero- a journey that would last longer than the universe itself.

And he knew exactly where to begin. A man’s most valuable possession: his child.

It was only after your grandfather’s death that Armin noticed you. When he first began watching the merchant’s household, under the guise of either a guest or a bird, he had been surprised to learn that the blasphemous man had no wife, nor children. Armin only realised his mistake one night, when you came to lay a blanket on the drunk man’s barely conscious body. The merchant had pulled you towards him, muttering apologies and you had wrinkled your nose before offering him a soft smile. “It’s okay, papa”.

A daughter sheltered from the world, it seemed.

The god had initially thought you were one of the servants. There were only two in the house, and your tasks were all similar. But as Armin began to watch you closer, he saw how you did have a life outside your home with friends, interests, men- a life your father was blissfully unaware of.

The merchant hardly left home- playing the part of the sick man- and you took care of him- playing the part of your dead mother- in a happy sort of agreement.

You didn’t speak about it to your friends, but you detested your doting role. Armin could tell. The way you wrinkled your nose every time your father walked through the door, the eye-roll when you were given a load of laundry. The god couldn’t help by laugh at how pathetic the merchant was that not even his only daughter- his lifeline- cared for him. The merchant didn’t know, of course. Your fake smiles and gentle hands were enough to deceive him, keep him sane. But Armin was going to break that pattern.

The merchant didn’t deserve the care of a woman. He didn’t deserve anything. So, Armin was going to take you away from him.

His initial plan was to kill you. Simple, efficient, quick. And then he thought of dumping your body somewhere far so that the search for you would break your father’s spirit even more. He hesitated, though, he wasn’t sure why, but he did. And then, you changed your routine.

After meeting up with the two individuals you called your friends at the Sunday market- instead of going back home- you carried on walking. Through the houses on the outskirts and into the dense trees, you almost stung your sandal-clad feet twice before reaching a river. The river had no god of itself, but you still threw in an offering and muttered. Stupid human. And then you sat beside the river and- nothing. Your routine was boring, obviously a ritual to let you escape from reality. Yet, he couldn’t tear away from you. The woman at the river Shiganshina was a different one than the woman who served her father. The one here relaxed her shoulders, cursed at the world around her, smiled- albeit randomly but it was real. He decided there that he would kill you tomorrow.

But when, the next day, you led him back to the river, Armin was lost in you again. Lost in your honestly, lost in your need to escape. He wanted to see more, he needed to see more. Metaphorically, of course. But when you began undressing, the pleated robes dropping to reveal soft skin and tender curves, the god of the sea realised that he wouldn’t mind literally seeing more of you. Armin had been with goddesses and nymphs and, hell, even Aphrodite herself, but never had he been this awestruck. He had to hold himself back. Even though the way you were bathing made it seem like you were worshipping him, water dripping from your body, wet hair hiding the swell of your breasts. Armin’s breath stuttered. He couldn’t reveal himself. He couldn’t.

So, he watched, and watched. Trying desperately to take in everything you were from a distance. Armin didn’t count the number of times he visited you before finally decided that killing you was no longer an option. He told himself that his change of mind was progressive. A practical choice to draw out his revenge into the most painful and convoluted Odyssey. To do that, he couldn’t kill you. No. He was going to take you for himself. Armin was going to turn the daughter of the merchant into a servant of the one God he detested.

Putting the thought into your mind was pathetically easy. As you walked past his temple on your way home, an echo of laughter emerged from the marble building. You paused for only a moment, but it was enough for Armin to catch the look in your eyes. It was one of longing, mixed with a curiosity that threatened to pull you in. But you seemed to catch yourself in the act and hastened yourself home.

And so, Armin’s true Odyssey began.

For his journey to progress, he had to meet you. Not as a bird or a horse or through glances as a guest. He had to meet you properly. This was the only way to draw you in, he told himself. The only way for you to submit completely and willingly.

Armin could have forced you too your knees, but he had to ensure that your father watched has his daughter chose Armin over him. And chose Armin you would. Every piece was in perfect place. The fates seemed to have woven a beautiful cloth of gold for the god of the sea.

What he failed to realise was that the cloth was in fact a snare- a trap which he will never be able to escape from.

Eleven months ago:

A short gust of wind had the pears in your thin basket tumbling down onto the rocky ground. You rushed after the fruit, crouching down to pick it up when a shadow appeared, and a hand reached out to pick it up for you. The sandal-clad feet were pale- paler than anyone living on this warm island and the robes a fine, ironed white. He somehow seemed to glow brighter than his clothes, and you purposefully let your fingers graze his as you picked up the fruit.

“Thank you,” you said, standing up.

You were hoping that he wouldn’t catch your staring. But even if he did, you couldn’t tear your eyes off him. He was lean, taller than you but not intimidatingly so and his eyes were like oceans that you found yourself staring into as he introduced himself as Mr Arlert. Just Mr Arlert. The new owner of the stables with a voice so soft, it took a moment before you remembered to introduce yourself.

“Y/N. And thank you, again.” It isn’t appropriate for an unmarried woman to be talking to a man on her own, but you couldn’t help but ask. “Do you have a first name Mr Arlert?”

His smile was contagious. “I do. But names are a powerful thing. I’m afraid I can’t give mine up freely.”

“Oh.” You scrunched your nose. “Can I pay for it then?”

You were dead serious, but the blond man laughed. How can someone look so pretty when they laugh? You wondered.

“I’m serious! I can pay you; name your price.”

Mr Arlert looked down at you, blue eyes twinkling. “I’ll think about it.”

“So, is that a no?”

“It’s a no, for now. One day I’ll tell you my name.”

He was sweet, so sweet, but you still gave him a sceptical frown, nose scrunching and eyebrows furrowing. Mr Arlert in turn gave you a sorry look before his eyes lit up and he pulled out from his brown satchel a small book of yellowed pages and a dusty blue cover, the gold embossing hardly visible. You nose only scrunched further.

“My name is in this story. It’s mentioned few times, but it’s an important one,” he said to you.

You took the book and flipped through the worn pages, immediately recognising the tale of Aphrodite and Ares. The lovers.

Why the challenge? You wanted to ask Mr Arlert but you knew the answer you your get would be too cryptic. Besides, you think, I like a challenge.

“How long do I have?” You asked instead.

“A year and a day.”

“And what will I get if I figure it out?”

At this, he pondered. But it seemed feigned, and you wondered, just for a split second, if the man had planned this from the beginning. But why? This was another one of your questions that went unanswered that day. Because before you could say anything more, Mr Arlert leaned forward and said, “Your reward will be divine”. And he walked away.

Nine months ago:

Life was well after Armin arrived. There was no other way to put it. Your father was confining himself to his room more often than before, and you were finding more opportunities to visit the river, leave the house and, eventually, you met the handsome baker’s son. Jean was kind, a gentleman, but not the arrogant type like most the men your age. You didn’t even feel too much guilt when you thought that spending a future with Jean- taking care of him and his home- wouldn’t be too bad. It’s quite pathetic that your life had been reduced to not being “too bad”, but the idea of marrying Jean sat on the comfortable line between reality and fantasy. Safety.

And then you were visited at the river.

Mr Arlert wasn’t even surprised to find you there, he had just smiled and sat beside you as you clenched your fists and forced yourself to smile back at him. You had always enjoyed him, his company, his challenges, but now it was like he was provoking you. The river Shiganshina was your river, your special place away from the hellscape that was the town. And now Mr Arlert had brought himself and his ordinary life into it.

You pulled your sandals back on, the crease in your brow evident. He clearly couldn’t get the hint. But before you could stand up, he spoke, and you paused.

“I wish I could jump in and swim away,” he said.

Curiosity got the best of you, as it often did with the man.

“The waterfall would kill you.”

The awkward laugh again. It had an effect on you so that your jaw couldn’t help but unclench. “If it means that I get to touch a waterfall, I wouldn’t mind, you know?”

You knew. You knew exactly what he meant. But you didn’t tell him.

“Didn’t take you as the suicidal type,” you said.

“I might get saved, who knows.”

“If you’re counting on me to jump after you, I’m letting you know I won’t.”

“I know,” he laughed. “I was thinking of more of a divine rescue.”

You finally looked at him, and- unsurprisingly- his blue eyes were glued to yours. What was surprising was his unwavering tone, his straight face. Mr Arlert was being serious. Why was he opening up to you this suddenly? So far, your interactions had consisted of him staring, you trying to guess his name, and him continuing to stare. In that order. You knew there was more to him, but it’s only now that you found yourself wanting to seek that out.

“You think Armin would save you?” You didn’t miss Arlert’s smile.

“I’m hoping I’ve gained his favour- done enough for him to allow me freedom via waterfall.”

It was your turn to smile. “You probably have, You’re at the temple often.”

“Thank you.” He blushed and you quickly pushed down the thought of how cute he looked. Sitting beside you, trousers rolled up and feet in the water, Mr Arlert looked more than cute. He looked like he belonged. You weren’t sure how that made you feel but, in that moment, you didn’t mind him entering your world.

“I think you would also be saved if you jumped into the waterfall,” Mr Arlert said.

You laughed. “Is that your way of saying I’m a nice person?”

“Something like that.” He paused. “I think Armin would appreciate your- uh- honesty. You’re like a priestess.” He laughs nervously at your expression. “You know, they have this personal affinity with the water and such.”

You knew exactly what he meant. How a stranger could read you so perfectly, you weren’t sure. But as you hid your smile between your hands, you wondered whether you were prepared to face the fear of the unknown. Maybe, with Mr Arlert, it would be a bit less unknown.

A few days later, Jean was announced missing. A search party was sent out and even Mr Arlert, on his recently acquired brown horse, couldn’t find him.

Present day:

Armin isn’t sure if he likes playing the part of the nice boy or not. Humans are simple creatures who praise him continuously and, without divine responsibilities, there is no need to take his rage out anywhere. But a god is who he is, and every day, he yearns to be seen as one. To be seen as one by you. He watches as you worship him, but you never look at him- not like you do the statues, or even the small river which you think is your only true connection to the god of the ocean.

You both want more, and you both know that, but you only ever admit it to each other when you sit beside that very river. There, in those moments, Armin feels a bit more like a god. Whenever he’s around you, he feels a bit more like a god.

He’s told you before, but your perfect honesty has made it easy for him to unravel around you. He wants to unravel around you in other ways, too, and he wants you to unravel around him. Armin can’t count the number of times he’s sat beside you at the riverside and wanted to do nothing more than to kiss those lips of yours, to press the hard cock that he hides inside of you and watch as your eyes roll back, and you call out his name.

But the God of the Sea is not Eren. Armin will earn you. And he’s very close to doing so. Not Mr Arlert. You have no interest in human men, that much is clear. You yearn for something more powerful. And you’re right. Only a god is worthy enough to stand beside you, lay between your legs, be in your arms. Mr Arlert is simply a means to push you to realising that the god in question is Armin.

In the meantime, he’s been nothing but patient.

It’s only when you come to his door one night, eyes puffy and red, that he lays his hands on you for the first time. He rubs your back as you cry and cry, fat tears refusing stop falling. You tell him about bout your father. About how, since he got better, he’s been refusing to let you out of the house, snapping at every moment and accusing you of being a filthy god-worshipper.

“He s-sai-d- he said we’re ‘gonna move away- said we’re gonna get as far away from the s-sea as possible.” You can hardly speak, though the tears have stopped, your voice still shakes violently. But Armin listens, he holds you close to him and repeats that everything is going to be fine.

You can’t stop thanking him as you leave, and he promises that his door is always open for you. “Whenever you call for me, I’m here,” Armin tells you. “Right beside you, always,” he adds as he watches you walk away.

He’s reached a new chapter of this Odyssey.

Present day:

You suppose your father’s death should have been expected. He was an old man, obviously depressed, and his only lifeline was his daughter who hated him.

You also suppose you should feel guilty. You don’t.

Familiar faces give their condolences and whisper questions of what is to happen to you now. You only pay heed to Sasha and Connie, though, who give you a soft hug before Sasha tells you that her family would be happy to take you in. You reassure her and everyone else that you have a plan, though your best friends are the only ones who seem to believe you.

“I heard Marie has a son who’s single, maybe they can-“

“You’re not actually talking about marriage here are you?”

“Well, the girl is all alone in the world, now! She needs a man to lead her on the right path.”

The old women are wrong, so very wrong. You don’t need a man. You’re fucking sick of men- sick of them all- everything they’ve created and everything they stand for.

What you need is a god.

The head priestess of Armin’s temple in unsurprised when you knock on her door with nothing but a bag and the clothes on your body. Those clothes are burned soon after, along with many of your other things, leaving your old life behind.

She tells you that you’re lucky there’s a place for you. The last priestess left running off with a man, “Which is a cardinal sin”, she makes sure to repeat every-so-often. The head priestess seems to hate men more than you do, sneering whenever Connie comes by.

Sasha and Connie are unsurprisingly shocked at your choice of work and even if they visit almost every day, they always tell you that they miss you. They think you’ve come the temple out of desperation- everyone does- and you let them believe. Because despite cleaning the marble floors or whatever other arduous duty you’ve been given, a smile is never far as you realise that you’re free from man. Indeed, explaining the truth to anyone would be far too difficult.

Well, except one person.

You’ve never missed anyone before. Not with your father keeping you so sheltered for most of your life. But as you push through the Head Priestess’ relentless schedule, you can’t help but miss Mr Arlert. He disappears after your father’s funeral, so you leave him a note at the empty stable with your final guess. You like to think he decided to follow his own path, you also like to think that he too wishes you were beside him, a guide in the unknown.

Present day:

The room is a box of marble, with a throne sat upon a dais at the centre and one fountain at every corner, each one sculped into a horse. The object of your interests, however, is the large bowl of water on the floor in front of the throne.

This is your initiation. You will emerge from this room not as an apprentice, but a Priestess.

You kneel down and lift the pot of clay to your lips. The head priestess kept on repeating how important it is to not put it down until you’re finished. So, you gulp the water down until you can see the image of Armin. You’re the one who selected the pot, with its faded paint depicting Armin and Hange’s fight for patronage of Sina. It’s a powerful image, but when you put the pot down, you come face to face with something very different. Armin is standing in a room-this room, you realise- and crouched down before him is a young woman, looking up in awe. It takes bit longer of a moment for you to realise that the woman is you.

