#flat salt track

[boanerges20]

Built For Speed

[itzayahuatlmermaid]

My second post about spending some time with the bayside wetlands 💙

1 ~ A little channel of water lined with Black Mangroves. I've been learning more about them lately. These trees are extremely important for the ecosystem, as they provide shelter and hunting grounds for many wildlife species. Black Mangroves also trap carbon dioxide in their roots, and stabilize the shoreline by preventing erosion, protecting the state of the ecosystem

2 ~ wild Goldenrod! Goldenrod is a medicinal plant with many properties. Though so far I've only used it in teas intended for respiratory health and allergy relief

3 ~ a section of some smaller and more shrub-like Black. Mangroves

4 ~ storm clouds rolling in as I rested on the beach. I left as soon as it began to drizzle. I found a good few beautiful and fully intact giant Atlantic cockle shells. I find these by walking about knee deep in the water, and looking next to crab and sand flea holes in the sand for the shells discarded after they've eaten their mollusk meal

5 ~ some species of lichen that I saw all over sections of the bayside boardwalk. If anyone could identify it, I'd appreciate it!

6 ~ A colorful bird (I don't know this species' name yet : ( using the shelter that Black Mangroves provide fish as his hunting ground

7 ~ The tallest I've seen Black Mangroves grow! These were easily 15+ feet tall!

8 ~ gator tracks? I'm not sure as I'm unfamiliar with identifying tracks, but I'd love to learn! There were also flattened beds of grass nearby, which also made me think these may be gator tracks

9~ a wide area of Black Mangroves! These beautiful trees can go on for miles when given the opportunity ✨️

[alnilaem]

a more fleshed-out version from the third prompt of this post of mine.

cw for emotional manipulation, breaking in, stalking, smut, babytrapping, and dubcon to be safe

simon riley/reader

-

Something is wrong. 

Your suitcase is halfway past the threshold of your front door, halfway past your new grave, when you notice the hum of salt and tobacco in the air. Discomfort licks your insides and binds to your skin so heavily that you begin to sweat. A tinny sound peals out as you rearrange your keys between your knuckles, clenching it, and step inside your flat. 

Your heels are at the foot of your shoe rack. Your coat isn’t where it’s supposed to be, crimped in a pool on the floor. Your framed photographs are all inched to the left—you know this because you committed their placement to your memory—because you feared this would happen.

Something is seriously, gravely wrong. 

You feel like you’re lost at sea. Dull-headed and impaired under the alluring melody of a blood-thirsty siren. Walking towards their call, your legs moving before your mind can, spit in the presentiment of fear the same way insects get caught in spiderwebs. Stuck, and about to be eaten.  

You trek further into your flat, following the telltale signs that someone has been here—is here. A general shift in air. The stench of stale herbs and metal. A trail of silt on your hardwood floors, that of which could only be caused by certain mud-clogged boots tracking into your flat.

Here, you pause. On the threshold of your kitchen. Your stomach turns inside out and if it weren’t for your ribs, your heart would have burst out of your chest. 

It’s like you’re walking on glass. Every thin sliver that pokes your skin, invading you, is a splinter of fear. And it also makes it so that you can’t walk away—you’re frozen in place, watching him above your stove, setting a kettle to boil. 

He hears your squeak. Simon turns around, cotton-plated in his civvies, and hums. 

“Welcome home, Love.” 

The moisture leaves your mouth and rushes to your eyes. A film of dew materialises on top of your waterline. It’s thick and pearlescent and clouds your vision, turns Simon into an incorporeal blob in your vision, turning him into a trick of your eyes that you hope will go away after you blink.

He doesn’t.

Instead, Simon rests himself against your kitchen counter. He crosses his tattooed arms over his chest, tilting his head, and bends his lips into an unseemly smile.

“How was your friend’s place?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Simon?” You try getting your anger across, but your voice betrays your emotions. It’s heavily distorted by fear, waning, so much so that it makes him blandly chuckle. Like he can smell the terror roiling off of you. Like he feeds from it.

“How did you get in?”

Simon shrugs. “I’ve got a copy of the key.” 

“I changed the damn locks.”

“I got new ones,” he says.

“We broke up.”

“You broke up with me,” Simon snarls. “When I was at my fuckin’ lowest. You broke up with me and I didn’t agree to tha’ shit.”

“Simon–” a gust of disbelief cuts your sentence short. You grip your hair at its roots, tugging it, twisting it, coiling your face in frustration. “Simon, you need to leave.”

“You’re talkin’ like that ‘cause you’re mad at me. Give it a few minutes, and you won’t be.”

“Are you fucking insane!?” You yell. You draw towards him and slam the kettle off the stove. “You broke into my flat!”

“I had a key,” Simon says. He steps towards you, bullying you backwards until the hind of your spine catches on the cold granite of your countertop. Until your back bends over it, Simon, looming over you. “I’ve always told you to use the deadbolt.”

You bite your lip. The blood sticking to the roof of your mouth isn’t as bitter as Simon’s eyes. His are cold, depthless. 

“Fuck off.”

Then, Simon flips. His expression shifts in a whirlwind of seconds. Now, his brunette eyebrows are pursed and his lips are pointed down. His head is ensconced on your neck, his shoulder suddenly laden with an invisible weight as he kittens into you.

“Just came ‘cause I wanted to talk…” he mumbles. “One a’ my men died on me yesterday. Got early R&R for it. Thought you’d be happy to see me...”

You’re motionless as Simon clemently begins kissing your neck. You split your hands on his chest and try shoving him away, but he doesn’t move. He’s as solid as rock. Pushing himself into you, grovelling into your sleek skin. 

A phantom chain is tightening around your throat. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what you can say. You feel that with any words that poise themselves on your tongue, Simon won’t take kindly to. 

“Simon… I’m sorry for you. I really am,” you slip out from under him and step back. “But this isn’t the way to go about it. We’re adults. And I’m asking you to leave.”

Simon raises his head, lukewarm. He stares at you through his half-lidded eyes, breathing heavily, clenching his fist around the lip of your countertop. Thickly, you swallow. You fidget with your cardigan and hope it will offset the discomfort hanging in the air. Simon takes a deep breath, sucking it all up—the discomfort, the presentiment—and you expect his huffing to precede an explosive reaction, but it doesn’t come. He just slips himself off the island and turns around, quiet when he speaks.

“Yeah,” he hums. “My old man didn’t want anythin’ to do with me, so why should you?” 

Your eyes widen. Though you’ve spent so much time trying to bury it, trying to familiarise yourself with Simon’s sick gambits, a pang of guilt hits you hard.

“Don’t say things like that,” you point an accusing finger to his chest, “it isn’t fair.” 

“No, no,” he grumbles. “Makes sense, does’n’it? My old man walked out on me, so I should handle you walking out on me, too.”

Simon shudders with a long breath. He slaps his face into his hands, and it’s at this point, does your knee-jerk impulse to comfort him take hold of you. The last of your even-tempered brain screams at you—he’s trying to ply you with a humanised side of him, but that side died a long time ago—but you press forward and awkwardly bring him into your arms, patting him on the back. 

“Simon, I’m… sorry, okay?” He buries his head in your neck, nips at your skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Can’t you jus’ yell at me tomorrow?” He asks. Simon slips his hands into the depression of your waist, pulling you against his chest. Against the ever-rising tent of his jeans. 

Your mind protests, but Simon keeps you close. He stinks of sweat, impairing you with it, spinning you around and pushing you against the counter. 

“Simon–”

“Shhh,” he hums, catching his fingers on the hem of your leggings. “Y’said we can talk later. ’m tired, Love. Just need you right now.” 

Any protests rot on your tongue because the wind is knocked out of you as you’re folded over the counter. Simon’s hands travel, gripping every part of you, rekindling old bruises left behind and making space for new ones. 

He ruts into you, cock fattening in his boxers and stressing against his jeans. He slides a hand over the divots of your spine and bends it around your neck, hoisting your head back, huffing into your ear. 

“You’ve no idea how much I missed y’Love,” Simon’s humping you now. Rutting himself against your ass with unrestrained vigour. He bites the husk of your ear, flattens you against the counter, and sinks a hand below your waistband. He spreads your pussy open like the shell of a fruit, pushing his thick fingers into its flesh, knuckle-deep and kneading you. 

“How’s here?” He grumbles. You whine, and he twists himself deeper. “What about there?” 

Your mind and body wrestle between pushing him away and yielding under his touch. Simon fucks his fingers a little deeper, a little meaner, into you, and chuckles when you squeal. 

He rests his chin on your shoulder, and you see a sliver of bared teeth as his lips hitch up into a gnarled smile. “Ah, so that’s the spot, innit?”

You’re dew-skinned and fuzzy when Simon throws you over his shoulder, carrying you to your bedroom. Your tongue is heavy and numb and bootless against any objections as he throws you on the mattress, standing balefully at the foot of the bed. 

If you were a child, you’d hide under your sheets until he disappeared. But you’re not a child, and Simon doesn’t disappear. He sinks his knees into your bed and swipes his shirt off over his head, unbuckling his belt in one slick motion. 

He unzips his jeans and doesn’t even pull his balls out, just cups the gauze of his boxers beneath it and leans onto his hands.

A pearlescent bead of precum slips down the slit of Simon’s dick and drools onto your comforter. He wraps his hand around it, slips his palm up and down, tugging down your pants.

Your legs kick into a paltry complaint, but Simon pins your legs down. 

“No reason in fighting,” he says, rubbing his cockhead against your clit, “You’re so wet, Love.”

Simon nudges your panties to the side and thumbs your clit. Leans in for a biting kiss and swallows your moans, slapping his fat cock against your puffy, wet cunt. 

“Missed me just as bad, eh?” He huffs, setting his dick against your winking hole, pushing past your first ring of muscle and rolling at the sticky sound of your cunt spreading open.

“Simon–” you hic, latching onto his forearms. Trying to offset his bruising grip on your hips as he falls into a steady, deep rhythm. “At least wear a condom.”

He’s so thick, so heavy between your legs. Hoisting you onto his thighs and leaning over you, snapping his cock into you. He screws his face tight, pellets of sweat running down his marred collarbone. Congealing into the spindly, blonde threads of hair on his chest. Down to the wire of steel wool that thickens on his pelvis, pinching your clit each time he slams into you.

“You’re stayin’ with me, Pup,” he pants, kissing a stripe up your neck, suckling on your pebbled nipple. “Gonna gimme a litter, ain’t you? Just like we talked about?”

A little, lone tear slips down your hot cheek. Simon leans in and licks it off. He stuffs himself to the hilt, shuddering with abrupt pleasure as he skips to his feet and folds you in half, pounding into you, biting down on your shoulder.

It hits you like whiplash when Simon pushes himself so deep that you feel him swelling under your skin. He gives you no warning before emptying his balls inside you, flooding you with a white-hot come, clutching your jaw into a wet, messy kiss.

You’re blinded and eclipsed by pain as your orgasm shoots through you. The pleasure is numbing and makes you quiver, tremble, until you’re gushing around Simon’s cock and swivelling your hips to get away.

You’re shaking when he pulls back, giving your pussy no time to soften. Simon gives it a swat and flays himself off of you, heading to the bathroom. You hear the cellophane of your birth control peeling open, and the successive thunk as Simon tosses it into the bin. 

You try getting up but Simon flattens you back as he crawls in bed next to you. There’s a hand of his on your waist, seemingly benign, but tightens itself each time you try slipping away. Your sniffles are piercing and Simon pulls you close. Brushes your tears away, kisses your eyelids. 

“You’re not gonna leave me now, eh? You can’t,” he whispers, “you’re all I’ve got. You and our baby. You can’t leave me now.”

A pitiful cry escapes you. Simon takes that as agreement.

[fuckingrecipes]

How do I make mindblowing spaghetti sauce? I have been gifted a fuckton of homemade canned tomatoes and nothing but time this weekend.

Do the tomatoes have skin? If so, you'll need to dump them into a bowl and remove the skin by hand. Tomato skin in sauce is no bueno.

Are your tomatoes whole? If so, you'll need to quarter them & remove the seeds & goo in the middle.

Is there lots of excess water around your tomatoes? Drain that out.

If your tomatoes have already been deskinned, seeds removed, drained and quartered; proceed to next steps.

If you want a finer sauce (less chunks), crush or dice the tomatoes now.

--

Make sure your pot is big enough to handle ALL the cans of tomatoes you'll be using at this time. For the sake of being easier to handle, I recommend no more than 3-4 cans/mason jars at a time in the pot.

For each can of tomatoes, get yourself 1 small-to-medium onion, and a couple cloves of garlic.

Chop all the onions. Crush & chop OR mince all the garlic.

In a saucepan, burner set to 'high', add enough butter that you can lean the pot around and coat the bottom. Let it melt completely.

Dump in all your onion.

Stir the onions around constantly, mixing and flipping them over until all the onions are starting to turn just thoroughly translucent, but not quite turning brown yet. (If they start to turn brown, turn the heat down a little)

Once they're translucent, push the onions to the side so you have some of your pan-bottom showing and dump your garlic in. Smush it flat-ish so most of the garlic is touching the pan. Leave it there until the bottom of the garlic is turning brown, then mix it all into the onions.

Immediately dump in all the tomatoes you used to make those onion calculations earlier. Toss in some red pepper flakes (use your own judgement here.)

For each can of tomatoes, add about 1-2 ounces of vodka or rum. (there are a lot of amazing, rich tomato flavors which can only be revealed using alcohol, and not oil or water)

For each can of tomatoes, add roughly 1 tsp of salt, if they weren't canned using salt.

Turn the heat down to 'low' and let it simmer (stay on the heat, producing lots of steam but few, if any, bubbles) for about 5 minutes.

At this point, you can add your herbs.

You want: Basil, Oregano, Thyme, Savory, Majoram, and Sage. Many Italian Seasoning or Mediteranean Seasoning blends will have them.

You can choose to use all of them, or only what you can find. For a cheap and tasty blend, Badia Italian Seasoning Blend is easy and works well.

Personally, I think a little bit of nutmeg, sumac, and sesame seeds is also lovely but it's not "traditional" Italian. A "Za'atar" spice blend should have the sumac with oregano and thyme if you can't find it as a standalone spice.

You can also track down fresh herbs, make a big herb bundle tied with string and dump it in your sauce to simmer, instead of using the dried flake stuff. Or do some fresh, some dried.

Your sauce will be looking 'wet' or 'liquidy' at this point, and will likely have tomato chunks still. You can use a potato masher to crush the tomato chunks if you want, but it's not required.

Let it keep simmering on 'low' in 5-minute increments to evaporate water off. Remember to stir every time you check the pot. It may take 30 minutes to reduce down to a thick 'sauce' texture, if there was lots of water in your tomatoes.

When the sauce consistency starts to look 'saucy' and thicker, check and stir more frequently. Babysit the pot.

Taste the sauce! Add salt to taste. (About 1-2 tsp at a time, mix thoroughly, re-taste, & repeat until it tastes great.)

TIPS:

Keep an eye and nose on your sauce at all times, especially if it's in its thicker stages. If it seems to be burning AT ANY TIME, immediately take it entirely off the heat and stir rapidly to cool it! The smell should always be 'stewing tomatoes and herbs' not 'burning or roasting'

--

If you want your sauce to have a 'brighter/fresher' tomato flavor, make sure to strain as much liquid out as you can before starting, so you don't have to cook the tomatoes as long.

