#with 3 assignments still pending

[vagonca-rigo]

well this sucks

[mandalhoerian]

(5) 🦭 signed, sealed, delivery pending...

Your time in university is a downward spiraling disaster temporarily put on hold whenever you get to visit home and resume attempts to reconcile with your beloved seal, who seems like he'll never forgive you for leaving. A band being pulled from both ends is bound to snap eventually.

genre: fluff, comedy | word count: 12k | read on ao3

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note: i apologize for the wait (again)!! i hope the word count makes up for it !!!!! im a lying liar who lies though. human raf next chapter . sorgy </3 and if any of you is a museum major, remember this is a fantasy land where seals can turn into humans and im allowed to make mistakes even tho i researched. thank you!

You come home for spring break with your sketchbook spine cracked from overuse and your first-year, first-semester syllabus crushed beneath half-finished elevation diagrams, smudged object labels, and two drafts of a museum display plan you still don’t understand. Your tote still smells faintly of plaster from the failed mount-building demo in your Material Culture and Object Handling class, fingers bearing charcoal from rushed object sketches and dry glue from a labeling prototype you smudged the night before critique.

There's also a bent metro card. A crumpled worksheet on humidity control from Fundamentals of Conservation. A balled-up napkin scribbled with a reminder to fix the syntax on your object description draft for Writing for Cultural Institutions.

It’s the quiet clutter of someone trying too hard to catch up in a world where everyone else seems to have already memorized the map.

You tell Mom you’re helping with the harbor cleanup, though the truth is you couldn’t spend another minute under fluorescent lights or in a dorm shared with three girls who somehow all seem impossibly ahead.

One’s a biology major who’s always lugging around a lab manual and her phone alarm goes off three times a night to remind her to check some ongoing culture assignment. Another is in photography and just got a feature on the campus arts blog, she spent the break taking foggy morning shots around the reservoir and somehow made them look like a film set. The third is majoring in media studies and recently joined the university’s documentary club, she’s been recording mock voiceovers at 2 a.m., softly narrating into her phone with the lights off like the room’s a sound booth.

You’re still figuring out how not to smudge your object labels or second-guess how to pronounce vitrines.

She doesn’t question you. Just hands you an old jacket and tells you to wear a scarf because she knows your next stop. The air bites harder this time of year, and you look like you’ve been hollowed out by deadlines and dorm-room junk food.

You take the ridge path out of habit. The same winding switchbacks carved into the cliffs, softened by briny grass and your own childhood footsteps. Your boots skid a little like you've already forgotten how to walk on this terrain. It’s stupid, probably. You haven’t been here since August. But your feet carry you to the cove where he used to wait for you — where he could still be. Maybe. You wouldn’t know.

The tide’s out. The sand is coarse and wind-swept, strewn with driftwood and slick stones that catch the light like wet coins. You sit on the rock you always claimed, smoothed by time and salt, and let the cold climb up through your jeans until it settles into your spine like a held breath. You hunch forward, listening to the water breathe in and out, over and over, like it’s trying to tell you something you’ve forgotten how to hear.

He doesn’t come.

You don’t whistle. Not this time. The sound is still tucked behind your teeth, tight in your throat, where it aches like something half-swallowed. It’s your call, your note, and it would rise easy if you let it. But right now, it would feel too much like an apology.

Instead, you press your hands to the earth, grounding yourself in its silence. Near your boot lies a broken fish spine, arched and pale, a tiny crescent of something once alive. You pick it up without thinking and tell yourself it’s just habit. Just instinct.

Back in the city, it ends up pinned beneath mylar in a shadowbox for your Introduction to Museum Studies course. Labeled neatly in pencil: "Unidentified specimen, coastal origin." You write it with disgruntled detachment, trying to echo the tone your professor used when reviewing everyone’s labeling drafts the week before. Your classmates brought in bits of pottery, manufactured junk, bones bleached too clean by city air. Yours smells faintly of brine.

You imagine Raf, briefly, nosing it toward shore like a gift. 

You come home again in April, skipping a mandatory field visit at the Maritime Conservation Annex. You were supposed to be cataloguing replica ship parts, jotting down environmental exposure notes, and identifying surface decay patterns. Instead, you take the overnight ferry with a knot behind your eyes and a sketchbook full of crossed-out exhibit themes and poorly shaded elevation diagrams. You haven’t slept. You haven’t called ahead.

You tell Mom you missed her, the fact that you’re already burnt out hidden under your tongue, affecting your speech with its sheer size. You say that you miss the foghorn’s groan in the morning and the smell of the tide seeping through the floorboards. She doesn’t argue. She just hugs you with arms that smell like rosemary and old soap, tells you the storm passed last night, and lets you sleep until noon, doesn’t comment on the dark circles under your eyes, and leaves a thermos of tea waiting for you on the windowsill.

The beach is wider than you remember. Stretched out and wind-swept, as though the tide’s been dragging its fingers farther inland in your absence. Or maybe you’re just weaker now, after months of stairs and static and deadlines. You walk anyway. Your body remembers how.

The cove is empty. But not untouched.

Shells form a crescent near the waterline. But that’s only what you notice first. Look closer, there’s more.

A pocketknife you lost in tenth grade, rusted but unmistakable.

The twist of ribbon from your old field journal, weighed down with a pebble. Even a museum flyer — sun-bleached, soggy at the corners, but somehow intact — folded into a crude triangle with teeth marks on it and pinned beneath a polished clam shell.

Your pink hair tie from last summer, faded and stretched, looped carefully around a shard of sea glass.

A cracked keychain from the ferry gift shop that had once jingled off your backpack.

A dried daisy chain from that sun-glutted afternoon you spent lying face-down in the dunes, your voice hoarse from reading funny tweets aloud and laughing when he splashed too close.

A bottle of cheap, glittery nail polish you swore you’d use for toe-dipping pictures but never did.

A torn polaroid, the edges warped with salt, showing a particularly flattering picture of you taken by your cousin just this summer.

Even your library card, still laminated, still bent at the corner, with a picture of a 15 year old you. 

Not scattered — placed. Tucked into the sand with intention, like offerings. Like memory made physical.

You crouch, brushing your fingertips over the nearest shell. Damp. Fresh. A trail. A message. A stubborn, silent kind of loyalty.

You sit down on the cold, salted stone, the one you always claimed, and pull your knees to your chest, fingers digging into the familiar grooves along the edge. Your hand brushes the lining of your pocket and closes around something small — your enamel ferry pin, the one from your very first shift, belonging to the family business. The metal’s dulled and the backing is loose, but the weight of it feels like everything you’ve been holding in.

You hesitate only a moment before you set it down between two stones, nestling it beside the knife and the ribbon like you're adding to an altar you hadn’t realized he’d built.

Then, using your index finger, you drag a line through the sand beside the offerings. It starts as an oval circle, round and oversized, and then you give it flippers, a belly, and an exaggerated frown that hooks comically toward its chin. Two tiny dots for eyes, drawn close together with a tight squiggle between them, a makeshift furrow where no brows exist, and curly whiskers of course. A giant, miserable seal stares back at you from the sand, all pout and slump and silent accusation. You snort despite yourself. It’s terrible. It’s perfect.

You whistle. A low, rising note that used to send ripples across the water, used to make him appear like something conjured. It hangs there in the salty air, stretching out toward the horizon, unanswered.

The wind pulls at your hair. The sea keeps its secrets.

You wait longer than you should. Long enough for the cold to settle under your fingernails, for your hope to thin out into something quieter.

And then, finally, you stand. Brush the sand from your palms. Turn back toward the path and go back home. 

The departure for summer break isn’t the relief of the finish line everyone else made it out to be. Your roommates had been buzzing about it for weeks — finishing final submissions, stealing extra dining hall muffins, swapping playlists for their train rides home, romanticizing porch naps and home-cooked meals and feeling proud of a year well survived. They spoke about it like the reward phase of some coming-of-age movie, like they had earned the softness waiting at home.

For you, it’s the world’s slowest walk of shame.

There’s no big exhale. No victory lap. Just the sun biting at the back of your neck and a guilt-shaped stone lodged somewhere under your breastbone. Your suitcase is heavier than the time you left with it, not with books or clothes, but with the silence of multiple failed classes, and a transcript that feels like a wound folded up in your back pocket.

You’ve already told your parents you needed the summer to "reset." They nodded. Didn’t ask. You think that’s worse. Like they’re afraid pressing would crack you open.

You don’t tell them about the grades. About the meetings. About the email with the subject line: "Academic Standing Review." You don’t tell them about the week you spent avoiding the registrar’s office or how you couldn’t sleep without hearing the chime of overdue assignment reminders in your head. Or the way you started flinching at the sound of email notifications altogether. Like the ping alone could pierce skin.

You don’t tell them how you cried in the library bathroom for an hour after your group presentation fell apart. Or how you walked out of your conservation final halfway through because you couldn’t remember the relative humidity range for organic textiles and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Instead, you clean your room. Fold your sketchbook closed without looking at the last page. You pretend. Harder than you’ve ever pretended before. Smile through dinner. Nod when spoken to. Sleep like it’s your only job. You spend a week pretending to be fine.

And then you go to the cove when you feel like you've earned the right to breathe.

You spot him just offshore the first day you return — a sleek dark head bobbing between the waves like a buoy with an agenda. Your heart skips, already caught halfway between hope and apology. But then, as if summoned solely to deny you, he dips back under before you can even part your lips.

You whistle anyway. The tune, meant to be light and teasing, comes out brittle. It cracks at the end.

He doesn’t come.

The next morning, you wake up early and rinse out a chipped enamel bowl, the one he always used to nudge with his nose like a dinner bell. You fill it with sardines and leave it by the tide line like an offering. By evening, they’re gone — but so is he. Again.

Day three, you escalate: you bring the ridiculous honking pink rubber duck he used to steal from your basket when you were in your horse desensitizing era and treat like sacred treasure. You place it in the sand and turn your back with forced indifference, sitting cross-legged and reading an old paperback you aren’t really following.

An hour later, he appears at the edge of your vision. He doesn’t approach — just watches. Stares. Then, without warning, he lunges forward, snatches the duck, and flings himself backward into the surf with an almost theatrical flip of his tail.

Day four, you whistle three times. He surfaces once.

Day five, you wade knee-deep into the water and shout his name. He appears a good thirty feet out and just... floats. Watching. Blinking. Drifting.

Day six, you bring the duck again. He doesn’t come. Later, you find the duck dragged halfway down the beach, left deliberately nose-down in a pile of seaweed.

Day seven, he waits until you’re packing up to surface. You turn around with the folded towel in your arms and catch him mid-dive, as if he’d timed it for maximum annoyance.

It’s become a battle of wills. He’s there, always. Just far enough to be unreachable. Just long enough to remind you he’s choosing this distance.

You whistle. He disappears. You sit. He surfaces. You move closer. He vanishes like smoke. Like he’s punishing you. Or teaching you a lesson. Or just enjoying the torment.

He hadn’t even made you work this hard the first time you met him, when you were fifteen and barefoot and slightly sunburned and he’d come right up to you like the sea itself had sent him.

But now? Now it’s like you have to earn him back.

You don't mind, you keep bouncing back. It’s like all the bad luck in the whole world has found their way to you once you left this creature’s side.

Nothing else is working to remedy this. Not the sleep, not the food, not the long walks with your phone turned off. You’ve done everything the counselors suggested. Advice from Reddit threads bookmarked at 2 a.m., typed by people who’d never met you but somehow still sounded kinder than you could stand. You tried all of it. Traced your breathing. Made gratitude lists. Journaled until the pages bled. Some of it helped for a few seconds, like aspirin against a broken bone. But you’re still unraveling.

You spend your mornings rewriting assignments that no longer count for practice to get better at academic writing. Afternoons rereading course emails with dates burned into your brain like scars. You’ve taken to organizing your notes by color-coded failure — red tabs for zeros, blue for extensions, yellow for all the things you said you’d redo but never did.

Even now, in the refuge of summer, you’re still chasing a version of yourself that keeps vanishing into the surf just like him.

You’re a string pulled tighter and tighter. A rubber band about to snap. Keep waiting for a release that doesn’t come. Even your dreams are full of waiting, missing trains, late exams, searching for classrooms that don’t exist. You wake up breathless, mouth dry. Every day feels like trying to outrun something just out of sight.

And the one place you thought you’d feel safe again won’t let you in.

It’s on the tenth day that you snap.

You come down to the beach after dinner, barefoot, your hoodie damp from where you dropped it in the sink. The sky is lavender and low. Your breath won’t even out, throat raw from holding back everything you can’t name.

He’s there. Lounging on his rock like a king. Indifferent to you.

It's the final straw.

You just crumple. One moment you’re standing there with the whistle still echoing out of your lungs, and the next you’re on your knees in the sand like the weight finally caught up to you mid-step. It’s not graceful. It’s not cinematic. It’s just broken. Pathetic. You curl up tight in the same spot you used to nap in when you were younger, half-shielded by dune grass and shadow, and dig your phone out of your hoodie pocket with hands that won’t stop shaking.

You open the group chat with Tara, Macie, and Simone. Hit record.

"Okay," you whisper, then immediately press the heel of your palm to your eye. "I — fuck, I’m sorry, I know this is so abrupt. I don’t know how to say this. I’m — I feel like I’m gonna fall out of my body or — I don’t know. I didn’t tell you guys. I didn’t tell anyone. I failed. Three classes. Not just badly — like, failed-failed. Like I have meetings and I’m on probation and I can’t — I can’t keep up and I thought if I worked harder it would get better and it didn’t, it just — it just got worse."

You’re crying too hard to sniff. Your breath is hitching like something’s wrong with your lungs. You keep recording.

"I can’t tell my parents. Not — not after I screamed about needing this. How I had to leave, how I was suffocating here and — and now what? I come back with nothing but a GPA circling the drain and I can’t—"

You make a sound like a laugh but it cracks halfway through.

You swallow this part down, but your brain cites it like tacks being rattled around in your skull. And Raf — he won’t even look at me. He won’t come near me. Like I’m nothing. Like I’m gone. I thought maybe — maybe it’s like, object permanence? Like babies? You leave too long and they forget you exist? Maybe he doesn’t remember me. Maybe I left too long and now I’m just—

You cut off with a sob you try to swallow, but it just rattles out of you louder.

"I don't know. I don't know, it's so fucking stupid. I feel so stupid. I thought I was gonna be — fine. Like, I thought I could handle it, just keep my head down and get through it, and now I’m on probation and I don’t even know what that means, not really, like how close am I to getting kicked out? How bad is bad? What happens if I can’t fix it next year, what if I can’t fix anything, what if I already ruined it — ? And I keep telling myself I’m gonna catch up but it just keeps slipping, and I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know what any of this was for—"

You choke. Cough. Curl tighter.

Somewhere behind you, the sand explodes in a flurry of movement — snorting, huffing, frantic slapping. A full-body rustle and a high, unmistakable blubbering honk. It’s been happening for a while now, just filtering into your ears after the ringing in them starts fading away the more you let the poison drain by finally talking it out.

You pause the recording. Don’t move. Don’t breathe.

Then you hear it: a wet, frantic percussion — flippers slapping against the sand in a staggered staccato, speeding up like something big and heavy hurtling downhill. It's fast. Too fast. Just chaos and wobble and blind, blubbery urgency. Like someone dropped a weighted water balloon and it decided to sprint.

You barely have time to turn your head before it happens.

He rounds the dune like a meteor with a mission, sand flying in every direction, his eyes wide with purpose and panic. Raf barrels into view like a runaway suitcase filled with guilt and righteous offense. His body jiggles so violently with momentum that every bounce forward looks like he might detonate.

And he doesn’t slow down. If anything, he speeds up.

He slams into your side with the force of someone who’s never learned the meaning of caution, knocking you flat onto your hip with a surprised grunt that bursts out of you like a punched balloon. It’s not gentle. It’s not coordinated. It’s not even particularly graceful.

But it is immediate. And it is him. 

The shock of it jolts something loose in your chest. Your panic attack hiccups. Stalls. You suck in a breath that almost turns into a laugh. Almost.

He shoves his nose under your arm with a whimper and settles his full, ridiculous weight against your ribs.

You let the sobs come in full this time, but they’re softer now. Messy. Grateful. Raf makes a warbling, almost defeated sound, then promptly rolls onto his back like he’s surrendering to fate itself. One flipper flops out like he’s fainting. The other tucks to his chest. His stomach rises like a little hill of warmth and resignation.

You blink at him, chest still heaving, nose running, and before you can think twice, you collapse onto him like he’s a novelty beanbag chair you’ve been emotionally blackmailed into needing, it's a travel pillow made of grief and blubber and the kind that will most likely scurry away once you’re okay again.

By your second year, the returns aren’t marked by breakdowns or urgent flights from failure. They creep in like late rain. Unannounced. Not unwelcome, but damp with something you can’t quite shake off.

The travel is tiring in the dullest way — long waits, bad vending machine coffee, a stiffness in your back from sitting still for too long while your mind keeps moving, always spinning on what you should’ve done differently. There’s nothing glorious about it. You arrive with skin that smells like someone else’s laundry soap and a mind still half-occupied by half-finished drafts.

You’ve started disciplining yourself not to go back home often. Not every setback is a reason to run. Not every bad grade should end at the cove. You tell yourself this like it’s a rule, a boundary, a growing pain. The windows to return feel narrower now, less like open arms, more like checkpoints you have to earn your way through.

You think, if you treat it like medicine, measured and sparing, it’ll mean more. That it’ll hurt less to stay away if you’ve decided to do it on purpose. It’s an experiment in self-control. In learning to stand on your own two feet. You even write it down in your planner like a mantra: "Earn your quiet. Don’t escape to it."

But the restraint frays at the edges the longer it holds when it comes to the kind of silence that grows between living things when time stretches too far. Not quite a grudge. Not affection either. Just distance that’s had too much time to settle in its shape. That’s what you and Raf become. A shape that no longer fits the way it used to.

You think about the story your parents used to tell when they wanted to scare you and your siblings off your recurring "I want a pet" phases — the one about the cat they had to rehome when Mom got pregnant with your oldest brother. It used to sleep above Mom’s head every night, curled like a question mark on her pillow, purring against her scalp. They’d had her for years. She was part of the household. Then, overnight, she wasn’t.

Your parents didn’t sugarcoat it. The cat never forgave them. The neighbor said she’d hiss if she so much as smelled Mom’s perfume. She’d turn her back whenever Dad entered the room. Once, she growled loud enough to make Mom cry.

That story used to make you cry. Now it just makes sense.

You wonder if Raf has the same mechanism wired deep inside him — not quite revenge, not memory in the way people understand it, but something animal and old that withholds affection not out of cruelty, but out of instinct. A quiet kind of rejection. A closing off. Something cold-blooded in the way he recognizes you, but doesn’t rise to meet you. That primitive, wordless ability to turn away and mean it.

You try to explain it to yourself the way a naturalist might: that bonds can decay in the wild when time goes unaccounted for. That animals forget scent, forget the way something felt when it was constant. Even social species will let go of their own after too long apart. In flocks. In herds. Maybe this is just that — an adaptation. A recalibration. Nothing personal.

But it feels personal.

You tell yourself you haven’t cried over it. That you’re grown now. You know what he is. But every time he stays in the water, every time he looks at you and doesn’t move, it stings. Not like punishment. Like being erased from something you thought was permanent. Like being forgotten by someone who used to run toward you with open arms — or flippers.

He’s adjusted to the long gaps. You can tell. He doesn’t pace the shore or look toward the house. He’s not waiting. But he knows when you come back. He always knows.

When you come back in the autumn — briefly, for the week the university grants between midterms and burn-out — he doesn’t rush to the shoreline. He’s out in the water when you arrive, bobbing just past the drop-off like he’s part of the sea itself. You whistle once. He doesn’t respond with the same matching melodied chirps. Just snorts in response, slow and unbothered. You sit on the sand anyway, shivering through your hoodie, and talk about how you’re passing now. Barely. But still.

The sky darkens. He doesn’t come closer.

When you stand to leave, he’s gone.