Looking up slowly from the pot, the first thing you see is sandal-clad feet. Golden sandals, just as fine as the robes he wears, draped in perfect waves. The first word you think of to describe him is divine and it’s indeed accurate because-

“Mr Arlert.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

But you know that’s not correct. The man- no, not a man- before you is taller than Mr Arlert, by a foot and a half at least. His muscles are more prominent that the stable boy’s ever were, strong legs visible through the large slit between the layers of fabric draped over the god’s figure. Half of his shoulder-length hair is tied back using a golden pin whilst the rest frames his perfect, perfect face. You can’t help but think that Armin looks nothing like his statues- no medium of art could capture the ocean within his eyes, glowing in the dull light of the room. Then again, the stories didn’t capture the way the god acts either.

“Armin,” you say, this time your voice louder.

Now, you know.

His sad smile is familiar, but there’s something there that never was. “Oh dear,” he says. “I’m afraid you’ve lost out wager.”

Armin can’t help but compare you to a puppy, with large eyes staring up at him from your crouched position and an expression a perfect mix of excitement, curiosity, and shock.

You reach out a hand tentatively, but it hovers in the air between the two of you once you notice Armin’s raised brow. But he doesn’t rebuke you for it. After all, it’s only your first encounter with the god. He can’t expect you to behave perfectly, to adopt the right etiquette- no, he’ll have to train you first. Like he would a baby mutt. The thought makes him smile.

“I’ll accept any consequences, my god,” you say. Your voice sounds so sure of itself, so unlike your usual ramblings, those that Armin could and would listen to for hours. Right now, though, the certainty, it’s laced with desire that sends blood rushing south. You don’t notice. You’re too lost in his eyes to notice anything.

When he places his hand on your chin to hold it up, he can feel you shiver. “Such a perfect little worshipper,” he says. “I couldn’t possibly punish you.”

Armin can swear he sees disappointment in your eyes before he turns around and walks up the dais. The marble of the throne is cold beneath him, but the sight of you looking up at him with such longing is enough to warm him up. Now, Armin is sure you’ve noticed his growing erection because you crawl towards the dais, not yet climbing it, but close enough to see and lick your lips.

“Let me thank you at least, Armin.” He almost groans at the sound of his name. God, he wants to hear you say it over and over.

“Come here.”

And you climb up the dais only to pause before Armin leans forward and grabs your hips. Two lips, as if led by an invisible string, meet. You kiss like you’ve been waiting years for Armin and, in a way, you have. His tongue is inside your mouth quickly and he’s kissing, sucking, letting his teeth gently graze your lips as he revels in the feeling of you. As your bodies lean against each other, you can feel his heart hammering against your own. His chest is stone, but his lips are so soft and your hands find his golden hair. It’s also softer than it looks, and Armin can’t help but let out a moan as you gently tug.

When you pull back, his pupils are blown. “Thank me, then,” Armin says, breathless.

Sitting between his legs, your hand is tiny compared to his cock, and you can’t stop staring at it. Long and somewhat slender, but veiny with a flushed red top- he can see you gulp before you take an experimental lick at him. Armin’s hold on your hair only tightens and you look up at him, doe eyed and seemingly innocent.

“Put it in your mouth, pretty girl,” he says, guiding your head gently. “So obedient- Yes, exactly, just like-ah- just like that.”

But he doesn’t need to push down- no- he lets you set your own pace only because you do it so perfectly, almost as perfect as the wet noises you make. Armin doesn’t have time to be surprised, he’s just able to react fast enough to suppress his own moans so he can hear your wet tongue caress the base of his cock, as your lips create the perfect o-shape to accommodate him. Your drool is everywhere in a matter of seconds- his balls are coated with it, and so is your lap, where the spit seeps through the thin white fabric you call a robe.

“Like a puppy,” he murmurs. And you look up quizzically. “You’re drooling over me like a desperate puppy- a puppy in heat,” he grunts. “You just want to please me, don’t you? ‘S alright, puppy, I’ll let you do that.”

If you could nod your head, you would. Instead, your cheeks burn, and Armin is so lost in the way that you look- not even able to take his entire cock in his mouth- that his hips begin to buck unconsciously. He hits the back of your throat, and you gag at the sudden impact, but he hisses and murmurs “What a good, wet hole. So good, good-”

The earthshaker is afraid that if he speaks any louder, his voice will slur into incomprehensible sultry sounds. But as you struggle to take his cock even deeper into his mouth, he lets out groans that go straight between your own legs. You moan around him, and the reverberations make his head roll back. God, you could stare at him forever. And he would let you.

“Look at me,” he says whenever your eyes go astray. “Look at your god.”

As his hips buck more violently, Armin can feel the pressure in his lower stomach, the impending orgasm and he wants to stop- wants to hold out the way he always has. But he can’t, it’s too much and he just cannot pull out of you. He simply pushes further and further into your tight throat, repeating your name like it’s a blessing. “fuck, puppy, ‘m going to- I’m going to cum down your throat. You want that, do you you’re your god’s cum- ah, fuck, ahhh”-

Pushing your head down to the base, both of his hands at the back of your head, Armin cries out you name and you can feel the warm liquid go down your throat, thick ropes filling up your mouth, some of it dribbling out. Armin reflexively pushes it back in your mouth, ordering you to swallow it all, to show how grateful you are. Of course, you oblige. But before you can even regain your breath, Armin suddenly pulls you off his cock. His pupils are dilated, and he wears an expression- anger? Shock?

“You’re not a virgin,” he hisses, teeth gritting against each other. His breath is frantic, uneven. It’s not a question and you begin to recognise his expression. Rage. “You’ve done this before.”

Fuck.

The God of the sea has his fair share of consorts and mistresses. Some of them virgins- though he never chases them the way Eren does- some of them not, but none have made him cum so fast. He would like to blame it on the year of pining, of restraint, but he knows better. It’s you. You do this him. You make him so wild, so willing, so pliant even.

In that moment, as he looks your worried face, so desperate to please, he thinks that he’ll never be able to let it go. You’ve consumed Armin and he wants to do nothing more than burn eternally. You must understand that- that you exist as his beacon, that’s where you’ll be your happiest, but those thoughts are too complex for a human. You, in your fragile state, can’t understand. It’s alright, he’ll just have to show you bit by bit that you’re his. But to do so, he must first take on the role he’s familiar with. That of the punisher.

“Who is he?” Armin snaps.

“It was only-“

“Who is he?”

You pause. Memories of nights spent together, huddled close and trying to keep quiet already fading. “Berthrolt Hoover.”

Armin’s shoulders relax, “I see.”

His breathing slowly goes back to normal, and, at the back of your mind, you know you’ve signed the young warrior’s death. But your worry is fleeting as Armin grabs you by the neck and hoists you over his knees, laying you down on your stomach effortlessly. “A priestess who isn’t a virgin?”

You look up as see Armin’s familiar sweet smile, but it’s laced with mirth that makes you forget the Mr Arlert he was before. You cry out at the first slap of his hand on your ass, more out of surprise than pain.

“I don’t think the people of Paradis will be very happy to hear that,” he says. “An unmarried woman giving herself away to a pathetic boy.”

Slap!

“I’m sorry!” you cry out. “It was a mis-”

He slaps you thrice.

“No excuses, dumb little puppy. I’m afraid you’ll have to endure this punishment.” His voice is deceptively soft, as if he is actually sorry. And when you look back up at Armin, his face betrays no malice. But it doesn’t show any cruelty either. Instead, there’s a fascination.

Armin has you sprawled across his lap, at his mercy and he is discovering you bit by bit. As a god. His cock twitches and then suddenly he tugs off the fabric of your robes and they disappear.

The way you squirm is half- hearted, and Armin has to laugh. “Embarrassed? Now of all times? I didn’t know you were such a prude. Or is this all just to compensate for the fact that you’re a whore in my temple?”

You shake your head, “I swear, I’ve never belonged to any man!”

Fingers trace the expanse of your naked body, soft enough to send shivers down your spine. “Oh? Really?”

“Yes yes, I swear, ah!” His fingers find your naked ass and they grab onto the flesh, massaging, groping, feeling you. Armin’s other hand rests on top of your head, stroking it gently and you’re so lost in his touch that you almost forget to speak.

“I belong to no man, I never have. Only you. It’s always been you, Armin.”

The god’s eyes widen, and he gently pulls you up from his lap only to seat you on it, upright and, this time, there’s so much more to admire. “You’re right,” he says. Armin captures your lips and this time, it’s longer, rougher. He doesn’t want to pull back, doesn’t want to lose the feeling of your soft lips against his, but his hands have already found your breasts and soon, his tongue joins them. You moan as he begins to lap at your breasts, leaving hickeys and spit in his wake as his finally finds your nipples and begins sucking them like a child as you whine and lean into him.

“You do belong to me,” he finally says, his voice partially muffled as he loses himself in the worship your breasts. “You’ve always belonged to me.”

And you can do nothing more than nod your head as your fingers tangle in Armin’s hair and you’re pulled into another kiss. His hand goes down your body, squeezing every single mound of flesh as if it needs to be touched so that when he finds your cunt, Armin can’t help but smile at how wet you are.

“Already, but I’ve hardly done anything to you?”

What a liar, but you don’t have a chance to tell him before he plunges a finger inside of you. “Oh, puppy, my puppy,” he groans at the contact the same time you moan, pushing your hips against his digits. “You like my fingers like that inside of you?”

“Yes, yes, I do, I really love them- it feels, oh my god, it feels too good!” you grip his shoulders, unable to do anything but desperately buck your hips at the smiling Armin. He knows what he’s doing, he knows that his fingers are giving you just that satisfaction, but it’s still not enough to bring you over the edge.

“Please Armin, please.” You squeeze his shoulders.

“Tell me what you want, tell me, I’ll give it to you- I swear.”

“I want to feel you, all- ah- all of you. I need to feel you inside of me!”

You’re not sure at which moment Armin removes his robes, but as he moves both of your legs so that you’re straddling him, your hands are on his bare, lean chest. The god’s nipples are flushed pink and pert, practically calling to you and you respond by brushing your fingers over them and watching him twitch ever-so-slightly in response. You withhold the urge to take them into your mouth, even as Armin rubs his cock against your cunt, releasing the sweetest of sounds.

He’s already leaking precum and it mixes with your juices so perfectly, his cock being dragged back and forth, only making you gush even more. “So messy,” he mumbles as he uses his tip to spreads your juices across your thighs. At this point, you can practically feel it throbbing, ready to be sheathed inside of you and the whimpers of your desperation echo against the temple walls.

When Armin slips inside of you, simultaneous gasps escape your lips. The god pulls your body closer to his as you throw your head back, stars in your eyes.

“Look,” he whispers. “Look how easily I slip in- it’s- it’s like your cunt is made for me.”

“Armin,” you whisper back. “Armin, Armin- ah- Armin.”

He sinks you down slowly, the stretch hitting every single spot that leaves your legs practically limp. The god is holding you up, whispering his own mantra that you can’t hear over your bliss. Once inside, your eyes look lock with Armin’s and he’s staring at you in a way he’s never done before. You’ve never seen pupils so dilated and the two of you stay like that as if making up for the moments when you should have been connected in this way. An eternity, it seems, the two of you have needed each other.

“I’m your god,” Armin finally says. “I’m your god and- hng ah-” He begins moving you up and down his shaft. “And I’m going to make you cum all over this cock- okay? All over your god’s cock.”

You nod your head pathetically as he lifts your hips and slams them down against his own. He is strong, ruthless in the way he bucks his hips up every time he lifts you from his cock, as if he can’t bare the empty feeling of not having your tight pussy clamped around him. At this relentless pace, you’re sure that the sound of your connecting bodies could penetrate even these marble walls. And yet, you don’t hold back. Thanks and praises spill from your swollen lips and Armin can’t help but lean forward and push his tongue between your mouth, as if he can absorb all of your word. “So good, so good, it’s- uah- I just want more, more of your cock, you fill me up so good!”

Armin can’t deny you. He pushes your thighs to your chest and picks up your entire body to fuck himself. He manoeuvres your body like a toy and as your tongue rolls out and your eyes become glassy, you begin to look like one too. The only sounds coming out of your mouth are incomprehensible, even as Armin attaches his mouth to one of your bouncing tits, you can only squeal.

“Such a good puppy,” he says between kisses. “Letting me use her holes like this. A god using a puppy’s holes- you should be- you should be grateful! Tell me, tell me you’re grateful!”

“I am!” you cry out. “I am grateful!”

“Good girl, good puppygirl.”

When Armin flips you over, you’re sat on his throne and he fucks into you harder, harder than he was doing before, and you swear his moans are louder too. He’s looking down at the movement of your stomach as if hypnotized by the way his cock disappears into you. And, in a way, he is. The fascination of being inside of you- just the idea even- is enough to make him want to cum.

The sudden position has him hitting new spots and the build-up is so fast, you hardly have the time to warn him. “Armin, Armin I’m cum-“

He grabs your face as you release around his cock, body spasming but unable to look away as Armin’s gaze burns through you. “Good girl,” he says. “Show me, show me how you cum. Just like that, just like that.”

He continues to plough his hips into yours and the spasms of your pussy leave him unable to hold back. “Inside of you,” he practically growls. “I’m going to cum inside of you- yes, yes, yes I am puppy. I’m going to cum inside of you and you’re going to show me how you take it yeah?”

You’re too far gone to even register the implications of what he’s saying, but he buries his cock in your warm walls and releases his cum inside of you with a heavy groan. “Just like that, just like that- I’m going to fill you up with my seed, puppy, my puppy.”

Armin feels like he’s emptied his balls- two powerful orgasms which leave his legs shaking violently. And yet, he pulls out of you slowly and stands back up to his full height, cock in front of your face. Almost instinctively, you rub your cheek against it, giving Armin soft kitten licks and he coos at you, stroking your hair. But he doesn’t push, he just holds his cock there and pumps softly as he stares at your fucked out face. Messy, covered in his spit, his hickeys, his bites, his cum- you look perfect, divine. Only one thing is missing. “I’m going to give you everything I have, puppy. And you’re going to take it, okay?” You nod and open your mouth for him and, immediately, a strong stream of pee emerges.

At the bitter taste on your tongue, your eyes roll back, and you spread your legs even wider, a welcome to the mess he is about to make. Armin accepts and angles his cock to release his pee over your chest, then your stomach, and then your already-throbbing cunt. He lifts a foot to rest on the throne and Armin doesn’t think he’s even seen such a beautiful sight in his life.

As if guided by an implicit will, Armin’s foot hovers on top of you and suddenly, he presses against your lower stomach. Your eyes snap back into focus as you whine out for him to wait, wait just a moment “I just had water,” you cry out. “It’s gonna- It’s gonna come out!”

But Armin simply grins. “Let it come out,” he says and presses his foot down harder. “Pee yourself dumb little mutt, be a good puppy for your owner.” The trickle that emerges is involuntary, but Armin’s grin is wider. “Yes, good girl, just like that. Let me see more, let me see more of you.”

