#Though of just tacking on to the post but then I thought no they can be together in a special little gallery...

[ghostieblr]

Secret Life of Stiles & Derek

IT IS FINALLY HERE! Inspired from this post of mine (of which i posted a sneak peak here)... now i bring to you, the FULL FIC ON A03.

Thank y'all for showing interest in it <3

Here is a little bit of sneak peak:

*

He settles beside Cora, stretches there so his legs open to create space for Stiles. Stiles, who doesn’t even glance at Scott calling his name, too busy in arranging the snacks, and then finding the remote. Derek waves it once, and Stiles beelines for it.

“I want it! I get to choose the film, ok Sourwolf, because I called this pack night!” As he says it, he’s moving forward, and it makes Derek’s heart soar that there’s no second thought before he plops himself down between the V of his legs. Derek hands over the remote.

And of course Stiles puts on Star Wars, Episode III.

“Why.”

“Inflection, Der, use them. They’re the souls—”

“—Souls of language. Yes, I know, Stiles. But I love to—”

“—love to fight against period, commas and question marks because I love to see you squirm.” Stiles recites perfectly, thanks to the number of times they’ve had this argument, and then corrects himself, “I mean, you love to see me squirm, you asshole!”

Somewhere distantly, he hears Scott mutter, “Yeah he is. Come here Stiles.”

Derek puts his free hand around Stiles’ waist and pulls him backwards into his chest, and Stiles lets him do it. He settles firmly in Derek’s lap, like this is the easiest thing to do. It makes Derek happy.

“Now shush, let me watch the credits in peace!”

Derek takes the remote and fast-forwards it.

“Nephew…”

“You’re an idiot,” Cora tacks on to their uncle's reprimand, and then, “Why do you never learn?”

Stiles simply takes the popcorn bowl from his hand and puts it in Cora’s hands. She swats away Boyd’s hands from taking any of it, and then sighs loudly as Derek and Stiles devolve into a wrestling, writhing mass of degenerates beside her.

Stiles emerges victorious and wins the remote, so Derek pulls him in by his hips and wraps his arms around his chest. Puts his head on Stiles’ right shoulder and groans when he rewinds the film back to the starting point.

“Idiot,” Cora mutters, and hands back the bowl of popcorn to Derek. He isn’t really sorry about it, though. And both Cora and Peter know it, so they send him knowing looks which he steadfastly ignores.

The movie begins again. Stiles cuddles closer to him, Derek’s hands on his chest, his hips. Enclosing him in. He turns his head, and their faces are so, so close. Their noses touch. Their eyes are cross-eyed they’re so infuriatingly, blessingly close. Stiles says, “Der.”

He pulls back and picks up a handful of the popcorn, more salty ones than tomato flavored ones — they’re more his favorite, not Stiles’ — from where he’d kept the bowl between him and Cora, and feeds Stiles one by one.

Once the handful of popcorn has been eaten, Stiles turns back, and Derek picks up his own handful. A couple minutes pass by, the world on the screen the only noise, but then Stiles turns around again. He doesn’t say anything, but Derek understands anyways and feeds Stiles. It makes him satisfied in a way he’s both thrilled and concerned about, which basically sums up his life. But in this moment he focuses on Stiles, and the intimacy of their trust, the way Stiles allows him to provide for him. The way Stiles trusts him with these small things, and when it matters, with the big things. Like Stiles’ life.

This time, a murmur kick starts between the betas. Mainly Isaac and Erica, who are trying to tamp down their curiosity but are unable to do so. Boyd isn’t into the gossip, but Derek sees him watching them a couple of times.

On the other hand, he can smell Scott silently fuming, and Allison’s gentle scraping along his scalp, his arms. Trying to control him. Anchoring him. Derek smirks, unable to help the way his chest expands with possessive pride.

“What’s up?” Stiles asks, without turning. His eyes are locked onto the screen.

“Nothing. Just the popcorn’s almost over.” It is. They’re down to two handfuls each.

Stiles pauses the film, never one to miss even a second of it, and scans the coffee table. It’s still full with food. He frowns. “Nobody is eating?”

Nobody is replying, either. Stiles stands up and hovers beside the table, looks at Derek helplessly. He’d brought everyone’s favorite and some extra — he’d planned this down to every last detail. Except, of course, realizing that they don’t know about his and Derek’s history, or their current friendship.

*

You can continue reading it here on AO3.

Tagging the people who wanted me to tag 'em once i posted this fic:

@demonicfaery @lovehahajk @emilyinhouston @jadezdominion @sterekloverforever @hogwarts-starship @deliahale @princecharmingwinks

[designernishiki]

hot take (aka headcanon) but I kinda think that nishiki and kiryu’s relationship pre-split wasn’t on both sides platonic/familial or fully romantic; I feel like nishiki had a thing for him (not sure if he fully realized it though) and that he had developed feelings for kiryu over the course of a good long time that were deeply confusing on their own, but even more so considering they would’ve been hard to sort out with what could just be attributed to close friendship or a familial-type bond.

and on the other side of this, kiryu was utterly oblivious and never thought to question what they had as being anything other than a close friendship or familial-type relationship or whatever it was being called out loud (we know kiryu, he’s blunt as hell and takes things at face value– not the best at reading between the lines) hence why the split between them, though both were clearly hurt a ton by it, hit nishiki harder and more acutely– because on top of losing the most important person in his life, which is bad enough, it would’ve crushed any tiny shred of hope he may have had to live out his long-time, perhaps even since-childhood fantasy of being by kiryu’s side forever as his one true confidant, in a more intimate way than as a friend.

[c0rpsedemon]

over here creating an extended web (hehe) of japan-based tma ocs bc of the fucking. entities as jfashion styles post.

[horreurscopes]

you don't have to pay overdraft fees ever

the biden administration recently cracked down on overdraft fees which means banks cannot force you to pay them as they have become opt-in -- however you do have to call the bank (for example, paypal payments overdraft you even if you have opted out, as they function like checks.)

my experience is with wellsfargo but i imagine that most major banks may operate similarly:

if you have an overdraft fee, call the bank, you will get a machine. go through the autentification process with it but do not mention your issue when it asks you to (specially not the word overdraft -- this is a conspiracy theory i cannot prove but i swear to god they rewire you to more aggressive phone people if you tipoff the machine) instead say "i'd like to speak to a representative" the machine will be like "lol didn't get that" so you may need to repeat it a couple more times before it wires you to a real person

wait! i'd recomend calling as early in the morning as possible to avoid elevator music.

be nice to the customer service person who picks up (i make a point of thanking them for their help and calling them by their name, if i don't catch it the first time i ask them again for it)

my script is something along the lines of: "hi, i noticed there's an overdraft fee in my account that posted on [date]. i am calling to see if we (WE -- you and the representative are a team against the problem) could do something about it" (<- you may decide to be more direct, i just put my innocent hat on)

most if not all of what they say to you is a script. they will be like "i will check that for you with the automated process that takes into account you previous refund activity" BLAH BLAH BLAH. more waiting. if you have had any refunds in the past 12 months, they will be like "sorry the system says no (:" THOUGH, VERY RECENTLY, they have tacked on this question: do you have any thoughts on that / how do you feel about that / etc. though even if they do not prompt you, here's the next step:

say: thank you! i appreciate the automated review, however i do not agree/approve/consent to being charged a fee. is there any way you could check again / anyone else i could talk to / would it be possible to refund it regardless? etc.

they will check again, possibly more waiting, and then you will get an immediate refund! in the rare case they refuse to, here is the link to the FDIC website that you can refer to (note, this is for overdraft fees only):

8. i cannot emphasize this enough -- be nice !!!!!!!!!!! BE NICE! be cheerful, say "thank you" and "no worries" and "take your time!". it is NOT a confrontation, it is NOT their fault, and most of the time the customer service representative wants this to be as frictionless as possible. they are helping you, use the opportunity to make a moment of their day a lot less stressful than they expect it to be.

that is ALL -- i have been using wellsfargo for over eight years, and have lost hundreds of dollars to predatory overdraft fees charged as a punishment for having no money.

during the beginning covid, when they were momentarily suspended (you had to mention covid on the phone to get them back lol), i came to the realization that all of this time they could have been giving me my money back. there was no reason not to, except corporate greed.

do not let phone social anxiety let them take your money from you, now that it is easier than EVER to get it back. and if you need motivation to pick up the phone, remember this headline from a couple of years back lol:

DEATH TO CAPITALISM !!!!!!

[ddejavvu]

Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part Three) (18+) / Part One | Part Two

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 6.9K / navigation / inbox

A/N: if you've been on my blog anytime since last year and you've heard me mention 'my big hangman fic', this is it! I've been working on Spring Fling for almost a year now, and I'm so excited to share it with you. I hope you enjoy this, and I'm glad so many new people are making their way into our top gun fandom because of twisters and Glen's role in it. Welcome, and enjoy!

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Dinner is a tense affair, but by the end of it it feels less like walking on eggshells and more like walking around hard boiled eggs on the floor. There won’t be a goopy mess if you step wrong, but no one wants a squashed egg.

You and Jake seem to be getting on as friends, as long as you ignore all of the blatantly romantic elements of your current situation. You’re unfortunately subjected to a man beside you fingering his roommate beneath the table cloth, and you’re glad that Jake also agrees that despite being on a sex boat, that kind of thing is better done in private.

“Unless, of course, everyone’s into that,” He shoots you another one of his patented winks, and you delight in reaching across the table to steal the cherry off of his black forest cake.

“Hey! Oh, whatever,” He scoffs at your triumphant grin, reaching for his glass of wine. There’s not much left in the bottle; he’s a heavy pour and you didn’t bother counting his glasses- you just know he’s had more than one. His cheeks are just the slightest shade of pink, and you plan on snapping as many pictures as you can as soon as you can get him hazy enough to let you. 

“Here, Hangman,” You feign kindness, taking hold of the bottle and trying to line the neck up with the rim of his glass despite him pulling away, “There’s only a little bit left, finish it off so you don’t waste your money.”

“No, ‘can’t.” He insists, gulping the rest of what’s in his glass in a manner rather contradictory to his words, “Gotta sober up again if we’re going out tonight.”

“I’m going out tonight,” You remind him firmly, finding woozy, pliant Jake much easier to talk to than sharp-as-a-tack Hangman, “You were all set to head to bed earlier; I thought you were some sort of kissing fiend on wine.”

“That’s why I’m soberin’ up, darlin’.” Jake drawls, and though he’s blinking slower than normal, his tone indicates that you’re the stupid one.

“Can’t be much of a security guard if my eyes are goin’ all dizzy,” He says, his tongue lazing into a southern twang that’s sharper when he’s oiled up with booze.

“Security guard?” You echo incredulously, “Hangman, what possessed you to think I’d need a security guard? I’m in the Navy, we both know how to aim between the eyes.”

“No, you know how to aim between the legs,” Jake licks the bitter wine residue from his lips, most likely tasting a sweet tinge of chocolate there, too, “I just don’t feel right leavin’ you with that Daniel guy.”

“He’s nice.” You speak with a tight clench to your teeth, and though you have to separate them to fit your dessert fork into your mouth, they still feel tense. You supplement the need to snap at him by grinding the pastry dough on your tongue into shreds with your molars. Perhaps you’re brutalizing your pie instead of enjoying it, but you’re not in much of a state to enjoy anything right now, except maybe liquor.

“If you’re not gonna drink this, I will,” You secede, waving the bottle at him, “If I’ve gotta spend the night with you I don’t wanna remember it.”

“Finally,” He scoffs, reaching now for his water glass where it’s sweating on the table cloth. His cold, calculating smooth-talk has been reduced to a petulant fit, “Only reason I bought the damn wine was for you, ‘then you had to make a big fuss about it, ‘n all of a sudden you’re suckin’ it down just ‘cause I’m gonna crash your little date later.”

“Yes, yes, it’s all very unfair, Hangman,” You drawl, the only thing stopping you from drinking straight from the bottle being the elegant setting around you, “I’m unreasonable and I think you should ask someone to switch roommates because you can’t stand me.”

“Oh, nice try,” He levels you with a glare, water beading at the corners of his lips as his hand trembles slightly around the glass, “That’s that reverse psychology bullshit. Nah, I can handle you. You jus’ need a good kiss, that’s all.”

Annoyance prickles in your chest; he’d been shaming you for kissing earlier, now he’s prescribing it?

“Oh, really? Do tell.”

“Mhm.” He nods, his eyes slipping shut as he braces his hand against his forehead, elbow on the table to support his weight. He looks pitiful- like he’d worked 14 hours and not like a man on vacation. Perhaps the water is working, loosening the effects of the sweet wine and leaving him drained in its wake.

“It would calm you down, I think.” He mumbles, somewhere hazy between sleep and wake, “Jus’ gotta arm wrestle Damien for it.”

“Daniel.”

“Whatever.”

--

Jake has mostly sobered up by the time that you’re all four bathed in multicolored strobe lighting one deck down from the restaurant. He’s sticking to strictly water now which is bringing his awareness back, but he has to take trips to the bathroom every ten minutes. You don’t mind- you appreciate having the time alone with Daniel.

“So,” He hums, hands framing your waist and chest pressed to your own, “He’s a little protective, isn’t he? You guys have a thing going on?”

“No thing.” You snap, “There’s no thing going on between us.”

“He acts like there is,” Daniel muses, and it’s somewhere between disappointed and resentful. But his hands never stray from your skin, so you hope it’s not directed at you.

“He just- he likes to be the best in everything,” You explain, the words escaping in a sigh, “You should see him in the cockpit, he’s insufferable. ‘Always has to win. I think that’s all it is, Daniel. And- for him to win, I’d have to lose. So I think he’s trying to bully you away from me, then he can boast about how I’m lonely and he’s not. He does it all the time back home.”

Daniel’s face curves into a frown, “He seems like a douche. ‘Like the kinda guy you should stay away from.”

“Trust me, I’m trying to stay away from him,” You scoff, tucking your nose against Daniel’s chest while the music lulls into a more heartfelt melody, “But for the next seven days we’re stuck on a boat together.”

“At least Danica likes him. Maybe we can unofficially swap.” Daniel nods towards his roommate, who’s now offering Jake a beer where he’s just exited the restroom. 

You watch as he grins charmingly- the same one he’d leveled at you during dinner only an hour before, “No thanks, darlin’. I’ve gotta keep an eye on that one over there.”

The pair glance at you when Jake gestures, and you realize they’ve caught you staring when you hadn’t even realized you were doing it yourself. You press your face back against Daniel’s chest, a strange breed of embarrassment heating your cheeks. 

“You can drink,” You call to Jake, agonizing as you’d rather keep your voice to a low murmur against Daniel’s ear, “I don’t need to be babysat.”

At that exact moment the four shots you’d done of something they’d promised you was mild all flood to your ankle and weaken it so that it gives out under your weight. You stumble, your foot bending awkwardly as you shriek, gravity trying its best to drag you down to the scuffed floor.

Daniel’s eyes widen but he works quickly, and his strong arms brace against your back as he keeps you pressed tight to his chest. He glances over your shoulder at Jake who’d lunged forwards to catch you, and there’s a tightness in his jaw, a hardness in his eyes as he straightens up that spells irritation close to bursting. Daniel smirks at him.

“What were you saying?,” Daniel chuckles, letting you ease your hands off of him where you’d gripped tight to his biceps, “I’d make a ‘falling for me’ joke but it’d be so bad I’d throw myself overboard afterwards.”

“Sorry,” You bemoan the surely stinging handprints on Daniel’s toned biceps, “I didn’t mean to- aah,” You hiss, gingerly raising your tweaked ankle, “I rolled it or something, I’ll- ooh, I’ll be back. Just gonna ask the bartender for some ice.”

Both men step forwards to brace your weight against theirs- even Danica offers her hand, but you wave them off with a sheepish laugh.

“I’m okay, guys, really. I can walk, it just-” You wince, a twinge of pain shooting through your ankle, “It just hurts a bit. I’m gonna go sit in the bathroom for a minute with the ice on it, ‘see what that does.”

Daniel looks hesitant to leave you, but he lets you hobble to the counter. The bartender looks suspicious of your request at first, like you’re somehow cheating him out of profit by asking for six ice cubes in a plastic bag. But one glance down at your elevated ankle gets him moving, and he wraps it once in a paper towel before passing it over the counter.

The bathroom counter is not an ideal resting spot, but it does give you a chance to glance at your makeup in the mirror. It’s mostly in-tact, but you note that your lipstick has faded some, partially from pressing it to the rim of your glass and partially from pressing it to Daniel’s own mouth. You’d shared a few more dizzying kisses on the dance floor, and they make your rolled ankle worth it a thousand times over.

The ice bleeds condensation through the towel after only a few minutes, and you turn the package so the dry side is now pressed to your sore limb. You hear footsteps and you ensure that your dress is draped over your lap- sure it’s a sex cruise but no one wants to see you on display, and glance at the doorway to see who’d come in through the hall.

It’s Jake.

In the women’s bathroom.

“Hey!” You scoff, glaring at him while your fingers numb with cold, “Get out of here, you creep. This is the women’s bathroom.”

“I know. But you’re treating it like a hospital, so I’m gonna do the same. How’s your ankle?” He glances towards your foot braced on the counter, “Dalton can’t be that good of a dancer if he’s steppin’ on your feet the whole time.”

“First off, it’s Daniel. Second, I didn’t roll my ankle because he stepped on me, I rolled it because I’m drunk.”

A satisfied smile flits over Jake’s face, “So you do need babysitting, then?”

You neglect to respond verbally in favor of trying to melt his face off with your glare. It doesn’t work- in fact, his own expression only gets brighter.

“So, whaddya say we just drop right down on the tile and go for it?” He offers, gesturing towards the dingy bathroom floor, “Or- this counter might work,” He leans forwards to brace his biceps against it, shaking to no avail as the fixture stays tight.

“Oh, yes, that would be very comfortable,” You gripe.

“It could be.”

“Get out, Hangman.” You grimace, shifting the ice against your ankle, “I just wanna freeze this pain away and get back out there, and I think your presence is somehow making it hurt worse.”

“You really know how to make a man feel special,” He cocks his head slightly, leaning against the counter and glancing at your ankle, “Is it throbbing?”

“No. Just stings a bit.” You grumble, keeping your eyes off of his dress shirt and the way he’s rolled the sleeves up. It’s a pretty color, nice against his tan skin.

“Right.” He murmurs, voice similarly soft as the music leaks in muffled through the walls.

“You can go,” You nod towards the door, “I think Danica really likes you. Which is weird, because she’s heard you open your big fat mouth, and that’s usually what sends ‘em running.”

Jake rolls his eyes in an excellent impression of Penny’s daughter Amelia now that she’s in the throes of teenagedom. 

“Anyways, you should go and drink with her. Have fun,” You offer, hesitantly kind to him, “You might as well get lucky even if you got stuck with a prudish roommate.”

“You’re not prudish,” He narrows his eyes at you, “You and Devon dry-humped in an elevator.”

“Daniel!”

“You didn’t even deny it,” Jake mock-gasps, “I bet the two of you were rubbin’ up on each other-”

“Get out.”

“-from decks 1-8. Hey, what’s that Ed Sheeran line that Rooster likes? Up and comin’ like I’m fuckin’ in an elevator?”

“Get out!”

Your ice pack doubles as an excellent projectile, but Jake was raised with older sisters, and is fantastic at dodging things flying towards his face.

He catches it with that infuriating grin he’s always shooting at you, and he tosses it into the trash while extending his other hand as an offering towards you.

“C’mon, Roger Clemens, let’s get back out there, shall we? Or are you too drunk to stand?”

“I can stand,” You insist, ignoring his hand and sliding off of the counter onto your feet, though one protests the weight with a sharp jolt of pain up your leg.

“Sure,” He scoffs, once more rolling his eyes skyward as he grabs hold of your bicep anyways, hoisting part of your weight onto him, “Let’s just get outta here before a gaggle of you ladies decide they’re all going to the bathroom together. Why do you do that, by the way?”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe because men have a habit of wandering in despite the clear sign on the door that says Women’s.” You glare up at him, but you let him help you hobble out of the bathroom.

“I go where I’m needed. You needed a medic,” He shrugs, angling you towards one of the barstools so that you can rest your weight again, “And you needed someone to tell you to stay away from that David guy.”

You snap your eyes shut instead of correcting Jake yet again, instead focusing on why he’s being particularly dickish this evening.

“Why do you care so much? He’s a nice man, why are you so angry that we’re connecting?”

“Because I don’t think he’s a nice man,” Jake’s face scrunches in a frown packed with judgment, “He defiled you in an elevator and he’s leaving his roommate high and dry.”

“No he’s not,” You scoff, “They’re dancing right now!” 

You jab a finger towards the pair now pressed together on the dance floor, ignoring the newly familiar tinge of jealousy in your chest when you see Daniel’s hands pressed to Danica’s waist just the same as they’d been to yours. It’s fine. You’re on a sex cruise; he signed a lot of contracts but monogamy wasn’t one of them.

“That’s worse,” Jake sneers, his hand sliding from your bicep to your back to steady you on the barstool, “He’s not loyal to either of you.”

“I don’t need his loyalty.”

“That’s not right. You should want loyalty. You don’t see me chatting up everyone’s roommates, do you?”

“You’re certainly friendly with Danica! And I don’t need your loyalty either, Jake!” You gush, voice raising, “Loyalty is for relationships! This is sex! Heated, messy, sloppy, dirty sex!”

Jake’s eyes dim of their usual fire, but you wouldn’t know it by the way his grin stays plastered in place. Then, slowly, bitterly, it fades, and he looks away towards a water ring on the surface of the bar, “Sex ain’t all there is in life. One day you’ll want loyalty.”

Your indignant laugh comes immediately, “Hangman, I can’t believe you of all people are lecturing me on loyalty. You’ve cycled through every tourist that makes the unfortunate mistake of wandering too close to the naval base. You’re not even loyal to your friends, why do you think we call you Hangman?”

The fire in his eyes is back, but it’s hot and not warm. Low blow. Maybe if you weren’t so drunk you wouldn’t have said it.

His jaw is tight when it opens for him to spit, “That’s ‘cause I ain’t got a girl I wanna be loyal to. And- and that Hangman shit is old, I don’t leave you hanging anymore. Not in the air, and not on the ground. Not after-”

Neither of you say it, but you both remember the sheer terror you’d felt when Bradley had gone down trying to save Maverick. How Jake had begged to be launched in a search and rescue, how they’d held him back until they were certain the two pilots were already on their way back. Like they didn’t want to risk one man to save two. Like Jake’s pleading wasn’t proof enough that they were more than just soldiers, more than just numbers, that they were people, too. You owe him that; he’d shown loyalty there, even if his pride had been hurt. Perhaps that proves his ego doesn’t win out, even if its what he likes to display.

“Fine.” You murmur, biting your cheek, “But- but just stay out of this, okay? If I wanna fool around with someone then I can, doesn’t matter if he won’t be here after this cruise is over.”

Jake’s face sours impossibly further, “Fine.”

He storms off through the crowd, and there’s a handprint-shaped cold spot on your back. 

You scoff at his dramatic display, but before the bartender serves you the drink you order in a huff, Daniel comes weaving towards you through the crowd.

“He asked to swap,” Daniel informs you, “And he called you my ‘side chick’.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” You take a bitter sip of your drink, eyes widening at the strength, “Oh, god, if I can even aim.”

“Aim?” Daniel asks, slight trepidation clouding his features, “You gonna punch him?”

“Nah, I’ll shoot him down in a fighter jet.”

It draws a laugh out of Daniel, and you enjoy the rich, warm sound. It sounds a little how your drink tastes, but it’s not as sour.

It’s just as intoxicating, though, and you let it make you dizzy as he takes your hands and spins you on the barstool to the rhythm of the music, dancing with you as much as you’re capable of.

--

“I think she’s one drink away from falling off of that stool,” Danica muses, and Jake’s eyes snap to her own where her head reaches his shoulder.

“What? Y/N?”

“Yeah. You’ve been staring at her for the last six songs.”

“Sorry.” Jake grimaces, “I didn’t mean to zone out.”

“It’s fine.” She pats his chest and god, it’s pathetic and oozing with pity, “She was giving you a hard time earlier?”

“She’s always giving me a hard time. Can’t just let me help her, she’s gotta make a big stink of everything.”

“Mm-hm,” She nods along, and Hangman begins wondering if this is how people feel when they speak to him. Patronized and condescended.

“Well, I don’t think she’s capable of giving you a hard time anymore,” She narrows in on the way you’re slumped against Daniel’s shoulder, face stretched into a permanent lazy grin, “You wanna head out for the night and get her to bed before she passes out?”

“I dunno,” Jake shrugs, but his eyes never leave your slouched frame, “I’m having a nice time dancing with you, doll.”

“No you’re not.”

He turns to her, brows furrowed, “What?”

“No,” She repeats, but there’s mirth in her voice instead of reprimand, “You’re not. You’re worried about her. You two are friends?”

“Something like that.” Jake hums, but pointedly never denies her accusations, “She’s just- pardon me for speaking ill of your roommate, Danica, but I don’t want him messing around with her.”

“Mm. So you’re her father?”

“No,” Jake’s face wrinkles, and he tugs his arm an inch tighter around her waist, “We’re friends like you said. Sort of. The kind of friends that are always at each other’s throats, y’know the type.”

“Oh. So fuckbuddies.”

“No,” Jake laughs, and it eases out some of the worrisome creases in his face, puts new, happier ones in his skin instead, “See, I suggested that this cruise partnership was a work’a fate, that it’d give us a chance to blow off some of our steam, but she won’t have it. So now I’m just a glorified babysitter.”

“Ooh, so you’re not even in the friendzone,” Danica grimaces, a dry smile on her face, “Well, Jake, for what it’s worth, I think she’s lucky to have you as a roommate. And as whatever sort of friend you are to her.”

Jake nods tersely, head still turned to watch the way Daniel keeps you upright with an arm around your waist. 

“She said-” Jake starts, then remembers he’s talking to a woman he barely knows, then remembers he’s got nothing to lose, “She said all this shit earlier about me not being loyal. Reliable, trustworthy, all that. And- I wasn’t, okay? I was a… not so great person. For longer than I’d like to admit. But,” His throat feels tight now, and it tenses in his jaw as Danica listens, “I’m not like that anymore. And I haven’t been for long enough for her to notice. If she’s lookin’, that is. Which- I guess she’s not. But I just thought maybe- I thought maybe she’d see it and we could be different. I still wanna tease her, of course. But at dinner she told me she thought I was just trying to ruin this for her. And I’m not,” His eyes gleam, not with tears but with something close and soulful as he blinks into Danica’s eyes, “I’m trying to make it better. I’m trying to make it the week of her life. The week of both of our lives. I’m just…” He hesitates, weighing the word on his tongue, “I’m afraid she won’t let me.”

