#space AND under the ocean. at pressures we were never meant to survive at! Now THAT' would be fun.

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

sorry for diary posting so much on main but this is the last one today prommy

[paddymoonstruck]

𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬┃𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫

chapter two

warnings: season 4/manga spoilers, mentions and depictions of death, death, war, cursing, angst, eren being an asshole 

word count: 6,406

notes: PROCEED WITH CAUTION major season four/manga spoilers ahead !!! ALSO — I’ve read the last chapter and bestie lmao — i just wanted to pour the dread I felt by posting this chapter since it is also vv sad!!!!  ENJOY THOUGH !!!

PREVIOUS CHAPTER/S: moodboard/prologue, one 

𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞

A malicious smirk curled upon the lips of a certain brunette, head peaking from the corner of a concrete housing. His bright, turquoise irises scanned the friend group of his intended target, arms linked one after the other, walking towards to door that led to the hallway of the dorms. 

“Eren, is this really necessary?” Armin whispered beside Eren, his voice shook in the slightest as he watched the bunch near the door. 

Eren scoffed, nodding his head firmly, never taking his eyes off of them. “It wouldn’t have to be if she didn’t pour salt on my oatmeal earlier . . .” The frown that decorated his face was fleeting, the scheming glint present again, as anticipation bubbled in his stomach.

Devon Janea stretched her hand out, placing in on the metal knob, she laughed along to what ever Sasha and Nifa were chatting about. Her palm twisted the knob, giving it a light push. A soft clank ticked above her head, followed by the liquid  icy flow that took her awhile to recognize as water. It cascaded from her head down to her boots. 

Both of her companion let out a gasp, pulling the wooden bucket that had fallen on their friend’s head. 

Eren’s smirk, shifted into a series of baffling hysterics, his gaze pointed at the now soaking wet Survey Corps uniform of Devon. Her golden brown locks dampened, turning them a shade darker. 

Despite the numbing sensation of Devon’s body, she managed to catch wind of someone laughing annoyingly loud. Her suspicions were confirmed as her vision landed on an elated piece of shit kneeling on the ground, clutching his stomach a few feet away from them. 

She made eye contact with a pair of ocean eyes as she looked up, which immediately swam in mercy. If she wasn’t freezing to death, she would’ve laughed at the fear on Armin’s face but she was able to comprehend was the desire to crush Eren Yeager’s skull into ash. 

“Oi, Yeager!” She bellowed, unclipping her soiled cape from her back. 

“You’re gonna get it now . . .” Nifa mumbled, earning an enthusiastic giggle from Sasha.

Eren stood from his place, chortling toned down to occasional chuckles, he crossed his arms to his chest, observing Devon’s shaking form as she approach him. 

The exasperated expression that had morphed itself on her face never wavering. Her drenched footwear squelched under the Earth’s pressure. “You have five seconds to tell me why — oh why you did that.” 

Apparently, the seething irritation Devon carried in her tone triggered Eren’s funny-bone because not a second later, stupid laughs poured away from his very much punchable mouth. 

It was short-lived, however — since Devon’s patience had ran thin and next thing everyone knew, her arm swung back, fist colliding painfully against Eren’s abdominal area, producing a clean booming crunch. 

A series of oof’s can be heard behind her which she could’ve guessed were a few people who had came to witness this brawl that occurred quite frequently much to their squad captains’ displeasure.

He had stumbled back a few inches, ass meeting the soil. The agonized groan that escaped his lips were a blessing to Devon’s ears, and her eyes feast at the same suffering that contorted his face. 

Armin instantly came to his side, eyes wide in panic. 

Wringing her moistened hair in both hands, she raised an eyebrow as she saw Armin’s pleading eyes. “Don’t give me that look — “ She scorned, a mocking smile dressed her features. “He’s the idiot that came at me.”

Eren shot her a murdering daggers. “You started it!” 

A child — an immature child —

“Excuse me?” Devon questioned, hands settling on her hips. 

“You ruined my breakfast!” His voice boomed inspite the pain shooting at his stomach.

Devon pondered his words, brows furrowing in thought. Just then, a memory flashed between her eyes, producing an inelegant snort from her mouth.

A hand came to cup her lips instantly, doing little to conceal the blooming grin that had appeared.

“Oh, that.” She affirmed, voice filled with mirth. “In my defense, you kept kicking my leg for no reason— so—”

A foot after the other, she strided towards the boy who had now gotten off the ground, fists clenched at either sides. Regardless of the noticeable difference in their height, Devon stood tall, as she looked up at Eren.

“—technically, you started it . . .” She narrowed her eyes, staring at Eren’s equally annoyed ones.

Almost half a minute passed, the open courtyard remained quiet as both Scouts stared in each other down as if waiting for one of them to disintegrate into nothing but ash.

However, A firm cutting tsk made everyone flinch. Devon and Eren seem to stumbled back onto reality, goosebumps rising on their arms.

Both snapped their heads to the terrifyingly familiar sound and behold— with a deep scowl resting on his usually neutral face, Captain Levi tapped his foot next to the sploch of wetness on the ground.

His sharp glare cutting through the babbling Scouts in the middle of the scene. From the fair amount of distance, they were sure the Captain noticed their shaking figures.

“It wasn—”

“She di—”

The Captain’s raised palm silenced both the excuses that came rushing out their mouths, clamping them shut in a split millisecond.

“Both of you—” He started, teeth gritting as he spoke. “No one gets a speck of lunch until you’ve cleaned this up.”

Resigned huffs and nods were their response, head hung low but burning glare for one another remained.

Her clammy hands clutched the fabric in a tighter vice, closed palms beginning to shake at the emotions that had invaded her mind.

Devon Janea was once again in a position she had promised herself to never indulge in— but as her eyes bore into the green cloth that held the symbol of freedom, her eyes began to sting, teeth in a compacted clench, causing a dull ache to reside in her mouth— an ache she couldn’t dare feel due to the greater torment, the object in her hands brought.

It was her old Scouts cape. She had kept it when they had announced the reinvention of the Survey Corps uniform. The cape meant a great deal to her yet every time she laid her eyes on it, nearly nothing joyful popped in her mind.

She despised the idea of hating this piece fabric— she hated it— but she somehow felt the need to.

All of the things that happened to her– good or bad, her cape hung on her shoulders and bore witness.

It was there— this old thing.

It was there when they went to battle mindless Titan’s outside of the walls. It was there when every stage of fear shot through her system every single time her squad-mates met their cruel demise.

In the times where she cried for her fallen comrades until the sun rose, she had hugged this piece of fabric to her chest, muffling her outmost despair.

It was there when she fell victim to Eren’s pranks and their childish fights. This was present in the time she had felt an outrageous amount of bliss regardless of the situation in the outside world– a time where all she thought about was surviving, with them.

But now— it was . . . gloomy.

A distant call from outside her window caught her attention and she immediately got to her feet, observing the armor that decorated her body. It was far from what they used to wear but nonetheless more efficient for their current predicament.

They were fighting humans now.

She had never thought this day would see the light but assumptions can always be shifted, can’t they?

It was baffling to her how they’d need more advanced and heavier equipment when it came to war against people in comparison to the weapons and wardrobe they utilized with Titans.

Big, scary, man-eating giants.

Her younger self would most probably shudder in fear if she saw her now. She’d ask her all these question in order to make sense of her actions and most likely pretend she understood when in fact, she’s been thinking of ways to turn her over onto a brighter leaf. 

As she tried to imitate a happy smile she used to carry, she could almost see her other self seething at the fabricated action. She gripped the straps of her black uniform, the material fitted like a second skin but very comfortable to move around in. 

With a last shake out of her doubtful thoughts, she grabbed the green cloak from the floor, hooking it across her chest while she ran down and into hell.

Time seemed to pass by quickly — that or Devon has been spacing out now and then as Commander Hange was explaining the plan of action. The parts Devon had caught irked her. 

“We’ll have to cover for Eren as much as we can . . .” Hange’s tired, but firm mutter echoed in the airship that has been prepared by Zeke Yeager and his most gracious disciples. 

“We have to assume that he’ll cause damages and openly declare war,” The commander nodded at them, her gaze flickered from one scout to another that surrounded the table in the middle of the room. “Jean, Connie, Sasha and Floch — watch out for enemies over at the west. Take half of Levi’s squad with you.” 

Devon watched the circle of her comrades as she rested her body on a nearby wall, eyes fleeting to Hange as she caught her gaze. 

“Devon,” The commanding tone in her voice caught Devon’s attention. “You and Mikasa are to find Eren — and once you do, keep close and make sure to have your eyes on him at all times.”

If it wasn’t for Devon’s self-proclamation to shut up and do as she’s told without complaints,, she would’ve jumped out this flying balloon hours ago. But, she matched Hange’s stoic glare, a nod confirming her cooperation was enough for the commander to continue her discussion.

In the corner of her eye, she could spot a figure walking towards her. She kept her gaze forward, clearing her throat once the said figure had stopped beside her.

“If you want to smack Eren, I won’t stop you,”

Be this a normal situation, Devon would no doubt laugh at Levi’s sudden statement. She twisted her neck to face him, she’s met with those steel, cool stare.

“I know.” She affirmed, folding her hands back, hiding the fidgeting of her fingers that had no plan on stopping until they’ve left this depressing island. “Maybe I will slap him later . . .”

She saw Captain Levi nodding along to her words, and despite not exactly saying anything else, Devon appreciated the random interaction that somehow calmed her nerves a little. 

The minutes of Hange talking was the only sound bouncing through the walls were indeed just minutes.

A deafening roar quaked the skies, Devon’s eyes shutting, hands coming up to cup her ears at the loud volume. 

Show time.

She stumbled at the front of the airship, hands finding support of its walls, her head peaked out the scene through the window. 

There he was. 

Or it.

The enormous Titan stood at an intimidating form of 15 meters, baring his muscled back to them. His roars continued to pierce their ear, making them flinch each time it rattled their hearing.

“There’s no time to waste!” Captain Levi’s command came riddling through all the commotion. “To your stations!” 

With that, the scouts saluted, each scrambling to get their equipment together as fast as they can. Devon instantly ran to her gear, hooking it around her waist. Her hands reached to take a hold of approximately ten thunderspears. The supposedly cool metal laid feverish on her palm but decided ignore it and resume to securing the heavy weapons on her shoulder.

Another angry roar and a series of frightened screams rattled her nerves yet she refused to waver at the thought of the situation outside.

“Mikasa,” Devon called, the attention of the raven haired girl turned to her, nodding. “C’mon, let’s finish this.”

Fire — blood — screams — explosions.

The list was dreadfully endless. With Mikasa to her right, they swung above the unfathomable condition of the town. Devon tried to avoid looking below but agonizing wails were impossible to ignore. 

She knew it would be a mistake to succumb to the temptation and just peak downwards. Beyond the apathetic eyes she had been giving nowadays, was that frightened little girl hidden behind Wall Rose. 

Looking down would mean remembering. 

It was unclear whether or not she opposed to it or not. Does she truly want to revisit that horrible time in her life in a crucial time like this?

“Don’t.”

Her thoughts lurched back at Mikasa’s sudden intrusion. Devon felt her eyes burn at the side of her face, urging her to return the gaze. Mikasa had a glint of tenderness in her eyes as she stared at Devon.

“Looking won’t help anyone.” As if she had read Devon’s mind, had her thinking if her conflicted thoughts showed on her face as well. 

“It won’t.” She agreed, exhaling a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding. “Stand on that pillar, try to catch Eren’s attention — I’ll do the same on the that building at the left. Be careful not to be noticed by anyone else.”

The order came flying out of her mouth as Eren’s Titan form became more prominent to their vision. Mikasa swung to the direction Devon had ordered, leaving the latter to advance to her position. 

Devon’s boots slid on the worn down roof of a house, fragile bricks now easy to pick apart, resembling a puzzle containing several missing pieces. She stalked towards the edge of the roof, squatting down to uselessly watch the treacherous scene unfold in front of her. 

Eren turned, his eyes skimming through the civilians aimlessly racing away from him. Devon noticed how the large titan spun his head towards the right.

She had to squint to confirm that he did, in fact acknowledge Mikasa’s presence. A sigh of relief escaped her as she was sure of the exchange. 

Past her relief was a gash of radiant light amongst the cauldron dark covered skies. Her eyes could hardly accommodate the brightness that invaded her sights but she could make out a form of a skeleton, slowly evolving with flesh. 

She stumbled back at the thunderous punch the creature caught on its face. The tissues that haven’t fully developed yet squashed against Eren’s gigantic fist. Devon’s resistance to look away increased, with the amount of blows Eren delivered to the primitive titan as it wriggled uselessly below him.

A shot of a rifle snapped her attention away from the ongoing uproar to the source of the sudden gunshot. The thick layers of fog beneath the houses made it difficult to spot anything from where she sat.

At that moment, she hoped that Sasha and the others were able to place signal lights to ensure the clearance of enemies. She swayed her head hoping to catch a glimpse at anything suspicious from that direction but she was met with darkness and smog. 

