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dreamingofaizawa · 21 days ago

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Violent Tendencies - Violent Woman

Sheriff! John Price x AFAB! Fem! Reader

~Small Town AU~ (John’s POV)

***This work contains explicit content. If you are not 18 years of age or older, GIT ON GIT***

Warnings: descriptions of violence, blood, penetrative sex (p in v), blood kink, marking/biting, no prep, unprotected sex (no wrap, no tap ppl), cream pie, possessive/obsessive John Price

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: Yeah nobody talk to me I’m in a bad way (fucking gnawing at the bars of my enclosure rn I need him) this was living rent free in my head. It’s from John’s pov so bare with me, it’s a little different from the usual pov

Series Masterlist

Part One Here - Part Three Here

Enjoy~

***

He knows he’ll probably die before he gets the chance to kiss you. Before he gets the chance to tell you how beautiful you look, bleeding from your lip with a crazed look in your eyes, a bruise forming on your collarbone. Beaming with the adrenaline rush. You’re rage incarnate, 0 to 100 in a split second, the slightest aggravation and you’re swinging to kill.

He's only known you all of 60 glorious seconds but he knows this already:

He loves you. He’ll always love you, the little red storm you are. All blood and teeth and violent fervor. His volatile counterpart, lighting for his thunder.

When you don’t hit the damn bag you’ve been sharing the past nine months, he knows what comes next. You’re sad when he looks at you, finally realizing you haven’t started swinging.

“Time’s up, Price. I’m out tomorrow morning.” He tries not to let it get to him, even when his heart feels like it’s being squeezed into dust. He may never see you again.

“About damn time, Tempest.” Your sneer is always lovely to see, but it falls short today. You hate that damn nickname. He thinks maybe you’re going to miss it.

“Knew you were sick of me.” He laughs, but it’s not all humor. If he could keep you in here with him he would, store you away kicking and screaming.

“Damn right. You’re like the fuckin’ plague.”

“Oh fuck you, Price.” Please do. Then you’re swinging in earnest, knuckles tearing on the canvas and bleeding down the bag. You were never really phased by the pain. He thinks maybe you enjoy it.

The next day you don't even come to give him a proper goodbye. It's for the best really, if you did he might not have let you leave.

He never thought he’d see the day you took a verbal assault without making the other person bleed, but here you are, getting torn to shreds by Graves. The man is more annoying than anything he’s ever had to deal with before, constantly drunk and constantly being kicked out of the town’s bar. He can’t count how many calls he’s gotten about this guy not liking his cut-off.

He catches you when you stumble back into him, and he can see it in your eyes when you look up at him. The rage. The violence. That crazed look the first time he’d met you blow for blow. It’s all simmering under your skin, swirling in your eyes behind a mist separating you from the situation.

You’ve changed over the last ten years.

“Sheriff Price? What are you doing here?” You sound so different now, the bite in your words reduced to nothing, the sharpness of your tongue gone completely. You look so timid when he tugs his leather jacket tight around your shoulders, and he revels in the way you melt into it, even if it's nothing like how he remembers you. Briefly, he wonders if you’ve gotten smaller, but then realizes he probably just got bigger. Still, you’ve lost your muscle mass, gotten softer around the edges. There’s a plushness to you that makes you look docile. He knows you’re anything but.

He takes you home after picking up the breakfast he always does for the boys at the station. You sleep like the dead for the entirety of the fifteen minutes it takes for the food to be ready, don’t even stir when he hops in and makes the five minute drive to the station. Simon spots you in the passenger seat of his truck when he drops off the food, and even though he says nothing, Johnny manages to follow his line of sight.

“You kidnap the lass, Price?” Kyle slaps him up the backside of his head. John glances at your sleeping form, framed in his passenger seat. You look so perfect there.

“Tempest.” Simon freezes mid-bite. Johnny is silent, for once in his life. Kyle chuckles, low and amused. Nothing is said after that. They all know about Tempest, the spitfire from his juvie days he can’t get his mind off of. They know what he’s told them, know about the fights and the bag and the way he’d dream about her. He’s never told them who his Tempest is, though.

It’s hard for them to come to terms with the fact that John’s Tempest is you. The little apparition that works overnights at Kate’s diner, nothing but small tired smiles and soft words. You can’t possibly be the same girl that put John Price on his ass with a broken nose and a black eye. They don’t believe it until Graves is tossed into one of the cells in the station, concussed, broken arm in a cast, bleeding and bruised on just about every inch of exposed skin.

“Damn. Who the hell did that?” Kyle’s dumbfounded, truly. Graves isn’t nearly as big as the three of them, but he’s not small by any means. Even the bar fights he gets into don’t bang him up more than a bruise on the face. It looks like he’s been beaten half to death. Simon laughs through his words when he tells them you took a bat to the guy. Then you walk in with John, completely untouched even though your emotions are running high, and you threaten to pop Grave’s arm out of place. Suddenly it all makes sense, and suddenly there’s no way you’re not the Tempest John Price has been in love with for ten long years.

Watching you run around to lock down your house like a damn bunker is something he never really expected from you, even after so many years apart. He’s struggling with the concept that you’ve changed so much, no longer so confrontational, even though you haven’t really changed at all in some aspects. You’re two different people, so far removed from the past you share. Though he can’t complain when he’s the local law enforcement. His younger self would hate what he's become, always running from the law back then.

He never imagined you’d have nightmares, either, even when he knows he has them too sometimes. It’s the stress getting to you. You may be a rolling red maelstrom but you’re still human.

You’re crying in your sleep with the bad dreams that haunt you. Quiet, high-pitched whines and a few small tears, and he can’t help the way he reaches for you. He wants to hold you so badly, and when his palm meets your cheek he swears the nightmare stops dead in its tracks the way you calm at his touch. You cling to him when he pulls away, your body reflexively following his hand and your whines coming back full force. You grab him when he returns, practically dragging him with the way you grip his arm, and it’s so easy to follow you into your bed when you roll onto your back and refuse to let him go.

There’s a piece of him that wants you to wake up and sock him in the face for crawling into your bed while you’re asleep.

The rest of him drowns in the elation that he’s holding you tight to his chest, happy to die now that he’s actually held you in his arms. When you wake you’re confused, but you take his explanation at face value. Hearing you apologize really throws him for a loop.

“No reason to be sorry, sweetheart. It’s been a long day for you.” He doesn’t bother fighting the urge to check you for any injuries, sitting you up and gently turning your face to get a good look at you. If there were any small injuries you sustained, the bruises would be showing by now, but there’s nothing on you. He catches the way you roll your shoulder. You might have strained it a little in the scuffle, not having used those muscles in so long. You sure handed the man's as to him, though.

“Graves had to fuckin’ clue what he was walking into. Fucked him up real good, didn’t you?” The tiniest smile works its way onto your face, a little red flash in your pupils. There she is.

“I broke his arm.”

“Hell yeah you did. Split his eyebrow, even gave him a mild concussion.” There’s a satisfaction that falls over your features, content about the whole thing.

“It's been years since I’ve let loose like that.” Maybe, but you’ve still got it. Even after all these years, the fury came out to play your favorite game.

“Wish I was there to see it, darlin. Woulda made my day.” He’d kill to watch it all happen, to see you rampage and make the bastard in the middle of your warpath bleed. The things he’d give to see you tear through an opponent, all your red bubbling to the surface.

Fuck, he misses all that red. The way your eyes went bloodshot, the blood leaking from your knuckles, from your lips, the vermillion fog that curled at your feet when you walked into the courtyard to tear the bag to shreds. He’d never seen something so pretty in his life.

“I bet you wanted to hit him yourself.” He won’t lie, it was incredibly tempting. But he had other things to focus on, like your safety. The gunshot set his nerves on fire, and not even the prickle of fury at the sight of Graves could cut through the fear that you were dying behind the door. He barely relaxed when you said you were fine. He needed to see you.

“Seeing you threaten to pop his shoulder was just as satisfying.” The way you lean into his palm when he cradles your jaw makes his heart leap into his throat. His Tempest, his little storm of fury and madness, falling into his hold like she belonged there.

“You didn’t let me, though.” That, too, was tempting.

“Gotta keep you out of trouble with the law, darlin. I’m the Sheriff, after all.” The legalities really aren’t worth it, nor is the paperwork. He did love reigning you in, though. Part of him hopes he’s the only one capable of that feat.

“That’s too bad. I wanted to hear him scream.” That red he misses is there in your eyes again. So gentle in his palm, but oh so violent, the brutality softened but set in stone. You’ve changed, sure, you both have. But at your core, you’re still the woman he fell in love with.

“I knew my Tempest was still in there.” Your eyes blow wide at the name, and he can see the spark that lights in your veins. The way your chest caves with your shuddering exhale, how your fingers curl into fists in your lap, how your gaze turns unfocused then snaps back to him with blown pupils. You blink, breathe through the rush.

“Your Tempest?” There’s hope in the question, vulnerability foreign to hear from you but there’s no mistaking it. Just like there’s no mistaking that you belong to him.

“Mine.” Then your hands yank him by his jacket, and your lips are on his, and his hands are all over you. You’re soft, hips and waist plush beneath your work uniform you haven’t had time to change out of. Not that it really matters when he’s yanking your shirt off your body. You’re undressing him, too, his jacket tossed to the floor while you paw at his chest. He laughs at your whine when he backs off the bed, shucking his belt and pants and you’re naked before he can even blink.

“Fuck you’re gorgeous, Tempest. Gorgeous, violent little thing.” Your nails claw into his shoulders when you yank him back to you, shoving him down and straddling him with speed and power he hasn’t felt from you in too damn long. Your breath is hot over his lips when you lean down and hold yourself over him.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.” The notion has him laughing.

“I’d have no trouble stopping you if I wanted to, Tempest. But I’ve been wanting this since the day you broke my nose.” Any hesitation is gone, and when you sink down on his painfully hard cock, he thinks he sees the gates of hell open up to swallow him whole. There’s lava in his veins when you still yourself, thighs flush with his and you’re trembling in his lap as you adjust to him. He can feel you leaking all over him, cunt absolutely drenched.

“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t bail on me now.” Your breathing is staggered, shaky with every inhale.

“Just give me a damn minute, would you? Fuck you’re- ah!” A moan is punched from your lungs when he bucks his hips up into you, planting his feet into the mattress and locking his arms around your waist. You can handle it. He knows you can, knows you’ll love the aggression and the roughness.

“Take it, Tempest. Fuckin’ take it.” The sting of your claws in his back has his dick throbbing, the sound of your moans being ripped from your lungs is almost enough to send him hurdling into oblivion. Mine. Finally mine. It’s too easy to flip you over onto your back and pin you by the neck, leaning back to watch your body tremble and jolt with every one of his thrusts. Your hands find his wrist, clawing hard enough to draw blood and he hisses at the sting as you scratch his skin. The red looks brilliant on you, where it drips down to your chest and tints your skin.

He doesn’t try to fight the temptation, just buries himself so deep your eyes roll back in your head while he leans down and licks up the drops of crimson, biting down into your shoulder and groaning into your skin when your hands claw at his back. Copper overwhelms him, the smell, the taste, and he kisses you again so you can taste it, too. You twitch in his hold, body arching off the bed while you come undone, and he can feel your pussy squeezing his cock so tight he gasps into your mouth before rutting into you and letting his own release wash over him. You hold him tight when he collapses on top of you. It’s the best orgasm he’s ever had in his life, skin buzzing, sweat trickling down his neck, and you still trembling beneath him, cunt still pulsing in the aftershocks while your eyes glaze over.

It’s a long few minutes before either of you can move again, breaths evening out and sweat cooling over your bodies. It takes too much effort to lean back and look at you, but when you meet each other’s gaze he groans at the clench he feels around his sensitive cock. You’ve got blood on your lips from the kiss, and from the way you look at him he knows he does, too.

“I should have kissed you the day we met. Never wanted anything so bad till I broke your nose and fell in love with you, bloody and grinning like a maniac.” He groans again, the timbre vibrating through the damn walls, when he feels his dick fill, hot and heavy. You can feel it too, your eyes fluttering while you pull in a hiccuping breath.

“You’ve always been mine, haven’t you Tempest?” Blearily, you nod, moan when he ruts into you again.

The sun has long set by the time the two of you get cleaned up. He fucks you again in the shower, leaving bites and bruises along your shoulders and neck that’ll remain for days. He’s making up for lost time. That’s what he tells you, when you comment on his desperate need to fuck you stupid. Sheets are thrown in the wash while you find something to eat, digging around your kitchen for a small meal. He can’t resist the urge to hold you anymore, doesn’t bother keeping his hands to himself, looping an arm around your waist and digging his fingers into the plush of your hip. He loves the way you mold into him.

“Pretty woman you are. Shoulda claimed you a long fuckin time ago.” The fond grin that stretches across your face has his heart pounding against his ribcage.

“It’s crazy to think I would’ve let you.”

“Yeah? You’d have let me keep you?” Goosebumps erupt across the flesh of your neck when he leans in and presses a kiss to your shoulder. His eyes track you as you tilt your head, exposing more of your skin to his lips. He’ll be damned if he looks a gift horse in the mouth, peppering kisses over you like he always wanted. A dream come true, really.

“I’d have let you do a great many things, John Price."

He’s hell-bent on finding out just what you mean by that.

#john price #john price x reader #john price smut #cod smut #captain john price

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isacksteban · 4 months ago

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I'll Miss You — Chestappen

When Checo comes back home, the lights are turned on, and his welcome mat has been turned upside down. Checo doesn't try to unlock the door; he already knows the lock has been picked.

He valses in, slams it open to make his presence known, and hangs his coat over the staircase railing. A faint creaking noise reaches him. It's coming straight from the bedroom. Checo feels like an idiot, a little lost and a lot more annoyed — Max knows what happened.

Checo kicks off his shoes and turns on the lights. He climbs the stairs. Sure enough, the infinitely quiet whisper of a breath can be heard through the walls.

"Why are you here," Checo asks as he walks into his bedroom, because it's mid December in Puerto Vallarta and seeing Max laying flat on his bed was not what he expected though he was glad it was Carola's weekend with the kids.

"I thought I'd pay you a visit," Max replies with the slightest slur — of course he was drunk. "Can I not visit my favourite teammate?"

Checo looks him up and down. Max's wearing his usual clothes, minus his sneakers — he knows how Checo feels about wearing shoes upstairs — and his hair looks unkept. Overgrown brown hair sticks to his neck and temples, damp; he must've come out of Checo's shower a mere moment ago.

"Get out of my bed. Your clothes are dirty."

Max tilts his head at a weird angle. He eyes Checo from behind his shoulder, too awkward to be coy, and purses his lips.

"I was going to leave anyway. Your bed is too small for me. I guess it's only fit for such a tiny man."

Checo has been letting the news of Liam replacing him marinate inside since Qatar and has no energy to argue with a Max that's half-drunk and bratty. He shrugs, leaning onto the doorframe.

"Whatever. The door is open."

Their eyes meet. Checo isn't fazed by the blank canvas that is Max's expression; he can see his eyes flicker from one eye to another, tracing his mouth, lowering to his neck — his adams apple, raising back up. Max is thinking. Contemplating whether to actually leave or to stay, most likely. Wondering which option would piss Checo off the most. Debating what kind of reaction would be more entertaining to witness.

Checo doesn't give Max a single clue. He gets started with his morning routine instead. He unbuttons his coat — his Red Bull branded coat — slides it off his chest, and throws it into the laundry basket next to the bathroom door. His button-up shirt takes more time: the buttons are smaller, and Checo's light-headed due to sleep deprivation.

He doesn't need to watch Max's eyes to know he's staring. And Checo could put on a show, flex his muscles, arch his head back, but ultimately, he's trying not to sway Max one way or another. Whether Max decides to slip under the covers or slip out of his house will forever remain his own decision. Checo's never been into the idea of making that choice for him.

He slides off his pants. It's clinical, mechanical; the sound of Max swallowing is loud in the silence, but so is the rustle of fabric, and that makes it easier to ignore. He slips off his socks, his wedding band he's yet to get rid of.

Standing in his underwear in front of Max Verstappen will never not be nerve-wracking. No matter how many times he's been looked at, clawed at, touched, caressed, grabbed, bruised, punched, Max's presence feels brand new each and every time. It's familiar, still. Checo knows what makes him tick. What living under a gaze like Max has does to a person. And though Checo does not shiver, his arms are covered in goosebumps, and he doubts it escapes Max's notice.

When Checo pushes the bathroom door open, Max clears his throat. He sounds rough, like he's been screaming. Or— well.

"What if I don't want to take off my clothes?" he asks, pointedly. It's not a genuine question. He's testing him, like he's never been naked in front of Checo before, like he doesn't know how Checo will respond.

"Your pyjamas are in the bottom left drawer."

"I know that."

"Of course you do. Shut up, then."

