#their momentum does not stop when they come out the other side and they are just flung forwards

[tineymang]

@heropartnerweek day 6 - return!

i feel like there was a significant lack of hugs in the explorers of sky storyline and i aim to rectify this fact

[hells-wasabii]

A/n: this one is a little on the shorter side like its predicesor, but I made up for it with a bit of a Drabble!

Part 1 | Part 2

Character: Alastor

Type: Headcanons + Drabble (Alastor x Doe!reader pt 2, Fluff)

Alastor was... gone. No broadcast, no letter, no cryptic bullshit. Just gone.

As were the demons that kept tabs on you. The overlord undoubtedly thought you didn't know, but you were a doe, and they weren't exactly subtle about it. One even outright told you.

It had been that way for seven years now.

That is, until you had seen and heard a television turned radio broadcast through out the city. You stood in front of the televisions in the store window, eyes wide and jaw practically on the ground. Like a deer in headlights. The radio demon was back.

Just as suddenly as he had disappeared all those years ago he was back. That... That bastard! Who did he think he was?!

Your ears flatten as an angry snort escapes you. And you knew exactly where he was, too.

The hotel wasn't too hard to find, you could pick Alastor's magic out of a croud. The place reeked of it, you thought as you scrunched up your nose. Before you knew it you had pushed open the doors of the establishment, finding yourself face to face with a blonde demon you assumed to be the princess of hell

"Hi, welcome to the Hazbin Ho-Oh." You pushed past the far too cheery woman making a note to apologize to her later, and marched right up to that damned deer. As if he could sense the danger he was in, Alastor finally turned to look at you. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw you.

"Hello, my dear!" As smooth as ever, he swept in to take you in his grasp, spinning you around in a small dance to slow your momentum. As soon as the two of you stopped Alastor took your hand in his and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, as gentlemanly as ever you supposed. "It's been some time now, hasn't it?"

Your eyes narrowed at your fellow deer demon, while his smile only grew, clearly delighted by your angered state.

"You have some explaining to do, Alastor."

You did forgive him eventually, but that didn't mean you weren't still upset about it. He wouldn't tell you why, either, which certainly didn't help his case, but your forgiveness still came, nonetheless.

Things at the hotel seemed simple enough, and you had to admit you were curious about this whole 'redemption' shtick that Charlie Morningstar was constantly on about. Plus Nifty was even there! She had been one of the contractees that Alastor had assigned to keep tabs on you so long ago. The little psycho. (I love her, she's so chaotic)

When it comes to Alastor's contractees, you only knew of a few, Nifty included, Husk, however, you only knew by name. So imagine your surprise to discover that Alastor employed a disgraced overlord. Unlike Nifty, however, Husk mostly kept away from you, associating you with Alastor's inner circle as it turns out. He seemed pretty apprehensive of you.

Now that the two of you were back in each other's lives, you settled into a routine of sorts. He quite enjoyed accompanying you in your morning routines, whether that meant a stroll or meditations, It meant that he could make up for lost time, and he couldn't think of a better way to spend his mornings.

[emptyheadedhousecow]

still fat

900 words · 5 min read · emptyheadedhousecow.tumblr.com · November 2024

The funnel is empty. The blanket is dotted with crumbs. The pizza boxes are on the floor — there's a grease stain on the bedsheet where it had been carelessly placed half an hour ago, but that's a job for tomorrow. The box of aftercare chocolates is open and the best ones are already gone. It was hot, but the libido is gone now, and appetites are more than sated. Your feeder is curled up beside you, half-asleep already, small beside you, eclipsed by your mass. The pain has been kissed and rubbed away, but you're still swollen and stuffed, and most importantly, you're still fat.

They woke up before you. The pizza boxes are gone, and the funnel too; through the walls you hear the dishwasher churning, something sizzling on a stovetop, and fresh coffee being ground. There's a hunger brewing inside you already, but the stretchmarks on your sides are itching again, and the moisturiser is just out of reach. They'd jump at the chance to help, but it's not sexy right now, you just want the discomfort gone. You shift and roll, and build momentum, and grab the bottle, and then come crashing back down on the mattress in a breathless heap, your fat splayed out in exactly the same way it was before. You breathe, and recover, and you have to remind yourself, like every other morning, that your body has grown into something made of carbs and lard, even though everything else is back to normal, you're still fat.

Your day would be easy for anyone else, but everything is an ordeal for you. It seems like every time you shower you discover a new fold that needs to be cleaned and powdered. You need to catch your breath while washing your hair. You could wear clothes, if you wanted, but it's so much easier not to try, and you're increasingly unsure just how long it's been since you wore anything at all. Your feeder brings you all the food you could want, four meals a day or five if you're lucky... and you're grateful, of course you are, but not every meal is sex. You eat because you're hungry — a deep hunger that's only satisfied when you're pushed to breaking point — and you eat to shush, if only for a little while, that tiny voice inside you that's always demanding more more more. You knew this would happen; that every time you push yourself, your appetite grows a little... and you've pushed yourself a lot. You don't always eat because you want to, you eat because you HAVE to, because that's what a body as fat as yours craves, and day after day, you're still fat.

And then the funnel's back in play, and another order is lined up on the pizza app. Can you down the pitcher of cream before the pizzas arrives, and then the pizzas too? It's always an offer, never coerced. It was such a struggle last time, you only barely made it, but that only means it'll be easier now. And the tiny voice inside you can't be silenced, and the deep hunger is so very demanding, and it does drive you wild to see them this excited. You agree. You know you won't be able to stop yourself from pushing yourself to your limit, again, and you know that if you manage it, next time there might be another pizza on top, and that's far beyond what any normal person could eat, and as exciting as that is, you can't help but worry a little. But the preparations are underway, and your feeder's in the kitchen already, and all you need to do is eat, which you're amazing at, so this is just the best option, right? After all, you've done this a hundred times, what's one more? Tonight won't change anything, not really — either way, you're still fat.

The next day is always the same as the day before. Your feeder is dressed in a tenth of the time it takes you to shuffle to the edge of the bed and you're exhausted already. A kiss and a smile and you're helped to your feet, but you're not steady, and your balance is always unfamiliar, and it wasn't so long ago that it wouldn't even have occurred to you that you might need help getting up, and yet here it is, a development as casual as a second portion of breakfast. It ought to worry you but you are so very hungry, and the little voice is louder than your own thoughts these days, even though the pressure from last night's feast remains. Food is brought directly to the bedroom, once a rare treat but now the norm simply because it's getting harder to walk to the kitchen, even assisted. Getting dressed isn't an option anymore, for sure there's no clothes that still fit you, and that means no going outside, even in the car. Not that you've been outside in a long time. Perhaps you begin to slowly realise, if you hadn't been in denial about it already, that your last opportunity to lose the weight has quietly disappeared, who knows how long ago, and you never even noticed. But that doesn't seem nearly as important as finishing the plate of food that's in front of you. Maybe you'll get a chance to think about that later, maybe not — it feels like a very permanent fact of your life that you're still fat, forever.