Danica squeezes gently at his bicep through his dress shirt, and briefly mourns that the beefiest man on this ship is 100%, prime-time in love with you. She’d have loved to spend a night with him, but she kisses her chances goodbye as she smiles sweetly at Jake.

“You’re a good friend. You’re a very good friend, Jake. You’re trying to be very good at being much more than a friend. But she’s not seeing it, right?”

Jake nods, and she mimics the action, “So you need to show her. Show, not tell. Even if she’s resistant, even if she tries to gripe at you, it’s because she’s still seeing the man you used to be. And hey, maybe she won’t want the man you’ve become, even if you worked hard on becoming him. But there’s no reason to throw up your hands now, is there? Let her see the real you, then she’ll decide whether she’s willing to have you. Be patient. It’s all up to her in the end, so be this new-and-improved version of yourself, and she’ll take care of the rest. Okay? Remember, you’re a good friend.”

Jake nods at her reassuring words, steeling himself for a week of patience that he doesn’t typically possess.

Danica continues through the silence, “Aaand a good friend would make sure she gets back to her cabin before she blows chunks all over her hookup’s shoes, right?”

“Oh.” Jake’s eyes widen momentarily as his head jerks towards you - he’s only ever seen you upchuck twice before, both times after rowdy nights out with the group, but he is noticing a familiar pudge to your cheeks that can’t spell anything good. He’s tempted to let you ralph all over Daniel, teach you a lesson about mouthing off to people that are only trying to be nice- but that’s what pre-dagger squad Hangman would have thought. That’s old Hangman, the aviator who’d have sold his wingman out for fame and glory. Now he’s an entirely different Hangman, the one with a rope around his neck that tightens each time Daniel squeezes the pudge of your hip.

“Thanks, Danica,” He breaks away from her embrace with a kind, chaste smile, none of his usual toothy sleaze, “Hey, uh- enjoy your night with Daniel. Careful, though: I’ve heard he does terrible things in elevators.”

“I’ll keep it in mind!” She calls, her voice a melodious laugh as she waves goodbye at him, “Straight to bed, Jake! And leave water on the nightstand!”

“This ain’t my first rodeo,” He’s happy to let his southern drawl take over, nodding at her with a wink before spinning around to face you.

Daniel glances up at him, and his attempt at keeping a neutral expression over his face is valiant, but some of the wariness seeps through in the way that his arm tightens almost imperceptibly around your shoulders. Your eyes are desperately trying to stay open but they still lock onto Jake no problem, and you raise both of your eyebrows in what Jake is certain was an attempt to only raise one.

“Yes, Hangman?” You ask, your voice thick with booze, “You need somethin’?”

“You look like you’re about to need a trashcan,” Jake tentatively reaches for you, “C’mon, it’s gettin’ late. We should head back to the cabin for the night.”

Jake expects another jab about the nature of the cruise, but what he gets is drunken compliance, an easy reach of your hand for his own and a mumbled, ‘kay’.

“Hold on,” Daniel catches your waist, keeping you suspended between them, “You sure you can get her back okay?”

There’s a sharp tilt to his brow that makes Jake think Daniel’s not questioning whether he’s strong enough to carry you. The thought both offends and disgusts Jake, and he takes pleasure in swatting Daniel’s arm away from your hips to tug you into his embrace.

“She’s safe with me,” Jake scoffs, “But your roommate’s gettin’ lonely out there, Dallas.”

“It’s Dominic,” You gripe, the stench of liquor hitting Jake full-force now that your face is only inches away from his own, your forehead bumping his jaw.

Daniel hadn’t found Jake’s jab to be very funny, but a smile quirks the corners of his mouth at your slip-up, and he finally lets you go with a pat to the hip.

“You can call me any name you want, Y/N,” He offers, but his eyes pass darkly over Jake’s tense face, “So long as it’s not Jake.”

“No, no, he’s- he’s Jake.” You jab a sharp finger into Jake’s chest and he flinches back slightly, hissing at the contact.

“Good memory, darlin’.” Jake commends you, “Now let’s head for the elevators, m’kay?”

“I love elevators,” You sigh, no doubt remembering the feverish embrace you’d shared in one only hours prior, “Daniel, are you coming too?”

His face turns down in visible pain and he shakes his head, “No, I’m not. I’m gonna go find Danica - she’s probably looking for me.”

“She’s probably found someone else by now,” Jake laughs, haughty and biting, “I wouldn’t wait around for someone if they were hellbent on fooling around with someone else.”

“Really?” Daniel speaks like he’s snapping at Jake, gnashing and snarling like a fighting dog, “It seems like that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

The weight of your head slumped in the juncture between Jake’s neck and shoulder feels like shackles. 

For a moment the two men stare at each other, and if you weren’t slowly losing consciousness between them, they might have given into their tension-fueled urge to scrap like feisty teens. But you release a soft, tender sigh against Jake’s chest, and he hikes his arm up under your thighs instead.

“‘Gonna lift you, darlin’.” He informs you, waiting only a second before he scoops you into a bridal hold. Your head is quick to loll backwards at a grotesque angle, and before Jake can balance you out, Daniel reaches over to assist.

“Here, honey,” The man croons, nestling your head against Jake’s bicep, and he watches in abject horror as Daniel leans down to press his lips to your forehead, “We’ll see each other tomorrow, okay? I’ll find you.”

Jake is desperate to know whether your responding smile is dreamy from the liquor or from the sight of his face, “Mm, okay, g’night.”

“Night,” Daniel murmurs fondly, and Jake is all too happy to drag you away from him. 

“Slow down,” You plead when Jake is ten steps out of the bar and beelining for the elevators, “I’m gonna spew.”

“Not on me, please,” Jake jolts to a stop in the middle of the hallway, noting the rhythmic rocking motion of the boat and cringing, “Can I go for the elevator?”

“Slowly,” You mumble, and evidently you hadn’t heard his begging by the way you nestle your nose into his chest.

Upon hearing the ding of the elevator your eyes snap open, and you seem horrified despite having heard the word mere seconds before.

“Wait. No elevator.”

“What?”

“No elevator. Please, I can’t- ugh,” You groan, leaning away from Jake to hang your face over the ground beside him, “I can’t take the pressure of moving up in an enclosed space.”

“Well we’re one floor away from our room, how do you expect me to get you up there?” Jake gripes.

Approximately thirty seconds later he’s hauling you up a flight of agonizingly shallow stairs.

“This is bullshit.” Jake scoffs, “Should’ve had Daniel do this.”

“Dean,” You correct him, “His name is Dean.”

“No it’s not!” Jake laughs incredulously, rounding the corner to the second half of the staircase, “See, if you can’t even remember his name, you shouldn’t be foolin’ around with the guy.”

“What’s the name of the last woman you took home, Hangman?” You shoot him a glare with narrowed eyes where you’re still held in his arms, and he stops in his tracks to shoot you a menacing glance of his own while his chest heaves from exertion.

“Touche. That’s why I stopped foolin’ around with her, though. Couldn’t care enough to remember.”

“You never care,” You grumble groggily, and Jake tugs the both of you up the remaining four steps until he’s on your cabin’s level.

Your words are slashing relentlessly at a wound that’s been gaping for longer than Jake can remember. He thinks it's worse when you’re drunk- you’re shitfaced enough to forget your new boytoy’s name, but you still remember how shallow and vapid of a person Jake used to be.

“Right now, I care very deeply that you’ve got your room key with you. Or that you can reach mine; whichever works. You got it on you, darlin’?”

“This dress doesn’t have pockets,” You lament, “Where’s yours?”

“Uh.” Hangman glances over his shoulder, “Back pocket.”

Alcohol courses through your veins in the same quantity blood does when you reach with no inhibition for Hangman’s ass.

Jake’s eyes widen as he feels your fingers prodding and poking liberally around his dress pants, finally finding the pocket and slipping inside. He stays frozen solid at the door while you root around for his phone, finally pulling it out and squinting to focus on it as you bring it towards your face.

“Room key,” You pull out one of his debit cards out of the sleeve on the back, handing it to him expectantly.

“Uh- no, not exactly,” He strains to keep you suspended- he’s starting to wonder if you’ve got more muscle mass than he does, “The red one in the front, Y/N, that’s the room key. And I don’t have a hand to unlock the door with, so you’ll have to do that yourself.”

You toss his debit card onto the floor like it’s garbage.

“Hey! That’s- oh, just get the key.” He kicks it forwards, keeping it propped against the toe of his shoe while he waits for the door to open.

“Got it,” You drawl, and this time you’re right. You lean forwards without waiting for Hangman to move with you, and he nearly drops you where you’re aiming the keycard for the slot on the lock.

“Jesus, just- stick it in!” Hangman snaps, eyes on his debit card still discarded on the floor, “Let’s hope you never use a strap-on, you’ve got terrible aim.”

“I got it,” You grunt and a green light flashes while the lock clicks open. You manage to jiggle the door handle until the heavy slab of wood swings open, and Hangman is glad you’d remembered to leave a light on before you’d left.

He takes his final steps towards the bed and sets you down on the side he’d left open earlier. You’re too shitfaced to remember that you were vehemently opposed to sleeping in the bed earlier, and he’s glad for it when you sink willingly into the mattress, eyes fluttering closed, lashes resting over your cheeks.

“Hang on, ‘gonna get you some water. You- uh, change while I’m gone.”

He ambles off to the bathroom, and when he hears rustling outside the door he shuts himself inside to give you privacy. He decides to change into his own sleeping clothes, but it’s less of an outfit and more of a strip tease until he’s standing on the cool tile floor in nothing but boxers. He hadn’t planned on wearing much of anything for the entire week, and he definitely hadn’t packed sleeping clothes.

He fills a glass of water and knocks briefly on the inside of the bathroom door, “Hey Y/N, I’m coming out, m’kay?”

There’s no reply.

He assumes you’d shout at him if he tried barging in on you changing- in fact, you had only hours prior. He takes your silence as permission to exit the bathroom, but when he finds you curled up in bed, your dress is still on.

Evidently you hadn’t been changing.

“Y/N,” He groans, reaching out to prod tentatively at your shoulder, “No, don’t do this to me. Wake up, c’mon.”

Your eyes are firmly shut, glued there by booze.

“Shit.”

Jake sets the water on your square nightstand, ankles sturdy despite the rocking motions of the boat. He’s well used to being at sea, and it doesn’t make him unstable as he leans over to inspect your sleeping face. He can see your eyes flitting this way and that, barely covered by the thin skin of your lids, and he marvels at your drunken ability to knock out like you’ve been concussed mere minutes after hitting the mattress.

He lifts your arm and when he lets go it falls pathetically over your chest - there’s no waking you.

“Okay,” Jake grimaces, reaching for one of the straps of your dress, “For the record, I don’t wanna be doin’ this.”

“If you were awake you’d be yellin’ at me for breathing towards you,'' Jake rambles, a running dialogue making him feel slightly better about stripping you naked in your sleep, “But if you wake up tomorrow in this deathtrap you’re gonna be pissed, so I’m doin’ what I think is best. I swear it’s not a ploy to stick my hand down your shirt.”

And- speaking of sticking his hand down your shirt, he has to ruck the fabric of your dress up and over your breasts to slide it off of your head, “Aaand, there they are, and they’re out now, and that bra looks really uncomfortable, so I’m gonna-”

Jake slides his hands beneath your back, locating the series of clasps easily. 

“Please don’t kill me,” Jake begs, blinking up at the ceiling as his neck aches with the way he cranes his head upwards, “I’m not lookin’, I swear.”

He peels your pushup bra off of your chest, and the fabric is warm where he tosses it in the vague direction of your suitcase. He wants nothing more than to linger on that, to press his hand to the pad that had just cupped your flesh and let the warmth travel south. But he is a Southern gentleman, and you’re sleeping, and the bra remains discarded in the hallway.

“Right. Now the pajamas,” He continues his stream of consciousness if only to reassure himself that he’s not a creeping perv in the darkness of your cabin, “For both of our sakes, Y/N, I hope you packed better nightwear than I did.”

Upon discovering nothing but lacy chemises neatly folded among your other clothes, he gnaws at the inside of his cheek.

“Okay. Don’t go gripin’ at me in the morning for sticking you in one of these things. It was your poor packing skills that led us here.”

He plunges a hand into your suitcase and comes out with a red lacy contraption. He feels, to his own incredulity, a blush rising over his cheeks, as if he’s a teenage boy thumbing through a porn mag and not a decorated naval aviator. He drops the red thing, and reaches for something less sinful. What he finds next is a softer pink garment, silky and longer than the red- though he’s sure it’ll only barely cover your ass. All he wants is to cover his own, though, to make sure he won’t be in trouble for cramming you into a sexy getup while you’re passed out drunk, and the pink is looking better than the red for that purpose. Although- Jake has to admit, the pink is sexy in its own right. It’s soft, and smooth, and delicate, and he’s getting uncomfortable down south so he really needs to stop staring at it.

“Pink it is, darlin’.” He hums, “Hope you don’t mind. Maybe when we dock you can find something a little more conservative. Up you go,” He slides a hand beneath your back, his eyes trained dutifully on your forehead and absolutely nothing down below, “Hope y’don’t mind your hair getting a little messy. I think you scruffed it up when you hit that banister earlier, anyways.” Technically, that had been equal parts yours and his fault. He’d been carrying you, so he could have been a little more careful about swinging you this way and that as he’d navigated the ships’ halls, but you kept reaching out to touch things, and you’d collided square with a metal post in your curiosity. He bunches up the chemise and slides it over your head, careful not to scrape the lace over what little of your lip gloss remains. He doesn’t want to add staining your clothes to the list you’ve surely got of all his transgressions against you.

It’s rather hard to dress you blindly, and his hand does accidentally dip between your tits as he tries settling the material against your skin. He jerks it away like it’s burnt, hissing as his eyes widen where they’re staring at a particularly boring ceiling light.

“Accident. It was an accident. I swear.” He vows, hoping against hope that you’ll stay sleeping as he clumsily dresses you.

“Christ,” He yanks the material down your thighs, settling the chemise into place, “‘Knew how easy it was to take one off’a woman, never knew how hard it was to put it on. I think,” He muses, blinking long and hard before peering down carefully at you. You’re fully clothed, “That’s good. Okay. Done.”

The silence in the room is deafening now that he doesn’t need to keep up a stream of dialogue to soothe his fraying nerves, and his footsteps seem to pound against the cabin floor as he rounds the bed to his own side. There’s plenty of room, but he still feels like he’s sinning - crawling into bed beside your sleep-limp, pink satin-swathed form in nothing but his boxers.

With one click of the remote beside his bed the lights turn off, and there’s no sound besides the ship’s motor to distract him from the gentle inhales and exhales of your peaceful breathing. He licks his lips, settles into his typical sleeping position, sniffles briefly, fiddles with his hands, lifts a leg up to stretch his muscles, readjusts his neck on the pillow, clears his throat, wriggles his toes beneath the blankets, itches his nose, and comes to terms with the fact that he’s unable to sleep. Something’s not right, and he thinks little before he turns to his opposite side to see if sleep will meet him there.

It doesn’t, but your face does.

His neck stiffens and he nearly rears his head back when his nose brushes against your own, your warm breath fanning over his face. He snaps his eyes shut and breathes deeply himself, lashes fluttering when he deems himself brave enough to open his eyes again.

You’re there, looking like sleep was made for you the way it lulls your face into peace and erases the wrinkles Jake puts around your nose and mouth. There’s no longer the prominent frown lines that you’re always sporting around him, and your lips are blessedly relaxed, almost pouting with the way your cheek is squished into the pillow instead of disapprovingly downturned in his direction.

The silence suffocates him, rushing into Jake’s ears and clogging them until tv static fills his brain. The only words he can form, the only thing he’s capable of doing is murmuring a gentle, “Goodnight, Y/N,” In a voice far softer than he’s ever aimed towards you before.

Then he turns, rolling back onto a shoulder that aches from carrying your phantom weight, and shuts his eyes for the night.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[luveline]

oooh! just had an idea!!! bombshell reader x spencer where he comes over to her apartment one day on the weekend to suprise her with breakfast/flowers bc they just started dating. however, bombshell is in sweats/no makeup/messy hair when she answers but when she sees its spencer, she FLIPS out/slams the door bc she doesnt want him to see her in that state. spencer, however, is confused ofc because he genuinely doesnt notice her outfit/lack of makeup and thinks she is gorgeous no matter what.

hope this is ok ♡ fem, 1.1k

The song starts slow and ends slower. You could picture Spencer listening to it, his head on your shoulder or yours on his, wired earphones shared between you. 

You grab a pencil to jot a quick post-it note so you'll remember, one knee on your desk chair. You don't want to sit down with the shower running in case you get distracted by your new photo frame.

You and Spencer took a photo to commemorate finally getting together. Or rather, Hotch did, standing behind the camera with an impossible mixture of fondness and disapproval. You look like a true couple with matching graphic t-shirts and beaming smiles, Spencer's arm over your shoulders and yours behind his back. You can't see it without staring; you use all your strength to ignore the photo, pulling your post-it from its pad and tacking the yellow square to your vanity. Tell Spencer about love song from Ocean Boulavard. 

The door to your apartment rings with a knock. If you weren't distracted in your losing don't-think-about-Spencer battle, you'd recognise the timid pattern of it. 

You've been expecting a parcel all weekend. 

"Coming!" you call, tugging a sweater over your vest top, plaid pyjama pants dragging against the floor as you make your way out of your bedroom and into the main living area. "Two seconds!" 

You give yourself a precursory glance in the mirror next to the door before you answer it. You'd never go out like this, but the delivery driver won't see you long. You're mostly clean and fully dressed, though your socks don't match. 

That's another thing to tell Spencer. He must be rubbing off on you. 

"Hello," you say cheerily, pulling the door open with a smile. 

"Hi," Spencer says, big brown eyes aglow at the sight of you, his hands full to bursting. There are enough things in his hands to hide his chest completely. 

You don't have a chance to decipher exactly what he's brought as you flinch behind the cover of the door, not cruel enough to close it in his face, but wanting to. "Spencer! What are you doing here?" 

"Well, you live here." 

His hand comes up tentatively near yours on the door. He doesn't push it further in or attempt to come inside. He might have, if you hadn't squeaked in warning, biting down on the soft inside of your cheek. 

"Is everything okay?" he asks.

"Everything is fine!" You squeeze your eyes closed, your pulse a hummingbird hammering between them. 

"Really?" Spencer asks, taking back his hand. "Can I–"

There's a shuffling sound like he might step forward, and that's the last straw, you're fully panicking as you slam it closed.

A too long silence. Your breath comes unnaturally quickly, your thoughts racing to match. I can't believe I just did that. Why did I do that? 

What do I do? 

"Spencer, I'm naked," you say. 

"You were definitely wearing clothes. What's wrong? I brought breakfast, I thought I'd surprise you. I texted you. When you didn't answer I figured maybe you were still sleeping after last night, but… now I'm thinking maybe I read that wrong."

"You didn't read it wrong! You can always come over!" you insist, looking around behind you as if you might suddenly find a full face of makeup hiding in your sideboard, or a fresh change of clothes hanging on the coat hooks. 

"Okay, so, can I come in?" 

You poke at the sore bit of skin in your cheek with a wince. "Spence, I'm not dressed. Like, I'm not ready. I look like a mess." 

"You looked beautiful. For the two seconds that I could see your face, at least." You breathe in uselessly. An answer doesn't present itself. Spencer offers some wisdom while you panic, but you aren't sure you want to hear it. "We're dating, right? So as much as you clearly don't want me to see you like this, it's gonna happen. Hopefully regularly?" He laughs lightly on the other side of the door. "Can I please come in?" 

Nerves gnaw at your fingers, uncomfortable pins and needles. "What if you don't like it as much?" you ask quietly. You're surprised he can hear you. 

"Do you trust me?"

What sort of question is that? This isn't about trust. This is about you, an image of yourself you hold and that you want others to share, it's why you dress as you do, why you wear your intricate hairstyles, and spend hours upon hours priming and primping.

You want to be pretty deeply, especially in Spencer's eyes. Do you trust him to find you pretty still, without all the extra effort? Pretty from the moment you wake up? 

You wait for the verdict as you open the door again. The handle clicks and lugs, the hinge whining as it swings inward. You step backward to allow him space, meeting Spencer's eyes with an insecurity that doesn't suit you.

He doesn't react at first. His hand tightens around the neck of a sprawling bouquet, wildflowers like a burst of colour against his chest, the long white body of a lily of the valley kissing the curve of his neck. He smells like powdered sugar donuts and the food truck they came from, the story of his obsession a remembered delight. I think of you every time I cross the square to the train station by my place. The warm vanilla smell reminds me of your perfume. But I'm usually already thinking of you. He's been bringing you donuts intermittently for months now. 

He finally smiles at you, all manner of morning warmth flooding the room with him. The sun at his heels, the silky brown colour of his hair, you look up as he steps close, as light silhouettes him, turns the silk to fluff. You can see every detail this close down to the baby flyaways, and he can see the same. 

"How could you think I wouldn't like this?" he asks. His words are hushed with earnestness but yards from hesitant. Spencer is unabashedly, genuinely enamoured with you. "You're so pretty. You always are." 

You beg him silently to hold your face, taking the flowers from his hand. He can read you from that small action alone, raising a deft hand to your cheek. 

You lean into his palm. 

[artbyblastweave]

I think about Star Wars a lot more than I post about Star Wars, and I've had some free time recently to type up some thoughts on Episode 7 that've been swirling around in my head for a couple of years. There were a few ideas and plot beats, and moments of apparent self-examination in Episode 7 which I thought were fairly compelling, even though they ultimately paid no dividends:

First was Finn’s character concept. “Star Wars as experienced from the perspective of a Stormtrooper undergoing a crisis of faith” is a rich hook; humanizing and giving a face to what's basically the platonic implementation of the faceless mook. Unfortunately, the potency of the arc was undercut by the pre-existing textual ambiguity as to what stormtroopers actually are. Star Wars extended canon has settled on the idea that each trilogy features an entirely novel cohort of white-clad mooks, each with a fundamentally different underlying dynamic. The clones and the First-Order forces are different flavors of slave army; in contrast, the stormtroopers are more frequently portrayed in the expanded universe as military careerists, stormtrooper being a thing you work up to rather than a gig for a fresh conscript. A slave-soldier who defects is a very different character from a military careerist who defects, and they invite different analysis. There's a bait-and-switch going on here, in that Finn gestures in the direction of the familiar OT stormtroopers but can't comment on or examine them because he's actually part of a novel dynamic invented for the new movies. And there's one final nail in the coffin here, signaled by the number of times I've had to invoke the expanded universe so far. When Finn debuted, the racists were of course, legion, but I also ran into a number of people who were sincerely confused as to why they'd recast Temuera Morrison. Going off the seven films that existed at the time, it wasn't unreasonable to read the prequel trilogy as an origin story for where the OT stormtroopers came from. Going only off the nine films that exist now, it still isn't unreasonable! It's muddied from so many different directions by their failure to establish the ground rules in the mainline films before they tried to put on subversive airs about it. I am still irritated by this.

Next up is how Han Solo was written. I actually liked the tack they took with him quite a bit. Because initially, right, his role in the movie is just to be Han Solo. He's back, and he hasn't changed! He's still kicking ass and taking names, he's still the lovable scoundrel you knew and loved from your childhood- and the principle cast members react to his presence with the same reverence the film's trying to invoke in the audience, they've grown up hearing the same stories about him. Except that episode 7, at least, is also very aware of the fact that if Han Solo is still recognizably the same guy thirty years on, it indicates that things have gone totally off the rails for him. We find out that the lovable rogue routine is the result of him backsliding, his happy ending blown up by massive personal tragedy rooted in communicative failures and (implicitly) his parental shortcomings. It feels deliberately in conversation with the nostalgic impulse driving the entire film- here's your childhood hero back just as you remember, here's what that stagnation costs. And it also feels like it's in conversation with what was a fairly common strain of Han Solo Take- the idea that Ep. 6 cuts off at a very convenient point, and that Han and Leia's fly-by-night wartime relationship wouldn't survive the rigors of domesticity. Obviously, that's not the only direction you can take with the character; the old EU basically threaded the needle of keeping Han recognizable without rolling back his character development gains. But it felt like they were actually committing to a direction, a direction that was aware of the space, and not a reflexively deferential and flattering one, which at the time I appreciated! The problem, of course, is that for it to really land, you need to have a really, really strong idea of what actually went down-of what Han's specific shortcomings and failures were. And given the game of ping-pong they proceeded to play with Kylo Ren's characterization, this turned out to be. Less than doable.

Kylo Ren is the third thing about Episode 7 that I liked. His character concept is basically an extended admission by the filmmakers that there's no way to top Vader as an antagonist. Instead, they lean into the opposite direction- they make him underwhelming on purpose. Someone who's chasing Vader's legacy in the same way any post-OT Star Wars villain is going to, pursuing Vader's aesthetic and the associated power without really understanding or undergoing the convoluted web of suffering and dysfunction that produced Vader. It's framed as a genuine twist that there's nothing particularly wrong with his face under that helmet. Whatever it takes to be Vader, he doesn't have it, and he knows that he doesn't have it, and the pursuit of it drives him to greater and greater acts of cartoonish villainy. The failure to one-up Vader is offloaded to the character instead of the writers, and it was genuinely interesting to watch. For one movie. The problem, of course, is that if the entire character archetype is "Vader, but less compelling," you can't try to give the bastard Vader's exact character arc. You can't retroactively bolt on a Vader-tier tragic backstory when you spent a whole movie signaling that whatever happened to him wasn't as compelling as what happened to Vader. You can't milk his angst for two more movies when it's the kind of angst on display in "Rocking the Suburbs" by Ben Folds!

There's a level on which I feel like Moff Gideon was a semi-successful implementation of Vader-Wannabe concept; he's the same kind of middling operator courting the Vader Aesthetic for clout, but he's doing it in the context of the imperial warlord era, where there's a lot of practical power available to anyone who can paint themselves to the Imperial Remnants as a plausible successor to Vader. Hand in Hand with this obvious politicking, Gideon is loathsome, which relieves the writers of the burden of having to plausibly redeem the guy; he's doing exactly what he needs to do and there'll never be a mandate to expand him beyond what his characterization can support. Unfortunately, the calculated and cynical nature of how he's emulating Vader precludes the immaturity and hero-worship elements on display with Kylo, which is unfortunate; the sincerity on display in Kylo's pursuit of authenticity is an important part of why he worked, to the extent that he worked at all, and it'd be worth unpacking in a better trilogy. As he stands Kylo is a clever idea, and that's all he is- he lacks the scaffolding to go from merely clever to actively good.