If you like the savory 'cooked/stewed' tomato more than you like the fresher 'uncooked' tomato flavor, then leaving more water in the beginning will make a longer cook time, and more thoroughly stewed tomato.

If you don't have hand-canned tomatoes, you can also use canned tomatoes from the store.

[kalims]

⭒ㅤnot gonna lie !

premise. pov prefect opens a ngl, except! the story they shared it from can only be viewed... by one person!

characters. first years

ace

not gonna lie ! smash tbh

unironically pretends that he never sent one when you start bombarding him.

uniquewhere: i didn't even see ur story

shrimp: [attatchment]

uniquewhere: i have no wifi to see that sorry not sorry

vehement denial is actually the most effective defense according to him. even if it bypasses all forms of realism, it's not real if he doesn't believe it to be! <- real life advice from ace trappola guys.

if you haven’t already guessed, he can indeed see the picture you just sent and just assumes his very first form of defense… no amount of proof will remove him from his little ball of: “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

you gotta prepare some kind of miscrosoft presentation, and sit him down. though he will 100% do that thing where he plugs his ears in with his fingers pretending he doesn’t hear anything even though it doesn’t block out you reading out the words.

“here is the real, actual screenshot of my replies—”

“I NEVER EVEN SAW YOUR STORY.”

“ah, good! next slide after this is the views of the story!”

deuce

not gonna lie ! i like you

very demure, very straight to the point is deuce.

he would've written some long ass paragraph in all honesty but he just can't because he sees what he writes, deletes it, then cringes to himself.

atleast with that one he has the excuse for whichever scenario that might randomly ask about it.. (yes, he's thinking that far) weird flex but ok

1. "you ever confessed to your crush?" someone asking

2. "yeah sorta....." deuce

3. "???" someone confused

he was feeling reaaallyyy proud of himself. the anxiousness finally settles down, alongside with his rapidly beating heart. even if it isn't a real, confession it still brings him a bit of peace.

shrimp: I know what you did

tokyodefenders: WHAT?

there goes his heart rate.

like, you did not offer context to any of that but he's still gonna think you somehow, actually do know even if you didn't provide an explanation to... whatever it is you know about him!

tokyodefenders: whaTEVER IT IS IS NKT TRUE

shrimp: please, ur breaking my heart

shrimp: I like u too :(

heart? ascended

he's not even gonna question it. all his braincells got dumped out, and all he can focus on is that particular message. he isn't even gonna remember backtracking about the ngl cause he's gonna be like:

how did they hack my keyboard.. are they tracking it?! LOL

"I'm a mastermind,"

"HOW DID YOU KNOW?!?!" <- deuce, scared for his life.

jack

not gonna lie ! stop getting into trouble. I'm not always there to pull you out

is concerned with how many times you've managed to unknowingly walk into trouble, jack had been lucky enough (yes, him. not you, cause knowing you, you wouldn't be too phased) to be a near constant presence when the shenanigans during the tournament concluded, he stuck to you then.

as in reluctantly following around you like a tail. narrowing his eyes at the less than friendly faces often wore around you, that you were... well, amazingly oblivious to. or maybe you acted like you didn't know, the carriage didn't pick you up for nothing if you were here in nrc.

shrimp: do u rlly think I'm a troublemaker?

iheldheroncejacob: yes

the random topic being brought up went completely over his head. jack probably had forgotten he'd given the link to your story the time of your day, in all honesty

shrimp: well maybe I keep getting in trouble so u can rush in, and pull me out?

iheldheroncejacob: you're a terrible friend then

shrimp: :(

in retrospect jack is able to keep up with joking around, usually. but it's so hard to take you seriously that he takes whatever you say with a grain of salt, you're almost always tipping between flat sarcasm, or calm nonchalance between your words. it almost always has something to do with the people you're with.

the heartslabyul prefect for example, you take a kind, subtle undertone of teasing to (which is crazy, because you're scarily tame in the presence of the vice-dorm head.) and then you're all stony faced when you're with someone you don't like.

^ and you obviously don't dislike jack, if the little selfish, presumptuous nrc part of him would like to claim confidently so... would you really be joking?

only does jack realize the connection between your text, and the ask he sent when he's just finished his laps.

"I'm not your guard dog! why would you even get in trouble for that, next time I'm not even gonna spare you the time cause—"

"what a pee brain."

"what? don't compare my brain to a tiny pee—"

epel

not gonna lie ! CAN I PLS TRANSFER TO RAMSHACKLE AHHHH

you've never met anyone who's disliked being sorted into whatever the dark mirror fitted their 'soul' into as much as epel.

even without the private story only limited to his response, you're sure you could pick out his message and put a face to it.

epel, in his defense, still has savanaclaw as number one in his heart. though upon asking jack if it was possible to transfer there, the latter confirmed but it was... a tedious process, and suggested asking rook, who literally came from savanaclaw!

the boy only spared his friend a side glance before scurrying away. no use traipsing around that...

but of course, getting away from pomefiore is only a goal! always being near your proximity was a biiiiig bonus!

shrimp: hey I need ur files for the dorm transfer

catchwhathands: [escapeplan.jpg]

catchwhathands: I knew u wanted me in ur dorm!!

shrimp: actually I don't. ur the one that asked ;)

catchwhathands: who cares. I'm finally getting out of this hell YEAHHHH!!

shrimp: who said I was gonna use the files you sent?

okay, admittedly the moment he'd sent over the files, epel shut his phone, and quite literally did a victory lap around his room. making sure to frolic so vil has less chances of hearing his chaos...

the dorm leader woke up so easily from noises that you'd think rook was the reason he developed such a habit.

probably.

epel was already planning the plan! he could see the vision! maybe he could plant around ramshackle since it is a pretty big area. you guys would be together for the remainder of the year—and he'd finally bump the adeuce duo from their pedestal!

*ping*

"AGHHHHH STUPID FRIGGIN'—"

"epel!"

"sorry..."

sebek

not gonna lie ! since it is a request for unbridled honesty, I shall deliver what you've requested. you have done so without much thought, clearly! if you've given such leeway for... criticism! you, human, could use a lot more educating in terms of the glory of our eternal lord, the glorious malleus! in accordance to your previous, description of our relationship. the farthest I can give is acquaintance, but I shall only call you a companion (AKA friend) if you are atleast educated about my interests! as the good companion you desire to be!

woo, alright. he really wrote all that...

oh, uh oh.. you just got another ask from him, maybe even longer..?

shrimp: what would that make silver then

rizzvolt: my brother in arms!

shrimp: but hey, actually I do want to know

rizzvolt: ah! finally! I knew you atleast have some common decency, and sense. for that I shall agree for your request in our friendship! these are the most accurate ones pertaining the great lord malleus' biography! [link] [link] [link]

rizzvolt: is that enough? I will send you more, but only if you finish these three. I will test you rigorously to confirm that you are indeed genuine in your interest!

why he has all that, you have no idea.. if only he displayed that much dedication for his studies...

shrimp: I don't wanna learn about malleus

shrimp: I want to learn about you

rizzley: how dare you! the lord's name should only be addressed with a: 'lord', 'the great', 'the

...

sebek stares at his screen, just in the process of finishing his... educating sentence, because even in text, malleus should only be treated with the highest form of respect!

have you no integrity?! he wonders.

only then does he focus on your response, does he make a rather... dubious sound of shock? sebek doesn't know why he breaks into a cold sweat as he runs the sentence through his mind a hundred times in the span of a minute.

what is this... some sort of human illness? or maybe love—

of course he'd never even consider such a thing! (just did bro)

shrimp: sooo.. since you sent me an ask, does that mean you actually like me?

shrimp: sebeeeeekk.. did you actually read?

with the speed of lightning (and the adrenaline maybe, what else could this frantic pounding of his chest explain besides that you are indeed, dangerous!) he opens the story on your media

'send me an ask if you like meeee :)'

sebek promptly falls over.

[leclercsredhelmet]

So American ★ Logan Sargeant

A/N: Hi everyone! So sorry for the writing inactivity but I've been busy with writing and editing some things. Since it's the Fourth of July I decided to write a Logan Sargeant blurb! Hope you all enjoy it!!

"He laughs at all my jokes and says I'm so American"

By now you and Logan would have been coming from the beach, with sandy hair and tanned skin. You’d leave your boards by the door and step inside to help your parents set up the yard for the annual Fourth of July bash. But you’re not in Malibu, you’re currently in your London flat. Fourth of July weekend is also Silverstone weekend which means you miss out on one of your favorite holidays. Quietly you’ve been planning a surprise for Logan in hopes of recreating the holiday you both enjoy so much. Today is media day and since Logan is needed to fulfill his media duties it gives you the perfect chance to decorate the apartment and cook. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to join me, babe?” Logan asks you. “I’m sure Lo, I want to stay and clean the place, it’s a little messy,”  you reply. “You still have time to change, I can wait while you get dressed,” he says. Smiling you walk over to him and touch his cheek, “I’ll be with you the rest of the weekend Lo,” you sweetly say. “Okay fine, I’ll miss you,” Logan says with a pout. You chuckle and hug him, “Me too, Lo. But Coco and Apollo will keep me company,” you reply. 

Logan chuckles and kisses you sweetly. You walk with Logan to the door and open it, he steps out into the hallway and kisses you once more. His hands leave your waist and you ruffle his hair a little making him laugh. “Let me know when you’re at track Sarge, I love you.” “Will do, I love you, Saez,” he replies before turning on his heel and walking down the hallway. 

Once he’s out of sight you close the door and get to work. Music is playing while you work around the apartment and cook the food. Hopefully, Logan is happy when he sees everything and you’re excited for his reaction. Leaving the sauces alone you take out more of the red, white, and blue streamers. Climbing on the ladder you attach the streamers to the kitchen cabinets. 

You’ve decorated the apartment in red white and blue streamers, paper stars hang from the living room ceiling and the kitchen table has a mason jar with small flags and usa-themed decorations.  Wiping sweat from your brow you put the small decorated cake in the fridge and grab a water bottle. Coco and Apollo are lounging on the couch so you join them. “Hi babies,” you say softly and they happily bark and lay on your lap. Apollo starts to excitedly lick your face and you stop him while you laugh. “Apollo calm down, buddy,” you say attempting to calm the young pup down. 

Your childhood dog had passed away a few months ago in March and you were heartbroken when your mom called you. Logan knew how sad you’d been for the last months and while in Florida for the Miami Grand Prix, he’d decided to surprise you, coincidentally one of his friend’s golden retriever had given birth a few weeks prior and he was giving the puppies away so Logan picked one from the litter and surprised you. You decided to name him Apollo because of his color and you also had a habit of naming some of your pets after Greek gods. 

Apollo calmed down and you chuckled, gently you stroked his ears and recalled the first Fourth of July you’d spent with Logan. 

Flashback

Logan had joined you on a trip to California after dating for a year. This trip served as a way for him to meet your parents and they had adored meeting him yesterday. Your parents were thrilled with him and both your worries had been eased, especially Logan’s. Today was the fourth of July and your parents were throwing their annual party. Your parents joked that you and Logan were the guests of honor this year because you missed out on last year’s party due to work. 

Sun beamed down and you felt it beat down on your exposed shoulders. The air smelled of sea salt and the waves crashed behind you. The sand was hot and stuck to your wet feet. Gently you squeezed the excess water from your hair and turned to look at Logan. Flashing a smile you walked over to him and he grabbed your waist pulling you closer. “Hey surfer girl,” he said and you chuckled. “Hi Florida boy,” you replied and he chuckled. His palm was on your cheek and he leaned down to kiss you, you stood on your tiptoes and your eyelids fluttered shut at the feeling of his lips on yours. They tasted like salt water, a taste that certainly mirrored yours. 

Pulling back he looked at you and gently kissed your forehead, “We should head back before my mom leans over the balcony and shouts at me,” you said and he chuckled. Logan’s arm was around your waist and his fingers made contact with your bare skin, making butterflies flutter around in your stomach. “Let’s get going then, c’mon,” he said. Bending down you grabbed your boards and walked towards the house. 

“I’m still not used to that huge house,” you comment and Logan chuckles. “To be fair you haven’t really lived in it,” Logan said and you looked at him, “True, London whisked me away and refused to let me go,” you replied. “Lucky me, I have London to thank for that,” he commented and you both laughed. 

You grew up in Malibu but not on the side where you see those huge houses, you and your parents lived at a small house in Malibu West. Your parents earned more than enough money to afford one of those big beach houses but they decided against that. A year before you went off to college they decided to buy the house you were heading towards. The beachfront house sat a little far back from the others and unlike the rest, it wasn’t a slab of white concrete. Instead it was a Spanish style villa with actual personality unliked those boring houses you often encountered in this area.

“Are you ready to face a full-blown Saez Fourth of July party in approximately six hours?” You asked Logan while leaning on the stairs, “I’m a little terrified but I’m ready,” Logan said putting his hand on your shoulders. “C’mon Sarge, we need to report for duty,” you said and climbed the stairs up to the property. 

Letting out a breath you put your hands on your hips as your chest heaved up and down a bit. Behind you Logan laughed, “How are you not winded?” you asked him and he laughed. “Training babe,” he replied and you scoffed. “Finally, I was just about to lean over and shout like a madwoman,” your mom said. Logan chuckled and you giggled, “There’s no need mamá,” you said. Graceful as ever your mom smiled and wrapped you both in a hug. “How were the waves?” she asked. “Great, the swell was amazing and I lucked out with a tunnel,” you said. “She was amazing at the tunnel,” Logan said and your mom smiled. 

“How about you Logan, did you get lucky with one?” Your mom asked, “Unfortunately not. Dr. Saez,” he said and your mom looked at him. “Logan you don’t have to call me doctor all the time, you’re family,” she said sweetly. “Sorry ma’am, sorry Catalina,” he said after correcting himself and you smiled at his sweet nature. “Are you kids hungry? I can make you something before we start setting up,” your mom said. You shook your heads no and she smiled, “There’s some fruit salad in the fridge in case you feel like having a snack,” she said and you nodded. Turning around she walked away and you dropped the boards on

the grass before heading towards the showers to rinse the sand off. Walking inside you both part ways to get changed. 

Your dad finds you in the kitchen while you are snacking on fruit salad, “Hey kiddo, how was the morning surf session?” he asks while grabbing water from the fridge. “Mega, I missed surfing,” you replied. He chuckles, “I think the waves missed you too,” he replied and you chuckled. Logan made his way to the kitchen and stood next to you, wordlessly you handed him the fork and bowl of fruits. “Logan are you ready for the mayhem?” your dad asked. Your boyfriend chuckled, “Yes, sir’ Logan replied. “You can call me Arturo, you’re family now,” your dad reminded him. 

The three of you were talking until your mom arrived. “Great the decoration committee is here and so is the cooking staff, let’s get to work!” your mom cheerfully said. “Cata, you need to slow down we still have five and a half hours,” your dad said. “Five and a half hours that go by quickly and you forget that we have a good party reputation,” she said and you laughed. In response, your dad playfully rolled his eyes, “You’re always acting like you’re racing against the clock in an OR room.” “And you seem to forget that you fell in love with me in an OR room,” she bit back. You and Logan quietly watched their moment before you whisked him away in search of the decorations. 

After a team effort, the house was decorated and some of the food was set out, you checked the table settings to make sure everything was precisely placed. “There’s a napkin that’s on the wrong side and a streamer is a little too high than the rest,” you stated. Logan chuckled, “You’re just like your mom, I don’t see the difference in the streamers,” Logan said. “Come here, stand next to me,” you said and pulled him to stand next to you. “Now look to the upper left corner, you’ll notice that the streamer hangs higher than the one in the middle,” you said. Logan followed your directions and chuckled when he saw it. 