[h0neylevi]

After a major shift, your life has become a series of monotonous routines. Eat, sleep, go to work, repeat. But when you find a man bleeding on the subway with no idea how he got there, things become anything but ordinary.

General content warnings: isekai/parallel universe, modern AU, mentions of blood and canon-typical violence, some light angst, eventual smut.

chapter warnings: mentions of blood/cleaning of wounds

word count: 3.2k

It’s just after midnight when you make it to the metro platform.

The descent underground is quiet. Below the bustling city streets, you go through the process of boarding a train back home in a bit of a mindless daze, having done this cycle of late night shifts at the hospital countless times before.

The carriage is empty when you walk on board, silent except for the pneumatic hiss of the doors that slide closed behind you. You fall into the nearest seat with a heavy sigh.

It’s the first time in thirteen hours you’ve really been able to get off your feet.

Working four 12 hour days in a row can be tiring, but it’s worth it most of the time for the following four days off that you’re able to get. Four days off of freedom—which usually means catching up on errands. Laundry, getting groceries, and cleaning.

It’s just you now, so things tend to pile up much more quickly.

As you feel the rumble of movement beneath you, the momentum causing you to sway a little in your seat, you stare unblinking at the opposite window. Flashes of advertisements and thick concrete tunnel walls speed by in a blur, and you allow your mind to wander.

Maybe you could go to that new cafe in the morning that opened up on College Street. It’s been a while since you’ve taken a moment just for yourself. Or maybe you could take a book to the park after cleaning your apartment. The weather was supposed to be nice, and that used to be your favorite thing to do before…

The train slows to a stop before you continue down that line of thinking. With a droning chime, the doors open to signal would-be passengers to either depart or climb aboard.

A pleasant female voice erupts from the intercom system. “This is Freedom Park Station. Please stand clear of the doors.”

It’s not unheard of for others to be out so late, particularly on a Friday night, so to see a man walk aboard doesn’t immediately surprise you.

What does cause you to do a double take is the state of him.

The first thing you see is the insignia of the wings of freedom, a symbol you immediately recognize on the back of the green cloak covering his upper half from one of your favorite shows, Attack on Titan.

The second thing you notice is that he’s soaked.

That’s odd. You don’t remember it raining earlier in the day, but it could have been a brief downpour in another part of the city. And he’s clearly coming from an anime convention. Those were usually held at the convention center on the other side of the city.

The man heavily slumps forward against the railing. His back is turned toward you, but you watch him thoughtfully, admiring the impressive handiwork of his costume. From under the cloak, you see the intricately wrapped belts of the omni-directional gear, as well as the boxes along his thighs that are used in the show to store blades. When you see a reflection of an advertisement briefly glimmer off of the surface, you realize that they’re actually metal.

Those must be heavy. Did he make them himself?

The train begins to move again and your thoughts are stopped short when the man stumbles, nearly falling. That’s when he turns and you notice the blood.

His face is covered in it.

You’re on your feet before you even realize it. “Excuse me.”

He turns at the sound of your voice and you see the source: a rough cut just above his right eyebrow.

The man sways unsteadily on his feet against the movement of the train. The look he gives you is immediately distrusting, but he doesn’t back away.

You stop a few feet from him. “Sir, are you okay?” When his eyes narrow, you point to the badge pinned to your work scrubs. “I’m a nurse, see?”

You wait as his eyes study your hospital badge for a moment.

“Where the hell am I?”

Okay, that’s potentially a cause for concern. “Uh.” You try to remember what stop he got on from. “Freedom Park.” The look on his face doesn’t resemble recognition. “You’re not from around here?”

For a moment, he seems to think. “No.”

There’s a sharp jolt from the train car and you both sway a little, him more than you.

You gesture to the empty seat next to him. “Here. You should probably sit down.”

He doesn’t argue as he takes a seat.

Looking him over, you consider your options. It isn’t too late to take him back to the hospital, but you don’t exactly want to after spending the entire day there already. From the looks of it, it doesn’t look like he’ll need stitches, but it doesn’t feel right to leave him alone in the state he’s in either.

“Can you tell me what happened?” you ask.

The man looks around for a moment. The look on his face turns apprehensive. “I don’t remember. There was a flash… and then I just woke up here.”

You raise your brows. Something about the way he says it feels like he isn’t being completely honest, but you suppose the bleeding itself is a more pressing concern right now anyway.

“Okay,” you say. “Well, that cut doesn’t look too deep, but you should get it cleaned.” You pause for a moment, debating. “My apartment is at the next stop.”

You had meant it as a suggestion, but the man doesn’t seem to follow.

“I can look at it for you,” you add. “Maybe help you find wherever you were supposed to stay.”

He seems to consider it for a long moment, looking from you to around the empty train car and then back to your badge.

“Alright,” he says as the train begins to slow. When it comes to a stop and the doors open with their loud hydraulic hiss, he follows you back out onto the platform.

It’s quiet for most of the walk back. You go through the motions of exiting the station—swiping your pass and leading the way up the winding corridors to street level while the man follows, watching your movements and your surroundings with a puzzled sort of awe.

It isn’t until you’re pulling out the keys to your place before you turn to him again.

“So, what’s your name?”

He gives you a subdued look. “Levi.”

You smile.

“No, really…” you press, looking over his clothes again. It’s obvious that’s what he’s going for now that you see him up close—the scout uniform and the way he’s styled his hair. Come to think of it, he has Levi’s frame as well. And his eyes.

It’s a damn good cosplay actually. If Levi Ackerman were to magically come out of the television screen as a flesh and blood person, he’d look exactly like this guy.

But judging by his expression and the complete lack of response, he isn’t interested in giving you any sort of real information.

You turn then, your smile dropping, and lead the way into the apartment building. “O-kay.”

It’s possible, you guess, that his name really is Levi. Just a very bizarre coincidence that he happens to look and act exactly like your favorite character from an anime and also likes the anime as well. There are billions of people in the world though. Stranger things happen all the time.

Reluctant to piss him off further, the rest of the walk up to the second floor is done in more silence. You unlock your front door and lead the way inside, smiling when you hear the telltale trill of your cat greeting you at the door.

“Hello, Luna,” you greet, bending down to run your hand between the shorthair’s ears. She pushes herself up into your hand a little further with a chirp.

Still at the door, the man—Levi—watches.

“Luna?” he asks in a flat tone.

You straighten back up, noting his hesitancy to walk forward. “You’re not allergic, are you?” That would be some cosmic bad luck on his part to deal with a head wound and an allergic reaction in one night.

But thankfully, he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s affectionate but she’s harmless,” you say, sidestepping around your cat to walk further into your living room. When Levi joins you, you gesture to the sofa. “Have a seat there. I’ll be right back with some supplies.”