You tell yourself it’s okay. You’d already decided not to need him the way you used to and start relying on the companionship of human beings like your roommates. But even then, you still find yourself slipping little things into the beach when he’s not looking — offerings without ceremony. A piece of your sandwich. A bandana that smells like you. Once, a silly pebble shaped like a heart that you almost pocketed but didn’t. You leave them near where you sit and pretend not to watch.

Sometimes, they vanish. Sometimes, they don’t. But the next time you return, there's something different. Arranged driftwood in a crooked ring. A crab shell turned upright like a bowl. That pebble in the middle of that bowl. 

You try not to read into it, but the pattern starts to form. You leave something. He answers. Never directly. But clearly.

So it becomes a back-and-forth. You bring objects. He rearranges the shore. Maybe leaves something in return like a weird trading conversation. It's not forgiveness. It's not closeness. But it's something. Like playing a slow-motion game across weeks and waves. Like he's reminding you that while he might not come close, he hasn’t forgotten how to speak to you.

You start playing back. You bring him things that are more intentional now — not random. A pink shell shaped like a comma. A bottle cap with a fish on it. You leave them in a particular corner of the cove, beside a rock he used to sun himself on.

When you return, they’re stacked differently, like he's shifted them with his nose. Once, you find the bottle cap perched carefully atop a stone like a crown.

It becomes a game with no score. You never talk about it, of course. You never even look at him when you do it. But he knows. And he answers.

Winter comes. You don’t make it home. Snowed in by assignments. Stranded by train delays and emails that stack up like debt. You keep a seal keychain clipped to your backpack. Talk to it sometimes when the dining hall’s too loud. It smells faintly like sunscreen and stress.

Spring break, you visit again. He meets you halfway down the beach this time. Doesn’t wait on his rock. Doesn’t flinch when you sit. You watch him nap for a full hour just as how things used to be like it’s a sacred ritual, your fingers itching to pet him, but feeling like you're probably not allowed to do that anymore.

Later, as you’re brushing the sand from your jeans and readying to leave, you notice something at your feet. A shell you didn’t bring. Pale and ridged, curved like a crescent moon. Nestled into the print your heel left behind.

And so it goes.

The summer before your fourth year arrives with more noise than usual. There’s luggage on the porch that doesn’t belong to you. Voices in the hallway. Bright sandals left by the door. The smell of someone else’s shampoo in the bathroom and the clatter of your name being called from the kitchen in someone else’s cadence.

You brought them here — Theo, and the girls.

It still feels strange to say it in your head that way. Theo, and the girls. As if he’s earned his own category. As if he belongs to the orbit that’s always just been yours. Like naming him among them makes it more permanent, more real than you’re used to admitting.

Theo... Your first ever boyfriend, is a law major with immaculate notes and a resting face so unreadable it makes you want to fluster him on purpose. You only met because of an elective you got roped into by the girls — something general and discussion-heavy that promised easy credit and turned out to be anything but. The kind of course where you had to talk more than listen. Where participation was part of your grade, and no one let you disappear into your own thoughts.

You sat across from him, expecting nothing. But Theo asked questions like he wanted the long answer, like he was collecting your words instead of waiting for his turn to speak. You remember the way he used to furrow his brow when you talked about maritime heritage and museum archiving in that offhanded way you did — like your interest wasn’t worth noting, so you just cut your ideas short so the next person could start talking. He disagreed. Kindly. Plainly. Made you feel your voice belonged in the room.

Perhaps it was the constant turn of his head to your direction that pulled you in. Recognition and acknowledgment after being deprived of it.

It started small. Shared readings. Group projects. Walks back from lectures when the hallway buzz had quieted. Jokes over cafeteria food that weren’t really jokes. You noticed how he took up space without pressing against yours, how he listened without waiting to speak. He had this way of holding silence after you said something, like he was letting the weight of it settle before he answered. Until one day he showed up outside your studio with a coffee you didn’t know he knew you liked.

And slowly, it became a thing. Not a crush. Not fireworks. Just a closeness you didn’t pull away from. You didn’t even realize that’s what was happening. It wasn’t a thunderclap. It wasn’t even a spark. It was more like a slow tide pulling up to your ankles — gradual and persistent. Letting yourself be comfortable. Letting someone stay.

So, your answer was an automatic "Yes," when he asked if you wanted to go out with him. 

There was a safety in it. Someone to text when your class let out early, someone to split snacks with at the library, someone to carry your bag when you were too tired to ask. Someone to go eat out with when you’d otherwise stay inside because the act of being perceived felt too sharp that day. Someone who sat next to you on the train and didn't feel the need to fill the silence. You didn’t feel the burn of longing around him, and that felt... sustainable. Manageable. It felt like something you could keep without breaking it.

So when summer came, and the suggestion floated — "What if we went somewhere quiet?" — you offered.

You talked it up the way someone talks about a childhood pet they’re not sure is still alive, all warmth and vague descriptions. “It’s peaceful,” you said. “You’ll like it.”

They were curious. Of course they were. Macie wanted to swim. Simone asked about your favorite tidepool spots. Tara just smiled and told you it’d be good for you to breathe island air again. Theo didn’t push to know more about your life back at home. He just held your hand under the table when you brought it up to them, like the decision had already been made the moment you opened your mouth.

When they asked about Raf, you lied without blinking. Told them he didn’t always stick around this time of year — something about seasonal wandering, maybe mating behaviors. You said it like you’d read it in an article, even though you hadn’t. Even though you knew exactly where he would be if he were around.

Not because you were hiding him. Not really. Your girls already knew about your seal friend because you wouldn’t shut up about him. Your wallpaper and lockscreen were both of him, after all. Not to mention the album on your phone titled simply: “Cutie.” You’d shown them old videos. Clips of him flopping through the surf, close enough to touch. Of him screaming and making funny noises. 

But still. Still. Your friendship with Raf felt too private to be shared with anyone else. Like opening a box you hadn’t touched in too long, afraid the air would ruin what was inside. You were gatekeeping him before you realized there might not even be that much of a friendship left to show off. But that didn’t matter. You still didn’t want to introduce him to them.

Not even your parents had seen you with him. Not really. Not the way he used to follow you through the shallows like a shadow, not the way you used to press your face into his side like a warm, living stone and let the tide rise around you both. He was special and he was yours. You were proud of this connection you had carved out for yourself. Something wild and tender and unsupervised.

So, you don’t take them to the cove.

You pick another beach, one of the broader ones farther down the island — the kind people use for engagement shoots, family barbecues, the kind of place that shows up in someone else’s scrapbook, not your memory. It’s less intimate, less burdened by history. And that’s the whole point.

You tell them it was the easiest to reach. That the sand is fine, the tide pools were especially photogenic in the afternoon light. But deep down, you didn’t pick it for them. You picked it for your own comfort — because you know he wouldn’t be here. He doesn’t like crowds or people at all.

The sand here is pale and packed tight, the color of sifted flour. Flat rocks sit like little stages along the shore, and the tide pools glint with mica and tiny darting fish. Children shriek in the distance. Someone’s playing a bluetooth speaker nearby, something tinny and sun-soaked. The wind doesn’t bite here, it flutters its lashes. Everything about this place feels engineered for memory-making. Safe, palatable, curated. A beach designed to be preserved in pixels.

Theo lifts the cooler with one arm. Simone has the umbrella slung over her shoulder like a rifle. Tara trails behind, her flip-flops slapping rhythmically against the packed sand, laughing like the sun’s already sunk into her bloodstream. Macie’s filming everything — seagulls, a crab fight, the uneven hem of the horizon — and providing a running commentary in that absurd, exaggerated British documentary narrator voice that always makes the rest of you laugh.

You lag behind a few paces, pretending to dig through your tote bag for chapstick. Mostly, you’re watching their silhouettes bob forward, listening for how much of yourself is still tethered to them. You smile when they glance back.

They lay out the towels and start divvying drinks. Theo opens the cooler and gestures for you to pick first. You choose a juice box, half out of nostalgia, half because it’s easy. He leans into your shoulder with a quiet sort of ownership, chin pressing lightly against the curve where your neck meets your collarbone, his hand warm as it slides over your thigh.

The others break off like strands of sea foam — Simone crouching by the tide pools, pointing out green anemones and prodding gently at barnacles with the end of a sunglasses arm, Macie dancing backward to film a reel, Tara announcing she’s going to find “a rock with the most powerful energy.” You sink into the blanket, drink in hand, and pretend the sun is doing its job. The condensation slicks your palm; Theo’s elbow keeps knocking into yours each time he shifts, rummaging in the cooler for his drink.

Someone starts talking about sea glass. Macie thinks the little green shards come from old soda bottles. Simone insists some of it’s from shipwrecks. Tara finds a piece shaped like a heart and says she’s keeping it forever. Theo listens to them like it’s a podcast he’s only half-invested in, but he smiles whenever you laugh.

It feels ordinary. In that stretched, sugar-glazed way summer days do when you don’t look at the clock. You’re halfway through your juice when Macie’s voice cuts the day in two.

“Seal!” she cries, delighted.

You pause mid-sip.

Not startled — more like… struck. That word slices through the ambient noise like a tuning fork. Your body reacts faster than your brain. Somewhere in your chest, a thread pulls taut.

The others are already rushing toward the shore, sneakers kicking up sand. Simone’s got her phone out again. Tara gasps. “It's a chonker!”

“Are they common around here?” Theo’s voice is light as he squints toward the water. “I read something about conservation efforts in the northern colonies — tagging for tracking migratory habits.”

“They haul out sometimes,” you say. Your voice sounds far away. “Usually early in the season.”

You don't notice Tara staring, as if she's trying to ask you why Theo seems to be confused about the seal when it's common knowledge that you haul from a place with a seal population. 

“Get a load of this unit,” Simone says, laughing. “That’s not a seal, that’s a sentient ottoman.”

“I’m naming him Barnaby,” Macie announces. "Bernadette if female."

You rise without thinking.

The voices of your friends flatten into background static. Theo’s muttering about population markers again, something about dorsal notches and flipper scarring. Someone suggests a group selfie with the seal in the distance. You’re already stepping past them.

You move toward the shoreline like someone being pulled forward by the collar. The closer you get, the more the light shifts — the kind of shimmer that makes everything blur at the edges, like film that’s been left in the sun too long.

From a distance, it could be any seal. Big, lazy, glinting like riverstone in the tide. But your eyes track instantly to the shape bobbing just beyond the last rock.

You pass Macie, who’s still narrating. “Seriously, look at the spot pattern. He’s like a limited-edition beanbag.”

You stop just at the lip of the water, salt wind catching in your hair. The waves break around your feet like hands brushing past. The light fractures. You squint.

Then he shifts. Just slightly.

A tilt of the head. A flash of familiar scarring on the shoulder area. The slope of the skull. The unruly whiskers. The uneven patch where fur never quite grew back right.

That’s Raf, alright. No question.

What the hell?

It isn’t just that he’s here — it’s that he’s somewhere he never should be.

Raf doesn’t come to beaches like this. You know by heart now that he sticks to his own territory, avoiding crowded places the way skittish animals avoid noise, the way anything too aware of its own edges avoids spectacle. He has always preferred the cove, quiet and thick with sea mist, where nothing moves unless it belongs. Even during summer’s peak, when the whole island feels like a postcard come to life, he stays tucked away, content in his own paradise. You’d have to wait until sunset, until the last paddleboarder left, before he’d even dare surface. Sometimes not even then.

So seeing him now, in daylight, under the loudness of other people’s joy, within reach of clumsy sandals and cell phone lenses…

If you had to explain it, you might say this: that all those things you try to swallow — the loss, the homesickness, the worry — well, it all congeals into the same ache deep beneath your sternum. It manifests physically as if there was a physical place inside your chest cavity where emotion collected like sediment or rust or bruised fruit. It comes out in flickers, in ways you can't control. Things set it off: memories, sounds, smells, sensations you'd grown up being conditioned to associate with nostalgia and happiness in your subconscious, regardless of whether those things actually did make you happy anymore or not — just the trigger stimuli alone would bring about the longing that'd cause tears to prick at your ducts immediately, if only for a second.

Seeing him suddenly brings your feelings surging up in the same abrupt way they do when you're alone in your dorm room, trying to survive finals week. Now that he's there on the other side of the sea when you're over here with new friends surrounding you when it used to be just you two, a familiar tightening sensation unfurls inside, like something getting caught and torn in the cogs of your ribcage. It aches worse than you expected.

"Wait, though. Do we know if that's your seal buddy?" Macie asks, grinning widely. "Do you think I can pet him?"

"It is Raf, and no," you tell her firmly. "Just leave him be."

She gives you a surprised look. "You sure? They don't bite, do they? Or slap?"

"They won't but still..." You gesture vaguely towards the rest of them with a helpless shrug as you attempt to maintain control over your emotions, willing the lump forming at the base of your throat to dissipate.

"Seal buddy?" Theo asks. He's come up to your side without you noticing and has placed a comforting hand on your waist.

"You haven't told him about Raf?" Simone arches an eyebrow, looking amused. "The familiar to your sea witch?"

"C'mon..." you whine, not noticing the look you're being given by your boyfriend.

"Huh," he confirms after studying you intently for several long seconds.

A beat of silence passes between your group, a few questioning glances exchanged, before Theo speaks again, his tone carefully neutral. "We were dating for almost five months and you've never mentioned being friends with a seal?"

You couldn't just say that it naturally didn't come up when you in fact did not stop yapping about Raf to your roommates. It felt... childish. Self-centered, like bragging. Theo had a certain level of maturity beyond what you possessed, so it seemed fitting to keep quiet about how special and close you were with your adorable animal companion rather than risking exposing yourself as someone who talks about seals more someone with a marine biology major. You weren't exactly trying to hide it per se, either, more so keeping the information regarding the subject matter private and away from any potential prying or mocking... or perhaps the feeling itself.

Despite having already shared it with your friends.

…

Yeah, honestly, you don't know why you didn't tell him earlier, now that you think about it. It makes for a particularly awkward silence, as well.

One that gets interrupted by Tara's, "Oh my god, is he coming over here? Look!"

You whip around and indeed see Raf paddling his way onto shallow waters before picking up speed as he closes in on your location.

"That settles it. We gotta film this. Do you think it'd go viral?" Macie says excitedly, pushing play on her camera app while taking aim at you and Raf approaching.

"Viral," you mutter drily under your breath as you slowly start walking deeper into the water with the intent of greeting your friend properly for the first time since arriving at home.

Theo watches from the shoreline silently as everyone else bursts into applause and cheering once Raf arrives and immediately hops closer to you instead of anyone else present despite them attempting to coax him over with promises of food and various petting session offers, something they complain loudly about behind you.

"Hey, you little fucker," you grouse once within earshot, crouching down like a gangster stationed by a random corner on the pavement, elbows on knees. The words hold absolutely zero heat to them. "You've been giving me attitude bigger than your body mass ever since I left and now you decide to hobble on over when I'm with company? Really? You're like my mom trying to keep up appearances when guests come over. Who the heck do you think you are?"

Raf croons and chatters in response, nuzzling your bare legs affectionately before flopping heavily on your feet. He proceeds to roll around in the wet sand, looking every bit of pleased with himself for drawing a laugh from you when he looks up expectantly with wide, adoring dark eyes blinking innocently up at you.

Ha, look at this guy acting cute.

As if you weren't literally deprived of his presence for nearly the entire time you were away because he was too pissed to see your face, you realize with a sharp twang of bitterness, shaking your head in mock annoyance at the unfairness of the situation. What bullshit timing. He has to be doing this on purpose at this point. The big brat.

"Wow," your friends remark in awe simultaneously at the display occurring before their very astonished selves.

"So tame,” Theo remarks.

He pays them no mind whatsoever. Instead, his sole focus remains on you as he rolls upright so he may rear onto hind paws and balance against your bent knee. His whiskers tickle your skin, hot snorts stirring loose strands of hair fallen over your face, dampness from his breath transferring to your forehead. It's like he's giving you a vibe-check, sniffing you all over with little to no care towards the peanut gallery currently filming everything happening.

"This is fascinating," Theo comments from somewhere nearby, likely observing your interactions closely together with Tara and the rest. He comes to crouch beside you for a closer look. "I honestly thought they wouldn't engage humans unless approached first. Then again, I guess you've managed to build enough trust with that one to encourage friendly interaction..."

It's almost in slow motion that Raf turns his head towards your boyfriend, and to your absolute shock, curls his back in a way you've never see him do before, baring his teeth at Theo in the most hostile display you've ever seen from a creature known to have such a placid temperament.

It's when the unfamiliar purring-rumble starts rising from his throat that you come back to reality and tilt your body away from a jaw-dropped Theo, effectively making a barrier between the two. "Oh my god, no, Theo, I'm so sorry! Please back off, okay? Just take a couple steps back, please, and I'll handle this—"

The rumble becomes louder, sharper. To the surprise of everyone present, Raf crawls over your leg and hip possessively like a large lapdog might climb into a couch and lie on their owner for warmth, deliberately placing himself in between you and a wide-eyed Theo, staring pointedly at your boyfriend until he backs away completely to rejoin the girls watching with horrified fascination on the beach. You breathe a sigh of relief knowing he did not bite nor hit anyone in his frenzy.

It takes you pulling back to sit flat on your butt that he relents finally and allows you to maneuver him onto your lap so you may bury fingers deep into the thick, dense fur around his neck area and massage him into calm submission. "What is with you today," you reprimand softly as the aggressive sounds gradually subside into gentle yips. "I thought you forgot me or something, and now look at you. Like no time passed at all."

Raf doesn't seem apologetic in the least, if the way he snuggles even closer in your arms and throws in a lick across your cheekbone indicates anything. With his chin hooked securely over your shoulder, tail thumping loudly against the water splashing quietly against your entangled legs, it seems pretty evident he has no plans of going anywhere anytime soon.

"I know I shouldn’t be surprised after seeing everything on your phone, but are seals really supposed to behave like this?" Macie asks aloud uncertainly, putting her camera down.

You shrug, absently continuing to knead downwards along Raf's side. He shifts under your hands, the smooth, slippery texture of his skin bunching under your fingertips pleasantly as he leans further into you with increasing insistence.

"He's just domesticated," Simone offers, coming closer to better assess the situation. "Look, he's not food motivated."

"An expert family friend of mine told me I could have formed a small pod with him without knowing it. Like, a unit of a colony."

"Like a bonded pair?" Tara joins in.

"Maybe the word you're looking for is just bonded. He could have imprinted on her. Like a duck," Theo adds helpfully, gesturing to where you've now begun rubbing down your sulky seal friend's tummy while he rolls over unashamedly on his back for easier access. He's got his phone on his hand, gesturing to some article he found in no time. "This says young pups follow people they initially attach to for several minutes after birth sometimes and perceive them to be their mother. When exposed to higher levels of maternal influence after development, the bond grows stronger than it would have otherwise been possible to sustain by nature alone."

Raf grumbles soft under his breath, seeming disgruntled. What the fuck does he have to sigh about like that as if he's a single mom who works two jobs? He's not even an arctic seal who has to deal with diabolical orcas gunning after him 24/7.

But you're more concerned with this scene unfolding right now when you barely had any interaction with Raf over the past couple of years. He's being clingy when it was so obvious he was being distant and cold like a normal person would've behaved after a falling out...

And yes, it does sting quite badly for having the reunion be made to witness and scrutinized over by near-total strangers while your friends are having a conversation about seal behavior and looking things up on the internet in the background.

It really hurts even more since you expected a much earlier reception given your efforts at reconciliation... and then here comes Raf randomly deciding he's now okay on a random day for seemingly no reason whatsoever. Talk about emotional whiplash. What happened to the sulking and stubborn refusal to interact? Where did that go?

Well. Better late than never?

Hours pass. Eventually, the beach is emptying out.

The laughter is gone, or far enough to feel like it. Distant chatter rides the salt wind, but it doesn’t reach you, not really. The sky has bruised into mauve, sea lavender and charcoal layered thin across the horizon, all color is being dragged out like a damp cloth wrung slow.