Devon gasped, hand abruptly clutching at the end of the roof as the ground trembled, followed by a loud groan which brought her attention back to Eren.

Her eyes widened at his state. His stomach now impaled in the center by a large pointy crystal lifting his limp body in the air. The titan seemed to have completed it’s transformation as it now stood, smoke seeping out of its shoulder, waiting for its arms to grow back. 

She had never seen anything quite like it, despite being able to witness numerous unbelievable things in her days. The titan seemed to possess to ability to create structures using hardening, allowing it to make to spike it used to pierce Eren. 

The strength this Titan possessed chilled her blood, instinctively look towards Mikasa. Luckily, she had her eyes on her too. And beyond the disaster, the distress that covered her features relaxed as Mikasa brought her palm up as a symbol to wait.

She turned her head back, fists balling tighter as the Titan grew a hammer on her hand, clutching the long handle. Devon repressed the urge to step in as it barreled the object towards an unmoving Eren, successfully smashing the crystal altogether. 

Devon’s panic simmered down as a slightly smaller version of Eren’s titan emerged amidst the smoke. 

Continuous flashes of light and booms of canons interrupted the fleeting solace Devon felt. Somehow, with all of those heavy weaponry, she was finally able to see the series of soldiers lined up nearly in front of Eren.

She saw his fingertips turn icy, incasing them in Titan hardening as he came up to cup his nape. He growled at his attackers, not noticing how to white fleshed titan swung back its hammer. He turned too late, only being able to provide his arms as a weak protectant. 

Devon’s patience wore thin as she merely continued to watch as Eren was rid of his hands. 

“The War Hammer Titan is a monster!” A joyful screech amongst the gloomy atmosphere pierced her ears.

War Hammer 

“That’s what it’s called . . .” She muttered to herself, scowling at the name. “How corny.”

“It’s really going to finish off!”

Whoever it was, Devon wanted nothing more than to shut them up. Anxiety welled up inside her as the War Hammer Titan raised its weapon again, slowing as a figure — Eren  — resurfaced from his Titan form.

She couldn’t help the feeling of a hefty weight being lifted out from her shoulders as she set eyes on his figure. 

“Usurper, Eren Yeager,” The War Hammer spoke. “Do you have any last words?”

Although she could only see his back, a long inhale propelled her lips. 

“Now or never, Mikasa.”

Loud and clear, Devon waited for it. As signaled, Mikasa’s form came rushing in the scene, almost too fast to be caught by the naked eye. She raised her arms, plowing a hefty sequence of thunderspears in the air and into the War Hammer’s neck, slotting it perfectly. 

The release of the clip prompted its ear-splitting eruptions, blowing off its nape. Mikasa spun her body, eyes spotting Devon’s, an understanding nod between the two was exchanged and that was all it took.

She went off flying towards Eren, her heart pounding louder into her ears as she grew closer to his form. Before she could muster anything to say, Eren spoke.

“You guys actually came. . .” 

Despite the lack of emotion on his face, Devon could hear the faint surprise in his tone. An unknown feeling of displeasure spanned on her chest as she examined the side of Eren’s face.

She noted the few but undeniably noticeable changes in his appearance compared  to the last time she has seen him, reminding her of the many days they have been apart. His hair had grown past his shoulders, little stubbles have made it’s on his upper lip and — she would love to be wrong . . . she hopes she was because if she wasn’t mistaken, the vibrant turquoise hue in his eyes had dimmed into a spiritless pair of orbs.

The frown on her face didn’t falter, choosing to finally respond to him, “They were worried about you.” The admission seemed half-hearted yet she felt the need to tell him that in the moment. 

“Eren,” In other circumstances, the hammering in her chest would absolutely delight her, but the one she was currently having flooded her with outmost dread, eyes piercing in to Eren’s own. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Devon found herself crouching beside him, as if he wouldn’t hear him if she stood. “You’ve murdered all these people —” She had to stop speaking, aiding the ache of her mouth as the words dawned to her. “No amount of reasoning could save you from this." 

The heavy sigh she released helped lightened the tightness on her chest, looking at her feet, the heat of Eren’s Titan flesh seeping through her body. 

“Eren,” The tense exchange was cut short as Mikasa landed beside Devon, calling his attention. “Please, let’s go home . . .”

“It’s not over yet.” At his claim, both girls’ features morphed into confusion.

“What —” Devon’s eyes widened, stopping the query on her tongue. “Motherfucker — “

The ground rumbled along with the rise of the War Hammer Titan.  Slowly, it started getting up, its palm pressing against its head, pushing it back onto the body effortlessly.

“That’s impossible!” The incredulous tone Mikasa expressed was no different from the look that Devon gave to astonishing incident playing before their eyes. “I blew off its nape!”

“And I crushed it with all my strength,” Eren added, his monotone voice unwavering as he studied the titan. 

“Mikasa!” Devon’s body acted before her mind, eyes laying on the sparks blossoming on thee Titan’s hand, a crossbow has come to life. 

As an instinct, she grabbed Eren, a hand coming up to his waist, the other pointing her ODM gear at the first concrete she looked at. She fired the equipment, grapple shooting out. When it hooked on the infrastructure, she wasted no time to tug Eren out of the titan flesh and onto the air with her, just in time before the arrow hit their previous place. 

It had been several minutes since the Scouts retreated back into the airship. Eren was able to devour the War Hammer, nearly getting to the Jaw Titan if it wasn’t for Reiner Braun’s unexpected appearance.

 The loud cheers resonated along the walls, bouncing back outside as they celebrated a mission success.

Devon would be lying if she said she doesn’t feel the uneasiness leaving her chest, as her head weaved through the crowd, eyeing everyone’s condition. 

Thankfully, no one was hurt, perhaps a bit of cuts and scratches but besides that, they were all well. 

A smile slithered it’s way to her lips, watching her comrades. Floch leads the bunch, raising his fist in the air. “It’s a huge victory! The New Eldians Empire ends in victory!” He declared, earning gleeful shouts of affirmation. 

His words, however, stabbed Devon back into a harsh reality, face twisting into a crestfallen frown. Determined to keep her thoughts at bay, glanced to the side, finding Jean, Connie and Sasha huddled close to the open door.

She sauntered to them, resting on her knees to be at their level. “I’m so glad you’re all safe . . .” She muttered, a grateful gleam in her eyes sparkled, throwing her arms around the three. 

Sasha, being at the middle, curled both her hands  around Devon’s waist, the other two doing the same in their respective side. 

Connie, of course, had to clap back at the intimate moment, mumbling against Devon’s shoulder. “You smell like shit, Janea . . .”

They laughed, shoulders shaking. Devon extended her arm to smack Connie behind his head, making the latter flinch but grin as he spotted the glare she sent him. 

“You’re one to talk,” She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You look like shit.”

He stuck his tongue out, shaking his head at the brunette. Said brunette merely smirked before standing, landing a soft pat at each of their heads. “Good job, guys . . . I’ll just go check on Eren.” 

They nodded simultaneously, understanding the look on Devon’s face as she turned back towards the hallway but not before hearing Sasha’s enthusiastic yell.

“Let’s celebrate and eat a lot when we get home!”

Devon looked back over her shoulder, flashing her a bright grin and nodded. “I call pork stew!” She laughed, heart warming at Sasha’s beaming smile.

As she went on her way, wooden flooring creaked beneath the weight of her boots, approaching the men contained in the area. Her eyes wandered down, noting how Eren was sat on the floor, a scout pointing a gun at him while Captain Levi glared right through his soul.

“Captain,” She announced her presence, garnering closer to them, inclining her head as a sign of respect

Levi didn’t look away, “Cheer up,” He spat instead, “Everything happened like you wanted,”

Maybe it was her buzzing mind, or the overall exhaustion finally catching up to her. But until she followed their gaze, she didn’t notice Zeke Yeager perched on the wall at the end of the hall, steam leaching out from where his missing limbs were once attached. 

“Jenea,” At Levi’s voice, Devon snapped up to meet his eyes. “Bind him with this,”

Before she could react, Levi had thrust a wheeled rope on her hands, leaving her with no choice but to grip the braided strands. She didn’t get a chance to respond, seeing the Captain and his fellow squad member exit the room.

Suddenly, Devon recalls the short exchange she had with Levi before leaping into battle, The thought caused her to peer down at the same person that was their topic of interest was now at her hostage. 

Eren was already staring back at her, making her eyes narrow the longer she looked into his. The turmoil sprouting at her conscience wasn’t a pleasant indication. Yet, she shut her eyes for a moment hoping to calm her aggression.

When she felt it was enough, she opened them back up, swiveling her head to Eren’s direction. He had his wrists offered to her, beckoning her to get to it. 

Without a word spoken, Devon crouched down and began to swathe his hands together, placing a cloth between his palms to prevent him from slashing himself. 

“I’m not going to turn into a titan in an airship.”

Devon kept her concentration at the knot she was forming, grasped pulling against the binds, further restraining his movements.

“You’ll never know,” She whispered, retaining her hands on his wrist despite accomplishing her task.

The silence was unbearable, yet Devon resisted the impulsive sentences bunching up her mouth. She wanted him to say something— anything that could possibly tame the anger she had for him.

Flickering lights on the hallway continued, baring the stiff aura that pattered heavily upon the narrow space. Devon and Eren very much indulged in their staring contest.

It was akin to glasses at the edge of the table, waiting for one to finally fall and shatter into microscopic pieces.

As aggravating as the soundless room is, Devon’s pride was far too great to break it, eyes boring into the orbs she once adored. She began to think to herself of the things that might have happened for Eren to be brought back to her this lifeless.

The more time she invested looking at him, the wrenched ache in her chest became torturous. She wasn’t entirely aware what came over her, but her hand was already poised up in the air, her palm connecting against Eren’s cheek.

A graciously blaring slap, echoed against the room, probably heard around the whole airship. His head banging into the wall next to him, relishing the strength of the contact

Even being the one to strike, Devon’s hand burned at the impact, making hiss, the other hand shooting up to soothe her stinging palm.

Her eyes were blurry when she looked back to Eren, cheek had started to redden. All the reserved attitude she had been building up the whole day demolished simply by entertaining Eren Yeager’s presence.

She knew it wouldn’t be pleasant but she failed to recognize exactly how distressing it would be. Her chest was heaving, palm clawing at the skin, hoping for the ache to lighten.

“Devon,”

She was wrong. The initial thought of having him talk flew out her mind when she finally heard his voice. In the quite space they stood in, it seemed annoying loud. Despite merely whispering her name, it was like he had yelled in her ear, which made her cover them as she was currently doing.

“No—” Her voice shook, failing to maintain the authority in her tone. “Shut the fuck up, Yegear.”

She spun on her heel, turning her back on him, rolling her head up to gaze at the wooden ceiling. Her breath was still uneven as she exhaled, running a trembling hand along her locks.

“Wha–what did you hope to achieve?” She asked, pouring out frustration at every word. “I really want to understand— just please . . .”

I don’t want to hate you, she wanted to say but decided against it. Deeming the phrase inappropriate for the situation.

Without even having her eyes on him, Eren was well aware of her raging desperation. He knew why she was insistent and what exactly she wanted from him.

But all he had to say was, “It’s for everyone’s safety.”

If Devon was a volcano, she would’ve exploded right then and there. The bubbling vexation coursing through her veins made her head spin.

“Never in my life . . . and I mean never — have I despised a phrase as much!” She chuckled, no humor could be detected in the smile she flashed Eren when she turned around. “Is that it? Does that make all of this— justifiable?” 

The blaze looming up her throat whenever she became a tad mindful of his eyes were indescribable. It infuriated her as she took in the state of the pair. So much that she felt to need to shield them from her vision. 

“I don’t know what else you’re asking of me.” 

At his blunt statement, Devon had difficulties deciphering which of her swirling emotions she wanted to project due to the outrage and melancholy submerging her sane conscience. 

The little energy she had left prompted her to merely gape at his slouched figure, knotted wrists sat patiently at his lap. She lost the ability to make sense of his actions as his glare punctured her soul, sending an uncomfortable twinge in her heart.

“What happened to you?” Her hand slid to her neck, rubbing soothing circles to aid her shuddering tone. “I was angry the night before we came here . . . and even then, I still hoped for your safety— I hated that you left but I continued to believe that you had a good motive,” She willed herself to keep her eyes on him despite the impending urge to do otherwise. “But seeing you now — I’m beginning to doubt your stand in all of this . . .” 

Being honest was something she wanted to do, even if she was in no way prepared for Eren’s response. She had to let him know as much as she needed proper answers to the swarm of questions she had thrown at him. 

She touched her shoulder, wringing out the knot that was starting to form, as she ignored the noticeable tremble of her fingers. “You showed no mercy to anyone in this city — “

“No one deserved mercy — “

“Not even those children?” She was quick to surface the topic again, wide eyed as she awaited his reply. 

It was one that made her heart stop, breath hitched at her throat. 