Grabbing the nearby ladder he climbed it, “All right miss precision provide me with guidance,” he said. You giggled and guided him, Logan fixed the streamer and you folded the napkin correctly and placed it on the right side. 

Logan was sticking to your side as the party was in full swing, everyone was having fun and the Saez Fourth of July bash was proving to be a big hit. “Babe Ithink I survived,” he whispered and you laughed.

“Survive you did, are you having fun?” you asked turning to hold his hands. “Yeah, I’ve lost track of how many people I’ve been introduced to but it’s been a lot of fun,” he replied. “If you keep this up you’ll be an official member of the decoration committee which is understaffed,” you joked. Logan laughed and you both went over to the drinks table in search of some beers. 

Your mother expertly navigated the crowd and engaged in conversation, occasionally whisking you and Logan with her. You’d manage to escape your parents and their doctor friends, what was meant to be a short conversation with a coworker turned into quite a long one once Logan’s upcoming Formula One career and your job had been brought up. You could tell Logan was thrilled to talk about his passion and that made you happy. 

Both of you occupied one of the chaise lounges by the pool. A plate with food was in your hand and Logan also had one. Logan snuck a rib out of your plate and you stared him down. “Logan that’s mine,” you said. Cheekily he took a bite of it and you stared at him as he liked sauce from his fingers. “Not anymore,” he said with a chuckle. “There are ribs on your plate!” you exclaimed quietly and he laughed. “What if I wanted one from your plate?” he countered. “It’s the same rib as the one you have right there!” you replied. “Yours had more sauce, sharing is caring babe,” he said kissing your cheek. “What you did is stealing Lo, I should steal food from your plate,” you said. 

“Here, steal it all like you stole my heart,” he said while giving you the plate. “Logan,” you said softly, “What did I do?” he asked cautiously. “Nothing you’re just so sweet, it’s impossible to be mean to you!” you exclaimed while crossing your arms. Laughing Logan set the plates aside and kissed you. 

The night rolled on and when it was time for fireworks your parents went to get you both. You stood next to your mom while your dad and Logan lit the fireworks. Quickly they rejoined you. Logan stood behind you with his arms draped on your shoulders while you leaned into him, your parents were in a similar embrace and you smiled. “Happy fourth baby, I love you,” he whispered. “I love you too Sarge,” you whispered before turning around and kissing him as fireworks went off in the background. 

End of flashback

Logan had texted to let you know that he was getting home soon. Setting the food out you rearranged anything that was out of place and changed into the outfit you wore two years ago. Slipping on the white dress you tied a red and blue ribbon on your hair. 

Coco and Apollo started to bark when they heard the keys jiggle and you laughed at their excitement. Of course, they beat you to the door and you laughed at how excited they were to see Logan. “I think they missed their dad,” you said and Logan chuckled. “Seems like they did,” he said walking over to you, with a smile he dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around you. “Hey Sarge,” you say and he chuckles at the nickname before you lean in and kiss him hello. “What’s all this?” he asks smiling as he looks around the apartment. “The fourth of July of course,” you say. “I figured that since we’re not home for the celebration I could bring the celebration over here,” you tell him. Logan smiles and picks you up, spinning you around and making you laugh. “So this is why you turned down going with me,” he comments and you nod. 

He sniffs the air and you laugh, “I smell ribs, mac and cheese, and cake!” he exclaims. Throwing your head back you laugh and he sets you down before taking your hand and walking to the kitchen. His eyes land on the dining table and he turns to look at you with a bigger smile. He looks like a child who is seeing a heap of candy and you grin. “Thank you for bringing the fourth across the pond, you’re amazing and so American,” he says. You laugh and hug him. “You’re welcome and you are also so American Florida boy,” you reply. Laughing you sit down to eat and talk about everything you missed out on during media day. 

(All photo credits go to the respective owners)

[myemotionalsupportcharacters]

Somebody I Used to Know

Abby Anderson X Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: smut, trauma, implied PTSD

Friends to Enemies to Lovers Arc

A/n: did this turn out three times longer than I meant it to be? Yes. Is it edited? Barely. Enjoy!

It had been years now since Salt Lake, but some things hadn’t changed.

Abby still avoided you in the halls, had you assigned to patrols she didn’t want to go on, glared you down in the canteen as you made your way to their table. Having a sworn enemy is hard when you share the same friend group.

You had been thick as thieves growing up. Abby’s dad had become yours when you turned up at the hospital running from a group of bad guys that had managed to kill your parents before you slipped away. You had begun to show signs of starvation, bloody and bruised, clutching a large knife with both hands as soldiers had to subdue you to get you inside.

When you woke up, she was there: changing the wash cloth on your head, all but forcing a glass of water down you as they tried to break your fever. Inseparable since that moment, you did everything together. You found his body together.

She wouldn’t let you go when they dragged you out of the room and onto a truck. Sobbing, pounding her fists into your back as you helped them drag her away.

In the back of the truck, red rimmed eyes and a firm scowl, she looked up at you.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to find him, and I’m going to make him pay.” Your throat constricted, chest burned, and all you could do was nod and clutch her tightly to your chest.

It was a few days later when she brought it up again. Laying in sleeping bags on a hard concrete floor, she rolled over to you.

“Y/N, you awake?” You rolled over to face her, barely illuminated by the moonlight breaking through the rotting roof panels. “I was serious. I’m going to track him down, and I’m going to kill him. You’ll come with me, right?”

“Abby, I miss him so much.” Tears filled your eyes, tipping over the edge and trailing at an awkward angle down your face. “I don’t know if I could do that. I don’t think he would want that for you…” she rolled over in her bag before you could finish, face hardened.

“Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

She didn’t talk to you again, betrayed by her closest confidant. How could you not see that this was her only option? Her only way to heal, to honour him?

For the first year, you approached her in the halls, included her in conversation, and was always met with cold silence and a flat glare. She slipped even further away when she started dating Owen. You had always known they would end up together at some point, but you couldn’t have imagined how insufferable he would become when they did.

Every opportunity he had his hands on her, poking and teasing, whispering in her ear. You watched as she swooned and giggled like a little girl, turning away from the sight and doing your best to ignore them. The resentment grew. It wasn’t just him anymore, it was her too. She had replaced you, with him.

Then came the Bonfire Incident (as it was known in the group). You had been buzzing about it for a month. Isaac had finally given the go ahead for a small celebration for the patrol squads after the new territory was secured. You would christen the new ground with a good ol’ fashioned bonfire, complete with barbecue and bootleg liquor.

The best part, Lexi was going. You had a small crush on her, and had heard through a mutual friend that she thought you were pretty. You had high hopes. All hopes were confirmed when she dragged you off to a dark section of trees, toting a bottle of smuggled whiskey she found on patrol. You drank, flirted and eventually, she had you pinned against a tree, tongue in your mouth and a hand down your pants.

“Fuck, yes, there.” You panted, leaning your head back against the tree as she dug two fingers into just the right spot and ground the heel of her hand against your throbbing clit. “Shit, so close.” Her lips dragged across your collarbone, and up your neck. A rustle caught your attention, and you tipped your head to the side, catching Abby sneaking between the trees. She stopped, holding your eye contact, expression switching quickly from caught to determined. Her jaw tightened and twitched, thick arms folding across her chest as she watched the scene unfold.

You held her gaze, letting out one final moan as you contracted around Lexi’s fingers, cumming so hard it took your breath away and made your toes tingle. Abby never looked away. Lexi moaned into your neck.

“So fuckin tight, doll. Bet you taste as sweet as you sound.” You looked around as she gently pulled her fingers from you, leaving you empty and pulsing. She brought her fingers up to your mouth, and your jaw dropped open. She placed them gently on your tongue, and you lapped up your own juices. “You’re so fucking hot.” She pulled her fingers away and pressed a quick hot kiss to your lips.

“What do you say we finish this later?” You asked, pulling away.

“Whatever you say, hun. You coming?” She pulled the whiskey back up to her lips, taking a swig.

“Just gonna straighten myself out.” Lexi winked, walking away. Once she was far enough, you turned to face Abby still leaning against the tree.

Abby stepped back out from the tree she had taken cover behind.

“The fuck was that?”

“Aw, Abby, Owen not taking care of you?” Abby let out a mocking laugh.

“I meant your choice in partner. Seriously? Lexi?”

“What’s wrong with Lexi?” You defended, folding your own arms over your chest.

“Nothing, nothing.” Abby held her hands up. “Just thought you had better taste than that.”

“Since when did my taste in women have anything to do with you, Anderson? Especially considering your own clear lack of judgement.” Abby’s face hardened.

“Fuck you.”

“You wish you could, Anderson. I’m just not sure you could keep up.” You pushed off the tree, reaching down to zip up your pants as you stalked back to the fire, leaving her in the dark.

You only found out the next morning that Owen had broken things off three days prior.

You felt awful, but pushed it down. She had spent the past couple years treating you like shit, and the one time you returned the favour, you suddenly felt guilty?

You shook it off, and returned to the normal routine. Until today.

You headed to the armoury, opening your locker and pulling out a slightly battered sniper rifle, a 9mm, and restocking your pockets with ammo. Pulling on your pack, you headed out back and hopped onto your assigned truck. You pulled a small book out your sack, and waited as everyone got loaded on.

It was tradition by now, everyone had learned you didn’t partake in the pre-shit show banter and chatter. You read, you shot, and then you chilled.

“The fuck is this?” You didn’t look up when you heard her voice. “No, Manny she shouldn’t be here.” You heard shuffling as Manny pulled Abby aside and talked her down. A couple minutes later she hopped onto the back of the truck and sat as far down the bench as possible.

“Apparently I’m covering your ass today.” Abby grunted, and you flipped to the next page. Tony chuffed, and looked over at Abby.

“She doesn’t talk before runs. Or during actually.”

“The fuck…” You tuned out Abby grumbling, zoning into your book until you felt Manny clap you on the shoulder.

“It’s time.” You nodded, stowing your book and standing. You followed him into the building, ignoring the gunshots that covered your entrance. You made your way to rooftop, Abby moving silently in your wake. Busting the door open, you quickly made your way to the edge, and began setting up the rifle. Abby stuck by the door, and you let out a chuff of your own.

“Heights.” You remembered. “Are you going to be able to do this?” You called to her.

“I’m fine. Worry about yourself.” Abby turns her back, focusing on the doorway.

Half an hour later and the street below was littered with corpses of runners and Scars alike. The Scars had come first, pushed out of hiding by the runners, all part of Isaac’s brilliant plan. The silencer on sniper mostly concealed your location, Abby had been stationed just incase any managed to slip through the building clearing or the first defence line. You had spent the whole time with your eye to the scope, all other sounds or distractions tuned out.

“All clear, fuck!” Manny came to a halt at the doorway. You hauled yourself up from the ground, disassembling the rifle, and packing it back up. You turned to see the pile of bodies Abby had left. Three scar, one much larger than the others, and five clickers. Abby was sat leaning against an air duct, rewrapping the bandages around her knuckles and wrist, a deep gouge oozing blood down the left side of her face.

“You’re welcome.” She grunts in your direction, standing and grabbing her rucksack.

“Thanks.” You returned, straight faced.

Abby stares at you for a moment, then laughs and stalks away. Manny looks between you, before following Abby.

The truck was silent on the ride back, two people lighter than on the way out. You sat, staring at the floor, ignoring Abby’s eyes on you. She had seen it when she got to the ground floor. The devastation you had left in your wake. At least four times the amount of her own kills. You had seen the way she looked at you as you got onto the truck. She hadn’t realised what living at WLF had turned you into, she hadn’t been paying attention. She’d never seen the look in your eyes after a run, hollow and empty. Hadn’t thought about why you didn’t want to talk about what went down on runs with the group, why everyone but your friend group tended to eye you as you walked down the halls. They’d fashioned you into a killer, and stollen the light that used to shine in your eyes. They’d done the same thing to her.

The showers were running hot that day, the fog they created obscuring her vision slightly as she watched you. You stood under the hot water, head tipped back, eyes shut as tears camouflaged with the water. Behind you eyes, a movie of your killing spree played out like pantomime. You saw each of them go down, saw their lives up until that point play out until the moment your bullet found them. Then you scrubbed it all away, and drifted back to your room with raw skin, and blurry eyes.

The knock came not long after.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk, but…please let me in.” You paused, hand over the handle, before you opened the door and walked away. You sat on the small couch and gestured to the coffee table. Abby sat, legs spread wide, leaning forward on her knees.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, and you pulled your knees to your chest, suddenly feeling vulnerable in your pj shorts and sports bra. “I’m sorry for ignoring you, I’m sorry for leaving you alone, I’m sorry for putting you on the shit patrol runs. I’m sorry for everything, fuck, Y/N.” She runs her hands over her face, finally looking up to see your vacant eyes staring back. “I’m sorry for scaring all those girls off when they tried to talk to you. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you. All of it, I fucked it all up… Somewhere in her rambling, your eyes hardened, became piercing. She watched you reassemble yourself, piece by piece, shut down and toughen into something else.

“You should go.” You cut her off. Her breath caught, noticed the way your fingers tightened around your calves, your breath became stilted. Suddenly you shot off the couch, moving towards the door. “Get out. Now!” You were on the edge, about to slip and the last thing you needed was Abby fucking Anderson witnessing you crumble. She stood, walking over to you. A breath wheezed in your chest, hands shaking, you recoiled away from her.

“Y/n…”

“Please. Leave.” The gasp that left you seemed to puncture the bubble around you, as your knees gave way and she caught you. She shoved the door closed, and pulled you into her lap, feeling you shake and gasp. Her arms coiled around your back, hands rubbing soothingly up and down your spine, letting you bury your head in her shoulder. “I hate you.” You whimpered into her, arms in a vice grip around her shoulders, nails digging into her shoulder blades.

“I know, I don’t blame you.” She sighs, pushing her head into your neck, rocking you back and forth. Slowly, your breathing returned to normal, body becoming limp. You pulled back, moving a hand to the side of her face as you looked down into big blue eyes almost as wet as your own.

“Don’t leave me again.”

“Never.” Abby sucked in a quick breath before pushing her lips to yours. It was gentle, tender as she waited to see how you reacted. She expected a slap, for you to crawl away, hurl the lamp at her. Instead you pressed yourself closer, hand moving to the back of her neck, tilting her head up and slanting so you fit together perfectly.

It got messy quickly, panted breaths and wet tongues. Somewhere between kisses her hands dropped to your hips, gripping and pulling. She groaned when she felt your hips roll against her, bucking up to press closer. The second time she did it, you let out a whimper that almost made her heart stop.

“Fuck, you make such pretty sounds.” She groaned, dropping her lips to your neck, down to your collar bone. You pulled back, tugging off the sports bra, and watching as she quickly wrapped her lips around a nipple. A hazy mix of tongue and teeth had your eyes rolling back.

“I want you so bad.”

“You’ve got me, I’m right here.” Abby shifted, laying you gently on the floor and trailing hot lips down your torso. She had your pjs and panties pulled down around your ankles before you could process the cold air that goose bumped your skin. She pushed your knees apart and up, latching to the soft skin of your inner thigh, teasing her tongue around the very edges of you. She teased until your hips were bucking up and your groans turned to whimpers before she ran her tongue over you.

