#half hidden by low hanging clouds

[antennatoheaven]

planning my route tomorrow somehow turned into looking at houses in germany lord help me

[syoddeye]

you scurry into the bookshop from the cold, the door slamming shut behind you with the breeze.

the warmth inside feels like a slap after the bitter chill, and your glasses immediately fog over, clouding your vision in a steamy blur. you pause, fumbling with your mittens, distracted by your own breath bouncing back at you behind your scarf, making it worse. you step forward without thinking.

and immediately regret it. your shoulder slams into something hard and solid, like a wall. except the wall shifts, and a deep voice hisses down at you.

“fuckin’—we in a rush? watch where you’re—”

“sorry!” you blurt out, flinching back.

the voice halts. just stops, snipped mid-sentence. you’re scrabbling to pull your mittens off now, fingers clumsy and frantic. the fog persists, blinding, smothering, your breath quickening and making the condensation worse.

“shit, shit, sorry—”

then a hand settles on your shoulder.

a low, rasping hehehe rattles from above. “can’t see a thing, can ya? ‘old still.”

you freeze, mittens half-off, mouth hanging open in protest as something dark moves toward your face.

“uh, what are you—oh, you don’t have to…”

a thumb drags black fabric gently over one of the lenses. the fog clears in a small oval, revealing part of the stranger’s face, his deep brown eyes. you try to crane your neck for a better look, but the hand on your shoulder shifts to your chin, steadying it.

“keep still.”

your mouth shuts and your pulse stutters. his thumb and forefinger pinch just firmly enough to hold your head in place. he clears the second lens, and when he withdraws the fabric, you finally see him.

he wears a thick, cloth mask, the loops disappearing beneath the edges of a matching hat. though most of his face is hidden, you notice the faint scar cutting across the end of one blond eyebrow, a few faded freckles dusting his forehead. the scarf around his neck hangs loose, one end caught in his hand, which he drops once he seems satisfied with his work.

“there,” he says, leaning back a fraction to examine you. his eyes crinkle at the edges, amused. he must be smiling. “look at those eyes.”

you blink up at him, and you’re hyper-aware of your own breathing. careful not to exhale too hard, in case you fog everything up again.

“thanks.”

his thumb, still resting lightly on your chin, moves in a small, absent circle. he hums, low in his throat, and then lets go.

“of course, sweet’eart.”

for a second, you just stand there. five seconds, maybe. you’re the one who breaks the silence by awkwardly stepping away.

“okay, yep, thanks again.” you say, words knocking into each other like you knocked into him.

you retreat further into the shop, yanking at your mittens until they’re off and stuffed into your pockets. your scarf is next, practically ripped from your neck, the heat of your own embarrassment prickling at your skin all over.

what just happened? should you have said something? made a point of how weird that was? because it was weird. right?

you circle the horror section three times before your heart rate evens out, but even then, you’re not really seeing the shelves. the titles run together, and your mind drifts back to him—his hand on your chin, the soft way he said sweetheart.

your glasses are clear, but you’re stuck in a haze.

simon was just supposed to kill time, having arrived arrived early to meet price. except now he’s going to be late, for the first time in ages, to a meeting with his captain.

it’s difficult to hide in a shop where he’s taller than most of the shelves, but he’s careful. doesn’t take much of an effort anyway, she’s preoccupied by the shelves of the horror section. not his preference, but he likes the twist. likes the view, too. the profile of her face, her hair, the way her jeans fit snugly over her arse.

smitten. that’s the word, he thinks. charmed, maybe. pretty, sweet four-eyes all dressed up in knitwear. she probably made them herself. seems the type. he wonders, absurdly, if she’d make him something. a sweater, maybe. something that actually fits his shoulders.

then she suddenly moved, pulling out her phone, and he buries his face in the cookbook he’s been pretending to read. thai recipes, apparently. he flips a page, wondering if she likes thai food. he could try making it.

his phone buzzes and for a second, one irrational second, he thinks it’s her. like she’s sent a message telepathically from across the shop. but no. it’s price, blunt as ever, asking where the fuck he is.

he looks up again, and she’s gone. just like that. his stomach drops, and he straightens instinctively, scanning the aisles. he can’t help it, he turns—

“so…you like thai food?”

he looks down and finds her at the next shelf over, smiling shyly. something about it. it slips through his ribs and gets comfortable.

[moonstruckme]

hi! I loved your fic with reader and sirius in a situationship and he comes over for a hookup and reader is super stressed and he helps. Can you please do another one with that dynamic? Maybe angst where they’re hanging out at a party and Sirius is all over reader but then says they’re just friends? Possibly smut ensues 👀

I love reading you work!!

Thanks for requesting!

cw: smut mdni, p in v, semi-public sex, hurt no comfort

fwb!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“Shh.” Sirius nips at your earlobe, eliciting another half-suppressed mewl from you as he presses you into the wall next to James’ shower. “You want everyone here to know what’s going on? James’ll have a field day.” 

“He’s already gonna know if I walk out all marked up.” 

“S’not my fault, is it?” he hisses, fingertips digging into your ass as his teeth scrape across your pulse point. “Why’d you have to wear this fucking dress, huh?” 

 “No idea what you’re talking about,” you pant, but you’re laughing, tits bouncing almost completely out of the tight bodice as he thrusts into you, the lace lining barely covering your peaked nipples. Sirius’ eyes had gone nearly all black when he’d seen it in your closet. Dollface, when did you get this pretty little thing? You’ve been waiting for the opportunity to undo him with it ever since. 

Part of you wonders if he’d had a similar plan tonight. Sirius is wearing—or, well, he had been wearing—the black jeans you’d helped him thrift last weekend, slung low over his hips and paired with a tank top that shows ample expanses of his inked-up torso and arms. He’d watched as you drank the outfit in, and the pretense of socializing at James’ party hadn’t lasted long before he’d drug you into the bathroom by your elbow. 

Sirius shifts, pushing you harder against the wall as he takes your weight with one hand, freeing the other to paw at your boob. It plops readily out of its confines and into his palm. You moan as his thumb brushes your nipple, ducking your head to smother the sound against his shoulder. 

You start kissing the tattoo there a second before he finds the spot he’s been searching for inside you and your head lolls back. Your hands spread over his shoulders to ensure you don’t topple over, lightheaded and cock-addled. 

“Easy, pretty girl.” Sirius’ tone is smug, his hands coming back to your ass as he hits that spot over and over again. He presses his lips to yours sweetly, swallowing your sounds. “I know you didn’t have that much to drink, try to stay upright for me.” 

Pathetically, it warms your heart to think that he’d been keeping an eye on you. You use what leverage you have against the wall to grind your hips into him. Sirius groans, pounding into you so hard you think you must ascend, your vision all starry and wild as pleasure shoots out from your core, tingling all the way to your fingertips. 

Distantly, you’re aware of Sirius covering your mouth with his again, thrusting into you a few more times before he comes too and bites down on your bottom lip as his grip tightens on you. Your chest hurts. You feel almost like you could cry, which is new. You both stay there for a minute, him relaxing his hold on your ass until it’s a bit kinder and you idly pulling a strand of his hair through your fingers, until Sirius breaks the kiss. His eyes meet yours, the color of heavy clouds, and you have the sense that he’s peeling you like a tangerine. Seeing down to your hidden, squishy bits. 

“You alright?” he asks you. 

You swallow. “Yeah,” you say, pleased to find that your voice holds no trace of the emotion spreading like a blight behind your sternum. “You?” 

Sirius’ lips tilt. “I’m fantastic, dollface.” 

He adjusts his grip on you, letting you get your legs underneath you before lowering you to the floor. Your panties bunch around one shoe, getting slick on your ankle. 

“Ugh,” you sigh, sitting down on the lip of the tub while Sirius takes his condom off. “Can you pass me some toilet paper? I can’t put these back on like this.” 

“Just throw them out.” 

“I can’t, I really like these.” You start to reach for the toilet paper on your own and Sirius finally obliges, passing you a wad. “Thanks.”

He tugs his jeans back up, buttoning them before leaning on the wall to watch you. You keep your focus on your task and not on ogling how his biceps bulge when he crosses his arms like that. “I can just get you another pair,” he says. 

“You don’t need to do that.” 

“Oh, come on.” His tone takes on a familiar quality. You look up, and sure enough, he’s smirking down at you. The expression does things to your stomach you can never let him find out about. “I’m the one who ruined ‘em in the first place, aren’t I? Let me make it up to you.”

You would say it’s been sufficiently made up, but you only shake your head, folding the toilet paper over to a dry part. “I’m not throwing them out. I just need a minute, then I can put them back on.” 

“Suit yourself, darling.” Something in you flutters at the pet name, but then Sirius pushes off the wall. “I’m gonna head out, get back out there so nobody sees us leave together.” 

You keep your gaze downward. “Good idea.” 

You notice him flash you a smile in your periphery. Even without really seeing it, you can guess what it looks like: flirty, impersonal. “See you out there.” 

He opens the door, and you see only a flash of light brown hair before he’s slipping out and shutting it behind him, shielding you from view. 

“Hello,” Remus’ voice says slowly. He must’ve just been passing by, but if the extended occupation of the bathroom hadn’t caught his attention, Sirius’ hasty exit certainly has. “Don’t suppose I need to ask where you’ve been.” 

“That,” you hear Sirius say in his jovial way, “would be terribly nosy, Moony. Unlike you.” 

You creep closer to the door, pressing your ear to the crack in time to hear Remus’ amused hum. “Don’t suppose I need to ask if you know where y/n is either, do I? Mary’s been looking for her.” 

“I’m sure she’ll turn up shortly,” Sirius replies. 

There’s a short period of silence wherein you wonder if they’ve walked away, but then Remus says quietly, “I hope you’re being careful.” 

Sirius laughs, the sound derisive. “Thank you for your concern, but you’ll find a condom in James’ bathroom trash if you’re worried enough to go looking.” 

“Not what I meant. She’s a sweet girl, Sirius. Don’t fuck her about.” 

You can practically hear the lewd joke forming on Sirius’ tongue, but his voice lowers, unexpectedly sober. “I’m not,” he says. You stop breathing. “She’s under no false impressions, alright? We both talked about what this was before we started, and she doesn’t want a relationship any more than I do.” 

Remus’ sigh is long-suffering. “Sure.” 

“Honest, Moons. We’re just friends.” 

Your heart—your stupid, mutinous heart—shrinks and withers like a balloon without air. You move away from the door as quietly as you can, sitting again on the cold lip of James’ tub. Sirius says something about taking charge of the music selection, and you breathe carefully as he and Remus go off. You’re furious with yourself, humiliated for feeling so dejected. Sirius is right; you had been clear about what you wanted when you first started this thing. Boundaries had been laid down. Just because your feelings have changed, that doesn’t mean his have. It was unfair of you to look for more from him. 

Your underwear are a lost cause. You bury them underneath more toilet paper in James’ bin, hiding the condom while you’re at it. You’ll get yourself new ones without telling Sirius. What you do shouldn’t be his problem anyway.

[betweenstorms]

The nights with Simon Riley had a way of unfolding slowly, like the dark sky stretching over the city.

He stood on the balcony of your apartment, his tall figure dark against the dim glow of the city, the cigarette between his fingers casting a faint light over his hardened features. You watched him from the doorway, the way he exhaled smoke like he was letting out something heavier than just nicotine. His broad shoulders were relaxed but there was something in the way he leaned on the railing, something distant and unreachable.

You’d grown used to finding him there, slipping out in the dead of night to be alone with his thoughts.

Your relationship with Simon was still new, still delicate, and you respected the walls he kept between you and the parts of himself he wasn’t ready to share. You were still learning how to be with him, how to exist in his world without pressing for more than he was willing to give. But there was something about the way he stood out there, still and alone, that made you want to join him.

You pulled a thick blanket around your shoulders and stepped outside, the cold air biting at your skin as you moved to stand beside him. He didn’t turn to look at you, but the subtle shift in his posture let you know he was aware of your presence.

The quiet stretched, filled only by the soft crackle of his cigarette and the distant hum of the city below.

For a moment, you worried you might be intruding, that this space of his was one you weren’t meant to enter. But then, without turning his head, he exhaled a cloud of smoke and murmured.

“You’ll catch a cold, love.”

His voice was low, rough from years of shouting orders and biting back pain, yet there was a gentleness in it that made your heart ache. You tugged the blanket tighter around yourself, your breath a soft mist in the chill of the night.

“You’ll catch one too,” you whispered back, eyes flicking to him from beneath your lashes. He hummed in response, the sound deep and thoughtful. The smoke from his cigarette trailed into the air, disappearing into the night like his words, but the weight of whatever he was thinking lingered, hanging between you like a thin thread.

For a second, you were afraid that your company might be unwelcome, that maybe this was one of those nights where the weight of his silence was too much for him to bear. 

He grunted, “Been through worse.”

You hesitated, then softly asked, “Worse?”

He was quiet for a moment, as if weighing whether to let you in or to leave the conversation hanging in the cold night air. But then, almost casually, he answered, “Siberia. Had to lie in the snow for a whole day during an op, waitin’ for the target. It was so fuckin’ cold it felt like my bones were freezin’ from the inside out.”

His words were blunt, delivered in that deadpan tone he used when talking about his past, as if it was nothing more than a simple fact. Simon didn’t elaborate, he never did. He’d always let his sentences drift into the silence, leaving you to piece together the fragments of the life he kept hidden from you. From everyone.

The weight of his words hung in the air, heavier than the smoke that curled between you. You shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. For a second, the city seemed to fade, the world narrowing to the bite of winter and the quiet strength of the man beside you.

Without thinking, you shifted closer to him, the blanket still wrapped around your shoulders, but now you pulled a corner of it over him, too. He glanced down at the blanket with a raised eyebrow, his cigarette paused halfway to his lips.