“We were children too when something similar to this happened, weren’t we?” The way he delivered his question with no anger, but pure confusion halted Devon’s arguments, instead opting to study his expressions.

He spoke of nothing else but truth. They were children when Wall Maria was breached by the Armored Titan. In spite of not being a resident of that town, she was coincidently present when it occurred.

A dangerous chill cascaded along her spine at the memory of her younger sister. The image burned into her skull for eternity, how her little body got brutally smashed by a massive concrete that wiped out every thing in the perimeter she was standing on.

Devon lived with the regret of not being beside her, and letting her run further ahead without knowing it would be the sole cause of her demise. 

“And we weren’t at fault just like those children.” Her resolve quaked in the slightest but she stood her ground. “They didn’t have any idea what was happening — They were just as clueless as us . . .”

Exhaustion was taking over Devon’s sight, far too tired to have a sensible conversation with Eren except the stubborn part of her refused to waver. 

“Will you really no tell me?” Her persistence was starting to sound desperate, as she searched his eyes for the tiniest bit of sparkle she used to admire. Eyes drooped, her hands tugged at the rope on his wrists, pulling him closer as if she’d see what she was seeking in this proximity. 

She nearly smacked herself at how foolish her thoughts had become. Perhaps it came from the perplexing sentiments she had for the brunette, those sleepless nights her mind wandered to him, as she sat on her bed waiting for him to make his way back. 

Devon had buried emotions she deemed improper, and became more secluded when Eren left. She barely opened up to any of her close friends, fixing her face into a defaulted smile at times she felt the most unwell. 

To see Eren give her the look she had been dealing with every time she stared at her reflection shoved her into a state of panic, immediately ambushing him with questions she knew would go unanswered. 

With a deep sigh, she dropped her hand from its place, resting it on her side. “Alright . . . it would be a few hours until we reach Parad — “

A powerful bang startled them, Devon’s heart lurching on her chest as it had dawned to her that it was a gunshot. She stood rigid, unable to function despite the sudden commotion happening just behind the door at her right. 

Fear rippled through her system as the furious yells turned into desperate pleas. Her throat ran dry at the single name a mix of voices shouted.

“SASHA!”

That fear was physically resurfaced as her palms suddenly felt damp, blood turning sickeningly cold. She eventually willed herself to snap out of it, grabbing the doorknob, almost flinching at the freezing kiss on her fingertips.

Too occupied by her thoughts, she hadn’t realized, she had pushed the door open until Connie’s deafening yell broke her cloudy mind.

“DEVON—” Her eyes snapped towards the panicked voice, unable to ignore it. A wish for it all to go away was the first thing that came to her as she eyed the fimilliar head of reddish brown hair that laid unmoving on the floor.

She struggled to react, helplessly trudging towards Sasha. “Sasha—” A shake at the shoulder was her initial response, shock still fresh in her mind. “Hey— Sasha! Hold on, okay? Stay with me—” Devon’s palm snaked to grasp Sasha’s, pressing harder, hoping to transfer some of her warmth to her terrifyingly algid skin.

Devon’s lips came down to where their hands were connected, breathing tepid blows onto Sasha’s palm.

“Nico—”

Hope sparked in Devon’s chest at the sound of Sasha’s hoarse voice, deflating the moment she notcied the severity of her condition.

“Is dinner ready?” The sob Devon released pained her commarades as they watched on, tears falling from their eyes as well.

“Sasha— Sasha . . .” Devon’s pleas grew hopless, as she delivered an impervious squeeze on her palm. “Please— don’t leave me . . .”

Sasha’s name spilled from her lips repeatedly, noticing the delirious swarm in her eyes, knuckles bathed in unceasing downpour of hurt dripping from her green orbs.

An unbelievablely excruciating pang barreled on her chest, as she felt the weak grasp of Sasha’s hand turn limp on her own.

“N— NO! PLEASE . . .” Fright surged on her bones, shaking hands slamming onto Sasha’s shoulders. Devon shook her still form, movements lumbered due to the amount of tears clouding her vision. The headache she had earlier worsened terrible, as it was forced to process the horrific scene laid out in front of her.

The tips of her fingers felt numb, as she caressed Sasha’s freezing skin, index and middle digit crawling up the side of her neck, gently searching for her pulse.

Although hope was wearing thin, she still found the strength to press at the spot, pausing for a second before shaking her head.

Connie’s hand that was applying pressure to the gaping wound on her abdomen loosen, as he drew in a sharp breath.

Jean, still having his ears shielded by his palms, had found the courage to turn around to see a heartbreaking image that will surely be imprinted on his brain for all eternity.

A series of loud cries erupted around her, making her realize that she had stopped weeping. The weight on her chest still unbearable yet she felt far too numb to acknowledge it.

Her eyes drifted to the door she had been in before the tragic accident, disappointment bubbling up her throat, not at Eren but at herself because even then, she couldn’t bring herself to be angry at him.

A single question hung lax of the fragments of her wits.

Why?

Why did Eren choose to do what he did? Why did Sasha have to be a victim of this monstrosity?

No doubt, this war was to further worsen, Sasha won’t be the last one to suffer the end of this bargain.

The fire of unwavering adherence set ablaze in her remaining morals, determined to unseal Eren’s true motives for his repeated sentiment; for everyone’s safety.

Eren was not an enemy, but he does serve as a threath if he continues to feed them obscure reassurances that might put them in a danger like this. The enemy was the thoughts boiling in his head, caging him alone with those possibly sinister notions.

Devon had a great hunch that Eren gives vague answers because he was hinding something important, a plan he knew they wouldn’t agree on.

Perhaps it was her drained sanity thinking, but Devon have passed the stage of giving a damn as she let the thought worm into her brain.

If she can’t beat the enemy, she would have to join them.

[7r0773r]

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong

In the bathroom with the pea-soup walls, the grandma rolls a freshly boiled egg over the boy’s face where, a few minutes ago, his mother had flung an empty ceramic teapot that exploded on the boy’s cheek.

The egg is warm as my insides, he thinks. It’s an old remedy. “The egg, it heals even the worst bruises,” says his grandma. She works on the violet lump shining, like a plum, on the boy’s face. As the egg circled, its smooth pressure on the bruise, the boy watched, under a puffed lid, his grandma’s lips crease with focus as she worked. Years later, as a young man, when all that remains of the grandma is a face etched in his mind, the boy will remember that crease between her lips while breaking open a hard-boiled egg on his desk on a winter night in New York. Short on rent, it would be eggs for dinner for the rest of the week. They would not be warm, but cold in his palm, having been boiled by the dozen earlier that morning. 

At his desk, drifting, he’ll roll the moist egg across his cheek. Without speaking, he will say Thank you. He’ll keep saying it until the egg grows warm with himself.

“Thank you, Grandma,” says the boy, squinting.

“You fine now, Little Dog.” She lifts the pearly orb, and places it gently to his lips. “Eat,” she says. “Swallow. Your bruises are inside it now. Swallow and it won’t hurt anymore.” And so he eats. He is eating still. 

***

In college a professor once insisted, during a digression from a lecture on Othello, that, to him, gay men are inherently narcissistic, and that overt narcissism might even be a sign of homosexuality in men who have not yet accepted their “tendencies.” Even as I fumed in my seat, the thought wouldn’t stop burrowing into me. Could it be that, all those years ago. I had followed Gramoz in the schoolyard simply because he was a boy, and therefore a mirror of myself?

But if so—why not? Maybe we look into mirrors not merely to seek beauty, regardless how illusive, but to make sure, despite the facts, that we are still here. That the hunted body we move in has not yet been annihilated, scraped out. To see  yourself still yourself is a refuge men who have not been denied cannot know. 

I read that beauty has historically demanded replication. We make more of anything we find aesthetically pleasing, whether it’s a vase, a painting, a chalice, a poem. We reproduce it in order to keep it, extend it through space and time. To gaze at what pleases—a fresco, a peach-red mountain range, a boy, the mole on his jaw—is, in itself, replication—the image prolonged in the eye, making more of it, making it last. Staring into the mirror, I replicate myself into a future where I might not exist. And yes, it was not pizza bagels, all those years ago, that I wanted from Gramoz, but replication. Because his offering extended me into something worthy of generosity, and therefore seen. It was that very moreness that I wanted to prolong, to return to.

***

There’s a word Trevor once told me about, one he learned from Buford, who served in the navy in Hawaii during the Korean War: kipuka. The piece of land that’s spared after a lava flow runs down the slope of a hill—an island formed from what survives the smallest apocalypse. Before the lava descended, scorching the moss along the hill, that piece of land was insignificant, just another scrap in an endless mass of green. Only by enduring does it earn its name. Lying on the mat with you, I cannot help but want us to be our own kipuka, our own aftermath, visible. But I know better.

***

You once asked me what it means to be a writer. So here goes.

Seven of my friends are dead. Four from overdoses. Five, if you count Xavier who flipped is Nissan doing ninety on a bad batch of fentanyl.

I don’t celebrate my birthday anymore.

Take the long way home with me. Take the left on Walnut, where you’ll see the Boston Market where I worked for a year when I was seventeen (after the tobadcco farm). Where the Evangelical boss—the one with nose pores so large, bisuit crumbs from his lunch would get lodged in them—never gave us any breaks. Hungry on a seven-hour shift, I’d lock myself in the broom closet and stuff my mouth with cornbread I snuck in my black, standard-issue apron.

Trevor was put on OxyContin after breaking his ankle doing dirt bike humps in the woods a year before I met him. He was fifteen.

OxyContin, first mass-produced by Purdue Pharma in 1996, is an opioid, essentially making it heroin in pill form.

I never wanted to build a “body of work,” but to preserve these, our bodies, breathing and unaccounted for, inside the work.

Take it or leave it. The body, I mean.

Takke a left on Harris Stl, whee all that’s left of the house that burned down that summer during a thunderstorm is a chain-linked dirt lot.

The truest ruins are not written down. The girl Grandma knew back in Go Cong, the one whose sandals were cut from the tires of a burned-out army jeep, who was erased by an air strike three weeks before the war ended—she’s a ruin no one can point to. A ruin without location, like a language.

AFter a month on the Oxy, Trevor’s ankle healed, but he was a full-blown addict.

In a world myriad as ours, the gaze is a singular act; to look at something is to fill your whole life with it, if only briefly. Once, after my fourteenth birthday, crouched between the seats of an abandoned school bus in the woods, I filled my life with a l ine of cocaine. A white letter “I” glowed on the seat’s peeling leather. Inside me the “I” became a switchblade—and something tore. My stomach forced up but it was too late. I n minutes, I cbecame more of myself. Which is to say the monstrous part of me got so large, so familiar, I could want it. I could kiss it.

The truth is none of us are enough enough. But you know this already.

The truthy is I came here hoping for a reason to stay.

Sometimes those reasons are small: the way you pronounce spaghetti as “bahgeddy.”

It’s late in the season—which means the winter roses, in full bloom along the national bank, are suicide notes.

Write that down.

They say nothing lasts forever but they’re just scared it will last longer than they can love it.

Are you there? Are you still walking?

They say nothing lasts forever and I’m writing you in the voice of an endangered species.

The truth is I’m worried they will get us before they get us.

Tell me where it hurts. You have my word.

***

They say addiction might be linked to bipolar disorder. It’s the chemicals in our brains, they say. I got the wrong chemicals, Ma. Or rather, I don’t get enough of one or the other. They have a pill for it. They have an industry. They make millions. Did you know people get rich off of sadness? I want to meet the millionaire of American sadness. I want to look him in the eye, shake his hand, and say, “It’s been an honor to serve my country.”

***

In Vietnamese, the word for missing someone and remembering them is the same: nhó. Sometimes, when you ask me over the phone, Con nhó mę không? I flinch, thinking you meant, Do you remember me?

***

I am thinking of beauty again, how some things are hunted because we have deemed them beautiful. If, relative to the history of our planet, an individual life is so short, a blink of an eye, as they say, then to be gorgeous, even from the day you’re born to the day you die, is to be gorgeous only briefly. Like right now, how the sun is coming on, low behind the elms, and I can’t tell the difference between a sunset and a sunrise. The world, reddening, appears the same to me—and I lose track of east and west. The colors this morning have the frayed tint of something already leaving. I think of the time Trev and I sat on the toolshed roof, watching the sun sink. I wasn’t so much surprised by its effect—how, in a few crushed minutes, it changes the way things are seen, including ourselves—but that it was ever mine to see. Because the sunset, like survival, exists only on the verge of its own disappearing. To be gorgeous, you must first be seen, but to be seen allows you to be hunted.

[xerxia31]

Finding Home 2

I wrote a little story called Finding My Way Home last year for ms2sl, and even though I was satisfied with how that story ended, I’ve had this itch to write the day after ever since. Sometimes, you just have to give in. So, here’s the continuation that no one asked for. Rated E. You know why.

Finding my way Home, Part 2

rated E

o-o-o

The drive home is quiet. We are both exhausted after five days with Peeta's family. And after all of that mayhem, the silence feels welcome. But it leaves me far too much time in my head. Far too much time to worry that what we've shared won't survive when we rejoin our real lives.