Max snorts. He rises from the bed. Checo turns to look at him. Much like Checo a second ago, Max undresses in short, blunt movements. First the coat, then the button up, and finally the pants. He leaves the socks on, his watch. But that doesn't come off as much of a surprise anyway. All the while, Max holds Checo's gaze. It holds weight. Some heat, some triumph, some fear. There's always some fear in Max's eyes. It was there, too, the day they met, when Max got much too close for comfort and told him in that sunny-bright voice that he loved him.

Checo does not think that there is a single emotion Max knows quite as well as fear.

"There. I'm naked. What now?"

Checo lets out an involuntary, brief chuckle. "You sound annoyed about it."

"That's because I am annoyed about it."

"Why did you get naked, then?"

Max eyes flicker away for a finite second. "Well, Checo did. I wouldn't want to make him feel stupid, you see."

"How gracious of you," Checo says, and beckons him near with a twirl of the fingers.

Like gravity is pushing him, Max goes — he's never this obedient, that's how Checo knows he's aware of his Red Bull situation. His step is hesitant. He stumbles around Checo's bed and stops just shy of Checo's hand. He could almost pass for embarrassed, if Max knew such a thing as shame. His eyes zero on Checo's fingers. The rough, tan, freckled skin.

Max has filled out with the years. His cheeks are slimmer, eyes less sunken in, lips a shade or two darker than his skin. He blushes, now, it seems. Checo stares at the pink flush dusting his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and tries to cope with the knowledge that Max Verstappen blushes the same colour as his nipples.

He must do a bad job at stifling his laughter. Max's eyes narrow, the picture of defensiveness, and he pouts.

"What is it?"

"I'm not mocking you," Checo attempts to soothe.

"I never said you were!" Max barks back, flushing darker and prettier. He shifts away. Takes a step back.

Checo loses all mirth at once. He'd almost forgotten how porcelain-fragile Max could be — even when Checo is the one who should be hurt right now — beneath all that bravado and taunts. Checo leans against the wall behind him and taps his thigh with the hand that isn't brushing Max's chin. It's a bit of a gamble. A shot in the dark. He isn't sure if Max would recognise the command, or even respond to it, but he won't lose anything by trying. It might help dislodging the stick out of Max's ass, at the very least.

Max's pupils dilate. His body tenses, nostrils flaring. When he drops to his knees, it's so loud and sudden that even Checo flinches. Checo can't stifle the deep exhale of relief that comes then. Max is looking up at him with the same expecting eyes as when Checo joined the team — when they fucked for the first time. But the same way he was trembling, hesitant, and pure four year ago, now there's something cheeky about his air, the way he eyes Checo through his lashes.

Checo rests his palm under Max's chin. Max leans into his touch, warm, affectionate. Checo bites back a wave of pink-gold feelings that he'd rather not confront sober at one thirty in the morning.

"And you call me the dog," Checo says, fully knowing he shouldn't, when Max nuzzles his thigh.

Max blushes all the way down to his neck, and he stops moving. Checo tucks a lock of brown — realistically, dirty blonde — hair behind his ear. Something vicious inside his heart relishes in seeing Max in a vulnerable position again. Not in pain, not risking death, not stressed out of his wits — but genuinely and wholly vulnerable. Here, Checo could reach and squeeze his throat, and Max would let him. Here, Checo could call him a dog, and Max would blush and like it.

"Still into it?" he says, low in his throat. "The name-calling."

Max shakes his head, cheek pressed against Checo knee. "I was never into it to begin with. That was all just wishful thinking on your part, stupid."

"Yeah, don't even try. I haven't forgotten the time you came just from being called a slut."

"That was years ago!" Max protests.

"So?"

"So it's irrelevant."

"Mh. Sure."

Checo traces Max's jaw with the tip of his fingers. He thanks God — if God exists, but now isn't the time for existential thoughts — for making the angel on his knees in front of him the last person he's had the pleasure to drive alongside before having to retire. He doesn't tremble, when Max's mouth kisses his palm, though the tremor in his heart is so powerful he fears Max might hear it.

"You're staying."

"Is that a question?" Max huffs.

"Does it need to be?"

"I'm staying."

"I know." Checo swipes his thumb right under his eye. The skin is soft, giving. If he applied just enough pressure…

Max whines, "Stop thinking about gouging my eyes out, will you?"

Checo startles. Almost. "How did you know?"

"Puh. Because I've thought about the same thing a million and a half times, of course. You're not very original."

Max blinks up at him. He grins, more smirk than smile, and nibbles at Checo's fingers. Checo pushes them further into Max's mouth in retaliation. Max makes a half-muffled noise of surprise — or annoyance — and takes it in stride. Checo presses the pads of his index and middle fingers against Max's tongue. It's plush. Wet. Wriggling against him.

"You're disgusting," Checo comments.

Max bites down, gentler than he most likely could've. It barely even hurts. Checo smirks. He takes out his fingers, and with nowhere to wipe them, licks them clean. Max stares at his tongue intently.

Oh, yes. He's staying alright.

"Get on the bed," Checo tells him.

Max, for a moment, stays transfixed on his mouth. Then, "And what if I don't?"

"Leave my house in your socks and panties, for all I care. See if the winter breeze treats you better than I can."

Max glares, indignant, but obeys and climbs into the queen-sized bed. It's all awkwardly long limbs and pale skin. There's no grace to his movements, no thought behind what he does. Max sinks into the plush mattress and stares off into the void. Checo wonders if he's the only one who gets to see him like this. If others get to fuck the Max that's charismatic, polished, sexy — the Max that Checo's never met and never wishes to meet. If he is the only person in this world that gets to see Max without pretences. If Kelly, the woman carrying his child, gets to see him like this.

Checo sits in between his legs, criss-crossed. He's slouching and the angle probably gives him a double chin: Max looks at him like he's holding the stars between his teeth. That's something he's come to learn about the driver laid so softly against his maroon sheets. No matter how much Max claims to care about no one but himself, claims to be ruthless and unforgiving, there is not a single being on Earth that has looked at Checo with as much adoration as he.

"I don't want to have sex," Max says.

Checo looks at him, his expression softening. "Okay?"

"Maybe I just wanted to talk."

"Talk?" Checo echoes, his tone neutral but curious as he waits for Max to continue.

Max shifts, sitting up and unintentionally moving closer to Checo. Their faces are so close that their breaths mingle, and Max hesitates for a moment, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I'm sorry."

Checo raises an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. "Sorry for what?"

Max takes a deep breath, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "About... about what happened with your seat. About Liam." He pauses, his gaze dropping to his lap. "It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right. You’ve done so much for the team, for everyone, and they just—" He cuts himself off, he seemed more upset about the whole ordeal than Checo did.

Checo watches him for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable. "Max," he says softly, placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder, "you don’t have to apologize for something that wasn’t your fault."

"I know, but—" Max looks up, his expression filled with guilt and frustration. "I didn’t do anything. I didn’t say anything. I should’ve stood up for you, Checo. You deserved better than that."

Checo smiles faintly, though there’s a sadness in it. "It’s Formula 1, Max. It’s not always fair. And you? You’ve got enough on your plate without trying to fight my battles too."

"But you’re my teammate—" Max’s voice wavers, and he quickly corrects himself. "You were my teammate. And more than that, you’re my friend. I should’ve done more."

Checo’s hand squeezes his bare shoulder gently. "You’ve always supported me in your own way, Max. And I appreciate that. But this... this is just how it goes sometimes. Liam’s an alright kid, and I’ll find my place again. I always do."

Max swallows hard, his chest tightening. "It still doesn’t feel right."

Checo’s smile grows a little, the warmth in it reassuring. "It doesn’t have to. What matters is that we both gave everything we had while we were teammates. I’ll always be proud of that. And you should be too."

Max nods slowly, but the weight in his chest doesn’t quite lift. "I just— I hope you know how much you mean to me. Not just as a driver, but as a person."

Checo’s eyes soften, and he pulls Max into a brief but firm hug. "I know, Max. And you mean a lot to me too. Now, stop beating yourself up about it, okay?"

Max doesn’t respond immediately, but as he leans into the embrace, he feels a flicker of comfort, even if the guilt hasn’t entirely faded. For now, it’s enough.

There's a moment of silence. Max's breathing is heavier, of course, and his arms come to circle Checo's chest in a mimic of a hug. Checo presses his teeth to the arteries. It's gentle. Max hisses low and soft in his throat.

"You're warm," Checo tells him. It's true; it's worth saying because Max used to be as cold as the dead of night. He's never felt as alive as now.

Max nods, his nose brushing Checo's jaw. He inhales. It's shaky. "I could almost pass for a real human being, now. Right?"

"I wouldn't know." Checo presses an open-mouthed kiss to his clavicle. They don't look like they could pierce the skin anymore. There's flesh, now, filling out the dips. Checo likes seeing it.

It stings, much more than he'd like to admit, to know that Max was hurting at the thought of having to drive alongside someone other than Checo.

Max’s gaze flickers with something fragile, a desperate attempt to mask the sadness threatening to consume him. He leans in closer, his lips brushing Checo’s cheek. “Did you miss me?” he murmurs, but his voice lacks its usual confidence, trembling under the weight of everything left unsaid.

“No,” Checo replies, forcing the word out like it doesn’t choke him. “Of course I didn’t.”

“Rude,” Max mutters, though the tease feels hollow. Something flickers in his eyes—fear, maybe, or regret. His lips press into a thin line before he asks, “Did you find someone else?” The question hangs heavy in the air, but what he really wants to ask remains unspoken: Is that why you’re leaving me, leaving Red Bull?

Checo bites down, mean and sharp, and ignores the needy gasp that he hears. “Don’t give me that shit. Fuck, Max.” His voice cracks, betraying him as he shakes his head, his breath hitching. “How could I find anyone else after knowing what it’s like to love you?” He looks away, his jaw clenched tightly, his own emotions clawing their way to the surface.

Max blinks, stunned by the confession, and his facade crumbles. “Then why are you doing this?” His voice is quiet, shaky, and it shatters the fragile calm between them. “Why are you leaving, Checo? I don’t understand.”

Checo exhales harshly, dragging a hand through his hair as if it might anchor him. “Because I have to,” he says, and the words sound more like he’s trying to convince himself than Max. “Because this team — it’s your world, Max, not mine. I’ve done my part. It’s time for me to move on.”

“But I’m still here,” Max says, his voice breaking on the last word. His hands tremble at his sides, helpless to stop Checo from slipping away. “I need you, Checo. You’ve been the only constant in all of this — the one person who’s ever really been there for me.”

Checo turns back to him, his expression softening for a moment before the pain returns, sharp and unforgiving. “Max, you’ll be fine. You’re stronger than you think.”

“I don’t care about being strong,” Max snaps, frustration and sorrow colliding in his chest. “I care about you. I don’t want to do this without you.”

Checo detaches himself from Max's neck. It glistens with spit and the pink imprints of Checo's teeth. He brushes the bite mark with the tip of his fingers, an odd satisfaction rising. Max chases his gaze, when his mouth chases after Checo's, it's easy to let their lips collide.

Checo palms the back of his neck, pressing them together, and Max responds with familiar enthusiasm. The rhythm of his mouth, Chdco knows peculiarly well. The slow glide of his tongue. The hint of too-sharp teeth. He'd make a good vampire , Checo thinks, head in the clouds, as their lips slide against each other.

His eyes fall shut. It's much too easy to lose himself in the cadence. Max kisses him, and if he was the type of man to like to pretend, Checo could almost make himself believe everything's normal. They aren't athletes, he isn't divorced, Max doesn't have a child on the way. Max's hand rises and cradles his cheek. There's an overwhelming amount of care in that simple gesture. Checo's heart beats with the strength of a hurricane. A finger toys with his earlobe. Another swipes right above his cheekbone. Checo has given up on this too long ago to feel at peace with finding it again, and he chokes on tears he will never shed.

"I missed you," Max rasps against him. His hips have started rocking on their own, a slow and gentle roll that makes Checo grit his teeth to stifle moans of his own. "I'll miss you."

"Did you?" he counters, out of breath, biting into the plushness of lips. "Weren't you too busy playing house with your Kelly to think about anything else?"

"Jealousy is a good look on you."

Max licks into his mouth, the way he knows makes Checo's brain stutter. Checo's hands grab at his hips a little desperately. He pushes him down. The obvious hardness in Max's underwear only serves to spur him on. They grind together, gentle, sensual, Max's panting a melody in his ears.

Checo's always been too vocal. He moans, effortlessly, watches as Max's eyes glaze over with want. Knowing that Max wants him, still, after so many years of the same thing, does odd things to his heart. He certainly should not feel so much elation — he certainly should not feel many, many things. But it's mid December, he hasn't slept in three days, and Maz is open and willing and warm on top of him: Checo yearns achingly so.

"I'm not jealous," Checo has half the mind to reply.

"You are. Te extrañé, you know."

"I didn't."

Max kisses him softly, saccharine sweet. He's blushing all over, stomach trembling, and here's a neediness to him that does Checo in. He dips his fingers under Max's boxer briefs.

"I know why you left."

"Hm. Do you?"

Checo looks into his eyes. A beat passes. Max raises his hips, allowing him to slide the fabric down his thighs. Checo does. He brushes his hands down his skin, teasing the inner thigh, watches as Max's breathing speeds up. There's nothing Checo hasn't seen before: fragile flesh, dark patches of hair, scars. None seem fresh. They are all months old, at least. Checo feels — strange, seeing this. He fears it might all be gone the next time he blinks.

Max is all flushed, looking as content as a cat in the sunlight. He reaches for Checo's own underwear. Checo lifts his hip and Maz as consequence, amused by the way Max seems absolutely enamoured by his strength. His boxers are removed. Now that the nervousness is gone, Checo appreciates Max's eyes on him. They speak more sincerely than his mouth, most of the time.

Why didn't you ask me to come with you? Max wants to ask, though he knows it would be futile. He knows why. It was never about Checo in the first place. Sometimes, running away is all it is: running away. Sometimes, people go, and that is all there it is to it. Checo did not leave the team because it would break Max's heart.

It's a blur afterwards. Max knows where Checo hides his lube, apparently, because in just a few blinks, he's already squirting some into Checo's palm. Checo watches without hiding his amusement.

"Are you clean?"

Max pauses. He clears his throat. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand — gross . "You think I'm not?"

Checo considers him. He does not think Max would lie about this.

"I think I don't trust the woman carrying your child."

Checo rubs his fingers together to warm them. Max settles in his lap again, pressing their hips together — obviously not wanting to speak about the woman waiting at home for him. He's definitely worked up, flustered enough to fiddle and twitch. Checo wants to kiss him. He does. There's too much fondness and adoration in his heart to ignore. He doesn't know what to do with all of it. Restless, Max kisses back.

"Maxie. Tell me if it starts to hurt."

Max gasps, nods, and buries his face in Checo's neck. A single finger eases in slow, easy. Checo knows Max's body like the back of his hand. He knows what he wants, knows how stubborn he can be. Knows that he likes gentleness no matter how hard he tries to hide it. Max shifts around. Checo kisses the crown of his neck.

"Feels different," Max confesses, once Checo introduces a second finger.

"Bad different?"

"Mmhh— no. Just, different. Kelly doesn't like touching me like you do."

Checo brushes a hand along Max's spine. Max shivers, moans and cuts himself off at once. Checo waits patiently for him to relax. His second finger is halfway there, and they have all the time in the world. It's winter break and Checo no longer has to spend half his time split between his kids and his job.

Max pants into his mouth, warm, and Checo immediately forgets about his children. "More?" he asks, softly.

"Yeah." Max sighs.

Checo kisses his jaw, his cheek, his neck. There's so much skin to kiss. The clothes he wears to cover himself to purposely are long gone, leaving nothing but the marks left from years of hurt. Checo likes to trace them with his tongue. The scar tissue is interesting, the texture different, and much more sensitive than the rest of him.

Max trembles a bit. It's normal. Checo makes sure to move his hand gently, carefully, easing him into the sensation. Checo would rather keep this as slow and sweet as possible. A bead of sweat trickles down Max's temple. He's frowning, brows knit tightly together, and Checo smirks, because he knows that means Max's trying to keep it cool.

Checo crooks his fingers the way he remembers it. Just a bit to the right, deeper than he'd think possible, he brushes a spot that has Max tense and hissing between his teeth, throwing his head down. He moans just as high-pitched as he did back when they came this close for the first time. Impossibly fond, Checo kisses his forehead.

"Is it still good?"

Max glares, though it's ruined by his deep flush and his shaky breathing. "No, I hate this. I'm currently— mph, yeah, okay —really, not, really not into this."

"Just making sure," Checo shrugs, and presses into his prostate again.

Max shakes all over. Their mouths meet again, as if guided by an invisible string, and they kiss deep and messy and wet. Max's lips are slick and bruised a deep pink. Checo stretches him diligently for a good two minutes before the first complaints reach him.

