#Brown Leather Clogs

[bebemoon]

look for the name MAARET (requested by anonymous) | samuel zelig "wilson" chore coat in brown/dark brown embroidery, salter house organic cotton wrap skirt in "coco" brown, chopova lowena "starboard" mohair beanie in brown, alkemia "ydalir" perfume (fossil amber, oakmoss absolute, siberian black pine, smoked juniper tar, balsam pine), jil sander "high" leather platform clog boot in black

[laangdonn]

not anymore

summary: the aftermath of glenn and abraham leaves carl and y/n’s relationship in shambles.

pairing: carl grimes x female reader

a/n: first carl grimes post yayy, i love him so much and in my mind he lives on.

*read part 2 here*

*************************

the house was quiet minus the occasional sniffle from carl and i. he was sat with his head in his hands on the leather sofa, his fingers lightly gripping his brown curls. i watched him carefully through blurry vision from behind the kitchen counter, supporting myself with my hands on the cold marble.

it was dark, the moon and a single saucer light in the kitchen shining as light.

it was so fucking quiet but my head had never been louder.

“so what are you saying?” i whispered, carefully watching my words.

he lifted his eyes for a moment until he brought his head back into his palms. he refused eye contact. “i don’t know what i’m saying.”

“you don’t love me anymore?” every word i spoke sent my stomach falling into my feet.

he didn’t answer. i didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

“jesus, carl, answer me-“

“i still love you,” he finally responded, his hand rubbing his face in stress. “of course i still love you.”

“then what’s wrong?” i pressed, a sudden urgency filling my veins. “why are we even having this conversation? why did you come home and suddenly act as if we’ve been fighting for weeks-“

“cause we have been, y/n!” his voice picked up now, throwing his hands in the air and standing up. he still hadn’t looked at me. “we have been fighting for weeks! we cant even look at each other without fighting! ever since glenn-“

“stop.” i cut him off, feeling my chest clench. “this wasn’t them, it wasn’t.”

but it was, and i knew it. the aftermath of glenn and abraham put a strain on the whole group, especially me and carl. we came home that morning, stumbling out of the RV and hadn’t been the same since. every time i looked at carl, all i saw were the tears streaming down his face and the reflection of glenn’s bloody skull in his eyes. i saw the black line drawn on carl’s left arm, and the axe raised in the air.

i looked at carl and i saw death.

i knew he felt the same.

“that day…” he started, taking a breath. “that day i had no other wish but to die. to keep you safe if that’s what it took. i couldn’t protect you from him and i don’t know if i can even try. i put you in danger by loving you.”

i shuddered a breath as the tears began to

clog my throat.

“that’s why i can’t love you, y/n. not anymore.”

“you act like that’s a choice you can make.” i choked out, a feeling of anger pushing forward. anger at the way he thought he could fool anyone who knew him.

“i can try.”

“BULLSHIT!” i snapped, slamming my hand against the cold counter and feeling it sting.

he buried his face in his hands and i could see his shoulders shaking. i felt my heart break then, knowing i wouldn’t be able to change his mind.

a sob broke its way through my throat, wet and rough, and i instantly regretted it because carl looked straight at my eyes and i felt myself sink deeper into the ground.

“don’t do this, carl…” i whispered, looking into his crystal blue eyes, a raging ocean encased in this beautiful human who i’d have to let go. i shook my head at him slowly.

“i’m going to get you killed,”

“then let me be killed knowing you loved me! isn’t that the best we can do?!”

“the best i can do is keep you alive.” he countered strongly. his voice was no longer broken or shaken, but determined.

i realized in that moment nothing could be done to change his mind, it had already been made up. carl was stubborn, too stubborn for his own good and he’d never be swayed by anyone, even me.

no words were spoken between us as we stared at the floor, drowning in the absence of each other. all i wanted in that moment was to touch him, to feel him under my skin and prove to me that he’s still real and he’s still here after everything that had happened. but he was taking that away from me and ripping my heart out along with it.

he inhaled a sharp breath, rubbing his hand on his face once more before he said, “it’d be best if you went to carol’s tonight.”

i swallowed harshly, nodding. at least he was right about one thing.

too tired to argue further, i walked past him and to the front door. he kept his head bowed, not looking at me. i could sense the tension as i barely grazed his shoulder, walking so fast i barely registered the soft material of his flannel on my skin. i paused in front of the door, gripping the handle and hoping he’d call out my name and beg me to stay.

but he didn’t. and i turned around to see his eyes were still trained on the floor, back turned. i felt the cold air envelop me and i slammed the door shut, reverberating and practically shaking the house. i sucked in a breath and pushed forward to the blue house a few doors down.

i knocked wearily, feeling my knees begin to wobble as the effects of what had just transpired hit me. suddenly i was a mess on the porch, breathing erratically as i tried to process what just happened. but, when i saw carols face when she opened the door, concerned at my state of being, i lost it.

she carried me into the house and let me sob my way through the story. she held me while i cried and laid me down once i had fallen asleep in her grasp, eyes crusted shut with tried tears, cheeks red, and lips swollen.

i dreamt that night of glenn.

———

in the morning i woke to the smell of toast and eggs. my stomach growled harshly and i realized i hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.

i gripped the banister on my way downstairs, being created with carol’s sympathetic smile. i sat down on the island counter as she pushed a plate of breakfast in front of me.

“i’m leaving for hilltop today.” i announced suddenly. her back was turned to me but i could sense the blank stare that must’ve washed over her. the sizzle of the pan of eggs on the stove top was the only sound heard for a moment.

then, she continued tussling the eggs in the pan, continuing on as if i hadn’t said anything. “it’s dangerous.”

“maggie needs me.” i answered simply.

“she’d feel much better if you stayed here. safe, with rick.”

i took a small bite of my toast, “she knows i can take care of myself. i should’ve gone with her and sasha right after…” i let my voice drift on, knowing i didn’t have to be specific. “i need to do this for her. for me. i cant stay here, carol, i can’t. not anymore.”

carol turned around at that, pouring her own eggs onto a plate. “well, i’m not going to stop you.” she said, taking a bite, “but i don’t think you should go alone.”

“i don’t need a babysitter,” i mumbled, beginning to lose my appetite. “im going by myself and that’s final.”

———

i opened the front door to the grimes’ home we shared cautiously. i anticipated to see carl in the front room with judith, as he always was, but to my surprise it was rick instead.

he was sat on the couch while judith babbled and played on the floor. his eyes were tired and lost, his face sunken with grief. he turned to look at me walking in and gave me the same, sympathetic smile i had gotten from carol.

i stood awkwardly in front of the door, looking anywhere but his eyes.

“he told you didn’t he.” i mumbled, not even being able to bring myself to say his name.

“no,” his voice was rough as he spoke, “i heard him last night crying in his room, after you’d left. and i knew.”

i felt my heart clench and my nose begin to sting. i nodded slowly, knowing i wouldn’t be able to choke out words i so desperately wanted to say.

“im going to hilltop today. only carol knows. i came to grab my stuff.”

his eyebrows furrowed at me and once i saw the disapproving look i spoke fast.

“i can make it there.” i promised, “we need each other.”

rick knew exactly who i was referring to and suddenly the look of disapproval vanished from his face. he nodded at me slowly, accepting the fact that this battle would be one he lost in trying to keep me here. he turned to judith and i took that as my cue to head upstairs.

“carl is at the armory, but he should be back soon,” i heard rick say, “i suggest you leave before he gets back, for both of your sakes.”

i didn’t answer, only continued up the steps. i didn’t want to see carl because i knew if he begged me to stay i would. it hurts knowing i perhaps don’t have that same control over him.

pushing open his door and revealing his room, our room was harder than i had imagined. i wanted to be out quickly, without hassle. i went through drawers, grabbing my things, stuffing them into the two duffel bags i had underneath our bed.

my heart dropped when i heard the front door open and close. i hadn’t been quick enough.

“where is she?” i heard his voice from downstairs and it motivated me to work quicker.

i managed to close the zipper on the second duffle bag but when i turned to the door i almost fainted. carl stood there with his arms hanging limp at his side, a blank stare on his face as he watched me pack my life away.

we stood facing each other for a long time. i stressed another fight, perhaps a bigger blowout than the last, but i looked into his sad, tired eyes and realized there wouldn’t be any fighting between us.

“how did you know i was here,” i mumbled.

“i went to carol’s looking for you. she told me you were leaving for hilltop.” his face scrunched up in disgust at his own words, as if just the thought of me leaving left a sour taste in his mouth.

“i am.” i said, voice feeble in an attempt to remain confident.

he shook his head slowly as tears began to rise up in his eyes. “don’t, y/n.”

“why not?” i pushed, crossing my arms over my chest. “why wouldn’t i leave? what’s left for me here?”

he didn’t answer.

“you let me go last night.” i stabilized my voice a bit, straightening my back to make myself look stronger as i spoke the words. “you can let me go again.”

“is that what this is?” he questioned, “is this reckless stupidity to punish me for last night?”

i scoffed, rolling his eyes at his narcissism. “no,” i chuckled in disbelief.

“then why? because this is the first time i’ve heard about this from you. not once have you said you’ve wanted to go to hilltop.”

“why wouldn’t i go?” i asked rhetorically, “maggie’s there and i want to help her. i feel so… so useless here! like, nothing is going right in this godforsaken place and last night was the last thing i needed to set me off.”

his face suddenly paled, his eyes softening. words were stuck on the edge of his tongue and i could see in his expression he contemplated letting them spill over. “i wanted to talk about last night.”

i turned around at that, beginning to rustle with my bag to occupy my hands. to do something other than hear him talk. especially about last night.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to hurt you, you have no idea how hard it was for me, letting you go like that.”

i scoffed again, “you don’t even have a clue how i feel, carl, so don’t even try to sympathize with me.”

“i-“

“save it.” i spat, anger beginning to rise up my veins at the idea that he was about to pity me. “nothing you can say, nothing you think you can do to make it okay won’t keep me from-“

a loud bang on the front door shook me from finishing my sentence, both our eyes widening as carl ran out of the room and to the stairs.

“anyone home?” a booming voice spoke. i knew that voice.

carl, eyes still wide, turned to me in shock. i stood frozen, my hand still clutching the strap of my duffel bag filled with things.

“aww, you are a cutie-pie aren’t you! where’s your mommy, huh?”

at that, my blood ran cold.

judith was downstairs, by herself, with him.

without another moment of hesitation, carl was booking it down the stairs. i closely followed; forgetting our fued and any other reason why i would be angry in the first place. judith came first.

when i got to the bottom of the stairs carl was already in a staring match with negan as he held judith in his burly arms. the sight almost made me vomit. if he was capable of all he did that night, what was stopping him from harming a baby?

“well would you look what we have here,” he smiled his wicked smile. “i remember you,” he said, pointing at me.

“give me the baby,” carl demanded, his eye narrow. i wouldn’t have wanted to be on the receiving end of his glare.

negan chuckled, “and why would i do that? she’s so precious, i don’t think i’ll ever let her go.”

i felt my eyes sting when he lifted her up higher, examining her small, angelic face with devil eyes.

“i’m not asking,” carl said confidently, his voice didn’t shake or tremble. surprisingly, he was calmer than me, and it was his sister. he kept his eyes trained on negan, never once allowing him to leave his hard gaze. “give her to me.”

negan looked between the two of us before letting out a large gasp, his eyes widening, “no fucking shit, pardon my french but, aren’t you two a little young…”

my cheeks flushed once i realized what he was implying. i slowly shook my head, staring at carl out of the corner of my eye. his eye narrowed further.

“that’s my sister.” he spat.

“this is rick’s baby girl?” negan bounced judith in his arms again, eliciting a small giggle from her. “wow! now it’s a grimes’ party!”

he eyed me up and down, “sweetheart,” he beckoned me to take the baby, and without question i stepped up, carefully taking her out of his grasp and into the safety of my arms. i let out a sigh of relief, smoothing her golden hair back.

i backed up to carl’s side again, keeping my arms strongly around judith’s small body. she twirled a strand of my brown hair around her stubby finger, giggling again.

ever so slightly, carl stepped in front of me, shielding judith and i from whatever this man could do.

“so, where’s rick?” negan asked as he began trodding around the room, picking up trinkets left in the house by the previous owners.

“not here,” carl answered stiffly. out of the corner of my eye, i saw his hand lightly graze over the top of his jeans. my heart pounded a little faster.

negan sighed disappointedly, “well, im gonna go look for him! in the meantime, a few of my men will be by here to collect half your shit for me to take! kapeesh?”

he walked over to me and patted judith’s back, getting sickenly close. i held my breath, attempting to shield my fear. “i’ll be back for you, sweetheart.”

a chill ran down my spine when judith giggled at the man’s words. it felt like i was holding that breath in all the way until the front door closed and i could breathe again.

suddenly, carl gripped my shoulders and forced me to face him. “take judith upstairs and stay there.”

boots crunching against gravel outside made my stomach drop, the sound getting closer as each second passed. i shook my head violently. “i’m not leaving you down here by yourself.”

“i’ll be fine, go upstairs. now!” he pushed me in the direction of the stairs, judith cooing. i suddenly felt the urge to tell him i loved him, to hold him and make sure he’s safe. i never wanted to leave his side.

i had barely made it up the stairs and out of sight by the time the men had opened the door and i heard carl already start with the spiteful comments. he’s gonna get himself killed.

i placed judith in her crib, cooing to her softly to make sure she was settled. i locked her door from the inside, stuffing the key in my back jean pocket and headed for the stairs. i peeked through the railings, watching carl argue with one of negan’s men while the other ransacked the kitchen.

“you said half!” carl growled, watching the men stuff cabinet after cabinet of food into a large bag.

“we’ll take as much as we want.” one of the men replied, his tone snark and condescending.

my eyes bulged when i saw carl turn around and raise his gun to the man in the kitchen. he cocked it, his finger edging the trigger. “put it back.”

at this, i ran downstairs to carl’s side, just in time for the man behind him to cock his gun, right at my head.

carl’s head turned, his face pale when he saw the cold metal pressed up against my head, and the man’s strong arm around my torso.

“put the gun down, kid.” the man with the gun to me demanded. carl didn’t budge.

“carl…” i whispered carefully, my heart thumping in my ears loud enough to the point where i could barely hear myself talk aloud. “put it down…”

he stood there for a moment, his hand holding the gun beginning to shake as his pupil turned into a devilish slit to the man threatening my life. after what felt like hours, he finally lowered the gun, and i let out a sigh of relief when the metal left my hair.

we watched in distraught as they picked apart every inch of our home. luckily, we were able to keep him from going upstairs, and they left without another word to either of us. as the front door slammed shut i was pulled harshly into carl’s arms, his whole body shaking in rage.

his grip was tight and constricting, as if the anger was flowing into the hug. i could barely get a breath out, and i felt him shakily let out a few of his own into my ear, his chin digging into the crevice between my neck and my shoulder.

i could feel his rage. it coursed through him like the blood in his veins. his brain pumped more thoughts of negan, his saviors, their wrath, and i felt him slip into his emotions.

“i love you,” he whispered, his voice harsh, embrace still solid.

a tear dropped onto the warm skin of my shoulder, and by then i knew, everything he had said to me last night was nothing but a mistake.

i nodded against him, “i know.”

———

the rest of the day he didn’t let go of me, refused to. we laid in bed and i realized he was still thinking of this mornings’ events.

rick had come back an hour after the saviors left and panicked, asking about judith and if we were okay. he saw carl practically in tears from anger on the couch and me coddling his fragile ego.

he told us to stay in the house the rest of the day, and he’d be back to salvage whatever food he could find for dinner after our kitchen became nothing but a hollow, empty shell.

laying on carl’s chest, i drew patterns onto the grey of his shirt. we laid in silence, comfortable yet uncomfortable silence, until he broke it.

“today,” he started, his voice low, “when he had his gun up to your head, i realized something.”

i lifted my head slightly to look at him, his eye trained on the wall in front of us.

“you were about to die without me saying i love you today.” he sucked in a sharp breath, “and- and i realized i couldn’t live with myself if that happened.”

he finally looked down to me, his eye glazed over, staring at my with a heartbreakingly beautiful gaze that told me everything i needed to know.

“carl-“

“if you still want to go to hilltop i wont stop you.” he continued, cutting me off, “but if they come there-“ his voice hitched, his chest tightening under me. “remember that even after what i said, i cant ever stop loving you, y/n.”

the tears that had been building in my eyes finally spilled over. i realized the extent of what we were all going through, what our reality is. that we don’t know if today is promised, more so than before we met the saviors. that humans are far more dangerous than any walker we’d ever come across.

we were all living on borrowed time, and at some point, we’d have to return it.

i buried my head in his warm chest and sobbed. sobbed for glenn, for abraham, for maggie, for judith, for me, for carl, for us together. i sobbed for what we’d never have again as far as it seemed.

safety.

“what are we gonna do,” the words tumbled out of my mouth deliriously, through snot and sobs.

he didn’t answer, but carl’s grip around me tightening, and the way his chest stuttered, answered for him when his throat had nothing to offer.

but then he spoke. low and menacing. he acquired a sort of vendetta he didn’t have the night prior. he wasn’t about to let me go for them. not anymore.

“we’re gonna make them pay.”

[nomie-11]

Chapter 18 - The Scrutiny of a Sorrengail

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Flying for short distances, for Genevieve, is enjoyable. The feeling of the wind in her hair and the bite of the air is a comforting feeling. Flight maneuvers—if she's flying alone or with Xaden—are even more enjoyable. 

The dips and dives that come with combat formations are a rush of adrenaline that never fails to send Genevieve into a state of exhilaration. The weightlessness, the sharp turns, and the roar of the wind in her ears make her feel alive in ways that nothing else can. It’s the closest she comes to forgetting everything. 

But flying for long distances is a brutal reminder for everything going wrong for Genevieve. 

The six hour flight for their prize for winning the Squad Battles might just kill her. The weeklong tour of the most out of the way outpost ever known to man would be fine, but the flight there and back would be the death of her. 

“I’m pretty sure I’m dying.” Nadine bends over, bracing her hands on her knees. 

“I feel that.” Violet says, every vertebra in her spine screaming as she stretches, and that hands that were freezing from flight only moments ago begin to sweat in her gloves. 

Genevieve cracks her neck, trying to shake off the tension that’s settled into her bones from the extended flight. Her body aches in ways that are almost too familiar—the bite of cold in her extremities, the stiffness in her muscles, the gnawing exhaustion that feels like it’s leeching away her strength. The cold settles deep, despite being early april, reminding her of the toll her last burnout took, leaving her vulnerable in ways she hates to admit. 

“You’re not dying,” she says to Nadine, though her voice lacks the usual bite. “But if you were, I’d say it’s a fitting prize for us winning Squad Battle.” 

Nadine shoots her a half-hearted glare before turning to stretch out her back. Violet isn’t faring much better, Liam holds her hands as if he can channel his own body warmth into hers. 

Gods, Genevieve groans. I miss Xaden. 

“Welcome, cadets,” the commander says with a professional smile, interrupting Genevieve’s brooding. He folds his arms across the chest of his lightweight leathers, and he has the gaunt, tired rider look that any rider gets when they’ve been stationed at the border for too long. “I’m sure you’d all like to get settled and into something a little more appropriate for the climate. Then we’ll show you around Montserrat.” 

Genevieve huffs, shifting her weight from one sore leg to another. It definitely is hotter here than it is at Basgiath, but she’s sure she’s not the only one still reeling from the cold winds above. 

Rhiannon inhales sharply from beside her, her gaze sweeping over the mountains. 

“You all right?” Violet asks, and Genevieve nods, her eyes asking Rhiannon the same question. 

She nods as well. “Later.” 

Later arrives in twelve minutes, where a still slightly cold Genevieve and a two very hot Rhiannon and Violet sit in the triple-occupancy barrack rooms. They’re sparsely furnished, only three beds, three wardrobes, and a single desk sit in the room. 

Rhiannon is quiet the entire time they make their way through the bathing chamber, washing off the ride, and alarmingly silent as they dress in their summer leathers. It may only be April in Montserrat, but it feels like June. 

“Are you going to tell us what’s up?” Genevieve asks, stowing her pack beneath the bed before making sure all of her daggers are safely sheathed at her hips and thighs. 

Rhiannon’s hands tremble with what looks like nervous energy as she straps her swords to her back. “Do you know where we are?” 

Violet mentally brings up a map. “We’re about two hundred miles from the coast–”

“My village is less than an hour away on foot.” Her eyes flicker between Genevieve and Violet with an unspoken plea,the emotion swirling in their dark-brown depths clogs Violet’s throat, and Genevieve’s eyes are solid with resolve. 

“Ok, so we’re going.” Genevieve said firmly, her eyes meeting Violet’s with a strong gaze. 

