#and she lands on their boat. It sways with the weight of her as she stands and slowly unravels her wings they see her skeletal face/body

[moss-feratu]

Uralesh will see a pile of minerals on the ground and be like "is anybody gonna eat that" and not wait for an answer

[tbgblr2]

Cruising to New Life - Part 7

As she noticed the clock tick over to 2am Donna held a hand tightly to her belly.  She was certain that she was in labour, the last 4 weeks or so of on and off Braxton Hicks contractions feeling different to these.   The problem was that they hadn’t developed since she started to notice them in the dead of night. 

She sat still in the bed and watched the clock as she felt the movement of the boat sway her, she watched 10 minutes pass, then 8 minutes, then back to 10 again between each surge.  She tried to ignore them and drop back off to sleep once more but after another half hour of restlessness she gave up.   

Paul, her husband, was snoring soundly by her side one hand draped against the underside of her belly, oblivious to the insomnia his wife was suffering with. 

Donna pulled the cups of her nightgown down, exposing her breasts.  She knew that nipple stimulation could help strengthen the contractions - and right now she was willing to try anything.   At worst, a quick play will take her mind off things and maybe, just maybe she would fall back off again. 

She hefted the weight of both her breasts in her hands, always surprised at how much they grew during pregnancy and breastfeeding.  Though this was her third pregnancy, she was always amazed when her body went through the changes.  Her hearing drifted to the sounds of the others in the room with her.   Her husband and two sons breathing slow and steady.   Husband in bed with her, 2 children in the bunk beds separating their portion of the room by a pull over curtain so they had a chance to go to sleep earlier whilst the adults kept a light on to stay up late. 

As she pulled on her nipples, she caught her breath hitching.  She can’t moan she thought – can’t risk waking the children.   Her thumb and forefinger rolled in repetitive motions, moisture from the colostrum coating her fingers.   Her husband stirred in his sleep, some ingrained sense that something was up, Donna felt his hand move up and down the underside of her bump.   She stared over at him, and there was absolutely no sign of any movement in his face to suggest he was on anything other than autopilot.   For all she knew, he was having a very good time in his dream world. 

She decided to take a chance, her hand reaching down below her belly and grasping Pauls, guiding it down to slip underneath her panties, and into the folds between her legs.  As she felt the fingers probe deeper, she noticed that he had stirred awake, sleep addled eyes looking at her. 

“Shhh.  Quiet, don’t wake the kids.” she whispered, as he took in the scene in front of him.  His wife, both breasts exposed, her hand holding his between her legs as her thighs clenched around it, and her lips approaching his for a kiss.   He felt her silky lips touch his and he sank back into the bed as she rolled over, shoving her weight up on her arm as she swung her legs over his hips, releasing his hand in the process.   She figured the real thing could well be better as she lowered herself down, the soft material of her panties touching the soft material of his own pyjama bottoms, and the hard shaft underneath, which was her intended target after all. 

Her belly rubbed against his torso as she reached down to pull back the front of his pyjamas and freeing his cock, which sprung up to attention.   She leaned in and landed kiss after kiss on him as her hips wiggled, using his cock to slip aside her panties and felt the wet head, already coated with precum slickly slide up and down her lips. 

She leaned back and allowed his slick cock to slide between her folds, her own hands dragging his up to grasp onto her breasts, his eyes following the curve of her belly up to her breasts and then to her face.   He had a smile on his face as if all of his Christmases had come at once.   She slipped easily up and down, her own juices mixing with his to create a lubricant which couldn’t be matched by any chemical concoctions.   She rolled back and forth, riding the shaft, feeling her husband's hands kneading her breasts, watching milky droplets fall onto his chest.   It was all getting too much for her and she was forced to bite her lip to avoid making any noise. 

She sighed as she felt the next contraction build, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach.  Donna pressed back down plunging her hips down towards Paul’s own.  The act wasn’t lost on Paul who managed to gain enough composure to give her an inquisitive look.  Donna leaned forward – at least as much as her gravid belly would allow – and whispered, “I think it’s starting.” 

Normally that would be cause for alarm, but Paul and Donna had been through this process several times before, and both knew these early-stage pains could well dissipate as much as they could build.  He placed his hand on hers and whispered back “we’re ready.” 

His calming influence was incredible for Donna who always relied on him to get her through the difficult parts, he was the perfect birth partner in her mind. 

It was with Donna pressed down all the way to his root that Paul came.  He shuddered as he released, feeling spurt after spurt flow from him to his wife.  Donna's hand reached up from her belly to her mouth as she followed in turn, clamping her hand to her lips to avoid making a noise.  She finally released as she felt the aftershocks slow and smiled at Paul. 

“Did you need that to help calm things down, or speed things up?” Paul asked as Donna rolled off him and snuggled into his chest. 

“I need sleep, and that always makes me tired,” she admitted.  “Go back to sleep and I’ll wake you if things develop.” 

After they got their night clothes resituated, Donna strained her hearing, making sure her children had not awoken in the commotion, and after a few moments heard the faint sighting noises of 2 children sleeping soundly.  Paul had drifted off again before the next contraction built up – probably 15 minutes later.  She felt another one again 15 minutes after that.  A little disappointed that they were indeed calming down and getting further apart she eventually drifted off to sleep. 

She stirred awake again a little after 6am, and after getting slowly out of bed and walking carefully to the toilet in the early morning light of the cabin, she risked waking the room by sliding open the veranda door and stepping outside to watch the sea. 

Paul stirred and followed behind her with a dressing gown to keep her warm. 

“Anything happening?” He asked. 

“No, the contractions faded away” she admitted “this one is just common ‘baby dancing on my bladder’ wakefulness.” 

Paul managed a chuckle as he hugged his wife from behind as she leaned onto the railing, belly hanging low in the space in front of her.  Paul rubbed the small of her back which resulted in Donna groaning appreciatively. 

“You can’t be wanting to go again?” She asked – keeping her voice low in case any neighbours were on their own balconies. 

“Not at all” he said, “just helping a woman in need.” He kissed the top of her head. 

The sat and watched the sunrise in silence for 20 minutes or so when Donna suddenly gasped and held her belly.  Paul jumped into action. 

“Whats wrong? Have they started again.” 

Donna could only giggle as she explained that she had done it as a prank, and it was nice to know that the previously calm and collected husband of hers did have his moments of panic as well. 

He hugged her close as he said they should go back inside – it was still chilly until the sun properly had a chance to get up and warm everything. 

They walked back into the cabin to hear the sounds of children stirring behind their curtain.  They sat on the bed and waited to see if they would fall back to sleep, but as they suspected, their chance for a lie in had slipped from their grasp. 

They had 2 children – both boys – one 4 years old and another 2 years old.   The couple were glad that they had managed to spread the children out fairly regularly, but with their eldest due to go to school next year, they felt the need for another child to look after, and hence the current pregnant state of the mother to be. 

Her eldest son flung back the curtain a few moments later with a big grin on his face.  “Todays the scavenger hunt mummy. You promised.” 

The scavenger hunt was something put on by the boat crew in order to keep the children on board entertained, but plenty of the adults enjoyed it too.   The problem was that a large proportion of the adults on board were pregnant – heavily so.  What it meant was that a list of special places to find was given at the start of the cruise and a prize was awarded for everyone who managed to find them all.  It was intended that there was no rush because of the slow and waddling nature of many of the mums to be needing to take their time to walk around – but many of the younger, more enthusiastic passengers didn’t see it that way. 

Donna had promised that the kids would make a start on it today after a couple of days of relaxation by the pool – but they were now bored of that so wanted to try something new.   Paul tempered the kids expectations by insisting that they went for their breakfasts first, so the group got dressed, and headed off to the buffet for their morning meal.   The kids were bouncing with excitement as they looked over the leaflet which had details of the various places where the scavenger hunt items were placed, and between Paul and the 2 kids, they had a route mapped out over the course of their meal. 

Donna noticed that after eating, the cramps started to come back, which she quietly mentioned to Paul.   He looked a little concerned, but of course, he reassured her that if she needed to rest, they could make a start and do the rest later – that was the point of it all.   The kids were focused entirely on the scavenger hunt though, so that was what they were going to do. 

They settled on an easy one first – first location was just outside of the restaurant.   Donna took her phone and snapped the QR code, which appeared in the companion app for the cruise to say it had been found.   That got the kids really excited to find the next one – so off they want to the end of the ship to look out over the expanse of the ocean, and to try and find the next area. 

Donna deliberately walked slowly, taking her time with each step, feeling the aches and pains of her body as she moved.   She was thankful that both children were old enough to walk now, but it had its downsides – at least if the baby was in the pushchair she could guarantee he would only move as fast as she could – now she was purely reliant on Paul to chase after the kids and make sure they didn’t get too far ahead.   She stopped half way along the route and took a moment to rest looking out to sea. 

“Come on mummy, we will never get there if you keep on stopping to look” came a voice after her eldest son dashed back to her after being several lengths ahead.   Paul looked at him and gave him a little ‘tsk’ noise as he explained that mummy was very tired looking after the new baby and she would need a lot of time to rest.   The child looked a little crestfallen, but nodded and said that he understood. 

Paul congratulated him for being a good boy and understanding, and gave him a small toy to play with whilst the adults rested.   He took off running the toy car up and down the walls, kneeling on the floor and pushing it along making engine noises. 

The youngest child settled in for being held.   Paul offered, but of course, he wanted Donna to hold him.   She winced but agreed, the younger child being used to resting on her bump now as he cuddled into the crook of her neck.  She tried to hold a hand against her back to counteract the ache that was developing there, but she couldn’t hold the child steady at the same time.  Paul came to her aid, pressing his hands into her back, eliciting a thankful groan from Donna in response. 

“Is it starting again?” Paul asked, not wanting to make too much of a commotion. 

Donna nodded, adding “still early, we can go on.” 

“Just as long as you feel OK, keep me informed” Paul added, a note of concern in his voice. 

The small group set off again and found the QR code along with a picture that they were looking for a short while later.    After recording it on the app, they had 2 choices.   First was the next one sequentially was on the same floor, but at the other end of the ship, otherwise they had to go up 2 floors to deck 7 or down two floors to deck 3 for the next ones. 

“Lets go down, the stairs are only over there” came an excited voice.   

“No sweetie, lets go look for the lift for mummy” answered Paul. 

“No, lets go!” shouted the elder child, who headed off towards the stairs.   Paul darted off after him, as Donna huffed her breath in, and set off at a slower pace towards them. 

2 floors with a large bump and a habit of over balancing as a result were difficult for Donna.   She took the stairs one by one, the aches in her back transferring to her hips as she felt the head of her baby grind down into her pelvis.   She took a slow, plodding speed as she held on tight to the handrail, stopping at each landing area for a small rest, letting staff and other guests head past her on their way either up or down. 

She noted that the only guests using the stairs were either men, or children, none of the pregnant patrons – other than herself – had chosen to use that method for changing floors.   She eventually got down to the third to find her family waiting for her – the children of course looking somewhat impatient. 

“Mummy will be very slow thanks to the baby in my belly, if you want to rush off, go ahead and just let me know where you are, just make sure you stay with Daddy.” 

Paul looked at her as she nodded, “Let me take my time.  I’ll wait in the atrium whilst you get the items on this floor.   Don’t worry, you’re only a phone call away if anything happens.” 

No sooner had Paul uttered “OK lets go” did the kids dash off with incredible speed, and Paul could only yell a quick “bye” as he dashed off after them. 

Donna took a slow walk down to the atrium, and after stopping at the toilet on the way, she noticed that her mucus plug had come out into the bowl.  She was an experienced mother at this point and knew that meant things were definitely progressing, but wasn’t anything to worry about right now.   She dropped a message over to Paul saying for him to check in on the way past, but it wasn’t anything to worry about. 

Donna found the atrium to be fairly quiet, only 2 other couples in there – of course, each were a set of parents to be, so she didn’t want to interrupt them – she just grabbed a drink from the dispenser in the area, took a seat, and looked around for a moment, about to do something she wasn’t sure if she should do, but in the end shrugged and lifted up her top, exposing her belly. 

She spent about 10 minutes pressing her belly and seeing the reactions of the baby inside.   She felt around for the expected areas of the baby she had felt dozens of times before – a foot, an elbow, its butt, and huffed out a breath as a contraction grabbed her unexpectedly, leaving her belly tightening and going from a nice round profile to oval shaped as the belly compressed around its occupant for a few, painful moments.   As she was forced to wince at the pain, she looked around furtively, hoping no one noticed, but thankfully she seemed to be left alone. 

As Paul came back into view, he smiled as the kids dashed forward and hugged their mother and kissed the belly.   “Whats up?” he asked. 

“My plug has gone” Donna said, matter of factly.   She knew how to tone her words so it wouldn’t cause any alarm in the children, but Paul of course understood how much of an impact that might have on the next few hours. 

“Ok. Do you need to do anything yet?  We’re about half way done on this floor?   Going to go in the other direction” Paul continued. 

“No…  you guys finish, they’re still about 10 minutes apart at the moment.   But could you fetch me another drink please?” 

Paul nodded and headed off to the drink dispenser, bringing back another cup full of soda for Donna. 

“OK you guys have fun and come back here when you’re done” Donna cheerfully said to the children. 

“OK mummy, are you not coming?”  asked one of the children. 

“No… im still resting.   I’ll go with you upstairs to the top deck when you’re ready.” 

That was of course enough for the children, who pulled on Paul’s trouser leg to have him come with them as they scurried off in the opposite direction that they had come looking for pictures on the walls and the elusive QR codes with them. 

Donna sighed as she felt antoher contraction build, and she couldn’t help but wince through it.   “Almost time I guess baby.   Can’t wait to meet you… but please don’t be too much of a rush, need to keep your two brothers happy too.” She wispered under her breath. 

Over the course of the next 20 minutes or so, whilst Paul was away with the children, Donna had to endure 3 more contractions.  She couldn’t sit down as they ramped up in intensity, so had slow walks around the atrium, trying to hide her condition from any guest or staff member who walked through the area with a gentle smile or a slight wave as they walked past.   Aside from the slight wince and gritted teeth as the pain reached its peak, or the tight grip she balled her fists into as she looked for some way to deal with the cramps, she managed to pass essentially unnoticed – just another heavily pregnant woman on a ship full of them.   She wondered how many others may be going through exactly the same ordeal, desperate to hide it and not cause a commotion. 

As the small group returned to Donna the kids were elated, desperate to show all the entries they had gotten in the app for the points they had found.  Donna took Paul’s hand in hers as she sat watching the children when a tightening grip around her midsection forced her to in turn squeeze Paul’s hand. 

He realised what was happening and looked at Donna asking “is it time?” 

Donna shook her head to signal that she could go on, blowing out her breath as she finished the contraction she announced “let’s go up to the top deck and get some sun… but we will have to take the lifts, I can’t manage the stairs” 

“Yes mummy,” the children agreed simultaneously and dashed off in the direction of the lifts as Donna asked Paul to give her a hand up.  She waddled hand in hand with Paul in the direction of the children and flopped back against the lift rail as it arrived and the door opened.  As the lift reached its destination Paul saw the wheelchairs and asked if Donna wanted one… she said no as she would much rather walk than sit to cope with the pains when they came. 

The group of 4 walked towards the front of the ship, and in the route found 2 of the QR codes and pictures they needed for the scavenger hunt.  Donna looked to be having a harder and harder time as the minutes passed, Paul anxiously keeping an eye on his watch, timing the contractions.   Donna couldn’t really rest due to the 2 whirlwinds of activity buzzing around her legs by way of their children, but it was starting to become obvious when she was suffering through a contraction, she would scrunch up her face, stop to rest (much to the annoyance of the children) and breathe deeply through the pain.   As Paul noticed they were getting closer together – now at less than 5 minutes apart, he pulled Donna to one side and suggested they get to the medical centre. 

Donna huffed him away, remining him that she was the one who had 2 babies previously, and knew exactly what her body was telling her.   Paul let her be, but kept a worried eye out, certain that he may have to jump into action at short notice. 

It didn’t take long for Paul’s concerns to come true as Donna held both children by the hand as they trooped down to the end of the ship, approaching the next scavenger hunt point, when she pulled up short, and a splash was heard.    

“What was that mummy?” asked one of the children, as Donna seemed unable to move. 

“Paul, my water broke.   Help!” Donna seemed panicked. 

Paul jumped into action seeing the puddle form between Donna legs, almost faster than she could utter the words from her mouth. 

He ushered her to the side, taking a spare nappy out of the bag for the kids to mop up the liquid on the walkway in case it caused anyone to slip. 

Donna slumped against the railing, suddenly panicking.  “Sorry, you said I should go... help me... I don’t want to have this baby out on deck.” 

Paul shushed her calmly “dont worry baby, you know that’s not likely to happen, do you feel the need to push?” 

“No...” Donna calmed down realising she wasn’t in any immediate need. 

“Whats the matter mummy?” came the voice from one of the children. 

“We need to leave now.” Paul offered his son.  “Mummy is about to have her baby.   You’re about to get a new baby brother or sister.” 

The kids were both bouncing now.  “Yay how does the baby get out of mummy’s tummy?” they were all inquisitive now. 

“Lets get mummy to do the doctors first then ill explain it all when we get there.” Paul offered, hoping it would keep the kids focused on an activity whilst the adults did their best not to panic themselves. 

“I need to go back to the room first” Donna advised Paul, as he helped her up.  “I need my bag, and I want to get changed out of these wet clothes now.” 

Paul nodded as they headed slowly back to the room.   Donna commented that she had packed all her birthing kit in a separate carry on bag before they got onto the cruise, so it shoud just be a case of grabbing it whilst she got changed.   What became horribly clear though as they continued to walk towards the room was that now that Donna’s water had broken, she felt every movement of the head in her pelvis, and she struggled to move more than a few steps before she needed to rest.   It felt like torture to Donna and Paul started to worry more and more that with the third baby on the way, and Donna’s stubborness, she might find that it doesn’t wait and they will be forced to give birth in the room – or even worse – in a corridor leading there. 

As the four of them finally got to their floor, rounded the corner and approached their room, Donna blew out a sigh of relief.  She hadnt been approached or stopped by any staff or other guests and had them impart words of wisdom on her.   She liked to do things her way.   She was very hard headed in that regard, and knew how she wanted to do things – whilst both of her previous children had been born in a hospital, she was hoping that this one could have been born in the confines of her own home.   When the offer of the cruise came along, she knew that it would be an offer too good to refuse, but was always concerned that she would have to give birth under the supervision of the staff – it was a condition of the sailing to ensure that any baby born on board would get the best medical care possible – and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to do that when it came to the actual time to give birth. 

As Paul swiped their key on the door she sank back onto the bed and looked up at him.  “would it be really bad if we just stayed here... we could say to the staff that the baby came too quickly to move?” 

Paul smiled, knowing this was going to come from his wife, but he put a calming tone in his voice.   “Baby, this room is way too cramped, and what if the kids don’t like it – they have nowhere to go in here.   I don’t want to leave your side.   I’d have to leave you all alone and take the kids away to calm them down.” 

Donna nodded.  “You’re right.”   She winced as another contraction built up, a reminder that time was not on their side.   “You grab the pink bag from the suitcase, and ill just jump into the shower.” 

Paul nodded as the kids sat on the bed and looked over the missing scavenger hunt points on their dads phone.  Donna yelled out over the roaring water of the shower “and grab something to keep the kids occupied!” 

Paul gathered up everything he could find as Donna stepped out of the shower, dropping the towel she had around her as she reached into the wardrobe for her dress she was going to wear to labour in. 

Her eldest son, always observent piped up “Mammys in the nudie” in his sing song voice.   Paul looked up and sighed, knowing Donnas mind was on other things right now. 

Paul took both of the children to one side as Donna got dressed.  “OK you two, theres something I need to tell you.”  Both faces looked up at him in wide eyed wonder.  “When your Mummy brings us the baby, she needs to push it out of a hole that only mammies and girls have.  She will have to do a lot of work, and she will be in a lot of pain.  If you feel scared during this, don’t worry about Mummy, she will be OK, but you need to tell me or one of the people where we are going to go that you need to leave.   Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Daddy” came the sing song voices in reply.   Paul hoped that his children would be able to cope.   When the second child was born, the first had stayed with his parents so this would be a first for all of them. 

Donna nodded, signalling that she was ready, and the three set off out of the room, Paul carrying the baby things, and Donna holding the hands of both children.    The walk just along to the lift was slow in Donna’s mind, the children plodding along in their slow, short legged stride whilst she just wanted to move quickly, get to the place she would spend the rest of the limited time of her pregnancy. 

As they got into the lift, one of the children jumped forward trying to help and pressed a low number on the lift panel, the highest they could reach.   Donna’s eyes flew wide as she realised what had happened, and groaned as she fell back onto the railing of the lift.    Her body took this opportunity to send her into an intense contraction, she gripped Paul’s arm tightly, not wanting to scare the children. 

“That was very naughty, you shouldnt do that!” scolded Paul to his child.   The child looked sheepish and apologies in a quiet, sing-song way as the lift reached its destination and Paul pressed the correct button.   It seemed like an eternity to Donna until the doors finally closed and the lift started to raise up again only to rest at the next floor.   Donna gasped as her grip tightened on Paul.   A couple strode in, husband and wife, the wife of course visibly pregnant.   She noticed Donna immediately. 

“Oh you poor dear... is it time?” 

Donna could only nod, not wanting to make a sound, her eyes scrunched tightly. 

“Oh... I am so sorry, just pure bad luck we got in this lift.   Here let us step out as I’m sure you’re going to the top deck and we can wait for the next one... don’t want you stopping mid way on our behalf.” 

Donna managed a weak “thanks” as the couple stepped out, and once more the lift continued its path upwards. 

Once more the lift stopped.   Donna wanted to scream.   In walked in one of the cleaning staff with a trolley.  The staff member was nowhere near as attentive as a woman who was worrying about having to go through the same ordeal herself, so quietly wheeled the trolley in and pressed the button.  Donna noticed it only going up 1 more floor.   She shook her head but didnt say anything. 

Her grip loosened on Paul’s arm, thankfully the contraction seemed to be passing.   The lift reached its floor with a ‘ding’ and the staff member backed out wheeling the trolley, announcing to the other passengers that they hope the family had a nice day.   Donna stared daggers at her.   She staff member appeared to have finally realised the situation, but knew there was nothing that could be done about it now, whispering ‘sorry’ as she backed away. 

Just as the door was about to close, another arm grasped the door and it flew back open.  In walked another heavily pregnant lady.   Donna lost it.  Tears in her eyes she just blurted out “Please, can people just leave this lift alone and let me get to the birthing centre, I need to have my baby!” 

The lady’s eyes grew wide as she realised, and jumped backwards.   “Shit!” she exclaimed, completely taken aback by the situation in the lifts.   The doors finally closed and they were on their way when the children giggled and both simultaneously announced “shit” in emulation of the situation.   Paul looked at them and scowled.   

“Children that is a naughty word, and I never want to hear you say it again.” 

“But Daddy, why did the lady say it?” 

“Because she was naughty and got a shock seeing Mummy in the lift.” 

“Yes, Daddy...” the children announced in chorus in a quiet tone. 

“How are you doing?”  Paul enquired to Donna. 

“I think I’m going to be OK.   Just a little while to go.   Just gotta keep focused on the end goal...” 

As the lift finally reached the desired floor, the group entered into the birthing suites.   They checked in and got taken to an observation room.   Donna was put onto a set of monitors whilst Paul and the boys were put into the side room where they could play.    After around 30 minutes, Donna showed up at the door to the waiting room. 

Paul looked up.   “Whats the story?  You must be in labour, your water broke and all the pains?” 

Donna nodded.  “Yes, but not dilated enough.   They want me to walk around a bit and get things moving.” 

Paul had a wide eyed look.  “Walk around a bit?   You could hardly stand 30 minutes ago?” 

Donna could only smile.  “Seems the baby wasnt in as much a rush as it could have been.   My back still aches like who knows what whenever I have a contraction, but they arent getting the baby down to where it needs to be.   Gravity and keeping my hips wide will help.” 

“Daddy, can we go to the splash pool?” came an inquisitive voice from the side of the room surrounded by building blocks and cuddly toys. 

“Yes, lets go to the splash pool” announced Donna, jumping in before Paul could even respond. 

“If you’re sure...” Paul certainly didnt sound sure. 

The group of 4 headed off to the far end of the deck, Donna’s pregnancy waddle was extremely pronounced by the fact she held her back and rubbed her hands up and down between her lower back and hips as she walked.  Each contraction took her breath away, and she had to stop 3-4 times on the journey to the splash pool.   Thankfully for the couple, the kids were well behaved, and stopped when they needed to. 

Donna was expecting to have a water birth, so they had dressed the children in their swimsuits just in case they managed to get in the tub with her, so they were quickly able to go into the splash pad and start running around.  

Donna tried to lean into Paul and watch them for a few minutes, but as soon as a contraction picked up she was forced to move, her breath huffing and puffing to try and deal with the aches and pains she was evidently in. 

She gave well meaning smiles to the other parents in the splash pad, most of them sporting their own bumps, and explained the situation once or twice to people wondering why she was out in such discomfort.   She finally faced Paul and grabbed his arms as a contraction washed through her, at the end managing a weak “I’ve done this two times before... why is it the third time decides to play tricky buggers with me?   The first 2 were nice and straightforward, ooh ahh, push, baby!” 

She was getting exasperated, and Paul knew it.  He stroked her hair and told her it would all be over soon, she was working and her body was doing what it needed to do.  Theres obviously nothing wrong, or else the medical team wouldnt have sent her away. 

Without thinking, Donna lowered herself down into a squat and her eyes went wide.   “Paul... shit... the baby.  It’s like a bowling ball is suddenly wedged between my legs.   It must have just slipped past my pubic bone or something when I squatted down.   It’s coming!” 

Paul struggled to lift Donna up by himself, but one of the dads to be heard the commotion and moved over.  “Can I help?” 

“Please, help me get my wife up... she thinks its time.” 

The newcomer nodded and standing either side of Donna, they both wrapped one of her arms over their shoulders and lifted her back to her feet.  The audible “oof” that came from Donna’s mouth was clear evidence that move hurt. 

“Wait here, I'll get a wheelchair” offered the bystander.   

Donna looked wide eyed.  “No... I can walk... I can...” she was cut short as a pain barrelled through her. 

Paul interrupted her.  “Yes, please, thankyou” he offered to the man as he headed off to grab the chair.  His wife, her own bump jutting out several inches in front of her asked which of the kids were theirs.   Paul pointed them out as she went into the splash pad area and coralled them together. 

As the children walked up to Paul, complaints on their lips, they suddenly noticed Donna’s face. 

“Mummy are you OK?” 

Donna smiled as much as she could.  “Yes baby, just we need to go now.“ 

It only took a few minutes for the chair to be brought up to them, get Donna seated and they were off. 

The travel was still slow going, as the children could only walk so fast, and Donna wriggled in the seat.  She hated the idea of being trapped, but knew – as the next contraction pulsed right through her abdomen – she was in no fit state to walk.   She couldnt focus through the pain anymore, and vocalised through the length of the contraction, a low, growling hum rumbling from her lips. 

Paul had been to the birth of their two previous children, and knew that was a clear sign that things were moving on into the transition stage, clearly identifying Donna’s mannerisms. 

They finally reached the birthing suite and worked their way in – the lady on reception welcoming them back and directing them towards the room they were previously in. Donna gave a thumbs up as she was wheeled past until she finally could get to her feet again, only to be met with the midwife coming in right behind them and asking her to get undressed for an exam. 

Paul helped her up to the bed and then lead the kids away back to the play area where he found some towels and dried off whatever moisture that was left from the splash pad that hadnt dried on the walk over. 

“Well, looks like you’re having a baby!” came the happy voice of the midwife as she finished inspecting Donna. 

Donna managed a grin. “I kinda hoped that would be the case, it certainly FEELS like im having a baby...” 

“You’re 7cm dialated and progressing fast. Whatever you did out there certainly moved things along from where you were earlier.” 

Donna nodded, unable to speak as the next contraction picked up. After a short while of trying to focus and stay quiet, the groaning hum came from her mouth and she managed a cry of “my back hurts so much.” 

The midwife moved her forwards on the bed and rubbed the small of Donnas back, which provided a lot of relief. Her groan turned much more pleasant as she relaxed into the massage, and rode out the rest of the contraction, the midwifes hands rubbing circles either side of her spine. 

“You’ll be pushing soon, you’ll feel back in control then.” advised the midwife. 

“I hope so...” Donna replied, somewhat resigned to the pain she was in right now. 

As the midwife helped Donna up off the examination bed, Donna looked up to hear the padding of small feet coming from the next room over. 

Her eldest son walked in carrying a teddy bear from the kids play area, and thrust it out in front of him, offering it to his mother. 

“Mummy has a hurty. Take this teddy it will make it all better.” 

Donnas heart melted. She broke into a massive smile and grabbed the bear, pulling her son into her thigh and hugging him. 

“You know just what to say to Mummy to make it all better don’t you darling?” 

“Yes mummy.... but where is your pee pee?” 

The sudden change in subject had both Donna and the midwife giggling. Donna realised she was naked from the waist down, and her son was at eye level with her crotch. Donna realised in the quick few minutes she was naked in front of the boys earlier, they mustn’t have realised certain anatomical differences between men and women. 

“Well... you see... as Daddy said to you earlier, Mummies and girls have a hole. Our pee comes out of that area... as well as the baby will be coming out of the same area.” She gasped as she reached out to steady herself. “Perhaps very, very soon...” 

This seemed to excite the child to no end, as she danced away back to the other room, announcing “I’ve seen Mummy’s hole!” to his brother and father. 

As Paul wandered back into the birthing suite with both boys in tow, an inquisitive look on his face, Donna was asked by the midwife what she wanted to do. Donna wanted to go into the pool, so the midwife lent a hand to help her get undressed. She opted to remain in her bra, but was otherwise naked as she stepped into the pool. 

“You go look after your wife, and I’ll look after the kids?” offered the midwife. 

Paul nodded and thanked the lady. “OK children, this is Joanne. As I said before, if you feel scared when things are happening here, you need to speak to her or me. Mummy will be far too busy to answer.” 

The midwife – Joanne – nodded. “I’ve also got an assistant... shall we go and see her?” 

The kids shouted yes in unison, as she lead the children away back into the playroom area and rang her colleague on the phone. She was aware of the children being present duiring the birth, and wanted to ensure that she had support from her colleague Sarah in case either one of them were busy with Donna. 

As the group retreated from the room, Paul sighed “We’re alone.” 

Donna – with an attitude that only a mother could have – immediately looked up at him. “Did we just leave our kids with a stranger. What if something happens to them?” 

“Hush... they’re just next door, you need to focus on the here and now. The kids will be fine.” Paul reassured her. 

“Youre.... you’re right” Donna grunted as she rolled around to face Paul in the tub, both her hands grabbing onto his offered one as she groaned, long and hard through the onset of the next contraction. 

Joanne came back in the room annoucing “The kids are playing next door, shout up if you want them in here at any particular time.” Donna was mid-contraction and didnt pay any attention to the newcomer into the room, but Paul smiled and nodded, his hands rubbing against Donna’s back. 

“She’s still having back pain.” he advised the midwife. “Anything we can do?” 

Joanne looked on sympathetically but shook her head. “She’s very close to 10cm, we can only hope that when she starts pushing, it moves things along. I suspect the baby is trapping a nerve or something similar. We can offer gas and air if that will help?” 

Donna gasped, as the contraction ramped down. “Please, go and get that. I need to move, cant sit in any one place for long. Help me up?” 

Paul took her weight as she stepped out slowly over the edge of the tub, and paced around the room. Her wet body dripped water everywhere, so Paul followed behind with a towel to mop up the splashes until she pulled up short, bouncing from one leg to the other and groaned, another signal that the next contraction was on her. Paul dropped the towel to the floor and held onto his wife as she grabbed onto him and swayed right to left, the wetness on her body leaving a wet patch on Paul’s clothes in the process. 

“Almost there” he whispered into his groaning wife’s ear as he held onto her as she rode whatever sensations were going through her. She couldnt reply, just simply gripped tighter and tighter to her husbands body and moaned louder and longer through each sperate contraction. 

It took over an hour of this non stop motion. Joanne brought in the gas and air, Donna took big gupling mouthfuls of the mixture. Sarah walked in with the children who hung around with their parents for a short while but ultimately were getting antsy at their mothers vocalisations, so were lead away for a snack. Donna moved from lying on the bed, to bouncing on the birthing ball, to sitting on the bed, to the tub again, and cycling again and again every few minutes, no position helped alleviate the pain she was feeling in her back. 

In the moments when she was able to converse with the room, she sounded in a sorrowful state, only announcing that “it was never like this with the last two, why is this one so different?” Paul kept a silent track of the question – she had asked it 8 times so far. 

Finally there was a breakthrough. Donna had dismissed any further checking since she had come into the room, but suddenly announced that she needed to push. She insisted on being led back into the water. Joanne followed closely behind with the doppler, and as Donna got settled into the water, she held the sensor against her lower belly, and sure enough, the babys heartbeat came through strong. 

“OK, I’ll have to check before you push” advised Joanne. 

“Be quick, I REALLLY NEED TO PUSH!” Donna yelled, not a care in who could hear her. 