[meanbossart]

Okay but I would love to hear your thoughts on the other spawn

Twirling my hair shifty-eyeing to the side OKAAAYYYYY WELL IF YOU INSIST 🛀

(This is a continuation of this post where I go into some detail about my thoughts on Dalyria, Violet, and Leon ((or "Leonard" as I apparently dubbed him as by mistake))

Let me start with the one I love the most after my sweet well-meaning-child-murdering-doctor Dalyria: Pale Petras.

First of all, just look at this fucking guy. What a goober.

I pretty explicitly go off-canon when it comes to my theories about Petras. According to him, he has been with Cazador for a hundred years - I find that very, very difficult to believe. Whether I would scrap that line entirely or just tack it as hyperbole is irrelevant - though he does seem to have a knack for the dramatics, or at least he tries to.

Petras immediately strikes me as a newcomer in the group. He's the most lively out of the spawn we chat with and seems to still retain what is a pretty strong, bold personality. He's antagonizing towards Astarion and pretty much sides with Cazador up until his life is on the line - and, most interestingly to me, his immediate reaction after being freed if you instruct them to lead the spawn into the Underdark seems to be one of fear and reluctance, unlike Dalyria who almost immediately takes the responsibility upon herself and seems warm towards Astarion and the player for what they've done.

Abusive relationships don't start abusive. If you've ever been friends with someone who's hooked up with a known serial abuser, chances are that you have had to sit through their attempts at justifying their behavior as foretold by previous partners - "oh, they just weren't a good match", "they both enabled abuse towards each other", "his ex was just crazy, man." This honeymoon period can last anywhere from a few weeks, to several years - until said friend inevitably finds themselves in the exact same cycle that said ex escaped from.

That's Petras. Petras is fresh meat. He's compliant. He's gullible. As a human in a world where you're surrounded by races that live up to several hundreds of years, he's attributed power to longevity - he loves being a spawn. He loves knowing that he will never lose his youthful looks and that his newly-acquired "curse" makes him desirable in it's own, odd way. He thinks this gig is easy - go out, get laid, get fed, rinse and repeat. Sure, sometimes there's a misunderstanding and he gets his joints broken or nails ripped out, but whatever! They grow back! To a vampire with powers of regeneration, dismemberment and scalping might as well be equivalent to ten belt-smacks to the backside just like his father used to give him as a child. Plus, it's never really his fault - If Master knew the truth, he would never set his goons on him at all!

And Oh, he adores Cazador. Not as a friend, a lover, or even a family member - but an aspiration. He sincerely believes that through hard work and resilience he can one day also have his status and fortune. And it shouldn't even be hard to stand out among this angsty little crew - what are they so bent out of shape about, anyway If they spent less time moping and more time working, maybe they wouldn't have such a tough time. Especially -

Astarion.

While it is likely incidental, I find it very ironic that Petras was put in Astarion's early-access outfit. And much less accidental than that: his mannerism and word-choice are a blatant imitation of Astarion's behavior. The flair, the flirting, the flattering and the abrasiveness; I've heard it theorized that this must be how all of the spawn act - I disagree. Petras is the only one we see exhibit that type of demeanor. I think he actively models himself after Astarion because as thick as he might be, he did catch onto the fact that his master has a particular interest in the white-haired elf.

And, of course, Petras hates Astarion for it. He sees him as someone who could have had it all, but gave up on it in favor of being bitter, angry, and naively wistful over his lost life. He has the looks, he has the charm, he had his master's favor, they go out and Petras watches men and women alike swoon over him and laugh at his shitty jokes, to then return home with a long-faced, bratty little shit-head of a toddler-man who would never even understand what the paralyzing loom of mortality is like in the first place - an ungrateful, nepotistic bastard whose had it all handed over to him by daddy, who was loved and fed and given a well-paid job fresh off his teens - but now he has to put a little work in. Now he has to do things that he might find unpleasant. And all he fucking does is whine about it.

Astarion is the personification of everything Petras ever wanted to be before being turned into a spawn, and he accidentally wears it on his sleeve day in and day out. I have no doubt that Astarion is blatantly aware of that fact and it makes his skin crawl - but Dalyria tells him that Petras is too young. Too new. Cut him some slack.

And frankly, I don't think he's evil, either. He strikes me as naive and star-striken. I don't know how long he's been with the Szarrs for, but certainly the light in his eyes would eventually fade over time and he would have had all the zest beaten out of him, same as the others. But, for now - he just doesn't know his own luck.

Admittedly, I have much less to say about Yousen and Aurelia. We don't hear as much as a word out of Yousen, but I've chosen to read the silence of and about his character as indicative that, maybe, he was able to hold onto his sanity and honor the best out of all of them. He had to do what he had to do to survive, but he did it while attempting to withhold any standards allowed to him for his own peace of mind - I like to imagine he had a lot of sincere empathy for all of the spawn, and, while they were never close, him and Astarion exchanged sincere words about their situation a few times during their stay at the palace; just enough to remind the elf that he wasn't alone, but never so much that Yousen would intrude into his space, or add strain to his already fragile state of mind.

And Aurelia... She strikes me as so young and already so beaten. I'd wager that what was once a sweet tiefling girl is now a terrified animal who does absolutely whatever she can to avoid pain and punishment - the snitch of the group, the reluctant ass-kisser, the one who desperately clings to any relief in whatever form it may come - be her master's approval or the shoulder of a sibling she has damned to the kennel more than once out of fear for her own life. Everybody has been hurt, betrayed, and irritated by her - but she's just so god damn pitiful that they can't push her away forever. While she would live, I believe she would have the hardest time adapting to freedom after Violet - just completely dependent on others and burdened by what she's had to do.

[fumifooms]

Laios Touden and autism; admiring the non-human

Do you think people exaggerate when they scream about Laios being autistic? Do you feel like it’s weird that so many people including autistics are so set on Laios, the problematic (but incredible and kind) king TM, being the most autistic that has ever autisticed? Why do we cheer on autistic people wanting to be monsters?? Isn’t that weird?

Well, of course it depends on the way it’s done, it can be done quite offensively, but long story short Kui blew it out of the park. The thing is, autistic people really do like monsters and animals and robots. Nonhuman does not mean subhuman, it just means Other. Feeling a connection with them has been shown to be an extremely common autistic experience for that very reason.

Because some people don’t understand why we autistic Tumblr Laios stans cheer “autism! Autism!” whenever he talks about monsters and feeling alienated to humans so! Here’s a post about how yes even research papers are analyzing the special connection we form with animals. I’m not even joking but Laios Touden & the mass cries of relatability with autistic people he gets and all the love for him could be used as study material and evidence for future papers because the link is that strong. Oh also I think it’s notable that being autistic and undiagnosed vs diagnosed makes a huge difference. In my experience as someone who was undiagnosed up until 18, it’s even more alienating to not know that there’s a reason why you’re different, being gaslit that you’re ‘normal’ and you just need to try harder and get with the program, etc. Personally when getting diagnosed I went through the 5 stages of grief because the thought of having been fundamentally different all your life (a difference which you will never be able to change) and mistreated for it when you weren’t “wrong” all along makes you unload all the anger and sadness and loneliness and sheer trauma you’ve built up over time. Like it’s world shattering.

So! Back to seeing dogs as family. Also I implore you to value experiential evidence when it comes to autism and other neurodivergences because brains are complicated and neurotypicals not being able to understand us well even with scientific research is like, a whole thing even though we’re right there speaking about how we feel and being right every time because the topic is literally us and how we experience the world. 

Disclaimer for this whole post that, of course, no group is a monolith and everyone has different experiences or can diverge from the norm of the group, and that doesn’t diminish the validity of either side! Like, I know autistic people who have trauma with dogs and hate them. But, trends do happen, and in this case... Autism is very “My experiences with humans make me feel dehumanized in a bad and lonely way so instead I’ll dehumanize myself in a good and inspiring way”.

“I was treated like a failed human my entire life and you’re surprised that my response was to become a dog.” -Patricia Taxxon

It’s literally well recorded that autistic people relate to animals more than humans globally. With this post, besides spreading autistic Laios truthism and explaining why the portrayal hits so deep for so many,  I want to show in what way this is a very specific experience and not looking at his character through an autistic lense really misses a lot of why he’s everything that he is. (Tacking allegedly onto here for legal reasons, different interpretations are valid etc etc /gen). This honestly isn’t super long though.

To define an important term, anthropomorphism in the studies and in this post means to attribute human traits to the nonhuman, which not only includes anthro furry designs but also animals irl, inanimate objects, and animated media as opposed to live action, to humanize them and empathize with them.

Paper: https://www.liebertpub.com/doi/10.1089/aut.2019.0027 

“Dogs taught me how to hunt and socialize and work in groups”, Laios having internalized body language... So real so real. I, too, make a great dog impression. And I want to emphase the part that it helps greatly develop a sense of emotions and relationships! For Laios, he didn’t get along with kids his age, it was him, Falin and the dogs against the world. Since it’s a group of dogs too, it taught him group dynamics and social hierarchies (like with Falin being considered as being below the dogs in authority according to the dogs rip), and the importance of group coordination when hunting.

For me, I cannot like, concisely explain just how much animals were important to me developmentally. I also grew up with dogs, but like I vividly remember encounters with like hamsters as well just radically shaping my understanding of boundaries, the importance of giving something space and the way you interact with them and respect their side of it. Unlike humans they don’t really mask how they feel, it’s direct cause-effect reaction and data gathering. There are no words involved, so the focus on having a perfect phrasing and tone is gone, leaving just pure interactions. 

There’s also no reason to mask how you feel either, and you don’t have to feel silly over wanting to form a connection and it showing, what, is the dog gonna laugh at you because you obviously want to make friends with it? Toshiro or Kabru might, but dogs and cats will just tell you to fuck off and leave it there worst case scenario. I often say that I think one reason Marcille is special to Laios and he feels comfortable around her is because she emotes INTENSELY, she gestures, she puts her whole body into it, her facial expressions are pretty exaggerated and her ears even emote too- like with a dog’s ears!

I think there’s def also things to be said about how he gravitated towards Izutsumi at first, all excited, was eager to sleep in the same bed as her, but in the Izutsumi sleep rating chart we see they really just casual and chill so it’s not a Laios talking to Shuro deep into the night situation just a “I like sleeping besides animals” situation and that is enough to hype him up. I love how he pet her in the extra about why Chil let her sleep with him too. He’s just so transparently eager to befriend her, even if in the end they weren’t all that compatible and he accepted that.

There are honestly so many examples I could give for this. Like Grandin the famous cow lady.

More about autism & empathy:

https://www.spectrumnews.org/news/double-empathy-explained/ (Also mentions a study in which groups of autistic, allistic then a mixed group played a game of telephone and both singular groups had similar levels of information retention, but the mixed group was significantly worse. As an autistic person yeah duh, obviously autistic people are different from one another and can have plenty of interpersonal issues, but communicating with other neurodivergent people feels pretty intuitive and straightforward and comfortable. One of the reasons why neurodivergent people tend to naturally gravitate towards each other I suppose.) 

^ Paper: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5932358/  For good, extensive summary of why we relate to animals so much you can go to the “anthromorphizing and asd” section of the paper. This paper extends to our widespread liking of cartoons and robots as well. Ok so this is a whole thing I won’t get into here but this is a big reason why a lot of autistic people are agender leaning as well. Genders and queerness in general is a lot about social constructs, and being queer is being marginal to these, not fitting into boxes or challenging those social norms and conventions. Queerplatonic relationships are a great example of this, where the framework of the relationship is platonic but the intangible nature of what it is exactly is the point, not familial not anything but everything at once too, just adoration, I like to say having pets is a bit like it as well, bc obvi it’s not romantic and often not fully familial, very platonic but also sooo much cuddling and adoration and kissing and whatnot that you wouldn’t typically do with a friend or family member. I’ll talk about qpr and labels another day though.

I got carried away but queerness in Dunmeshi is something I 100% want to make a big post on one day. Experiencing the world with different guidelines and not registering things to have the same boxes, sigh. Personally I also relate to Laios on a gender level, “cis by default because I don’t care all that much but if I were to dig deeper I’m probably otherkin and I want to be socially associated with traits of monsters and animalistic rather than man/woman” sighh hard to be a cryptid in this day and age. I wish we had a term like furry but for monsters, I want to be in the fantasy or folk tale genre ty, like changelings. Goshh changelings... You know, the irl myth where people said their neurodivergent kids were fairies’ children instead of human. Diminished physical sense of self means I see myself as some unknowable black  void aesthetic wise, but like in a way that simultaneously makes me feel seen. Like becoming a monster, losing your sense of self but also somehow just being simplified and seen for what you are, it’s weird to try and explain. This post is more about relating to the nonhuman than about seeing yourself as such, but like connect the dots right, that IS an important point of Laios’ character. It’s because our brains literally work different than allistics which makes us feel as other, but also because of social ostracization and functioning in a different way than society at large, living in the margin of society, being weird and non-conforming.

Meanwhile, animals and social norms... Like ok, showing your neck and rolling on the ground to show that you’re friendly and harmless and play biting might not be proper. But have you considered that it’s also fun and feels very intuitive. Play with a dog in the dog’s way I promise it is so nice and freeing. Play tug of war and growl back when they growl. Hiss at your cat to tell them they do something wrong, engage with them on their level.

Autism made social life hard, but it made animals easy. Do you have anyyy idea how good it feels to mask all day every day and feel constantly misunderstood or like you’re doing a performance but then you can just, drop all of that in the company of animals and they understand you. They understand you. You form an understanding and rapport so easily.

And this whole thing with Laios is so explicit too, with the Winged Lion saying “You’re sick and tired of the human world”. Notice the choice of words. Sick and tired of the human world. Exhausted from the constraints, sick of the mind games. It really isn’t as much about loving monsters as it is about loving the nonhuman. Relating to them because you feel that you can actually understand how they work and think, and feeling like they could understand you back as well. Animals are safe.

Like I could go on about how Laios admiring even just demi-humans like orcs is because they’re socially seen as non-humans more than any true physical thing, that they’re not bound by human society and its rules and live with their own lifestyle. But it would deal myself 1000 points of psychic damage and I am not ready to cry today. It’s idealization 100%, and like, Laios DOES want to be treated as human, to be valued, but it feels like an unreachable thing meanwhile becoming a monster is instant gratification and freedom and a sense that now no one will be able to hurt you in a way that reaches you, never again shall you be defenseless, and then if people dehumanize you then that only strengthens your sense of identity as a monster and UGHH ugh ugh.

And like. This post is a mess at this point but if you want to kinda delve into the more “why” then I recommend this Patricia Taxxon video essay. It starts out on a very different topic, but it’s all about autism and finding comfort in the inhuman. Long story short is othering made us like this also animals are just simpler to intuitively get along with.

So when I post this

I mean it. I really mean it when I say he’s me. I have never felt so seen. So many conflicting emotions all wrapped so concisely yet so intangibly woven into the whole storyline so subtly. 

Not being depicted as a monster of an human being for feeling/having felt that way?? The manga understands you. The world can understand you. Other humans can understand you. You can bond with them. You can. And I think that’s a big part of Dungeon Meshi too- Laios opening up to others about how he really is and his interests, and all the bumps on the way but how it was the only way to truly get to know each other and bond. With the climax being Laios confronting head on his complex with monsters and humans, and his monster-loving side and animalistic side being exactly what saves the whole world, what saves humanity. Because Laios does value his friends, does think humanity has beautiful sides to it, he wants to help it thrive and eat and become more accepting, carving out a kingdom for misfits and demi-humans. At the end of it, transforming into a monster and being free is a daydream fantasy, and the reality of it is that Laios does belong in the world as he is, and does receive and give out love.

If you enjoyed this you’ll probably like some of my other Laios analysis!  Here’s an analysis of his succubus and what it says about his relationships with other humans. And here’s an analysis about his relationship with Shuro from his perspective.

[tokkias]

cuffing season ship: natsu dragneel x lucy heartfilia summary: Just as the blossoms bloom in the spring, so too does love, and Lucy finds herself falling as naturally as the golden leaves in the autumn. word count: 18,342 ao3

i. autumn

The warm summer months bring with them a surge of job postings tacked upon the board at the guild, which always have everyone eager to get in on the Jewel rush before settling down as the temperature begins to drop with the change of seasons. Combined with the way that the party seemingly never stops at the guild during the summer, it makes Lucy almost glad to see the leaves begin to turn into hues of brown and gold, signalling the change in the season.

It's not that she doesn’t appreciate the way the money flows in, keeping her in her apartment for at least another few months with a little Jewel spare on the side to keep her materialistic cravings at bay, or even the way that her new family can party well into the night in an alcohol-fuelled frenzy. There’s just something about the way the leaves began to fall that makes her fond of the season. It feels indicative of new beginnings and things to come.

The maple in her drink is sickly sweet on her tongue as she pushes through the guild hall doors. She lets in a breeze as she does so, but the scarf draped over her protects her skin from the chill, and she can’t help but smile at the indication of fall. There’s something different about it this year that she can’t quite put her finger on yet, but she feels it in the air and sees it in the stars.

The world has something big in store for her. She’s not sure what, but she knows it’s going to be something special. All she has to do is wait.

☆♡☆♡

A gentle gust of wind blows a smattering of leaves onto the path ahead of them, and Natsu makes it his mission to go out of his way to step on a few, letting them crunch beneath his shoe. The satisfying noise spurs him to do it again, and again, and again, leaving no leaf left uncrunched. A soft giggle leaves Lucy’s lips as he rushes ahead of her, and it’s only at that point does he realise he’s left her behind. He turns around to face her, his head cocked slightly to the side at her sudden reaction.

“What?”

"Nothing, it’s just…” She trails off, not knowing if she really wants to share her thoughts with him.

Her vague reaction only adds to Natsu’s curiosity.

“Just what?”

“I don’t know; I thought it was kind of cute,” she shrugs.

“I’m not cute,” he grumbles, burying his face in his scarf.

His bashful reaction makes her breathe out a soft laugh, as he only proves her point further.

Another breeze passes them by, though this time Lucy is the one to bear victim to it. Her skin raises with goosebumps as the cold air hits her. She rubs her hands up and down the exposed skin of her arms as her teeth chatter slightly, and suddenly, she begins to regret not bringing along a coat. Her ailment doesn’t go unnoticed by Natsu, who glances over at her, noting the pitiful way she tries to warm herself up.

“You wouldn’t always have this problem if you wore seasonally appropriate clothes for once,” he comments.

“I know that,” she spits back. “I just… didn’t think it would be this cold already.”

The heat that comes from the friction of rubbing her hands against her skin helps a little, but it’s the feeling of Natsu’s jacket being draped over her shoulder that warms her body and her heart.

“O-oh, thank you.”

Her face flushes slightly under his gaze as he looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to put it on. She slips her arms through the sleeves, though with the garment being much too big for her, the ends dangle well past her hands, and she feels as though she looked a little ridiculous. That thought is confirmed when she hears Natsu cackle at the sight of her.

“Don’t laugh!” she pouts, bunching the sleeves up at her wrists.

“I gave you my jacket; I get to laugh all I want.”

Lucy merely huffs in response, not wanting to lose her jacket privileges. She supposes she can take ridiculous over cold.

☆♡☆♡

It’s been a while since Magnolia has seen a “normal” harvest festival. Between the battle of Fairy Tail, the seven years they were away on Tenrou, and the year of the disbandment, Lucy has yet to experience the festival in its purest form. Upon being reminded of this fact, Natsu has taken it upon himself to drag Lucy around the city to show her the highlights of the festival.

She’s honestly not too certain what the purpose of a harvest festival is, but what she does know is that the guild and city take it as an excuse to set up stalls and stands of every kind leading up to the big parade at the end of the day.

Lucy isn’t at all surprised when the first thing Natsu does is make a b-line for the food stalls. They line the streets with different autumnal meals and snacks, and her partner looks eager to try any and all of them. It’s been a few hours since breakfast, so she is more than happy to justify treating herself. A candy apple isn’t really a lunch food, but when Natsu holds one out for her, she is hard-pressed to say no. It’s so sweet that her teeth ache when she bites into it, but it tastes so good that she doesn’t even care.

Everything is happening everywhere, in every part of town. Décor lines the streets, and happy chatter fills her ears. It’s all a little overwhelming for Lucy, who simply follows Natsu as he drags her around. He seems familiar enough with it, but it’s been so long since he’s been that he is equally fascinated with all of the sights and sounds.

She shouldn’t be surprised when he drags her over to an apple-bobbing set-up—his fierce competitiveness fuelled by the promise of a tacky looking plastic trophy for those who succeed.

He puffs up his chest and declares that he’s going to win that damn trophy. He talks a big talk, but Lucy isn’t certain that apple bobbing is one of his many talents.

As soon as he gets the go-ahead, he violently dunks his head in the water, half of the water overflowing the bucket before all of it gushes out like a tidal wave when Natsu breaks it with his shoulder. Despite the interruption, he remains strong in his mission to win the trophy and goes for a bright red apple that has yet to roll away in the mess of it all. By the time he gets it, he’s absolutely sopping wet, bangs dripping down into his eyes, which he proceeds to shake out like a dog, keeping the apple firmly in his mouth as he sends droplets flying at everyone in the general vicinity. The sight of it is so ridiculous that Lucy bursts out into laughter immediately. Natsu remains undeterred by her reaction, grabbing onto his apple with one hand and holding it in place as he takes a bite. As he chews, he holds the rest of it up in victory while Lucy laughs and claps, and he absolutely revels in her praise.

“Alright! Where’s my prize?” He demands, bits of chewed-up apple flying everywhere as he speaks.

“There is no prize,” the stall host replies as he flinches away and out of the splash zone.

“What?” Natsu exclaims, his face immediately dropping from one of celebration to one of borderline anger. “I was promised a prize!”

“You broke the barrel!”

Lucy, sensing impending destruction if she doesn’t intervene soon, grabs Natsu by the wrist and drags him away. He doesn’t put up a fight, which is much more than she could have asked for, but he does grumble under his breath as they walk away.

She buys him a treat from one of the stalls on their way out as a consolation prize (not another candy apple; it’s too soon and she worries it might hit a sore spot), and Natsu happily takes her sympathies.

☆♡☆♡

Lucy isn’t exactly sure how she let Natsu rope her into this. Sure, she likes pumpkin pie and pumpkin spice, but carving pumpkins? That’s a little out of her comfort zone. But still, here she is, sitting in the guild hall, a plump, orange pumpkin and a set of carving tools set out before her. It’s part of a guild-wide competition but she has little confidence in her ability to take part because she really has no idea where to even begin.

“I don’t even know how I’m supposed to do this,” she states bluntly.

“Here, lemme show you,” Natsu replies, grabbing his tools and pumpkin before getting to work.

She watches intently as Natsu uses one of the knives to cut a hole in the top of it before reaching in to remove the seeds on the inside. Lucy scrunches her nose as he guts the pumpkin, pulling out all the seeds and wet, stringy pieces. Immediately sensing her discomfort, Natsu takes full advantage to torment her with it, invading her personal space with a handful of pumpkin flesh. She tries to smack his hand away, but her reaction only goads him on more, and he shoves it in her face, letting the seeds fall onto her skirt. Lucy shrieks in horror, shoving his hands away from her, and based on his howling laughter, she figures that’s the exact reaction he was going for.

“You are such a pain!” She cries as she wipes the pumpkin off of her skirt, examining the spot that it has left on the white fabric.

"Aw, come on, it’s just pumpkin,” he grins, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“If you’re going to be annoying, I’ll just get someone else to help me,” she huffs, arms crossed as she turns her nose away from him.

It’s an empty threat; she has no intention of finishing carving out her pumpkin, let alone actively seeking help from someone else, but she knows that the threat of it will wind Natsu up. Based on the way he’s been doing it to her, she thinks it’s only fair.

"Hey, c’mon Lucyyyyy,” he whines. “Here, I’ll be good. It’s fun, I promise.”

Lucy caves quickly to his pleas and drops her act, letting her arms fall to her side before she looks back over at him. He’s got that familiar goofy smile plastered across his face, and even though she rolls her eyes at it, she can’t help that she’s smiling back at him.

He manages to demonstrate the proper techniques well enough that she feels confident going in herself, copying the actions he takes.

“Have you done this a lot?” She asks as she makes her first cut.

“Yeah, we used to do it all the time as kids,” Natsu replies. “Gramps put a stop to it when Erza and Mira tried to stab each other, though.”

She breathes an airy laugh at his comment. She’s heard all of the stories of what their beloved barmaid was like as a teen but she still can’t imagine the she-devil picking a fight with Erza, armed with a carving knife.

What she can imagine, however, is that she has not been the first victim of Natsu and his slimy pumpkin innards. She squirms a little as she guts it, but it’s not as bad as she originally thought, and she’s steadily making progress.

She’s cutting it close by the time she finishes. Most of the participants are already finished by the time she does, and when she finally places hers next to the rest, she’s a little embarrassed by its sloppy simplicity.

Natsu finishes not too long after she does, and he approaches from behind with his own entry. He’s been hiding his from her the whole time, claiming it to be a “surprise” for when he’s finished, and she’s been more eager to see his finished one than her own.

It’s not until he finally places it down on the judging table that she gets anything more than a brief glimpse of it for the first time. It’s got two little whiskers on each side, two ears, a little button nose, and two wide eyes. Immediately it clicks in her mind what it’s supposed to be.

“It’s Happy!” She cries out in delight.

Natsu gleams with pride as she’s immediately able to pinpoint where his creativity led him.

Looking at her own next to the rest, she decides that it’s not very good, but she’s happy she participated, even if she made it nowhere in the final rankings.

It comes as no surprise when Reedus takes home the grand prize, but that doesn’t stop Natsu from grumbling about it the whole walk home.

“I thought yours was great,” she offers, running a hand across his back in an attempt to comfort him, because she did. It was cute, and silly, and completely Natsu.

He seems to perk up at the compliment.

“I thought yours was great too,” he replies with a grin plastered across her face.

“Alright, you don’t need to lie to make me feel better,” Lucy snorts.

“I’m not lyin’! You did really good for a first try.”