Violet blinks once, surprise evident on her features.

“What?” Genevieve asks, her own surprise at the soft disagreement now painted on her features. “You’re telling me that if you had a happy family, safe and waiting for you, an hour away, you wouldn’t go?” 

“Ok,” She says, quickly agreeing. “Don’t tell anyone,” she whispers, even though it's just the three of them in the tiny room. “We have six days to figure it out and we will.” 

“Let’s go, Second Squad!” Dain’s voice booms through the door, and the girls filter out, joining the others and Major Quade as they get a tour of the outpost. 

The fortress itself is just four massive walls, filled with barracks and various chambers, turrets on each corner and a large, arched entrance that boasts a spiked portcullis that looks like it might fall at any second. On one end of the courtyard, there’s a stable with a blacksmith and armory for their company of infantry, and on the other is the dining hall. 

“As you can see,” Major Quade tells them as they stand in the middle of the muddy courtyard. “We’re built for siege. In the event of an attack, we can feed and house everyone for an adequate amount of time.” 

Ridoc mouths something at Violet that Genevieve misses, but she doesn’t miss the death glare Dain shoots at Violet afterwards. Awkward…

“As one of the eastern outposts, we have a full twelve riders stationed here. Three are out on patrol now, three wait, standing by in case they’re needed, and the other six are in various stages of rest,” Quade continues. The distinct roar of a dragon echoes off the stone walls. “That should be one of our patrols returning now,” Quade says, smiling like he wants the cadets to believe him, but can’t find the energy. 

“So,” he says, clapping his hands together. “We’ll get you riders fed and put to bed, and then we’ll work on who you’ll be shadowing while you’re here.” 

“Will we get to participate in any active scenarios?” Heaton asks, practically vibrating with excitement. 

“Absolutely not!” Devera snaps. 

“If you see combat, then I’ve failed as this being the safest place on the border to send you,” Quade answers. “But you get bonus points for enthusiasm. Third-year?” Heaton nods. 

Quade turns slightly, and smiles at the three indistinct figures in rider black as they walk under the portcullis. “There they are now. Why don’t you three come and meet—”

“Violet?” 

Genevieve freezes, she knows that voice. 

In an instant, Violet is no longer beside her, but running full force at the familiar girl, who sweeps Violet up and hugs her like she’s never before. 

“Mira,” Violet whispers, burying her face against her shoulder, and her eyes burn as she rests her hand on top of Violet’s braid as if committing every detail of her sister into her mind. 

Mira pulls back just long enough to look Violet over, as if she’s checking for damage. “You’re all right.” She nods, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “You’re all right, aren’t you?”

Violet nods, and it’s true, she is alright. But just because she’s alive doesn’t mean she’s the same person Mira had left at the base of the turret. They both know it. 

“Yeah,” she whispers, pulling back Violet into another hug. “You’re all right, Violet. You’re all right.”

“Are you?” Violet says, jerking back to study her. “Gods, Mira.” 

“I’m fine,” she promises, then grins. “You didn’t die!”

Irrational, giddy laughter bubbles up from Violet. “I didn’t die, you’re not an only child!”

“Sorrengails are weird,” Genevieve states, drawing a bemused look from Liam who stands next to her, arms crossed over his chest. 

“You have no idea,” Dain says in response, his lips curved into a small smile that makes Genevieve want to hurl. 

“Shut up, Aetos!” Mira barks, throwing her arm over Violet’s shoulder. “Catch me up on everything, Violet.” 

—--------------------------------------

It’s early evening two days later, just after dinner, when Violet, Genevieve and Rhiannon sneak out of their first-story window and drop to the ground. Mira’s out on patrol, and Genevieve knows this is their only chance. 

“We’re on our way.” Genevieve calls out to Tairn, giving him a warning. 

“Don’t get caught,” He warns in response. 

“That’s the plan.” the three girls sneak along the battlement wall, turning the corner toward the field—

Genevieve runs so hard right into Mira that she bounces backwards. 

“Shit!” Rhiannon hisses as she catches her. 

“Of course you would be sneaking out,” Mira says, her voice pointed at Genevieve. “When I saw you with Violet I knew you were a bad influence on her,” then she turned to Violet. “You should be staying away from people like her. You know better.”

“Me?” Genevieve asked, her jaw nearly on the ground. “You’re the one who stuck an innocent nineteen year old girl into a dungeon! You were the last face I saw!”

Mira’s face freezes, her eyes narrowing as she stares at Genevieve. “I had no choice. You were a prisoner of war, Genevieve.” 

Genevieve’s jaw tightens, anger flaring in her chest, but Violet steps between them, her voice low. “Mira, this isn’t the time. We’re just—”

“Just sneaking out,” Mira cuts her off, eyes still locked on genevieve. “And dragging my sister along for whatever you’re planning. What is it, revenge? A mission? Are you planning to kill Violet while you’re off in the villages?” 

“If I wanted to kill your sister I would have done it ages ago,” Genevieve bites, her pulse quickening at the accusation, her jaw clenching so hard it aches. “I don’t know if you heard, but I basically taught your sister how to fight and I protected her in situations I could’ve stayed far away from. But because I don’t care about family names, unlike you, I saw Violet for who she was past being a Sorrengail and protected her.”

Mira’s eyes flash, her lips pressing into a tight line. “Don’t you dare act like you’re doing her some favor. You’re still the daughter of a traitor. You’ve always had your own motives.” 

“I was a kid!” Genevieve snaps, fists clenched at her sides, her entire body trembling with the effort to hold back as vines creep up her legs. “I didn’t choose this! I didn’t choose any of it!”

The tension between them is thick, and Violet shifts uneasily, her eyes darting between the two women as if trying to diffuse the situation. 

“Mira, please,” Violet pleads, stepping closer to her sister. “We’re not doing anything dangerous. Rhiannon just wants to check on her family. That’s all.” 

Mira doesn’t seem convinced. Her gaze hardens as she turns back to Genevieve, her voice as cold as the wind that had chilled Genevieve to the bone earlier. “And what do you get out of it, Hale? You always have an angle.” 

Genevieve’s heart pounds, fury and frustration swirling inside of her. She meets Mira’s gaze without flinching. “Maybe I just want to help someone. Ever think of that? You don’t know me.” 

There’s a flicker in Mira’s eyes, something that could be doubt, or maybe regret. It’s brief, and then she hardens again. 

“I don’t trust you,” Mira says flatly. 

“And I don’t care,” Genevieve shoots back. “I’m not doing this to prove anything to you, Sorrengail. I’m doing it for Rhiannon, and for her family. Because some of us still care about things like that.” 

“I’m coming with you.” 

“Fuck me!” Genevieve exclaimed to Tairn, exasperatedly. 

“Isn’t that what the wingleader is for?” He chuffs in response, laughing at her. 

Mira cast a sidewards glare at Genevieve. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll make you regret it for the rest of your natural life.” 

“She means it,” Violet whispers. 

“I believe it,” Rhiannon responds. 

“You’re here two days and already breaking the rules,” Mira mutters. “Come this way, it’s quicker to cut down this path.” 

An hour later, Mira and Violet are stretched out on the cushioned benches that flank both sides of Rhiannon’s sister Reagan’s house, watching Rhiannon rock her nephew by the fireplace, lost in conversation with her sister as he parents and brother-in-law look on from the nearby couch. 

Genevieve sits alone on a chair, her body tense with what looks like… awkwardness. Violet has to stifle a laugh, and Mira knows that watching them reunite is worth everything. 

Genevieve feels the warmth of the fire on her skin, but it does little to thaw the icy knot in her chest. Watching Rhiannon cradle her nephew stirs a deep, aching void she hasn’t allowed herself to dwell on in years. The joy on Rhiannon’s face, the way her sister embraces her with such ease and love—it reminds Genevieve of everything she’s lost, everything she can never get back. 

Even Violet is sitting with her sister, laughing about something with her as if they were never separated. Genevieve is alone. 

Her mind drifts to her mother. She could almost hear her voice, soft and comforting as she tucked Genevieve into bed on the cold winter nights in the mountains of Aretia. She used to hum lullabies when she thought Genevieve was asleep, a melody she’d give anything to hear again. A melody she hasn’t heard since the rebellion ended in flames, and her mother disappeared into the darkness. 

And Quinn. Bright, caring Quinn who used to hold little Genevieve’s hand as they ran through the fields of flowers and forests, laughing as the wind whipped through their hair. She had said nothing would happen to her, that she would always be there. But she was gone, her death haunting Genevieve’s mind like a plague. 

Her grandmother, though… everywhere Genevieve turned she saw her watching. The woman who raised her when her mother left and her father died. The one who knew every story, every song. Genevieve remembers the clear feeling of her strong hands braiding her hair, or rubbing in burn cream when her pale skin suffered the bite of the sun. But the sight of her face was slowly but surely disappearing from Genevieve's mind. 

A lump rises in her throat, her chest tightening as she blinks back tears. More than anything, she wishes that she could be back with them again. Back in her grandma’s manor, feeling her mother’s embrace, hearing her sister’s laugh, smelling her grandmother’s floral perfume. But that world is gone, buried beneath rubble and blood. 

Suddenly, Rhiannon is right in front of her. 

“Do you want to hold him?” 

Genevieve looks up, startled. Rhiannon is standing there with her nephew nestled securely in her arms, his tiny face soft and peaceful. For a moment, Genevieve’s heart stutters in her chest, the innocent warmth radiating from the baby pulling at the carefully constructed walls she built over the years. She opens her mouth, but no words come out. 

“I don’t know if I should,” She finally manages, her voice hoarse, almost unfamiliar. 

Rhiannon’s eyes soften, as if she can see right through Genevieve’s hesitance. “It’s okay. You’re in control now, you won’t break him.” She steps closer, her tone gentle but insistent.

Genevieve swallows hard, feeling everything crumble beneath her as her hands hover awkwardly in front of her before she relents, nodding slightly. 

Rhiannon carefully transfers the sleeping baby into Genevieve’s arms, guiding her hands into position. The little bundle is light but warm, and the weight of him against her chest feels foreign, almost unreal. Genevieve stares down at the tiny face, the soft rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps, fully trusting that Genevieve will do no harm. 

Everything fades. All she can see is the fragile life cradled in her arms. Something shifts inside her, a flicker of something long buried, something she thought was gone. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Train’s voice booms in a familiar manner. “I’m too young to be a grandfather.” 

Genevieve snorts, glancing at the baby in her arms and then shaking her head ever so slightly at Tairn’s comment. “Always so dramatic. I don’t even want kids,” she responds, but the humor fades quickly, replaced by the sudden rush of emotions that holding the child has stirred in her. 

“Genevieve?” Rhiannon’s voice brings her back to the present. “Are you alright?” 

Genevieve forces a nod, though her throat feels tight. She’s not alright. This moment—the warmth, the innocence, the tenderness—it’s all too much and not enough at the same time. She misses her family, but above all, being apart from Xaden for three days now has started to be painful over her dragon’s bond. 

She can feel all the tension Tairn is carrying, being apart from Sgaeyl has been hard on him. She misses Xaden, too. 

Rhiannon notices the shift in Genevieve’s expression, the fleeting vulnerability she rarely allows herself to show. “You can hand him back if you want,” Rhiannon offers, her voice understanding. 

Geneiveve quickly nods, handing the baby back to Rhiannon. 

Her thoughts drift again—back to Xaden. The bond between the two of them had been growing steadily stronger with every intimate moment they shared, every word they exchanged, and the bond between their dragons was infinitely stronger. Being apart from him now, even for just a few days, was harder than she anticipated. 

“I need some air,” She muttered, quickly exciting the house past Mira and Violet, who looked on in confusion. 

The cool night air hits Genevieve’s face as she steps outside, leaning heavily against the rough wooden door. The warmth of the fireplace and the emotions swirling inside had been too much. She couldn’t breathe in there. 

A shiver runs down her spine. Scanning the dimly lit fields beyond the house, her heart skips a beat. Of course he’s come to find her. There, in the shadows by the edge of the tree line, stands a figure. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair nearly falling into his eyes. Xaden. 

He strides forward, closing the space between them in long, purposeful steps. His presence is magnetic, pulling her closer even before he reaches her. When he does, the air around them seems to shift, growing heavier with the unsaid. 

“Xaden,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. The knot in her chest has loosened just from the sight of him. 

He doesn’t speak, not at first. Instead, he reaches out, his hand slipping around her wrist, pulling her toward him in one smooth motion until she’s pressed against him, her head resting against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath her ear, a grounding rhythm, that calms the raging storm inside her. 

“I missed you,” he finally says, his voice low and rough, as if the separation had been just as hard on him. She can’t find the words to explain how much she missed him, how the past few days without him had left her feeling raw and unsteady. So, instead of speaking, she leans up and kisses him, soft at first, then deeper, pouring all the emotions she couldn’t voice into the kiss. 

He responds immediately, his hands tightening around her waist, pulling her even closer. The intensity of their bond flares between them, the connection humming with the energy of their dragons, of the unspoken feelings they both kept buried. 

When they finally part, both breathing heavily, Xaden’s eyes darken. “Three days. We couldn’t make three days,” he mutters, his voice laced with frustration and need. 

Genevieve sighs faintly, her fingers brushing his jaw. “No,” she agrees, her voice soft. “We can’t.”

They stand there for a moment longer, wrapped up in each other, the world fading into the background. 

“Mira’s going to be so pissed,” Genevieve says softly, her voice lighter than before now that she’s back in his arms. 

“I don’t care.” 

Neither does she, as she pulls him down again, kissing him deeper and deeper against the darkness. 

—----------------------------------------

Genevieve was right. Mira was not happy to find her little sister’s best friend, who happened to be the daughter of a disgraced traitor, kissing the son of the man who killed her older brother. Nor was she happy to have him on base with her, but that was not Genevieve’s issue. 

“So all we do is wait for something to happen?” Ridoc asks as the group all sit around a table that runs the length of the briefing room. He’s leaning back in his chair and putting his boots on the end of the table, and Genevieve can practically see the fire in Mira’s eyes as she watches. 

“Yes,” Mira says from the head of the table, then flicks her wrist and sends Ridoc flying backwards. “And keep your feet off the table.” 

One of the Montserrat riders laughs, changing the markers on the large map that consumes the only stone wall in the curved, windowed room. They all sit in this room, in the highest turret in the outpost, offering unmatched views of the Esben mountain range around them. 

Second Squad plus Xaden was split into two groups for the day. Rhiannon, Sawyer, Cianna, Nadine, and Heaton spent the morning with Devera in this room, studying the previous battles at the outpost, and are now out on patrol. 

Dain, Ridoc, Liam, Quinn, Emery, Violet, and Genevieve spent the morning on a two-hour flight around the surrounding area, with one extra tagalong—Xaden. He’s been the worst kind of distraction since arriving last night. Dain won’t stop glaring, Mira keeps watch on his every move. 

All Genevieve wants is one moment of peace with this man before he’s ripped away from her again. But Mira doesn’t trust her yet, so every second she spends awake, Mira spends watching her, and once Xaden joins them, her eyes are split between the two of them. The two traitors. 

“Whatever Violet said to get Mira off of Liam’s ass she needs to say about me next.” Genevieve huffed, glancing over at Liam, who was holding Violet’s hand comfortably. Then she glanced at her own hand and then at Xaden’s hand, before bringing her’s into her lap. She was not ready to be public like that. 

“Consider this your Battle Brief,” Mira continues, side-eyeing Ridoc as he scrambles back into his chair. “This morning was about a quarter of the patrol we’d normally fly, so regularly we’d just be getting back about now and reporting our findings to the commander. But for the sake of killing time, since we’re in this room as the reaction flight for this afternoon, let’s pretend we’d come across a newly fortified enemy outpost crossing our border” —she turns to the map and pins a small crimson flag near one of the peaks about two miles from the Cygnisen borderline— “here.” 

“We’re supposed to pretend it just popped up overnight?” Emery asks, openly skeptical. 

“For the sake of argument, third-year.” Mira narrows her eyes on him, and he sits up a little straighter. 

“What would our objective be?” Mira glances around the table, noticeably skipping Xaden and glaring at Genevieve. Last night, she’d taken one look at the rebellion relic on his arm and walked by without saying a word. And she hadn’t spoken to Genevieve since she left Rhiannon’s house in a flurry. “Aetos?” 

Dain startles from where he was glowering across the table at Xaden and turns to face the map. “What type of fortifications are there? Are we talking about a haphazard wooden structure? Or something more substantial?” 

“Like they had time to build a fortress overnight,” Ridoc mutters. “It has to be wooden, right?” 

“You are all so fucking literal,” Genevieve groans, rubbing her thumbs on her temples. This has all been headache inducing. “Just say that they occupied a keep that’s already established. Stone and all.” 

“Thank you, Hale,” Mira says, although it sounds physically painful for the name and the gratitude to be leaving her lips in the same sentence. 

“But the civilians didn’t call for help?” Quinn asks, scratching her pointed chin. “Protocol calls for a distress signal this far into the mountains. They should have lit their distress beacon, alerting patrolling riders, at which time the dragons on patrol would have told all available dragons in the area. Every rider in this room would have mounted first as the reaction force and the others would have been woken from their rests, allowing the riders to prevent the loss of the keep in the first place.” 

Mira scoffs and braces her hands on the end of the table, staring them all down. “Everything you’re taught at Basgiath is theory. You analyze past attacks and learn those very… theoretical combat maneuvers. But things don’t always go to plan, so why don’t we talk about the things that can go sideways, so you’ll know what to do when they do, as opposed to arguing that the keep shouldn’t have fallen?”

Quinn shifts uncomfortably in her seat. 

“How many of you have been called out as third-years?” Mira stands straight, arms folding over her black leathers. 

Emery and Xaden raise their hands, though Xaden’s is barely a gesture. Dain looks like his head is about to explode. 

“That’s not true. We’re never called into service until graduation.” 

Xaden presses his lips in a tight line and nods, giving Dain a sarcastic thumbs up. 

“Yeah, all right.” Emery laughs. “Just wait until next year. I can’t count how many times we’re the ones sitting in these very rooms in the midland forts because their riders have been called to the front for an emergency.” 

The color drains from Dain’s face. 

“Now that’s settled.” Mira reaches under the table and pulls out a set of models, putting a six-inch stone keep in the center of the table. “Catch.” One by one she tosses painted wooden models of dragons at the group, keeping one for herself. “Pretend the other riders don’t exist, and we’re the only squad available to take back that keep. Think of the power in this room. Think of what each individual rider brings to the table and how you’d use those powers in unison to conquer your objective.” 

“But they don’t teach that to first-years,” Liam says slowly from beside Violet, his thumb tracing patterns on the back of her hand. 

Mira glances at the whirls of magic on his wrist, but to Liam’s credit, he doesn’t tug his sleeve down. It’s hard for Genevieve to remember that their third-years are the first riders who will serve with the children of the leaders of the Tyrrish Uprising—an uprising that could have left borders defenseless. Everyone in the room has become accustomed to Liam, Imogen, Genevieve… even Xaden. But those in active service have never flown with anyone marked by a rebellion relic. 

Mira’s glare is hard, but it’s interrupted by Violet clearing her throat and shooting a look at her older sister. Her eyes widen ever so slightly at the clear warning on Violet’s face to back off, and she directs her attention back to Liam. 

“They might not teach you this battle strategy as first-years because you’re all too busy trying to stay on your dragons. You had your first taste of strategy during Squad Battle, and we are approaching May, which means War Games start soon, right?”

“Two weeks,” Dain answers. 

“Good timing then. You’ll need all the experience you get if you’re planning on surviving.” She holds Violet haze for half a breath. “This kind of thinking will give your whole wing an advantage, since I guarantee your wingleader is already assessing every rider for their own abilities.”

Xaden flips his dragon model in his hands but remains silent. He hasn’t spoken a single word to Mira since he’s arrived. 

“So let’s do this. Who’s in command?” She glances around the table. “And let’s pretend I don’t have three years of seniority over even the highest ranked of you.”

“Then I’m in command,” Dain answers confidently, straightening his back as if an improved posture gives the illusion of power. 

“Our wingleader is here,” Liam argues, pointing at Xaden. “I’d say that puts him in command.”

“We can pretend I’m not here, for the sake of the exercise,” Xaden sets his model dragon on the table and leans back in his chair, draping his arm across the back of Genevieve's, eliciting a glare from Mira. “Give Aetos here the position we all know he craves.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Genevieve whispers, nudging him. 

“You have even seen me start to be a dick.” 

Genevieve freezes, her head immediately swiveling to face him. That was his voice… in her head. 

He turns, the golden flecks dancing in his eyes. She can hear him laughing in her mind, his lips tilted up into a small smirk. 