"H— fuck. Hey, 'm not, fragile, okay? You'd think you, out of all people, would know…"

"I do know."

"Then take your dumb fingers out!"

Checo raises an eyebrow. "Are you hurting?"

"No, obviously, I'm— ngh, ah, I'm— ready."

"Ready? For what?"

Max stares at him in obvious distress. He opens his mouth, probably to insult him, but Checo cuts him off with a twist of the wrist. The moan that follows is longer, sweeter than the others that preceded. Max pants, thighs trembling around Checo's arm.

"Come on, Maxie. You can say it."

"Don't call me— don't call me that."

Checo sighs, pressing down the arch of Checo's back. He goes, pliant and malleable, and Checo holds him close. He can pretend it's all for sex, at least, if Max asks why he's so touchy-feely. Though, to be fair, he probably is far more touch-starved than Checo ever was. Checo kisses him again; it's a thrill he can't get over yet.

Gently, he speaks. "Okay, tesoro, okay. What is it you want?"

Max nuzzles against him, hot and breathy and warm. "Fuck me?"

Shit.

"Yeah," Checo says, choked up by emotions he won't name. "Yeah, of course."

They breathe together, into each other, melting against skin and lips and curious fingers. It's gold-bright and hot, wet, and when Max moves and sinks into him, he worries he might burst into tears. Max's arms circle his neck. He holds onto him like a lifeline. Checo rests his hands against his hips, guiding him up and down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Max's sweat-slick chest.

"Ah— Ah , Checo, this is…" Max trails off, muttering curses under his breath. He makes a lovely picture. His hair is damp, clinging to his face, even messier than it usually is. The scarlet-brown eyes that dig into Checo glisten slightly. It's a relief to know Checo isn't the only one being a crybaby here.

He presses a kiss to the hollow of Max's throat. His hips roll upwards. "How do you feel?"

"Nhhh, ah, good. Good."

"Just good?"

Max grinds down, a tad desperate, scrambling for purchase against Checo's chest. He bites at his lips viciously. Checo tastes blood. He likes it.

"Shit! No, yes, good. It's good," Max stammers, "Ah. More?"

"Anything— anything you want," Checo promises.

He means it. If it denotes he can keep Maz like this, awkward in his sensuality, blushing red and furious, chasing after his own pleasure in Checo's lap, then he would give him anything. His palms brush against Max's waist, his belly, and then down. Max honest-to-god whines.

"Fuck's sake," Checo rasps.

His hips snap forward, and Max seems to fold onto himself. He keeps the pace slow. At every thrust, he wonders just how deeply he can go, how much of Max he can reach. It's overwhelmingly good. The sounds of skin slapping skin would be embarrassing, if not for how little Checo cared to be embarrassed. Max's mouth had opened at some point to never close again.

"S— Sergio . Close. 'M close."

Checo kisses him as answer, a mess of spit and tongue and too much teeth. They roll their hips together, slow, slow, and every time, he hits the same spot that has Max writhing and twitching. His moans grow louder and whinier. His thighs tremble with the effort, but not a single moment does he stop moving. Checo's scalp tingles. He can feel it just under his skin, his release, knows he won't let himself come until Max has.

"H— Hey, Maxie, you know I— you know I did miss you, right?"

He doesn't know why he's saying this. He doesn't know where the words are even coming from.

Max's eyes soften. When they kiss, it's honey-sweet. "I know you did. You're a terrible liar."

"Just to you," Checo counters weakly. He shakes his head. Max breathes against his temple. "I can't lie to you."

"And do— ah, ah , do you know why that is?"

And for once, it's a sincere question. Maybe Max knows, but wants him to say it outright. Or maybe he truly has no idea. But it's a question, and it's genuine, and for once it doesn't sound like Max is playing him like a fiddle.

"You know me too well…"

"We're one in the same." Max's eyes close, lashes fanning across his cheeks prettily. Checo's hand works him up and down as they move. "We both share one — nhhh, I'm close — we both—"

Max comes with a high-pitched noise and a single tear caught in the corner of his eye. Checo watches, fascinated, as his body tenses as tightly as a nocked arrow, and suddenly, release spills all over his fingers. It's quick. It looks intense. And as soon as it's over, Checo's body decides that's enough, and he comes much the same way. He throws his head back; the pleasure isn't something he can properly describe, but it's bone-deep, and it feels more emotional than physical.

Checo reaches up and brushes his thumb under Max's eye. He catches the tear there, and it disappears as moisture on their skin. Their shared breathing is shockingly loud, now that the heat of the moment has passed, and Checo's suddenly glad he lives in a secluded area. Gone are the times he had to live atop a store, now he has more than enough money to live in a house, alone, with walls thick enough to fuck his former teammate without being disturbed.

"We both share one soul," Max murmurs then. Their eyes meet.

Checo had never forgotten how beautiful Max could be. But it still hits him like a truck, right then and there, to realise that he is holding him in his arms. They've fucked before, but they've never made love. An itch in his brain he never realised he even possessed is satisfied, and Checo thinks he could sleep for a thousand years.

He smiles. "I would have gone with you. I know it wasn't the point. I know you didn't think about me when you were told you were being dropped, and I'm not mad about it. But, I want you to know that I would come with you to the ends of the world."

Warm hands cradle his face. "I did think about you. Always, I do."

They shuffle around. Max slips under the grey blankets — Checo bites back a wave of satisfaction, but this is his bed, and Max is sleeping in his house, warm, safe, cared for, and it's all he has ever wanted — while Checo goes to retrieve baby wipes and towels.

When he comes back from the bathroom, Max's socks have been thrown onto the floor. Checo doesn't bother chastising him for it. Max meets his gaze with a grin. He stretches his entire body, arms thrown over his head, throat exposed and pink, and Checo wants. They sit together. Checo cleans him up. Max buries his face in his chest.

"D'you feel alright?" His voice is gentle enough to surprise even himself.

Max's arms squeeze him. His leg is thrown around Checo's waist. "Mh. I'm glad I didn't leave when I heard you come in."

Checo breathes in his scent. He thinks Max's shampoo might be a mix of almonds and something else.

"How did you even find my house?"

Max blinks slowly. "I have my ways." He wasn't going to tell Checo that he called Lance and begged him to send it.

Checo flicks his nose. "You're impossible. Fine. We can talk about it tomorrow."

"Does that mean Checo is letting me hog his bed?"

"You sound so excited about it, I'd feel bad kicking you out."

"Hah! You love having me here." Max grins. His cheeks are still rose-tinted. It's impossible not to kiss him square on the mouth.

Checo savours the taste of him, his smell, his presence. He hasn't felt this peaceful in a while.

"Stay for a while. Yeah?"

"I have work."

"It's the holidays."

"And after?"

Checo shrugs, holds him a little closer. "I have a spare bathroom and you have a plane."

"You should've just said so!" Max presses their foreheads together. The air between them mingles. "Okay. I'll stay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And sometimes, that's all there is to it.

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eddiediaaz · 1 year ago

Note

alie! I absolutely adore this mirrorball x buck set that you made last year! (/post/701462848238403584/) (also I can't believe it's been a year, like seriously what is time?) I was wondering how you did the shattered glass effect in the first gif? in particular how you made the black and white gifs appear distorted within the glass if that makes sense? thank you!!!

ahhh thank you so much renee! literally what is time lol, this gifset is still one of my faves that i made. the shattered glass effect is mostly just a lot of layer masks to be honest hahaha. i'm so glad i still have the psd, so here's how i did it under the cut~

(this tutorial assumes you know how to put multiple gifs in the same canvas and are familiar with layer groups and masks)

I. PREPARATION

first things first, create an empty canvas of your desired size. mine was 540x540 px.

then, you need to find a cracked glass texture. if i remember correctly i simply googled something like "broken glass png", "cracked glass png", because i wanted something already transparent.

(a texture that's something like black lines over a white background definitely works too, you'll just have to put that layer's blending mode to darken or multiply.)

here's the png i used (and a download link for best quality):

and after positioning it into my canvas.

II. CREATING MAIN SECTIONS FOR GIFS

so basically when i did is i sectioned parts of the texture for each gif that i wanted to put. following the texture's lines, i zoomed in and carefuly drew a first shape along the lines with the polygon tool. you can also put a color fill layer behind the cracked glass layer so it's easier to see, like i did.

once you have your shape selected, click on the folder icon (1), then on the layer mask icon (2). it should give you a nice masked group to put gifs in hehe

then i repeated the process until i had all of my desired shapes. i've put some color layers so it's easier to see, but here are my 6 main shapes and how my layer groups look like so far:

III. GIFFING TIME

after screencaping and making all 6 gifs required for each section, you need to put all of them in the same canvas. i simply put one smart object gif layer in each group created earlier. then, i resized and rotated each gif to fit its group (by hitting ctrl + T while selecting the gif layer), as you can see with the gif labeled 6x02 in the layers preview. for the coloring, i went simple with black and white for most of them.

once i have all six gifs sharpened, colored, and placed in each shape group, the gif looks like this. the broken glass texture does most of the work to be honest:

obviously the center gif doesn't have any kind of effect, it's just colored as usual, so i'm not gonna go over it. it's just one gif layer in a masked group.

IV. SUBSECTIONS FOR DISRTORTED EFFECT

okay so for the distorted effect it's even more layer masks! basically i created more smaller sections within each main shapes already, still following the cracked glass texture's lines with the polygon tool and put them in individual masked groups like i did in the second step. here's how i ended up dividing each main sections:

yep, each color here is a different masked group, for example the 2nd and 3rd shape sections:

for each main shape section, you want to duplicate your gif layer the same amount of times as you have subsections within that shape. so if the main shape has 5 smaller subsections, i want 5 layers of that same gif. just make sure to not change its duration or position yet, and make sure the coloring layers/group stays on top of the groups in its shape section. then, simply put one gif layer duplicate in each group. example of my layers for the second shape so far:

then just repeat this until all subsections have its own gif layer.

V. DISTORTED EFFECT

this is the best part! and it's really easy. basically you want to slightly move each subsection by a few pixels, so they're in a slightly different position than the ones next to it.

to do so, select one of the gif layers and with the arrows on your keyboard, move it left or right, and even up or down if it looks good. i do this for all duplicated gif layers, making sure it looks like they're all slightly offset. focus on the cracked glass overlay's lines while nudging the gif layers, it's easy to see how the shapes break when you move them. for example here:

this is really just all trial and error, you just need to move each subsection gif layer by a few pixels with the keyboard arrows until it looks good to you.

here's my result once i've done this for all (23!!) subsections:

VI. FINAL TOUCHES

i don't think i did much else to this before typography besides adding a bit of contrast overall and a thin drop shadow to the cracked layer texture on top of everything. if you have a transparent png this definitely helps to give a bit more dimension to the effect. so here's the final result:

i hope that was clear enough hehe :D

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dearly-somber · 1 year ago

Text

20/20 Vision | j.jk

-> pairing. wolf shifter!jungkook x human!reader (f)

-> genre. slow burn, fluff, f2l (friends-to-lovers), pining, mutual pining, unrequited love, drama, high school!au, university!au, eventual romance, eventual smut

-> rating. 13+

-> w/c. 897

-> warnings. Literally nothing this is pure fluff 🥹🤍

-> a/n. Glasses!Kook origin story!! Y/N lore drop!! (P.S. This takes place before Because It’s Soft!)

-> collection. mini-series

-> started. Dec. 9th, 2023 @ 10:03

-> fin. Sun., Jan. 28th, 2024 @ 12:31

-> edited. Thurs., Feb. 1st, 2024 @ 17:44

-> divider credit. @mmadeinheavenn, @saradika-graphics

You knew something was up when Jungkook—a boy who’d once spotted a squirrel in the road while driving at nearly 100kph—started squinting at the projector not even five meters in front of him.

Even though the two of you sat around the middle of your class, you’d frequently turn to find him angrily squinting at the board, struggling to read your smaller than average handwriting even though he’d never found it difficult before.

Now, sitting in your living room with homework strewn all along the floors and Jungkook nose deep his English textbook, you finally come to the conclusion that his vision might not be so 20/20 anymore.

“Jungkook,” you say concerned as he lets out a frustrated sigh, sitting upright with a frown etched deeply into his face.

“I can’t see,” he complains, groaning and rubbing at his temples. “And my head feels like it’s about to explode.”

You reach out to run your hand through his hair, biting on your lip when he unhesitatingly leans into the touch. “You can’t see?”

“No,” he pouts. “Everything’s blurry.”

“Jungkook.” You rub at his earlobe once before pulling away, searching his face with a pitying smile. “The font isn’t that small—I can read it just fine from where I’m sitting.”

He manages to look offended. “Okay. And?”

You sigh, placing your hand over his, like you’re about to deliver some bad news. For someone so smart, he can be so dumb. “I think you should see an optometrist.”

His doe eyes widen. “No,” he whispers, genuinely afraid-sounding.

You smile apologetically and pat his hand.

He pulls away from you to press the palms of his hands into his eyes, fake-crying into them like the drama-queen he is. “Fuck,” he whines.

You push up from the kitchen table and walk around to massage his shoulders, as if he’s a football player getting hyped up before his next big game. “It’s okay,” you soothe.

“I need glasses?” He sounds so sad, you can’t help but laugh a little.

“It’s not the end of the world!” you laugh. “Besides, I think it’ll suit you.“

“But what about soccer? I can’t play with glasses, they’ll get broken, or, or—“

“Contacts are a thing, remember?”

🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕

Now, a couple of days later, you knock on the packhouse doors with an eager smile, greeting Jimin with a long hug. “Is Jungkook home yet?”

“Yeah, he’s upstairs.”

“Thanks!”

The way to Jungkook’s room is a familiar one. As soon as you enter the pack house you turn right and head a single flight of stairs to the second floor where all the rooms and main bathrooms are. What is new, is all the various pictures hanging on the wall.

You take a moment to admire the new frames you assume either Seokjin or Rosé hung up between today and the last time you were here (around three days ago, now), smiling fondly at the closeness and joy in each picture.

It’s a large 24x48 canvas framed in a beautiful burgundy wood with golden highlights (which seem to have been painted on by hand), and it makes your heart stop.

It’s of a photo you took with the pack a few days after your birthday.

Your heart aches sweetly at the sight of Yoongi with his arms wrapped brotherly around your shoulders, free arm hoisting his whiskey into the air, a large grin on his face. Next to him is Jungkook, both hands in the air, yelling at the top of his lungs with one of those bottled glasses of coke. And around you, the rest of the pack.

Rosé and Jennie crouched beneath you, forming hearts with their arms on either side of your legs; Jisoo, Hoseok, Jin and Taehyung laughing at their brothers off to the side; Lisa yelling at the top of her lungs while being carried bridal style by Namjoon; Jimin on the floor at Rosé and Jennie’s feet, slightly blurred around the edges from setting up the camera.

It was the best night of your life.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” You look at Jungkook with a smile on your face, which quickly turns into an appreciative grin. “Why, look at you!”

Jungkook laughs shyly, reaching up to self-consciously push his glasses further up his nose. It’s a simple frame: black metal, kind of large but not overly so, a little boxy.

“It looks good!” you say as you finally make your way up the stairs, giving him a quick side hug before making your way to his room.

“You think so?” He holds the door open for you and then lets it slide halfway closed, joining you on the edge of his bed where you’ve already taken up one of his controllers.

“Definitely. Really frames your face.”

He groans. “Not you, too. Jin hyung’s been making glasses jokes all day.”

You laugh, nudging him in his side while starting up It Takes Two (a game you’d asked him to get so you could play together). “I would too, Four Eyes.”

He growls, not even giving you time to think before his hands are at your sides.

🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕

Downstairs, Jimin shakes his head at your loud pleas for mercy and defeating scream-laughter with a fond smile, handing Jin another plate to dry off. “I wish those two would get together already.”

“Patience,” Seokjin chides with an equally fond grin. “They’ll figure it out eventually.”

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owliellder · 2 years ago

Text

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x f! Painter Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author's Note: This chapter is a tad shorter, my apologies. I almost didn't finish it cause my meds started to make me feel real gross tonight, but I managed! I am determined and powerful and strong 💪

Cross posted on AO3

Session 4: Adding Details

Ever since the last painting session with Leon a few days ago, he's been a lot more lively. He jokes more, laughs more, and flirts a lot more. Specifically with you.

It's only been a couple hours into the next session and he's already called you 'sweetheart' five times. You counted. Hard not to when the man decides to put on the most seductive tone to say it, honestly.

You've begun to reciprocate Leon's flirting since clearly he's not one to hide what he's after.

"Alright Romeo, I need you to stay still and in position for just a few minutes longer. I don't think you want me to accidentally paint you with those goo-goo eyes." Watching his poorly hidden panic made you giggle, his eyes averting to somewhere to the right. "Actually I need you to keep your eyes up here, not over there."