Even when we stop for a quick meal we barely talk. But we hold hands under the table, and that reassures me.

So when Peeta drops me off at my apartment I'm confused. Standing at my door, holding my bag, he slumps against the frame. “I'll see you tomorrow?” he asks.

“You're not coming in?” It's not even eight yet.

“I'm so tired, Katniss,” he whispers, and I swallow my disappointment. As hard as this weekend was for me, I know it was so much worse for him.

“Okay, yeah.” I say, then fidget uncomfortably. Do I hug him goodnight? Kiss him? Three years of being best friends, not quite twenty-four hours of being more - I have no idea how to act.

He saves me from my awkwardness, leaning down to kiss me, just lightly, and I practically melt. He pulls away and meets my eyes. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too,” I whisper. And then he leaves.

After four nights sharing a bed with Peeta, my own bed feels cold and lonely. Though we hadn't discussed anything this morning, nor during the long drive home, I guess I thought he'd stay with me. That we might pick up where we left off this morning.

That he'd at least want to.

o-o-o

Mondays are always rough, and a Monday after having missed three workdays the week before is a special kind of hell. But the benefit of being too busy to stop or eat or even breathe is that I'm also too busy to ruminate.

It's six-thirty by the time I shut down my computer and grab my car keys. For the first time all day, my phone chimes with a message from Peeta. <<Text me when you're done at work>>.

I send back a quick <<Just leaving now>> and toss the phone in my purse. I refuse to overthink this.

When I get home, I find Peeta standing in the hallway outside my apartment door, leaning against the wall, head hanging. Twin emotions flood me; the swell of gratitude for his unwavering presence in my life that I always feel when I see him, and a kind of sick dread at the sight of his slumped, defeated posture. He turns at the sound of the stairwell door closing behind me, and his whole countenance changes. He straightens, and his face lights up. I can't resist returning his smile, confused though I am.

Only when I move closer do I notice that he's holding a bunch of flowers. “Hi,” he says, reaching for me, and I wrap my arms around his neck, holding him tight, breathing him in. The familiarity soothes me; Peeta Mellark is the best hugger. For all of the time we've been friends, his arms have been there to comfort me. The emotional roller coaster threatens to unhinge me. “Can I come in?” he murmurs against my hair and I laugh, a watery little sound.

He pulls away, concern crinkling his brow, but I shake my head and unlock the door. It's largely symbolic though; Peeta has his own key, he didn't have to wait for me in the hallway. “Why didn't you let yourself in?” I ask, blinking back tears before he can see them.

“A gentleman shouldn't let himself into a lady's home uninvited.”

I scowl. “Peeta, I've invited you in a hundred times, you have a key for heaven’s sake!” I turn to face him fully, confused and flustered. Why is he acting so strange? So stiff and formal? “What's going on?” It's barely a breath; I feel so intensely vulnerable. I have precious little experience in dating, if that's what this is now, but I didn't expect things to feel so uncomfortable between us.

Instead of answering, he hands the flowers to me. “These are for you.” Lavender roses and larkspur, soft and fragrant. I’ve never been given flowers before, not once.

“Thank you,” I whisper. After another few beats of awkward silence, I head to the kitchen to put the flowers in some water. Peeta follows, but stays as far away from me as the tiny space will allow. My hands shake as I arrange the stems in a glass pitcher. Peeta doesn't say a word, merely waits, watching his feet. Every insecurity claws out of my chest. Finally I give voice to the biggest of my fears. “Do you regret what happened between us?” My voice cracks, and his head snaps up, horror in his eyes.

“No!” I startle at his vehemence, and he steps forward, grasping my shoulders. “No, I could never,” he says so seriously I have no choice but to believe him.

“Then why are you acting so weird?”

He blinks at me, face blank. Then he laughs incredulously, and drops his forehead to mine. “Shit, I am,” he sighs. His hands fall away. “I've waited half my life for a chance to be with you, Katniss. I’m scared shitless of screwing it up. I want to do this right.” He lifts his head, plays with a tendril of hair that's escaped from my braid. “I want to take you out on dates, to wine and dine you.”

“I don't need any of that,” I start, but he's having none of it.

“You deserve those things, Katniss, and so much more. This weekend, God, it was incredible. But I just dragged you off to bed, like it was no big deal. And it was such a big deal. The biggest. I didn't show you how special you are, how much you mean to me.” He rakes his hand through his hair, genuinely upset with himself. I'm bewildered.

“You do show me that, Peeta. All of the time. You always treat me like I'm special.” And he does. He puts my happiness before his own every time.

“Katniss,” he starts, then takes a deep breath, as if to begin another long argument. But I cut him off.

“I don't want to lose my best friend.” Those ocean blue eyes that have captivated me for years are serious, searching. “I want to see you every day and do everything together. I want to laugh with you and cry on your shoulder. I want to just be Katniss and Peeta, like always. Except with more kissing. And… stuff.” My cheeks feel hot, and a smirk is playing on his lips. “Peeta,” I whisper, holding his gaze steadily. “I just want you.”

His soft laugh ripples over my eyelashes just before he leans down to kiss me. To really kiss me, kisses like the ones we shared that incredible night in his childhood bedroom. Kisses that makes me feel loved, wanted.

One thumb traces lazy circles on my hip bone while his other hand knots in my hair. My own arms are simply wrapped around his back, clinging. And I sigh. The fears and doubts fade away. This is right. This is the way we are meant to be.

As if he can sense my thoughts, he pulls back just enough to beam at me. “You are so incredible,” he rasps. “Let me take you out for dinner.”

“Sure,” I say. Then I kiss him again, because I can.

It takes another ten minutes before we can stop kissing long enough to leave my apartment, and I squirm the entire drive to the restaurant.

He chooses a place a few minutes away, a cute little restaurant I've driven by but never checked out before. He admits he hasn't either, but has always wanted to.

And it turns out to be just perfect for us. Definitely a ‘date’ spot, intimate tables for two, candles, soft music. Despite that, we act like ourselves. It's isn't weird or uncomfortable. It's just us. Like a hundred other dinners together. Except when I hold his hand and he kisses my fingers, it’s one by one, languidly, holding my eyes hostage as he does. I feel each erotic touch of his lips echoed in my belly.

And after we exit the restaurant, he presses me against the the passenger door of his car. “Remember,” he whispers, his lips just brushing my ear, “we’re madly in love, so it’s all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it.” And though I laugh, desire burns hot and bright throughout me. I want him.

We are still laughing and holding hands when we get back to my apartment. He pauses at the threshold. “Uh-uh,” I say, tugging him inside. “We’re not getting weird again.” He laughs a little self consciously, but he doesn’t resist.

I grab a pair of beers from the fridge before joining him on the couch. He leaves the television off, shifting when I sit so that we are facing each other. He smiles, and I can't help smiling back. But I need to know. “Why did you run off yesterday?” I ask.

He doesn't answer right away; instead, he reaches out, traces my face with gentle fingers. “I didn't want to leave,” he admits. “But I felt like if I stayed I'd be pressuring you.”

I roll my eyes. “For two people who talk every single day, we’re crappy communicators.” Peeta chuckles. “It kind of sucked,” I confess. “I thought you were having second thoughts.”

“I'm sorry,” he says, completely sincerely. He sets his bottle on the table and takes my hand. His long artist’s fingers play with my own. “It just feels a little surreal still. I’ve wanted you for so long, and now that you feel the same way… I don’t know. I just keep expecting I’ll wake up and it’ll have all been a dream.” He looks at me through those pale golden lashes, cheeks tinged just a bit pink. He’s beautiful, but it’s more than that.

I love him.

“This is very real, Peeta,” I say. My bottle joins his, then I take a deep breath. He was the one who initiated what happened between us two days ago. Maybe what he needs now is to see how much I want him too.

The first time I crawled into his lap, I was too overwhelmed by my burgeoning feelings to really appreciate his solid body under mine. But now I can take my time to admire how gorgeous he is.

He chuckles when I straddle him, but lets me dictate what’s happening, his huge hands resting lightly on my hips. I explore him over his clothing with just the tips of my fingers, tracing the taut muscles of his shoulders, the defined pecs hiding under soft cotton. Then I start on his shirt, button by button. But when I get halfway, he stops me, his eyes full of doubt. “I want you,” I tell him, toying with his buttons while I wait.

“I don't want us to rush this,” he says.

I smirk. “This is technically our third date, Peeta.” We've joked about this before. The third date is the one that ends in sex.

He snorts. “How do you figure?”

“The rehearsal dinner was our first date,” I tell him, and he wrinkles his nose.

“Some date,” he grumbles.

“It was our first kiss.” His eyes soften. He reaches up to cup my cheek in one big hand, running his thumb over my bottom lip.

“It was the most incredible kiss of my life,” he says softly, eyes fixed on my mouth. “You were so gorgeous and open, even though I was being kind of a dick.” His eyes flit up to meet mine. “And you were wearing those black pants that make your ass look so good.” He slides his hands down my body, reaching around to squeeze my butt, drawing me closer. I lean in and kiss him, softly, then rest my forehead against his and we breathe together.

“Our second date was the wedding?” he guesses, eyes closed.

“Dinner and dancing,” I joke, and his answering laugh skates across my lips.

“That dress. And what was underneath. Fuck,” he trails off, groaning. Then we're kissing again, though I have no idea who started it.

I sneak my fingers inside his shirt, and he leans back to pull it off, along with the tee beneath it. I moan. “You are so hot.” I’m practically panting. It’s not like I’ve never noticed, I'm not blind. But I've never really had an opportunity to ogle the expanse of taut muscle and golden flesh, sparsely dusted with burnished gold hair that trails downward, beckoning my eyes to skim his abdominals, perfectly defined.

I take my time tasting all of that skin, sucking the hollow of his throat, tweaking his nipples with my teeth. Enjoying the way he squirms when I drag my tongue along his ticklish rib cage. Learning him. His hands twitch, I can feel the effort it’s taking him to stay still.

With a deep breath to steady my nerves, I start on my own buttons. I slip each one free slowly, drawing out the process before finally tossing my blouse on the sofa beside us. And even though the bra I'm wearing underneath is plain white cotton he groans, grabbing my ass again, pulling me more tightly against him. Skin on skin. His hips buck upwards, showing me just how much he likes what he sees. It's exhilarating, knowing the effect I'm having on him. Feeling it cradled between my thighs.

I go back to kissing him, gripping his sculpted shoulders and rocking above him. I’m aching, and so wet I’ve doubtless saturated my slacks, but I can’t be still. The rough seam of his jeans stimulates me with every swivel. His hands wander up and down my back, toying with the clasp of my bra before retreating. I refuse to be discouraged by his hesitation, not when I can feel his body’s response, hear his stuttering breaths. When I reach back and unhook the contraption, flinging it somewhere across the room, his restraint snaps. He cups my breasts, gently squeezing them, a pained expression on his face. “Fuck,” he groans. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?”

“Show me,” I beg. He leans in, presses a kiss to my sternum, his stubble scraping my breasts. My clit pulses with every pass of his tongue as he laves my skin, teasing me as I squirm, trying to align myself with that hot, wet mouth.

It feels like an eternity before finally his soft lips close over my nipple and I wail like a thing possessed. I cup the back of his head, holding him to me as he roughly sucks and bites and drives me to the brink of insanity. “Please,” I beg, a breathless plea.

He stands up so quickly I nearly yank his hair out, but he holds me tight, pressed against the hard length of his body. I can feel his muscles ripple as he practically runs to my bedroom.

But when he sets me beside the bed, he slows down again, stepping back to simply stare as I shift nervously under his gaze. I reach for the button on my slacks, but he shakes his head. “Let me,” he whispers. He kneels before me, pressing soft kisses along my belly as he pulls off my pants, inch by inch. And when finally he tosses them in a crumpled heap on my bedroom floor, he leans his forehead against my hipbone, taking deep, calming breaths, as if my simple white cotton panties are more than he can bear. “So gorgeous,” he groans again. “You really don’t know, do you? How gorgeous you are?”

His words are always so pretty, but I’m a woman on a mission. I want him. Now. I grab his hair and tug until he gets the hint and stands. Then I reach for his belt and pull him a little closer, turned on even more by his sharp little inhale of surprise. But he kisses me again, his tongue stealing my concentration as I try, blind and flustered, to undo his jeans.

When I finally wriggle my frantic fingers into his pants, when I finally grip him in my hand, hot and hard and ready for me, he shudders, his kisses becoming sloppier, needier as he moans into my mouth.

But he stops me too soon. “Don't wanna come yet,” he rasps.

“Peeta,” I whine, impatient. He guides me backwards two steps. My legs hit the bed, and he tugs my hips until I'm perched on the edge of the mattress and he's kneeling in front of me, sliding my panties off and licking his lips.

As much as I loved his mouth on me the first time he did it, I really want him - all of him - tonight. I want to have sex. More than that, I want to make love. Cupping his jaw, I tell him so, my voice shaking a little but my intent clear. Then I wait.