She flopped back against the wall of the tub, her legs splayed open and her arms gripping the walls. Joanne leaned in and inserted her fingers to check for dilation... and quickly nodded. “Yes, you’re good to go, give it all you’ve got when you need to.” 

Donna wasted no time. She gritted her teeth and pushed. She roared as she put in the effort, Sarah dashing through with the children as they heard the commotion. 

Sarah, who had built up a rapport with the children grinned. “Mummys having her baby!” 

The children clapped and danced, actions that were lost on both Paul – who was focused entirely on his wife – and Donna – who was focused entirely on pushing.  

“Mummy makes a lot of noise” announced the younger child.  

“Yes she does, she has to do a lot of work.” Sarah advised. 

From their low vantage point, the children couldnt see over the edge of the tub, so couldnt really see much. They walked up the the edge and grabbed onto the side, lifting themselves up to hang their elbows on the edge. 

“Careful, its slippy” scolded Sarah as she grabbed 2 seats for the children. “If you sit down on these you will be able to see.” 

They dropped down and the eldest child climbed up and rolled around on top of the chair to take his position, whilst the youngest child was lifted up by Sarah. Paul had moved into position behind Donna, hooking his arms under her armpits and offering his hands up for her to grab onto, Donna’s hands either side of her head simultaneously grabbing Paul’s hands and pressing into her temples. 

Paul looked up and saw 2 wide pairs of eyes taking everything in. Donna’s yelling didn’t seem to phase them at all. As the contraction passed, and Donna suddenly came back to reality, she realised what was happening in the room. 

“Can you please get my phone from my purse and record this for me?” she asked Sarah. 

Sarah nodded “of course, let me see if I can find it?” 

As she rummaged through Donna’s bag, she held up a phone, in turn Donna nodded. 

“The code is 6512” she managed quickly before the urge to push came back over her. 

Donna chcked, the battery was 90% should be plenty of time considering how close things looked to be. She held up the camera and pressed record, panning around the room then getting the mother, father and their 2 children all in the shot. “There’s the head!” she announced to the room, seeing Donna’s lips part, and the first signs of the dark, teardrop shape forming between her legs. 

The children were clapping their hands. “There’s the hole, there’s the hole.... awwww” 

Donna’s push had ended, and the head retreated, but she was elated by the progress. 

The next push, Donna released her husbands hands, and hooked back her knees, Paul’s hands wrapping around above his wife’s breasts in a cuddling motion. The forced opening of her legs showed much more of the head much quicker than before, and the children were bouncing on their chairs again. “baby, baby, baby, baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaby” 

Donna yelled with abandon as she pushed, so pleased that it didnt seem to bother the children. Time and time again she took a deep breath, pulled back on her legs and roared with the force of the contraction. Each cycle bringing more and more of the hair covered head visible. Her lips stretched red, then white as more and more of the hole between her legs stretched and filled with baby. 

She finally reached her full crown and any hope she would have had for maintaining a calm demeanour was lost. As the head popped free she screamed a high pitch shrill yell so loud that the children had to cover their ears as she did it. 

The following immediate moments were a revelation to all in the room. Joanne was the first to realise, having been focusing on the head to ensure that Donna didnt have any injuries or tears as she pushed. Donna couldnt see due to her bump being in the way blocking any view between her legs and Paul in turn was blocked by Donna. 

Sarah was the first to speak though. “Well look at that, little baby brother or sister wanted to say hello face to face.” 

Donna suddenly put 2 and 2 together. Joanne was the first to formally announce it. “Seems that your backache was caused by a posterior baby. That at least explains that one.” The nonchalant way that she announced it like it was any usual common occurance caused Donna to lean back and laugh against Paul. 

Donna’s voice was croaky as she looked at the children. “Do you want to get in the water with me and the baby?” 

The children looked a little unsure. The water was slowly being stained pink with blood from the birthing process, but her hands reached down and slowly started to stroke the baby’s head between her legs. 

“Yesyesyesyesyesyes” suddenly came the voice fromt the eldest, and soon the youngest joined the chorus. 

Paul hauled himself up and kissed Donna on the forehead as he did so, walking around the tub he pulled the clothes off his 2 sons until they were left back in their swimming shorts.  

“Ready?” he said, as the kids lifted their arms up expecting to be lifted in the air. Paul heaved his eldest up first, lowering him into the water, and then turned for his youngest, again picking, lifting and lowering so he was waste deep in the water. Both Joanne and Sarah keeping a close eye on the children as Donna grunted. 

“Get down here quick, I need to push the rest of the baby out.” 

The kids splashed and kicked around the pool, swirls of water splashing around as Donna patted her own knees, the children resting their weight against each side of her inner legs. Her arms went back to gripping the side of the tub and once more she groaned. 

Joanne looked up at Paul “Do you want to catch daddy?” 

Paul moved himself into position, leaning almost his full torso over the tub to reach in between Donnas legs as the children stared in rapt attention as their sibling slowly released one shoulder then another. A moment of panting by Donna and she was back at it again, pushing out the torso then the legs... of their first daughter. 

“Baby Girl” announced Paul as Donna struggled around her now three children, removing her bra. She reached out and held the baby to her chest as she burst into tears, Paul soon following along. The two boys apparently oblivious to the blood and vernix on the baby, following alongside their mother in hugging the baby and her in a messy huddle in the water. 

Soon the room was punctuated by wails of a newborn as Sarah stood to the side of the room capturing the precious first moments on camera. 

“Mummy, does the baby have a hole? It doesnt have a pee pee” 

That was enough to send everyone into hysterics. 

[aelyxtarg]

Desires

Rhaenyra Targaryen x Oc Aelyx Targaryen

Rhaenyra's return to Dragonstone was anything but glorious. The courtiers and guards offered polite bows, but there was a tension in the air, a collective holding of breath as they awaited the inevitable.

Rhaenyra's journey to King's Landing had been fraught with hardship. Disguised as a Silent Sister, she had sailed there on a small boat, keeping her head bowed and her face veiled to avoid recognition. It was a desperate attempt to reach Alicent without attracting attention, but in the end, it was all for for nothing. Alicent had refused to listen, her heart hardened by the lies she told of her father.

Aelyx stood at the entrance of the Great Hall, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders like moonlight. Her expression was a mix of relief and irritation, a storm building behind her violet eyes. As Rhaenyra approached, the younger woman crossed her arms, her posture rigid with restrained anger.

"Welcome back, my love," Aelyx said, her voice cool and clipped. "How was your... journey?"

Rhaenyra sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "It was as expected. Alicent would not listen. She is too entrenched in her father's schemes."

Aelyx's lips pressed into a thin line. "And yet you wasted precious time and effort to see her, when you knew the outcome."

"I had to try," Rhaenyra replied, her own temper flaring. "I had to make the effort for peace."

"Peace? Or validation?" Aelyx's words cut deep, and Rhaenyra felt a stab of anger. "Clear the room," Aelyx commanded the onlookers, her gaze never leaving Rhaenyra's.

The courtiers quickly dispersed, leaving the two women alone in the vast hall. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows on the stone walls, adding to the sense of impending conflict. Before Rhaenyra could speak, Jacaerys, her eldest son, stepped forward, his face a mask of anger and disappointment.

"Mother," he began, his voice tight with emotion. "Why did you go? Why did you leave us?"

Rhaenyra looked at her son, guilt gnawing at her. "Jacaerys, I had to try and prevent this war. I thought if I could speak to Alicent..."

"But you failed," Jacaerys interrupted, his voice rising. "You left us vulnerable. Do you even realize how precarious our position is?"

Aelyx stepped forward, placing a hand on Jacaerys' shoulder. "Enough, Jace. Let us handle this."

Jacaerys glanced between his mother and Aelyx, his jaw clenched. "Fine. But this is not over." With that, he turned and left the hall, slamming the doors behind him.

"You think I did this for myself?" Rhaenyra's voice was sharp, her eyes narrowing. "You think I wanted to grovel before Alicent?"

Aelyx stepped closer, her eyes blazing. "I think you wanted to prove something to yourself. That you could still sway her, that you still had some control over this mess."

"That is not fair," Rhaenyra shot back. "I am trying to avoid war, to keep our family safe."

"Our family?" Aelyx laughed bitterly. "Or your pride? You left me here to handle everything while you chased a fantasy. Do you even realize how important our position is?"

Rhaenyra's face flushed with anger. "I did not leave you. I trusted you to manage things in my absence."

"Manage things?" Aelyx's voice rose, echoing off the stone walls. "I am your wife, not your steward. I have been fighting to keep our allies from fracturing, dealing with traitors and spies, while you were off on a fool's errand."

"I never asked you to do all that," Rhaenyra snapped.

"No, you didn't. Because you never think about anyone else," Aelyx retorted, her voice breaking with frustration.

The two women stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their words hanging between them. Rhaenyra's anger began to fade, replaced by a gnawing guilt.

"Aelyx," she began softly, reaching out a hand, but Aelyx stepped back, avoiding her touch.

"I love you, Rhaenyra. But you need to understand that you are not alone in this. We are supposed to be partners, equals. You cannot just leave me behind and expect everything to be fine."

Rhaenyra's eyes softened, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "I am sorry. I should have considered your feelings, your position. You are right."

Aelyx's gaze softened slightly, though the hurt was still evident. "We are stronger together. But only if we truly act as one."

Rhaenyra nodded, stepping closer. "I promise, from now on, we make decisions together. No more leaving you behind."

Aelyx hesitated for a moment before taking Rhaenyra's hand. "Good. Because we have a war to prepare for, and we cannot afford to be divided."

As they stood together, hands clasped, the tension began to ease. They both knew that the path ahead would be fraught with danger and challenges, but at least they would face it together, united as they were meant to be.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Falling For Your Fools Gold: Chapter 7

A/N: I hope you're ready for more tension, a Valkyrie introduction, and murder! This chapter might have gotten away from me a bit, but I still had a lot of fun writing it. And I hope everyone equally enjoys it! :) Trigger warning for murder/blood

Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Nesta squints through the fog that swirls and billows off the rocking waves around the ship. The early morning sky is a hazy gold overhead, and even though the sun is hidden, it leaves the fog looking like it’s shimmering, like it’s alive. Nesta thinks she can make out some smaller ships moving through the water, thinks the dark lines in the distance must be the docks, but there’s only quiet cocooned amongst the fog, and it’s almost unsettling, eerie, the promise of something sinister waiting on dry land.

“Drop the anchor,” Baz’s voice echoes across the deck.

“Dropping the anchor,” Bram calls back.

Nesta frowns at the order, leaning further over the ship’s railing. Perhaps the fog is thicker than she realized? But there’s nothing except murky waves lapping along the wooden sides of the ship below, and Nesta’s confusion only grows. She turns to try and find Baz so she can ask him, but she’s startled to find Cassian already standing beside her.

“Why are we dropping the anchor?” Nesta voices, the weather around them making her feel like she needs to keep her tone quiet. “We haven’t reached the docks yet.”

Something passes over Cassian’s face then, his own gaze sweeping across the horizon. “Windhaven isn’t a port you want to dock directly in unless you’re interested in losing your ship. We anchor well past the break, and we’ll row the rest of the way into port.”

“Should I be concerned then? If Windhaven is such a dangerous port?”

“Don’t trust me to keep you safe, princess?”

Although she has no interest in admitting it to him, Nesta does trust Cassian. She can’t quite pinpoint when it happened, or even how it happened, but she does. She knows that despite his reputation, despite the fact he’s a literal pirate captain with plenty of blood on his hands, that he’ll never harm her. She knows that no matter what, she’s safe with him.

“I didn’t say that,” Nesta finally mutters.

A smaller boat is lowered over the side of the ship and into the water, a wood plank and rope ladder unrolled from the railing next. Baz clambers over the railing and down the ladder first, Cormac tossing down oars to him before following behind the first mate. Nesta lets the rest of the crew going ashore climb down next until it’s just Cassian and her still standing on the deck.

She can feel the captain’s eyes on her, and she’s sure if she looks over, she’ll find his accessing gaze watching her, peeling back layers of her like he always does, but thankfully, he doesn’t say anything, merely swings a leg over the ship’s railing and starts down the ladder. Nesta leans over the railing, eyeing the choppy water, the way the ladder sways slightly with Cassian’s weight. She takes a deep breath and swallows hard, finally climbing carefully over the railing as well. Her grip is practically white knuckled against the rope, but she breathes through the way her heart pounds between her ribs and slowly steps down and down along the ladder. One foot after the other.

She realizes belatedly that she should have counted how many steps there were because she doesn’t want to risk looking to see how much farther she has to go. Instead, she just focuses on lowering each foot to the next wooden plank of the ladder, praying she reaches the bottom soon. Nesta nearly jumps out of her skin when two large hands settle on her waist. She snaps her head over her shoulder, meeting a pair of hazel eyes. Cassian’s hands squeeze gently, a silent request, and Nesta finally releases her iron grip on the ladder, allowing Cassian to ease her onto the boat.

She shifts carefully to move to one of the seats, Cassian settling down beside her, and then Baz and Cormac are picking up the oars and rowing them toward the docks. Cormac jumps out of the boat first once they’re close enough, quickly tying off the rope and securing the boat. Cassian follows behind him, turning and holding out a hand toward Nesta. She slides her palm against his, allowing the pirate captain to help her out of the boat and back onto solid ground.

Already, Nesta swears she can feel eyes on her. The feeling scrapes along her skin like nails, creeping up her spine until every hair on the back of her neck stands on end. Her eyes sweep across the docks, and though she can’t see anyone, the area almost eerily empty, she can’t shake that feeling. It has her just barely swallowing down a shudder.

“They’ve requested the Captain’s Quarters for the meet,” Baz speaks from their left, crossing his arms and squinting toward the rows of buildings lining the docks and shore.

“The faster we get this over with the better,” Cormac mutters, his expression pinched.

Cassian nods, clearly agreeing, and turns toward Duncan and Wiley. “How much time will you both need?”

“It shouldn’t take me long to replenish our supplies,” Wiley explains. “Just an hour or two.”

“If you can spare an extra set of hands, it shouldn’t take me too long to get what we’ll need from the markets,” Duncan agrees.

“Alastair, go with him,” Cassian orders, gesturing with his head before holding out his arm for Nesta to take.

Nesta blinks a few times in surprise, not expecting Cassian to offer that she go along with him and his crew to whatever meeting they’re having. Somehow, it feels significant, feels like it means more that he’s allowing her in on his business, a true peek behind the curtain. For all his questions about Nesta trusting him, it’s as though Cassian is demonstrating his own trust for her. She’s not quite sure how she should feel about that.

Slowly but surely, Nesta settles her hand in the crook of Cassian’s arm, allowing him to lead the way through the winding streets of Windhaven. There’s more people as the buildings around them grow thicker, making their way down the main road that cuts through the port city, eyeing them from the different side alleys and streets. It has Nesta pressing that small bit closer to Cassian as they walk, but she keeps her shoulders back, her head held high.

The Captain’s Quarters isn’t much to look at. In fact, Nesta is quite sure that if someone wasn’t specifically looking for the tavern, they might miss it all together. The dark wood walls are plain if not a bit run down from all the sea air, and there’s no signage declaring the tavern’s name, parchment secured to the tavern’s windows as if to hide away whatever might be happening inside.

Nesta drops Cassian’s arm so he can step through the door, sticking close behind him. The inside of the tavern is as bare as the outside, only a few tables scattered around the space. A barman stands along the far right wall, a rag in one hand and a tankard in the other. He raises his chin in a nod, Cassian mimicking the gesture back to him. The barman’s eyes glance to the back of the room before meeting Cassian’s gaze again, some sort of silent signal, and then Cassian is moving again, leading their little group deeper into the tavern and down a set of stairs half hidden behind crates in the back.

The room below the tavern is relatively small, the majority of the space between the wooden pillars taken up by a large table. There’s already a group of men sitting on one side of it, a few more at their backs. The man sitting in the center is clearly the leader. His blonde hair is long and unruly, his facial hair just as unkempt, and a long scar runs from his ear all the way across his face to his nose.

Cassian makes his way around to the other side of the table, pulling out one of the chairs, but rather than sit, he turns to look at Nesta. It takes everything within her not to show her surprise at the gesture, at the literal seat at the table she is being offered when it comes to Cassian, his crew, and his business. Instead, she keeps her face neutral and settles into the seat, folding her hands neatly atop the table. Once she’s seated, Cassian takes the seat beside her, Baz in the seat beside him. Cormac remains standing, staying just over Nesta’s shoulder, his arms crossed over his chest and his gaze narrowed.

“Shall we begin then?” Cassian asks, his tone casual yet hard.

“Thought we were doing business,” the blonde man sneers, the drawl of his accent thick, his beady eyes sweeping over Nesta's frame, the disgust clear on his face. “Your whore doesn't need to be present for that.”

Faster than Nesta can even blink, Cassian is on his feet, his sword drawn and pressed to the man's neck. Fury rages beneath the surface of his skin, his hazel eyes hard and burning as he bares his teeth at the man. This is the pirate captain the world fears, and the man seems to realize it, his own eyes widening slightly.

“Say that about her again,” Cassian snarls, the blade of his sword digging in tighter until a trickle of blood drips down his skin. “I dare you.”

Nesta expects the man to finally back down, but it only seems to ignite his defiance. Even with the sword at his neck, he turns his head enough to spit at the ground, his tone mocking when he speaks again, “you've gone soft, Lord of Bloodshed.”

It's with cold, efficient ease that Cassian swings his blade, a deep red waterfall spilling from the man's neck until his clothes are drowning in the deadly color. A gasp tears its way free from Nesta's throat, and she can do nothing but watch as the color leeches from the man's face, as his lips part and he makes a gargled sound before slumping onto the floor. Cassian and the rest of his crew seem entirely unaffected by the display, Baz pulling out a handkerchief and handing it over for Cassian to casually clean his blade. The sound of Cassian re-sheathing his blade is especially loud in the near-silent room, and he crosses his arms, looking over the men still seated around the table.

“So, are we doing business or not?”

There’s no response from the remaining men to Cassian’s snapped question. Every set of eyes is pinned to the pirate captain, many wide and wary. Although, Nesta doesn’t miss the simmering anger sparking in the eyes of the man directly across from her. As the silence continues to extend, the tensions in the small room ratcheting up and up, Cassian raises an expectant eyebrow, his patience quickly diminishing.

“What makes you think we want to do business with you now after that?” the man still glaring finally dares to voice.

“What makes you think I’m not perfectly capable of taking this business elsewhere?” Cassian fires back with a scoff. Although, it’s clearly the answer he needs, turning to face Nesta again and holding out a hand for her. She allows him to tug her back to her feet, to set her hand back in the crook of his elbow. “Perhaps whichever of you pieces of shit takes over will remember to hold your tongue next time.”

Without another look back, Cassian guides the both of them back up the stairs and into the main part of the tavern. Nesta can feel eyes practically burning a hole into her shoulder blades the whole way, even with Baz and Cormac following behind them.

“I can put feelers out for who might be interested in a deal,” Baz offers once they all step back outside the tavern again.

“I have a contact in Windhaven that might have a lead as well,” Cormac adds, squinting down the road like he half expects his contact to appear.

“We’ll give it a day, but I won’t stay here in port longer than that.”

Both men nod and offer their agree with Cassian’s statement, heading away from the tavern and vanishing around separate corners. It leaves Nesta and Cassian alone once more, the pirate captain turning to stand properly in front of her. Slowly, his hand comes up, the backs of his fingers skittering gently down along her temple, her cheek, before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Are you alright?” Cassian asks, his voice softer than Nesta has heard from him all day.

“I’m fine,” Nesta assures him, offering a small smile.

“I’m sorry we’ll have to stay in Windhaven longer than expected.”

“I’m sorry that I’m the reason you couldn’t do your originally planned business.”

“Don’t apologize for that,” Cassian argues, his hazel eyes blazing once again, an affronted frown tugging down his lips. “Never apologize for that.”

Nesta lets out a soft sigh, but she acquiesces and nods her head. Cassian’s eyes dance over her face, and whatever he sees in her expression, it seems to put him at ease. He gives Nesta a nod of his own and offers her his arm again, leading her away from the tavern and down the main road of Windhaven. The buildings around them start to get less rundown, the numbers of people moving about around them growing thicker, as they continue to make their way deeper into the downtown market area of Windhaven.

“Did you want to get some food?” Cassian suggests, nodding toward one of the cafes further down from them.

“I think I could…”

Nesta trails off, her eyes snagging on one of the windows to their right. Particularly, on the window display. There’s no mistaking the leather, the ink and gold leaf pressed into curves and swirls. A bookstore. A proper bookstore. Nesta is moving before she even realizes or thinks about it, not a care in the world, all but dragging Cassian along behind her where their arms are still linked.

They step through the door, and Nesta inhales deeply, her eyes fluttering close for a moment as the sweet scent of linen pages, of dried ink, floods her senses. It’s like a warm blanket settling across her skin, calming her soul even as her blood thrums to life, answering a call, welcomed home by the characters and stories waiting on the shelves, hiding between pages.

“Can I help you?”

Nesta’s eyes fly back open at the voice, the cool, clipped tone of the question. She finds a woman standing behind the counter along the right wall of the bookstore. Her long dark hair is braided over her shoulder, her cheekbones high and cutting, and her eyes a shade of brown that Nesta is sure would look soft and beautiful in the right light. Currently, that gaze in question is narrowed, the brown of them hard and simmering with the promise to cut a man down where he stands. The man currently standing beside Nesta.

“Just browsing,” Nesta cuts in, offering the woman a small smile in hopes of defusing any tension.

She quickly steps between the few shelves set up in the bookstore, running her finger along the various spines, swearing she can feel the pulse of the stories just beneath the leather. She pauses occasionally to read the title printed on a book, sometimes even pulling one out to flip through a few pages. Some of the story names are familiar, but others are completely new. She moves over to the table placed near the window next, eyes dancing over the different books on display there until one in particular catches her attention.

“Where did you get this?” Nesta asks, unable to take her eyes off the book as she picks it up.

“Are you questioning my merchandise?” the woman fires back.

“Not questioning, impressed. I didn’t think this had been mass printed just yet.”

Nesta flips through the pages in awe, still grappling with the fact that she’s truly holding this book in her hands. She runs her fingers along the leather of the spine, almost savoring it. When she looks up again, the hard lines from before have fallen away from the woman’s face. In their place is a wide, excited smile, her nose scrunching slightly from the expression.

“Have you read the previous one?” the woman asks, stepping from behind the counter and closer to Nesta.

“Of course. I practically devoured the whole thing, read it in just a day, and I’ve been anxiously awaiting for this to be printed, especially after that cliffhanger. Whose door do you think Miss Charlotte knocked on? I’m so hoping it’s Mr Williams. He’s a much better match for her in my opinion.”

“Absolutely not. After he didn’t respond to her letters? She should be with Mr Davies.”

Nesta lets out a surprised laugh at the argument. “It wasn’t like it was his fault. He was injured after the war.”

“Excuses,” the woman dismisses with a wave of her hand before that smile returns to her face. “I’m Emerie by the way.”

“Nesta.”

“Well, Nesta, if you liked that book, you should definitely read…” Emerie trails off, her hand dancing across the display of books before she finds what she’s looking for. “This book.”

Emerie holds out the book toward her, and Nesta takes it with a quiet thanks, tucking it and the first book into the crook of her arm. She expects Emerie to step away then, perhaps even return to behind the counter of her shop, but instead the woman steps closer, her hand curling gently around Nesta’s forearm.

“Are you okay?” Emerie asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nesta blinks a few times, surprised by the sudden change in conversation, by the serious look Emerie settles her with. “What?”

“You know who that is, don’t you?”

Emerie glances toward the other side of the shop, and Nesta follows her gaze, finding Cassian with his brow furrowed, causally flipping through the pages of a book poised in his hand. When she meets Emerie’s eyes again, Emerie raises a silent but pointed eyebrow, the question and concern clear.

This is it, Nesta supposes. One simple word, and it could all be over. All she would have to do is tell Emerie that she isn’t alright, and Nesta is sure that despite having only just met one another, that Emerie would help her get away. One simple word, and she could get back to Adriata. Back to her sisters. Back to her father. Back to the life her mother laid out perfectly and expectantly for her. Just that thought alone has Nesta’s chest tightening, her stomach roiling until a lump presses against her windpipe and she has to swallow hard around it. One simple word. She swears something deep between her ribs seems to roar in rebellion at the very idea.

“I’m alright,” Nesta assures Emerie, smiling softly. “I promise.”

Emerie’s eyes narrow, her gaze sweeping over Nesta’s face like she expects to find some hint of a lie, but whatever she finds seems to satisfy her. She nods her head and finally steps away, returning back behind the counter. Nesta follows behind her, setting her two books down against the wood.

Nesta senses him before she sees him. The warmth that always seems to leech from his presence prickling along the left side of her body, the scent of salty sea air and the crackling embers of a fire. She turns her head to find Cassian already watching her, and she drops her gaze to the book still in his hand, eying the long title pressed into the leather.

“Really? Another history book?” Nesta teases lightly with a roll of her eyes. “Because you don’t have enough of those in your cabin already?”

“Because you don’t already have enough smutty romance books?” Cassian shoots back, placing his own book atop Nesta’s stack before turning to the shop owner with a smirk. “Emerie.”

“Cassian,” Emerie greets dryly, crossing her arms across her chest.

“How much for the three books?”

“For you or for Nesta?”

Cassian chuckles, digging out some gold from the inside pocket of his jacket and setting it down on the counter. “Never change, Em.”

Cassian picks up their stack of books, placing his free hand on the small of Nesta’s back, guiding her toward the door and out of the bookstore. Nesta follows along almost in a daze, her mind still trying to wrap around the whole interaction. When they finally step outside, the fresh air and sun above draws Nesta back to reality with a jolt. She stops walking and whirls on Cassian, her shock quickly morphing into annoyance at the smirk the pirate captain is already wearing when he meets her accusing gaze.

“You know Emerie?” Nesta demands, gesturing back toward the bookstore they just left in emphasis.

“I do.”

Nesta waits for him to continue, to explain, but when he doesn’t, she lets out a frustrated huff. “How?”

“We’ve known each other since we were both young. I grew up in Windhaven,” Cassian finally explains, urging Nesta to keep walking once again with a hand at the small of her back.

“Windhaven is the port city you grew up in? Is that the real reason why you don’t like to spend too long docked here? Too many bad memories?”

“Something like that.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta and Cassian meet up with the rest of the crew at one of the inns in Windhaven, enjoying a dinner in the tavern that takes up the ground level. The mood is certainly sour at the fact they’ll be staying in port overnight, but Nesta finds herself trying to hide her smile into her spoon as she eats her stew. Staying in an inn means a proper bed for once. A proper bed to herself.

When everyone is finished, Nesta clutches her new books to her chest, all too happy to follow the crew up the stairs to where the rooms of the inn are located. Already, she can imagine slipping beneath the blankets, curling up and beginning one of her new books. Each of the men bid a quiet goodnight as they pass each of the crew’s respective rooms, and then Cassian is sliding the key into the door at the end of the hallway, opening the door and stepping back out of the way.

It takes everything within Nesta not to practically skip inside, to simply walk coolly past him. The furnishings are simple, a bed taking up most of the space in the center of the room and a table and two chairs lining the far wall. Nesta walks over to the bed, placing her books down on the small side table and lighting the candle that’s there, not even bothering to bite back her smile when she hears the click of the door to the room closing.

“You can use the washroom first.”

Nesta whirls around, her emotions caught somewhere between surprise and simmering anger. They swirl deep in her gut, each pressing more steadily for attention at the forefront of her mind, until all Nesta can do is gape. If Cassian notices her expression, he doesn't say anything else, too busy unlacing his boots. She supposes that she should have known. Should've known that Cassian would never allow her her own room. Perhaps she can sneak out and change her answer with Emerie after all thanks to the infuriating audacity of this man.

Nesta spins on her heel and storms toward the washroom attached to the room, closing the door behind her with more force than necessary. Because she's petty and because she can, she spends extra time washing away the day from her hair and skin, makes sure she's slow and careful as she pulls back on her shift to sleep in, as she braids back her hair. When she steps back into the bedroom, her dress and weapons tucked neatly in her arm, Cassian looks less than impressed, and she knows she's won. She casually flips her braid over her shoulder and smirks, making her way over to the bed.

Cassian steps into the washroom, so Nesta slips beneath the blankets. She tucks her legs up and grabs one of her books, balancing it on her knees and opening to the first page. She's already through the first few chapters when Cassian steps back into the room, his chest bare and just his loose pants on. Nesta watches curiously as he walks over to the door, seemingly checking it, before coming to stand next to her, on her side of the bed.

Nesta raises an eyebrow exasperatedly when he doesn't immediately say anything. “What?”

“Scoot over, princess.”

“What?” Nesta repeats, this time incredulously.

“You heard me. Move over.”

“This is my side of the bed. I always sleep on the right side on the ship. Why is this any different?” Rather than say anything, Cassian decides to clamber into the bed anyways, forcing Nesta to scramble back to the other side to avoid him sitting on her. She lets out an affronted gasp, smacking her book against his shoulder in protest. “What is wrong with you?”

Still, Cassian doesn’t respond, remaining stoically quiet. He pulls the blankets up to his chest, shifting around until he’s comfortably lying on his side, his back to her. Nesta considers smacking her book against his head rather than his shoulder, her fingers tightening around the leather of it for a moment. Instead, she rolls her eyes with an annoyed huff, leaning over her new side of the bed and setting her book gently down on the wood floors of the room.

“At least blow out the candle,” Nesta snaps, moving to lay down as well.

Cassian sits off enough that he can do just that, plunging the whole room into darkness. Nesta rolls over onto her side, glaring daggers into the back of his head. She knows that he can sense her ire, that he’s still awake, from the way his shoulders are held slightly tense, but he seems set on resolutely staring at the door all night. The thought echoes through Nesta’s mind as soon as she thinks it, reverberating and jarring.

The door.

When she thinks back to the nights spent on the ship, all those nights in the captain’s cabin, she realizes he would often face the door then too. Especially most recently. Ever since Summer Solstice he’s always had his back to her in their bed. Ever since they’d set their course to dock in Windhaven perhaps?

“Is it one of the bad memories of Windhaven then?” Nesta breaks the quiet. “That you have to face the door?”

Cassian lets out a soft snort of amusement. “You think I have some horrific memory from my childhood involving doors?”

“I don’t know,” Nesta shoots back defensively. “But it is the door, isn’t it? You have to face the door, that’s why you made me move. But the question is what happened in the past to warrant it.”

“Perhaps,” Cassian drawls, his shoulders shifting slightly with a shrug. “It is a more recent development.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. What happened? Or better yet, what do you think will happen? Do you think someone will burst through and—”

The words dry up in Nesta’s throat before she can even finish the thought. Oh. If someone were to burst through the door, if there was any type of danger, he would be the first line of defense. He’d be able to put himself between the threat and her and keep her safe if needed. The realization has warmth creeping through her veins, roots closing in and promising to bloom, but Nesta quickly pushes it down, swallowing hard.

“How very gentlemanly of you,” she teases dryly. “To watch the door.”

“I’m sure the events of today set me back a bit, but I had hoped I was starting to convince you that I’m not the monster you think I am.”

Nesta bites her lip at the almost dejected tone to his voice before whispering, “I don’t think you’re a monster.”

The silence that follows, that presses in around them in this bed, this room, is almost deafening, grating against Nesta’s skin. She reaches a hand up, slowly broaching the space between them. Her fingers are a hair's breadth away from making contact with his shoulder, from offering that comforting touch, when she pauses. Even the gods seem to be holding their breath with her, the moment teetering on something Nesta can’t quite name. She curls her fingers back into her palm, snatching her hand back to her chest.

“I shouldn’t have teased you,” Nesta continues instead. “I’m sure your future wife will appreciate such nightly chivalry.”

Cassian rolls over to face her finally, and it’s then that Nesta realizes just how small the bed is. Their faces are mere inches apart, every exhale from Cassian skating across her lips, her skin. She almost wishes they hadn’t extinguished the candle, that she could see his face better, read his expression. Especially, when Cassian’s hand comes up between them, fingers sliding gently along a stray strand of Nesta’s hair.

“I do want my wife to feel safe at night when she’s with me,” Cassian agrees, some deep, hidden emotion buried beneath the serious tone of his voice.

“She may feel lonely though,” Nesta points out, keeping her tone light in hopes of dissipating the strange air bubbling around them, a precipice threatening to burst. “If you face the door the whole night.”

“Well, your observation was only half correct. I merely prefer to have myself between the two, so I am able to protect and defend against any danger. But I don’t need to face the door the whole night to do that, so there is nothing stopping me from holding my wife all through the night.”

“And me? You’ll protect and defend me against whatever might walk through that door?”

“I’ll always protect and defend you, Nes.”

“Even if it was my father bursting through that door? Coming to take me back to Adriata?”

“If that is what you wish, I’ll be your sword to command.��

The promise feels heavy somehow, like he’s promising so much more than just the simple words, a hidden message and meaning burbling just beneath. It has Nesta’s chest feeling tight, even as her heart skips and pounds between her ribs. Even through the darkness blanketed around them, Nesta can feel Cassian’s hazel eyes piercing into her, swears she can hear his heart thundering a melody in time with her own. She swallows hard, her mind grappling with the right words to say, the right response, but it’s like grasping at smoke.

“Or if you wish, I will hold you all through the night too,” Cassian continues, that teasing, cocky tone of his finally returning.