She simply smiles back at him, her heart beginning to race just a little bit faster in her chest as their eyes lock.

“Thanks for teaching me.”

“Any time.”

☆♡☆♡

It’s quiet on the train, save for the soft rumble of the wheels against the track as the carriage sways side to side, which either means that Natsu has fallen asleep or that he has simply given up complaining about it. Lucy cares for Natsu a great deal, but she appreciates the peace that his uncharacteristic silence affords her. The book she has bought along for the journey has long since lost her interest, and now she is content to sit and watch the world pass by. Vast woodlands have felt the touch of autumn, their leaves a million shades of orange, gold, and yellow. They're obscured by the droplets of rain which are pelted against the glass. It isn’t the ideal weather for the job they're taking, but she is more than willing to enjoy it while safely tucked away in the carriage.

When she looks down at him, her suspicions are confirmed, as his eyes have fluttered closed and his chest rises and falls with his steady breathing. Her hand rests gently on his head, and her fingers begin to absentmindedly trail through his hair. He likes when she does that—or at least, she assumes he does. He’s never really in the state to tell her when she does it, but he never complains about it. Secretly, she likes it too. His hair is softer than one might expect, but that’s because he’s a little rascal who’s constantly stealing her shampoo. She doesn’t mind so much; she finds it endearing, if anything. He likes it because it smells like her—something he admits unabashedly and without shame, and hearing him say it makes her inside twist up in knots, but it’s the good kind, the kind that makes her feel like she could take on the world.

She never knew what to make of that feeling; couldn’t ever quite place her finger on what it meant.

She thinks she understands now; she’s just not quite sure what to do about it.

☆♡☆♡

The town that they’ve taken their most recent job in is a boisterous one, and once their obligations are out of the way, the trio takes full advantage of the local market before they’re back off to Magnolia. The market sprawls as far as the eye can see, and there’s a stall for anything and everything. Lucy and Happy split off earlier, leaving Natsu to meander between the stands, eyeing up all the trinkets and tchotchkes that he could take home as a souvenir.

He finds himself taken with a stall that displays various crystals and jewellery. Small signs that label each stone sprawl on about the spiritual powers that each of them holds, but Natsu doesn’t care about any of that. All he sees are cool, shiny rocks, and suddenly his dragon instincts kick in. His eyes graze over the jewellery section of the stall. He’s not much of a jewellery guy, but the shine of the various metals is enough to capture his attention.

Hung up on one of the display stands is a pair of gold earrings—a cluster of stars dangling down from the hooks with rhinestones encrusted in every other star, making them reflect the light when they catch the sun in just the right way. Immediately he is reminded of his partner, and he can’t help but think they really would suit her.

“Hey, how much for the earrings?” He asks the man attending the stall, gesturing to the pair that caught his eye.

“3000 Jewel.”

He pauses to think about it for a moment, but then he reaches in his bag for his wallet. It’s pricey, but with the full reward for their last job, he thinks he can swing it. He hands over the cash, and in exchange, the owner hands him the earrings, placed in a little drawstring bag so they don’t get snagged.

“Is this for your girlfriend?” the man asks.

“Something like that,” Natsu muses as he tucks the bag away in his pocket for later.

It doesn’t take him long to catch up with his partners, easily finding them within the crowd as though he has a built-in sensor just to find Lucy, though the presence of the blue exceed hovering around her probably helps just a bit.

“Did you find anything good?” Lucy asks as he approaches the two.

“Nah, not much,” he shrugs. “You?”

“There was a stall that was selling antique books!” She excitedly shares. “They were a bit out of my price range though,” she adds, her demeanour waning slightly at the thought of leaving back for Magnolia without anything.

“Next time?” Natsu suggests.

“Yeah, next time.”

☆♡☆♡

ii. winter

Winter peeks its head in at the tail end of autumn, making Lucy shiver when she sheds her jacket as she seats herself down at the guild bar. There’s a mug of hot cocoa already sat in front of her, courtesy of Mira, and Lucy gives her a smile and nods in thanks before taking a sip, letting the heat of the drink warm her from the inside.

“Winter sure has come early this year,” Mira singsongs as she collects the dirty glasses from those who have decided to find their morning warmth at the bottom of a glass of whiskey. “Do you have any plans for the season?” she asks as she busies herself with dirty dishes behind the bar.

Lucy looks down at her mug, watching the bubbles float around on the surface as she considers telling Mira what’s on her mind.

“Well… Sort of,” she murmurs.

“Sort of?” Mira repeats, her curiosity piqued by Lucy’s vague answer, “Do tell~”

“I just think that maybe this winter is the one where I can finally settle down with someone,” she admits to the barmaid.

Settling down has always been one of Lucy’s long-term goals, but since joining the guild, the idea of a romantic relationship has been pushed to the side. She loves what she does, but her occupation makes finding a relationship difficult and maintaining one even harder. Few of the wizards in the guild are in relationships, and of the ones that are, most of the successful ones are contained within the guild. Despite that, Lucy is determined to see the start of her fantasy whirlwind romance as cuffing season swiftly approaches.

"Oh, how sweet,” Mira replies, holding her face in her hands as she rests her elbows on the counter top.

Lucy’s one-on-one conversation with Mira is cut short upon the approach of her partner, who takes up residence on the bar stool beside her.

“What’s up?”

“Lucy wants to start dating~” Mirajane coos with hearts in her eyes at the prospect of a new romance.

“What? Why?” He sounds almost offended by the idea, his face scrunched up in disgust.

Romance is not a frequent topic of discussion between her and Natsu, and even though she knows him better than anyone, Lucy isn’t exactly sure how he might react to learning that she wanted to get into the dating scene. This, however, is certainly not what she was expecting. She doesn’t dignify him with an answer; instead, both curious and a little hurt at his reaction, she pries for answers.

“Why do you seem so against the idea of me dating someone?” She asks, folding her arms across her chest in defence.

“Because—” He pauses as though to find the right words. “Because guys are stupid, and none of them will treat you right.”

“Wh—that’s why you’re upset?”

“I’m not upset,” he grumbles, averting his gaze.

“Really? Because you look upset to me.”

"Well, I’m not,” he repeats, firmer this time.

At some point, Mira has slinked away, leaving just the two of them alone for their little squabble.

“I don’t need your permission anyway; I can date whoever I want.”

“Fine. I don’t care,” he grumbles, a pout evident on his face that gives his true feelings away.

“Why are you being so petulant?” She asks, frustration beginning to seep into her voice at his childish behaviour.

“I’m not being petulant,” he spits back, putting extra emphasis on the last word.

Lucy rolls her eyes, quickly picking up on the reason for his uncharacteristic articulation. “Do you even know what petulant means?”

“I don’t have to know what it means to know that I’m not being it,” he practically growls.

He’s been avoiding her gaze the whole time, but when he finally looks at her, his eyes are angry, and suddenly all the frustration in her turns to hurt, and her heart shatters inside her chest.

It’s a look she’s seen on his face many times but never directed at her, and she doesn’t understand why. It’s stupid and it's none of his business in the first place, so why is he acting like this?

She doesn’t want to dwell on it any longer. She doesn’t want to stay and talk, to try and get the answers out of him. She’s barely holding back tears when she wordlessly stands up and storms out of the guild hall.

He doesn’t call after her as she leaves, and something about that makes it hurt even more.

☆♡☆♡

About a week has passed since their spat, and Lucy has seen Natsu maybe three times since then and spoken to him even less. In that time, he had taken on a job without telling her, with Lucy only having found out from Mira, who shot her a sympathetic look as she broke the news.

If he wanted to take a job without her, fine—that was his prerogative—but to go without telling her? That was just petty.

It wasn’t her fault that Natsu was acting like a child because she wanted to start dating. She can’t even fathom why he’s so bothered by it anyway.

Everything about this situation is just so stupid. It’s not like he holds any romantic interest in her anyway, and that was precisely why she wanted to start dating in the first place. She wasn’t about let the complicated feelings that had begun to bubble beneath the surface get in the way of their beloved friendship, so instead she intended to divert them away from him. It’s a win-win situation: she gets to indulge in her romantic side, and they can continue to maintain their platonic relationship.

Apparently, he doesn’t share her enthusiasm.

His stupid, childish pettiness has gotten her down in the time since they’d last spoken. The hurt from his anger had quickly dissipated into hurt from his avoidance. She misses her friend, and right now, she’s more than willing to look past it if he’s willing to speak with her. Unfortunately, based on the way he seems to disappear every time she shows up, he’s not exactly keen.

A soft sigh escapes her lips, her gaze downturned in defeated frustration as she makes her way up the steps to the guild hall. She isn’t paying much attention when she gets to the top, letting her legs work on muscle memory alone, not expecting to bump into anyone at this time of day.

That is, until she does.

Physically.

She quite literally walks straight into someone as her gaze remains distracted. Her forehead thumps against their chest, strong, warm, and familiar, and she doesn’t need to look up to know who it is.

“N-Natsu!” She sputters as she steps back in embarrassment, already feeling the heat rise to her face. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to walk into you.”

When she finally gains the courage to look up at him, he looks surprised, almost panicked to see her, but he doesn’t make an effort to sidestep her or run like he had been all week. Instead, he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck and avoids her gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “For getting mad at you the other day.”

She’s taken aback slightly by his sudden apology. Natsu has a lot of pride, and it takes a lot for him to admit he’s wrong in petty moments of emotion, but he sounds genuinely remorseful, and it makes her feel bad for feeling so negatively towards him in the first few days after their spat.

“I don’t care about that anymore,” she assures, her expression softening as she speaks.

After that, Natsu finally meets her eyes again, and he looks so soft and vulnerable. It’s a strange sight to see.

“I’ve just been… thinking about it a lot, I guess,” he confesses, his eyes flicking away from hers once more as he begins to speak. “You’re right. You can date whoever you want.” There’s not a lot of conviction in his words; it sounds like something he’s rehearsed over and over in his head, but coming from him, she appreciates it nonetheless. “I’m sorry for being an ass about it.”

In all the time she’s known him, she doesn’t think she can ever recall a time where he’s apologised to her like this. Granted, she can’t really recall any time it’s been warranted. This had been their first real argument—one that didn’t involve food, or transport, or rent money. He’s hardly ever apologised for real, big things that deserve them, and she almost wonders if someone has set him up for this, but that I’m sorry sounds so genuine it almost hurts.

“I forgive you.”

Suddenly, he perks up completely, his hunched shoulders push back, and the glimmer in his eye returns as he finally looks her in the eye again.

“Does that mean we’re good?”

“Yeah,” she smiles. “We’re good.”

☆♡☆♡

Even wrapped up in her comforter, as well as every blanket she thinks she’s ever owned, the bite of winter still breaks through into Lucy’s apartment, making her teeth chatter as she tries to fight off the cold. It’s nights like this where she finds herself glad for Natsu’s lack of boundaries as he lays in bed next to her like her own personal radiator, keeping her warm and keeping the heating bill down.

She’s warmed up slightly, but her poor circulation has kept her feet cold, almost painfully so. The feeling plants an idea in her mind, and with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she places her icy-cold feet on Natsu’s leg in an attempt to extract revenge for every cruel prank he’s ever played on her.

He looks at her, a little confused but generally amused by what she has tried (and failed) to achieve.

“Whatcha doin’ there, Lucy?” He asks, knowing full well the reaction she was trying to get out of him but wanting to see if he could get a rise out of her in exchange.

“Wh-does that seriously not bother you?”

“If you needed me to warm them up, all you had to do was ask,” he tells her, with that glint in his eye that always tells her he’s up to no good.

“That’s not what I-” She’s so distraught by the failure of her plan that she hardly gives any notice to the fact that he has his own trick up his sleeve, and it’s not until he’s already under the sheets that she realises her mistake. “NATSU!”

By that point, it’s much too late, and he’s already grabbed hold of her ankle with one hand while tickling the sole of her foot with the other.

She begs, pleads, for his mercy, but by the look on his face, she knows that she’s in for a long night.

☆♡☆♡

There’s a soft thud that rings out as something cold and wet hits Lucy’s back, sending her stumbling forward slightly. Reaching over her shoulder, her hands come into contact with a lump of snow that has stuck itself to her jacket. Pivoting on her foot to see where (or who) it came from, she knows she shouldn’t be surprised when she’s met with Natsu a fair way behind her, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face and another snowball already in hand, prepared should she choose to retaliate.

He looks at her expectantly, waiting to see what her next move is going to be but standing in a fixed position, making him an easy target if she decides she wants to fight back.

She leans down and gathers a handful of snow, packing it together into something that vaguely resembles a snowball and tossing it with as much force as she can muster at Natsu. It hits him square in the chest, which is less impressive knowing that he was basically a sitting target, but she’s happy with herself nonetheless. The single hit is all it takes for Natsu to go full throttle on her in return, pelting her with as many snowballs as he can make before she has time to retaliate.

A high-pitched squeal escapes her as the snow hits her face and seeps underneath her jacket. Not even the numbing chill makes her mood falter as she holds one hand up to shield herself while the other gathers a lump of snow to throw back at him. It breaks in the air when she throws it, not even making it close to her target before it pathetically falls back to the ground, and the sight of it makes Natsu howl in laughter.

Lucy doesn’t have it in herself to be embarrassed by it. Instead, she takes his moment of distraction to make a sturdier snowball and send it soaring at him. This time it meets her target, hitting him right in the face, wiping the grin off of it and leaving him looking thoroughly shocked. It’s Lucy’s turn to laugh at him, and she whoops and hollers at her small victory while he stands there, still trying to process what has just happened.

She takes this time to begin to stockpile projectiles, but she’s not fast enough because in the time it’s taken her to make three, Natsu has recovered and has already begun to pelt her. He's clearly more experienced in this area than she is based on the speed at which he can make snowballs and throw them. Instead of fighting back, Lucy chooses to run, but his aim is too good to outrun, and she falls victim to snowball after snowball.

At some point she turns to face him (a decision she regrets immediately when she’s forced into running backwards as she tries to shield and dodge his attacks) to try and call a truce, but Natsu is not interested. Instead, he hits her with a particularly hard shot to her shoulder, and she loses balance immediately and falls to the ground.

Based on the way he begins to cheer, Lucy thinks that he’s considered it his victory, and she doesn’t have it in her to contest it. She doesn’t realise how tired she is until she’s sitting down and, disregarding the cold, flops back onto the ground. As she lays in the snow, legs spread and arms sprawled out on either side of her, an idea strikes her, and she begins to move her limbs back and forth in the snow to create what she hopes is a pretty imprint on the ground.

She hasn’t made a snow angel in what feels like an eternity, and this time, without the threat of her father scolding her for getting her winter jacket wet looming over her, she can fully give into her childish impulses.

“What are you doing, weirdo?” Natsu asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“I’m making a snow angel,” she huffs, thinking she has made it quite obvious.

She tries to ignore the look Natsu’s giving her by shutting her eyes and concentrating on her self-assigned task, but she can still feel his gaze on her. Based on the way he laughs as she does so, she can only assume that she doesn’t look as elegant as she feels.

“Are you going to stand there and watch, or are you going to join me?” She finally says, her eyes fluttering open to meet his.

He doesn’t reply, but it’s not long before he has plonked himself on the ground next to her, and he’s making his own attempt. He tries to mimic her actions, but the longer he lays there, the more the snow begins to melt around him, and Lucy laughs at the absurdity of it all.

When they inevitably stand up to admire their work, they come to find that what he’s made is merely an approximation of a snow angel. Actually, it looks more like someone has fallen face first into the snow and struggled greatly to get back up. It’s really little more than a melted puddle in the grass, the back of his coat completely soaked through, and Lucy only feels a little bad at how much she’s laughing. His brows furrow in disappointment as he looks down at his work; it’s not nearly as pretty as Lucy’s; in fact, it’s not really a snow angel at all, but the way she’s doubled over in laughter, clutching her stomach, and wiping away tears makes him laugh along too.

☆♡☆♡

When Lucy wakes up the next morning, her body protests her every move, and she begins to deeply regret putting looking cute higher on her priority list than keeping herself warm in the snow. She doesn’t last long out of bed before everything in her is begging to get back under the covers.

As soon as her head hits the pillow, she’s out for the count. Several hours pass her by in her comatose state, and it’s not until she hears the thunk of her window opening followed by the chill of the winter air running through her apartment. When she opens her eyes, she’s met with Natsu looking down at her from her windowsill, and in her groggy state, she’s not entirely sure if he’s really there or if she’s having some sort of weird fever dream.

“Na-tsu?”

“Wow, you look like shit,” Natsu observes.

Yep, definitely the real Natsu, alright.

“Thanks,” she croaks out. “I feel it too.”

He pulls the window shut before pulling himself to sit on the bed next to her.

“What happened?” he asks, examining her roughed-up appearance.

Her cheeks are deeply flushed, and a thin layer of sweat makes her hair stick to her forehead and her entire body glisten.

“That stupid snowball fight…” she grumbles.

She knows that it’s her fault for not bundling up in the cold weather, but she feels so terrible right now that shifting the blame away from herself provides a tiny piece of solace.

“Guess we’re not goin’ on that job today,” he comments.

“What job?” she asks, completely perplexed by the sudden mention of a job. There’s no job, as far as she can remember.

“Oh.”

“Guess I’m stuck taking care of you,” Natsu shrugs as he slides off of the bed and sheds his jacket, happy to make himself comfortable.

“You’re not stuck taking care of me,” she grumbles into her blanket. “I didn’t ask you to do it.”

“You know I’m just jokin’ with ya Lucy,” he grins, ruffling up her hair a little. “I’m not gonna leave ya hangin’ while you’re all sick and gross.”

She wants to protest the gross part, but she knows she won’t get far because it’s an objective fact that right now. She is gross. Her hair is a mess, a slick layer of sweat coats her entire body, and she’s pretty sure there’s a trail of snot running from her nose.

The pack that was clearly meant to be for their job today gets tossed unceremoniously to the floor by the foot of her bed as Natsu makes himself comfortable in her home.

“So,” he begins. “What’s the first step in takin’ care of a sick person?”

“Well, what do you do when you get sick?” Lucy croaks.

“I don’t get sick,” Natsu shrugs.

“What?”

“I said I don’t get sick,” he repeats.

“Everyone gets sick.”

“Not me,” he reaffirms. “Gets burnt off before it can affect me.”

She supposes it makes sense, but her brain isn’t really working well enough to question that logic regardless. All she can do is feel envious that he’s never had to go through the experience that she currently is.

“I don’t know,” she grumbles as she flops back down onto her pillow and pulls her comforter up to cover the lower half of her face. “Can you make me some soup?”

“Yeah, I can probably do that.”

If she weren’t currently wallowing in her own pity, she might immediately forbid Natsu from entering her kitchen with intent to cook, but her brain is too far gone to even consider it as a possibility.

As soon as he leaves the room, she begins to drift off again, lacking the energy to stay awake without the external stimulus.

Her faith in Natsu is rewarded when she’s coaxed awake slightly, and when her eyes flutter open, she finds him waiting with a bowl of hot soup and a side of bread she recognises as being from the bakery down the road. She knows it’s just the stuff heated from the can, but once she’s able to get a whiff through clogged sinuses, she’s reminded of how hungry she is, and it begins to look like the most delicious meal in the world.

She takes the bowl into her lap, revelling in its warmth, but before she can reach for the spoon, Natsu is already holding it out for her—a chunk of chicken and some peas and carrots floating in the broth on the utensil.

“I can feed myself,” she grumbles.

She’s sick, but she’s not a child.

Natsu rolls his eyes, a little dejected by her denial of his help, but lets her do what she wants regardless.

She takes the spoon to prove her point and brings it up to her lips to take a sip, only in her sickly haze, to tip it down her front. Her sleep shirt takes most of the hit, but it’s still hot against her skin, and it only serves to make a bad day worse.

Natsu’s once-teasing expression drops to immediate concern as she cries out in pain. He’s not exactly a fast thinker, but he has the foresight to take the bowl off of her lap to prevent another accident, and without having anything else on hand to help clean her up, he wipes the broth off of her skin with his scarf.

When the burning sensation finally wears off and she finally processes what happened, Lucy looks up at him and finds Natsu looking back at her with worry in his eyes.

“Your scarf…” she murmurs, suddenly feeling guilt prick at her heart. “It’s going to smell like soup now…”

“I don’t care about that,” he replies, his brows still firmly fixed into a frown. “Are you okay?”

Lucy comes to a pause for a moment as she looks up at him. She’s fine, really, she is, but she’s taken off guard. Not by the soup, but by the tenderness in his words and the worry woven into his expression. It’s nothing like his usual self—all brash and carefree. Sure, he always worries about his friends, but she doesn’t consider what happened enough to warrant the concern he exhibits.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she affirms, and his shoulders relax just a little. “Sorry.”

“You gotta be more careful, okay?” He says, and she almost wants to roll her eyes given who it’s coming from, but he speaks to her so tenderly and with such uncharacteristic concern that she can’t bring herself to.

Instead, she takes the moment for what it is and lets him take care of her for once.

☆♡☆♡

Christmas sneaks up on Lucy before she even has much time to even think about it. Ever since she and Natsu made up, the pair had been practically inseparable and she has barely spent any time away from him since. Not that she minds. Natsu is her best friend; she loves having him by her side, and really, all this time spent together is just making up for the lost time earlier in the year.

It's low-key this year: just her, Natsu, and Happy. She loves Erza—bless her soul—but she is simply too much for her to handle this time of year. Her apartment is decorated for the season, but she hasn’t bothered putting up a tree. They’ve agreed on no presents this time around, so there’s nothing to put under there anyway, and she doesn’t want to have to deal with lugging the thing up the stairs of her building again this year.

The day calls for food and board games, and the three of them are completely content with that.

“Another round?” Lucy asks, gathering up the cards on the table and shuffling them in the aftermath of demolishing the both of them in a devastating game of Uno.

“Actually,” Natsu hums. “I got you a present.”

Hearing that catches her off guard slightly, and she stops to place the cards down on the table. If she had known that Natsu was going to give her something, she would have gone out of her way to return the favour, but they had both agreed that they wouldn’t be exchanging gifts.

“I didn’t get you anything,” she frowns, but Natsu seems completely unphased by the fact.

Out of his overnight pack, he pulls out a small gift wrapped in bright red and white Christmas wrapping paper and places it in her hand with an excited glint in his eye.

“Don’t worry about it,” he reassures her. "C'mon, just open it already!”

It’s small enough that it fits in her hand, and as she inspects it, she really has no idea what it could be, but Natsu is staring at her with an eager grin and she can’t help but wonder what on earth he’s so excited about. The wrapping is a little messy, and she struggles to get through what she believes to be definitely way too much tape, but beneath it all she’s met with a small drawstring bag, containing a pair of gorgeous gold earrings adorned with glittering stars hanging down from the hooks.

“Cool, huh?”

She doesn’t know how to respond; this is the last thing she would have expected to receive from Natsu of all people.

“Where did you get these?”

“From some market back in that weird little town,” he shrugs.

Her brows furrow for a moment as she tries to recall what he’s talking about, until it clicks in her brain. That was months ago now, and he’d kept it this whole time, even through their no-gifts promise.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I do,” she breathes. “I really love it. Thank you, Natsu.”

Placing the earrings down on the table, Lucy reaches her arms around him, and he quickly reciprocates, his grip around her tight as she buries her face in his chest.

☆♡☆♡

New Year’s Eve brings the guild together once more in celebration. Not that they need the excuse; Lucy is almost certain that a certain subset of her guildmates have already been blackout drunk since early evening.

Nonetheless, an event like this is the perfect excuse for her to get prettied up, and she’s taking it proudly.

Her eyes scan her vanity for the hair ribbons she could have sworn she had just a second ago, but instead her gaze falls on Natsu’s gift. She hasn’t had a chance to wear them yet, waiting to save them for a special occasion, but she supposes tonight is as good as any. Taking her pair out, she switches them for her new ones before pulling her hair back to admire them. They’re definitely a little more out there than anything she might have picked for herself—certainly not an everyday pair—but the way they shimmer and twinkle in the light makes her think that they might be her new favourite out of her collection. When she finally locates her ribbons, she opts to simply tie her hair back in pigtails, letting her new earrings act as her statement piece for tonight. Even though she’s just heading to the guild, Lucy remembers to bundle up this time, having learned from her past mistake and most certainly not wanting to repeat it.

Excitement lingers in the air as she walks through Magnolia. Families are out long after dark, waiting patiently for the annual fireworks show. It’s been a longstanding tradition that has always brought the city together, and this year would be no exception. The best view is always held on the second-floor balcony of the guild hall, a fact that Lucy is intimately familiar with. She rushes up the stairs as fast as her feet will take her, not willing to miss spending the send-off of the year with her friends.

“You made it!” Natsu cheers the moment his partner comes into view.

“Of course I would make it,” she tells him, her words puffing into clouds of steam in front of her face. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

She’s just on time, too.

As the fireworks begin to light up the sky, ringing in another year and a new beginning, Lucy looks out and the crowd of her friends—her family—and watches as couples lock lips to celebrate the coming of the new year. She’s happy for them, really, she is, but her heart begins to ache as she thinks about how another year has slipped her by and she’s no closer to a relationship of her own. It had been her goal to lock herself down through the winter season but she’s just as far away from it as she had been when she shared her wishes with Mira that day at the bar.

Maybe she hadn’t put herself out there enough; maybe she spent the year too occupied with her work, but she had really thought that this would be the year that romance would come her way.

Before she has time to dwell on it too much, she feels an arm slung around her shoulders.

“Happy New Year, Lucy!” Natsu yells, pulling her into his side in a crushing hug.

His smile is so bright, his joy so infectious, that she can’t help the way her heart begins to race in her chest.

“Yeah, Happy New Year, Natsu.”

Without thinking, she finds herself on the tips of her toes, her lips gently placing a kiss against his cheek. She’s not sure how she expects him to react, but when he looks down at her, his cheeks are dusted red slightly, from the kiss or the cold, she isn’t sure, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

He smiles at her, and she smiles back.

☆♡☆♡

iii. spring

By the time spring comes around, Lucy is well and truly done with winter. It has been far too cold this year and she is simply looking forward to being able to comfortably exist without several layers and the fear of frostbite.

Something she knows she will miss is the seasonal excuse for her close proximity to Natsu. It’s easy to excuse sleepovers and snuggling with your best friend under the guise of sharing body heat, especially when said best friend is the human equivalent of a radiator.