You don’t wait around to see if he does what you say, instead dipping down the hall toward a small office. It’s mostly just a place for all of your trinkets—a desk filled with a few figures and a computer. Some bookshelves line the walls, collecting dust. It’s been months since you’ve picked up a good book or did much of anything in this room, really. But you know exactly where to look for the supply kits you’ve managed to stock up on from the hospital.

After you find the suture thread and some wound wash, you grab a towel from the bathroom next door and return to the living room.

Levi is there, sitting on the edge of the sofa as if he’s afraid to get comfortable. His gaze keeps jumping around the room, taking in the layout and decor, and his fists rest stiffly on his knees. Luna is next to him, tentatively sniffing at his knuckles with a curious stretch of her neck.

You shoo her away gently and take her place on the sofa. The angle of light allows you to see the source of the drying blood on his face a bit better.

Quietly, you look him over. “How are you feeling?”

He watches as you slip on a pair of gloves. “I’ve had worse.”

You snort lightly and begin to prep the fresh towel with wound wash.

“Do you have stuff like this happen to you often?” you ask, now reaching to press the towel to his face.

At your question, he pulls his one uncovered eye from you, surveying the room again. “Nothing quite like this.”

“What happened?”

Levi is quiet for a moment before he says, “It was nothing. I fell.”

You pause your movements, frowning. “This doesn’t look like the kind of cut you’d get from a fall.”

“Why does it matter?”

Judging by his defensive tone, he knows more than he’s letting on, but you can’t figure out why he isn’t being honest.

But with him already in your apartment, you don’t want to do anything to unnecessarily antagonize him. Even in his current state, he looks strong and capable enough to hurt you.

Probably best to just change the subject.

“Did you have somewhere you were staying?” you ask, returning to your task.

You gently dab the towel down the curve of his jaw and feel the muscle tense beneath your touch.

“No,” he finally says.

“You came all the way here for a convention and didn’t book a hotel?”

“A convention?”

“Yeah,” you nod, gesturing to his clothes. “You’re a scout, right?”

At your words, his expression becomes a bit more relieved. He nods. “Yes. I got onto that... train thing because I hoped it might take me to headquarters.”

You blink as you listen to him. Did he hit his head hard enough for him to think that he is Levi Ackerman?

Maybe you should take him to the hospital anyway just to get him checked out. He seems perfectly lucid otherwise though, if a bit confused.

You reach forward and check his head wound again. Just like you thought, it’s too shallow to need stitches and isn’t bleeding anymore, so that’s a good sign. Maybe it could wait until morning.

“Do you feel sick?” you ask, searching his expression for any lack of focus or disorientation but find none. “Nauseated? Dizzy?”

“Other than the stabbing pain above my eye?” he deadpans, glaring at you. “No. I feel fine.”

You sigh. This is insane, considering letting a complete stranger stay in your apartment. But he doesn’t have anywhere else to go and he’s still soaking wet. You’d feel guilty if you just let him go and he got into trouble. At the very least, you could make sure he has somewhere to sleep. 

You get to your feet and look over his clothes once more. “You can stay here tonight if you’d like. I think I might have some old clothes you can sleep in, and there’s a shower down the hall.”

He gives you a distrustful look. “You’re putting a lot of faith in a stranger.”

You raise a brow. “I guess we both are. But if you’d rather sleep out in the cold, then be my guest.”

That seems to give him pause, and he looks around the room once more.

“Where did you say the shower was?”

“Down the hall, second door on the left,” you tell him. “I can get you a towel and some clothes.”

You dispose quickly of the bloodied towel in your kitchen trash along with your gloves and turn back down the hall again. When you return, Levi is standing awkwardly next to your sofa. He seems to be pointedly ignoring Luna, who is still curiously sniffing him from the armrest.

“These should fit,” you tell him, patting the folded up sweatpants and an oversized shirt tucked beneath your arm. “Just leave your things in the bathroom and I’ll make sure your clothes are washed in the morning.”

He takes the items from you with another skeptical glance. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I have to do laundry anyway,” you wave him off. “It’s no trouble.” Quickly, you point at him. “Just don’t scrub at that cut. You’ll just make it bleed again.”

He doesn’t move immediately when you back away to let him pass by, but the promise of a hot shower seems to eventually override whatever keeps him fixed in place. Without another word, he retreats down the hall, right to the second door on the left like you told him.

What a strange man.

It takes fifteen minutes before you hear the shower turn on.

In that time, you busy yourself with finding a spare blanket and a pillow and leave them on the sofa. You tidy up a little next, grabbing leftover drinking glasses off the table and discarded socks that had been pushed under the coffee table. It isn’t much, but you’re left feeling slightly less anxious about the state of your place by the time you’re finished. You like to keep things tidy to begin with, but the place certainly looks lived in right now.

Curious, you sink into a chair and pull out your phone while you’re waiting and click on the search engine, quickly typing in a few keywords to check on any local anime conventions happening in the area.

There are no ongoing events, and the next one isn’t happening until six months from now.

Well, that eliminates your theory. So then what the hell was he doing cosplaying on the street on a random Friday? If he was with someone, he wouldn’t have been wandering around alone and he said he wasn’t staying anywhere in the area.

The thought occurs to you that maybe this is some sort of trap to lure unsuspecting women into vulnerable positions, preying on a person’s compassion. But then, that was very real blood on his face and a very real wound, and he has had ample opportunities to attack and rob you if that was truly what he was after. He might look intimidating, but there’s nothing about him that screams that you’re in any sort of immediate danger either.

Maybe you can get some real answers out of him in the morning when he’s less grumpy.

You’re feeding Luna in the kitchen when Levi reappears.

With silent relief, you note that his wound seems to still be fine. He looks healthier in general after cleaning off, but he also looks… well, even more like Levi Ackerman. It’s kind of uncanny.

“What?”

You jump when you hear his voice. He’s watching you from the living room, looking about as confused as you feel.

Shit, have you been staring? “Nothing.” You sigh and rub at your eyes. It’s been too long of a day to start questioning your sanity. “Are you hungry or anything? I have some leftovers I can heat up really quick.”

“I’m fine.” He shakes his head and turns his attention to the blanket and pillow on the sofa. 

Carefully, he arranges it how he likes and sits down. He glances at the television on the other side of the room before looking around again, lingering at times on things like the lamps in the corners and over to the open kitchen.

His hands fidget in his lap.

“I’ll be out of here first thing in the morning.”

The sound of his voice surprises you.

“Where are you going to go?”

He shrugs. “I’ll figure it out.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek thoughtfully. He’s a grown man, so it shouldn’t concern you what he does. But his comments about not being from here, and the whole thing about him trying to find ‘headquarters’? You’d feel better knowing there isn’t anything you’ve missed.

“At least let me take you to the hospital to get that cut checked out,” you suggest. “We can go first thing while your clothes are drying.”

He scoffs but the sound is entirely devoid of humor. “I told you I’m fine.”

“So it’ll be a quick visit and you can be on your way in no time,” you reply. “One of the doctors I work with can look you over before we open. He won’t mind.”