“Katniss,” he smiles, his eyes soft and affectionate, his words skating across my flesh, stealing my sense. “I have been fantasizing about this - about you - for as long as I can remember, and I haven't had sex in more than a year. When I'm finally inside you, I'm not going to last ninety seconds.” Even in the dim, I can see the tips of his ears turning red. “Let me make you come first. Please.”

I want to argue with him, to tell him that it doesn't matter to me whether I come or not. But I can see it matters to him, of course it does, he always puts me first in every other way so I can't be surprised that he's the same, sexually. It’s thrilling, honestly.

I swallow hard, and lean back on my elbows. He beams up at me before his head dips, and he kisses the ticklish skin of my inner thighs, swirling his tongue ever closer, adding sharp little nips with his teeth, making me squirm. Before I can beg, he shifts, finally giving me what I want. His tongue licks a long, luscious line along my flesh. His mouth is soft and wet as he tastes me, alternating languid explorations and focussed flicks as I buck and keen.  

He could make me come in seconds flat, I know. But he doesn't, teasing me, bringing me right to the edge before pulling back just a bit, then doing it again, over and over until I'm pleading for release. Until I'm so keyed up I can't even think straight. Only then does he draw my throbbing clit between his lips, sucking on the tiny nub.

I come so hard I see stars, and there's no way my nosy neighbours didn't hear my wails of pleasure. But I couldn't care less.

He looks ridiculously pleased with himself as he crawls up to kiss me, but I scowl against his lips. “No more waiting, Peeta,” I grumble, but he knows I'm not really upset. I can see it in the way his eyes smile.

“Yes ma’am,” he laughs. And I laugh too. Because it's Peeta, my best friend, and now my lover. It feels like this has always been an inevitability. That no matter what, this was always going to happen.

He stands, sliding his jeans down. His cock juts out proudly, long and hard and all for me. I'd like to taste him too, but that will have to wait for another day.

We've already discussed contraception, two days ago while I lay in his arms, finally having confessed to each other what we both should have known all along. He knows I'm on the pill. I know he was tested a few months ago when he changed insurance carriers, and that he hasn't been with anyone since. There is nothing to hold us back. “Katniss,” he murmurs, climbing back into the bed.

“Don't ask me again if I'm sure, Peeta,” I tell him, and my voice stays steady despite my pounding heart. Because I am sure. I've never been more certain in my life.

My virginity isn't something I've guarded like a priceless jewel, it's not something I've kept locked away waiting for the perfect time. Despite that, I am, in this moment, so glad that I waited. So glad that it's Peeta.

He lowers himself to hover over me, cradled between my legs, and I can feel him hard against my thigh, just inches away. I suck in a deep breath, my heart speeding up. But he pauses, hazy blue eyes locked on my own, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. Fear that he's having second thoughts makes the adrenaline spike in my veins. I don't think my ego could take it if he asked permission one more time. But he doesn't. Those serious eyes flicker with heat and lust, but also shine with something more. “I love you,” he whispers. Then he presses into me.

My heart pounds like a jackhammer, but I try my hardest to relax. Peeta moves slowly, watching my face the entire time. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but the stretch, the burn, the feeling of fullness as he pushes in is almost overwhelming. Time hangs suspended as he claims each millimeter with aching control.

The sweat breaking out across his brow and the slight trembling of his arms tell a different story though. I know him, know how hard he’s fighting to go slow. “It’s okay,” I whisper, and lean up to kiss his jaw. I can feel his moan under my lips.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans.

“You do too,” I murmur. It's not completely true, but the pleasure that lights his handsome face makes the white lie worth it.

He lowers himself further, pressing our bodies together. His hand slides under my neck, arching my throat to his mouth. “I swear I'll make it good for you, Katniss,” he says as he starts to move, shallow thrusts, gentle rocking. And it does start to feel good. I tilt my pelvis experimentally, and Peeta curses, grabbing my hip, pulling me more tightly against him.

My eyes drift shut of their own accord, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, but Peeta cups my cheek. “Open your eyes, Katniss,” he growls, his voice deeper and rougher than I’ve ever heard it before. “Good,” he nods as I meet his eyes, huge and nearly black. “Stay with me.”

“Always,” I whisper, tears pricking the corners of my eyes.

He’s moving faster, driving deep into me with every thrust. His eyes, hazy with pleasure and wonder, remain locked on my own. My name falls from his lips over and over, an invocation. A plea.

The first flickers of fire kindle in my belly, curling and coiling, and a surprised little oh escapes me. Peeta smiles, pleased and a little cocky. “Like that?” he asks, snapping his hips a fraction harder, and the fire builds. I can only nod frantically.

My hands clutch at his shoulders as the pleasure intensifies. Gasps and soft sighs progress to moans. I probably sound like a porno version of myself but I can't swallow back the sounds. Peeta doesn't seem to mind. If anything, my uninhibited cries spur him on.

He sneaks a hand between us, his thumb catching my clit roughly. Shock and pleasure jolt through me, and I involuntarily clench every muscle. “Oh fuck,” Peeta gasps. “I can’t-

His hips snap once, twice, thrusting more deeply than I imagined possible. His teeth find that sensitive spot where my neck and shoulder meet, biting hard enough to make me shudder. Then his body stiffens and stills. Tremors run down his spine and a low, drawn-out moan escapes him as he lifts his head. But it's the expression on his face that nearly does me in. He looks trapped between agony and ecstasy.

I expect him to pull out and roll away but he doesn't. Instead, he kisses me, and not slowly or sweetly. He kisses me passionately, showing me that we’re not done here. I feel a swell of tenderness. This man, this incredible man is more invested in my pleasure than his own.

Still inside me, he starts to rock again, sliding fractionally in and out, still filling me, but the stretch isn't so overwhelming now. And his talented thumb resumes its assault.

But it's his words that push me over the edge. In gasps and groans he tells me I'm beautiful. That he’s never wanted anyone the way he wants me. That he loves me. I cling to him as I tremble and pulse. It’s so much more intimate, coming apart in his arms while he stares into my eyes, than it was when he went down on me. I feel connected to him more than just physically.

His hair is damp with sweat and falls across eyes that practically glow for me. I've never found him more attractive than I do right at this moment.

He pulls out and crumples to the bed beside me, pulling me in close, my face pressed against his throat where I can feel his pulse fluttering against my lips. “Holy shit,” he gasps. And I smile.

I don’t know how long we lie together, sticky and sated, drifting in contentment, only that it isn’t anywhere near long enough when he moves to climb off the bed. “No,” I mumble, half asleep but still lucid enough to panic a little. “Don’t leave.”

He kisses my cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

I can hear him pad out into the hall and to the bathroom, hear water running. Then he’s back, cleaning me up with a warm cloth, gentle and tender. I stiffen, and heat blooms in my face, but I don’t ask him to stop. It’s strange, but sweet, something I’d never, not in any dream or fantasy, imagined him doing for me. Then he tosses the cloth somewhere behind him, and lies down with me again, fitting our bodies together and sighing against my hair.

I should be scared shitless by the intensity of this. But I’m not. Maybe because it’s Peeta, and he’s always felt like comfort and joy and safety. And now, he feels like home.

[dilkirani]

an endless sunrise

summary: a s3 AU where Jemma tells Fitz how she feels before he goes to Maveth, they rescue Will, there’s no continued love triangle, and FitzSimmons live happily ever after. Angst with a slightly smutty ending. Rated M. 

a/n: during my AoS rewatch, I wanted to write something where Jemma gets to make her feelings more explicit instead of the show acting like there’s really a question...but I already wrote that once, so I let Will live this time, lol. 

shoutout to @itsavolcano for beta-ing my first attempt at including smut hahahaha.

Read at ao3! (beginning below)

++

Jemma stands outside of Fitz’s bunk, hand raised to knock, and hesitates. Instead, she presses it against her forehead, trying to control the pulsing of her temple. She licks her lips unconsciously, imagines that she can still taste him. She has found herself fixating on how unexpectedly soft his lips had been. How he had tasted so like Fitz, and how she hadn’t known what that could mean until the moment she experienced it.

Fitz had left the mission planning meeting with barely a glance towards her, explaining that he wanted to get as much sleep as possible before their early morning departure for the former facilities of Malick’s independent contractors. She shouldn’t be here; she should respect the distance he obviously needs from her. At the very least, she should allow him a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. But his words won’t stop ringing in her head. Perhaps there are more important things to worry about, but all she can think is that if she dies, everything she has struggled to voice will suffocate with her, and he will never know. After everything, he deserves to hear this from her.

She punches in his code before she can talk herself out of it and pushes his door cautiously open. He’s curled up on his side, wrapped around a pillow, and he looks so small in this moment that she has to choke back a sob. Ever since her return, he’s been excessively careful around her—always positive, never tired. It’s only now that she can see his own faded bruises, the dark circles under his eyes, the new defined muscles she knows instinctively he hasn’t earned from the gym.

She kneels next to his bed and reaches a hand towards his face. “Fitz,” she whispers, and he startles awake, inhaling sharply and falling back.

“Jemma?” he gasps, holding a hand against his chest as if to keep his heart in place. “Are you okay? What happened?”

She wants to cry so badly she can feel the pressure building in her sinuses. But if she cries, he will comfort her, and she has taken too much of his comfort. She came here to say it, to say one thing only, and then she will let him have his space. It’s just that the words are so much harder than they should be, especially when he’s looking at her like she’s holding a knife to his throat.

“Fitz, I…” She breathes in deeply, grateful he hasn’t turned on the light. “I love you. I just needed to tell you. Because you asked me about Will, but you didn’t ask...and it’s different, but I...you should know.”

He studies her for a few seconds, and she has a wild hope that he’s going to kiss her again. Her limbs tremble in anticipation. Then he blinks and the spell is broken.

“Jemma,” he sighs, looking away. “It’s okay. I know it’s different. I know we...we weren’t anything.”

“How can you say that?” she practically whimpers, before she can stop herself.

He brings a hand up to rub his face. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, of course you love me. We're best friends. But anything else was only a possibility. That’s why it’s different with Will. I understand, okay?”

Fitz looks so lovely, silhouetted in the darkness, and she is so frustrated with him, with his perfect features and perfect patience and perfect inability to interpret her words correctly. “That’s not why it’s different, Fitz.” She feels guilty for telling him before she tells Will; there has to be some etiquette she’s not following properly. But she supposes she would be forgiven, considering the circumstances.

“Will is...he’s a good man. He really is. And I care about him and I thought...I thought we could have been happy. We could have made the most of our lives there. I owe him so much. But I love you, Fitz. You’re…” She shakes her head, can’t believe after a decade of choosing Fitz, of being by his side the whole damn time, she can’t articulate the way he makes her heart crack wide open, the way he makes her question a scientific understanding of the universe because surely their atoms were meant to fit together, always. Of course he doesn’t understand what she means by different.

She smiles. “You know what Will told me once? He said I talked about you a lot. That your name was like my favorite word, and it seemed you were more than just a best friend.” Fitz doesn’t say anything, and she laughs softly. “I thought about that constantly, your name being my favorite word, and it’s true. Fitz, you’re my favorite everything. And it’s such a cliche, but I don’t think I really understood that until the moment I truly believed I’d never see you again.”

He stares at her, tears hanging on his lashes, and then he stretches forward and hugs her so tightly she gasps. He shudders violently, his wracking sobs reverberating through her own bones, and she wonders briefly if he’d ever allowed himself to break apart like this while she was missing.

“I lost hope,” he confesses, his lips forming the words against her neck. “Everyone thinks I never gave up hope, but I did. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Jemma. I should have worked faster, I should have...I thought I’d never see you again and I couldn’t, I couldn’t—”

She threads her fingers through his hair, inhaling his scent. When he cries, he smells like the ocean and it should hurt, but instead it reminds her of her own strength and everything they’ve already survived.

[centeris2]

A Kiliel story set in modern day Alaska. Whether on land or at the bottom of the ocean, the sea always calls us home.

Read the first chapter here: Chapter 1: Whoever thought this was a good idea was terribly foolish

Normally when Kili lost a bet it meant he had to do something ridiculous like eat a raw fish head or work on deck in a tutu and tiara. Normally when his friends talked him into doing something incredibly stupid it involved lots of alcohol and possibly weapons. One time it involved trying to race to the top of the fishing boat while eating a raw fish head with only the left side of their bodies. No one won that competition, or that time they decided they were going to decorate Christmas trees in the middle of an empty parking lot near the docks and then tried to Molotov cocktail them. Turned out it was really hard to light trees on fire when it was the middle of an Alaskan blizzard.

Granted these were all very dumb and dangerous things none of them came close to actually dying. Well, working in the fishing and crabbing industries could be quite dangerous and had killed people before, but he had never been trapped to drown under hundreds of feet of water. This was the situation he now found himself in with some of his friends and an adventurous team of scientists who wanted to explore the bottom of the ocean.