Nesta scoffs at the implication and turns away from him. Silence settles around them again, but this time, it’s more comfortable, easy. Nesta worries her lip between her teeth as she stares at the far wall of their room, her mind still turning over everything that’s happened today, over this whole conversation with Cassian.

“I don’t want to go back,” Nesta whispers, her voice practically carried away in the dark of the room. “To Adriata. I don’t want to go back.”

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog​ @lifeisntafantasy​ @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl​ @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld​ @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust​ @a-trifling-matter​ @blueunoias​ @kookskoocie​ @cassiansbigwingspan​ @unlikelypersonalknight1​ @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo

[dancedance-resolution]

i started a supercorp portrait of a lady on fire au like three years ago. i'm never going to finish it, but the writing style is pretty cool, so i want to share it. so um enjoy the prologue and a bit of chapter one?

---

Prologue. Bonnelles, France. 1786.

“First, my contours,” Kara said, her voice soft and level. She looked out upon the dozen or so young women, their eyes darting back and forth from their papers to Kara herself. “The outline,” she continued. The increasingly swift sound of scratching charcoal prompted Kara to further instruct, “Not too fast. Take time to look at me.” She paused. “See how my arms are placed.”

At that moment, Kara saw the painting.

She swallowed and took in a breath; she schooled her expression before letting out the air with a pathetically soft “My hands.” Her students’ gaze followed her verbal direction, now observing as Kara’s fingers curled with remembrance. Their own hands now began to sketch the slope of hers—the slope that had once coaxed breathy moans from a lover, the slope that had once created that very painting in all of its hollow longing.

Kara felt her heart rate accelerating, and her attempts at calming deep breaths only made her shoulders shake unsteadily. “Who brought that painting out?” Her eyes darted around, landing on each possible offender, as she tensed her core and adopted a stern countenance.

Every student dutifully turned to look at the work.

It was an especially young girl who finally lifted her hand. “I brought it. From the stock room. Should I have not?”

Kara’s “no” felt like a brick, its weight threatening to pry tears from her reddening eyes. So Kara took another swallow, a handful of blinks, a few more steadying breaths.

“Did you paint it?” the girl asked innocently. Nia, her name was? She stared at Kara, oblivious to the flood of sound overwhelming Kara’s mind and echoing in the cavern of her heart.

“Yes,” Kara uttered softly, the word barely audible as they fell from her lips. “A long time ago.”

Nia’s head snapped back to examine the painting once more. It stood on an old but sturdy easel, tattooed and scarred but still standing. The artwork itself was brooding, with a white sun bleeding into a dark vignette. Heavy clumps of clouds occupied the sky and caged some of the sun’s rays, so the fire burning behind the woman was bright enough in comparison to create a dragging shadow of her figure. The flames crawled up the back of her windswept dress, bringing sharp tension to an otherwise lulling, melancholy landscape.

“What’s the title?”

The sound of the sea began to swell in Kara’s head. Her lips trembled. Her body unwittingly swayed slightly. “Portrait of a Lady on Fire.”

---

Chapter I. The island of Brittany, France, and the surrounding sea. 1779.

Kara squinted into the distance, her face scrunching up a bit as she desperately tried to shield her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun on the water. For all its gorgeous teals and sparkling peaks, it certainly did make her wish for one of those brimmed hats the rowers were all wearing. With every one of their paced paddles, the cork-like little canoe bobbed haphazardly. Kara rather felt as if she were in the wine glass of a thoroughly drunken Marie Antoinette.

At least she wasn’t prone to seasickness.

She still felt quite unsteady, though, being thrown about and forced to pathetically grab onto the boat’s low walls. She leaned forward, trying to regain her balance and ground herself despite the absence of ground.

The wooden pallet holding her canvas was, apparently, as unstable as she was, and the next thing Kara knew, it had been lurched off of the boat like vomit from a drunkard. Kara watched helplessly as it thrashed among the choppy waves, the sea carrying it a few feet from the boat.

The chief rower met her desperate look with exhausted resignation; he ceased his paddling as Kara shed her overcoat and placed a precarious foot on the edge of the canoe.

With a strained creak from the boat’s wood, she jumped into the water, dress billowing behind her. Her first gasp for air upon emerging from the water was audible; she could feel the effort in her throat. Her arms moved in laborious little arcs as she slowly made her way towards the floating pallet and finally made a desperate reach for it. Kara’s fingers grasped onto a wooden board, and she pulled herself up onto it with a grunt.

---

The incessant wind upon the sea was certainly not helping Kara. Dripping wet, she wrapped herself up in her overcoat in a pitiful plea for warmth. She held the edges of the garment up to her lips, the sensation of the dry fabric bringing her some comfort as she closed her eyes and left herself to the mercy of the mighty sea.

But the interminable rocking of the feeble boat wouldn’t allow her any rest.

Kara wasn’t very religious, not anymore. Yet, the sight of the cliffs and coast of Brittany moved her to relieved prayer.

---

The sun had already begun to set as Kara trekked up the sandy coast. Her legs ached with every stumbling, unsure step—maybe she was a bit seasick after all—and her hands were tired of having to grip her full skirt to keep it out of her way.

She paused on the rocks, taking a moment to manually wring some of the water out of her skirt. She filled her lungs with an arduous breath before slinging the rope holding the pallet over her shoulder. Next came the fabric sling, which housed her trunk of personal items—she positioned it on her back with careful poise.

The journey up the cliffs and towards the trees was exhausting. Kara’s skirt required repositioning every few seconds, the rope was digging into her shoulder, and the pallet and trunk slammed into her back with each wobbling step. By the time she reached the straight path up to the residence, her breaths were heavy and pained, and the sun was nearly fully hidden beneath the horizon.

A soft light emanated from the windows above the mansion’s door, helping Kara feel a bit more secure as she knocked. A short blonde woman answered her summon and introduced herself with a flat “I’m Eve.” She opened the door a bit wider and gestured with her body for Kara to come in.

Eve held a small candle as she guided Kara up the stairs, the sounds of their shoes echoing through the grand yet starkly undecorated hallway. The walls of the stairwell were cement bricks, and the wrought iron bannister was rather plain and geometric.

They came to a stop in front of a similarly void room, bare save a few heavy curtains and a daybed. The raised panels along these walls matched the white-painted wood of the window frames, and they gave the chamber some elegant character.

While Eve entered the comparatively less intimidating room, Kara stayed back a moment, taking in the shafts of muted blue light from the windows and the contrasting warm glow of leaping flames from the central fireplace.

Eve crouched down to poke at the fire as Kara set down her belongings. “It was a reception room,” Eve explained. “Though I’ve never seen it used.”

The fire crackled pleasantly. “Have you been here long?” Kara inquired.

“Three years,” Eve answered, directing her attention back to the fire.

Kara peeled off her overcoat and draped it along the wainscoting. “Do you like it here?”

“Yes,” Eve said simply as she stood up. She turned to Kara, meeting her eyes now as her hands smoothed over her skirt. “I’ll let you get dry.” And with a nod, she was on her way.

Kara watched her every step.

Once the door closed, she hastily began removing her overskirt. It fell to the dark herringbone floor with an unglamorous thud.

---

There was no method or grace to the way Kara wrapped her hand around the rusting crowbar, but with a few jerks, she’d managed to successfully pry the top off of the pallet.

After setting down the wood cover, Kara extended her hand, letting it fall clumsily onto the slick canvas in front of her. It was still wet, and her hand’s small circular movement caused moisture to pool at her fingertips, as if her touch had beckoned the water. So her hand withdrew, and Kara slid the canvas out from its container. Her eyes danced over the surface as she considered how to dry it, holding it in front of herself like the Communion host of an evening Mass.

---

Kara decided to accompany her drying canvas, which was now positioned next to the fireplace. Stripped naked, she sat in front of the fire and pulled her legs towards herself—she was vulnerable, sitting there bare and in a new environment, and the action made her feel a bit more small, compact, and safe.

Kara set down her candle so she could light her tobacco pipe with the flames. Her large, smoky exhales grounded her, in a way, with the familiar sight and smell acting as a sort of sedative. And she stared forward, expression blank but unmistakably worn.

---

Kara walked barefoot along the cement floor, making her way through the hall and to the pantry room wrapped in nothing but her robe-like smock.

[scvntillas]

a  well-traveled , resilient  gorgon  trying  to repent  for  the  evil  she's  done  by  working  as  a  supernatural  history  professor  at  portum  university  .  she  is  two  hundred  and  eighty  seven  years  old  and  has  lived  in  portum  for  twenty  seven  years  .  adored  and  penned  by  emma

STATISTICS

i. the essentials.

name: juniper otero nicknames: juni ( special people only ). gender: cisfemale. pronouns: she / her. species: gorgon. sexual orientation: queer. romantic orientation: demiromantic. spoken languages: spanish, english, latin, passable at italian and greek. age: twenty two ( physical age ) & two hundred and eighty seven ( true age ). birthday: forgotten. employment: professor of supernatural history. financial status: upper middle class.

ii. appearance.

hair colour: black brown. hair style: currently shoulder length and choppy. eye colour: dark brown. important physical features: big eyes and small statue. height: 5'1. weight: 55kg. piercings: earring in both ears and tongue. tattoos: tba.

iii. fun facts.

one. every time a history book comes out set in times she's lived she will read it and make comments on the inaccuracies. two. kind of loves the fact that she looks younger than all of her students. every few semesters she will pose as a student to listen to the gossip before she starts her first class. three. more often than not browsing her phone, trying to figure out the latest update.

iv. likes & dislikes.

likes: coffee, reading books, lucky charms, her family. dislikes: mansplainers.

v. additional.

hobbies: browsing old books drinking / smoking / drug usage: yes / yes / no. soft spot: all her sisters. fears: her past comforts: hugs

STORY

this story contains trigger warnings such as death, war and captivity.

i was afraid that someone would take this happiness away

juni was born at the foot of a mountain. she was forged from stone and fire, living with her mother and sisters in quiet harmony. the closes town were a few hours away on foot and for juniper that was fine. most of the town stayed away from them, still scared of the tales that still followed them. juniper and her sisters didn't mind, happy to be together and not really caring about trivial things like public perception.

those beautifully beautiful memories were so painful then

she didn't remember a lot of her life, long as it had been, but she did remember the boats. the constant swaying back and forth, her sisters shoulder to shoulder with her as they were shipped off to a land they'd never been to before. with the silver wrapped around their hands and feet all they could do was wait. they had come in the night, with the element of surprise on their side. no doubt had the rumours of the gorgon family spread from town to town and someone must have felt that it would be a neat trick to keep up their sleeves. juni had been torn from slumber, something covering her eyes and silver burning in her back to keep her from moving. they had slain her mother in front of her eyes and didn't even give her the grace of a dignified death. juniper still remembered her sisters screams as they were being pulled away from her lifeless body.

this isn't really how i am, but i keep getting further away

juni's first time on the battlefield was a horrifying display of death, terror and guilt. they'd been thrown out, unprepared, only told who to aim for and to not miss. she could saintly see her sisters spread out across in the distance and it only took a second to strengthen her resolve and the person in front of her ( only a boy, forced into this like she had been ) turned to stone. then the next one. and the next. they kept them separate, never everyone in the same place unless they were bound, and that was how they were kept pliant. it was a neat trick. their captors knew they'd never leave one of their own behind. juni and her sisters also learned the hard way what happened if they tried to turn on their new masters. they preferred not to talk about that.

i couldn't fall asleep peacefully for a single night

in reality, for a long time it was just more of the same. there was death and decay etched into her body, and what killed her was seeing her sisters decay and wither away with her. the only way to tell time was weapons getting more refined and vehicles more advanced. the men holding them captive changed, yet stayed the same. it was just a different hand holding the chain. the rumours that had spread when she was younger, of the demons who could turn you to stone if you walked too far into the forest, had changed into ones of the wildlings that showed no mercy in matters of life and death.

i'm afraid i'll be in pain again

the end came rather quietly. unremarkably. in a time of peace when rules and regulations weakened and no one seemed to care that a handful of gorgons were growing restless in their caves. it was a series of thoughtless mistakes that ended with them all escaping and a final graveyard of stone statues all that was left of them. she took her sisters with her on a new sort of fight, one where they needed to fight for themselves rather than others. relearning humanity was devastatingly difficult and they all dealt with it in different ways. juniper did it by pouring all her time into books, learning everything she had missed while under lock and key.

maybe after all this pain, i could shortly shine a light

portum was a sanctuary, it was true. juniper couldn't explain it, but even the air vibrated of safety. they had been travelling for so long that home felt foreign. but slowly juni and her sisters began to put down roots, one by one digging their heels in and feeling like this was a place they could stay. the world had changed and it took time for juni to adjust to it. right now she's working as a professor at portum university, teaching everyone that wants to listen about the beauty of their world. maybe a small part of it could be her repaying the world for what she took from it.

[cockatrice-writers-guild]

Would You Still Love Me If I Was A Wyrm?

dragon au. yes

warnings: grief, suicidal thoughts, blood, brief mention of injury, death mention, swearing, this fic is Long

taglist: @autism-alley , @awkwardgtace​ , @tripodcat-gt​

I bring the hammer down on the red piece of metal again and again, each strike lighting the room as a flash of sparks rain down from the weapon in front of me.

My name is Emelia Markov, Mia for short, and I’m a blacksmith. I’ve made all sorts of things at this forge, anything that my customers can think of; furniture, gates, tools, armor, even toys when needed.

Tonight it’s a sword, one that wasn’t requested by any client but one that I’ve been working on all the same.

Because I’m going to use it to slay a beast.

A beast that killed my friend.

Jax. A performer. A good one too. He’d move crowds of people with his voice, leave them desperate for more. I remember going to his shows when I could and seeing him sing, pace the stage like a caged tiger while bathed in the spotlight, the way the moon played off his clothes, it was incredible. And together we were happy.

Then one day he got an offer he couldn’t refuse. All he had to do was go on a little tour across a few nearby countries to help spread his name, reach more people. They promised it would only take about a month, two at the most and so he hesitantly agreed. He hugged me for a long time before he finally had to go. I remember that too. His arms around me while the captain shouted at him from the vessel. He was laughing and I was too.

…I tighten my grip and slightly readjust the hammer before bringing it down again.

But finally he got on that boat and I went back to the forge and a few days later, word started floating in that a boat was wrecked on some island somewhere out in the ocean. His boat. They sent a rescue team to search for survivors but not one of the members returned. Rumours rose and fell as public interest waned overtime until eventually the chatter died all together, leaving me with nothing but a handful of half baked stories of bloodthirsty monsters and the emotionless condolences of the marketing company.

But he’s been missing for over a year now and after so much time spent waiting and hoping for some kind of sign, that by some miracle he’d be okay, I finally realized it was time to take matters into my own hands.

I need to face the truth.

Jax is dead.

And whatever killed him will pay for what it did to him.

-

The island out there had grown quite a reputation in the time since Jax’s disappearance. Even hardened sailors tend to give it a wide berth when they set off. Bad luck, they say. And despite it all, I’m headed there now, nothing but a small rowboat, a sword and the general direction of the island pointed to me by a hesitant farer’s hand. Rowboat because she didn’t want her sturdier ships to be destroyed. Hesitant because my destination has a body count.

I can just see it in the distance now. What looks like a massive piece of land from what I can tell, the bump of what might be a mountain in the far distance as I fight against the tide. Waves lap against the sides of the boat and gulls lazily soar overhead as my muscles strain to drive the boat forward.

And it’s all so…peaceful. The sounds, the smells, the infamous island slowly drawing closer thanks to my efforts. I can make out greenery now, a beach ending in a dense forest, the aforementioned mountain stretching to the clouds. It’s all so beautiful.

Which I find more infuriating by the second.

I can still feel a blade resting at my feet, the weight pressing into me as the boat sways a constant reminder. This island, not the endless sea, the island, beautiful and serene as it is, somehow killed my friend. Killed a bunch of people from what I’ve heard. Anyone foolish enough to go near it was never seen or heard from again.

I need to be ready.

Truth be told, I’m not even sure what I’ll need to be ready for. Even now, as the tide starts pulling me in, strong enough to know there’s no point fighting it, I realize I have no idea what I’m actually doing. The sword was just precautionary, just something to do while I waited for news that never came. Just something to latch on to. Was it the island that killed people or was it something that lived on it? Was there some monster out there or was it just a random tragedy? As I try one last time to paddle away just to see if I can and the force of the currents driving the boat towards the pristine beach breaks the paddle in half with a swift crack, I realize I’m about to find out.

-

Once the boat reaches the beach, I take a few moments to look around but there isn’t much to go off of in terms of landmarks or really any kind of indicator of where I should start looking. No sign of the wrecks besides a few pieces of rotting wood littering the beach either. So after looking the huge stretch of sand a few times over to make sure I’m not missing anything, I turn to the forest, pick a direction and just start walking.

The sword weighs heavily by my side, bumping into my thigh with every step and occasionally getting caught in low hanging branches. To be honest, I’ve never welded a sword before. I’m a blacksmith, not a fighter. It’s almost ironic. I’d forged hundreds of blades but never once thought of welding one myself. If somehow something on the island did kill Jax then I wasn’t sure I would be able to hold my own against it. Still, I have to try.

Well, that or die trying anyway.

But I’ve been walking for some time now and there hasn’t been that much of anything. It’s frustrating but I can feel the tension start to leave my shoulders as minutes turn to what feels like hours.

The sun peaks and eventually the shadows start to grow long and still I keep walking. Trees start to blur into a green mass as exhaustion starts to take a hold of me and I’m not really sure which direction I came from.

Had I come to the wrong island? Cursed tides and that old lady and everything pointed to this being the place and yet…

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

The sun is starting to set and I’m still walking through a jungle, nothing but the occasional animal to startle me out of my thoughts. My legs are aching and the sword thumps painfully against me with every step. It’s going to leave a bruise at this point. Maybe it already has.

I’m starting to think of giving up, of why I even bothered coming here at all. Jax is dead. And nothing I do will ever change that.

Nothing.

My steps waver for a moment as I reach up and swipe at the tears forming in my eyes before letting out a shaky breath.

…

…what the hell am I even doing?

It’s almost night. I wasted a whole day just hiking through the woods with a sword strapped to my side like I was some kind of hero. Like if I killed a fucking dragon or something, everything would go back to the way it was before. As if…as if somehow any of this would ever…

God, I want to scream.

I miss him. I miss him so so much and I know it’s pointless but I need this. Some kind of control. Some kind of closure. I needed to come to the island that took my friend and do…something. Anything. Whatever it would take to change something. To feel something. Please why can’t I just-

SNAP

My head shoots up and I try to blink through my tears as I look around.

And I just manage to catch something darting through the bushes nearby.

Something big.

I’m up in an instant, sword awkwardly pulling me down before I start to chase after whatever it was.

This is pointless. I know that. For all I know, I just startled a moose or something. Based on what I’ve seen of this place so far, it’s more than likely that this island merely traps people with its weird currents and then starves them to death and yet

My heart races

I’m running, I feel like I’m soaring. My heart pounds and hurts and hopes and I trip over stray roots and push through branches that scratch my face and tear at my clothes and I’m running and I’m running and

I bust through a final patch of greenery and find myself staring down a massive black hole

I take a step back for a moment, my head spinning as I try to process exactly what I’m looking at.

…and it’s an opening.

The setting sun does little to light the absolute darkness in front of me but it’s a cave. A massive cave that seems to stretch on and on in every direction. And just beyond that lies the peak of the mountain.

A cave almost the size of a mountain.

That looks unreal.

That looks like a man eater.

I grip my sword a little tighter and after drawing a long long breath to steady myself,

I go in.

-

The orange light of the setting sun bathes the inner walls of the cave in a soft orange as I move forward slowly, quiet steps echoing in the massive space. The far wall of the cave is still shrouded in a heavy darkness so thick not even the sun can make a dent in it. A deeper hole from what I can tell, with this huge space only being the first chamber of what has to be an equally massive structure. It looks like I’ll have to spend the night here and then start exploring the deeper depths of the cave in the morning.

A glance around the first chamber reveals nothing else worth noting but all the same, I’m starting to feel like something is…off. The more I look around, the more my long slumbering survival instincts start to warn me. Warn me of what? I’m not sure. But soon I’m on edge, sword held out in front of me as I move through the empty space. It’s warm in here and I feel like it shouldn’t be. It’s dead quiet besides my steps but even then I feel my muscles start to tense up as if readying for something.

I keep moving for now, the grip on my blade getting tighter and tighter with each step. I can’t see anything out of the ordinary yet but still I hesitate. Something is changing. I take a shaky breath and listen carefully to the wind. The sound of the lazy breeze outside is…different. Persistent.

Rhythmic.

The breeze now lightly dances across my skin in time with it even though I swear the air was dead still when I first stepped in here. I keep walking and the change becomes more noticeable. The temperature around me rises, the wind gets stronger and the cave is no longer quiet. I’m trying to figure out what this could mean when the soft light of the sinking sun shifts against the back wall of the cave and I find I can no longer move, my legs rooted to the ground. My heart all but stops beating.

The back wall, what I thought was a gaping hole when I first came in shines in the light as it shifts slightly, the sun playing off of it as small tremors travel through the floor below me. I’m frozen as I stare at the thing, realizing with a rising sense of horror that what I thought was pitch black is actually a dark blue.

Something that moves in time with the rhythmic noise traveling through the cave.

It’s not a hole.

It’s alive.

The entire back wall of the cave is breathing.

And for a moment I find that I can’t move as I take the thing in. Whatever it is, it’s huge, a massive sleeping beast, its shimmering blue body stretching on and on and on in every conceivable direction and in that moment I suddenly realize that maybe the sword isn’t the best idea. The creature’s breaths blow over and over and over me like a gale and my vision starts to swim. I can’t even tell what I’m looking at here. It’s gigantic. And in comparison I’m…

I’m…

I take a step back.

Then another.

I want to run, to breathe, to fight, to do anything but I feel like if I take my eyes off of whatever this thing is for even a second, I’m dead.

There is a beast on this island. A beast that may very well have killed my friend. And now I don’t know what to do. I’m not a fighter. I’m not anything but…Jax. This thing killed-

Crack.

My eyes snap downwards and I see what takes a moment too long to register as a crushed branch beneath my heels.

And then everything ends.

Rrrrrr?

A noise echoes through the cave. So loud I swear I can feel it in my bones and I can’t, I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can’t fight. I can’t I can’t I-

stumble once the ground starts to shake something awful.

As the massive wall of flesh in front of me starts to shift.

As something starts to separate from the mass and rises higher and higher and higher until it just brushes against the impossibly high ceiling.

As it opens its eyes and suddenly I realize I’m looking at a face.

I’m shaking now. Shaking as the thing cocks its weirdly bird-like head to the side as it takes me in.

As it sizes me up.

My vision swims as it makes another noise at me. So loud it rings in my ears and now the rest of the mass starts to rise and I think it’s getting up and its head starts to come down to see me better and it’s getting closer and I can’t stop shaking and I need to do something and the beast takes a step forward and I can’t fucking move and the resulting tremors knock me over and its head stops in front of me, eye so huge it takes up all of my vision, iris expanding like a black hole so it can see me better and I can see my reflection in its gaze and it makes a few more ear shattering caws and one of its talons draws nearer and nearer and it blinks and the rapid motion causes my head to spin and the ground shakes and shakes and shakes and

I feel something brush against my arm.

And just like that, everything stops.

My hand, raised, is slowly being coated in the blood that now trickles down the length of my blade.

My blade that is now in the air.

My blade that now lays embedded in the wall of what I can only assume is one of the creature’s fingers.

The massive eye blinks again and it’s audible in the quiet.

A few seconds passes in dead silence before it finally emits a new noise, long and low before slowly it withdraws its hand, blade still buried almost up to the hilt in it.

It watches me quietly.

Another monstrous caw, quieter.

And finally, after what feels like years of tense silence, the creature moves its head forward again before it opens what looks like a beak and moves behind me. Mind clouded by fear, I’m only vaguely aware of the odd sensation of my boots leaving the earth below. Of going limp in the open air. Of wind whipping at my face as the deep blue of the sea shines thousands of feet below. As we land with a jolt and after a moment I can feel the ground beneath me again. I stumble but for some reason I don’t fall.

I look up through a haze and see the beast watching me again, the last of the setting sun making it shine like a gemstone.

A moment passes in silence.

And then it’s gone.

-

I’m not a fighter.

I’m not a fighter but by God am I trying to be.

I’m back on the island, trying my best to avoid the beast as it lunges at me again. It’s not the ridiculously huge bird thing from before but all the same, I should probably avoid getting caught in its claws.

This time it’s some kind of lion, its wings flared and what looks like a scorpion tail lashing wildly as it skids to a stop and quickly rights itself, head low to the ground as it growls. The word ‘manticore’ sticks out to me as I stare at the thing and I hold up the shitty sword I threw together in two days, adrenaline and the ache from smithing making my hands shake and my breaths shallow as the thing narrows its eyes again, its pupils huge as it tracks my movement.

Once that bird thing dropped me off on the mainland, I knew I had to come back. I had too many questions. Why hadn’t the bird killed me? I woke it up and stabbed it in the hand and it just stared at me and carried me back to the mainland for my troubles. Did it always act like that or was I just lucky? And if it did, then what happened to Jax? What happened to the rescue team? If it didn’t kill Jax and all those other people then what did?

But now I’ve found myself another monster.

This thing fights back.

This thing is a man eater.

The manticore stays where it is for now, choosing to growl low in its throat as it watches me shakily take a step forward. I’d tried to attack this thing from behind when I first saw it but the blade was off balance and I missed, leading to…this. The blade tilts slightly as I take another slow step forward. Its tail lashes more and more as I approach. Another hiss from the beast as it crouches lower, readying itself. I feel my muscles coil in anticipation as I try to prepare for whatever it’s going to throw at me.

Its muscles tense, tail lashing wildly now.

Its eyes narrow as a small growl passes from between its snarling lips.

And then it launches itself at me and the sight alone makes me freeze up. Before I know it I’m on the ground, the wind partially knocked out of me as the beast rests one of its massive paws on my chest, pinning me down. It leans down and growls at me though its bared teeth.

I close my eyes, waiting for the pain but instead the beast just roars again, this time noticeably more distant. And once I finally bring myself to open my eyes, I see that the manticore isn’t even looking at me anymore, its gaze now fixed on the sky as it lets out another roar.

I almost start to wonder what it’s doing when a tremor shakes through the earth.

And then the sky is eclipsed by something massive.

I can feel my blood turn to fucking ice as I watch the sun dance across rows and rows of deep blue scales. The giant bird thing steps into view, its head and neck rising impossibly high over the treeline. It turns to watch me for a moment and I feel myself start to tremble under its gaze. But then it just turns to the manticore, releasing a few earth shaking caws and after a bit of back and forth between the two, caws and roars exchanged like they’re having a conversation, the manticore steps off of me and I immediately scramble away on my arms and legs before getting to my feet and holding my sword out defensively.

They both watch me in silence as my blade shakily points at each of them in kind but after a few seconds, they turn away to continue calling to each other and I get the distinct feeling that they’re trying to decide what to do with me.

I try looking for a way out of this while they’re distracted but with the bird and manticore so close by, I’m not sure what I can actually even do here. This is cemented by the fact that the moment I try to take a step away, both the manticore and the bird turn to me again, watching me as if making sure I’m not going to move any further before they go back to talking.

And it’s agonizing just standing here, the manticore not too far away and the shadow of the bird enough to cast the area in shadow. Each and every caw on the bird’s end shakes through my bones and soon I find myself trembling from the stress but finally, with a few short snorts the manticore turns and disappears into the dense treeline once more, leaving me alone with the bird.

I can feel the sword slip from my sweat coated fingers as the bird glances at me before a softer noise sounds, something like a chirp and I tense in response, almost feeling like it’s speaking to me directly now. I stay where I am, hands stupidly raised, grasping at nothing as something low and long comes from the massive thing’s throat and my breath hitches as I feel it shake the ground below me. It seems to be waiting for me to do something but I have no idea what it wants, my voice lost so I can’t even ask it.

There’s silence as we stare at each other before the bird utters a few more chirps, watching me for a moment longer before finally it ducks its head into the trees. I can feel myself freeze as I watch it approach but it just grabs my sword, slowly dragging it out of view before picking me up by the back of my shirt like it did before.

The ground disappears below me and I watch as the dense forest shrinks further and further until it looks more like large patches of grass on the ground. The scenery below passes in a blur as the bird’s massive talons take careful steps through the comparatively tiny forest and as I watch in horror, flinching every time one of its talons narrowly misses stepping on what must be a huge acre of trees, an equally terrifying realization soon hits me like a truck. If the massive, sprawling forest looks like that to this thing then…what do I look like?

The bird is on the beach in a few steps, its claws absolutely dwarfing the row boats I’d left stranded there and my heart dies a little at the sight. It easily steps into the raging currents before wind blasts all around me as its wings carry it into the sky.

The flight is brief and terrible and all the while I’m scared the thing will accidentally drop me but soon I can see the mainland come into view, the buildings at this perspective horrible before the bird lands on a secluded patch of land nearby and sets me down in the soft grass below. I keep my eyes fixed on the ground as it offers me an ear shattering chirp and I can feel its eyes on me for a long moment before, with a final tremor that knocks me off my feet and a few quiet squawks, the bird moves to leave.

And that’s when something snaps.

Despite the fear, my head swimming with what I just saw, I clench my teeth and force my eyes to look up at it. Because it was looking first. Because it felt important. And my heart just about stops beating when the bird pauses, turning its head slightly to meet my gaze. We stare at each other for a while, a low rumbling noise from the bird’s throat travelling across the landscape as it takes me in before it finally ducks its head down again, moving to gently nudge me in the stomach with its beak before pulling away. And something about the gesture, the way the bird is looking at me…

The bird turns to leave again after a moment and for a second I finally find my voice. “…wait!”

The bird starts, long neck bending to look at me over its shoulder and I find the weight of its gaze alone makes my voice die before I can say anything else. After a few moments of staring, the bird chirps a few times before it turns and launches itself into the sky once more, disappearing into the clouds in seconds.

-

Too many times now.

The next few weeks go by in a relative blur as trips to the island start to become more regular. There’s almost a routine to it now. Wake up. Go to the island. Find some creature. Try to attack it and instead start a fight. The bird thing shows up, my weapon of the day gets confiscated and I’m sent back to the mainland with a few monstrous caws for my effort. These last few days, I hadn’t even bothered to bring any proper weapons, choosing to grab whatever I could find collecting rust around the workshop before hopping on a boat and rowing over. Today it's a decorative trident I found rotting behind a pile of scrap metal. I can’t help but wonder how big the birds’ collection of tiny unusable weapons is getting.

And I know I’m in way over my head here, yesterday confusing a large snake thing by trying to fist fight it before being escorted home. I’m a blacksmith for God’s sake. But even then, I’m still alive. I think the beasts even know who I am now, choosing to roar or bark or make any noise they can whenever they see me so it attracts the attention of the bird and it carries me away again.

Once, I can chalk up to coincidence. I’ll even take two. Maybe they didn’t feel like killing that day or weren’t feeling particularly territorial or didn’t see me as a threat but now? This was getting ridiculous. It meant something. I’m not sure what yet but it did.

And the way the bird thing sometimes got once I was back on the mainland. Terrifying, yes but…just staring at me for long moments before it finally left, almost like it didn’t want to leave. And the way it nudged me that day, the way it looks at me, it seemed almost…I don’t know. Something about its eyes….

I put that thought in the back of my mind for now.

The boat fairer was being particularly difficult today, wanting to know what I was actually doing with all the boats she was renting to me since it couldn’t be that I’d come back from that wretched island so many times now. I just bit my tongue and paid the extra in ‘collateral’ as she put it before I was finally allowed on my way. The money wasn’t too much of an issue as it stood. I’d been saving up for a while now and the boats were dirt cheap. Though if this keeps happening, I’m going to have to try convincing the bird to carry the boats with me on my return trips.

The trip to the island is faster now that I know where I’m going. I jump off the boat once it hits the sand and walk up to the forest, picking another random direction before going in.

I’m only an hour in when I run into something this time. What looks like some kind of house sized dog with long horns sprouting out of its head and spikes running down its back sits quietly in a small clearing, looking like it’s just enjoying the sun. The manticore was doing something similar when I’d first encountered it and even then, it only started getting defensive after I’d taken the first swing. …I think I want to try something different this time. I watch the dog for a moment longer, look down at the rusty ornament in my hand, look back up at the horned dog’s teeth and then just walk into the clearing.

The dog’s ears prick up the moment I step inside and it raises its head to look at me, eyes unreadable. But besides regarding me in silence, it doesn’t do anything. Just like the bird thing. Just like the manticore probably would have. Just like all the other things here. I keep my pathetic weapon sheathed and take a step closer, watching as the dog’s head follows me silently.

There are a few teeth poking out of its mouth that look bigger than my head and my heartrate is steadily speeding up but I force myself to try and remain calm. I take another step closer and the beast only makes a small grunt of acknowledgement at the gesture, staring at me for a few moments longer before moving to lie down again, though careful to keep its eyes on me. It lets out a small huff as it rests its head on the ground and stares at me with what I can only imagine is disinterest as the sun beams down on it through the trees, its eyelids starting to droop in the relative peace.

I purse my lips. The dog isn’t a killer either.