“Or I could just leave in the middle of the night.”

“I guess.” You shrug. “I wouldn’t be able to stop you, but that’s your choice. My conscience can be clear as long as I’ve offered to help you. I can’t make you take it, but I think it’s a good idea.”

He glares at you from the sofa, but doesn’t reply.

You get the sense that he doesn’t want to be bothered anymore. With the night he’s had, he probably just wants some rest, and you’re more than willing to get some sleep yourself.

Now that the shock of the night has worn off a bit, your body feels heavy as you get to your feet.

Levi stays quiet as you move around the room, shutting off lights and locking your front door. He moves to lay down once he gathers what you’re doing.

“I’ll get you up in the morning,” you tell him from the hallway. “Get some sleep.”

That earns you little more than a grunt of acknowledgement.

When you get into your room, you make sure to lock the door and find a baseball bat from the depths of your closet to sit by your bed. You’ve always been a light sleeper, so you hope that you’ll be able to hear if he decides to try anything.

You go through your nightly routine and climb into bed, then send off a text before closing your eyes—a message to one of your friends and fellow co-workers at the hospital.

Hey, could you do me a huge favor tomorrow morning? It’ll be quick.

Hopefully, when you wake up, Levi will still be there.

[perpetuallydaydreaming]

you kissed me.

how the marauders kiss you.

tags: james potter x gn!reader,, sirius black x gn!reader,, remus lupin x gn!reader,, headcannon,, fluffy,, self indulgent

james would absolutely forget where you are, who you’re with, and what you’re doing whenever he even thinks about kissing you. kissing you is his absolute favourite past time. with his eyes closed, he would slowly rub the tip of his nose all over your face. softly, gently, nuzzling your nose, your cheeks, your temples and your jaw, slowly breathing you in. until you’re nothing but a smiling and giddy besotted fool. he would rub his cheeks over yours, feeling every inch of your face just as you would feel his light stubble, his warm breath, and the light brush of his lips over your cheeks as he softly smiles. the entire act before the actual kiss just as intimate and soft and just as toe curling, making you feel like you’re melting. and when he finally does kiss you, it would be soft, and open, and warm, and amazing, your head cradled in his hands—breathing each other in.

sirius will make an absolute show of kissing you. he would grab your hips with one hand—connecting your front with his. he would look at you, a smirk pulling at his pink lips, while his other hand runs through his inky silken hair. his eyes shining with intensity and giddy mirth before tipping you backwards. his face inches away from yours but he wouldn’t kiss you yet, no, he would let the roars and hollers of the spectators reach your ears first. and then he would wait for some type of abashed consent from you. before finally, planting a soft, chaste kiss on your lips. when he pulls away, he would look into your eyes and smile all gentle and loving, no trace of that playful intensity. and then he would kiss you again, and again, and again. each one slower and more intense than the last. he wouldn’t stop until you say so, even when his arms begin to cramp.

remus would push your hair out of your face first. gently tucking locks behind your ears, and smoothing the back of your hair. he would run his fingers over your temples, down to the sides of your cheeks to your jaw and neck—so agonizingly slow. following each angle and line, looking at his own fingers trailing over your skin, as if it was the first time he’s seen it. as if he had to memorize you first. when he kisses you, it would start out slow, tentative, like it was the first time, like he would gladly spend the rest of his remaining time kissing you if he could. then slowly gaining momentum once you open your mouth. his tongue licking your teeth, your mouth and your lips. swallowing each breath and groan and moan coming out of your mouth.

[karenssupplystore]

Photo booth (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x GN! reader)

Warnings: none (let me know if there is any!)

Word count: 1079

There weren't many times when Simon had a day off, but when he did, you better know he'd be spending every moment with his partner. 

Back for a few days after a long mission? Reports are finished in record time and left on Price's desk.

A few hours between long meetings? He's calling you or sending a text, just wanting a moment of peace and to hear your voice before he'll inevitably have to deal with Soap's shenanigans.

Point being any time away from work he has, you're the first thing on his mind, and he will do anything to get that little bit of recharge time with the one person who he feels he can truly relax with.

So when the 141 gets back from a long, few-month mission on the other side of the globe, as soon as humanly possible, Simon's heading home to be with you. 

The first few days are just spent curled up together. Lazy mornings turning into lazy afternoons with lingering touches and tender kisses. Cooking together in the warmth of your shared kitchen, his big arms wrapped around your waist as his chin rests on the top of your head. Warm meals and lots of storytelling, more so coming from your end, but who wouldn't want to know about how the neighbours got into another fight and might be ending in divorce this time?

After those initial days just gently getting back into the calm civilian life, the two of you are more than happy to adventure out for the day. Treating yourselves to a nice cup of tea and a fresh pastry from a rather fancy cafe in the heart of town and a calm walk by river, hand in hand, the two of you find yourselves in a little corner store as the clouds roll over and little drops start to fall.

· · ─────── ��𖥸· ─────── · ·

"Bloody hell love, a little rain won't hurt ya," Simon chuckles as you pull him into a nearby corner store as the droplets of rain start to gain momentum, falling in a more rapid succession.

"Yes, but I did my hair today, and I don't want it to be ruined," you answer with a playful roll of your eyes. The store is much more pleasant than the rain, with a warm glow to the lights and, most importantly, nice and dry. 

Deciding to busy yourselves while the rain rolls over, the two of you go up and down the few isles, pointing out little snacks you want to try or ones you have tried and definitely didn't like. Coming to the end of one of the isles you spot an old photo booth pushed into the corner and excitedly pull on Simon's arm.

"Si, look! Do you think it works?" The whole thing looks like it hasn't been used in a long while, but, taking your chances, you pull the curtain open and the display lights up. 

"Suppose it does, come 'ere," a large hand moves to hold your waist as you're pulled onto Simon's lap, the two of you making a tight fit in the small booth.

With an excited squeal you press a few buttons, pulling a few pound coins from your pocket and inserting them into the machine, a quick preview of the photo format appearing on the screen. Before the two of you can plan what your poses will be, the first timer starts counting down.

""Right, just a smile then?" He says, guiding one of your arms over his shoulders as you lean your head closer, big smile pulling at your lips and a hint of a curl on the Brits. The flash clicks and the photo shows before another timer starts counting down.

"Now a silly one!" You say, holding up bunny ears behind his head as you stick your tongue out, Simon doing quite the similar pose. The timer stops and another flash goes off, both your eyes drawn to the preview of the photo. For a burly military man Simon sure does look a bit silly with the tip of his tongue poking out and your fingers as bunny ears behind him, contrasting his usual hard and gruff facade he put son for the average individual.

"Hey, you copied my idea," A playful shove is given to his shoulder as you look at the photo, chuckles leaving the both of you. "Can't help if it's a good idea," Simons voice grumbles though the smile on his scared lips tells you how happy you make him as he pokes a finger in your ribs, making you laugh.