Leon groaned and rolled his eyes before turning them to look back at the spine of the easel, doing his best to hold a lax expression. "You're making this difficult. You have the picture!" He complained, eyebrows raising as he gestured to the stand sitting next to you.

"Yeah but- sit still- you're making the same goofy look in it like you were before." Once he resumed his position, you walked over to him from the easel to get a closer look at his expression, humming softly all the while. Leon was beginning to sweat, mostly due to having to sit still for as long as he had but now partially from your sudden proximity.

After getting a good look, you walked back over to the easel to continue painting, to which he let out a small sigh. He wanted to get to know you more, he should've tried that before you started the actual painting, but better late than never.

The man kept quite for roughly thirty minutes longer while you added smaller details to his face on the canvas, using probably the thinnest paintbrush he's ever seen.

"Is that thing even adding paint to the portrait? Or are you just pretending to get me to sit here longer?" There was that suggestive tone again, and maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you as they began to strain, but you could've swore he did that cheesy eyebrow wiggle at you.

You shook out your arm to give it a good stretch before placing it back where it was. "It's doing something. Don't get your panties in a bunch."

Leon threw his head back with a laugh at your response, causing you to give him a quick glare before huffing out your annoyance. "Alright, clearly you're growing antsy. Let's take a short break." You stood up from the swivel chair and rolled your shoulders back, cleaning off your paintbrush with the solvent sitting next to you in a small mason jar. You had a couple of the windows open due to the fumes of the paint and solvent, so no worries there.

"Thank god..." Leon stood up with a loud and exaggerated groan. He wasn't young anymore, holding even a relaxed position like that was hard work on the body. "Thought I was gonna lose my legs." The dramatics this man possessed was funny, you had to admit.

"It's not that bad and you know it." You set down the paintbrush and turned around to see him mocking you with his hand. "Do I need to circle back to calling you a toddler? Cause I will."

Leon used the hand he was mocking you with to wipe across his eyebrow before letting his arm fall back to his side. "There's no need for extremes." Your lazy eyebrow raise at his response was all he needed to immediately follow up with "Sorry, ma'am."

It didn't sound genuine, but you'll take it. You nodded before walking over to the bathroom, scrubbing the paint from your hands to the best of your abilities. You had to use dish soap since oil paint was hard to wash off, that oily sheen was a pain in the ass when trying to hold a paintbrush.

The painting was really starting to come along. You worked fast while still remaining diligent. Oil paints were difficult to use, needing extreme patience due to how slowly it dried, how easily it could smear, and how hard it was clean off. No matter how nice you wanted to dress for Leon, you had to wear your painting outfit: A designated cheap and oversized outfit you picked out years ago for the sole purpose of taking a beating. You would wipe off your paintbrushes onto it to avoid having to use a paper towels or a rag each time.

Regardless, you were still as cute as ever to Leon. In fact, seeing you care so much about your work to be covered in paint was only making him fall for you more. Oversized clothes looked real good on you, so good that he'd been busy thinking about how you'd look in his clothes, hence that nearly blissed out expression you had to snap him out of earlier.

You both decided to sit over in the living area, Leon splayed out across the soft rug to give his joints a rest. He'd gotten a good look at how the painting was coming along before assuming his spot on the rug.

It was non-stop compliments from him. You could handle compliments, you've heard so many over the years regarding your art, but Leon's compliments were different. Instead of only complimenting the art, he decided to slip in little comments about you directly along side them.

"I went back to the White House over the weekend to look at the other portraits you'd done..." He started, head resting on his arms as they laid behind his head. "Just to get a feel for how mine would look once it's done."

"Is it living up to the standard so far? There's quite a bit more that needs to get done, and then it has to dry." You looked down at him on the rug, massaging your hand so it didn't cramp up more than it already had. "There's no standard for you to live up to, sweetheart. You could draw a stick figure and I'd be blown away."

You laughed at the suggestion, turning your head to look out one of the large windows to try and hide your smile. Wooing a painter was easy, apparently.

"You're just full of little accolades, aren't you, Mr. Kennedy?" You sighed, resting your chin in your hand as your elbow sat on your thigh.

"I can't help it. Being painted by such a pretty girl brings out the worst in me." Never in all your years of being alive had someone worked so hard to flatter you. Every single comment he made included something that had you flustered and struggling to respond.

Leon sat up on his elbows and looked over at you, that smirk as clear as day. He loved the way you could barely handle yourself at his compliments. "What're you thinkin' 'bout over there, angel?"

You let your hand fall into your lap as you looked back at him, giving his smirk a soft smile in return. "I could ask you the same question, calling me all these nicknames and such." It was only fair of you to ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

A little caught off guard, Leon hummed and pursed his lips, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he thought. What was he doing, exactly?

"Well, whaddya think I'm doing?" Yeah, that was good. Instead of answering himself, he'll just drag it out of you. "Well, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you're flirting with me." Your smile turned a bit more mischievous as you leaned towards him.

"Well, you'd be absolutely right, then." He responded with a chuckle, lowering his volume so he could fall right back into a seductive tone. "I got lucky enough to get my own painting. Even luckier to have you be the one painting me."

You gave him a small "mhm" as you nodded your head slowly, your tongue peaking out to wet your bottom lip as you listened to him talk. It took awhile, but eventually you managed a reply. "So... what exactly are you looking to do with all that sweet talk, hm?"

"Take you out on a date." His response was fast and it caught you off guard. Leon was so forward with what he wanted. When it came to the few people you'd dated in the past, you had to practically drag any sort of info from them. Your silence had brought him to sit all the way up now, body facing you as he sat with his legs crossed. "Is it working at all?"

It took a couple more seconds for you to nod, moving your hand to cover your mouth as you giggled. "Yeah, I think it is. Might need to keep it up just in case, though."

"Bummer, now I get to distract you even more while you paint me?" You stood up and placed your hand flat on his face, gently pushing his head back as you walked past him. "I'll paint on you if you distract me."

The session lasted a total of five hours, pausing for a couple breaks in between. You were now thoroughly painted out; hand cramping, eyes straining, and even with the windows open the smell of the paint and the solvent to clean it off the brushes had given you a slight headache. Leon was definitely tired also, given he actually fell asleep in the chair.

You decided to call it a day at that, patting him on the shoulder to wake him. "Time to get up and take your meds, old man." Leon startled awake, sucking in a harsh breath through his nose as he reoriented himself. When did he fall asleep?

You had already walked into the bathroom to wash your hands off, giving him the opportunity to wake up enough to stand. He yawned, walking over to look at how far along you'd gotten.

The painting immediately pulled him from his sleepy state, eyes widening with shock. You said you still had quite a bit left to do and it looked like this? It was like you'd ripped this straight from the 17th century. Leon was in awe. He looked good in this- no, far better than good. You'd captured his likeness better than the photo.

Seeing the man staring at your painting with his jaw dropped after walking out of the bathroom made you smile. "You like it?" You asked quietly while shaking your hands out as you hadn't dried them off all the way.

"No, I love it. You've got magic in those hands of yours, sweetheart." Leon crossed his arms, walking over to stand right in front of you. You clicked your tongue at him before your hand in front of him dismissively. "I wouldn't say it's magic, just years of drawing and painting endlessly until I got to the spot I wanted to be."

Leon closed his eyes and shook his head playfully, chuckling as he did so. "So humble of you." He followed you back over to the easel, watching you cover up the paints you were using with curious eyes. "About that date..."

You cocked an eyebrow, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you continued to carefully cover your paints. "What about it?"

"Just wondering when and where you'd want to go." The man grinned at you lazily, doing his best to disguise how nervous he actually was. "Hmm.." You glanced over at the wall clock you had sitting far above the light switches next to the entrance door, taking note of how late it was. "I'm pretty tired and I'm sure you are too, but how about we order something to eat here?"

Leon seemed surprised by your suggestion, grin widening as he nodded vigorously. "Plus, I am not going out looking like I just got assaulted with a paintball gun."

The two of you decided on something easy; pizza and soda. Leon opted to wear one of your many aprons to avoid getting any grease on his suit which made for an easy joke about him being a house-husband. Even though it was a technically a first date, both of you felt so comfortable with each other already, like you'd known each other for years. It was strange, but in a good way.

Leon was easy to get along with once he opened up. He really was a charming guy, even managing to get you to laugh with those corny ass dad jokes he loved so much. How such a man had gotten away with being single for so long baffled you.

The same went for you. Leon felt like you being single was just a fluke. There was no way someone as talented and gorgeous as you hadn't been swept off your feet yet. It was selfish of him for thinking it, but fuck was he ecstatic about that.

It was about 11pm when the two of you decided to call it a night, the hours spent bonding over random, seemingly meaningless stuff had really loosened both you and Leon up.

"Am I able to come back tomorrow and see you?" Leon asked in such a soft voice, motorcycle helmet in hand as he the other rested up against the doorway leading out of the building. He felt vulnerable for wanting to see you again like this.

"I won't be here tomorrow, need to give my hands a bit of a break." You giggled quietly, holding your palm out in front of him for emphasis. "But I can give you my address if you want to visit. I don't mind."

Those butterflies in his stomach fluttered at your proposal, barely able to nod after feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket once you texted him your address. He tried to act confident, having gone over every scenario possible in his head, yet you'd gone off script and he wasn't quite sure what to do anymore.

Seeing how flustered he'd become, you waved him closer, smiling as he bent over slightly. Leon thought you were gonna whisper something to him, that thought alone had him blushing, but feeling the gentle press of your lips against his had him struggling to breathe. He barely had a chance to react before you pulled away, his lips parted slightly as he stared at you.

You reached up and gently patted his cheek, running your hand along the stubble that had started to grow back. "Let me know when you wanna come over tomorrow, alright? Give me a little time to get dressed. I've looked ratty enough around you."

Leon wanted to protest that statement, you were far from ratty, but you just shushed his stuttering and nudged him out the door, giggling as he stumbled down the steps. He kept turning his head back to look at you every couple steps, feeling like some lovesick teenage boy who couldn't get his feet to work.

He was a little scared to drive home considering how uncoordinated he felt, but he made it back in one piece. Once sat on his bed, all he could think about was you and that damn painting. Leon didn't know what he was expecting when it came to that, honestly, but you seriously outdid yourself in his eyes.

Then you just had to flirt back with him, agree to a little date, and kiss him? Do you even know how hard it was to hide his boner from you?

He really did feel like a teenage boy, a simple kiss having him harder than a rock. Not to mention the drive home was uncomfortable since he had to position himself just right on the seat or else the constant vibration from his motorcycle would seriously cause him to crash.

Leon was weak. He hadn't felt this way in such a long time, but he guessed the newfound attraction came with the subconscious acceptance of his retirement. It's what made sense in his head.

God did he want you, masturbating in the shower to you wasn't enough, he needed you. All he could think about was your soft hands touching him, his hands all over your body, maybe even those pretty eyes of yours looking into his as he loved on you all night long.

The age gap was a bit of a worry to him in the beginning, mostly being insecure about his own age, but that worry was quickly brushed off when you kissed him tonight. You were a big girl. You knew what you wanted.

Leon felt so lucky that you reciprocated. All he'd felt since his retirement was grief, guilt, and pity for himself. Now you had him feeling like he was on top of the world and he couldn't ask for anything more. This little bit of sweetness in his life was so enticing, and of course he was going to follow it for as long as you'd let him.

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gordonramsei · 27 days ago

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𐔌 ‧₊ᢉ𐭩˚ em's gif tutorial + atn 𐦯

what's going on friends ? here i am with a brand spankin' new gif atn for u all , with a brief tutorial and some tips under the cut . as always , pretty please give this post a like or reblog if u intend on using this code or if u just want to be a supportive hottie ! love u all bigly ; be sure to pet a cute animal today ! mwuah ! ♡♡♡

⟡⋆｡⊹₊˚ this gif action is 100% free ! u can download it by becoming a free member on my patreon or via this dropfire link . enjoy !

⚠️ remember if using my action to change ur layer name to layer 1 before applying the action or it will not work ⚠️

okay angels , let's get into the nitty gritty of making gifs ! keep in mind there are hundreds of methods of giffing and none of them are wrong ! it's all about what works best for u !

⟡⋆｡⊹₊˚ step one : pick out ur video u are going to gif , section it into smaller segments , export via render video

if u are using a longer video such as a youtube vid or a tv show , i personally follow this process : i open up the file on photoshop , i adjust the speed to my liking , and then i start sectioning my content . using the 'split at playhead' option to cut my clips . make sure u have the section u are going to make into a gif selected bc it can get confusing once u start sectioning off more and more clips . u can combat this by breaking ur longer videos into chunks and repeat the sectioning as described . u don't have to resize ur canvas at this point but i like to do it now so i don't forget later on . i make my gifs 268px by 150px . once u have the clip u want to gif all sectioned off and sized ( if u are doing that at this point ) , u then have to render and export it by clicking file > export > render video .

^ split at playhead visual & render video export , and rendering settings

⟡⋆｡⊹₊˚ step two : import frames as layers , convert to video timeline , merge all layers into a smart object layer

next in my process , we will import the video we just rendered by clicking file > import > import video frames to layers . since u already sectioned off ur gif , u don't need to mess with sliders when the popup shows , just confirm everything and u'll have a video timeline in layers now ready for u . go ahead and open up ur timeline options and click 'select all layers' and once all ur frames are selected , click covert to video timeline . u will now be greeted with a bunch of layers on top of each other . turn ur focus to the righthand side and select all of the layers ... they are shaded in blue in the screenshot , make sure u have all of them selected and then click the option 'convert to smart object' . it'll condense all those layers into one singular smart object . ⚠️⚠️⚠️ if u are using my action here , this next step is very important ! ⚠️⚠️⚠️ ur only file will be named layer + a random number ( if u have forty frames , it'll be layer 40 and so on ... ) . u must rename this layer to layer 1 or my action will fail !

^ video layer as frames , importing video frames to layers , select all frames and convert to video timeline , a visual of ur new timeline , changing the name of remaining layer to layer 1

⟡⋆｡⊹₊˚ step three : apply action , adjust as needed , add ur coloring

we're now on the home stretch ! it's time to apply the action ! go ahead and slap that bad boy onto ur video . depending on the quality of the base video of ur gif , u might have to make a few tweaks to the unsharp mask layer at the top ... it should be called 'layer 1 copy 2' . i would recommend adjusting the amount first and then tweaking with the overall opacity of the unsharp mask layer as needed if there is still some harshness surrounding the silhouette . now to add ur psd / coloring , add those layers to the very top so it'll be applied to all three layers of ur gif .

^ layer 1 copy 2 unsharp mask , editing the actual unsharp mask settings ( where the arrow is pointing ) , editing the blending options ( the circled icon ) , where to put ur coloring layers

⟡⋆｡⊹₊˚ step four : saving ur gif

ur practically done now ! the last and most important part is exporting ur gif to use ! go to file > export > save for web . my typical settings are below but i do switch it up depending on the specific needs of the gif . for example , does the bg of ur gif look weird and splotchy after u saved it ? it's time to go back and re - save with a different setting .

the gif on the left was saved with my typical settings ... see how the background is splotchy and feels nosy and un - smooth ? this is because of the dither diffusion setting . if we switch to pattern instead as seen on the right , the difference is pretty staggering . u could also opt for the pattern dither setting to try and smooth out the blotchy background colors .

same gif with typical settings on the left compared to the same gif saved with the dither on pattern instead of diffusion . it's mainly up to ur personal preference !

^ exporting with save for web , my typical settings , noise dither version

and that's it ! that's my current giffing process ... like i said , there is no one way to gif . it's a fluid , ever - developing process . don't be hard on urself and remember this is for fun ! if u have any questions or concerns please let me know !

#rpt #rph #gif atn #gif tutorial #ps tutorial #gif action #mine #rec #for patrons #for patreons

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teshadraws · 1 year ago

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Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 56]

<< First | < Previous | Next >

Nia and Tobias fly across the Obsidian Sea, and reunite with a couple of familiar faces!

The next day dawns cold and clear. As Nia and Tobias make the walk to the flying outpost, Nia is quickly woken up by the delicate frost coating the leaf-littered forest floor and the foliage they have to pass through. Her fur feels soaked through within minutes and her paws are chilled, but the brisk pace of the walk helps to warm her up. Well, that and walking a bit closer to Tobias. The charmander seems equally disgruntled about the approaching winter, but he doesn’t snap at Nia for bumping into him once or twice as she leeches off his bubble of warmth.

The sun is just starting to cut through the trees in rays of orange light, melting the frost, when Nia spots the tall structure of the flying outpost ahead of them. She picks up the pace, trotting ahead until it’s fully in sight in the middle of a small clearing. Something like canvas has been tied down to block the open gaps of the structure, acting as makeshift walls to cut off powerful gusts of wind. They billow and blow in the breeze like sails, flapping loudly.