Macie was the first to suggest heading back when the sour mood of Theo didn’t get any better, already talking about post-beach showers and cooking for your parents who’ve yet to return from the ferry for having them over. Simone followed with a promise to upload the best photos. Tara stayed behind just a little longer, watching you in that gentle, perceptive way of hers, before slipping away to give the two of you a space. Your towel is still damp beneath you, your bag a mess of half-unpacked things. And Raf hasn't budged from your side, pressed warm and firm into your hip as if anchoring you to this exact spot.

Theo stands a few feet away, arms crossed, half-turned toward the sea. He hasn’t spoken in minutes. You can feel it brewing though, like pressure in your ears before a storm.

When he finally does speak, he doesn’t raise his voice, but there’s a moderated accusation to it that makes your stomach tighten. “So... were you ever planning to tell me about him?”

You keep your eyes on your towel, fingers worrying at a loose thread that’s already frayed beyond saving. “It's not like I was keeping it from you, it must have just slipped my mind to mention it or something.”

He shifts, crossing and uncrossing his arms, feet grinding into the sand with impatient little pivots. “That’s not the part I’m stuck on,” he says, voice level. “It’s that everyone else knew. It didn't slip your mind with them.”

You lift your gaze briefly, catching his silhouette framed in the bleeding dusk. “I really wasn’t trying to hide him or something. I don’t talk about a lot of things.”

Theo’s shoulders fall with a tired breath. He’s not angry. Just tired. “Yeah. I’ve noticed.”

The air between you feels suddenly thinner.

You turn toward him fully. He’s wearing the expression you’ve come to recognize when he’s calculating every word before he says it. It’s hard to tell if it’s a personality trait or something his law professors taught him.

“I didn’t tell you about Raf because I didn’t know how,” you admit, the words small, almost fragile. “He was my best friend for years. And then... he wasn’t. I haven't properly spent time with him for three years now, the best I do is just seal watching from afar, and that's whenever I get home, which is. Sparse.”

He doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, jaw flexed.

“And then today, out of nowhere, he’s back. Like nothing happened. It's like my first proper interaction with him in forever.”

“I’m not asking for a play-by-play. I just want to know why you couldn’t share that part of your life with me. You're changing the subject.”

“I don't know,” you mutter, rubbing your palm against your leg. “It didn't occur to me I could. And I liked... I liked how clean things were with you.”

His brow knits. “Clean?”

“Like I didn’t have to unpack the past every time we talked. I could just be in the moment. Maybe that's why it didn't cross my mind at all.”

Theo exhales through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair with restless fingers. “And what moment are we even in now?”

You blink at him, the question hanging too heavily to dodge.

“Because I’ve been your boyfriend for five months—"

The seal in your lap jerks so suddenly as if shaken up from deep sleep to do a double-take between you and Theo with a distinct sputter and a sneeze, and you momentarily miss some of what's being said to you from watching the weird flailing in front of you.

"—sometimes I still feel like I’m waiting to become one. You sit beside me. You let me hold your hand. You even sleep next to me. But half the time, I feel like I’m dating someone who’s barely in the room.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Isn’t it? You’re nice to me. You show up. You laugh. You don’t want to hurt me, I know that. But it’s like I’m an accessory in your day, not a person you’re choosing.”

Your gaze drops. Raf is staring off into the distance like a shell-shocked war veteran for some reason and you swear his eyes are about to look in different directions.

Theo watches your fingers curl into the seal’s coat.

“Do you even like me?”

Your head snaps up. “Of course I do.”

His next words are quieter. “I mean... do you like me? Not just the idea of being with someone. Not just what I represent, or how I don’t ask too much. Do you like me?”

You part your lips, the response on the tip of your tongue — except it isn’t. The panic hits before the words come, tightening your chest, making the air feel wrong in your lungs.

Theo closes his eyes like he already has the answer.

“I think I’ve been trying really hard not to admit how one-sided this feels,” he says. “But I can’t do that forever.”

You reach toward him — instinctively, helplessly. Your hand hovers mid-air.

“Listen, Theo, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he says quickly. His face twists for a fraction of a second. “I know you didn’t. That’s the thing. You’re not cruel. You just... keep your distance. You never come to me for anything. Not once. I know you’re struggling with your classes. You get weird when someone mentions midterms. You disappear for days when grades drop, and when I ask how you’re doing, you say ‘fine’ like a robot. You don’t talk to me about any of these things.”

“I don’t need to dump that stuff on you.”

“It’s not dumping if I’m your boyfriend,” Theo says, caught between ache and frustration. “You don’t lean on me. You don’t share anything with me. I’m just... here. Being reminded I’m that insignificant and held at arm’s length every. Single. Day.”

Raf shifts again. There is a slowness to his breathing, a cadence like the tide. If he is listening, you cannot tell.

Your throat feels too tight. Theo sees it before you manage an answer.

He sighs. It sounds weary, like someone reaching the bottom stair.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Everything in you wants to refute it, deny him. But you know it wouldn't matter, because he isn't asking questions anymore; he's stating facts. And somehow, that makes everything worse.

You pick anxiously at the dead skin at your thumb's cuticles until the urge to apologize overwhelms everything else.

"I'm so—"

Theo raises his hand abruptly, stopping you short. "Don't. I don't need an apology."

A beat passes in uncomfortable silence. Raf grumbles, unhappy.

"Then what do you need?" You mumble under your breath.

"For you to see me as your person," Theo responds bluntly, staring intently down at your stunned features. "Or maybe just as someone who matters more than the stupid seal on your lap you're petting like a dog while having an important discussion."

You wince as if scalded, retracting your hands. "I don’t, I—!"

"Then look me in the fucking face when you speak to me," he barks harshly, scowl growing increasingly prominent. You've only seen Theo mad once or twice before, but he doesn't explode or break things. His anger is contained and icy cold instead. Raf doesn't like the way he's raising his voice at you, his huffing is getting more frequent now. "Or maybe stop sitting there like the victim and give me the courtesy of standing up and talking to me with actual intention rather than treat our relationship like some hobby you take on between finishing whatever homework is due? How would you feel if I treated you like a second choice friend whenever we meet up together? Think carefully."

There's something final about the way he ends the sentence, like shutting a door. Or snapping shut a notebook. Like wrapping up a case and moving on. For someone so impossibly empathic, so effortlessly considerate, you wonder if he finally reached the end of his rope. If you had worn him down, after all.

"I'm sorry," you find yourself saying anyway, hoping he would be kind enough to accept the olive branch.

But Theo only shakes his head slowly with lips thinned in repressed irritation. "Don't do that," he cuts you off curtly. "I told you I don't want apologies."

Something tenses in your gut. Maybe it's guilt. Maybe shame. It sours too quickly for you to sort it out.

Raf has been statue-rigid for a while now, his body coiled tight underneath your palm resting just over his ribcage — sensing the discordance, no doubt, alerted by the spike in tensions among the two of you.

"I think we need to rethink this whole thing," Theo says, looking directly at you with solemn, resolute conviction gleaming in his eyes. You understand what it means immediately. It isn't anger so much as sadness that draws itself around him, making his shoulders round, his mouth stern. He rubs a knuckle absently against his temple. "I seriously need some space. I can't keep putting in effort on my end while getting practically nothing back on yours. Frankly, it's been taxing and frustrating beyond belief."

"We could—" you pause, realizing there's absolutely nothing you can offer that would be viable. You don't have the same qualifications to make things work out as he did, nor can you convince him otherwise knowing this much of what you put him through. It wouldn't be fair to either of you. So all that's left for you to say is: "Is there anything I can do to fix this? Do you want me to..."

There is nothing more pathetic to finish your sentences with besides crying, begging and offering ultimatums — and none of those are appealing options.

"Look," Theo says, visibly restraining himself from pacing the way you've seen him do whenever frustrated with a difficult case to crack, and you feel horrible knowing full well that most of your interactions will likely leave him feeling this way. "I appreciate what we had over these past few months... It was good to spend time with you. But honestly, it'd just be healthier for us both if we put it on hold right now until you figure out what it is that you really want, and then I'll reopen negotiations."

Silence follows for a brief moment. Raf lets out a long whine, which causes you to snap out of the funk of despondency you momentarily sunk into, remembering he's still very much present, listening to everything, perhaps like a child overhearing his parents arguing.

"Okay," you croak, suddenly feeling unworthy of your boyfriend's presence. "Yeah, okay, I get it."

You don't even get the last part of your sentence out, which was thanking him for being patient with you before he's talking again.

"I'm gonna try to catch the last ferry," he tells you calmly despite the heartbreaking disappointment written all over his features. You nod along mechanically without meeting his searching stare, looking downwards in avoidance. There's a twinge of resentment at yourself for treating someone as wonderful as him this way, regardless of whether your actions were consciously intentional or not. "It's been nice here but the space thing, you know... Give my apologies to your parents and tell them it was a family emergency. I’ll talk to the others.”

All you can do is bob your head woodenly as an acknowledgment while keeping your line of sight trained elsewhere lest he notice the tears beginning to build up inside your lower eyelids. Everything feels wrong in this exact moment, like nothing you could've done or said will rectify anything.

His footsteps retreat away after a short silence, the distinct sound of the plastic handle on the cooler creaking softly under its increasing pressure, sand rustling audibly underneath.

Then you're alone — truly alone — for the first time in hours. The breeze kicks up, salty and cool off the water. You wait till the crunching pauses; until Theo reaches the place where footpath meets pavement, out of earshot. Until the world contracts around you. You let out a shaky sob, one fist digging into Raf's coat. A series of pitiful squeaks respond.

"I got dumped over a seal," you wheeze out shakily, fingers clenching deeper into damp fur.

You realize it's more than that, but the shock numbs everything else. You not mentioning Raf to Theo somehow snowballing into being perceived as emotionally distant and disengaged is such a surreal thought to contemplate that it takes awhile for your brain to catch up.

Your stomach knots so tight that you bend double, forehead dropping against your knuckles. Raf brings his nose to rest at your temple. Wet heat slides along your cheekbone, snuffles once, then again, the edge of his whiskers twitching against your temple like he’s thinking hard. He lets out a chuff, a ridiculous, gravelly little exhale that vibrates against your skin. You don’t know if he’s annoyed, apologizing, or just reacting to the taste of your tears.

You sniff. Wipe your face with the back of your wrist. “You’re really a homewrecker.”

He makes a low, rumbling sound in his chest.

“Don’t sass me,” you whisper.

But the way he edges in closer, until your whole side is engulfed in damp fur and quiet warmth, makes your throat seize. You shut your eyes. Let your fingers dig into the pelt at his shoulder, where his scar discolors the fur. Your grip trembles.

“But I really didn’t think he’d leave,” you say, barely audible.

Raf’s head nudges under your chin, blunt and persistent, until you have no choice but to raise your face again. He’s looking up at you with that same familiar gravity behind his eyes that always made you feel seen. Not observed. Seen.

And it unnerves you a little.

“I didn’t think you’d come back either,” you admit, voice cracking. “So I guess it’s somewhat of a law of equivalence.”

He presses his forehead to yours, gently, like something instinctive and unceremonious. You feel he’s not trying to comfort you so much as just… be there. And for a second, it really does feel like time folded back in on itself, and you’re seventeen again with sand in your socks and unburdened giddiness in your chest, laughing into his neck after some awful day at school like he was the only part of your world that made sense.

“I missed you a lot though, buddy,” you whisper. You’re not sure whether it’s a confession or an accusation. Maybe both. Underlying with the strange emptiness of what this separation means to you. The fact that you’re here with Raf right now means a lot more than Theo leaving you. And you’re not sure how to feel about that other than the fact that you must be a grade A douche.

Usually it’s a man that exhibits this behavior. You don’t know how to feel about that, either.

Raf noses your collarbone, then burrows closer with a dramatic grunt. Like he never left. Like this spot — your side, your lap, your shoulder — is still his, and he’s reclaiming it without apology.

You laugh, but it cracks open into something hoarse. Something wet. An egg dropping an embryo to the pan instead of yolk. You bury your face in his neck like it’s the only place left you can do that safely. He smells like salt and sand and the faintest undertone of seaweed, but his warmth remains unchanged.

You don’t know if you should be angry with him or grateful. He might’ve cost you your relationship. Or maybe he served you a lesson about one that was always a little too one-sided. You don’t know. You don’t know anything except that he’s here now, curled into your ribs like a message in a bottle finally finding its destination.

You sigh into him, your voice small. “You really couldn’t have picked yesterday to be emotionally available, huh?”

Raf whines softly. Rolls to his back and kicks his flippers like he’s throwing a tantrum. His belly’s damp and ridiculous and offered to you like a truce.

You let out a snort and swipe at your eyes.

“I can’t believe this is my life.”

You flop onto your back beside him as the tide kisses at your ankles again, more gentle now. As if the sea itself is easing back. Raf’s breathing slows, matching yours.

And in the quiet between waves, you think, not for the first time, not for the last, that maybe he came back because he knew this moment was coming. That maybe he knew you’d need him, right here, right now.

Some part of you says, Nah, he’s a homewrecker.

You graduate, and eventually end up right back on where you started with your shoulders braced like someone expecting to be hit.

You don’t join the cap throwing ceremony, or any other party with the excuse you unfortunately don’t have time for any of that. You get your diploma like it’s a shady deal in an alleyway and go your own way.

The thought of maybe — maybe — coming back home for the last time would feel like slipping into warm water is at the back of your mind — strange at first, but comforting once your body adjusts.

It doesn’t.

The sea greets you the same way it always has — without ceremony, without apology. Not like a mother welcoming her child, but like an old employer who never removed your name from the roster. You step off the boat with all your belongings, and the wind claps you on the back, and the salt is in your mouth before you even say “I’m home,” as if to tell you to get back to work.

That’s all there is to it. Slap the, “That’s all folks!” title card on it.

The sea still smells the same — wet iron, salt, the distant sweetness of fish — but it doesn’t comfort you. It clings like dead weight you have to carry on your back, stains your clothes, settles in your hair, crusts behind your ears like it’s trying to remind you: you belong here. Like it never really let you go. Like you’re Sisyphus rolling his boulder up the hill as always, except you drag it around like a pet rock now, one that is visible to everyone. One everyone recognizes.

You’re the girl who left. The one who came back with nothing.

You wanted to leave, though. God, you had wanted out so badly.

So you picked something clean. Something quiet and shiny that didn’t come with fish guts and engine grease. Museum studies. Archival work. Something that would let you tell stories about the sea without having to live inside its salt-stung grip. Something you could point to and say: See? I made it out. I became someone else.

You imagined glass cases and curated lighting. Climate control and respectability. People in linen suits asking for your opinion on preservation techniques. You imagined being good at it. Sharp. Polished. Like you were a cultured socialite and your hands had never once smelled of fish and that white-collars didn’t look down at you as though you were a second-class citizen for it. You clung to that dream like it was a life raft. Like it would keep you from becoming Dad, Mom, your whole line of weary sea-anchored ghosts.

University didn’t spit you out so much as it starved you slowly.

You told yourself it would be delicate — artifacts and silk gloves, white walls and whispered, distinguished voices of explanation and storytelling. But you weren’t ready for how different it would feel to be constantly behind. Always catching up. You watched people glide through it all — the lectures, the essays, the study abroad placements — like they were born into it. You weren’t.

You didn’t speak the language. You wrote too plainly, too tangibly. You didn’t know how to dress your thoughts up in academic language or play the intellectual performance they all seemed to have memorized. You didn’t know how to use a theory as a shield or a weapon, didn’t know how to say absolutely nothing in five polished pages. Your sentences were called “too literal.” Your ideas “lacked depth.” You began second-guessing everything you wrote. Every time you turned in a paper, you waited for it to come back bleeding red, like a wound reopening.

You sat in the back and took notes while others quoted theorists by name, confident and smooth and laughing with professors after class like they were friends while you could curl into a shrimp trying to show respect to their profession. That’s what you were taught. You didn’t know you had to ‘befriend’ those professors to get to places. Didn’t even know it was an option in the first place.

You stayed up until your eyes burned. Took out loans that made your stomach twist. Lived on discount noodles and cold coffee while kids in pressed coats talked about internships their relatives arranged for them in cities lacquered with prestige — all colonnades, opera houses, and museums with wings named after patrons whose names you’d only ever seen etched in gold above arched doorways. They breezed into networking events while you stood near the drinks table, gripping your plastic cup and trying not to sweat through your only decent shirt.

You couldn’t afford the unpaid internship your program said was "essential." You tried. God, you tried. Sent emails. Wrote cover letters. Offered to do anything, even just data entry. But you weren’t the kind of student they wanted — no fancy last name, no family connections, no recommendations from tenured faculty who actually remembered your face. You weren’t someone they saw potential in. You were just... competent. Just fine.

You spent a whole semester trying to figure out your thesis — circling topics like a vulture over carrion. And per usual, everyone else seemed to already know what they were writing about, already had advisors clapping them on the back, already had titles that sounded like published books. You kept second-guessing yourself. Too narrow, too vague, too personal. Everything you proposed sounded childish out loud, stripped of the wonder you felt privately.

Eventually, you landed on something about regional maritime artifacts and their cultural displacement — a fancy way of saying: the things that reminded you of home, stolen and pinned to museum walls. You thought it might be enough.

It wasn't.

Your advisor called it "charming but unfocused." You rewrote it four times. Each time it became less yours. By the end, you barely recognized what you were arguing. It passed, technically. You walked the stage. But it didn’t feel like a win. It felt like crawling across the finish line on bloodied knees.

You went to info sessions and forced yourself to shake hands. You printed business cards and smiled until your jaw ached. You went to office hours and tried to form a rapport with professors who always seemed to be glancing past you. You sat in lobbies for interviews you never heard back from. You applied for conference scholarships and didn’t get them, starting to realize there were doors you simply weren’t meant to walk through.

Your professors were polite. Detached. "Consider a gap year," one of them suggested, when your final project fell short. Another one smiled and told you that museum work was competitive — very competitive — and that maybe you should consider broadening your horizons. Maybe try the local heritage angle. Maybe lean into your background.

You knew what that meant.

Not giving up that easily, you toured gallery basements and museum backrooms during student field trips — rooms lined with crates and relics you weren’t allowed to touch. You watched a conservator handle a centuries-old scroll with hands steadier than yours would ever be. Every inch of the job looked holy from the outside, like something sacred you might be allowed to enter if you studied hard enough. But behind the velvet ropes and institutional polish, you started to see the cracks.

There were whispered complaints about underfunding. Stories of interns made to catalog entire collections alone. Older curators who treated provenance like personal territory. You volunteered once at a small regional museum just to get experience and ended up cleaning display glass and scrubbing exhibit floors. You told yourself it still counted.

And then there were the interviews, where they asked if you'd be comfortable lifting crates, running fundraisers, handling social media, and managing guest tours — all for minimum wage. Positions with beautiful titles and nothing behind them. It started to feel like the job was less about protecting history and more about convincing donors to keep the lights on. The past, you learned, only matters if it’s profitable.

You applied anyway — less out of hope, more like inertia. You tweaked your resume. You Googled synonyms for "passionate" until the word meant nothing. One of them called you in for an interview. You didn’t get it. Another place called you back for a position that paid less than the ferry ever did. You didn’t get it either.

And then Dad fell. Blew out his knee. Couldn’t walk the dock anymore.

You came back because you were broke and tired and humiliated and out of reasons not to. You packed in the middle of the night. Left behind a box of books on your old desk. Deleted the job alerts from your inbox. Told yourself it would just be temporary.

Now you’re here, back in the same boots, walking the same boards, answering the same questions from the same kind of tourists. You’re twenty-something with a degree that means nothing here. A diploma that doesn’t fit in your coat pocket when you’re loading cargo. A piece of paper that couldn't save you. A history of unpaid internships you never got. Professors who’ll forget you in a semester.

The archipelago hadn’t changed. Same bleached dock planks. Same rust-ringed ladders. Same old ferry with its bucking engine and stubborn throttle. And you were the same, too. Worse, maybe. Just older. More tired. A degree heavier. A dream deader.

You don’t know what comes next. There is no next, not really. Just water and wind and the hollow thump of your boots on damp wood. You’re stuck.

And worse — you’re starting to wonder if maybe this is all you’ll ever be.

Not a tragedy. Just another quiet failure folded back into the landscape. The girl who once swore she’d vanish past the horizon, only to wash up years later just like one more piece of flotsam the sea decided to keep.