You thought he might brush it off, that he would retreat back into himself, but his reaction surprised you. He shifted slightly, allowing the blanket to cover more of him. It was subtle, the way he leaned just a little closer, but it was enough for you to feel the solid warmth of his body next to yours.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as you looked at him, half-shrouded in the blanket.

“Sounds miserable,” you teased, your voice soft but light, trying to coax him out of the darkness of that memory.

He scoffed, taking another deep drag from his cigarette. The sound was somewhere between amusement and disbelief, as if the idea of it being miserable had never even crossed his mind.

Simon turned slightly, the cigarette held loosely between his fingers as he offered it to you, the soft glow of the ash flickering in the dim light. You shook your head. He hummed again, eyes briefly flicking over you before he brought the cigarette back to his lips, inhaling deeply, turning away from you. His gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon, his thoughts far from the balcony, but you felt the shift in his mood. The heaviness in the air began to lift, like a cloud of smoke dissipating into the wind.

You both stood there for a while in silence, wrapped in the makeshift cocoon of the blanket, the cold air still nipping at your cheeks but no longer biting through the layers. You could feel his steady presence beside you, grounding you in a way that words couldn’t. It wasn’t just about sharing warmth, it was also about sharing space, about the quiet understanding that you didn’t need to fill the silence with anything more than your nearness.

Eventually, Simon stubbed out his cigarette on the balcony railing, his fingers lingering on the metal for a moment as if grounding himself in the coolness of it. He didn’t pull away from the blanket, though. Instead, he leaned back against the railing, turning slightly so that he could see you fully for the first time since you stepped out.

Then suddenly, out of the blue, Simon reached for you.

His rough, calloused fingers found your chin with a gentleness that surprised you, catching it as if inspecting you closely. His touch was cool, still carrying the remnants of the night air, but you melted into it, pressing your cheek slightly against his hand. His thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along your jaw as you blinked up at him, heart fluttering at the intimacy of the moment.

There was something in the way he held you, something so gentle it almost broke your heart. He tilted his head to the side, his hazel eyes flickering with something unreadable and thoughtful, as though he were studying your reaction in the quiet way only he could.

His steady gaze lingered for a bit, then he dropped his hand, his fingers brushing against your arm as he did so. The warmth of his touch still burned on your skin, even after it was gone, and you found yourself smiling up at him, your heart full of something soft.

“Cold?”

His voice was low, barely above a murmur, but you could hear the faintest hint of amusement in it. You shook your head, pulling the blanket tighter around the both of you, leaning just a little closer to him, letting the warmth of his body seep into yours.

“Not anymore.”

Your words barely reached him, but you knew he’d heard you.

Simon didn’t answer, instead, he shifted closer, his arm wrapping around you beneath the blanket, pulling you into the solid warmth of his chest. You pressed your face into him, your breath warm against his shirt, and for the first time that night, you felt the quiet truth that had settled between you.

betweenstorms (next) (masterlist)

[kusanagihaku]

i will turn into clouds sanguine 

⭢ lyca and mc, 1.2k

q is for qilin. ˖⁺‧₊⟡ alphabet series | ao3

The front door of Obscuary creaks open under your touch. 

Rui must have left it unlocked for you after you texted him earlier today about leaving paperwork for some new missions – you step inside and let the heavy door groan closed behind you. You make a left turn into where you told Rui you’d leave the files…

…only to come face to face with Lyca and a huge, huge canvas. 

You blink. Woah. 

It lays flat on the Obscuary dining table, long and white and half-covered in fine, black pen strokes. If you had to guess, it’d be Lyca’s height when propped upright, with a width double that. 

“You’re here,” Lyca says. He flicks a glance at your shoes. “Did you get lost?” 

You flush. You did make a wrong turn or two in the forest but… you made it, didn’t you? “Um. No.”  

Lyca sniffs, frowning. “You smell like the soil from Rui’s garden. That’s not on the way in.” 

“…maybe?” You can’t help the sheepish grin that breaks onto your face, and are rewarded with Lyca’s triumphant snort. “Anyway, what’s this?” 

Lyca glances back down at the corner of the canvas he’s bent over. “Rui asked me to draw something we could hang in the bar. He promised he would buy me paints if I did it, so I did.” 

You walk closer to the canvas to get a better look. The fine lines coalesce into four large shapes under the dim dining room light, vaguely reminiscent of mythical creatures you might have read about once upon a time. “What are these?” 

Lyca points to his left. There is a small book propped open beside the pen he has just set down – comparing the yellowed page to his canvas, you realise he must have been using it as a reference for most of the details. “The idiot grandpa gave me this book and told me to do this. It was the only thing he suggested that Rui agreed to.” 

You wince; you don’t want to imagine what else Ed suggested to Rui. You turn your attention back to the tangle of black strokes on the white surface. 

Nearest to you is a completed tortoise, mouth open and claws pointed and sharp. It is seated atop a stone, and is angled to face a phoenix floating down from the top left. The phoenix, despite being only rendered in swift, short lines, is striking – its wings are outstretched and its glare fierce. Hidden under the furrow of its eyes is a desperate sort of determination you had no idea could be captured in pen. 

In the top right corner, snaking down from a hastily sketched set of clouds is a majestic beast, teeth bared and horns like fire. Scales slick off its back in flames, and its claws extend towards the foreground. It is lit in part by the warmth of the overhead light, but in part by the soft moonlight streaming in through a nearby window; the silver of moonlight makes the creature almost glow. 

You let out a low whistle, impressed. “Is that a dragon?” 

Lyca nods. “They’re supposed to be the four is- es- suspicious beasts.” 

You pause for a moment. “…auspicious?” 

Lyca scrunches his nose. “Yeah. Anyway, Ed says Rui is supposed to be the dragon.” 

You wrack your brain for mentions of the Four Auspicious Beasts – you know you studied something similar for a class two or three months back. “Isn’t it supposed to symbolise power or strength, or something like that?” 

“Yeah.” Lyca scratches the back of his neck. “Rui has the most power out of all of us. Given his curse and all.” 

You half-smile. Once upon a time you’d have said Ed was the strongest in Obscuary – knowing him now and thinking about the dynamics of the house, it makes more sense that their harried and lively vice-captain would be their dragon. 

“What about the tortoise?” 

Lyca frowns, as if it is obvious. He picks up his pen. “It’s that moth-eaten Casanova, of course. Slow and can’t do anything but make gross jokes.” 

Well. You can’t refute that.

“Also, he said it was supposed to represent longevity and stability,” Lyca adds, adding a few pen strokes, “and he’s supposed to live forever, so.” 

You look carefully at what Lyca is sketching. It is half-complete, details on its face yet to be finished. “Is that you?” 

He nods. “Rui said this was a…” he squints back at the tiny reference book, “a Qilin.” 

Makes sense. From what you remember, the qilin symbolised righteousness and integrity, both qualities Lyca possesses in bounds. 

You hum, watching his hands work. “Did you know that qilin are said to be so gentle and respectful of life they don’t step on blades of grass?” 

Lyca looks up at you, briefly. “I step on grass.”

It pulls a laugh out of you. “Yeah, well, but you’re still one of the most respectful ghouls I know.” 

You feel Lyca straighten a little at that, almost like he’s holding back a beam. He lets out a small huff. “Well. That’s what Suba told me to do.” 

If his tail was out it’d be wagging. You bite back a smile. “That’s good!” 

A silence lapses over the both of you for a few minutes as you watch his pen glide across the canvas. Your eyes wander back, again, to the eyes of the phoenix. 

Come to think of it, aren’t there only three occupants in Obscuary? You know that the set needs all four to be complete, but if Rui was the dragon, Ed the tortoise and Lyca the qilin, who was the phoenix? 

“Lyca, who’s that supposed to be then? Since there are only three of you.” 

Lyca slides a glance at you, brows furrowed as if he cannot fathom why you would be asking. “Isn’t it obvious? That’s you.” 

You blink. 

He taps the back of his pen on the reference book. The little taps are heavy on the lump growing in your throat. “The old man said phoenixes mean rebirth. After you’re cured, you’re gonna have your second life, right?”

His tone is so matter-of-fact, as if he has never had a doubt that you’d be cured, that whatever response you might have had swells in your lungs and stays there. 

The weight of his conviction sinks into the surface of your mind. You know the Mortkranken ghouls have been working overtime for you, you know the Hotarubi ghouls have been poring over dusty old tomes for more information, you know the rest of the ghouls have been working on your curse in their own ways and yet… 

And yet some part of you has never dared to hope for the success of a cure. 

You swallow. 

But here they are, holding a torch you have never dared to light – you will break your curse before the year is up. You will be cured. You will get to return to normal, life irrevocably changed by your time at Darkwick and bound to the ghouls that you’ve helped and been helped by, for better or for worse. You will get to live. 

Your nose burns. 

Lyca looks at you curiously. 

“Nothing,” you say, quickly. You cough to cover up the thick in your voice. “The fact that you’d accept me into Obscuary… that’s really nice to hear.” 

Lyca snorts. “Of course you’ll be with us. Where else would you be?” 

You grin. It comes out watery, probably, but you don’t care. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

[shiorihyugawrites]

The Devil's Bride

Aurora Jaeger, Eren's long-lost childhood friend, was taken from him when they were children. After years of suffering under Marleyan control, Aurora is reunited with Eren while he’s undercover in Marley, igniting a bond neither of them expected. Despite her gentle nature, Aurora breaks her vow of pacifism to save Eren’s life, solidifying their deep connection. Secretly married before the Raid on Liberio, Aurora is swept into Eren's world of chaos and destruction. As the Scouts learn of her existence, tensions rise on the airship home. Mikasa’s heart shatters, and Levi demands answers. And Eren will stop at nothing to protect the only light left in his dark world—his bride, Aurora.

In this journey of love, loyalty, and war, Aurora must reconcile her innocent heart with the brutal reality of the man she loves, while Eren faces the truth of what he’s become. (Eren x OC)

Chapter Twenty Nine

Porco ran as fast as he could, his Jaw Titan racing through the dense foliage of the forest, clutching a nearly dead Reiner and a grievously injured Pieck in his powerful jaws. The trees blurred by as he bounded over roots and boulders, pushing himself harder than ever before. He had to reach the shoreline, where their discreetly hidden ship still waited. If they could just get there, they might escape with their lives.

His mission had been a complete disaster. Not only had they failed to capture Aurora Jaeger, but both Reiner and Pieck had been on the brink of death. And then there was the matter of Historia Reiss, the woman he was supposed to kill. Instead of completing his objective, Porco had found himself drawn to her in a way that made no sense. He had fallen in love with the enemy in less than twelve hours. It was madness.

He remembered the moment he dropped Historia off. Every instinct screamed at him to finish the job, to end her life and secure Marley’s advantage. But he couldn’t do it. He had felt Ymir’s love surging through him, clouding his judgment. It took everything he had to leave her behind and focus on rescuing Reiner and Pieck. Now, carrying his injured comrades, he cursed himself for his weakness and confusion.

At last, he reached the quiet, deserted shoreline where their small ship lay hidden among the rocks and low-hanging branches. Carefully, Porco lowered Reiner and Pieck onto the sand. Their wounds were already beginning to heal, Titan shifter regeneration kicking in, though they were still weak and battered. Pieck’s breathing came in strained gasps, and Reiner was barely conscious.

With a burst of steam, Porco emerged from the nape of his Titan, half out, still tethered to the flesh by those sinewy tendrils. He breathed hard, trying to gather his thoughts. He thought about what Historia had said to him—her words ringing in his head, her plea for unity, her insistence that they were all Eldians divided by Marley’s propaganda. He knew he was being influenced by Ymir’s memories, but he couldn’t help it. The feelings he had for Historia were too strong, too real, and it terrified him.

Pieck, still lying prone and healing, turned her head slightly toward Porco. Her voice was weak but laced with concern and confusion. “Porco,” she managed, her tone gentle yet probing, “why didn’t you kill the Queen when you had the chance? We saw you… You had her in your jaws and you spit her out unharmed. Why?”

Porco’s eyes darted away, his expression contorting in shame and uncertainty. He couldn’t bring himself to speak. How could he explain that the love he felt wasn’t even entirely his own? That Ymir’s soul, living inside him through her memories, had stayed his hand? He just shook his head, clenching his teeth, refusing to meet Pieck’s gaze.

Reiner observed Porco closely. He noticed the flush creeping up Porco’s cheeks, the subtle tremble in his frame. Reiner had lived undercover on Paradis for years, witnessing firsthand the bonds formed between those once called "island devils.” He had seen Ymir and Historia together, had sensed how much Ymir cared for that golden-haired girl who had once gone by Christa. Now, it was as if Ymir’s love had been passed on to Porco through the power of the Jaw Titan.

Reiner’s eyes widened slightly as he pieced it together. Pieck turned her gaze between them, realization dawning as she understood why Porco hesitated, why he couldn’t strike the final blow. They exchanged a look—this was something they’d never predicted. Porco Galliard, a warrior of Marley, falling under the influence of Ymir’s feelings and falling for Historia Reiss. It was almost laughable, if it weren’t so tragic.

Seeing their understanding, Porco stiffened. He didn’t want their pity, their questions. He felt cornered, exposed. “Don’t look at me like that!” he snapped, his voice raw with emotion. “I—I just… Shut up!”

Pieck and Reiner tried again, Pieck attempting a gentle, “Porco, we can work this out, just tell us—”

But he cut her off with a snarl, refusing to explain himself further. He couldn’t handle their probing right now. He needed space, needed to think, needed to escape these eyes that saw too much.

Without another word, Porco went back into the nape of his titan. Steam erupted as he fully assimilated back into the Jaw Titan. Pieck called after him, but he ignored her, launching himself back into the forest’s depths.