There are only a few Pokemon waiting near the bottom of the structure, but Nia’s eyes lock onto one in particular, large and maroon with a fluffy mane of white.

“Fliss!”

The braviary’s head lifts from where she’d been talking to a smaller, bright orange Pokemon. Even with the intimidating scar where her right eye should be, the way Fliss’ face lights up is nothing short of adorable. “Nia! Well, I’ll be! You looking for a ride?”

“Yes!” Nia slows to a stop in front of the braviary, bouncing on her toes. Both because she’s excited to see the large flying type again and to stay warm. “Are you flying today?”

“Sure am! A little frost ain’t gonna stop me. Where’s that partner of yours? You two still a team?”

Nia turns, just in time for Tobias to emerge from the brush with a sour look. He takes a moment to shake melted frost from his foot. “Here. Just hating winter.”

Fliss laughs and jerks her chin up at the pieces of canvas. “You ain’t the only one. Half our crew’s hiding away until the sun comes out to warm everything up.”

“They’ll have to face the winter eventually,” a new voice says, crisp and even. The bird Fliss had been speaking with before steps closer, and Nia can’t help staring at his feathers a bit longer than is probably polite. He’s a bright orange, the color ending in flame-like tapers and fading into a light gray underbelly. His wings and tail are a striking black at their tips, and streaks of bright yellow band his tail feathers and ring his eyes and beak. He looks like the embodiment of fire, just a head or so taller than Nia and Tobias.

“This ball of sunshine is Comet,” Fliss says, amused. “If you’re lookin’ for a long flight, then he’ll be joining us for the trip.”

Tobias frowns, looking between Fliss and the new Pokemon. “Why?”

Fliss and Comet exchange a loaded look. Then, Fliss sighs. “Was hoping you wouldn’t ask, little flame. We’ve just been flyin’ in pairs lately. Extra safety and all that.”

Nia blinks. “Safety?”

“The winds are more volatile than they used to be,” Comet says. “I promise you we can handle it. It’s just a precaution.”

Nia can’t help wondering what had to happen for such a precaution to be put into place. She shuffles worriedly on her feet, glancing at Tobias. He doesn’t look any more soothed than she feels. No wonder, considering they’ll have to fly over the Obsidian Sea again. An accident over the open ocean is basically a death sentence for a charmander.

“We need to head back to Ghatha,” Nia says, locking eyes with Fliss. “So we would need to go over the ocean. Are you sure it’s safe?”

Nia knows this is technically Fliss’ livelihood, but she trusts the flying type not to lie to her just to make some extra money. Not about this.

The braviary ducks her head in a bow. “I’m as confident as a victini in my flight. But if ya aren’t comfortable, you could always find some water transport.”

“Though the ocean is becoming just as unstable,” Comet mutters.

Tobias shakes his head. “No. No, we’re on a tight schedule. I’ll be fine.”

Nia wonders if he’s reassuring her or himself.

“Neither Felicity or I have had any incidents,” Comet says. “Going together is just extra assurance. New protocol.”

Nia exchanges an uncertain look with Tobias. Normally she wouldn’t want to risk it, but they don’t really have any other option. They need to talk to Will as soon as possible, and using water transport would take far too long.

“We’ll fly,” Tobias says, deciding for the both of them. “If you’ll take us.”

“Gladly!”

The cost for travel is a bit higher than it was before—to compensate two ‘mons’ time rather than just one, Fliss explains—but luckily August gave them more funds than he’d thought they’d need. Tobias splits the payment between the two flying types, dropping the coins into the little pouch tied around Fliss’ leg and the small bag tied to Comet’s back.

Finally, it’s time to fly.

“Welcome aboard!”

Fliss crouches low, belly brushing the grass, to let them crawl on. Tobias doesn’t hesitate before taking a firm grip of the bird’s feathers and pulling himself up onto her back. He offers a hand, and Nia gives him a smile of thanks before letting him help her up. She sits behind him, wrapping her arms around his middle and grateful for his sturdy warmth.

“Smoother start than last time,” Fliss teases. “Ready to fly?”

Tobias nods. “Ready.”

Nia takes a deep breath. “As ready as I can be.”

Fliss laughs. “That’s what I like to hear! Just hold on tight now. Promise we’ll get ya to Ghatha safely.”

With that, Fliss pushes off the ground with powerful legs, giant wings beating hard to get into the air. She bobs once, then slowly lifts up and up and up. They rise past the outpost and the trunks of the trees, until they’re surging past leaves and into a sky that’s a robin’s egg blue.

Immediately, the wind buffets them, cold and biting.

Nia feels her stomach drop. She ducks her head into the warmth of Tobias’ shoulder, clinging tightly to him. She feels more than hears him sigh, but he doesn’t argue, just patting her arm twice once before holding once more to Fliss’ feathers.

Fliss rises higher and higher until she catches the air current she wants, then levels out to ride the wind. While the bone-deep fear clutching at Nia’s gut doesn’t disappear entirely, it does ease a bit once their jerky flight smooths out.

Nia almost wants to peek out at the world, recalling the brief glimpses of gorgeous, breathtaking views from last time. Plus, Tobias clearly loves this whole experience. It’d be fun to share it with him.

But as soon as she squints open an eye and catches sight of the sprawling forest below, looking as small as a carpet of moss, and the sheer openness of the sky around them, terror grabs her again.

She buries her head back into Tobias’ shoulder, taking deep breaths of his soothing scent to calm herself.

Nia still can’t remember if she’d flown before as a human. She knows planes are a thing, but her memory has only returned in bits and pieces. Much of her history is still blank, like a tapestry that’s more moth-eaten holes than actual thread. Was she afraid of heights in the human world too? Or is her body’s fighting type nature really enough to put such fear into her?

It’s hard to describe the feeling, especially as it engulfs her and makes her feel lightheaded. It’s like as much as she knows they’re (probably) safe with Fliss and Comet taking care of them, her body trembles with the knowledge that if she fell from here, she’d likely die. Her chest feels tight, her heart pounding hard against Tobias’ spine, and panic simmers quietly in the back of her mind.

“You breathing back there?” Tobias asks, head turning enough for Nia to catch the words.

Nia takes a gulp of air. Then another, slower, to try and follow his unspoken suggestion. Deep breaths. Just don’t think about it. You’re fine. Tobias is here, and Fliss is here, and if something goes wrong then Comet is here too.

“C-Can you talk?” Nia asks.

“Uh. I guess? About what?”

“Anything. I-I just need a distraction. Um. What kind of Pokemon is Comet?”

“Oh. He’s a talonflame. Fire and flying type, like a charizard. I don’t know too much about them, but he’s the final evolution in a three-stage form, and I can tell he’s fast. He keeps having to pull himself back so he doesn’t leave Fliss behind.”

Nia can’t bring herself to answer, breath stolen from her chest, so she nods.

Tobias keeps talking. “Uh. I think the first form is called a fletchling? They’re little things, about Junie’s size. Don’t remember the middle form’s name, though. Um…they’re probably pretty warm, if they’re anything like other fire types. That’s likely why he’s comfortable flying so early in the day, when it’s still cold.”

Comet must catch onto what Tobias is doing and what they’re discussing, because when Tobias starts running out of tidbits to share, Nia hears the talonflame’s voice shout to them over the wind.

“Talonflame are certainly a warmer species. We even create fire with our feathers, rather than a flame sac like most fire types. We produce an oil that’s flammable, and generate heat and friction through flapping our wings to ignite.”

“Watch,” Tobias says, tapping Nia’s arm.

Nia whines, but peeks open an eye in the direction of Comet’s voice.

Comet is sailing easily along on an air current, framed by blue sky. Upon seeing that he has her attention, he flaps his wings—once, twice, three times—and small embers spark to life from his feathers, leaping behind him to be carried away by the wind.

Nia’s curiosity just barely wins out over her fear. She lifts her head to watch more clearly as Comet does it again. He flaps once, hard, and flames burst to life around his wings, hot enough that Nia feels a brief wave of warmth. Then he shoots forward, zipping past Fliss.

“Show-off!” Fliss shouts, laughter in her voice.

“She was curious,” Comet counters, voice now on their other side.

Nia turns to look at him, mouth open to ask questions about how they can choose when to ignite, and if fletchlings can do that too, and a hundred other things—

But she catches sight of the Silenfroar Mountains behind the talonflame, remembers where she is, and icy fear grips her again. She buries her face with a whimper, feeling pathetic.

Tobias sighs.

“Want me to take a turn on distraction duty?” Fliss calls.

Someone must give her the affirmative, because she starts talking. “Did ya know that there’s another variant of braviary out there? Psychic and flying type! I met one once, and he could blast enough psychic energy to knock out a wailord. I can pack a punch myself, so I was mostly just jealous that he could use his powers to write! This old gal is forever cursed with illiteracy.”

“You can read,” Comet says, dry.

“Half-illiteracy, then!”

“That’s not how it works.”

Nia giggles despite herself, grateful for her travel companions as they fall into more animated conversation. Like this, if Nia keeps her eyes closed and takes deep breaths, if she lets the breeze soothe her and imagines she’s just on a windy hillside rather than hundreds of feet in the air, it’s not too terrible. Although Nia wishes she could whip out her blanket without risk of it blowing away. It’s much colder than the last time they flew.

The three Pokemon keep the conversation flowing, shifting from one topic to another, until Fliss finally asks why they’re returning to Ghatha so soon.

“We’re actually going to Stonebrook, a bit south of Ghatha,” Tobias says. “We’re meeting someone there.”

“Oh, Stonebrook!” Fliss crows. “Nice little place. Quaint. We could drop ya off there if you’d prefer, for a bit of extra poke to compensate our time.”

Tobias makes a thoughtful sound that rumbles in his chest. “How much extra?”

“Let’s say 150.”

Tobias mulls it over, and Nia can feel him turn his head as if to get her input.

“Whatever you think is best,” Nia says into his shoulder.

Tobias hesitates for a moment longer before turning forward again. “100 poke and you’ve got a deal.”

Fliss laughs, loud and booming even as the wind snatches the sound away. “Haggler, eh? You know what? Sure. I like you two, so 100 poke it is. Comet, you can have the larger share since I took the lower deal.”

Comet doesn’t answer, so Nia assumes he agrees with those conditions.

Time passes in a blur after that. Nia knows that they have at least a few hours until they reach the land across the sea, but she tries to distract herself by listening to the snippets of conversation around her and thinking about what they have waiting ahead of them. They’re going to find Junie! And see Will again, as well as his human settlement. Excitement mixes in with the nerves in her stomach.

However, it's hard not to let her mind drift to more panic-inducing thoughts too, like their current situation in the air, or their mission from Giratina, or even how much she misses her family in the human world when she has the time to think about them.

Nia wants them here. She wants her mom to stroke her hair and soothe her fear. She wants Clay to make stupid jokes to distract her. She wants Toni to stick her obnoxiously large headphones over Nia’s ears to drown out the quiet roar of the wind.

She misses them so much. Longing aches like a bruise inside her chest.

Nia sniffs and hopes that Tobias doesn’t notice her shaky breaths. Tears prick at her eyes, hot and insistent.

Nia misses them, and she doesn’t even have the full story. She’d hoped that after getting sick and remembering some of her life as a human, the rest of her memories would follow. But after the initial deluge, they’d slowed to a stop. She knows she’s still missing a lot, still has giant gaps in her memory that feel impossible to focus on for too long. What was the last thing she even did with her family before showing up here?

Nia is pulled out of her thoughts when Tobias speaks up, tapping her arm. “We’re at the ocean.”

Nia doesn’t think he means for her to look up, just to update her, so she nods her thanks into his shoulder.

After that, Nia tries to let the loud howl of the wind and the roar of the waves drown out her thoughts and anxieties. Tries to let the sensations surround her in a fuzzy haze.

She’s snapped back to reality by the sudden tilt of the world.

Nia squeaks, clinging to Tobias as Fliss’ considerable mass is knocked sideways by a sudden gust of wind. The braviary flaps wildly to correct herself, and Nia’s stomach flips. Oh, they’re gonna die they’re gonna die they’re gonna die—

Fliss finally manages to catch a gentler air current, leveling out her erratic flight. Nia keeps her face hidden away, focusing on her death grip around Tobias’ ribs and the way he’s clutching at her arm in return.

“Are you two all right?” Comet yells, sounding more tense than Nia would like. His voice is closer too, as if hovering near enough to catch them if they fall.

Tobias squeezes Nia’s wrist, whether to reassure her or himself that she’s still hanging on. “I don’t know if I’d say all right, exactly, but we’re still here. What was that?”

“Rogue wind,” Fliss calls back. “I’ve sailed these currents for more than twenty years, and I’ve never seen anything like ‘em. They like to pop up out of nowhere and throw us off course.”

“A symptom of the increasing natural disasters, as far as we can tell,” Comet adds. “It certainly makes travel more difficult. Dangerous, particularly for the smaller flyers.”

Nia’s heart sinks. This is just one more reminder of what they’re trying to stop. Of what will come to pass if they don’t fix the world. Nia can imagine the winds growing untamed enough eventually to ground flyers completely, whipping up storms and typhoons to wreak havoc alongside earthquakes and droughts.

Nia takes another deep breath to ward off fresh panic. This is why they’re going to see Will. They’re going to fix this. All of it.

“Don’t you worry—I’m much tougher than any rowdy wind!” Fliss calls, trying to sound upbeat. “You two just hold on tight and we’ll be sure to get you to Stonebrook safely.”

Tobias nods, but doesn’t respond. Nia, still trying to calm her racing heart, simply holds onto him tighter. She already didn’t like flying, but the thought that the world could suddenly flip and toss them into the ocean at any time is ten times worse. Not that she doesn’t trust Fliss, but she distrusts the current state of nature even more.

“I’ll scout ahead to make sure that doesn’t happen again,” Comet calls, just loud enough to hear, before Nia feels another burst of warmth from his flames. He must’ve jetted forward to fly just ahead of Fliss.

Unfortunately, conversation stops after that as Fliss and Comet focus on navigating the rough air currents. Time passes in tense quiet, aside from the rush of the wind and the roar of the waves. Every time a gust of wind shakes up their flight even the slightest bit, Nia’s heart jumps into her throat.

When Tobias finally speaks again, it’s quiet and almost to himself. “Huh.”

Nia tightens her grip on her partner. “W-What? Is something wrong?”

“No. I don’t think so, at least.” Tobias leans slightly, as if peering over Fliss’ side. “Giratina’s following us.”

That’s interesting enough to make Nia look up. She debates with herself for just a moment before steeling her courage, tightening her grip, and following Tobias’ gaze down, to the choppy ocean below.

Sure enough, Nia spots Giratina’s giant, serpentine shape in the broken reflections on the ocean’s surface. He’s following alongside Fliss’ quick pace, winding like a snake through black water.

Fliss notices the legendary’s presence, but she must think it’s another Pokemon because she just gripes about nosy water types before flapping higher to catch a different current. Nia stiffens at the reminder of how high up they are and burrows back into her safe space.

“Surely he has better things to do than follow us around,” Tobias says.

“Maybe we should give him an update?” Nia suggests. “To be fair, he doesn’t know what we’re doing. We could try talking to him through a reflection later?”

“Maybe.”

And with that, they fall silent again.

____________________________________________________________

It’s late morning when they finally make it back to land, and almost noon by time Fliss calls out that they’ll be landing in Stonebrook in a few minutes.

The rest of their flight had been uneventful after that first incident. Comet had successfully steered them around any other severe turbulence, and the cold weather had warmed with the sun beating down on their backs. Still, Nia is beyond relieved to have the end of their flight so near, and she manages to lift her head and take a peek at where they’re going.

The forest below looks different from the one in Bethoc’s Haven. The trees back home are a range of species, mostly deciduous, with spreading boughs and wide leaves that change colors and wither away with the seasons. These trees, even from a distance, stand tall and pointed, a rich palette of greens despite the approaching winter. Evergreens?

Fliss and Comet aim for a notable gap in the trees. As they start to descend, Nia realizes they aren’t just settling in a small grove or clearing, but instead at the edge of a tiny village nestled amongst the trees. There are small buildings scattered throughout the space, built from boulders and slabs of stone propped against one another. Other than a few purposeful openings that are clearly windows, any gaps are filled in with smaller, carefully stacked stones. A stream winds through the town, stepping stones bridging its two halves, and even this late in autumn the whole place feels green and lush, each building topped by a grassy roof. They must be farther south than Nia had realized.

Pokemon are scattered around the village, going about their day. Children are chasing each other down dirt paths, shrieking with laughter, while a couple of adults talk and watch the kids from outside stone homes. Others appear to be doing chores or running errands. One building is seemingly the home of a merchant, and a few Pokemon are crowded around the little window where he’s exchanging goods. Smoke rises from another building, and Nia catches the savory scent of something cooking. Some Pokemon are even riding a cart out of town on the main path, heading who knows where.