Slap the, “That’s all folks!” title card on it. Fade to black.

(Except, well. As far as Raf’s concerned, the main titles had only just begun.)

[somuchforahobby]

interrupted (pt. 4)

Summary: Obi-wan asks you out but it doesn’t go as planned

Tags: Childhood friends to lovers / they really are good friends / found family i guess ?

Warnings: its so fluffy im gonna dieeeee

Word count: 1.5 k

Read on AO3

Writer’s note: I am DERANGED by this. For reference this is what’s in my head when I write this story.

Master Windu had given you a task: to study the history of the jedi until you could recite it. And up until now, you had studied it until you’d gotten hungry, wanted to pee, remembered other pending work and fallen asleep, so that morning you decided to wrap it up. You grabbed a big mug of caf, tied your hair up and headed to the library in complete solitude. Maybe if you had no distractions you would be able to get through it.

You had gone through 3 books so far, and nearly all day, when someone sat opposite from you on the desk.

“Hello there”

Obi-wan greets you with a teasing smirk. His blue eyes embedded in yours.

“Hello.” You return your sight to the book, but if the smile that threads on your lips accuses you of anything, is that you will not be paying any attention to the words below. You still hope he doesn’t notice it.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to read”

“So I see” his fingers tap anxiously on the desk. “Want to refill that mug?”

Without raising your eyes, you give him your mug, “if you’d be so kind, thank you”

“I—I meant-“

“I know what you meant” your eyes still locked on the book, “but I am busy. Master Windu gave me an assignment.”

“You are not his padawan anymore”

That made you raise your sight, clearing your throat. “You would do the same if Qui-Gon asked you.”

With a grimace, he grabbed your mug and left to the caf station.

Minutes later he returned with your beverage prepared just how you drank it. He handed it to you, your fingers touched as you took it.

“Qui-Gon asked me something far more… absorbing”

“I know” You gave him an apologetic smile “how is he doing lately?” You closed the book in your hands, turning your attention to your friend.

“He worries me” Obi-wan leaned his chin on his palm, his elbow resting on the table. “He is too angry, too afraid. Almost every night he wakes up screaming and shaking from the nightmares that poison his mind.”

You extended one hand across the table, your palm up and fingers flexing in a quiet demand that was quickly complied.

Your fingers wrapped around his hand.

“I haven’t met a kinder soul than yours, Obi-wan. If there’s anyone who can heal your padawan’s tainted heart it is you. You know what it is like to have a…” you paused, looking for the right word, “rather absent master. I am certain you will do your best with Anakin.”

He guided your hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles. “You trust me more than myself.”

“I’ve seen you grow into a powerful and wise jedi, much to my dismay.”

“Please elaborate” he teased.

You hid your grin turning back to your book. “Like I said, I am busy”

Your hand remained in his.

With his thumb, he drew figures on your skin until you felt his signature calm down.

“So I heard about this new place” he said after a few minutes of silence.

“Obi-wan Kenobi” you interrupted him, lifting your gaze to him “are you going to ask me out?”

“so what if I was?”

You leaned closer, looking up to him, “It’s against your precious code”

His eyes drafted from your eyes to your lips, “so what if it was? If the order didn’t want it to happen then they shouldn’t have made us spend so much time together.” The warm breath of his words made you flush.

“Don’t give them any more ideas to push women out of here”

Your entire life had argued the lack of female jedis in the council and teaching, and instead of getting the regular eye-roll, in Obi-wan you always found a respectful ally.

A smile crossed his face, “I’d never”

“I know” your eyes fell to your jointed hands with a sweet smile on your lips. “So, this new place?”

His eyes glinted. “Let’s have dinner and I’ll take you to the stars after” he offered with a smirk that gave away what kind of stars he had in mind.

“Oh” you blushed, “like today?”

“Like right now”

“Uuhhh” you blushed, suddenly your heart was beating way too loud, “yeah, alright.”

You two are out in the hallway when you hear it.

“Master!” A child’s voice calls from behind your backs.

Your companion is already groaning and grimacing, but he turns towards the voice nonetheless. “Yes?”

You look over your shoulder and spot Anakin with a book in his hands.

“You said we’d continue with our lessons today” Anakin pouted.

“That I did, young padawan.” Obi-wan takes a step towards him. “But I’ve made plans with my friend, why don’t you rest today, eh?”

Anakin looks over at you, anger in his bright blue eyes as he walks closer to his master. “Everyone makes fun of me” the boy muttered.

Obi-wan bends to Anakin’s height, “who does? And why?”

“Because-“ the kid looks over at you and bites his tongue. “You know why” he says, shaking the book in his little hands.

Obi-wan returns to you with an apologetic smile, “Can I see you tomorrow?”

You crossed your arms on your chest, “you should not be helping with his homework, Kenobi” your tone is serious, solemn.

“I am n—“ with a hand on your bicep, he pushes you away from Anakin, then leans to your ear. “He is learning to read”

“WHAT?” You search for his eyes in shock. “He is ten years old”

“And he was also a slave. I don’t think his owner prioritized his education.” His voice sharp, protective.

Something within you broke as you looked at him and the child. You had been quick to judge them without knowing the full story. Your heart sank on your chest.

“Obi” the nickname dropped off your tongue as naturally as when you were children; all those times Obi-wan had cried with you for the lack of Qui-Gon’s interest, when he felt worthless or not enough.

“Don’t pity him” He ordered, “he hates that”

You looked back at the little kid behind you; his eyes glinted with curiosity, you could feel the Force beaming in him. A tender smile escaped your lips.

“I don’t, but I still wish he hadn’t.” You turned to the kid, then walked to him and leaned down to his height. “Would you like one more teacher?”

He did not answer. Instead, his eyes moved to Obi-wan’s searching for any sort of approval. Your attention stayed on the child until he nodded.

“Aright, I’ll take you to my favorite place to do homework.”

“Don’t guess” your finger is pointing to a word he is struggling to understand. “See letter by letter, what’s the first one?” You grab a fry from Obi-wan’s plate.

Anakin is sitting in front of you, his text book on the table surrounded by leftovers and milkshakes.

“K, A, S, H, Y” His brows furrow “why are there three y’s?”

“Das the way it was written” Obi-wan muttered next to you.

You turned to him with a disapproving look. “Terrible teacher. Maker.” With a sigh, you explained to Anakin, “Every Y stands for a different type of native and religious tree for the Planet’s inhabitants, the wookies. The Yaupon Holly, the Yew Pine and the Yulan.”

“How is it pronounced?”

“Kashi-yhk”

Anakin repeated the sound.

“Now read the whole sentence.”

His bright blue eyes returned to the reading.

Your hand extended to grab another fry but was quickly slapped. “Ouch”

“Don’t steal from the terrible teacher” Obi-wan feigned offence.

“Kashyyyk is a forest planet in the southwestern quadrant of the Republic.” Anakin read.

“Excellent, Ani!” You cheered with a smile. The child blushed as he continued his homework.

“This is not what I had in mind for tonight” Obi-wan whispered in your ear. His chin resting on your shoulder.

“Disappointed?” You turned to him.

“Not in the slightest. You’re good at this”

“Really makes ya wonder why you are the master, uh?” You teased.

“Any chance you want to be my associate?”

“Associate? You could use those big fat master checks to pay me for tutoring.”

He smirks, “or I could take you for a ride every once in a while”

“You must offer something I don’t already have”

“You don’t have a jedi master driving you around”

“I don’t need a master when I can get a bounty hunter”

You see his jaw tighten, “a bounty hunter? you deserve better”

“And what’s better?”

His eyes are on your lips and as he leans to kiss you, you grab your milkshake, taking a teasing sip.

He smirks and backs away.

“Oh, look at that”

You turn to find Anakin asleep on top of the book. His cheek plastered on his left hand, his right extended over the table with an abandoned fry on his fingers. You try not to laugh as you take your datapad out of your pocket and snap a picture.

“Time to go”

Obi-wan stands and takes Anakin in his arms, carrying him. You grab his book and head out together.

Before you reach the door Obi-wan calls your name. When you turned to him his lips were already on yours. It’s a soft, steady kiss.

“That’s better” He whispers against your lips. Part 5

[romihearts]

food delivery (grab) driver! kinich x reader

a/n: this is a stupid ramble thing to save my fried brain from exams aaauuuuueueaaagghhh this is also not proofread + im basing this off a delivery service in my country called grab

the bright light from your tv screen had been your only source of warmth these past hours. you were lazing around in your dark room, scrolling on your phone for any type of entertainment other than the gameshow presented on the tv. pending assignments long gone, you'd rather just worry about them tomorrow morning.

you didn't realize how late it exactly was, (it was 3 am) but something you did know was that you were hungry. not having any energy to really look for any open shops, you opted for online delivery. doubting that you'd really have a chance for finding food so late in the night, it didn't hurt to try.

opening the app, you scrolled for any shop available. you found one, it served [desired food here] at a decent price point. it even surprised you that they were still serving food at this late of an hour. nonetheless, you weren't really complaining. choosing your desired meals, you pressed 'order' and patiently waited for your food.

after 35 minutes or so a notification popped up on your screen that your food was now there, right infront of your home. quickly fixing yourself, you immediately head out.

the dark yet alluring night sky hid majority of the other houses. yet you could clearly see a distinct man and the motorcycle, holding what seems to be your food. the man looks around, then he spots you. you walked towards him with groggy eyes due to the prolonged light exposure from your electronics.

despite the dimness of night, the streetlights provided some light. from which you were finally able to see who was delivering your food.

the man had black hair, quite lucious too. he wore a bandana of the company's color: green. and despite the usual get-up of delivery drivers, he had a compression (is that what you call it?) shirt on with loose sage sweatpants. even though it was simply the weak streetlight shining below the both of you, you were immediately encapsulated by his image. what the fuck your delivery driver had you entranced ????

his voice called out, breaking you from your thoughts. "This is yours, I presume? Its [place price here]." you immediately scurried to get and give your money, thinking that you've already embarrassed yourself by staring.

the fact that there was barely any light was irritating. you couldn't find the needed coins to finally pay your driver who's been observing you for the past minute or so. with even more pressure, you hurried to find it and alas, you did! finally being able to pay him, you hand him your money while he hands you your food.

"took a bit there." the man commented. you wanted to simply melt to the floor from embarassment, but you first needed to apologize for his time. the man looked at you with a stoic expression before saying that it was just a 'joke'. he had a weird sense of humore it seemed.

the delivery driver finally set off, and you were now headed back to your place. while walking, you checked the paper bag and noticed some writing on it: "xx-xxx-xxx - ur delivery driver, kinich. call me."

[transformationsproject]

Today’s Legislative Updates April 3, 2025

Trans rights are still under attack in the United States. Please visit our website linked below to learn about your state and contact your reps. Here's a thread of today's updates:

Bathroom bills deny access to public restrooms by gender or trans identity. 

They increase danger without making anyone any safer and have even prompted attacks on cis and trans people alike. Many national health and anti-sexual assault organizations oppose these bills.

Old Bills:

Arkansas sent bill SB486 to the House State Agencies and Governmental Affairs Committee yesterday.

Tennessee deferred any action on bill HB0571 until next week on April 9.

Idaho’s governor signed bill H0264 yesterday. This bill goes into effect on July 1.

Healthcare bills go against professional and scientific consensus that gender-affirming care saves lives. Denying access will cause harm.

Providers are faced with criminal charges, parents are threatened with child abuse charges, and intersex children are typically exempted.

Old Bills:

Arkansas’ House amended bill HB1916 yesterday and sent it for a third House reading.

Georgia’s House passed bill SB185 yesterday and sent it to the Senate for approval. If approved, the bill will go to the governor next.

Georgia passed bill SB39 through its committee yesterday and sent it to the House floor.

Texas left bill HB778 pending in its committee yesterday.

Texas passed bill SB1257 through its committee yesterday and sent it to the Senate floor.

Educational Censorship and Student Suppression bills force schools to misgender or deadname students, ban instruction on sexual orientation and gender identity, and make schools alert parents if they suspect a child is trans.

They remove life-saving affirmation and support for trans youth. 

Old Bills:

Tennessee deferred any action on bill HB1270 until next week on April 9.

Tennessee removed bill HB1262 from the Education Committee calendar yesterday. This bill is likely dead.

Tennessee’s Senate passed bill SB0937 yesterday and sent it to the House.

Texas’ Senate passed an amended bill SB689 yesterday and sent it to the House.

Mississippi’s Senate approved the conference committee version of bill HB1193 yesterday and sent it to the governor.

Trans Erasure bills create legal definitions of terms like “sex” designed to exclude or erase trans identity and insert them into various laws. This can have many different effects, depending on what laws are affected.

They can force a male or female designation based on sex assigned at birth.

Some target anti-discrimination statutes, legally empowering trans discrimination. 

New Bill:

Maine filed trans erasure bill LD1432 last Tuesday. This bill seeks to remove gender identity as a protected class.

Old Bills:

Tennessee deferred any action on bill HB1271 until next session yesterday. This bill is likely dead.

Texas’ Senate passed an amended bill SB406 yesterday and sent it to the House.

Digital Censorship Bills describe any legislation that potentially targets Queer and Trans media/material for removal. 

They typically do this by using vague and broad definitions of "Obscene" or "Harmful to Minors" and then banning such content from being accessible to minors, which often either removes the material entirely or requires age verification methods in order to view. 

This includes online censorship bills, library book bans, and other such legislation.

Old Bill:

Iowa classified bill HF864 as unfinished business yesterday. This bill is likely dead.

Most sports bills force schools to designate teams by sex assigned at birth. 

They are often one-sided and ban trans girls from playing on teams consistent with their gender identity.

Some egregious bills even force invasive genital examinations on student athletes.

Old Bill:

Alaska added a co-sponsor for bill HB40 yesterday.

These are other anti-trans bills that either fit multiple categories or stand on their own.

Old Bills:

Arkansas’ House amended bill HB1615 yesterday and sent it for a third House reading.

Texas sent bill HB4425 to the House State Affairs Committee yesterday.

Missouri passed bill SB272 through its committee yesterday and sent it to the Senate floor.

North Carolina’s House passed bill H83 yesterday and sent it to the Senate.

It's not too late to stop these and other hateful anti-trans bills from passing into law. YOU can go to http://transformationsproject.org/ to learn more and contact your representatives!

[the-switch-conspiracy]

[Prev]

Intermission: The Perils Of Not Reading the User Manual!

[User 0001 has a new tutorial mission available. Would you like to access it? ^(@w@)^]

Shang Qinghua’s hand stilled from where it was shoved in his bowl of sunflower seeds. He’d been in the midst of a 3-hour paperwork binge, sorting requisitions that should have been handed in weeks ago - But noooo, prove you can do your job well, and what do you get rewarded with? More work! - When the system message flashed in front of him. Rather than its usual white text on cool blue, the letters were pulsing a soft warm yellow, and the screen seemed almost more teal… System did you update?! And what’s this about tutorial missions!

“What do you mean a new tutorial mission? You’ve never given me a tutorial mission before!” The seed shells crack in his grasp, tutorial missions? Ha! As if his system would give him something so helpful! B-points, plot adherence, what else is there?! Besides he literally grew up here, what more was there to learn!

[User 0001 is incorrect. This SYSTEM informed User at transmigration of pending tutorial missions. User responded -ahhhhgrawwahhhaaaah- and quite vigorously hit this SYSTEM’S mute button (o///o)]

BS! Not fair! This transmigrator was a baby! How could this one be expected to accept in that state?

[Further more, this SYSTEM has assigned multiple additional tutorial missions on review of User 0001’s activity. Due to User muting tutorial messages, this SYSTEM helpfully made them accessible through the System User Manual! (>OuO)>]

!!!! @$%* !!!! “A system user manual? And what is in said manual?” Shang Qinghua was sure his current face would even give the scum villain Shen Qingqiu pause. Grit teeth was an understatement, and Mu Qingfang would no doubt have much to say about the current clench of his jaw. Pulling all-nighters wasn’t easy, and the system playing him for a fool only made the no doubt impending migraine worse! He’s already been distracted from his signing of… what was it, ah yes more training swords for the Bai Zhan disciples! Of course it was Bai Zhan! Liu Shidi control your brats! Though he was sure he’d filled out this exact form hours ago! How many did you send??

[User could access:]

A secondary window popped up next to the first. It was a dull grey contrasting the bright teal of the first, its letters uniform and blocky, it’s text to speech voice less refined in its intonation. Unsurprisingly, it gave Shang Qinghua the creeps. It was the Windows 2000, to the system’s usual Windows XP!

{Information about preventing plot inconsistency! Information about disabling OOC lock! Information about unlocking the skill tree! Information about Author Permissions of the World State in Current P̷̧͆͋̌Ĩ̵̩͖̜̱̮̓̍̏̾̃͐̚Ḑ̷̩͔͕̑̏̽̔̐̓̎̅̇̓͆͝͝Ẅ̴̗̙̝͙̣̺̼̭̫́̉͑̄̓͆̅ ̸̧̼̞͔̼̳̖̮͙͍̳̥̩̜̇̿͗̏̽̇̽̀͘͜Ḯ̴͕̲̗̫̩̩͍̙̠͕̌̐̉͆́͒̂̚͜͝͝͝͝͝Ṋ̸̡̡̢̡̦̮̀̀̿͛͒̆͗S̷̨̧̛̞̞̹͒̋̒̃T̴̢̫͇̗̜̦̟̎̂̍̇̀̀̄̑͆̽͜A̵̢̡̢͖̤̩̯̗̟͇̝̹̦̓̀͛̃͋̑̇͘N̴̹̺͐̐̃͊́̋̄̅̆͑̀̃̃͋C̴̡̨̧͈̠͓̜͍͕̺͖͈̬̄̎̎͋̏̈́͗͜͝͠É̶̞͓͒͊͌̉ ̵̡̘͖̱̺̫̤̤̬̮͈̈́́̀̿͗̈́̎̍͜ͅS̸̢̫̳͕̱̰̹̲̪̠͕͉͔̓̅̓̅́̆̈́̌̔̑̕͜͝V̷̢̡̫̣̠̩̣̮̮̼̙̝̺̑͑̏̀͋̈̾̂͗͊͆̓͛͜͝͠S̴̳̣̭̐̀S̴̢͖̼̱͕͍̣͈͓̝̬̟̾̃̊̀̏̏̔̒͊̌̓̕ͅŜ̶̳͎̣̯̼́͑͂́͒͛́͠ ̵̞̱̜̫̻̘̩̜̓̐͌͜ͅ0̸̻̦̬̲̞̣̯̈́̋̑͗͊͗̈̉͋̿͑̚͘͜͝͠.̶̛̰͕̠̫͚͓̱̦̊̍̿͝2̴̨̡͙̙̲̫̺̹͎̱̣̟̓́̏͌̅̾͌̐̄̚!} A loud buzzing, crackling emanated from the screen, the final words so badly distorted they were unreadable to him. A peculiar sense of dread engulfed him, like he’d looked upon something not meant for human eyes. The window popped shut with a static hum.

“So uh, picked up any malware lately?” It was said with the all the dread that only a man facing his imminent demise could scrounge up! Completely ignoring him, the system continued.

[Tutorial Missions Available:

(Completed) Transmigrated and All I Got was Anxiety! Reward: Mellowdust Prescription, User Name Change.

(Tutorial) Welcome to your Authorial Debut! Reward: 500 B-points.

(Main) The Frozen North. Reward: Always Warm Socks.

Two of a Kind! Reward: System Chat. (Currently Unavailable)

(Tutorial) What is a Self Saving System? Reward: Disabled OOC Lock. (Alternative Route Chosen)

(Tutorial) System Archival Update Tutorial. Reward: A Cool Cape, ARCHIVAL Glasses.

NEW QUEST! (Main) The Archivist Assistant! Reward: Access to the ARCHIVIST, Access to the ARCHIVES.