He ran, the wind whipping past him, as he followed that pull in his chest—the one leading him back towards Historia. He didn’t know what he would do if he found her again. He didn’t know if he would run away or beg her forgiveness, or try to understand what was happening to him. He only knew that Ymir’s memories and his own heart were calling out for her, urging him forward into the unknown.

…

Meanwhile, Aurora kept a protective arm around Historia as they headed back toward the Jaegerist compound. The group moved slowly, exhausted by the chaos of the battle. Floch rode at the front, his face twisted with frustration. He couldn’t shake the image of the Jaw Titan disappearing into the forest, taking the Cart and Armoured Titans with him. After all this effort, not only had they failed to apprehend the Marleyan warriors, but the damned Titan had managed to infiltrate them, kidnap Queen Historia, and then just… let her go?

“Damn it,” Floch muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with irritation. He was still fuming that Eren had chastised him in front of the others, and now this. He couldn’t help but feel as though everything were slipping out of his control. The Ackermans he’d spent a month hunting were alive, their queen had been kidnapped and returned without explanation, and now their enemies had vanished into the woods.

Eren walked at a brisk pace, his shoulders tense. He glanced occasionally at Aurora and Historia. Historia was practically clinging to Aurora, sobbing into her shoulder. The sight made Eren’s heart clench—whatever had happened with Porco’s Titan had clearly left her shaken to the core. Everyone was puzzled by what had transpired. The Jaw Titan had literally dropped off their queen, alive and physically unharmed, then fled. It didn’t add up.

Mikasa hovered protectively near Levi, who was being half-carried, half-supported by a pair of Jaegerists. The captain was in rough shape, still suffering from his injuries and the lingering effects of Aurora’s poison. His body had taken even more abuse when Aurora accidentally dropped him earlier. He was alive, but miserable, and it showed in his scowling face.

Finally, they reached the compound. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the training grounds. The atmosphere was thick with confusion, relief, and tension all at once. They needed to debrief, to understand what had happened, but one look at Historia’s tear-streaked face told them she needed rest more than anything else.

Eren nodded to a small group of Jaegerists. “Take the queen to her quarters. Make sure she’s comfortable,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

Aurora gently eased Historia away from her shoulder. “I’ll come check on you soon,” Aurora promised softly. Historia nodded numbly, allowing the Jaegerists to guide her inside. Aurora watched them go, her own heart heavy. She couldn’t ignore the worry gnawing at her gut—about Porco, about what this all meant. But for now, Historia’s wellbeing came first.

Meanwhile, Levi was taken to the infirmary. Mikasa stood guard, her blades still sheathed at her hips, but her posture alert and ready for trouble. Aurora followed them inside, rolling up her sleeves and joining the medics treating Levi’s injuries. The medics exchanged uncertain looks, still astonished to see Aurora so focused on helping the man she’d once nearly killed. Yet, no one dared comment. The tension of the recent battles had shown everyone that alliances could shift and priorities could change in a heartbeat.

Levi lay back on the cot, his face contorted in pain. His muscles twitched as Aurora applied a salve to his wounds, and he let out a low hiss. “Easy,” Aurora murmured, careful and methodical in her movements. “You’ll feel better soon.”

Levi glared past Aurora, his eyes finding Eren. Eren had just entered, hovering near the doorframe as if unsure whether he was welcome. Aurora could sense Eren’s unease. He expected Levi’s fury over the imprisonment of Hange, Armin, Jean, Connie, and Sasha underground in hardened crystal. He braced himself for the inevitable tirade, the accusations that he’d turned against his comrades.

But Levi’s harsh whisper cut through the silence, and it wasn’t about the imprisoned scouts at all.

“You let your pregnant wife onto a battlefield,” Levi growled, his voice low and rough. “What the hell were you thinking, Jaeger?”

Eren blinked, momentarily speechless. Aurora’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with surprise. She had expected Levi’s anger to be directed toward their political schemes or the way Eren had seized control of the military. Instead, he was admonishing Eren for risking her life—her life and the baby’s.

“You knew she was pregnant?” Eren asked, stunned.

“She told me herself,” Levi’s sneered. “You let a pregnant woman face me—if her little paralytic plan hadn’t worked, I could’ve killed her. And then what?”

Eren’s mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out at first. Eventually, he managed, “I… I never wanted that to happen, but we were out of options and running out of time. Aurora’s plan was solid.”

At that, Levi shot Aurora a knowing glance. “Her plan may have worked, but you’re still in charge. This whole mess falls back on you, Eren.”

Aurora stood very still, her hands stilling over the bandages she was wrapping around Levi’s arm. She recalled Eren once telling her that Levi wouldn’t care about her pregnancy if it meant removing a threat. Yet here Levi was, admonishing Eren for risking her life. It was a strange, unexpected turn that made her chest tighten with a sudden surge of respect for the captain. He wasn’t the cold machine she’d imagined. He was pragmatic, yes, but not soulless.

Levi let out a small, pained sigh. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said, his voice still rough, “I’m not saying I approve of everything you and Aurora have done. But now I see she’s no different than any of us—willing to do whatever it takes to protect the ones she cares about. She’s a horrible shot and still physically weak, but she’s got guts. Stupid, reckless guts, but guts all the same.”

Aurora’s cheeks warmed at what almost sounded like a backhanded compliment. She managed a quiet, “Thank you, Captain.”

Levi scoffed. “Don’t thank me. Just don’t put me in that position again. I have enough regrets already.”

Mikasa, silent and watchful, relaxed slightly, her shoulders easing down as the tension in the room lessened. Eren took a step forward, his voice calmer. “You’re right, Captain. I’m sorry. This isn’t how I wanted things to go. But we’re fighting a war against the entire world. We need every advantage we can get.”

Levi rolled his eyes but said nothing. Aurora resumed tending to his wounds, more gently now, as if her newfound respect for him made her more careful. The medics hovered nearby, assisting where needed, and the entire infirmary felt charged with the weight of unspoken truths.

Outside, the evening air grew cooler as the Jaegerists regrouped, sharing stories of what had happened in the forest. Floch paced, still furious about the Jaw Titan’s escape, but also shaken by the fact that everyone—Eren, Mikasa, Aurora, even Levi—seemed to be aligning in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

Aurora finished tying off the bandage and gently patted Levi’s shoulder, her eyes meeting his. They shared a brief, understanding look. None of them knew what tomorrow would bring, but for now, they would nurse their wounds, regroup, and prepare for whatever new horrors awaited them in this endless war.

Mikasa lingered near Levi’s bedside, silent and unmoving, as Eren continued stnading nearby. Their eyes met, and Eren could see the hurt etched so deeply in Mikasa’s gaze that it stole his breath. Aurora, carefully tending to Levi, looked up. She caught the intensity between them and understood immediately. Eren and Mikasa needed to talk. She glanced down at Levi, who snorted under his breath, already guessing what was coming.

“This should be good,” Levi muttered, voice heavy with sarcasm, wincing slightly as Aurora adjusted the bandages on his arm. Aurora offered him a soothing look, pressing gently on his shoulder to keep him still, and then nodded at Eren. Her message was clear: take Mikasa somewhere private, let this play out.

Eren cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Mikasa,” he said quietly, keeping his tone as soft as possible in the tense atmosphere. “Can we talk? Alone?”

Mikasa’s grip on the hilt of her blade tightened reflexively, but after a moment’s hesitation, she gave a small, reluctant nod. Aurora and Levi watched silently as Mikasa followed Eren out of the infirmary, into the adjoining hallway. They walked side by side through the corridors of the old farm compound until they found an empty room next to where Historia was supposed to rest. The sound of distant commotion—the Jaegerists clearing the area, Aurora’s quiet instructions to the medics—faded behind them.

Inside the small room, Eren closed the door gently. They stood facing each other, neither speaking. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until Mikasa’s shoulders began to shake. Tears welled in her eyes before she could form a single word. The sight of her crying cut Eren deeply. He took a step forward, arms slightly outstretched, but paused to gauge her reaction.

Mikasa tried to speak, her voice emerging in a choked whisper. “I... I really thought—” Her words failed as a sob escaped her throat, tears now slipping freely down her cheeks. “I thought you’d ordered Floch to hunt us down like animals. I thought you wanted me dead, Eren.” The betrayal in her voice hit him like a knife.

Eren’s heart twisted painfully. In two long strides, he reached her and gently pulled her into a hug. He felt her resist for a split second before her body collapsed against his chest, her sobs muffled in his shirt. “Mikasa,” he murmured, his own voice trembling, “I never wanted that. Floch acted on his own. I didn’t know.”

Mikasa wept harder at his words, relief and doubt mingling in her tears. She’d feared the worst, imagined Eren’s heart turned completely cold. But here he was, holding her, sounding desperate to make her understand.

“I hoped you’d come around,” Eren continued softly, stroking her hair as if trying to soothe away the months of confusion and hurt. “I never wanted to hurt you or our friends. But Mikasa... we have no choice now. The Rumbling—” He pulled back slightly to meet her eyes, his voice raw with emotion. “This is the only way to protect Paradis. The entire world wants us dead. I have to save everyone. I have to save Aurora.” His voice caught as he uttered her name. “And... and our child.”

At the mention of the baby, Mikasa stiffened. She remembered Aurora telling her and Levi about the pregnancy earlier, when they were hiding in the trees. “You knew she was pregnant,” she said, her voice trembling. “You... you didn’t even tell me. Why?”

Eren’s eyes filled with regret. “I was afraid,” he admitted. “If people knew Aurora was pregnant, they could use her against me—against all of us. I couldn’t let that happen. I’ve been trying to keep her safe, Mikasa. Everything I’ve done is to keep all of you safe, even if it doesn’t look that way.”

Mikasa stepped back, brushing tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. She still felt hurt, knowing Eren kept such a secret from her, but she also understood his reasoning in this twisted world they inhabited. And she couldn’t deny what she had seen of Aurora: the woman who risked her own life to save Levi, even after poisoning him in the first place. That complexity was something Mikasa couldn’t ignore.

“Aurora risked her life to save Captain Levi,” Mikasa said quietly, thinking back to that tense moment in the forest. “She’s done terrible things, but so have we all. She’s fighting for what she believes in, for the ones she loves. I can’t hate her for that.” Her gaze locked with Eren’s, the weight of the past months pressing down on them.

Eren’s shoulders sagged with relief, but he remained silent, letting Mikasa finish her thoughts.

“And you,” Mikasa continued, voice still thick with unshed tears. “I don’t agree with the Rumbling. I hate it. I hate what we’re being forced to do. But... I can’t bring myself to hate you or Aurora. Not when I know this world leaves us with so few choices. The attack we just faced proves how ruthless and calculating they are, how badly they want us gone. If we don’t stand together, we’ll all die.”

Eren closed his eyes, absorbing her words. He reached out and took her hand gently. “Thank you, Mikasa,” he said softly. “I know how hard this is for you. For everyone. I just... I can’t lose any more of you. Not you, not Armin, not Levi, not Historia, not Aurora, and not... not our child.”

Mikasa squeezed his hand lightly, acknowledging the fragility of the moment. She didn’t fully understand how they would survive the coming storm, but she knew they needed to trust each other again. The world was cruel and there were no easy answers, but if they gave in to hatred and division, Marley and the rest of the world would have already won.

Her tears began to slow as she took a shaky breath. “We’ll stand together,” she said softly. “I won’t promise to agree with everything, but I won’t abandon you or Aurora. We’ll find a way through this... somehow.”

Eren nodded, his eyes shimmering with gratitude and determination. They stood in silence for a moment, leaning on the fragile understanding they’d managed to rebuild. 

Mikasa took a shaky breath, wiping the last of her tears away. She stood a step back from Eren, her voice steadier now but still laced with lingering hurt and confusion. “Eren,” she began, struggling to keep her voice from breaking again, “what about Armin, Jean, Connie, Sasha, and Hange? You trapped them in that crystal in the basement.”

Eren’s posture stiffened at the mention of his imprisoned comrades. He’d been expecting this question, knowing he couldn’t dodge it any longer. “I’m going to release them,” he said, meeting her eyes earnestly. “I never intended to keep them there forever. I just needed them not to interfere until after the Rumbling was carried out. Once that’s done, once we’ve secured Paradis, I’ll set them free.”

Mikasa’s shoulders tensed, but she nodded slowly. It was some measure of relief, though the weight of what Eren had done still pressed heavily on her heart. “You really think they could understand your reasoning after all this?” she asked, voice subdued.

Eren inhaled deeply. “I hope so. You and Levi—well, at least you—have come around enough to talk to me. Maybe if we explain ourselves to them, they’ll realize why this had to happen.” He lowered his head for a moment. “I know it’s a lot to ask, Mikasa, but after seeing how you and Levi are at least willing to listen, I believe Armin and the others might too.”

Mikasa bit her lip, remembering Armin’s kind eyes, Jean’s steady presence, Connie’s jokes, Sasha’s bright smile, and Hange’s determined spirit. She nodded again, more firmly this time. “We’ll see. At least now I know you plan to free them.”

With that tenuous understanding reached, the two of them stepped out of the quiet room. The muffled sounds of the compound drifted back into their awareness: the distant voices of Jaegerists regrouping, the faint ring of metal from distant gears, the rustle of leaves still clinging to thoughts of that fierce battle.

They headed back to the infirmary where Levi and Aurora waited. The hallway was dimly lit by lantern light, their footsteps muted against worn floorboards. As they entered the infirmary, Aurora looked up from where she was adjusting the bandages on Levi’s arm. Levi lay back, annoyed but resigned, and Aurora’s worried gaze flicked between Eren and Mikasa, gauging their expressions.