"Simon!" You giggle, half heartedly pulling away from him, "That tickles!" The Brit doesn't stop his teasing and you try to pull away again that you almost fall off his lap, arms flailing slightly but a hand firmly on your waist ensures you don't go anywhere. In the struggle the timer for the third photo finishes and the flash goes off just as you feel like you're tipping.

As the two of you calm your giggles you see there's only one photo left and you turn to look at Simon, exaggerated disappointment on your face. "Look you ruined the photo," you tease as you point to the screen.

"Wouldn't have been ruined if ya were more original," He chuckles, fingers lightly pinching your thigh as he gazes at you with those big brown eyes. "I'm plenty original, thank you"

The timer counting down for the fourth and final picture snaps you both back as you stumble to figure out one last pose.

"What do you we do for this one?" You ask out loud as you try your hardest to think of a cute pose.

Without more than a little grumble of a 'Come 'ere' Simons free hand reaches up and gently wraps around your neck, pointer finger helping guide your face to his as your lips meet his. All thoughts are almost completely disregarded as you lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as his tongue traces the seam of your lips. Just as you begin to part your lips the flash goes off and the machine begins to print the series of photos.

""ere you go, love," Simon grumbles as his hand leaves your warm skin to grab the photos, handing them to you. Hand on your thigh giving you a gently pat before guiding you off his lap and out of the photo booth, grin on his lips the whole time.

[he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle]

Unknown - Ep 11 - That Scene

The opening scene of episode 11 landed differently for me than it did for others. I was going to just keep it to myself since I have a minority opinion, but when I rewatched it last night I fell even more in love with it!

The structure!! It's so good! Let me explain.

At the bottom of the stairs, Qian hesitates. He still hasn't made up his mind.

Yuan says "Do you still not get it?" He knows what Qian is feeling, even if Qian hasn't figured it out yet. So he says what he wants very clearly.

Yuan asks for permission to do 4 things:

1. Be more than just Qian's brother.

2. Be who Qian relies on when he's down.

3. Be someone Qian can talk to about anything.

4. Be with Qian for the rest of his life.

Before Qian answers, he revisits 4 sets of memories, each set answering one of Yuan's questions with a resounding YES.

After each affirmative answer, it cuts back to the sex scene to communicate that THIS is the culmination of all those yesses.

In other words, there are 4 direct questions and 4 groups of memories that hold the answers to those questions, 4 times those memories scream the answer is YES, and 4 cuts to a bit of sex.

Let's look at the groups of memories.

1. He thinks back to Yuan's words in ep 9. Does he not want Yuan? Or does he not DARE to want Yuan? And he remembers all the times he felt desire for Yuan, but suppressed it. Can he be more than just Yuan's brother? Yes.

2. He thinks back to Yuan consistently being someone Qian can rely on, all through his childhood until now. "If the world falls down, we'll hold it up together." "You won't be alone." "I like being around you." Yuan genuinely likes being around Qian and has never wanted to leave him. He's shown his commitment to Qian time and time again. Can Qian rely on Yuan when he's down? Yes.

3. He remembers how long and hard Yuan suffered while enduring one-sided love, and that Yuan chose to suffer in quiet for years rather than confess to Qian about it. But Qian knew Yuan was suffering that whole time and hated it. It broke Qian's heart to see how hard it was for Yuan. If he did likewise and didn't talk about things, he'd also break the heart of the person who loves him because of his silence. Yuan laid himself bare and told Qian everything. Can Qian reciprocate and tell Yuan about everything in his life, even the hard things? Yes.

4. He thinks about how Yuan has ALREADY built his entire life around Qian. "I can sum up my life in two words: Wei Qian." Memories of Yuan come like a flood, rapidly gaining momentum. Yuan has already been with Qian for most of his life, and will NOT STOP. Qian can't imagine a life without Yuan. So can Yuan be with Qian for the rest of his life? Yes.

Qian nods and says his answer aloud: You can. And then they kiss.

The sex is not the point. It's the culmination. It's all the yesses stacked on top each other until they break the last of Qian's walls. By cutting the sex so it only exists between each resounding YES, they've made it less about the action of it and more about Qian realizing that YES, they're ALREADY in love and unalterably committed to each other. Why not give in to his physical desires when the rest is so clear?

Others watched this and saw a sex scene interrupted by cumbersome flashbacks. I watched this and saw a dramatic feelings realization interrupted by snippets of quite lovely sex that drove those feelings home.

A final note: It's probably because I'm demisexual, but I am frequently unmoved by sex scenes, especially when they do not advance the plot or the character development. This onscreen scene moved me. It hit the right emotional note. It was focused primarily on Qian's pov (his face is the one the camera is focusing on). And it was artfully done, instead of merely being titillating.

I'm tagging a few people who I recall talking about this in their posts, but it's been a couple of weeks so forgive me if I leave someone out or misremember. @absolutebl @lurkingshan @bengiyo @wen-kexing-apologist @wanderlust-in-my-soul @twig-tea

[cameronspecial]

Missed Connections

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings:  N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.7K

Summary: When Y/N plans to take her first solo trip, Rafe has to make sure she can defend herself.

Masterlist

He bounces on the balls of his feet, waiting for her in the arrivals section. It has been around four months since he last saw her. With her absence, Rafe has come to a realization. The only person he wants to be around is her. Sure, it is because she is his best friend, but it is also because he is full-on in love with her. She is the only one that he would let call him out on his bullshit. He only trusts her with his deepest-darkest secrets. And when she isn’t around, he feels like all the air in his lungs goes with her. He knows she loves him too. He noticed her longing gaze and the warmth that would bloom across her skin whenever he touched it. She makes him small gifts that always seem to put a smile on his face. The big board shows that she arrived about half an hour ago, so he hopes she will be out soon. 

Finally, he sees a familiar mop of Y/H/C over the crowd. He pushes his way toward her with a massive grin. Once her eyes lock with his, she jogs over to throw her arms around his neck. Her backpack adds to the momentum of her jump. His arms tighten around her, bringing her as close as possible. Her hair smells a little different; she must be using a new shampoo. They pull away with him giving her a kiss on the cheek. He goes to grab her bag to bring her to the car, but the area around her is empty. 

“Hey, where is your bag?” he asks, trying to see if she left it from where she ran from. Right as she is about to answer, a man comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, bringing her to his side. Rafe steps forward to pry the man off of his best friend, “What are you doing, Dude? Don’t touch her.” Y/N’s hand lands on his chest to push him away a little bit. “It’s okay, Rafe. This is Gabriel, my boyfriend. He is going to be staying with me for the semester. I hope it’s okay that I didn’t tell you when I asked you for a ride,” she explains. Rafe didn’t know that a five-word sentence could cause him so much pain, especially since his name wasn’t the one without it. Her boyfriend. She has a boyfriend. Of course, she does. How could a girl as amazing as Y/N go to the city of love for university and not come back with a boyfriend? An ache in his chest starts to form, making him believe that he is about to have a heart attack. He was too late. He didn’t tell her he loved her before she left, so now she went and found it with someone else. He shakes his thoughts away to respond to her concerns. “It’s okay. I have plenty of room in my car for both of you. The more the merrier.” 