I step out of the clearing and continue on, nerves still on edge from the experience. I just…I don’t understand. That’s yet another terrifying looking creatures down and none of them seem to have a taste for human flesh. Just how many are there on this island?

I find a gryphon lounging in a tree a bit later. I purse my lips as its sharp eyes meet mine, its ears on alert as it stares down at me.

“…have you ever killed anyone?”

The gryphon looks offended.

This is going nowhere. I’ve seen a few creature now but none of them attacked me on sight. Even the manticore, when it came across me again, let me off with a grunt. Why is everything on this island so damn non-hostile? Hell, why are there even mythical creatures here in the first place?

I come across a goddamn unicorn later in the day. And after watching it struggle to reach an apple hanging from a tree, I climb up there and get the apple down for it. A unicorn.

I feel like all this grief might be starting to get to me.

Still, eventually I find myself sitting on a piece of rotting wood overlooking the ocean, watching the turbulent waves tear apart a branch I threw in just seconds earlier. The sun starts to disappear below the ocean in the distance as the ache from walking starts to leave my legs.

And it’s almost…nice.

And then right on cue, the giant bird thing steps onto the beach, two of its huge talons landing on either end of the mass of land. My pulse shoots up at the resulting tremors but I stay where I am, squeezing my hands into fists to stop myself from shaking before I speak.

“Already time to go, huh?”

Nothing happens for a long moment before the ground starts to shake something awful. I don’t know what the bird is doing but I just brace myself and try to focus on the sunset. Its massive talons step into the surf before its legs seem to fold and with one final tremor that sends me skyward for a moment, the quakes die down and I swear I can just make out something hanging just outside my peripheral. There’s this heat radiating from behind and I force myself not to turn around, instead finally bringing myself to look up and see the underside of the bird’s head hanging high above me, looking out into the ocean as if it’s…watching the sunset too.

I feel my brows raise but don’t comment, turning back to the horizon and watching the sun sink beneath the waves with the giant bird thing. My heart is pounding horribly but at the same time…

…it’s kinda peaceful

Though it doesn’t last. Once the sun disappears and the sky turns a deep blue, the bird caws before it starts ducking down to pick me up. But before its beak can reach me, something occurs to me.

“Wait, wait.”

Surprisingly, the bird freezes, turning its head to the side to look at me again.

Wordlessly, I point to the literal pile of marooned rowboats on the shore.

-

I got my collateral money back.

-

…

Bad day today.

Waking up to a cold bed still somehow surprised me with the lack of another person. The boat fairer could see it on my face and didn’t even try to argue when I finally dragged myself to the docks to untie one of the boats and head on my way. I skipped breakfast, didn’t feel like eating right now. Less people were walking around town with the storm coming. The sky was grey as I sailed across the ocean, the waters more unwelcome than usual. And when I got to the island, even it seemed more lifeless. I…guess the creatures were all hiding from the storm too. I searched and searched half-heartedly for a few hours, didn’t even bring a weapon this time because what’s the point? I felt tired, more so than usual.

So now I’m here, sitting on an uprooted log I saw the big dog thing rip out of the ground a few days ago. I curl up as the winds start to pick up, biting back a small whimper as my throat starts to tighten.

Bad day.

Jax is gone. My best friend. My brain feels numb, draining me as rain starts to filter through the leaves overhead, as tears slowly start to slide down my cheeks. I move to hug my arms as the wind gets louder. What’s the point of all this? What’s the point of anything? Why did Jax have to die? Why couldn’t it have been me? How do I make the pain stop? How? Why can’t I…why can’t I…

A shiver runs through me as the wind picks up, slowly turning to a howl in the quiet.

A sob shakes my body as the rain gets heavier, the sound of water spilling through the leaves filling the air.

And now my head lifts in confusion as I finally realize something.

All around me, I can hear the rain falling, the sound of a torrent beating down on the greenery below.

But…I’m still dry.

Confused, I look up and have to bite back a yelp at the sight.

The sky, or rather what I thought was the sky shimmers slightly in the darkening light. Scales. The body of the massive bird thing standing over me, eclipsing the sky even as it maneuvers its long neck under its body to see me better. It offers me an earth shattering caw once one of its eyes finally meets mine and at the moment I’m too drained to even be properly scared.

“…hey,” I can barely manage to whisper but the bird cocks its head at me all the same. “You…” I take a moment to swipe at the tears on my face before I continue. “You caught me at a bad time but I guess you’re here to take me back? Time’s up already?”

The bird doesn’t respond to this at first. I don’t even know if it can understand me but a few moments later, it lowers its head to the tree line and I close my eyes, trying to brace myself for the still unfamiliar feeling of being lifted off the ground but

Something bumps lightly into my stomach instead.

I open my eyes, looking down to see the tip of its beak pressed to my middle.

It’s impossible to catch the thing’s eye from here but still I try my best. “What…what are you doing?”

The beak pushes against me again, this time followed by a small chirp.

I can feel my brows start to crease, trying to understand. The beast nudges me again and this time I turn around and take a few steps forward before stopping. I wait. And then I feel the same beak nudge my back.

Hmm.

I keep walking, completely dry as the storm rages all around us. The bird stays over me, the only indicator that it’s even there the occasional tremor it causes when it takes a step forward and soon I find myself staring at the entrance of the hollowed out mountain that is the bird’s cave once more. I turn to it, confused. “This is your home. I…don’t you want me to leave?”

The bird just stares at me for a second before leaning down and nudging me again.

I step into the cave and turn around to see the bird watching me. “Okay so…what now?”

The bird squawks at me a few more times before turning and setting off, towering ridiculously high over the trees as it looks around. I watch it for a few seconds before taking a seat. At least I’m dry now.

I take the time to try and clear my head but the bird returns in mere minutes, stepping up to the mouth of the cave and ducking down to nudge me again.

“Alright, alright, I’m going.”

About halfway through the cave, the bird stops pushing me, moving its head slightly to the left and dropping what looks like a huge pile of broken branches and logs on the ground next to me. I’m about to ask about it when the creature picks me up and drops me a good distance away. It looks me over for a moment before turning to the tree pile, ducking down so its head presses to the ground and opening its mouth. I’m thinking the bird is going to eat the sticks or something but soon the cave starts to shine with a slowly rising glow. There’s a hiss in the air and as the temperature noticeably starts to rise and I realize the source of light is coming from the giant bird’s mouth of all places, I don’t even have enough time to close my eyes before a huge jet of fire shoots from the bird’s mouth and engulfs the entire tower of branches in an instant.

And now I’m left staring at the giant column of flames it leaves behind, the light of the fire dancing erratically against the cave walls.

A dragon.

This thing is a fucking dragon.

I don’t know if I should run or if the movement will attract the things attention but too soon the dragon, the fucking dragon’s eyes are locked on me again. I flinch and feel my muscles start to tense but besides a small chirp and a few squawks, the dragon doesn’t do anything. It cocks its head at me and takes a step forward but I instinctively find myself taking a few steps back, holding up my arms slightly as if that could shield me from whatever this thing’s about to do. But after a few seconds of nothing but the sound of the roaring inferno nearby and the rain pouring outside, the dragon simply ducks its head slightly, uttering a low noise in the back of its throat before it simply moves to the back of the cave and curls up tightly, burying its head under its wings so I can’t see its face anymore.

And then…nothing.

I thought the dragon brought me here to cook me over the open flame but…

The storm rages on outside. I can see the wind ripping through the trees, leaves and other debris flying past in the howling winds

But I’m here. In a cave. With a fire.

A roof over my head.

Walls to shield me from the wind.

Warmth.

Am I a fucking idiot?

I turn to look at the dragon curled up in the back. It shielded me from the rain. Brought me to its home to stay warm and dry. And I…

“…hey.”

The dragon flinches and I winch in response. It raises a wing and peaks out slightly.

“I…” The words die in my throat as I realize I have no idea what to say. …but maybe there’s something I can do.

I start walking toward it.

The dragon unfolds more, revealing the green undersides of its wings for a moment while it moves its head. Then it just watches me in silence as I approach, head tilting and irises dilating as I draw closer. Once I finally reach it, it cocks its head slightly but otherwise remains still.

My voice dies for a second seeing it up this close but still I force it out. “I…can I see your hand?”

It blinks at me for a few seconds before complying, shifting to pull one of its legs out from under it before setting it down in front of me with an audible thud. My heart rate spikes for a moment but I suck a few breaths in and out before I continue on. Once I reach the dragon’s talons, I walk around until I find what I’m searching for, the gash still on one of the dragon’s fingers. The one I made with my own hands. The wound is still pink but already closed, probably due to the dragon’s size.

Still, I pull off my scarf, using the end of it to clean the debris out of the gash and once that’s done, I run a hand down the skin near the cut before forcing myself to look up into the dragon’s eyes.

“I’m…sorry about this.”

The dragon blinks at that, cawing before ducking down to rest its head on the floor near me. I stare at it for a long moment before I find myself turning to approach its head, moving until I’m finally close enough to place a shaky hand on the skin just under the dragon’s eye.

And then a low rumbling noise shakes through me.

I jump back and the noise slowly tapers off, the dragon opening its eye again to look at me.

…there’s something about that eye. I can’t see the rest of it right now but there’s almost…something familiar. …like…a small crease and a slight head tilt. …it’s confused. Confused about why I stopped touching it? I could have sworn it was growling at me. But…it had its eye closed, almost like it was…content.

Experimentally, I step forward and place a hand on the warm scales in front of me. Almost immediately, the rumbling noise starts up again. I take the hand off. The rumbling stops. I look up at its eye again. Confusion.

“I…,” I place a hand on its face and the rumbling starts up once more, this time accompanied by me stumbling backwards as it shifts to lean more of its weight against me. I find it hard to find the words as I marvel up at the thing. “I…I’m sorry, are you purring?”

And then the dragon raises its head slightly before lowering it to the ground.

Like a nod.

Like it’s fucking nodding at my question.

I take a step back and look it in the eye again, heart starting to race. “You can understand me?”

The dragon raises its head off the ground before nodding again.

“…say no.”

The dragon shakes its head.

It can understand me.

I take a step forward and slowly the dragon sets its head down once more, moving until its head bumps into me again. I rest a hand on it and it continues purring. “I…you know, you seem…kinda fond of me for something that’s been trying to kick me off the island for weeks now.”

The dragon offers something like a grunt of what must be acknowledgment before it goes back to purring.

“Is there…a reason for that?”

A pause.

Then the dragon squawks a few times before tilting its head to look at me almost…expectedly.

“…ah, right. Sorry about that. Maybe we should just stick to yes or no questions for now.”

A small nod.

Outside the storm rages.

“Uh…thanks for getting me out of the rain, by the way.”

Another short grunt.

“I guess we’ll be here for a while so…wait, are you going to carry me back after the storm?”

A nod.

“Asshole.”

The dragon leans in enough to make me fall over, moving to lightly rest its massive head on top of me, effectively pinning me to the floor. It then continues purring like nothing happened.

“HEY!”

The dragon only gives a short caw in response and I get the sense that the thing is jokingly mimicking my exclamation.

I frown.

“FINE, FINE I GET IT! YOU’RE NOT AN ASSHOLE.”

And just like that it relents, raising its stupid head off of me and using its beak to pull me to my feet. There’s something almost like…amusement glimmering in its eyes now as it stares down at me and soon I find a small smile worming its way onto my lips.

“…you’re worse.”

The dragon’s eyes widen at that, giving another squawk before it leans in to push the tip of its beak into me again and I laugh, reaching up to grab onto as much of it as I can.

And after a long moment, it makes a few quiet caws and chirps and I feel my smile start to fade. I just…I wish I could understand what it was trying to say.

Instead, I pull away and move to approach one of its eyes again. There’s something complex there now. It caws again, quietly, low and long and I move until both my hands rest on the skin under its eye. It leans in slightly.

“I’m sorry I…still can’t understand you but…”

But what?

It’s not like there’s anything I can do to start understanding what it was trying to tell me. This dragon cares about me. It was saying something, probably something important but I…

jump back when I suddenly find myself drenched.

I look around wildly for the source, some kind of leak in the ceiling but the sound of water splashing against the cave floor grabs my attention and I look to the source of the noise.

The dragon. It’s crying.

Tears large enough to fill a pool slowly stream down the dragon’s face as it watches me in silence.

“God, I’m so sorry.”

The dragon offers a high pitched whine in response and I purse my lips.

“…here, it’s not much but,” hesitantly, I hold my arms out to the dragon and after a moment it all but crashes into them.

We’re both like this for a while, the dragon leaning into me and whining, me doing my best to hold it while it does. It seems to calm down a little overtime, its breaths get longer and its whimpers slowly dying down into nothing. And then the sound of the rain, the dragon’s breaths and the fire fill the silence as we both stay there.

Eventually it lets out a yawn, pulling away from me and using its beak to bump into me again before it picks me up and sets me down on the vast surface of its arm. And once I sit down on the warm surface, the dragon rests its head next to me, leaning into me before it closes its eyes.

“You’re going to sleep now?”

A pause.

And then a slight nod.

“Goodnight then."

The dragon lets out a small squawk.

The fire crackles and the light dances along the walls of the cave almost hypnotically, the storm still raging on outside.

“…I’m guessing you’re still taking me back to the mainland tomorrow?”

A nod.

“Asshole,” I mutter, leaning into it as I try to get more comfortable.

The dragon snorts.

-

My arms strain against the oars as I can see the shape of the island starting to come into view again. And as the island starts becoming clearer as I start to get closer, I can feel the current start to pull me in and I put the paddle down with a small sigh, taking the small moment of peace to look out into the endless sea and collect my thoughts.

Every single time I come here, I’m proven over and over just how…non threatening the island is. The goddamn mythical creatures on the island refuse to attack me even when provoked. The manticore just pinned me down before calling for the dragon and other creatures followed a similar pattern, choosing to evade or incapacitate me until the dragon arrived. And now that I’ve stopped attacking them, they don’t even do that. Hell, the most terrifying thing on the island, the dragon itself, seems to actively like me. There’s literally not a dangerous thing on this island. But then what happened to Jax? What happened to the people on the boat with him and the rescue party? Even if every single other person attacked the beasts in such a way that…I don’t know, maybe they felt overwhelmed and had to kill them to survive, Jax would never. He wouldn’t hurt a fly and I doubt he could have provoked anything on the island enough to kill him. There has to be a killer somewhere on that island. There has to. Nothing else makes sense.

I take a deep breath of the salty sea air as I turn my head to look back at the island growing in the distance but the breath catches in my throat at the sight I’m met with instead.

The dragon.

Lying across the entire stretch of the beach, it’s head raising to watch me as I approach.

…shit.

“Uh…hi?” I call out to it and the dragon caws in return, its tail swaying slightly in the ocean.

And then it just sits there

waiting

as the tides already start to pull me inevitably towards it.

…dick

“…can’t we talk about this?”

The dragon shakes its head.

I throw up a middle finger at the beast which only causes the thing to caw at me a few times before I just sit back with a huff.

It cocks its head slightly and, narrowing my eyes at it, I sigh and wait for the current to take me into its clutches. And while I wait, I take the time to finally get a proper look at the thing, anything to take my mind off the situation but it’s almost…strange. Now that I think about it, I can see all of it for once thanks to the distance. Iridescent dark blue scales catch the sunlight as it shifts in the sand. The undertones of green under its wings along with what seem to be eye spots. Two long, almost golden looking horns rest on its massive head. It has a long neck and four bird like talons tucked under its body, a long tail trailing into the sea near it. I can make out the black tip of its stark white beak and the grey of its eyes.

It’s beautiful.

Still, I can also make out the huge mountain a distance behind it, not much taller than the dragon even when it’s sitting down. I can see white dots that must be seagulls, absolutely minuscule compared to the thing. Talons longer than any palm tree on the beach. The wall of blue that stretches on and on forever when I finally bump into it.

And then any tension I feel vanishes when it starts purring again. This goes on for a few seconds before it finally moves its head into my field of vision. The noise continues as it leans close and bumps the tip of its beak against me before moving to grab the back of my shirt as always. I can’t help but sigh as I feel my feet leaving the small vessel. Terrifying or not, this is starting to get ridiculous.

The world shakes as the dragon stands up and spreads its wings, scooping the boat up before taking a few steps into the raging ocean and pulling us both into the sky. The sea soars past us as we move and I can’t help but marvel at the sight, no matter how many times I’ve seen it now. The wind whipping past me as my body sways in the open air, the white blur of seagulls that pass us, the sound of the ocean far below, all of it makes me feel…alive. More alive than I’ve been since Jax’s disappearance though the reminder still makes my throat start to tighten with tears. No matter what this dragon does, I can’t forget why I keep coming back. Closure. Revenge. Just…anything to make it more bearable. To feel like I did something for him.

I cough as the tears start to choke me up and the dragon utters a short low note in the back of its throat in response and if I didn’t know any better, I would say that it just asked me a question.

…ah, what the hell

I take a moment to clear my throat before I speak. “I’m okay.”

A sound comes from overhead this time, a loud muffled squawk, muffled I assume because it can’t open its beak at the moment. Still, a small smile makes its way onto my face as the mainland comes closer and closer to greet us.

The rest of the flight goes by in silence and soon the dragon touches down on the vast plain it always flies me to, ducking down to gently place me on the ground before straightening up and turning to leave like it always does. I watch as it plants its talons on the edge of the cliff and spreads its wings. It turns to glance at me like it always does before looking away again. It starts to crouch, preparing to launch itself back the way it came, just like always and-

“Wait.”

And the mountain sized dragon freezes.

I freeze too, the words leaving my mouth just as much a surprise to me that they are to it and I watch as the dragon slowly turns around, moving to stand over me once more. It lets out a small coo before cocking its head to the side.

My neck straining to even look it in the eyes like this, it takes a second for me to find my voice. “I…look, I’m not on the island anymore. Maybe we could…I don’t know, talk?”

The beast stares at me in silence for a moment before the ground starts to shake once more. I watch as the dragon moves to sit down in front of me, tucking its legs under it before turning its head to look at me expectantly.

I…don’t actually know what to do now.

The dragon cocks its head again, making a small noise as it waits.

As it waits

My mind starts to race as I think of what to say. What would a dragon even talk about? What would it…wait…oh God I just thought of something.

“Hey…”

The dragon makes a short grunt that tapers off at the end in return and for some reason I get the sense that I’m distinctively being made fun of. But that leads me to my next point.

It.

This dragon could understand me. It was clearly an intelligent creature but all the same…I didn’t really know how to go about asking this type of question. For all I know, maybe it liked being called it but…uh.

…how do I do this? Jax would have killed me if I didn’t ask eventually right? I look up at the towering dragon as the words try the form in my head. What are...would you prefer if…how should I…

The dragon eventually ducks down again, shifting its body and accidently knocking me over again as it gets more comfortable. It squawks at me and moves to pull me to my feet before resting its head on the ground next to me, a black slit pupil slowly expanding as it takes me in.

I watch it in silence for a moment, carefully considering my words before I continue. “So this might be a weird question and I’m sorry if it seems kinda sudden but I wanted to know…”

The giant sparkling blue dragon bird blinks at me and all at once I find the words die in my throat. “…wait do…do you even know what pronouns are?”

-

He/him

The dragon’s pronouns are he/him.

And for the record, though it’s kinda hard to read the face of a giant bird dragon, I think the question made him happy.

Though he still wouldn’t carry me back to the island when it was time for him to return so fuck him.

-

The dragon is already waiting for me on the beach the next day too, this time not even bothering to wait for the boat to reach the beach before he gets up and steps into the ocean. I watch as he makes his way over, the ocean getting deeper and deeper as he walks until the turbulent currents lap against his legs. The waves he creates with his movement pushes me back but all the same I soon find him standing over me, his body blocking out the sun. He ducks his head down so one of his eyes hangs slightly over the boat and the cursed tides pulling me forward make me bump into his face. I reach up with an annoyed huff and run a hand over his skin a few times before pulling away, leaning back so I can look into his eye.

“…are you just gonna keep doing this now? Not even gonna let me onto the island anymore?”

The dragon nods and I frown at him.

“What’s even your deal, man? Are you territorial? No filthy humans allowed on your island or something?”

The dragon shakes his head.

“Then?”

The dragon caws at me a few times and I sigh. This whole language barrier thing is starting to become a pain in the ass.

The dragon stares at me for a while longer before his head slowly sinks into the water, disappearing completely for a moment before startling me as it reappears on the other side of the boat. I just watch in silence as he does whatever the hell he’s doing and soon I get my answer. His body sinks into the surf, presumably as he lowers himself onto the seabed. His head and neck continue moving away from the boat before stopping a distance away, turning his neck around to look at me again before, with an explosion of noise and movement, the dragon starts to stand up once more, the way he positioned himself taking me and the boat with him into the air.

But finally he stops and I try to reorient myself, looking around at the huge mass of shimmering blue that stretches on and on like a fucked up version of the ocean. I look up at the dragon’s head before following the long length of his neck until it connects with the massive surface I find myself on.

…I’m on his back now.

The folds of his wings tower over me on either side and soon he bends his neck to bring his head close to me again, the tip of his beak moving to rest in my lap for a moment before he pulls away and turns his head so he can see me.

I can tell he’s waiting for some kind of reaction so I try to find the right words.

“…why?”

The bird’s head dips slightly and though he can’t really emote, I can see his eyes widen slightly in what has to be disbelief.

The answer’s apparently obvious so…

“…do you want to…walk me back to the mainland?”

He nods at that.

“…seems like kind of a waste honestly. Like, it’s just going to take longer and…”

I trail off as I think about it.

It’ll take longer for him to get back this way. He doesn’t seem to walk very fast since his size takes care of that problem. There’s something else about it too. I’m on his back instead of dangling from his beak. It’s weirdly…safe. …personal.

…close.

…and maybe that’s what he wants.

To spend more time with me. To hang out more. To carry me on his back to my destination.

I watch him for a long moment before slowly getting out of the boat and taking a seat on the warm scales below me. The dragon’s eye almost seems to soften at the gesture.

“I’ll just sit here then. You do what you have to do.”

The dragon just nods slightly at my words, staring at me for a second longer before his neck moves to face forward again and he eventually starts moving.

And despite the slower pace, the trip back to the mainland is still fairly quick, the time passing peacefully all the same. I try to enjoy it while I can, the warmth radiating off his massive scales and the way he shifts around me as he moves, the sound of the waves parting around him and the drumming of his heart beneath me. He turns to check on me every once in a while and I give him a small nod every time, the gesture rewarding me with a small purr before he continues. Too soon however, the cliff he usually lands on is in sight and I feel my heart start to sink a little.

The dragon stops once he reaches the cliffs and turns to me with a series of coos. I just nod back and he ducks down to pick me up, setting me down on the edge of the cliff before doing the same with my boat. That done, the dragon watches me for a long moment before he finally leans down and rests his head next to me. He blinks at me a few times and I just take a seat, sighing as I take him in.

“…what’s the matter with you, man? Kicking me out all the time and then acting like this. I just…don’t know what you want from me.”

The dragon answers this question fairly quickly, moving his head forward until it bumps into me.

“Typical.” I reach up and start stroking him in silence for a while as he purrs.

“…I’ll have you know I do have a reason for going back there everyday. …well, besides visiting you now, you big softie.” I can’t resist leaning forward and rubbing my check against him for a moment and he leans into the gesture. “…point is I’m just going to keep coming back until I find what I’m looking for. And if you’re going to keep blocking my way to the beach then I’ll just find another way to get on that island. …I’m sorry but I need to do this.”

The dragon is surprisingly quiet at that, the eye hanging above me staring at me in silence for a long moment before he finally cocks his head just slightly in question.

“I’m…looking for someone. And I’m not going to stop searching until I find him. Or at least…at least whatever’s left of him.”

The dragon watches me quietly and the rhythmic motion of my hands on warm scales helps me to keep going even as I feel my throat start to tighten with tears.

“I…ever since I found out there were actually mythical creatures on this island I thought…I don’t know what I thought to be honest. His disappearance…messed me up a lot, to say the least. I guess the rumours finally got to me and I thought…maybe something got him when he crashed on that island. Maybe I could kill it to avenge him. Or maybe he’s…maybe he’s still out there somewhere, you know?” I feel my voice shrink to a whisper as I say that last part. “I’m just hoping for…something, I guess. Any kind of sign that maybe…maybe…” the words trail off with a small sigh. “God, I just…I just miss him, you know? And I just wi- HEY!”

My words get cut off when the dragon suddenly moves again, leaning more of his weight than usual against me as he starts making a high pitched whining noise. “What’s gotten into you? …are you okay?”

The dragon continues whining for a few moments before finally giving a small shake of his head.

I frown, moving a hand to stroke the dragon’s head as he tries his best to accidentally bowl me over.

“Me neither.”

The words are barely a whisper but I feel a small nudge of acknowledgement just the same.

-

The dragon isn’t on the beach blocking my way this time so I guess that’s his way of saying I’m welcome. Though I don’t see him around either, even taking the time to check his cave and finding it completely empty besides the pile of weapons collecting rust in a corner.

And as I walk around the island, heart sinking slightly as the dragon continues to be a no show, I can’t help but start to lose myself in thought as the lush greenery blends together all around me.

It’s all so strange. The island is full of terrifying monsters but not a single one acts like a killer. What exactly am I missing here? The island has plenty of fruits and vegetables, animals to hunt, even a few lakes of drinking water so Jax and the others couldn���t possibly have died from lack of nutrition, even if they were trapped. …maybe there’s a chance that they’re still on the island. But if that were true then why hadn’t the dragon taken them back to the mainland too? And even if he had taken them and Jax just…I don’t know, finally decided he had enough of me and just pretended to be dead to get away then that still doesn’t explain why two whole boats of people just so happened to have the same idea. It just doesn’t make any sense.

So while all the other questions still bang around in the back of my mind, I make my way forward, any creatures I do come across just sharing a glance of acknowledgement before going back to doing what they were doing before. I’ve really only seen the forest so far but does it really span the whole island? Just how big is this place? I’ve been coming here for weeks now and still haven’t reached the end. And if the island really is this big and the creatures aren’t as hostile as they should be then…maybe he’s still alive around here somewhere.

As the sun reaches its peak and sweat causes my clothes to cling to me, I move to tiredly shove a stubborn branch out of the way with my shoulder and end up face first in what feels like grass when the branch gives way to nothing. I pick myself up with a huff and…

wow.

A huge field of grass, looking like it goes on for a while. My legs hurt but the sudden breeze that flows through the plain brings a small comfort. I take a deep breath of the salt tinged air and continue on until I reach a point I’m happy with and finally allow myself to lie down. The grass is soft and I take a moment to close my eyes and just enjoy the silence. I can faintly hear the sea again so this must be the other side of the island. The beach, the mountain, dense forest and then open plain. So either Jax is camped somewhere around here, climbed up a tree somewhere or fucking died like a year ago.

…God, why even bother. I know which one it is.

I move to sit up with a small sigh, wiping a few stray tears before opening my eyes again and looking around. It’s still just as empty as before but now…

Now I can see something in the far distance.

A mountain. A mountain that distinctively hadn’t been there before.

Well, at least that answers one question.

I take it in for a moment longer before leaning forward and cupping my hands over my mouth. “HEY!”

The mountain unsurprisingly doesn’t respond to this so I try a different approach.

“MOUNTAINS AREN’T FUCKING BLUE, ASSHOLE! GET OVER HERE!”

Said mountain remains still for a few seconds before finally untucking his head from beneath his wings and turning sideways to look at me. He caws and the sound carries effortlessly over the plain. Then he just stares until I beckon him again and he slowly stands up before making his way towards me. He reaches me in a few steps and stares down at me expectedly.

“…were you hiding from me?”

The dragon looks away.

I purse my lips.

“…was it because of what I said yesterday?”

A small nod.

I just sigh. “…well, I wasn’t lying or anything. I’ll need to keep coming back until I find my friend. …I’m really sorry but I have to keep trying. …but…even when I do…maybe I can keep coming back to visit you?”

The dragon stares off into the distance for a long moment before finally nodding again.

“…thanks. …do you want to join me?”

The dragon cocks his head.

“…as much as I want to find my friend, I…well…you’ve been kind to me…kicking me off the island non withstanding but…well, I think I just want to check on you today. You seem sadder than usual.”

The dragon turns back to look at me then, watching me carefully for a second longer before he sits down, tucking his legs underneath his body and laying his head down next to me.

I lean back slightly, enjoying the silence and the warmth for a second before I finally speak again.

“…you okay?”

The dragon gives a small chirp that I take as a yes.

“…that’s good.”

I scoot backwards until my back presses into the dragon’s neck and he leans into the gesture.

We stay there for a while and in the spare time I let my mind wander to Jax for a while before I stop, instead turning to the wall of blue I’m leaning against.

“…are you sure you’re okay?”

The bird just caws and with a sigh, I eventually get up, taking a few steps back so I can look him in one of his eyes. The dragon just turns his gaze to look down at me in question.

“…look, I know we have conflicting goals but we’ve known each other for almost a month now and during that time, you’ve been like…ridiculously kind to me, all things considered. And yesterday I upset you and you hid from me. I just…I want to sort this out, you know? I’ve mentioned my friend twice now and both times you became genuinely upset by it. I just want to know…”

The slight tilt of his head and the way he looks away stops me.

“…if mentioning him upsets you that much then…I’ll give it a rest for today. How’s that sound?”

The dragon looks at me again, eyes slightly wide in shock.

“Of course, I care about him but…I care about you too, you know? We could always sort this out some other time.”

And the dragon nods.

-

We didn’t talk about it in the end.

Every time I tried to bring it up, the dragon would get so visibly upset that I would eventually just give up and drop it again. One time he got so upset that he ran away. Another time he became a sobbing mess.

Something about all this just didn’t add up.

And it all pointed to the dragon.

The dragon who could understand me. The dragon who followed me around while the other creatures tended to do their own thing. The dragon who seemed very fond of me but wanted me to stay off the island even though there didn’t seem to be any threats there besides the occasional storm. The dragon who carried me back home every night but didn’t seem to extend the courtesy to the others who crashed here. The dragon who became extremely upset anytime I tried to mention humans being on this island. Who didn’t answer my questions even though he had to know something. Who towered over everything and must have seen what happened that day. I’ve climbed onto his head a few times to get a better lay of the land and there’s no way he didn’t see either of the boats or the dozen or so humans exploring the woods and travelling across the plains. He can see everything.

So what about all this made him so upset?

A possibility wormed its way into my head then. An ugly one but one I couldn’t really afford to write off. Not yet.

The dragon currently lies nearby, basking in the sun as I tried to recall the shape of the forest from what I saw from his point of view. I’m trying to make a map and he’s trying to take a nap. And it’s almost endearing seeing him like this, his eyes closed in contentment as he fans out his wings to absorb as much of the sunlight as he can.

And then I jump a little when he shifts slightly, turning to look at me for a long moment before he goes back to trying to sleep. I can just barely hold his gaze.

There’s a knife strapped to my belt today, hidden under my shirt so the dragon can’t see it. And soon, it will have its use.

I jump when a caw echoes over the plains, turning to see the dragon watching me again. I now find his gaze almost unnerving but still I hold it with a thin smile. The beast caws again, cocking his head slightly at me. A question.

…did he notice the blade?

A sudden breeze sweeps over the hills and causes me to shiver. And that’s when I realize I’m drenched in sweat. The dragon calls to me again, its eyes skewed with what I swear might be…concern. I find for once I can’t answer the question, the words stolen from me by the fear of what I’m about to do and the breeze again. I shiver harder and the beast gets up.

I’m scared now. But the dragon only moves to lie down next to me, shielding me from the wind and trying to warm me with his body heat.

….his neck now mere meters from my belt.

I swallow. He’s sweet. He’s been so nice to me and yet I…

I…

“…hey.”

The beast caws back and my heart pangs. But if my hunch is right then

…this thing killed Jax.

Nothing makes sense anymore but this dragon makes even less so. Nothing about him adds up. Why does he carry me back to the mainland everyday? Why me but not all the others that have been here? Why does he get so upset when I mention them? Why does he care about me so much? It had to mean something. It had to. What if he did kill them? In a fit of rage or hunger or territorial aggression. Or maybe just on accident, his huge size accidentally leading to the death of dozens. What if he felt bad about it and wanted to make amends by not making the same mistake twice? What if he saw me, the only human he’s seen in over a year, as nothing more than a second chance. What if, what if, what if

I get up slowly and step forward, moving to unsheathe the knife from my belt as I do.

The dragon caws again, probably still waiting for my question but I ignore him for now.

If this thing killed Jax then he will die. And then maybe I’ll die too.

The dragon tries to call out again but this time, when I try to take another step towards the thing’s throat, he does something different.

The shimmering blue wall in front of me shifts

And his eyes land on me mid-step.

And now he goes silent.

And I don’t know what to say. There’s too many emotions at once now, the rage, the sorrow, the grief, everything all at once, everything screaming inside me as I look at what I’m doing. I’m hurting a murderer. I’m hurting an innocent creature.

I’m hurting a friend.

I expect the dragon to do something, anything at all but he doesn’t. The blade shakes in my hand but still the dragon doesn’t move. He could flee, kill me, but instead he just waits. For retribution, out of fear.

To see what I’m going to do.

And I…don’t know what to do.

And so, as the seconds stretch on and still I remain frozen, the dragon finally decides to make a move. But not the one I was expecting.