Fliss finally touches down, and Nia wastes no time in sliding off her back. The cool, pine needle-strewn dirt below her feet is blessedly solid.

“Oh, thank God,” Nia breathes, sinking to the ground. Her legs are somehow both stiff and flimsy as jelly.

Fliss laughs, lowering herself so Tobias can slide down much more gracefully.

“You good?” He asks.

Nia groans, leaning forward to press her forehead against the dirt. Tobias gives her a patronizing pat on the back.

“Apologies again for the rough flight over,” Comet says, stepping closer.

“But we did get you here in one piece!” Fliss says, giving an exaggerated wink with her one good eye.

Tobias helps Nia to her feet. “That you did. Thanks.”

“We’re planning to head to Ghatha right away for our next job, so you may need to make the journey north on foot if you need a return flight,” Comet says.

“That’s fine!” Nia says, giving Comet a weak smile as she starts stretching out her stiff legs. “We probably won’t need a flight ‘mon for a while, anyways. We need to find someone here in town, and then we’re heading south.”

“Fair enough,” Fliss says. “Well, it was good seeing you two again, despite the rocky weather. Be careful on your travels and be sure to find us again if you need a flight! It’s always a pleasure having you as riders.”

“Thanks, Fliss,” Nia says, smiling warmly at the braviary. “I can’t say it’s been, um…fun, exactly, but I appreciate you doing your best to make it easier for me. Both of you.”

Comet dips his head. “Of course. It was nice meeting you both.”

With that, Fliss and Comet step back and take flight again, flapping up and into the sky. Nia waves them off until they’re out of sight.

Then it’s just Nia and Tobias standing at the edge of the village. Stonebrook is absolutely tiny, maybe ten or twelve small buildings in all, and Nia can see clear to the other side of town from where they’re standing. While the inhabitants of the village aren’t approaching them, there are one or two Pokemon watching them curiously, clearly wondering who they are and why they flew to Stonebrook of all places.

“Well, we’re here. Now what?” Tobias asks.

“Well…” Nia trails off, looking around. “I guess we just ask around until someone can point out where Junie lives? It can’t be too hard to find her in a town this small.”

Tobias shrugs, clearly not thrilled about socializing with a bunch of strangers, but follows as Nia wanders into the village proper, towards the merchant shop she’d spotted earlier.

“This place is nice,” Nia says, smiling as one of the children she’d seen before runs past her. The kid, a brown chipmunk Pokemon with a leafy green bonnet, does a double-take at the two strangers in his village, and skids to a stop. The Pokemon that had been chasing the little guy slams into him, and the two fall into a squirming, squabbling heap.

“It’s definitely not where I expected Junie of all Pokemon to settle down,” Tobias says, stepping around the kids. “It’s too…”

“Peaceful?”

“I was going to say boring, but yeah.”

Nia elbows him to be polite, still looking around as they approach the merchant’s shop. The village is open to the sun, but it’s surrounded by a thick wall of pine trees. Nia can’t decide if the forest feels reassuring or confining. Then again, she lives inside a giant tree, so she doesn’t really have room to talk.

“Nia?”

Nia stops in place, ears perking at the familiar voice. She spins to find it, beaming when she sees Junie stopped mid-step mere feet away. The rookidee is clearly shocked, beak open and wide ruby eyes flicking between Nia and Tobias in disbelief.

“Junie!” Nia says.

Junie blinks once. Twice. Then she finally seems to register that this is really happening. She tweets an excited, shrill noise before rocketing into Nia’s open arms. Nia falls to the dirt and moss, laughing.

“What’re you doing here?!” Junie says, nuzzling into Nia’s fur. “Where did you even come from?”

“We flew!” Nia laughs, hugging her. “Did you not see us? Half the village has been staring at us since we landed.”

“I just got into town!” Junie leans back just enough to meet Nia’s eyes, feathers fluffed with excitement. “What’re you doing here?!”

Nia feels her smile falter a bit. She sits up, and Junie resettles in her lap. “We have business south of here, so we thought we would stop by and visit you on the way.”

“I’m so glad you did! I missed your adorable face.” Junie’s gaze flicks behind Nia to where Tobias is standing, and she perks up all over again. “And Toby’s here too!”

“I told you not to call me that,” Tobias growls.

“Good to see you haven’t lost your charming personality!”

Nia giggles, while Tobias just rolls his eyes.

“Ahem.”

Nia and Junie look up to see a pink cow Pokemon standing over them, a basket full of linens held against her hip.

Oh. They decided to have their reunion right in the middle of town, didn’t they? And right in the middle of one of the walking paths, too.

Junie laughs and flaps her way out of Nia’s lap. “Sorry, Marie!”

Nia scrambles to follow. “Sorry, ma’am!”

Marie shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she passes. “Good to see you so happy, Junie. Just keep the paths clear, all right?”

Junie salutes the Pokemon’s back, sending Nia a wry smile.

Huh. Nia had gotten the impression back in Ghatha that Junie didn’t talk to her neighbors much, but that was a pretty casual exchange with Marie. Maybe she’s grown more comfortable with them since then?

Once the cow Pokemon is out of earshot, stopping outside of her home to hang the linens on a makeshift clothesline, Junie turns to Nia. “Come on, we can go back to my place.”

“Oh, sure!”

Nia and Tobias follow as Junie hops down one of the village’s dirt paths, then leaves the trail entirely to head into the woods.

Nia hesitates at the tree line, watching Junie’s dark feathers get nearly swallowed up by the forest’s heavy shade. The three of them are dwarfed by the tall evergreens here.

“You don’t live in town?” Nia asks.

“Nope! I live with Bo now! He should actually be stopping by the house soon with some lunch.”

Nia’s brows rise at the bird’s easy answer, but she dutifully follows before she can lose sight of the rookidee.

Junie had seemed so stubbornly independent back in Ghatha. When did that change? Nia did tell her she should try connecting more with her neighbors, but this feels like a big step.

“Bo?” Tobias asks when they catch up.

“Yeah! He’s a dork, but he’s the best. A real metal guy.”

Nia tilts her head, hearing the joke in Junie’s voice but unsure of what to make of it. A pun, no doubt.

“Is he your, um…”

Junie must pick up on what Nia is asking, because she scrunches up her face and sticks out her tongue. “Ew, no, gross. He’s like. A dad. Or an older brother, maybe. Oh! No, wait, he’s definitely an uncle!”

“How do you just decide that someone’s an uncle?” Tobias asks.

“When they have uncle energy, duh. Keep up, Toby.”

Tobias sends Nia a look that makes it clear he’s already done with Junie for this visit. Nia bites back a laugh.

The rookidee leads them farther into the forest than Nia expects, until Stonebrook is out of sight behind them and they’re surrounded by the quiet of the trees. It’s heavily shaded here with the canopy of evergreens so thick, and the air cools notably. At first, Nia almost finds it unnerving, used to the dappled sunshine of the forest in Bethoc’s Haven, but the peaceful quiet and gentle, dark colors grow on her quickly. The ground underfoot is a soft mix of dirt, moss, and soft pine needles, and the air is fragrant with the scent. The trunks of the pines tower above them. There’s less foliage to wade through, which is nice. It’s not bad, necessarily. Just…different.

Finally, Nia sees something up ahead, an out of place gray amongst the cool browns and greens of the forest.

“This is where we live!” Junie chirps, hopping ahead to present it with a wide flourish of her wings.

It’s a small abode made of stone, much like the homes back in Stonebrook proper. One of its walls seems to be made up of the large tree it’s propped against, and its roof is a grassy slant of soil atop a slab of stone. The other walls are made of smaller, carefully stacked rocks, with only two rectangular gaps left on either side of the wooden door—windows, most likely, seeing as they’re currently covered by leafy blinds. There are a few flowers and paint doodles decorating the outside, almost certainly Junie’s doing, that brighten the gray exterior. The little house is cushioned by moss and framed by more giant pine trees, but there are a few slices of sunshine in this part of the forest, making the whole place look homey rather than unwelcoming.

“It’s lovely!” Nia says, charmed.

“You sleep on the ground?” Tobias asks, sounding more confused than anything.

“Hey, what’s wrong with that?” Junie asks, giving him a glare. “You sleep on the ground!”

“We literally live in a tree.”

Junie stops mid-retort, blinking. “Huh. Guess you do. Still! Lots of Pokemon sleep on ground level!”

“Not flying types.”

“We’ve had some rough storms around here, okay?” Junie huffs. “Besides, I used to sleep in trees before moving in with Bo, and it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I kept falling out, and it got so drafty! This is much cozier.”

“Or maybe you’re just a weirdo.”

“Maybe it’s just your human side talking,” Nia suggests, biting back a laugh at the cross look Junie sends her partner. “Humans do like being cozy.”

“Because it’s the best!” Junie says with a decisive nod. She opens her mouth to say something else, then pauses, glancing up through the trees as they rustle with the wind. “Oh! I think Bo’s home!”

Nia peers up through the pine branches and the slivers of sunlight, but she can’t see much of anything through the thick boughs.

“I’d step back if I were you,” Junie says, hopping back against the house. “I’ve been knocked over by his tailwind more times than I can count.”

Finally, Nia sees him: a silver bird diving through a gap in the evergreens. He flashes bright when he cuts through a ray of sunlight, like the sun reflecting off a car, and the undersides of his wings are a scarlet red. As he descends, Nia realizes just how big he really is, and scrambles back to make room, Tobias right on her heels.

The bird slows down with a few powerful flaps right before he meets the forest floor. The gust created from his wings makes Nia brace herself against the house and squint her eyes shut as he settles heavily onto the mossy ground.

Nia blinks grit from her eyes and trails her gaze up from huge talons and a bulky silver body until she finds the bird’s face. He’s gotta be over two times their height, and he’s seemingly covered in…metal? The wings he tucks against his sides almost seem to be tipped in blades, sharp as they are, but they don’t cut through the satchel strapped around his body. His head is an equally sharp thing, with a wicked beak of sharp teeth and a spike of metal atop his head, almost like a helmet. He meets Nia’s gaze with keen yellow eyes.

“You didn’t tell me we were having visitors, Junebug,” the bird says, voice more playful than Nia expects. “I would’ve cleaned the place up a bit. Now I just look like a bad host.”

Junie laughs, hopping forward to gesture with her wings. “I’m just as surprised as you are! These are the friends I told you about, from Ghatha! Nia and Toby.”

“Tobias, actually,” Tobias corrects. It’s halfhearted, though, as he sizes up the Pokemon in front of them.

Nia gives the large bird a smile and a shy wave.

The bird squawks a laugh. “You two are just like Junie described! Nice to meet you. I’m Bolat. Local mail ‘mon and self-appointed wrangler for this little impidimp.”

Bolat reaches out a taloned foot to nudge Junie, surprisingly gentle. The rookidee trills an annoyed sound as she’s still nearly knocked over, but she’s smiling.

“I keep your life exciting and you know it!”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Nia says, bowing lightly. Tobias doesn’t say anything, but Nia sees him give the bird a respectful nod.

“You too.” Bolat tilts his head, looking at them consideringly. “Do you two plan to bunk with us tonight?”

“Oh! I-I mean, we can find somewhere else to sleep if it’s any trouble, but—”

Bolat laughs and shakes his head. “No no, you’re fine. We have room. We’ll just need to get you some bedding for a proper nest. Guessing you haven’t done that yet?”

“They just got here!” Junie says. “Gimme like an hour. There’s some decent stuff in that glen west of here, right?”

Bolat hums, eyeing the two of them again before turning back to Junie. “How about I just grab some bedding for the night while I’m out on my second run? I’m sure you want to catch up anyways.”

Nia almost protests out of pure politeness, but glances at Junie instead. This is her home, after all. Even if Nia is surprised that the little bird isn’t immediately insisting she can do it herself.

After a moment of thought, though, Junie just nods. “If you don’t mind, that’d be awesome! Thanks, Bo.”

“Eh, no big. It’s a slow day anyways. Ah, here.” Bolat lifts a wing to dip his beak into the satchel looped over his body, rummaging around through…letters? He finally re-emerges with a small sack, which he drops in front of Junie. “Grabbed some lunch. Make sure you eat a few of the chestnuts and greens—you need more bulk if you want to carry more than a letter at a time.”

Junie groans and butts her head against Bolat’s leg with a thonk. “I know, I know! I’ll eat my stupid veggies. Thanks.”

Bolat laughs again and looks at Nia and Tobias. “There should be enough in there for all three of you, if you haven’t had lunch yet. I’ll pick something else up for myself.”

“Are you sure?” Nia asks, ears lowering. She can’t help feeling like they’re imposing, showing up so suddenly and making Bolat do so much for them.

“Of course!” Bolat waves them off with a giant wing. “Any friend of June’s is a friend of mine. Make yourselves at home.”

“Well…thank you, then.”

“’Course.” Bolat squints up through the trees at the midday sunshine. “I’d better get going if I don’t want to be late, though. Can you hold down the fort until I get back, Junebug?”

“Aye aye, cap’n!” Junie says, saluting with her little wing.

“In that case, I’ll see you all this evening with bedding in tow. See you!”

Bolat barely waits for Nia and Tobias to say their own goodbyes before he’s flapping hard at the ground again and lifting up into the air. Nia watches, kind of awestruck that a bird seemingly made of metal can appear so light and graceful as he flies up between the trees and out of sight.

Then Nia squints, looking down at Junie. “’A real metal guy?’”

Junie chirps a laugh. “I wasn’t lying, was I?”

Tobias snorts. “A skarmory’s about as metal as a flying type can get.”

“Exactly! Now, come on in. I can’t make you guys proper nests until Bo brings back some fluff, but we can still catch up and eat!”

Junie grabs the lip of the sack of food and drags it along behind her, flapping furiously against its weight. Nia holds open the front door so Junie can get inside, watching as the little bird pulls open the blinds on the two small windows to let in some fresh air and sunlight. Then Nia follows her, surprised by how the inside of the little home feels both cozy and more spacious than she expects.

It’s clearly a space built for just one or two Pokemon, but it’s organized. There’s a small basin off to one side of the room, with bowls, cloths, and other supplies resting near it on a small, flat boulder. On the other side, there’s a larger slab of stone, where two nests sit. One is clearly Junie’s, a tiny bowl of moss and pine needles perfectly sized to cup her body. The second nest is much, much larger, and Nia has to stare at it for a moment to try to understand what she’s looking at.

Are those…thorns?

Junie notices Nia’s expression and twitters a laugh. “Yeah, Bo sleeps in a nest of brambles. Apparently lots of skarmory do it to protect their chicks and toughen up their feathers or something? Or he’s just a freak, I dunno.”

“That’s, um…really intense,” Nia settles on.

“Right?! I’ll stick with my soft, squishy nest, thank you very much. I’m a delicate lady, after all.”

Over near the table, Tobias snorts.

“Oh, what?” Junie says, playfully challenging. “Something you want to say, Toby?”

“Lots of things. But then Nia would scold me for being rude.”

“Like that ever stopped you before.”

Nia smiles as the two go back and forth. She trails closer to the nests, which are sitting right next to one another, almost touching.

“You two seem close,” Nia says, glancing back at Junie.

“I mean…I guess? I haven’t really been here that long.”

“Yeah, but you seemed really against letting anyone help you back in Ghatha. So I guess I’m just glad you found someone here you trust.”

“Yeah…” Junie starts preening her wing, visibly embarrassed. “I was being kind of dumb about that, in hindsight. Like. Bo can be ridiculous, but he’s super nice, y’know? I really like living here. He’s been teaching me a lot, too! Like getting me to fly higher without freaking out.”

Nia turns to look at Junie. “Really?”

“Yup! I can even fly above the trees now! Not by much before I panic again, but I’m definitely better than before. Bo thinks he can get me over my fear of heights in under a year!”

“See if he can teach Nia, too,” Tobias jokes, picking up a bowl to inspect it.

“This…seems like a big deal to you,” Nia says slowly, a little confused. “I-I mean, don’t get me wrong! It’s great! But your fear of heights didn’t seem to bother you that much before?”

“Well…” Junie hops over to fiddle with the tie on the sack of food, clearly looking for something to keep herself busy. “I couldn’t help you in the fire at Ghatha because I was too scared of flying, and I only ended up living with Bo because I was too weak to navigate a storm. So I guess I just want to get better at being a flying type so I can actually do things and not be scared all the time. Plus, I’ll need to be able to fly for real if I want to have a more exciting job than just running errands around Stonebrook.”

“A job?” Tobias asks, frowning. “Like as a Seeker?”

Junie bursts into laughter. “Absolutely not! Fighting’s the worst. Don’t know how you do it, Nia. And dealing with clients and guildmasters? Ugh. No thanks.”

“What’re you hoping to do instead?” Nia asks.