“Fuck, you do taste sweet.” She groaned, delving back in to part your lips with her tongue before wrapping around your clit, licking and sucking until you were keening and begging for more. She teased a finger at your entrance, feeling the way you tried to suck her in, looking up to see watery eyes looking back at her. As your mouth parted to beg, she slipped a finger in gently, your head dropped back and hands shot to her head.

With hands full of her braid you pulled her closer, feeling her finger curl inside you, triggering a pulse so tight it rippled up through your abdomen. Her finger moved gently as she sucked your clit harshly into her mouth, flicking her tongue over the sensitive bud until your whimpers turned back into full out moans.

“So close, Abs.” You cried, hips wriggling as you tried to find the right spot to tip you over the edge. Abby slipped another finger inside, curling up again and speeding up slightly. She flattened her tongue, and the added pressure launched you over. “Fuck!” Your back arched almost painfully as your legs shook beside her head, she slowed, letting you ride out your high, hips jolting slightly.

Once she was sure you were done, she gently eased out and away from you, running her hands up your sides, and picking you up from the hard floor. She cradled you in her arms, placing a kiss on your forehead before settling you on your bed.

You were still floating as she tucked you under the covers, pulling her pants off and getting in beside you. She pulled you to her, and you nuzzled into her chest.

“I’m never leaving you again.” She placed another tender kiss onto your hairline, stoking your hair as you drifted off to sleep, a soft smile curling your lips.

[vyva-melinkolya]

mixing water and salt and sugar in a gallon jug and chugging it and hoping for the best and treating my snake’s mite problem and giving him a warm soak and gently easing off his stuck shed and reading the directions on the mite spray very carefully and hoping for the best and dealing with the dirty power signal in my house and swapping what plugs into what outlet and running power cables from downstairs and changing my pedal order and holding the guitar away from my computer and making sure i’m not holding it too far away and buying a new power supply and asking my friend about power conditioners and comparing the noise with and without a surge protector and hoping for the best and making sure to moisturize my face while it’s still wet and making sure my face isn’t too wet and finding my primer under the table and mixing the lighter concealer with the darker with a pallet knife and adding more dark concealer and adding some pink lipstick to cool the tone and keeping in mind what color dress i’m wearing and making sure it doesn’t clash with my eyes today and putting the dress on before i take down my hair and spraying it down and scrunching the same amount on both sides and pinning the right side of my bangs and making sure it doesnt weigh down the hair underneath and hoping for the best and warming up my voice and making sure i spend at least 10 minutes and making sure to do a scale over again if it’s flat and making sure i’m not pushing my voice before my set and making sure no one can hear me in the car and remembering to relax and remembering which strings go out of tune fastest and making sure i’m not spending too long between songs and making sure my posture is okay and making sure the ear monitor is in the right way and turning off continuous playback on the back tracks and make sure the projections are set to loop and making sure my guitar strap is secure and looking up into the venue and hope for the best

[boanerges20]

Shinya Kimura

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

If it's not too much trouble, how about a "Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot" where the other dragon riders notice our reader and Hiccup hanging out more often? I love your fics btw ! <3 Feel free to ignore me :)

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 19

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 4,160

The ‘fine’ part of ‘Things end up fine, anyways.’

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, Dragons: Defenders of Berk, Race To Fireworm Island, unedited, part two, half-fill

<Previous - Next>

You stared out at the sea from where you sat next to Hiccup on your own pentagonal slab of rock, your legs crossed, hands in your lap as you stared outwards.

The last you checked, Hiccup was sitting loosely with his elbows hooked over his knees, boot and prosthetic pressed flat against the floor.

It was still somewhat still, though the wind began to pick up slightly, causing small, cold waves to ripple and crash across its surface. 

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled as it did, and the silence between you and Hiccup was rife with an odd feeling which you tracked back to some of the just-barely dry underbrush, making you feel as if, oddly, you were being-

The only other sound was the one made by a grumbling stomach, which at first you nearly mistook for your own, glancing down and then at Hiccup.

He laughed awkwardly, “Yeah, ah-ha, I haven’t eaten since-”

You’d only been there for a few moments but the silence was starting to get weird and uncomfortable. 

Hiccup opened his mouth to speak again, though he was beaten, your own stomach gurgling in response.

“I’ve been, well, I’ve been a bit starved too,” You scuffed your feet against the stone beneath your feet and flushed as you also laughed, before speaking, staring of into the side where cliffs melted back into forest, “You know, I have just the thing.”

Carefully, you unclipped the wrapped cloth sack from around your waist, where it was hanging against your belt, You pulled out your lunch.

A smaller pouch nearly fell off as you did, a small brown thing which you vaguely recognized as having a bit of salt inside.

You weren’t going to use it- You’d already flavored some of the meat earlier after you spent the coin and bought it from the town square.

In any other circumstance, you might have been practically drooling, but this was a serious matter.

And… You could always sacrifice a bit of sandwich for a Hiccup in need. The power of a good sandwich did wonders.

You waved it at him, before noticing the look he had on his face, something stuck between curiosity and satisfaction, before explaining, “I eat at the hall usually, but sometimes I make myself lunch. Afternoon meal.”

No one else really ate lunch on Berk. Turns out that was a modern thing.

You stared down at it, made up of old bread from the Inegrman’s, carrot slices, mustard seeds, cabbage and some mystery meat you’d procured from the market.

It wasn’t much and the meat bits still tasted a bit like whey, but after you’d spent the longest time lunchless, eating the most bland food ever, it felt like heaven.

It made a world of difference.

You pressed into the center with just some cloth separating your nails from the bread as you ripped the sandwich in half.

You pulled the cloth off after and passed one half over to Hiccup, who took it surely.

“Okay- Alright,” Hiccup said inhaling.

He bit into it somewhat apprehensively, and you found it within yourself to be slightly judgemental of his judgment.

“This is good,” Hiccup said, after a moment of chewing, swallowing his first bite.

“Salt,” You managed through another mouthful of sandwich, which you thought spoke volumes.

It didn’t speak of all the volumes, but it spoke plenty.

“Oh,” Hiccup said, grimacing, looking up and focusing off into the distance in a way that told you he wasn’t thinking about your sandwich. Probably wondering why food on Berk was so bad.

He bit into it with a bit more enthusiasm than you’d expected, though not the messy kind you were witness to in the Great Hall from the much older, burlier Vikings.

You wanted to ask if he wanted any more through a mouthful of sandwich. Instead, you focused on chewing.

You vaguely notice the sound of scrambling claws against stone, something you’d gotten used to during your time on Berk.

“Hiccup,” You said, pausing, bringing down the hand holding your makeshift lunch as a small, glowy, orange little figure scurried forwards.

It was a Fireworm, and it had wandered right up to your feet.

“I know,” He responded, sounding definitely happy, “I see it. But-”

Hiccup shook his head, grimacing, before explaining, “Ah, Gods, I left the pliers on Toothless saddle. I can-we can’t pick them up. They’re too hot.”

You glanced at him and saw what was definitely a thinking face on his face, if you’d ever seen one.

The little Fireworm before you did the best it could to stand on its hind legs, its front arms repeatedly falling back onto gray stone, the many  arms in between wiggling as they met air, making an odd sizzling chittering noise all the while.

Its large throat shifted as it spoke, a lot like a frog, small, beady, pupil-less eyes blinking in a way that was uncomfortable but oddly cute?

“Fireworms, they’re-” Hiccup paused, watching the dragon intently, “They’re scavengers. So, this one-”

“It wants a piece of my sandwich?” You asked, waving your finger above the little guy as he danced.

You looked down at your own sandwich, before bringing your hand back to break off a piece of bread for the little guy. It was like feeding Terrors, except you were pretty sure bread would give them indigestion.

You had to shift back slightly, holding the piece of bread in a pinch and scooting back as the little fireworm curled and bowed and tried to crawl closer, eager for the meager little piece of bread.

Before you could drop the piece, you paused, holding it in the air, looking towards Hiccup, “I- Would it-he? Be alright if I-”

Then you paused again.

It seemed Hiccup was busy with his own corral of dragons as a few more Fireworms peeked up and around the geometric slabs of rock, looking at Hiccup like an eager flock of chickens or a bunch of extra mini lizards.

He looked at you, his legs crossed too, sitting carefully as the Fireworms came to sniff at his legs and nose around the area he held his sandwich, limp in his arms with both hands, “It should be fine. They- even if he didn't like it, the worst it would give him is a stomachache. Besides, I don’t think they’re eating any of the sandwich. Not yet.”

“Really?” As you looked back, you noticed a few more surrounding you, one particularly large Fireworm crawling over a flat ridge, nearly emotionless, still face staring intently at you.

You startled, yelping and turning your attention back to your hands as the first Fireworm fell back, having jumped at your fingers, grabbing for the bread pinch in your fingertips and missing, burning your pointer finger and causing it to loosed slightly before reflexively jerking together.

The first little dragon seemed a bit frustrated in a sort of sad way, as he wriggled on the ground and righted himself, put out as more Fireworms began to gather, smaller and more emotive than the rest, which you noticed with a sort of optimistic chagrin.

You glanced towards Hiccup as he frowned slightly at all the dragons beginning to surround the two of you, slowly beginning to stand up then back at your little fireworm, who was now surrounded by a bunch of larger small ones.

He was the first to make a move and yet he hadn’t gotten a piece. So the littlest one was the first one to make a choice. To approach both you and Hiccup and feel the two of you out and then, to make the big, crazy, going-to-walk-up-to-the-people decision. 

You smiled a little, brighter than ever.

It reminded you of someone.

You made sure to rip off another, bigger piece of bread, handing it over to him as an apology, quickly and directly, chest lighter as he began to clumsily scurry away, with enthusiasm, “Sorry for the wait.”

Then you blinked. You noticed vaguely that Hiccup did the same, laughing nervously and tossing dragons a few small pieces of your sandwich. 

The two of you were surrounded by Fireworms, begging like blank-faced small, furry creatures in a pet shop window.

You got up, backing slowly away, edging as much backwards as you could as the little dragons converged on you. You weren’t sure exactly where you were headed but you knew you should probably not be there. 

You could feel the heat of the fireworms as they got closer, burning brightly, getting more intense as each new Fireworm joined their ranks. 

You had no idea how they could mess around the foliage and not set everything on fire. 

You backed up until your shoulders hit something furry, causing you to nearly start.

It was Hiccup’s coat. 

You jerked to the side, pulling your eyes away from the fireworms, realizing that you and Hiccup had backed into each other.

Hiccup did the same, before looking down at the Fireworms with both wonder and mild apprehension, “They’re… glowing. Brighter, I mean.”

“Do you think this’ll be enough for Hookfang?” You asked, resisting the urge to laugh nervously. You two were closer to the treeline now, at the edge of an area which you thought might be too damp for them to be comfortable.

You grabbed down for something without looking, your back nearly to the trees, fireworms still scrambling around. 

It was with glee that you let go of the last piece of your sandwich to a little Fireworm that had attached itself to your boot.

Another scrambled across the mostly empty floor, tiny claws scratching against grass and stone.

You picked at it with a stick, gently.

It stuck to the stick, clinging to it with one of many hands before falling off and skittering away.

You glanced up to where Hiccup was watching the little guy go with what looked like a lost expression on his face, “I wasn’t sure how we were going to get them all back, anyways…”

You considered trying to hold a Fireworm between your stick and another earlier, like you were using chopsticks, but when you’d had to replace your old one- it set on fire- you decided it was probably better to try and lead it by the sandwich.

You fell to the ground again, which was very, very clear besides a few lingerers, with a sigh of relief.

After the two of you showed your empty hands, it was like the group of them seemed to dissipate, quickly dissolving into the bushes.

“Where are they all going?” You asked curiously.

“I don’t know,” Hiccup responded under his breath, as the last little Fireworm, a particularly wiggly faithful guy, dancing sideways and undulating its body like a frond of pond weed, scuttled proudly away into the bushes with two whole pieces, both from you.

“Do you think we can follow…?” You asked, half mumbling, and very optimistic. The ‘them to more,’ remained unsaid.

The two of you looked at each other.

The Fireworm crawled quickly down the cliffs, both you and Hiccup scrambling to follow.

You waved your arms as you struggled to balance, Hiccup skidding and bending forward precariously as he leapt from one basalt column to another.

Hiccup had the lead earlier, but you soon overtook him as his prosthetic got stuck between two rocks, Hiccup ushering your forwards as you sprinted and he tugged his foot free.

His prosthetic made a noise, the sound of metal on rock and the grinding of the spring mechanism of his prosthetic every time it hit stone.

It was a few moments more before you reached mostly flat ground, again tiled by those now familiar geometric shapes, 

You were running along a large ledge in the side of a cliff, and you did your best to keep up, coming to a stop as the Fireworm scuttled forwards.

You skidded to a stop, lungs burning and heart pounding, limbs sore, looking up and it disappeared into a huge cave, its entrance looking like a huge, wide crack in the cliff face. 

“So, we follow it in?” You asked as the two of you stared down into the cave.

It had gotten pretty fast near the end, probably frightened by the two of you running full speed after it.

Hiccup skidded to a stop right beside you, panting and bending over slightly, chest moving as yours did.

You could still feel your heart pounding in your ears.

“Yeah, I… I guess so,” Hiccup said, slowly standing up straight, “I think this might be it.”

Fireworms were bright, right? 

You should be able to spot it in the darkness of the cave. It couldn’t have gotten too far.

But, no. It was dark. Really, really dark. And as you stepped forwards into the darkness, the light behind you fading into nothing, it only got darker.

Your boots tapped against the stone, your only anchor being the sound of Hiccup’s prosthetic as it squeaked in the darkness and the vague idea of where he was, which you could only discern through his body heat and the occasional brush of his fur vest against your arm.

“Are we lost?” You asked, in barely a whisper.

You blinked, though you were hit by a feeling of unease as you were greeted by the sight of nearly nothing when you opened them. The open space around you, covered by complete darkness, only succeeded in making the cave feel cavernous and eerie. 

As you walked, you wondered what Hiccup was thinking, his arm bumping into yours. You resisted the urge to grab onto his it, sticking close as lint.

It was much colder here than anywhere else, the hall, cavern, whatever else frigid and yet incredibly dry.

And as you went, slowly, steadily grew the sound of buzzing, an ominous, quiet, continuous yet high pitched mumble.

“I…” Hiccup started, then stopped.

You jerked back uneasily, not registering it until a moment later, halfway between a step forwards, shifting your weight backwards.

You noticed, just barely, that you could make out the end of the tunnel.

It was a considerable improvement from the moment before, where everything was washed over by an inky blackness.

There was a light at the end of the tunnel. Though, as you recalled the yellow light of the outside, you doubted your path would lead you to an exit.

Slowly, the two of you crept towards the light, and as you grew closer, it became clearer.

Your source of light was a long, thin crack in the rock. You could just make out a stone floor on the other side of it, but you couldn’t tell much else. It was just wide enough to fit a Fireworm comfortably and a teen you uncomfortably if you turned to the side.

You stood aimlessly in front of the crack in the wall, meeting eyes with Hiccup, whose green eyes became a muddied brown, washed over with orange light. 

“So…” You began, feeling the beginnings of a pit of dread in your stomach.

You thought now would be the opportune time for a, ‘ladies first,’ and was pleasantly surprised when hiccup responded with something else.

“I’ll go first,” Hiccup nodded.

Hiccup scooted forwards, going first, sliding through a narrow space in the wall, where the light was brightest.

“Hiccup?” You called lightly.