The pressure that was holding the bowl of water back broke and you felt the warm liquid against your thighs before you realise what’s happening. Armin practically moans as he watches you whimper and struggle to hold your pee back as it spreads over the throne, the dais, and even Armin himself. He doesn’t stop until you’ve given it all to him.

You expect Armin to disappear.

You’ve given him everything. His goal is complete, you think, he has nothing more to do with you. But, as he has done many times before, the god surprises you. Armin’s body is heavy against yours when he collapses on top of you, but the weight is comforting. Despite the malaise of urine and cum rubbing against both of your bodies, you wrap your arms around the god of the ocean and hold him close.

Even as you close your eyes and lean your head back on the marble throne, Armin doesn’t leave you. Even as you open your eyes back up and see blue ones staring back at you, the look he gives you is so familiar and long hair in such unfamiliar disarray that you can’t help but smile.

He doesn’t ask why. Instead, Armin calls forth a stream of warm water from the adjacent fountain to clean the both of you. It feels like a fever dream the way floating droplets caress your bodies, and when Armin stands you up, his hands not leaving you, the perfume that suddenly envelops you is heavenly.

“Can I give you a last kiss, please?” you ask when your robe appears once again. And Armin leans forward to capture your lips, dragging his tongue on your bottom lip as if to taste you.

It doesn’t feel like a final kiss. You’ve had many of them- Jean, Sasha, Berthrold, your father, and even your mother, though you can’t remember it. This kiss is different. It feels less like a kiss and more like a promise, a vow. a shiver runs down your spine.

“I am your god,” he says and lifts his both of his hands slowly to wrap around your neck. “And you’re my worshipper.” You gasp as a cold sensation spreads around your neck, just below Armin’s fingers. It’s sudden, and heavy and when he removes his hands, yours fly to your neck and there’s a metal band there where there was none before.

“It’s sculpted from Hephaestus’ gold,” Armin says as he strokes his fingers along the metal. But he’s not looking at his gift, instead he looks at you.

“Armin- I- this is. But why?”

For the first time, he can’t read your expression. But it doesn’t matter. You belong to him. You always have, but now you know. And if it takes time for you to understand, Armin can wait. He’ll wait right beside you, always, always there to guide you.

“This is not the end of my Odyssey. My Odyssey is eternal,” he says before giving you another short kiss and disappearing, the warmth of his lips still present.

The gods might not all be fickle, you think, so you just smile sadly. But the gods are all selfish, so you touch the collar around your neck.

A/N: This is my first ever collab and I was- as still am- a bit insecure about how this story turned out so I appreciate all of your support ❤️. I would also like to apologise to my fellow history nerds for the historical inaccuracies.

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ilguna · 4 years

Text

Belamour - Chapter Seven (f.o)

summary: they say the odds tend to favor those who need them. well, they were wrong.

warnings; swearing, MURDER, CHILD MURDER

wc; 9.8k

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

You wouldn’t exactly say that you’re lucky to be alive. More that you’re lucky you had actually gotten back to the cornucopia when you did, that you were sponsored, and your allies hadn’t killed you.

Had you laid in that grass, you would have died. There’s no question about it There’s no way that they would have moved out of the cornucopia after everything that had happened in those trees. Even this morning they’ve seemed to be apprehensive. They won’t admit they’re afraid, but it’s all in their eyes.

Also the sponsor gift that Anchor had sent in. You bet that Mags was already sleeping by then, letting Anchor take the night if she could take the mornings. It would make the most sense. Mags tends to take a lead on things. You noticed that on the train and inside of the Capitol. Anchor mostly sits back and chimes in when he thinks it’s necessary.

Anchor sent in the healing cream, a huge tube of it. Which lets you know that you weren’t getting sponsored by any person, it was someone rich that’s betting on your win. Because of the cream, your back is mostly healed. By tomorrow, it should be nothing but a huge, pink scar that stings.

For now, each time you move your arms and shoulders, it hurts pretty bad on your upper back. It’s no longer bleeding, but it’s open. And so is the back of your blue-grey shirt and the thin, white jacket. Every time there’s a breeze, you can feel it. You need to find a change of clothes.

Although, you’re not really complaining. The cold wind is a small remedy to how hot the wound feels. You aren’t too concerned about it, you vaguely remember the first aid expert in the Training Center telling you that when it feels hot, it means your body is doing it’s job. It’s not going to be infected, not with the healing cream. But your body is still going to act like it is.

Honestly, you’re surprised that you hadn’t died from how much you bled. Not only is your shirt torn, but it’s stained a deep maroon color. Similar to the color of the dress that Trink had worn on the night of the interviews. Only, this time it’s terrifying to see, knowing that it came from your body.

You wonder if your brothers had seen it. Had watched you stick by that tree, catch a breather, and find Eytelle. If they were screaming at the hologram, begging you to keep moving instead of inspecting the scene in front of you, and then grabbing the knife. You know you’d be extremely upset.

You can almost hear them now, how loud and desperate they’d be. Alon with them would be anchor, and maybe Elysia if she’s up that late. All wondering why you didn’t just keep moving. It’s not your problem, it’s not your district mate. It’s an ally that’s offering you a safe escape. The bears will take her as entertainment in trade for your departure.

But then you mercy killed her, taking the entertainment away, and shifting the attention to you, the substitute.

And then you ran, and nearly made it out of the woods without any repercussions. You were two steps away from freedom, from beating the mutations and showing the Capitol that not only are you merciful and kind, but you’re quick too. You can slip out of their grasp and they can’t do anything about it.

Unfortunately you weren’t quick enough.

Also, in all honesty, you’re not even entirely sure if you killed Eytelle out of mercy, or because when you did make it back to the cornucopia, you just didn’t want to listen to her scream all night. Your allies--and probably the entirety of the Capitol and then some--think that you did it because of mercy, but you don’t care about any of that.

At least it’s kept Allio, Trink and Lennox off of your already shredded back. The last thing you need is them being suspicious of you, and watching every move you make. You think they’re already like that, after how you handled Horace. There’s no reason to fuel it.

If you can take down a seventeen year-old boy, who’s like three times your size and reminds you of the sports players back home, it’s a wonder what else you can do. The moment they start testing those limits is the moment you should probably run, and run far and fast.

For now, you just have to continue being careful with what you say.

Flipping over another box lid, you lean in and rummage through the stuff. More canteens, wire, some rope. Nothing too important. You close it, and move onto the one next to it. You know that the Capitol typically provides two boxes of spare clothes, but you didn’t know how hidden they’d be.

Wincing, you pull the lid open.

“Are you sure you don’t want help?” Trink asks.

“I’ve got it.” you tell her, “It’s a good pain, a nice burning sensation.”

“I’m not sure if that’s normal.” She laughs, “But it’s nice to see you moving like this, last night was pretty awful. At one point, Lennox was sure you stopped breathing.”

Yes, you remember her telling you this when you woke up. She admitted how relieved she felt. She said you’ve grown on her, you’ve earned your spot in the group multiple times. And when Allio walked away with Lennox to go check out the beach area straight from the mouth of the cornucopia, she told you Allio wanted to find a way to repay you.

It’s nice to have someone in your debt, but you doubt that he’ll actually end up doing anything. He might just thank you or something. You don’t know just yet, they haven’t come back in a while. For a while, the two of you watched them through the trees until you couldn’t anymore.

“I bet.” you say, catching the box lid before the entire thing topples over onto its back, “How badly did I scare you when I came around the side?”

There’s clothes in this box. You can finally change.

“Honestly, we thought you were the one that was caught and Eytelle was the one walking around the corner. We realized we stopped hearing your backpack jostling when we thought about it. We thought that Eytelle had taken some other part. Allio’s always said that she’s slippery when she runs.”

Not enough. She was slow last night. All that boasting of her being able to outrun you all in any situation, was for nothing. You had a heavy sword and a backpack full of supplies and you still kept ahead of her. Had you not tried to slip between the narrow path between the trees, you would have still been ahead of her.

And maybe had even left her to suffer. If you had ran out of the trees with the others, you definitely wouldn’t have ran back inside to shut her up. You would have suffered with the rest, listening to her screams, sobs and pleas for anyone to end it for her. You’re stupid, but not that stupid.

Although, in that hypothetical situation, you can imagine yourself not carrying literally everything on you. It would only be your small knife. No heavy sword, no backpack chocked full of the goodies in the case of you getting separated. In that case, you might still have your backpack and not some shredded fabric and unusable items.

The claws on those bears had to have been long. Because it was enough to tear that backpack straight off your back and still reach your skin. In just one swing of its paw, too. So terrifyingly impressive and it could have cost you your life.

You can’t remember actually seeing that long of claws on the bears last night, though. Of course, it was dark and hard to see enough as it is. All you can remember the most vividly is how bright their eyes were. But when you looked back that one time while running, you were able to see that they were bears before Eytelle announced it.

It’s weird, for sure. Last night doesn’t even seem real to you, and the only things that actively proved it happened is the scratch marks on your back and the fact that Eytelle is nowhere to be seen.

Out of the box, you pull out a new shirt and jacket. You rummage a little more, trying to find a sports bra too, but there’s none. You’d say that you’re annoyed, but it’s not a mandatory thing that you need. The fabric is a little torn towards the bottom, other than that it still does it’s job.

Before the boys come back, you pull the shirt off and toss it into the wood for the fire pile. You pull on the new shirt, Trink helps to make sure it doesn’t catch in your wound on it’s way down. And you tie the new jacket around you waist, since it’s too hot during the day to wear. It’s mostly for the nighttime.

It’s not too cold at night, but it’s not hot either. It’s really riding that line. It’s like springtime in Four, when it’s about to hit summer at any moment. Watching how the temperature rises every weekend, until it’s time for tank tops and shorts again and preparing to sit out on a boat for all hours of the day.

If you win, you’ll never have to fish again.

Right as you close the box and head back to the cornucopia to grab another safe-keeping knife to keep on your belt, Lennox and Allio come back around. Swords in hand, and they’re sweating.

Lennox nods in your direction, “It’s definitely salt water.”

You told him that just before they left. They insisted on double-checking, as if your nose and the years of you living off the west coast smelling the salt wouldn’t be good enough. Then Allio added that they’d check for other things too, so it’s not just the salt water that they were checking.

“Fish?” you ask.

“Think we saw some.” Allio says, taking a seat and pulling out his water. You can vaguely hear it slosh in his bottle. You’re almost out, and it’s time to take a trip down to the pond, “We can’t be sure, though. Who knows what's out there?”

Plenty of water mutts, you’re sure. You tuck the new knife on your belt and then reach for an empty backpack that’s laying against the wall. Their attention doesn’t stay on you for too long, and it eventually fizzles into a debate on whether or not you all should be going out to hunt tributes again.

It’s around the same time the games started yesterday, which is ten. You think it’s a little past that, maybe eleven to twelve? There’s really no way to tell, there’s no clocks in the arena, and it’s not like you can just make them either. All you really have is the sun, and where it’s positioned over the sky.

Considering that you guys took hours to get to where you did in the woods, only to rubber band all the way back here, you think it’s useless to go and try to get out there again. However, you all were messing around on the way there. It’s not like you were just walking in a straight line, every now and then you were taking breaks and chasing each other like a group of friends would.

If you go out today, you’ll have to keep on track for a while to make sure that you get passed where you were the first time. And it’s not even guaranteed that you’ll come across anyone. It would be nice to, just so the games aren’t dragged on for too long, but none of you are in control of that.

Then again, you need water. You’re down to half your canteen, and you should have been done with it by now and halfway through the next. One or all of you need to get moving out there. Gather the water and come back and start planning on what’s going to happen for lunch and dinner.

They seem to be on track with your thought process, “We need to find something to eat, though, Allio.” Trink argues, leaning up against the wall, “I’m hungry, and we haven’t eaten since yesterday. It’s noon.”

“That’s not too bad.” Allio says, “If we could hold out a little longer--”

“It’ll just create an unmanageable eating schedule.” Trink flicks a rock at him, and it nails his forehead. You watch his face turn pink, and you think it’s from anger with how his lips are turned downwards like his eyebrows already are.

“Alright, so what’s your brilliant idea?” Allio asks, crossing his arms, “Go ahead.” and when she looks like she’s thinking up a plan, he says, “Right, that’s what I thought.”

“Chill out.” Lennox tells him.

You stuff the backpack with a pocket knife, a fire starter, another first aid kit, a rope, and some other things that you think will be important. Water bottle, small fleece blanket, a change of socks. You cycle through the boxes until you think you’re fine, then you remember your healing cream.

“We need water.” you stab the sword into the sand, pulling it out and doing it again as they open up to allow you into the conversation, “The pond is an hour away. I think I saw fish yesterday, so here’s an idea; I take one of you with me down to the pond to get water and food.”

Trink motions your way, “See?”

“That’s her brilliant idea.” Allio says, “I’ll go with (Y/n).”

“We’ll get stuff for fires.” Lennox says.

Trink yawns, sliding off of the black box she was sitting on, “And I’ll look for a backup plan on food while we’re at it.”

Problem solved with no conflict. You’d hate to see how they’d tear each other apart. There’s still fourteen people left in the games. Four of those being you guys, and the other ten being everyone else. You think if a fight were to break out between Allio and Lennox, Lennox would kill Allio because he knows Trink better.

You think you’d kill Allio too. And even though it would be a perfect time to kill him on the way to the pond, you’ll have to hold back. Killing Eytelle was looked at for mercy, if Allio died, there’s no doubt that Trink and Lennox would be suspicious. It would ruin the thin cover you have already.

On the way out of the cornucopia to go behind it and straight to the pond, you’re able to see how the sand is stained red from the blood of yesterday’s events. Obviously, the gamemakers had collected the bodies after the bloodbath when you all left, but that doesn’t mean they had to clean up the sand too.

It’s a gross color. It’s not like the color that had been on your old shirt. This time, it’s a washed out red. It’s obviously blood, and when Allio walks over a patch of it with no remorse, it crunches beneath his feet. So, not only is it a deadly color, it’s also hard and crunchy and the thought alone makes you gag.

And just before you reach the trees, officially leaving the battlegrounds, you see where you had landed in the sand early this morning when the bears had chased you all the way to the treeline. You can see little shreds of fabric scattered over the sand, and where blood had run when you walked over to the cornucopia to hold yourself up.

After that, you’re in the trees and starting your treacherous walk all the way to the pond. You know you volunteered for it, but the sun beating on your head from above isn’t exactly a pleasant feeling. In fact, you think you liked it better inside of the cornucopia, even though it too, has been baking in the sun and it feels like the inside of an oven.