“You’re staring. It’s going to get awkward in about 30 seconds if you don’t stop.”

Her gaze snaps forward. 

“How?” She hisses. 

“The same way you talk to Sgaeyl and I talk to Tairn. We both knew we could feel something in each other's mind, I just had to test if we could actually talk. Though I’m starting to wish I tried it sooner, the look on your face is priceless.” He winks and turns back to the table. 

“You’re the wingleader.” Every word out of Dain’s mouth is agonizing, spoken through gritted teeth. 

“I’m not even supposed to be here,” Xaden shrugs. “But if it makes you feel better, for the purpose of war games, you’d be getting your orders from your section leader, Garrick Tavis, which he’d get from me. You’ll be carrying out your maneuvers as a squad for the good of the wing. Just pretend I’m another member of your squad and use me as you wish, Aetos.” Xaden folds his arms over his chest. 

“So what have you heard through this… extension of our dragons’ bond?” she whispered harshly. 

“Why are you even here?” Dain challenges. “No offense, sir, but we weren’t exactly expecting senior leadership on this trip.” 

“You’re more than aware that Sgaeyl and Tairn are mated.” 

“Three days!?” Dain fires back, leaning in. “You couldn’t make it three days?” 

“Lay off it, Aetos,” Genevieve barks. “Just because you can’t keep Violet underneath your thumb anymore doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me. Or Xaden. It has nothing to do with him, that’s up to Tairn and Sgaeyl.” 

“I’ve heard just how much you miss me when I’m gone,” Xaden says, his timing impeccable. 

“Of course you rush to defend him.” Dain hurls a glare at Genevieve. “I know I’m not wrong when I say that General Sorrengail gave you orders to watch him and report suspicious activity, not fall in love with him.” 

“How do you know about that!?” Genevieve’s mind is reeling. She only told Xaden about her mission, maybe she mentioned once to Violet in passing. Oh my gods, Violet! Genevieve’s eyes could cut through metal as she stared so hard at the silver-haired girl, that Violet could swear she was looking right at her soul. 

“Great job remaining professional, Aetos.” Xaden scratches the relic on his neck, and Genevieve knows damn well that stupid mark doesn’t itch. “Really shows those leadership qualities to their best advantage.” 

“I’m going to kill you,” Genevieve sneers, her fiery gaze not leaving Violet’s, but the words are obviously pointed towards Dain. 

One of the riders down the table whistles low. “Do you boys just want to whip it out and measure? It would be faster.” 

Liam smothers a laugh, but his shoulders shake. 

“Enough!” Mira slams her hand on the table. 

“Oh, come on, Sorrengail,” the rider down the table whines with a wide smile. Both Mira and Violet look his way with sharp eyes. “I mean… the older Sorrengail. This is the best entertainment we’ve had in ages.”

Violet shakes her head, and looks around the table. “Mira has the ability to extend the shield if the wards are down, so the first thing I would do is send her to scout the area with Teine. We need to know if we’re dealing with infantry or gryphon riders.” 

“Good.” Mira moves her dragons closer to the castle. “Now let’s assume that there are gryphons.” 

“You want to do your job?” Genevieve says, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. “I mean, how you can forget you’re the squad leader is beyond me.” 

His hands clenched around the dragon he holds as he rips his gaze from Genevieve. “Quinn, can you astral project from the back of your dragon?” 

“Yes,” She answers. 

“Then I would have you project into the fortress to check for signs of weakness,” Dain orders. “And then have you report back. Same with Liam. We’d use your farsightedness to see if you can locate where the gryphon riders are and if there are any traps.” 

“Good. The weaknesses are the wooden gate,” Mira notes as Quinn and Liam move their dragons into position, “And the Navarrian citizens they have captive in the dungeons.” 

“So much for blasting the whole place,” Ridoc says. 

“You’re an air welder, right?” Dain asks Emery. “So you can shape your dragon’s flames, lead them through the occupied parts of the keep without killing civilians.” 

“Yes,” Emery answers. “But I’d have to be in the keep.” 

“Then we’ll get you into the keep.” Genevieve says firmly. “My signet works the best when I’m on the ground-”

Dain cuts her off. 

“You want him to go in on foot and leave his dragon?” 

“Why do you think we get all that hand-to-hand training? Or are you going to leave all those innocent people to die?” Mira flicks her wrist and Emery's dragon goes flying out of his hand and into hers. She puts it in the center of the keep. “The real question is, how do you get close enough without getting you killed, since I’m guessing the others will be busy fighting off the gryphons that launch once the fireworks start.” 

Genevieve sits back, rolling her eyes. 

“What’s your signet, Aetos?” Quinn asks. 

“Above your pay grade,” Dain answers, glancing around the table and skipping over Xaden, then making the rounds again, finally sighing. “Any ideas?”

“Sure.” Violet picks up both Genevieve’s and Xaden’s dragons and shoves them toward the keep. The figurines hover above the structure, a testament to Violet’s superior ability to use her lesser magic in the absence of a signet. “You stop ignoring that you have two of the most powerful signets at your disposal, and ask the Shadow Wielder to black out the area so no one sees you land, and send her, a Life Weaver” —Violet’s eyes lock on Genevieve— “to take out the threat from the inside out.” 

“She’s not wrong,” Mira agrees, but her words are clipped. 

“You can cover all that?” Dain begrudgingly looks at Xaden. 

“Are you seriously asking me that?” Xaden retorts. 

“Just wasn’t sure you could cover an area that—” 

Xaden lifts a hand a few inches above the table, and shadows pour from underneath their seats, filling the room and turning dark as midnight in a blink. Genevieve’s heart jumps as her sight goes black, gripping her dagger tighter.

“Relax. It’s just me.” A ghost of a touch skims her cheek. “Want to put some vines up just to scare him?” 

“I’m good, thanks,” Genevieve whispers, this is the first real time she’s been in his signet, and holy shit, it’s terrifying. 

“Fuck me,” someone says. 

“I can surround this entire outpost, but I think that might freak some people out,” Xaden says, and the shadows disappear, racing back under the table. Genevieve takes a deep breath, noting that everyone at the table, beside Emery and Imogen, who have no doubt seen that trick before, are slightly green. 

Even Mira, who’s staring down at Xaden like he just took an attempt at her life. 

“I hope you didn’t get any idea while we were in the dark there,” Xaden teases, and just like that, whatever fear Genevieve was harboring disappears into the air around her. He laughs, and she grits her teeth. 

“Get him out of my head,” She throws at Tairn. 

“You’ll get used to it,” He responds, not bothering to give her directions on how to reply. 

“Is this normal with all mated pairs and their riders?”

“For some. It’s a great advantage in battle.” 

“Well, it’s a pain in my ass right now.” She internally groans. Right now, she misses when he was far away and not in her head, listening to her every thought and concern. She thinks a lot, and it's nauseating to think he was listening to everything. 

“Then shield him out the same way you do me—or start talking back,” Tairn grumbles. “You have the power to be a pain in the ass, too. You already are one to me.” 

“And how exactly am I supposed to talk back at him?” She gives Xaden a heavy dose of side-eye, but he’s engrossed in the ongoing battle they’ve waged against an imaginary keep. 

“Figure out which pathway into your mind is his. You only have two, narrow down which one is mine and which one is his.” 

Oh joy. That should be easy. 

The hypothetical operations are concluded, each of them using their powers to the best of their abilities, everyone except Violet. But when it’s time to take out the gryphons in air, Violet knows that she and Astrape trump everyone except Genevieve and Tairn. 

“Good job,” Mira says, glancing at her pocket watch. “Aetos, Riorson, and Sorrengail, I want to see you in the hallway. The rest of you are dismissed.”

The rest of the squad rises, chairs scraping the stone floor as they file out of the room. Genevieve stays seated for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she watches Xaden, Dain, and Violet file out of the door behind Mira. 

“Come on, Genevieve.” Liam’s voice snaps her out of her reverie, and she looks up to see him standing behind her, an easy smile on his face. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Genevieve stands, brushing her hands on her pants. “Yeah, I’m coming.” But as she walks out the room, and brushes past Xaden, he gives her arm a light squeeze. 

He tries to be reassuring, but there is too much on her mind. Too many things that apparently, he can hear too. 

——————————————-

“There’s a drift of gryphons headed this way!” Tairn bellows, not even minutes after she’s gotten back to her triple dorm in Montserrat. It’s evident that the other riders have gotten the alert too, because as Genevieve runs back to the battle plan room, the others are there too. 

“You have to go!” Mira says to Violet, pulling her into a hug. 

“We can help!” Violet argues, but she’s being held so tight.

“You can’t. And if Astrape is using her power to keep you seated, then she’s diminished as well. You have to go. Get out of here. If you love me, Violet, you’ll go so I don’t have to worry about you, too.” She releases her, looking to Xaden as the squad pours out of the door above, thundering by as they run down the steps. “Get them out of here!”

”Let’s go!” Dain shouts. “Now!” 

“Lieutenant Sorrengail,” Xaden addresses firmly, practically snarling at Mira. “Even if you don’t trust me, I’m the best weapon you have,” 

“If what you say is true, then you’re also the best weapon Genevieve has, and gods only know what Genevieve might do if Violet gets hurt. As much as I don’t trust either of you, you’ve kept her alive this far and you need to keep her alive now. The other half of the squad will be here in moments, we have time. Go.” Mira’s eyes shift to Genevieve. “Violet will follow you if you go.” 

Xaden grumbles, grabbing Genevieve by the wrist and motioning for Liam to do the same to Violet. He’s practically tossed her up on his shoulder, as Violet struggles against his grip.

“No!” She fights, but there’s no point, Liam outmatches her by so much. “Mira! What if you get hurt? Astrape’s speed could be the only thing that saves you. Tairn’s speed could save you! At least let us stay!” 

She looks over her shoulder at the doorway, but there’s steel in her expression. “You want me to trust you, Hale? Get her the fuck out of here and find a way for her to keep her seat. We both know she’s dead if she doesn’t.”

“Mira!” She screams, clawing at Liam’s arms, but he’s already halfway down the stairs with an arm clamped around her waist as if she weighs less than the swords on his backs. “I love you!” 

“Liam, let us go grab our packs. She can’t run while I watch.” Genevieve says, following quickly in step behind Xaden’s long strides. It takes only minutes for Genevieve and Violet to grab their bags and Rhiannon’s since they’ve never unpacked, cramming their cloaks into the empty space. Once they return to the hallway, Xaden and Liam are there waiting, and their packs are suspiciously empty. 

Genevieve doesn’t even want to think about what they’re leaving behind in order to get them out safely. 

Violet doesn’t even bother looking at them, marching for the door, but Genevieve grabs her elbow and spins her around. “Nope. We can’t leave the fortress walls. We’re going up.” Liam grabs her waist and all but hauls her to the nearest turret. “We’re climbing.” 

“This is bullshit!” Violet yells at Genevieve, uncaring that the other members of the squad also climbing the turret can hear. “Astrape could help them!”

“Violet, your sister is right. You have to make it out, so we’re going. Please just climb.” 

“Dain,” Violet says, realizing he’s right in front of them. 

He turns around and takes Rhiannon’s pack, slinging it over his own. “I don’t like Genevieve all that much, but she’s right. It’s not just you we have to get out, Violet. Think of every other first-year.” The plea in his eyes shuts Violet’s mouth. “Are you going to sentence an entire untrained squad to death? Because I’ll make it. Dianna, Emery, and Heaton will, too. And we all fucking know Riorson will. But what about Rhiannon? Ridoc? Sawyer? Genevieve? Do you want her death on your hands?” He asks, his words choppy as they race to the open door. 

They burst onto the roof as Emery mounts his dragon, who is precariously perched on the thinner-than-quadrant wall. Violet pales, and Genevieve knows that she will never be able to mount Astrape at this angle. 

“Ridoc and Quinn are already in the air,” Liam tells them as Emery launches skyward, where Cath, Astrape, and Deigh hover, their winds beating the air. 

“Violet can’t mount at this angle!” Genevieve whispers harshly to Liam. “Get her up on that dragon!”

He nods, pulling Violet in towards her, his hand cupping his head as he gives her a quick kiss, before lifting her up for Astrape to grab. She’s fighting the whole way up. The rest of the squad is in the air and safe. Genevieve can fight. But they won’t let her. 

Liam goes to mount next, crumbling the masonry with the force of Deigh’s landing, and Liam takes off down the narrow walkway toward the large Red Daggertail. 

“You next, Aetos,” Xaden barks, and Dain flicks his eyes to Geneveive.

“Gene-” He starts to argue. 

“That’s an order.” There’s no room for argument here in that tone, and Geneveive knows it, especially when Cath takes Deigh’s place on the wall. Dain looks like he might fight, but ultimately he nods, turning to Xaden. 

“Get Genevieve in the air as soon as Tairn arrives.” He says firmly. 

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Xaden says, his words firm. “Now get on your dragons so I can get her on hers.” 

Immediately, he turns and runs up Cath’s leg, mounting so easily that Genevieve is almost jealous. 

“Where are you?” Genevieve calls out to Tairn, seeing the empty skies above her. 

“Almost there. I was doing what could be done.” 

“Let me stay and fight,” Genevieve says to Xaden, desperation evident in her every word. 

Xaden turns sharply at her words, his eyes dark and stormy, stepping closer until Genevieve can feel the heat radiating from him. “You can’t stay,” he growls, his voice thick with frustration and something deeper— something raw that he’s been holding back. 

“I’m not running away,” She snaps, her fists clenched tight at her sides, fighting against the pull in her chest, the one that keeps dragging her back to him. 

“Damn it, Gen!” He grabs her shoulders, the force of his grip sending a jolt through her. His face is so close now that she can see the tension in his jaw, a battle raging in his eyes. “If you stay, you might die. And I can’t—” He cuts himself off, the unspoken words hanging between them. 

Genevieve freezes, her breath catching in her throat. She’s fought her entire life. Fought for survival, for vengeance, for a reason to keep going. But this—this feeling tearing through her, the one he’s igniting—it’s different. She’s never let herself feel it before. It’s terrifying. 

“I’m not leaving you,” she whispers, the words slipping out unbidden, her voice breaking with emotions she can barely hold back. 

Xaden’s expression shifts, the anger in his eyes softening for just a moment, replaced by something fierce, something vulnerable. He steps closer, and before she can say anything else, his lips crash against hers, hard and desperate. The kiss is searing, full of everything he’s never said, everything they’ve both been holding back. It’s a demand, a plea, and a promise all at once. 

Genevieve’s hands fly to his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as she kisses him back with the same intensity, her heart pounding wildly. She can feel the tension in his body, the barely controlled restraint in the way he pulls her closer, as if he’s afraid to let her go. Her entire world narrows to this moment, to the feel of him, the taste of him, the way he’s pouring every emotion into this one kiss. 

It’s like he’s trying to memorize her, to burn the memory of her into his soul. And she feels it too—that same desperate need to stay with him, to fight beside him, no matter the danger.

But even through the heat of the kiss, there’s something else. Something that trembles beneath the passion: fear. Not just hers—his. She can feel it in the way he holds her so tightly, in the way his breath hitches as he pulls away, just barely, their foreheads still pressed together. His hands remains on her, fingers digging into her shoulders like he’s fighting himself, fighting the urge to tell her to stay. 

“I don’t want you to leave,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, so quiet she almost doesn't hear it over the rush of wind and the distant roar of dragons. His forehead is still pressed against hers, his breath coming fast, the admission barely escaping him.

Her heart twists painfully at his words. Xaden—the leader, the warrior, the one who’s always in control—is admitting something she never thought she’d hear. The weight of it crashes into her, and for a moment, all she wants to do is throw caution to the wind and stay. To fight by his side, consequences be damned. 

But they both know the truth. If she stays, she’ll only put everyone else at risk. Including him. 

His lips brush hers again, softer this time, lingering for a heartbeat longer than before, as if he’s reluctant to let her go. “But you have to,” he whispers, his hands slide down her arms, reluctantly releasing her, but not before he presses one last kiss against her forehead. 

Genevieve bites her lip, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over. She hates it—hates that she has to leave him behind. But she knows, deep down, that if she doesn’t go, she’ll only make things worse. 

Tairn’s presence thundered into her mind, a surge of power. “I’m here,” the dragon rumbles, his wings beating the air as he descends towards them. 

Xaden steps back, his jaw clenched, watching her with an intensity that makes her chest ache. “Go,” he says, his voice hoarse, filled with an emotion he won’t let himself fully show. 

With one last, longing look, Genevieve turns and runs toward Tairn, her heart breaking with every step. As she vaults onto the dragon’s back, she glances over her shoulder, locking eyes with Xaden one final time. 

She doesn’t need words to know what he’s thinking—what he’s feeling. It’s written all over his face, in the way his hands are still clenched at his sides, in the way he watches her as though he’s afraid this will be the last time, even though they both know he will survive. 

And as Tairn takes to the skies, lifting her higher and higher into the air, Genevieve swears she can still feel the imprint of his lips on hers, the weight of his unspoken words settling deep in her chest.

She doesn’t want to leave him. But she has to survive—for both of them.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey everyone! whats up? I'm unbelievably excited for the next chapter-omg. This chapter was chill, but I don't think it was particularly empty, you know?

i actually am very excited for chapters like 23, 24, 25 to be published because thats when more about quinn and genevieve's backstory gets revealed and its been so much fun to write.

also i have an extreme obession with kit connor in romeo + juliet, truly the only man i've ever been attracted to (thats a blatant lie-sorry to my ex boyfriends if you ever read this)

anyways, thats it! let me know if you liked it, and if you did leave a like, comment or kudo! see you all on saturday!

-------

taglist: @awkardnerd , @hannraumari , @minjix

[our-flag-means-love]

welcome to elliot flagmeanslove's

STEDE BONNET OUTFITS TOURNAMENT

do you have Opinions about stede bonnet's outfits and need to make your voice heard? well you're in luck! there's now a bracket for that!

round one (left half) starts around midday EDT on saturday, july 27th, and each round will last a week.

please consider reblogging to spread the word!

idk if this has been done before but i don't care i'm doing it anyway <3

additional info, guidelines, and image description under the cut!

i'll be tagging all the polls with "ofmd" and "stede bonnet", but if you're not interested and don't want them clogging up the tags, you can block "stede outfits tournament".

voter fraud all you want, i'm not a cop.

there will be no variations of the same outfit (e.g. nightgown with cap compared to nightgown with eye mask) with ONE exception that felt important, which was the full godfrey thornrose outfit and the outfit in the "you wear fine things well" scene, aka godfrey minus the jacket and wig.

there are a few variants with the battle jacket and depression robe, and i didn't want to narrow it down to just the ones with the nightgown or just the ones with a shirt and breeches, especially because those overlap with other entries too, so the battle jacket and depression robe are both just In General.

there were also a few minor outfits i just plain had to cut in order to reach a power of two. sorry to the outfit from when stede left home and both of his childhood flashbacks, maybe next time.

these were seeded partly randomly but mostly by my own judgment, because ime random seeds always feel even less fair. i first sorted them based mostly on aesthetic appeal and general fandom opinions—but also importance of scene(s) to a lesser extent—into groups of four (all the #1 seeds, all the #2 seeds, and so on), then randomized which would be in each quadrant, then played around with them a bit to make them pretty from there (roughly even distribution of s1 vs s2, not all episode 4 flashbacks are in the same quadrant, etc). if you have a problem with this, no one's forcing you to participate.

[ID: A tournament style bracket. It has "Stede Bonnet's Outfits Tournament" written at the top. The background is a half-opacity photo of the bow of The Revenge. The bracket is made up of a series of rectangular white bubbles, connected in pairs. On the left half of the bracket, the first column has sixteen bubbles, the second has eight, the third has four, the fourth has two, and the fifth has one. This arrangement is mirrored on the right half. In the center of the image is one larger bubble with "Winner!" written under it.

Only the thirty-two total bubbles in the outermost columns contain words. From top to bottom on the left are: turquoise suit (1.1); nightgown (1.6-1.8); blankets only (wink emoticon) (2.7); wedding suit (1.4); steve irwin (1.7); dream (2.1); depression robe (1.7-1.8); run me through (1.6); goldfish (2.3); peach suit (1.6); brown suit (1.8); theatre kid (1.6); slut era (2.6-2.8); act of grace (1.9); ed's leathers (1.4); and naval academy (1.9). From top to bottom on the right are: cursed suit (2.5); meeting mary (1.4); back home suit (1.10); battle jacket (1.1-1.6); godfrey thornrose (1.5); anniversary (1.4); cut-open shirt (1.2); red flag (2.2-2.3); YWFTW (1.5); long may he roam (1.10-2.5); blue suit (1.5); fab pants (1.4); ran aground (1.2); treasure map (1.7); white suit (1.3); and british uniform (2.8). All of the inner bubbles are blank. /End ID.]