“It’s-it’s safe,” He said. His voice was faint with a hint of what sounded like stun.

Apprehensively, you began to scoot in after him, wincing as your eyes adjusted to the sudden light, dim though it was. 

When you saw what was inside, you couldn’t do anything but gasp and stumble forwards, coming to stand besides Hiccup a little further away in the cavern.

It was incredible. 

It was like a giant beehive. 

If the cave leading inwards felt cavernous, you weren’t sure what this was.

There must have been a million of them.

Tiny Fireworms crawled along the walls, moving up and down incredibly large honeycomb walls, glowing and flickering and buzzing.

You could spot a few, newly returned, sharing the fruits of their ‘hunt,’ dividing small sandwich bits into even tinier pieces.

Each comb came together to form a dizzying pattern.

The whole island underneath must have been carved out and reinforced, pasted together to make this.

There were parts of the cave that faded into gray stone and darkness; The entrance you crawled into must not and really could not have been the only one, and this could not have been the only cavern. 

The corner of your eye was drawn to a movement in the hexes, a low, barely perceptible rumbling filling your ears.

She was curling around one of the many red-washed rocks jutting from the floor in the middle of the cavern.

A glowing orange and yellow dragon with the same large throat as the small Fireworms, radiating heat like a small sun, with eyes saturated to the reddest degree you had ever seen. 

Hiccup exhaled, tilting his head to the side as his mouth quirked up at the corners, taking in the sights around you.

“Hiccup,” You tapped his arm, calling warningly.

You backed up slowly, matching steps with Hiccup yet again until you nearly hit a wall of comb.

One of your boots got caught on something for a moment and you glanced down and up again, the floor beneath you covered by a sticky, thick sheen of something. Was it honey?

You looked at Hiccup, who glanced to his side. 

You were too far away to run away through the cave, your exit block and your space crowded by the large dragon.

“The Fireworm Queen?” Hiccup asked, still sounding sort of awed. 

The large dragon got onto its hind legs, many clawed arms flexing and swaying surely in the air, in great contrast to her many children.

In the moment, all you could think about is if any of these Fireworms were ever larvae?

“Wait, hold on, I can-...” He trailed off like he had come to some sort of realization. Glancing at his face, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, you half expected him to shout, ‘Eureka!’

You breathed shakily, crouched slightly as you listened to the sound of skin shifting against fabric.

“Leftovers from paint making,” Hiccup shrugged his hand out of the wrappings around his waist, revealing a handful of slightly dull red-orange scales. 

You saw them in your periphery, took in some details through a half-glance, though both of your eyes and Hiccups were still trained mostly on the Fireworm Queen, “I grabbed a few just before… Just before he started graying.”

The two of you laughed together in celebration, panting as your sprint brought you back onto the cliffs where you’d taken lunch and then had lunch taken.

It was easy to get back out with the glow of the honeycomb to guide you.

You were just glad that everything seemed to have worked out well.

You stopped, panting, beaming at him, and he beamed back, laughing into the wind as the sky got darker.

You calmed down, and you could see his focus change through his expression from, ‘we got the honeycomb,’ to 'how are we going to get this back?’

You glanced around, looking at the sea and the sun, just beginning to wash the world in pinks, spotting a few dots along the sky for what was the second time that day.

“Look-look!” You shouted joyfull, grabbing into his arm. 

“Is that…?” Hiccup asked, as you cheered, the bright blue and yellow dot growing lighter until it was larger than the both of you.

You scramble back to make space, a healthy distance away, a bit farther than Hiccup, though not too far.

You were closer to the treeline than not as Stormfly landed, claws outstretched, ready to dig into the grooves along the cliff.

“I didn’t know Stormfly could track this far,” Astrid said from a distance, looking suspiciously down at her dragon.

“Astrid!” Hiccup had calmed down considerably by the time she landed, though he was alight with what you imagined to be another kind of joy, the same kind that lit your chest as your hope for Hookfang was restored, “I can’t- find Toothless. Can you-?”

You watched Hiccup’s furred, vested back as he and Astrid focused their attention on each other.

Astrid looked down on Hiccup from above, the wind, growing colder, blew in from behind her, causing her hair to wave wildly, albeit with a graceful quality you never saw outside of movies. It was a beautiful sight.

Stormfly below did her best to look back up at her rider, tongue flicking in her mouth, neck undulating as she began chirping deep in her throat.

“What-?” Astrid asked, looking incredulously down at Hiccup, “Where have you been all day? We’ve been searching for you! We don’t have time to-!”

“Astrid!” Hiccup said again’

“Again, what?”

You blinked watchfully. You were still riding off the high of getting the comb. You didn't have the mind to be concerned about the love interests not doing love interest things.

Hiccup held up his hand, where the still-glowing comb was carefully cradled, “Think you can get this back to Snotlout and Hookfang?”

Astrid’s eyes widened as she showed what you might’ve called a star on someone else startled on Stormfly’s saddle, as if she’d just noticed the comb there.

It was bright along one side and you worried for a moment that it would begin to drip and ooze. Would it be able to withstand the trip back to Berk unscathed?

She looked down at it sternly, before nodding, extending her hand downwards, “Give it to me.”

Before she could grab it, though, you stepped forwards.

“Wait-” You said, as Hiccup was mid hand-over. Quickly, you brought your hands back to your belt where you’d clipped the cloth you’d used to hold your lunch earlier.

Quickly, you shook out any remaining crumbs and you gestured for the honeycomb.

Astrid, it seemed, immediately got what you were going for, backing up on Stormfly, causing her dragon to stand at full height as you began to grab the honeycomb from Hiccup. 

You held the cloth in your hands and carefully grabbed the free side comb, wrapping it up clumsily as it stood half-held by Hiccup, who then retracted his hand, and half supported by your other palm underneath.

Astrid eyes the two of you carefully as you did, eyes narrowing though not necessarily with any malice. A bit of suspicion, maybe.

“You want this back later?” Astrid asked, finally, after a moment of silence, as Hiccup carefully grabbed back the honeycomb and handed it up to her.

“It’s alright,” You said, before continuing matter-of-factly “I can probably come get it next time I go up to Hofferson House.”

She raised her brow, “Do either of you need a ride?”

Hiccup looked at you, as if asking for directions. To that, you shrugged.

“Stormfly will probably be faster without the extra weight,” he decided, to which you agreed privately. The need for speed was essential, “Is Hookfang…?”

“Not doing well,” Astrid nodded, “I’ll send someone back for you later.”

You could tell the moment she kicked Stormfly off, shifting her weight back and bending slightly forwards, moving her knees against Stormfly’s side in a way that caused her to bow again and crouch her legs. 

She spread her wings wide, tail spikes flexing.

The few hardy, strong wingbeats of Stormfly blew back your tunic, sending sticks and leaves flying.

As Stormfly launched into the sky, you had to cover your face with your arms. Shaking yourself off once you stopped feeling the force of the wind on your chest.

As you settled, back straight, you watched them disappear into the skyline.

Hiccup, too, watch next to you, looking very satisfied.

You hoped the honeycomb reached Hookfang and Snotlout safely.

You noticed they had been out and about a lot recently.

Snotlout would definitely be happy to see it.

You hoped you didn’t stunt his character growth or something. You felt like it might have been a good learning experience for him, though maybe he’d learned enough already. 

He seemed pretty distraught over Hookfang.

You made a confused noise in the back of your throat which you were sure was lost in the wind.

The sea began to pick up slightly as it did and you were reminded of the light chill in the air as the sky grew from orange to darker, and you were reminded of the oncoming night.

Standing with his hands on his waist, hair blowing back like he was having some sort of wise movie come to Jesus moment.

You joined him staring out at the warm, saturated reds and pinks and oranges of the mostly set sun. 

You wondered if trees were comfortable to sleep in.

“So, I guess we have to set up camp, now?” 

[happyk44]

Percy walks through the forest at camp after the whole Labyrinth battle. Someone said Nico had disappeared into the trees a while ago. He hasn't emerged since. Percy is worried, of course he is. The kid has a habit of vanishing on him, and he just wants...

He wants Nico to be okay. To have a plan. A place to go. He doesn't have to stay if he doesn't want to, although Percy would much prefer his little cousin stay where he's easily accessible and Annabeth and Grover's eyes can watch him while Percy lives life in the city. But if he doesn't want to stay at camp, Percy wants him to know that he can always come to Percy if he needs help. Or really for anything.

As he walks through the trees, over torn grass and shattered rubble, it reminds him of nearly six months ago. The first time he looked for him. The realization of who he was. What he was.

The words Percy spoke that night. The promise he made.

He stills in the silence of the stars and bristling trees. The ground is solid, the air is chill, but something... Something is wrong. He can feel it like the pull of a tide. He pulls Riptide of his pocket, uncaps the pen, and steadies the sword in his hand. Another monster, still lurking?

The ground bursts beneath him. He jolted back as muddy hands claw their way out from the earth. Seconds later, Nico's head emerges with a quiet gasp. Percy's heart freezes in his chest.

Nico's face is smeared with dirt. It sits in clumps across his hair. There's a jagged cut, small and healing, just about his left brow. And there are tear-stained tracks across his cheeks that glisten in the moonlight.

He digs himself out a little further, then quietly grunts as he struggles to push himself out of the hole. Percy's heart beats again. Riptide slid into his pocket as he walks the two, three long strides back to Nico, and pulls him out with both hands.

He hiccups a little cry, but nothing else comes from his mouth. Percy lifts the edges of his shirt and cleans Nico's face off. He doesn't complain. But he does flinch at the start and Percy's heart crumbles rapidly.

"What happened?" he whispers when Nico's face is finally clean. His cut has fully healed by now, but Percy can't stop staring at the space where it once sat. It was too small, too delicate, for a monster's touch.

Nico sniffs. He won't look at Percy. "I'm the son of Hades." His voice is a cracking whisper. Like crumbling sand. "I belong underground."

They're words Percy knows Nico believes. He is made of darkness and death and dirt the same way Percy is made of salt water and floods and a chilling cold as you sink, sink, sink. But his tone is too flat. His voice is montone. He is reciting words spoken to him. Not words he thinks.

"Nico."

He flinches, curls his arms around himself. His jacket is a little torn. He fiddles with the ring on his finger. Then, with a shaky breath, "This isn't the first time campers have tried to bury my father's children, Percy."

He states it like a fact, something meaningless to him, but his voice hitches on "bury", and blinding rage as strong as the crash of waves against rocks courses through Percy's veins without hesitation.

"Someone tried to kill you."

Nico tugs at his ring. "I-"

"Someone," Percy repeats, "tried to kill you. Yes or no, Nico." Weakly, Nico nods. Percy bites back to the urge to punch the nearest object. "Look at me." Nico hesitates, then slowly brown eyes meet green. His eyes are wet and wide, desperate and miserable and resigned to fate. "Do you know who?"

He shakes his head. "I don't- I don't know their names."

Names. That cuts through Percy like a knife. He grits his teeth. "Would you recognize them?"

"I-" Nico swallows. Looks away. "Yes. But. Only one by face." He twitches nervously. "I would. I would know the others by their souls."

"That's a really cool power." Percy smiles, but he knows it doesn't quite reach his eyes. The rage is boiling, threatening to spill over the top of the pot. But Nico is shaking, and Percy needs him to know that there's nothing wrong with who he is. "What does my soul look like?"

Nico falters. Surprise sits in his eyes as he turns back to Percy. He watches Percy's face for a second or two. Then, "Green usually. Like a soft green. Feels like..." He closes his eyes. "A sea breeze on a warm day. The sand on your feet. Comfortable. But when you're fighting, it's like a storm. Harsh. Tastes bitter. Angry. Turns dark blue. Sort of gray." His eyes open and he whispers hoarsely, "Feels like a tsunami right now."

Percy gets it. He does feel like a tsunami. He's hit his crest and he's just waiting to fall, to inflict damage, to break, to shatter, to drown.

He doesn't fall though. Not yet.

"Can you take me to them?" he asks slowly.

Nico tugs at his fingers so hard Percy's surprised they don't dislocate. He wraps his hands around Nico's. Nico jerks and shakes. He opens his mouth but there's no sound. Percy squeezes his hands.

"I promised Bianca that I would make sure you were safe. And I told the fucking Fates that I would be the prophecy child so I could uphold that promise," he says and Nico's eyes go wider. He tries to speak but Percy cuts him off. "So tell me who tried to kill you, so I can make sure they never do that again. To you, or anyone else they deem unworthy of being here."

The ocean is not fair. That sits in Percy's gut like a curse. The ocean will swallow anyone whole. There is no worthiness. There is no separation. Everyone is the same.

Everyone can drown.

Nico stares for a while. Then slowly nods, and let's Percy pull him to his feet. They walk hand-in-hand out of the forest, Nico's steps timid and slow the closer they get to the light.

Percy gets it in a way. There were moments he would sink as far as he could go, and look up only to see darkness. And he would be comforted by it. The swimming towards the light, the sky, was always a little sad. It meant breaking out of his element. Meant leaving the ocean behind to stand on land and breathe in air.

Sometimes he wishes he could just drag the people he loves to the bottom of the ocean and never deal with anyone else again. He wonders if Nico wishes the same. He didn't die being buried alive. He is made of the underground. It doesn't kill him.

That's where those idiots went wrong.

Nico points them out with subtle fingers. They're separated from the other campers, milling about before the bonfire, before the sing-along. They're laughing and smiling. They are not ashamed of what they've done.

Percy grits his teeth and thinks bitterly, They will be.

[boredzillenial]

Bad Bet

William beats you in a poker tournament, but you just can’t accept defeat, not yet…

Themes: DEAD DOVE - DNE f!reader, Dark!William, stealing, kidnapping, bit of violence (reader knocked unconscious, a headbutt), bondage, teasing/degradation, a spank, use of honorifics (good girl, attagirl), heavy eye contact, choking, nipple play, non-con, pinv, ruined orgasm

Wordcount: 2.6K

A.N: Huge thanks to @lunar-ghoulie @lunar-ghoulie4art ! I loved working together with the artwork and the fic! The Circle of Smut continues 😘

No, no this couldn’t be happening. How were you losing! You’d studied every player, every little tick and tell, and now you were losing to this guy?

You glared ahead at the man taking your money hand over fist. His slicked back salt and pepper hair shone like silver in the dim lighting of the casino. Piles of poker chips sat in-front of him and mocked you with every card dealt. Those had been yours… That was you’re fucking money stacked in-front of him…

All that money you’d so confidently walked into the casino with, all those chips - were gone. That son-of-a-bitch had taken of it… You stood slowly as you glared across the table, and this motherfucker had the nerve to give you a flat smile and a dismissive nod.

That was it, the final thing to snap your resolve. There’s no way he was keeping your money… You stalked to the edges of the tournament and watched it finish out from the shadows. This guy didn’t even win the damn tournament. He’d stopped during a hot streak and bowed out. You heard his name through quiet whispers of on-lookers next to you, William Tell.

You continued to lurk just out of sight as he sat at the bar. Adjusted from machine to machine to keep line of sight without drawing attention. He sipped on his whiskey like he was purposefully trying to waste the night away. Finally after what felt like an eternity he cashed out. The cashier piled stacks and stacks of your money onto the counter. He stuffed it unceremoniously into his jacket, flicked his sunglasses on and strolled out into the frigid air.