Kili had spent his life on the water, joining his uncle with his brother at a young age to learn the art of fishing in Alaskan waters. When his mother made him and Fili stay home from a trip out to sea he learned other practical skills on land; family friends in the neighboring Alaskan region were more than willing to teach metal and wood working to them and the mechanical things they learned made Fili and Kili both well equipped to handle engine troubles on the massive ships they worked on. While it was their ambition to one day have their own ships, for now the brothers were perfectly happy sailing with their uncle, Thorin. Decades at sea made him an expert fisherman, and while Fili and Kili were still young and inexperienced, he knew that one day his nephews would be worthy and capable of inheriting his prized crabbing vessel: The Lonely Mountain. Nicknamed “The King’s Jewel” by other experienced captains, she held a long history of successful runs that made all the crewmembers quite rich at the end of every season.

But Fili would carry on the Durinson family name without him Kili thought to himself as he leaned his head against the metal wall of the submarine his was in. He heard large creatures moving around the ship he was trapped in, odd clicks and calls that didn’t sound like anything he knew.

He was here because of two of his friends, Bran and Collin, who had met a couple of marine biologists at a bar and after a few drinks had agreed to join them. Or maybe they were marine geologists. Geographers? Something damned that involved going to the bottom of the ocean looking for things they shouldn’t be looking for. Something about a shipwreck or something that would make them all rich and famous that sounded appealing at one point, but no longer.

Kili looked out the small window and saw nothing in the darkness of the ocean depths except for odd glowing lights. The lights flashed and moved in the water, pale bioluminescent light that was attached to whatever sea monster was trying to kill them. They had lost propulsion and power over 20 minutes ago and had been sinking ever since. Whatever was out there continued to hit the sub and sometimes there were terrible grating sounds like something running claws over the outside of their tiny pocket of air and warmth.

“You owe me a grand.” Kili didn’t look at Collin, watching the lights that were probably his doom out in the water. Bran snorted and Kili heard a punch behind him.

“I bet that we would find something, and we found something!” Bran protested, not interested in losing a thousand dollars.

“Something found us,” Kili said softly before he turned ever so slightly to look at his friends in the emergency lighting.

“I think we all lost,” he said after meeting their gazes in the red glow. With that solemn statement he looked back out the window. At first they had fought, tried to get free of what they thought was a pod of whales that appeared from nowhere. But then the slamming started; whales don’t start ramming into submarines for fun. Sharks don’t either, but whatever was out there had slammed into them until they began spinning and damaged their engines. It was a miracle that whatever it was hadn’t punctured the hull and drowned them all immediately, but it was pulling them down deeper where the pressure would surely kill them. He had already tried to fix the power and the engines but the damage was outside; there was nothing he could do from inside this sinking tin can.

The lights outside were multiple creatures, he could tell that much from how they moved independently of each other. Whatever they were, they were long and slender with dots of light going down their bodies. Or maybe it was lighted tentacles of some hell spawn squid. Kili put his hand up to the glass, looking at his death, and gave a sigh.

And then he yelped in surprise when he saw a face on the other side of the glass.

“The fuck?” Collin asked, looking.

“Didn’t you see? It was a face, there was a person out there!” Kili exclaimed as he pushed his face up to the window to see better. But the face was gone.

“Oh great, sirens are going to kill us? Should I plug my ears?” Bran scoffed, his normal humor somehow intact. Maybe he was just imagining things, but he thought he had seen the face move to the right…

“Where are you going?” Collin called to Kili as he moved down to the next porthole.

“The sea witch cast her spell, and he’s in love with her!” Bran declared. Kili said nothing, staring out the next window into the swirling lights and darkness.

“Actually, Bran, I… have something to tell you…” Collin said sheepishly. Kili gave them a glance, wondering what had come up, but Collin nodded toward an empty room and Bran followed him while asking what was up.

When Kili looked back out the window there was a hand on it. This time he didn’t shout, instead staring in curious wonder at the five-digit hand. It was webbed and looked like it was covered in hard scales and it had long spikes for finger nails. But it still looked like a human hand. That couldn’t possibly be right.

Kili reached out and touched the glass, his hand matching the one on the outside, and was startled when the face reappeared.

It looked human, the red from the light within the submarine casted it in a hellish glow, a woman’s face with thick hair swirling around her. There were lights on her face, little dots of light that lined her bone structure.

It tilted its head to the side, looking at him, its large eyes staring right at him as though he were a bug in a jar to gawk at. Although perhaps, to it, that’s exactly what he was. But he was doing his share of staring right back, mesmerized by the face on the other side of the glass. Something startled her and made her swim away, and whatever that something was hit the side of the submarine with enough force to spin it again, causing Kili to slam back into the wall behind him.

He passed out on the floor, spinning with the submarine as it flipped in the water.

---

  Coughing. Coughing and gasping for breath and terrible pain in his head and salt in his mouth and he was alive.

Holy shit.

He was alive.

Kili’s eyes shot open as he rolled over, coughing and feeling dizzy and trying to see in the darkness. What was below him was water and rock, smooth stone with a few inches of water rippled over it. In the water appeared to be bits of light, and as his eyes adjusted he looked around the cave he was in. It was covered in some sort of bioluminescent algae. There appeared to be no way out, the lights formed a uniform dome around him, but he felt too sick to stand up and try to figure out how much space there was. His eyes continued to adjust to the point where he could see his hands, albeit not very well, but when he tried to get up it resulted in making the headache even worse.

He didn’t know how long he was in the strange cave alone, but after what felt like hours he managed to sit up so he was no longer lying down in the cold water. He sat in the water, shivering and numb. Why was he alive? How had he gotten here? Were the others still alive? The pounding in his head was something for him to focus on so he wouldn’t worry about how numb he was; it was something to keep awake and alive. He was in pain but as long as his head still hurt then he was still alive. And still being alive meant being able to escape and survive. Somehow.

The water rippled and he felt something disturb the water to his left. He felt sluggish as he turned his head, knowing that he was well on his way to having a serious case of hypothermia. In the water were lights; it was one of the things that had been circling them. But now he was able to properly see it as it swam toward him.

The thing was long, maybe even ten or twelve feet long, with what he thought was a dark grey color to its scales. But the tendrils, or maybe it was hair, he could guess were a dark red color. The tail it had was vertical, indicating that it wasn’t a mammal but a fish of some sort. A fish with human like arms and hands and face, right, because that made sense.

Clearly he was still really drunk and he was going to wake up and this would all be over soon.

He recognized the face was the one he had seen before, but it no longer looked like a face from hell as the light on it was no longer red. Its face was pale, practically white, and definitely looked like a woman’s face. Except for the fact that it glowed with bioluminescent light. It looked up at him from just beneath the surface of the water, watching him inquisitively. It made the last swish of its tail and extended its arms, pulling itself out of the water and onto the barely submerged rock next to him. But it didn’t touch him, instead getting extremely close to him, as though it wanted to be touching him but couldn’t do it. It opened its mouth, revealing pointed teeth, and clicked at him. If Kili had to venture a guess it was trying to say something, but all he could do was shiver and rub his arms with his hands to try to keep warm. It crawled around him, circling him when he said nothing to it, and then became transfixed on the air coming out of his mouth in condensed puffs. It gently extended one of its hands to try to touch the breath as it came out of his mouth and pulled back its hand when it felt the heat but could not touch it. It tilted its head to the side again, looking at his face, and clicked again. When Kili remained silent it rolled off the rock and into the water, disappearing from sight.

What surprised Kili was when the same creature appeared again, this time with something in its arms. It offered a mass of… something to him, looking at him expectantly.

“Don’t… understand.” Kili managed to say through chattering teeth and a foggy mind. It seemed startled that Kili was able to make sound, perhaps it had thought that the shivering and his clattering teeth were his way of talking. But it seemed to get the idea as it dropped the load next to Kili, pulling itself up around him again.

“Hey-! What-?“ Kili managed, trying to move away from the thing as it tried to put whatever it was on him. The creature just curled tighter around him so there was nowhere to go, and began to cover him in what felt like thickly woven seaweed. It was cold, clammy, slimy, and made him shiver even more.

“Stop … freezing…” Kili tried to say as he started to lose his vision and awareness. For a few moments he felt himself going completely numb and was only vaguely aware that something was rubbing his arms, legs, chest, back, and head.

When Kili opened his eyes again he was looking up at the face of the creature, he felt the now warmed seaweed blanket wrapped around him and the fish’s body coiled tight around him like an eel. He didn’t feel as cold anymore and he realized that the hands he had felt earlier weren’t his friends trying to wake him up from being passed out, it was the thing trying to keep him warm. Why would it do that?

“Thanks.” He managed, not sure if he should move or if he was now the thing’s favorite toy. It tilted its head, perhaps pleased that he was now once more conscious, and uncurled from him and jumped back into the water.

“Wait!” but of course he was calling to ripples, the thing was already gone.

It only left him alone for a few minutes, however, before it returned with a fish in its mouth. Its arms held it propped up on the ledge of the rock, but it extended its neck and dropped the dead fish in front of Kili. It looked pointedly down at the fish and then back up to him.

“I can’t eat that,” in response the thing picked up the fish and took a bite of it before offering it back to Kili, this time holding it in its hand. Kili shook his head.

“I can’t eat that,” he said again, slower, as though that would make it understand. It dropped the fish and grabbed for the blanket it had given him, making Kili jerk back in fear.

“No! I need this!” Kili shouted, but the things claws already had its nails in the seaweed and it tore a small section free. It then took a bite of the seaweed before it offered it to Kili, apparently unfazed by Kili’s alarm and violent jerking. Kili sighed, realizing this thing was going to keep bringing him things to eat until he did so. Bracing himself he took the strip of seaweed from its offered hand and took a bite. While it was slimy and salty it was also warm, and even though he wanted to gag he was also freezing and hungry. It seemed satisfied that he was eating based on its long tail flexing out of the water.

“Thank you,” Kili said after he had choked down the seaweed. It blinked at him, staring at his lips as he said it. Then it extended a hand, touching his lips and throat, its hands getting tangled in his beard.

“Uhh…” Kili glanced around but it looked up at his eyes and then back at his lips as if waiting for something.

“What do you want?” Kili asked. It splashed its tail and got up out of the water, curling around him and facing him all the while looking at his lips.

“Can you stop?” when Kili tried to back away its hand followed and Kili watched when it raised its other hand to its own mouth and throat. It clicked again.

“Can you speak?” he asked it. Its tail flicked, slapping the water.

“Kkkhee,” it said, or tried to say.

“You can speak?”

“Seeeehhkkee? Keeeh?” at its second attempt it got angry, jumping back into the water. It swam around the rock he was on a few times, making more sounds that he could not understand through the water. It finally stopped in front of him, keeping its neck in the water but its face out and looking at him. He noticed its hand was still on its throat.

“Do you have a name?” Kili asked, not expecting it to be able to say anything.

“Aaaaym?”

“A name. Nnn. Name,” he said slower, leaning down and emphasizing how he was pronouncing the word. It started at his mouth, watching the way his tongue moved.

“Naaame.”

“Yes! Name. My name is Kili. Kili,” he said his name the second time slowly, pointing to himself.

“Keeeleee?” it questioned, trying to understand him. He nodded and smiled before he pointed at himself again.

“Yes. Kili.”

“Kili,” it said, pointing at him. At that Kili pointed at the creature and wondered if it would understand.

“Tarrr-“ it began before it stopped and slapped the water with its tail.

“Taarrrel,” it hissed and splashed, trying to say its name to him so that he could understand. After several more attempts and laps around him clicking to itself it finally managed to say:

“Tauriel.”

“Tauriel?” Kili said slowly. It splashed the water, rose up out of it, and pointed to itself. It seemed pleased that it had been able to convey its name. Then it sank back into the water to the level it knew it could communicate with him. It seemed to be dissatisfied trying to speak with its gills out of the water but he couldn’t understand it when it was completely underwater. But it smiled up at him, or at least tried to. It looked like it was baring his teeth at him. The attempt made him laugh and smile again. It tilted its head at the sound and tried to smile again. The second attempt at smiling was much better.

“So mermaids are real?” Kili asked. It tilted its head and its smile faded as it grew confused. But Kili didn’t expect it to answer him anyway.

“Never thought you were real, and now I get to meet one before I die,” he looked up at the ceiling of the cave, dotted with light.

“Reminds me of stars,” he began to ramble, and Tauriel pulled itself up next to him and looked at the ceiling.

“It will be summer soon, you wouldn’t be able to see the stars for a while because of the midnight sun. Mom always liked that Fili and I wouldn’t be able to sneak out of the house in the dark of night since there was no night,” at that thought he reached into a pocket and pulled out the stone his mother had given him as promise he had made to return home. Tauriel looked with interest at the rock but didn’t touch it.

“My mother gave me this, she thought it would protect me, bring me home when I went out to sea. Looks like I won’t be going home…”

“Home?” Tauriel said the word slowly.

“Where I live, on the surface,” he pointed up but didn’t know how to explain it to the mermaid.