[ladylooch]

Heaven with a Devil - [Lio X Savannah]

A/N: Sometimes it can be really hard to go back to early points in relationships after they have been started. Not with these two. Back in my fuck boi Lio era. I love this so much. The pull of each other. The way Lio is rewriting his rules for her this entire night. The way he can't help himself at the end tho. CHEF'S KISS!!!! Enjoy babes 😘

Originally from this request, which is so late that I'm not even gonna mention it if you don't Nonnie.. love you!

Word Count: 5.1k

Lio watches the fat, square ice cube in his old fashion melt further into it’s self. He’s been nursing it for a little too long. It is more water than liquor now and he should probably push it away to head back to his hotel. But he waits all year for this drink in Dallas and he wants another one even though he has a game tomorrow. Maybe a better man would use that as an excuse for an early night, but not Lio. He doesn’t care what his dad says, being a little hungover at morning skate helps him play better. 

With that in mind, he downs the light brown liquid, then pushes the empty glass to the edge of the table.

Lio isn’t usually one to dine alone and he wasn’t supposed to tonight. But his teammate, Jasper, had to head back to the hotel to take an emergency call from his wife. Something about a water heater in the basement. Lio is thankful he has no wife or water heater back in Jersey to worry about. Nothing back home to distract him out on the road. It’s only business for him.

As if to call his bluff, the door swings open and inside walks Savannah Miller, the girl he’s been spending time with on his days and nights off. He watches as she tentatively crosses her arms, scanning the restaurant to gauge if she’s going to get an open spot or not. The hostess, who looks stressed as hell, is frantically explaining to a couple in front of the podium. Savannah’s eyes widen and then she bites her lip, looking back over the patrons. Lio looks too, realizing there probably isn’t a place for her, even at the bar. 

His hand raises involuntarily into the air, catching her gorgeous blue eyes. When she sees him, her face lights up. She steps around the couple who are now arguing with the hostess. As she approaches, Lio stands. 

“Hi.” She grins. “Funny you’re here.”

“Are you stalking me?” He asks curiously, tilting his head with amusement.

“No?”

“So you just happen to show up at the one place in Dallas I have to visit when we are here?”

“I figure if it’s good enough for your snobby ass I would probably like it.” Lio shouldn’t laugh at that, but he can’t help it. It’s funny. He is snobby and she has no problem calling that out in him. She drops her purse off her shoulder and reaches for the chair across from him that Jasper vacated.

“I got it.” He puts a hand on her wrist, then pulls the chair out for her.

“Thanks, Lee.” She murmurs, sitting down in the leather. His heart swells at the use of his familial nickname. He likes the way it sounds from her lips and how comfortable she is using it. Savannah glances at the able, then furrows her eyebrows. “Oh, did you already eat? I’ll just go back up front. You don’t have to stay for me.”

“I know. I want to.” He tells her. “And I want another drink.” He winks. 

“Ah. The old fashioned.”

“Yes. You gonna have one?” 

“I don’t love whiskey.”

“Not whiskey, bourbon.”

“Okay. Snob.” She sticks her tongue out at him then smiles a big grin that show off most of her teeth. 

“Say whatever you want now. By the end of this meal, you’ll understand.”

As Savannah is finished the last bite of her cedar plank salmon, she slowly begins nodding her head. Her napkin hits the table like a white flag of defeat. 

“I hate when you’re right.” She says after she swallows. Lio smirks at her over the glass of his fifth old fashioned. He is buzzed on the bourbon, but more on the girl across the table from him. Other than Lucie, she’s the only girl that it feels this easy to talk to. Even with his sister, their past clogs it all up and half the time he doesn’t know what to say to her. 

It’s not like that with Savannah.

Everything is so effortless. 

“Can I grab you two anything else?” The waitress asks as she picks up Savannah’s empty plate.

“You want dessert?” He asks her.

“God no. I mean, yes!” She clarifies in a rush. “I’m sure it is ridiculously good, but I cannot eat anymore.” 

“We are good. Just the check.” Lio responds to the waitress.

“Damn, I really wanted creme brûlée tho…” Savannah trails off. “But also, the dresses I have on this trip are not forgiving.” Lio has noticed. Not in a bad way. Well sometime, he guesses. They cling to her body like a second skin making him have to adjust his cup before he heads onto the ice for warm ups.

“You look good, San.” He murmurs, smoothing the crinkle between her eyebrows.

“I like when you call me that.” She admits, then bites her bottom lip. “It’s like we are… best friends or something.” Lio pauses after taking the final sip of his drink. He swallows.

“Friends, huh?” 

“What else would you call this?” She motions between them with her finger.

She has a point. Although they have hung out a few times, it’s not like they are dating. She’s definitely not his girlfriend, but the word friend just doesn’t quite explain what she does to him when she is around. Rather than complicate things, Lio just shrugs.

“I guess you’re right.”

Savannah’s blue eyes steel over a bit. She reaches for her old fashion and downs the hearty drink in five more gulps. Lio stills, watching as she runs her tongue along her lips to lick up every last drop. He wonders if she does that in other situations too. And fuck it if he doesn’t want to find out sooner rather than later. 

He isn’t sure what is going on with him. Usually, he doesn’t care to get to know someone before he slides into his sheets with them. But things with Savannah are different. He felt it when they kissed at her Christmas Party and every night they have spent together since. As much as he itches to touch her and mark her up, he hesitates every time. He can tell she is bothered by it, now and the previous times he has put up the proverbial wall.

If he had to sum it up simply, he likes Savannah. And he doesn’t want to fuck it up like he has a tendency to do. 

As his mind reels, he watches her get more and more worked up across the white table cloth from him. She picks at her cuticles, then fluffs her hair. She pulls her purse into her lap and digs around for her lip gloss. Heat creeps up Lio’s neck as she swishes her lips together then puckers them absentmindedly. 

She glances at her watch, her expensive bangles clattering together over Cartier gold.

“Tired?” He asks as the waitress slides his card and the receipt back onto the table. 

“Yeah of a lot of things.”  Savannah smirks. 

“Do I want to ask?” He lifts his one hip to put his wallet back into his pocket.

“Probably not.” She sasses back.

“I feel like that means I better.” 

“You act like you know women, Lio, but I don’t think you do.”

“Enlighten me?”

“I don’t know if you deserve it.” Lio looks away then shrugs.

“Okay.” He brings the receipt closer to him so he can tip generously then slide it back to the edge. “Wanna grab a drink at the bar?”

The place has mostly cleared out and although Savannah looks like she would rather do anything else, Lio wants the opportunity to change her mind about him. Why? He couldn’t tell you except that the thought of her losing interest in him has his chest feeling tight.

“Fine. I have nothing else to do tonight anyway.”

“Humbling as always.” He laughs, pushing back from his chair. Lio grabs her hand, leading her through the tables to the wooden bar with a green marble top. It looks like something out of a 90s supper club that specifically hosted lawyers. When he reaches two empty bar stools, he pulls them out, then helps Savannah slide in closer to the bar. She stretches her green dress down to cover more of her thigh after crossing her legs. 

“So what do you think about facing the Stars without your top goaltender?” She murmurs after they got their drinks. 

“Off the record?”

“Yes, Lee. You and I are always off the record here.” There is a bite there, one Lio doesn’t care to look into at all. 

“It’s probably gonna suck.” He admits after a sip of whiskey. “But what do you do? Guys get hurt. The season continues. Gotta play.” 

The shift in conversation to work related topics helps ease Lio and Savannah back into a comfortable vibe. Well, so does the liquor. They both have two more old fashioned each and while Lio has drank at this level before, Savannah is clearly in her happy, drunk phase, which has him tossing his card across to the bartender to close out before she can think about ordering another one. Lio slides her water glass closer to her and she takes it without question.

“You’re so confusing sometimes, Lio.” She suddenly mutters. “Like sometimes you ignore me and sometimes you look at me like you can’t get enough of me.” Lio stares back at her, unsure what to do or say. “And I know I probably shouldn’t even say this, but I feel like I get to because we have kissed and done over the clothes stuff, and I just want you to know that I don’t like when you act like that.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Like I’m different or something?” Lio stares at her in shock. She should want to be different. Lio knows he isn’t a saint when it comes to women. “Like I can’t believe Lio Meier has taken me on four dates and hasn’t slept with me.”

Whoa.

A dark red blush scrapes up Lio’s white cheeks as people turn to look over at them.

“Actually.” She giggles like this is funny. She adjusts her crossed legs to the other side before continuing. “Since you just paid, make that five. Or six because you paid twice tonight!”

“This wasn’t a date.” He shakes his head. “Guys can pay without it being a date. We didn’t even come here together.”

“Oh. Does that mean I fit into your special category that gets me laid?” 

Her words are a challenge. A serious one. Lio can see it in her ocean deep blue eyes and the way she runs her tongue slightly along her top teeth. He likes when she gets like this- challenging, interesting, dragging his attention away from anything else except for her. Lio smirks. His fingers dance along her bare calf, then over the edge of her sweater dress that keeps slouch and giving him peaks of her red bra. His fingers drift up higher, almost like he is going in for a feel, then divert to the edge of her bar stool, scraping it across the floor so she’s practically in his lap. 

“You’re so pretty when you beg.” Her slender eyebrows shoot up and her mouth drops open in a sound that’s a little too breathy to not be a moan.

There is a strange, foreign feeling in Lio’s stomach when her hot gaze dares to meet his. The organ twists and dips again when her hand presses into his upper thigh and she leans forward, lips pornographically parted. Lio wants to see what those lips look like parting for the head of his cock. He brings his right hand up, stroking her bottom lip. His fingers spread out from her cheek to her neck, bringing her to his mouth. Her tongue shoves between his lips immediately, sparking a fire in his chest that zings down to his groin.

Jesus. He thought the look of her lips was hot, but the way she uses them has him wanting to toss her on top of this bar and fuck her for everyone to see. She’s never kissed him like this before. It’s like every kiss they shared before this she was holding back, being polite. Now, Lio wonders if he even knows what he’s getting himself into. 

But his dick starts throbbing in his boxer briefs and he can’t think of much else other than burying it between her thighs. 

“Let’s go to my room.” Savannah says, pulling back from him. Her mouth is wet and red, completely void of the lipstick she just had a few minutes ago. Lio wipes the back of his mouth, feeling it on his lips and tongue. “Sorry.” She chuckles, jumping down from the barstool as he stands. She reaches up, wiping at the space between his lip and nose. “You’re good now.” She assures. Lio head nods at the bartender who smirks. 

Savannah isn’t the first girl Lio has taken out of this place. 

But she’s the first girl to make his hands shake with need.

Lio and Savannah walk shoulder to shoulder down the sidewalk to their hotel. They breeze through the lobby with their faces tucked into their jackets. A few of his teammates are at the hotel bar. He looks the opposite direction from them, hoping to avoid a run in. They make it to the elevators then step in. Lio leans back into the wall after Savannah presses the number for her floor.

“I’m assuming we should go to my room?” Staff rooms tend to be spread out more within the hotel than the players. Lio’s room is flanked by two teammates who may see or hear her in his room. 

“Yeah.” Lio confirms, putting his hands in his jacket pockets. Maybe he should grab her and kiss her again, but in the intense LED lighting of the elevator, they feel too exposed. He doesn’t care for himself, but Savannah has been open with him about how hard she worked to get here. He may be a selfish prick at times, but he would never want to harm her reputation or career.

Savannah pulls her room key out of her jacket then walks in, holding the door for Lio to enter behind her. Her room looks identical to him, except smells more feminine, like a faded version of whatever perfume she dabbed on her wrists this evening. Wildflowers like home, he thinks to himself, remembering the connection he made at the Christmas party she hosted a few weeks ago.

Lio shrugs his jacket off, tossing it on the chair to his left. His eyes watch Savannah as she awkwardly wrings at her hands. Her mouth is tight, chest unmoving like she is holding her breath. She sneaks a look at him, then floats her eyes towards the ceiling and across the room. Lio smiles coyly.

The liquid confidence she had at the bar is clearly waring off. 

Good. He wants her sober for this. 

“So… how do you do it?” She suddenly blurts. Lio raises an eyebrow at her, putting his hands in his pockets. He rocks slightly back on his heels, waiting for her to elaborate. Lio was under the impression that Savannah was more experienced. She’s acting like this is her first time having casual sex, which has Lio apprehensive about continuing.“Like… you do this a lot, right? Obviously. So how do you do it.” She gestures her hands. “Like should I just strip? Or do you expect a strip tease?” She squints her eyes and Lio realizes she is fucking with him. “Maybe you wanna take my underwear off with your teeth?”

“You’re wild.” He murmurs, then runs his tongue along his top teeth. “How about you just sit on the bed and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Oooo he likes a pillow princess. Figures,” She drawls as he steps closer. Her tongue runs over her puffy lips again and Lio can see this girl knows exactly what she is doing to him. She exudes confident sex appeal, no liquid courage needed. Good. He doesn’t want to teach her anything tonight. He wants to play, sink into her again and again, make her toes curl while her fingernails mark up his back. The tension between them is unbearable, the pulse in his cock making the arches of his feet collapse so he sways forward into her. 

His fingers trail over her mouth again, then he pushes his thumb through the slit of her lips. He works his thumb in and out, getting it wet and loaded with her saliva until she wiggles against the comforter between her spread thighs. She practically fucks the bed while sucking him deeper into her mouth. 

A small part of Lio knows that going through with this tonight will be a tipping point. For what, he couldn’t tell ya. But you can’t fuck a girl like the one in front of him and not be changed. Not when he is used to no strings attached sex with women who don’t care much about him except for the commas in his bank account. To be fair, he doesn’t care about them either. But he’s never been with someone like her. Someone who knows what the risks are here and still reaches out to unbutton his jeans. She is deciding he is worth it and fuck if he doesn’t want to make sure she won’t regret it.

Lio removes his thumb from her mouth, then brings his hand down the front of her dress. He slides between her bra and her warm breast, rolling her nipple. She moans, a throaty, begging sound that has Lio’s balls tightening up to his shaft.

He could come just like this with her. His hand on her breast. Her hand dipping into his underwear stroking him to life.

“Do you have a condom?” She asks, rising to her knees on the bed. She scoots back a bit, then flips her hair to one side. Lio watches her ruby lips part and her tongue connect with the slit of his head oozing a pearl of pre-cum. 

“Yes.” He hisses as his answer. Lightning explodes in his cock as her mouth and hand move in unison. He struggles to keep his eyes open as her mouth collapses on him like a warm, wet hug. “Fuck.” He groans, head falling back towards the ground. He stays like that for one, two, three strokes, then tilts back forward. He gently cups her throat, bringing her off him and to his mouth to kiss her. He needs to taste her, to take claim of that mouth, and make it whimper his name as he buries himself deep into her pussy. 

Lio moves to take his hand off her throat now that she is up but she squeezes his wrist to keep him there. He applies light pressure, then tongues at her open mouth with vigor. Savannah collapses into him, pinning his forearm between their chests. Lio swirls his tongue in a circle, then slowly pulls back. He looks down at her like that, clutched in his hand by her throat, eyes closed, lips so swollen they almost look bruised. Then her eyes open, revealing a tumultuous, churning lake within them.

“Fuck me, Lio.” She demands.

From his back pocket, Lio pulls out the condom he told her he had on him. He is always prepared, tonight is no exception. He rips open the foiled wrapper, then pulls out the latex.

“Can you undress for me, babe?” He murmurs, stretching out the head, then holding it in place as he rolls the rest down. Savannah reaches for the hem of her green dress. She pulls it over her head, revealing a red lingerie set that Lio is never going to forget. “You always pack that on a work trip?” She shakes her head no, tentatively. Lio smiles reassuringly, then pulls her back to him with a hand on the small of her back. “You’re so sexy a priest would weep.” She bites down on her bottom lip as she giggles, making Lio kiss her teeth.

“We shouldn’t talk about God with what we’re about to do to each other.”

“Mmm, what I’m about to do to you, pillow princess.” His hand trails down to her ass, giving it a hearty grip. “Get on your knees.” 

She does so obediently, then looks at him over her shoulder. Her golden dew hair spreads out down her back, multiple shades of blonde that Lio has found himself examining from the back of the bus before. It is the prettiest it’s ever looked with those vibrant blue eyes begging him to hurry.

Lio presses the head of his covered cock to her entrance. She collapses around nothing in front of him, making Lio suck in a steadying breath. Fuck, she is so ready. He isn’t going to last long at all. To collect himself, Lio grabs one of the pillows from the head of the bed, tossing it in front of her.

“For your head.” He jokes. Savannah punts it 

“Are you gonna put it in or am I?” She snaps back at him. Her hand comes back, spreading her open further for him. Well, damn.

“Been awhile?” He asks while gripping the base of his shaft.

“Yeah.” She moans as he enters her. He isn’t sure if its the answer to his questions or her reaction to his thrust. “Fuck.” She growls through hissed teeth. 

If Lio’s knees weren’t already resting on something, he is sure he would have collapsed under his own weight. Savannah’s pussy clenches and massages his cock with each of his pumps into her. He tries to stay slow, tries to build up the momentum, but he can’t hold back. Not with the way sweet begs drop from her mouth, or with how blindingly fast he can feel his balls racing towards orgasm. 

He rests his hand on the middle of her back, pushing her down into the mattress. His fingers stroke her spine as he hits his full depth, making her shudder and moan beneath his hands. Lio is sure this must be the soundtrack in Heaven, or at least his version. Her pussy squelches, wetness beginning to ease the friction of the condom and letting him glide throughly in and out of her core.

“Wow!” She exclaims, “Yeah!” He watches as her hand moves from clutching the comforter to rolling fast circles over her clit. “More.”

He can do that.

His hockey hips piston, moving the bed with each pump into her heat. Savannah begins to flex and unflex her other hand around the blankets, then buck her hips to slam back into his. She rolls her hips causing Lio to slide out, frustrating both of them.

“Sav, stop helping.” He hisses at her.

“More. Please, Lio. Please.” He loves to hear her beg, but wants to satisfy her, so he bats her hand to the side. He leans over her back, connecting their skin as he rolls her swollen lips in rushed circles. “Oh!” Savannah brings her hands to her breasts, rolling and pinching her nipples as he pounds into her from behind. “Lio, I’m gonna…” 

She doesn’t need to finish, but it’s clear she can’t anyway. Her pussy explodes into vibrating trembles and pulses that have Lio seeing stars.

“Fuck.” He mumbles into her back, then he rubs her clit more furiously, making her shake harder and clench tighter around him. The breath is stolen from his lungs as his orgasm rips out of his cock and fills the condom around him. “Oh my fucking… Fuc…” He trials off, speechless as her spasms continue to milk him.

He rests his forehead on her warm skin delicately thrusting through both of their aftershocks. His finger stay on her clit, still but firm. He isn’t ready to let her go yet. Weeks of build up gone in five minutes. Five, rough, fast, earth shaking minutes. Slowly, they begin to come out of their trance. Savannah’s hand comes to Lio’s wrist. He drops his grip on her, then threads their fingers together against her stomach. He kisses her back then sits up, sliding himself out of her, careful as always of the condom. 

“You good?” He asks. She has yet to speak, just breathe heavily. 

“Mmmm.” She acknowledges, waving her hand as she collapses back into the mattress. Lio smirks.

“I’ll be right back.” He tells her while gently rubbing her hip. The bed dips as he crawls off of it towards the bathroom.

Lio tosses the condom into the toilet and flushes it, then he grabs a hand towel from the rack to his left. He glances into the bedroom where Savannah still lays on her back, spread out like a starfish. Her breasts rise and fall heavily as she tries to catch her breath. Lio smiles. He knows a satisfied woman when he sees one.

Meticulously, he cleans himself, then grabs a fresh towel for Savannah. He leans back through the doorway. 

“Do you want a wet or a dry towel?”

“Wet.” She responds. “Girls like a dry one?”Lio shrugs.

“There was one once.” 

“Can’t imagine you saw her again.”

“I usually don’t see anyone multiple times.” He says, coming back into the room. Savannah watches his approach, eyes on his despite the gorgeous view he provides elsewhere.

“Like ever?”

“There have been a few.” He admits, but it hasn’t been in awhile.

“So I’ll never see you again?” She pouts at him.

“We work together. This is a little different.”

“Yeah.” She nods, grabbing the towel from him. Lio plops onto his back next to her, putting a hand behind his head as he props up on two, fluffy pillows. “Thank you for…” She trails off, biting her lip. “Your discretion.” She settles on. He looks over at her, watching as she tosses the towel onto the floor. 

“I’m not going to say anything.” He assures her.

“I know. If I thought you would, this wouldn’t have happened.” Lio nods.