NEW QUEST! (Main) A bug is a bug i̷̪̩̕š̸̢̳̜̣̻͓̖͚͕͕͉̜̖̼̄͗͛͑̋̓̀̉̀͝ ̸̢̱̥̬̙̞̭̞̹̫͜͝ã̸̡̻͊̇̄̍̆͑̔̏̇ ̷̨̳̱̼̹̙̺̙͙̖̞̫̥͍̄́͗̄̃̕b̸̤͇̼̘̭̉̆̈́̃̀̒̈́͛u̸̻̥͍͎̦̅̈̐̀̈̋͐̈́́̿͝g̶̦̹̬̞͍̗͉̀ͅ. Reward: 10 000 F-points.]

“What the hell are these rewards, and what the hell are F-points?” Shang Qinghua has lived most of his new life in fear, it truly is an old friend in that one regard. Ever present; the fear of being found out a traitor, the fear of dying to Mobei-Jun, the fear of not having enough B-points and simply boop, gone, back to a carcass. It’s exhausting, it’s constant, every win and point and eked out bit of happiness danced tumultuously on a wire, hanging thousands of feet above the clouds. One beat out of tune, one misstep, the sudden slack of the wire… no Shang Qinghua.

Now a new fear made manifest; the system is acting strange. The system that arbitrarily decides whether he’s here or not, isn’t behaving the way it should. Archives? F Points! Tutorials? It felt wrong, out of place, like looking at one of those ‘guess the difference’ puzzle games, and realising the picture is of your childhood room taken from the closet door. Or something like that. Maybe he should go back more towards ‘heaving flesh more pebbled than the path they trekked to get there’ type metaphors..? Or perhaps back to filling in the requisitions for… Thousand Night Honey for Qian Cao Peak, Mu Shidi that stuff isn’t so easily bought! Hmm, wasn’t this form…?

[F-points are a new reward point type for specific missions! Like B-points for being a bad-ass, Satisfaction points for helping others, F-points are Fix-Points. They can be used to bring stability to plot changes and purchase helpful items you can’t get from the B-point shop! As for the rewards, well User 0001 only needs to complete the mission to find out! (>///<)]

Stability to plot changes? So, he can change things… But why now? Was it the update, or something else? This bad feeling inside… the more he thinks about it, it only grows stronger. His eyes flick to the corner of the room, the shadows on the wall. A perfect copy cast from the potted plant in front of it, only slightly hazy at the edges. His eyes flick again, to the light coming through the window. It’s morning, the sun having only risen four hours before, yet the dawn casts gentle rays through the gauze. Dust moats float silver in the soft gold.

[Shang Qinghua has one more mission available. Would you like to access it?]

That window faces the west.

[NEW QUEST! (Main) Save the World!]

[Next]

[astr0-physcs]

Jesus Christ that Reiner and Jean fix was so good, could you write for a female Reader too? Thanks!!!

yes!! i'm so glad you liked it <3

mission(ary)

-Reiner Braun x Jean Kirschstien x f!Reader

-WC: 5k

-Warnings!:

Threesome, nipple play, oral, (F and M receiving) unprotected sex, praise, degradation

-A/N!

vvv happy that ppl want both versions! Thank you nonnie <3

The sun rose over the horizon bathing the cadets in a golden glow. Every morning started this way, all the cadets lined up, waiting for their orders. Captain Levi stood before them, the rising sun to his back. You stood next to Sasha, you both were standing shoulders back, fist over heart, eyes forward towards the Captain. Finally he broke the silence that had fallen over the group.

"Marco, you are heading into the Trost district with Sasha to make a supply run. There is a shipment under Commander Erwin's name”

The cadets gave a quick nod, not moving from their place in line.

“Alright. Mikasa, you will look after the horses.” One more quick nod.

“Annie, Bertolt, and Armin. Refill the gas chambers for ODM equipment.” Everyone nods in agreement.

"Eren." A beat of silence.

"Yes, Captain?" he responded, shifting slightly.

“Cleaning duty.”

A look of pain appeared on Eren's face. Nevertheless he agreed. A few people in the group snickered.

Caption Levi went on to the next assignment.

"Y/N, Jean, Reiner, Ewrin’s office. Special task for you.”

You swallow, uneasy. Typically, such missions required venturing outside the walls. The Captain moves on when you give him a nod. The recruits scatter when the Caption allows them to.

Reiner and Jean move from the other side of the line to you. A shadow fell over you from the two big men. Together you and the other two men walked to Ewrin’s office in pending silence.

You take the initiative to knock on the door and Erwin's calls for you to enter.

"Cadets," he utters from his desk. You approach his desk with Jean and Reiner on your tail.

"Take a seat." He gestures toward the chairs in front of his desk. With some hesitation, you take a seat, followed by the other two soldiers.

"You have been given a scouting assignment by Captain Levi and myself." Ewrin said, laying a roughly drawn map out on his orderly desk.

"You will leave at noon and end up here in the forest,” Erwin said, pointing to a marked spot on the map. “ Then you will need to be back here by noon tomorrow. You will then take note of where the nearest titan is. Also, you will need to get your supplies from the cadets who are in charge of the ODM gear.”

You give a respectful nod.

“I wish you cadets luck.” Ewrin said, getting to his feet and giving the cadets the salute.

The three of you quickly rise to your feet and return his salute.

Together, you exclaim, "Thank you, Commander, Sir!"

Silently, the three of you leave his office and head towards the gear room. You didn't know Jean and Reiner as well as you wanted to, and they were uncomfortable with each other. To put it mildly, it was awkward. The entrance to the gear room was opened by the three of you.

"Hey-"

"Armin, my friend!" Jean said, walking confidently towards the blonde.

Startled, Armin looked up, and dropped the gas canister he was holding. The sound of the metal hitting the hardwood floor echo off the stone walls. The room had been a dining room and was quite big. A large wood table and many wooden chairs that matched the dark oak of the table were set aside in the corner to make room for the gear supplies. A large chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling. This was still the only other source of light for the room, although it was covered in spiderwebs. Levi hasn't found it yet. Now the room was filled with ODM gear and shelves of grappling hook holsters. Armin recovered quickly, and picked up the runaway gas can.

“Armin, stop dropping stuff.” Said Annie from the other side of the room, where she was inserting some ODM. Armin nervously laughed and placed the gas into the gear. You and Reiner stepped into the room.

“Hi, Armin.” You say joining Jean in front of the small blonde man, sitting on the ground. He smiles back at you.

“Hey. What are you doing here? I thought you were talking to Commander Erwin?”

You nod. “Yeah, we were-”

“Yeah we did. Told us to go scouting.” Jean interrupted, rolling his eyes. “We need ODM gear.”

You glare at Jean, before turning back to Armin and saying “Can we please get ODM gear?”

"Oh, yes, definitely. Let me get you set up.” He looked anxiously at Annie and Bertolt, who were talking with Reiner.

"H-Hey Annie,can you help me get them ready?” He asked, getting to his feet.

Annie nodded once in agreement before walking over to the back to fetch the gear suits. Bertolt followed after a brief conversation with Reiner, and the blond returned to you and Jean.

"Thank you Armin." You called after him. Annie and Bertholdt return with three sets of suits and give one to each of you. You slide on the leather and tighten the straps until the outfit fits tightly around your waist. Annie and Armin grab the gas canisters, while Bertolt takes the grappling hook holders.

They move around you three, attaching the hefty metal to your waistbands. "Alright. You are all set. Good luck." Armin offers you a tentative smile. You give him a kind smile back. Jean taps your shoulder and you guys exit the building.

Mikasa stood outside with three horses, well equipped for the journey. You walk up to your horse, her name is Hope. She was a deep brown horse with a long black mane. Mikasa had gotten the saddles on all the horses and packed the bags on the side with food, water, tents, and other survival gear. You did a quick check of everything to make sure nothing was missing. The other two did the same checks as Mikasa watched on.

"Thank you." Reiner spoke, once he had checked everything and patted his house a bit. Mikasa nodded and reached up for her scarf. You turn to pet the horse, and Levi approaches you.

“I believe Erwin has already informed you, but you three are going to go to the border outside the walls and mark the location of the nearest titan. You are to return by noon tomorrow. Understood?”

The three of you saluted to Levi. “Yes Captain!”

He nods in acknowledgment. “Good luck cadets.” The Captain turns away and you relax your stance. Hopping up into the horse's saddle, you pet the horse and turn around to secure your equipment. Mikasa stood nearby, hand in her scarf. Jean turned around and said goodbye, and you and Reiner waved. Whipping the reins of the horse, you turn around and follow Jean to the exit of camp.

The ride to Wall Maria wasn't unbearable. You and Jean made some commentary, with quick inputs from Reiner.

“Okay, now that we're outside the safety of camp, everyone needs to keep an eye out for titans. We can't let our guard down.” Jean says

Reiner sighs. “ Jean, we get it. You don't need to remind us about the titans.”

You giggle and roll your eyes playfully. “Seriously, it's like you're trying to scare us”

Jean huffs. “Just tryna make sure everyone is alert, that's all.”

“Says the guy who can't keep his eyes off somebody's body for five minutes…” You mumble, smirking slightly. Jean whips his head around at you. “The fuck you'd just say to me?”

“Guys please. Can we just stick to the job-?” Reiner sighs.

“At least when I speak, I have important things to say. You just yap yap yap.” Jean shoots back.

You shake your head. “Jean, you're making this worse by arguing.”

“You're the one who started it!”

You hide the smirk threatening to appear. “Hey, I'm just saying what we're all thinking here.”

Reiner now turns to the two of you. “Can we not take things personally and focus on the mission here?”

“And why don't you mind your business? Not your fight here, pal.” Jean glares at Reiner, who side eyes him back.

“Jean, calm down. You're acting dumb right now.”

“I'm perfectly calm!” Jean shouts not so calmly.

You giggle. “Yeah keep telling yourself that, tough guy…”

Jean opened his mouth to speak, but in that moment, Reiners horse reared up, clearly spooked. Reiner yelped and slid off the horse and onto the ground. The horse bolted and Reiner groaned, shaking the mud off of his uniform.

Jean lets out a snort and the two of you burst into laughter, doubling over at the sight.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up you two…” Reiner grumbled, but a small smile appeared on his face. He wipes off the mud that got onto his clothes, and sighs.

“Let's go get your horse.” You say, still laughing.

The poor horse was off near one of the damaged houses, munching on grass. You and Jean grin as Reiner goes and tries to calm the horse. You notice how softly he pets the horse's nose and sighs softly. The animal nudges the blonde's hand a little and his smile returns softly.

Once Reiner hops back onto the horse again, the rest of the traveling was smooth sailing. Jean made quips at you, you argued back and Reiner tried to mediate, but gave up about halfway through.

The sky turned a milky orange hue with few clouds by the time the three of you made it to the designated camp site. You lead your horse to the nearby forest, with a small stream nearby for the animals to drink from. The cover of the forest protected you from being seen by the massive Titans. Reiner grabs the tent from his horse and lays it out on the forest floor.

“Alright. Who wants to help put up the tent and who wants to search for wood?” Reiner asks, standing up from where he was kneeling next to the tent.

“I'll go! I'm a very good wood finder.” Jean said confidently, hands on his hips.

“I'm sure you are…” You snickered. Jean glared at you.

“Ha ha, very funny.”

Your smirk widened. Glancing over to Reiner, your smile turns from devilish to slightly confused. Reiner appeared also confused, his dark hazel eyes flickering between the two of you.

“Reiner?”

“I don't get it.” He says bluntly. Jean grins wide.

“Looks like you're up!” He says, harshly patting your shoulder. His touch lingered a little too long, but it's not like you noticed, too busy being flushed with embarrassment at explaining the joke.

“S-so. Um. Y’know how sometimes people refer to… to dick-”

“Stop. I am sick of dick jokes.” Reiner held up his hand, his face twisting into annoyance and disgust. “You two have made so many dick jokes I wonder if your own dicks are a joke.”

You and Jean furrowed your eyebrows. “Hey!” you spoke simultaneously, then glared at each other.

“I bet you're right about Jean. I mean, the taller the man, the smaller the dick.”

Jean looked appalled. “Where in the world did you learn that?”

“A textbook,” you shrugged. “Maybe you would know that information if you decided to give reading a try.”

“Oh, you little-” Jean started forward, but Reiner braced an arm against his chest.

“ Jean, you're making yourself look stupid again. Go get firewood before it gets dark and you trip over yourself.”

Jean rolls his eyes dramatically. “Oh, for fucks sake…” He mutters. You impishly grin and he flips you off.

“Jean.” Reiner says. Jean groans and trudges off into the forest. You giggle and turn back to Reiner.

“Alright, you get to help me put up this tent.” He kneels down next to the camouflage tent. You lean down next to him and he hands you part of the tent, spreading the tent on the clearing. Reiner grabs metal stakes and poles, setting up the tent with ease and practice. You smile at him warmly, but miss the way his ears go red.

The sun began to dip into the mountains, casting a deep sienna color across the forest. Clouds turn a watery hue of pink and red, the forest beginning to cool down. Jean came back with wood, and set them down unceremoniously. He grinned at you and Reiner, placing his hands on his hips.

"Wood!" he exclaims. You nod.

"Very good observation, Jean." You say as if you were talking to a toddler.

He drops his hands and glares at you.

"Hey, set up the fire, why don't you?" Reiner interrupts, preventing Jean from opening his mouth to argue. Jean scoffs, so you stick your tongue out at him. You walk over to your horse and grab your knife and matches. Walking back to the small fire ring you had already created while Jean was getting firewood, you kneeled down and slipped the wood using your knife, then gathered the small slithers into a teepee shape. Looking around the fire ring, you found pine needles and dead leaves, the perfect heat starter. You grab as many as you can and place them inside your little wood teepee.

You strike a match and place it inside the teepee and watch as the dead pine needles and leaves go up in flames and burn quickly. As the wood you placed began to burn you added more until you had a good sized fire.

You squat down next to the fire and wrap your arms around your knees.

“What time do you think we should get up to mark the titans location?” Jean asks behind you. You don't turn, enjoying the warmth of the fire against your skin.

“Dawn. The cloud coverage will be good for us.” Reiner answers. The blond comes into your vision and sits next to you. “Nice fire you've made.”

You smile. “Thanks, Reiner.” He smiles back at you.

“Hey, I got that wood, yknow!” Jean marches in front of you, fists clenched by his sides. You glance up with a smirk.

“Yeah sure, but who lit the match and cut the branches after you oh so graciously dumped them here?” Jeans mouth opened like a fish out of water. He glanced around, trying to think of something else to say.

“W-Well… That, that may be true, but…” the brunette stammers. You raise your eyebrows. “But..? But what, Jean?”

Jean narrows his eyes, still trying to counter you. Finally, he shuts his eyes and sits down, irritated. You giggle softly, and Reiner smiles softly.

“Let's get dinner ready.” Reiner stood up and grabbed some prepackaged food from his bag. He tossed Jean a package, while gently handing yours to your outstretched hands. He then hands you a pot to boil the water. Once the water gets to a boil, you tear open the food and pour the hot water in, then you pour the water into the other boys packs too. Once it cooks and cools you enjoy the chicken and rice.

Finished with your meal, you hum happily. “Not bad for a prepackaged meal!”

Jean hums next to you, and you glance over. His eyes sparkle, the orange firelight dancing in his irises. He was looking at you like you were the only moment that mattered right now. Questions bubbled up in your chest, and you opened your mouth to speak. Reiner coughed, and you weren't sure it was coincidental. You catch his eye, and shut your mouth in shock. Reiners icy gaze was narrowed sharply. You shift your confused gaze back to Jean, who was still looking at you gently, orange firelight flickering in his eyes. He seemed to catch on to the tension Reiner was causing, but remained silent. The only sound that was emanating was the flickering of fire and the snapping of heated wood.

Reiner finally spoke, his voice thick and intense. “Did you want to say something?”

You reeled back, slightly stunned at his tone. Blinking, you shake your head no. His gaze doesn't shift, and you feel like a deer caught in headlights. After a heartbeat, Reiner slowly looks away from you. Your heart beat in your chest and you take a deep breath. Turning back to Jean, you notice that the brunette’s eyes haven't moved off of your face. Your cheeks heat up softly and you clear your throat.

“We should get ready for bed.” Reiner spoke again, spooking you. You look at him again, expecting a cold sharp gaze again. His blue eyes were softer than before, but he held your gaze with the same intensity.

“Yeah, yeah. You're right.” You say, standing up and brushing off the crumbs on your lap. Jean stands too, his focus still on you. Reiner watches you as you move around the fire, cleaning up after yourself. Then you put out the fire, making sure every spark was out. You move to your horses, who are sitting softly on the grass. You grab the sleeping bag that Mikasa provided and turn to Jean. “Where do you wanna sleep?”

“You're sleeping in the middle.” Reiners gruff voice called. You turn around, looking at him.

“Me or Jean?”

“You.” He said bluntly, his gaze focused on the supplies on his horse. You blink.

“That works for me.” Jean says calmly. You turn back to him. “Oh, alright. I'll go set up.” You walk to the tent and kneel down, entering inside. You roll out your bag and unzip it, waiting for Jean and Reiner. The blonde opens the tent and enters, making prolonged eye contact with you. You swallow nervously and glance away. Jean follows suit, entering the tent and smiling at you. The blonde rolls out his bag on your right, while Jean sets his things down on your left.

You begin unpacking your things, and notice both male gaze as you do so. Blush runs to your cheeks, but you don't look at either of them.

You set everything you needed to out for the night, and glance silently at your comrade. His gaze had fallen to the floor, the soft pink dusting his cheeks making him appear more genuine than before, when you two were arguing. He opens his mouth and closes it, like he was gathering the courage to say something.

“Good night.” Was the words that came out of his mouth. You smile softly. “Night Jean.” Turning to Reiner you repeat yourself. “Night, Reiner.”

Good night, Y/N.” he mumbled, his back already facing you. You lay down in your bag, not bothering to zip it up all the way on either side. Your eyes turned up to the tent ceiling. The heat of the dying fire radiated into the tent, and your heartbeat slowed.

You hear Jean turning around next to you, and you're suddenly aware of how cramped this tent actually is. His leg kicks out gently from the bag and sneaks into yours. You brush it off as an accident, dismissing the electric feeling that sparked through your body.

But then you felt his chest against your back. Your eyes shoot open. Gently, you try to shove him off and back into his own bag, but his calloused hands wrap around your waist.

“Jean…?” You whisper. Jean doesn't make a sound, instead pulling you closer. His breath was warm against your neck, and you shudder softly. His body curves against yours, cradling you with no escape.

“Jean-” You whisper again, but his thumb presses against your pink lips, silently shushing you. Your mind reels at how close he is, and how hot his fingertips seem to be. His other hand begins roaming down your body, slipping up your shirt and gently caressing your abdomen.

Finally, Jean speaks. His voice is rough and thick with lust.

“Tell me to stop, baby.”

Your cheeks heat up. Your body was reacting to the brunette’s wandering hands, shuddering and relaxing in his heat. You let your eyes shut, losing yourself in his hold. His hand on your abdomen reached higher and higher, until the pad of his finger was circling your nipple. A small, barely audible wine leaves your throat and Jean smirks against your nape. The hand on your lips slowly snuck down to your neck, holding you possessively. You whine again, and Jean pinches your nipple. You gasp and arch slightly, your ass pressing into his pelvis. He groans and nips your skin softly. Suddenly, he raises your tan shirt up to your collarbones, exposing your perky tits to the night air. You gasp again, slightly louder this time. Jeans' strong hand coaxes your neck to fall onto his shoulder, pressing your back into a perfect arch. You bite your lip and Jean begins groping your tit. Another noise, a whine, escapes your mouth. Jean pressed his mouth against your neck, sucking. Your body writhes, your dick slowly getting harder.

“Jean…” You choked out a whisper.

“Yes, baby?” He spoke slowly in return.

Abruptly, Reiner turned over to you, hazel eyes sharp.

“Could you keep-” His voice stops short at the sight of you, back pressed into an arch and chest exposed. “What…?” His voice lost its irritated edge, softening at the erotic scene laid out before him.

Embarrassment floods your body, your face turning red. You try to curl out of the arch Jean has you pressed in, but a solid bite on your neck makes you stop.

“Fuck…!” You squeak out, hands trying to cover your body. Jean takes his fingers off your boob and smacks your hand away.

“Jean, wait…” You plead softly.