For the first ten to fifteen minutes of the initial walk, it’s quiet between you two. You spend the time stretching every bit of your arms until your back hurts because of it. Allio stares at the ground, and you begin to notice that you’re taking the exact path you took to escape the bears, but backwards. You begin to urge him to move right, because the pond is in a little dip in a cliff area.

Another ten minutes, and Allio has decided to break the silence, “What did Eytelle look like?”

Your face twists immediately when you go to look at him. You’re sure it’s not a real question until your eyes land on his face. He’s not kidding.

“I don’t…” you shrug, you’re not sure how he wants this question answered.

You remember. You saw her stretched out, back on a rock as claws dug into her skin. You saw the blood running down her skin, the ripped clothes stretched too far. Her mouth open wide in a never-ending scream. It was like she was being tortured for them all to see. It wasn’t nearly as bad as seeing Horace’s skull cracked open, but it was still a sickening sight. Right up there with the decapitation.

“Well, you saw her, didn’t you?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say slowly. How are you going to let him down easy?--assuming that’s what he wants.

“How did she look?”

You should have asked for Trink or Lennox to come along, if you knew that he’d be pulling some shit like this you would’ve.

“In pain.” you say simply, hoping that’ll be enough.

It’s not, “Come on, (Y/n). You saw her, what did she look like?”

“Ugly.” you finally spit, which has him whipping his head back in your direction, “Covered in her own tears and blood. Her skin and clothes were ripped to shreds, she looked like the type of tribute I’d click my tongue at back home and say ‘a damn shame’.” you look at him, “You happy now? Death is not pretty, it’s gruesome and traumatizing.

“No matter how pretty you are for the cameras, you’re always ugly during death, especially in the arena. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but stop romanticizing it. She’s dead, Allio. She knew it was coming. Let her rest.”

“That’s how you really feel, huh?”

“It’s the truth.” you swear to god, if he tries to spin this on you later, you’ll tear him down. Forget him and Trink butting heads, if he even tries to get rid of your spot in the alliance, you’ll make sure it’s his last words.

This all reminds you of what you thought earlier. If you pulled half the shit that they do in here, you’d have your hands slapped and be reprimanded by nearly everyone. Naida’s family, your brothers, people in The Square, everyone at school. They’d all think that something is wrong with you or whoever parented you.

You knew there was a culture difference between the districts, but you didn’t know exactly how bad it was.

You swing the sword in your hand, and you’re glad that Allio doesn’t continue to bring it up. You said what you said, and you’re not going to hand out apologies. And so long for him being in your debt, because you might have just ruined that between you and him.

At the pond, you take the task of filling up the waters, while he adds the iodine drops to them. He shakes, and then moves on. When you’re done gathering water, you go a little further down the pond with him. He helps clean the dried blood off of your back, and when the water stops running pink, you pull your shirt back on.

With the water and fabric combined, you can feel just how good the breeze is against your skin. With the new information, the two of you dunk your shirts in the water, squeeze enough to leave the shirts damp and then wear them. You drink your cleaned water, and figure that Allio can gather more by himself while you wander along the water.

Yesterday, you remember not finding any good spots, but it’s nice to check anyway to ease your mind. If you don’t find any tributes, it’s just insurance that no one will come running later tonight or whatever. Tonight, all the other tributes will know that you’ve lost someone in your alliance. It will be tempting to come and attack.

You’re about to call it, wanting to go back to Allio since you can’t hear him humming anymore. But there’s a rustle in the bush in front of you, that would be to your back if you turned around. You hesitate for a moment, because whatever is in the bush now knows that they messed up. You know that they’re there, and they know it’s any moment before they get hunted.

They shouldn’t have weapons though, and you think it’ll be more tempting to pounce on you, if you turn your back. A dangerous plan, but you’ve got to bait them out of the bush without jumping in there, yourself. The bush and whatever could be behind it, like a trap.

You turn, “Stupid animal.” and pretend you don’t hear the leaves after that, either.

A couple steps back towards Allio, you hear the twig snap, and go to turn back around again, sword weighted in your hands. But there’s a pair of arms around your neck and legs around your hips, like a hug. The arms are small and you think you can break them free, but they’ve got an iron lock. And with how they’re pressed against you, they’re rubbing against the open wound on your back.

You reach for the sword, which is now laying on the bank and is teetering over the edge. And the moment you do go to grab it, there’s yanking on your hair to keep you up, a loud and screaming pain in your temples.

Fuck.

You inhale as much as you can through your nose—which isn’t a lot—turning your back to the water. You can hold your breath for over three minutes. These other tributes? They’ve never seen bodies of water deeper than puddles in their districts. Without a single noise coming from you, you throw yourself back into the water, holding onto the arms around your neck.

If you’re going down, someone is going with you.

The cold water engulfs you. For a moment, it’s like you’ve parted the sea, until it all comes crashing over you. In that time, you can hear the tribute holding onto you, gasps. They must have realized their mistake. Not even a second later, they’re trying to struggle out of your grasp.

Too late, they’ve dug their grave, now it’s time to lay in it. If they were smart, they wouldn’t be struggling like how they are. They’d be playing dead, and they’d have a better chance at holding their breath. And they would have had a chance at escaping.

They loosen their arms just big enough for you to slip out of which causes a nice, searing pain to go through your back because of the friction. When you turn them to face you, hands on their wrists and eyes glaring in their direction, you can hardly make out their face. You can’t tell who it is, but you guess that doesn’t really matter. Either way, it’s going to be painful on their part.

They’re kicking their legs, trying to get their wrists free from your hands. You just hold on, occasionally kicking to keep yourself near the surface so it’ll be easy to reach when they do die. You realize this is like teasing them, knowing that if they could just get free, they’d be able to breathe.

They’re yanking, and you watch as they go to kick your stomach. You turn them to the side, watching their leg go right through the murky water. You kick to get back up again, but they’re beginning to drag you down.

You knew that the pond was going to be fairly deep, but you keep sinking way past the point you thought you’d stop. The light above begins to have trouble making its way through the dirty water. And you finally watch the tribute in front of you take in their first breath of water.

And they choke, you let go of their hands and watch as they immediately go to grab their neck as if it’ll help the pain that’s beginning to flare. With each gulp comes a more panicked look, eyes wide and almost bulging from their sockets.

You don’t watch anymore, feeling a deep burning pain in your own chest. It’s a good burn, reminds you of all the times you’ve held your breath to beat your past score. As you swim to the surface, you think you can make out the figure of Allio, standing over the water.

Trying to swim up while wearing the boots is hard, but it’s even worse with all the clothes and jacket you have on. Had you been barefoot, you’d be above water by now.

A hand plunges into the water, outstretched in your direction. You give a few more hard kicks before you’re reaching up too, grabbing onto the hand. They pull you out of the water, hand first and then your head.

You gasp through your mouth, grabbing onto the grass to keep yourself from sliding back in. You’ll remember this, how deep the water is. You just kept sinking and sinking. If one of the others had jumped in here, thinking that they could just float, they would have ended up like that other tribute.

A cannon sounds, and Allio is pulling you up the bank a little more. When you’re halfway onto land, he leaves you to do the rest. Underwater you can actually feel how heavy you are, but on land you feel it all, and then some. The jacket around your waist is weighing you down.

With one hand, you push the hair out of your face, still taking deep breaths, “I saw them in the bushes but I didn’t know that they’d do that.”

“Who was it?” He asks, crouching down. He’s pulling your sword away from the edge, “Did you see?”

“No, the water is so dirty down there.” You turn over, sitting on your butt as you squeeze the water from your hair, “It’s deep, Allio. Anyone who can’t swim well can easily drown. It just kept going and going.”

“We’ll stick next to the shallow end for now on.” He says.

You get to your feet, not liking the way the inside of the shoes squish and how the water runs out through the seams. You remember that you packed dry socks for a reason like this, but there’s no point to put them on. The shoes will just get them wet again.

You squeeze the shirt, and then as much as the jacket as you can. While you’re gathering your sword in your hands again, you and Allio watch the body appear at the top of the pond. For a moment, you can’t seem to register the fact that they’re facing upwards because of how bloated their face is.

And then it clicks. A boy who can’t be any older than thirteen is floating on the water. There were only two tributes that were younger than you and Finnick, and it was the District Twelve tributes.

No matter who it is, it’s bad either way. The girl was only twelve, and the boy thirteen. It doesn’t matter, that one year doesn’t matter. You just killed someone that’s so young, it’s sickening. Their parents back home in Twelve are crying over them, and you’ve just been labeled a child murderer.

It was luck that they managed to survive past the first day. Had the boy--you think it’s the boy in the water--not taken the bait of you turning your back, he would still be alive. Might even be running far away from the pond. But he didn’t, he jumped, and you killed him because of it.

It’s survival of the fittest. It’s not your fault.

“We should start heading back to the cornucopia.” Allio says, watching the gallons of water leave your jacket. It’s holding more than you anticipated, and it actually seems to be where the bulk of the weight is coming from. Of course.

“In a second, what if the Twelve girl is around?” you ask, regripping the sword in your hand. Then, you use the blade to very gently scrape off mud from the back of your jeans.

“How about I handle her?” Allio asks, holding the backpack out to you.

You take it, pulling the straps around your shoulders, “Don’t fall into the water. I’m not going to save you.”

“Good to know.” he says, “We’re even now, by the way.”

He starts walking around the area, stabbing through bushes with his sword. Even? For what?

“What do you mean?” you ask, shifting on your feet. You can feel the water squish between your toes.

“Eytelle.” Is all he says, and it’s enough for you.

After checking around the area for a final time, the two of you regroup and head right back for the cornucopia. There’s no reason to fuck around, your feet are already going to hurt enough as it is by the time you reach the cornucopia. Why make it worse?

The conversation back isn’t much better than the Eytelle conversation, but at least he’s not asking you what it was like to watch Twelve boy drown. Instead, he’s asking you about your own personal experiences with water.

“District Two is pretty dry.” he says, “No water.”

“There has to be water somewhere, you’re just not allowed to see it. But I believe you on the dry thing, you’re mostly desert, right?”

“Yes.” he says, “Makes for hot summers and freezing winters with barely any snow unless you live up north.”

“Sounds miserable.” you snort.

“What about you? What’s it like in Four?”

You shake your head, looking up, “Well, up north it’s freezing and it gets the most weather. That’s where I am, but down south there’s intense heat and humidity and all that.”

“You get rain?”

“Frequently during the spring and fall, snow in winter, and barely any hot weather in summer.” you slide the sword into a small fabric piece on the side of the backpack, making it so you don’t have to carry it all the way back. When you reach over, you find the handle easily.

“Sounds a lot more exciting.”

You shrug, you wouldn’t say that. Your district may get nice weather and pretty views, but with how much fish you’re bringing in and the way that you live next to salt water, there’s some smells that are permanently stained into you. Salt water, fish and sweat is how Cleo had loudly said on the day you first met them all. And honestly, you thought you did a good job with trying to mask the smell.

The night of the interview, she told you that you’d done a complete one-eighty. You’d gone from smelling like home to smelling like the Capitol. Which is extremely strong and expensive cologne and perfume that you’d have to sell your house a hundred times over to even begin to afford the cheapest selection.

Although, with how Allio has described District Four, you think that they might have it worse. Back home, you’re all used to the smell because there’s no real… variety… so to say, with how the district smells. Of course, in the south it might smell like hot, baking fish that’s been sitting in the sun all day, compared to just sweat and fish.

But in District Two--as Eytelle had proudly stated hours before her death--they’re all able to afford perfumes. And it’s not like you’re saying that Four can’t afford perfumes, but the higher class don’t necessarily associate with lower class unless it’s for business. So typically, you’re not smelling anyone with perfume unless it’s some kid wearing it to school.

Anyway, back to what you’ve tried to say; you have a feeling that District Two citizens smell like sweat, labor and perfume and cologne combined. Which is an awful smell, you can imagine. The perfume, shampoo, body wash and all of that, that your prep team had chosen all either smelled fruity or expensive. And you’re already getting a headache at the thought of mixing a fruity smelling perfume with sweat.

Deodorant exists, but like… there’s a huge problem with those scented ones too but you won’t get into that. You’ve already made your point. While Two might have low poverty rates and winning tributes, they smell like sweat from baking in the sun and try to fix it by spraying on perfume. That’s what you think, at least.

Naturally, a lot of Four people spend their time in the sun--the boats and fishing, hello--but you’re all used to it by now. After spending hours and hours in the sun, and watching people around you do the same, you’ve all managed to form the same habit to keep yourselves from smelling too bad.

But then again, Cleo proudly saying you smelt like sweat could just mean that all of this was futile. You’re not as nice smelling as you like to think. That, or the smell has been permanently etched into your skin since the day you were born, and the only way of escaping it is to not live in Four anymore. Which definitely isn’t going to happen.

There’s no more talking for the rest of the way back to the cornucopia. By the time you see it through the trees, you’re starting to feel a bit sick because of how hungry you are, and the shirt and your jeans have dried.

Before you walk into the sand, you have the mind to pull off your socks and shoes to make sure that they won’t make mud on the way to the cornucopia. The good news is that Trink and Lennox have food cooking by the time you get inside. They immediately noticed how disheveled you are, though.

“What happened?” Trink asks.

“Drowned the Twelve boy in the pond.” you pull off the backpack and set it next to where you’ll be sitting at. Then you start squeezing out the water off to the side, “You guys need to be incredibly careful, it’s deep.”

“How deep?” Lennox asks, “Waist, throat…?”

“Fifteen and deeper. Way past your head, obviously.” you put a box out into the sun, lay your jacket on it, and then your socks. On either side of the box is your shoes, and all you can do is hope that the sun will have them dried fairly quickly.

You pull out your ponytail, and then gather it all back up messily into what it was before. You sit between Lennox and Allio after that, watching as another pig is cooked over the fire.

“So that was the cannon.” Trink leans against the wall, “For a second, we thought it was the other tributes fighting it out.”

“Hardly.” Allio says, “(Y/n)’s on a roll.”

Lennox is bobbing his head along, “Yeah, how many is that now?”

You’re uncomfortable, and you trace patterns into the sand, not answering the question. Your silence doesn’t matter to them, because they start marking off the tributes they killed during the cornucopia and trying to pinpoint which ones belonged to you.

By the time that the food is ready, they’ve got Horace, Eytelle and the Twelve boy under your name, completely missing the mark with the Ten girl. They’ve got pretty hefty numbers themselves, but you already knew that. Lennox with the Ten and Six boys, and Trink with the Five boy. You’re not entirely sure with Allio, because he’s not exactly giving up numbers or names. You think his is zero.