“Yeah, I just want you to hear me say that.” He looks away, stretching his neck out from side to side. Savannah stays sitting up for a moment, looking at Lio. Then she glances away.

“I’m kinda cold. Can I get under there?”

“Mhm.” He sits up, then together they both slide under the white comforter. Savannah rolls onto her left side, cheek propped on her hand as she looks at him. Her blonde hair is wild about her face, mused from him. He decides he likes it that way. She looks good, not messy or disheveled, but perfectly tousled. 

“I like to cuddle after sex.”

Lio playfully rolls his eyes at her. Of course she does. They all do. Usually Lio is long gone before cuddling can even be discussed.

“Please?” She pouts at him. He sighs, like it’s such a burden to move, then opens his arms for her.

“Mmm this is nice.” She mumbles. Her cheek warms his bare chest, creating a glow that runs deep his body. Heat tingles down to the tips of his toes as he rests his hand on her hip. The curve of it perfectly holds his hand without needing to grip onto her. “Now we can talk about the names we want for our children.” She muses. “What about Sarah?”

“Good god.” He groans.

“You’re gonna fall for me, Lio Meier. I know it.” She kisses his chest. 

Lio should have run right there. But he doesn’t. Instead, he does something more terrifying- they talk. About everything. Growing up, how they got to these points in their careers, what their last meal on earth would be. And they tease each other- Savannah about Lio’s slight accent with certain words, Lio with Savannah’s overly girly answers to everything, and together at the expense of his various teammates. 

“You are a good interview though.” Savannah murmurs to him. “I always appreciate your thoroughness. You’re a great quote.”

“Yeah. My cousin Lucie says its cause I like to hear myself talk.” 

“She might have something there.”

“Mmm.” Lio murmurs sleepily. “You’d like her.” Silence fills the room as Savannah rubs at the indent of his left abs. She drawls a heart, then a few squiggly lines followed by another heart. 

“I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you.” Savannah murmurs. “I feel like you’ve let me peel back a few layers of your onion. Thank you.” 

“Just don’t write about it.” He jokes.

“Not in this month's article at least.” She pokes him.

Then they settle into silence again. A question hangs in the air with the light still on and Lio still in Savannah’s bed. He answers it by turning out the bedside lamp. Darkness envelopes them. Quickly, Savannah’s breathing evens out. Lio’s eyes are heavy and Savannah’s naked body feels so good snuggled into the side of his. So good that he almost let’s himself fall asleep with her like this. 

But then a tightening happens at the base of his skull. Awareness pulls his eyes back open. This isn’t him. He doesn’t stay over at a woman’s place. They stay at his, so he can kick them out immediately when he’s done with their morning fuck. He gently turns to take in Savannah’s sleeping face. He purses his lips, resisting the urge to wake her up by kissing her still puffy mouth. He has never craved a woman so intensely after just having her, but his dick aches to be back inside of her.

Shit. This is ridiculous.

Lio holds his breath, then shifts away so Savannah gently rolls onto her pillow. Years of practice leaving sleeping women has her transferring to the bed without waking. Her hands stretch across the warm sheets of the bed he just left, almost searching for him. A slight uneasiness fills Lio’s chest, but he forces it away, focusing on gathering up his discarded clothes. 

He needs to get out of here.

Before any of his teammates or the Devils staff see him. So Savannah doesn’t get in trouble, he tells himself.

But if Lio was an honest man, he would admit that him slipping out of room 629 has nothing to do with the woman asleep in that California King.

[heartshapedbubble]

Could I perhaps have something like those 2 long and well written Joseph and Luchino fic but with Soul Catcher? Thank you🙏

anon i am SO SORRY this took so long you might as well have my first born

also english isn't my first language so please have mercy on me i know i reuse the same words over and over 😔 reqs like these sadly clog my inbox even tho i like writing them so i'm gonna do something about them after i empty it!!

my very own prince charming, a soul catcher fanfic🧲☠️

cw for vomit mention in case you have emetophobia, reader's gender not specified although soul catcher uses a few spanish pet names (nouns) that are gendered because haha language rules, not proofread, warning for intense corniness, this is very bad i apologize, ALSO VERY LONG

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

~

There are amazing forces of Attraction and Repulsion between souls; just like when fate guides some people together and causes others to part.

~

After a period of indecisive skimming through the bookshelf, you picked out a thick, hardcover book.

You'd consider yourself quite picky regarding books - just a flashy cover and a taunting description wouldn't do it for you. A beautiful, elegant maiden and a handsome, charming prince were just one-dimensional props in the story, and you found all of those "new " and "wonderful " fantasy worlds described and mapped out on the front page generic and bland. You always seeked out something new, something that would leave you thirsting and longing for each damned word pressed onto the yellowing paper, make your fingers trail over dozens of pages in mere minutes. Yet, considering your little town in the south was limited to just one small, dusty library, finding such books would be considered an extreme sport.

So for now, you had to be satisfied with the usual, popular literature that the townsfolk read.

But today was special - you weren't in the mood for something new, or something outstanding, in fact you'd even say you wanted to read something normal. Something you could nonchalantly mention to your friends during afternoon coffee, with a plot so malleable and simple it would be woven around your conversation like it was nothing. The misadventures of a rookie knight, or the sorrows of a young, noble lady, all interpreted differently and abstractly and able to be swiftly analyzed and twisted over a cup of overly sweet coffee. Although the pile of smooth, newly released paperbacks at the entrance intrigued you, a minute later you found yourself squished between two dusty, polished wooden shelves, inspecting the book you just picked out.

Well, you didn't know you'd stoop that low, but what caught your eye right now was a book of fairy tales and fables. It was an old release, presumably donated to the library considering the oil stains on the brown paper that wrapped itself around the thick leather cover. Although worn out by time and basically crumbling from the outside, on the inside the lettering was flawless and written in an old, thick cursive, and simply bringing your face closer to the text would bless you with the scent of old, yet well kept books - the fresh smell of walnuts and baldachin beds and white cotton dresses, and even lilac bushes in the spring. Although all of these associations were of a life unknown to you, for some reason they made you feel at home.

There was another reason for you picking out this particular book - a reason you'd rather carry with you to your grave out of pride, unable to bend your head down and admit it. When life got unbearable and overbearing and the only way you felt safe and well was under heavy linen bedsheets or in the shade of the old pear tree, you'd curl up and indulge in the exact same books you usually despise. A humbling experience, indeed, but at times where safety and love were most neccessary fantasies were the quickest, most low-key way of getting what you needed the most at the moment. Projecting your being onto the flat sheet of a protagonist, you'd visualise yourself instead of them, you being the one kissing the hero's fading scars or having your hair braided by the thin, nimble fingers of the king's son. The amount of scenarios was neverending, and, well, if you couldn't get your fix with all these readily available options, you felt like you're doomed.

The book was now set inside your trusty linen bag while you were walking home. Oddly, the usually loud and populated city market was silent and not a soul could be seen out on the street, not even a head popping out of the window or a hand reaching for the hanged clothes that hung on the ropes high above the rocky path. While you were crossing the town bridge, you decided to stop to take a deep breath and enjoy for a bit, now that you weren't being pushed onward by the citizens and the merchants that usually piled behind you.

It does take a while to learn savor things, doesn't it? It takes until adolescence until the dark chocolate on your tongue unveils its rich, deep and bitter flavor, until you learn how special that first sip of morning coffee is and how good of a feeling it is to simply have another hand wrapped around yours. Same goes for nature, you thought to yourself as you looked over the bridge, watching the river speed under the arch and the plants inside of it wave around like silk scarfs. Without the noise pollution, you were finally able to hear the satisfying noises of the water sloshing over the rocks, droplets hitting each other every second. Without a second thought, you laid beside the edge of the bridge, your bag lazily hanging off of your wrist, and let yourself get lulled to sleep by the melody of the current.

That is, until the straps of the bag slipped off of your wrist.

Fuck.

You immediately jumped to your feet in panic, looking around for your bag. Yet, it was too late. It was nowhere to be found - it was probably already driven away by the river, taken to god-knows-where.

Well, it's not like you weren't aware of the risk. But your heart still ached - that was not your book, after all. And what a beautiful, old edition it was as well! There was no way you'd be able to properly apologize to the librarian, unless....

"Oye, muñeca, ta libre."

You jumped at the sudden voice whispering at your ear. You were sure no one was around here except you... or maybe..?

Slowly turning around, your face was met with another, yet wider, lathered with paint and shaded by the hat above's enormous brim. As the face moved away from yours and the person straightened their back, you found yourself gazing up and down at - what seemed to be, at least - a tall, youngish man, couldn't be above 28. Dressed in gaudy purple, green and black, adorned with flowers and gilded accessories, he looked like a living puppet, his chest and shoulders wide and his waist slim, proportions of a wooden harlequin they sold during the holiday season in the toy shop. Hanging off of his wrist was your beloved linen bag, the forsaken book inside still in tact, not a single droplet of water blemishing the paper.

"Who...? How did you...?" You muttered nonsense, as your arms needily reached for the bag that he gently waved around. Props to the visuals, but you had your priorities.

"It's all reflexes, sugar. Was taking a nap underneath the bridge, you know, all that wandering around numbs out your legs, and your little sack here just happened to fall close enough to my hand for me to grab it in time. Be a little more careful next time, will you, doll?" The man-puppet replied nonchalantly as he tossed the bag into your arms.

"Thank you, I- wait, what?" You quickly snapped out of your daze. "Napping? Under the bridge? "

"Don't judge it before you try it", he whistled, crossing his arms behind his head, "The cobblestone ain't the comfiest, but it does wonders for your back."

You sneered at his carefree expression, as if lying under a bridge was the most normal thing to do. Who exactly was this fellow, and who did he think he was?

"And you expect to believe me all that?"

"Hm?" He jolted a bit, not expecting a question, maybe a compliment, but definetly not a skeptical remark.

"Napping under a bridge? Seriously? You catching my bag is impressive, yes, but there's no way it was that much of a skillful feat. You probably dozed by the river's shore and suddenly found a bag by your side like any other guy at this hour. Who are you even, some wannabe-show-off-superhero?"

To your suprise, he just smirked back at you, lowering his torso until his face was just inches away from yours. So close, you could feel his warm breath on your cheeks, and his raspy voice rumbled inside your ears.

"How about you take a wild guess."

Stumped by his question, you took a few steps back. Your eyes now digesting his form in his entirety, you rubbed your chin as you gazed up and down at the man, posing, obviously very into the careful stare you were dissecting him with.

"Enjoying the view, hm, azúcar? "

"Give me a break! I'm trying to focus." You mumbled, panicking a bit, sensing that your cheeks started to flame up. To be honest - even under all that fabric and thick paint, he was quite a looker. The black paint defined his jawline in all the right places, and man, that silly outfit of his was tailored pretty damn well, gripping his legs and his biceps enough to define them nicely.

Although visually he was as fancy as a rich man's birthday cake, nothing seemed to pop out from his outfit, as if every embroidered piece of textile and every golden stud was carefully planned out. However, upon better inspection, one of them seemed to take the cake - it was the small shiny skull on top of his hat, shaped like a squished pear, a few nails stabbed into it like birthday candles. The cherry on top of it all - metaphorically and literally.

"The skull on your hat... looks like a well-made prop to me. You're some kind of entertainer, huh?"

A playful smile appeared on the lad's lips, yet it wasn't a confirming one. "You're getting closer, but no, not exactly."

"Street musician?"

"I can be one if you desire, but it's not exactly my main job."

"Actor?"

"Only behind the scenes, dear. But I can see by the look in your eye that you're going to head in the right direction." This little guessing game seemed to amuse him to no end.

"With all that flashy wear, it seems fair to assume you might even be some kind of high-end magician, performing for nobles or aristocrats. Or some wannabe wizard."

He bit his lip, the smile widening with each guess. He seemed more excited about this than you were.

A flower painted around his left eye. A belt fastened around his waist, with a big golden buckle. Sheer black gloves covering his hands in their entirety, bones painted in gold on his knuckles and fingers.

A glowing ring - no, a disk - hanging from the side of his belt, rocking with the movement of his hips.

Wait. It couldn't be. The disk looked too...

"Hold on a second. You couldn't be..."

"Sí, muñeca? "

"Are you..."

Before you could even finish your sentence he grinned from ear to ear and inched even closer to you, his nose now touching yours, as if he just managed to read your mind.

"Bingo."

~

The legend of the Soul Catcher was told times and times again, twisted and folded like fresh taffy to suit every possible scenario in one's life. To children, it was told to scare them into going to bed in time. To teenagers, it was told to ward them off from the forest at the edge of the town. To young adults, it was told to motivate them into becoming independent and to work hard. To newlyweds, it became a prayer, to protect the newly formed family and to bring safety to their home. He was not the Reaper, but if a soul was left astray, detached from the body it resided in, everyone knew well that once the Soul Catcher gets his hands on it, that it won't be back ever again. He was both a devil and a saint, a villain and a vigilante - but one thing was sure, he was well respected. No one knew if it was out of fear or out of genuine admiration. And what was even weirder - not a single person was sure if he ever actually existed.

Not a single adult, at least.

The legend was not a new one, in fact, it has been told for a little less than a century. If you were to have a little extra patience and attention, you could hear the town's elders occassionally mumble about seeing him as a child in the forest, or him visiting them in a dream. But their interpretations varied from tale to tale - he went from a spirit, to a ghoul, to simply an omen, either good or bad. Since the townspeople couldn't agree on a single, concrete definition, the Soul Catcher remained a concept, embodied by what seemed to be multiple entities.

However, if you were to ask a child about the Soul Catcher, you'd get a much more vivid and universal description than anything an adult could tell you. All of them were along the lines of "magical jester", and what was weirder, almost all of the children confessed that the Soul Catcher played with them. And no, it wasn't just a single sighting, he played with multiple kids at once, even going as far to balancing three of them on his shoulders and telling them stories. During the hot, damp afternoon hours of the summer, huge groups of children snuck out of their homes just to play with him. When their mothers soaked their cramped hands and their fathers took their first break after the morning shift, their beloved kids were out on the dusty streets, carefully following every word seeping off of the Soul Catcher's silver tongue.

The only thing that bound the varying opinions and theories of both the young and the old was the trusty disk that always hung by his hip, rumored to be the tool he used to attract and harvest souls. And this same legendary disk was now hanging off of the belt of the man in front of you, green and purple mist enveloping it.

The myth himself, in the flesh, in front of you.

"You were quicker than I thought you'd be. Bravo, dollface." He smiled and patted your head. "If we ignore your initial hostility, you seem quite confident in the fact that i'm the real deal. Mind telling me why?"

"Well, you don't see someone parading around with THE exact disk that the Soul Catcher uses. Everyone agrees on the main description of its appearance, but to be completely fair, no one around here is skilled enough to make a replica that's convincing enough."

"I see. It's nice to see somebody with both the wits and the pretty face." He chuckled. Who would have known that he's such a flirt? Nontheless, to your shame your face lit up at his silly compliment. There was just something about him that made you weak in the knees.

"Alright. I believe I should prove you I'm the real thing now." He unhooked the disk from his belt, spun it around in his hand, and hopped a few steps away from you. He pointed the disk at your chest, positioning himself as if he's getting ready to react to a suprise attack. You didn't know what he was trying to do, but you felt as if you shouldn't make a sound or even object to it.

A tension-filled silence wrapped around you two for 20 seconds. After 10 more which seemed more like 10 minutes, you felt your body move. Move, although your legs were planted at the same spot they were before. Your head ached and pulsed, you felt dizzy as if your intestines were tying themselves into knots. To be sick without actual pain, to move without any movement, what was he doing to you? If this keeps up, you might just end up vomiting out your stomach along with its contents. It was like being carsick, except the sickness rumbled not only through your abdomen, but through each one of your limbs as well.

"Here, I stopped. It's all over. Sorry for this."

The headache seemed to halt, and your body was back to normal, yet your hands and legs still felt a bit sore. He was now above you, his hand stretched out to your sides in case you lost your balance.

"...What did you just do to me?" You yawned, trying to stand up straight again.

"What you just experienced was your soul being harvested from your, already inhabited, body. I usually refrain from doing this, but I felt like I should let anyone that witnesses me up close go through this. Y'know, I want to be honest with people. That although they've seen me in the flesh and talked to me, they're fully aware of what I can do so they can prevent themselves from getting harmed."

"Does this imply you sucked someone's soul out from their living body?"

"Maybe", he shamefully turned his head away, "but it was never on purpose. Usually it was them reaching for the disk, or trying to see it up close. It pains me, since in most cases it's nearly impossible to return the original soul to its old body."

An awkward silence ensued.

"Sorry for ruining the mood, I felt like I needed to warn you first."

"Oh no, seriously, it's alri-"

"May I walk you to your house, jewel?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me the first time." He extended his hand, waiting for your next move.

~

What a peculiar man, indeed. First he tries to suck out the life out of you to give you a heads-up, and then he offers to walk you home like a gentleman.

And you'd be lying if that offer didn't sound thrilling. So now, your hand was intertwined with his, you trying to slow down as much as possible to make the moment last.

"I realized I had forgot to ask for your name. My apologies. Not very gentlemanly of me, isn't it?"

"Oh, I don't mind it. It's ____."

"___..." He looked up at the sky, rubbing his chin, as if he was trying to remember something, your name echoing on his lips multiple times.

"Pretty name, but it doesn't ring a bell. You're not among the horde of youth that I visit, are you?"

"Nope. I'd say i'm more of a loner most of the time. I like socializing and all, but nothing's like a good book that you can read in one sitting."

"I figured. No way in hell I'd forget such a cute face like yours, even if I saw it for a split second." He smiled and pinched your nose. If his plan was to drive you insane, he was incredibly effective.

"How come people have such different reports about you? Can you shapeshift?" Trying to lead a conversation with him felt like navigating through a mine field - there were no known limits, no known good or bad questions, or any shared topics you two could talk about. But you'd lie if you said it didn't excite you - waiting for his response, never being able to predict the next word that will come out of his mouth.

He sighed. "If you wore the same pair of pants every day, wouldn't you get tired of it?"

"I suppose..?"

"Well, yeah. It's that. Mix it with hallucinations the brain dials up once it's met with something outside the world it knows, and here's your answer. I'm no sprite or shapeshifter, just a regular guy who made a regrettable deal years ago. I might have the powers of the dead on my side, but at what cost?"

You shrugged. As much as you wanted to quiz him and get him to talk about himself, right now biting your tongue and playing it cool seemed like the best idea. Getting deeply invested in his life might not lead to good places.

"So... you're one of those so-called bookworms, hm? You've been carrying a book inside that bag of yours the entire time, too." You could feel his hand slip from yours, trailing across your arm to your shoulder, then to the other, gripping it softly. His touch felt warm on your skin, very human and real despite what he did for a living.

"...Yeah. In fact, I was just on my way from the library back at the bridge where I met you. I just borrowed it." You smiled shyly, holding the bag tightly in your arms. Knowing his curiosity and boldness, a feeling of panic unfolded in your chest, dreading what he might say next.

"Mind me taking a peek at what you're reading?"

Aaand this was it. The moment you prayed will not happen, but his chin was already resting on your shoulder, trying to get a peek at the contents of the bag.

"H-hey, hey! Back off! That book's my business, after all!" You giggled, holding it tighter and tighter, trying to laugh off your growing anxiety. If there's one person that you wouldn't like knowing about your little self-indulgent hobby, then it was Soul Catcher. But your tightest grip was easily undone by his loosest, and now your book was in his left hand, clumsily open, and the digits of his right were buried in the strands of your hair, holding your head away with careful but great strength. Even with your annoyed and panicked groans and your hands clawing at him, he simply couldn't miss the opportunity to steal a look at a few titles.

"Calm down there, you're acting as if it was a pipe bomb that you were carrying!" He chuckled, trying to stay composed as his body lost balance under your pushes and pulls. Yet your delight was short-lived, as only a second was needed for him to spread the pages open with his thumb and smugly read some of the titles out loud.

"Cinderella, Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty... seems like someone's a sucker for Prince Charming, hm?" He snickered, but gave in to your pleas and dropped the book right into your sack.

"Would it hurt your pride to not dig through others' stuff?" You hissed, patting the bag in relief. "A-and is there something so wrong with indulging in childhood comfort anyway?"

"Oh, not only would it hurt it, it would kill it. Besides, something tells me that this little guilty pleasure of yours goes beyond just childhood comfort", he whistled in his usual self-satisfied tone, yanking at his suspenders, "But hey, who am I to say?"

"Oh, does it?" You gave him a taste of his own medicine, grimacing right at his face, making sure each word rumbled through his skull. "Well, what if I told you that such absurd assumptions are indeed incredibly untasteful, especially when left unelaborated? Just imagine how much of a hit that could be to your fragile ego..."