Still, that doesn’t stop her from standing just a little closer to him than usual, letting their hands brush together as they walk. Each touch of his hand against her own sends sparks through her body that feel so foreign and yet so familiar at the same time. It’s a feeling she knows she’ll now only ever associate with him, and she feels as though she has quickly become addicted.

When he asks why she’s standing so close even as the weather warms up, she pretends it’s because she’s still cold, but even Natsu knows better. Nonetheless, he doesn’t question it and lets it happen quietly.

She wonders if he ever feels it too.

☆♡☆♡

A gentle breeze tousles Lucy’s hair and the fringe of the blanket she’s spread out across the grass. Now that the weather outside is getting warmer, Lucy is ready to take any excuse to be out in the sun, and with today’s clear skies, she’s taking the chance to finish her book along with a packed lunch down at a park.

Where Lucy goes, Natsu follows—a mantra that has never been more true in their friendship than in recent months. Though she values her alone time, she can’t help the way that she still misses him whenever they’re apart, so when he invites himself along to the plans she makes, she doesn’t have it in herself to be upset about it.

Some days it feels like she’s taking a dog for a walk based on the boundless energy he always has, but today even he is subdued by the sun. He relishes in it—revels in the warmth it provides. Once lunch is finished, he is entirely content to bathe in the sunlight as Lucy reads.

She says he’s like a cat. He claims he’s more like a dragon.

She’s not sure how much she’s convinced of that, given that the place he has decided to lay is right in her lap.

His eyes flutter closed in search of a post-lunch nap, which gives Lucy ample opportunity to get through a chapter or two. She expects he’ll be the one to end their little afternoon out when he inevitably gets bored, but by the time she decides she’s done with her book for the day, he’s still snoozing in her lap. It’s rather cute, actually. Her loud, rambunctious Natsu, tamed by a little bit of warmth and sunlight. She doesn’t mind, so she lets him lay there for a while longer, happy to enjoy the sun with him.

At some point, her fingers come to tangle in his hair, gently grazing his scalp, and in that moment, he is so content that he lets out a noise that somewhat resembles a purr.

It seems that cats and dragons aren’t so dissimilar after all.

☆♡☆♡

Every year, when Easter comes around, Fairy Tail hosts a city-wide egg hunt to celebrate.

This year Lucy’s volunteered her time hiding the eggs, so she’s barred from participating, but she is content to just watch. Really, it’s supposed to be an event for the children, but that doesn’t stop the grown-ups from participating. It’s mostly parents playing along with their kids, but there’s a fair few of her guildmates searching around too, urged on by the competitive spirit that is ever present in all Fairy Tail members.

She’s found herself a spot on a secluded bench at the park, far enough out of the way that she won’t be intruding on any of the participants but close enough that she can still observe. A book lays open in her lap, her attention switching between that and the scene before her, checking to see if any of her eggs have been found.

A few familiar faces pass her by, but few take any notice of her, too deeply enraptured by the event to realise that she’s there. She exchanges polite smiles with those that do, but none elicit one quite as genuine as the one that crosses her lips when she hears her partner come along, accompanied by Happy and Asuka. Asuka is sitting atop his shoulders, gripping onto his hair as she searches the landscape from her vantage point for the brightly decorated eggs.

Lucy’s expression softens when she sees them from across the park, and Natsu flashes her a smile that gives her butterflies. Their attention is quickly taken away by the loud squeal that escapes Asuka’s lips as she uses her vantage point to spot a particularly cleverly hidden egg.

She tugs on his hair, and he runs in the direction she’s pointing in, which leads them to a tree where Lucy had wedged an egg in between the branches. She isn’t tall enough to have put it too high, so she knows that Natsu can easily reach for it on his own, but he bends down slightly to give Asuka the chance to grab it.

They both whoop and holler in excitement when she drops it in the basket Happy is carrying, and Lucy can’t help the giggle that escapes her lips. She’s too far away from them to hear, but even if she were closer, she’s certain she wouldn’t be heard over their celebratory cries.

They don’t stay for much longer; Asuka is too keen to continue their hunt in other places to stop by and say hi, but it doesn’t stop Natsu from waving as they dash by.

☆♡☆♡

Natsu is running late the day that he promised they’d take another job together. Lucy isn’t paying much mind to the time in the first place, allowing herself to get stuck into a new novel she had purchased the day prior while she waits. It’s not until nearly twenty minutes have gone by that she thinks to check the time and notices how late he is.

He’s never exactly prompt, but Natsu is a man of his word, and if he says he’s going to be somewhere, he will be there, which makes Lucy begin to worry. There are a couple of things that would keep Natsu from the guildhall when he says he’ll be there, but they’re few and far between, and it has Lucy wondering if something bad has happened to him.

Thankfully, he doesn’t leave her wondering for too long, before he stumbles over to her table. When he finally arrives, he looks downright miserable. His eyes are red and puffy, and his nose is scarlet to match. He sniffs and wipes away a drool of snot, and Lucy flinches slightly in disgust.

“Natsu, what are you doing here?” She asks, concerned by his current state, shuffling away from him slightly when he sits down next to her. “You look terrible.”

“I feel terrible,” he replies, letting his head thunk down on the table and instilling a sense of déjà vu in her.

“If you’re sick, why didn’t you go to Wendy?

“I’m not sick,” he insists. “I don’t get sick, remember?”

She vaguely recalls a conversation they’ve had about this before, and it’s not that she doesn’t believe him because in all the time she’s known him, he hasn’t ever been sick, but he certainly looks sick in the moment, and there is a first time for everything.

Coaxing him off of the table, Lucy presses her hand against his forehead to check his temperature, only to be reminded that Natsu runs about as hot as the sun, and that she’s not about to get anywhere like this.

“If you’re sick, you should have stayed home. Our job can wait.”

“But I wasn’t sick when I was at home,” he groans, letting his head fall into his hands as though that might stop the symptoms plaguing him.

Lucy pauses for a moment and mulls his words over in her head, and suddenly things begin to click.

“Natsu… Do you have hay fever?”

He pauses for a moment and peeks through his fingers, looking at her in confusion.

“What?”

“Allergies,” she rephrases.

“Allergic to what?” He asks, still not understanding what she’s trying to say.

She’s never seen someone look so wrecked by seasonal allergies, but with his heightened senses and this seemingly being the first time he’s been hit by them, it sort of makes sense in her mind.

“To pollen,” she explains. “Maybe you’re having a reaction to the high pollen count. That would be why you were fine when you were home but got sick when you came here.”

He looks at her, and she can almost see the gears turning in his head.

“Maybe? I’ve never had allergies before,” he grumbles, looking unhappy with her conclusion. “I don’t wanna feel like shit every time I hafta go outside.”

The concern she once had turns into a soft laugh when his head falls to the table now that she knows he’s not seriously ailing. It’s a little bit amusing, honestly. Big Bad Natsu Dragneel, taken down by a little bit of pollen.

Thankfully, it’s not something a trip to the pharmacy can’t cure for him.

He takes care of her, and now it’s her chance to repay the favour.

☆♡☆♡

As soon as Natsu’s feet hit the ground, he is on his knees, kissing the train platform like he has never seen solid ground before.

“You don’t need to be so dramatic about it,” Lucy says, debating whether she should pretend she doesn’t know him or not.

When she finally coaxes him off the floor and to the exit of the station, they’re met with a vicious downpour that almost completely obscures the normal view they would get when they come into the city.

“It was raining when we came into Magnolia,” she tells him as she looks out into the rain. “Well, you know what they say: April showers bring May flowers.”

It’s a hopefully optimistic phrase, and it doesn’t match the almost pained expression on her face when she looks over at him.

It had been so nice when they left the day before; the sky was clear and cloudless, with no indication of the greyness that looms over them now. She hadn’t thought to bring a raincoat, and while she could maybe put that down to her inability to dress for the weather, the fact that Natsu hadn’t thought to either at least makes her feel a tinge better.

She furrows her brows slightly as he looks out into the town, though she can’t see much further than a few metres in front of her before the heavy rain obscures the view entirely. While she’s rather fond of rain, that’s in scenarios where she’s curled up inside with a good book. The idea of running through a downpour this heavy is unappealing to her, and she has an inkling that Natsu feels the same way.

“I don’t have an umbrella,” she murmurs. “And the weather doesn’t look like it’s going to let out any time soon.”

They could wait around until the downpour stops, but who knows how long that might take.

Natsu looks up at her to confer about her options, but by that point, she has already made up her mind.

“Well,” she says, tugging off her jacket and holding it above her head. “Are you ready?”

He regards her with a blank stare for a moment, but then he answers her with a wide grin. Before long, they step out into the rain, and they’re running through a torrential downpour together.

Almost immediately, she is drenched right to the bone. Any other time, it would be gross and uncomfortable, but there is so much adrenalin pumping through her veins that it barely registers in her brain. All she can feel is the rush, and the rain washing away all of her woes.

Her feet take her where she needs to go, trailing right behind Natsu in front of her. She’s given up on using her jacket to keep herself dry; the garment is already completely soaked through. Instead, she just lets the rain roll over her, causing her hair and clothing to stick to her skin.

The heavy rain obscures her vision, and she worries that she’s going to lose Natsu, but before she knows it, he reaches his hand out towards her, and she takes it in her own with no hesitation.

Their fingers lace together as they run.

Natsu spots a tree not far from where they are, and as they approach, he tugs on her arm to pull her under it, taking solace in the small bit of shelter it provides. He holds her close to his chest, and she takes in every bit of warmth his body provides. She’s completely drenched, and her teeth are chattering as the cold seeps into her skin. They stay there for a moment, relishing in the temporary shelter, though knowing it’s just that—temporary.

“You ready?” He asks.

“Yeah,” she breathes, looking out at the rain battering down onto the sidewalk.

Sucking in a breath, Lucy grabs his hand once more, and together they run back out into the rain. She holds one hand over her head in a futile attempt to shield herself, and the idea of it is so silly that Natsu doesn’t even try to hold back the laugh he lets out. He could really be laughing at anything right now, but she knows he’s laughing at her, so she huffs and disregards her futile efforts. Instead, she diverts it to running as fast as she can muster, speeding down the streets of Magnolia like her life depends on it. Even Natsu struggles to match her pace.

He shakes some of the water out of his hair like a dog when they make it inside, and droplets splash against her skin, which she makes sure he knows when she lets out a loud squeal. They both know he has more efficient ways of drying himself, but they also both know that he finds it much more fun this way.

Even as she fiddles with the lock on her front door, his hand never leaves his. She knows that if not for it, they would already be inside, but she just can’t find it in herself to pull away.

☆♡☆♡

Alzack and Bisca being away on a day job means that Natsu is on babysitting duty until they return and Natsu being on babysitting duty means that Lucy is on babysitting duty too.

The day is too nice for the three of them to be stuck inside, so they take Asuka for a walk down to a park that sits a few streets down from Lucy’s apartment. When they arrive, they find that spring is in full bloom, with daisies covering every inch of grass as far as the eye can see.

Asuka squeals in delight as it comes into view, tugging on Natsu’s hair to let him know that she wants to be let down, and as soon as her feet hit the ground, she runs off into the field, dropping to her knees to pick herself a bundle.

Lucy and Natsu follow not far behind, sitting beside her on the grassy surface, where Lucy begins to join her in plucking the daisies.

Her fingers effortlessly weave the stems together to create a chain of flowers, the stems braided together with the petals poking out between them. Once she finds herself satisfied with it, she places it gently atop Natsu’s head. His attention has been squarely on watching Asuka gather flowers before tearing all the petals off to add to the pile in her lap, but the feeling of something being placed on the crown of his head has him bringing a hand up to his hair to feel what it is. He looks over at Lucy, confused, only to be met with a soft expression on her face.

“I made you a flower crown,” she smiles, holding back a giggle at the baffled look on his face.

He looks kind of cute like that, she thinks, with the soft white flowers peeking out between his messy pink locks. The delicate flowers juxtapose his loud and boisterous personality, and it reminds her how special she is to get to see the softer side of him.

When he finally processes what has just happened, Natsu begins to gather up a collection of his own daisies to try and return the favour. His hands aren’t as dainty or dextrous as hers are, so he struggles to pierce the thin stems and thread them together, which results in his first attempt being a little sloppy and beginning to fall apart when he tries to hold it up.

“Do you want some help?” Lucy asks, holding a hand out to him, but he merely shakes his head in response.

“No, I can do it,” he replies, already plucking another set of flowers as a look of deep concentration sets in on his face.

His second attempt doesn’t prove to be much better, though, and in his frustration, he lets the flowers fall to the ground. When he looks back up at Lucy, he finds that she’s once again weaving together a string of them at Asuka’s request, and he’s struck with an alternative idea.

While she hands Asuka her chain, she’s caught off guard as Natsu brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and tucks one of his discarded daisies behind her ear. One daisy turns into two, and then three, four, five, until her hair is a sea of flowers and she’s a blushing, giggling mess.

It’s not long before Asuka decides she wants to join in on the fun. Soon Lucy is covered in so many flowers that they simply cannot fit any more on her, and the three of them begin transferring them to Asuka’s hair instead.

☆♡☆♡

In her time spent as a Fairy Tail mage, there’s little that Lucy wants to do that she hasn’t already done yet. She’s got an impressive resume as a guild wizard, she’s achieved a lot in her personal life, and she’s seen all Magnolia has to offer. There are few things that she so desires to experience in the little town she’s found her home in that she hasn’t yet done, but as spring has sprung and flowers come into bloom, there is one thing she still feels like she’s missed out on.

She makes sure to take care of herself early spring this year; she dresses for the weather; she doesn’t take jobs in places where it gets too cold; and she avoids Gray for a whole week when he comes down with a nasty cough. It’s a little much—as Natsu has pointed out to her on multiple occasions—but she is not taking any risks this year, and as the flowers come into view, she knows that it was all worth it.

The sight of the cherry blossoms in bloom in their native spot is nothing like Lucy could have imagined. Soft pink flowers decorate the branches of every tree as far as the eye can see, some of their petals fluttering to the ground as the gentle breeze sways them. She feels a genuine sense of childlike wonder, and it takes Happy tugging at her arm to draw her attention away.

When she turns around, she meets Natsu’s eyes, and gracing his lips is an amused smile that she rarely sees on him.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“‘Cause you’re gettin’ real excited over some flowers,” he replies. “The real fun hasn’t even started yet.”

He’s right—the flowers are only the beginning of the festivities. The day ahead is filled with food, fun, and companionship (and maybe a little bit of booze), and as the sun begins to descend over the horizon and the pink diffuses into a rainbow of colours, Lucy begins to get teary-eyed. Something about the cherry blossoms just brings it out of her, because even though she’s surrounded by her friends in a boisterous environment like this almost every day, tonight she just can’t help but feel sentimental about it.

Maybe it’s the memory of that one night all those years ago and the memory of rainbow petals flittering in the river, or maybe it’s just the glass of wine running through her veins, but when she sees Natsu and Happy standing beneath the tree, tears start running down her cheeks. They’re quiet at first, but it quickly devolves into choked-out sobs that capture Natsu’s attention and cause him to panic. He’s by her side about as soon as he hears them, and she doesn’t realise just how much she wants him next to her until he’s there.

“They’re so pretty!” She sobs out.

“The flowers?” Natsu asks, bewilderment cast over his expression.

Lucy nods frantically as she wipes away her tears. They come so quickly that she isn’t really in the headspace to explain why she’s crying, but the tension in Natsu’s shoulders seems to loosen up when he realises that she’s not in any immediate harm or danger.

“I’m just so happy!” Lucy babbles.

“Yeah?” He affectionately replies. “Me too.”

He wipes away a tear from her cheek with his thumb, a slight mischievous smirk growing on his lips before he speaks up again.

“You’re weird.”

If it’s an effort to kill the tender moment, it fails because Lucy simply clutches onto his vest and begins to sob into his chest. His stupid little comments can’t hurt her when she knows he says them with love.

She’ll always be his weirdo. 

☆♡☆♡

As the end of spring nears and the beginning of summer approaches, the days begin to get longer and warmer.

The town they’ve found themselves in prides itself on the gorgeous beaches that line the horizon, and with the way the warmth of the incoming season begins to creep up on them, they decide to take advantage of the cool water as the sun begins to dip over the horizon.

Lucy knows they’ve made the right decision when she wades ankle deep into the water, letting out a relieved sigh as it washes over her feet. She stretches her arms out, letting the breeze tousle her hair as she takes in a breath of the salty sea air. The way the sky is soaked in golden orange hues makes it look like a painting, and with the utter peace she feels in that moment, she feels like she’s in one too.

Her attention turns when she hears the sloshing of water, and she comes to find Natsu, his pants rolled up his legs as he moves to join her.

He’s been staring; she can tell, but he doesn’t hide it. When she casts him a quizzical look, he merely grins at her, and she can’t find it in herself to question him. Instead, she merely smiles back.

Her heart squeezes in her chest at the sight. He looks so handsome cast in the orange hues of the sunset, and the way he smiles at her makes her heart do flips. She’s no longer looking towards the sun, for she has another blazing flame next to her. It’s a soft moment—a good one—but it’s cut short when Natsu kicks his leg up and lets water splash over her.

In ruining one moment, he creates another, and the laugh he lets out almost makes getting her shirt wet worth it.

Now dead set on earning her revenge, Lucy leans down to slosh water on him, and before long the two are engaged in a water fight of epic proportions, laughing and howling like a pair of children, unaffected by the burdens and woes of life.

It’s just them.

Just the way it always should be.

Her feet are beginning to sink into the wet sand, and she’s starting to lose her balance, but she’s not going down without a fight. In a last-ditch effort to hold herself up, she instead grabs onto Natsu, pulling them both down into the water.

At this point, they’re both completely drenched, so falling into the ocean does little to faze them.

Once they break the surface of the water, Lucy spits out a mouthful of ocean water that she obtained in the fall, and Natsu shakes the water out of his hair like a dog. Droplets from his hair splash onto Lucy’s face, and she holds her hands up to shield herself from it despite the fact that she is already soaked.

He laughs again, and hearing it once more, she realises that she’s in deep.

Their gazes meet, and for a moment she wonders if he ever thinks the same of her, but before she can think to contemplate it any longer, she feels his hands on her waist and her lips on her own.

There’s not a moment of hesitation before her hands move up to his face, cradling his jaw as she kisses him back.

In that moment, it feels as though all time has stopped.

It’s just them against the backdrop of the sunset.

She begins to wonder if this is what falling in love feels like.

☆♡☆♡

It has been three, maybe four, weeks since her job out of town with Natsu. Or perhaps—more accurately—since the day Natsu kissed her. The job is foreign in her mind, muddled in with every other job she’s taken over the past few years, but the kiss is so clear in her mind that she would be hard-pressed to ever forget it. It plays over and over again in her mind; the image so clear, it was as though she was reliving the moment every time.

The memory is practically haunting.

It wouldn’t be such a problem if he actually wanted to address it.

They hadn’t spoken a word about it since then because every time she tried to broach the subject, he seemed to get skittish. He was making it clear he didn’t want to talk about it, so she dropped the subject entirely, but for as normal as she wants to act, there’s still a lingering tension between them.

She just hopes things will go back to normal soon.

☆♡☆♡

iv. summer

All the money Natsu saves her in the winter goes down the drain in the summer when it’s time to pay her electricity bill. The window is wide open, two fans are running at full speed, and the AC is down as cool as it can go, but it’s still not enough. It’s not helped by the fact that he has decided to sprawl himself across her bed. Lucy knows he can’t help that his body runs about a million degrees hotter than most, but he’s really not helping his case with how close he's chosen to lay next to her—all but on top of her.

She gently nudges him with her foot in an attempt to get him off her bed and out of her general proximity.

“Off,” she demands, nudging him again, though far less gently this time.

“Don’t wanna,” he drawls, not moving an inch from his chosen spot.

The worst part, in Lucy’s eyes, is the fact that he doesn’t even seem to be affected by the heat, so he’s just taking up residence on her bed and blocking her fan for no real reason.

“You’re too hot,” she groans, rolling over onto her front in an attempt to get as far away from him and the heat he radiates as possible.

She’s aware of the double entendre as soon as she says it, and she tries to shake the thought from her mind when she questions which way she means it.

Ever since the day he kissed her, she hasn’t been able to get him off of her mind. That in and of itself was not unusual; he’s her best friend, and they’re basically inseparable, but this time it’s different. This time, her mind is plagued with thoughts of him as something more. Every time she gets a glimpse of his lips, she recalls the way they felt against hers, and she wants to feel them again.

She really thought that that moment would be the turning point in their relationship—the moment they could take things further than what they have now. They’ve always had something more-than-friends going on in their relationship, she supposes, but he has always left her wanting more. She needs something, anything from him, to let her know how he feels—a label, a kiss, any sort of acknowledgement of these feelings that always seem to be just simmering below the surface—but instead she gets nothing.

She’s not given any more time to dwell on those thoughts when Natsu rolls over to get closer to her, tossing one leg over her own, and suddenly the only thing she can think about is how this is going to be a long, sweaty afternoon.

“You’re comfy,” is the only excuse he drawls.

Lucy doesn’t feel like debating it—she doesn’t have the energy to do so—so it’s left at that.

☆♡☆♡

Honestly, the crackle of the fire is the last thing they need right now given the warm summer nights they’ve been blessed with, but as the sun dips low over the horizon and they still find themselves in the depths of the forest, it’s necessary to cook their dinner and light their camp.

With the sun down, the night is much cooler than the day, making it bearable to linger by the fire for a while before they retire back to their tent for the night.

It’s a little cloudy tonight, but Lucy still indulges herself in the little stargazing she can get this time of night—or at least, she tries to before her attention is drawn away by Natsu, snapping small branches off of a nearby tree.

“What are you doing?” She asks.

“Getting sticks,” he answers, matter-of-factly.

Lucy holds pause for a moment, waiting for him to elaborate. She can see he’s getting sticks, but she’s still unsure why. When an answer doesn’t come, she speaks up again.

“Why?”

“Gonna make us s’mores.”

That causes her to perk up slightly.

“You brought stuff for s’mores?” She asks.

“Yeah, they’re in my pack,” he replies, gesturing to where it sits by the fire as he returns with an armful of sticks he has deemed sufficient for their marshmallow toasting endeavours.

Surely enough, when he rummages through his bag for a moment, he pulls out everything they need to make s’mores. He wastes no time piercing the marshmallows on his sticks and handing one to her. She’s never roasted marshmallows before, which is kind of absurd given how often they’ve got a campfire going, but she gets the idea pretty quickly.

Her first few are not as good as she would have hoped. When she accidentally burns them, charring them beyond recognition, Natsu eats them without complaint. He likes them better that way, he tells her. When he offers one up to her, she politely declines.

She discovers she likes a nice even toast, and the way to do that, as Natsu teaches her, is to keep it in continuous motion.

He only “accidentally” knocks her marshmallow into the fire once.

Their s’mores are sweet, and ooey, and gooey. They’re full of melt-in-your-mouth, chocolatey goodness, and when a little bit of chocolate makes it onto her face, Natsu wipes it off with his thumb and sticks it in his mouth. It’s a marked improvement on licking her face, but the tenderness of it makes her cheeks grow just a little hotter.

She begins to wonder if he might be just as sweet as the s’mores they’re eating.

☆♡☆♡

A bead of sweat drips down Lucy’s temple as the sun beats down on her.

They had planned to stay at the guild a little later than usual and wait out the midday sun, but even that is proving to be still much too hot for her. While Natsu fares fine in the heat, Lucy does not hold up so well and is in a rush to make it back to her air-conditioned apartment.

It’s not a long walk from the guild to her apartment, but in this heat it’s never felt longer, not made any better given Natsu does not seem to be in the same hurry she is. He trails a few feet behind her, and as much as she would like to just leave without waiting around for him, she can’t do that to him. Just as she’s at the end of her rope, she turns on her heel to snap at him to hurry up, the weather doing no good for her irritability, but in that moment she realises why it is that he doesn’t seem to be in much of a rush.

On the corner of one of the corners she passed without much thought, is a little ice cream stand, making the most of the summer season.

She comes to pause, unable to hold it against him when she suddenly wants the exact same thing. An ice cream seems like the exact thing she needs to get through this weather.

When she opens her purse, she remembers all the frivolous purchases she’s made this week, and there’s nothing more than a few stray jewels in there—not nearly enough to buy herself a little treat. In a last-ditch attempt to obtain her sweet treat, she turns to face her partner.

“Naaattsssuu~” She says, batting her eyelashes in an attempt to sway him.

She doesn’t have to ask because he already knows what she wants.

He’s never succumbed to her cute charms before, but it’s worth the attempt anyway. Natsu, as perhaps predicted, looks unaffected.

“Please?” She adds, sweetly.

She’s not entirely sure if it’s because of her persuading—if anything, she thinks it might be in spite of it—but Natsu rolls his eyes and caves anyway. Lucy lets out a celebratory squeal, clapping her hands in excitement, giving no care to the thought that she may look childish in that moment. The stand worker hands her a cone, a cherry blossom pink shade with strawberry ripples throughout.

The coolness that hits her tongue is exactly what she needs. Any irritability correlated with the weather melts away like the trail of cream that drips down her hand. She thanks Natsu for the treat, and she can’t be too upset with him when he takes a lick from her cone.

☆♡☆♡

“Up,” Lucy demands, throwing a pillow at Natsu’s face to rouse him from his slumber. “Up!”

Natsu groans, perhaps justifiably so, considering that it is the middle of the night and the sun hasn’t even begun to threaten peeking over the horizon. He’s clearly a little dazed and out of it, but given she’s waking him at no later than two in the morning, she can’t exactly blame him.

“Don’t wanna,” he drawls. “Wanna go back to sleep.”

"Well, you can’t,” she replies. “I’m going out, and who knows what kind of creeps are roaming around at this time, so I need you to come with me.”

“Where are you going?” He asks, his voice still hoarse.

“We,” she corrects, gesturing between the two of them. “Are going stargazing.”

Natsu doesn’t reply immediately. After a few moments of silence, Lucy comes to realise he is probably not going to reply at all. Given the demand route didn’t work, she switches up her tactics and puts on a pout that she hopes he can see in the dark.

“Please?”

There’s another beat of silence that makes Lucy wonder whether this is a lost cause, but before she gives up entirely, he caves.

“Fine.”

They’re in a town far out from any cities, bordering a forest where light pollution is almost non-existent. The summer weather has brought them a warm, cloudless night, so perfect for stargazing that Lucy could almost cry.

Once they make it just outside the border of the town, she spreads out a blanket onto the grass before splaying herself out on top of it, at which point Natsu joins. It’s not the most comfortable laying on the grass, but the view is so pretty that Lucy can’t bring herself to care.