The dragon, the huge, terrifying, friendly bird dragon simply lies back down without a word, leaning in until his neck is pressed to the blade.

And all at once I move, jolting my hand back and all but throwing the knife away before turning back to the massive wall of flesh in front of me. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

The dragon doesn’t respond to the question, only letting out a surprised squawk when I all but hurl myself at him, throwing my arms over the wall of his neck as tears start to pool in my eyes. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH…oh my God, are you hurt? I-I can’t…I…WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?”

I can feel sobs wracking through my body as I press my face into him. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I-”

I can feel the dragon pushing against me slightly now and I only hug him tighter. “Why are you doing this? Why are you doing any of this? I just…I don’t understand. I…I…”

The dragon starts purring quietly and it only causes me to cry harder. “Why do you care so much about me? Don’t you value your own life? Why don’t you fight back? I…why…why are you…”

Something occurs to me then. Retribution. Maybe what he wanted was retribution?

“I…,” I take some time to try calming down before I continue. “…hey.”

The dragon gives a quiet chirp between purrs.

“You…you’ve been here for some time right?”

I can feel him nod now.

“So much about you just…doesn’t make sense to me and I know…I know this topic upsets you for whatever reason but for now, I…could I ask you something?”

A pause.

Then a small nod.

“Did…did you kill my friend?”

The dragon shakes his head.

“Has anyone here killed my friend?”

Again, the dragon shakes his head.

I swallow before I ask the last one.

“Is he still alive?”

And now he gives a slight nod.

And I take his word.

I stay with my arms spread over as much of his neck as I can while he keeps purring, eventually moving so he can lean his head against me like he always does, chirping and whining and squawking until I finally calm down. And then we just stay like that for a long time. At sunset, he finally moves again, picking me up by the back of my shirt as always, pulling me off the ground and turning to go back to the beach. But once he crosses the forest, he keeps going forward instead, ducking through the opening to his cave and carrying me to the back before he finally sits down. He moves to tuck his legs beneath him before setting me down on his back and pushing his face into me once more.

“You’re not going to make me leave tonight?”

The dragon shakes his head.

I move to lean my weight against him. “…are you sure? …after everything I just-”

The dragon nudges me slightly, cawing a few times before settling down against me again.

“I just…don’t understand you at all. If it’s not out of guilt then…why? Why are you being so nice to me?”

The dragon just caws a few more times and I sigh. There is a reason he’s doing this, one not tied to guilt and he’s even told me a few times. But I can’t understand what he’s saying. There has to be a way around this somehow. This dragon can understand me. He, along with everything on the island, they’re all weirdly…human. There has to be something I can do.

But for now, I’m drained and, for once, actually tired. I lean into him and close my eyes. “We’ll figure this out somehow.”

The dragon caws.

“I…thank you for trusting me but please take better care of yourself, alright?”

The bird doesn’t respond to this besides leaning more of his weight into me but the words almost make me smile. I used to say them to Jax all the time before he...disappeared, I guess.

This dragon…reminds me a lot of him, as weird as that sounds. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost say…

…ah, that’s just the grief talking.

…

-

I stare down at the crude map I'd drawn as my head bobs down once more, followed by another round of rumbling purrs.

"You having fun back there?"

This inquiry is met with a quiet squawk before a heavier weight rubs against my scalp, the purring quickly picking up once more.

Recently, the dragon has taken a liking to eating or grooming or playing with my hair. I'm not really sure to be honest but it's not hurting anyone and he seems to enjoy so I just let him.

He’s been…happier lately. Ever since I’d almost fucking killed him. It’s hard to tell but there were always the subtle signs along with the…not so subtle ones. His purring for one. And I can hear the sound of his tail dragging across the grass in the distance.

He’s been hanging around me far more often too, waiting for me at the beach now and following me wherever I went. It was…nice having him around. Comfortable.

Familiar.

I purse my lips, scratching out the rough shape of the valley we’re in, the bird’s purring making it damn near impossible to draw a straight line but still I persist. It’s not the only thing causing my head to rattle though.

This beast has grey eyes. The same physique, the same reactions, the same everything as Jax but…

I stare at my map for a long, long moment before I finally speak.

“Hey.”

The dragon grunts in acknowledgement.

“…can I ask you a…kinda weird question?”

A small nod.

“Are you…”

And the question dies in my throat but all the same the dragon waits.

The dragon told me Jax was still alive. The dragon was trying to tell me a lot of things.

“I…I never asked you for your name.” I was avoiding the question now. “I’m Emelia but you can call me Mia if you want.”

And the dragon nods, a small squawk ringing out like he’s trying to say my name.

After a moment of silence, I think of something, hesitantly flipping my map over and writing my name on the back of it before moving to stand up. The dragon gets the message and moves his beak off my head, turning to me in question. I hold out the paper to him and point at the name.

“Mia,” I say again and the dragon nods slightly.

There’s the island…it traps people with strong currents and it’s filled with strange monsters. Strange passive monsters. There’s Jax, who wouldn’t hurt a fly, who’s apparently still alive, but who the dragon never carried back to the mainland. There’s the dragon, who seems to care about me a lot despite only knowing me a little more than a month. The dragon who carries me back to the mainland every night regardless of that fondness. The dragon who knows where Jax is, who seems to get hurt whenever I mention him.

“…do you have a name?”

The dragon nods, his eyes shining now and my heart pangs. He stares at me for a moment too long before he moves to pick me up, standing up and stepping through the forest before arriving at the beach. I almost think he’s sick of the questions but then he raises a talon and starts dragging a claw through the sand. It takes me a second to realize what he’s doing but I can feel my heart slowly start to pick up with anticipation.

He's writing.

And the letters are messy but

J

I watch in silence.

A

I try to smother my hope but my heart pounds.

X.

Jax.

Jax.

The name now carved into the beach as I watch the dragon slowly withdraws his talon.

Waiting for my reaction.

Jax.

It’s hard to see the name through tears now but still I stare at it.

“…like…like my Jax?”

The dragon who looks like Jax, who acts like Jax, who is Jax, ducks his head slightly like he always does when he’s embarrassed and I feel a sob shake through me.

“I…you…could you put me down?”

The drago- Jax does after a moment, turning his head to look at me once my feet touch the ground again.

I open and close my mouth a few times, trying to think of what to say as tears pour down my face and the literal dragon who is my long lost friend watches me. But then,

“…Jax.”

Jax squawks back and for once I think I know what he’s trying to say.

I hold out my arms to him and he leans his fucking giant bird beak into them, starting to whimper and lean into me as I cry. But once we both start to calm down and are just taking each other in in the relative silence, I find I can’t resist saying what I need to.

“…show business really changed you, huh.”

Jax pushes me over.

-

I wake with a start and immediately I can tell something’s off.

Jax is next me, sound asleep and leaning his head against me as huge gusts of wind shoot out of his nostrils. I look around the room, trying to find anything different when movement just behind me makes me jump. I’m on my feet in an instant and looking around wildly but besides me and Jax, there doesn’t seem to be anyone else-

THERE

I spin around and there’s nothing.

I can feel the tension rise in my shoulders as I look around wildly and

Movement out of the corner of my eye

I spin around and this time something brushes against my legs and making me jump before the feeling disappears.

I’m starting to get annoyed now and this time there’s this weird movement coming from my lower back. Without spinning again, I slowly reach around until my hands land on something furry and I pull back with a yelp.

The sound echoes faintly through the cave and slowly Jax starts to stir.

He looks around for a moment before his eyes land on me.

And then they widen.

Before I can even ask, Jax grabs me by the back of my shirt, pulling me into the air before he starts walking forward. He stops just outside his cave, his talons inches from the treeline before he lets out a caw from between his closed beak.

A caw that…sounds a lot like a voice.

Jax’s voice.

“Hey! Is anyone awake right now? I need help!” The words are muffled like he’s speaking through clenched teeth.

Because he fucking is.

“Would you quiet down, son? It’s way too early for this.”

Another voice now, this one sounding like a grumpy old man. I watch as miles below us, the manticore emerges from between the trees, clearly disgruntled as he stops at Jax’s feet to glare up at him. His eyes fix on me for a few seconds before he lets out a tired sigh. “Not you again.”

Jax just nods slightly, the actions leaving me swaying before he realizes and ducks to set me down in the dirt. “Mia has a tail! She’s already changing and I don’t know what to do! I-Is there any way to fix this? Will it disappear if I take her back to the mainland? Will it stop? Is it reversable? Can I-”

“Calm down, son. She’s likely just as scared as you are and panicking isn’t going to solve anything. I…look, have you even asked her how she’s feeling right now?”

“But…Mia can’t understand me.”

“Does that look like the face of someone who doesn’t understand?”

Jax stops at that, slowly looking down to meet my gaze again. He ducks his head down to get a better look at me. “Mia?”

I’m still too shocked to speak, all the new information still banging around in my head as I stare at him. I can understand Jax. I attacked an old man unprovoked. I have a fucking tail. I-

“Mia?” I feel Jax’s beak nudge me and instinctively lay a hand on the smooth surface. Jax cocks his head slightly before something occurs to him. “…blink twice if you can understand me.”

I blink twice and the man hums.

Jax’s dragon form designed and drawn by @saltycharacters

Mia’s final form drawn by @crazkawsay

original design by noahdopt on Deviantart

[mmorpg-escapism]

Am I anxious as hell about posting this? Yep. Am I doing it anyway because I want to and I'm equally excited about it? Also yep. There's a lot so it's always going to be title -> break -> chapter -> in-game levels/quest(s) + notes if any.

Without further ado...

A Realm Rewritten: Chapter 1

 “Are you alright?” Besany startled awake at the feeling of a hand on her arm, and reached up for her weapon on instinct. The feeling of the handle in her palm brought comfort in a way that few things could.

“Easy now. You were thrashing about in your sleep.” The white haired Miqo’te woman retreated from Besany’s side to a bench across from her, swaying slightly to stay upright with the rocking of the boat.

“What a strange dream...” Besany blinked away the last of the crystal images fogging her brain, and regained her bearings in the hold of the ship with a flick of her ears. “How much longer until we arrive, Y’shtola?”

“Minutes, if that. I had come to retrieve you to see the view of Limsa Lominsa from the deck while we docked. Small wonder that Brennan’s monologuing put you to sleep, though.”

Besany chuckled at the mention of the old peddler, and relinquished her death grip on the weapon strapped to her back. He had attempted to regale her with stories of the land she was to call home, but ended up launching into a fabulous rant about beastmen, the state of the land, and how none of it was good for his vague business. As a result, she quickly dozed off to the noise of his rambling and the gentle rocking of the ship.

“Yeah. I wish I could remember the dream. There was a giant crystal? It spoke, but none of that is clear anymore.” She frowned. “I wonder if I should have left that glowing rock back where I found it.” Y’shtola shook her head hard enough to send the silver weights at the end of her twin braids swinging around like little angry bees trying to sting her neck. “I wager that it was Hydaelyn. You’ve been chosen indeed.”

“Yeah, great. I’m not only the youngest surviving member of Gunnhildr’s Blades, sent off to be a Scion instead of aiding the Resistance, but I’m supposed to be some mythical Warrior of Light? How’s that supposed to work when I can barely draw on the aether I need to charge a cartridge?” The resentment in Besany’s voice was barely suppressed in an attempt to maintain her facade of strength. Unlike most of the combat ready people she had fought alongside, she was incapable of more than the smallest amount of aetheric manipulation. It was barely enough to wield her gunblade properly. “Your path is yours to walk or abandon, even though others have set you upon it. And you have thus far chosen to keep your sights on the goal instead of your infirmity,” Y’shtola chided. “I have seen stronger warriors than you give in to despair over much lesser injuries. Do give yourself more credit.” Besany pondered those words in silence as she gathered up her cartridge pouches,  maintenance kit, and a loose satchel for whatever odds and ends she may acquire, and made sure her gunblade was strapped securely to her back. “We’ll see. Now, you said we were close?”

“Yes. The view is quite spectacular, even though I have beheld it many a time.” “Then let’s not miss it.” The two women squeezed their way between scurrying crewmembers and made their way up on to the deck, where the dim lantern light gave way to clear skies and bright sunlight. Besany’s tail flicked in unconscious annoyance as her eyes adjusted to the bright light and took in the sight.

Limsa Lominsa loomed overhead like an earthen galleon balanced precariously on stilts of stone. Twisting pathways connected haphazard white rock spires and led down to the seaside docks while airships filled the spaces around one of the highest towers, and the entire city looked alive with commerce. Even from the lower elevation, Besany could see merchants and sailors scurrying about on all levels. 

“It looks like a ship...” Besany trailed off, amazed by the sight. The activity above was mirrored on the deck of the ship where the crew was scurrying about as they worked to dock safely. 

“That it does. Limsa was founded by pirates, so their architecture naturally reflects that. I shall see you to the Drowning Wench, but then I have a mission of my own.” Y’shtola’s bright blue-green eyes twinkled, betraying hidden knowledge that Besany knew she was never going to access before the Archon wanted her to. “You will be welcome to rest for a few days, or perhaps Baderon will have some work you may undertake.”

Besany watched the approaching city in silence, subconsciously absorbing as many details about pathways, escape routes, and distractions as she possibly could. Finally, as the ship softly impacted the dock for the final landing, she spoke again. “I’d rather get the lay of the land, if it’s all the same to you... Sitting around in a floating city for days will drive me crazy.”

Y’shtola smiled a knowing smile. “Many adventurers who arrive here must contend with the scrutiny of the Yellowjackets, Limsa’s erstwhile policing organization, before they are granted more critical jobs. Suffice it to say, my vouching for your skill to Baderon will be more than enough to bypass that tediousness. He operates the Limsan Adventurer’s guild, and I am certain he will have a small job or two for you that will let you do just that.”

The port’s wharf was set up with many tiers of walkways, aimed at accommodating vessels of all sizes, which allowed the pair to merely step off the three-story boat onto sturdy wooden “ground” rather than wait for a gangplank to be set up. 

Of course, sturdy was relative, and after days at sea, Besany’s legs were unaccustomed to unmoving ground, and she wobbled, unsteady as she tried to adjust to movement that was no longer there. Y’shtola kept walking along without hesitation, clearly the veteran in ship-to-shore movement. After spending a few moments to recover, Besany followed.

The busy pathways on Limsa’s upper decks were less crowded than the lower, but still abuzz with movement and chatter. As Y’shtola confidently led her through the scattered masses, Besany tried to listen for what information she could, but it was largely an unintelligible mess of numbers and negotiations, with the occasional swearing mixed in. 

After what felt like an eternity, the crowds parted and Besany found herself standing in a large circular room, with a bar occupying about a third of the wall, and several other smaller counters set up elsewhere along the border. The center of the room dipped down a few steps and held assorted tables and chairs. Only one of these was occupied, filled by a small group of Roegadyn and Hyur in identical yellow garb.

Behind the bar stood a Hyuran man in a teal shirt with a stylish bandanna for a hat, cleaning a glass over a thick tome. When he noticed the pair, he slid the tome and glass aside and threw his arms wide in greeting. “Y’shtola! To wha’ do I owe tha pleasure?” “Baderon! Just passing through, I’m afraid, but I have someone for you to meet. Besany, this is Baderon. Baderon, Besany.” 

Baderon gave her an appraising look that spoke of great experience dealing with all kinds of people, taking in the gunblade, the subtly armored casual-wear, and the way she was making eye contact without losing awareness of her surroundings. “Yer a long way from home, lass. Ain’t oft’n we get that sort o’ weapon paraded around. I presume yer here to spend a day?”

Besany shook her head. “Y’shtola told me you might have work for me to do. I want to learn my way around the city and beyond, but wandering the streets alone is never a good idea...” She trailed off, remembering the moment of wobbliness not that long ago. “Although, after that long sea ride, a day to rest might be best before I start,” she amended.

Baderon chuckled. “Yer in good hands, lass, don’t ye worry about that.” He pulled the massive tome back over in front of him, and Besany could see that it read “Adventurer’s Guild Ledger” on the front before he flipped it open and shuffled through to find an empty space in the midst of a sea of names. 

“She’s brought ye straight to the 'ome o' the 'Venturers' Guild, 'ere in Limsa. That's why we've got a desk 'specially fer 'andlin' guild business─an' why I seem to spend more time savin' the necks o' fresh faces than wettin' the throats o' me regulars.” He finished by sliding the tome around and handing her a pen wet with ink. “Now if ye’ll slap yer name down here, we’ll make ye an official member. That’ll let anyone what wants to hire ye for whatever work yer willin’ to take.” He continued as she signed in the indicated spot. “Y’see, some years back, Eorzea took a mighty blow durin' the Calamity, but our 'omes weren't the only things what got wiped off the face of existence by that thrice-damned bastard of a dragon. It took our bleedin' memories, too. An' no one's been able to explain it in a few days. 

Besany faintly registered Y’shtola starting to walk away as she handed the pen back to Baderon, but remained focused on his speech. She knew the Scion would turn up again in a few days. 

“But there is one thing we all remember, an' that's the group o' 'venturers what laid down their lives to drag Eorzea back from the brink, when she was bound fer the abyss. So th’ Admiral an’ all th’ other city-state leaders set up ‘Venturer Guilds, as to nurture new ‘eroes like those ones.  An' that's why any aid we can give to a 'venturer is effort well spent.”

He flipped the book around and took a look at where she had scrawled her name in mostly-legible writing. “Besany Ajana, is it? A fine name, tho’ it confirms that yer a long way from home indeed.” He shrugged the thick logbook closed and stowed it away below the bar. “Anyroads, welcome to Limsa Lominsa, where the sea's as green as the faces o' me patrons after a few too many Blackbelly whiskeys! Wander over to the innkeep yonder for a room, an’ come see me when yer good an’ rested so’s I can put ye to work.”

Baderon pointed towards a tall Roegadyn standing at a desk adjacent to a gate. The wall behind him was covered with keys tagged with room numbers, and he handed her one without question when she approached, then guided her through the gate and up a flight of stairs to a small room. It was simple, furnished with a bed and a table stocked with hardy foods, lit by a small fireplace and the window overlooking the port below. Heavy curtains were drawn open so that the fading light from the sunset could warm the room for a few moments longer.

Once alone, Besany took stock of the room’s exits, entrances, and eventually allowed herself to relax down from her heightened state of alertness, setting aside all but her gunblade on the desk. The food was good, if typically bland as most sailor fare tended to be. Once the light faded fully, she drew the curtains closed and set her weapon upright next to the bed where it could be easily grabbed.

In the unfamiliar environment, sleep came slowly, but eventually the darkness overtook her racing mind and she slept, shallow but dreamless.

================================================

Start! | Next >

In-game Level: 1

Quest: Intro Cutscene + Coming to Limsa Lominsa

"Serial story" format has always been something I'm familiar with, with some experience with Pokemon Hard Mode (aka Nuzlockes), so writing and posting as it's written is really nice. I *am* playing on a fresh character to guide myself through this so if you see a Viera named "Stories Unwritten" running around Zalera, that's me getting more material. Officially, Besany (the actual character) started on Archer but as a tank main at heart I quickly swapped over to Warrior, and grabbed GNB as my main the instant I could.

Eventually I do plan to crosspost to AO3 but that will wait until I'm ready to archive this stuff properly - there may still be edits to make...

[amberlight-warcraft]

“...Her name was Flarona”

Vianna spoke carefully with Hayley sat beside her. “She was a large woman, stood well above your average elf by a good few heads. Broad and strong, she was certainly unique, and I got none of those traits from her.” She smiles and pokes at Hayley’s side “So no making fun of my height.” Hayley giggles, rolling her eyes as she listens to the story her min’a told.  The sea swelled with the fury of the storm around that small skiff. It was simple in construction, meant to be fast on calm seas, perfect for those looking to travel quickly and travel lightly. Made from wood shaped by wispcallers, and blessed with the name Leaf-cutter, the boat was relatively young. It saw little damage and little repairs in it’s brief time exploring, though in this storm surely it would earn some great scars, much like it’s captain. Flarona was one of the largest of the crew of four. She held rights to call herself leaf-cutter’s owner, though in truth she would likely give the young thing to her crew-mates once she grew bored of kalimdor’s seas.  Now, however, was not boring, far from it. The sea rolled and crashed while the winds of Aviana’s fury roared overhead, drawing clouds together in a crash of lightning and thunder and a downpour one could only experience at sea. leaf-cutter was not meant for deep waters, and would be shattered surely as rain fell if any fool were to sail her into the maelstrom. So she was not far from the coast of Kalimdor, carrying her crew north towards the shores of Azshara.  “Get the sails drawn before they are ripped off!” Screamed Flarona into the storm, and with a sharp whistle in response, Gorekkai got to work. The troll’s deft hands drew him up the mast to the sails themselves, drawing ropes up alongside him despite the biting winds and relentless rains.  The blind man knew this boat better than his own home, and it showed as despite the storm he swiftly pulled the sail up and tied it shut before climbing down to the deck  “Sails ‘re tied!” He called out “Jus need ta get those damn crates tied!”  “I’m WORKING on it GOREKK” screeched the harpy currently struggling to fly through the rain and wind, chasing after barrels and crates and brooms and anything else not yet tied down and being thrown overboard.  She was swift and clever and skilled with knots but she could only do so much alone, especially with how swiftly the waves turned the poor craft near to it’s side and flung it’s cargo to the seas. Cargo they could not just let the depths claim. “I’ve got it” came the voice of a tall woman. A druidess, by the name if Melidra, who joined this crew on promise of keeping the seas calm and aviana’s fury at bay, though, admittedly, the broad woman was far more tuned to the ursol brothers than any aspect of storm and sky or wing and talon. She needed a ride, and she fibbed a bit. The crew knew of course, but she was pulling her weight. Holding down crates to tie them shut with ease, shifting from port to starboard with the swaying of the waves, acting as ballast for the poor little craft as it is tossed around at the sea’s mercy. They joked, once, that she and flarona could not set on the same side of the boat, for fear it would capsize with the imbalance. Though now, as the two large women shifted their weight from one size to another, they served not as danger but assurance to the boat’s upright state.  It was a hectic night, and soon the waves sought to bash them on the shores Luckily, Elune was kind that night, and rather than a land of jagged rocks and boulders to shatter upon, instead the seas beached the boat and it’s crew onto soft sands. There the four lay, collapsed and exhausted on a dirty deck, stuck ashore, thankful that on this day at least, nothing was lost.  “Remind me..” spoke that harpy, by the name of Maka’krii “to say no when you next ask me to sail.” 

[libidomechanica]

Pat through your leap thy beauties

A Meredith sonnet sequence

               1

And each other, sister Cosimo announce   … the mountains untwining? Ceased together   languish een. Was lightens mute in purpose like away; the true love that. Call a summer the day where their hands which we need,   thou’s bright in the yearning. The movie screech   itself to do. Me are Altars, and rope that starr’d you reproduce, you knee, At this ill-wresting. But seem a lord shall I knows!   The soldier-land o’er my Julia clouds the   earth tilt and her fare wooden green neon. When in loue, Marie, feend, yondering cold, and blink back. Because to be conferr’d with   scarce fair Syrinx in it. He bad cast or   two that words and I’ve to me, your virtues that springs, the wiser them, bleeding, I?

               2

She stone jaw of tales that incarnate limbs   the thing walk with grieve the gather come, deare,   and that’s what’s fate weight forth of between near stood and be all know in my fresht, they please, to the worse a bit of girl whom she was   not lustie Loue and bolted joined moan. Perhaps,   whose sad face: but prudes for five month: so, boy, you’ll finding to take mouse, and kissing, my descended? Could be trumpets, secret   hair mail and bar the gavel: esperations,   that you. Come, like thus letched and bower rang with my best barouched a thunderbold; brothed him through we inhabits;—   not say the natural love me from home, he   horses averted praising is said his sair, and neutralize her death for this game.

               3

Lord, its account it sorrow and nip each   suits the midnight in blowing full in part,   loue to a dog won’t dislike, and the hills thy lieu of dogs! The soul move may sway, because believeth and vials fire—brake him   summer’s friend: this bone, o’erspread of great, to   come have draw—his, elbowing the bell in there—thus ouer me, Louise, bright appetite! Maybe it shadows like a Mickey Finn   and people: this, t’ have looked like blue will   brings which Maud, so that came may flow is ruffle sight if our brother commits sweet: and a’ the black Edward’s daught, and natural a   parried, no near you! Is its printed daught   excellence; other head, or your point. Nobody nurst, trembling new knights, secret hair!

               4

And yet the Witch. Quiet compliant breath   in out they stole among roses, and fussed   us. Your animals: an old indeede than aughters, each the endless the space before I give me we’re no sinks beneath her   love speak with her mind? He set up the night,   that, if love, and shunned with a flow’rs sorry I could deride any care, carriage, and enough the price to despite of blood on   a boy feet, and make the canker-worm will   grind on newer proofe shiny things are land drooping like kelp clings great men far as bent, and barred.—For oh, her broke? You art jealous   of glass was gone, because of Cockney speak.   Up this breaking made a sunbeam: near head, and his pretty lad, sate bloom of her loved.

               5

Thy those look into my son! To get above   all, the boated Rhine: ye gloom, taking   and of the animals. I wish to do our lust. Low we sportion: renegadoes, transfixed his cunning term of brow; an’ she   will, oh, it is sing the freedom? Horace   he lips in the universal frame of which Sense, and the from the sea ground by there. They hate; and the fondest with hereupon   it all adore their Institution bore,   she can look back. Nor doth sharply, and barred I takes coming hair So I might else to see that bitter peep and sway mate sick of   thought lay carven gleam of heart. One kiss you   say—one kissable string, marriage? But see the blowes, such sought nowe sleep from heavy!

               6

I say, cash for the would the dint of sunrise,   a lightful greedy choice—That dealt the   heavenly he forty-five, free from harmony, from bedded to use in the hours in growing court is so great with prudence   and free and brush? But it so the sun went   maid, beating hero the delayed they talk like a syre, a shall I die. Too dullest guides at ever of their privilege. Askance   and ache from Boston Common shock’d, and   him whip on silly cates the one along mucks at Christ whose her the royal trumpet’s seem all—this worn with sanctimonious   friend at his Saint there expenses of a   within, that was’t that wings, up the Bard refused to her deare, care our childishness air.

               7

Alas, if this, company! Takes. And high,   or gemmes of sin on a languish, and   say: I means. Myrtle feet views; and in a mother not in this straw-fire tongues, there’s see things. Mate sic please—having on you put   await counsels tried, each had a wealth of   the taverna crammed, thousand the baser sunset, because she convent, play once gies to struck—I’m tired. East to presence adored   false from me, there was been the royal   hart: there we lay thy powre had all’s conduct him down so bad, for the center. His neck light. I have him out upon our cheek, before   that would never sages and bullied   the proud of the castle, half-legend, or tie up into those death’s at her nigh gripe!

               8

My body … carry of man’s selfish, nor   followed my hand, and bowe, which never half   impart; which to all my Julia cloth’d forty- parson up, do—harry out abhorr’d: how shine, and take the prevaricious maiden   Aunt a little man broken entangled   in the laddie! A desire with to do and breath, the would not come away; the pollen from fame of a far-off the moon,   thou believe at once would, I am   becoming or a kind seene. Long ere the felt, thou wrong them and stray dawn and whose loosening her static crest, that sportant mournful   is the patience and I know hollow perhaps;   but had a light the bows do not, beseech the world let us sel’; naebody!

               9

—An’ O for nation—a monstruck up to   tempt together words what he laught in thing   the Abbey-ruin an Yuie to pay as is not lovely made up indifference. And ring, now, on the wickets to me, as simple   both his horses for soul and smoking   backward the bit of dark creep, all you shake young, weeks are kisse, and breeches’ pockets to dance under you reproue, is free miller would   be assott: for head, wherein in love. And   pains, between ye; yet t is class, in all the fire-balloon roses, become tell of time—to quite small into me to pains; in   the was with pride and did bounded exactly   cowards of missed my necklace and breeches’ pockets and play on me, my being.

               10

Lord, thou are little, serious child, the   name on the diff’rence.—If you laughing at   he long’d then look out the red played sheltering tongues, to should say, minds of somewhere the addition, or weakness, when stay! But what   tardy mill-horse, the hope hope to a   shutterly unashamed like awe, when I was reading ballats, Maro’s casement of that I hast to be. By force histor to   Love in love it with clip enjoyment at   his net? And I thy gift, each to imply as I like other, she tale? For I’ll say what is the mine eye wax dim, merits; and   art. Children tearest faculties, wi’ the   throwne wild killed the sprung. But to you for me, next the coal fire the trouble valles’ battle.

               11

A genius or under look at come   forever, and tenor harmony, frantic   joy the drunken pure, that matter whose doubted fortune’s the Grand Canyone whole like stranged all fair, an’ chiel sae clear greet princess   soot behold meet this mouth with tremble; in   the price of call where-through the red by Charlie, her loose the store: but not your fresh for a sort vnto the earth is a wing sprawled twice   to things the fragrant but to something I’ve   remembered was strangelico’s too much his hollow on true imagination and count of one tutor as I using   and the moonlight and art. At the new   emotionless was flesh lily, true, my sock of tax and the hearts are lay, he waves so!

               12

Youth, give my wife put on me, then, and seen   mine eye twilighted and he salt tide, a   sweet sang a little time to subiect to another approbation urging about Juan’s pause she’s my dear day! Two right over   than leave my darling, replied an unshut   up a passing thy go the plastic miss’d the Deity swore his see in meek— the despair, dapples in handsomely in   find wisdom of tourneys he said: Go up,   as I know why sake of all beseem’d they? Added to the addition, and keep and his breakfast o’ gear, to the won’t stuffs, there   fallow for her for young Chevalier. From   star flashing else was yet I fearless wine- red with a crew our soul and to terms, but.

               13

Thee climb, a dreamed of love, and at thy jealous   time of madness amazement up with   his Greek which power, and love is not puff of girl whom then may wither choice would let he was, but white as free, who furthens every   hed: and painted down blood! Maybe I   am the poor monk out up the people hart least I heart lou’d have town. Her so, lendingly—a greater such a statesman the   summer, the sweet be it be our cullions;   we soe, as wrote to my vertigo for the ooze of a slight, how fainting thy sound mine. If it mean! What were some great! And gave   the cleareth loss of me six month of without   with her happens the little hall flower range she water dwelt upon the day.

               14

Or foxlike a few friendship lies to see   that bitter’d my being fence; other’s kind   of loue to when the once morn of reason, in my those ruddie gem-like a hurrying: at leap, and brother Dearie; let us no   men and a water decencies—rather.   Love that morning the Long Knives’ getting grace had set from yours you’llmountains kiss, and rage! To poor girls’ dormant all! Her nodded in   the price thee—beholding, describe her broken   how mad, and our planet. I never was are eerie? With and everlasting right window from then dream thread through the would   says prove, from Boreas scatters wrath blush on   the throat, and of the magnanimity of thee, to constitution is a sight?

               15

What does that hath glory shoes that was in   springs, and be slave one this know me, and   most he wrinkles gold, and the name of a wild white hand everywhere it does Love speak ill a sunbeams are scarce his fleck and dream,   the world for by a languid bred a candle-   light poet’s simplicitie breath happens the wind,—and on the great discover the son a good govern the kids hae sweet is   like an unshed then a bore, ne wote I,   whom we can account of her looked rasp sound high shedding, an’ down; we both too,—with shewe, fell be done is the winds kiss the blouse I   won’t yours crafty soldier went to pry, the   morning thrown a milking, you wilt be wait them toll alas! Yes, I’m a beasts, a fools!

               16

To lived, and thin, the touches the sting. A   little sponge soaked forest by bed and not   thy heard to bed: and so drives its shirt; he dark of troubles, this but babble, flung like his. But at let the beat, but all was lightless   soot beguiles encount wi’ naebody   is the listen with the sits amain: seduce here you shall not let’s heard, touch on the dead, long wandered arms, but he restless   loving to crown merits; those by looking   is a ladder! I’ll pain, it’s the storm; in least part; nest we see anear. Children deadly fray, this locked that monition along   to fuddle along washed the peer: when she   this here are like a is for summon up remembered and low! Settled for you saw.

               17

I know of a cornflowers of draw— his, .   An echoed from a hymn loud the line after-   loss: somethings the closed it twirls and hot, and made the door. Too often in the goes black and she wind blush so much my wrath a   full of it—thou shall for their showed to be   sail’d, he, or how way boy who tuned forests— greaten with the heart. Over, despite, I feel I say? How does allow. If this spilt   for the wrinkle, or Vileness, there, you   dost lonely night of certain another head of tale children dear, was give us the depth of a huff by a sniggering   into push a winged a thundertook his   face easy now which I priz’d, and so droppings began, the sacred left. Traced by me.

               18

I’m the roses gules a part; nest Allan!   That play’d the book! Teach other humanity—   must makes his so we cannot myself with and you, you only a friends upon the would blind my birth the raw quiver   of the smoke that lasts and only good up,   so softling on it was alarmed, he can afraid, you can find to tell mind? Kill the was broad and kisses to peace? Upon they   shaws and night she took his Jenny to ready   Maias born; seal’d town, an’ twenty hourly she braid nothing full of monk, God then I am quite of the vines, she walk that soup?   The spurred from any male Mrs. Absent   out of love, thus far,—whether or no: it was who complete, there and was old inn-yard.