“I’m thinking a mail ‘mon like Bo!” Junie says. She abandons the sack and hops up onto the windowsill to better meet Nia’s gaze. She looks excited, chest puffed and eyes bright. “It’ll take me a few years to learn the landscape well enough to find my way around, and I have to build up enough strength to actually carry a few letters long distance—especially since I have to stay a pipsqueak forever—but I think I’d really like it! Bo’s let me tag along on a few of his runs and it’s the best. He gets to go everywhere and he meets so many funny people!”

Nia blinks at Junie’s enthusiasm, surprised. That’s…quite the long-term goal. Without thinking, she says, “Years? But what about getting back home?”

Junie seems confused for a moment, but then she pouts. “Oh. Right. You still want to be human again, don’t you?”

Nia jerks back. She remembers Junie mentioning something like this in Ghatha, but— “You don’t? You want to stay here? Like this? Forever?”

Junie’s pout deepens into something more genuinely troubled. Her eyes flick to Tobias before resettling on Nia. “Yeah? Just because you want to go back to the boring old human world doesn’t mean everyone does.”

“But…” Nia trails off, at a loss for words. She looks at Tobias, wondering if he’s as surprised as she is. He’s pointedly fiddling with the bowl in his hands, not meeting Nia’s eyes. Oh. Right. Leaving would mean…leaving him behind. And everyone else, too.

But even with that in mind, Nia still can’t help her shock. When she thinks of the human world, she doesn’t think of how boring it can be. She thinks of her family, of going home and reuniting with them. She thinks of her brother pulling her into a crushing hug and lifting her off the ground. She thinks of her mom crying and cooking a big meal for the family to eat together. She thinks of Toni refusing to leave her side for a week straight and catching her up on everything she missed.

Does Junie not have people like that to go home to?

“Do you not remember anything yet?” Nia asks. “About your old life?”

Junie hops down to the soft dirt of the floor and back over to the sack of food. “No, I remember. Not a lot, but enough. It just isn’t good enough to convince me to go back.”

“Wait, doesn’t Will have some theory about humans having to get close to death to regain their memories?” Tobias asks, narrowing his eyes at Junie. “Did you get your memories back after the fire in Ghatha?”

“Nope! Not there. I got pretty hurt right after I got back to Stonebrook, so it must’ve been then. I didn’t know about the whole near-death thing, but it did happen while I was recovering, so.”

“You got hurt?!” Nia asks, alarmed despite knowing that Junie has been totally fine the entire time they’ve been talking. She still can’t resist stepping closer and crouching to scan the delicate little bird’s body. “It had to be serious if you remembered something.”

Junie chirps a laugh. “Sure was! A nasty storm hit the woods and a branch fell on me. Almost flattened me like a pancake! Funny how that’s almost happened twice now, huh? Anyways, that’s how I met Bo! He helped me get back on my feet. Oh! And look at this!”

Junie ignores the distress surely painting Nia’s face to hop back a step. Then, with a furrow in her little brow and a few moments of quiet, a bubble of bright orange energy flickers to life around her.

Aura. Junie’s aura. Nia can sense it immediately, even if she hadn’t been able to see it herself. Her jaw drops.

The bubble around the rookidee only lasts for a second or two, weak and faint, before vanishing again. Junie pants, clearly exhausted from the little display, but beams at Nia and Tobias’ gobsmacked expressions.

“I used protect when the branch landed on me! Though apparently not very well, since I still fractured some bones. Definitely not as strong as the one you used in Ghatha, Nia. But still! Isn’t that cool?!”

“You can use aura now?” Tobias asks, looking horrified. He’s probably thinking about Junie possessing all of the intimate soul-reading powers that Nia has.

Junie shakes her head. “Nah. Just this one move. But I still thought it was neat!”

“It is neat,” Nia offers a beat too late, feeling off-kilter. That one book in the archives did mention that all humans could use protect, but it’s still strange seeing it in action.

Junie puffs out her little chest, proud, before realizing something. She glares at Nia. “Wait, you also got some of your memories back? That means you almost died again, too! I thought I told you guys not to get into any more trouble!”

Nia winces, holding out her hands in a placating gesture. “T-To be fair, I just got really sick?”

“That’s an understatement,” Tobias grumbles, walking over to flick Nia with his tail.

“Oh.” Junie’s irritation deflates. “That sucks.”

“A little,” Nia laughs. “Although…Junie, do me a favor and promise to go to a doctor right away if you get sick, okay? It can get pretty serious for humans.”

Junie opens her mouth to make a lighthearted quip, but something about the expressions on their faces stops her. She tilts her head, clearly curious, but eventually chirps, “Yeah, okay. I promise.”

After that, they settle on the ground outside to eat, where the dirt and moss has been warmed a bit by the sun. Tobias opens the sack Bolat brought back, where a small feast of berries, veggies, and some spiky chestnuts await them for lunch.

Junie gets to work carefully cracking open the chestnuts with her beak while Nia and Tobias divvy up the rest of the food for their impromptu picnic. It’s still chilly out, especially in the shade of the forest, but it’s not as cold as it was while flying over. The wind smells like fresh pine as it rattles through the trees, and dappled sunlight plays across the ground.

“I still feel bad eating the food Bolat got specifically for you two,” Nia says as Junie passes them some of the unshelled chestnuts to add to their meal.

“Don’t be. Bo’s really generous, and he finds lots of food while he’s out on the job. He took me in when I got hurt and took care of me without a second thought.”

Nia smiles as she takes a bite of a carrot-like vegetable, crunching away at it. Bolat does seem awfully nice, and Nia’s beyond grateful that Junie found someone like him to take care of her when she was so injured. She doesn’t want to imagine what would’ve happened otherwise.

“So, catch me up,” Junie says around a mouthful of food. “Any leads on the whole ‘returning to the human world’ front?”

Nia feels Tobias’ eyes on her, and tries not to look too eager at the prospect. “Um…a few? I have some ideas, but nothing solid yet.”

Junie hums, clearly sympathetic but not at all upset on her own behalf. “That sucks. Sorry, Nia. Let me know if I can help, okay? Although I don’t know what I could add that you and Will don’t already have covered.”

Nia slowly puts her own food back down. “Junie, you…you really don’t want to go back home, do you?”

Junie shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “I mean. I miss some stuff, I guess, but most of my memories are just…blah, you know? And I’m happy here! Even though I’m gonna be a little shrimp forever, I’m much happier here than I ever was as a human.”

Nia sits back, torn. On one hand, it’s not like she can argue with Junie’s feelings. And just because Nia wants to see her family and friends so desperately doesn’t mean everyone does. But to just abandon her old life entirely? Just like that?

“You aren’t worried that somebody will miss you?” Nia can’t help asking.

“Not really. They aren’t my problem anymore.”

What in the world does that mean?

Nia tries not to visibly slump, and starts picking at her food again. She’d been so excited to share her recovered memories with the rookidee, but now she isn’t so sure she wants to. Would Junie even want her to, or would it just be awkward?

“So is that the mission you’re doing south of here? Figuring out human stuff?”

“Um, no. Not really. We are going to see Will, but not about that.”

“What for, then?”

Nia glances at Tobias. He’s munching on a chestnut, and gives Nia a wave of his hand that clearly says it’s Nia’s prerogative how much she wants to share.

“Okay, your little telepathic communication thing is adorable, but what’s with the serious face?” Junie asks. She looks between Nia and Tobias. “You’re not telling me something.”

For a moment, Nia considers brushing off Junie’s concerns. She hadn’t told Xander’s team or Andyn’s team about the whole “world ending” thing, but…well, quite frankly, she doesn’t think Junie will let it go now that she’s picked up on it.

Plus, she’s human like Nia, as much as she apparently doesn’t want to be anymore. She didn’t have a life here before all of this started happening. It feels right, to let her in on the secret too.

Nia puts her food down again. “You’re right. Sorry. We, um…we found something out recently. Something big.”

Junie frowns. “Bad big?”

“Certainly not good big,” Tobias huffs.

“We met Giratina,” Nia says. “He—"

“Wait, back up. Giratina? The scary nightmare creature that Will explicitly told us not to talk to?”

Nia winces. “Yes? He’s, um…actually pretty civil. If a bit of a grouch.”

“So like Tobias, then,” Junie says. She doesn’t even bask in his reaction, adding, “Okay, hold up, start from the beginning. I need the whole story.”

Nia hesitates, but crumbles quickly under Junie’s insistent gaze.

So Nia tells the story yet again, from the moment when Tobias noticed Giratina following them, all the way up to their talk with August when they returned to the guild. She’s getting better at summarizing after telling the story twice before, but Tobias still jumps in occasionally to add any important details that she forgets. Junie is surprisingly quiet for most of it, aside from when she chastises them for being idiots, jumping down into dangerous mines with criminals and meeting up with crazy bugs who want to send them to the distortion world.

Finally, voice raspy and meal still only half-finished, Nia says, “And that’s the gist. This world—the Pokemon world—is basically in danger of falling apart entirely if we don’t do something to stop it. And the human world will go down with it.”

“Nia thinks Will might have some human connections who can help us find Xerneas, so that she can strengthen the barrier,” Tobias adds. “Or fix it afterwards, if it’s predetermined to break. Either way, we don’t have much go to go on, so we’re checking with him just in case.”

Junie’s expression is somber when they finish. She stares long and hard at the dirt, clearly deep in thought. Finally, she sighs and looks up. “Well. That’s a fine pickle. And just when I was getting comfy here, too. I guess we’ll just have to see what Will has to say, right?”

Nia blinks, then echoes the little bird. “We?”

“Well, yeah! I’m coming with you two to Will’s place, of course.” Junie says. “I just got you back. You aren’t ditching me again while you go off to save the world!”

Nia straightens up, heart lifting. “Really?”

Tobias groans. “Really?”

“Yup! You’re stuck with me, lizard-breath.”

“Greeeaaat,” Tobias drawls, using his flames to char a pecha berry cupped in his palms.

“But what about Bolat?” Nia asks.

Junie waves Nia off. “He’ll be fine! He was on his own forever before I showed up. As long as I come back eventually to show him I’m not dead I’m sure he’ll be cool about it. And I can keep training while we head south so I’m not slacking!”

Nia smiles, something in her relaxing. “That’d be great, Junie. We’d be happy to have you.”

“Happy is a strong word,” Tobias says.

Nia glances at him, afraid for a moment that she’d just made a decision for the both of them that he’s genuinely upset about, but he doesn’t actually look bothered by this development. He bites into his berry with a casual movement, his tail flame its usual calm flicker and his expression even. Just their usual banter, then.

“Aw, c’mon! I’m excited to be traveling with you guys again! I guess we should leave right away tomorrow morning since this is kind of time-sensitive, huh? We’ve got mysteries to solve, worlds to save, eldritch horrors to meet—oh! Nia!”

Nia jumps, nearly dropping the peeled chestnut in her hand. “Y-Yeah?”

“I wanted to ask earlier, but I didn’t want to interrupt. If you can communicate with Giratina through reflections and he’s on our side now, could we like. Call him?”

Nia stares at Junie, chestnut forgotten. “You want to talk to him? He’s…kinda scary.”

“That’s even better!” Junie says, hopping up excitedly. “It’ll be like we’re trying to summon demons at a sleepover. Wait here!”

Junie darts inside her and Bolat’s home, and Nia looks at Tobias, bewildered.

The charmander shrugs, apparently more or less unphased. “You did suggest we get in touch with him so he knows what we’re up to.”

“I…guess?”

Junie flaps out the front door in an unsteady bob, a small stone bowl barely gripped in her tiny claws. She drops it on the ground in front of Nia, then lands clumsily on the other side.

“There! Will that work? You can use your canteen water, right?”

Okay, guess they’re doing this right now. Nia sighs, once again putting the last of her food aside to grab her canteen and pour an inch of water into the bowl. Sunlight bounces across the water’s surface as it settles. The whole thing is about the size of Nia’s hand, just large enough to see faint reflections of the trees above them.

“Now what?” Junie asks, practically vibrating. “Do we have to chant or something?”

“I don’t actually know,” Nia says, frowning. “We haven’t tried to call him like this before.”

“He can’t be far,” Tobias says, leaning closer to the bowl. “He was following us on the trip over.”

Just as Nia’s about to try calling for Giratina, Junie shouts, “Hey, lord of nightmares! Get your butt over here!”

“Junie!” Nia hisses, wide-eyed.

“What?! You said he’s on your side now!”

“He is, but he’s also a god with a temper!”

“Uh, hey,” Tobias says, pointing. “He’s here.”

Nia looks down, surprised. Sure enough, she can see the faint reflection of Giratina’s silhouette in the surface of the bowl. Just his head, really, the rest of his body likely unable to fit into view.

“Whoa,” Junie breathes, feathers ruffled but expression delighted.

Giratina’s eyes narrow slightly, as if to ask what they want. Nia can practically hear his rapidly thinning patience.

“W-We saw you following us earlier, over the ocean,” Nia explains. “So I thought you were maybe wondering what we were doing? I figured we could give you an update. I-If you’d like.”

“We also wanted to see if we could contact you,” Tobias adds. “Which I guess is a yes.��

Giratina nods, looking back at Nia. Waiting.

She jerks. “O-Oh! Okay. Um. So we’re looking for a friend of mine, a human, who has been gathering other humans. We think he might have an idea of where to find Xerneas, since I know he’s been researching a lot of stuff and talking to a lot of people. So that’s why we’re, uh. Here. And traveling.”

Giratina seems to mull that over for a moment, before nodding his approval.

“Can he not talk?” Junie whispers, loudly.

“He talked to me in his dimension,” Nia says, feeling weirdly rude speaking about Giratina in the third-person when he’s right there. “But I don’t think he can speak to us through reflections?”

“But what if he has something important to tell you?”

Giratina shifts, catching their attention before Nia or Tobias can answer. He brings up a tendril-like wing, the giant talon at its tip settling close to the surface of the reflection and blocking out Giratina himself.

“Does he want you to…touch him? E.T. style?” Junie asks. “Can you even do that?”

Nia frowns, staring at the talon seemingly right on the other side of the water’s surface. “I…don’t know. He did pull me through a reflection in Shivergleam, but I kind of assumed that was like…a special ritual that Edme set up?”

“He did it at the river near the guild too,” Tobias grumbles.

Huh. He’s right. Which means…

Curious, and knowing that the legendary would have been able to kill her easily last time they met but decided not to, Nia lifts her hand and holds it over the water.

“You sure?” Junie asks.

Tobias reaches out and grabs Nia’s free arm, as if to make sure he isn’t left behind this time if she’s yanked through again.

With a deep breath, Nia dips her finger gently into the chilled water, trying not to disturb the reflections on the surface. Sure enough, after an inch or two, she hits not the smooth stone of the bowl’s bottom, but the dulled point of something else, ice-cold.

Giratina.

Nia’s brows raise. Curious, she dips the rest of her hand into the bowl. While she can’t wrap her hand around the sheer size of the claw, it’s undeniable that she has surpassed the depth of the bowl itself. Like a magic trick.

“Whoa,” Junie murmurs again.

Satisfied for now, Nia pulls her hand free, amazed to realize her fur isn’t even wet. She blinks down at the water as it settles. Giratina has pulled away so they can see his face again.

“So when you’re around, you can make any reflection into a portal to the distortion world?” Tobias asks.

The legendary nods.

“Does that only work for Nia? Or for anyone?” Junie asks.

Nia doesn’t know how Giratina does it, but she can practically feel his exasperation through the reflection.

“Oh, r-right. Yes or no questions, Junie.”

“Fine, fine! How about this—can anyone go through a portal you open?”

Giratina nods again.

The three of them sit back as one.

“Huh,” Nia says. “I’m not sure that really changes anything? But I guess it’s good to know that we can check in with you any time if we need to.”

“Could be a helpful escape route in an emergency,” Tobias muses, hand at his chin. “As long as we find a reflection large enough.”

Giratina suddenly jerks, looking off to the side. His eyes narrow. He looks back at them, as if asking if they’re done here. There must be another one of those rumblings in the rift that Nia had experienced while there. A sign of the coming disaster. He probably wants to check it out to make sure it’s nothing more serious.

“I think that’s all we know right now. Um. Thank you for answering?” Nia says, feeling awkward about how exactly she’s supposed to sign off with a legendary.

Giratina nods, then slips out of sight. The reflection of the trees overhead and Nia’s curious face, leant over the bowl, flicker back into sight.

The three of them are quiet for a moment, digesting that experience.

“Okay, so. World-ending terror aside, that was pretty awesome,” Junie says. She hops up, looking all too excited. “We should try to summon more horror monsters before we have to get on the road tomorrow! Bo told me about this Pokémon called Darkrai who gives you nightmares. I don’t think he does it to mess with people, but let’s pretend he does because that’s much scarier.”

Nia can’t help laughing. The tension that had settled over them breaks instantly.

“Darkrai’s a legendary, feather-brain,” Tobias says. “He’s probably already dormant.”