Eren paused at the threshold, his arms folded. Mikasa stepped in behind him, positioning herself beside Levi’s bed, her stance guarded but calmer. Levi eyed them both, his face a grim mask. Aurora’s hand stilled on Levi’s bandage as she noticed the tension.

Eren cleared his throat. “I’m going to release them,” he announced, voice steady, yet not too loud. “Armin, Hange, and the others.”

Levi snorted softly. He already knew about Eren imprisoning the scouts—Mikasa had told Levi while they were on the run—but hearing Eren say he’d release them gave a small measure of hope.

“Good,” Levi muttered, wincing slightly as he tried to shift on the cot. “About damn time. They’re our comrades, and we need everyone at their best once all this is over.”

Mikasa’s eyes softened at Levi’s words, relieved that at least he saw some sense in Eren’s decision. Aurora placed a comforting hand on Levi’s shoulder, acknowledging the complexity of the situation with a silent understanding. The entire group bore emotional scars from the battles they’d fought—both against enemies and each other.

Eren relaxed at their reactions. “Before I do that,” he continued, “we need a plan. We can’t just release them without explaining everything first. We need to ensure they understand why I did what I did—and that we all stand together against the world.” His gaze swept over Mikasa, Levi, and Aurora. “We need to be united if we’re going to survive.”

Aurora nodded slowly. “Agreed. We still need to debrief with Historia. She... she’s been through a lot. We need her input, her support. She’s our queen, and we must all be on the same page.” Her voice was quiet but firm, the calm center in this storm.

Eren’s jaw tightened at the mention of Historia, recalling what he’d heard about her encounter with the Jaw Titan. He didn’t fully understand what had happened, only that it left her shaken and in tears. “Yes,” he said softly. “We’ll talk to her as soon as she’s rested. Then we’ll figure out how to approach Armin and the rest.”

Mikasa looked between them, her face still shadowed by uncertainty but buoyed by the tentative solidarity taking shape. Aurora adjusted Levi’s bandage, and he hissed at the pain but didn’t pull away. This strange alliance—Eren’s fervent determination, Aurora’s careful pragmatism, Levi’s begrudging acceptance, and Mikasa’s conflicted loyalty—formed a fragile foundation on which they would attempt to build a future.

The soft glow of lanterns flickered over their faces, painting them in warm light. Outside, distant footsteps hinted at Jaegerists securing the perimeter. Inside, the four of them stood on the brink of a new chapter. Eren and Mikasa had begun to mend the trust between them. Aurora and Levi had settled into a mutual, if uneasy, respect. And now, they would prepare to face their queen, their friends, and the world beyond these walls.

…

A few hours later, Historia sat at the center of the table in one of the larger rooms inside the Jaegerist compound, a space usually reserved for briefings and strategy sessions. The lamplight cast warm shadows on the walls, illuminating the weary faces of those gathered: Eren, Aurora, Floch, Mikasa, Levi, and the two Jaegerist recruits who had accompanied Historia earlier. The tension in the air was palpable, as if everyone still stood on a battlefield rather than safely inside wooden walls.

Levi sat in a wheelchair by Aurora’s insistence, his face set in a scowl. He’d argued for several minutes that he didn’t need such treatment, but Aurora had put her foot down. “You’re not tearing your stitches or aggravating your wounds further,” she had said softly, yet firmly, forcing him to comply. Now, he gripped the armrests in frustration, his eyes occasionally darting to Aurora. He said nothing, but his annoyance was clear. Yet, he remained silent because they had bigger matters to address.

Mikasa stood near Levi’s chair, arms folded and jaw tight. She had taken a seat at first, but Eren’s presence and the situation at hand kept her on her feet, as if ready to leap into action at the slightest provocation. Eren hovered nearby, hands clasped behind his back, doing his best to project calm authority while knowing full well the room was filled with wounded pride, unanswered questions, and lingering resentment.

The two Jaegerist recruits—both young, their eyes still wide with the shock of recent events—shifted nervously. They had been the ones present when their queen was taken by the Jaw Titan. They, like everyone else, wanted answers from her.

Floch stood a few paces away, arms crossed over his chest. His posture brimmed with frustration and impatience. He couldn’t keep the scowl off his face; he was furious that the Jaw Titan had gotten away. His pride had been wounded too—first Eren’s public reprimand, then the failure to recapture or kill the enemy, and now an even deeper confusion about what had transpired between their queen and that Titan.

Eventually, Floch cleared his throat and directed his gaze at Historia. “Your Majesty,” he said, trying to keep his voice level and respectful, “the recruits told us what happened in the forest. They said you were… embracing the Jaw Titan’s shifter, calling him ‘Ymir’? They said he acted protective of you, then he transformed again and took you away. Can you explain what exactly happened?”

At Floch’s prompting, everyone turned their attention to Historia. She was slumped slightly in her chair, her posture not that of a proud queen but of someone carrying a heavy emotional burden. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she had been crying quietly before they arrived. The silence stretched, and for a moment, it seemed she wouldn’t speak at all.

Aurora caught Historia’s gaze and offered a small, encouraging smile. Eren and Mikasa stiffened slightly, as if bracing themselves for what might come out of Historia’s mouth. Levi watched carefully from his wheelchair, one eyebrow raised, prepared for whatever revelations or confusion might follow.

The two Jaegerist recruits stood at attention, their nervous energy filling the air. They clearly wanted to hear the story firsthand, to make sense of the bizarre interaction they had witnessed.

“I know you’re all confused,” Historia began quietly, her voice steadying more with each word. “When the Jaw Titan took me, it was Porco Galliard. Some of you know that he inherited the Jaw Titan after Ymir… and Ymir,” she paused, her throat constricting, “Ymir was someone I loved very deeply.”

At the mention of Ymir’s name, Eren and Mikasa exchanged a glance, recalling old memories of the cadet days and the complicated bonds formed then. Levi’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Aurora tilted her head slightly, absorbing the information, while Floch’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Historia pressed on, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t know how to describe it exactly, but when I saw Porco, when I looked into his eyes, I felt Ymir’s presence. It was as if a part of her lived on in him—through her memories, through the Titan power. He looked at me with such… recognition. I know it sounds impossible, but Ymir’s love, her feelings, they were there in him.”

The recruits gasped softly, one whispering to the other, “Memories… can they influence the shifter’s emotions?” Aurora shot them a quick glance, nodding slightly to acknowledge their confusion was justified.

Mikasa’s grip on her arm tightened. She remembered Ymir and Historia from their cadet days—Ymir’s protective streak, the way she always watched over Historia, who was then known as Christa. Mikasa also remembered Eren describing how Titan memories could blur identities, how pieces of one person lingered in the next. It wasn’t just legend; it was how they inherited knowledge and traits from past shifters.

Eren, jaw clenched, spoke softly, “So you called him Ymir. And he responded… by protecting you?” He tried to keep his voice neutral, but the disbelief lingered at its edges.

Historia nodded, her eyes shining with unspoken emotion. “When I saw him, I wasn’t thinking rationally. All I knew was that I felt Ymir’s spirit burning behind his eyes. I ran to him. I… I embraced him, called him Ymir. He didn’t reject me. He looked startled, conflicted, and yet he shielded me. At that moment, I swear he wanted to keep me safe.”

Levi grunted, shifting uncomfortably. “So let me get this straight,” he said, his voice low and skeptical. “The man who was supposed to kill you ended up protecting you because of leftover feelings from Ymir’s memories?”

“Yes,” Historia answered simply. “And then he transformed again, took me in his Titan’s mouth, and ran. He could have crushed me at any second. But he didn’t. He… handled me gently and eventually set me down unharmed.”

Aurora’s brow furrowed, and she leaned forward. “He set you down unharmed?” she repeated. “But then he left, correct?”

Historia nodded. “He took his comrades and fled into the forest. He was torn, I think. Torn between his mission and whatever he felt—the remnants of Ymir’s love or his own confusion about what that meant.”

Floch let out a frustrated sigh. “So the Queen of the Walls,” he began, struggling to keep the accusation out of his tone, “had… some kind of moment with the Jaw Titan shifter, and now he’s gone. Are we to understand our queen—” he hesitated, searching for words that wouldn’t sound too disrespectful, “—is in love with the enemy?”

The room fell silent. Eren stiffened, Mikasa narrowed her eyes at Floch, and Levi scoffed. Aurora frowned, glancing at Historia to gauge her reaction.

Historia’s cheeks flushed, her hands gripping the edge of the table. “I never said I was in love with him,” she said firmly, though her voice quivered slightly. “I loved Ymir. Ymir, who was once my ally, my friend, my… my beloved. Ymir saved my life more times than I can count. She meant the world to me. Now, I see shades of her in Porco—not because he is her, but because he carries her memories.”

Mikasa exhaled slowly. “So you… felt her love through him,” she said quietly, trying to understand the impossible tangle of emotions.

“Exactly,” Historia said softly. She tried to steady her breathing, forced herself to look each person in the eye. “This isn’t about being in love with an enemy soldier. It’s about recognizing that these Titan powers carry hearts and souls forward in ways we don’t fully comprehend. Porco is not Ymir, but for a brief moment, the memory of her love reached me through him.”

Levi folded his arms, wincing at the movement, and looked away. “This is all too complicated,” he muttered. “We have bigger problems than sorting out whose love is whose.”

Eren’s jaw tightened, but his eyes were full of empathy. He remembered Ymir’s choice to return to Marley’s side, knowing what it meant. He remembered the sorrow that followed. “Historia,” he said gently, “we don’t judge you for feeling what you feel. But we need to know how this affects our plans. Porco might be conflicted, but he’s still Marley’s warrior. Will this change anything?”

Historia closed her eyes for a second, gathering herself. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “What I do know is that Marley will stop at nothing to kill us. Regardless of Porco’s moment of compassion, they’ll continue their efforts. We can’t rely on him to betray Marley on a whim. But maybe—just maybe—this means not all of them are lost to blind hatred. Maybe we can reach someone out there, like Ymir reached me through him.”

The two Jaegerist recruits shifted uncomfortably. One cleared his throat, voice hesitant: “Your Majesty… does this mean we’re going to spare him if we see him again?”

Aurora exchanged a worried glance with Levi and Mikasa. “We can’t let our guard down,” Aurora said softly. “Even if Porco hesitated once, that doesn’t guarantee he’ll do so again. Marley wants us dead. They’re not going to stop because of a memory.”

Mikasa nodded, her gaze steeling. “We have to keep fighting. But maybe,” she paused, remembering Aurora’s words about kill or be killed, “maybe we can find another way eventually. Not now, not with so much at stake, but someday.”

Floch clicked his tongue, impatience sparking in his eyes. “We can’t afford weakness,” he muttered. “We nearly lost Historia today. We have to remain vigilant.”

Historia raised her head, meeting Floch’s stare with calm resolve. “You call it weakness. I call it understanding,” she said quietly. “But don’t mistake my empathy for surrender. I know we must fight to survive. I’m under no illusion that Porco’s actions change the bigger picture. Marley is still our enemy. I’m just saying that today, I saw something unexpected—and it means we shouldn’t paint the world in absolutes if we can help it.”

Levi exhaled, adjusting his bandaged arm. “Wonderful,” he said dryly. “So we have a queen who made contact with the enemy under complicated circumstances, a pregnant poison expert who nearly killed me and is now patching me up, Eren planning the Rumbling, and us on the brink of war. Could this get any more twisted?”

Aurora squeezed Levi’s shoulder gently in response, offering him a half-smile. “At least we’re talking,” she said quietly. “That’s better than tearing each other apart.”

Eren nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders not entirely eased but less oppressive. “We need to focus now,” he said. “I’m going to free Armin, Jean, Connie, Sasha, and Hange once the Rumbling is done. But before that, we have to ensure everything is in place. We need everyone’s head in this fight.”

Mikasa took a breath, her eyes on Historia. “I understand. Let’s do what we must.” Her voice was steady, resigned but strong.

Historia glanced at each face in turn—Eren, Mikasa, Levi, Aurora, Floch, the recruits. She saw exhaustion, fear, determination, and a spark of hope. Her own heart was still tangled in sorrow and confusion, but at least she knew they stood together.

“Thank you,” she said simply. “For listening, for understanding. I know this changes nothing about our situation, but it needed to be said.”

In that dimly lit room, they all absorbed her words, struggling to process what it meant that their queen had touched hearts with an enemy titan shifter. Life in this cruel world was complicated enough. Yet they had no choice but to push forward, united in the desperate fight for survival.

…

Late that night, the door to their bedroom clicked softly shut behind them as Eren and Aurora finally found themselves alone after the day’s relentless chaos. The air in the room was warm, carrying a faint scent of lavender from the sachets Aurora had tucked under their pillows. The flickering glow of a single lantern bathed the space in soft amber hues, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. It felt like stepping into a sanctuary—a rare, quiet moment stolen from the unending storm of their lives.

Eren wasted no time. The second the door was shut, he turned to Aurora and cupped her face in his hands, his calloused fingers brushing against the soft skin of her cheeks. His green eyes locked onto hers, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths—fear, relief, and an overwhelming love he could never fully put into words. Before Aurora could even speak, his lips descended onto hers in a deep, fervent kiss.

The intensity of it stole Aurora’s breath, and she let out a soft sound of surprise before melting into him. Her arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer as she pressed her body against his. Eren’s hands moved to her waist, gripping her gently but firmly, as though he needed to feel her solid presence to convince himself she was really here, alive and safe.

Without breaking the kiss, Eren lifted Aurora effortlessly, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. She giggled softly against his lips, the sound a light, airy contrast to the heavy emotions that weighed on them both. Eren carried her to the bed, his movements steady but hurried, as though he couldn’t bear to let her go even for a second. He laid her down gently, leaning over her as they continued to kiss with a passion that made the world outside their door fade away.