“I think somebody likes the show. You wanna show off for him?” He murmurs in your ear.

He lets you tilt your head enough to look at Reiner. The blonde was watching intently, mouth slightly agape. His blue eyes were hazed over slightly, and his cheeks were flushed pink. You suddenly felt very self conscious about your chest being exposed, but Jean pulled you back into the arch he had you in. His fingers ghost over your nipple again, before tugging harshly. You squeal, your hips rutting softly against nothing.

“You want a taste?” Jean asked, loudly enough for Reiner to hear. Jean twists your neck softly and presses a kiss to your lips. He breaks away, then slots his mouth between yours. His tongue wrapped around yours, and he bites your lip, tugging it before pulling away.

Reiner shifts again, not knowing what to do with his body. Jean slides his mouth down your neck again, lightly biting and kissing your heated skin.

“Can I…?” Reiner said softly, his breath bated. Jean releases your neck so you can look at him with half lidded eyes. You nod, biting your lip. “Y-yea…” You moan again and Jean tugs your nipple again. Reiner breathes out softly and moves a hand tentatively to your other tit. He pinches it softly and you whine.

“Do…do you like that?” Reiner breathes.

You open your mouth to respond, but it ends up as a high pitched moan. Jean tugged on your tit harshly.

“Course she does. I mean, just listen to the way she moans.” He says, holding your nipple out for a minute before relaxing it. “Give it a try.”

Reiner swallows, fingers still resting on your chest. He gives a tug, and your hips jerk in the air. Breathy moans escape you, no longer trying to stay quiet. Reiner shifts his body closer, and leans down. He looks up at you, carnal desire threatening to take over. He presses his mouth to your tit and bites gently. An erotic whine erupts from your mouth, and your hips jerk. Everything was so hot, you could barely stand it. Your hand goes out to palm Jean through his pants and he groans quietly.

“Want these off, baby?” He whispers into your neck.

“Yes, fuck-! Y-yes, please…” You whine. Jean snickers.

“Such a good girl. How could I possibly refuse?” Jean’s hand on your chest slid down to his pants, undoing the zipper and sliding them down.

You could feel every movement, his body pressed right against you.

“You too, pretty girl.” He whispered. Reiner moved his hand to the boob Jean had abandoned, and gave it a harsher squeeze. You moan again and whine and the blonde’s tongue swirled around the sensitive tit.

Jean slid his hand down your pants, undoing the zipper and sliding off the restraining material. Your body shudders, now being nearly completely exposed to the night air. Your thighs shuddered, pussy dripping slick. Reiner suddenly left your chest and slid up to you.

“Sit up.” He said bluntly. Jean let go of your body so you could slide out of the sleeping bag. You gave Reiner a hazy quizzical look, but your confusion disappeared when he sat up too, grabbed your waist, and spun you around, back to his chest. Reiner pulled your shirt over your arms and head, then pressed you against his body. His hands go back to tugging your chest and you throw your head back, unable to silence your moans.

Jean smirks and places himself in between your legs.

“Open up, baby.” He said, then gently spread your legs apart.

Your pussy made a slick sound as Jean pried your folds open.

“Damn, fuckin’ gorgeous clit youve got.” Jean whistled lowly.

“Th- Thank- ah-! Thank you…!” You spoke in between whines. Jean pushed in a slender finger, pumping in and out, eliciting a pornographic moan from you. Your hips stuttered, trying desperately to fuck yourself in Jean’s hand.

Reiner leaned down to your ear.

“Desperate, are we? Such a slut…” He muttered. His words went straight to your clit, and your body jerked. Jean pressed the flat of his tongue against the bundle of nerves and a string of whines fell from your lips. You nearly arched off on Reiner as Jean pressed his tongue inside your clenching hole. Your clit pulsed hotly against Jean’s nose, meeting your lust filled eyes.

“W-wait, gonna-” You try to warn, before Jean sucks harshly at the same time Reiner pinches your nipples. Hot cum exploded in the brunette's mouth, and you nearly screamed. Jean swallowed and smirked, before rising up to make out with you.

“Taste yourself.” He said before sliding his mouth against yours. Bitter cum flooded your taste buds, but you were too fucked to care. Jean broke away and gently pried your body off on Reiner.

“Ass up, slutty.” Jean said with a smile. His hand presses you into a perfect arch, your tight holes displayed for Reiner.

“Shake your ass.” Jean said again, and you wiggle your ass gently. Reiner smacked it hard, and you jolted forward with the force. Jean pressed his cock to your lips, smirking. “Be a good girl and return the favor, hm?”

You open your mouth, letting your tongue roll out. Reiner pressed his precum slicked cock against your pussy lips and you whined. He shoves himself in, and you fall onto Jean with a breathy whine. You could nearly feel the blonde in your throat, if it weren't for the actual dick reaching your esophagus. Your eyes roll back as the pleasure, your hole gushing again.

“Gooood fuckin’ girl. Tight hole you've got.” Reiner groans.

Jean’s wolfish grin returns again. “You a virgin, honey?”

You nod softly, tears falling down your cheeks as you gag on Jean. He barks a laugh and thrusts down your throat. You choke and gag, spit running down your chin. Reiner grabs your hips and begins pistoning into you.

“Fuck, fuck fuck…” The blonde muttered as he hammered into your G-spot repeatedly. Jean leans back, the force of Reiner’s thrusts enough to move you on his dick. You nearly lose yourself in the pleasure, feeling their dicks twitch with each thrust and gag. Your pussy spurts all over again, your hole clenching around Reiner.

Jean coos at you.

“Doing such a good job. ‘I'm gonna cum down your throat, alright?” You don't hear him, the sound of Reiner behind you too loud and graphic.

“Fuck, close, baby. Lemme cum inside, okay?” Reiner says, and slaps you on the ass again when you don't respond. You jolt forward and whine hoarsely in agreement. Reiner twitches once, twice, before he buries himself to the hilt inside you. He pressed you to the base of Jean, who threw his head back and moaned as he came in your mouth. You suck him clean as he stares at you, panting hard.

Jean grabs your head and gently pulls you off his dick, smiling at your fucked out expression. Reiner pulls out and wipes his dick on your ass poorly before tucking himself back into his pants. You collapse, exhausted. Jean laughs fondly, and you pass out right there.

The last thing you remember is big hands shifting you back into your sleeping bag, the soft sound of the zipper and two kisses pressed against your forehead.

The next morning you woke to sunlight. You blinked, and immediately jolted out of bed. You thought you had missed your only task, marking down the Titans. You wince as you try to move, your pussy and stomach throbbing. Suddenly, the tent unzipped and Jean poked his head in.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Don't worry, we marked down the Titan’s location.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, nearly plopping down back into your bag.

“Did you get enough beauty sleep?” Jean asks.

“Yeah, no thanks to you two. My whole body hurts. How the fuck am I supposed to ride back to camp?” you complain.

Jean rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Figure it out yourself. I'm not the one who got fucked dumb last night.”

You glare at him. “Yeah cuz you get no hoes. Literally bitchless.”

Jean gasped. “You mother-”

“Good morning, Y/N. I hope you slept alright.” Reiner shoved Jean out of the way, who yelped. You smile. “I did, thank you.” Reiner smiled back.

“Good. We're packing up now. If you need a cushion, I can give you my cape.” Reiner offered, glancing away.

“Kiss ass…” Jean muttered from outside the tent.

[quaddmgd]

Aya Strife

So I guess I can't hide away how ff7 has been rotting my brain away for the past almost two months now. First it was mostly Aerith's and Tifa's ship, which is still constantly on my mind, and now it's also Claudia (aka Cloud's mom).

I kinda got invested in her character and her admittedly tragic story. I honestly think that she's all heart, that life hasn't treated her well, both before giving birth to Cloud and after. The townsfolk looked down on her ambitions and then she got stuck with a child at the age of 17, with her husband dying or leaving them when Cloud was only in his walking age. She was clearly a vibrant and loving woman, but Cloud was the only person she had, until he left to work at Shinra.

And since she's pretty, I joked to my wife that she could use a tall blonde empathetic woman (like me) as support. We started joking around about writing an xreader fic, which led to this idea.

While it originally was a joke, I actually reworked it a bit and started writing. The issue was that, after some time, the character that was supposed to be the blank slate for the reader got too much backstory and personality, and, well, became an OC. I decided to call her Aya.

Aya is a 25 year old woman working at Shinra as a junior enumerator. Her education and work for Shinra were mostly ambitions of her parents, not hers. Due to her upbringing and education, she grew up to be a loner and, despite her pay, she's largely unhappy with her life. She doesn't feel good at her job and people around her feel mostly cold, including her family.

As a part of her field assignment, she ends up in Nibelheim. While doing her job, she meets Claudia and, due to ongoing weather conditions at the time, the woman decides to take her in for the night. They are getting along in general and it's not often they both have somebody to talk to, so they spend a pleasant evening, sitting by the fireplace and bonding over hot chocolate. They both realize that they have something in common and the rest is in the fic :3

As I was writing that fic throughout the last week, I came up with many scenarios involving both Claudia and Aya, outlining an entire au where Claudia finds a soulmate, survives Nibelheim thanks to her, settles with her somewhere quiet and they get engaged.

During the events of ff7, Cloud learns that his mom is alive and, with the help of the rest of the gang, he finds her and Aya. There are some cool dynamics between the characters, but all that matters for now is that they're going to end up getting married and Aya takes Claudia's last name - Strife.

The fic I wrote ended up to be the origin story of their relationship, covering mostly their first night together. Since it was born from a joke, it is a smut, but not only most of it is just very cute fluff, I also think that I portrayed their feelings well enough to warrant things happening the way they do, at least for how ff7's universe works.

If I'm brave enough, I might post it in the next few weeks or however long my ao3 verification is going to take.

As for Aya's appearance, for the longest time I was imagining a girl largely identical in looks to Cissnei from Crisis Core and I couldn't get that image out of my head. Only after downloading Freedom Wars I decided to play with its character creator and create new looks for her. This is the end result:

I think I'm happy with how she looks and I can only hope that her appearance fits ff7 and her personality, while remaining distinguishable enough for her to be a memorable character if she was in the actual game.

I think that's all I have to share about her for now. Ship name is still pending, but I want to come up with something cute, most likely referring to the first time they met or how they make each other feel in general.

[raccoonfallsharder]

future projects. part three.

additional, unslated projects part one | part two | navigation | fanfiction masterlist

below you can find the stuff i am thinking about and am hoping to eventually write, but they are not currently on the calendar. (that could change, of course!) for projects that are already (tentatively) scheduled, check out parts one and two or the current monthly forecast (accessible through the navigation page or the #aspirations tag). thank you for being amazing little wildflowers and droplets of sunshine and moonlight. you are the gleam of a unicorn's horn under the stars.

fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎‬ | much smut ❤︎‬❤︎

hot single dads in your spacestation. rating undecided | reader undecided | no use of y/n | oneshot | wordcount pending.

still working on the oneshot of this post.

daydreaming about quitting my job and running away to outer space. i’d live in a city in a giant floating skull and i’d run a street-food stall for the neighborhood. i’d teach the local sentient tree how to play stardew valley, and just fucken recklessly hit on his hot dad every chance i got

ivy divider by @/strangergraphics | offcenter ivider and support banner by @/saradika-graphics

universe killer. 18+ mdni | DARK CONTENT | f!reader | no use of y/n | 3-6 parts | wordcount pending.

animated celestial divider @/enchanthings | black glitter divider @/firefly-graphics | orange stringlight divider @/thecutestgrotto | neon mdni banner by @/cafekitsune

other duties as assigned. 18+ only | rocket x f!oc | ?? | word count: pending. ~i'm not sure this will ever get written but it is in the back of my head, always. natasha romanoff is an administrative nightmare - a fact that does not go unnoticed by the (interim) captain of the milano. First she demands that the remaining two guardians of the galaxy be reachable via a primitive terran messaging system, and then she can't be bothered to read the frickin' emails. thank fuck she's hired a new assistant. mcu-based, slight au, begins five months post-snap; rocket x oc email romance/LDR (lol); slow burn + probable smut with feelings.

scheduled projects...

part one | part two | navigation | fanfiction masterlist

[topgunbigbang]

are artists assigned randomly to a fic or do they get to pick (first come/first serve) to which story they wish to do art for?

hello! pending final numbers, artists will be given a full summary and tags of all the fics (without author’s details), and they will pick their top 3/5/whatever suits our final numbers.

if we need help with pinch hitting, they may not get to choose their second fic. in the instance where some artists will be working with two fics, we will do a round two of selections for artists to still pick which fic/s they are interested in if that was the case!

we will match people’s top X picks to select them, so it won’t be first come first serve as much as it will be the mod team allocating based on preference!

artists are a crucial part of the big bang, and them enjoying the fics they get paired with is very important to the mod team!!

- top gun big bang mods

[thana-topsy]

I’m infinitely fascinated by the falmer in Halfway to the Sky, I really want to know more about your ideas for their culture etc

Thank you so much anon! I kind of had to sit with this one, since I don't really have a lot of my Falmer headcanons written out or in one place as it stands. Before writing their introduction in Halfway to the Sky, I began by researching modern isolated tribes and what first contact with those tribes looked like and, surprise surprise, humans are pretty universal in a lot of ways. I try to apply the same to the Falmer. In true form, I started writing my thoughts down and it got a little long, so I went ahead and turned it into a scholarly pamphlet written (with the help of a sighted-person) by none other than the budding expert on the subject of Falmeri cultural exchange: Sarel of Winterhold. (No real spoilers for HttS, just hints and nods). Sorry, again, this got LONG.

[PAMPHLET ONE] An Introduction to the Modern Falmer: Social Structure, Family, and Trade By Sarel of Winterhold, transcribed by co-researcher and Dwemer scholar Aicantar

Quite possibly the most misunderstood nation of our modern era is that of the Falmer, living quietly beneath the surface of Skyrim and no doubt beneath the other provinces of Tamriel. The Falmeri diaspora after the disappearance of the Dwemer is still very much a mystery with little written documentation following the dubiously researched and far-too-often quoted ‘War of the Crag’. (My thoughts on that to come). However, through my years of close contact with several of the Skyrim tribes, and with the aid of my research partner (who is currently assisting in my transcription of this document), we have managed to construct a rough timeline of events based on the Falmer’s oral history provided to us, as well as a basic understanding of their culture and practice.   

SOCIAL STRUCTURE AND FAMILY

As it stands, I would classify Skyrim Falmer as a nation of loosely associated tribes. There is no centralized ruling body, but there is a clear social structure found repeated among the independent tribes. The structure is as follows:

There is a Matriarch, usually the eldest member of the tribe, almost always female (with some exceptions), whose duties are similar to that of a Jarl, though she acts as more of a spiritual/religious leader as well. She is a magic user first and foremost, and has received the “Gifts of the Old Masters” (see: Tonal Architecture; pamphlet 3) as part of her necessary requirements for the role. 

Beneath the Matriarch, there are the Time-Keepers. Time-Keepers are strictly biologically female and count the passing of the months based on their menstruation cycles. There is usually one assigned Time-Keeper with several young females under her tutelage, who are prepared to take over her role when she enters menopause. Time-Keepers may take lovers, but they do not bear children, and to bear a child as a Time-Keeper is seen as breaking a very serious vow. Typically, the Time-Keeper and her charges live together and operate as a small familial unit. The Time-Keeper may have duties outside of this role, often falling again into the realm of magic-users (alchemy, healing, enchanting, etc.). 

Beneath the Time-Keeper is the Lead Warrior (Aicantar note: the title of this role is pending, but we really can’t come up with a better description). He is almost always male (with some exceptions) and rules the warrior class. This domain includes tribal protection, boundary claims, territorial acquisition, and conflict resolution.    

The Matriarch, the Time-Keeper, and the Lead Warrior are the typical ruling tribunal of the Falmeri tribe. They often hold council with one another, though the Time-Keeper and Lead Warrior act as advisors to the Matriarch, who will usually have the final say in any decision.

The other tribal roles include those who raise and farm the chaurus; craftsmen who construct the weapons, tools, and armor from the harvested chaurus; those who roam in order to gather resources; those who raise children; and those who attend to the infrastructure of the settlement. The Falmer tend not to designate these roles based on sex or gender, though there is a noticeable skew that tends to occur in terms of female members rearing children with male members preferring to roam or hunt, but there is no discernable taboo if a male member wishes to raise a child or a female prefers the life of a warrior. (Gender and sexuality among the Falmer is a topic for another time).

The Falmer do not have traditional family structures, but tend towards communal child-rearing. There is an unfortunately high infant mortality rate due to the hostile environment and the increased chance of infection due to chaurus farming, and because of this fact most Falmer children are not given a name until after their first birthday has passed. Mothers keep their children bound to their chests, and many will often cycle newborns between one another to prevent breastfeeding fatigue. Once children have safely passed the stages of infancy, they are reared in groups, taught basic social and crafting skills, and generally kept safely in the confines of the settlement until they are of age to begin contributing to the function of the tribe. 

TRADE

Most Dwemer scholars know well that nearly all Dwarven settlements are connected via long tunnels, running like arteries to the “heart” of Skyrim: Blackreach. Blackreach is the closest approximation to a cultural hub for the Falmer tribes, acting as a centralized marketplace for trade and commerce. Goods from the overworld make their way down to Blackreach usually through scavenging bandit camps or any scholars brave enough to make their way deeper into the Dwarven ruins. I will not deny that many have met their untimely demise at the hands of the Falmer. They are fiercely protective of their tribes, and scouts will not hesitate to kill intruders without a second thought. I hope to work with some of the tribes to change this deeply ingrained instinct of isolation and mistrust, but the denizens of the overworld must also play their own part in seeking peace over violence. A “two-way street”, as my father used to say.  

The Falmer of Blackreach have been known to deal in the slave trade, both of other Falmer and any poor outsiders who do not manage to properly defend themselves. This has presented a unique circumstance in which overworld culture and language have been adapted into the Falmer’s culture. It is not as unlikely as many might think to find a Falmer with a rudimentary grasp of the Cyrodilic or Norse languages. I’ve even met one who spoke with the most peculiar Daggerfall accent after taking a former slave as his wife.

I understand that it is not my place to interfere with the nature of the Blackreach slave trade, (Aicantar note: I have had to remind Sarel on multiple occasions that I would prefer not to die over the matter), though I do not condone it and feel very uncomfortable with its continued practice. Abolitionist movements exist within individual settlements, and there are certain Matriarchs who disavow the practice altogether. So I’m relegated to the position of scholar and observer, though I do what I can to preach the philosophy of self-governance. But, as with the cultures of the surface, opinions vary and wars rage between tribes over such debates. Thus is the nature of man and mer, I suppose, as much as it pains me.

In the next pamphlet, we will cover the etymology of the modern Falmer language, the various dialects used between tribes, and the “trade language” of Blackreach. Future pamphlets will include religious practices, funerary rites, the re-appropriation of Tonal Architecture, and the unique properties of Falmeri alchemy.

[obikinbb]

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[ominist]

BITTER REWARD

--- Part 2: Reaping ✧

Pairings- Dark!Sebastian Sallow x F!Auror!Reader x Auror!Ominis Gaunt Summary- Sebastian escapes from Azkaban after 8 years. The Ministry were on high alert and searching for the escaped fugitive. Newspapers and flyers spread with the danger that could come within encounter. Sebastian Sallow’s face was plastered all over public and communal areas of the Ministry. After working for the Ministry for years, MC and Ominis Gaunt were cut off from the search. The Ministry’s numbers as of late were short due to ongoing violent events and kidnappings. Both aurors were denied any involvement due to conflict of interest. They were secretly put under a watchful eye in case the fugitive decided to reach out to one of his old friends. After 2 weeks, the search proved fruitless. It was almost as if the man had disappeared into thin air. Due to lack of resources, the search and security lessened when it came to Sallow. This was, quote, only a temporary decision until something new came up.This was exactly what Sebastian Sallow was hoping for. After a watchful eye and a calculated risk, he bids his time before cornering you. As painful as it was, waiting a little longer would prove to be rewarding. Warnings- 18+, language, trauma, depression, angst, aged up characters, explicit content later on. Word Count- 7,695 Words Author’s Notes- Warnings, finally some Seb, a lot of angst, and a cliff hanger. Also, thank you for reading my work! ❤

Writing Masterlist -- Part 1: Sowing -- Part 3: Mourning

With Sebastian’s disappearance, temporary demotion, and the emotional chaos from her social life.. 