You followed several lengths behind and squinted in the abnormally bright winter sun as you stepped outside. After a few moments blinking away the sudden adjustment your heart nearly stopped as William passed you in his silver sedan. Quickly you found your own car and trailed behind him, keeping a few lengths back until he pulled into a shitty motel. Bingo… The wheels in your head churned as you passed by and found a decent spot to U-turn. Not only were you gonna get your money back, you were gonna take a little extra for your bruised ego.

~~~~~~~

Hours passed slowly as you sat at the far end of the parking lot, watching his shadow move back and forth across the drawn curtains of his room. Finally, a crack of light crept across the lot as he came out into the bitter night. Your leg bounced in anticipation as he got in his car and drove off. You had to be smart about this, wait a few minutes to ensure he wouldn’t double back in case he forgot something, then get in.

A couple minutes felt like a lifetime and you just couldn’t wait any longer. Streaking across the lot like a shadow you jimmied the already busted looking lock on the door and made your way inside. What you saw froze you in your tracks.

All of the furniture in the room, including the bedside lamp, has been meticulously wrapped in white sheets and tied with twine. “Fucking psycho.” You muttered under your breath as you made your way inside. Your eyes flickered to the movie playing on a beaten down dresser. Some old western with a few too many gunslingers, the noise louder than you’d like for your already fried nerves. You looked around for bags, a suitcase, something - but the room appeared to be bare. Then your eyes connected with the closet, there had to be a safe…

Unease made your movements uncoordinated as you peered inside, unsure of what exactly you’d find. A soft sigh left your lips as your eyes lowered and settled on a small dingy hotel safe. “Jackpot.” You muttered with a smirk. Gunfire went off in the background and jolted you forward into the small closet. You shook off your nerves and settled back into your assessment of the safe.

It was a tiny black thing that looked like it’d been beaten within an inch of destruction. However, while the outside was dented the lock itself held steady against your prying fingers. You shook it out of sheer frustration and realized it wasn’t actually secured to anything. “Fuck it.” You muttered as you lifted the small safe up out of the closet and set it onto the bedside table. If you couldn’t crack it here, better to take it home.

The tension in your chest settled now that you had your prize. With no movement outside you grew bolder and decided to snoop. You found his suitcase and duffle bag tucked behind the sheet covered armchair in the corner. The suitcase was light when you pulled it out and set it atop the chair, the only things left inside was another white sheet and a spool of twine.

The dufflebag however, was much heavier. You lifted the brown leather bag with a huff as you set it beside the suitcase and opened it. Confusion knitted your brow at what you initially saw: pliers, a hammer, medical shears, gloves, and a black sack. Your heart thundered in your chest at the uses you imagined for all this. Then, be it bravery or stupidity, you dug around past the layer of torture tools till you hit something different, cash. Stacks and stacks tucked neatly underneath the grizzly tools.

You rummaged around to see just how many layers there were when another round of gunshots rang out from the tv. Unbeknownst to you they covered the sound of the door as it swung open. It was too late when you heard the rustle of clothing behind you a second before blinding pain exploded in the back of your skull and sent your world into darkness.

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

The first moments of regained consciousness were hazy. Sensations came first, pain pounded in the back of your head, a soft fabric loosely around your head, rope bit into your ankles. You went to sit up until the similar bite of rope around your wrists stopped you.

“Don’t bother.” An apathetic voice muttered behind you.

You twisted slowly, the pang in your head sent your vision blurring despite the only thing you could see was darkness. A vague shadow passed infront of you. “Will-iam?” You groaned.

“Who else, you did break into my room.” His footsteps drew nearer and your heart nearly lept from your chest. “It was cute you know, watching you as you lost all that money.” You watched the shadow on the other side of the fabric. “I thought I would enjoy just watching you. Enjoy watching your nose wrinkle and that little snarl on your lips. That look when you left the table.”

One rough tug and the bag was pulled from your head. William slowly came into focus as he leaned forward, his dark eyes peered into your own. You held his gaze as you tested your bonds behind your back. “What wasn’t as cute, but far more interesting, was catching you following me here. I thought you’d just tail me for a bit then peel off, but you didn’t -”

You took the moment of him monologuing and lurched forward. Your forehead connected with the bridge of his nose. He stumbled backward and caught himself, holding his face as he stood. Tension drew his shoulders up as he turned his back to you and walked over to the dresser. The sound of metal on wood felt like it scraped across your nerves.

He turned on his heels, a slow red trail flowed down over his lip. A tight grin revealed the tint of red spread across his teeth. You shivered at the sight of him as he adjusted those blue gloves over his fingers and squinted for a moment. He assessed you, curled and tied on the bed, seemingly made some decision and turned to grab the medical shears off the dresser.

As he dragged his gloved fingers across his lips it left a crimson streak across them. William strode over slowly, grabbed hold of your ankles and twisted till you laid on your back. Your bound hands dug uncomfortably into your spine. You went to kick but the combination of his eyes boring into yours, his grip tightening, and the snarl on his lips made you still.

“Hours later, after you should’ve lost your nerve and left, there you were in your car, waiting.” He slotted the shears at the cuff of your pants and cut slowly. “You’re not nearly as inconspicuous as you think you are gorgeous.” His breath left him in a slow sigh as your bare leg came into view. His tongue dragged across his upper lip to clean the scarlet stain.

“So I gave you a hand. Busted the lock on the door just in case your burglary skills matched your ability to blend in.” His cuts were steady till they hit the band of your underwear. His smirk shifted to another quick snarl as he pressed the scissors against your skin, caught the edge of your panties and in one swift motion your right leg was free from ankle to hip.

“When I pulled in and saw your shadow across the blinds I thought I was imagining it. You really had the guts to try to steal from me.” Panic set in as he moved the shears to your left pant leg and began to cut. You wiggled despite the vice-grip he had on your ankles, which earned you a low growl. His hand shifted to a bruising grip on your hip to steady you. With another firm cut your left leg was freed and a wicked grin spread across his face.

In one swift motion he yanked your tattered pants, the chill from the stale hotel AC ghosted across your exposed pussy. “You sick son of a bitch!” You spat.

His grin twisted your belly as he gripped your bound ankles and lifted them straight up. “I like guts. In fact, that’s how I know you’ll be perfect for what I have in mind if you can manage to behave.”

“Let me go!” You arched and twisted till a harsh slap cracked across your ass.

“Enough!” He pressed forward till your knees touched your chest. Your breathing came in short gasps as he continued. “I need you to do as your told. I promise you, you don’t wanna know what’ll happen if you don’t.” Your gaze flickered to the brown leather bag sitting open on the armchair. The image of what it contained stilled your movements. “Ahh good girl, you remember what you saw in there?”

Your eyes grow wide as you nodded. You looked back as him leaned over your legs, his groin pressed against your bare core. “You’re mine now. Understood?” You nodded again.

“Attagirl, I like a quick learner.” His voice was low as he quickly undid his belt and zipper. His length came free and pressed against your soft folds. “Been needing someone to bury my cock in.” He rolled his hips slowly, gathered slickness along his girth before the fat tip pressed into you.

The stretch of him stole the last bit of air you had. He smirked at your shallow breathes but relented, leaned back a bit and kept your ankles on his shoulder. You filled your lungs greedily before a snap of his hips punched the air from you. “I’m taking you on the road with me. If you’re good, I’ll even teach you how to play poker.”

“Fuck yo-uuu.” He sunk further twisting your curse into a groan.

“Gladly.” He leaned back, grabbing the shears and raised a brow. “Behave.” In a quick cut your legs fell to either side of his hips.

A thought flickered in your mind, if you could just wrap your legs around him and squeeze as hard as you could you might be able to -

William leaned forward and wrapped his hand around your throat. “I see those wheels turning. Whatever it is your thinking, don’t.” His hips snapped forward again and set a steady pace as you grew lightheaded. You were so preoccupied with the buzzing in your head that you hadn’t noticed his other hand. Dexterous latex covered fingers met your clit and rubbed firm circles over it.

The pressure, the angle, the stretch of him. It was too much. You felt your eyes nearly cross as you looked up at him. Mouth agape in a silent plea as he shoved you closer and closer to climax with every buck. “See? See what happens when you behave?” He breathed between thrusts.

Fuck him for doing this to you, fuck him for making you feel so damn good. Fuck him for - With a final press he sent you over the edge, your head thrown back and a choked groan escaped your throat as he let it go. “Good girl,” He cooed. “Give in.”

Your muscles melted as you came down from your high, only vaguely aware of him shifting positions. He lifted your legs over his shoulders and leaned in. “Look at me baby, eyes on me.” His gravely tone brought you back to the moment. You looked up at him. His silver hair fell forward and a tinge of red remained on his upper lip. You groaned as he lean further still, deliciously deep in your channel. “That’s right, look at me as you take it. Take all of it.” He buried himself as deep as he could. The stretch almost too much as you quivered around him.

“F-fuck.” You whimpered as he began a slow, deep rhythm. The part of you that wanted to protest became a soft, distant whisper somewhere in the back of your mind. His hands snaked up to your collar and ripped the fabric till your breasts fell free.

“Perfect.” He whispered as his gloved fingers gripped your breasts. You arched into his touch as the latex grazed against your hardened nipples. Eyes squeezed shut as you bit your lip. A hard twist made you gasp and jolt forward to give him an angry glare. “Eyes. on. me.” He growled as his thrusts grew harsher.

Frustration and pleasure roiled inside you as his pace quickened. You held his gaze with as hard of an expression as you could muster until his touch suddenly grew gentle on your sensitive peaks. Your brows tilted up as you bit your lip to stop the whimper he tried to draw from you. “Let me hear it.” He growled.

You shook your head as your bite teetered on painful. His cock hit that spot deep within you as he churned, his pelvis grinding against your clit. Your breath quickened despite your attempt to fight off the pleasure he brought. “Last chance, let me hear you.”

A metallic tang spread across your tongue as you bit down harder and shook your head. “Fine.” His pace quickened, sent you right to the edge before pulling completely out. Your heels hit the bed as you whimpered and groaned. Channel clenched around nothing, orgasm completely ruined. Tears stung your eyes as you glared at him.

“Should’ve listened.” He smirked as his cock twitched, covered in slickness. Your gaze remained on his length. “You gonna listen this time?” He mocked as he took off his tie. He waited for your response with a confident smirk and slowly took off his dress shirt. Your gaze flickered to his muscular torso as it came into view then back down to erection still hard and throbbing.

You swallowed the metallic taste in your mouth along with your pride, and gave a curt nod. That one minute motion sealed that evening and many more to come. Or in your case, not to cum.

————————

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @ominoose @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @romana-after-dark

[little-annie]

E | WC 1k | STWG Kinktober Day 4: Blindfold/Safeword | Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | Part 3 of Running With The Devil Steddie Role Reversal AU

●●●

Unfortunately for Steve, after spending last weekend and the one two weeks prior in Munson's company, he's developed a bit of a problem.

A day dreaming one.

A wet dreaming one.

A thinking of Hawkins Number One Track Star in various stages of undress one.

It started two weeks ago, when Steve got home from yet another party in the woods, and the memory of Munson ogling his newest tattoo hadn't felt the need to stray from his mind. He'd fallen asleep that night thinking of the way those night dark irises traced the lines of Demogorgon on his chest.

That night, Steve had imagined Munson leaning closer, slipping his hand into his shirt and tracing his fingers over the raised lines of black-blue ink and thick chest hair.

The next night, it was Munson's tongue.

The following Monday in the middle of class, it was a combination of both, but they hadn’t remained solely focused above the belt.

From then on, things had started to spiral out of control.

Especially after the last party where it hadn't only Munson’s eyes wandering, but his hands too.

Steve couldn't help imagining what may lay beneath the guy's signature track pants and t-shirts. Sure he'd gotten a better idea when he'd caught a glimpse of the guy in his shorts and track team t-shirt, but Steve wanted to see more.

Wanted to feel more.

The thought of what Munson's sweat damp skin might taste like was a recurring query.

But tonight, Steve’s unconscious self is straying a little further. Clad in nothing but a pair of tight white boxer-briefs, lying in his bed alone but for his imagination, Steve drifts to sleep with the thought of pale skin and onyx eyes.

***

“Lying so well for me, Baby.”

In the hazy space of Steve's dreamscape, Eddie lies before him nude but for the black silk wrapped around his head, shielding his eyes and squishing his curls flat above his ears.

His cock sits weeping and heavy against his stomach and the sparse thatch of hair that lies there.

Under Steve's heavy gaze and his wandering fingers, the older boy squirms with need. Keening with a gasp when Steve dips down to taste the salt of his skin, hot and hard between his thighs.

There's always been something so intriguing to Steve about being blindfolded. About not knowing when or how or where the next sensation is going to come from. Releasing enough of yourself to trust another to be your eyes. To be the only thing to bring you pleasure as you clench the sheets with tight fists just as Eddie's currently are.

Reaching with a black painted nails, Steve scratches from a toned pec to tight curly dark hair and down a thin muscular thigh. Watching as red blooms in his wake and Eddie holds in a gasp.

“Want to hear you,” Steve hears himself say as he scratches again. Delighting in the dribble of precome he's granted and the moan that falls to the air above him.

He wonders if Eddie's ever laid himself out like this for anyone else. If any of those cheerleaders he's fucked have taken care of him in such a way.

Steve doubts it though, the best things those girls seem to have to offer is flexibility and endurance.

What a shame.

He voices just as much, crawling further up his bed to where Eddie remains lying back against plaid pillows. Nipping and licking at pale porcelain skin, Steve whispers, “Bet you've never been taken care of this way before.” He bites at Eddie's jaw and reaches down to cup his tight balls in hand. “None of your girls even bother asking what you want, huh? Never ask if you want to give up control and just lay there and take it… I bet you do all the work.” Steve faux pouts with his last words, smirking to himself when Eddie whines and nods, arching up into Steve's palm in search of friction.

While Steve continues to massage and pull, lick and bite, he also continues to tease.

“This easier for you, Sweetheart? When you can't see me? When you can pretend I'm one of them? You miss having tits in your face? Or a tight cunt to sink into?”

“I can give you what you need, don't worry.” Steve shifts again so he’s nearly sitting on top of Eddie, guiding his pec to the other man’s mouth and encouraging, “Here; take a bite.”

Just as he’d hoped, Eddie bites down, taking the muscular flesh of Steve’s chest into his mouth and humming as he presses his nose closer, laving his tongue over coarse hair and flushed skin.

Steve groans himself and grinds his ass down against the thick cock beneath him.

Eddie’s gasps against his chest, hands flying to meet Steve’s hips and pull him down, thrusting up as Steve pushes against him again.

“There. Right there. Just like-“

***

With a start Steve wakes, jolting upright in bed, covered in a light sheen of sweat and with a tacky mess in his underwear. God, he was so close.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Steve sighs, reaching with ringless fingers beneath plaid sheets to give just the gentlest squeeze to his aching cock. He’s just about ready to sag back against his pillow and allow his hands to wander when the doorbell chimes loudly.

That must be what woke him up.

For a moment he thinks of letting whoever it is wait, but the possibility of it being someone there to buy or fuck ( or heaven forbid it be his parents,) gets Steve out of bed with a stiff cock and a groan.

Wrangling on a pair of sweatpants and nothing more, Steve rubs at his sleep crusted eyes and makes his way down the stairs to the front door, flinging it open and nearly choking on a gasp when no other than Eddie Munson stands worn with sleep before him.