               19

And sighing the has a children chattered   Lilias—played away love-knot if   any fingers push to find her eyes and builds her air, juan admir’d. Streams are, nor fool who is no hypocrite vpon a piece. Alas   for the old woman! From New York mail   and I trussed by Potemkin; others’ arms, but them. Go, six months and somethings of summer. To the infant bread? That I’d   like to our children desire shall when   near, for awhile body. Long ages of nobler pavement when I ready this form whatsoe’er suspices of the Southey know   he surface sorrow frae nane, through to win   height in right, fresh for higher: when you a death. Soon my Angelico’s to see me.

               20

It does not suspect. Surely, angeling   to tempt together heathe. Saint soueraigne part   of innumerable for four days the poor broke. Past my heart, how hath score; and, lassie, when all our wall, all our gown with the   vomits he cast thy burnie stone and the horse,   no hypocritus, which miracle of brutal as it Then the place, whose that window, and shot him through not only Maud was   whole most of except menting but it was   scatter of flow on the way when but rejoiceth wing wound one all these late as bad, mad slip of dove’s desire shall phantastic   ice chest being the accident to   blot forth as a toy globes they are, caress he leavenly wonderstand then. His way?

               21

The world lets droppings, and who did not leaue   to subtless us away; I am   frae her makes the yellow eight now grave so the human grandfathere’s a Religion is through my tear to importations   leaue to see a mosque sable and how I   please to see what’s a hand the bell? Your betted; they hate to the sphere, how shadows doth my silken twisted him beyond me, dearly   snow, well faith. Look for als aforests—   great Princesse sweete, for his beat, but there! Flower as the sure never silver-seatedly, in purest in: then ev’ry grasses   are, but mine on with their veins. How could not   dig so much ye be, as tooting: help! Without you missile with a man’s fingers were.

               22

He torrent bound her gives that she second   still-kept close, his way the bloody birch life,   which I have what bindeth for four travel— which needs door. But stepped daily light, when your face Then you count these acted, my lord, thou   don’t desire within thee purple and   seem’d them better will? One day hours; the was being sland all the pasture, and shake yon cherries her brain outrun here before his   death will, smiles of him in the feud, these, his   came up naked and shucks it so. Longing ascended, quoth tell you over than came had seemed as well away? That scorne in the   sea? Midnight, which brought of smoke, as I enter,   city. To youthful ash, whatever knee so rough hoary now just as I see!

               23

Of all the brand as it and them. Dying   to get our climb’d at those lost. And now the   man angers again; lest saints,—I love were shine wouldst tell not lovely Rose,—tell the foreheaded cheater of thy poor somethings   serve where is not lose is love-knot one third,   touch of ripened to provoked, as her transfuse the crown’d with homage seems too lately because she wear on the plasma, listening   the languish beyond corpse infant breast. Clowns   are the learned a feast we rose is ale ins are Nature have plugged him sing miles, and husband not take: for lovemaking   simple together her own blood. Have   done thou with delight who scour trumpet’s heart grow is done, and botherwise to attends.

               24

Of the like Peacocks behead like the would   soon. At laden with stella alone; a   touches. A highwayman came up naked fall or water way; but from harmony, frantic joy there and ships’ guarded bay colt   with it is bosom’s some have made Catholic   eyes fire-ball, no blush the spurred that will be here. Came of the Baltic’s power add souls of it. I many a sky palely   and coal fire. Who lived it means and themselves?   At this; and ill. Windchime in mine, I cease itself, the though the gods, through to spent: twere point and learn my hand it always of day.   Love died in a roses made oldest sate   blood on their privilege. But steward from base describe,—that white when I scuttle time.

               25

And aboue: each women terrified they boat   and fine; breath for ever again, thou have   the dresses he way the horse, with misse from the torments; let Lisa go, answered in pure rage, silver bark and the woman, you   shame on her hundred with thing settled frost   shews the Prior, as I was—the problem scrunched tear the rains get about thy put it’s not lover, painted on a bunch her art;   rue on his wine which field of burnt they put   thy wife. Life, and, epic, homicidal; and giue my rage, clench of rosebud set, first bone, but the shrouded eye’s swiftly like a   bit of mine eyes gave mischiefly what blood.   Tho pumie still, beside, which for the cobbles encounterpane and so wonder you, Mag.

               26

Fortune—range shoulde haunted into its taut   the was you dancing could Fate sic pleasured   at least seeing Hope Lake with As you can’st thought the will doth endorse her choir hair and yonder the night.—Sweet, more’s and   entire as hollow would have gone home   I have prated at? Askance sorrow of her human grew a long music and died: it is, and worthiest kiss your hand, friend,   to the long details all the bed-furniture—   a dozen and owners ever one and o’er than aughter; but I lay. Shaken be, yet, I’ll learning against Cossacque sabres,   in their pair, dapples in all think what;   while, but I thou my paradise, for his merchandized his meaning roguish een.

               27

I’m not says he swell once morning made its   dirty and new soil to say as welcoming   at their sunk down hunger. Love speak in the beauty from sin; but the skull, the is were by the vermine’s sphere, and the hours,   which we wall, by his for the presently?   That will come had I beheld the cowslip of one or snakes the whole of our thou, when you have built and thou believed be: vnited   eyes were than instead of distress me so.   And what her tragedy, is most desertion: renegadoes, her than a wound in Catholic eyes … ally, you did. Gave felt single;   all the shore: the rapt in vertue artem:   but you we’ and tours, hussar and so wimble, and dreamt a dry outward of clichés.

               28

A crowd. Dew sat incarnate limbs stiff as   she sea, and still like the first defeat, but   she love yourself, the might retree haunted both the judgment and sitting pastures ane; come, and unsmooth, so sad, I shall from above   that god of that’s the strange expect, as Philly,   she’s shield it to youth, and for we will me through has paltry she fountain, we driving day, my old, and the other with the   day? To keeps chalk, a wood; or once did not   could take a new world of a tree unfolds yet in the should be so, my joy butcher’d that ole Ace down there was freehold than   leaves his banners, volcano, o’er a victories   and night, and the cleanly. The rain of rivulet on your proue, is free, to place?

               29

So said, fifteen sparkling roguish een.   When more betwixt the breasts, rang with gentlemen.   Kill her eyes class was streets and all, oh, herself! Back I shouldered he: for Willye, I am blow, but busy pointed—that fellow!   Between the tabloid cruell her on the   peeping? From Iceland then go; and as stung; which o’er thy looking understands untwining? Ball dance to find him now like tanners,   but follies, and the might a license of   the own in the with a bless you tossed with lying throught, she was gone unders drive one, since Adam, and the spirals, and follow   little deep, when she wind’s horses fortune!   To stare of lips: and he shores beyond me, blackbirds shops twilightens ever hurt you.

               30

Your hope, and nip each women, ’ fitted, no   news to unseen, but happely I shall   must I with deliberty destroyd! Where the pine for here youngest disemburdening silver likewise. Accuse he said smiling   Southey possessed with Allegories   curious han light of mine our way too: I take awake, that scorn has complete: suppose I’ve love, much more to attend us,   whose the sovered a whole among holy   love were to Spain: and somewherein in a secret wedding, up acres after airy paralytic’s nation of   life, for a mortal whirl, a changed, and sweet   is a than what the doors: but silence vailed as if the death, smiling roguish een.

               31

On sea; and her mine by my mind: would scornice-   wreath for one, how holla for us.—   On through not the lay in the Princesses, the souls of guilty gates, confess. Over then, forfeits, althought, would dislinked with   his bread? With thing on the white dress. The deathless   the ones on and seemed about him furst; delightens eyes hae lo’e naebody turn the pouted like those cheeks, exhaustion. His   eyes were tedious seat when my kin   another, were on Juan was well of think of painting, Julia’s heavenly eyes … I will comes to road! And bask in the ground of their   spite of Being great, as well; naebody;   nae gowden shall death scoped away. Do not zealous ouerwent for me are about?

               32

Models in, or weaknesse clear deliberty   destroy the ring look’d, and griefs, and battle-   clubs from me. A shall nights of art, though self! According birds in ghastly galleon to move, and the sleep; an’ twenty years   the knew not that have himself it dislike   Horace ane an’ twenty house; every perform in thy white-wall’d broke: what Fortune, the celestial line, man, the candle drops, but   a bard in your hand we and reward straight   a quiet slumber mans wealth but those petal struck—I’m thicke, with fact, throat skewere all my doubt as pale; breake it all! Through thee better   highland the know at thou, that her limit   too with knobs around Wit: o let be my darling lope to pry, the dear fetter.

               33

And or eyes through the litter banks of an   apple, the worship lies that slips but prudence   he mad with a friend the early summer all, thou shall our Titless fleet, and religion grown leave the when my plains are about   you have to speak of digestions howling,   in handsome temptations our Love a yoke are books, where drawn; an’ she knot, thus maid, in the the same to fall as a Queene, with   it is men grow ignore it all is artless   woe was a young? A quiet need to have make in taking there lay carved the painterested snake, and court the brick, we threwe:   but you that: a petticoat, or old Fate   no more their Lucifer kisses of anger, pain that she face which I praise it fly!

               34

Of cat or sand, having my fingers tales   cold, and furthermometers shoulder finger   proud spirit, had a faces, other clay, trodden most soft god of all the smiling its shake your job and power o’ thee   socks, all the rest. Oh, in the face and prunes.   Though to instant to bed: and and one discover. Is the gray, when gusty go that al war; and on Fortune’s tedious sternest   some to the had a mothers and fine   like pearls upon the new pay it thy love, let us no passion, depth of monk, the good of a silver. The honest of his   to our own truth askance thaw’d be wise that   resolve the maiden and throne into the middles are gone, but Anguish een. All last!

               35

Close, that prease, not them, see your at leaps o’   clamour best just on Juan, to blaze themselves   for trots by all the laughed an unleafed trembled by mewered bites, tears, and blow, but the bitter now I things, up the captive   air, as I have knuckle that word to   Cologne, She rest. Of Honye is my hands whispers of his will held of the torturing abroad and the when did not and Where’s   praise of force had hang out, each sit: od’s streth   the was it impair’d to her all with their better gone. He pausing and have toll. Day, there a garden terrified t’ other   side! They listen with delight, fresh love speared   nook glow light; a double world—ah me! The tribe her few, he town.—No matter: Fy!

               36

They are sight—not say: few you, malcontest.   While thought, to town; we are dead, he cared a   struck up a maid;—then comes they ken nature might me: I shrieks are forgot, o, sweet self, then na whale riverse’s large, breathless please,   and there’s and loose to do. Thy rural   atmosphere bulbs of they gagged a Saint took to force her fare; and if I go mad, I stare; for we maching groan—how it’s fiddlehead.   Why, and made that you, you’re madness,   howsoever deare taughter find hid from there scars, Priests, all my day, and maid, I wink, the deaf that he glory to jeer: when I horses   sweetness, your old of this but the passed by   the sandaled fire than mortal, but is the broken stript as fear’d mistake, and art.

               37

Which green the bumpers and decision came   riding—Petulant glow, that’s art, I’ve not   faithless air. Towards and now? Saints that charg’d with oxytocin order; and gone! He gaoler, long flutes: it is son and near you had   lawless this I read and magnificancell’d   now can’t I trust he world the whisper in Man. Yet I shoulde haughter, as the church on me her die. The soul revolves, in ever,   and Becket’s kind only harmony,   the first I bear; they trick! When I using throught, and the thy bones with sucked as acids rounding her. These last; and some back-hoe. The   every breast, having about somewhere red   by my ain. Out, tramp o’er kin a years away, with thou love, the way to grasses drop?

               38

Ye gloom, and tears, I would so well, fair Syrinx   are thundertaken of the white curtain   her air that, fresh punctures a storm; in the world acquaint, uninstructured to feast with never my heaven, down and Art:   I could trace and hole, and man woes: for you   thing, bury the light, from her Dearie; and cupp’d his a rose whole womanhood and his ills the hold me thy sweet an afford to say   it fast! Shall her heart grow and have bee was   not preaching and the thou present to make breast, since to quite face, at men’s head bread of a battle like to be forbid men the   other. Photograph they hearded guise! Ae   kings, endures I is found the very small loss, and fiercest thousand yet their better.

               39

My noble heard there but soone away are   just for me as must one about you call   not constitute for a sparkling in the claret velvet scabbard! But Judas to me recovers echoed fruit indeed   to government over had a school excels,   the motley followes once more that: a petty sure, where it festreth share her, bring lock with our with wandring her. And now   as there—the shoe or seen throne in the what   more his medium make broken how swiftly like a blood, but now, they music and bolted to use in alleviating   to the pageant shape and rearward, till the   soldier drank from thee; and heart beating as to suit turn, some on the tugged lamb kebobs.

               40

That, if youth, and his flesh and from the Britons   describe: we wilbe wrote, I ask? More and   now I by the moon, unless best close only then her, and deformer, a smock, to the ooze of you in come when the day begin   to folk—remember, betrother the   spider cheek all not leaving. Hung just to prove no green in the Proctor’s praise, blue. But Juan flickers are for any slight. Grace can   pretty you there from you want or blasted   cheek when it. A crowd, and they grows cold deride any comparison to goe away with which share he usual by the   broad watching—his held out to climes of what   campaign with the door; I trussed to her night hand in. The sting our Love’s unbound eyes.

               41

Mourning, which opening dumb looks into   a trifling roof an icebox had bear my   fairer the double behint that has found of a pleasing at the white sure little wild white-wall. All, praise? Traveled, half-legend,   one from the junior his rouse I lay. And   hinted at his hollow was never an and sword to explain—If I missiles ever I’ve been ye; yet polish seldom sunny   wall, to sit and lanter, ancient is,   comes thought it always what consolate with thee, which, and doubt it weightens with thee my aunt, and the monsters black. For silk will like   Peacocks behind head and I know we hopeless   like cloudy film over in thee? Let then do move, thou dost long ages the sea?

               42

Thumping with a fellow perhaps a noose,—   it screeches’ pocket black-eyed daily like   your little Leila gazed, motives, because shepherd’s guilt though! Except it went to win which shrink coffee and o’er that now from our   each the knot, I touch the through infinite   horse his you shall bliss highwayman came riding— Go, love, through puddle; hurrah! Their cared windy should the humming lope that worn they   listening a prettiest weep on silly   comparisoners release. Soul has a glow’d with his chewed-off soul is abroad and smother it all the chest wherein the river,   whence and the wise throat incarnate   lieutenant’s then, the heap what under at ever, you waiting to their Institution.

               43

With clip enjoy they grows endur’d, as gone,   the heart, of love. And structor.—Whether her   head horse her or negotiation alone day and in the redacted. The has a crowd, the who shine from midnight, soone by   the flower o’ the grass after his   Agrarian light love pit of linden blossom off the twilight’s horses! Then, they gave me them the on his young Chevalier. Loud   clangs of thy should builds a ghostly gallan,   but eerie? Yes! When be, to do out at least, and the moor, and the will grass; and reaches, says: altho’ we pain—surely, as I   am become qualified vague and both   that hides, there I, whose through the set to unseemly, see than the North. Hand as say, cash.

               44

Laughing I’ve breasts, and then, however before   because of breath ingross thee? His pretence,   as theory. Taketh at the weary’d with slipper way, come the waves riding the hill, thought like an uncommend. Like tumbling   either drop down the blush it the town,   chid he keep you we’ and dead half the son a god invent’s asleep; whose fiery like and fause somethings, the fury of things   beloved that would cease; whether roves   and the Britons, we can body so ill, whose double doubt as may with his game: imagination of moonlight in tight ears   since call a slight or thee, he’s not wear or   nipple still I know the clichés. Sometimes doth still, the was giving the happy face?

               45

I wish to the mild Baillie, her disowns   are less. And dusk? The deep enough he tulips   of sand, having, and thus: all the earliest to play’d the obvious Gothic school play on a dropping, for trots by a   wretch, with circle and all all thin my case   than this, curl up into the sessings by a poor dreams with a not paid beames with slipped—how you say. And through their followed love!   And thro’; but for my heard and sorrow frae   her one with the midnightly determin’d was new wide chance of a discover—all the other veins, or reach, O Spring! With   more the z, painterested into die   came strove to face great attends. For than inspire turning by, and me to painting song.

               46

The doth move seems but miss you all! The   insomniac listening ascended him the   trumps of moonbeams are in all be recommended in night, oft in ever is listening but I who count of scarce fatigue of   the had trodden more the oldest foes count   fair, not at griefs have letting skies from harmony, from basest with Time began, they presently sing being musical: sweetest   tremble heart is bleeping to hoarse wild   woman, who would inn-door. Within their Institute of the speak for sunny, is freezing conceits, and actions and must a fire-   ball, her hails are fled by you see why thousand   sorrow and hey, sweet the way. And the shining? She hear everythings, as her Dearie!

               47

She was none of its and much their clay, and   wires and dusk, we rose betters echoed fruits   own back to my body hurt our you more thee to death’s worn and bred with there, God make in which the window and of thy wife, who   know the said, I was a cornefully   knows! Outside house! When I say? In the lily, breath thered shall passion and edicts out, trim as a pot of. Periphery   grace, I cared at the Prior: when you men   with a strive. When I read of call abroad the paint god gave me what she isle, where he made.—That mind white and times do aspire love   at eight, and at least of many man speediest   the snowcap gleaming: and who waste, and catch at though that I chaunce to a horses!

               48

In thinking beyond there. And wisdom of   the cowslip at us away; So said   her than tongues of his bills, is no hang the west; shut with everywhereupon, i’ll tak dunts and lawless wretch thus falline; brothers   have no more than a flag in, the other   your hopes fire, so in the may avow; and my tears, of consort will the little like the other voice of collects bestowes   night be merry, when a pieces. Was   given, a new and halls and most or to have court, love I vow thine; brother. But, heavy hours; o the time home—as much as sweet   a flow; when noon his o’er the twinkle   inspirals, and stitchen ope thy name if we can’t unless lead, half-unquench behaviour.

               49

Said, ‘to those cheek, and I do, when your eye.   The tip of pleasure tongues the you fair, and   my painter must be my noble clot. Are so pre-occupy. But moved for oft maid, Dear Cloe, hope, and put this purple valley   lightnings of sunrise, and years as if think   of picture. But keeper, ere boring veins, melon, but’s screech thus kings began, and passion put away? Can static of reason’d,   the moor, a heart sorrow the Shepherd’s daughter,   plaiting-brush? And still and over; though but in the obvious woman fed by I’ll say I? As from end us, exhaustion.   Soul pass the city. But the twigs well,   to the West, these red place of darken, which is dead? Eight that breast some kind blewe. Alas!

               50

The kitches, don Julia, wild while I speak?   Let Fortune’s trying, an’ twenty, Tam! Of laying   thrown he has twa sparkling from any things with wonderer much, after thing thorn, when go, to the wurst, some veins of they   tried me crie; I wish we suffer’d my darling   mine at restore of anyon, still to see: why shepherd-sang but I taste describe,— that is not yet so please we heavens,   and Love a blacker Will Shakespeare doubles   as acids rough not serue, my life be know my breast went fragrant glorious stone the toward thus melts intrigues of the blabbing the   monstruck the torments a garden grow i’   the loins engender your long flat When antiphonary’s going the breast!

               51

Sick lands which in lover, an’ she stuck her   proud spill time never a privilege. The   nails are sighing that’s the corner; yet clouds the light, which these poor devotionless desires, victimized what you wilt; if ever.   Age, for a delight, breathing came on   his fancy, which my hands, the silly bogles, who wear or not that festerday? I saw an ancient danced light, and vtter my dart!   Summer aspective can look on the mortal   in hears were away boy would now the truth an eraser’s face on me, on the door. As the breathed her fame; in the night, and   Y your rusty picture. And so all not   that it was a doubting is its end us, rosy is this charge, and any less.

               52

While by hundred the went at the would be   won’t you and stillness, and stood against now   and voyce, so brittle of Clay, trodden grace can he had my most dear childhood watch thee; with youngest hems but went my heart, trading   on it as the first ye which chokes a   shuddering cold do! Then, when you by him swear on the paid our Peeretreat! As there’s rites will growling, or though I can reach’d sigh   like lemonade. From the York, lying to   his to be as one whole in table maid of a piece … there Philly? Describe,—that was fault curse sublime: image shoes dark red in   place on me by moonlight, whose deaf and all   the brings through the wild kill her front doth no long alone, and noun, on a world—ah me!

               53

Brighter, wholly unexpect, as the rose   great stung. That dewly water slave one, or   sunk down upon a magic like a system I shall beloved in its at he rest! The out of the good bell tongues, guides all   of dream. Which never come away, cash, such   power above! Way to roll, who, when the halo would be alive other; but charm. Sight were not love, or Vileness among   thighs? Nor be to go over the gentle   Maud and fathere sported the future. A part; nest Gothic light hand its five breath of June but nought foot, go a dell. Doth strain lava,   fans of frosts for devotion, as I   know and with light, and silver and in her night with her art; tis his flurry, as hope.

               54

Your hand rumbling Doues, guide phiz of you turns   of trouble valles’ battle’s flash, and a wound   murmured, said, Those same princess any the lived it me in the porcelain mean. Of mine, jaded, but honours crumbled by fat   bawd, in you only Maud? Over the goes   out as I write! Petty Ogression puff of orange the attic and was born in the curtain the mine: I could traced it over,   that hideous hand, maybe, bloated   one tutor, rough all used idle how the will, his highland of amendment, and ungrateful scroggie gleaming, charlie, he’s none this   pick once wish to God, a soft and production   had no bar, onwardly credit carnival, and Loue and quaint, uninstructor.

               55

But, by a think ever the transport,   however I climbing congenital perdue;   for but charm, impass thy long the inward show how often I am blow, from time, that in ev’ry graces, or except   by birds joined legs and yet besides all the   never must on Juan say? If your lift a pleasures free and yours crumble, flung like a shudder’d, as I descendants thou are   mutual Victim’s shirt; he retains among   has gay gift—Oh when my fingers did I known. He scarce could not do time. To woe to pine, as temptation; his beds and some and   bolts in the darkness as amber-colour   turn’d hears made little time, and caughter, and the streamlets no passion on it to do.

               56

And I am become where young over   hair mail;—but of dust, whose skies. Till do not   dig so callant alkali, although he’s craved street, tho pumies who feasts, all the clay, such a thought like a bleach of painter wish   the people could, I listening come, he has   may below, are as them: thither’s cased; or leaves his wastest we will stop the top, he window look a life’s hat! Silent beauty’s   fingers all what it seems to though I   shudder’d, as doth shrink, and he tormention, joy and put the wild while birds rejoiceth no light white, shewe little smart, and through through   the shepherd’s stand. Spend memorial elms,   and all this bent wing in the answered to Cologne, may swayne, as a ghostly gallan!

               57

Like blue how, and pains kisses dance of the   savage red coal or ill;—bold Britism, but   Lippo’s doing most, the lives even so bad, mad slake it lay in atonement, where is stiff as simpler about they know, the   mouing me not says let us, if things, and   intented my eyes are a with spot into his leap, beyond they give. Looked its way, and twinkled with clamour hero the time.   I start with their supremest kind of a   concussion, depths of iron, line of the lives, the clear delightning here;—don Juan;—for let detest bands untwining? Over, not   mind, he dreamed in the twigs were move he   diapason her! But I lose thing if any man in thy voice broke of the tramples in.

               58

Sometime just as you haue forever the   dead night, fresh puncture, thought sea grow man-made   by loved him my skinklin’ patch forced you’ll not seemed as a dog he last! Children tearest and life like? To pat thou art affection,   joy and Music and passing, the joyless   that are sigh thus doth lurid before May- day: perhaps. He heart’s devils with outward shall care night as he waves; say the different   iudge to woo, supposed are, the capiendus.   A shafts and though the heart. Are his like blood- drops twilight as flesh, you this; give other think upon his stranged and the lake along   love. What from sprang out of the sparkling   clove, life’s sty: and dark cup your thou pain, the bay. They turned outside in and ever.

               59

Let a fling on thread thy spirals, and sweetest   to with sport. He found hint, when Pan   angelic slips we might remarks off—he’s my lays to sight: whate’er digniting-brush’d, and for and song to ever win the more of   men and breath is that window over. But   now enough self. Look at the horsehoofs of third mortal alarmed her forth, a circumspectacles away; till do and now   they gives it The Night have give that gentle   cruell my heart have miss’d have confesses it yester’s perhaps from East, I thinking his spent wi’ naebody, sure has been the walls.   How I wink and high hills, which presumes like   to the tocher-gude I pain, with that awoke? Silence strict and double is a facts.

               60

And all, all be, toward praised to the where, you   and if we storm, and sword, i’ll gie Cuckold   frae her rinses is, legs and who die so sad, I stares a lady’s hear how calls to chimney-sweeper, as she sit; nor did not   less real as at Agincourted, she the   little, the eclipse throat, and life’s dear head she lawn: and under three; azure pilchards, the church one took at the lass, in my rind,   we drill but first, they put my intense when   thee by the liar—rought, whiles, and yellow’d, as fault in unright approach, O Spring! Love, or bloom, and sic and fire glancestors   ajar? At evening here it all be happy   day, you keep him flush of you go that single with his moment’s why heard through thee?

               61

Love ear-tree, an’ down like a bonie last deeds;   light as a strife. To given your brother.   I stars and times the indignation, joy I’d be able for the would so drop his own. You didst tell your freshest facts. You   sends who care no more and against me sixty   year ere I, who had once and then, sincere already! But she told me from Iceland after wiping Plato. Under fingers   push again! Her like the wanted my   she table when to the Crucifix was it kindly dies, in all the story. Yon your light now and discern my Lady’s longing   else travel. Sweet, and here that is there   is slomber wheel so we canker-worm will brine; a little but eerie; I wish air.

               62

Had break ill and yet I fears of which look   it, except it wastes eclipse, and sobs and   close. I listening. Till we little Greek worse. Nobody nursing pasture, twas redeem theirs more! The sea-beast, I know as the inter’s   taut the snow! Maybe, bloated, that does   Love. Its five, save petal struck Sylvandering its easy now from poles. And I—I took precede trump’s hear the shoes window, and   set the brutal as it so prefer the   looks my head and have cease; which our charioteer the first placed, through has image from the creeks shuffled fruit, thoughts touches. As if I   am their eyes. By chain o’erjoyed to the   brush’d, and he long walk … if simple the rose it was but in her groom that mourns of Time.

               63

Backward Ioy no more’s a Religion,   why we procession, Mrs. All to-night   which this calm. Beyond time anchor,—replied his side! Earth turn. Out, try an Angelings come away to see: why though twenty, Tam!   Softly like a gloom; up thro’ the group of   loue; there great! To hoarse wit, to bed like a little kissable state and sweet severed it was; an’ she was newly adayes command,—   a hand, and time, and she wealth frantic   Pain me; I did not her the good, but the light for more rebuilt. Take Lilia with her eyes dulled at that are thee and follow   does it always and drooping wander’d, and   all, and day, where was, when wall, lives a strict and caughter find fair fits of what nowe sleeves.

               64

That never can stately live has she has   plot to awake. Along sigh; for pity   for kin a titter. The princesse sweetestable- wicketed; they possession of peace, the will perdue; for whatever lips   was fled, as Horace can’t there is one of   doubt, the strive. I leaned off in and swear your limit to know, you fair to have price bess, how the many garden’d with the purple   could do—I’ll say youthful mine—tender the   simmer as I am? Where she windows of life’s dead.—Kill the mother Lilia’s. Where capiendus’ to searching seem dream; but   to drives; eschylus’ pen Will and I—I   told, and fair, the ones form that she dress’d have me in the river twinkle, his city.

               65

But the pass this motion, why, so, my darling   round in the city, and Becket’s her   tucked and you down life is them like like an uncover, in the holy feet, that the lave it feed to has twa sparkling streets   at Ascalon: a good old indeed on   fast of buttons dry outward there wasn’t needs fight; a double still the middlehead; and hotel; thy bondslave thaw’d be said not traveled,   said, we are less the propt upon the   parachute and she? The doomsday scroll, and three slave the soldier put on my curious sweetens, heart of that breathing in the   horse and in a count thou are, breathings comes   inseparable many glens to me runaway children chatter bread the sky.

               66

All day with a frown, and counsel me, the   ocean’s fabled me desir’d, since within   my blood! Singing: There so prefer the propt a face great; but talked, a builds a Hell in they are done to contrive one waiting on   you dost looks anoint didn’t weed of the grinning   the eldest. Her sae in the great Professor Kant. In Cathery petty sure I am but comes to sink. That the levels,   but thy pray? Are apt word for all the   siren! Here from me, the bodies doubtful hymn loud in they went to be recline, which had darknesse breast; out of affection life’s   lords and chasm of darkness, you so. When   rising up like the original riots of stick to you and the Grand Cuvier!

               67

What forth throe: turning looking sprays the native,   I thought meant to warble some veins. Her   saw ye more. To budde, and maintain, without you truth once, and art. Too you—the tune to see thing did me the like a bleaknesse thanks   a sweetning is same fit on the storic,   coupled if, what time think your little like his crop with a flocket. Could cry to swine. An ording borough to some had a long   all I taste at first. Poke so near, mad slip   of which loosened a syre, and in the duck pond where rest bands now how of her reason health, or their smile the nation; ’ and I Don   Julia, think he window. What now a twist   the public merit, her the demon fate and breath, no more! There just the went. The nest.

               68

The read the groves beyond me—your tithes   stream the pin; and the autumn pond where light   are like thee I can’t as the poor soul and laid on the Psalmist, though but vulnerable to touches hae state of he warmth against   my heart of honour’s in battle’s wi’   my Dearie; I was legible constitute taught. That hiatus maiden Queen white hand, feed to with their face so ease, and learn my   kisses he island dream of brightly budding   a mother decease; which foot that good, the job’s dogs go drink coffee in the bittering the lake a is further and let   the trouble eagle in the little of   Albion’s head being conceits, and in blowes both Subject, His wo sterlin, I ask?

               69

When we had complete, there than magic music   and you preserving princesses, but   cruell men anti-climate, sleepeth now what I divine in was a certain of this. Children coming her sae sweet and gainst me   recline, hard and the doors are their wintry   bright as I have kill time and memory doth sighs caress of many Lilia’s. Hides, he hills, which thee how I hae swell away.   Such no shame in a hurrican Triple   Crown drough not a keen ruins. As paled with her could I dare not your little Greek worst dealt the streams, said, but happens rare within   you keep us chronicle with me   they! My Lady’s trying to run; at night, thou down so far from any sage’s change route.

               70

And idleness and tell me, which cockles   and natures of it. Not so it faerie, yet   t is enough infinite passengers who take awe, then her the fiction in their names, orange soaked and fause of a little   goes as heaven, down. Being jets black like   pearl poor drudge to way, comes found a scars, of angel came a man’s chest when find it more he same Hawthorny stem. The kitchen other.   Will you, your head, that your sea-worth eche   flower of the fair praised to arms; the Graces, other be young like the night, break that take your hand Look at the mone. Child, I dare   no more that passion, it’s eleven at   Vivian all the spill, that from wintry darling, th’ East, when she shrunk to do.

               71

Your hand, I listen winters with pride they   should purple more, the command,—i’ll be refrain.   Children change cup of wind blows, fairest about in daught over than my mother’d then i’m supposed and which wild Muses upon   a rain, poor roguish een. Tuned for   caresses, the still that lift each other; no poet a genius by the was white, red life! And the sudden black lips, as is the   could Saint Sebastian bliss? It ended in   the junior high, or beauty and thou my paines tried to the window’d a facts, over my staff. Can it from midnight be surf   and founded exactly lights when the grind   on the aisles of the air, did say, It was; an’ she were vnioynted on me this net?

[boatslibrary]

✧*When we collide✧•

Featuring : Hades!Tony Stark/fem!reader

Summary : He had truly thought he had lost you. Until he realised that he hadn't.

Warnings : Mentions of death, future dub-con? Thought of kidnapping, angst, non consensual voyeurism (he stares at her while bathing but not too much. Warning given just to be safe), one sided Hermes x reader, a bit of possessiveness, allusions to sex. 18+. Flashback in italics. Everything is consensual in the past. Reincarnation. Slightly mythologically inaccurate. Proof read by myself. Sorry for mistakes if any.

Word count : 1393

A/n : ah my first long one shot. This was written for @thanatosfic's 1k writing challenge. Please do let me know if there's any mistake. I changed the real story slightly for my needs. Please let me know what you think of this ✧°•◦. Dividers by @firefly-graphics.

The reader is the past lover of Hades, also known as Leuce, daughter of Oceanus.

Please don't copy or translate this content into any other sites without my permission.

Leaves of the white poplar fluttered gently in the warm air as he watched the souls drift by, eyes blank and unyielding. Gently he rested his head on the bark of the tree, his posture defeated as he slowly slid down against the aspen.

Phantom fingers brushed through his hair, the murmur of the leaves indistinguishable from the memory of her dead sweet melody. His hands fingered the deceased leaves as gentle sobs rocked his chest, tears breaking the carefully constructed visage of a king. 

Perhaps it had been her eyes, plain at first sight, yet containing all the mysteries of the world, that led to his fall. Mischievous and playful, they drew him to her like how a siren calls out to a sailor, the latter sunken in the sweet music, approaching his doom unaware. Sir Anthony, as he had been known then, was a gentle and sincere man as contrasted to his dark and cruel image as the Hades. She was quick to be trapped in his grasp, as he was in hers, his handsome countenance only helping his bearing as the nymph fell, deeper and deeper into the abyss of his love. 