Their lips moved together in perfect synchrony, a desperate yet loving exchange that spoke of relief and longing. The kisses grew heavier, more intense, their breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. Aurora’s hands tangled in Eren’s hair, her fingers threading through the soft strands, while his hands roamed her sides, memorizing every curve.

Eventually, their fervor slowed, and they pulled away, panting lightly. Their lips were swollen and pink, their foreheads pressed together as they tried to catch their breath. Eren looked down at Aurora, his gaze softening as he took in her flushed cheeks and slightly tousled hair. She was beautiful, even more so now, bathed in the golden light of the lantern. She looked up at him with equal adoration, her hands still resting on his shoulders.

Eren shifted, laying his head on Aurora’s chest. The sound of her steady heartbeat was a balm to his own restless one, grounding him in a way nothing else could. Aurora smiled softly and began running her fingers through his hair, her nails lightly scratching his scalp in soothing motions. Eren closed his eyes, a low sigh escaping him as he allowed himself to relax for the first time all day.

“I was so scared,” he admitted after a long silence, his voice low and rough. “When I saw Reiner holding you… I was terrified. I didn’t know if I’d get there in time.” His arms tightened around her waist as though he still needed to hold her close to reassure himself. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you had died, Aurora.”

Aurora’s fingers stilled for a moment before resuming their gentle motions. She tilted her head slightly to look down at him, her heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. She could see the weight he carried—the guilt, the fear, the relentless drive to protect her and the life they were building together. “Eren,” she whispered, her voice soft but steady, “I’m here. You saved me. You always do.”

Eren didn’t respond immediately. He just buried his face further into her chest, letting her warmth and scent wrap around him like a protective shield. His thoughts swirled chaotically, a mix of relief and dread. Aurora was his heart, his tether to humanity. Without her, he knew he would lose himself entirely. He would become the monster the world already believed him to be. She was the only thing keeping him grounded, the one light in the darkness of his world.

Aurora seemed to sense his turmoil. She continued stroking his hair, her touch tender and reassuring. “We’ll get through this,” she murmured, her words meant for both of them. 

Eren finally lifted his head, his green eyes meeting hers. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze, a promise that needed no words. He leaned up to kiss her forehead, the gesture soft and full of reverence. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Aurora smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You’re everything to me, Eren. You, me, and our baby—we’re going to be okay.”

Eren let out a shaky breath and laid his head back down, letting her words soothe him. They stayed like that for a long while, wrapped in each other’s arms, cherishing the rare moment of peace. Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the faint sounds of the compound settling down for the night. For now, at least, they had each other. And that was enough.

This day had been long and exhausting, but in this quiet room, in this shared warmth, Eren and Aurora found the strength to keep moving forward. 

~

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[bun-lapin]

Confessions

Summary: Silver confesses his love to you.

A/N: Sixth one shot complete, featuring Silver! I had trouble getting started on this one because Diasomnia as a whole is very mysterious to me (which is very on brand). But I really enjoyed thinking about some of the knightly aspects of Silver's character.

Confessions series: Rook, Kalim, Idia, Floyd, Vil, Silver, Leona, Trey / AO3

In the last few hours before sunset, the sun hangs heavy and golden in the sky. You methodically step your way through an overgrown field of grass and watch soft shadows trail behind some of the taller vegetation. Off in the distance you watch the horizon rise up into a low hill, crested by a large and ancient tree. The forest’s edge behind the giant tree is like a dark smudge against a sky painted with the pink and lavender hues of descending daylight.

A soft breeze passes through the field and sets the tall grass around you into a whispering, swaying motion. Their movement reveals a figure clothed in black, previously hidden, laying stretched out and still in the middle of a grassy ocean. You smile with quiet understanding and your feet lead you directly to the sleeping figure’s side. After carefully kneeling down, you reach out towards a black gloved hand laying on a broad chest, gently rising and falling with deep, drowsing breaths. Gently shaking his hand, you call out softly, “Wake up, Silver.”

You watch his eyes slowly open as Silver peacefully awakens and then turns his head to look at you. The slight movement causes his fair hair to sweep across his brow like a veil, obscuring and then revealing in one motion the mysterious aurora color of his gaze. He gently smiles up at you and whispers around a small, happy sigh, “I was just dreaming of you.”

You return the warmth in Silver’s smile with your own and ask with mild amusement, “Why were you sleeping in the middle of a field? It took me quite a while to find you today.”

Silver closes his eyes with a slightly dejected expression and drowsily explains, "I was thinking about something important and I looked up into the sky to better concentrate on my thoughts. I suppose I must have nodded off after that."

You tilt your head questioningly and ask, “What were you thinking about? Is it something you can share with me?”

Silver opens his eyes and briefly looks skyward with a serious and slightly conflicted expression. You watch a series of emotions rise and then fall across Silver’s face as he seems to carefully consider your question. After a few more moments of thoughtful silence, he apparently comes to a conclusion and turns his head to look up at you once more. He smiles with a gentle light in his face, eyes half open yet full of wonder as if still looking at a dream. He pats the ground next to him and softly asks, "Here. Lay down a moment and look at the sky with me?"

You give Silver a curious smile and a raised eyebrow in answer but regardless, you lay down in the grass next to him without any objections. You set your head down softly next to his and you look up at the sky as instructed. Laying comfortably on your back with your hands relaxed at your sides, you feel a reassuring warmth against the side of your body closest to Silver.

Once you’re settled into position, you hear a soft rustling as Silver shifts his body, closing the minimal space between the two of you and gently placing his shoulder against yours. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his arm raise to point at the sky and he asks quietly, “"Look up there. What do you see?"

You take in the sight of the sky, filled with the shifting colors of sunset and golden white, billowing clouds. “It’s very beautiful,” you say softly. Glancing at the general area of the sky that Silver is pointing too, you playfully remark, “That cloud over there looks like a teapot.”

Silver laughs lightly and drops his arm to his side. “You have quite the artistic eye to see a shape like that in the sky.” He turns his head to look at you and his voice drops to a whisper. “Now, shall I tell you what I see?”

You turn to look at Silver and see that his half open eyes, still heavy with lingering dreams, are sparkling with anticipation. You smile gently, settling into the peaceful stillness that surrounds the two of you, and silently nod to him. A small, quiet smile flutters across Silver’s lips and his clear voice rings out softly, resolute.

"When I look at the great expanse of the sky, from one edge to the other, all that comes to my mind is kindness. Although it may not seem like it at times, there is always good to be found in this world. It shows itself in secret, hidden ways to those who look closely. From the way the sun rises every morning, to the rain that falls over the living land, lately I have always been able to find kindness and warmth in a world that is often called cruel and cold.”

Silver pauses for a moment and studies your face with an expression of quiet joy and appreciation. He then closes his eyes and drops his head carefully against your shoulder. His voice, directed downwards into your shoulder now, sounds far away, as if heard in a distant dream of longing.

“I’ve spent quite some time puzzling over why I’ve been able to think like this. And looking up into the sky today, I finally realized the reason. If there is an inherent kindness in this world, it's because of love. It's because of you. It's the simple fact that you are here in this world, and that I love you."

Silver lifts his head and your gaze is immediately drawn to the fierce adoration in his eyes and the determined strength of his brows. You feel a pleasant, electric sensation of surprise jolt through your body at the intensity of the emotions on his face. Acting instinctively, you swiftly sit up and turn to face him. Silver mirrors your movements with smooth grace and the two of you sit silently facing each other, surrounded by the sighing sound of grass swaying in the wind and the fading radiance of sunset.

After a moment, Silver extends his open hand towards you and, in turn, your hand rises up to softly meet his waiting palm. Closing his eyes with a small smile, he lifts your hand to his lips and brushes a light kiss against the back of it. Silver then slowly lowers your hand but continues to hold it tenderly in his. He opens his eyes, revealing their aurora color suffused with gentle desire, and speaks softly, like he is addressing an ethereal vision.

"My love and my dream, you are everything. In the mornings when I wake, you're the first light of dawn. In the golden afternoons, you're the echoing laughter of good company. In the evenings after training, you're the tranquil silence and peace I breathe in. You’re everywhere, your existence is everywhere and everything to me."

Silver slightly shifts his weight as he leans himself closer towards you. Reacting on impulse, you lean towards him in response and his smile blooms wide and bright. While softly stroking the back your hand with his thumb, he whispers, "You have become, or maybe you always have been, the most precious part of my world. For one so irreplaceable, so dear, I don't have much to offer. I have only my life to give you and this vow." He raises your hand and gently presses it to his eyes, shut tight with solemn determination.

"I swear to you, for the rest of my mortal life and every life after, I will protect you and cherish you. I pledge to you my ever enduring loyalty and devotion. My love, for all eternity, I offer you my heart."

You silently trace your gaze down the length of your outstretched arm, a thin bridge connecting you to Silver’s form. You focus on the strength of his broad shoulders, lightly rising and falling with his steady breathing. A soft breeze rushes through the field around you and, for a briefly shining moment, you feel as if the land and sky have encircled the two of you in a deeply comforting embrace. You sigh softly with serenity and Silver lifts his brow from your hand. Seeing the expression on your face, he silently smiles with mirrored peace and wonder in his eyes.

[chaotic-goodsir]

Prequel to this because I can't stop thinking about the Kal-Always-Had-The-Fog-Verse. Thank you so much to everyone who liked/reblogged/said nice things in the tags for the previous part!

(CWs for language, violence and injury.)

_

A fist collides with Kal’s jaw, and then he’s on the ground, ears ringing.

‘That’s what you get, witch! Your kind have no place in the Blazing World, let alone in the palace.’

‘Fuck you,’ Kal answers, spitting blood onto the grass. The world spins. Miral leers down at him, triumphant, as though it was Miral himself who dealt the blow and not one of the sullen-faced bodyguards standing just behind him. As if the son of some low-ranking palace minister is important enough to deserve an honour guard. Kal would love to punch the smirk off the smug bastard’s face, if only he could get to his feet without feeling sick.

‘Don’t think we don’t know why you’ve been hanging around the Prince, witch.’ Miral seems to like that word. If he thinks he can hurt Kal with it, he’s wrong. It’s embarrassingly uncreative.

‘What does-‘ Kal coughs. More blood hits the grass, staining it silver. It glitters in the sunlight. ‘-what does Dak have to do with this?’

‘How dare you!’ Miral aims a kick at Kal’s side. Kal just about manages to roll away, and the miss only winds Miral up even more. ‘You don’t deserve to address his highness by name. You don’t deserve to be anywhere near him.’

‘Oh, and you do? Is that what you think?’ Rage burns through Kal, despite the pain in his jaw and the nausea brought on by moving.  ‘Got a little crush on his highness, have you? I guess it must really hurt that he’d rather spend time with someone like me.’

Miral glares. He lifts a hand to usher one of his lackeys forward.

‘Tiir, show this freak of nature exactly what we think of witches.’

The one called Tiir seems to grow even taller as he steps towards Kal, looming over him like 6ft 2 of solid marble in his white college uniform. There’s something of an apology in his eyes, too quickly hidden for Miral to notice. Kal wonders how much Miral’s parents pay the guy to pretend to be their son’s friend.

He could try to back away, could cower and beg like the weakling Miral thinks he is, but he’d rather die than give this asshole the satisfaction of an easy win. Fog is already curling around his wrists – it takes focus to hide it, and he’s not exactly in any state to concentrate right now. Self-defence is as natural as breathing.

Tiir grabs the neck of his shirt with one bulky fist and hauls him to his feet. Kal spares a second to spit blood into Tiir’s face before he lets anger and pain overwhelm him, and the world becomes a grey-tinged blur.

Fog catches Tiir by the ankles. He falls with a yelp and a satisfying thud. Another limb of it sends the second lackey flying. A dark spiral of shadow advances on Miral like a serpent, and Kal is vaguely aware of someone laughing, high and manic and vengeful, as it coils around the minister’s son and lifts him into the air.

Miral howls insults as he struggles against the fog, eyes burning white with Radiance. A wall of light hits Kal in the chest, throwing him backwards. There’s a distant, sickening crack as his left side collides with the ground. The damaged arm disintegrates into fog, and he staggers to his feet again, lashing out towards where Miral is now kneeling in the grass, eyes still blazing.

A second pulse of Radiance crashes into the fog before it can hit its target. A wall erupts between them, a miniature thunderstorm of thick cloud and crackling light.

‘Fucking witch!’ Miral screams over the roar of magic. ‘I’ll kill you!’

Kal tries to scream something back, but half of his face and most of his arm and shoulder are gone now, along with the pain that he is not looking forward to dealing with later. He concentrates on pushing back the Radiance instead, watches the fog that used to be – that is – a part of him twist and roil with fury. It closes in around Miral, steady any unstoppable, and then the crackling Radiance dies all at once, cut off at the source. Miral turns on his heel to run. His bodyguards scramble to their feet and follow, like the obedient little dogs they are.

Only when the three of them are white specks in the distance does Kal let himself stagger back, drawing in the fog again. It hurts, but ways, it was worth it. Behind him, someone is running across the grass, yelling his name in that all-too familiar anxious tone. He just about stays standing long enough for Dakkar to catch him when his legs finally give way.

‘What took you so long, Dak?’ Kal says, grinning. His own voice sounds a million miles away. ‘You missed all the fun.’

[theogonies]

petrichor

a whole world lies beyond the borders of snezhnaya--and childe is determined to share it all with you.

characters: childe x gn!reader

word count: 600

content warnings: just (mildly suggestive) fluff <3

"Mmm," Ajax hums, a low sound in the back of his throat. "Don't get up just yet."

"We'll be at port soon," you murmur, still only half-awake. "There's work to do. And somebody needs his breakfast."