As if by instinct now, her eyes trace lines between the stars to draw pictures of constellations. It’s engrained in her brain now, in her soul, and in her very being. It brings her such comfort to be out among the stars, like she was meant to be there. She lays there for a moment or two before she realises that Natsu is not made quite the same way.

She reaches her hand out in front of them, her index finger pointing towards the skies, where she locates a cluster of stars not terribly familiar to her but she knows well enough will pique his interest.

“That there,” she begins. “Is Draco.”

His eyes seem to light up, attention captured by her words. She tells him the tales of the stars, and he listens until deep into the night.

She lets out a small yawn, the late night finally taking its toll on her body. She knows it’s time to go back to their rooms, but the view is so pretty and the moment is so perfect that she just doesn’t want to leave.

So they stay.

Before long, the night sky before them is swallowed away by droopy eyelids and the promise of a cool night’s sleep.

☆♡☆♡

If she had to pick, Lucy would probably choose summer as her favourite season. Though she loves the golden leaves of fall, the gentle blossoms of spring, and the soft snowflakes of winter, the warm rays of summer always seem to edge it out for her.

For the most part, anyway.

That was before a heatwave hit Magnolia, at which point she had to reconsider. She has lived here for years by now and though it certainly gets warm in the summer, she’s never experienced heat like this until now. Fortunately for her, that is where Erza comes in clutch with a trip to Akane Beach as a reward for all the hard work they’ve done this year.

“Can someone please put some sunscreen on my back?” Lucy drawls as she lays sprawled on her towel on the sand.

The heat itself is already unbearable—the last thing she wants right now is to be baked until her tender skin is peeling off of her back.

“I can,” Gray volunteers, reaching out for the bottle, but before she can pass it off to him, Natsu interrupts from practically half way across the beach.

“I got it!”

He makes a mad dash for it, snatching it out of her hands before Gray can get to it.

It’s a little bit of a strange move, but she simply puts it down to his competitiveness. Right now, all Lucy cares about is whether her skin is protected from the death ray that is this year’s summer sun, so she makes no comment as she lays face down on her towel.

The coolness of the lotion against her back brings her enough relief that not even Natsu’s warm hands bother her. It’s rather nice feeling him massage in the cream, working out the knots and cricks in her back as he goes. It’s enough to have her falling asleep in the sun, only to wake up hours later, stuck within a moat Natsu has decided to dig around her.

☆♡☆♡

The beaches are packed during the day, but despite still being warm out at night, they empty out when the sun goes down. It’s perfect for Lucy’s plans, given she didn’t get to go for a dip during the day. She had been too busy working on her tan, but she can still admit that the water looked tempting.

Armed with a beach towel, she wanders down the hallway with the intention of having the beach to herself but is promptly cut off when she rounds the corner and finds her partner about to enter his own room. Her presence is enough to capture his attention and the swimsuit peeking out from her shirt is enough to raise questions.

“Where ya goin’?” He asks, brows quirked in curiosity.

“For a swim,” she replies.

“At this time of night?”

“Mhmm.”

There’s a beat of silence for a moment as he mulls over her words.

“Can I come?”

She thinks that might be the first time he’s asked permission in his life, so she’d be hard-pressed to say no to him.

The cool water against her skin is exactly what she’s been needing, and going out this late means that it’s just the two of them. She wades in waist deep, and Natsu follows not far behind. Looking up, she sees that the vast sky is cloudless, presenting them with a canvas of stars smattered across the galaxy. She leans back and lets herself float on the water, and Natsu follows suit.

The feeling it gives her in that moment is nothing short of absolute peace.

Natsu’s unusually quiet as they gaze at the skies, and Lucy glances over at him to make sure he’s okay. He notices her gaze immediately and shoots her back a grin.

In that moment, her heart squeezes in her chest.

“Ya wanna swim?” He asks before she can give it too much thought.

“I’d like that.”

It feels like they’ve entered a new dimension as they swim under the moonlight, one kept secret from the rest of the world. A sacred place where only they exist.

When Lucy breaks the surface of the water, she flips her hair back and takes in a deep breath to savour this moment and the salty sea breeze. Upon looking at Natsu, she finds his hair dripping over his eyes. He shakes his head to rid of the excess water, and she lets out a squeal as it splashes up onto her face. It’s a declaration of war, and she’s not going to back down so easily.

Ruthlessly, she sends an armful of water his way, and he makes the mistake of yelling out as she does so, getting a mouthful of salt water in the process. Lucy howls in laughter as he sputters and spits, and Natsu takes the distraction to give her a splash of epic proportions.

She’s already soaked, but she’s not about to give him the satisfaction of winning. As a lifeline to keep herself from submerging, she grabs onto Natsu, arms wrapping around his chest, her face pressed up against him.

In that moment, she is hit with a bout of déjà vu, and she’s brought back to that night on the beach in the spring.

He must feel it too, because in that moment he freezes, and she waits for him to kiss her just like before. He lifts her up into his arms, holding her bridal style just above the water. Instinctively, her arms come to rest on his shoulders, and she puckers up, ready to feel his lips on hers.

The kiss she’s waiting for never comes.

Instead, he tosses her into the water, where she lands with a hearty splash. It happens so quickly that she doesn’t even process what’s happened until she’s already submerged. She tries to gasp for air in shock, but instead takes in a mouthful of water and chokes. Her return to the surface is less than graceful, and she thinks Natsu is pulling her up, but she’s so disoriented that she doesn’t know what’s happening.

All she can really register is the look of guilt on his face as he helps her back to shore.

☆♡☆♡

For as enthused as Natsu had seemed to hang out with her at the start of the trip, it seems like all that enthusiasm has gone out the window as the days progress. He hasn’t spoken to her directly all morning and even as the group makes the excursion out into town, he keeps his distance.

She looks over at Natsu and finds him looking back, but the moment he realises she’s spotted him, he looks away. It’s not the first time that’s happened this week, and based on the way things are going, she fears it might not be the last either.

He’s been so weird these past few days—she’s barely even seen him since their moonlit beach trip. She thought it had been a coincidence at first, that he just happened to be occupying himself with something else whenever she saw him, but now she knows he’s been doing it on purpose. She’s just not sure why.

Does he feel guilty about nearly drowning her? He’s always been bad at apologies and accountability, but he’s done plenty worse to her before without remorse, and she really isn’t upset about it. If anything, she’s upset that he’s ignoring her—that he doesn’t feel like he can confide in her about whatever’s bothering him.

It throws off her mood for the next few days, and everyone else seems to notice.

Erza doesn’t even have to say anything; she simply holds up the bottle of sake, and Lucy knows that all her problems are going to be washed away with it for tonight.

☆♡☆♡

It doesn’t quite hit her how much she’s had to drink until she’s hobbling down the hallways back to her room, hand trailing the wall to keep her balance as the world threatens to spin around her. Despite that, she’s convinced she can make it to her room herself—that is, until she sees Natsu round the corner, and based on his expression, he doesn’t share her conviction.

It takes all of her willpower not to fling her entire body weight at him out of excitement the moment she sees him. Still, she refrains.

He’s mad at her, is the conclusion her drunken mind has come to. Why else would he be avoiding her the way he has been? He’s mad at her, and he doesn’t want to spend time with her, and he doesn’t want to kiss her.

He’s pulling away from her because the tension between them is palpable since their kiss, and it’s only made worse by the fact that she so desperately wants more between them, but he just wants to remain friends.

With furrowed brows, Natsu approaches her in an attempt to make sure her drunken self is okay. He reaches out to her, his hand resting on her arm to help her maintain her balance.

The feeling of his hand against her skin is enough to make her do something stupid.

“Why won’t you kiss me again?” She slurs.

She can’t stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth, and she regrets them the instant she sees Natsu’s expression morph into one of panic, but she’s too drunk to take them back.

“I, uh-”

He swallows thickly and averts his gaze, and her heart breaks all in the same moment.

“C’mon, let’s get you to your room,” he says, avoiding the question entirely.

He reaches out to lift her up, and she tries to bat him away, to turn around and get back by herself, but his sober movements are too much for her drunk self, and before she can make any meaningful escape, he’s scooped her up in his arms. Instinctively, she reaches around his neck and nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck.

Anything else that happens after that is nothing but a blur in Lucy’s mind, mingled together with the scent and warmth of Natsu wrapped around her.

☆♡☆♡

It’s their last night at Akane Beach, and she feels as though she’s wasted it. The first few days were good, great even, but ever since Natsu began his dance of sidestepping her at every occasion, things have been downhill.

She can exist without Natsu, and he can exist without her. She has no problem with him having his own space, doing his own things, but things have been awkward between them, and it makes her worry about the state of their relationship. There’s been question marks around it all summer—a lingering tension between them ever since they kissed. Still, Natsu refuses to acknowledge it, leaving Lucy unsure how to address it.

Maybe, given some time, things would go back to normal. What they have is too strong to be broken by a measly kiss. They could just brush it off as some spur-of-the moment mistake, but as soon as that liquid courage entered her veins, she had to go and ruin it all by admitting that she doesn’t think it was a mistake—that she wants more.

Evidently, Natsu does not.

There’s a fireworks show on tonight, and everyone is practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect of seeing them. The balcony in Erza’s room provides them with what proposes to be an incredible view of it, and while everyone has gathered there to see it, Lucy has gone off on her own.

While she loves her friends, what she needs right now isn’t to be crammed on a balcony with them—with Natsu. She wants to clear her mind, and a cool night's walk to pull herself together while the rest of them are occupied offers the perfect opportunity.

She walks through the town through sunset, letting her legs take her where they may until she finds herself walking the beach, sand beneath her feet under a moonlit sky.

With the display on tonight, much of the beach is full of both tourists and locals eager to watch the canvas of the sky be painted with more than just stars tonight. She avoids the crowds as she walks, nothing more than intuition leading her way, and is rewarded when she comes across a secluded spot on the beach, far away from everyone else. It feels wrong to be out here alone on the final day of her trip, but she can’t bring herself to face Natsu right now.

She’s just a stupid girl. A stupid, dumb, idiot, lovestruck girl who’s ruined everything good in her life over a crush and a bottle of sake.

She’s let herself get her hopes up, she’s deluded herself into thinking she has a chance, and she’s wasted her time on someone who doesn’t want her and ruined their friendship in the process. She doesn’t want to cry over something like this, but she can’t stop the few tears that manage their way down her cheeks. She pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her forehead on them to conceal the little sobs and whimpers she lets out.

Before long, the rising chatter of those excited for tonight’s display draws her gaze up, and she realises how pathetic she seems in this moment. She considers leaving, going somewhere more private to wallow in self-pity in peace, but the sound of footsteps in the sand behind her captures her attention instead. She turns around to find the source and sees Natsu approaching behind her.

She’s not sure what to say to him after embarrassing herself in front of him last night, but when he grins and plants himself on the sand beside her, she knows she doesn’t have to say anything. He wraps his arms around her and rests his forehead against her shoulder. In that moment, she feels all the tension between them melt away.

“Hey,” he says, voice little more than a murmur against her arm.

“Hi,” she manages to squeak back.

It’s quiet between them for a moment after that. Lucy doesn’t know what to say after all that’s happened—she's not really sure she knows how to be normal around Natsu after all of this. There are all these weird feelings swirling around in her chest that she isn’t entirely sure how to address now that he’s here, so she simply doesn’t say anything.

“Why’d you come all the way out here?” He asks, finally breaking the silence between them.

“Because I needed some time to myself,” she answers honestly.

She doesn’t say anything to elaborate on it, and they fall into silence once again. She’s embarrassed to say why—embarrassed to let him in on her feelings, especially when the tension she’s been worried about seems to have dissipated in an instant.

“Why did you come out here to find me?” She asks, filling the quiet air that has befallen them.

“Because I missed you.”

It feels strange to hear, given that he’s been avoiding her all week, but when he smiles at her the way he is; so truly, so genuinely, none of that seems to matter.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she says.

She’s not too sure if it’s meant to be a question or not, but it comes out as a statement. A look of guilt crosses Natsu’s face, and he averts his gaze, confirming what she already knows.

“Yeah,” he affirms with a murmur. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

The question topples out of her mouth before she can stop it. She’s not entirely sure she wants to know the answer, but by then, it’s already too late.

“I’m not good with… feelings,” he says, eyes still trained on the sand in front of them.

That is something she has long since become acquainted with. Natsu doesn’t do feelings. He’d much rather ignore any complicated feelings than have to acknowledge they’re there because feelings incite change and Natsu doesn’t like change.

Change is good; change is necessary, she thinks, but when it comes to their relationship, she thinks she understands where he’s coming from.

What they have is good, not something worth ruining over a few little complicated feelings. That’s why she’s wanted to move on, to find someone else to help stray her romantic thoughts from Natsu, but so much as she tries, she just can’t imagine herself with anyone but him. He’s so kind, so thoughtful; he protects her; he takes care of her. He makes her laugh and smile, even when things feel hopeless. He takes her on adventures, he teaches her new things.

He gets her.

There is no one else out there like her Natsu, and she knows that anyone who tries to vie for her heart will always be put in comparison to him. Still, what they have isn’t worth losing over whatever she feels towards him and so she should be content keeping things as they are.

She wants to tell him this, but the sound of fireworks painting the night sky pulls them out of the moment.

It’s a cloudless night, and the sky is littered with a million stars that might be the centrepiece were it not for bright colours lighting up the night. It’s pretty, and it’s perfect, and it eases any worries Lucy might have had—at least for now. She’s happy to have this moment with him, to let it linger untainted from any feelings she may have for him, even if just for a moment.

She’s happy to share this with him.

That untainted moment is cut short when she feels his hand, callouses and all, graze her cheek. She drags her gaze to meet his, and if she thinks she has any idea what he’s doing before now, all that goes out the window when he’s kissing her lips.

It’s more deliberate this time—less spontaneous, less salty. This time she’s given the chance to feel him against her, to taste his lips, and it’s so perfect she could almost cry.

It’s not their first kiss, but it’s their first kiss that means something, and if she has any doubts about that, they quickly dissipate when his thumb rubs gently across the soft skin of her cheek and she gives into him, truly and wholly. Her hands come to rest on his chest, and she lets herself melt into the taste of his lips. She doesn’t even realise she’s out of breath until she pulls away and has to gasp for air.

When her eyes flutter back open, she’s met with Natsu’s brows furrowed as though he’s been gripped in concentration. The sight of it catches her off guard, and she can’t do anything but laugh at the absurdity of it.

“What? Why are you laughing?” He asks, sounding almost offended. “Was it bad?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “It wasn’t bad.”

It causes a flutter in her heart to know that he cares this much. Natsu goes through life not caring about what others think about the things he does, so to think he worries what she thinks about their kiss says a lot.

“Well, good, ‘cause you said that you wanted me to kiss you again.”

Her face comes up in a flush at his words as she’s forced to remember the events of the previous night. Just because things are looking like they’re smoothing over doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.

“And I dunno,” he murmurs. “I kinda wanted to kiss you again too.”

At his words, she feels her face is flushing for a different reason.

“I’m not good at talkin’ ‘bout my feelings,” he says, pulling her out of her thoughts. “But I don’t want things to be weird between us like this.”

“Yeah, me either,” she replies.

“You’re my best friend,” he starts. “I know you probably think I’m too stupid to have noticed that things have been different between us the past couple of months, but I have.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” she tells him, her voice soft and airy, tender and gentle.

“Yeah well… I dunno. I think you’re cool, and I like being with you, and lately I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout us as—y’know.”

He cuts off there as if he’s waiting for her to fill in the blanks, but all she can do is regard him with expectant gaze.

“As boyfriend and girlfriend,” he says.

She’s taken aback by how up-front he is about it. They’ve been tiptoeing around it all summer long, trying to dodge the conversation at his skittish avoidance, but now he’s suddenly the one to bring it up.

“I never really cared about that sorta stuff before, but I know you do, and I thought I’d be okay when you finally decided you wanted to start dating, but the thought of you doing all that dumb romantic stuff with another guy didn’t make me feel good either,” he continues. “And I guess I realised it’s because I wanna do that stuff with you.”

Suddenly, his words put everything that’s happened over the past year into perspective. She’s always worried what she has read as romantic subtext is just her looking for something where it’s not and that this is just the natural progression of their relationship—that Natsu’s just like that. Natsu tends to wear his heart on his sleeve, but rarely does he share his innermost thoughts, even with her, so all she can really do is make assumptions and wait for a moment like this where he finally starts to truly open up.

“I thought maybe if I said that’s what I wanted then things would change, and I don’t like when things change, but I guess the more I thought about it, the more I realised things probably wouldn’t be all that different,” he tells her. “I think dating is kinda dumb, but I don’t think it’d be dumb if it was with you.”

She’s usually the words girl and he’s usually the actions boy but in this moment, he’s left her speechless. Her heart thumps hard in her chest, and she wonders if she heard him right. There’s so much she wants to say to him, but she’s not at all prepared, so there’s only one thing she can do.

Her hands shoot up to his face, cradling his jaw, and she practically throws herself into his lap as she kisses him.

He’s taken off guard for a moment, but he quickly gives in, and his hands tangle in her hair, and they fall into the sand.

Her heart is so full after yearning for so long that she could almost cry, and perhaps if she weren’t otherwise preoccupied, she just might.

When she finally pulls away, she gets a glimpse of him beneath her in the moonlight, grin plastered across his face and sand stuck in his hair. This moment makes all the pain, the pining, the waiting worth it.

If she had known it would be this easy, she would have done it long ago, but she knows Natsu, and she knows that he needed his own time to figure himself out. She would have waited forever for him if that’s what it took. As she looks down at his smile and feels the tingle of his taste lingering against her lips, she’s glad she didn’t have to.

“Is that a yes?” He asks with a knowing grin plastered across his face, which tells her he already knows.

She doesn’t bother to dignify him with an answer—she just leans down and presses her lips to his, hoping that after so long, he’ll finally get the message.

[tasteracha]

please

word count: 1.7k

warnings: afab!reader, reader x chan, reader calls chan sir, chan calls reader slut (once), oral sex, soft dom!chan

synopsis: you and chan play out one of your fantasies

you’ve thought about it. him coming home, post concert adrenaline still high, still in his obscene concert outfit that makes your mouth water every time you see it. him acting like a stuck up kpop star, displaying the fame that he never lets himself think about, too humble for it. you acting like a fan, someone who only gets to imagine being with him in your fantasies. when it actually happens it catches you off guard, even though he makes plenty of noise coming through the door to let you know he’s home. you talked about it in the morning, laying in bed with drowsy eyes and puffy cheeks, but you didn’t think he would actually do it. you hadn’t been expecting him for at least another hour, at the very least.

he proves you wrong when he enters the bedroom, looking at you in almost exaggerated surprise. 

if you’re not in this bed in ten seconds i’m going to climb you like a tree, is on the top of your tongue. he looks phenomenal, dressed in sparkly black with sweat still dotting his brow, like he ran straight here without even saying goodbye to his members and staff. but you don’t say it - that’s not the role you want to play right now. 

“bang chan?” you squeak out instead, using your covers to hide most of your body in faux embarrassment. “what- what are you doing here?”

“i’ve seen you.” he says, stalking towards you like a predator. “at my shows. posting about me. writing about me. you think you can look the way you do, talk about me the way you do, and not face any consequences?”

your face burns up, and this time it’s real embarrassment. he’s not wrong - he knows you write about him, even if it’s mostly a power move against everyone else because while there are better writers out there, you’re the one whose arms he comes home to. you’re the one who he shares a bed with, he presses kisses to your skin, he loves you. 

“get up,” he orders, breaking you out of your shame, eyes passive as they roam over you. the urge to follow his order washes over you, tempting, but you stay put. 

“what?” you stammer out instead, ignoring the way the heat is already starting to form between your legs. 

“i don’t want to repeat myself. you do what i say, is that clear?” his voice is firm, tinted with a only do this if you want to that you only hear from years of being with him.

you slowly move out of the covers in response, movements timid as you look down at the shorts and old t-shirt you wore to bed. should you have worn something sexier for him? the thought sends another delicious wave of shame through you, warming you from your head to your toes.

as if hearing your thoughts, he stalks towards you and thumbs at the collar of the shirt, stretching it a bit so he can see your collarbones and notice the lack of bra underneath.

“look at you, ready for me like this,” he growls, digging his thumb into your flesh. “do you dress like this every night, hoping i’ll show up like this?”

you exhale shakily, not knowing if you want to press further into him or step away. the headspace is taking over slowly as your mind goes fuzzy. he removes his hand from you to unbutton his shirt and you hold back a whine of protest.

“no, keep it on,” you say, your own hand coming to rest on top of his, stopping his movements. “please?” you tack on, knowing he would like it. he likes when you beg.

sure enough, he groans and releases his shirt, letting his hand linger against yours for a moment. 

“on your knees,” he says, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down just enough to free his cock from his boxers. the jeans are deliciously tight on his thighs, held up without him trying. you’re on your knees before you know it, one second staring into his eyes and the next second eye-level with his hardening length.

“chan?’ you stutter when he moves to tap his tip against your bottom lip. he chuckles, stroking himself a couple times against you.

“that’s not what you want to call me, is it?” he says coldly, dark eyes looking down on you in condescension. you rack your brain, eyes flitting back and forth between his face and the cock in front of yours. mr. bang seems too clinical, too detached, so not that. chris is what you call him when he’s gently rocking into you, whispering declarations of love into your ear, so it’s not that, either. sometimes, when you’re especially in need of control, you call him your pet, but that’s not right. you land on one, testing out the flavor of it on your tongue before trying it. 

“sir?” you say tentatively, and he rewards you by pressing his length into your mouth. you moan around him in content, the taste of him hitting your senses making you more floaty than before. 

“that’s it,” he moans when you take him a little further into your mouth, and you don’t know if he’s referencing the title or the way you suck him in, but you don’t particularly care at the moment. you bob around his head like it’s where you belong, ignoring the ache in your knees. you don’t know how long you stay there for, letting him shallowly thrust into your mouth while you sit obediently, hands in your lap. you’re twitching to touch him, fingers aching for his skin, but one slap to your hand had you twisting them together instead.

he pulls back after a while, holding himself at the base. his soft noises, moans and growls under his breath, were spurring you on. now with the silence, you feel lost. did you do something wrong? you look up at him through your lashes, tears starting to form.

“oh, sweetheart,” he coos, brushing your cheek with his thumb. you nuzzle into his hand, grateful for the contact. “you did so well for me. but you don’t want me to come in your mouth do you?”

oh. it clicks into place. you shake your head rapidly, tongue flicking out to lap at the drool that’s pooled on your bottom lip. 

“on the bed,” he orders, his tone not matching the way he helps you to your feet, letting you steady yourself on shaky legs. he strips you of your clothes clinically, clicking his tongue at you when he notices you have nothing on under your shorts. it’s patronizing, the way he’s looking down at you. it’s lovely. “hands and knees.”

you get into position, listening to the sound of his clothes hitting the floor. you turn your head and pout at him, mourning the loss of the smooth silk that was adorning his body. 

“don’t look so sad,” he bites, kneeling behind you and running two fingers through your folds, making you jolt. “you’re so wet already. i can’t have you ruining my nice clothes, hmm?”

“no, sir,” you slur out, so gone for him. his hands grab at your ass, squeezing your flesh between his strong hands before spreading you apart for him. his cock teases at your entrance, making your heartbeat falter. he usually teases you, making you fall apart on his fingers or his tongue before splitting you apart on his cock. not today though it seems, given that he drives himself into you in one thrust. you choke on your breath, arms giving out as you fall to your elbows and let your head smush into the pillow under you. 

he starts slow, movements sensual as he lets you get adjusted to his length inside of you. it’s not enough.

“please, sir,” you moan into the pillow, voice muffled but reaching his ears anyways. your body moves back into his involuntarily, making him stop completely, buried in you to the hilt. 

“please what?” he says, smoothing a hand down your back to rest on the nape of your neck. he leans forward until his mouth is right by your ear, his breaths tickling your hair. “tell me what you want. beg for it.”

“please, please fuck me,” you gasp out, breath stuttering when he pushes against your neck. “use me, i’m yours.”

he snorts, pulling out almost all the way before burying himself completely again. 

“what a good little slut,” he starts up a harsh rhythm with his hips, grunting with the effort. “all mine. you’ve thought about this, haven’t you? while you touch yourself, you’ve thought about me. been saving yourself for me, hoping for me.”

“please,” you drawl out again. you’re not even sure what you’re begging for. for him to stop, for him to keep going and never stop, you don’t know.

“i bet you tell all your friends about me, how you want me so badly,” he continues, his breaths threaded out now, the first sign of him being just as affected by this as you are. “you’re going to tell them about this too, aren’t you? too bad they won’t believe you.”

he moves impossibly faster, burying himself impossibly deeper, hitting spots inside you that you didn’t think were possible. he folds himself over you completely, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder like he can’t help it as he comes inside of you, filling you up. you follow him as he chases the last bits of his release, shaking underneath him and whining when he pulls out and flops down next to you.

you finally let your muscles relax as you collapse into the mattress. he’s panting in time with your breaths, his hand coming to rest against your waist as he pulls you closer to him. you calm down together, breaths returning to normal and heartbeat slowing to something closer to a steady beat than the jackhammering it was running at before.

“that was,” he starts, breaking the comfortable silence and grinning at you. “something.”

“we are so doing that again, chris,” you giggle, burrowing into his side as clarity returns to your brain. the press of your bodies against one another is a little gross with the sweat slicking your bodies, but you don’t care. after, that, you need him close.

“don’t you mean ‘sir’?” he says, arching an eyebrow at you. 

“say that again and you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

[shadowsndaisies]

the hard deck: too observant to play dumb (pt 1)

wc: 1.7 k

synopsis: how the arrival at the hard deck went

main masterlist

athena-verse master post

a/n: hey yall! so fun fact it has been 8 years since I started this blog, and as a little thank you, I have a 3 part update to the athena-verse, the whole thing comprises the hard deck scene from the beginning of the movie and will end basically where athena settles debts starts. as always I hope you enjoy, and let me know if you want to be added to the tags!

You'd been standing with Jake and Javi when Nat finally walked in.

"Athena! I've been looking for you!" she shouts, pulling your attention away from the pool table you'd just set up with Javi.

"Oh shit, sorry 'Nix," you offer a half smile.

"Answer your god damn for when I call you," she groans, pointing menacingly at you.

"Yes, Ma'am," you mock salute before noticing the two men behind her. "Looks like you made new friends just fine though," you offer jokingly.