“Munson? Gave me a heart attack, thought my parents were back a day early. What are you-”

“Hey,” Eddie interrupts, wide-eyed and rosy cheeked, “Can we talk?”

●●●

Read Part 1 & Part 2

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Melisandre is one of my favorite minor POVs mostly because of how GRRM plays with the all-powerful mage trope. See the deconstruction with her is that despite her antics, she’s actually very powerful and all her visions are legit. It’s just that she absolutely sucks at interpreting said visions, mostly because she has all these preconceived notions and is very stubborn about them. And even when the answer is staring right at her (literally), she just doubles down. And it can be very frustrating as a reader, to be quite honest.

Like she’s been super gung ho about Stannis Baratheon being Azor Ahai/the Prince that Was Promised, though only R’hllor know why, to the extent that she will flat-out ignore any evidence to the contrary. Her visions in ADWD essentially scream that Azor Ahai is someone different (not Stannis!) but good ol’ Mel just won’t budge.

There’s this very hilarious interaction in Jon’s 10th ADWD chapter that essentially spells out all of her problems with visions and prophecy, with Jon serving as the reader’s proxy in some ways.

This interaction happens during Alys Karstark’s wedding feast and Patchface drops some of his weird jingles, which Mel very unsettled by. So she’s turns to Jon and is like, “ugh that dude is so creepy, all my visions tell me so”. And Jon’s reaction to this is super funny, because he’s like:

“You see fools in your fire, but no hint of Stannis?”

Wow Jon lmao

He just had to call her out like that, unprovoked. But his frustration makes sense. He’s constantly been asking about Stannis’ whereabouts but Mel’s responses just aren’t very satisfactory (in his opinion).

Then we get this next line which really just says everything about Mel’s stubbornness and perfectly embodies the deconstruction of the all-powerful seer trope.

“When I search for him all I see is snow.”

So Mel looks for Stannis, whom she believes to be Azor Ahai, in her fires but doesn’t find him. Instead she sees “snow”. And this part tracks with her POV too. We know from her chapter that she constantly sees Jon in her visions. It’s how we get the very interesting “I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R’hllor shows me only Snow” line.

So one would think that Mel might go: “Hmmm I look for the prophesied savior, but I don’t see Stannis. Instead, I only see Snow. I don’t doubt R’hllor’s power so if my visions are true, then maybe I need to rethink a few things”.

One would think…

But nope!

And Jon’s like “Hey maybe you’re not seeing Stannis because he’s super dead, ever think about that Mel?” And she proceeds to spout the usual Azor Ahai stuff and even mentions Dragonstone:

“When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone. Dragonstone is the place of smoke and salt.”

To which Jon’s replies, “uhhhh news flash Stannis was not born on Dragonstone so that doesn’t track”.

Obviously this is Jon’s skepticism but I like to think that he took the reader’s place here. Because many of us have asked ourselves, why oh why would Mel think of Stannis just because she saw Dragonstone? Like yeah, he’s the Lord of Dragonstone but he wasn’t born there. It’s quite a valid question and how does Mel counter it? She doubles down and twist herself into a pretzel to make Stannis fit (even though he doesn’t fit at all!)

Really, Jon’s reaction is essentially what would happen if someone dropped me into the world of ASOIAF and gave me the chance to meet Mel and ask her a few questions. I’d be quite frustrated, just as Jon is here. And to be fair, the reader has a lot of auxiliary information (e.g., Jon’s parentage) that Mel doesn’t have.

But then the next few lines really illustrate just why poor Mel can be so frustrating. Because Jon’s follow up is,

“And what of Mance? Is he lost as well? What do your fires show?”

And what does Mel say?

“The same, I fear. Only snow.”

…??!

Mel!😭

Seriously, I cannot! This is the exact same situation as with Stannis. She looks for a king but only sees Snow. This makes me wonder then, based on previous wording, if she’s specifically looking for “the King Beyond the Wall” (not just “Mance”) and only seeing Snow - at this point, Jon has all but supplanted Mance.

So once again, one would think that Mel would go: hmmmm I look for the King Beyond the Wall but I see Jon Snow and not Mance Rayder. Seeing that Mance’s power has been diminished and Jon Snow is now taking control of the wildlings, maybe I should re-evaluate a few things”.

Yeah, one would think…

Homegirl is trying her best, she really is. But sadly, her best can only get E for Effort.

And at this point the reader is just done with Mel, and Jon is too:

“You are seeing cinders dancing in the updraft.”

He doesn’t even bother to phase it as a question lmao. He just calls her out and doesn’t care.

And we’re in his POV so he’s thinking of the lower case “snow”. Also, why in the hell is Mel referring to Jon like this?

Anyway, this is why I think Jon serves as the reader’s proxy in this conversation because it’s like a thinking exercise (facilitated by the narrative) that ultimately goes nowhere because Mel is so, so stubborn.

Because if we really break it down:

R’hllor/the Narrative: Who do you see when you search for the king/Azor Ahai?

Mel: Jon Snow

R’hllor/the Narrative: Ok…and who do you see when you search for the King Beyond the Wall?

Mel: Erm, Jon Snow…

R’hllor/the Narrative/the Reader: Great! So say it with me. The king you’re looking for is J-

Mel: STANNIS BARATHEON!

R’hllor/the Reader: …?!

And before anyone claims that this is a misdirect, Mel really is seeing Jon Snow. Straight from the horse’s mouth:

“I am seeing skulls. And you. I see your face every time I look into the flames.”

Friend….I don’t even know what to say anymore…

[elisysd]

I Wanna Be yours – Arctic Monkeys

Masterlist - Previously - Next Chapter

Secrets I have held in my heart Are harder to hide than I thought Maybe I just wanna be yours

“And that’s a wrap for Flowers and Crowns! Amazing job guys! I could not ask for a better crew!”

Just like everyone else, Lyanna clapped her hands, happy and a little sad as well to end the shooting. The movie ended its first life, now it was on its way to a new crew to make it perfect for the release in a few months. She hugged the director before heading to her trailer only to be stopped on her tracks by her least favorite castmate.

“David. What do you want?”

“To say congratulations. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Do you want the truth or a lie?”

He arched an eyebrow and she sighed.

“Seriously? You’ve been horrible with me. And not only with me, but you also made the atmosphere absolutely uncomfortable for everyone on set. I’m sad to not come to work anymore because I truly loved the story and its message, but I’m not sad to leave you.”

“Oh come on Lyanna, if you can’t take the joke…” he tried to defend himself.

“A joke? A fucking joke? You know what a joke is David? It’s messing with your partner stuff, replacing the sugar in her favorite tea in the morning with salt, but it’s certainly not bullying. You threatened me, you grabbed me when I’ve never given you the permission to do so. I haven’t reported you yet because I’m hopeful and maybe a little naïve that you can grow the fuck up, but I won’t hesitate to do so if when we see each other again, you try something. Did I make myself clear?”

“If you threaten me Lyanna, I will not hesitate to send your little porn video to your precious little Charles.”

“Go ahead. He knows about it and guess what, he doesn’t care. This video made me miserable once, but it’s over. I won’t let it ruin me anymore. So do wat you want with it. The most important people in my life are already by my side and in my corner. They don’t define me by this stupid video. As they should. But if you want real threats David, knows that I have contacts in this industry. More than you. Just one phone call from my end and you will be jobless really quickly. It stands for me but also for everyone that will work with you in the future. If I hear about how badly you treat people in the workplace, and believe me I will know, I won’t hesitate to call a few people. Did I make myself clear?”

At Lyanna's dark look, David couldn't help but gulp. She could be scary when she wanted to be.

“Very.”

“Perfect. See you for promo then.”

And just like that, she left as quicky as she came. She could not wait to leave the studio and go to Charles’ apartment. He did not tell her wat he planned but she knew it would be simple and intimate. She got rid of her clothes, showered as fast as possible and dressed with spare ones she brought one her way to work this morning. Finally, she was out and made her way back to the residence.  

On the other side of Monaco, Charles was busy tying up loose ends for the evening. The meal was quietly cooking in the oven, the table was laid, the hoover was done, and the smell of the flat was fresh. Classical music was playing softly in the background. As for him, he was dressed in his whitest shirt and the only one that had been ironed.  All he was waiting for was Lyanna.

Fortunately for him, he didn't have to wait long. The young actress rang his doorbell at 7pm sharp, a bottle of red wine in her hand and a dazzling smile on her face. She kissed Charles on both cheeks before entering the flat and making herself comfortable on the sofa.

“You seem in a good mood.” Charles greeted her before joining her on the sofa.

“I am. I said what I needed to say to David. I put my big girl pants on. I’m proud of myself.” She confessed.

“Congrats! If you are proud of you, then I am as well.”

“Thanks Charles. Not just for that but for everything. I think you don’t know how much you helped me.”

“I did not do anything.”

“Yes. Yes, you did. I don’t think you totally grasp how I was when I first arrived in Monaco. I was lost, did not have much confidence in me, not that I’m very confident now but I’m starting to. I was scared of what people might think of me and I was constantly fearing to be judged because of a stupid video that I’m not responsible for. And then I met you. You changed me, Charles. Well not really changed, but let’s say that because of you I’m a better version of myself. And for that I’ll be forever grateful for you and your support.”

“Wow… Lyanna I… I don’t know what to say. You’re welcome?”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know all of that.”

Charles was stuttering and to avoid feeling any more comfortable decided to open the bottle of red wine. The evening was spent in a light-hearted atmosphere. Lyanna asked Charles what he expected from the final part of the season, to which he replied that he didn't expect much, apart from not going completely insane, and that his sights were now set on 2024 as he had nothing good to rescue from 2023.

As for Lyanna, when he asked her what she was going to do now that filming was over, she replied that she was planning to spend some time with her family before returning to London and its gloom. And then she'd take it from there. That was the beauty and, at the same time, the anguish of her job: not knowing what tomorrow would bring. She had some commitments to honour, some brands to meet and perhaps some new contracts to sign. And then the usual, auditions to prepare, scripts to read and long days spent by her phone waiting for a call that might never come. Hearing her words, Charles couldn't help wondering why she insisted on returning to London when she could do all this so easily from a remote location.

“Because London is my home? I pay a rent Charles. And even if I don’t live there very much, I still love the place and all my things are there.”

“Yeah, I know but, technically you don’t need to be there. You can call your agent from anywhere in the world. Prepare auditions where you want. What I mean is, you don’t go to the office, you don’t have a job in a big corporation.”

“I still need a roof over my head.” She pointed out laughing.

“You have a roof. Here. Above my apartment.”

“Well, the lease is not at my name. And it has been rented for the duration of the shooting. So no, I don’t have a place to stay here.”

“I could let you stay at mine.”

She sighed. She felt as if she'd already had this conversation.

“Listen and listen carefully, Charles. Why would I stay in a city that is definitely not made for me. I’m not a fan of being here. If Monaco is bearable for me, it’s because you are here. If I stayed here, what would I do. I don’t know anyone. I don’t have my habits. And clearly, even if I’m an actress and I have the chance to do more than okay moneywise, I’m not rich enough to be able to rent in Monaco. The only thing I have here is you. And we both know that you are not here for long when you have the chance to be. So tell me, why would I stay?”

“Well for starter, you are wrong, you do know some people, you know my friends, Carla, you could meet my mom as well. For the rent, you don’t have to stay in Monaco. There are cities like Nice or along the French Riviera that are much more affordable. And you would be near your family, you would not need to take the plane to see them. Or they could come to see you more often. See, many reasons to stay around.”

She gently shook her head. She was touched that Charles was trying to hold her back, but her mind was made up and she wouldn't go back on it.

“You are stubborn Lyanna.”

“You are too, mister.”

There was a silence, during which Charles took the opportunity to clear the table and put the plates and cutlery in the dishwasher. When he returned, he was surprised to see Lyanna standing by the piano, absent-mindedly caressing the black and white keys. He watched her silently for a few moments and couldn't help thinking that there, by the window bathed in the light of the setting sun, he had never found her as beautiful and as at peace as at that moment.

“You play?” he asked her, breaking the magic of the instant.

“It has been a while. I was thinking that I’ve never really heard you play before.”

“Well, that should be rectified immediately.”

Charles sat down on the piano bench and rolled up his sleeves before letting his fingers dance across the keys, creating a soft, melancholy melody. Lyanna, leaning against the instrument, looked on in admiration.  If she could stay like this forever, she would. She hadn't really told Charles the whole truth about why she was leaving. Of course, what she had told him earlier was true. But deep down, she could sense that her attachment to Charles was much deeper than she was trying to convince herself. It wasn't love, or so she thought. It had been so long for her that she no longer knew what it was if she ever did. All she knew was that Charles made her feel alive for the first time in a long time. And this addiction she was creating terrified her. This feeling of wanting to see him all the time, of being the first person she wanted to talk about her day, whether it was good or bad, this lack she felt when they hadn't spoken for more than 24 hours, she knew it wasn't healthy. Charles was like a drug and even if the withdrawal was going to be violent and difficult, it had to be done. But she would treasure these last moments for a long time to come.

The melody came to an end and Charles looked up at her, smiling. He shifted on the bench, inviting her to sit next to him, which she did.

“You said that it was a while since you played. What do you think of restarting now, with me. Together.”

Lyanna couldn't help but hear a second meaning in his words.

“I would love to.”

The two young adults awkwardly began to play together. The melody was far from perfect, it was off-key and more than once their fingers touched, both trying to reach the same note. But it was their own melody. Unique. They went on like this for a while, letting their minds, their doubts, their fears and all the unsaid things float away in the musical notes. They didn't know how long they'd been sitting there at the piano. But in this moment of complicity and complementarity, neither the actress nor the pilot wanted to interrupt the instant.

When they finally looked up, it was beginning to get dark. Not a word was spoken. There was no point, the music spoke for itself.

Charles took a deep breath. Something in the atmosphere had changed, he could feel it. He didn't know what exactly but it was as if a mechanism deep inside him had suddenly been activated. Like something was finally clicking into place. His eyes fell on Lyanna. His gaze caught hers. What if what had been missing from his life all this time had been there all along, but he'd been too blind to see it?  Or not ready. Could it be that, as Pierre had told him on the phone earlier, while he was preparing dinner, he and Lyanna were already behaving like a couple, without actually being one? Was she his missing piece? A wave of regret swept over him. If that was the case, it was too late. He was leaving the next day, she soon after. Starting a relationship now, assuming she felt the same as he did, would be doomed to failure. If he had ever believed in long-distance relationships, he didn't now. And with her, he certainly didn't want distance. Charles laid his eyes on the young woman's lips. All he had to do was lean in and he'd have his answer. But was it worth breaking a friendship? Wasn't it just nostalgia for the moment that made him think like that?

Lyanna noticed the change in Charles' attitude and the look on her lips. She knew what was going to happen, she could feel it. It made her panic. A point of no return was about to be crossed and she didn't think she was ready for it. So it was she who broke the magic of the evening. She stood up hastily, urging Charles to do the same.

“Oh my god, it’s so late. I should go. You must wake up early tomorrow.”

She hurried towards the entrance, gathering her things before heading for the front door. She was about to step through when Charles grabbed her by the hand.

“Lyanna, wait. You can’t leave like that. Did I do something wrong?” Charles panicked.

“No, no absolutely not. You made everything right, Charles. That’s the problem somehow. If I don’t leave now, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.” She confessed.

“Then don’t. You don’t have to. We don’t have to say goodbye. Please Lyanna, come with me.”

She wasn't sure whether he was talking about the flat or in general.