He responds by wrapping his arms more tightly around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "Too bad. You're my captive now."

But you got used to Ajax's tricks a long time ago. Taking advantage of his sleep-addled state, you pry his hands from your waist and wriggle away to sit at the edge of the bed, sticking your tongue out at him for good measure.

"You're forgetting, I've got my own..."

Your voice trails off when one sea-blue eye winks open to look at you. Its corners crinkle in amusement when he sees how still you've gone, mouth still hanging half-open, as if you've already forgotten the words you were about to say.

He reaches out to brush his calloused fingertips across the back of your hand. Like everything Ajax does, there's no hidden intent to his touch; just a simple, impulsive desire to feel you close.

"It's been so long since I got to see you like this."

His voice is still hoarse with sleep, but it's softer now than before, muffled by the pillow.

It takes you a moment to process what he means. You've been sailing together for weeks now, and even before he finally relented to your pleas and allowed you to join him in his travels, you spent nearly every waking and sleeping moment at his side during his visits home.

But he's right. There is something different about today.

"This is your first time outside of Snezhnaya, isn't it?" He smiles at you, one cheek still mushed against the pillow. "We're set to reach Fontaine later today. Probably left the storm clouds behind while we were sleeping. Pretty, huh?"

And it really is a sight to behold, now that you're awake enough to pay attention. Rich, creamy sunlight spills through the porthole window, pouring across your bed to illuminate everything in a pale, pink-gold. Ajax's matted hair, the contours of his body, freckled and webbed with scars.

Even his eyes seem brighter in this light.

"Yeah," you whisper, feeling a sudden shame at interrupting something so precious. "Yeah. It is."

He wraps his hand around your wrist, and this time, you don't resist as he pulls you closer until you're nestled against his chest.

"Just like you," he murmurs, planting a kiss on your forehead. "You're going to love Fontaine, you know. I'll show you all the sights. Marketplaces with the most beautiful fabrics and jewels you can imagine, paintings that move as if they're alive, operas that'll make you laugh and cry more than you ever have in your life. My favorite is the water. Running rivers that are warm enough to swim in, and the waterfalls of Petrichor."

You close your eyes, returning to those old, familiar daydreams of a world that isn't blanketed in ice--and this time, it's almost close enough to touch.

So lost in your imagination, you hardly notice when Ajax flips you over so that you're pinned underneath him; better leverage to trail teasing kisses down the curve of your neck, across your collarbones, whispering to you all the while.

"I can't wait to share it with you, ptichka. But first, I'm going to make us breakfast, and you're going to stay here and enjoy the sun a little longer."

[idreamofdango]

It’s late, the village nestled under a heavy blanket of fog that clings to the rooftops like an uneasy ghost. A spectral chill hangs in the air, curling around every silent corner of Konoha. The streets are almost empty, save for you, on patrol, your footsteps muffled by the dense mist that swallows each sound.

As you round a bend near the old Uchiha district, a figure catches your eye—a flickering shadow at the end of a long, narrow alley. The air shifts, carrying a faint, metallic smell—rusted iron, maybe blood. The flickering shadow seems to stand in the same spot, as though waiting, yet each time you blink, it appears to have moved closer, impossibly fast.

The surrounding houses feel alive, their broken windows and charred beams warped into twisted, leering faces. One shudders as you pass, and a low creak breaks the silence, sounding eerily like a groan. Your pulse quickens. You ready a kunai, its tip glinting under the ghostly light of a slivered moon half-hidden by clouds.

Then, you hear it—a soft, whispery chuckle that echoes down the alley, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. You scan for the source, but there’s no one there—only your shadow cast against the wall, except…it doesn’t quite look like your shadow.

Instead, it’s taller, with hollowed eyes and elongated fingers stretched out toward you, as if ready to pull you down into the darkness beneath the village.

*makes hand sign* RELEASE

... good one Kurenai, you almost had me there (๑¯ω¯๑)

[phantasmaw]

♢*   — @melodicbreeze  ​/  𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫

  〈 ஐ* 〉┊  Vexing. That is the only word Sovann can think of to describe this particular bard's melodies. Each performance always has a way of slipping under their skin and captivating them. Like waves lapping against a rocky shore, each pluck of the lyre erodes the sharp bitterness bubbling in their veins until it's all washed away. In the absence of bitterness, yearning lingers, soft and pliable and frightening. How a simple melody strummed by a simple bard could lower their guard so effectively is entirely beyond them. That is what makes both instrument and player so vexing. And yet every night the bard has wandered out into the wilderness to play, Sovann has answered the music's beckoning call, even if only on the peripheral.

     Tonight is no different. The lyre's crystalline notes have long since coaxed them out of hiding. They lounge on their stomach atop one of the gargantuan branches reaching out from the archaic tree of Windrise. Hidden by both the dark of night and generous foliage, the displaced nightguard watches through half-lidded eyes as a cluster of fireflies waltzes to the bard's strumming. Their silvery tail twitches. The desire to hum tickles at the back of their throat, but they swallow it down. As the bard's playing slows, their eyes fall shut. Visions of glittering halls adorned with sunlit clouds float behind closed eyelids. When the breeze caresses their bare shoulder, it feels like a pair of familiar warm hands tucking them in to sleep. If they can stay like this a few moments more, then...

     The music stops. Sovann's eyes snap open. They push themself upright in time to see the bard standing. They blink in disbelief. That's it? Usually he plays at least five songs (they think; they're uncertain of when, exactly, a song begins or ends). At least long enough for the moon to rise much higher into the sky than it is now. An inexplicable burst of anger crackles down from the back of their skull and into their ribcage. It explodes against the pumping of their heart and falls into the pit of their gut, where it becomes a writhing, oily thing that steals their breath and makes a hot rash of panic sweep across their skin. Their lips curl back into a silent snarl.

      In a slash of liquid moonlight, Sovann suddenly stands in the way of the Mondstadt local. They glare down at him, eyes twin stars of molten gold that glower with discontent. One of their clawed hand brandishes their polearm. Hydro swirls in razor-sharp whirlpools at the tip of their weapon, pointed down towards the ground, but an unspoken threat nonetheless.

      "You didn't finish," they growl, low voice scratchy from disuse and roughly shaping each word in a more dated iteration of Teyvat's common language. Their gaze flashes from the lyre, to the bard's face, to the Anemo vision hanging at his hip, and then back to his lyre. The aura of the Statue of the Seven undulates in their ear. The oily feeling slithers tight around their gut. The gesture crassly with their polearm. "Every other night you play for longer. Much longer. Why didn't you finish?"

[dawngen]

DAWNCLAN: KEY DETAILS.

this post is a bulleted breakdown of key details pertaining to dawnclan, such as how they function, neighboring clans, what their territory is like, etc. this is specifically a bulleted list to make it easier to parse and to get right to the nitty-gritty of it!

DawnClan is situated in Mist-Bound Mountain. Towering over a vast valley, this mountain is named due to the frequency of fog and low-hanging clouds that cover it. The DawnClan cats stay to the mountain and its forests, for the valley below, Whistling Valley, has begun to see increasing Twoleg activity. From a young age, kits are taught to never leave the mountain.

While these cats came from the Highlands under the banner of the former HillClan, they were not used to a mountainous area like Mist-Bound Mountain upon first arrival. After each generation of DawnClan, however, their warriors become expert tree-climbers and adept in scaling rocky mountain faces. It is not uncommon for warriors on guard duty to do so from a high branch that allows them an ideal vantage point of the surrounding area, and apprentices are taught how to climb and descend from trees as some of their earliest lessons. Many cats even prefer to hunt squirrels and birds from the trees than the ground!

There are other groups of wild cats in the area, but none have adopted the clan way. GrassClan and CopseClan are the two most notable 'clans', and are named with the -clan suffix by DawnClan, not by the groups themselves. This is simply easier for DawnClan to separate the two as they are both, in fact, nameless. GrassClan claims the area close to Mist-Bound Mountain's base, hunting in the long grass of the valley, whereas CopseClan occupies the opposite side of the mountain, hidden away in a cavern never seen by DawnClan.

DawnClan makes a point of maintaining peaceful relations with these other 'clans', even if they have a hard time understanding their manner of function. They remember well how HillClan fell apart due to fierce wars over limited resources, and while the mountain's bounty is plentiful, it is better to maintain a positive relationship than a negative one.

There are no full moon clan gatherings. As the other cats in the area are not clan-cats, it was decided early on to not force any clan traditions upon them. Instead, full moons are used for DawnClan's medicine cats, leader, and deputy to convene. The health and welfare of the clan is discussed, along with ongoings that need to have a close eye--such as newly settled badgers, increased Twoleg movement into the mountains, an outbreak of greencough, etc. Every half moon, medicine cats will go and share tongues with StarClan at the mountain's peak. At the Sky Splinter, a sharp, out-jutting of rock that looks ready to pierce the sky, they settle at its base, and when shutting their eyes, the cats enter the shared dream of their ancestors. This is also where DawnClan leaders go to get their nine lives.

[squadron-goals]

Single seater fighter unit Vaux and first victories

On 11 January 1916, the Eindecker-Kommando Vaux was formed, to which the Feldfliegerabteilung 23 assigned Oberleutnant Berthold.

21 January 1916

About half an hour from the site of our field aviation unit, in a large old park, far from the main traffic, lies the little castle of Vaux, picturesquely hidden among old poplars and oaks. When I received my G-airplane last August and needed a hangar for accommodation, I decided to use the terrain near the chateau as an airfield and to use the chateau itself as quarters. After a few fights with higher-ups, I pushed it through. A large barn was converted in no time to house my bird, and the fields in front of the barn were makeshiftly turned into an airfield. The whole thing was the ideal of an airport, only 30 steps away from the chateau. When Buddecke and Althaus moved in with the Fokkers, we formed a small command for ourselves: 6 officers and 30 men. We were alone and yet always together with the unit. Gradually, the large combat aircraft disappeared from the fighter divisions and the observers were also replaced. It got lonely around us, but I held out. When a few more single-seaters joined the army in January, I put together my Fokker command again. Since we have a single-seater at the front all the time, even in only reasonably good weather, the French are now holding back quite a bit in January ... January is hard, it almost wears me down. I fly and fly, but don't get a shot in.

2 February 1916

The weather was bad today: low hanging clouds, rain. At 3 o'clock suddenly a telephone alarm: a large French aircraft is reported over Péronne. Althaus and I were just having coffee, the others had gone out. The two of us out onto the square and into the birds! Already it's raining again. "Nonsense really!" says Althaus, but jumps into his plane as soon as he sees me get in. Althaus keeps to my right. We couldn't see much. But finally, towards the west, above the line, a big hole in the clouds! We fly 2000 m high in a north-westerly direction. Suddenly I see two small black dots that quickly grow larger: two Frenchmen, but lower than us! I pull my bird around and take them on. Now Althaus sees them too and, since he flies lower than I do, he immediately flips over to the one closer to him, which now also immediately comes after him. I am not seen because I have kept myself in the sun. What comes now is the work of minutes! I let myself fall vertically behind the Frenchman and am already breathing down his neck as he comes up close behind Althaus. My machine gun begins its monotonous tack-tack. It's not long before he's lying on the left wing, smoking and crashing down. I dash after him. A glance at Althaus teaches me that the other opponent is also going down. So we have finished them both off. Still, you have to be careful, you never know ... In fact, my Frenchman straightens up again. Another MG round, then he really goes down. I see him disappear behind a copse ... I realise that I am flying too much to the west. My engine stops from time to time, either a valve or a spark plug is oily. What a mess! Land over there? Not at any price, so turn back! I land happily, Althaus is already anxiously waiting for me on our field. A congratulation, a storytelling that soon had no end! My mechanics are beside themselves with joy, the good guys! We belong together in joy and sorrow: pilot, mechanics and birds, a little family! While we were still talking, the scribe came and reported that the front troops had already confirmed by telephone that both Frenchmen had been shot down, the planes were behind our front line. Half an hour later we drive forward in cars. I don't come along any more, the impression the half-burnt, wrecked planes make is too bad. I leave quietly, but inside I am now free! My dear friend, my Grüner, now you are avenged!

5 February 1916

Today I brought down my second opponent, this time an Englishman. Over Bapaume I picked him out of a squadron of 5 aircraft. It didn't take long: after the first shot he was already finished.

[draklorn]

The harsh winds threatened to rip the Frostguard from their saddle, billowing off the sheer drop to a ground covered by clouds from their narrow path against the mountainside more ice than stone, now. Summer's Bane's walk had slowed as it pushed itself against the invisible barrier, sharp hooves stomping into the snow path in an attempt to get some footing. Both steed and rider kept their heads low to not challenge the wind's strength, Gauntleted hands gripping the horns sprouting from the creature's mane more intensely than leather reins. This path had been taken for its isolation, so that they did not come across heretics who bounded across the white meadows of the Freljord, confident in winning their petty squabbles. Who, in their blinding arrogance, forgot the power of those who protected them from themselves. Devan had not expected the blizzard to strike, its dense clouds rolling over from behind the mountain range they could not yet see beyond. There would be no caverns or outcroppings to seek shelter in along this pathway barely wider than their steed's burly width. They only prayed its full strength is what pelted the duo now, and that once they were no longer shielded from its side and found themselves in the open, they were not sent barreling off into that hidden landscape below the cloud they were in.

As the sheer mountainside rounded itself into a wider field, it revealed a river of snow softly flowing down a basin's smoother decline, before cascading down the drop far below in a makeshift, frozen waterfall, only to most likely join the blizzard on the lower fields below. Devan had carefully dismounted before testing the power of the wind here, taking the lead with reigns in both hands, and their split cape quickly tied around armoured arms to stay out of the way. A quiet sigh joins the endless howling around them when the only buffet they faced out here was the constant moving snow slowing their pace, and the Draklorn takes no time in moving away from the hazardous ledge.