MC’s ongoing frustrations and stress started to leak into her daily life. Exploding in the smallest and most obvious ways. It started with ripping the assignments waiting on her desk, slamming boxes of pending paperwork, spilling ink all over the floor.. 

But of course, these outbursts would not last long. Almost immediately, she would stop and feel embarrassed by the petty display of lack of control. She repaired and cleaned everything until it was back to its previous state. 

The reality was this. It was either running rampant with her magic (which threatened to spill over) or these minor micro-aggressions in her lonely office. It was taking too much energy to keep her ancient magic under control.  It only got more chaotic and spontaneous whenever she was in distress.

In addition, every other Auror in the department decided to leave her to her own devices. Correction, they decided to avoid her all together. Whenever she emerged from her office everyone either gave her a pitiful smile or turned their eyes away from her. She was deeply bothered by the change in the atmosphere. And irked by the revelation that the current situation provided. This was only a job. The what you-once-thought-were-close-colleagues stemmed from self-interest and forced respect. Your presence was replaceable. And it was very apparent at the present.

The new found solitude gave her the chance to do something she had been keeping in the back of her mind. No one seemed to pay attention as she emerged from the Archive part of the building holding a stack of folders. 

Within a few hours, she had exhausted the amount of times she re-read Sebastian’s case in her office. She went over Sebastian’s old records as they rested on her lap. Confident that she would be left alone, her boots were kicked up on the desk as she lounged in her chair. If no one paid her attention while she sorted through these embarrassing tasks, no one would become alerted by an unauthorized review. MC was technically still an Auror. Besides, the current groups of officers searching for Sebastian already had copies of the old records and were too busy creating new records from their investigations. Her eyes moved over the contents repeatedly for hours, almost wanting to conjure the hidden truth and details not recorded.

After 3 days of picking up entry level work provided by different departments, MC reluctantly accepted the current state of things and decided to take a break. She had been acting stubborn at first. She hoped that they would see her determination and eventually let her return to her position. But after engaging in such dull and motivation killing work, she could not continue for the rest of the week. MC dropped off the last of the completed assignments and returned Sebastian’s records to their proper place without raising anyone’s attention. 

Then she found herself at home, unable to finds ways to occupy her time productively. Time away from the Ministry only made her chaotic emotions worse. MC started to realize how much she depended on her hefty investigations and feeling overworked. She needed the fast and critical pace that came with being an Auror. It stopped her from overthinking, and most importantly it stopped her from being alone with herself. 

Since she had started to work, she had not raided poacher camps or pursued dark wizards in the hamlets near Hogwarts. In a way, being an Auror provided a little bit of everything she used to cope in the past. 

Now being in her apartment, she started to experience her first signs of paranoia. When she stepped out of her apartment, she swore she was being followed. It did not take her long to notice this. She had initially made it part of her routine to take a walk in the mornings. Whenever the rain paused and the heavy fog appeared, she found herself stopping by the local shops for groceries, picking up fresh flowers, or walking through the more populated areas of the city. The cold air and noisy streets had given her the distraction she desperately needed. 

The first time she caught sight of a shadow passing behind her, it had heightened her instincts. MC had been walking by some store windows, passing some glass lamps. A dark silhouette passed closely behind her as she leaned towards the window. Almost immediately, her posture tensed and straightened. Her eyes roamed over the reflection on the window with her hand ready in her pocket. But the figure disappeared around the corner without being seen. This happened again the next day, but this time she caught sight of someone wearing a bowl hat peaking around the corner of the street.

After those 2 encounters, she returned to closing herself in her apartment. She realized that she had somehow obtained an easy pattern to track in the mornings. She removed these morning walks from her new schedule.

Being enclosed in her apartment made he wish for a change around her. After a couple of hours of deep cleaning, organizing, and sorting through rubbish- she almost did not recognize her home. With her new found time, she even found herself sitting by the window and catching up with the letters on her desk. She spent many afternoons reading one of the many books from her collection. Majority of the books had been recommended by Anne at some point. She could not remember the last time she sat down and had time to read something of choice. Every now and then she would peer through the  window after feeling that creeping sensation on her skin. She was more than convinced that she was being watched. Whenever she felt exposed, she would draw the curtains and close her windows. 

Even if it had only been a couple of days, she felt the most alone she ever felt. She had not gotten a moment of relief. And to add to the ongoing theatrics, she could not stop thinking about Sebastian and his whereabouts. 

Sebastian’s news had put a stop to her ongoing progress with finding Anne’s cure. Now that she was more than convinced that she was being followed, she could not risk being caught in the middle of something suspicious. She was thankful that she had been smart enough not to keep her research and illegal books in her apartment in case her home was searched. She was also having a hard time focusing on one task for too long. MC had all the time of the world now with her inconsistent work. She tried to find ways to occupy herself productively.

She could not bring herself to get rid of the shadow that appeared the morning she received the news. MC had grown more tense, easily upset, and on edge. It was easy to admit that she never really let got of the guilt from being an accomplice during Sebastian’s imprisonment. And she believed it would never happen, especially now. 

Sebastian had escaped early on a Sunday morning and it was now Friday. Almost a whole week had passed. Ominis continued to check in with MC, even if it was briefly. Even with his full work schedule, he persisted stopping by to check on MC even when it was after hours. If he noticed her growing restlessness, he did not mention it. 

She knew his continuous visits were his way of showing that he still cared about her. But she could never be truly honest about her current turmoil. She was more than aware that Ominis was also going through his own troubling thoughts. The circles under his eyes had grown darker, and his skin started to look paler than usual. He was sleep deprived, exhausted, and even malnourished. But Ominis still watched out for her even when they had grown apart and detached in the recent months. He still checked on her every day, regardless of how platonic their friendship had become once again.

By Monday, she received a promising letter from both Natsai Onai and Poppy Sweeting. Poppy was always traveling and never stayed in one place for too long. She was engaged to their former classmate Garreth Weasley. Natty had moved and was now a professor at Uagadou. Between the two, Natty stopped by London more often to see MC. The former Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were so busy as it was, but she appreciated their concern and support shown in their letters. They had both agreed to come visit London the upcoming weekend to her relief. MC could finally take a break from feeling like a caged animal. 

During one of Ominis’ visits, he revealed something important for the MC. It was a little bit after 6pm on Wednesday. Ominis sat in the usual chair with the usual cup of tea between his fingers. He stopped by her home for a bit, already having plans for the rest of the night he had told her. 

“I have something to share with you. But before I tell you, you need to promise me that you will not be alarmed,” Ominis told her. The  he quickly added,“And that you will not do something to get yourself in trouble.”  

The way he added the last part made her smile in his direction. He was always so cautious when he knew something would upset her. 

“You know, I appreciate you trying. But you and I know better,” MC told him honestly. 

Ominis brushed his hand through his hair and nodded once. With his hands crossed over the other, he appeared apprehensive. He exhaled before continuing. 

“The department had appointed some officers to watch us,” he stated, sounding frustrated. Then he added in slow syllables, “Without our knowledge or consent, for the matter.” 

She breathed a loud sigh of relief at his words. And there it was, she could finally put her doubts about her own sanity to rest. If she was right, this explained the uneasy and cautious expressions that many of her peers wore last week. MC let out a small laugh and shook her head in disbelief. 

“The Ministry never fails to amaze me with their strategic methods. Let alone, their denial about the current number of able bodied officers.” 

Ominis gave her a small smile, agreeing with her words. “That was my initial response. But if they are watching us.. That could only mean that they truly believe that our old friend will be making an appearance.”

MC’s smile faded and she turned to look out the window. Ominis had chosen not to mention his name. And it further proved that he was still being careful. He was trying to cause the least amount of pain as possible. She was unsure if it was intended for her benefit or for his own. 

His name is Sebastian.

Her eyes looked into the dark street. The lamplight flickered twice and a stray cat crossed the street. The longer she looked out the street, the more noticeable the feeling became. She got up from her seat and approached her window. She drew the curtains in the hopes of removing the feeling of exposure. 

Her hands held the curtain for a moment longer than needed. Her eyes focused on the pattern between her fingers. The room became quiet.  

“Do you..” MC said quietly, without turning to face Ominis. “Do you think he has gone away to start a new life?” 

Ominis was unable to answer. He should have expected this topic to be brought up eventually. In reality, he dreaded talking about it with MC. The bitter feeling of the past was something he wished to get over as the years passed. He was not sure what Sebastian Sallow would be doing with his new found freedom. And as of the present, the Ministry didn’t either. Ominis preferred it this way. As long as Sebastian was not found, he could rest easy. 

It had come to his surprise that Sebastian had not reached out to any of his close friends in the first week of his escape. Not even Anne. 

But the again, Sebastian was smart. If he intended to survive, he could not give in to his reckless nature. 

Ominis had somehow convinced himself that he no longer knew Sebastian.

He believed he was the only one to wear the guilt on his shoulders for what he had done. He deserved to lose sleep, his appetite, his sense of character, and peace. 

And the most important of all.. He did not deserve to have MC. 

Ominis knew that MC and Sebastian had been close during their 5th year. He often times believed that he and MC would never be as close as Sebastian she she were back then. 

Ominis had almost proposed to move in with MC for the time being until things were safer. He hated to leave her during such dire times.

But he had not. 

Ominis shifted in his seat, unable to give her an answer that reflected the truth about his feelings. 

“I.. I do not know,” he confessed to her. His voice was suddenly fatigued. “I would like to believe that he somehow managed to escape the border and settled somewhere remotely liberating.” 

MC stepped away from the window, her expression unreadable. She did not return to her seat across from Ominis. She continued to stand idly near the wall. Her hands were hidden in her cardigan. 

Ominis turned his head towards MC’s direction before continuing. “MC believe me when I say, if Sebastian does not want to be caught, then he will not be.” 

MC shifted in place, her thoughts pouring over her like a rapid current. It was hard to believe that Sebastian would just escape the country and find a lovely home of some sort by the ocean somewhere in the world. She could not image him willing to settle down and find peace. 

He would not be able to do that as long as he sought closure. He would make his most important mission to find answers. 

She did not understand why Ominis was so set on lying and giving such empty answers. He could not possibly believe what he was telling her. She was starting to feel impatient with him. 

“Is someone possibly helping him hide?” MC asked out loud, somewhat ignoring Ominis’ previous response. She walked into the kitchen, her eyes settling on the dish rack as she thought hard.  

“I do not think it matters. It isn’t either of us, so I doubt it.” 

MC was now set on putting away the dishes. With her back turned, she occupied her hands with pushing the plates into the cupboards. The dishes were put away harshly, the sound of the dishes being pushed on top of each other echoed through the apartment. 

“I hope his whereabouts are not keeping you from your sleep, MC-”

MC finally turned towards Ominis, unable to stop her irritation from raining down on him. With a glass in her hand, she let her bottled discontentment interrupt him. 

“He has not forgiven us , Ominis,” her words were sharp. She inhaled and continued without sparing another moment of caution. “If you truly believe he ran off into the sunset with his new found freedom, then you are being delusional.”

She had almost broken the glass in her hand. She winced at the sound of her words as soon as she had said them. At that moment, she was unable to hide the pain and desolation she had felt for the past 8 years. MC watched Ominis with her unsettling gaze. Her jaw was tight and she felt as if she would cry out of frustration.

The air became unbreathable from the pressure in the room. The silence between them was daunting. Ominis’ expression finally broke from his shallow facade. His eyes stung from the truth in her words. Her tone dripped with culpability. 

His only response was getting up from his chair, letting is scrape against the wooden floor. His expression resembled a drowned man. His lips moved, and to MC’s dismay he did not give her the answer she deserved.

“I should go check on Anne.” 

Her eyes only followed Ominis as he stepped out of her apartment without another word. 

… *… * …

It was getting closer to the 2 week mark since Sebastian’s escape. And instead of feeling more at ease that there was no news about his whereabouts, she felt more restless. Her nightmares had started to take her sleep again. After the last meeting she had with Ominis, she could not bear any more wasted nights. She started to take sips of sleeping draught before bed.

On the following Saturday morning, MC received an email correspondence from the head of the Auror Department. To her surprise, the letter contained a series of updates.

Sebastian’s man hunt had been put to a stop until further notice. The Department was facing a a shortage of numbers, leading to a strain in their security and resources for higher priority cases. This is a temporary decision until further reconsideration. 

MC was scheduled to return to her previous position on Monday morning.  

MC held the letter in her hands under the sunlight of her window, the tension in her shoulders lessening as the minutes passed. She re-read the letter until she was able to process the contents. 

MC was beyond relieved to finally have her job back. She still was not used to being home so much. The letter did not mention whether she would continue to be observed and followed. But then again, she was not supposed to be aware in the first place.

With the hopes of celebrating her return, she was preparing to meet with her friends later on that evening. Natty and Poppy agreed to meet at one the pubs closer to the water’s edge. It was only a couple of minutes away from her home. She knew that Natty enjoyed the black friar bridge view. That was mainly the reason why this pub was one of her favorites.

With a couple of minutes to spare before she headed out, MC sat down to read through some of the letters waiting on her desk. The letters seemed to have increased now that she had time to respond.

She received a letter from her mother with news of her trip. Her parents were visiting America for a couple of weeks. Her father had decided to visit Boston in the hopes of reconciling with his mother. Her father had been raised in an orphanage before attending Hogwarts. At the age of 41, he recently found more information about his biological parents. It was a whole ordeal alone, one that she was sadly being updated from the sidelines. Her once extremely demanding position as an Auror had been the reason she denied the invitation to join them. She was aware of how important this visit was for her father. But she had no choice at the time the trip was planned. But now? She wished she had taken the opportunity to join them. 

MC wrote a whole hearted response to her mother’s letter and pulled Anne’s letter from the small pile. She moved the candle light closer to the page to read Anne’s small script. 

My dearest MC,

Thank you for that new cushion set! It made my new home feel more homely. I am adjusting to my home much better as of late. It is much better than the room I was staying in previously. The loneliness was hard to adjust to at first, but now I am able to look forward to every day.

I absolutely love working for Madam Ryder’s shop. I wish you could see how friendly and welcoming the people are here. It reminds me a little of Feldcroft. You need to come visit me soon. 

I was asked to go fetch potion ingredients by the shore this week. I found it to be a dream. It reminded me a little of your outdoor excursions and adventures. I can see why you enjoyed them so much when you were younger. 

Working at the shop part time is enough at the moment. The hours are quite flexible and I am able to fit in time for my studies. I am beyond grateful for Professor Sharp’s patience and willingness to continue to tutor me. I have you to thank for that.

Between working and focusing on my studies, I think that I want a change of pace. 

Living in this small town by the ocean the past couple of years has me feeling like a senior. Think about it, I live in a small house by the ocean. I wake every morning to tea and books. I water my new found garden and feed my cats before heading out every morning. Maybe this life was more fitting for the person I was before.

I visited Solomon’s house yesterday. I think I am feeling a little nostalgic. When I stopped by, I made it my mission to fix and replace the dead plants in the garden. It made me sad to see how vacant and unattended the home was.

Staying in the house let me reflect on what I want out of life. 

I want to open my own store in town. But I also find myself wanting to move to London. I miss you and Ominis so much, I want to spend more time with the both of you. I think it would give me the clarity I need.

Wishing you well and love always,

Anne S. 

She finished reading Anne’s letter with a sense of emptiness. She missed Anne terribly. 

But she could not overlook the implications that came with becoming close once more.

Could she put aside her conflicting emotions and invite Anne to stay with her for a while? She had done the same with Ominis last year, so what is stopping her from offering her the same? Would having her around more cause more tension or diffuse it? Would having her around cause a bigger rift between them? 

MC left Anne’s letter open on her desk. She was unable to finish her response. She had only gotten to the formalities. Anne’s letter was left unfolded and on top of the other letters on her desk.She got up from her seat and grabbed her coat on her way to the door. 

For the first time in the past 2 weeks, she felt a sense of reprieve. She was leaving her apartment for the first time in a while. She was on her way to meet with her two friends for some drinks. She was no longer demoted from her hard earned Ministry position. Her life was slowly returning back to normal.

MC walked into the gloomy street and hugged her coat tighter. She could not pass the opportunity to smell the crisp and smokey air once more. She walked for the first time without feeling paranoid. Her boots walked over the cobblestone, sometimes echoing louder in certain streets. She passed the familiar shops as they prepared to close early. 

When she finally reached the planned destination, MC paused by the door and inhaled before entering. She walked into the pub, staying close to the wall and away from the crowd. 

She made her way to her friends and was instantly embraced by two pair of arms. 

Poppy shared about her ongoing wedding planning and constant traveling. She was the happiest she ever felt. Poppy had Natsai and MC promise to be her bridesmaids and that she would not accept any excuses. Natty admitted that she had a new love interest. She explained how she had gone on a couple of dates and how it felt promising so far. She did not share the individual’s name or too many details. She rather not share too much in case it ended up not working out. Which, this had happened before. MC had witnessed her friend’s repeated rise and fall out of love in the recent years. The two witches respected Natty’s decision to save her from the possible pain once more. 

Poppy turned to MC, her eyes soft as she asked, “What about you, Y/N? Do you have any pending admirers you’re wanting to tell us about?” 

MC gave her a small smile, but it did not quite reach her eyes. Her attention turned to the drink between her fingers as she shook her head in denial. She could see Natty’s expression from the side of her vision. Natty was one of the few people she had shared about her temporary relationship with Ominis. 

“I wish I could go on about a new love interest,” MC finally told Poppy. She sounded a little regretful. 

“That is okay, do not worry about that. If you ever find yourself interested in meeting new people, just let me know,” Poppy told her with a genuine smile. “Garreth has so many family members and friends. I could have you meet them sometime if you like.” 

MC felt touched by Poppy’s thoughtfulness. The fact that Poppy thought she was agreeable enough to introduce her to new friends and her family to be, made her heart hurt. She thanked Poppy and took a long sip from her drink. She could taste the ice melting, dulling the affect. She looked down the counter and waved the bartended down for another drink.

Their conversation went on for the longest with no breaks or awkward silences. Poppy seemed to have kept in touch with a lot of their past classmates. With Garreth’s influence, she had a pretty good recount for almost every single Hogwarts alumni. The occupations she mentioned ranged from curse breakers, quidditch players, portraitists, apparition examiners, and astronomers. MC listened attentively and realized that many ended up working for the Ministry. 

Poppy had gone on for so long without stopping that she had to take a breather. She lifted her drink to her lips right before excusing herself to the lavatory. MC grinned as she watched Poppy walk off with a tipsy edge to her step. 

"She is still a lightweight,” she stated as she turned to look at Natty.

Her friend nodded in response with a blush on her cheeks. “You know Poppy. Some things just never change. I see that you’re a little giddy as well Y/N.” 

MC raised her glass towards Natty as she grinned widely. She did not deny her friend’s statement. Natty raised her own glass and muttered cheers.

“How are you holding up?” Natty asked quietly. MC had been expecting her friend to finally ask her more about the current events now that they were both alone. Before answering, she finished the rest of her drink. The bartender spared her a glance and started to make another drink without being asked. 

“I actually got my job back. I got a letter this morning,” she told her, trying to move the subject away from Sebastian all together. 

“What a relief! Tell me they apologized as well,” Natty responded, her hand came to rest under her chin as she leaned against the counter. Natty had been kept in the loop with the recent turn of events as MC wallowed in her apartment. 

MC shook her head once with a smile playing on her lips. Natty groaned and shook her head with annoyance. She continued to gaze at MC and finally moved on to what she originally intended to ask her.

“What about.. Sebastian?” Natty asked, she was not going to let MC change the subject. 

MC sighed in defeat and turned to face the friend next to her. She licked her lips and reached for the drink that came floating her way. She brought the drink to her lips as she contemplated. Under the influence of alcohol, she felt more willing to open up to her best friend. 