“I actually think I got that Seven girl, too.” she draws another line next top her, “Me and (Y/n) are tied.”

No, not tied. She’s just under you, and it makes her just as dangerous as you are. You wonder if you can downplay your kills down to one or two, and not even three. Makes you less of a threat, doesn’t keep their eyes on you. Turns their attention to Trink next.

“I didn’t even kill the Twelve boy.” you reason, and Allio’s eyebrows are drawing in, because he clearly watched you come up victorious, “Just because I dragged him under, doesn’t mean I killed him. Honestly, it’s the water that did all the work. I couldn’t even get a hold of him, I just kept making sure he stayed under.”

“So two and a half, then.”

“No, with that logic, Eytelle isn’t even a kill either.” Lennox says, “He’s half, like an assist or something. The mutts did most of the job.”

You don’t think that the gamemakers are playing along in this case. All kills are final under a tributes name. You finished off Ten girl, and Horace, and Twelve boy. Those are all fair and square, those were under your conditions, you bent them to your will. With Eytelle it’s a little more sketchy, because you weren’t fighting her directly, but you guess it could count because you ended her life.

Four deaths already and it’s only been two days.

“So, two then…?” Trink asks.

“Might as well give her one, at this point.”

You shrug, “It makes the most sense.”

“Fine, (Y/n) gets one because of Horace. I get three,” Trink puffs her chest, “Lennox gets two and Allio gets... “ her face twists, and then she looks at him, “Half because he killed a pig last night.”

His face twists angrily, but you and Lennox let out a laugh at the same time. It seems to diffuse the tension enough to make Allio’s face relax, but he’s clearly not happy with what Trink has said. She giggles along, smiling down at the sand.

“I got someone.” he says.

“Yeah? Like who?” Lennox asks, he’s slicing his knife through the skin of the boar, and on the inside you can see that it’s cooked.

“One of the nobodies from Nine, I think.”

“Boy or girl?” You ask, you can’t remember their names and you can hardly remember their faces.

“Boy.”

“You’re just bullshitting at this point.” Trink says.

“Shut the fuck up.” Allio snaps, and she’s raising her eyebrows, and then giving you a wide-eyed look like she’s saying, ‘someone’s got their panties in a twist’ and she’s totally right.

“It’s ready.” Lennox says, and you all fall into silence as you tear into the pig.

The rest of the day is spent inside of the cornucopia. When it starts hitting the evening, you go out to check the salt water to see if there is fish. The moment you peer into the water, you know that it’s almost a lost cause. You’d have a better chance of fishing in the pond, but you don’t remember seeing any fish in there either.

The other’s aren’t too worried, saying that you’ll just kill boars and eat crackers until you run out. What happens after that? Lennox says he’ll start hunting for the smaller animals after that. For now, there’s no reason to bother if there’s food at your fingertips.

Almost an hour before the faces in the sky show, you’re pulling your socks and shoes back on. The socks are dry but the shoes are pretty wet, even after you’ve been squeezing the water out of the soles in uneven intervals. The jacket has been dry for a while, so you pull the stiff fabric back over your arms and zip it up to your chin.

You find a nice spot towards the back of the cornucopia that’s behind a pile of boxes. You make it your hope, and have everything set up in arms-length. To your right, at the same height of your hips is your small knife. The sword is off to the left, which will be easy for an intruder to see.

During the anthem, you’re nibbling on your crackers, watching the faces appear. First is Eytelle, naturally since she’s from Two. Now, everyone knows who was screaming early this morning. Everyone knows you’re down to four. Finally, the boy from twelve. The anthem finishes off with a flourish, and the sky goes dark.

Lennox volunteers to watch this time around, and after Trink helps you apply more of the healing cream, you’re laying down in your cozy spot and sleeping for the rest of the night.

In the morning, you wake by yourself. Allio has got his knees pulled to his chest, bags beneath his eyes as he rests his chin on his knees. Every now and then he yawns, as if you guys have woken up early into the morning, but by judging the sky, you can clearly tell it’s nowhere near early. It’s ten or later.

“Where’s Trink and Lennox?” you sit up, scratching the back of your head.

You can feel the sand falling from your hair and down the back of your shirt, which is so damn gross. Not only do you have shit from the pond yesterday stuck in your hair, you also have sand. Sounds like you need to go down to the salt water and ‘wash’ your hair.

Allio yawns again, this time struggling to tame it. He closes his eyes, and places his forehead on his knees, “Out. They’ve been gone for thirty minutes, now. They should be back soon.”

“Right.” you say, picking up your knife, “Well, I’m going down to the beach to scrub my hair.”

“Don’t want to wait for a buddy?”

“Nah.” you pull off the jacket, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“‘Kay.”

You roll your eyes, stretching your arms on the way to the beach, and you realize immediately that your back doesn’t hurt at all when you do. It’s a good sign. You knew that it wouldn’t be open for much longer. For good measure, you should apply one last layer, you think. No matter what happens, there’s going to be a scar on your back but you want to make sure that it's completely closed.

It’s a two minute walk to where the beach is. And since you learned your lesson yesterday with the pond, you take off your socks and shoes and roll your jeans to your thighs. The water is pretty cold when you wander in, you’re sure to watch your step and when you find yourself knee-deep in water, you pull your hair out.

You leave the tie around your wrist as you flip your hair over, not exactly thrilled when you watch the debris fall from your hair. You scratch for a while until there’s nothing coming from it anymore. Then, you find a new spot to stand and dip your hair in, again scrubbing with your nails. Your hair isn’t exactly greasy just yet, but it’ll get there soon.

You run your hands through your hair to fix the snarls, and then with your head still being upside down, you gather it all into a ponytail, and stand up straight. You wrap the tie around your hair twice, letting it fall into place. When it’s still too loose, you tighten the ponytail, squeezing out the water immediately after.

It’s not much better, but your scalp isn’t as itchy, and you don’t have many options. You carry your socks and shoes back to the cornucopia, and right through the hot sun. You and Allio wait a while, and when your feet are dry, you brush off all the sand and put your socks and shoes back on.

Finally, Lennox and Trink come out of the trees to the left of the mouth. Over there should only be beach, so you’re not sure what’s taken them so long. It isn’t until they’re within earshot, do you hear that they were scoping out the area to check for camps. Last night, Lennox said he thought he saw someone but he couldn’t be sure.

“It’s clear, I think.” he says, Trink doesn’t bother to sit down, “We took two laps, looking everywhere and didn’t find anything.”

“That’s good.” Allio says, “What’s next?”

“I’ve got to pee.” you say, pushing yourself up from where you sit, “And we need a water refill again.”

Lennox picks up his canteen, and then swishes around the water inside, “Got most of mine left, I’ll be fine.”

“Not me.” Trink says, “You should be drinking more.”

“My funeral, not yours.” Lennox leans back, yawning now too, “I’m going to take a nap.”

Trink picks up her silver water bottle, your canteen and Allio’s in one big swoop, “(Y/n) and I will go and get more water, then. You two stay here. We’ll find something while we’re out.”

“Sounds good to me.” Allio says, “There’s not much to do, anyway.”

“Actually, there is.” Lennox is barely keeping his eyes open, “We should gather a lot of food today so we can go exploring tomorrow. There’s still… what? Thirteen tributes out there?”

“Eleven.” you say.

He motions in your direction lazily, “I’m going to nap, when I get up, me and you are going to go out looking for shit. While I’m sleeping, you can go through the boxes and find crackers and useless shit like that.”

“Sure.” Allio says, “Looks like we’ve got the easy half today.”

Trink shrugs, “You can think that.”

You go ahead and grab your stuff, now. You slide the water bottles and anything that Trink wants to bring along into the backpack. Then the sword, and you’re on your way out and back towards the pond. An hour trip like this everyday is going to take out your water weight from how much you sweat because of it.

“We can find a spot for you to do your business.” Trink says, diverting the two of you off the path, “Preferably not in the way we’ll be walking back.”

You laugh a little and she smiles.

When you’re done, you and her get right back on track to the pond. But unlike Allio, she won’t let it settle into a silence. No matter what happens, she’s on top of conversation and she’ll switch topics when she realizes that it’s failing or you don’t have much to say.

It’s a fun conversation, and you’ve come to realize that there’s a difference between her and Allio. Allio is down to talk about the dirtier stuff, the type of shit that makes him qualified to be a career. Trink on the other hand is… deceiving. Obviously she’s got her muscles and brute strength like the other boys, but she’s so… girly.

Reminds you of the annoying girls back home, except she’s different. She finds a way to dance between the lines between flattering and irritating, keeping you from truly hating her. She’s likable, but not entirely. You’re sure it’ll be a matter of time before she accidentally finds a way to get under your skin.

For now, you’re just glad you have someone to talk to.

Trink twists her blonde hair between her fingers, making it into a spiral. Then, she ties a ponytail at the base of her neck. She gives you a quick smile before launching right back into what she was saying before.

At the pond, she finally eases up and let's you explain to her where everything had happened yesterday. She says she’ll keep the deep end in mind, and gathers the water and lets you do the iodine drops. She doesn’t want to go back just yet, wanting to rest so the two of you sit in the shade beneath a tree and eat enough food to settle your stomach and keep the nausea at bay.

“What was going on between you and Finnick?” she asks, “If you don’t mind me asking. I’m just curious on why he didn’t join us.”

You hum, “We were in an alliance, originally. Him and I have known each other for a pretty long time. I think he didn’t want to be allies with you guys when you came over after the chariot ride.” you rip grass from the ground, making a pile, “Maybe he didn’t like your vibes or whatever. He is fourteen, so maybe it’s a thought process thing.”

“Yeah, I was just curious as to why he chose them over us.” she picks at her nails, “I mean, they’re not going to be much help, and I can’t imagine how they’re going to help him win.”

“They’re not.” you say, shaking your head.

Finnick’s best bet was you. The two of you might have scored fairly high, but you clearly knew better than he did. Had he latched on, he would be doing just fine. Wouldn’t have to worry about dinner or watching his back. Assuming that he didn’t meet up with Blaire and Thyme.

He might have, you don’t know. What you do know is that Verda died, and if Finnick had been around, he would have had a friend to rely on, and vice versa. Having Finnick on your side at all times would have been nice, just in case things do start to get choppy with your career friends, he would have been there to even it out.

You think you’re doing fine for now, so there’s really no reason to worry.

“You think he’s going to die?”

“He’s fourteen.” you say, “The youngest victor ever was fifteen. If he were to win, it would be unheard of and break the record. Give hope to the future twelve and thirteen year olds that get chosen. I hardly doubt that they have a chance, though. I didn’t when I was that age.”

“Neither did I.” Trink says.

You’re not that surprised. No one should be ready for the games at twelve and thirteen. Not even at fourteen or fifteen, it’s just so young. At your age, your brain is still developing and it holds onto the trauma. Every time you close your eyes when you go to sleep now, all you can picture is their dead faces.

It’s your fault. You caused every single one of them. And somehow, justifying the deaths as a benefit to your survival, or so that you could live is so much worse. You don’t want other people to die so you can live another day. You don’t want that blood on your hands. But you don’t have much of a choice.

It’s your life or them. It’s seeing your family again, or dying a death that will haunt them forever. The baby sister that fought for her life many times, but in the end she couldn’t make it out alive.

“Well, Eytelle and I thought you and him were dating with how close you are.”

Figures, the other girls had thought this too, “Yeah, you’re not the only one. We’ve just known each other for a while. I hate that Four will lose one of us.”

Trink’s eyebrows draw in, “One of you? What does that mean?”

“One of us is going to win.”

“We’ll see.” She says, suddenly getting stuffy. She gets to her feet, brushing off her jeans. You get up without her help.

The two of you wander through the woods for a while, quiet with no conversation. You find out quickly that you’re a lot more quiet on your feet than she is. Eventually, you decide to call it and send her back to the cornucopia, saying that you’ll stay out here by yourself.

“And what if there’s other tributes?” she asks.

“I can take care of myself.”

“Remember what happened the last time you did that?” Trink motions to her back.

You sigh, “Do you want meat other than pig or what?”

She doesn’t argue, you pass off the waters and then watch her disappear through the trees. You go right back to the pond, pulling out a nice branch and getting to work on some makeshift fishing pole. The wire that they provide at the cornucopia isn’t the best, but you make do for it being the fishing line.

You use a small bit of wire to make a hook, and then dig around in the dirt of the pond bank to find a single worm. You apologize to the worm, and then skewer it through the hook. It’s nowhere near the worst thing you’ve done in your life, and nothing like that is going to come close for a while.

You throw the stupid thing into the pond, the only reason why you’re even doing this is because you think you saw a ripple earlier when you and Trink were talking. You’d say you wish you had a spear, but spearing fish here would be useless. Like completely useless, since you’re not standing up and doing it, and the fish won’t appear at the shallow end.

After about ten minutes you think, you’re sure that this is futile and you’re only making a joke out of yourself to the Capitol and everyone back home. So long the idea of impressing everyone with your stupid fishing pole. But then there’s a tug, and a large part of you is hoping that it’s not a mutt, and the other has a feeling it’s a fish.

You’re hesitant with the wire, now realizing that it could slice through your hand if you’re not careful. So, you pull out the metal water bottle that’s halfway empty, and wrap the wire around the bottle as if you’re pulling in the line. And slowly but surely, whatever it is is being dragged up.

Then, you can see it. And you’re yanking the whole lot of it backwards and onto land. It’s a fish alright, and even though you can’t name what it is--you’re mostly used to salt water fish, not fresh--you think it’s edible, so you let it flip around until it’s done moving. After that, you wrap it in your jacket because you smell like fish anyway, and tuck it into the backpack and try for a round two.

It’s a lot harder this time. The wire is in a coil and it takes you a hot minute to even get it straighted out again. Finding a worm is pretty hard too, because you need a damn bait to even get the fish curious. When you find one, you’re plunging the wire back into the water and playing the waiting game again.

You hum an old fishing song that your father used to sing on fishing trips with your brothers while you wait. You vaguely remember Reed singing this back home. When he does, it’s always because he’s trying to focus on something. Normally when he’s making dinner or he’s fixing something in the house. He’s a hands-on type of person.

You manage to get a second fish up, and right when you think you should test your luck with a third, you hear a cannon blast. You pause, hands slowly folding the fabric over the second fish, waiting for another cannon but there is none. Knowing that it could be someone back at the cornucopia, you tuck the fish back into your backpack at the bottom. You fill your water bottle up again, and then toss the fishing pole in a bush so that you don’t have to carry it back.

After that, you’re starting your way back, being sure to watch your back. You don’t want to be the second cannon that goes off today. It takes one person to kill you to get their hands on your goods for the games to turn in their favor.