“I can’t Charles. You’ll be fine. With or without me. And we’ll text and call. I promise.”

“Come to Zandvoort. Please. I need you there, I’m not ready to let you go.”

Her eyes filled with tears. She had to leave the flat and she had to leave now. She brought her hand to her lips and placed it on Charles's chest, close to his heart.

“I’ll be there. Not physically, I can’t promise you that I will make it. But I’ll support you from afar. Take care Charles.”

And just like that she went away, leaving Charles with a feeling of emptiness.

Lyanna only took a few steps before bitterly regretting the way she had left. This behaviour was the Lyanna of a few weeks ago. But if she had learned anything, it was that she had to face her fears and reality rather than run away from it. Leaving like that, she couldn't bring herself to do it.

She took a deep breath and, before changing her mind, returned to Charles's door. She gave it a loud knock before seeing it open instantly. Charles was standing in front of her, looking defeated.

“Did you forget something?” he asked her.

“Yes, yes I did.”

And just like that, she got closer to him and placed her lips on his.

====

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[inkformyblood]

i lose all (but not him) #1 CWW2023

Kamino, First Meetings, Slow Burn. Cody x Obi-Wan @codywanweek Day 1 prompt: Cody with a lightsaber. Ao3 link here.

It’s raining. Again.

CC-2224 jams his thumb into the door controls, forcing them open once more with a rush of frigid air that sends the hair on his arms prickling, the sensation crawling over his scalp in a bygone evolutionary tick that does nothing but irritate him. It had been several rotations since the pipes on the lower levels had broken and sent a tidal wave of coral and tiny lost insects into the corridors but the feeling of something crawling over his skin had yet to entirely fade from his immediate memory. It possibly never would. CC-2226 still woke screaming on occasions about the crash from sixteen rotations ago.

The treated canvas hood would do nothing against the rain but CC-2224 still pulls it over the thin fabric of his blacks, double knotting the trailing cords beneath his chin and tucking them away. His boots are soaked through already, but he still leans down and secures his laces. He can no more stop himself than he could pluck the moon from the sky and rearrange the constellations on a whim. He has been trained, sculpted, made for this. 

Query: is it going to stop raining soon?

Answer: no.

The thought isn’t his and yet it is, wired into his thoughts like an additional comm line. CC-2224 nods regardless, swallowing against the copper tinge that spreads over his tongue, and presses the door control once more. Water flicks against his face and he blinks, pulling in a deep breath through gritted teeth, and steps outside.

He regrets it immediately. Well, not regret it. The word doesn’t quite fit and CC-2224 turns it over and over in his thoughts to try and smooth over the ragged edges, to make it flat and smooth and as routine as everything else. He’d seen a piece of equipment fall from one of the higher platforms and become wedged between a barrier and the window it was attached to, too unimportant to warrant the slight inconvenience of lowering a magnet to retrieve it and so it had been left. He’d stopped by the window during his patrols, not for long and not with enough regularity for it to be a pattern and noticed, but enough times to track the decay of plastoid components to expose the fragile wiring beneath. That had only lasted a cycle before it had been torn free and lost, the outer casing following soon after. CC-2224 doesn’t regret having to perform maintenance on the filtration unit. It is a necessary task to prevent costly breakdowns in the future. It is a necessary task to keep the nutrients in their ration blocks from becoming altered due to their negligence. It is a necessary task to keep CC-2226 from being decommissioned. 

There is no room for deviations, no room for error, but CC-2224 will try for as long as he can. 

He is made for this task, just as he had been made for every task before. His genetic sequence had been meticulously hand-crafted, every base chosen and lined up where it was needed. He isn’t as much of a person as he is a tool, a weapon, whatever is needed for the situation at hand. He had been made for the Jedi.

ERROR.

He had been made for one Jedi.

ERROR.

CC-2224 raises his hand to his face, smudges at the sudden spike of pain in his nose. He’s already dripping, every step squelching through the scattered puddles that are only disrupting the rain in that they’re stopping the rain from immediately drenching CC-2224 to his skin, but he can see the dark stain of blood by the distant gleam of the landing pad lights from the platform above him. There’s no sky visible amongst the heavy press of the stormclouds, and the air is heavy with salt amongst the copper gleam of blood with every breath. 

He needs to move quickly. He has wasted enough time already and the unit needs to be fixed. 

The panel is clearly marked, the edges outlined in a mixture of scavanged armour paint by a previous batch and CC-2224 crouches next to it. He shivers, steadying himself on the slick metal and bares his teeth at the unforgiving sky. It doesn’t stop raining, but it makes him feel a little better. Stringing together a collection of scavenged curses at the panel as it refuses to budge also helps. CC-2224 stands, tugging at the tied cords of his hood. The outside is drenched through and there isn’t enough fabric for him to use it as leverage while he is still wearing it. Rainwater cascades over him as he pulls it free, his jaw clenched tight to try and keep his teeth from chattering. He is shaking and he will never be warm or dry again. He will rust and decay and the tiny nonexistent things that are crawling over him will eat his bones.

The panel moves. 

Somewhere, a door hisses open. 

Query: where?

Answer: Landing bay 4

CC-2224 stares up at the distorted lights above him. He can’t keep his eyes open long enough to pick out details, rain impacting against his cheeks and necessary instincts force him to blink. That landing bay is off limits for a reason. Jango had laid it out in his contract amendments when it had been decided for him to stay on Kamino. CC-2224 had heard whispers about how that had been decided, rumours passed between batches like treated water, only gaining speed with every retelling. The version he had heard first was the least fanciful and so the most likely to be true. There had been another man at the meeting, someone tall and dressed in a dark cloak with white hair, his hand heavy on Prime’s shoulder like he was steering him.

ERROR. NO. REDIRECTING. 

There are two, no, three people clustered on the landing bay. Their shadows bounce off of the walls, distorted as the rain floods over the bay lights, and CC-2224 frowns, cupping his hands over his brow as he tries to make out their size. He had done this training, passed it in record time, but the chill the rain brought with it is entirely new. He won’t mention that to the trainers, however, in case they decide to implement it to the extreme. Two are fully-grown trooper size, one standard and one possibly from an alpha batch, head and shoulders taller but not as broad as he would expect. Slight variations are expected so it must be factored in, but the final figure is cadet-sized, scurrying across the landing bay, and CC-2224 tracks his movement closely, mindful of the dual facts of a restricted area as well as the lack of barriers around the edge of the platform. Cadets think they know too much and could do everything, their confidence matched only by the shinies until they trip on their still-too-large boots. 

They’re one plan, one blueprint. Deviations are not tolerated for long. 

CC-2224 turns his head just enough to check the positions of the cameras, one above the door on his level and one above the door on the upper level. They wouldn’t be active, not at this hour, but he still swallows against the burn of acid in his mouth. It must be what one of the scuttling creatures that swarm over the lower levels feels like when a larger fish comes swimming past, infinitely too small with a blade hanging over his head, preparing to drop. The sounds of the ocean shift into something hungry, something focused on him with the salt tang of intention, and CC-2224 stands to the sound of a blaster.

Single shot. Deflected. (Deflected how? Something itches at the back of his mind, right next to wired-in thoughts.)

Second shot. Third. 

What the fuck is going on?

CC-2224 steps forward, cupping his hands over his eyes as he stares up at the platform. All three of them will be decommissioned, possibly himself as well just for being nearby in case he is involved somehow. So, he’ll get himself involved. 

The control panel for the camera is locked just inside the door controls, a neat little bypass loop to let CC-2224 take a peek and try and find spot any markings, maybe a batch symbol if he’s lucky. 

(What’s that sound?)

He doesn’t manage to make it back to the door before the ground trembles beneath his feet. Not a quake nor a wave. Not a test either. It is rhythmic, building, the slow roar of a ship beginning to take off. There is only one ship on Kamino that sounds like that, loud and insistent and demanding to be noticed because fear and notoriety are half the job, as Jango said during a training session. He had left recently, circling back a few cycles ago and now he was leaving again? The cadet should be Boba if the standard trooper is Jango. 

He hopes it’s Jango. If there is a trooper stealing his ship, they’ll all be culled, just to be safe. 

(There it is again. What is it? It sounds so familiar, like something he heard once in a dream.)

CC-2224 breaks into a run, heading for the railings between this platform and the next. The surface is old, pitted, with heavy data cords that run up the inside along with the structural supports. It’ll be difficult, but he should be able to climb up that way if he braces himself correctly so that he doesn’t immediately fall into the starving sea beneath him. It is a stupid plan. It is one of the worst plans that CC-2224 has ever come up with. It is the only plan that has a chance of working. 

He hopes CT-7567 will be okay, whichever outcome befalls him. 

(Catch it.)

CC-2224 obeys. He is a good soldier, afterall. He’s created to follow orders. 

The weapon is still warm, holding onto the touch of an unknown person. CC-2224 looks up, one boot resting on the decaying railing, his hand still outstretched over the scant gap between the landing bays. There is someone looking down at him, backlit as the ship roars into the atmosphere. 

“Hello there!” The stranger calls. Their accent is new, clipped at the vowels and made to carry. Even so, CC-2224 has to focus to hear them, blinking against the rain.A new trainer? Someone else? 

He knows who they are. He knows the weapon he’s holding. (He knows how to kill with the weapon he’s holding, knows how to fight the wielder.) ERROR. 

CC-2224 raises his hand in greeting, holding the tube between thumb and forefinger as he splays his fingers. He points towards the door, knowing that there is little use in calling back and forth and trying to make themselves heard over the storm. 

The stranger mimics CC-2224’s wave, their skin paler in the brief pulses of light from the emergency lighting than CC-2224’s. They are already beginning to shiver, their hand wavering before they drop out of sight. Blankets are stashed in a reclaimed supply cupboard, two corridors over with a right and a short left and CC-2224 pins the location in his mind as he turns his attention back to the open panel. A quick patch would keep it functional until the next cycle, nowhere near the full repair he was hoping to perform but it’ll do. 

The lower levels are quiet this time of night, but they aren’t deserted. CC-2224 slips into one of the supply room and knocks on the top of a crate. There is a moment before he hears the sleep-slow shift of fabric and a similar face appears in the slight gap between lid and side.

“We have a Jedi on Kamino. Have you still got your comm patch links to update everyone?”

CC-2224 barely waits to receive a nod and the fledging beginning of a question before he is moving away. There isn’t time for the endless supply of questions he would have to wade through once they start and there is already a headache pulsing on the left side of his head at the thought of all the curiosity to come. He taps the lightsaber — because what else could it be, documented in a thousand training sims and another thousand more forms and techniques they had learnt (but why, why did they need them ERROR) — against his thigh. The metal gleams beneath the pale internal lights of a sleep cycle, heavier than he would have expected for something so innocuous, and CC-2224 brushes his thumb over the switch just beneath the port. It is a slight stretch for him to reach, suggesting the Jedi is taller than himself or, at least, has a slightly wider grip. 

He’ll need to be mindful of the extra reach this could mean.

The thought is forgotten as quickly as it arrives, tucked away amongst the nest of wired-in instincts that haven’t been taught or bound into him but were somehow there.

The blanket he collects from the supply closet in one amongst thousands of the same grey material, the same durable weave, and he slings it over one shoulder as he walks, barely breaking stride as he leaves a trail of damp and squelching footprints behind him. They all knew of the Jedi (they had been made for them) but soaked to the bone and shivering is not how he thought he would ever meet one. In his half-constructed dreams, the ones that were usually filled with a nebulous future of things he had never experienced but they could be out there, somewhere, maybe, CC-2224 doesn’t dream of battle. He thinks about a street, about a blue sky above his head and walls that are stone instead of metal. He thinks about a chance encounter, about hands fumbling on a stack of forms or an accidental encounter with a mug of caf. He thinks about his Jedi and what they will look like. He wonders who this Jedi is.

Rounding another corner, CC-2224 hears a matching set of wet footsteps, an unfamiliar voice grumbling in a cascade of syllables that seem to be bundled together in a roll for easy transport only to be unfurled at what sounds like the weather outside, the ocean below, the walls for looking too similar and somebody named Quigon for somehow being responsible, ultimately, for all of this. 

“Sir?”

The Jedi begins to look over his shoulder before he catches himself and turns to face CC-2224. He is pretty in a soaked to the skin kind of way, the water shining beneath the flare of lights as they hum into life at CC-2224’s approach. His hair is dark, made darker by the storm, but it is the shade that captures CC-2224’s attention first, red like the distant glimpses of sunset he can make out from the higher levels of the facility whenever the speciality training overran. 

“Hello again,” the Jedi says, his grin immediate and a little rueful. He bows, one shivering hand pressed into his chest. The leather bracelets around his wrist shift with the movement and CC-2224 flexes his free fingers with the urge to unfasten them. They could move and catch, irritating the skin beneath, and no other reason. None at all. 

CC-2224 holds out the lightsaber, flipping it easily so the handle is extended towards the Jedi. He is aware of the potential blade within in the same way he would be aware of the possible humming energy field of a vibroblade, the prospect of danger and death. “I believe you dropped this, sir.”

“Yes. I did, didn’t I?” The Jedi steps forward, tapping his boot behind himself as he reclaims his lightsaber and snaps it back onto his belt. “Thank you for catching it for me.” 

CC-2224 flexes his fingers, chasing after the scant memory of the handle still warm from another’s touch, and settles back into the correct stance before holding the blanket out. “For you as well, sir.”

“Thank you. And call me Obi-Wan, please. I don’t believe I’ve caught your name?”

CC-2224 twitches at the question, a momentary break in composure and his fingers bump against Obi-Wan’s. It is the barest instance of contact, gone in the same heartbeat, but he focuses on it regardless, something new to distract his racing thoughts with. He can’t answer. He has to answer. He—

“Jedi Master. I have been looking for you.”

Ice shears down CC-2224’s spine, stopping his heart and kickstarting it at the same time. His breath remains steady, his hands still as he drops into a waiting position at the Kaminoan’s approach. They didn’t venture down this far, preferring the drier floors high above, and she ducks her head beneath the sag of a broken strut before moving next to Obi-Wan. She doesn’t look at CC-2224. 

“I see you have encountered one of our units.”

“I have.” Obi-Wan glances at CC-2224, his expression unreadable. All warmth that CC-2224 had been basking in has been carefully hidden, akin to shoving everything that could be considered contraband into an air duct and pulling the paneling back into place leaving it sheer and blank once more. “He showed great initiative, I’m very impressed.”

The target slowly lifts from between CC-2224’s shoulderblades, a box in a system he’ll never be allowed to access remaining unchecked. He doesn’t move, keeps his face blank. He hasn’t been dismissed yet; one of the little games the long-necks like to play and some of the trainers too, the wait-there-because-I’ve-told-you, the pick-this-up-put-it-down, the go-stop-go-stop. 

He hopes the Jedi will be different. 

He is prepared if they aren’t.

“Do you require him for anything further?” 

“No.” Obi-Wan turns away from the scientist, his mouth still pressed into a thin line that speaks a rage brewing behind it, tightly leashed and called to heel, but his eyes soften as he looks at CC-2224. “You’re dismissed. I hope our paths cross again.”

“Sir.” CC-2224 salutes, regimentally perfect like he has been pre-programmed with the gesture, and turns on his heel. He’s been a drowning man often enough to recognise an escape when one is offered. 

Query: Who is Jedi Master Obi-Wan?

Answer: He is a Jedi. He is a target. (He has been made for you just as you have been made for him.)

Too many thoughts. 

ERROR.

Just one. 

Their fingers brushed. CC-2224 would like it to happen again.