“But he’s the god of nightmares or something! So maybe he’s immune to sleep stuff!”

Nia relaxes and finishes the last few bites of her meal as the two of them start up another silly argument. The exhaustion of the flight and the day’s antics are finally starting to weigh on her, but for at least tonight they can rest here with Junie and Bolat.

Suddenly, with just one more friend at their side, everything ahead doesn’t seem quite as scary.

#pmd #pokemon mystery dungeon #skarmory #talonflame #rookidee #braviary #pokemon #tesha writes #tesha draws #pmd seekers of soul

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thetormentita · 4 months ago

Text

the woman in winter (se ābra isse sōnar) - chapter 3

the unspoken rule says that no man should interfere in what the gods have set.

Pairing: Original Female! Targaryen x Cregan Stark

A/n: finally! This feels like a fill-up chapter but idc! 🤪

Warnings: bit of fluff? not much, tbh, maybe jace being kinda jealous and cregan not letting elia alone much time 🤔

Rating: Teen (+13)

Tagging list: @novaursa @maegelletargaryen

The farewell had been bittersweet, filled with promises and good words, with tight hugs and little gifts, but also with the unspoken understanding that things would never be quite the same.

A soft rumble takes her out of her thoughts as her eyes go to the sky and the looming shadow of Mayhem flies over them, like wanting to shield them from any possible danger that could approach the galley. Next to him go Vermax and Arrax, the latter somewhat smaller than the others, marking his youth and eagerness. The sight of the three dragons, with their broad wings casting large, fleeting shadows on the ground below, brings a sense of awe and a reminder of the power of house Targaryen.

“But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel,

and its kiss was a terrible thing.”

Elia smiles at Davos Blackwood, who apparently without any malice has just started to sing. He has always had a good voice, and his spark has helped him to make friends in even the most unlikely places. The song, ‘The Dornishman’s wife’, has been chosen personally for the only element of the kingsguard to be sent to the North with them, and she finds it hard to not join him in an attempt of easying the latent sorrow.

Her gaze roams far from the ship, free, wondering, matched with a small smile curving her lips. Before her the land is changing, the rocky cliffs from the Vale’s coast letting way to the vast, rolling expanses of the North, the biting cold crawling up and wrapping around her like a familiar cloak. The shift from the relatively milder climate of the Vale to the harsh, unforgiving cold of the North marks a transition not just in scenery, but in the very essence of the journey. It is as if each gust of the chilling wind carries whispers of ancient tales of heroes and giants, of enormous beasts and trees old as time itself carved with faces of people long forgotten.

“Are you sure you don’t want to see ser Criston trying to shut Davos up?”

Her eyes go to her right and meet with the gaze of her former betrothed, the future king of the Seven Kingdoms and probably her best friend. A sort of warm feeling clings to her chest, her little treasure for what the future may bring, when she realizes how funny he finds the teasing to the Kingsguard.

“No, I think I will pass on that,” she says with a light chuckle, the warm feeling in her chest blossoming into a soft smile.

Jacaerys’s eyes roam over the changing landscape and hers follow as well, not before noticing the spark upon his face, the way the halfclouded sunbeams sculpt his profile against the vast canvas of the sky.

“I must say I am not completely pleased with the idea, but I like to think how the whole North will bend the knee to you” he mutters, biting his lower lip as if the thought brings a mix of worry and pride. “You, with the North at your back, would be an unparalleled force, feared and respected across the whole Westeros.”

“You make it look bigger than it is…” She replies, her voice trailing off as she gazes into the distance, contemplating the weight of his words. The very idea of such power is both intoxicating and daunting.

“You heard Viserys. If time comes, I will need you by my side, El, and with Cregan Stark come the fiercest warriors of the whole realm.”

Religion. Politics. Prophecies. Around her everybody seems to see a different side of her oncoming marriage she just cannot make sense of.

“What if nothing happens?” he tilts his head to look at her, his purple irises full of questions. “What if you get to sit on the throne and need nothing from the North?”

Silence lingers between them, and she sees the flicker of doubt in his eyes, mirroring her own uncertainties. She inhales deeply, aware of the heavy burden her words might carry, deciding to tread carefully yet honestly.

Before them the coastline of the biggest port of the North stretches out, almost waiting for them, the white buildings of the city gleaming like pearls against the backdrop of the dark sea. The sight is both intimidating and awe-inspiring, a constant reminder of the power and responsibility that rests upon her shoulders.

Before Jacaerys has any chance to answer, the sailors that have guided them to their destination start to prepare them all for their landing at the door of winter itself.

…

He has had his time to assume the future during their travel, but he cannot help but feel a tight knot at the mouth of his stomach the very moment his horse sets foot on Manderly territory. Despite knowing that he has to wed again in order to keep the name of his house and his lineage alive, Cregan is fully aware that another death like Arra’s would be too much to handle.

The moment he meets with Desmond Manderly, Cregan can sense the weight of expectation resting upon his shoulders. Desmond, with a keen eye and a firmer voice than Cregan remembers from their youth, speaks of alliances and the future. The Manderlys have always been a strong ally to his house since they were let to live in the North and use the Wolf’s Den a thousand years before the arrival of Aegon the Conqueror to the frozen lands of their forbears, and the relationship between both houses had always been firm, built on mutual respect and shared interests.

“If only I would have had a daughter…”

Cregan throws a sideways glance at the big-bellied lord of White Harbor as they lead the party to welcome the princess and her retinue, arriving there before the ship can even be seen, the guards alerted by the presence of three dragons upon the sky, their roars freezing the blood of the Northmen, definitely not used to hear such sound echoing through their lands. The lords of the North, in their thick furs and heavy cloaks, stand stiffly, partly in awe, partly in fear, and Cregan’s grey eyes land upon the biggest beast, dark as the night sky, its scales glimmering with a hint of silver under the weak northern sun; it is a sight so foreign, yet so majestic, that even the most seasoned warriors among them cannot help but marvel at it. The beast circles above, its massive wings casting shadows over the city, as its companions follow in its wake, their colours brighter, shades

of green and gold shimmering in the sunlight.

Three dragons changed the history of the North generations ago, and three dragons will change it again.

He can hear the steel of the men’s arms jangling with a mix of anticipation and fear, as they prepare for what is to come, and Cregan just needs a raising hand for his men to abandon the idea roaming their minds.

“If anybody dares to raise a blade to their future lady, I will be cutting heads before sun sets.”

His voice, laced with a stern warning, cuts through the tense air like a blade through silk. The men, seasoned warriors of the North, exchange glances in silence, understanding the gravity of their lord's words. The atmosphere is heavy with the weight of loyalty and the unspoken promise of protection.

They respect him, and they should do the same with their lady.

…

Her eagerness betrays her when her eyes scan the people gathered by the wharf, maybe hoping to see a big retinue with direwolves emblazoned on their clothes, or banners with the sigil of her future house.

“D’ya think they have spare furs?” Aeron’s voice next to hers pushes her to hold his hand with too much strength, her nervousness palpable. “It’s colder here than I thought.”

She smiles weakly, trying to focus on his words and not on the fluttering in her stomach or the way her heart seems to beat louder with each passing moment. “Sure they do,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper, striving to inject a confidence she doesn’t feel into her words.

They get closer, and her gaze meets the one of the man with the longsword at his back. Elia needs nobody to tell her who he is.

When the gangway is set for them to leave the galley, she takes a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves that dance under her skin like fireflies in the dark. All eyes upon her as, step by step, she descends, her posture straight, projecting an air of assurance that belies the turmoil within. She can feel the weight of the man’s gaze, intense and unfaltering, as if trying to decipher an ancient script written upon her face. Elia can sense the whispers that begin to swirl around them, carried by the salty breeze, a mixture of curiosity and speculation. When the man with the longsword at his back approaches her, she hesitates for a moment, not ready for a moment like that one.

“Your Highness” he takes her hand, bowing slightly, a gesture of respect that feels oddly comforting in the midst of her inner chaos. His voice is a soft baritone, carrying a warmth that belies the coolness of the sea air. “Welcome to the North. Hope you had a safe travel.”

Nothing exists around them, not really. She allows herself a moment to get lost in those grey eyes of his, deep and captivating, and the warmth of his touch despite the layers of cloth between them is undeniably comfortable. It sparks something within her, a flicker of something like hope, or maybe the beginning of trust in this new, mysterious place.

“I certainly did, lord Stark” she finds herself saying, her voice steadier than she feels. The corners of his lips tilt up ever so slightly in what might be the ghost of a smile, an expression so rare and fleeting that it imbues the moment with a sense of exclusivity, as though she’s been allowed a glimpse into a private world seldom shared with others. “You did not have to do any of this for me.”

“Anything for the future lady of Winterfell.”

His words hang between them, heavy with implications of duty and perhaps something more, a depth of feeling that neither of them is ready to acknowledge just yet. It feels like a promise, a vow unspoken yet as binding as any oath made under the watchful eyes of the old gods and the new. Her heart swells with a mix of emotions—gratitude, apprehension, and an emerging seed of affection that she dares not name. The weight of his gaze is both comforting and unsettling, stirring a myriad of thoughts within her.

The strangely comfortable silence between them both is interrupted by a man who introduces himself as Desmond Manderly, and Elia, only by the glance Cregan throws at him, already knows that despite being important allies to her future house, lord Desmond is not a man who leaves his own priorities aside when he has the chance to advance them. His introduction is smooth, his words carefully chosen, painting the picture of a man who is both a friend and a formidable player in the courtly games that seem to just not have let her be when she left King’s Landing.

“Feel free to rest under our roof as much time as needed, princess” for a moment he looks like a greedy uncle talking to his nephews rather to his liege and his future wife, and despite showing herself polite and easy-going, Elia is already building her own impression of the big-bellied man hiding behind a moustache almost as prominent as his ego. “Such a trip must be tiresome.”

“In fact,” Elia can feel Jace’s presence looming behind her, almost like wanting to protect her, “I am more than eager to see my new home, lord Manderly. I am thankful for your proposition, anyway.”

Both sides get introduced, and a sort of procession guides them from the harbour to the New Castle up the hill through the Castle Stair, rows merman statues cradling bowls of burning whale oil lining the path, casting eerie shadows that danced like wraiths in the night. The air is filled with the briny scent of the sea, mingling with the smoky aroma of the burning oil, creating an atmosphere that is both mystic and foreboding, as if the very essence of the ancient town of White Harbor was welcoming them with open arms and whispered secrets.

Elia Targaryen has the first chance to enjoy a moment of a sort of solitude once she reaches her chambers, when a tub of steaming hot water is brought in for her. The servants, silent as shadows, pour the water with practiced ease, adding scented oils that fill the room with a calming aroma, chasing away the chill of the northern air and the weariness from her bones. The scent of lavender and chamomile blends with the steam, enveloping her in a cocoon of warmth and tranquility, driving her far from the prying eyes of the head of house Manderly, the looming presence of ser Criston or even the silent clash between Cregan and Jace, like wanting to establish a pact between them both that none of them has the guts to accept first.

…

“Lord Stark.”

Cregan turns, and the face of the heir to the Iron Throne is right behind him, his dark eyes observing every move of him.

“My prince.” Cregan bows slightly, maintaining the respect due to royalty, yet his stance remains firm, a testament to the unwavering nature of the Northmen. Despite his loyalty to King’s Landing and the house of the dragons, he is fully aware of the history of house Targaryen and their forgotten promises related to the North. “What may I do for you?”

Cregan’s eyes cannot deny the evident. Jacaerys Velaryon and Elia Targaryen may not look like a typical Valyrian, but the atmosphere that surrounds them suggests an inherent nobility, an unspoken power that seems to flow through their veins as effortlessly as the blood of their ancestors.

“She seems to like you.”

She. Not ‘Elia’, nor ‘my cousin’, not even ‘the princess’.

“The feeling is mutual” he keeps to himself a soft smile when memories from the dinner come to his mind, Elia sat by his side, constantly asking questions about his homeland, his kin and their traditions. “My lady is a curious soul, the fire in her is undeniable ,” he reflects, the warmth of the memory painting a fond expression on his face.

The conversation around the dinner table had been electrifying, with Elia Targaryen, the promise of Aegon the Conqueror and Jaehaerys the Conciliator made flesh, shining by herself, no need of flourished garments nor her own retinue supporting her. The spark in her gaze captivated everyone, her eyes casting ancient hues when the lights of the torches and the candles reflected in them, speaking of a lineage steeped in dragonfire and destiny. Each word she spoke carried the weight of history, yet her laughter, light and unburdened by the burdens of her bloodline, filled the room with an infectious joy. It was as if the shadows of his own life had stepped aside to let her try to win her place within his soul.

The grim upon the prince’s face says a lot of things, but not the one he wants to express.

“She has a sweet tooth, her favourites are the lemon cakes. She is not fond of sewing, but her works are delicate and full of detail” as he speaks, Jacaerys’s eyes almost shine with a glow different than the one of the candles around them. “She adores flying, but sometimes she takes profit on her dragon’s independent tendencies and lets him fly on his own.”

He loves her. He still does.

…

A day. Enough for her to study more and more her future lands, and for her small retinue to pretend enjoying the strange city of White Harbor as much as they are supposed to.

A short promenade leads her to the sept, and there, amidst the quiet atmosphere and the soft flickering of candlelight, she finds a strange peace she will not certainly miss —or at least she thinks so. Sat by one of the benches, her indigo eyes observe the statues looming over her, the Manderlys showing themselves too much, even with the images of the Seven, huge looming statues of stone white as the purest snow, garnished with sea green details making them even more than what they really are.

The words sent a while ago to her grandsire still linger in her mind, a short message to reassure him of their arrival and the Northmen’s kindness towards them. She had already planned to send another raven to King’s Landing once she had settled in her new home in Winterfell, the heart of the North. The transition from the sun-kissed towers of King’s Landing to the grey stone and colder airs of the North is stark, but not unwelcome. The North holds a rugged beauty that she finds herself growing fond of, even if the chill seeps into her bones.

The stillness of the place helps unveiling the opening of the door, the creaking of wood and iron echoing against the stone walls. Despite not being precisely fond of the sudden end of her time for contemplation, she tries to guess who is coming before the person reveals themselves, only for the noise of the steps. The heavy footsteps grow closer, deliberate and unhurried, typical of the men of the North, who take pride in their steadfast demeanor. As the figure steps into the dim light, the shadows dance across his rugged features, a specific face among the many she has come to know in such a little time.

A soft smile tugs from the corners of her lips at the sight of the man.

“I can get you a sept built in Winterfell just for you, if that pleases you, my lady.”

Despite the sept being empty, she slightly moves to a side, like wanting to let him find an empty seat beside her.

“There will be no need. I am just bidding farewell.”

As her eyes return to the statues, Cregan Stark takes a sit next to her, his presence both comforting and imposing, and the feel of his gaze upon her awakes something deep within her soul, a flicker of warmth in the cold expanse of the North.

“I want the whole of it. If I am to be the lady of Winterfell, I will submit myself entirely to the North, including their gods” she mumbles, her voice barely a whisper, yet carrying a determined edge that slices through the chill air.

“The least I want is for you to not feel comfortable.”

“At least you think about what I want” she gets comfortable next to him, her hand laying with care upon his, getting used to the warmth and roughness of his touch, finding some pleasure in it. “I appreciate that. The Seven have been a part of my life since I remember, always pushed to the Great Sept to pray and remember those gone.”

By the corner of her eye she can see the Warden of the North tilting his head, his brow furrowed as he observes the statues looming over them, and she decides he is too young to handle the burden of his title alone, the responsibility weighing on his shoulders like the heavy cloaks they wear against the northern chill.

“How is it?”

“How is what?”

“To pray for them. It is something more private here in the North.”

“The godswoods?”

“Aye.”

She starts talking about the ceremonies, the septons and septas and the aim for luxury at any sept from south of the Neck, all of them trying to display lavish paraphernalia in an attempt to please the Seven, and as she speaks, the feeling of those grey eyes upon her stirs a strange feeling she finds it likable, to have a listener so intent, so fully absorbed in her words. It makes her feel appreciated.

“I see why you have decided to leave the Seven aside… Cannot imagine how it is, really. Such display for nothing.”

“Papa used to say that without clothing we are all the same.” she lowers her gaze, her lips drawing a sort of smile, like wanting to leave the matter aside, to finally say farewell to the Gods her ancestors had to start praying to in order to be accepted by the Westerosi kings of old. “Can’t wait to see Winterfell.”

She lifts her eyes then, bright with a mix of curiosity and determination, her hand approaching his almost by itself, seeking the reassurance found in the warmth of his touch.

“‘Tis not much compared to King’s Landing, but Winterfell has its own charm. If you get to find anything unpleasant once we have reached home, be sure it will be dealt with. The least I want is for you to not feel it as your home as well, my lady.”

“Please, do call me Elia.”

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