You make it back to the cornucopia in record timing, you think. You shout Trink’s name, letting them know that it’s you. Her and Lennox round the corner, swords out and ready. When they confirm that it’s you, they ease up.

“Thought it was you.” Lennox breathes.

“It won’t be that easy.” you joke, and watch as they crack a smile, “I’ve got fish.”

Allio is skinning a rabbit, and there’s already a squirrel hanging from the ceiling. He looks up at your approach and gives you a gentle nod before going back to what he was doing.

“That’s good. I caught a rabbit on my way back.” Trink is proud.

“And she butchered it.” Allio says, shaking his head.

You sit down in your cove, unloading your water bottle and placing your knife and things back where they belong. You pull the fish out of your jacket, and begin to descale it.

“Who do you think it was?” Allio asks, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

Yeah, you figured he’d ask a question like this. He was the one prying about Eytelle, after all. You keep quiet and let the others fill in for your silence. You all come to an agreement that the fish should be eaten first so it doesn’t smell too badly tomorrow.

You cook the rabbit and squirrel anyway, wrap them in a clean shirt. Then, Trink clears out a small box just for the food. Once it’s closed, it’s an agreement between the four of you that it won’t be touched until tomorrow. The sun seems to set a little faster this time around.

Tomorrow you’ll all be out in the woods looking for other tributes to take down. You don’t think that you’ll be coming across anyone, but you don’t take the night shift anyway, letting Trink take it by herself. You all wait for the death recap in the sky, and only one face shows up. The girl from Twelve.

Only twelve tributes left in the arena.

You and the two boys go ahead and settle for the night. In the case of Trink being exhausted, she’s to wake Allio. You’ll be getting a full night’s rest tonight. You pull the thin, white jacket back onto your body and curl up in your sandy cove. This time, you pull up your hood to keep the sand out of your hair.

You stand no chance against the exhaustion.

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair lacuna #lacuna

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psychicscavenger · 5 years

Text

Beach-Cute(Shance)

Another Shance Mermay prompt inspired by @justshance ‘s Shance Mermay 2019 prompt list. Tagging @shancemermay as well.

Tags: comedy, fluff, fluff and crack, first meetings, meet-cute, AU, Fairytale elements, Little Mermaid elements,

This one is a bit longer than my first one(i got too inspired apparently) Enjoy~

The sounds of the waves crashing as they hit the shore partnered with the sounds of the strange flappy birds scavenging for something to eat were very soothing, helping Lance to further relax as he reclined along a protruded rock, barely hidden from public view if someone were to stroll upon the beach then.

He kinda didn't care though, if he was being truthful. Yes, he should be more aware of keeping a "low-profile" around the humans, but Lance was curious okay? He was tired of being stuck underwater, not when there was new things to discover and explore above shore!

He could barely make out the little town in the distance next to the big seaside palace. Even from across the distance, he could smell all sorts of enticing scents wafting over to him that always stirred his appetite, even his second stomach would grumble for food despite his successful hunting trips beforehand. At night, there were magical lights that lit up across the town, matching the bright, beaming ones coming from the castle that held Lance in a trance as he lounged, watching the magical lights as some faded in and out, the bright yellow standing out against the dark violet sky above them. He wanted to see them up close, see what they were and how they shone so bright like that.

And he would.

Absentmindedly, Lance pulled out the little trinket, a locket, Lotor had given him earlier after Lance went skulking around the Dark Abysmal Zone, an appropriate nickname for the area where shady no good mers dwelled. Lance had been repeatedly warned by his Mama to never go down there ever, mostly because the sea witch, a notorious cecaelia known for her dark magic, lurked there, ready to trick any young mer that crossed her path. Rumor has it that her witchcraft had once been good, previously thought to be a wonderful healer, but now she was focusing towards the dark arts, which is what banished her from the mers kingdom many seasons ago.

And yet, Lance had seeked her out despite the warnings of his family and his friends. He only made it about a mile into the abysmal zone when Lotor had popped up in front of him and gave him a bargain deal instead. Lance would get to be a human for a week in return he owed Lotor one small favor. It was very vague and incredibly shifty to openly accept but then Lotor had to bring up how the handsome human he'd seen Lance ogling had been returning to the shore with another handsome man which had Lance agreeing to the deal immediately.

Hey at least, he still had his voice!

Lance hummed as his fingers traced the design of the necklace, the magic he needed to switch was contained in the locket Lotor had given him, whenever he wanted to become human, all he had to do was go to shore, think of what his heart most wanted and the spell should work. So now Lance waited, wondering when he should use the locket if he should wait until he sees the handsome man again or simply do it now. As he pondered what to do, he heard familiar machine splashes of two mers surfacing and rolled his eyes, knowing immediately who they were.

"Hunk! Pidge! I told you not to follow me!" Lance shook his fist, looking every bit like an angry spinster fish as Pidge, the youngest of the three mers rolled their eyes.

"Yeah, like we were gonna listen to you. We've been following you since you went to the Dark Abysmal Zone, we know all about that deal with Prince Fish Whore." Lance huffed, closing his arms as he glanced away, refusing to engage in the argument he knew was about to start brewing.

"Pidge is right Lance, remember how that guy has literally been after you to court and stuff? Making a deal with him doesn't seem like the best idea buddy." Hunk pointed out as Lance made an angry noise, leaning closer towards the water to scowl at his 'so-called friends.'

"Screw you guys! I'm gonna be a human whether you support me or not! I have to meet him again, he's so dreamy and the way his eyes are like, so deep, like the abysmal zone and his strong, tall stature, those muscles, and that deep voice. Ugh, he's prince material and I bet he doesn't even know it!" Lance whined. Why couldn't Hottie McHuman court him instead of Creepy Lotor?

"Ew, you sound like a teenage girl." Pidge spat disgusted as Lance rounded on her, practically seething.

"You sound like a teenage girl!"

"Oooooh-kay. Let's have a timeout here." Hunk intervened, knowing this was going to get ugly really fast. Before Pidge could retort, something just as snarky, they recognized movement in the corner of their eye and immediately ducked lower into the water.

"Guys, its the humans!" They whisper shouted causing both Hunk and Lance to spin around, obviously checking out the humans instead of ducking to hide like any normal mermaid much to Pidge's exasperation.

"Don't let them see you, dinguses!"

"Noted." Hunk stated before quietly submerging next to his angry tiny friend. "Lance you coming?" He asked but paled as he saw the look on his friend's face.

"Oh no. Lance, don't do this please, your family is gonna be pissed." Hunk warned as Pidge's eyes widened watching as Lance, with that silly besotted look on his face turned to grasp the locket around his neck before shutting his eyes tight and wishing, focused on the man who captured his attention, possibly his heart, since the first time he spotted him.

"No, Lance-"

"Hoe don't do it!"

But it was too late.

A soft blue shimmering overtook Lance's body as he curled up tight into a ball, eyes shut tight from the needle prickling sensation all over his body took place. He sincerely hoped Lotor hadn't tricked him, not that he would put it past the fish to do something like this, but it would suck if all this unpleasant tingling was merely a prank. The tingling across his body soon focused towards his tail and lower body, he gasped as a tight uncomfortable pull began to spread from his fins to his abdomen. Lance fell into the water, clutching his lower half as his friends scrambled to hold onto him, making sure he wouldn't drown because what he wasn't seeing, they were and they could see the slow changes to his body that were shifting and changing.

His gills, or lack of them which is why they were holding his head above water now, knowing humans couldn't breathe the same way they did, were now gone, the rifts smoothed down as the scales along Lance's cheeks, neck and shoulders were flickering away slowly one by one. Lance's webbed fins on his hands and around his ears were gone, the ridges smoothing themselves down into a rounded curve like a humans. His dorsal fin was also gone, leaving behind a long gash that looked to be bleeding but what had Hunk and Pidge gasping and flinching away from shock the most, was the change to Lance's tail.

Sure enough, like Lotor had promised and Lance wished, his tail began to stretch, almost grotesquely, before breaking apart and rounding themselves into two tails that stretched and formed to create two legs as well as feet. The fins along Lance's new legs disappeared, matching the one on his back forming bleeding gashes here and there where the fins once were. His feet sprouted tiny unusual fins that were curved and similar to his fingers, Pidge was gasping in delight, enamored with the process of it all as Hunk merely held a hand to his mouth, looking like he was about to puke.

"Oh god this is so weird and gross to watch, but I can't stop." Hunk commented, peering through his webbed fins as Pidge began poking the toes, curious if they were sensitive. They got their answer when suddenly Lance's foot shot out nearly kicking them back, a quick laugh escaping his mouth from his friend tickling his foot.

"Guys stop, I'm ticklish remember!" Lance pouted but brightened considerably as he gazed at his new legs, gripping them and bringing them closer to inspect. "Whoa! Check out this gam, I mean, these gams!" Lance stated excitedly waving his legs and feet around similar to a toddler much to Hunk's mortification as he accidentally caught a glance down.

"Ew gross dude, what is that on your tai-legs I mean?" Hunk stated, face dropping into the water to inspect closer as Lance followed suit, only to spasm before coming back up to breathe, coughing up salt water.

"I forgot, humans don't breathe that way." He sputtered as Pidge ducked their head down to inspect as well. Lance waited awkwardly as his friends inspected the weird tail thing on his brand new legs when he felt something prod at it, making him squeal and jump away from the source as his friends came back up, done with their ogling.

"I think its your genitals Lance. Human males probably have something similar to what you've got now." Pidge stated as Hunk bent down to look again out of curiosity. Lance shoved his hands down to cover his privates, nearly kicking away as he screamed, "Stop looking at my junk pervert!" as Pidge merely laughed while Hunk came back up about to apologize when the trio stopped, paling at the sudden voices heading their way.

"Is somebody there?"

"Do you need help?" Lance froze, wondering what to do in this situation as he glanced at his friends helpless.

'What do we do?' He mouthed to them but watched as the two glanced at each other before merely ducking under the water and swimming away much to Lance's bitterness as he kicked his feet hard, hoping at least one of the weird fins at the end would land a hit. 'So much for friends til the end,' he thought annoyed.

"Hey are you okay?" Lance stopped immediately gulping as he slowly turned to look at the voice above him and almost fainting from shock at seeing the handsome man he'd been giving seashells and pearls to for the past two weeks, now standing behind him from the other side of the rock. He was covered in strange cloths that somehow still showed off his built figure with his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Lance was even more smitten upon seeing the handsome face up close, blushing at the concerned dark eyes boring holes into his blues, making Lance feel hot all over despite the fact he was sitting in cool water.

'Oh no, he's too handsome, quick say something sexy,' Lance's brain supplied making Lance gulp as he tried to open his mouth only he couldn't think of anything to say. Flushing, Lance looked away embarrassed now and wondered if this was such a good idea after all when the man knelt closer, putting a gentle hand on Lance's bare shoulder, offering a supportive smile.

"Hey, it's going to be okay I promise. My friend Keith is looking for the pervert right now, they won't hurt you again, I swear." Lance blinked confused. What was he talking about? He racked his brain trying to figure out what the man was saying and it must have shown on his face as the man raised an eyebrow.

"You were screaming about a pervert looking at you indecently. My friend and I were walking along the shore when we heard your cry for help, it was a cry for help right?" The man asked now suddenly unsure and goddess it was such a cute expression Lance nearly flopped over and squealed right then.

But that probably wouldn't be a good idea. Lance coughed, nodding his head a little as he gave the other a grateful smile that hopefully didn't show how nervous he felt staring back into those gorgeous dark eyes.

"Oh that, haha yes! I'm fine! The pervert left right away! He wasn't too interested to begin with so," Lance supplied hoping his lie was believable as the man before him raised a brow uncertain.

"Are you sure? You sounded very distressed and I wouldn't want any of my citizens to be in danger if some pervert is skulking around terrorizing innocent beachgoers." The man stated as Lance nodded his head quickly, a little voice in his head screaming about the 'my citizens' part.

"No, it's fine I swear, he ran off once I yelled at him! He probably won't do it again. My name's Lance, thanks for coming to my rescue." Lance held his hand out having seen a few other humans do this in greeting as the man smiled gladly accepting it and giving it a gentle shake.

"I'm Shiro, but you've probably heard about me already from the townspeople I'm sure." He stated shaking his head as Lance shook his head a little too eagerly.

"No, I haven't actually." He stated smiling innocently as Shiro gave him a curious look.

"Really? Are you from out of town?" He asked as Lance merely blinked back at him unsure how to tell him where he was from.

"Umm, something like that." Lance admitted. It was technically the truth, wasn't it?

"Are you staying with anybody?" Shiro asked curious as in the distance another man, the same one from earlier walked over to them looking disgruntled at the fact he couldn't find anyone.

"Well, either the pervert left or he sprouted wings and flew away. So much for getting to use my new sword." The man Shiro referred to as Keith grumbled before pausing and staring down at Lance, confused raising an eyebrow as Lance simply covered his chest with us hands suddenly like he was indecent.

"Who is this?" Keith asked looking to Shiro who was about to answer when said man huffed, pouting a little as he turned towards Keith.

"I'm right here seaweed head! It's rude to ignore new acquaintances." Lance chastised as Keith rolled his eyes in return.

"Yeah, thanks for the Kindergarten lesson."

"Whats a Kindergarten?"

Both Shiro and Keith looked at the man curious as he sat there smiling innocently, wary if the man had been hurt by the ordeal at all.

"Um hey Lance, were you hurt in any way from the incident?" Shiro asked, now leaning forward to gently poke and prod Lance, particularly around his head which had the younger man giggling and flushing from embarrassment.

"No why?" He asked brightly, curious to keep talking to these two humans before him.

"You seem a little out of sorts. Tell you what, I have plenty of space at my home, would it be alright if you came back with me to have the palace doctor check you out just in case?" Shiro asked as Lance's eye widened at the thought of getting to be with Shiro even longer. He never dreamed this would happen! He actually never thought this would happen!

"Sure, I'd love to! Seaweed head can come too I guess." Lance rolled his eyes earning a deep chuckle of amusement from Shiro as Keith glowered.

"Are you talking about my hair?"

"Keith is my second in command so he has to come too. Don't worry though, my home isn't too far." Shiro promised as he held out a hand for Lance to take who eagerly took it, letting himself be yanked up by the others grip and nearly face planting back into the ocean considering he's never actually stood on legs before!

He felt as if he were moving in slow motion at first, he became aware that he wasn't wearing any clothing over his genitals unlike the other two men at his side, which he guesses is why both Shiro and Keith, immediately embarrassed, try to look away from the southern region of his body. Next came Lance's sudden realization he didn't know how to stand and then screamed internally as he nearly face planted in the sand in front of Shiro.