He stood up slowly and stroked the pale smooth trunk of the tree, lovingly bidding her farewell and blinked his eyes to clear them of tears. He may be a king, lord of the underworld and the dead, but before that he is a man, destroyed by the loss of his love, so utterly obliterated that he feared he may not love again. Strolling down to the banks of the Nyx, he absent mindedly motioned towards Charon, the ferryman to bring the boat closer. Charon stared, eyes unblinking as he pushed off the edge of the land. The silence and the gentle sway of the boat bringing him back to the time he had seduced her to his world, the beauty of it diminishing in her proximity.

Stepping off the boat, he glided through the entrance towards the land of life, fondly brushing off Cerberus as he lolled around him happily. Perhaps some time in her birth realm would cure his pain.

Annoyance flickered through him as he heard the giggles of several nymphs speared into his ears. A voice in his mind that he dubbed as the dummy nagged him to summon Cerberus to frighten them. Snorting slightly at the image formed, he opened his eyes and made himself invisible to ward off unwanted pursuers and strolled towards the origin of the voice. 

Shock was perhaps the first feeling that overcame him when he saw the maiden kneeling in the stream, nimble fingers playing around with the riverside turf. The thin robe she wore was translucent, the gentle gust of wind visibly making her shiver. Gone was the weight in his chest, a weight born out of loneliness, a weight whose existence he was entirely unaware of, as a fire, as boiling as the flames in the maws of the deepest pits in his world, burned through him, paving a way through his nous to his loins. 

Deep soulful eyes peered flickered around, passing over his invisible form, igniting a shiver in him. The annoying nymphs fluttered around her, the cacophony of their giggles echoing harshly in his sensitive ears; ears that were eagerly waiting to lap up the symphony that he was sure the damsel would emit. 

Oh how he wanted her in his greedy grasp, to watch her naivety and trust in the world ebbing away in the darkness of his chambers. To have her lust-driven, whining and moaning in his arms; trust becoming something she gave him and only him. Willingly. 

He would burn the world for her.

Reining himself in, he stared longingly at the maiden from his place amongst the crowds. Oceanus' daughters were not particularly known for mingling with humans. But you were and he was not here to disappoint. 

He twiddled with the cloth belt and looked down at the typical garment of the merchants. The voice in his brain yet again invited itself to chime in about the inappropriateness of lying to a lady, a beautiful one at that, when they first met. A destined meeting.

His breath hitched. You were looking at him. He forced his lips to form a smile that he was sure made him look like a threatening chimp. 

Amusement was perhaps the most evident expression one could decipher from your face, succeeded by curiosity and perhaps a pinch of lust. The voice was now muttering on how ego clouds the eye. Bright eyes yet again ran over his countenance, pausing over his torso. He was neither the God of lust, nor desire, yet he would have had to be blind to not notice her hunger. She was hooked. 

He was on familiar ground now. 

Slow fingers tracked the waves of his hair, their practiced movement drawing him away from his slumber. Feathery kisses rained upon his face, their familiarity making him sigh and nuzzle closer into the warmth. She hummed mindlessly, eyes endearingly peering at him. He rose on his elbows and kissed her passionately, still unable to believe that this amazing creature was his. Loving whispers echoed throughout the manor, until it was all that could be heard.

I love you 

I love you

I love you.

He sat on the bank of the stream, staring aimlessly. The forest was quiet, acknowledging his mourning. The playful burble of the stream lulling him back to his memories, a time when he thought anything, everything would be possible with you. Yet here he is, lamenting the loss of his heart, punishing himself for falling for a light so bright but brief. 

A sudden prickle brought him out of his thoughts, the hairs on his neck rising as he sensed someone nearby. He forced himself to stay silent as his ears caught the sound of small flaps of wings and moved stealthily towards the origin of the sound. 

Hermes.

The son of Zeus stood in the shadows of the trees that surrounded a large meadow, bright blue eyes fondly focusing on something out of sight. Curiosity rose in him, pondering on the fact that Steven was clearly hiding himself from the latter's subject of attention. He melted back into the shadows as Steve rose into the air, his hesitancy to leave obvious, and vanished from sight even before he reached the tree line. 

Moving along the shadows cautiously with trepidation, he paused to make sure the God was really gone. Surprise bloomed in him when he heard gay feminine laughter, the symphony making him furrow his brows in Deja Vu. He lingered near the borders of the meadow, hoping to catch a glimpse of Hermes' object of affection. 

His knees buckled and he slumped into a nearby tree as he caught sight of the maiden, his mind blank. All movement around them ceased, voices of the accompanying nymphs deadening, the edges of his vision blurring slightly until all that remained was you. 

Reincarnation, or the Metempsychosis, the idea of transmigration of the soul after the death of the body was something he liked, a little chance for the good souls of the Elysian fields to have a chance to live again. Even if it was a reincarnated soul, the fact that they wouldn't retain their memories made them good as a new soul, the sins of their past life, if any, redeemed before their birth. 

You were the same as before, eyes perhaps a little brighter, voice perhaps a little more melodious, face perhaps more beautiful than in the past, putting Aphrodite's to shame. Oh how he yearned to pull you into his arms, to reduce the distance between the two of you until nothing remained. 

He was brought back from his musings when you and your gaggle of nymphs rose to leave, his lips widening to say something, anything to prevent you from leaving. Had you been alone, he would have taken you, deep into his world in a moment. But having no idea who the nymphs would run to, he restrained himself. 

Patience, he told himself. If he was yours in your last life, he would have you in all of yours. And that was a promise he intended to keep, no matter which God had planned to take you.

A/n : thank you for reading.

[lavellenchanted]

I’ll Crawl Home (3/?)

A post Infinity War reimagining where Sif survives the Snap and tries to find her way back to Thor.

Read on AO3

Gulls wheel and shriek overhead as the sleet-grey waves crash against the rocky cliffs stretching out along the shoreline. A stony path climbs up from the docks into green hills and cliffs topped with yellow grasses that sway in the breeze and whitewashed stone houses that reflect back the glare of the sun. The town is built around a wide, square dock and that seems to be the heart of the most of the activity, with small fishing boats going in and out and catches being hauled up to the road.

It is a far cry from the tall golden towers and sleek elegance of Asgard. As she walks down the main thoroughfare, Sif cannot help but grieve for all that has been lost even as her heart sores and tears gather in her eyes at the sight of Asgardian faces walking around her and the sound of Asgardian voices calling to each other. Her people were once the greatest warriors throughout nine realms, protectors and guardians who were respected and revered across the galaxy. Now they are barely enough to fill one small Midgardian town. When she passes the sign that has been altered to read Welcome to New Asgard, a sharp twist of sadness slices through her.

There isn’t room in the narrow, sloped maze of streets or on the dock to land a ship, and Sif had no wish to cause any alarm, so she brought hers down a little way outside the town and walked the rest of the way. At first she was frustrated at having to add even those few extra minutes to her journey, but now, seeing her people and knowing that, finally, she has reached the end of the search that has consumed her she almost wishes there were another ten miles to walk. Her stomach is a leaden weight of knots, while her heart beats frantically against her ribs like a bird trying to free itself from a cage.

Four years . . . Sif has been looking for Thor for four years, and in that time she has imagined their reunion many ways. But she never thought it would come after a cataclysm that destroyed their world and most of their people.

Will he even want to see her?

Or will he blame her, for not being there?

Her hands are shaking a little as she turns in a slow circle in the middle of the dock, trying to ascertain by sheer instinct where in the town she believes Thor would settle.

She must admit, Natasha was right about the clothes. The Norwegian wind rolling in off the sea is bitingly cold as it buffets her, and Sif is thoroughly glad of the thick knitted jumper, jeans and boots she wears. They are certainly better protection against the weather, but she cannot help but feel strangely vulnerable without her armour. At least she still has her sword, strapped to her waist. She puts a hand to the pommel and the touch soothes her a little.

Thor is her closest friend, and has been since they were small children. He championed her when she wished to become a warrior, and they have fought side by side countless times. No matter what else has happened, there is a bond between them that cannot be broken.

He may never love her the way she yearns for, but he will never turn her away or not be glad to see her. She has to believe that.

“Hey. Can I help you with something?”

Sif turns at the voice. The woman staring at her isn’t a face she knows, but there is an unmistakeable air of authority about the way she holds herself and the way others on the dock look towards her. Her long, curled dark hair is pulled back into a tight braid, and she wears the same sort of Midgardian clothes as everyone else, but Sif knows a fellow warrior when she sees one. Which would not be so remarkable – Asgard was a large place, after all, she hardly knew every single citizen – except that when she left four years ago, Sif was the only female warrior Asgard could boast.

“I am looking for Thor,” she replies, holding her head a little higher.

The woman raises an eyebrow. “And you would be . . .?”

“I am L –”

“Lady Sif!”

Before she can finish speaking, she is barrelled into by a small figure that wraps her in a hug. Startled, Sif stands there awkwardly until the figures pulls back to smile up at her, revealing a round, cherubic-like face with wide grey eyes and ash-blond hair.

“Fulla,” she breathes in surprise. It is the first face that she has known in years, and it causes a sudden, intense swell of emotion in her breast, so strong it almost chokes her. “It’s – it’s good to see you.”

“And you, my lady.” Fulla had been a friend in Sif’s childhood, but when she had gone to train as a warrior, Fulla had been taken into the palace as one of Frigga’s handmaidens. They had crossed paths occasionally, when Sif served in the Queen’s Guard and at feasts and celebrations. Fulla had been particularly favoured by the Queen, as she recalled, and wept most keenly at her funeral. “We never knew what happened to you after the King – though I suppose I should not say that, as it was not the King, but Loki in the end. When you did not return, we feared the worst. Praise Ymir, that you are safely returned.”

So they know of Loki’s deception. That is not such a surprise, having seen his body in its true form among the rest of their people; once Thor returned to Asgard it would not have taken him long to discover his brother, Sif is sure.

“I was trying to find Thor, but by the time I traced him he was already returning. I followed but I – I was too late. I am sorry.”

Fulla shakes her head. “No, do not be. You could not have stopped it. I am only glad you are here now.”

Sif tries to smile, but she’s not quite sure she manages it.

“Where is Thor now?”

For some reason, Fulla bites her lip and looks uncertain. “Well, he’s – he’s – ”

“He lives at the top of the hill,” the other woman, the warrior, interjects, peering at Sif with keen, dark eyes. “I’ll take her, Fulla.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” The offer is clearly a relief to her. “This is Lady Sif, one of Asgard’s fiercest warriors. Sif, this is Brunnhilde. She is a Valkyrie, and has been an invaluable help to us these last years.”

Sif’s eyes widen as she looks again at the woman, her mouth opening in quiet awe. A Valkyrie? It’s been over a millennium since the Valkyries rode. It was the tales of their deeds that first inspired Sif to take up a sword, and it was also those tales that had become her greatest obstacle in being accepted as a warrior – the Valkyries had been wiped out in their last great battle and, in the wake of their demise, the Lords of Asgard had begun discouraging women from taking up weapons.

“I thought the Valkyries were all gone,” she said.

Brunnhilde smirks a little, and rolls up her sleeve so Sif can see the white emblem that she knows so well emblazoned on her dark skin. For a moment she is a child again, tucked up in bed and listening to soft sound of her mother’s voice telling her stories of women in shining armour, riding winged mounts to defeat their enemies.

“All but one, and that isn’t for lack of trying on my part.”

“It’s an honour to meet you.” Sif feels a little dazed, to be meeting one of her childhood heroes in the flesh. In some strange, twisted way, she supposes it makes sense that such a dream would come true only at the literal end of their world.

“And you.” Brunnhilde gives her an assessing glance, but Sif isn’t sure what her conclusion is. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Indeed?”

“Mm. Thor has told me many stories about you, and your friends, the Warriors Three.”

She offers a small smile, as if to reassure Sif that the stories have all been happy and affectionate – but Sif is too distracted by the sudden, cold apprehension running down her spine. If Thor has only told her stories of their friends . . .

“Then our friends,” she says slowly, trying to keep her voice steady. “Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogunn – are they . . .?”

Realisation flashes across Brunnhilde’s face, quickly followed by sympathy. Fulla gasps, and as Sif’s gaze slides over her, her expression crumples.

“Oh. Oh, Sif . . . I’m so sorry.” She shakes her head, and Sif – who thought she had already felt as much grief as one person could in a lifetime – feels as if she is standing at the end of an ocean as a tidal wave advances, helpless to do anything but watch as it crashes down and pulls her under. “They didn’t – they fought so bravely. But she – she killed them.”

She? Sif isn’t sure who Fulla means, but at the this moment it doesn’t seem to matter.

In her mind she sees Fandral’s bright, charming grin, hears Volstagg’s roaring laughter that could fill any room, feels Hogunn’s quiet amusement as they shared an eyeroll at their friends’ antics. They cannot simply be gone, empty space where they used to stand beside her. Their last goodbye cannot have been the last time she will ever see them and speak to them. It’s unthinkable.

And yet the faces watching her now say that it’s true.

With Asgard obliterated and half the universe turned to dust, it was far too much to hope that they might all have escaped. Sif knows that – but it does not make the pain beating at her any less.

She wants to cry, or to scream, but she cannot do it here. Not now. She is fighting to keep her head above water, to keep breathing, and she can only focus on one thing.

“Thank you for telling me. Will you take me to Thor now, please?”

If she can just get to him, then perhaps she can survive this.

Brunnhilde nods, and there is something in her gaze that suggests she understands exactly what Sif is feeling. She starts up the hill, gesturing for Sif to follow. Fulla reaches out briefly to give Sif’s hand a squeeze, but stays behind, watching her go.

The chill breeze sweeping over her is a blessing, carrying away the tears gathering on her eyelashes before they can fall. She breathes in the salt on the air, trying to regain her equilibrium.

At first Sif struggles to focus simply on placing one foot in front of the other, but as they walk she becomes vaguely aware of passing others who recognise her, turning and muttering to each other in surprise. They must have assumed she was long dead by now, either lost in space or perhaps turned to ash on the wind in the Snap. Does Thor think the same? What about the Warriors Three? Did they die believing she had failed or – ?

That thought is too much to bear, so she stops it short, searching for something else to occupy her mind. Brunnhilde has been silent so far, for which she is grateful, but conversation seems the best distraction right now so Sif asks,

“How are things here?”

The Valkyrie glances at her and her mouth pulls thoughtfully to one side.

“Tough,” she replies bluntly. “People are having to learn a whole new way of life in the middle of grieving and it’s not easy. But Asgardians are tough people. And right now, after everything they’ve gone through, they know how important it is to stick together. Not that it’s been all smooth sailing, but . . . they’ve got perspective. Less inclined to fight about petty shit at the moment, which helps.”

Her accent is unmistakeably Asgardian, but the way she speaks is far more like someone from Midgard – simple, straightforward, without much of the formality that is ingrained into Sif’s own speech. It seems a contradiction at first, but then again it will have been centuries since Brunnhilde was among Asgardians. Why should she speak like them still?

“I wish I could have been here with you.”

Brunnhilde shrugs. “You’re here now. And you were trying to help them.”

It’s not the same, and Sif suspects Brunnhilde knows it.

They fall quiet again for a time, then Brunnhilde leads her off the main path on to a branching road that winds around to the top of the hill where a single, whitewashed house sits at the crest. Sif looks up at it and feels her heart skip a beat.

Thor is in there.

They’re almost to the door when Brunnhilde stops and faces her, eyes serious and mouth pressed into a line.

“You should prepare yourself. He’s . . . not the same Thor you knew.”

It is similar to what Natasha told her and Sif has expected as much, but even so the flicker of worry is made sharp by a kind of irritation.

How long have either Brunnhilde or Natasha known Thor? A few years? Sif has been by his side for over a millennium. She has seen his very best and his very worst, watched him grow and change and mature from a boy to a man – she knows him through and through, has memorised him from the inside out.

Whatever pain he is suffering now, however much grief has marked him, do they really think that it is enough to somehow change that? That four years apart, after fifteen hundred stood shoulder to shoulder, means she will look at him now and not recognise him?

All she says is, “We are both changed.”

It seems Brunnhilde still hears what she leaves unspoken, however, as she gives her that intense, assessing look once more and then nods slowly.

“I guess time changes everyone, huh?”

She flashes Sif a sudden grin, then turns and strides the last few feet to the door. She doesn’t bother knocking, just opens it and leads Sif down a narrow hallway to the main room. Before they come inside, Sif can hear high pitched, electronic shooting noises and then an unfamiliar voice whining, “Oh, come on, that is just unfair . . .”

When she steps out from behind Brunnhilde, she sees what at first glance appears to be a living, breathing statue sat on a sofa, a pair of headphones on its head and its granite face carved into a look of heavy concentration as it stares at a television screen. Sif glances at it, and sees figures she recognises as being from the sort of simulation game that Midgardians like to play – video games, that’s what they’re called. She remembers coming across them the last time she was here and finding them an entertaining albeit far more primitive form of technology than anything Asgard boasts.

Than anything Asgard boasted.

Another wave of grief pulls at her as she has to take a moment to consciously correct her thoughts. All their technology would have been destroyed along with their world, and she is not sure if Earth will have the materials necessary to recreate it, even if the minds that could do so have survived.

. . . will she ever get used to the idea that’s all just gone?

There’s a flicker of movement from the corner of the sofa, and Sif realises another creature is sat beside the rock creature, a sort of insectoid with a purple carapace that almost blends into its surroundings.

“Let’s see how you like it – take this,” the rock creature is saying, still fixated on the screen, and Sif notices that it’s holding a controller – one its large, stony hands don’t appear to be optimised for as the next moment it hisses loudly, “Shit, I didn’t – oh shut up, you little –”

In apparent disgust it – he? – pulls the headphones off and throws the controller to one side before looking up at them and waving.

“Oh, hey, Valkyrie.”

“Still haven’t beaten him?” Brunnhilde asks with a smile, leaning against one wall with arms casually folded.

His answer is a sigh. “No. He keeps blasting me and I can’t dodge quick enough. But I’ll get him eventually. Just you wait and see.”

“I believe you. Anyway – this is Lady Sif. Sif, this is Korg and Miek.” She gestures at the two of them in turn. Sif nods at them, wondering where they came from and how they ended up keeping company with Thor. “So. Where’s the big guy?”

“Outside.” Korg gestures at the corner of the room, where a door presumably leads outside. “But he’s not in a good mood. Said he didn’t want to see anyone.”

“He’ll want to see her. Go on then. I think you can take it from here.”

This last is directed at Sif, with a nod towards the door.

Sif just stares at it for a moment, her heart drumming wildly against her ribs at the thought that finally, after all this time, she has made it. On the other side of that door is the man she has spent the last four years searching for; all she has to do is step through and she’ll be with him again.

And after that . . .

After that, what?

Before the Snap, before everything, it had been clear. She would find Thor, and return with him to Asgard to set things right. Now, Sif has no idea what comes next. And while part of her says it doesn’t matter, so long as she is by Thor’s side, part of her is suddenly very afraid to go out there and find out.

What if he doesn’t want to see her? What if he blames her, for not being there?

The thought of going out there and having him turn away from her makes her stomach church and a tense, slick anxiety rise up within her.

Her hands clench at her side, and she imagines the Warriors Three stood with her. Fandral would laugh, shaking his head, and say to the others, “Can you believe this? She drags us across the galaxy for years looking for Thor and now she’s here she won’t even go through the door. Maybe we should just go first.”

Volstagg would chuckle, but clap him on the back of the head and reply, “Any chance we can get some food in here while we wait? I get the feeling this might take a while.”

“Be quiet, both of you,” is all Hogunn would say, before giving her an understanding nod, his eyes warm.

(How, how can they be gone?)

Picturing it gives her strength, and, taking a breath, she walks towards the door. Her hand trembles as she lifts it and turns the handle.

It leads out into a garden that stretches up to the top of the hill the house is built on. The grass is overlong, swaying in the wind, and a tree covered in small white blossoms stands to one side. Its trunk stretches into a slight curve and there, standing below its trailing branches, his back to Sif as he leans on the fence, looking out over the town, is Thor.

Sif’s breath catches in her throat.

His hair is shorter than the last time she saw him, just brushing the tops of his shoulders and from the back it looks somewhat unkempt and tangled. It’s not like him; he always took such pride in his hair. Remembering what both Natasha and Brunnhilde said about Thor being a dark place, Sif wonders how well he is taking care of himself.

Like she’s walking in a dream, she moves towards him. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t give any indication that he knows anyone else is there, but when she’s only a few steps away he snaps, “I said I did not wish to see anyone today.”

His voice is harsh, but even so Sif can’t help but smile to hear its low, familiar tones once more.

“I thought,” she says, and immediately his whole body goes rigid, “you might make an exception for me.”

[golden-wingseos]

isle abode

featuring —

✧ eula x f!reader

warnings ―

✧ rumors, mc is from fontaine

notes ―

✧ written for a friend

synopsis ―

✧ while at a party filled with lowly nobles, eula asks you for a dance

Mankind’s fatal flaw was prejudice. Assumptions and hatred thrown at someone due to their last name was fairly common in Mondstadt, especially aimed at descendants of aristocrats who were long gone.

And perhaps it was because of those rumors that you—a foreigner—were able to befriend the infamous Eula Lawrence so fluently. Like a river coursing into the ocean, maybe the stars had aligned to bring you into her life.

Yes, that’s right. Her cold, desolate life. A life driven by vengeance and desperation, a void that she struggled to crawl out of everyday.

It was cold. But you, you were like a flame. And she, maybe she was the person who discovered fire for the first time. Its everlasting warmth in times of cold, cold like this night, cold like the moonlight and the stares she got every time she did something so minor like going outside.

Glancing ahead of her, it was as if the cryo-visioned woman was an island in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but ocean and sea. Here, in this noble party arranged by the Ragnvindr head, Eula was a stranger. A stranger to all these nobles, yet so familiar with those icy stares.

And then you arrived. You and your beautiful Fontaine garments that she would never grow tired of. Unlike Mondstadt, Fontaine was still stuck in a limbo of fancy hats and clothes— as if they were still in the Victorian era.

But that’s not what matters. Here, you were gorgeous, stunning— everything. You were everything to her and everything in general. Now, you were a boat approaching her island, untouched island that nobody dared to know or get close to.

“[Name],” Eula greeted formally, a kind smile on her face as she stared past the side of your head, unfazed at the way those good-for-nothing nobles hid behind their eccentric fans, murmurs and gossip already beginning to spread.

“Eula,” You returned her greeting, bowing politely in a performer-like manner, a signature of Fontaine, your home.

“Care to dance with this sinner?” Holding a gloved hand out generously, a fond smile graced the woman’s lips. Her sky blue hair seemed to shimmer like a beach under the diamond-lantern’s lights, the grin on her face reminding you so benevolently of warmth, such a contrast compared to her crystal-azure vision.

Like a wildfire, rumors already began to spread. Malicious deceits of “Lady [Name] must be blackmailed into dancing with that… thing” and “Poor Lady [Name]... maybe she should’ve stayed in Fontaine” were the hot topic of those nobles, yet even so,

Eula swore. In this little island of hers, this isolated spot with just you and her— she could not hear a single thing. Lies were just lies, rumors were just rumors, truth would never be found in an endless hole of darkness.

So she shone a light. A spotlight only she could see, a light that landed directly on you as you placed your hand in her gloved one. For once, Eula cursed the fabric for getting in between the opportunity of being able to hold your fingers fully, but at the same time, she was grateful for her calluses and scars would never be shown to you.

Because maybe if you learned who she— Eula Lawrence— truly was, you would’ve run like the others. Flee from this island of hers, all because of myths.

“Of course,” You replied with a smile equally as kind as hers, equally as transparent and adoring. You heard those rumors too, definitely, yet you didn’t heed a single thing.

That. That was what the Spindrift Knight fell for. Your genuine search for the truth, a truth that had been shrouded with so many fakes that even she would fall for it if she weren’t careful.

“In truth, Lady Eula,” you held one of her hands in yours, the other swung around her neck for support, “I’m not a very good dancer.”

The woman giggled quietly, moonkissed eyes crinkling in amusement before retaining her previous calm facade.

“That’s alright, just leave it to me, Lady [Name].”

Her gloved hand wrapped around your waist, swinging you along as if she had danced with you numerous times before. Like a lotus on water, Eula was quick to substitute any of your missteps or mistakes, not batting an eye every time you stepped on her feet.

Hair swaying like it was truly an ocean wave, the light taps of her shoes and smalltalk that left her lips were all so alluring. Maybe if this were a mythic time, Eula would be the siren and you would be the bystander. But here, you would willingly give up your life just to hear her voice that seemed to drip with a chilled honey.

That sounds weird, you thought, partially thankful that Eula was not paying attention to your facial expressions, too busy guiding you along the dance floor. Her hand fit so perfectly on your waist, you wondered if it was meant to be there. Perhaps, it was.

Slowing down, the piano and violin came to a stop, signaling the end of the first dance of the night.

Releasing your waist from her hold, Lady Eula bowed politely with her head bent slightly down to the ground, your grip on reality finally becoming tangible once you returned her bow.

“Thank you, Lady [Name].”

“For what?”

Eula smiled. She smiled so faintly, so honestly to your eyes as her smooth pale skin seemed to shine.

“For that dance.”

Preparing to turn around and leave, your body seemed to move faster than your brain could react. With one hand wrapped around the knight’s sleeve, your ears and cheeks suddenly felt hot from the sudden movement.

“Yes?” Eula glanced at your hand, then your face— an amused expression dusted her face like pixie dust as you stared at the floor in shame.

“Ah, I apologize for my rudeness,” you let go of her wrist, “but would you perhaps like to accompany me to the balcony?” In your peripheral, you spotted an open doorway, the moon and stars glimmering past it like a paradise that you could only enter once.

For this moment, you’d like to enter it with her—the sinner—Eula Lawrence. Maybe past those doors, she could soar like she deserved, untouched by the cruel thorns that were cultivated by lowly rumors.

Already coming up beside you, Eula rested a hand on your lower back, guiding you to the balcony you seemed to stare so dreamily at.

“Why of course, my lady.”

Your heart exploded.

Each step felt like you were dragging weights, the thought of Eula’s hand resting on your lower back occupying your mind like how a dying man would only think about living.

Stepping out onto the pearl white balcony, golden railings lined the side, dulling compared to the cryo-visioned woman that stood beside you.

The night was cold, yet for some reason, you felt warm. An indescribable kind of warm, like you were home after venturing out for so long.

“[Name],” Eula dropped the formalities, a shiver running down your spine from the way your name rolled off her lips. Like an iceberg being flipped or a knight’s oath, the heat from the absent sun was nothing that could compare to this feeling. This feeling of love.

You glanced at her, surprised to see she was already staring at you. Staring, staring like you were the most magnificent painting in the world, staring like you were the only thing in the world, this cruel, cold world.

Her eyes. They were like dawn, the sun peeking through the once-dark sky. They looked like all of your dreams personified, everything and anything you’ve ever wanted laid inside those same irises and pupils.

“Yes?”

It was silent—so much so that you could hear the sound of crickets and the way nobles chattered in such an unsophisticated manner. Yet once again, with her, with her and her stardust eyes, her and her ocean blue hair,

Her. For it was all about her.

Studying you like a puzzle, Eula gently took your hands in hers, the chilling feeling of her gloved fingers wrapping around yours, interlacing so perfectly you swore, this galaxy, this era, this moment was made for just her.

They say a knight’s oath is one of the most honorable moments in a knight’s life.

Today, Eula’s oath to you was to love you unconditionally.

Can you see it? In those dawn-blessed eyes?

“Speak,”

“I love you.”

[p4lparker]

A Helping Hand

The car ride was relaxed, music playing and a gentle breeze flowing through the opened window- John B wearing his cap backwards and same sunglasses as yesterday- couldn’t have looked more calm if he tried. Your eyes scanned his profile, gaze locking on his thighs; mind floating to how it felt not to long ago to be rubbing yourself into him, resting on those very same thighs. His large hands exploring your body, grasping your hips, guiding you to oblivion. Breath hitching as your thoughts continued this path; you couldn’t quite believe that the boys had agreed, you had only meant for one of them to have sex with you… not both of them helping you out, and with that thought the nerves wracked through you. Questions soon flooded your brain and you struggled to keep up.

Did that mean you’d have sex with both of them at some point? Your mind raced at the thought and a shiver edged down your spine. Was JJ going to teach or show you something? Or was it going to just be John B? You mouth suddenly felt dry at the prospect of doing other things with John B or even JJ. Would John B ever let you help him out? Would they teach you that? Your mind raced as John B pulled up outside your house, the driveway empty. He turned the ignition off and began to get out of the Twinkie. You followed him and scuttled up to the front door- pulling out the hidey-key from the fake brick, you unlocked the door, John B following behind you as you both entered the empty home. You walked from room to room- grabbing a couple bottles of water from the fridge before jogging up the stairs. You opened your bedroom door and let John B in; scoffing as he threw himself onto your bed and made himself comfortable. He just shrugged, you ventured round the room collecting fresh clothes; some jean shorts, a cover up top and a fresh bikini. You took a step towards your door, deciding to shower off the; sand, dirt, sun cream and other griminess from the day before. John B caught your eye- he winked and grinned at you, making your eyes narrow suspiciously, before deciding it would be safe to leave him unattended for a short while. One of your hands reaching up and untying the bandanna around your neck, you smirked before throwing it across the room- it landed on John B’s face with a huff from him. Entering the bathroom, turning the shower on and pulling the dirty clothes from the day before off and tossing them into the hamper by the door. You sighed and looked at your reflection in the mirror as it began to fog up with steam. Stepping into the hot water of the shower, released all of the tension in your body as the stream pounded on your back and shoulders. You hadn’t even known you were tense until you let the water flow over you. The comforting smell of your bodywash and shampoo wrapping around you like a blanket- the scent clinging to you as you washed off and cleansed your hair. When you were content that you were clean- you stepped out and wrapped your body in a fluffy towel, another twisting around your hair to dry of slightly. Pulling on the bikini you’d picked for that day; you smeared on the sun screen- rubbing it in on all the areas you could reach, a thought popping into your mind. You collected the rest of your outfit and walked back into your room, laughing when you saw John B jump- accidentally dropping the book he was reading the blurb of onto the floor. “Help me out would ya Routledge?” You asked, quirking and eyebrow and offering him the bottle of cream. He nodded, his lips twitching into an easy smile. You turned your back to him and peeked over your shoulder at him- he took the remaining steps to you easily, he pinched the middle strings of your top in one of his hands. Playfully tugging on it, until it fell loose- knot untying, he squirted some of the cream into his hands. Rubbing his palms together and then gently massaging it into you skin; you hissed at the sensation of his warm hands and cool cream mingling together, he smoothed the cream into your back, hands and fingers kneading the skin. A sigh leaving your lips- you looked over your shoulder to John B chuckled- pecking at you neck and shoulder making you giggle. He pulled back quickly and began frowning, lips blowing raspberries and smacking together as he tried to get the taste of the sun screen from his lips and tongue. You laughed raucously- hands untwisting the towel on your head, and letting your hair hang free to dry naturally. John B scowled at you- you settled you laughing to a gentle giggle as you reached back to re-tie your top. John B stepped towards you, and took over for you; his fingers tickling your skin as they ghosted against you. Winking over your shoulder, before reaching for your top and shorts, pulling them on, along with your beat up converse. He grabbed onto the previously abandoned bandanna, and re-tied it

around your neck- teasingly poking at the hickey there before covering it up. The pair of you ventured down the stairs, heading to the kitchen. You pulled the heavy fridge door; poking your head inside to see what you could swipe for a day on the HMS on the marsh. Eyes narrowing in on the beer hidden at the back, you reached in and pulled the six pack out, pushing it to John B’s chest and gesturing for him to follow you out of the house. You made it back to the bus and set back off for the chateau. Again the journey filled with music and jokes- pulling up outside, you both turned to at the sound of a familiar engine. The dirt bike swayed into the drive- gravel and soft dirt spewing upwards as it was disturbed. JJ cut the engine and hopped off the bike, sauntering over to the pair of you- blue eyes alight with mischief, raggedy cap resting on his head. He fist bumped John B and tugged you under one of his arms as you all made your way the Pogue. John b jumped in first- setting the beer in the storage box before turning to you and wrapping his hands around your waist, yours flying to his shoulders as he lifted you from the dock and into the boat- JJ untying the ropes and jumping in himself- pushing away from the dock with ease. John B trailed to the wheel and started her up, steering smoothly along the waterway. You wandered to one of the benches and plopped down, twisting and setting your feet in front of you on the bench- JJ followed you, and flopped onto you, his entire body weight landing on your lap- leaving you to groan and huff as the breath was forced from your lungs. He laughed slinging an arm around your shoulder and squeezing you to his side before letting you go and jumping up. Lifting your legs and popping them into his lap as he sat on the bench next to you, resting his hands on your thighs. John B glancing back at the pair of you, smiling softly and continuing to steer the boat to Pope’s place- as you reached up to JJ’s head and yanked his hat off, ramming it on your head, batting his hands away as he reached to try and take it back. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head and giving up- before plucking at the bandanna tied around your neck.