"¡Dios mío! You couldn't possibly...!" He dramatically threw his head back. At least something was true - he really was an actor behind the scenes. "Oh lord, it truly seems like the only way to make it up for you, your majesty, is to explain myself beneath your ice-cold gaze, like an accused pauper chained and laid before the king!"

Both of you laughed away at your ridiculous actions.

He cleared his throat, after a good minute of dying from laughter. "O-okay, where were we? Ah, yes, your dirty little secret." With his hands crossed behind his back and his gaze innocently directed at the sky, it seemed like this was a touchy subject for him, too. "Well, from all my previous experiences with people, I noticed that a lot of them like to fantasize about, well, a world where everything is just better - usually some kind of unrealistic fairytale utopia. It helps them feel better about their problems, especially during adolescence." His eyes briefly shifted to yours, watching them as if he's waiting for you to point out a fuck-up nested in his wording.

"Alright, continue...?"

"And, uhm, although fairy tales are meant for kids and all and are read by them, these same adolescents use them as a vessel for said utopias, or simply, a medium."

His lips were pressed into a firm line, waiting for your feedback.

"Bravo, jester", you treated him with a teasing smile, ruffling the stray locks of hair peeking out from his hat, "You got yourself out this time."

"Well then, call me Houdini." He smiled back, scratching the back of his neck. "Jeez, even though that fantasy thing should have gotten into my skull for the most part, I still can't fathom what's so special about the Prince Charming trope.. It's so annoying! Are y'all really drooling over the same guy in different fonts?"

"To be fair, it leaves a lot to the imagination. You can interpret him however you like, twist his personality to your liking."

"But that's exactly why it's horribly overused! Dressing every fictional man in a suit of already desired personalities is... boring! No variety, no depth - nothing! Do they really not find real people with actual lives, emotions, thoughts and opinions more appealing?"

It was a bit funny, him getting worked up over this, as if he was deeply insecure about it. You decided to fuel the fire a bit.

"Well, what does your average Prince Charming have that, let's say, I lack?"

"A great personality?"

"Oh, come on. Now you're just being mean." He sighed, traces of laughter in his sigh. "Damn you, muñeca." You chuckled.

"Big muscles?"

"These babies don't look defined to you?" He pouted jokingly, flexing his arm. Shit. Your face warmed up for a bit. For a second, a satisfied grin appeared on his face, liking the reaction he coaxed out of you through your composed armour.

"Strength and brave- AH!" You didn't even get to finish your sentence, and a moment barely passed, but his left arm was already wrapped around your calves, his right under your arm and around your back, his body leaned into yours and suddenly - you were hanging off his shoulder stomach-down, like a potato sack. "Oh my god yo- put me down!"

He whistled, holding you down to supress your squirming. "Strong enough for you, doll?"

"Not fair..." You groaned, lifelessly plopping onto him.

"You didn't answer my question~"

"Yes. Strong enough." It was quite enjoyable up on his shoulder, actually. After the initial panic passed it became nice, the rhythmic bouncing of his walk lulling you to sleep. You could get used to this.

"Now that's music to my ears." He showed no sign of letting go any time soon, perhaps he liked the smell of your perfume on your neck, and your weight resting on top of him, like a thick winter blanket.

"Since you've already decided to pick me up, would you be kind enough to carry me to my house?" You mumbled, your eyelids already feeling heavy. "That house, over there." Pointing at the tall, cobblestone house, you yawned.

"Entiendo, sirenita."

~

"How did you- actually, you know what? Nothing can suprise me anymore. You climbed up my balcony, didn't you?"

The sun was setting, and Soul Catcher was leaning against the railing of your balcony, your bag thrown around his frame.

"Actually I slid off the roof, but you're not that far off, beautiful." Every time your name was replaced - or you were simply called by - a soft pet name coming from his mouth, you felt as if your stomach would explode. Something about the way he spoke sent shivers down your spine, whispering endearments to you like you're the only person remaining in the world along with him. And whenever he read and peered through your façade as your face turned red and your breathing got deeper, he took a step further, engaging in the sensual, mental tango forming around you two. "I forgot to return your bag. Sorry."

"It's alright. I appreciate that you went out of your way for me." Gosh, the way you tortured him! Whenever he was smooth and flirtly and you punched him in the face with your kind, unfiltered smile instead of flirting back, it was like his heart was momentarily shattered into pieces and then bound again. The irresistable two-step of games and suave words was driving him insane and momentarily, in his mind it was your face, and your body, and your voice that called for him and your coldness clashing with his warmth, and it was making him dizzy. Behind his eyes, his brain was melting, and his heart was no different. To fall so quickly for a stranger - well, it's no secret that he's been depraved of actual love and affection beyond one night stands and empty promises to dozens of lovers from different times - was nothing new to him, but this attachment was not the same, it was permanent, stable, and wasn't going away any time soon.

"So, ___..." You turned quickly. When it was just your name and not something snarky on his lips, it seemed more important. "...You got any plans for the evening?"

"Oh- not really. Do you, though?"

"Not a plan, but rather an idea, a proposition, even." His voice was breathier as if he was nervous, coughing up the words from his chest. "If you want to, we could, y'know, watch the sunset together. I'm quite fond of sunsets myself, so I was wondering..."

"So you're proposing a date?" A date. As if he flinched when he heard the word.

"Well, yeah, a date, if you want to call it that." He said as he bit his lip. "Are you up?"

"Why not?" You whispered, creeping slowly towards him. "That sounds like a nice way to spend the evening."

"I'm glad." he smiled. In that little moment all of his confidence returned, and now his voice was clear again and he was back on his feet, jumping on top of the railing like the most skilled of acrobats and making his way to the roof. "You're coming, no?"

"And how exactly do you want me to come?"

"Grab my hand. Come on." His hand hanged from above, pushed as far as possible to reach you. "I'll pull you up."

You gulped. Heights remained a minor fear of yours ever since childhood, and having to face said fear head-first out of nowhere wasn't very appealing. "But what if I fall?"

"Believe me, muñeca, you won't."

"How can you be so sure!?"

He took a deep breath, trying to speak as gently as possible to calm you down.

"Trust me, ___. It's my hand around yours, no one elses, and my strength that's going to pull you up. I'm here for you. Please."

You didn't know when, you didn't know how, but the height suddenly stopped being a problem and, in a flashing moment, you were in his arms, being pulled to the middle of the roof.

~

"The clouds are such a beautiful color today. Light pink, as if they're crowning the sun before the moon rises."

Your back facing him, his chin on your shoulder, his breath on the nape of your neck.

"It's even more beautiful right before it goes down. They turn blood red, melting with the sky."

His arms wrapped around you, your hand around his wrist, your legs thrown over his.

"Do you have to go soon?" You whispered with a heavy heart.

"I should go." He suddenly stopped. "But I don't want to."

"Please. Stay for another moment."

He pulled you closer and closer to him, now his mouth right by your ear.

"Of course. A moment."

And it was more than a moment.

And more than an hour.

And only the crescent moon was the witness, and what it saw was sealed for eternity once the sun rose on the horizon again.

[thecapricunt1616]

The Bear & His Honey Chapter 3

Inspo: Quote - “All the lights couldn’t put out the dark that’s running through my heart ”  Summary: (18+ ONLY FIC!!!) Winnie & Richie meet for the first time, have a conversation about their love for Taylor Swift over a cigarette while Carmen fights through a panic attack in his office. W/C: 3,000 A/N: Oh my WORD!! I am so excited for this chapter, I hope you all like it!! I’m hoping my Carmy and Richie are doin’ it for ya! I’m feeling this pacing for the moment, but I promise there will be a time jump at some point. I just want to have the relationships build a little and have you guys get to know Winnie outside of who she is with Carmy!!  Warnings for BTC: Abuse (Verbal, Emotional, Physical), Swearing, Self Harm, Cigarettes, Mentions of alcohol, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Disassociation, Negative self talk, bad coping skills. (0 smut though, wow!!) 

𝒞𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀 𝒪𝓊𝓉 𝑀𝓎 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉!

Chapter 2 Here!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

“Don’t worry missy, mommy isn’t forgetting about you” I brush my hand over my cat, Persephone’s, supple fluffy white tail. “Jus’ give me a second ok?” I leaned into the mirror, finishing applying a mauve lip liner to the edges of my lips before filling them in with gloss. I give myself one final lookover, smoothing down my pale, buttercup-colored cardigan. I look like I should be freezing my ass off, but thanks to my fleece-lined nude tights- I am warm as can be. 

I head into the kitchen, Persephone weaving in and out of my legs as she usually did getting a giggle out of me. “Poor starving fluffy baby mm’?” I coo, grabbing her dish from the cabinet and emptying one of her favorite shrimp-flavored Friskies lil’ soups into the bowl, and setting it down for her. She dives right in and I scratch her head lovingly. “There, that is your bedtime snack ok? You got it early, so when it’s really time for bed later, don’t try and tell me I forgot somethin’ yea?” I go grab my ‘purse’ from the bedroom which was just the tote I’d gotten at Taylor Swift's concert a few months ago, as well as my white pleather platform boots, and sit in the entry hall, putting them on. 

I look at myself once more in the hall mirror, adjusting the white bow tying back my long locks that I’d curled. “Love y’ baby, Mama be home soon, be goods ok?” I called to Seph’ who was still chowing down in the kitchen. I slipped on my fur cape shawl-type garment over my shoulders and stepped out of my apartment. Locking my door, I headed back down a few blocks to The Bear. I put on my headphones as I walk, humming softly to the music blasting through them. 

As I approach the alleyway, I see light puffs of smoke coming out into the street. I hurried my pace, hoping it was Carmen out for a smoke before I showed up. But when I finally see around the corner, it's not Carmen, it’s some other man. Older, wearing a brown leather jacket. He nods in my direction and his lips move, his voice completely drowned out by the music that was still blasting in my ears. I pull my headphone away from my ear lightly “Sorry, wha’dya say?” I asked, taking them off and putting them in my bag.  

“I asked if you were in your Fearless Era? Nice sweater” he said and I smiled wide. “Shut up- you listen to Taylor Swift?” I walked up to him, leaning a few feet away on the brick wall. “Hell yeah! My daughter loves her, you saw the show too?” He takes another drag of his cigarette and I smile with an enthusiastic nod. “Mmhmm!!” I say proudly “Can you believe She played Death By A Thousand Cuts and Mad Woman?! Those are like, my favorites from those albums!” 

He blows the smoke past me and nods with a smile. “It really was fuckin’ fantastic. Broad puts on such a crazy show it was fire.” I looked closer and realized he was wearing chef's clogs “D’ you work here?” I questioned. Another nod “My cus’ owns it. You been?” He asked and my eyes widened before I let out a laugh, a real laugh. 

“I’m here for - for him!! Actually. He umm..invited me for a drink.” I said a shy smile dancing on my lips and my cheeks heating slightly.

“Holy shit” he laughs. “Holy fuckin’ shit” he shakes his head in disbelief. “What?” I giggle. “He has a secret girlfriend or somethin’?” I joked and that got another chuckle out of him. “No, no. Absolutely not- I just am- in shock and awe.” He snorts, taking another drag. 

“Why’s that? Am I ugly or somethin’?” I teased “oh no no quite the opposite actually, surprised he was able to talk to you. Kid gets all quiet around pretty girls.” I shrugged. “Hes….shy. But very funny.” I added. “Funny? Wow. I can’t wait to tell Sug’ t’morrow. Wait so how did you- how did he ask you out?” He questioned.

 I took a deep breath, a sheepish smile on my face “ok, so- he didn’t - he did ask, but he did it by making me ask. He was like ‘oh so you only go out with guys that have xyz’ and I was like ‘no you askin’ me out player?’ And he was like ‘nope but we can go out’ he’s such a dork” I smile at my feet and he snorts a laugh, rubbing his chin like Carmen does. 

“Yeee’ that’s Carmen’s style. He's very indirect- with girls that is. With family though- god. He’s too honest most of the time” I look back up at him. “So… how does this whole thing work, like- so Carmen is your cousin, and who is Sugar?” I asked “oh, yeah Sugars my cousin too, but she’s Carmy’s big-sis. That’s why if you decide to start comin’ ‘round more often don’t be surprised if you see her bossin’ him around even though he’s technically the boss” I giggle a bit. 

“Ohh no I saw it already. She’s- she can be scary. But she’s very pretty, so that makes up for it. She came in tellin’ him off about cups earlier” I said and he chuckles “Yeah. She was the torment today, it’s usually Carmen but he was ok for the most part. Except at the end of the day, oh! Shit!! Oh my god you” he said and I looked at him, confused. “Me?” I question, pointing at my chest. “You. Yeah you. That’s why he was sooo fuckin’ dead set on hauling everyone’s asses out the door at 9:40. Oh and that’s why he had Marcus deep clean the bar. I see.” He took another drag of his cigarette. A heat brushed my cheeks.

 Is he nervous to see me? 

I take my bottom lip between my teeth in thought. “How’d you meet?” He asked, bringing me back. My gaze meets his again, “ah- we met today? Actually? Well, I think I’ve seen him like- around, because I’ll take walks on my breaks so he’s probably been out smoking. But I was gonna come by the restaurant for lunch and he was in need of a light so, I gave him one. And then he found I work at the bookstore and figured that means I’m smart or something and with his pretty eyes he just… managed to rope me into editing your dessert menu” I said and he laughed. 

“That’s one thing about Carm’ this place?” He taps the brick with his finger “Is him, he will do anything to make something perfect about it. So I guess consider yourself smart since he trusted you to even suggest he does anything differently. That’s so much trust with him, he must really like you” he said and I blushed, my eyes meeting my boots again. 

Really like you. 

“So are all you Berzattos this charming, or is it just you and Carm?” I teased and he laughed, his head falling back “Oh, I like you” he pats my arm before stomping out the butt of his cigarette. “Here, you don’t have to walk all the way around - let me just let you in the kitchen” he dug keys out of his pocket, unlocking the large metal door. “Just realized, never got your name.” He said, opening the door and holding it ajar with his foot. 

“Winnie” I reply, and held out my hand. He shakes it, his hands were cold from the weather but his touch was gentle. “Richie” he said and I looked into the hall that leads into the kitchen, my heart beginning to hammer in my chest. “Well I’ll leave you kids at it. No fuckin’ in the kitchen it’s spotless “ he said, breaking the tension in my chest and earning a laugh from me. “No promises, know where he is?” I asked and he nodded with his chin down the hall “2nd door on the right, his office. He’s probably finishing up paperwork n’ shit.” He said and I gently kissed his cheek on my way through the door, a friendly gesture. 

“It was very nice to meet you, Richie.” I said sweetly, his cheeks were bright red. “You too, Winnie. Hopefully we see you around more- Carm can use the attitude adjustment you gave ‘em this afternoon a little more often.” He joked and my cheeks were the ones that now felt hot to the touch. 

He actually listened to what I’d said about being good. 

I nod “I’ll work on it” I said and he nodded with a smile, “night.” He said “g’night! Be safe!” I replied as he shut the door. 

The kitchen was completely silent, the only sound was the buzzing of the lights. It was literal night and day. The bookstore was always quiet unless we were doing story time for littles, and at night it was just as quiet. 

“Carmen?” I called out, my heels clicking as I made my way down the hall. “Hellooo? Hello hello?” I called, hoping he’d open up the office door. My heart picks up again, I feel it in my throat. Pounding, booming. I try to swallow the thick thumping, but it doesn’t help. I hear a hard thump against Carmen’s office door, causing my eyebrows to furrow. 

I get up to it, leaning in and I hear Carmen breathing, heavy and uncontrolled. I speak up, trying to find my confidence. He had invited me here. He wants me here. 

He trusted you to even suggest he does anything differently. That’s so much trust with him, he must really like you…

Richie’s words of encouragement bounce around in my mind. 

I took a deep breath, gently tapping on the door with my French tip. 

“Carmen? Carrrm? Ya’ in there? Hellooooo? I hear you breathing in there… Ok, well guess what- I just met your cousin Richie, and apparently? He listens to Taylor Swift too. So, unless you open up this door? I’ll like- totally go right back out there and flirt with him - and, you’ll positively 100% lose your super-duper smokin’ hot date to your awesome, super friendly cousin-“ 

Carm POV;

**10 minutes before Winnie shows up**

I lean against the office door, eyes screwed shut, so tightly my forehead was beginning to cramp up as my hand shakes uncontrollably next to me, my wrist cracking with every violent flick. I was desperately trying to feel something, but my entire body was numb. My chest heaves up and down rapidly, tears burning my eyes and I roughly rub over my forehead and cheeks. Clawing at my hair and pulling tightly, to feel something, anything at all. “Fuckin - get it together, fuck!” I muttered, desperate, my nails digging into my forearm so hard that if I had any mind to me at this moment, I’d realize I was drawing blood. She would be here any second, the first - first girl, the only girl I have ever had the balls to ask out, and of course one of these - these - episodes.. Just had to come on - right now. I bump my head against the door in a futile attempt to ground myself, but it doesn’t work. I still feel fucking nothing. 

All of a sudden, per usual to this bullshit- I’m transported back to New York, to Noma, in the bathroom, hurling my guts up before my regular night shift. The pang in my stomach though, was merciful compared to the fucking hell on earth that place was.

 Then, I was on line, making Julianne cuts to a carrot for the 3rd time since the previous 2 were ‘obviously done by a blind ape’, or ‘disgustingly amateur’ as per what I can only presume is the words of the demonic human incarnate of every, single, sin, in any life, I’ve ever fucking lived, coming back in this one to haunt me in to my grave. 

 “You fucking stupid sack of shit” he seeths in my ear. “You are pure shit. Hear me? You are nothing motherfucker, you are a fucking shitstain on my name. I swear, at this rate? You get outta’ here? You are done, Hear me? DONE!!!” he barks in my ear so vociferous that it circumscribes the furthest corners of my mind, my knife slipping when I twitch slightly at the pain of the volume in my ear and it shreds into my skin, deep. 

I hissed at the sting before the fire of pain, my hand jerking away on instinct and dropping the knife. It clattered to the floor loudly and before I could react he grabbed the collar of my whites brutely, dragging me somewhere, my feet stumbling and tripping over each other as he towed me like a ragdoll, before he was violently throwing me to the floor of the bathroom in a pathetic, bleeding heap. “Fucking pussy” he growled, digging his chef's clog in my side just enough to knock the remaining wind out of my lungs. “Clean yourself up, pathetic moron. There's fucking work to be done, or did you overlook that? You slothful, utterly useless, piece of garbage.” The door to the bathroom slams, and I’m left alone, my blood leaking into the tile. At least he didn’t spit on me this time. 

My first thought isn’t if I need stitches, or of the unbelievable pain coursing through my hand and wrist - of course not, why would I ever think of myself first? Instead, it’s of the fact that my blood pool has already grown so large that it’s leaking into the grout of the restroom floor. And if it stains with the remnants of my stupid mistake, I am fucked, done, and utterly screwed. I scramble up, wincing lightly as I try to take a breath, a sharp ache going through my left lung where his shoe had dug in. 

Suddenly, I’m ripped through the walls of space and time, the soft hum of the heater meeting my ears, as the sound of the sweetest voice I’d ever heard makes its way through the door, She’s here.

“Carmen? Carrrm? Ya’ in there? Hellooooo? I hear you breathing in there… Ok, well guess what- I just met your cousin Richie, and apparently? He listens to Taylor Swift too. So, unless you open up this door? I’ll like- totally go out there and flirt with him - and, you’ll positively 100% lose your super-duper smokin’ hot date to your awesome, super friendly cousin- I also brought my book since you were just sooo interested earlier. Maybe you can take some tips from the bat-boys for your flirting skills, handsome.” 

Her voice was like a tether, gently tugging me back into my body. It’s as if my soul snaps back into my physical self all at once, her words ringing through my mind like soothing white noise, not registering a single thing she’s saying, but relishing in the fact my feet were on the ground, and I was beginning to be able to feel them there again. I try to find focus on the sound of her sweet, sweet voice.

My face finally relaxes, and I force my eyes open. I’m back- Back at the bear. I let out a shaking sigh of relief, my entire body was trembling. Blood felt like it was pooling back into every one of my limbs in a tsunami. I suddenly felt so heavy, like I could just sink into the floor in a heap and die there.

“J-J-J” I stutter out, biting down on my cheek so hard I felt a sting of pain and the taste of metal filled my mouth, so embarrassed that I’m succumbing to my old habits, especially in front of her. Forcing a deep breath into my lungs, finding my head, find your head, find it, find it Carmen. 