"Payback, Fanboy. Meet Athena, smoothest flier you'll ever see," Phoenix introduces, and you smile warmly at your friend before offering your hand to the two behind her.

"Nice to meet you fellas," you greet.

"High praise coming from Phoenix," Fanboy notes, shaking your head.

"Highest of the high, actually," Payback adds on.

"Yeah, well, there's almost no one I'd rather have on my wing than 'Nix," you compliment back. You were going to ask how they knew your friend, but someone else interrupted you before you could.

"Yo, are we playing or what?" you roll your eyes as you turn back to where Jake and Javi are standing and gesture to the three in front of you; you realize Jake is hunched over the table, lining up his next shot.

"I'm playing nice, Seresin. You should try it," you prod, and Javi manages a slight smirk at Jake.

Jake looks up and makes eye contact with you while landing a ball in a corner pocket, and you can't help but roll your eyes again, cocky bastard. When he straightens, he finally notices what has caught your attention. "Well, what do we have here? If it ain't Phoenix, and she found new friends," he smirks, walking around the table in your direction. "And here I thought we were special Coyote. Turns out the invite went out to anybody."

It's almost like a switch is flipped, you realize, watching as Jake now interacts with others. Cocky attitude inflating his ego in a way that was so Hangman but not necessarily Jake. Nat didn't believe you when you tried to explain that you saw past it, and that's why you were friends. She was confident in her reading, which fair, especially when he acted like this.

"Fellas this here is Bagman," she introduces, and you can already tell it's going to be a long detachment spent between your two friends, especially since they hate each other.

"Hangman," he corrects, tone slightly barbed.

"Whatever," Phoenix makes a face at him and rolls her eyes when she looks at you as if to say, C'mon Athena, don't you see what I'm talking about? "You're looking at the only naval aviator on active duty with a confirmed air-to-air kill," she adds on, turning back to Jake.

Your eyes narrow at the compliment-like a statement; however, you don't trust it for a second.

Hangman smiles, "Stop," he muses as he settles down beside you, bumping your shoulder with his as he does, full of pride like a peacock strutting his feathers.

"Mind you, the other guy was in a museum piece from the Korean War," she clarifies, and you nod; you felt this was where she was taking it.

"Cold War," Coyote corrects, always one to back up his friends.

"Different wars, same century," Payback interjects.

"Not this one," Fanboy tacks on.

"Who're your friends?" Coyote asks, eyes dancing over the two on either side of Phoenix.

"Payback."

"Fanboy."

Both aviators introduce themselves with a simple nod, and you can't hide your smile of amusement. The testosterone was off the charts, and Nat was leading the bunch.

"Hey Coyote," she greets, eyes darting to Javi, and you fight the smirk at the look in her eye.

"Hey," he greets, dragging out the 'ey' a bit, and your eyes dart over to Jake just to find a knowing look already focused on you.

"Who's he?" Nat asks, nodding to the side.

"Who's who?" Coyote's brows had furrowed down, and then Nat turned to look at the quiet Aviator in glasses who'd been munching on peanuts while you played pool.

"When did you get in?" Coyote's voice floats over from behind you as you take a moment to observe your silent comrade.

"Oh, oh I've been here the whole time," he admits, and your brow quirks, and quickly you turn to look over at Jake.

"Man's a stealth pilot," you muse gently, and even Nat cracks a smile.

"Literally," Coyote nods.

"Weapons systems officer, actually," he corrects, and your lips twitch; he's adorable, you decide immediately.

"With no sense of humor," Jake huffs out.

You elbow him, and he gasps before standing and handing off the pool cue to Nat.

"What do they call you?" you ask, voice sweet.

"Bob," he answers, offering a hesitant smile in response to your wide one.

"No, your call sign," Payback clarifies.

He seems to hesitate, "uh.." he trails for a second, and you can read the nervous energy easily. "Bob," he repeats, and you frown a bit at the cautious undertones of his voice.

"Bob Floyd?" Nat asks. "You're my new backseater? From Leemore?" her tone had turned a bit incredulous. The smothered chortles from Payback and Fanboy were not nearly as covert as they seemed to think it was, based on the glares Nat was sending them.

"Looks like it, yeah," Bob confirms, and that nervous undertone is still there.

Nat pauses and looks at you. You tilt your head knowingly, and she nods, turning to the back seater.

"Nine ball, Bob. Rack 'em."

"Uh.. kay, yeah," he nods, standing and taking the pool cue outstretched in Natasha's hand.

You pat your friend's shoulder knowingly before turning to look for Jake. You spot him at the bar and start walking that way. You pause, though, when you see him talking to Penny, and then you realize who was on the other side of her and, most likely, who had just caused the bell to ring. Leave it to your dad to piss off the woman who loved him through his worst and best without even trying.

You're so focused on watching the interaction at the bar you miss it when he walks in.

"Bradshaw! That you?" Nat's voice rings out over the noise of the bar. It's only now starting to get busy, and you can't help the way your head snaps over to him.

You'd knew he'd be here. He said as much in his email, but being confronted by him and the past you avoided was something you decided then and there that you weren't ready for.

You're stuck, frozen, watching him interact with Phoenix.

"This is how I find out you're stateside?" she asks before lining up to take her next shot.

"Yeah I thought I'd surprise you," he responds with an easy camaraderie that you hadn't realized existed with the woman you considered to be one of your closest friends these days.

He's looking around the bar, not having spotted you yet, when Nat lets out a hum, taking her shot. Obviously, she lands another in the pocket; this was Phoenix we're talking about. She manages to hit Bradley in the gut with the end of the pool cue, forcing him to keel over a bit.

A petty and vindictive piece of you takes pleasure in that. But another piece, a little girl, she aches for the easygoing relationship and the best friend she once had.

"Guess I surprised you back," she smirks, facing Bradley.

He nods at her, "it's good to see you," he manages to huff out, slowly standing back up.

"It's good to see you too," she smiles, and he lays a gentle hand on her shoulder, and you have to turn back around.

You're counting your breaths again, focusing on what you can see, touch, hear, taste, and smell. You realize too late that Jake's analyzing you. He'd seen how you stiffened up and focused on the interaction, and he saw how you forced yourself to turn around, away from Bradley.

He grabs the beers Penny offers him and a glass of something else, says something to Penny, you think, and then turns back, walking toward you. He places the glass in your hand with a whispered "G&T."

"Thanks," you manage to spit out.

"Where's your head?" he asks, voice still low, and you know that right now, no one is paying attention to the two of you.

"A little too far off the ground," you admit; it wasn't worth the effort to lie to Jake; generally, he saw through it anyway.

You notice how his eyes dart past you, looking at Brad and Nat, but he doesn't ask you about it. Instead, he asks, "What do you need?"

"Time machine?" you ask, eyes finally meeting his straight on instead of jumping around like they had been. He was good at that, asking the right questions; probably a perk of learning how to piss everyone off is also knowing when to pull back.

"Fresh out, I'm afraid," the drawl in his Texan accent always appeared early in the morning and late at night, but also when he drank. Your favorite appearance was in the whispers when he talked low, and it just tended to bleed into every word; it made you think of Jake the football star, Jake the kid who grew up on a ranch, a version of the man before you, you never got to meet.

"Then I guess I'll have to just… manage," you muse sourly.

"You always tend to do better than just manage, 'Thena," he reminds you.

"I don't know about that, at least not this time," you admit.

"This got something to do with Bradshaw?"

"You're too observant to play dumb," is how you answer.

"What, is this a kiss and not tell situation?" There's a cloud in the green of Jake's eyes as he asks, and you're tempted to answer, but quite honestly, you weren't sure if there was a statute of limitations on don't kiss and tell, and you're not sure if your first kiss when you were 13 counts.

"No, it's a different kind of history," is what you actually say. "I'll be okay, you go on though, I just need a minute," you urge.

Jake hesitates, not at all sold on what you'd said, but slowly, he takes a step forward and then another until he's approaching the pool table again.

...

everything: @butterfly-skinnylegend

athena’s tags: @omgbrianab @smoothdogsgirl @bazellawriz @sbrewer21 @inky-sun @djs8891 @rory-cakes

[penvisions]

one fish, two fish {chapter 2}

Pairing: Local! Frankie Morales x Transplant! Reader

Summary: Reaching out and another chance encounter undoes the wonderful night you shared with Frankie. But maybe a chance encounter with his friend from the bar can undo all that...

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: canon typical language, canon typical bad luck, angst, unlucky encounters, misunderstandings, reader gets ghosted, then frankie gets ghosted, feelings of inadequacy, recovery, ptsd symptoms, past drug use, na meeting setting, conversations with a sponsor, a lot of feelings, reader has imposter syndrome, rude people, entitlement, workplace politics, degrading language, reader has a callsign nickname but no assigned name, lemme know if i missed any (nicely) please!

A/N: kind of scared to post this, i know i have other fics that are 'due for' an update but inspiration is low as i prepare to start working again and recoup from a camping trip. this'll be the heaviest chapter, wanting to do more fluff for this fic and go back to funny moments and silly times with frankie! thank y'all for reading and as always, hope the days are good to you ♡♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || frankie masterlist || ko-fi

Radio check for Fish, come in Fish.

Read out loud and clear, Angel. Go ahead for Fish.

Roger that, requesting communication.

Request granted. Glad you’re back on the airwaves. Everything okay?

Affirmative.

Copy that. Standby…

Phone poised in hand, you wait for the speech bubble to pop back up, indicating his return to the conversation. But when half an hour, an hour goes by you sigh and load the inactive thing into your bag to continue your errands. After a rather frustrating visit to the phone provider you had chosen, a weak argument of ‘but it was an accident’ when told that the damage to the phone looked purposeful and just in time for the newest phone release, you had sat down at a coffee shop to grab breakfast and set up the new device. Now though, you guessed it was time to get the rest of the day’s errands done.

The paper Frankie had handed you nearly a week ago had found itself tacked to the half corkboard, half whiteboard calendar you kept in the kitchen. Your eyes sliding to it more often than you’d like to admit as you made dashes through in the morning on the way to work or cooked in the evenings.

An entire week goes by and you try to put it out of your mind. New phone heavy in your hands when you settle with it on the edge of the couch, or check it each morning before work, at the office on your lunch break. But no new messages come in, just that once funny copy that, standby. Standby…. Standby….

You had thought things were getting better, but the girls at work were being weird and conversations hushed whenever you walked into the breakroom or entered the bathroom and more than two were together. You hadn’t even bothered to bring up the fact that they ditched you at the bar the night you officially met Frankie…because it didn’t matter.

They had done it and it was over. If it had been intentional then that was on you for not seeing through their false offers of genuine camaraderie. If it had been accidental, then that was on you for not noticing how short their attention spans were. If it had been to give you a chance to go home with the not one, but two guys that approached you the second you were alone, then it was appreciated but a bit vapid of an assumption of what type of person you were.

The atmosphere at work and the novelty of being a new person to the team had quickly vanished. You were now the one whose desk was piled high with files and sticky note reminders of tasks to complete that carried over into the next day in an endless cycle. The routine of it all was so monotonous and draining.

Wake up, breakfast, commute.

Work, lunch, return emails about work that won’t be finished.

Commute, run, prep lunch, make dinner, clean.

Shower, pace the house, sleep.

It was dizzying as much as the errant thoughts of visiting one of the dance clubs downtown and tracking down the sirens call of pills or powder, anything to help you get out of your head and the endlessly swirling thoughts of doing everything wrong.

But you couldn’t, even if relapse was a part of recovery. It was not a part you wanted to end up being complicit with, one you were trying to avoid with every fiber of your being. The feeling of drowning and sinking down to the bottom of the ocean an all too real one that consumes you from the second you wake up to the second you finally pass out at the end of the day. Waterlogged clothing and the weight of water in your lungs too real.

Memories of turbulent water and debris raining down into it all around you only adding to the chaos of your mind.

You could hear the higher pitched prattle of a little girl on the next aisle over and you find yourself smiling despite the exhaustion that makes your body heavy. The basket hanging from your arm is laden with a bunch of bananas, a few other fruits, a carton of coffee creamer, and a pack of gummy sharks. Just one more thing to gather was a box of oatmeal, on the cereal aisle that you turn on.

There’s the broad back of Frankie, standing in front of one of the larger carts the store offers for shoppers. He’s quietly speaking to someone on the other side of the cart, eclipsed by the big form of him. The cart is nearly full though, you can see the colored boxes and wrappers of various foods inside as he leans over to grab a box of plain corn flakes.

You’re about to call out to him, your cheek tingling where he had pressed his plush lips to you nearly two weeks ago now. But a shrill peel of happy laughter from a child that is revealed to be in the seat of his cart.

“Daaaaddy, that’s the wrong one, silly! We need the frosted corn flakes.” Daddy. Dad. Frankie was a father. Your entire body freezes as you’re faced with the reason for his radio silence for the past several days. He had been so…charming and down to earth once the miscommunication had been cleared up but apparently he hadn’t shared with you one of the biggest parts of himself.

“No, mija, we don’t.” His shoulders are shaking with his own laughter as he places the box into the cart and goes to pull it behind him as he nears closer to you in front of the oatmeal. The little girl in his cart turns her eyes toward you, catching sight of your surprised expression.

“Dad! That girl is really pretty, her dress is so cute!”

“Who- Oh.” He’s looking up from the suddenly too bright boxes of cereal with their mascots and large block lettering. His eyes widen and he looks like he’s been caught, something you don’t have the energy to dissect at the moment. But one thing is glaringly obvious, he’s a father and family man. You went out on what was essentially a first date with a man who had a family. The realization slams into you and you’re blindly grabbing the closest box of oatmeal, throwing it into your basket before turning on your feet and fleeing to the checkout lanes.

“A-“ But before he could even get your name out you were down the aisle and turning out of sight, heart beating far too fast and anxiety thrumming. The entire process of checking out and paying for your groceries was a blur, you weren’t even sure if you thanked the cashier or bid her a good day. The slam of your car door was loud as you quickly shut it behind you. The image of him across from you in a diner, the easy conversation and goodnight kiss now tainted with the fact that he hadn’t been responsive and was a father. He could very well have a wife or girlfriend and you hadn’t even thought to ask that of him, his behavior so willing to help clear the air and ensure you had a way home.

Had you misread the vibe?

Had you just not picked up on the signals he was giving you, reading too much into the shared meal?

Had you done wrong by not asking?

The what ifs plagued you as you made your way back home, realizing that you weren’t too far from where he lived, most likely with his family. Your stomach churns and your temples throb, your lunch not settling well in the wake of your fast exit.

A migraine, you’ve worked yourself up to the point of a migraine.

The rest of your evening is spent putting the groceries away, brewing a small pot of coffee, and taking a too hot, too long shower before laying down in total darkness. You don’t flip on a switch for lights for the entire weekend as you try to keep the curtains drawn over the windows and the sounds down to a minimum as the pounding in your head persists. You don’t hear your phone go off in your purse by the front door but even if you had, you wouldn’t have known how to respond through squinting eyes.

When you manage to drag yourself out of bed on Monday, the world is still too bright and loud, but you have to get to work. Calling out would be a bad reflection and you didn’t want to disappoint the boss, someone who knew someone in your family. A favor, that you had been considered for the job in the first place, especially in a new city where you had no experience or connections. The entirety of your screen was grouped messages from your brother, from your coworkers asking after emails you hadn’t responded to. One voicemail from a mechanic to check out the weird sound your car was making when you braked, too tired to look into it yourself. And then there was the block of notifications from Fish.

Two questioning texts in the joking manner dragged on from the previous thread he had abandoned. A single one of your actual name, asking if everything was okay and if you could just message him back to let him know. A missed call and a voicemail.

‘Hey, um, so I realize how that may have looked. At the grocery store. I just…I wanted to apologize- again, for the way our interactions seem to spiral. But I swear to you, I was going to tell you. I get it if…if you don’t want to see me again or feel like you can’t trust me even if you only did for those few hours in the diner. But…I really do like you, Angel. You’re…never mind. Just…reach out if you need anything or a nudge in the right direction for businesses and shops….Bye.”

You weren’t sure what to think, emotions warring with each other inside your chest and mind. The deep velvet of his voice soothing even if you didn’t want it to be. The words never mind repeating in your head over and over again. But the one thing you were sure of was that this job was turning out not to be the one for you. The pile of files stacked on your desk was so tall you could see it across the room, the cubicle partition doing nothing to hide them from view.

The seat is barely squeaking with your weight when your boss is approaching you with a too sweet smile and a big hand on the back of your chair. His fingers brush the hair you’ve kept down today to avoid another wave of the migraine that had kept you down all weekend. The sunglasses you had worn the entire drive downtown had been only mildly helpful. Your hopeful mood for a decent day swirls from your chest and down to the bottom of your stomach, settling heavily.

“My office. End of day.”

“Yes, sir, of course.”

The day is a blur of emails, finishing up file notes that aren’t even under your name, of a salad you forgot to add dressing to, and finally you’re sitting across from the boss with your bag settled in your lap.

“It’s been brought to my attention that you’re having trouble finishing daily tasks. Most are being started either too late in the day or the day after they were due.”

“I’ve submitted everything assigned to me on time. And while I have no problem with the additional tasks, the submissions that are late tend to be the ones dropped off on my desk after I return from lunch.”

“Then perhaps you need to skip lunch in order to ensure the get completed.” He’s not even looking up from the paperwork he’s going over, the scratch of his ballpoint pen never stopping as he makes notes on it and circles large chunks of text.

“Excuse me?”

“There have been a few complaints that you aren’t doing enough to aid your superiors, they rely on new people to help pick up the slack. The files moved under your name for completion often go undone. A few complaints have been made about the language of your email signoffs as well. The phrase ‘passive-aggressive’ has been brought up.”

“So I’m getting reprimanded for work other people aren’t completing? And then scrutinized for the more than professional communications I ensure to include when emailing finished work to the people responsible for it?”

“We all work together here, there is no ‘my work, her work, his work’. We all help each other to get stuff done in a timely manner.”

“There certainly is. I have files assigned to me, Shannon has files assigned to her. Mark has filed assigned to him. Even if their files are dropped off on my desk to be done, that doesn’t negate the fact that they aren’t assigned to me.”

“Then perhaps you need to start taking work home. But at home hours are a privilege, so there will be no compensation for-“

“I quit.”

“Excuse me?” He finally looks up from the paperwork, surprise coloring his features.

“I quit, I’m not about to play office politics with you all. If someone has a problem with my work or the way I speak, then they should confront me and not run off to HR. I haven’t done anything wrong to warrant this write up.”

“I see…” His hands are clasped over that damn document, the pen neatly lined up beside it. He’s schooled his face into one of thinly veiled politeness, but you can see the disappointment in his eyes.

“Yup, thank you for the opportunity.” You go to shoulder your bag, the strap falling from your fingers as his next words. It thuds to the floor, but you don’t reach for it.

“Not much of those for…someone like you.” He’s not even looking at you, his eyes focused on the bag partially opened on the floor. On the prescription bottle peeking out from the now busted zipper.

“A simple ‘thank you for your service’ goes a long way, you know. But it’s nice to know you don’t really give a fuck what I’ve sacrificed for you all to sit here in your offices all day and make fun of me for how I dealt with the things I’ve see and experienced.”

“Most people don’t turn to hard drugs to deal with the difficulties of life.” The words sting as they cut into your chest, the judgement and disgust aching. It’s always shocking, the ways in which people react to the way your life had played out. The way you had no choice in how it played out. The drugs hadn’t been your choice nor your preferred poison. The allure of them had been born of a too strong prescription, written for you at the same time the paperwork for your retirement had been drawn up.  

“And what’s so hard about your life? The fact that you’re sleeping with your secretary and you don’t want your wife to find out? Oh, the cliché of it all. You dug that hole yourself, put yourself in that situation.”

“And you put yourself in the situation of serving during a war.” But you’re even less prepared for the words as they slice into you, digging deeper than the first. You’re sure blood is visible through the silk of your office appropriate top, the blazer over your shoulders allowing for the damage to be seen across the pristine desk.

“Fuck you.”

“Don’t put this job down on your resume, you won’t be getting any kind words from me should another employer call.” The dismissal is expected, the call he’s sure to make to inform your family friend is as well. A call to you in the evening already draining what little energy you had and it hadn’t even happened yet.

“Gotcha.” Chair clattering as you stand, you don’t even return to your desk or retrieve your Tupperware from the sink in the breakroom. You feel the eyes of too curious people follow you as you cross the open space, whispers sprouting as soon as you pass. Fuck them, fuck all of them. You need a job but not bad enough to put up with whatever fresh hell was going on there.

You’re blinded by the brightness of the outside world when you push through the front door, the lady at the front desk bidding you a good day in too chipper of a mood for you current ability to handle. Your breath is punched from you as you collide with something solid. You feel hands grip your upper arms and help prevent you from careening to the ground.

“Woah, hey. Oh! You’re the woman Fish was talking about! The one from the bar.” You glimpse that tightly curled, dark hair over a handsome face as you steady yourself and step back. Brown eyes so bright in the sunlight they remind you of Frankie’s in the fluorescents of the diner and your stomach flutters.

But it’s his friend, not him. Right outside your former place of employment, the attempt at a new life that was quickly crumbling from under your feet.

“Yeah, your buddy is a real piece of work.” Tone scathing, you can’t help the way it curls your lips as it’s given breath. Ire at yourself and shame at the way you had hoped for the smallest moment that he would turn out to be something good filling your chest uncomfortably.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He’s taken aback by the bite in your tone, his easy smile turning upside down, jaw clenching tight as he watches you with narrowed eyes. Defensive, not something you were willing to deal with as you feel your fingers twitch and your stomach drop. The flare of emotion dissipating as soon as it had flared to life.

“Just…forget it. I’m sorry, I just quit my job and I’m a little…”

“Let’s grab a coffee, I’m sure we can work out something.” He’s so earnest, his dark brown eyes catching the afternoon rays of sun. Such a small, well-meaning smile making your heart soften and your quick judgement of the man back at the bar melt away.

“I don’t know you and you don’t know me, what-“

“I work for the PD and one of the guys in our friend group, he works for the military still. Does recruitment and works in the VA. I know we need-“

“I’m not interested in another tour, I’m retired. Probably wouldn’t even qualify.” You cut him off still, unable to even begin to entertain the thought of donning a uniform again. Of the slick updo you had mastered to pull all of your hair up and out of the way. Your skin prickles as the hot feeling of shrapnel embedding itself into your side blooms, all to real as you stand in the middle of the sidewalk downtown.

“No, no, god no. I wouldn’t either to be honest. But depending on your skill set I know they need mechanics and technicians. Explosives expert, right? Means you’ve got engineering skills.”

“How do you know about that?”

“Fish was very chatty after your little diner date.”

“That was three weeks ago.” Denial is on the tip of your tongue at his description, but that’s what it had been: a date. With a man who hadn’t told you of his family.

“Yeah, and he’s been a bit of a bummer since you haven’t contacted him since.”

“Look,-“

“Santiago Garcia. Pope was my callsign. Whichever you prefer.” His large hand is warm as it reaches for the one you were trying to wave him off with. Electricity sparks and you feel it travel up your arm, momentarily shocking you before you pull your hand away. A sheepish smile and mumbled apology from him at the mishap lightens the mood a little, something about how the shirt he’s wearing has been making it a common occurrence today. The need to go shopping for more dryer sheets humanizing him further.

“Look, Santiago. I appreciate what you’re trying to do but I just really want to go home and eat my weight in Chinese takeout, okay?”

“Okay, I get that. Believe me, I more than get that, but-“ He’s pulling out his wallet, a thick card is being offered to you with his name and contact information printed on it. “Just consider it, yeah? We all gotta stick together, civilians don’t understand even if they try to. We can find you work, something that’ll keep your hands busy and your mind occupied. Office work doesn’t suit you, you shouldn’t have to subject yourself to it, okay?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Good enough for me, hermosa.” And with another charming smile, he’s back on his way down the street, his destination unknown to you. Sighing, you pocket the card and make your way around the building, waving at the security guard that walked up and down the block throughout the day. Your truck is dirty, washing it pushed back further and further as a storm closes in on the coast and inevitably travels inland toward you. The thought of heavy rain and whipping winds turning you off from the waste of water, suds, and an afternoon you could spend looking at things to do around the city.

When you go to turn the key, nothing happens. No clicking, no beeping of the dash lighting up, nothing.

“Fuck.”

Shrugging out of your blazer, you fix your hair up in a messy bun to get it out of your face and pop open the hood. But it’s useless, everything looks to be in working order. Leaving only the possibility of the alternator or battery having died and left you stranded. You’re sure you have a reader for the battery…at home in the garage. The card shoved in your back pocket burns into your skin, prompting you to pull it away and dial the numbers printed in a nice font.

Two rings and it picks up.

“Santigo, it’s Angel.” He doesn’t ask what’s wrong or if you’re okay. Only your location.

“I’m just down the street, turning back around now. The parking lot just behind the building?”

“Yes, I- thank you, Santiago.”

“No problem at all, hermosa.”

“You said you need engineers? Where exactly?” He’s looked over the mechanics of the vehicle just as you did, diagnosing the problem exactly the same. Something unable to be fixed at the moment. He glances up at you under his long lashes as he types out something on his phone, an instant response buzzing.

“Someone should be here in a few, my friends are just down a few blocks. One of them owns a gym and we hit up the dive bar across from it every Monday.”

Nodding, you try to recall the buildings he’s talking about. But you haven’t explored as much as you’ve wanted too. Throwing yourself into work and trying to play catch up on building secondary savings. The help to purchase a home welcome, but the house needed work that was only discounted, not covered.

“There’s a flight school not too far outside the city, where recruits are sent. They need some help that isn’t gonna up and leave them, assignments are up and they need someone reliable.”

“I don’t know how to fly.” Fleeting hope deflates and you really wish your emotions weren’t so easily pulled from you. The weekend you spent hiding away proved to have been more draining than you anticipated. But he soothes the furrow of your brow with two fingers and a hint of his teeth as he smiles at you, so close you can feel the heat of chest.

“They’ve got a few solid instructors. Fish has been pulling doubles doing the repairs and the lessons. They need a mechanic and an engineer, something tells me you’d be the perfect fit.”