Talk about an embarrassing first meeting.

Lance almost tried to stand again when he was distracted upon a fabric of cloth being draped around his shoulders, the fabric long and covering his naked body from view. He watched curiously as Keith took off his belt and wove it around Lance's waist, knotting it so it sit tight, keeping the first fabric to his body and concealing any revealing bits.

"Sorry about that, are you okay?" Shiro asked, holding out his hands again and carefully helping Lance up at a time, watching as Lance made slow progress getting up.

"I'm fine, I'm usually very graceful I promise!" Lance stated his cheeks flushing as Shiro smiled when of course Keith had to jump in with his opinions and dumb hair.

"What I want to know is why are you naked? This is a public beach weirdo!" Keith hissed as Lance merely flushed unsure what to say.

"Oh uh, well the uh pervert from earlier..he took them! That's why I was screaming, he took my clothes and ran off with them! Like the pervert he is!" Lance lied, beaming with pride at how great a story that was as Shiro and Keith gazed at him shocked.

"In that case you should definetly come with me to the palace then." Shiro stated as Lance brightened instantly.

"Oh I'll go wherever you want me to go." Lance mumbled eyes hungry as they raked over Shiro's incredibly muscular body, ugh it was even better up close.

"Once you're checked over we can begin a search for this pervert and have him arrested for assault." Lance stopped, mostly because he had barely took a step and was nearly falling again and two, he couldn't keep up with that lie for that long. What if he blurted out where he was really from? Immediately he began to shake his head, a refusal upon his lips when he fell backwards. His eyes closed, ready for the impact fo the water but it never came, curious, lance opened his eyes only to gasp as he gazed back at Shiro's worried expression, his strong arms encircled Lace's waist, keeping him up and dangling inches from the water.

"Are you sure you're okay, you've been stumbling and having difficulty walking." Shiro noted as Keith crossed his arms, giving Lance a narrowed frown of suspicion.

"Uh yeah, it appears so. I must be more injured than I thought. I can't even feel my legs right now, honestly." Lance replied which had Shiro tsking before he pulled Lance closer and ducked, wrapping an arm around Lance's waist and keeping one under the bend of his knees drawing a surprised breath from Lance as he found himself being held in Shiro's arms. Like a princess in one of his old storybooks. Lance blinked, wondering if he had actually died during that transformation spell and that this was actually paradise before blinking up at Shiro who gave him a gentle smile in return.

"Don't worry we'll help you as much as you need." Shiro stated confidantly as Lance smiled back at him shyly.

"Thank you Shiro." Lance breathed. He dreamed of this moment for so long, sure their meeting was a bit different in his head, but being held in Shiro's arms like this, getting to feel the power and strength in those biceps and rippling muscles of his chest underneath him, Lance was definetly going to have to start praying to the godess again because this was surely a miracle!

Lance happily settled against Shiro, beginning his usual conversation starters for flirting, which was mostly just complimenting the person outright which he did and knew he was successful as Shiro blushed at each complement. Keith trailed along behind them, annoyed as the other man kept on talking, knowing right then and there this Lance was going to be a pain in his ass.

Also his hair was not ridiculous.

****

Unaware to the three slowly trekking on the pathway back to the castle, another creature popped its head above the water surface, his glowing yellow eyes showing a wrathful mirth in them, finding the whole scene just amusing and content.

Everything was going according to plan and soon, both kingdoms, humans and mermaids, would be his to rule.

With a dark chuckle, the creature oozed back into the water, it's slithering dark purple and black tentacles flashing briefly above the water before disappearing into its depth, melding back in with the shadows where it's known to roam.

#shance #shance mermay 2019 #psychic writes #justshance #shancemermay #i dont remember what else i need to tag this

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mausmane · 4 years

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The Mountain

Fish. Small streaks of red, blue, orange, or sometimes just silver. Darting through the oceans, seas, our rivers and our ponds and lakes.. No not ours. Our mother earths. These creatures have been part of the blood that makes the earths heart beat for so many millennia, it's hard to understand why a 7 year old child wouldn't stop and watch even the smallest of minnows in complete awe, incomprehension, we can't fathom the wonders the sea has had for just it to see, the titanic battles that have been waged, the colors and beauty, the endless struggle of life and death. The sea, the rivers and lakes. They hold the core of our earths bounties, before even plants sprouted there was predator and there was prey, there was the circle of life.

Something hit me when I recently took a visit to the aquarium, to see just a small portion concentrated into a single building of what life is like under our earths waves. It's wondrous, spectacular, to think such creatures that are so completely alien yet immeasurably beautiful can exist and yet they do, and the idea that so many of these live so far below the surface that one would wonder what would we do if we didn't know these were here at all? How disgusting would it be if we couldn't even conceptualize these wonderful creatures even ever existing? Would we care, would we even care? Is ignorance truly bliss or is it just a defense mechanism to keep real emotion from getting in? From knowing it's there?

The meaning of life, no, not the meaning as it may be literally.. Or the many philosophical approaches to what life 'means.' Life is just a word. What life means is what it is, what composes that life. Life has no solid or rigid mechanical definition, and every attempt to put some kind of written label on it and what it is is a criminal offense. Semantic sacrilege to the true beauty that lies in us all. What's better then straining our lobes on what life means is futile, we should more often approach what life means... to us. To us as human beings. As one of if not the only entity shoved into a genetic costume that can understand comprehend and appreciate... And even take for granted... the true beauty of the oh so not constant environment that we live in is. We as a species are so blessed, we have the capability of understanding but we often forget the truth of its marvel. It becomes the everyday, the usual. But when you sit down and think about it... It's endless, it's amazing, it's life, and life as a grand scheme IS and always has been constant, it continues to exist and I for sure believe that it will continue to exist, even after we're gone... Our vessels dead and buried. Dust for the wind and food for the worms.

You know I digress, what has a mountain to do with fish and the sea? Well here it is, in my mind I've for so long seen one thing standing in the way. 'The mountain.’ A tall, looming mountain. And on this mountain lurks every one of your demons, and every attack from your fellow man you never got over. And at the very top of this mountain lies the prize, the reason you have for living. The key. The meaning. The purpose. The wonders you dream about and below it all the nightmares you harbor. The mountain isn't evil, the mountain itself is the series of obstacles created in my mind. But the thing is i didn'tstart at the mountain. Where I started life is obscure, but once i was aware of the mountain itself you first i needed to swim. Swim with the fish, know the fish, I started in the deepest blackest abyss of the deepest sea.

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The sound of the sub handling the inhuman pressure put on it wakes you up. It's 11 am, though it doesn't really matter because at this depth there's nothing but blackness outside. I’m in a small submarine, the hulls cracked and there's just one window, just one, just one to the outside world. The world outside holds amazing wonders, but I don't recognize them.. Just as the creatures outside seeing in occasionally, don't recognize me. My sub is the most alien thing here, even though from my minds eye everything else is alien, this is earth yet... I don't recognize these entities, these creatures. And I’m pretty sure many of them don't even recognize themselves. 'Where am I’ I ask myself. Glaring outside to see a large fish with a rope, or a string, or something hanging off it's forehead with a dot at the end and the glow it gives off is phenomenal... I stare at it with the same amazement it's very prey does before they're snapped up never to see the cold dark depths again. Snapping out of it when an unexpected and sudden movement erupts and I find the strange creature has swam off, to live it's life by complete instinct, and I’ll never see this fish again perhaps, that was it. But there's many more like it... Sitting down at the subs only chair, thinking... I see, this is the start of the journey...

At the bottom of the ocean, that's where you start. Or at least I did. When I felt I began maturing into an adult, I kept fear of this ominous world I was maturing into...

More and more it became apparent to me that at the time, that little window I would sometimes look out was so incredibly packed with out of this world organisms... things I would never imagine ever existing unless I saw them Myself. Swimming in the dark. Some of them were just absolutely terrifying, some immense beyond all comprehension. I’d look at this camaraderie of mismatched misfits with scales and tails and sometimes things there is no word to describe... this is the world I know but not really at all, the place not my home but the closest thing I had to one but... It was so alien and felt so out of place... It's one giant abstract painting that moves and breathes. Yet to the others here, this is home, the deep dark sea, and to them.. I’m the thing everyone stops and gapes at.

In life, this is where I started.. Once I knew the dangers, once I knew the prize, no, had an idea what it was... My tattered sub started surfacing, slowly but surely, the deep depths I would bid farewell, goodbye, and as I looked out my window my I could just feel myself getting warmer as everything else around me got brighter. And as I slowly steadily rose I saw amazing things. I saw gigantic krill sifting whales, deadly sharks, but mostly everything began becoming.. Familiar! Soon I saw the most colorful fish I have ever seen! Tons of them, all shapes and sizes.. At this point the little sub window held wonders not nightmares. Still alien but oh so beautiful, and the variety! Some had tails, some had long capable looking tails kind of like that of a snake, only flattened into a paddle. At one point a majestic red and white looking wonder came up to the window and looked right back at me. The little window... Became not a dreaded sight that I would seek to avoid, but a portal to the wondrous world I was missing for so long! For a brief period of time my mind lapsed as I laid in a sunny meadow I remember oh so vaguely, just laying there listening to the water lap against the rock formations lining the nearby riverbed. I remember this place but it was so long ago, so blurry. Before being plunged, God knows how I don't remember, into the dark place I laid dormant for so long thereafter. But this was just the start, I was still trapped in that metal hull that kept me ‘safe’. Trapped like a salt-soaked sardine. The small cot I laid on unwashed for years and the leg on my only table broke long ago so i sacrificed my only chair so it wouldn’t tip over. But the world I was missing! If only this existed on my side of the glass. If only I could swim and live among them as a merman might! But alas this world was only the beginning.

Soon, water broke. The splash of waves, the intense rocking that subsided only slightly after a violent outburst stirred me awake. I could feel the buildup in my eyes, I remember as a child my mother would call it sleepy sand. The little crusty gold nuggets hanging off the corners that were just oh so satisfying to wipe away. For the first time, I started to climb the rusted ladder I never saw much use for. As I popped the Hatch... My mind caught on fire! The smell of salt was almost choking at first, but so soothing. This is amazing.. Unbelievable. Around my decrepit vessel were curious dolphins, nudging up against the cold hull in wonder of this foreign object invading their home. I doubt they cared too much, they were very playful and one even lept over the forward stern of my craft in a dazzling display. I kept looking around, paralyzed, and then I saw it... The blazing sun. I had hints it was there as I was ascending, but I could never really grasp it's true beauty until I laid eyes on it myself. The Golden Cradle. I had to go to it, this was my reason. The sun, the shining source of all life, the almighty circle. But there It was... The Mountain laid before me just past the beaches. And at that time is when I resolved myself to conquer it. From afar I could see them though.. The wretched goblins, the slimy trolls, the flash of a black poltergeist or two at some corner or another... Every one of my demons lived here, every one of the black parasites that oh so often made me their unwilling home. I became fixated. In my hand I imagined the sword I would need to fight, and in the other the pick I needed to climb. I'm going to war. No regrets, no turning back. The fear was there but the drive was greater.. I felt my battle cry echo and reverberate through my entire being, and I began my climb.

The climb was excruciating, even at the start. I could tell I wasn't the only one here, and some of those demons and obstacles didn't come from me.. Every second I felt myself in conflict, and the bitter cold soon became apparent as I climbed higher. Scars began forming, left on me from every trial I did and will continue to face and as I climbed, the blizzard began. I was wearing my skin like armor, and sometimes it just wasn't enough... Often I found myself needing to rest in the bitter cold, looking around.. Digesting what I had accomplished, and keeping my minds eye on the peak of this mountain. I remember seeking shelter in a cold cave, the bitter wind was gone but the stagnant freeze was still resting on my shoulders and nipping at my wounds. I could see the ocean from up here, and the little dot that was once my cage and only means of survival floating where I left it. It seemed so far away now... But they just keep coming. The demons that lurk here, the bitter cold and winds, the blinding blizzard. Not even mentioning the climb itself, which was a battle in its own.. Through the course of all this I knew I was being watched.. I knew somebody, somewhere believed in me. I could feel the drive to keep going and never freeze.. But sometimes I could feel the unwanted feelings of, despair. But, I had an angel right behind me the whole way. That steady flow of warmth on the back of my neck that was just enough to keep going. The prize, the goal, the meaning. It's up there.

The higher I climbed the mountain, the harder the trials seemed to get. The ice slowed me down but I would never stop. Never stop. And as I continued day in and day out climbing, understanding, comprehending everything that had come before, the mountain seemed to be taller, so I moved just a little faster.

Misery, I remember meeting misery a little towards the top. Misery was my brother, and I love him like one because he never abandoned me. It sounds.... Self-depreciating yes, but I know my brother just like I know myself, and as much as I appreciate that someone never left me.. I hated him. The feeling that everything under in his arsenal would be used to stop me and freeze me forever. The feelings I don't deserve but what I’m served at the tip of a rusty arrowhead. That I was just a leaf being carried at the whim of an icey storm. That devil that always whispered in my ear 'they're all lies, nothings here for you. Lay down and sleep'. The creature that slithered in and out of my mind body and soul and just took hold and drove me into a dark corner that even I in all the hell I've seen couldn't bear whenever it did. I stood facing him, my greatest foe, the black sheep in my barnyard that was just oh so much better when he decided to sleep every once in a while. Misery, MISERY! I'll put you under my boot heal and smash you into the ground! I never have to be alone, I never have to lay down. I don't need to bear the weight with a smile, or a frown. Misery, Misery!

I don't remember much of our battle. I hadn't vanquished the phantom just yet but he had retreated into the darkness. It was a near stalemate, but I came out alive and continued to climb faster then ever before! My body bloody and bruised, but me and my invisible ally that kept pushing me kept me going. Never give up!

This was it, all my foes before me lie vanquished or crippled, or hiding in the shadows that birthed them. Nothing can stop me except misery, who I felt soon quick on my heals.. Seeking nothing better then to put me in the ground once and for all so that the rest of me, my shell, may be incorporated into the unholy machine that drives the gears of ‘hell’. The cold was incredible, the frozen tundra that rose from the ground is almost over.. The sun, the Golden cradle lying at the top of the mountain.. I was going to return to the warm place I vaguely remember from so long ago. I was going to grab the one thing I ever wanted the only reason I need for living, I was going to fuse with the sun and march on with it and it with me and wake up the world from their slumber. We would become one, and melt every last bit of ice that was left and let the warm rain wash away the blood-soaked landscapes that forgot the warmth of its rays. So close, so close, I was almost there.. But I kept fighting, making progress, I kept on marching, climbing.. I felt my whole body seemingly expand but visibly it hadn't one bit, I kept climbing, I felt it... And I know it felt me...