“Tauriel,” he said, sticking his hand into the water and motioning toward it.

“Tauriel’s home,” he said for emphasis before he lifted his hand out of the water and pointed up.

“Kili’s home,” it followed his hand motions and seemed to understand.

“My home is up there, on land, on the surface. But I can’t go home. It’s impossible,” he said, his gaze upward.

“Wait- STOP! NO-“ Kili screamed as he was suddenly drug under by Tauriel. The water was freezing and knocked the air right out of him. Its arm was strong around his chest but he thrashed and kicked it away. He broke through the surface and scrambled up on the rock, freezing cold once again.

“Kili! Home!” Tauriel called to him, pointing down into the water and then motioning upwards. Apparently it had tried to take him out of the hole it was using to enter this cave. Kili shook his head as the intense shivering returned.

“I can’t go that way! I’ll drown! I’ll die!” he shouted back to it as he coughed up water he had inhaled. Tauriel seemed upset by his distress and quickly pulled itself next to him and covered him in the seaweed once more. Kili did not lose conscious as Tauriel made quick work rubbing heat back into him and the seaweed blanket. That did not keep his breath from becoming labored as the headache got worse and he did not fight when Tauriel curled its body around him. This time he was able to feel its heart beating through its green gray chest, and he realized he could feel something under the mat of red hair. Was Tauriel a female? Why would a fish have breasts? But then Tauriel was humming, emitting a low pulse and a repeating series of clicks. Was that a siren song? Whatever it was, the sound accompanied by the warmth Tauriel had rubbed into him was making him drowsy. As much as he tried he couldn’t help but fall asleep in the mermaid’s arms, lulled to sleep by the humming in its chest.

[ruby-stones-blog1]

Elimination Fic - Throw me a lifeline

Anything that is beautiful, people want to break.

The stars are still shining and planet earth is still turning, but the life I gave everything up for, is falling apart right in front of my eyes. And I stand here on the bridge of loneliness, shivering at the thought that my glamorous life may be over. I am on my own now. The possibility of love just shattered moments ago, leaving me numb to the core, unable to breath. What shall I do now? Everything I knew, which was so familiar and kept me safe my entire life, I dumped away for the opportunity of a life time and jumped into the ice cold water, but never learned how to swim. How won’t I drown without being able to swim, you may ask? Well, you’ve got to grip onto something floating. Someone who is keeping you alive. And right now I find myself in a deep wide ocean with no one to hold onto.

My tender body violently shakes as I walk down the flight of stairs leading down to the grande entrance hall. Setting one foot after another, trying not to fall down the stairs just like I did on the day I arrived. Just weeks ago this palace seemed to be the answer to all of my hopes and dreams and now it’s just a cold, still unknown place to a figure without any importance, like me. My maids are silently shuffling behind me, carrying my heavy luggage with heartbreaking tears wetting their delicate faces. Even Aurelia is shedding glassy tears which silently drop onto her newly bought uniform, creating unsettling patterns on her white blouse (…) and we haven’t even had the chance to say our goodbyes yet. Pairs of high heels leave a distant hollow sound on the wooden flooring, making it sound more like a funeral then a trip home. Although I am not aware of what “home” is anymore. My eyes wander across the simple decorations hung up on these otherwise naked walls, remembering all these lonely nights I walked through these halls, still hearing the distant laugher from the other selected while throwing countless sleepovers and breakfast party’s.

With Zuzu’s golden cage in one hand and Lola’s leash in the other I stalk to the golden gate, keeping my head high as I walk to the dark shiny car, waiting at the entrance to ride me to my new destination. Gently I put down Zuzu’s cage and hand the kind looking driver Lola’s leash before turning around and facing my maids who are starring at me with puffy faces waiting for my goodbyes. I take a deep breath and a genuinely sad smile appears on my face, trying not to break down under the pressure this evening has put me through. I barely even get a word out before the quietest of them all, Radia, pulls me into a deep hug. A single tear falls down my face and lands onto her exposed neck; tightly gripping at her cloths as I feel the numbness spreading trough my veins. My chest keeps getting tighter and tighter, but the maids simple touch is a reminder of the joyful moments and the unconditional love some people still bear in their soul, and keeps my shaking body from collapsing. With one last smile I turn around and only get out a breathy “Thank you” before Aurelia and Luna go in for a hug as well, both of them crying at my unstable figure, holding me with their shaking fingers, gracing my hair one last time. “Take care”, Aurelia whispers, her hands still resting on my bare arms as she takes a step back. A worried face opposite of mine, studying my complexion while I fiddle with a small note in my left hand, before taking of my golden ring with a large ruby inside, a present from the past I don’t need anymore. I simply nod before asking with an anxious voice crack, still viewing the gap on my finger where the ring used to be: “Could you please give that ring of mine and this letter to Lady Aricia? I hope it can give her some closure. (…) And you guys”, I gesture to all three of them, “Please take care of yourselves as well. I am so thankful that you have shown me what true kindness looks like. You all have embodied it in such different ways, it’s unbelievable how different you are and still share the same values and love. Please never lose your bright smiles and kindness for others.” I take Luna’s hand, whispering: “Please don’t worry about me, I will be fine.“ With one last smile I turn around, not looking back at these wonderful people I just had to cut out of my life, while their silhouettes still cry in the midday sun.

I take a deep breath as the heavy door closes behind me. The hollow sound vibrates through my numb skull, emptiness sinks down to my stomach. A pair of eyes study my shaking silhouette, waiting for an approval to ride me home. But I won’t go back home, I can’t. Mother won’t take me back without a husband by my side and to be honest I don’t know if I am ready to go back into this toxic place I am supposed to call “home”. But where shall I go? My view keeps wandering around, closely watching the world outside this narrowing car. My maids already left, they got no time to grief. Their world keeps spinning, even though I am not around anymore. They got new tasks to fulfil, new mistresses to please, without ever seeing me again. Neither will I see my parents again, I am not sure if I even want to, but the fact that they kicked me out means that I am homeless from now on. I was supposed to live life as a glamours two, maybe even become a one by marring a prince, but now my life keeps falling apart and in less than a month I’ll be officially be an eight without any chance for a better future ahead. My hands start shaking as I rub my neck, trying to process that sudden realisation. I will have to live on the streets (…). Tears stream down my face, expressing emotions I am not capable of expressing any other way. I got no one left. I am on my own from now on, without any clue how I shall survive the next weeks.

Shadows of distant memories creep up on the side of the car, trying to drown me in grief for the moments I once felt so alive. The countless nights filled with silent giggles, along side my trusted maids. Or the one time I tried to be bold and shine like a subtle stat, along side my not so kind trouble buddy Kat. The countless runs I’ve had with Lady Finley or the unforgettable evenings with Lady Aricia. I never realised how much those simple encounters meant until I had to say goodbye to all the future ones.

A silent sob rips trough the clouded air as I closely hold my knees to my vibrating chest. The man in the frontseat slowly turns around, waiting for the right moment to raise his tender voice. I am pretty sure that I’ve never felt this vulnerable in my entire life. Gently I let head sink onto my knees, holding together everything I’ve got left. I pick up on Lola shuffling around in the luggage space, calming down my beating heart. Softly I let out another shaky breath before I sit upright again and face the stranger with the handsome eyes. Keep yourself together, Ruby. “Are you ready to go home?”, he asks in a soft voice, trying not to scare me. “I won’t go home”, I state, desperately trying to stop my voice from shaking. He studies my expression with narrowed brows, sending a shiver down my spine. “Are you sure you don’t want to (…)”, he slightly starts to argue before I cut him off. “I am very sure. Thank you very much.” I turn around facing the window again, wondering were I should go to. I pick up on a slight cough before the young man picks up his raspberry voice again: “So ehhmm… Where shall I take you then if it isn’t home?” I let that question sink in, still not knowing the answer to that or any of my own questions. “Take me to quietest part of Angels”, I state before buckling up the seatbelt. With a slight nod from his side and a smooth rotation of the wheel, he starts driving the white mustang trough the empty courtyard. Trees illuminated by the blinding afternoon sun grace the subtle path leading out of the palace walls into the guarded streets of Illéa. Images of forgotten days and memories flash by, the much needed silence in the car giving my head time to rest. Biting at my wet and still swollen lip, keeps my throat from creating unnecessary sobs deep down in my tightened chest. I close my eyes, softly massaging my temples as I try not to think at all. Emptying my brain from it’s chaotic thoughts should be my only goal for this evening.

Nearly half an hour later the driver, who I’ve been studying closely nearly the entire ride instead of focusing on my own problems, pulls up next to a small park and switches off the silent motor, before studying me in the mirror; brows furrowed and a worried expression on his face. “We are here”, he simply announces with a slight raise of his voice, probably an attempt at bringing back my long gone conscious mind. “I can see that”, I state, opening the door and stepping outside on slighlty shacky feet, nearly tripping over. Luckily a fast hand grabs my cold arm before I can hit the ground, it’s owner whispering slightly something along the lines of “Ohh dear” before finally letting me. I take a step back and turn around in a tender half pirouette, slightly rubbing my arm, before slowly stalking towards the trunk without a word by my side. I open the door and am greeted by a cheerful little puppy and a not so bright bird inside. With a small smile gracing my fragile complexion, I pick up Zuzu’s cage and whistle for Lola to follow me. Soon after I can hear her joyfully panting beside me as I face the driver again, expressing my gratitude and leaving without waiting for his polite answer.

The desinger heels on my feet and the shiny luggage in my hand look so out of place against the bright green grass and the dark boles of the old trees lining the path infront of me. The last ray of sunshine light up the tips of treetops and and illuminate the otherwise dark park. Next to a large weeping willow a small bench found it’s place, surrounded by the most beautiful flowers on the pasture. Silent tears just poor down my face, without a reason at all. Or maybe there is a reason, maybe even multiple reason my brain just can’t pick up on. With steady steps I make may way to the silent place I spotted moments ago and try to calm down my heavy breathing. Realisation sets in as I sit down onto the wooden bench. I am homeless. Another silent tear settles down onto my handmade dark blue dress as my hands start to shake. A cold wind passes me by and a shiver runs down my spine, the floot of tears just insulates as a soft ringing disrupts the silence around me. With a soft sniffle I get my new phone, which my lovely maids arranged for me this evening, out of my suitcase and silently answer the call.

“Hello?”, I state a bit confused, not awaiting a call so soon. “Hey, Ruby. How are you?”, a breathy voice asks from the other side without waiting for an other word of mine. It must be Aricia. I try to silent a sob bubbling up my throat before answering: “I am fine Aricia, thanks for asking. How are you my dear? (…) And why are you calling so late at night?” The last bits of sunshine have already disappeared, cooling down the now dark meadow and sending down countless shivers and goosebumps down my body. What would I give for a warm jacket. “I’m ok… And as for why im calling so late… I wasnt able to sleep. I havent been able to sleep properly for the past couple of days”, she states with a deep sigh. Even through the phone I can imagine her sitting on her bed, her eyes furrowed and a sad smile gracing her coloured lips. “Is everything alright? Do you know what is causing you trouble to sleep?”

“Yeah, but the weight of everything is just resting heavy on my shoulders. About my lack of sleep… Its just nightmares, nothing big. Anyways”, she takes a deep breath, probably desperately trying to change the subject, “What are you up to now? Any plans?” Ohh no. Please don’t. “I am trying to find a place to stay for a night and figure out where my… Euhmm journey will take me from now on. I decided to not go back home to my parents, I mean they won’t take me in either way but I’d still rather be in their company than feel that lonely as I do”, I attempt to state without admitting my full situation, clearly sweating at the uncomfortable change of topic. “Ahh, i see. I wish you the best of luck!” “Thank you….”, I answer followed by an awkward silence on both sides. “So…”, Aricia voices while laughing a bit. “How is everything going in the palace? I’ve heard the Prince announced his favorites in the newest report. That’s at least, what people say…”, I try to keep the conversation flowing with my lack of social skills. “Yeah, he did. It was on fridays report. And everything in the palace is swell as usual, though i feel that something bad is going to happen… But its probably just me going crazy”, she sighs obviously over thinking her situation. I try to clam her down, attempting to eliminate her fears: “Honey, don’t worry that much. I am sure it will be fine in the end.” “I hope so.” A barking behind me disrupts the rocky conversation. “Shhhh lola, I am talking to Aricia, our friend, do you remember her? … Of course you do, what a good girl you are.” I cough a bit, realising I an still on the phone with Lady Aricia. “Hi lola!! is it time for you to feed her or something?”, she asks laughing at our ridiculous behavior. “She already had dinner but apparently she saw a rabbit running by and probably wanted to play with it”, I laugh as well, trying to cover up that blunt lie of mine, felling guilty about not being able to provide food for my little friend. “That sounds like our Lola”, she states with a chuckle, probably smiling to herself. “It does indeed”, I laugh along before hearing a group of drunk men enter the park, “I should probably go to sleep, I have big day ahead tomorrow”, I finish my statement with an other lie, while closely watching the loud silhouettes coming nearer. “Yeah, you should. Goodnight Rubes! Sleep tight! Remember that I’m here for you if you need anything!” “Thank you Aricia. I hope you can get some rest as well! I’ll talk to you soon”, I say, smiling gratefully, a welcoming warmth settling in, which I haven’t felt for quiet some time. The loud voices don’t bother me anymore, I can finally breath again, because I feel safe, thanks to her. “Alright, sweet dreams Ruby”, she says before hanging up on me. The warmth still keeping the goosebumps away.