After a more formal introduction, the three of them head to the car. While the boys put the bags in the back, Y/N notices something on the passenger’s seat of the truck. “Aww, Rafe. You got me flowers,” she gushes, going to open the car door to take it. Rafe quickly stops what he is doing and rushes to her side, “Uhh, yeah. Let me give them to you though.” He uses his back to block his action as he opens the door. He grabs the little card buried in the flower and shoves it into his pocket without her notice. He hands her the flowers with a smile. 

“Daisies, my favourite. Thank you, Rafe.” 

“No problem.”

Once the bags are packed into the car, he gets into the front seat. Confusion flashes over him when Y/N gets into the back, but it goes away after Gabriel scoots in beside her on the other side. Rafe’s eyes turn to the road as he starts the car and heads to the highway. He chances a glance at the two in the back through the rear-view mirror and instantly regrets it. They’ve been so quiet because they are busy whispering to each other with giggles. The stabbing feeling returns to Rafe’s heart, so he focuses his attention back on the road. The confessional letter in his pocket burns him and he can’t help but feel like he missed a connecting flight. A flight to Y/N’s love.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @victory-in-the-llama

[skyward-floored]

Hi new fic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52017334/chapters/131545159

Summary:

“Twilight is that a cat?” the Champion asked loudly, and Twilight cringed as the argument stopped, everyone staring over at where Wind was sitting primly on his unhurt shoulder.

“Ah... right. Guess the cat’s out of the bag,” he mumbled.

Wind twitched his whiskers.

———

Wind has a run in with Twilight’s necklace. He does not appreciate this, especially since turning back proves to be... difficult.

At least he has claws.

...

Read the fic on ao3, or read it here under the cut :)

Wind came tumbling out of the portal with a shout, rolling down the hill he’d suddenly found himself on for several paces before he managed to stop his frantic descent.

Ow.

He spat a mouthful of grass out when he finally stopped moving, and looked around at where he’d ended up, noting the seabirds flying above his head with a spark of excitement. Maybe he was back home? Maybe he’d get to see Grandma and Aryll and Tetra and everyone again?!

Wind continued to look around, but his excitement faded as he noted the high cliffs and significant amount of land around.

Probably not his.

A sigh escaped him as he looked to his side, and he jumped a little, scrambling backwards from the cliff he suddenly realized he was sitting next to.

Yikes, glad I didn’t roll a few feet further, he thought with a gulp, taking note of the steep drop and rough ocean below. Even if he fell and managed to slow his descent, there didn’t appear to be anywhere to climb up out of the water.

A screech caught his attention, and Wind was abruptly reminded of the reason he’d fallen through the portal in the first place.

He and the other heroes had been in the middle of a battle when a portal had appeared, the dark lizalfos sneering at them before escaping through. Despite Warriors telling them all to stay away from it, Wind had ended up fighting closer, then been knocked through by moblin’s club.

Leaving him here, alone on a cliff with monsters charging towards him.

He scrambled to his feet as several bokoblins and a sizable group of miniblins ran towards him, and he grabbed the phantom sword, which had fortunately come with him.

Wind leveled his blade as the first monster lunged at him, and with a small flourish, he jumped around it and watched as it’s momentum took it straight over the cliff.

That guy obviously wasn’t black-blooded, he thought with a snort, listening to its squeals as it fell.

A distant splash came from below, and the other monsters howled in anger, Wind wiping some dirt from his cheek with a grin.

“Thought you could just shove me off, huh?” he smirked, leveling his blade. “You’ll have to do better than that, ye scurvy dogs!”

The monsters jabbered angrily and charged him all at once, but Wind easily knocked them backwards with a spin attack. He worked on maneuvering himself away from the cliff while he fought, trying to take out as many monsters as he could and not be flung over the edge, and made fairly steady progress.

Their numbers began to thin the longer Wind fought against them, and he only had a small gash on his arm and a few cuts to show for it. His injuries weren’t slowing him down at all as he continued to fight the monsters, and Wind felt a familiar sort of confidence pump through his veins the more of them he eradicated.

Wind even managed to knock a couple more monsters off the cliff nearby, though unfortunately none of the ones that had black blood dripping from cuts.

Those were the ones giving him the most trouble, dodging his thrusts and avoiding his attempts to outsmart them. Wind panted a little as he swiped away two miniblins, and looked around at the monsters. There were only a few left, all infected he was sure, based on the intelligent gleam in their dark eyes.

Well they’re not getting the better of me, black blood or not!

He twirled his sword and grinned at the monsters, but then a loud shout rang out from nearby.

Wind whirled around to see Twilight fly out of the portal, blood on his shoulder.

The rancher hit the ground with a grunt and began tumbling down the hill, much in the same way as Wind had done earlier. Twilight was a lot bigger than Wind though, and the sailor abruptly realized his momentum would likely send him right over the cliff, just like the earlier bokoblin.

Oh no, not on my watch!

Wind took out one of the bokoblins that was flagging, and grabbed in his pouch for his hookshot. Executing a backflip towards a nearby tree, he aimed at where Twilight was rolling, and fired.

He was too far away to use anything else to grab his fellow hero, and hoped he’d aimed well enough not to hurt Twilight too much.

The chain shot outwards as Wind fired, soaring straight for Twilight’s already-bloody shoulder, his pelt and a few other items having come lose in his fall. But the rancher had seen him fire the chain, and right as Wind thought either the hook would gouge right into him or he’d go flying over the cliff, Twilight reached out a hand and snatched the chain.

A relieved sigh escaped Wind’s lips, but as the slack caught up to him he nearly fell over, grunting with effort as he called on the strength of his power bracelets. Maybe Twilight needed to lay off Wild’s desserts, he weighed a ton.

A bokoblin’s screech reminded him he wasn’t alone, and Wind growled in annoyance. He gathered his strength and gave the chain a sharp heave, looping it around a nearby tree branch before turning to block a strike from one of the monsters.

It snarled, more ferocious of a sound than Wind was used to hearing from their species as it swiped at him with its sword, and he suddenly realized the other monsters had disappeared.

He looked around in suspicion as he fought against the bokoblin, wondering if maybe the monsters hadn’t been quite as smart as he’d thought.

Had they just... fallen off the cliff?

Twilight shouted nearby and Wind turned to see that no, the monsters had not fallen off the cliff, but rather taken advantage of Twilight’s somewhat vulnerable state. One of the bokoblins had jumped on Twilight’s back while the remaining miniblins jabbed at his legs with their pitchforks, leaving him weighed down and outnumbered.

Not to mention getting closer to the cliff again.