Until something struck them, quick and hard on the helm.

There is a moment that is lost to Devan, before they come back to, with half of their body hanging off of the side of the cliff, one hand tangled in the reigns as Summer's panicked eyes look down at them from a strained neck. Battling against the daze of their mind and the torrential waves of snow, the Frostguard scrambles to solid ground. There was a sharp dent in their helmet where the arrow - they suspected - had hit its mark, and blinking away the snowflakes on their lashes, Devan frantically searches the white landscape for their supposed attacker. It was too dangerous to seek shelter along the narrow ledge in their stupor now, and so they march into the basin, drawing their sword and pulling their obedient steed behind them. Another arrow is loosed, finding a direct hit on their wrist. Shielded by their metal bracer, Devan still feels the shock rush through their entire arm and flexes their hand open on reflex, letting their sword fall aimlessly into the snow. It is pushed away and covered up to the blade almost immediately, and although they swipe at it, Devan knows it is a fruitless endeavour as its handle quickly disappears. Their shouted swear joins the howling choir, and they swing their attention to the rocky mountain side above them. Their attacker had to be nearby to aim so true. Gritting at the pain in their wrist and throbbing headache, they clamber over to the saddlebags, quickly reaching for their prepared long bow and a handful of bolts, before hitting Summer's back leg to signal it to flee the area. While its stampeding hooves made a break in the rolling snow, a black bolt was nocked and pulled taught. Devan's vision was uneven with their splitting headache, and frantically searching the spotted landscape for their foe was a near-impossible feat. It is at least a miracle they noticed the simultaneous figures arising.

The ambush charged with three brutes hurdling toward them, but their bow snapped and fired at one of the two other archers who appeared from the rocky cliffside. The whistle of their arrow was quickly lost to the wind, and their attention moved to the first heretic fast approaching. Her mace of antler was ready to swing up toward the Frostguard's helm. The gauntlet holding their bow meets her face first, carrying the weight of the weapon with it and making the warrior stumble. The next is close behind, dragging a warhammer behind him, unsteady as he underestimated the snow current quickening his footsteps forward. Devan rushes to meet him too, but kneels into the surging current, bow sweeping his legs as the momentum of the hammer swung carries him over. His landing is only temporary, and his yells are quick to evolve into distant screams as his grasping hands find nothing to hold his weight as he falls over the cliff face. Another arrow flies over Devan's head. "Svaag Black Clad!" The first raider had finally shaken off their strike, spitting blood and taking another run at them. Devan exhales a growl in return as they stand and face her. The third of the attackers was taking their arrogant time approaching. The Draklorn's opponent had her back to the void of grey now, but if following her companion into that perilous chasm worried her, it didn't show on her blood-smeared snarl. Devan's grip on their bow adjusts, and the other holding the arrows grows tighter. If they used the bow to fight, it might snap if drawn again. If they didn't, they were going to die in this valley.

Her attack is announced by her warcry, the axe swinging violently as it searches for a weakness in the Frostguard's armoured shell. Devan is a flurry of dark fabrics as they move with the attempted strikes, armour taking the brunt with inflicted scratches, and any swipes that get too close to joints are deflected with a bow limb. The raider gives an outburst of energy into one that aims to nestle between shoulder and neck. Devan jumps back into the rushing snow current, only to work with the momentum to rush back at her while the axe was finishing its arc. The bow is brought around her head until her neck caught between the string and lower limb, and Devan hauls the weapon to the ground hard. Cough stifled by the snow quickly falling over her face, a heavy, sharp outsole of an armour boot is raised as they aim for her neck. Until their helmet is yanked backwards by a powerful force. Tumbling to their feet, several arrows are lost to the snow drift. But Devan is far more focused on the third raider who had finally reached the action. They were not a short Iceborn by any means, but she stood more than a head higher even while hunched over, shouldering the pelt of a fully grown wildclaw. The fierce halberd in her grip looked too small in comparison. "Where's your pack, little priest?" The words rumble from her, footsteps heavy as the snow gave way to her wake. Devan's boots begin to skirt back in an attempt to keep some form of distance, but a bolt landing just behind them clearly sends the message they would not get very far. There wouldn't be much time to decide their next move anyway, the polearm is swung with one arm toward them. The force behind it is more than winding. Even when they had brought arms out to brace, the impact throws the Draklorn aside, helm flying as it was struck.

"No fun with only one mutt to kick around." The larger raider jeers over her shoulder to her battlesister, swinging the halberd in her grip like nothing more than a toy. The other was more solemn, chancing a look over the cliffside once she had found her footing again. A mess of decorative bone and hair covers Devan's features while they struggle to shake the daze, but they barely get the chance. The boot that kicks their torso meant harm with the dent that it left, but the grunt of pain and the little distance moved revealed the disappointment. "Oh just kill 'em, Kyrja!" The smaller one exclaims as she paces, out of frustration rather than cold. Perhaps she held hope for her other companion, even after that fall. Devan's thoughts lay elsewhere as they prayed for the will to stand and fight again, feeling something warm and wet quickly turn cold against their skull. A rough hand grabs at their neck, settling around their jawline as they were pulled up to and beyond their footing. Their bow tangled in their hair around their elbow, and one arrow stayed in their weak grip. Energy drained, Devan can barely call upon the strength to look their enemy in her eyes. Their own rolled into the corners, they watch her grip on the long weapon rises to their exposed, soft skin. In a burst of energy, Devan's teeth are brandished and close down on a course finger holding their chin.

Only having to bite down one more time before the index bones give out, their final arrow is sent directly down into the forearm holding the weapon at the same moment. The large raider, Kyrja, lets out a confused cry, not even giving the dropped weapon much notice as she looks at her hand in perplexity. Bloody-mouthed and reinvigorated with new life, Devan lands with the halberd quickly spun into their grip as they weasel their way about her legs, and swing at one of the fur-sewn boots. The other raider looks up at the sight with an angry and surprised cry, looking toward the archer as she lunged forward at the Forstguard. Devan snarls with bloody teeth in return. The halberd's beak catches her side before she even has the chance to swing her axe. Finally recovering from losing her digit, Kyrja returns to the present with a furious bellow, swiping furiously at the weapon to grab it back. Reinvigorated and heart pounding in their dented armour, the Frostguard bats the attempts away with the weapon's blade as they neared the rocky edge, until one over-reach allows them to maneuver around her. Point stuck in the ground, Devan heaves their weight into the air with the polearm's help, sending their boots into the raider's back with enough force to make her stumble over the edge. The grounded weapon keeps them barely on the side to scramble back up, leaving the pelt and its wearer to fall into the clouds.

Dark eyes spend little time observing the sight, locking on to the axe-wielder, who was seeing the bloody-mouthed, ragged Frostguard in a new, disturbing light. Instead of rushing her, Devan leans back as another arrow barely misses its mark. A smile creeps up their pale features, never breaking eye contact as the halberd is picked up, and a string around their neck is fished out from beneath worn layers. A makeshift, little horn appears in their adrenaline-shaking hand before it is brought up to cracked lips in a silent call. Unceremoniously dropped to clatter against deformed metal, Devan begins to march slowly forward. A drum of hoofbeats in the distance.

"O revered mistress, bless me with vision to perceive the dangers in the blizzard. Grant me the sense to feel the avalanche before I hear its growl. Gift me a tongue strong enough to call for aid as it bleeds. And with all I ask, be it enough to survive this darkest of times."

[viris-ocs]

Dýri Sørensen (Rejected SYOC OC for Viridian Sylph on FF.Net)

Name:

Dýri Sørensen

Nickname:

"Poe", most don't even know her real name.

Titles:

"Phantom Beast"

"Revenant"

Age:

21

Birthday:

October 31st

Gender:

Female (She/Her)

Sexuality:

Prefers not to use labels, is potentially attracted to anyone

Where are they from?

A town called Edelweiss, not in Fiore but across the gulf into a mountainous region of the Seven, the neighboring country to Fiore.

Height

5'4"

Body build:

Short, just curvy enough to be kinda noticeable, but is hidden by her Casual clothes. She's very flexible, and has some muscle built.

Skin:

Very white, always looking flushed. She has a painful looking large scar that takes up most of the upper right side of her torso, right arm, and partially up the right side of her neck.

Hair:

Her hair is mostly white, with a solid black section on the left side taking up a third of her hair, and another thin black part framing the right side of her face. She has long, uneven bangs that part on the left side and partially cover that eye, the bangs are nose length but grow to just below chin length on the right side. Her hair is in a subtle jellyfish cut and is usually done up in low twin tails. The back of her hair is very long due to her not getting it cut, reaching her hips. The ends of her hair start to curl, and it's all very thick and fluffy looking.

Eyes:

Tired looking eyes with prominent bottom lashes, in a half circle shape. Her eyes are a very light ice blue with white pupils, and a mole under her left eye. Her eyes have constant eye bags.

Details:

She has moles spaced out all over her body , and pierced ears

Clothing:

Casual -

Poe wears a dark grey beanie with a black rim, the hat having two limps un the fabric that resemble cat ears.

She wears a form fitting, high neck, long sleeve, florescent aqua blue shirt that is translucent, and over that is a lose fitting sporty sleeveless black crop top with a florescent aqua cloud design printed of the front (Akatsuki Style)

Her pants are black cargo style jeans that are too big being held up by a very long white belt. The pants are well warn with large holes in them, and have florescent aqua and white patches all over. Under the pants are florescent aqua leggings that you can see through the holes. Her boots are black combat boots with one aqua and one white lace.

Sometimes she also has a jacket, black with one aqua sleeve and another aqua cloud design on the back. It has a white hood and the ends of the sleeves are also white. She typically wears it off the shoulder, and only really on missions.

Formal -

A long sleeve black dress with a square neckline and a long ruffle on the chest. The dress is long and in a bodycon style with a large ruffled slit up the right side. Hair is in a braided bun with some strands falling out. She still wears her typical bone jewelry, and has black thigh high stalkings with thigh garters.

Sleepwear-

For Sleepwear she just puts a large white tee shirt over her regular shirt and sleeps in her underwear.

Swimwear -

Poe wears a black translucent top over a black bikini top. Her bottoms are a simple black bikini bottom.

Accesorise:

She has pierces ears with silver earrings, both with two simple hanging stars. Around her neck is a string necklace with small animal bones tied to them, as well as a similar thing around her wrists and up her arms. They look like normal handmade jewelry until you get up close.

Personality:

Poe is... strange. That's how most people describe her. She's very quiet, rarely ever speaking, she's practically homeless by choice, expressionless, and collects the bones of animals in her free time. She got the name "Poe" because of her strange habbit of being completely silent and unnoticeable, people often not realizing she's there until they bump into her by accident.

Poe doesn't like talking, and doesn't know how to express herself using her face. Poe thinks that talking is a waste of time, believing that people who talk a lot are liars, and she hates liars. The will only occasionally speak to her friends in the guild, and it will only ever be a sentence or two at most. Still, she understands the importance of facial expressions. instead of learning how to show emotion, she just takes out a sticky note, writes down what emotion she's feeling, and sticks it somewhere on her head.

Poe doesn't feel that she needs a home, and is perfectly content wandering the streets. The closest thing to a home that she has is an old attic that hasn't been used in years. It's where she keeps all the things that she can't carry around, like her ever increasing collection of bones, a patchy blanket and pillow, and a couple of things she's collected from the streets of Wisteria. If there's ever a time that she feels she needs to be in a safer place, and can't go to her attic for some reason, Poe will crash with a friend, often without then knowing until a day or two later when they see a little sticky note saying "bye bye - Poe"

Despite her confusing demeanor, Poe is extreamly intelligent and observant, often being one of the first people to come up with a solution to a problem. However due to her lack of communication, she's bad at telling others about it, so she often just does whatever needs to be done without telling anyone. She's also very emotionally intelligent, and understands when people need help or to be left alone. Despite her lack of facial emotions, she can read other people very well, and can always tell when they are lying.

Likes:

- all animals

- collecting bones

- Wandering around

- warm naps

- Rain sounds

- the butcher shop

- orange candy

Dislikes:

- Liars

- people disorganising her collection

- being forced to do things she doenst want to do

- sounds of pain and distress

- walking in mud

- very open areas with nowhere to vanish off to.

- Well done meat

Hobbies:

Collecting bones and organizing them

Habits:

- Being extreamly quiet, accidentally sneaking up on people. (Sometimes people try to tie a bell to her, but it always "conveniently" gets lost).

- Poe always ends up perching in chairs, her legs folded up to her body.

- She also likes to climb things and be up high

Strengths:

She's stealthy, intelligent, very flexible and hard to catch, a human lie detector

Weaknesses:

She's bad at communication, not always a good partner, and tends to to as she pleases without telling anyone.

Character History:

In the Seven, Edelweiss was the town that she lived in, a small down that was rather isolated by the mountain range it was near. There were very little travelers or tourists but the town managed to get by with their citric exports, typically lemons and oranges. Poe never knew her parents, as a baby she was placed in an orphanage and bounced around foster care for a while before taking up a semi-perminant home in a foster home.

Back then, "Poe" was just a Nickname because of how quiet she was, most people still called her Dýri. She used to be more talkative, and more expressive back then, especially with her friends. But after she started developing her magic things started to change. She wasn't the first to use magic at the home, but since her magic was related to something so grim, it was a big deal breaker for people looking to adopt.

People would foster her for a while, they made lots of promises to her and brought her hope, but then they'd learn about her magic and bring her right back to square one. Her friends tries to cheer her up, but Poe grew bitter and stopped talking all together. There were adults at the home that she trusted, Mr. Cordisco was a jolly man who gave her orange candies when she was sad, and even gave her one of his old replaced teeth for her growing bone collection, having replaced it with a gold tooth. There was also Mrs. Pepper, a nice lady who was always sick and gave Poe a piece of her Rib after having it removed during a surgery.