As the night progresses and the temperature falls, I cuddle up with a blanket of mine (which Aurelia thankfully packed just in case) and Lola by my side on the wooden bench. I may not be counting sheeps tonight but counting stars seems to be a nice option lying under the glowing firmament. And as I lay here, warmth is still radiating of my chest where just hours ago darkness claimed it’s place, leaving me hopeless and cold inside. Just remembering the conversation with Aricia, it’s giving me strength to continue my journey on my own, not giving up just yet. And maybe the ocean isn’t as lonely as it seems to be.

[krissysbookshelf]

Enjoy An Exclusive Sneek Peek Of: The Sandcastle Empire by Kayla Olson!

  Before the war, Eden's life was easy. Then the revolution happened, and everything changed. Now a powerful group called the Wolfpack controls the earth and its resources. And even though Eden has lost everything to them, she refuses to die by their hands. She knows the coordinates to the only neutral ground left in the world, a place called Sanctuary Island. Eden finally reaches the island and meets others resistant to the Wolves. But the solace is short-lived when one of Eden's new friends goes missing. Braving the jungle in search of their lost ally, they quickly discover Sanctuary is filled with lethal traps and an enemy they never expected.  

LEARN MORE

  ONE

I WON’T MISS these mornings.

I won’t miss the sand, the sea, the salt air. The splintered wood of the old, worn boardwalk, burrowing beneath my skin. I won’t miss the sun, bright and blinding, a spotlight on me as I watch and wait. I won’t miss the silence.

No, I won’t miss these mornings at all.

Day after day, I slip down to the boardwalk when it’s still dark. I’ve worked hard to make it look like I’m simply a girl who loves sunrises, a girl who’d never shove back. One of those is true, at least. The Wolves who guard this beach hardly blink at me anymore, a rare show of indifference bought by my consistency, my patience. Two years of consistency and patience, every single morning since they plucked us from lives we loved and shoved us into gulags. I sit where the guards can see me—where I can see them—where I can see everything. I watch the water, I watch the waves. I watch more than water, more than waves. I look for cracks.

There’ve been no cracks. The guards’ routine has forever been solid, impenetrable, the only reason I haven’t yet made a break for it. I will, though. I am a bird, determined to fly despite clipped wings and splintered feet. This cage of an island won’t hold me forever.

One day, when the war ends, I will eat ice cream again. I will run barefoot on the beach without fear of stepping on a mine. I will go into a bookstore, or a coffee shop, or any of the hundreds of places currently occupied by Wolves, and I will sit there for hours just because I can. I will do all of these things, and more. If I survive.

I am always ready for a way out, always looking to leave. I carry my past wherever it fits: tucked in at my back, hanging from my neck, buried deep in my pocket. A tattered yellow book. A heavy ring on its heavy chain. A vial of blood and teeth. My empty hands are my advantage—with nothing but my own skin to dig my nails into, with no one left to cling to, I’m free to take back this war-stained world. If everything goes as planned, that is.

It may not be obvious to anyone else, but things are changing. I see subtle signs of it everywhere, for better and worse all at once. Where there used to be only two guards at this beachfront station, now there are four. Where the guards once stepped casually around certain patches of sand—they’ve been loud and clear in warning us of the land mines buried there— they now step carefully, single file, if they even leave their station at all. Until last week, their post was equipped with a blood-red speedboat. Now they’ve traded sleek for simple, a no-frills green sailboat in its place meant to disadvantage anyone who tries to use it to escape. As if any of us could make it that far without being blown to pieces.

This quiet shifting of routine assures me the rumors are true.

Someone escaped last week, people say. Someone else plans to try. Today, tomorrow, next week, next month, I’ve heard it all. The rumors aren’t about me—I’d never be allowed to sit here now, watching as always, if they were. This worked out exactly the way I hoped, that my being close to the beach triggers the assumption that I am up to nothing, nothing at all out of the ordinary. To change my routine would be suspicious.

Now I wait only for the guards to turn their backs on me, as they sometimes do, when they go for coffee refills inside their bare-bones old beach tower. They are far too comfortable with me looking comfortable. Too confident I’ll stay put. They keep their eyes trained on the seawall, on those who’ve taken a sudden interest in the sunrise.

The boardwalk has been lonely for the better part of two years, but not now. Not yesterday, either, or the day before. Whether the others are plotting an escape or just hoping to glimpse one, who knows? This is undoubtedly the best spot for either, I figured that out my first week. From every other side of this island, the water leads straight back to mainland Texas. Better open ocean than that.

These fresh faces that peek out over the seawall and divert attention away from me—it’s good, and it’s not. Anyone could make a run for it at any time. The Wolves will redouble their security measures when that happens, no doubt, rain bullets and bombs over the entire camp. I can’t be around when that happens. I need to make a run for the boat today, this morning, now, or I might never get the chance.

I have to be first.

Dawn breaks, a hundred thousand shades of it, so brilliant the sky can hardly contain it.

Two guards go inside their post, and the third turns—this is it this is it this is it—but then the air shifts. It starts with a seagull, warning on its wings as it flies straight for the ocean, like it wants to get far, far away. The two remaining guards meet eyes. I hear the rumble of footsteps, not from the beach but from beyond the seawall at my back, toward barracks and breakfast and the silk lab I’ve left behind.

A distant explosion shakes the entire island. Two more follow on its heels, five more after that. Gunfire, like a storm—so many blasted bullets I lose count—screaming, chaos. It’s louder with every second. Louder and closer.

I freeze, every muscle in my body stiff. I’m too late, a split second too late—someone must have attempted escape from the wrong side of the island.

Looks like I’m not the only one who wanted to be first.

All four officers are out of the post now, running their tight zigzag pattern through the sand, toward the noise, careful not to blow themselves to pieces. They don’t look my way as they pass.

I should have gone for it in the dead of night, shouldn’t have waited for perfect timing—there is no perfect. These bullets and bombs are the consequences, I’m sure of it, security measures on steroids. I’ve missed my chance.

Or maybe not.

The green sailboat bobs idly at the end of their dock. No one has stayed behind to guard it.

I shift, about to make a break for it—but then that miserable seagull settles itself on the sand in the wrong place and sets off a mine. The earsplitting explosion is close enough to scare me still. Smoke and feathers obscure the guards’ sandy footsteps, obliterating my only clue as to where the safe path is. Before last week, when they planted hundreds of fresh mines, I could have run it in my sleep. Not now.

People come spilling over the seawall, five and ten and fifteen, more with every second. If they’re desperate enough to run this way, straight toward the sand and the mines, I don’t want to know what they’re running from. I scramble to the edge of the boardwalk. There’s an opening below it, where wind has blown the sand away from the posts and planks. I will wait this out and try again, or I will die. It’s a tight squeeze, just enough room for me but hardly enough room to breathe. My breaths are shallow anyway, shallow and quick. Sand sticks to the slick sweat on my neck and cheek, coating the entire right side of me. The grit is everywhere: inside my nose, between my teeth, behind my eyelids. But I breathe, never having felt so alive as I do in this moment, so close to death.

The noise is inescapable now, the sound of the desperate as they run from death to destruction. Footsteps pound the boardwalk, shaking it. If it gives out, I will be splintered and crushed beneath it.

Sand scatters under the first pair of brave feet, not terribly far away from me. Two more pairs follow, and ten more after that. Then twenty.

The mines spray sand and skin high into the air. All over the beach, explosions burst like fireworks. Yet the feet keep coming, winding through pillars of smoke until—pop!—they are forced to stop.

It isn’t pretty. It is a sickening, revolting mess.

Something heavy slams into the boardwalk, directly above me. The boards creak, sagging so low they press into my shoulder blades. Quickly, the pressure recedes—but then there are fingers, long and tan and delicate, curling over the plank’s edge two inches from my face. A noise almost slips out of me; I bite it back.

Shots ring out, cracking wood, deafening and close. I don’t feel anything—but would a bullet burn like fire, or would it be a blast of numb shock? The fingers grip tighter, knuckles white even in these shadows, and then they are gone. I shift, as much as I can in this tight space, and see three perfect circles of sunlight streaming through the wood just past my head.

Another shot rings out, and then, just like that, darkness overtakes the light—there is a thud above me, even heavier than the first, and a limp arm hanging over the boardwalk’s edge. A limp arm clothed in crisp, tan fabric that would blend into the sand if not for the blood.

An officer. An officer is down, and they will find him, and if I stay where I am I will be covered in his blood as it drips through the cracks.

I could run now. I could follow the footsteps of the dead, step only in places where the sand has been tested. I could make it to the sailboat, if I am smart. If I am smart and quick. I could finally, finally sail to Sanctuary.

I inch out of my hiding place, careful to stay low. An enemy of an officer is a friend of mine, but that doesn’t mean I’m safe—I still need to be as careful as possible, and quiet. A blast of saltwater breeze hits me, cool against damp sweat.

“Wait.”

I freeze, though I’ve obviously already been seen.

“The guards are making rounds,” the voice says. Soft, urgent. “They’re not close, but they’ll see me if you run.”

I turn my head, just slightly, enough to look at her. She’s petite, Asian—I don’t recognize her. Her long, tan fingers ravage the fallen officer’s pockets. Could this girl really have killed him, David against Goliath?

“Here,” she says, tossing me a lanyard heavy with keys. Clever, an attempt to share the blame if someone sees, because why else would she hand over this freedom? Not that I’m complaining—I don’t plan to be around long enough for blame. She stuffs his ID tags into her pockets and tucks his pistol into the back of her shorts. “I’m coming with you.”

The pistol makes me nervous, but at least it isn’t aimed at me. “You don’t even know where I’m going.”

She tilts her head to the beach, to the sickening display of blood and bone before us. “I know you’re not staying here,” she says. “That’s all I need to know.”

“Is it clear yet?” Still crouched on the low side of the boardwalk, all I can see is the girl, and the officer at her feet. Even this much blood turns my stomach, but I keep it together. I have to.

“Clear enough that we’ll have a head start. People are avoiding this beach now. . . .” Her eyes drift to the mess of death in the sand. The tide doesn’t reach far enough to lick any of the blood away, and neither of us can look for more than a few seconds. “It’s only a matter of time until they’re all killed. The guards won’t be distracted for long.”

“Okay,” I say. “Okay. We can do this.”

“We have to do this. What else is there?”

She’s right. And it isn’t like I have anyone to go back for, not anymore. I take a deep breath. “Follow—”

“Crap, they’re on the seawall—they see us. They see us! Go!”

I spring to standing and take off. The smoke has cleared, not completely, but enough. I don’t look behind me to see if she’s there. I don’t look at what remains of all the people I might have eaten breakfast with later this morning. I only look ahead, at the ravaged sand, darting left and right like the officers did when they first noticed the air shifting.

Bullets burrow into the sand, into bodies already dead, into a wake of people who trail behind us. So many bullets from only—I risk a glance—two guards. I dodge their shots, keep running until the sand is smooth ahead of me, untested. I stop short, not sure exactly how to proceed, and the girl from the boardwalk barrels into me. It’s everything I can do to keep from losing my balance, from taking one wrong step that could end everything.

But of those who’ve fallen in with us, only two stop. The others push past us, sights set on the sailboat. Between their footsteps and the spray of bullets that follows them, the sand is broken—and they are dead—in a matter of seconds.

I suck in a breath, choke on sand and smoke, but force myself to keep going. The boardwalk girl follows, along with the two girls who stopped with us. I recognize both their faces from the seawall, peeking over, today and yesterday and the day before.

I lead the way, fast as I can. The guards’ boat isn’t far now. If we press on we might actually make it. More shots ring out, but this time they’re fired by the boardwalk girl, directed at the officer who usually guards the boat—bullet and blood, he collapses before he can make it back to the dock—then at the other guards who chase us, their pistols dead. This girl is an impressive shot, unsettlingly so. She keeps pulling the trigger long after she runs out of bullets.

No one shoots at us anymore.

No one follows us at all.

But I keep running. I can’t stop. We’re past the minefield now, into guards’ quarters—where the guards would be if they weren’t dead or hunting—and down the endless dock where their boat is tied up.

I climb up and over the boat’s side, collapse just long enough to catch my breath. I’m vaguely aware of the three other girls as they join me, one of them a blonde who works to untie the knotted rope, our only anchor to the dock. The sky starts to sway as the tide pulls us out to sea. It hurts to breathe, it hurts to think. Everything hurts.

It is worth it.

  Original post: http://ift.tt/2t5tJPF

from Blogger http://ift.tt/2tOAeTZ