Wind frowned determinedly, and managed to stab the bokoblin that was bothering him through the middle, sending it to the dirt. As it exploded into dust, he ran towards Twilight, who was struggling to remove the bokoblin from his back while also keeping away the other monsters with his injured shoulder.

The rancher succeeded in kicking back a few that weren’t clinging to his neck, and Wind viciously swiped at them, sending multiple miniblins off the cliff with squealing cries. The other monsters made use of the distraction and a few of them split off, grabbing Twilight’s pelt with mischievous cackles.

Wind growled in frustration, unsure of whether to go after Twilight’s stuff or help Twilight himself, but then the rancher threw the bokoblin that was on his back off himself, and into the sea below.

Wind decided he was doing fine, and charged towards the miniblins, who squealed as they saw him approach. He cut down the one that had grabbed Twilight’s pelt, then ran after two others that had something gripped in their little claws.

As Wind swung at the miniblins, one of them wound it’s arm back and threw something into the air before Wind’s sword struck it, and Wind realized it was Twilight’s necklace.

It went flying right for the cliff, and Wind bolted, throwing himself forwards and just barely managing to snag the cord before it was lost forever in the ocean below. He let out a relieved phew, looking down at the waves. The immediate area had finally gone silent, and there wasn’t a monster in sight when Wind glanced back at Twilight to check.

He grinned to himself, and got to his knees. That was a close one, but both of them, and Twilight’s stuff, were safe.

And they’d won the battle!

Wind held the severed cord up to look at the strange little pendant, orange lines glowing in the faint sunshine.

It was a weird necklace, all spiky and glowing, and something about it felt... off. But Twilight always said he didn’t really like magic, so it must just be a cool rock or something.

Wind got to his feet, still admiring the strange necklace, then set it in his palm to take back to Twilight.

“Sailor no!”

The warning came mere seconds too late.

The moment the pendant touched Wind’s skin, a wave of intense pain shot through him, and he yelped in surprise as he fell back to the ground, black flecking in his vision.

Twilight shouted nearby and Wind tried to reply, but something in his very being seemed to twist, making a response impossible.

Magic flowed through him and around him, bones shifted inside of him, inside out and upside down as another cry was ripped from his throat that didn’t sound right at all and the world suddenly felt like it was falling away—

Darkness overcame him and he knew no more.

(...)

Wind came back to himself slowly.

Loud noises echoed around him, sharp but fuzzy at the same time, and his dizzied brain couldn’t really focus on them when he tried. Especially due to the deep ache that seemed to have settled in every single bone in his body, weighing him down.

Wind tried to raise his head, but the ache increased sharply, and he let it fall with a wince.

A groan escaped him, but the sound that came out of his mouth was not what he expected at all: a strange grumble that didn’t sound even remotely hylian, with a squeaky note to it.

That came from me?

Something cold settled into Wind’s stomach at the strange noise he’d made, and he struggled to open his eyes, blinking up at the concerned (and slightly panicked) face of Twilight.

But something about the rancher seemed... off.

Like, really off.

Twilight tried to give him a smile, but the edges were thin, and despite how strange his vision was (had he hit his head? That would explain why everything sounded weird too—) Wind could tell he was trying not to panic.

Which admittedly, rather made him want to panic, because Twilight never panicked and if he was panicking over what happened to Wind than it must be bad—

“Link, just stay calm, okay?” Twilight said, but despite his even tone of voice, Wind only felt his panic grow at the uncertainty of what had just happened. “You’re okay, I promise, just take it slow.”

Wind tried to sit up then, but his balance was all off and he fell right back down, breathing shakily as he tried desperately to keep calm.

“What’s going on Twilight? What happened to me?!” he cried, or at least tried to.

Instead of words though, all that came out of his mouth were a serious of panicked meows.

Wind slammed his mouth shut, so utterly shocked that it took him a moment to realize that his mouth didn’t feel right either. Sharp teeth pricked against the inside of his lips, and his tongue felt bumpy, sort of like the sensation of sand on bare feet.

The realization of what happened, as unbelievable as it was, suddenly slammed into Wind like a hurricane, and he stared down at the creamy-yellow paws that had once been his feet.

He was a cat.

Somehow he’d been turned into a cat!

Twilight might’ve been speaking again, but Wind was too busy trying to get a good look at himself, taking in his windswept fur and the whiskers he could feel on his face. He even had a tail, stuck right onto his rear end.

A breeze hit his face, brushing his fur and whiskers, and the feel of it was all wrong, so wrong, everything about himself just felt wrong wrong wrong—

Something touched his head, and Wind was so high-strung from shock and leftover panic that he jumped (though it was more of a stumble) backwards, a startled hiss coming from his mouth.

“Wind whoa, I’m not going to hurt you,” Twilight soothed, and Wind realized the rancher had been the one to touch him, probably trying to calm him down.

He swallowed, and managed to ease himself back down, feeling his ears flatten in embarrassment. He tried to give Twilight an apologetic look, and the rancher seemed to understand, giving him a small smile. The hand was carefully extended towards him again, and this time Wind let Twilight run a soothing hand through his fur.

If he closed his eyes and ignored how the rancher’s hand was currently bigger than his head, he could almost imagine Twilight was just giving his hair a fond ruffle.

“Sorry sailor, I shouldn’t have startled you,” Twilight said. “I’m... I’m so sorry this happened,” he said more quietly, looking frustrated at himself. “I should’ve warned you not to touch the pendant.”

Wind blinked at him, suddenly suspicious of why Twilight had a pendant that turned people into cats anyway. What use was that?! And he’d never even seen Twilight use it to turn into a cat before. Plus Twilight didn’t like magic, especially not dark magic.

What was going on here?

“I guess you deserve an explanation,” the rancher sighed, not following his train of thought. “This... it’s leftover magic from my journey. It was originally a curse, but with the help of the Master Sword I was able to use it for my own advantage. It... allows me to become the animal that aligns most closely with my spirit, which...”

Twilight paused, looking a little nervous.

“Which is, well... a wolf.”

Wind blinked, then the pieces of the puzzle clicked and his tail stood straight up in shock.

Twilight was Wolfie!

Wind yowled in equal surprise and excitement, startling himself a little at the sound that came out of his lungs, but it was mostly overcome by his excitement.

Twilight being Wolfie made so much sense, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before— looking back it was so obvious and...

...and why hadn’t Twilight told them?

Twilight seemed to figure out the meaning of his yowling well enough, and scratched the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I’m... Wolfie. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I wasn’t sure how everyone would take it, this magic isn’t completely... light,” he said awkwardly.

Wind thought back to the agony that had stretched and shifted his bones only a little while ago, twisting him into a form that was very much not his own, and shivered a little. He could see how it wasn’t exactly light magic.

But despite how achy and weird Wind felt, he didn’t feel like the magic that was in him now was actively malicious. It had changed him, but it had only done that, and apart from the slight pulse of it he could feel in his one paw, it wasn’t doing anything more to him as far as he could tell.

Twilight obviously didn’t mean any harm by it, and used the magic a lot with no bad or evil side effects or anything.