Poe planned on running away, she didn't want to live a life of being tossed around like she was and wanted to leave to country and explore. Her plans were inturupted by a fire breaking out at the home. Apparently the owners owed some dangerous people a lot of money, and when it couldn't be payed they burned down the home to collect the insurance, without any regard for the children and adults inside.

Most escaped, however Poe was trapped inside the building along with some other children. Mr. Cordisco used his fire magic to keep the Flames under control, while Mrs. Pepper used her sheild magic to try to protect everyone. However they eventually succumbed to the Flames and smoke, leaving the kids all alone. In an act of desperation, Poe used her magic to bring back the souls of her recently Deceased caregivers and used their magic to get the rest out of the burning building.

Soon after this, during the chaos, Poe slipped away and ran away, leaving the people at the event to believe that she had died in the fire. Initially intending to simply run away and explore, she ended up on the trail of the arsonists, and tracked them back to Fiore. She ended up taking down two of the three on her own, but when facing off against the fire user she was outmatched and severely burned on the right side of her torso. It took a while for her to recover from that, but when she did Poe realized that she needed money and security, and probably help if she ever wanted to take down the rest of them. She ended up joining the nearest guild, and hasn't regretted her choice since. She's still on the trail of the people that burned down and killed her caretakers, and won't talk about it with the guild, finding the memory too painful.

Guild Info:

Guild Mark Colour and Location:

Navy blue on her neck under her left ear.

Why did they join Viridian Sylph:

If Poe were to be honest, she needed money. Or at least that was apart of the reason. Despite her wanting to be self reliant and without need of a home, eventually she matured enough to realize that she needed something more reliable to fall back on incase times got tough, and so she ended up joining the guild that was closest to her current location. She also realized that if she wanted to take down the other three arsonists, she would need help from people that she trusts.

What year did they join the guild:

6 years ago, in X785

How do they feel about the attack in X781?:

In X781 Poe wasn't in Fiore, she was in the process of leaving the Seven. She's heard any things about the attack, and has seen the aftermath in her travels. It's truly a travesty.

Where do they Stay?:

Technically homeless (by choice) though rents out an attic for very cheep as mostly storage. Sometimes crashes at a friend's house (sometimes without telling them)

Relationships:

Family:

She has no parents or family to speak of. She has lived with people who were her guardians for a time, but none left a lasting impression. The closest people to parents that she's had was a man and woman named Mr. Cordisco and Mrs. Pepper who worked at the foster home she lived in.

- Mr Cordisco was a jolly older man with a pot belly, large handlebar mustache, a bald spot , a brown three piece suit, and a golden pocket watch. He had a very sweet personality and always had orange candy on him.

- Mrs. Pepper was a very tall woman with copper hair and freckles, dressed in cozy knit clothes, and walked with a limp and a cane. She was very sweet and soft spoken, Poe remembers her for her endless patience.

They both died in a fire before Poe left the country of the Seven.

Friends:

- Rosanna Loven - 20 - Alive

A brown curly haired girl with Violet eyes and beauty mark on tan skin. She had a rather nervous disposition but is highly intelligent. Poe hasn't seen her in years.

- Lionel Van Der Meer - 24 - Alive

A blue haired blue eyed guy with fair skin and dimples when he smiles. He was always very confident and boisterous, but not egotistical. He had some kind of water magic. Poe hasn't seen him in years.

Are they part of a team?:

Technically no, but often ends up tagging along with other teams if she's not doing solo missions. (Sometimes she doesn't even tell them that she's tagging along, she'll just kinda show up)

Rivals:

She doesn't consider anyone to be her rival.

How do they treat their guildmates?:

Poe treats them well, in her own Poe way. If someone is having a bad day she will often leave them small gifts where she knows they will find them, and will listen to them talking even though she prefers quiet.

Romance:

She'd be attracted to someone who accepts her as she is, and makes an effort to make her feel more comfortable and wiling to be open. Also probably someone who's more on the quiet side.

Enemies:

The people who burned down her foster home.

Magic/Weapons:

Weapons/Equipment:

Magic:

A standard non-magical hunting knife

- Soul Summon

A primarily holder type magic with some Caster Type spells.

With this magic, Poe has the ability to summon creatures from the dead via their bones. This uncludes, animals, magical creatures, and even humans, dragons, demons, you name it. If it has bones it can be summoned. Obviously, she cannot summon insects, crustaceans, or invertebrate.

- Smoke Body Magic

Summoned Animal Bones:

A simple magic that allows Poe to turn her body into smoke, much like how Juvia can turn her body to water.

Group animals:

- Various Fish × 44

- Bats × 31

- Rats × 55

- Mice × 12

- Various street birds × 48

Small Animals:

- Various Lizards × 19

- Raccoons × 4

- Chickens × 16

- Rabbits × 6

- Turkeys × 8

Medium Animals:

- Cats × 3

- Dogs × 2

- Pigs × 7

- Deer × 9

- Wolf × 3

- Sheep × 5

- Fox × 4

Large Animals:

- Mountain Lion × 1

- Horse × 3

- cow × 10

- Bear × 2

- Whale × 1

Magical Creatures:

- Python × 1

- Vulcan × 3

Humans:

- Wyvern × 1

- Unicorn × 1

- Tooth of Mr. Cordisco, a man who worked at the foster home who had a talent for fire magic.

Spells:

- Rib bone of Mrs. Pepper, a woman who worked at the foster home who used sheild magic.

Tombstone: (Soul Summon)

Cemetery: (Soul Summon)

- Poe summons a single Small-Medium sized animal to command

Phantom Infestation: (Soul Summon)

- Poe summons multiple Small-Medium sized animals to command

Necropolis: (Soul Summon)

- Group animals work a little differently, as summoning one summons all of them. With Phantom Infestation, Poe summons a large amount of a group animal to command

Potters Field: (Soul Summon)

- Poe summons a single large animal to command. Larger animals take more energy to summon and maintain.

Ossuary: (Soul Summon)

- Poe summons a single magical creature. While summoned, Poe can make them use any special abilities that they had while living, but are now powered by her own magic.

Smoke: (Smoke Body)

- Poe summons a single human. If the human had magic when they were alive, then Poe can command them to use magic, but must power it with her own. Humans still maintain their personality when summoned, but are under Poe's control.

Smother: (Smoke Body)

- a non verbal spell that allows Poe to turn her body, or parts of her body into smoke. She can move faster as smoke.

Future Spells to Learn:

- Poe turns her body to smoke and surrounds her opponent, taking up the air until they can't breath and pass out.

Takeover: Grimm

Smog

- Poe Uses a special kind of takeover magic that can only be used with Soul Summon Magic. After summoning a creature, she is able to takeover the attributes and abilities of the creature, even magical creatures, and even humans and their abilities.

Strengths:

- Poe turns her body into smoke and spreads out over a wide area, sensing everything her body touches to make a mental map.

Weaknesses:

She is deceptively strong and a speed fighter who's goid at hand to hand combat, her summoning magic practically makes her a one-man-army while her Smoke Body makes her untouchable

She needs to be constantly touching the bones in order for her magic to work, which makes them an easy target. As smoke she's weak to wind magic that can blow her away. She's also not great at defence, more used to dodging or phasing through attacks than tanking them.

Misc:

- Most of the bones that Poe has are taken from food or roadkill. Some are found in the woods, and the Whale tooth was stolen from a museum some years back.

- She likes hanging out around Bucher shops because she can buy the bones off them, though some will give them to her for free.

- Poe's biggest dream is to find Dragon bones.

- when using her summoning magic, the things that she summons look like translucent glowing aqua green forms of themselves with visible skeletons

[thehermitwitch]

The heavy rain receded to spiting lightly, the cobbled street littered with puddles ranging sizes. The air damp and the sky dark, the clouds promised heavier rain.

Standing in front of a rickety old door leading to a pub- 'The old whistler', stood a young boy. His hand was clenching a torn piece of an old envelope with the pubs name scrawled messily. The boy compared the two names to double check if, he was correct and opened the door, a bell signaling his arrival, and pulled his hood down to reveal short black hair.

The pub was big, but it had a low ceiling and had wooden beams running across. There was already a crowd, but not overly packed. There was a lot of chatter, laughter and clinking of glasses. Smoke was in the air.

A few people glanced at the boy, as he nervously shuffled across the room to the bar, but paid him no mind. A middle-aged man was at the bar and was cleaning a glass with a cigarette hanging loosely at his lips. He cocked an eyebrow, as the boy stopped in front of him.

“Where’re your parents kid?” the man asked, his voice gruff and deep.

“Um”, The boy fidgeted and glanced back to the door and swallowed. He thrusted his hand in to his coat pocket and pulled out a small photo of a dark haired woman and shoved it in his face.

The man placed the glass onto a shelf from the boy’s view and leant on the counter his arms crossed and studied the kid.

The boy took a shaky breath and half sped talked. “I was told that this person –who I’m looking for, is here and do you know her.” He finished, his voice trailing and lowing his aching, stiff arm to his chest.

“Can’t say I do. What’s it to you kid?”

“I was told they could help me.”

“Help you with what?”

“My-y problem,” came the immediate, but hesitant reply.

“Your problem,” The man deadpanned, arching a brow.

A solid nod was the only reply, making the man sigh. “Nothing I say is going to change your mind is it.”

The kid firmly shook his head.

“Fine, you can see ‘er.”

The boy’s eyes sparked with excitement and he did a slight happy dance with his feet.

“But”-he said exiting the counter making the boy stop-“that doesn’t mean she’ll like it.” The man crouched down to the kid’s height, a hand still on the counter-“after all”- the man flicked the boys forehead lightly-“she likes ‘er own company.”

“Come on,” he said, standing taking the boy by the shoulder and guiding him further into the pub.

The man took him to the very back to a dark corner were a hooded woman sat alone nursing a half drunk glass of red wine. The boy held back, as the bartender introduced him. “A boy is to see you ma’am.”

The woman raised her head, her face hidden in the shadows of the large hood. “Thank you Morris, you may leave,” the woman’s accent had a slight French twang.

The man, now Morris, grunted and patted the boys shoulder twice and left. The boy watched Morris leave and took a shaky breath in and out and swallowed the growing saliva. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. He sat down on the opposite side.

The woman said nothing, as she watched the boy fidget in his seat, his eyes looking every-where, but her. With interest she waited for him to start.

Meanwhile the boy was in a slight panic, his thoughts all over the place. Why did I think this was a good idea? I have little idea of what I’m gonna say. I don’t know the person in front of me, nor what she looks like thanks to the hood. Nor have I been to this town before!

He shook his head to clear the unhelpful thoughts clouding his mind. He took a deep breath, raised his head and introduced himself.

“Hello, miss,” the woman gave a slight nod in greeting, but continued her silence.

“Er, um, errrm, M-my name is Chris Rhodes and I was told you could help me with a problem, of mine, a fire problem.”

Chris absently scratched his left cheek waiting for the woman to respond, but still nothing. She began to scare him.

“Er could-could you take your hood down please.”

“Well since you asked so nicely.” She removed the large hood and revealed her young face. She had dark brown hair in a high pony tail and wearing neutral makeup and the bluest eyes Chris had ever seen.

“You look really pretty miss,” Chris blurted out making himself blush in embarrassment.

The woman smiled. “Please, call me ‘Amethyst’.”

Chris slowly mouthed the unfamiliar word. “That’s a birthstone isn’t it?”

Amethyst nodded smiling slightly. “It is, its February’s birthstone, for people who are Aquarius, also If I may ask Christopher” -yes? – “you seem very young, how old are you?”

“Seven,” he said without hesitation.

“Seven”- Chris nodded in confirmation- “my, aren’t you a big boy by coming here all by your-self. That is most impressive.”

“Thank you,” came the shy reply.

Amethyst swallowed the rest of the wine and placed the glass beside her, pushing it gently away from her body.

She clasped her gloved fingers together and asked some important questions. “Now Chris, how can I help you with your fire problem and how did you come to know to know of me?”

Chris groaned slightly, stretching his back against the wooden chair. This is going to sound really stupid, “the, er internet.” He said slowly looking away, his eyes landing on a group of friends playing pool.

“The internet,” Amethyst said skeptically. “Surely you were taught internet safety at school.”

“If we were, I weren’t there that day,” he said still watching the game; it looked like one of the players was on a winning streak.

Amethyst gave a nose sigh, but continued, “And how do you suppose I can help you.”

Chris turned his body to her and spoke hesitantly. “Well the sight said that you knew things, things like, like magic.” He whispered the last word.

“Magic,” Amethyst said with amusement, “and you believe in such things?”

“Well, I have seen stuff like it, like card tricks and stuff. But proper, proper magic, I haven’t. But recently, what’s been happening to me is scary, really scary. Being able to do things that aren’t possible, and I nearly burnt my room down from a fire ball that came out of my own hands.” He was staring intently to his open palms. “It’s really frightening and when this all started when I got angry.” Chris tuned his right palm over. “This flame mark appeared and when I do stuff, fire stuff, it lights up giving a pained ish feeling, and when I’m not. It looks like a really old scar.”

Amethyst held Chris’s right hand studying the mark. They sat there in silence for a while. The pool game just finished and the group went to grab a few pints. Chris quietly broke the silence. “What does this all mean?”

Amethyst cradled Chris’s hand, gently stroking the mark. “It means, my dear child, that you are a mage.”

Chris sat there in stunned silence, his eyes like saucers, as he watched Amethyst remove one of the leather gloves, and showed him her mark of a water mage. “Just like me. Welcome to the family.”