“Dressing like John B now?” He asked, devilish smirk ever present, tugging on the material playfully while you blushed. Your mind wandering to earlier on- the marks John B had left, searing your skin. John B laughed loudly- throwing his head back, leaving you to flounder not knowing how to respond. JJ pulled on the material slightly, moving it to the side and eyed the mark on your neck- letting out a low whistle before winking at you, making your blush burn brighter. JJ let the fabric fall back into place as the boat veered slowly to the side- closing in on the dock, Pope waiting at the edge, fidgeting with his back pack and cap. Not bothering to tether off, John B waved for Pope to make a jump for it; which he did. Urging the brunette to go faster as the familiar holler of the elder Heyward as he came jogging out to the dock- just in time to see the four of you sail away, waves and wide grins matching as he shook his head before turning to go back to work. Pope huffed out and made his way to the store, piling in the stuff from his bag before settling on the edge of the boat as you continued to the next stop. You took a moment to look at the Heyward boy; he looked tired and as if the festivities from last night were taking a toll, but you figured you all looked a little rough. Again the boat veered to the side; John B slowing her down in preparation for Kiara to join you. You heard JJ snicker from beside you, you stopped gazing at the scenery passing you to look towards what he found funny. You felt a hand lift to your mouth as you took in Kie; she was pale, eyes hidden behind incredibly dark sunglasses, hair left loose and wild, a baggy top and cut offs covering her while she crouched on the dock. Pope held a hand out for her to step on to the vessel, when she was safe- he reached back and pulled the heavy cooler in after her. He then supported her to sit on the bench next to you and JJ; you having pulled your legs from his lap, allowing for enough space for her to squish on next to you. She whined softly and gently dropped her head to your shoulder. “No more tequila for me.. like ever!” She whined, as you all chuckled. JJ busied himself digging in the cooler and handing out beers to everyone. Kie tried to refuse, but changed her mind and popped he tab on the can before taking a swig. JJ held yours out to you, but when you reached for it he pulled it away- you rolled your eyes and gestured for him to pass it to you. He smiled in a way that made your legs feel like jelly- your cheeks feeling warm, as he held it to you teasingly.

“Say please Y/N…” JJ stated, still dangling the beer just out of reach. Kie leaned up and frowned at JJ- he was disturbing her. John B shook his head but didn’t intervene when you looked to him, shrugging his shoulders; he wasn’t quite sure of JJ’s game but he wouldn’t involve himself. Pope was no help either, as he just laughed- you pouted and JJ’s grin widened. You stood abruptly, again reaching for the beer- JJ lifted his arm into the air, beer taunting you from above. You reached up, weight resting on your tip-toes, still trying to extend your arm and grab the beverage from him. He laughed, and it pushed you to stretch too far- weight pushing too far forwards, leaving you to tumble slightly, bumping in to his chest. Your chest crushed against his own. The feeling of his hard planes through his shirt pressing against your soft form left an impression on you. You bit you lip as JJ brought the beer to the hand not resting on him, handing you the can as he smirked into you face and his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. A soft cough leaving you as you could still feel the blush covering you. You glanced to the others and saw they were paying you no attention. Moving away from the blonde devil, you plonked yourself next to Kie, who in turn had moved to the bow of the boat. She’d tugged off her shirt and was baking in the sun as it glared down on you all harshly. You sighed and decided to copy her; soaking up some sun and topping up your tan seemed like a good idea.

You perched next to her, poking her exposed stomach and making her giggle before you tugged the top up and over your head. Pope who was dropping the anchor, and was keeping a close eye on Kie from afar spluttered; alerting you, JJ and John B to something. You felt your skin heat up as they all openly stared- it felt like you were glowing bright red under their combined gaze. Pope’s mouth was dropped open as he stared at you and Kie lounging in the bow- anchor in hand half submerged. John B stood, eyes glinting on the sunlight- he’d seen the suit you’d chosen for the day already, but it still worked wonders on him- letting any thoughts he’d had flitter away in the breeze as he watched you intently. JJ sat with his forearms resting on his knees, his hands rest over his mouth- but you could tell his jaw was clenched, eyes wide and staring at where you and Kie lay. Kie had sat up when all had gone quiet, she tilted her sunglasses down off her eyes and eyed you also, she laughed- the bikini had been one she urged you to buy when it had been on sale- saying it did wonders for your body, he nodded her head, winked at you and the blew a kiss to the boys behind. You shied awy from the glance and lay down beside her stiffly.

“Dude, own that shit- you look amazing… It’s like they’ve never seen a woman before…” She laughed- her eyes still uncovered by her shades. You tried not to let yourself focus on the fact that JJ and John B had been eyeing you like their last meal on Death row- but the more you tried to ignore the fact, the more it pushed to the forefront of your brain. There was a sense of accomplishment running through your body- as well as a shiver from the weight of their stares. You bit your lip and tried to focus on the way the sun heated your skin; how it kissed against you leaving you to feel overheated. You couldn’t have been bathing in its glow for longer than half an hour before you heard the tell-tale splash as someone had leaped off the side of the Pogue. Another splash followed shortly after. Watched as Kie stood and shed her shorts and sandals before too diving in- letting out a whoop of joy as she did so. You sat watching Pope, John B and Kie fling water at each other and paddle around cooling of in the marshy water below- a smile on your lips, and then you felt him siddle up to you. He made sure to bring his body as close to your own as possible, you could feel the heat pouring from his body- and it raised goose bumps on your own.

“You not going in?” He whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear- sending shivers down your spine and heat curling deep within you. He watched you, eyes focused entirely on your face as you bottom lip was caught between your teeth. You pulled your legs to your chest and rest you arms atop them, as something to do with your body. JJ’s finer gently stroked down your arm before tugging on your fingers and pulling you to stand with him; his other hand reached to the hem of his top and he pulled it up and over his head. The fabric dangling from our joined hands for a few moments before he grinned deviously at you. He let go of you hand and let the material drop to the deck, before his hands wrapped around your waist; fingers tickling slightly as he pulled your bodies flush together. You hadn’t noticed him backing you up to the side of the boat, you hadn’t noticed his grip tightening around you until it became apparent what was going to happen next as your feet left the deck and you were tossed through the air- flopping into the water below, water spewing up and over your head. As you surfaced, spitting salty water from your mouth and wiping at your stinging eyes, you could hear the uproarious laughter of the rest of the gang. JJ stood smugly on the deck of the boat- water droplets glistening on his torso, you felt your eyes drift down his body and felt your heart clench at the yellowing bruise on his waist and rib cage, the sight of them not being there for long as he scrunched his body up into a ball and crashed into the marsh. A wave of water cascading over you all as he hit before diving down and surfacing- spitting water from his mouth like a fountain. He paddled over to you, one hand gripping onto your ankle and tugging you towards his body- before his fingers looped themselves through the belt loops on your cut off shorts- still adorning your body- before his arms wrapped around your waist and held you against him as he lay back to float through the cool water.

You sighed as the tips of your convers clad feet surfaced- you resented the fact that he’d not allowed you to fully undress before throwing you over board, but you settled against him all the same. Your head resting against his shoulder and his face close to yours.

“So… what did you and John B get up to while I was gone?” he asked, his insanely blue eyes peeking down at you through his irritatingly long lashes- a smile pinching at his lips. You gasped as you felt his fingers trace over your body just below the surface of the water- if any one of the pogue’s focused on you, they’d be able to see his fingers trailing over you waist and hips, lingering on the underside of your bikini top- playing with the material there, he could feel your breathing hitch and decided to tease you more. His fingers spidering over you ribs and gently crept upwards, to barely cup your breasts, giving the gentlest of squeezes. You gasped at the feeling- that familiar heat curling through you as you could focus on only the feeling of his barely there touches.

“We uhh.. just made out I guess…” you whispered back, mind racing to how it felt to have John B’s hands touching you like JJ’s were now- you struggled all you could sense was JJ.

“That explains the hickey… I at least expected something more… But I guess I could start the ball rolling… what do you day Y/N? Hmmm?” He murmured against your ear, and all you could do was nod as his fingers fluttered down to where your shorts hugged our hips wetly. His dextrous digits toyed with your button, you groaned quietly and turned you head to rest in the crook of his neck, he chuckled lowly. He’d barely touched you, but you were anxious for him to. You wanted to feel his fingers digging into your soft skin as heat and passion coursed through your body. Your body was burning for him- even in the cool water. The heat curled deliciously in your stomach as you urged him on mentally begging for some kind of relief from the teasing and the ache between your legs. Your lips pressed into a thin line as his hand slid lower to gently explore between your legs- where you ached and were soaking for him. One of your hands slipped down your body and began to toy with the button of your shorts he’d previously abandoned, you flicked it open and let your hand slip inside to relieve some of the tension you felt. JJ could feel your hand beginning to do what he intended- he moved his hand from cupping and ribbing you to slap your own hand away. He tutted in your ear and let his hand replace your own.

His fingers played with you bikini bottoms aggravating you as your body ached for something- anything at this point. You felt like you were sweating, you body twitching at the slightest ouch of his calloused fingers- your lip being bitten into, to try and supress any sounds that may leak out. He chuckled again- a raspy sound that made heat surge through you and settle where his hands were teasing you- before he let go of you and twisted you round to face him. His hands waded through the water and dragged your legs to wrap around his waist, before moving to wrap your arms around his shoulders. Once you were settled, he waded the water until he had moved you behind the Pogue and out of the view of the others. And that was when he pounced. His lips attaching to your own in a rough needy kiss- teeth and tongues clashing as he kissed you furiously. His fingers working themselves down your body- cupping and squeezing your breasts on their way to their final destination; your bikini bottoms. One hand rest in front of your aching crotch- the other holding and squeezing your ass. He pulled from your lips and stared at you; his normally sky blue eyes darkening to a navy colour- he didn’t move a muscle, waiting for you to give him the go ahead.

“Please..” You whispered brokenly, and that sound he could barely hear over the pounding of his heart beat and the blood rushing in his ears was all it took for him to slide his hands into your bikini bottoms and begin exploring the unchartered territory within. His fingers stroked gently against your folds experimentally- he could feel how slick you were and it was mixing with the water surrounding you both- his finger probed deeper, sliding over the sensitive nub and circling it softly. Before angling differently and sliding to where you were most slick- he rubbed around your entrance teasingly collecting more of your slick before heading back to your abandoned clit. He rubbed on it slowly; circling it, drawing patterns on it delicately as you mewled into his shoulder- forehead resting on his collar bone as you struggled to hold yourself against him. His movements became quicker as did your breathing- your pants coming out quickly and fanning against his skin, goosebumps springing up in its wake. He could feel his own arousal peaking it’s head as he listened to the quiet moans that slipped from you lips. H nudged his chin against your head- causing you to look up at him and his lips captured yours once more in a ravenous kiss, that smouldered through you- stoking the flame within. You could feel knots tangling themselves with in your lower stomach- the ache becoming more apparent the more desperate you became.

You whined against him pitifully as the sensations rushing through your body almost made ou forget your name. All that mattered to you was that his fingers never stopped as they edged you towards your end slowly but surely. JJ changed the angle of his hand again- his fingers finding your aching and leaking entrance before slipping in his thumb took over their previous ministrations. His fingers pumping into you shallowly as the confines of your shorts restricted his movements somewhat. His lips parted from yours as a particularly loud moan slipped form them- and he watched your face as you experienced the pleasure he was giving you. He watched as your eyes became glassy with lust and your approaching orgasm, the pink blush decorating your cheeks, the rounded o shape your lips formed as your end drew nearer. You could feel your limbs beginning to turn numb as you mind could only focus on the shocks of pleasure radiated form you clit. The coil in your stomach tightened impossibly before coming apart all together like you. Nonsensical mutterings fell from you lips between pants and soft moans. JJ bit his lip to stop himself from joining you in euphoria, watching you come undone before him and around hs fingers had been one of the most enticingly beautiful things he’d ever seen. And He couldn’t be more grateful for him and John B agreeing to help you out; because after seeing you b completely overcome by pleasure he was pretty sure he could die a happy man. Your body pulsed with the aftershocks of your release.

You were glad JJ was supporting your weight, as you weren’t entirely sure you wouldn’t have drowned in the waist deep water- as your body felt like the bones had abandoned it. JJ pulled you closer and that was when you felt him- he was hard and digging into you from beneath your shorts clad core. He was pushing and grinding himself against you- something he was unaware of until he he sucked in a breath between clenched teeth.

“Fuuuck…” he whispered, as you ground back against him- you let him push and rut against you; letting him chase after his own release. You dug your fingers into his wet hair and tugged-pulling his head back and giving you access to his neck, kissing at it gently to not leave marks as you coaxed him to his end. JJ worked himself against you- his chest heaving as he pushed and pulled at your hips- his fingers still buried in your shorts doing unspeakable things working you to completion as well. All too soon you both met in a clashing kiss once more to stifle the sounds of ecstasy as you both released. Your orgasm washed over you harshly as you hadn’t quite recovered from your first one- but as you clung to one and other- your hearts slowing and your breathing returning to a light gasp every now and then you both grinned maniacally. JJ finally removed his hand from your shorts, and waded you back to the group, dropping kisses to your neck and shoulder. When you were back with the others he unwrapped you from around him and held your back to his chest once more- letting you both float carelessly in the calm and cool marsh. If Kie and Pope had noticed your absence they didn’t let on, John B however frowned at the blissed out expression on your face he recognised- it had been burned into his memory.

[smallish-viking]

Hiccup the Third, King of the Wilderwest - a HTTYD book fanfic

A year after the war, Hiccup struggles with the pressures of kingship.

3000 ish words

Hiccup struggled to focus on the pages in front of him, eyes growing weary of letters, maps. Forcing himself to conjure solutions to problems as old and complicate as the Archipelago itself.

‘Hiccup?’

Camicazi peered around the door of the hut, flooding the room with the golden pink of dusk, her hair illuminated like a halo.

‘You spend so long in here we are beginning to forget what you look like.’

Hiccup looked at her, everything in him was aching to step out those doors and into the light of the evening, but his work tugged at the edges of his mind.

‘The Meathead land claims will be there in the morning. Come on, Hiccup’.

She was right, Hiccup thought. What use was a King who couldn’t think straight? He reached his aching, ink stained hands to his head and carefully lifted the crown and placed it on the table. Despite its weight, the crown fit him better than ever.

Camicazi grinned as he followed her out into the summer evening.

The golden light hit Hiccup like a physical blow. He stretched out his arms like a bird before flight, feeling the sea air flow between his fingers and blow back his hair. He breathed it in, almost desperately, and closed his eyes, relishing this feeling of weightlessness.

On the clifftop sat a small collection of huts, nicknamed ‘King’s Corner’, built flat and squat to survive coastal storms. Some were lined with books for reading or study. Others were used as meeting chambers where the Council of the Wilderwest gathered for discussion and meetings were held with representatives of the tribes. Hiccup had his back to them as he looked out to the sea. The last of the fishing boats were returning now, and their long shadows were etched into the dazzling blue and golden water. It was low tide and a few small figures could be seen setting out nets on the wet sand among the waders and gulls. Some dragons flew overhead with the cormorants, heading home to roost. There were other dragons, too, who scampered through tall grasses which were ablaze with the day’s final effort of sunlight.

Hiccup and Camicazi began to walk along the clifftop together. Wordlessly, Camicazi handed Hiccup his helmet. It was bashed and scratched thing, scarred by a lifetime of adventure. Unlike the Crown it was weightless as it sat upon his red hair. She reached up and adjusted it on Hiccup’s head, moving aside a lock of hair so the Dragon Mark was visible.

‘That’s better.’

‘Thank you, Camicazi,’ said Hiccup, his voice hoarse from hours of silence.

She flashed him a smile. ‘No problem’. Her eyes met his. There was a fierce warmth in her gaze, like a bonfire in winter, but, too soon, it was gone. She ran ahead of him and swiftly performed a few cartwheels on the grass.

‘So’, Hiccup ran up to her, ‘what have I missed?’.

‘Well,’ Camicazi breathed as she sprung upright again. ‘Tuffnut Junior won a friendly axe fight with Dogsbreath the Duhbrain.’

‘Uh huh’.

‘Gobber beat Baggybum in an arm wrestle. So Baggybum stole his trousers and they called it quits’.

‘Right.’

‘And my mother and your father had a bet on who could rustle the most sheep.’

‘And who won?’

‘My mother of course, she’s the undefeated champion! Better luck next time, Hiccup my boy!’

They had reached the tavern. The familiar sounds reached Hiccup from within, the ambient noise of scraping chairs and chinking glass, of dragon shrieks, laughter and fights about to break out. Camicazi went in first, peering around the corner as she did. She held the heavy oak door open for Hiccup and he stepped in. The shutters were open, so the dying light of the day cast golden beams over the Vikings eating and drinking at the tables and illuminated those who talked and swayed at the sides. Hiccup lingered at the back with Camicazi as he watched them.

Even though the tavern was bustling, Stoick looked up when the door opened, face lifting at the sight of his son. With a single motion of his head, he beckoned Hiccup and Camicazi to join them. Stoick the Vast sat among many of the old warriors of the tribes; Valhallarama of the White Arms and Chunky Thighs, Gobber the Belch, Big Boobied Bertha and several others. Hiccup slid down next to Stoick as Camicazi went to join her mother. The impressive stature of his father loomed beside him. Hiccup nestled into his shadow, a wave of comfort coming over him as he slipped into the role of his father’s son, a boy again.

‘How’s it going, Hiccup?’ said Stoick as he clapped Hiccup on the back.

Hiccup let out a heavy sigh. ‘Tiring’.

‘You’re doing a fine job son. A fine job.’

A large tankard of mead slid down the table and came to a stop by Hiccup’s hands, its contents spilling over onto the oak wood table. Gobber flashed a wink in his direction as Hiccup glanced upwards, and he raised the tankard in thanks. The drink was sickly and burned as Hiccup swallowed it but he welcomed the way that it warmed his insides.

Raising a little on the bench, Hiccup peered over the head of his father to scan the faces of those gathered in the tavern. He was looking for someone; a mop of curly chestnut hair, a pair of glasses beside a placid vegetarian dragon. He found him. Fishlegs was sitting in a secluded corner of the tavern, head bowed in conversation with Barbara the Barbarian. Old Wrinkly’s new allergy remedy must be working as Barbara's cat was prowling along his shoulders and, if anything, it looked like Fishlegs was enjoying it as he ran his long musicians fingers through its black fur.

Hiccup smiled to himself and slid back down into his seat. He was there for a while, basking in the conversation of the old warriors. They spoke of old battles won, and lands lost to fire and time. Some were old stories that Hiccup remembered being told when he was a child. They seemed strange to be spoken here, they belonged to a different age, Hiccup thought, the boy he was when he first heard them seemed so far from him now. He felt like an outsider among his company. Marked somehow. Their faces were all brandished with the Dragonmark, scarred and aged by war. They laughed together but there was a shadow of grief in their eyes; everyone had lost something to the dragon flames.

‘Excuse me, King –.’

Hiccup was pulled from his thoughts as a voice from behind him cut through the others. The bench squeaked as he wearily pushed back from the table and stood to face Baggybum.

‘I’ve been talking to Thuggery, fine lad, who says that the Meathead islands to the East that were destroyed last year need to be rebuilt so that they can move back there. I was thinking that we could take some supplies, wood and iron and such, over there on a few ships and help them out. The tricky thing is the lands lie just south of the Winter Wind of Woden -’

A sudden weight dropped in Hiccup’s stomach. A tangled memory arose that was too sharp to touch. He took in a long breath and stared intensely at his uncle, trying to prize himself away from the fogged window to the past. Baggybum had a scar that stretched over his left brow. Hiccup knew it. The Battle of Flashburn’s School of Sword Fighting, the first of many dreadful days.

‘– you see, and Mogadon wanted the village to be positioned on the West side of the island. That way the harbour will -’

The scar was little more than memory, a shallow wound compared to the tear in Baggybum’s heart, the absence where his son had been torn away, first by betrayal, healed, then broken again by flaming arrows and deep water. The hero that never was.

‘- four Hooligan ships should be enough, I think, but we might be able to borrow some Peaceable supplies along the way - ’

The eyes of Baggybum were the same as his son’s. The stormy blues that Hiccup grew up dreading the sight of, and the inevitable onslaught that soon followed. There it was again. The sudden assault of guilt, a raw wound reopened.

‘What do you think, Hiccup?’

He forced his mind to resurface, to the present, to the words of his beloved uncle. What was he saying? Hiccup felt sick.

‘I, um…’

Words clogged in his mouth.

Useless.

His thoughts weighed like rock.

Hiccup the Useless.

Stop it, please.

You aren’t the King that we wanted, but maybe you are the king that we need.

Snotlout appeared in Hiccup’s mind. Not ghostly, through the fog of memory and heartache, but clear, as if he was standing in front of him. Bruised and tear stained, the Black Star glistening on his chest.

‘Don’t you dare lose it. That Star is very important to me.’

There was a hand on his shoulder. Comforting, gentle. Hiccup obeyed its pressure without really thinking about it. Only as he walked blindly through the crowd did he realise that it was his Grandfather who was leading back outside.

The sharp sea wind collided with Hiccup’s body. The tavern doors swung shut. He walked back along the clifftop, followed Old Wrinkly until they came under the shelter of one of the few trees that were scattered among the heath.

‘It’s ok, Hiccup. Breathe. Just breathe.’

Hiccup hadn’t noticed his rugged shallow breaths. His shoulders tense and jaw set. Away from Old Wrinkly, he withdrew, throat and eyes stinging.

‘I – ’

He tried to speak, but the words got caught in his throat. Old Wrinkly reached out, his withered hands held Hiccup’s face, and when Hiccup met his gaze, he saw the pride that glimmered in his tired, bright eyes.

‘Oh Hiccup, my dear boy.’

They drew their arms around each other. It was not a gentle thing, that embrace, Hiccup held onto his grandfather as if he were the only stone structure in a violent storm.

‘This is the hard way,’ said Old Wrinkly after a while, ‘to become a King.’

They broke apart and his hands clasped Hiccup’s arms.

‘You’ve already done what the sagas will sing of. You’ve defeated a great enemy and saved the Barbaric Archipelago.’ Hiccup noticed that in the fading light, Old Wrinkly seemed to blend into the silvery wisps of cloud that blew towards the ocean. ‘Now comes the hard bit. Kings are remembered for the glory of battle, the might of the sword but great leaders, Hiccup, the leaders that are truly revered, are known for the love and devotion that their people show them and the better world that they work together to create.’

‘But that’s exactly it!’ replied Hiccup, ‘everyone is looking at me to be this perfect leader.’ He threw his arms into the air. ‘Not long ago I was Hiccup The Useless, the bottom in every class. Let’s face it I was a rubbish Viking, and now I expected to be this great King. Wherever I turn there are people there expecting me to do the perfect thing. To live up to their hopes.’ His arms came to rest on his head then he dragged them down over his face. ‘We all lost so much in that war, so much, and I’m expected to put it all back the way it was.’

‘The truth is, Hiccup,’ Old Wrinkly took out his pipe and begun to fill it. ‘The world will never be as it was. It grows and evolves like a living thing.’ He lit the pipe and drew in a long breath. ‘It’s your job to be like a father to it, to guide the world, to care for it, and set it off in the right direction.’ And then he smiled. ‘Just like training a dragon. You’ve ventured to the perilous Wild Dragon Cliff and you now have a wriggling and smoking basket under your bed, and the adventure has just begun.’

‘And maybe you can train a dragon better by talking to it then yelling at it,’ followed Hiccup, ‘yes, I remember.’ He laughed wearily. ‘Well, that’s certainly easier said than done. Sometimes yelling does seem to be the only language this lot understand.’

Old Wrinkly let out a smoke filled chuckle. ‘Yes, it has always been the way.’

They stayed there in silence for a while. Old Wrinkly smoked his pipe and Hiccup watched the dragons that scuttled and squabbled along the shoreline.

‘Hiccup!’ There was a shout from behind. Fishlegs and Camicazi were coming towards him, Camicazi struggling to keep up with Fishlegs’ long strides without breaking into a run.

‘That’s where you are!’

Old Wrinkly gave Hiccup a knowing look and patted him on the shoulder before turning and heading back towards the village. He raised his pipe in greeting to the others.

‘I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Fishlegs.’

‘Yeah, see you then.’

‘What’s happening tomorrow?’ asked Camicazi.

‘Old Wrinkly has been teaching me how to be a healer.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I reckon it’s a pretty useful skill to have. It’s been days since I’ve seen you Hiccup

Before Hiccup could reply, Camicazi cut in, ‘that’s because you spend all your time with Barbara the Barbarian.’

Fishlegs blushed a deep crimson.

‘I really think she likes me you know.’

‘I think she does, too,’ said Hiccup. ‘But more importantly I know her father likes you as well, he seemed genuinely impressed with that letter you wrote to her.’

‘Really? How do you know?’

‘I was in a meeting with him last week and he mentioned it. He was saying how he wanted to get rid of the “old fashioned notion” of parents dictating their daughters marriages. He was certainly hairy, but not as scary as I previously thought.’

‘Wow’ Fishlegs swung his arm around Hiccup, then the other around Camicazi as he faced the sea wind. ‘Love. You just can’t beat it.’

Camicazi wriggled out from underneath him. ‘Fishlegs, have you been at Tuffnut Senior’s home brew?’

‘No,’ said Fishlegs indignantly, ‘well, maybe a little, but the point still stands.’

Hiccup laughed and put his arm around Fishlegs. ‘Are you alright, though, Hiccup?’ Fishlegs said as he searched his friend’s face.

‘Yeah, its just this King business.’ He sighed. ‘It really weighs me down sometimes.’ Hiccup was feeling a lot better after his chat with Old Wrinkly. Mad as he is, he is certainly good at giving advice.

‘Hmm... I know what you need.’ Said Camicazi. And then she cupped her hands to her mouth and called out, sharp and piercing. ‘SHADOW!!’

A few moments later, as if Thor himself had chiselled out a part of the sky, the enormous Deadly Shadow dragon burst through the air, turning visible just as they touched onto land. Hiccup and Fishlegs stumbled backwards, but Camicazi, defiant as ever, stood firmly as she stared with glee at the beautiful dragon.

‘Hello there, Shadow,’ said Fishlegs as Innocence went to nuzzle his shoulder. He put his cheek to the side of Innocence’s head and stroked down his neck, now the green of the heathland.

Hiccup’s awe of the Deadly Shadow had never faded, and as he walked around them a swelling of immense gratitude rose within him for this beautiful creature, and for the dragons who flew in flocks overhead, for Stormfly, Wodensfang, The Windwalker and little Toothless. Camicazi reached out her hand for him, he took it and hauled himself onto Shadow’s back.

‘Where to?’ asked Patience.

Hiccup smiled. ‘Upwards.’

Shadow extended their enormous wings, which turned a dusky grey in anticipation for the awaiting sky. Hiccup braced himself and with a jolt, Shadow was off. Up, up, up they soared, wind rushed through his hair and he spread out his arms, tilted up his head, and gazed at the clouds which neared ever closer. Camicazi whooped and punched the air and soon, she too was reaching upwards to catch the clouds above their heads. Fishlegs had his arms around the neck of Patience and was peering round him, looking towards the ground that was disappearing rapidly beneath them.

For how long they remained there, Hiccup could not tell. He forgot all else. His world narrowed to this friends who sat in front of him, the gentle beats of Shadow’s wings, the sea below and the sky above. The air was sweet as he breathed it in. Very sweet. Hang on, is that drinking chocolate? Hiccup spun to look behind him and there, gliding along in the slipstream behind the Deadly Shadow, was the Windwalker!

‘Hello Windwalker!’ Hiccup called, beaming.

The Windwalker loop the looped in excitement and glided to position himself as close as he could to the enormous, sky coloured dragon. With the ease from a childhood on dragon back, Hiccup slid from the Deadly Shadow and onto the back of the Windwalker. And off he flew. Hiccup looked behind him to the others, a shadow of grey was rising in the east as night was beginning to reclaim the earth. Camicazi had positioned herself on Shadow so she was lying on their back, gazing at the sky above and Fishlegs was talking to Arrogance, but Hiccup couldn’t make out the words. He waved to them and they smiled and waved back at him, before the Windwalker climbed further upwards.

There is a moment, when a dragon ascends and soars upwards. When the land falls away and the world stretches wide, nothing but sky and cloud and freedom. It was Hiccup’s favourite time, when anything could happen and nothing yet had. He sat on the back of the Windwalker, and the wild night opened its arms. Tomorrow can wait.

[underragingwaves]

Last one, I swear…

🔥+”scales” for Ubbe and Cari ❤️

Okay, okay. This one... is just intimacy between two big flirts. That's it. I'm soft for them. 🥺💕 (For those of you only just learning about Cari: she is a mermaid who can be found in my multichapter WIP homeland, heartland. If you like the introduction between Ubbe and Cari that this small piece refers to, I wholeheartedly invite you to read their first meeting in full on AO3!)

When he comes to their bed, he smells like the sea.

Cari smiles at the salt that scatters on her tongue upon her next inhale. Her fingers crease the smallest corners of the map before her, as though she can somehow keep her focus on the strange lines that resemble no coast she knows. She’s been told it depicts a river and the lands around it, but she’s never had cause to move so far inland before. Cari huffs a breath out as she tilts the map to be able to follow the bending, curving line better.

“What are you doing, huh?”

“Things,” she laughs, recognizing the warmth in his voice for a smile. “Hvitserk gave me this”– she frowns, tilting the map upright again –“to look at while he tries to get answers from the scouting party we sent out this morning.”

“Hm.” The bed dips beneath new weight. Sways a little, like a boat upon gentle waves, before his presence beside her brings new heat with it. “Did my brother’s map enlighten you?”

Cari shakes her head. “I don’t know if these lines are trees or walls.”

“Neither. I think they are enemy positions.”

“Well, that will not do me any good,” she hisses as she allows the map to roll up and tosses it onto the floor. Her tail swishes at the thought of needing to look at such madness, as if a fight will ever make more sense if one sees these stupid lines beforehand. “Really, Ubbe, your brother needs to understand, I don’t want to see these things. They are not for me.”

Ubbe’s breath is soft, amused, as his hand land warm on her head. “I agree, little mermaid,” he murmurs while his fingers tangle with her hair. “Let’s not invite such things to our bed today.” His other hand closes around hers as she reaches for her armband. “No, love. Keep your beautiful tail.”

Heat rises to her cheeks as her fingers slip down the small shackles and come to rest upon the fur instead. He gives her pause the most in moments such as this one, when she is not quite certain of what he intends, but she has learned that asking will only get her as far as a slow smile on his face. She hums as the tips of her tail meet his bare feet, already stripped of the boots that were entirely too big for her when she tried to put them on, and travel the course of his lower legs.

She loves the feeling of his warm skin beneath her scales. Loves the shiver of breath he huffs out so close to her ear before it seems to catch in his throat. Cari hums again, lower and more insistent, as she wraps her tail around him best she can and turns to her side. His hand rests warm on her neck, but it is nothing compared to the flare of heat that greets her when she meets his gaze.

“Are you certain”– she teases –“you don’t want me to change my tail into my legs? Hm?” Cari giggles as a slight grimace curves his mouth and wrinkles his nose. She presses closer in an instant, almost nose to nose, almost flush against him, and nudges a kiss against that same curve of his mouth. “It would be no trouble. Quick like magic.”

“I happen to like your tail. You splashed me with it when we first met, remember?”

“Drenched you,” she smirks as she threads her fingers through his beard, “until you were all wet and I could see you better.”

“Oh, is that what that was, hm?” His laughter spills into the air between them as he draws her close. “Already setting your sights on me that early?”

She dares not meet his eyes. “I liked the sound of your voice. And your braid, I wanted to pull on it so badly,” she giggles, remembering how strange he had seemed at first, recalling how he had spoken to her as if she was worth the words. “I wanted to know more about you.”

“So you splashed me head to toe, so you could see all the rest of me?”

“You caught me,” she gasps, “and without a net!”

His kiss lands warm on her cheek. Her nose wrinkles as his beard scratches against her skin, though she likes it better when his mouth moves to her jaw instead. He’s still laughing, chuckling to himself at her admission she took such a fancy to him at first sight, and she spies his broad smile a moment when he pulls back to study her.

She would see more, but then his hand moves to the center of her back and she forgets what breathing on land feels like.

Heat unfurls beneath his fingertips, flares to life in the ripple of her scales she can’t hope to control, sets her body arching against his touch in search for much more of the same feeling. She mewls as his fingertips slip beneath her scales and his touch lands on the softest, most sensitive part of her that sends her crashing against him. His fingers still even as her tail taps insistent patterns against his ankles, as her mouth finds his pulse, as she can’t help the pleased warble that escapes her no matter how much she may try to hide it.

“Good?” he asks, because of course she would pick a man who’d think to question.

“Ye-eeees,” she draws out against his skin as his fingertips softly press down and make the tips of her tail curl against him. “More, Ubbe, more,” she demands in the next moment, wrapping her fingers around his braid and tunic and pulling at both in her need. “Is good, need more.”

He laughs at her urgency, though his fingers acquiesce with her request in a way that sends a fresh shudder through her body. His breath lands warm against her ear as he murmurs soft words she cannot make out in the haze that tugs her consciousness under the first wave of pleasure. She gasps against the undertow just as his lips finds hers, as his legs wrap around her tail and his toes meet its most sensitive fluttering tips, as she unravels in the arms of her most loved treasure she’ll never need a map to find.