I inhaled so deeply it felt for a moment like my lungs could pop like balloons, before focusing all of my energy into letting out the breath as controlled and light as I could, which finally centered me enough to be able to find my tongue. “Just One sec. M’ sorry” I managed to get out, rubbing over my face roughly to get rid of the remnants of any stray tears, before wiping my hands on my shirt and turning to open the door. 

Before my mind and my….brain? Could process my actions, I was pulling the door open, pulling her into my chest, and nuzzling my face into her neck. I held her to me tightly, as if we were hanging off the very edge of the earth, and she was my only tether to reality. I took a deep breath, my knees feeling weaker at the intoxicating scent of her, Jasmine, rose, orange? Maybe grapefruit…and…Honey.  

“Thank y’ for comin’, Winnie, I need a fuckin’ drink, now.” I mutter quietly into her supple skin.

Read Chapter 4 Here!

[finxwrites]

ladyhawke time

It should have been the other way around. Jaskier was a creature of sunshine, bright as a summer flower and gaudier than a whole circus. Jaskier was all color and light. Jaskier should have gotten the day.

For his own reasons, too, Geralt would have preferred the night. It would be more practical – there were some monsters that only came out under cover of darkness, and he couldn’t hunt them at all now. But, selfishly, he also wished he could have had this excuse to not have to deal with people anymore. To finally just let Jaskier handle it all, start to finish, the way he’d so often insisted he should. 

Usually while insulting Geralt’s ability to communicate in something other than threats and insults, mind, which was rude and uncalled-for. Geralt only communicated in threats and insults maybe half the time. Less, when the bard wasn’t around to get on his nerves.

Though these last few months, he’d been communicating mostly through glares. So maybe that wasn’t entirely true either.

The lark came back, then, putting an end to his wistful musing. It flitted around his head, twittering furiously, until Geralt raised a hand for it to perch on. Then it preened itself, fluffing its breast and poking at its wings in swift, fussy little motions. Geralt had to swallow around a sudden lump in his throat.

It was so small. He didn’t even feel its weight on his hand. It was such a delicate, beautiful thing, with its bright yellow face striped dramatically in black, the gentle blurring of light brown wings to dun-white breast and the black collar round its throat. It had two little black tufts of feathers like fierce little eyebrows, giving it a permanent flair of drama.

Its claws weren’t even long enough to pierce the leather of his gloves. It was so small.

I miss you, he didn’t say. Sometimes it was easier to talk to the bird than it had ever been to talk to the man, but sometimes it wasn’t. I’m sorry. I still don’t know how to fix this.

The bird took off again, chirping up a storm, only to land again at once on Roach’s head. Roach flicked an ear, but otherwise ignored it, plodding staidly on. The bird pulled at the swirl of fur at the top of her mane, preening her too.

Sometimes it would land on Geralt’s shoulder and preen his hair, too. Sometimes it would sidle along his shoulder and hop down past the edge of his pauldron and then nestle there, just beside his ear, peeping softly to itself as it drifted off to sleep. The brush of feathers was so soft against the side of his throat. So fragile, and so warm.

It wasn’t exactly Jaskier in there, Geralt knew. This wasn’t a choice Jaskier was consciously making. Geralt was just familiar, like Roach, and tiny little songbirds need somewhere protected to sleep. It didn’t mean anything, not really.

Geralt wondered, often, what he did during the night. Jaskier left him notes, so he knew he became a wolf – a huge silver-white wolf, which was so fitting it made him want to vomit – and that he’d never yet hurt Jaskier. Wouldn’t, Jaskier insisted, when Geralt had responded to learning this by chaining himself to the nearest tree the following sunset. In the mornings, Geralt remembered strange, stretching dreams of smell and sound and the layered silences of a nighttime wood, and – he never knew if he was just making this part up – he remembered warmth. A gentle hand stroking between his ears. Singing and chatter over the crackling of the campfires he was careful to assemble and light before darkness fell. A body pressed against his, trusting and tired.

The lark took off again, flitting out over the side of the road to swoop joyfully over a meadow of wildflowers. Geralt sighed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Roach flicked an ear at him, and he patted the side of her neck.

The road stretched on, endless. The lark soared against the brilliant blue sky, singing without a care in its tiny, delicate heart. Geralt watched, silence clogging his throat, and wished he still believed in promises he didn’t know how to keep. Wished he could promise, even to himself, that he’d see Jaskier again.

[miapcain]

are the outfits in VDtWOF inspired by anything in particular or generic in a way?

Thank you for the ask! I love getting these :p

I had the opportunity to borrow a historian's rare book on 14th century bohemian clothing after he heavily criticized the last game I had a big hand in, Rhythm of Triverz, for period inaccuracies. That gave me a convenient ceiling for the most advanced gowns and armour you could expect in the region at the time. Resources on this are extant online but many don't cite their sources and most good ones are maintained on individual german historians' websites, so I need to do more research on this in general, but here are my basic rules for designing their clothes:

Everyone wears long gowns. Hose were pretty rare in this period. Women might have slightly longer dresses

Everyone wears a plain "shift," a garment that's worn under the main article of clothing. This is the one that gets washed

Garments, even rich ones, are unicolour. Mixed fabrics and colours appear later.

There's very little embroidery or detailwork on regular clothing

A garment will be worn with a belt, which might be longer the higher a person's status, and a pouch carrying an eating knife and other personal items

Most people will wear a head covering. Married women will always cover their hair outdoors, other women might do so too, and all women and girls cover their hair in church. Most common hats should be bundhauben or gugel.

A garment can be worn with a contrasting cloak (blue/red is a common one)

Jewellery is occasionally ok, but no piercings (?)

Shoes as we know them are more 14th/15 century; no big boots. Most shoes will be more like pointed leather socks or for ladies silk slippers. Poor people might wear wooden clogs.

No or very few fancy cuts. Later on you see tunics and gugel with with triangular or even fancier hems; This possibly exists very rarely in a limited capacity on things like a noblewoman's 'Kruseler' veil at this time, but that's probably it.

No black. No one depicted in this comic would be rich enough to waste money on black dye. Nuns and so on wear undyed or brown wool.

Military clothing is more "primitive" than might be expected. Not really any fancy visor helmets or big articulated suits of armour yet, most men-at-arms and even knights wear a mail shirt and a surcoat

As I understand, and I'm more than happy to be corrected on any of this, this applies almost universally. Peasants working in the field will wear dyed colourful garments, not plain rags. If it's hot, you don't take the outer garment off, you tuck the front hem of it in your belt to expose the shift. Masons will climb ladders and haul stone in this stuff. Some labourers or craftspeople will wear an apron and other specialized clothing like a toolbelt, too.

Note how Vesna wears a plain linen shift under her nicer yellow dress. I usually draw her with the sleeves all the way at the wrist, which would be the appropriate way to wear them, but she has it folded back here to make the composition nicer.

Bonus: Amusing pictures of King Václav IV slaying (150 years after when Vesna is set) and the "work uniform" of a bathhouse maid

[doll-finds]

Women's 7.5 8 38 Dansko Desiree Brown Leather Shoes Clog Slip-On Loafers Comfort - sold.

[tavyliasin]

5 Songs, 3 Outfits

RULES: post 5 songs associated with your oc, followed by 3 outfits they would wear

Tagged by @twistedapple - thank you~ And tagging in: @miradelletarot @morb-untamed @littleprincepaladin @daiya-owoda and @firlionemoontav Also if anyone is reading this and hasn't been tagged and wants to join in, well I'm terrible at choosing and remembering usernames so consider me tagging you in~ Going to put all of this below the cut so it doesn't clog your feeds, but this will all be based on my favourite Tav from @atavsguide, (all chapters are on that side blog as well as AO3). She is my absolute disaster of an elf and a woman who knows so few limits I'm genuinely concerned for her safety. Split heritage leaves her with a pale tone to her skin and long dark hair that's more often tied back to keep most of the blood out. I don't often describe her much in the fic and honestly don't have any good screenshots that I'd say really embody who she is to me, so you'll have to live with outfits and vibes~ Anyway, Tav's outfits and music below the cut!

Formal Outfit

Tav...doesn't really do formal, but Raphael did make her a dress in her dream which was later brought into vivid reality. Hardly the finery suited to the upper classes of Baldur's Gate, the inspiration was arguably more about making her feel uncomfortable and acutely aware of the particular eyes on her form. Tav is far more at home in leathers that carry a lingering scent of blood and sweat, something she can fight and escape in, but even the seasoned rogue knows when a distracting disguise is useful.

Product image from La Belleza Boutique https://www.labellezaboutique.co.uk/product-page/red-silk-dress

Casual Outfit

Tav is fond of red and black, but half her outfits are scavenged and stolen. Lacing and corseting isn't for fashion, it's to make sure things fit in the first place. A jacket keeps out the cold, but a distracting top underneath can be useful for a variety of scenarios... Pair all this with a comfortable pair of boots that come halfway up her shin, nice flat soles and well worn leather, soft to running down the harsh streets but still tough enough to withstand planting a solid kick when necessary.

Corset top, Ebay https://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/386162837704

Long Jacket, Violent Delights https://violentdelights.co.uk/products/devil-fashion-libertines-remorse-womens-gothic-aristocrat-dovetail-coat-red-black

Lace up leather trousers, Leather City https://www.theleathercity.com/product/womens-lace-up-flare-brown-leather-pant/

Lingerie

I struggled to find anything that matched what I'd see our favourite disaster in, so I went with something sturdy but sexy. Dark, alluring, she knows what she wants at the end of the day and that's clearly [explicit redacted] with whoever falls into her bed - "take pleasure where you can, you never know when this night might be your last".

Velvet and Lace Lingerie Set, Killstar https://www.succubus.com/products/killstar-sacred-spirits-velvet-bralet-black

---

The Music Of ATG's Tav

1. Empire of the Sun - Solence

An old favourite, playing on the shifting moods between longing and a need to find a way out of a loop that never seems to end. Warming up to the idea of love being for herself and not just what other people get to enjoy is not easy for Tav but that doesn't mean she doesn't desperately want to hold on to every moment of sunlight on her skin.

2. Break Me - Serenity

Lyrics of resilience wrapped in a sensual tune with a harder edge. Tav has this on repeat now and then. She's never sure if she feels strong or sad, but it's a song that resonates with a lifetime of troubles interspersed with whatever moments of bliss she can steal for herself.

3. Dawn - Echo Black

Listen this might be becoming a battle of "who needs therapy more, Lia or Tav" but I promise this is all her~

4. Masks - Aviators

I'm not saying that Tav has trust issues...but she definitely does. You don't survive for 2 centuries on your own without building up your defences and learning to see through the convenient lies and faces everyone hides behind in the street.

5. Fire Up The Night - New Medicine

When Tav cuts loose, she thoroughly enjoys herself. Lust is a chance encounter to indulge in, an opportunity to explore, and she's not letting a single one of those chances pass her by.

--- --- OK that'll do it! I spent way too long on this but it was fun~ Thanks for the tag! I'll have to get some more OCs in my head eventually, but not until Tav's found the end of her story~

[yanderedbdimagines]

I would like a scenario in the real world with the zappy doctor and his future obsession in the hospital! I am sw fine with anything but if you want an idea. How about his obsession being his future survivor instead of Feng? And that they are just as luckyy as Ace?

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

Zappy doc! Hahahaha! x’D

Ooohhh I think I see what you’re getting at and I like the idea! A thing or two may go in against the lore, but I may as well give in. xD I like this idea too much to listen to the rulez.

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The Doctor

You voice out your concerns to your friends as you lock eyes onto the gigantic and mysterious crème-colored building. "I don't think this is a good idea," you say. Your eyes swivel to one of the many glass panes that have been partly shattered due to the ordeal of weather and time. You could have sworn that you just saw something, or perhaps even someone lurking behind it.

But your friends are not convinced. "Don't be such a wuss, [Y/N]," one of your male friends says, rolling his eyes at you. "This is just like any other abandoned building. You'll see, even with these wacky stories going around."

Another friend chimes in, "I agree. Besides, there has to be a good explanation of why this hospital facility can't be found anywhere on the map and why most of the surrounding buildings seem to have been demolished. It has to be something juicy since we're on US Military soil right now."

You scoff, "Which is exactly why I don't like being here. One wrong move and they'll know that we're trespassing. And who knows what kind of penalty we'll face if they capture us here."

"Well then, that makes it all the more reason to move about more carefully, don't you?" your friend says. "Yeah, so relax. We'll be in and out in a jiffy."

As you enter the building, the heavy smell of rust, mold, and wet flaking plaster fills the chilly air. You lift your nose even further up into the air to avoid breathing in the noxious fumes of the place. You realize that you should have brought a half respirator mask with you. The sight alone is already giving you the feeling as if something is about to clog up your lungs.

“Let’s split up. We can explore the institute a bit faster this way,” one proposes. The rest went along almost instantly. Despite your own reservations, you decide to go along with the group, splitting up to explore the different parts of the abandoned hospital. One friend decided he’d like to stick with you.

After splitting up, you follow the young man into the study, shaking off the anxiety from your shoulders. The tall shelves are stacked with endless rows of books, file folders, patient documents, and old video cassettes.

“Wow, look at this place [Y/N]! Who knew this hospital would have an unique room like this hidden here! There’s even still some cool-looking stuff on the desk and there’s nothing littering the floor,” your friend points out, pointing the lens of his camera towards the Persian carpet in order to capture some footage of it before facing it towards the large desk and the brown leather chair standing behind it. 

Circling around the desk, you curiously open up one of the worn binders, noticing that the paper itself is cleaner than what you expected it to be, too. Still, you decide to read the texts and examine the drawn pictures displayed within. The beautiful writings and drawings are in a surprisingly pristine condition, save for a tiny smudge here and there.

“Very impressive,” you can’t help but muse as you read through the procedure itself, only to scowl in disgust after another minute, your friend now looking over your shoulder as well. “And impressively inhumane,” you murmur after. “This procedure must have been a hell for the person involved. The fact that this was allowed here is something I cannot wrap my head around.” 

“I don’t get it at all… What is this about? And what does ECT mean?”

“Short for electroconvulsive therapy. This research is a detailed comprehensive study of the results of one of several electroshock therapies that seem to have taken pla-” you cut yourself off, confusing your friend greatly. Your eyes widen, your hair seems to stand on end and your hands impulsively grab for the binder.

“The date… T-This happened a month ago…” you say, your voice trailing off.

As you both stand there, staring at the binder filled with valuable data about the inhumane procedures that took place in the hospital, a voice suddenly interrupts your thoughts. "This impressively inhumane procedure surely has taken place quite a while ago, I sadly have to say. And I do advise you to put that down in the same state as it was there previously. That data is very valuable to me. As you may have noticed, patients are very hard to come by these days. Today is nothing more than a pleasant exception."

You both whip around in shock and stare at the towering man now filling the doorway. His illuminating eyes are fixated only on you as he speaks. A strange metallic contraption keeps his eyes and mouth pried wide open, and his overall skin texture is mostly scarred and even cracked around his hands. Metal wiring snakes through the flesh of his surprisingly muscular arms before protruding out of it, sparking in their wake.

As you both realize the strange situation you find yourselves in, you waste no time to give your friend a hard shove with the binder before the two of you stumble out of the office room and down the long hallway. You can hear the man in the torn lab coat chasing after you.

You quickly zip open your backpack and stuff the binder inside of it, knowing that this data is priceless and could serve as proof that this hospital isn't quite as abandoned as the locals currently believe it to be. Perhaps the horrors within these documents may even stir the American government to do something about this place if it ever goes public in any shape or form.

You doubt that the man would let you go now as you've just stolen his valuable data. So, you decide to take a high risk, high reward approach and try to outrun him, knowing very well that you may as well be angering him because of this. A sudden jolt of static electricity hits both you and your friend, and you scream sharply in unison as a joyful and mocking laughter responds from behind. An indescribable tingling sensation settles in between your ears, swinging between a mild ache and a burning sensation.

You yell out to your friend to go left and warn the others as you turn right on the hallway's junction. With a quick look over your shoulder, your expectation that he'd decide to chase you actually came true. You've become too big of a priority with that binder now in your possession, so you decide to pick up the pace even further than you already did.

As you rush through the concrete hive of narrow hallways and tiny rooms, a sense of claustrophobia, fear, and utmost confusion about the layout completely throws you off your memory to remember on where you and your friends came in through and where you even currently are. Heavy footfalls are hot on your heel now, so you vault over a brick wall and rush up a flight of stairs, passing a medical procedure cart at the very top of it.

Suddenly, you whirl around, managing to surprise the Doctor, before you push the cart off its place and straight towards the man who is halfway up. As you decide to keep on running, you hear it make contact with him before a loud crash and a pained yelp reaches your ears, followed by loud and amused laughter bordering on a laugh of utmost insanity.

Breathless and terrified, you bolt through the dark hospital hallways, heart racing as you try to put as much distance between yourself and the madman behind you. You find and burst through the exit doors and race into the forest beyond, the dense trees and underbrush slowing you down but providing much-needed cover.

You run for what feels like hours, your feet aching and your lungs burning, but you can't stop. You don't dare look back, afraid that he'll catch up to you, and you don't even know where you're going. But you can't stay there, not with that maniac on your tail.

Just when you feel like you can't run anymore, you stumble onto a deserted road. You pause for a moment, trying to catch your breath and figure out which way to go, when you hear the sound of a car approaching. Without thinking, you step out into the middle of the road and wave your arms frantically, hoping the driver will see you.

The car screeches to a halt just in front of you, and the driver- a woman, rolls down the window to ask if you're okay. You're about to answer when you catch a glimpse of movement within the deeper parts of the forest. You gasp loudly and dive into the backseat of the car, urging the driver to take off as fast as possible.

You swivel around in the leather backseat, throwing a panicked glance over your shivering shoulder. Your wide eyes meet fluorescent white ones which can only belong to the deranged man currently basking in the darkness of the night. Only the faint sparks of electricity jumping from the wiring sticking out of his bulky arms further indicate that it’s him as his large form quickly grows smaller and smaller by the second.

You look away, a silent sigh of relieve escaping you. You got away from him… You could only thank whichever higher power there might be for having this car drive on that particular road the moment you needed an actual escape the most. More so that it’s a nice lady that responded to your waiving arms and let you inside with perplexity and slight suspicion decorating her face.

As you try to calm your breathing, you couldn’t help but to let your mind wander to your friends. You hope that the rest have been warned, and somehow could escape alright. Another sigh escapes you. You have the feeling they’ll be fine if they don’t stick around for too long. For now, the most important thing is that you’re safe.

But… You spoke much, much too soon.

“What is that?” The woman questions out loud from her spot behind the wheel after five minutes’ worth of driving in silence, her gaze set on the dark mist protruding from the canopy above further up ahead.

Nothing more could be said as they turned into spider-like appendages and picked up the car as if it was just a toy, the two of you screaming in unison as the car door at your side got ripped off its hinges before one of these things hooked around your legs and dragged you outside in one swift motion.

The vehicle falls towards the ground with a crash as you’re fully suspended in the air. The lady doesn’t seem to be able to crawl out of the car for some reason, the smell of gasoline penetrating your crinkling nose a second after it had hit the worn concrete.

With horror, you watch as the vehicle suddenly catches fire as you’re hoisted higher and higher up into the cold atmosphere, immense heat soon rushing past as the car quickly got engulfed into a ball of roaring flames as a contradictory icy scream pierces through the air.   

You fall limp, the anxiety with everything that has happened to you so far finally catching up to you, the final drop being the terrifying wails of a dying person.

Sadly, this would only be the beginning of an experience that’s even darker and more twisted in volume…

[austin-in-taiwan]

June 23 - Tapei -> Yilan - Air raid drill, Clog museum, Boba, Hotel hot spring

Today was our last morning in Taipei. I woke up and wrote my independent excursion reflection at a nearby Starbucks. Afterward, I still had plenty of time, so I met up with some of the guys on the trip and got some scallion pancakes with egg and some pork buns from nearby restaurants, which were absolutely delicious. Then, there wasn’t much time till we departed from the hotel.

Once on the bus and onto the freeway, we soon received notifications about the air raid drill. The drill happens once a year, and unless you are on the highway (which we were), you are required by law to stop and follow police instructions (either stay in place or go to the nearby shelter). Unfortunately, we didn’t hear any sirens or see anything besides the notifications on our phones. Our tour guide, Peter, sent us this article if you want to read more about it: https://focustaiwan.tw/society/202407210012.

Once in Yilan, we stopped at a wooden clog museum. This museum was fun. First, we tried a massage clog, which was just a clog with large wooden grooves where your foot goes. It really wasn’t comfortable. Then we tried clogs inclined upwards so your toes point to the sky. These were for stretching your calves, so we put those on and followed a stretching routine by the guide. Finally, we designed our own leather clog keychain! I put a monkey on mine because that’s my Chinese zodiac and my initials (see picture below).