“I have no clue what is going on. All I know is that the Ministry have stopped searching for him. The letter gave little details about the progress.” 

“He hasn’t tried to contact you, has he?” Natty’s voice dropped to whisper. She was watching MC’s expressions, ready to catch her if she lied. 

MC shook her head in no. She felt her throat tighten, she did look forward to talking about him in the current state she was in. “I doubt he would. Why would he? I am the bloody reason why his life was ruined.” 

Natty said MC’s name and stopped her from continuing. Her eyes were serious. 

“You cannot possibly believe you are at fault Y/N. Are you forgetting that the decision was not yours to make? You were not alone during all of that. And I am sure Ominis would not agree with you.” 

MC shook her head again at Natty’s response. Her grip on the glass tightened as she started to feel the shadow fall over her once more. The shadow was peeking its ugly head as she felt the remorse and guilt build up inside of her. 

“It’s not that easy Natty..” She responded slowly. “I wish I could just turn it off. But I just..” 

MC tapped her temple with her index finger in frustration. “I think I am just delirious. My mental state has not been the best lately.” 

“Tell me what is not easy, please.” 

“I am having a hard time sleeping. It usually wouldn’t be such a bad thing, but..” MC paused before continuing. She could see Natty’s unwavering care and loyalty. MC breathed out before admitting something she had not told anyone.

“I still see Professor Fig,” MC confessed to her friend. “I see him in my sleep. I wonder what he would tell me now with all of this going on.” A bitter laugh left her lips. 

Everything seemed to be pouring out of her as she watched Natty’s expression. She swallowed hard and felt tears forming in her eyes. Natty was concerned now. 

“You told me your nightmares had stopped MC.” 

“I- I do not know how to undo my wrong doings Natty. I cannot move on,” she breathed. 

Natty’s hand reached out and took MC’s drink from her. She stopped her friend from drinking any further. Her expression was full of understanding and concern. Natty moved the glass far from reach and brought her hand to touch her friend’s.

“I don’t want you burdening yourself with unnecessary guilt. Professor Fig was not your fault. And what happened with Sebastian, that is not your fault to take either Y/N. He faced the consequences to his actions. Believe me, my friend. You deserve to live your life without these burdens and learn to forgive yourself.”  

“Forgive myself?” MC repeated in a small voice. She failed to notice the tears were falling down her cheeks. 

Natty tapped her hand against hers in affirmation. Her gaze was intense as she answered. 

“Forgive yourself for not learning how to look after yourself. I know you will learn to let go of these irrational thoughts and stop blaming every single misfortune on yourself. I just hope it is soon.” 

Natty’s hand tightened over MC’s, her gaze not moving away from her. 

“I will be alright Natty,” she told her as she wiped away her cheeks with the back of her hand. Poppy was approaching them once more with a big grin.”I promise.”

Their outing went on for a couple of hours. The mood lightened up as the three talked about other matters that were not trifling to MC’s sanity. MC felt more grateful for her friends as the night went on. Poppy was the closest to being drunk between the 3 of them. She watched as Poppy hugged her sides in laughter as she shook her head at Natty. Natty was smiling and continued to talk for Poopy’s amusement. MC’s smile was unwavering as she looked at her two friends with sad appreciation.

By the time the 3 witches were walking out of the bar, it had gotten late. 

Poppy and Natty insisted on walking MC all the way to her apartment. MC denied their request and told them that her apartment was not far. With bright and loud exclamations, they compromised and walked her down the street. 

With their final goodbyes and loud giggles, MC walked in the direction of her apartment. She passed a couple of bright windows, her mind distracted by the night’s events. She was busy thinking about Poppy was traveling all over the country and saving all kinds of creatures. She did not notice an unknown figure following behind her. 

The person’s face was hidden under a heavy black cloak. The figure followed her at a distance, but he seemed to be closing the distance as MC reached the street she lived in.

MC eventually felt the crawling sensation of being followed. She involuntarily moved her shoulders into a shrug, wanting to brush it off. Was it real? Or was she merely living the side affected of being slightly intoxicated? She did not want to turn around to look out of fear. 

Her throat suddenly felt dry as she saw her apartment building in the distance. There was not a single soul in sight. Most of the windows in her street were dark. She slowed her pace and thought hard on what she should do next. Normally, she would not feel so flustered and hesitant. But she did not have to think long when she purposely stalled in front of a shop. The windows had been recently cleaned and polished. She looked into the glass, waiting for the reflection to catch the light from the lamp post as she walked. 

She caught sight of the figure in the reflection. It was a tall man. She could not make out his build, he had a long cloak and dark boots. She did not manage to stare long enough to gather more details for her advantage. 

That was when she knew she could not go home. Instead, she kept walking down the street. Her shoulders stiffened and her back straightened with a new profound objective. 

She gripped the wand in her pocket and let her features settle in displeasure.

She would make sure that she is no longer followed once and for all. 

… *… * …

Sebastian waited for 2 weeks. The longer he waited, the more it felt like a game.

With the constant use of polyjuice potion, he moved around the city freely. He made it part of his day to disguise himself as a different person. Whether it was a middle aged wizard or a fish selling vendor, he occupied most of his time blending in with the city inhabitants. This was the first time he had visited London. It felt large and advanced compared to his hamlet. 

Sebastian had stopped by Feldcroft the same night he escaped. He did not know what he had expected, but it had left him feeling hollow and empty. It was completely empty and unoccupied. He had found his uncle’s grave, and to his vexation he could not find Anne’s. He walked around the town, noticing how many new homes and shops had been built since he had been away. He had only roamed around the town for less than an hour before he was gone. His visit to Feldcroft had lead him to London immediately. 

He was not aware of how heavily secured the country’s border would be. But by the lack of Aurors roaming around the city looking for him, he felt that he was over estimating the Ministry. 

He was dangerous and armed. He almost felt insulted by the amount of officers making an effort to look for him. There were so many times where he knew he could have been easily caught. But there was yet to be an altercation between himself and the Ministry. 

They could have fooled him by the amount of headlines he made on almost every morning paper since he escaped. 

He was going through the potion supply much faster than he had wanted. But it was crucial to not be caught lacking. He had been more than fortunate to have picked an old potion master’s home to ransack. As much as he wanted to save some of the last phials of the potion, he knew it could not be helped. What other moment would prove more important? Maybe escaping the country all together. 

That was, once he executed his plan.

Now, his eyes were unmoving as he noticed movement pass by the window below him. He was peering over the edge from the opposite building. Sebastian had a knee against the hard tiled roof. The rain stopped minutes ago. His clothes were wet but he did not feel the cold. He did not feel the cold anymore. Nothing could compare the nights that he almost freezed to death. 

Once Sebastian learned that Ominis and MC were Aurors, he had hoped that they would be ones assigned to hunt him down. But to his trepidation, they had been completely removed from the equation. Instead, Sebastian had been the one to hunt them down. 

Ominis never seemed to be anywhere else but at the Ministry. Sebastian somehow always lost sight of his old friend whenever he finished his shift. Ominis would apparate almost immediately, never idling around or letting his guard down. Whenever he caught sight of him to his surprise, he would be leaving MC’s apartment. 

Sebastian had settled with watching MC. She never seemed to be at the Ministry for whatever reason. He observed her for a couple of hours a day until he managed to create a pattern from her routine. With the consistent amount of Aurors following her, it had been difficult to even get close. There was always some hidden officer under the disillusionment charm watching her home or trailing behind her when she left her apartment.

He had enjoyed revealing the officers that followed her through out the day. He had even sent trip jinxes in their direction. But every single time he exposed the Aurors, they merely apparated on the spot. Sebastian knew that MC had caught on. She stopped leaving her apartment all together. 

The fact that they were carefully watching her confused him. The Ministry seemed to have appointed more officers to watch over MC than they have searching for him. The chance of his capture were growing more dim as the days continued to pass. It felt a little too easy.

He was not sure how far off his opportunity was. But he felt it coming closer. 

And surely enough, he finally caught sight of MC leaving her apartment once again. 

Her back was towards him as Sebastian looked over the ledge. She was walking alone with her hands in her pockets. The sun had already set and he tried to register the dark shade of colors she was wearing. She wore a long coat that stopped at her knees. Her heeled boots peaked under her slacks. She was wearing some fitted suit, he assumed. Her hair was out of its usual bun, it fell right below her shoulders. 

She always had long hair during their time at Hogwarts. He remembered how she loved to wear hand knitted scarves during the colder seasons. They were always a new and interesting color. But as he watched her walk further down the street without hurry, he could not see any of the colorful familiarity in her apparel. 

He had to tell himself once more. She is a complete stranger. 

She was not the person you once remembered. The MC he knew from Hogwarts would never turn him to the Authorities. 

Sebastian gripped the wand between his fingers tightly as he walked. The tiles were soundless under his shoes. He followed her at a distance, waiting for the signs of an officer to appear behind her. 

MC walked for almost 20 minutes before reaching her destination. She stopped by a crowded pub near a bridge. The windows were uniquely arched and colorful. It was difficult to even catch a glimpse through the thickly mosaic material. She disappeared into the noisy building without looking over her shoulder. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she was not followed. 

With the new found revelation, Sebastian stepped down on to the street. He waited in the shadows, noticing the potion’s affects wearing off. 

Sebastian’s eyes looked over the leaving patrons of the pub. The more people left the bar, the more confirmation he received that the building only had one exit. He watched every single individual until they were out of sight. There were no familiar faces to anchor his growing delirium. He was growing more and more agitated as the hours passed. 

Then at last, MC was leaving the pub. He could see two others walk out with her. Their voices made his insides tense. He recognized the other 2 witches from school immediately as they insisted on walking her home. But they only walked her to the end of the street before leaving her on her own.

He could not afford to feel an ounce of nervousness or hesitation. He was shaking from the anticipation, his moment has finally come. Sebastian knew better than to believe this would be made easy for him. 

When MC finally caught on that she was being followed, she had been walking towards the light of a closing store in the distance. Her body was angled towards that direction, her head unmoving from that direction. She passed her apartment’s door all together. With one abrupt step into the left alley between the apartments, she was fleeing. 

With sharp turns and uneven footing, his ears focused on her movement as he kept up. 

He moved after her, just barely enough to not to lose sight of her. He heard his own breathing growing louder as he chased after her. 

He turned into an isolated alley, no it was still a street. There were countless barrels and boxes that smelled of fish. The buildings to the left stopped where the river started, leaving no outlet. The lamplights closer to the water flickered. When his eyes landed on the empty factory building down on the right, his focus was interrupted by a string of red lights. 

MC was huddled behind the barrels and shot curses in his direction. Sebastian deflected every single one and shot his own curses back. His spells hit the wooden obstacles and the sound of wreckage filled the empty alleyway. MC was successful with predicting every single spark and spell headed her way. She never stopped moving, her poise and expertise was apparent in her stance regardless how intoxicated she was.

The spells they shot in each other’s direction never seemed to hit their target. Everything else seemed to catch the force of their anger, leaving chaos everywhere they headed. 

Sebastian restrained himself ftom muttering the words he wanted to use for those long minutes. When finally, he felt an electric sensation course through the ground. He ducked quickly and dodged the boxes thrown in his direction. He felt the wave of ancient magic in the air and the static vibrated through his body. 

He knew it had only been a matter of time before MC started to use her full abilities. He kept running, dodging, deflecting, until it started to feel endless. He was slowly cornering her down the street. He was tiring her out.

By the time he was painting and sweating, he finally steered her into the area he wanted her in. She was close to the water’s edge near the factory. The amount of energy he spent the past couple of minutes finally made his blood seethe. Enough. 

Sebastian then destroyed the few lamp posts, letting the glass fall on to the ground. The only light in the street was reflected in the river. Sebastian removed the ability to see all together and he welcomed the darkness with familiarity. 

He vaulted over the obstacles until he caught sight of her running figure. She hurried behind more boxes. The sound of MC’s boots running over the broken glass heightened Sebastian’s awareness. 

Sebastian shot the disarming spell at her retreating figure. MC’s pace faltered once she realized she had been disarmed. She turned her head to look in his direction. 

By that moment, Sebastian had reached her. She had been milliseconds away from apparating.

Sebastian gripped her wand in his hand and pushed her back with the other. He pressed her against the wall roughly, feeling her body grow panicked and tense under his hold. Her lithe figure struggled under him until she finally met his gaze. She immediately stopped as she looked at him. 

Sebastian was finally able to truly see MC for the first time in the past 2 weeks.

Her eyes looked darker then he ever remembered. There were shadows in her eyes, ones she never had when she was younger. Her brow still had that stern angle whenever she was stressed or tense. Her skin was once flush and soft but now he could see areas where her skin looked sunken and sharp. 

The ghost that hung over her reminded him of something he knew too well. He had caught sight of it the first time when he had looked in a mirror. A haunted and unsettling wraith that refused to leave you alone. It was almost as if she carried some invisible pain that disabled her from looking truly healthy.

Even after all of this time, he felt his insides turn with the familiarity of her presence.

The longer he looked at her, the more he noticed the ache and longing pile on top of the revenge, hatred, pain, betrayal he already felt. 

“Sebastian..”

Her voice was soft and pained. Her eyes did not move away from his and it was getting harder to move.

He rejected the upcoming confusion from muddling his thoughts. His grip on her tightened once more, suddenly growing aware that his hold had loosened.

He once again felt the instinct to hurt her.

✧

[uhardite]

my no-fail guide to deal with a breakup

hey bbg, if you are reading this post bc you need it, i wish you all the strength and support to get through this. dont worry, coming from a person who has had her share of *bad* breakups, this feeling wont last very long, you will feel better soon, i love you <3

reminder: this is what i personally do, it may not work for everyone, others may have different ways to deal with it, and thats completely fine! be sure to give yourself the love and care you need while getting through this bad phase x

stage 1

cry. cry your heart out. take as long as you need to express all the negative emotions you are feeling. write down reasons why he/she was not the one for you. write down what you still feel for that person. then tear it and throw it in the trash. block that person from all your socials, resist the urge to see how they are doing, stay in your room for as long as you need. cut off your ex and their circle completely, take time for yourself, talk to people who can support and comfort you, and discourage you from being impulsive. if you feel like you wont get through this, just remember to keep pushing for one week. one week, thats all im asking from you. chances are, you will recover enough by one week to start thinking rationally about this, without bursting into tears or feeling extreme sadness. this is the hardest part, but the good thing is, it takes the least time to get through. so hold on and you will get better <3

stage 2

did you have a proper conversation with your ex while breaking up? were you both honest about the mistakes you made, things you could have done better, why your relationship didnt work out? if not, now may be a good time to have a heart-to-heart. if you had a bad breakup and dont trust your ex to be honest about themselves, you may simply ask them to be honest about specific things that affected you, then listen to their side of the story and leave. HOWEVER, do not do this if you feel unsafe around them. also, remember that the goal is to get closure, to find an explanation and move on, not to get back together. if he/she was meant for you, they would come back in your life at the right time. right now, taking some time for yourself and reflecting is more important at the present. acknowledge that you have experienced something new, accept all that you can learn from it, and move ahead. now is the time to get into new hobbies, routines, making new friends, and keeping yourself busy. stop listening to sad music, work on pending assignments, projects, study for any upcoming exams in advance, start working out, do something silly each day that makes you happy, keep going

stage 3

at this stage, you will rarely be thinking of your ex, you will be occupied by new thoughts and feelings and experiences, and a lot more comfortable by now. dont be too troubled if memories come flooding back, they are just passing feelings, they dont signify anything. you might also feel lonely around this time, or wish to date again, and although i personally dont like to date until i have moved on completely, it's perfectly fine to date someone as a rebound. however, keep in mind that dating should not cause you drama, and you should be clear about committment and feelings with the other person. dating someone as your rebound shouldnt hurt them, nor you. if you want to date to show your ex that you can do better than them, stop right there. this isnt about getting their attention, this is about you moving on

stage 4

we have reached the final stage! now is the time to strengthen your current relationships, friendships, stay consistent with your progress, take time to deeply reflect, and keep growing. relationships can be learning experiences when you treat them like one, where you learn about yourself as well as about other people. having the right mindset will help you in your future relationships as well. im proud of you and you've got this xx

[clarissaweasley-10]

To my beloved mootsies l will be veryyy busy with exams, assignments a pending skit and a zillion other things till the end of this month sooo l won't be very active for now so pls don't mind if l don't respond to you...

@jkriordanverse @isthataraccoon @randomfandom-3 THE WAR AND CHAOS MUST GO ON STILL WITHOUT ME

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Epel Felmier Dorm Uniform Personal Story: Part 1

"Let me goooo!!"

Part 1 (Part 2) (Part 3)

[Interior Hallway]

Epel: Uhh… The Film Research Club room should be here, I think.

[Classroom]

Epel: Excuse me…

Rook: Why hello, Epel-kun! I see Vil also asked you to lend a hand.

Epel: More forced, than asked… Rook-san too?

Rook: I am here to help of my own volition. It is my absolute joy to be near Vil.

Vil: ―Attention, Film Research Club members!

Vil: I will be explaining in full the details of our next independent film production.

Vil: I'll be distributing scripts, so everybody take one.

Epel: Woah, this thing's thick. The film club is serious business… I guess.

Vil: The next film that we'll be producing is about time travel.

Vil: It will be set in the present-day. It'll be about a Night Raven College that uses a time machine, and…

Vil: They travel to the time period of the Great Seven's "Fairest Queen of All."

Rook: Oh, the time period of the "Fairest Queen of All"… Très bien!

Rook: That's a fantastic idea, don't you think, Epel-kun?

Epel: Sigh… I suppose.

Vil: The leading role is still pending. I will relay my decision as soon as it is made.

Vil: And so, to procure the key item that will be our time machine in this story… Epel!

Epel: ! Yessir!

Vil: I'll leave the design of the time machine to you.

Epel: Eh!? Why're you gonna leave something that important to a mere helper like me…?

Vil: That is because I decided that you were best suited for this assignment.

Epel: (How'd 'e come to that decision!? I ain't done no kinda designin' 'fore, I gotta find a way t'say no…)

Vil: The time machine will use a magical wheel as its base, and we'll customize the outside.

Vil: That way we can also film the driving scenes on it.

Epel: A magical wheel…!?

Vil: That's correct. We've already arranged to receive a magical wheel for the film.

Vil: I've requested the Dorm Leader of Ignihyde, Idia, to do the modification, so you go on and help him finish it up.

Epel: Got it!

Vil: …Hm, that was an obedient answer all of a sudden. Well, I suppose that's fine, as long as you get it done.

Vil: The theme for the design of the time machine is "something appropriately beautiful for the setting."

Vil: It must be finished by noon, three days from now. Do you understand?

Epel: Yes, sir, Vil-san!

Epel: (I was super nervous when I got told to help out the film club… But I can't believe I'm gonna get to work with a magical wheel!)

Epel: (That awesome feeling of the rider and bike becoming one… Even just looking at a bike gets me all excited.)

Epel: (Maybe if I come up with a design that makes even Vil-san hum in admiration, he'll let me test drive it.)

Epel: (Okay, lezzgo!!)

[Ignihyde Dorm – Lounge]

Epel: Hello, I'm Epel, a first-year from Pomefiore. You're Idia-san, right? Thank you for your help.

Idia: Urk… Here comes the sparkle sparkle Pomefiore peeps…

Idia: Ah, right, uhh. Vil-shi already let me know. You can us this lounge as your work area…

Epel: Alright, thank you very much.

Epel: Ah, that thing next to you, that's the magical wheel that's slated for modification, right? It's so cool looking…!!

Idia: Sigh… Vil-shi told me he'd give me something for my troubles, so I took this on, but…

Idia: Working with others like this, though… I can feel my rage level rising.

Idia: I gotta get this over with ASAP before my sanity level drains down to zero.

Epel: (I think I've started to get a hang of what Vil-san likes, thanks to the months of training I've had to endure since enrolling here.)

Epel: (I gotta aim for a stylish design that works for the setting, and that Vil-san will approve of.)

Epel: Idia-san. Let's do our best on the magical wheel designing…!

Idia: Yeah, okay. Whatever gets it done faster…

Part 1 (Part 2) (Part 3)

Requested by Anonymous.