You can only see the genuine way in which he’s willing to help reflected back at you, his eyes open and his smile charming. A smile is spreading across your own lips falters as the sound of a vehicle turning into the lot catches your attention. There are two figures visible through the windshield. A blonde man is backing into the spot your truck faces, concentration steeling his features. And from underneath the bill of a worn hat and through a pair of dark aviators, Frankie Morales is staring at you.

previous chapter || next chapter

taglist: @76bookworm76 @christinamadsen

@readingiskeepingmegoing @brittmb115 @darkheartgatita

@sawymredfox @burntheedges @hiddenbabynyc

@southernbe @inept-the-magnificent @littlemisspascal

@jessthebaker @janaispunk

[mamasbakeria]

hey, what's your major again?

summary: my credible expert opinion on what the aot characters would study in university. what are my qualifications? the dozens of hours i’ve spent staring at my school’s program bulletin trying to figure out what i’m majoring in

genre | includes: headcanons, sfw, minor language, uninformed percy jackson reference (pls don't hate me if im wrong)

characters: eren jaeger, mikasa ackerman, armin arlert, sasha braus, jean kirschtein, connie springer, historia reiss, ymir, reiner braun, annie leonhardt

author’s note: had this in my drafts for months now. i just need to post it so it stops haunting me. might do the rest of the marleyans and vets in the future! lmk your thoughts, my only tumblr notifications are from p*rn bots, so i'd love to hear from real people lol. enjoy <3

eren: sociology and public policy, 4+1 program for a social work masters

there’s only so many times you can hear “you’re gonna be a doctor just like your dad” before you start to believe it. that’s why eren started out with biology on the premed track. the thing is, he really didn’t care for it. eren is really passionate about lessening equity gaps and is a firm believer in “if you want something done right, do it yourself”. this is why i see him making the switch to a double major in public policy and sociology. he wants to know about how society got to the point of perpetuating disparities so that he can fix them. but he also knows that the government fucking sucks and thinks its naive to expect policy change to be the only method of change. and like the maniac he is, eren is enrolled in a 4+1 program so he can get his master’s in social work when he’s done with his undergrad. he’s determined to graduate with both degrees in just 4 years though. rip his summers.

armin: international relations and military ethics, minor in communications or smth

everyone always says armin would study marine biology or oceanographic studies, but i honestly think that it’s a passion that he pursues on the side. he takes marine bio courses for his breadth requirements, but knows he’d end up hating the ocean if he spent the rest of his life studying it. he also strikes me as someone who would rather run buck naked into traffic than sit through multiple semesters of organic chemistry. armin was always a good public speaker, though, despite being a bit insecure. that’s why his speech and debate teacher during sophomore year of high school recommended model united nations to him. he was hooked after his first conference and now genuinely sees the path of international diplomacy as his calling. that’s why he’s majoring in international relations. his concentration in military ethics is something he tacks on in his junior year after taking some courses and publishing research with dr. erwin smith. he probably minors in communications because he can.

mikasa: forensic science

mikasa had no idea what she wanted to do when she started uni. she’s good at nearly everything. like never gotten a B in her life and is the student who the curve is based off of. but excelling in every environment you’re put in often means you don’t know what you’re best at. she knew deep down that she wanted to do something justice related like her childhood best friends did, but she’s no public speaker and has no interest in political reform. she was, however, emo in high school and heard a fair share of undertaker jokes at her expense. it wouldn’t hurt to look into right? as cool as the title sounds, morticians don’t make enough money for the job they have. fortunately enough, forensic pathologists do and mikasa looks good in a lab coat. she would never admit it to spare armin and eren’s feelings, but when they, as children, recreated the crime-solving shows mrs. jaeger always had on, mikasa always wanted to be the brains. so criminology and forensic science it is. (side note: she definitely joins the military and they pay for her education)

jean: structural engineering and industrial design with a minor in studio art

more than anything, jean wants to provide for his mom and knows he can’t guarantee a retirement of luxury for her as the freelance artist he wishes he could be. he’s decent at math when he tries and doesn’t hate physics, so he decided he’d give structural engineering a try for at least a semester or two. he wasn’t expecting to get much from it, to be honest. he had a plethora of backup plans waiting for his supposedly inevitable distaste for engineering, but he found that he didn’t hate it at all. someone once told jean that he had the makings of a great leader and he didn’t believe them until he started taking the lead on design projects and producing incredible results. his only qualm is that he just doesn’t get to be as creative as he wanted to be. that was easily rectified by an additional major in industrial design and a minor in studio art. he’s unbelievably busy, busier than he anticipated when he started his post-secondary journey, but he’s content and there’s nothing some extra coffee can’t solve. 

sasha: environmental science and sustainability

sasha spent her childhood ankle-deep in mud and fighting her way through forest thickets without a compass. an upbringing like that doesn’t leave your spirit, no matter how far into the city you go for school. so sasha’s always been passively passionate about the environment. that passiveness became significantly more prominent when part of the woods she grew up in was cleared out to build an industrial complex. it was then that she started researching and writing petitions about preserving wildlife and making environmentally conscious decisions. her work actually got her the scholarship she’s on (because god knows it wasn’t her grades). and she genuinely loves what she does, so why wouldn’t she keep learning about it? the environmental science and sustainability program at the school is small, but tight-knit and known for churning out changemakers. sasha knows she’ll be one of them one day. just hide your plastic straws from her, okay?

connie: computer science and chinese

stick with me here okay? everyone expects connie to be a douchebag marketing major whose hardest assignments are graphing functions and making posters on photoshop, but he’s a lot more invested in his education than he looks. don’t get me wrong, connie has always struggled academically, but that’s because so much of early education is pre-determined. he performed way better when he could choose what courses he took. it’s kind of like percy jackson being dyslexic in english because he was wired to read in greek. connie can’t keep his eyes on a history textbook for shit, but will gladly sit in front of the c++ code on his pc for hours. he doesn’t even get mad when he realizes that he was missing a semicolon. connie loves how versatile of a future he could have with a compsci degree, because, let’s be real, he could never survive in a typical office environment. definitely takes a bunch of chinese classes and doesn’t realize that he has enough credits for it to be a minor until his second to last semester.

historia: political science with a minor in international relations and child development

historia is a lot like eren in the sense that she knows her time is best spent doing hands-on work in the fields she cares about. she realizes this sometime after reconnecting with her estranged father and volunteering at the orphanage she grew up in. but now that she’s publicly associated with a powerful political figure, historia doesn’t get to do what she wants, only what is expected of her. that’s how she ends up on the pre-law political science and public policy route. the nickname “ms. president” that connie and sasha give her only further reminds her that she’s heading down a path she never wanted for herself. after lots of encouragement from ymir, historia decided to take child development courses on the side. even if she doesn’t take on the full minor, she’s taking some classes she cares about. maybe she’ll find use for it someday. at the very least, it’s her first step in becoming the most selfish girl in the world.

ymir: data science and business management

ymir is smart. much smarter than she presents herself to be, almost as a form of protection. nobody expects much of someone who is aloof, so it makes it easy to slip through the cracks to remain safe and comfortable in the shadows. business management is notoriously low commitment and easy to skate by with. guaranteed internships, post-graduate employment, and so on. To anyone who doesn’t know ymir well, it’s perfect. but they have her mistaken, ymir will do as little as possible to go as far as possible. sure, she can live comfortably with a business degree, but it could be better with a little bit of data science in her arsenal. she’s intelligent enough to pick up on it, and determined enough to make it her bitch. yeah, academia is a money-sucking pipeline into the capitalist hellscape, she doesn’t believe in it yada yada, but at the end of the day, ymir’s gonna get the bag. so what if she’s gotta sleep through some stats classes to get it?

reiner: behavioral economics

reiner’s mother had convinced him his whole life that getting a high paying job would fix their lives and bring his father back. believing “perfect grades lead to a perfect life” made high school tough for reiner; gifted kid burnout is no joke. it really messed him up. he wasn’t sure if he could withstand the pressures of university, but here he is. reiner was never allowed a therapist, so he figured pursuing psychology would, at the very least, give him some answers and be a good pathway to a medical degree. he loved getting to understand how people work and why they act the way they do, but something was missing. he found out what it was when a guest lecturer spoke in his economics class. he knew making the switch would be risky, it’s a new field and his current career options are really only research, academia, or government, but the interdisciplinary study of behavioral economics is calling reiner’s name. 

annie: biomedical engineering and kinesiology

annie’s entire life revolved around her father, including the injury he was never able to heal from. the one she gave him. he’s claimed to be over it, she’s forgiven, but annie will never feel like she’s earned that forgiveness until she gets rid of the problem entirely. how is she going to do that exactly? with biomedical engineering. she has years of hell in front of her, especially with her concentration on biomechanics, but she doesn’t care. annie will throw herself into her work to get the results she wants. she takes the highest amount of credits possible every semester so she can graduate early. you’ll most likely find her chained to a study cubicle at the library at all hours of the day and running on 2 hours of sleep, but it doesn’t faze her. she tacks on a minor in kinesiology because it makes sense and she had most of the credits for it anyway. and as if it couldn’t get worse, she probably TAs for a thermodynamics course or something crazy like that.

© mamasbakeria 2023. do not repost, translate (without permission), or modify

[marthawrites]

Beneath the Blooming Branches

Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem reader

Word count: 800+

About: Spring has officially sprung. You and Rhaenyra enjoy a quiet afternoon strolling and picnicking in the gardens.

Includes: Soft wlw fluff 🩷

Note: Hello lovely reader! This fic was inspired by @hotd-bigbang! It is purely self-indulgent because our dragon queen deserves more soft moments. I wrote this with young Rhaenyra in mind, but you can use whichever Nyra your heart desires! As always, reader is non-descript. Please, enjoy!

Cross posted on ao3 too!

-

“Would this be considered improper if anyone were to see us, princess?” You asked Rhaenyra in an excited, hushed voice, keeping pace with her agile steps out of the Red Keep and into the gardens. On your arm was a small basket of treats. During your time as one of the princess’ maid servants you discovered she had quite the sweet tooth. Some of her favorites were: candied lemon slices, candied orange slices, and sponge cake drizzled with honey. You just so happened to have all of those in your basket–along with a couple extra treats, too.

A small smile quirked her lips as her fingers interlaced between your own, continuing to drag you along the path. “Perhaps you have me mistaken for a princess who cares what others might think?” With a playful arch of brow her smirk gave way to a wide dazzling grin. Her clean teeth and pale purple eyes sparkled in spring's midday sun.

For a moment you weren't sure what to say. When she smiled like that–truly smiled–your belly and heart did silly little flips that stopped you in your tacks. She was lovely in a maroon silk dress with delicate lace details accented by pearls. In the high noon, her golden jewelry gleamed on her ivory skin like pure strings of sunlight. Radiant. How someone like her developed such a fancy for you was one of the biggest mysteries of your heart! You felt dull next to her in your common servant attire. But, beneath the neckline of your dress, you felt the silver chain dotted with its tiny crystals against your chest that she had gifted you; pretty, beautiful.

Rhaenyra was good at keeping secrets. As were you.

Besides, a headstrong Targaryen dragging her favorite maid around hardly looked suspicious. Simply two girls out enjoying the change of spring weather!

“Oh, silly me. Apologies, princess, I must have been thinking of someone else,” you winked.

“Just as I thought.”

Giggling, while still walking hand in hand, Rhaenyra led you along the garden's path. Sun dappled through bright green flowering trees making her silver hair glow. Fragrances–lilac, rose, lilly–filled your senses. The gentle ever-present buzz of bees hazed your brain in the best of ways. Each time Rhaenyra smiled at you, or squeezed your hand affectionately, magic bloomed to sweeten the memory this would soon become.

Between gossip, jokes, and easy conversation, you barely noticed how much time passed. 

“Oh! Let's stay here,” she said wistfully, tipping her head back to stare up at a blooming cherry tree. One of the prettiest sights this time of season. 

Next thing you knew you were laying out a blanket to sit upon beneath the pink and white tree; petals falling lazily from its branches like gentle snowflakes. Worker bees were louder here than anywhere else. Calm. Relaxing. You sat with a contented sigh. “I've brought your favorites. Are you hungry?” you asked, eyes bright.

“Always so sweet for me,” Rhaenyra replied as she carefully knelt behind you so as to not wrinkle her dress. “First, though, I want to do something.”

Since she was behind you you couldn't even see her from your peripheral. You trusted her, though. Maybe that's why butterflies twirled in your belly. You felt her fingers gently loosen your hair until it lay loose and natural. Despite the gentleness–or perhaps in spite of it–a shudder ran all along your spine and you couldn't help but squirm. A little. “What are you doing?” You asked, turning your head over your shoulder curiously.

“Hold still,” she answered with mock seriousness. Then, she added, softer, “I'm going to braid your hair and put cherry blossoms in it.”

You bit your bottom lip in an attempt to not let out a tiny squeak of delight. “Ooh! Okay. Afterward, it's my turn to give you a surprise,” you proclaimed sweetly with a glance at your basket. A smile grew on your mouth and your cheeks warmed with joy. By the time Rhaenyra was done you could have dozed off against her in the warm sun.

“There,” she said, a gentle ‘aww’ escaping her. “I wish you could see it from the back! It's so lovely.”

“I'll be careful so that when we return to the Red Keep I can use two looking glasses to see it at the right angle," you promised. Grabbing for your basket, you turned around so you were both kneeling and facing each other. “Ready for mine?”

“Yes!”

You opened the basket and pulled out a clear glass jar of preserved, still plump, cherries. “From the last harvest,” you said, beaming. “How extra fitting that we can share them here.”

“How did you know I've been craving these?” She asked with bright eyes.

You shrugged, grinning. “Just a hunch.” The seal popped when you opened it, and the scent of syrupy sugar and perfectly ripened cherries wafted from the jar. You pulled one out by the stem and offered it to Rhaenyra. 

Taking it, she savored it as she ate it. Then, she did the same for you. 

Cherry after cherry, you shared the treat. By the end of the small jar both of your fingertips were stained red, as were your lips, and it made the kisses that followed all the sweeter; a saccharine secret beneath the heavily bloomed branches.

-

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

To be added or removed from the taglist, hit me up!

Masterlist

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @targaryen-dynasty @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @schniiipsel

[brujahinaskirt]

Just some lil' thangs you might not notice about the level of detail RDR2 puts into Arthur's interactions with horses if you aren't personally experienced with horses:

[Sorry if this has been done! I couldn't find a post like it in recent tumblr history, and hope I can at least add some thoughts that haven't been analyzed to death already!]

(First, a note about me: I was raised on a quarter horse ranch and trained by a cadre of old-school cowboys in the Western tradition. Some of them were excellent teachers and some of them were crabby-faced bastards who thought "horsemanship" = engaging in a constant war with your horse... which gives me a little insight into positive and negative horsemanship styles on display in RDR2.)

(Second, thanks to fellow horsegirl @mangocats for helping me compile this list!)

(Third, a simple note to say that although I playfully use the term "horsegirl" in this post, the notes here apply to any gender. Same goes for the use of terms like "horsemen," which is not commonly used in the Western equestrian world to indicate a rider's real gender.)

Now, without further ado:

Press X to Calm. Arthur uses a tried-and-true low-stress, gradual escalation method of approaching and calming a spooked horse that begins with establishing physical contact with one hand and slowly increasing contact until the horse is fully calm and is once more amenable to human direction & commands. This is usually a preferable method to getting a frightened horse under control imo, but it's a "soft hand" method, and not something you always see in machismo-loaded equestrian circles. I've written about this a little in another meta post, so I won't get too deeply into it here.

Overall Horsemanship Style. You'll notice that while he does occasionally drive them hard in emergencies such as escaping the law or chasing a train, Arthur never "forces" his horses to comply with commands; in other words, he doesn't use his strength to try and bully a horse into doing something, like crossing a river, or physically punish a horse to "desensitize" it. "Forcing" horses to do things using tack designed to create discomfort or using raw bodily intimidation + fear & pain-motivated negative reinforcement is a tragically common tradition in old-school Western riding (and still advocated by some popular TV equestrians whom I think are straight-up animal abusers... if you know you know). It's dismal, but for a lot of the cowboys I know/knew, when a horse isn't obeying, you need to "show it who's boss." Arthur never approaches animals this way. By contrast, especially for the time period, he is exceedingly patient with horses and animals in general. We can even see this in his dialogue to wild horses; when they gradually calm down after the initial "breaking in" process, Arthur usually says something companionable like, "See, we're friends now."

And a sub-point on that: Horsemanship Temperament. Arthur never gets mad at or yells at his horse. Even when he gets chucked to the ground, he'll yell DAMN, THAT HURT, and then it's back to trying to calm the spooked horse. Which is exactly the right attitude to have. (Though if you've never been hurled face-first into a pile of sun-baked manure because your horse saw, idk, a twig on the road, you might not appreciate how even-tempered a character Arthur is for never succumbing to the temptation to yell, "COME ONNNN GIVE ME A BREAK IT'S A STICK YOU SILLY BITCH!")

Horse responsiveness. The horse emotional cues in this game are incredible, from their reactions to other animals and weather events to their reactions to Arthur. You can see the horse's neck muscles tense and relax when being calmed, their eyes changing in size, their head drop and raise in response to the reins, and their annoyance seeping through with stomps and pinned ears well before they start to spook. When Arthur speaks to his horses, you can even see a subtle ear flick backwards as they listen to him. When he gives certain commands (such as a mild squeeze of the knees to speed up a bit), a calm and attentive horse will often issue an affirmative snort; this is incredibly lifelike and essentially a "roger roger" between horse and rider. I was also impressed that Arthur uses his thighs and his knees to cue his horse more than his heels. Usually you just see the dramatic heel cues in in video games, but in real life, a rider gently but firmly squeezes their knees/thighs far more often than laying into their horse with boot heels, which is a fabulous way to get sent to the moon. One thing I would have liked to see is more riderless idle horse animations. Lazy or bored horses do a very classic pose where they rest their weight on one side, cock a hip out, and jauntily kick a back hoof up. It would have been right at home at the hitching posts in RDR2, and the horses are otherwise so lifelike, I find myself missing this little pose.

Historical bits. As players, we don't have much choice with this, since Rockstar matched bits to saddles rather than letting us customize them. With that disclaimer out of the way: Arthur uses a wide range of bits, some of them much harsher than others, designed to offer more control over a difficult horse's head through pressure points within the mouth. This is historically sound and far from obsolete in modern horsemanship, though I would certainly avoid using some of the harsher bits in RDR2 on my horses to avoid hurting them accidentally. That said, it's important to note that "harsh" control bits (like those wickedly straight-shanked bits you see with some of the cooler saddle styles) aren't instantly or automatically painful. While many of us modern horsegirls may frown upon the just-for-the-hell-of-it use of many styles of old-school, Wild West bit, in the hands of an experienced horseman with a good sense of appropriate rein pressure (which we can assume Arthur is), even a curb bit should not be a tool of pain. In the hands of a novice, however, some of those bits would absolutely hurt a poor horse's mouth and are typically reserved for troublesome (potentially dangerous) animals who may need to be curtailed quickly. I'm assuming Rockstar chose them for style more than characterization... but I do wince when I see those hard stops with the straight shanks, every time.

Horsetalk. We all know Arthur baby talks horses, and that his babble to his horse increases in affection with bonding level and varies a little depending on the horse's sex. But he also does something peculiar and frankly delightful with his vocal modulation on certain horse chatter lines. In those moments where he seems to go a little vibrato, warbling his voice as he talks ("waiaiaiaiaiaiaiat! come bahahahahack!" he calls after a fleeing mustang), Arthur is actually mimicking calming/positive horse sounds (usually a friendly nicker or a greeting whinny) in an attempt to communicate in horse language. While I think a TON of horsegirls have secretly nickered at our horses when no one else is around the stable, making horse noises at your horse is not a "traditional" training technique, and imo is something other gang members would definitely make fun of him for. It is also very adorable. I wanted to add that while horses are excellent at noise commands (like whistles, clucks, kisses, etc.), they usually aren't very good at identifying spoken word commands, including their own names. Therefore, the majority of the talking Arthur does to his horse is just free companionable chatter, much like we babble to our house pets. The command is in the cluck, the leg pressure, the yah, the rein slap; it's not the spoken, "Come on, girl, here we go!" That's just Arthur being a horsegirl.

Saddle checks. If you pay close attention, in cutscenes and in the map, Arthur will occasionally reach down and test various pieces of his saddle. This is particularly true with checking the cinches (those big straps that loop behind the front legs and under the belly), which good riders often do, as saddles can adjust during a ride. Straps that are too tight or too loose will cause a horse discomfort, since they change the way the saddle rests upon them and distributes the rider's weight. You can even watch the saddle shift when Arthur mounts and dismounts, reflecting the changed distribution in weight! This honestly floored me the first time I saw it. Rockstar really consulted people who know their stuff.

Bad Habits. IMO, Arthur's a little slouch-backed in the saddle. This is noticeably worse if he's hungry or sleepy, but even well-fed and rested, his shoulders drop and curve out his spine more than is ideal. This won't hurt his horse, but it will come back to bite him directly in the lower back as he ages, and I argue it's probably biting him in the ass a little now. (More on that below.) Arthur's "behind the horse" etiquette isn't particularly lifelike. In RDR2 (as in life), sometimes idling or benignly messing around behind a horse will cause them to randomly kick, and any equestrian knows not to hang out aimlessly in the kick zone. IRL, if you're about to walk close behind a horse, it's good etiquette to reach out and gently lay a hand on a horse's hip to let them know you're going to pass behind them before you step into the kick zone. I would have liked to see an animation for this, but I'd guess this would have been a real pain to animate without "locking" Arthur in place (as with the petting and brushing animations), so I can't really count this against him in good conscience. He also holds his reins in a full fist rather than between the appropriate fingers. This is a novice mistake, but I'm guessing this is an animation choice more than a characterization one, because I can't imagine getting those wobbly rein physics to rest perfectly between a model's wee little fingers. Which brings us to...

Reins. Arthur keeps a pretty tight (though not oppressive) grip on the reins when he has a horse in motion, facilitating quick communication from rider to horse and increased emotional response from the horse, and he tends to use both reins when he isn't holding something else. This increases control and often allows for clearer communication between horse and rider in comparison to the laxer "rein knot" one-handed Western style. More on that point: Arthur sometimes holds the reins in one hand. This is not lazy horsemanship, but rather a mainstay of the Western riding tradition; holding the reins in one hand allows for a rider to keep one hand free for whatever they might need... usually rope/weapons. Using two hands, one rein in each, does deliver much more refined control (especially with a nervous or inexperienced horse), which is why you often see Arthur switch between one- and two-handed riding. Rockstar also makes the clever choice to make reins “stretchy” so they move with the neck and simulate rider give and restraint, rather than having them just flop around at a static length. This makes reining feel a lot more dynamic and responsive, in my opinion.

Bareback vs. Saddle: To Rockstar's credit, riders' carriage when bareback is entirely different from the saddle carriage animations, and displays a lower center of gravity.

This note is a bummer, but it is, I feel, an important one to know. Arthur is WAY TOO BIG to ride a significant number of horses in the game. Horses are not bikes or cars. In real life, it's extremely important to consider a rider's weight and height and general carriage when matching them with a horse, especially for long-distance rides... and unfortunately, Arthur is prohibitively huge. If I saw a man Arthur's size astride that teeny little Morgan, boots tips damn near dragging, I'd give him a piece of my damn mind. That said, it's just a video game, so if you love that white Arabian or that sweet little Morgan, ride without shame; you are not hurting a pixel horse! But if you're into max realism or a horse an experienced rider like Arthur might conceivably choose for himself, go for something larger, leggier, and stronger. Though Rockstar fictionalized their breeds a little bit, I think one of their taller well-balanced styles like the Dutch warmblood, standardbred, Hungarian, Andalusian, or even one of those svelte Americanized Belgians suits Arthur much more comfortably. Online's Kladruber would also be an excellent choice for Arthur. (Ain't nobody saying SHIT to Arthur Morgan on a heavy breed like a Shire, though they aren't well suited for everyday long-distance all-terrain riding, and I feel sympathy pains about that leg spread just thinking about it. Speaking of...)

Real talk about Arthur's "swagger": Though I'm 100% sure it's a dominance thing for some crusty ol' cowboys, most equestrians don't saunter around Like That TM because they are listening to Rod Stewart croon If You Want My Body And You Think I'm Sexy at all times. That "swagger" is just... well... to be blunt, it's sort of what happens to your gait after you spend all day with your legs straddling a big animal moving on rough terrain. Hang out with some adults who have ridden horses daily since they were wee beans and they'll tell you allllll about what it can do to your posture. Contrary to cowboy jokes, it's not so much about being bowlegged (which is massively exaggerated as it pertains to horseback riding) as it is about lowering one's center of gravity to compensate for things like muscle strain, spinal compression, and lower back pain. Due to the high impact nature of riding, many career horsepeople develop chronic back problems and "swaggers," and for some it's eventually more comfortable to ride than to walk. Not saying you can't hc an Arthur who struts his stuff, of course! Just saying that, for those of you who might struggle to reconcile Arthur's blisteringly low self-esteem in his physical appearance with his "swagger," here's a horse world answer.

Knights Templar'ing it. This is another bummer for a ton of cute fanfic scenes, but riding two-to-a saddle is really not good for a horse. It's not just about raw weight, but about the distribution of that weight and where the pressure rests on a horse's back/organs. A bean like Little Jack sitting right in Arthur's lap isn't going to add too much stress to a horse big enough to carry a tanky dude like Arthur comfortably, but a whole second adult sitting behind a saddle is a very different story. Imagine the difference between carrying someone piggyback versus having someone stand on your spine! It's all about the position. Larger breeds can tolerate riding double for a while, but it should not be done for long distances, and it definitely should not be done if a rider expects to need heavy exertion from the horse. Adults riding double doesn't happen too often in RDR2 (usually just during an emergency), so this isn't a critique of Rockstar or Arthur; it's more so a helpful realism note for fanworks. An experienced horsegirl like Arthur is sure not to ride double casually. Pro-tip: If you want someone to teach your (non-bean-sized) OC how to ride a horse, consider having the teacher controlling the horse from the ground via a lead/lunge line while your OC sits in the saddle.

Oof, that smarts... When Arthur picks up hay bales with short sleeves on/bare hands, he makes a soundless "OOF OOOH EEEE OUCH" face. The first time I saw this, I absolutely lost it with glee. Anyone who has moved hay (or straw; they're different!) with bare arms knows how prickly and scratchy and itchy it is, and it's loving little touches like this that make RDR2's horses feel so darn real.

That's all I can think of for now! I hope this list was at least somewhat helpful, even if it's far from an all-encompassing resource on horsey stuff in RDR2. Happy riding, meatverse horsegirls & virtual horsegirls, and remember to always thank your horse :)