Next, we went to Kili Bay and made our own Pearl Milk Tea. First, we dipped the tea bag in hot water 80 times, mixed in the cream powder, shook it with ice, mixed in the syrup, and finally poured it over the boba tapioca bubbles. It was delicious, and we even got to keep the cool glass mugs. At the gift shop, I bought some Taiwanese milk tea packets and instant tapioca so my family can try them at home!

Finally, we went to the hotel and checked in. This hotel was a spa hotel, and they had hot springs in the back. There were cold springs (60 degrees Fahrenheit) that were like ice baths, some hot springs that went up to 110 degrees, and even a sauna. It was super relaxing and a great break.

Tomorrow, a typhoon will hit, and our activities have been canceled. We went to 711, grabbed a few instant ramen and water, and will be ready to eat during the typhoon!

Academic Reflection

As many people know, boba tea is one of the most famous products invented in and exported from Taiwan. Today, we made the milk tea and added it to the tapioca pearls, which was a fantastic experience. The readings, however, have made me appreciate that experience more. Boba tea isn’t as old as I thought, as it was first made four decades ago in one of two tea houses (Chun Shui Tang in the central city of Taichung or Hanlin Tea Room in southern Tainan). They both believe that they were the ones who invented it in 1986. Learning how it is made was exciting and made me appreciate it. The pearls are made from starches, brown sugar, and water. When rolled together and boiled, that’s what makes them gummy, chewy, and glossy. Overall, learning about the invention of the famous milk tea, how the tapioca is made, and experiencing the tea itself made me appreciate it much more.

One other super exciting thing I learned today wasn’t from any activities but from traveling from Taipei to Yilan. There were tons of tunnel systems through the mountains that we went through on our bus ride. During the travel, we were taught that building that tunnel freeway system took about 2.8 billion dollars. It was complicated to build with the amount of volcanic activity and water pockets. Apparently, a giant tunnel drill is still underwater in the mountain. Overall, the building of that system made a 2.5-hour drive around the mountains into a 45-minute drive from Taipei to Yilan. I find it interesting how critical highways are and how challenging and expensive building them can be.

[overthesteamutau]

Over the Steam: Character Design.

A collection of information on the Over the Steam character's design. Mainly consisting of the main casts, it's very simple. I am neither an artist nor a character designer, so most of this is very simple.

Suggestions are welcome!

Papyrus: Papyrus wears a red formal Shirt with a large brown Pirate coat covered in bone patterns atop, with formal black trousers too. Atop his head, he wears an aviator hat with Skull and Crossbones patterns and aviator goggles. Around his neck, he wears a red scarf.

Sans: Sans wears a white shirt with a dark blue vest on top, with black trousers and simple black shoes.

Griblly: Grillby wears a piece of machinery like a fish bowl or an astronaut helmet but more skinny, with a vent on top which constantly produces smoke from his constant fire. He also wears prosthetic hands over his own when he leaves his shop, to avoid accidentally bumping into someone and burning them. His clothes consist of a formal Black Vest with a Red Undershirt with a light grey steam pattern woven into it. His vest has two separate parts at the end which curl up.

Alphys: Alphys normally wears a Long brown coat with Golden Clogs sewn into it, With baggy brown trousers. Around her waist is a toolbelt filled with a variety of different tools. Upon her head, she wears the usual steampunk Goggles.

Undyne: Undyne wears a large open blue captain coat that hangs loosely like a cape with the sleeves ripped off, With light leather armour underneath with wave patterns going from her shoulders to her legs. On her right arm, She wears a large exoskeleton arm. She also has a prosthetic eye that glows with magic, allowing her to see.

Toriel: Toriel normally wears a Dark Purple Coat with Matching trousers, With a Delta Ruin patch on the left shoulder. On certain days, She wears a long purple Gothic Dress. 

Asgore: His formal attire consists of a purple cloak, covered in cog patterns near the chest with steam-like patterns rising from the bottom. Underneath he wears a large metal exo-suit that protects him from danger, boosts his magic and gives him immense strength. The suit constantly emits steam and every movement causes loud whirring sounds. In his free time, He wears a simple white shirt with brown trousers held up by suspenders.

Mettaton: Ghost.

Mettaton EX Basic Bodyily outline would be the usual EX form. The main Colour scheme is Copper with Pink. On his legs, he would wear long Riding Boots with a Pinke buckle.. The Heart on his waist is replaced by a Magic Stone in the shape of a heart. A radio-esque device replaces the Upperchest area with a microphone handle attached to it, if spoken into it broadcasts to all radios. The shoulder pads are less sharp and look more like small half-cogs. The Face is mainly the same, except the eye hidden under the hair is actually a pocket watch. (radio-themed)

ART BY @mettatonsblog CHEEECK THEM OUUUT!!!!

[thesoftdumbass]

take my hand, wreck my plans

Ezra (Prospect) x reader, pirate AU

word count: 2,990~

warnings: piracy, mentions of death and murder (because pirates), swearing in general, no Y/N

summary: With Cee now on The Queen's Lair, there are adjustments to be made and conversations to be had.

my masterlist | previous

You learn that, while she doesn’t have a lot of possessions to her name, Cee takes care of what she’s got, carefully packing her few belongings into a sack to carry with her over to the Queen’s Lair and into her new life. One of these items being the book you found on the captain’s desk, the red leather cover embossed with the title “The Streamer Girl.” After Cee gathers the bag of her only earthly possessions, she faces the door and stands with her back straight, and you can guess that she’s gathering the courage to leave her old life behind. It’s only a few moments before she takes a deep breath, walks toward the door and opens it, striding into the hallway that leads to the steps above deck. 

You’re trailing behind her as Cee leads you out of the captain’s quarters, and before you make the turn onto the stairs leading above deck, you catch the eye of your Captain. Nodding silently, you’re able to communicate that the girl is coming with your crew and is doing so amiably. He nods in response and knowing him so well, you can see the glimmer of appreciation in his deep brown eyes. 

As Cee and yourself make way up the stairs, you stop for a moment to look behind you, catching sight of the Captain’s back as he makes his way into the office to finish what he started. Reaching the deck of The Harvester, you take the lead, ushering Cee across the gangplank over to The Queen’s Lair. She steps onto the deck of her new vessel, a long sigh drooping her shoulders minutely before she turns her attention to you, a neutral expression replacing the forlorn one from moments ago. 

“Well,” she says, taking a long look around the pirating vessel. “Where will I be staying?”

You lead Cee into the pantry, closing the door behind yourself and leaning against the wall while she takes in the space. “This is where we keep most food supplies, obviously,” you say, gesturing to the stacks of crates and barrels of mead. “Most of the crew sleeps further below deck in a communal area, but since I spend most of my time in here, I tend to sleep in the corner there.” You use your hand again to point to the hammock swinging lazily in the corner of the room. “You’re welcome to use it while you’re with us, and I can join the rest of the men through the night.” 

At the apprehensive look that crosses her face, you amend that statement. “Or I could always find some more blankets and make a pallet on the floor. Never know when we might need two sets of hands manning the kitchen.”

A flash of relief shows on Cee’s face and you think, briefly, how scared she must be that the thought of sharing a room with a woman she barely knows and only met today, is better than sleeping alone. You find it best in situations like these to go about business like you normally would, so you step away from your post against the wall and toward where you keep your personal items as you keep talking. 

“I can take you around later to get a better idea of the ship, but right now, the crew are carrying cargo back and forth, so walkways will be a little clogged.” You shrug out of your jacket, the heavy leather doing its best to give you heatstroke below deck, and leave it on the wall hook until it’s needed again. You turn back around to face Cee and catch her observing your clothing. Men’s breeches with a linen top to keep cool, and an obvious lack of a weapon’s belt. 

Cee leans her bag of possessions against the wall of the cabin, pulling herself into the hammock to sit facing you. After drawn-out silence, Cee’s curiosity gets the best of her. “How did you find yourself here?”

“Here in this moment in the pantry, or on the ship?” You’re deflecting and she knows it, raising a blonde eyebrow in prompting. There’s a stack of crates by the hammock that you use to hold your personal belongings and extra supplies for the ship, and you make a seat out of them as you hesitate to answer her. “It’s a complicated story.”

“Whose isn’t,” she asks rhetorically, leaning back on her elbows with a shrug. 

A knock sounds from the doorway and Cee flinches, surprised, but the captain’s voice reaches you from the other side of it. “May I intrude for a moment?”

You look to your companion for confirmation, and at her nod, call out for him to enter. He closes the door gently behind him, walking a couple of steps into the room but leaving plenty of space for comfort, before addressing the girl. “In all of the…excitement earlier, we were not properly introduced. My name is Ezra, I am the captain of this here vessel. We will assuredly need to have a conversation later about what steps you would like to take next, but for as long as you need, you are safe aboard The Queen’s Lair.” She nods, her eyes meeting the captain’s briefly. “You’ve also got a hell of an arm, I have to admit.”

Amusement- and possibly pride- show in her expression, and this time when she makes eye contact with the captain, she holds it. “My name is Cee.”

“It is a pleasure, miss Cee, though the circumstances are unfortunate at the least.”

You watch as Cee draws back into herself, eyes taking another trip around the room and landing anywhere but on the two people in her company. Ezra takes this as a sign to move on, turning to face you more directly. “Moony, could we have a word above deck? There are some details about the safety situation-”

“You can speak in front of me,” Cee asserts quietly but with underlying strength. “I’m not a child, I can handle it.”

The captain nods, though the polite smile on his lips doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Very well, birdie. I was going to tell Moony that I’ve had a discussion with the rest of the crew. Our people tend to respect boundaries, but I’ve made it understood that the same rules apply to you as they do to Moony and the other members that do not fit the…archetype of a seaman. If you are approached in a threatening or inappropriate way, or if someone puts their hands on you in a way that is not welcome, the culprit will answer to me…that is, after Moony is done with them.”

A huff of a laugh escapes you, a murmured “if there is anything left,” and you see a small smile crack on Cee’s face.

“Alright then,” the captain claps his hands together once to dismiss this impromptu meeting. “I’ll let you get settled in. I shall see you both in a little while.”

The sun is near set as you make your way above deck on your nightly walk, and it’s near the bow of the ship that you encounter your captain. He sidles up to you as you’re enjoying the view, standing at your side as the ship rocks you both peacefully. You feel his eyes on you eventually, can sense that there are words on his tongue, and look away from the now-dark sky to meet his eyes, a small “yes?” entering the air around you.

There is slight hesitation on his part before he averts his gaze, walking a step or two up to the wooden railing and placing his hands upon it. “How is our newest member adjusting?” he asks, running one thumb over a divot in the wood there.

You think of your walk with Cee around the ship, giving her a feel for her new accommodations. Think of how afterward, while you prepared supper, she sat nearby and listened as you chatted lazily, mostly telling inane stories about the crew. How eventually, she started to respond to more than direct questions, breaking down a wall slightly and making non-verbal sounds to show that she was listening, even asking a few questions of her own. A smile, almost wistful, if a pirate can be considered as such, graces your lips. “She seems to be settling in well, given the circumstances.” The captain hums lowly, acknowledging your answer with a nod of his head, as you continue. “She’s been through so much change in one day, though, so I thought it best to give her the room for a while. What better time to take a stroll?”

He chuckles softly at that, sending a look over his shoulder that sings of fondness. “It wouldn’t be The Queen’s Lair without the queen taking her nightly walk,” he remarks. 

A not very queen-like snort leaves you and you step up to the railing as well, sending a nudge into his side with your elbow. “I am no royalty.”

“Indeed, you are not,” warm brown eyes seek out your own, the unreadable emotions in them holding you there. “You are m- our Moony, and in my humble opinion, well…you’re even more important.”

Words escape you at the sincerity behind his words, and you can only manage a soft “thank you, Captain,” in response. Your eyes drift down to the sea, before being drawn to your hand being scooped up by his own broad one.

“You need not always call me Captain, my gem.”

“I know, Ezra,” is your near-silent reply. Letting the quiet consume you for a few more peaceful minutes, you watch the waves roll by as the captain’s hand, the one which is not cradling yours, comes up to rub circles across the back of your knuckles.

Once the sun is fully set and the moon is high in the sky, Ezra turns back to face you, breaking the silence. “Billy Bones has been keeping an eye out for you and the girl,” he mentions, “making sure no-one tries anything.”

You hum, taking in the information. “I doubt anyone will.”

“Even so,” the Captain insists. “He has volunteered to patrol through the night to make sure that your room stays clear. I told him that I would inform you of his intentions and see what you think is best.”

You nod, eyebrows drawn down as you think. “He doesn’t need to walk the corridors while we sleep,” you say, but pause. “Tell him to rest close by, though, just in case he’s needed.”

“I’d better let him know, then,” says Ezra, releasing your hand with one last brush against the back of it. 

“I’ll get back to Cee,” you murmur, watching his movements. With a polite smile, you take a step back from him and mentally shake yourself out of the moment. “Have a good night, Captain.”

A huff of breath leaves Ezra, his head shaking in fond exasperation at you continuing to use his title. “Sleep well, Moony.”

Opening the door to your pantry, the flickering candlelight shows that your young companion has fallen asleep, and you notice as you step in that her eyes appear puffy from crying. Not that you’ll mention that to her tomorrow. It only takes a few minutes to make your bed, arranging your extra blankets into a semi-comfortable sleeping pad before you lie down, blow out the lone candle left burning, and settle in for the night.

When you wake next, it’s to the sound of the rest of the crew changing shifts from night to morning, the creaking of floorboards alerting you to the activity nearby. Stretching out the kinks from sleeping on the ground, you eventually make your way into a sitting position to find Cee still asleep in your hammock.

“Hey, kid,” you croak out, your voice not yet warmed up. Sitting up on your knees and shuffling a few feet to the edge of the hammock, you reach a hand out and let it rest on Cee’s arm which is hanging over the edge.

“No!” she exclaims, waking with a start, her right hand reaching over to wrap fiercely around yours which is still on her.

“Hey, hey,” you repeat softly, trying to soothe the startled girl. “It’s me, it’s Moony.”

“Moon-” she starts, her eyes finally registering where she is after having been awoken suddenly. “I, I’m sorry,” she says, her hand releasing you, and you both ignore the crescent moons left behind on your skin from where she had dug her nails in. 

“You’re okay,” you intone, hoping she understands the double meaning laced there. “I’m about to start breakfast, I wanted to see if you wanted to come along or stay here and sleep a little longer.”

“I think I’m fully awake now,” a humorless laugh accompanies her words before an embarrassed smile creeps onto her face.

You finally stand, your knees protesting the exposure to the hard wood beneath them. “Good. You can make yourself useful, kid.” You’re grateful for the small genuine smile that Cee gives you, pulling on some shoes and heading into the kitchen for breakfast.

Cee peels potatoes to fry while you put together a batch of cornbread, the two of you working in comfortable silence. It’s while you’re cleaning up from the meal, your hands in dishwater as she wipes down the counters, that the captain comes to greet you both and asks to speak with her. 

“I’m almost finished here, if you’d like me to accompany you?” You’re careful to phrase it as a question, and you’re glad you did when she shakes her head, sending an assuring smile your way.

“I’ll be okay, Moony. I’ll find you after?”

“Of course,” you say, turning back to your task.

“After you,” Cee gestures for the captain to go first and he does so, leading her to his office. She sits opposite the desk from him, meeting his gaze, his eyes appearing tight with discomfort.

“I thought it time you and I had a discussion about the future,” he pauses, “and the past.”

Cee nods, silent for a few moments as she looks away, expression thoughtful. “Was it you?”

Ezra takes a deep breath in. “If you’re asking if I’m the one that-”

“Killed my father?”

The rest of his breath exhales on a sigh, the sound tired and a little regretful. “Then yes, it was me.” Cee nods, already having accepted the probability. “I was unaware that you were on board The Harvester. The crew and I, we try to accomplish these things with minimal casualties, but it doesn’t always work out that way. I know,” he reaches a hand out, another gesture of peace, as his voice comes out with an edge of trepidation. “I know that excuses will make you feel no better, and I dislike having a part to play in how your life was upended. But unfortunately…the past cannot be changed. It is up to us, up to me, now to try and make things right in any way that I know how.”

Cee finally turns her gaze back to the captain, her eyes hard and jaw set in anger. “You’re a killer,” she says, tone hardened.

“I know.” Ezra’s shoulders slump, resigned to her judgment. “We’re all alone in here, there’s nothing stopping you from seeking vengeance. I wouldn’t blame you for your actions, either. But,” he says slowly, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the desk meaningfully, “If I am left to live another day, I will try to find a place where you feel like you belong.”

The fire in Cee is extinguished, and she shrinks to look smaller in her seat. “I don’t belong anywhere.”

Ezra’s brows draw up in surprise at the shift in the girl. “Surely you do. If you have family somewhere, we can track them down and-”

“I don’t,” she interrupts, shaking her head. “I don’t have any family left. My dad was the only person I had.”

The quiet in the office is tense, as though at any moment the whole room could shatter. With this information left to stew in his mind, Ezra’s thoughts are left to be uttered from his lips. “You and Moony share a common history.”

“Really?” Cee asks after a moment, voice quiet in the open office.

“Really,” he confirms, sitting a little straighter in his seat now. “Well, since you have no guardians or relatives to account for, and you are old enough, in my opinion, to do so, you will decide what happens to you.”

“So…you’re not going to leave me stranded on a desolate island?” Ezra is taken aback by her words at first until he registers the dry humor in her voice and in the uptick of one eyebrow.

A chuckle escapes on his next breath. “Not unless that is truly what you desire. Although,” the corner of his lips lifts in amusement, “I’ve no clue why you would.”

“Is…is it okay if I take some time to consider my options?”

“Yes, birdie, that’s just fine. But, we are touching down in Nassau in five days’ time, so if you would like to stay on the island or use it to jump to another port, you may want to know before then. We don’t stop there but every few weeks.”

“Okay,” she nods, standing from her seat. “I’m going to think about it. In the meantime, I told Moony I would find her after you and I talked.”

“Of course,” Ezra stands as well, walking to the door to open it for her, and pointing her to your most likely position. With a small amount of weight off his shoulders, Ezra closes the door behind her and sinks back into his seat, blowing out a breath. He can’t undo the past, that much he knows, but he’ll do his damnedest to protect this girl who’s just fallen into his care.

If you like my fic so far, please leave a comment or reblog and let me know what you liked about it to give me the inspiration to continue. Thank you so much for reading!

Everything tags: @greeneyedblondie44 @kickingitwithkirk @mad-girl-without-a-box @feelmyroarrrr @rosie-posie08

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[riley-travels]

July 23- Half day, Clog DIY, Boba DIY, and Yilan

Today I woke up surprisingly early, I think around 2:00 before taking a while to fall back asleep and waking for the final time around 6:30. I went for coffee around 7:00 and ran into Chief and Yeh Laoshi. The coffee I had was much better than yesterday. With the caffeine, I was able to start the writing on my Independent Excursion 1. I had already found an amazing article that I really enjoyed, so I reread that and began my work. I ended up hitting somewhere around the 800 word minimum in the academic section and was able to hit an exact 1010 with the title and my free writing section. After me and Sabrina were both done with our posts and had submitted them we decided to “reward” ourselves by trying out La Maison du Danemark, a bakery by our hotel that we had not tried yet. It was amazing as always, then we just waited for the bus. The ride to Yilan was pretty easy but very rainy. After we got there, we learned about clogs and even got to design our own leather strap to go on little key chain clogs. Before going back to our hotel we had the chance to make our own boba milk tea. We got to brew the tea in a shaker, add milk powder, add our desired level of brown sugar syrup, and then shake with ice. Then we poured it over the tapioca pearls and got to drink it, I thought it was good but the tea was kind of weak but the pearls were some of the best I have ever had. When we were in the gift shop I also saw one of my favorite desserts that I buy at home, which I had no idea was made in Taiwan.

Academic:

The globalization of boba tea, originating from Taiwan, has had profound effects on the island's cultural and economic landscape. As boba tea gained international popularity, it brought global attention to Taiwanese culinary culture, absolutely building a sense of national pride among Taiwanese people. Economically, the global demand for boba tea has boosted Taiwan's tea industry, leading to increased exports and the growth of local businesses. This cultural export has also contributed to Taiwan's soft power, enhancing its cultural presence on the global stage. However, globalization has also led to the commercialization and commodification of boba tea, sometimes resulting in the dilution of its traditional recipes and methods to cater to international tastes. Despite these challenges, the worldwide success of boba tea underscores Taiwan's influential role in global food culture. Walking around in the touristy areas of Taipei many local sellers of different souvenirs also utilize the image of boba, further stimulating the economy at home.