My minds open... the last summit... What I saw there was, beyond that in which any living being can put into words... I stared, mouth gaping. What happens next? Just a few steps.. Yet I'm paralyzed. On my ankle, I feel the frosty needles of Misery, back again! I look back down and he's staring back at me, crazed, insanity burns in his face as his last chance to bring me down into the abyss and the best one at that he's ever had at doing so pulses through him... It's hard to say what happens next, but before I can turn back and walk just a few feet.. I have to vanquish him. Once, and for all.

Brother, I loved you, and all you did was tear at me bit by bit. All you ever did was destroy, now, it's time to face me as I've never been before, and I WILL not stop here. It will not end here... What happened next, I can't quite remember yet...

-to be continued-

#poetry #perserverance #struggle #success #triumph

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chainsawbettyloo · 7 years

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Title: For a Flower that Grows on the Shores of Necluda, Ch. 3

Pairing: Sidlink

Tags: little bit of angst, slight slow burn

Summary: After an encounter with an unknown beast, Link is poisoned and left paralyzed from the waist down. Queen Zelda implores Zora Prince Sidon to journey with Link to the farthest edges of Necluda where a flower that is said to cure all poisons supposedly grows. Owing a debt to Link after he saved his Domain from the blight of the Divine Beast, Prince Sidon readily agrees but a deeper reason lies beneath his accepting that goes beyond simple duty

Cross posted on my AO3 so if you’d like to read it there! Comments, kudos and reblogs are much appreciated! Thnx!

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2]

With Hyrule Castle still looming in the distance, a mighty structure standing proudly against the once blue sky, it proved just how little they had managed to travel since the sun had risen. Though, he couldn’t exactly tell where the sun currently was given the immense expanse of clouds that were now stretching out in all directions. The storm that he and Queen Zelda had been cautiously watching before the journey began, the one he swore was turning around to head the other way had seemingly changed its mind and had come barreling towards them just as they were passing over Horwell Bridge.

For a short while, it looked as though the storm was an empty threat. It hung about in the wide open sky, turning the world dim and grey for long enough without doing much of anything, other than just further souring Link’s mood, that Sidon dared think that their luck would hold. And, in hindsight, he realized that was probably their undoing. Not a split moment after he was stupid enough to have that thought, the heavens had opened up. Fat, cold droplets of rain pelted down on them, quickly soaking them both to the bone.

The only shelter he was able to quickly find was a large tree with the inside at the bottom hollowed out. Sitting outside of it was some kind of weird smiling statue that, for whatever reason, brought a fond smile to Link’s face. After getting Link off the horse, which proved much easier than getting him onto it, he set him down inside the dry opening, tethered their horse to one of the low hanging branches, making sure to leave enough slack in the rope so she could move around before fetching one of the blankets from inside the pouches. Snagging a roll of bread and a couple pieces of what looked vaguely like rubbery bark, Sidon walked back over to the opening, knelt down, offered the blanket to Link, who took it with a quiet thank you, waited for him to wrap himself up in it before handing him the food as well. After murmuring another quiet thank you, Link slowly began to eat and Sidon sat down on the soft ground in front of the opening.

After a few moments of silence, Sidon spoke up, “May I see the map?”

Link nodded, reached under the blanket, pulled out the worn piece of paper and offered it to him. It was slightly wet but thankfully, upon opening it, he found that the water hadn’t done any significant damage to it. He quickly pinpointed their location, just a few steps from Horwell Bridge. To his relief, Riverside Stable, where they were supposed to stay that night, wasn’t too far away - maybe only an hour to hour and half distance from where they currently sat. Hopefully, if the storm didn’t last too long, they could still reach the stable on time.

From there, they would begin the part of their journey that he was most worried about. After the Riverside Stable, by taking the path that Queen Zelda had laid out for them, there would be a long stretch where there would be no other stable until they reached the Lakeside one. That put a considerable amount of space to travel over which, if something happened, Sidon and Link would be on their own. Even by horseback, it was a several days long distance, through even more territory he wasn’t familiar with. Link would know the multiple areas they would pass through but in his current condition, if something were to happen, he wouldn’t be able to do much.

Lightly shaking his head, Sidon pushed away his anxieties. Right now wasn’t the time for doubt or fear. They had just started out on their journey, if he started faltering now, they would never reach the end. No, he needed to stay strong so he could see this through. For Link’s sake, he couldn’t afford to be overwhelmed by this task. After all, he had made a promise and he intended to keep it. Glancing over at the small Hylian, he found that he had finished the bread and was now carefully pulling off pieces from the weird, rubbery, bark like food.

Tilting his head curiously, he asked, “What is that?”

“Jerky.” Link replied quietly, “It’s meat that’s been dried and salted so it lasts a long time without going bad.”

More ecstatic than he probably should be that Link was actually talking, Sidon leaned forward and asked, “Is it good?”

Nodding slowly, he ripped off a particularly big piece and offered it to him. Cautious but curious, Zora usually didn’t eat the same food that Hylians did, their diets mostly consisted of fish and vegetables so red meat was a little iffy to him, Sidon took the piece offered to him, sniffed it slightly to find it smelled...peculiar before carefully putting it between his teeth and bit down. That was followed by him immediately gagging as an intense flavor of nothing but salt filled his mouth. Coughing hard, wondering how on earth anyone could eat something like that, he tried to formulate some kind of apology for his rude actions when he was suddenly surprised by the sound of Link laughing.

Raising his head in shock, he stared with wide eyes at the small Hylian who was particularly doubled over from laughing so hard. One hand was attempting to cover his mouth but doing a very poor job of it as Sidon could still clearly see the smile behind it. Feeling a smile tugging at his own lips, Sidon immediately forgot the foul taste in his mouth as well as the embarrassment of reacting in such a way. Warmth was blooming in his chest at seeing Link smile so freely. It felt like an eternity since he had last seen that. He had forgotten how beautiful that grin was, and just how much he had missed it.

“I’m sorry!” Link gasped out, his vibrant blue eyes dancing with happiness, “Your face was just too funny!”

Waving a hand dismissively, Sidon shook his head, shrugged his shoulders and replied, “It’s always good to try new things, even if they wind by being not to your tastes.”

If Link were to laugh like that every time he pulled a disgusted face, he might just have to do it more often. Not that he particularly wanted to put something as disgusting as that jerky was in his mouth again, but if it meant Link would have moments that alleviated the stress on his shoulders and he’d be able to hear that laugh, see that smile again, he wasn’t too adverse to the idea.

Link coughed hard, wiped a hand across his eyes before he leaned back against the tree trunk, still smiling widely, “By how you’d reacted, it must have tasted terrible.”

Ignoring the weird thrumming in his chest at sight of Link’s smile right in front of him, Sidon replied, “I must admit, that was not a flavor I can say I was particularly fond of. Though, I do thank you for sharing it with me. It was quite the...experience.”

“That wasn’t the word I would have chosen.” Link replied playfully, much to Sidon’s surprise.

“Well, years of etiquette training do make it easier to hold yourself together and act cordially even with something disgusting in your mouth.”

Link snorted, “Has it been a long while since those lessons because that wasn’t a very elegant reaction?”

“It has, but rather than that, it is mostly likely because I feel so comfortable around you and knew you wouldn’t mind that my first reaction wasn’t to be inoffensive but rather act as though no one was watching.”

Again, that strange, inquisitive look briefly blanketed Link’s face before vanishing quickly. Tilting his head curiously, Sidon came a breath away from asking just why he and Zelda continued to look at him like that when Link looked away, past Sidon, at the still heavily falling rain. The smile had fallen from his face, much of the previous light draining from his eyes, replaced by quiet introspection and stillness. A sudden emptiness opened up in Sidon’s chest, nearly bowling him over with it’s intensity. Keeping his eyes on Link’s face, he let his gaze roam over his features as his mind tried to figure out just why it felt like he had been gutted.

Was it because he had stopped smiling? That seemed the most logical reason, but why would him ceasing to smile bother him so much? Sure, he loved seeing Link grin, loved seeing him express happiness but it wasn’t as though the Hylian had much to smile about. Besides, smiles didn’t last forever - eventually, they faded as the moments slipped away and were replaced by atmospheres that didn’t call for such an expression. Tilting his head, he considered that maybe it wasn’t that he had stopped smiling, but rather, it was that his expression had returned to one he had been wearing since they started their journey. A distant, closed off look that almost appeared as though Link was burrowing into himself, hiding deep within his being so that no one could see what he was feeling. Maybe, he felt the way he did because Link smiling, laughing had made it seemed as though he was opening up, letting Sidon in just a little bit but then had immediately shut him out once the moment of jubilancy had passed.

Bowing his head, bringing his gaze to his hands in his lap, Sidon idly wondered if that was a selfish way to feel. He considered himself and Link friends, good friends even, but was it really alright for him to such a reaction to being shut out? After all, it wasn’t as though Link was required to let him in, to open up to him - that was just something he wanted. If Link didn’t, then it would be disrespectful to go against that. Still, did that still mean it was necessarily wrong for him to feel upset? Sighing softly, he let his head drop even further. This was so confusing - why did he feel so conflicted over something as simple as Link not wanting to open up?

“Sidon?” Link’s concerned voice suddenly spoke up.

Jerking slightly, realizing how he had been acting and how it must have looked, Sidon raised his head, smiled softly and waved one hand dismissively, “Forgive me, I was just thinking about the rain.”

The lie seemed to work perfectly as Link somberly nodded in understanding, his eyes traveling once again to the washed out world in front of them. Sighing heavily, he reached up to brush blonde locks out of his eyes, “So do I. Normally, I don’t mind the rain but I hate sitting on my hands.”

Blinking in confusion, Sidon tilted his head and asked, “Is that a idiom?”

“Huh?”

“Sitting on your hands. I’ve never heard that before.”

“Oh, yes, it is. It means to do nothing.”

“I see.” Sidon replied simply, before turning to face the rain himself. At the moment, there was no indication that it was going to stop anytime soon. In the short amount of time they had been sitting there, massive puddles had already begun to form. They were, fortunately, in a lucky enough position where the water was draining away from them, rather towards them. Glancing over at their horse, Sidon found her wandering around, completely ignoring the rain as she sniffed inquisitively at the ground, occasionally pulling up tufts of grass and munching away at them.

He hoped he hadn’t jinxed them once again by thinking the rain would pass over soon. They weren’t far from the stable but he really didn’t want to take Link out into the pouring rain and risk him getting sick. Wouldn’t that be something to deal with on top of everything else?

“Why are you sitting out there?” Link suddenly asked.

Startled by the sudden, out of the blue question, Sidon looked back at him in confusion, his eyebrows raising, “Pardon?”

There was a strange, almost conflicted expression on the small Hylian’s face as he pointed out quietly, “You don’t have to sit out there. There’s enough room in here for the two of us.”

“I didn’t want to crowd you.” Sidon replied honestly. Despite there being the space for both of them to squeeze in, there wouldn’t be a lot of room left for either of them to move around and Link would most likely get smooshed.

“It’s fine. I feel bad with you sitting out there by yourself.”

Sidon opened his mouth to protest, but without another word, Link began to shuffle over closer to the side of the tree. Once he had gotten far enough, he settled an unflinching gaze on Sidon, as though daring him to deny the offer now that he had gone through the trouble of moving. Realizing that there was no fighting this, that Link would drag him inside if he had too, Sidon pushed himself up into a squatting position and shuffled his way over to Link’s side. Carefully maneuvering himself so he didn’t step on anything belonging to the small Hylian, he managed to get himself sitting beside Link with only a little difficulty. Unsurprisingly, it turned out his initial thoughts about both of them being in the space were correct. With his immense size, he practically took up all the available room, leaving barely any area for Link to move around in.

Immediately feeling guilty for just how much he was squishing the small Hylian, Sidon opened his mouth to inform Link that he was getting out when he suddenly felt soft hair brushing against his arm. Looking down, he was startled to find that Link was leaning easily against him, his body language relaxed and unbothered. Feeling his heartbeat pick up and his cheeks going slightly hot, Sidon swallowed hard, opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, closed his mouth then opened it once more to ask, “This...this is alright?”

Link nodded slowly, “It’s fine.” He replied, his voice heavy with sleep.

“I’m not crushing you?”

“No, it’s alright. Is it uncomfortable for you, though?”

“Not at all,” Sidon replied honestly. Despite the small space, he wasn’t terribly cramped. He just couldn’t understand how Link wasn’t antsy about being so confined. Though, it was probably best he didn’t complain. If Link found this comfortable, then that was really what was most important.

“Good.” Link replied back, his voice drifting off, “I’ll try to stay awake.”

“No need for that,” Sidon said gently. After a moment’s hesitation, wondering in the back of his mind if it was truly okay but ultimately deciding to just go for it, he reached up to gently pat Link’s head, “Sleep, my friend. I’ll wake you when it stops raining.”

There was no answer initially from Link, leading him to believe that he was so tired that the confirmation that Sidon would wake him once they could go had allowed him to slip into sleep. Sidon pulled his hand away, made to turn his gaze back to the pouring rain when, to his surprise, Link suddenly spoke up, his voice quiet and cautious.

“Can-” he hesitated, his words catching as though he was apprehensive of saying what was coming next, “Can you keep doing that?”

“What?”

One of Link’s small, tanned hands reached out to lightly bump his own. For a moment, he couldn’t figure out what Link was asking, almost vocalizing that when it suddenly dawned on him. That had been the hand he had pet Link’s head with, so it just stood to reason that that was what he wanted him to keep doing. Sidon certainly couldn’t think of anything else he had been doing with that hand that Link would want him to keep doing. Slipping his arm around Link’s shoulders, feeling him jerk in surprise and immediately feeling a little guilty for not warning him, Sidon placed his large hand on top of Link’s head and began to gently pet the soft, silky hair.

“Like this?” He asked quietly, his cheeks more than a little warm. Now that he was close, he was able to pick up on a subtle, sweet scent that was definitely radiating up from Link. He had never noticed before just how nicely Link smelled.

Instead of an actual answer, all he received in response was a soft, very content noise from the Hylian. A few moments later, he felt, rather than heard, Link’s breath even out, indicating that he had actually fallen asleep this time. Continuing to stroke his soft hair, now more for his benefit as he couldn’t deny how nice those strands felt against his fingertips, Sidon settled his gaze back on the pouring rain and tried to ignore just how hard his heart was pounding.

#sidlink #prince sidon x link #sidon x link #mywriting

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