Wind shrugged, as much as he could as a cat, then stood up with a wobble, carefully testing each paw before trying to walk with it. He shakily made his way over to Twilight, then bonked his head against his knee with a small mrrow.

He didn’t trust the magic that had changed him. But he did trust Twilight.

Twilight huffed out a laugh at the gesture, and nodded at him, looking relieved at his acceptance. Wind tried his best to smile back, and felt a little better overall.

Not great though. Just better.

“Okay, our next goal is to find out where the others are, and get the Master Sword from Sky so we can fix you,” Twilight said with a thoughtful frown. “It’s the only way to get you back; when this happened to Legend, not even any of his crazy items were enough.”

Wind shot Twilight a wide-eyed look, and the rancher chuckled a little.

“Yeah, this happened to our veteran. He’d been transformed into an animal before though, so he wasn’t quite as shocked. I never would have expected he’d be bright pink, though.”

That must be why his hair turned pink that one night! Wind realized with a swell of glee, then let out a small mrrow of amusement. He couldn’t imagine how terrible Legend must have been as a little pink cat! ...unless he’d been a wolf like Twilight?

He’d have to add that to his rapidly growing list of ‘things to ask once he got his regular mouth back.’

“Right, so let’s get going,” Twilight said, dusting off his pants. “The portal closed after I fell through, so the others must be elsewhere. Hopefully they came through and we can find Sky quickly, and we won’t have to explain Wolfie to everyone...”

The rancher trailed off, looking a little anxious, and Wind tilted his head, studying him.

So that was why Twilight hadn’t told anybody. He must be afraid of what they would think of him being the random wolf that appeared and helped them out sometimes, and using a dark magic crystal thing to transform into him.

But the others would understand... wouldn’t they?

Wind caught Twilight’s attention and meowed at him, trying to look encouraging. Twilight looked down at him and snorted, shaking his head.

“I have no clue what you just said sailor. But thanks.”

Wind twitched his whiskers in amusement, and watched as Twilight stood up, holding his arm and grimacing a little. The sailor frowned, and when Twilight looked at him he meowed pointedly, looking at the blood staining his tunic.

He could smell the metallic scent in the air, sharper then normal, and it sure looked like a lot of blood to him.

“I’m fine sailor, it’s just a scratch. And I don’t have any potions, so there’s nothing I can do,” Twilight shrugged, wiping blood off his sword before sheathing it. “I’ll clean it once we find the others. I’ll be okay ‘til then.”

Twilight wandered a little ways up the hill in order to retrieve his pelt and a few other items he’d dropped before Wind could try to argue further, and Wind let out a small huff, then teetered after him, trying to get used to his new legs.

It wasn’t easy. He felt as unsteady as when he’d been sailing for weeks on end and finally gotten back to land, his paws wobbly and uncooperative underneath him. He was not used to four legs to deal with, and was unable to help the growl that rose in his throat as he tripped, tail lashing in annoyance.

How could he be helpful when he could barely walk?

Twilight came back to his side then, fully geared up, and Wind made an extra effort not to appear affected by his cumbersome paws. Twilight’s sharp eyes noticed immediately though, and he kneeled down next to him, offering a hand.

“I think you should ride with me for the time being sailor,” he said gently, wincing as Wind tripped again. “Just so we’ll make quicker ground.”

Wind lashed his tail. He could walk plenty fast!

To prove his point, he took a confident step forward, making an extra effort not to trip. But he was so focused on his feet, he forgot to pay attention to the ground, and tripped on a pebble and fell flat on his face.

Twilight winced, then offered his hand again, which Wind looked at grumpily before stumbling over to it.

Twilight gently scooped him up and placed him up on his shoulder, and Wind dug his claws into his pelt, figuring out how to comfortably sit. He finally nestled into a good spot, and Twilight began to move, back up the hill and into the forest beyond.

Wind looked behind them and watched the sea disappear behind the trees, and sighed to himself as a bit of wind blew past his whiskers.

This day was not going the way he’d thought it would.

[badsongpetey]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 |

The Water Guardian (aka Cryptid Keith AU) Part 10

The irony of climbing, at least for Lance, is that it makes it hard to talk, and talking is his forte. Well, maybe that’s not the actual irony, which is for once in Lance’s life, he’s glad for a reason to stay silent.

The cliff is moderately challenging, it wouldn’t be so bad with ropes or at least chalk for his hands, but as it is, it’s taking a good deal of his concentration not to misstep, and to keep up with Keith. Gone is Keith’s hesitance and fear, replaced by something intense, something urgent, and Lance is doing his best not to fall too far behind.

If he’s being honest, he’d kind of hoped getting out a bit would help Keith shake off his nerves. The Keith he’s grown to know is far from timid. He’s brave, and smart, and kind, and.. FUCK! Lance’s hand slips with his concentration just as he’d shifted his weight and now he’s dangling by the other hand over 100 feet up.

“LANCE!” Keith yells from above him. “Lance! I’m coming!”

Lance grunts and uses the momentum of his swing to grab onto another handhold and stabilize himself.

“I’m okay.” He says through clenched teeth. “I…” he grunts again, louder, as he pulls himself up to the next foothold, “… I got this.”

He hears something move over the rocks above him, and then suddenly Keith is right next to him, eyes wide with fear. “Lance! Are you hurt?”

Lance scoffs. Here he is, winded and clutching the cliff face like a long lost lover, and this asshole doesn’t even have the grace to be out of breath. “I’m okay, hot shot. Don’t get your mullet in a twist.”

Keith makes a sour face at that, but doesn’t move from Lance’s side.

“I’m okay. I just need a sec, just to catch my breath.”

Keith nods and lets out a breath, purely from relief and not exertion Lance jealously notes. “Guess that makes me King of the Cliffs.”

The guffaw that takes over Lance is completely unfiltered. “Oh my god, this isn’t a competition!”

Keith sniffs thoughtfully, “I agree, you really haven’t been much competition.”

“I think I liked you better when you hid from me.” Lance laughs.

“Ah,” Keith says softly, still close, “I think that’s not true at all.”

Lance’s breath catches. This close Keith’s eyes are swirling galaxies of violet and flame, and he can’t imagine any creature, human or dragon, could have eyes more beautiful. Then those eyes turn to look up.

“I think we’re over halfway there. I could carry you…”

“YOU CANNOT!” Lance sputters. “I do not need to be carried, by you, or anyone, anywhere. I’m fine. I’m great. I can carry myself, thank you. Not.”

Keith blinks and chuckles. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry to suggest your majesty is anything but completely self-reliant.”

“Ah-HA! See! You acknowledge my victory!” Lance shouts, triumphant.

Keith slides away, giving Lance room to move. “Yeah, yeah, King of the Falls.”

“Your Majesty.” Lance corrects.

Keith shakes his head. “Does it offend his royal ego if I hang back and climb, so very painfully slowly, next to him?”

“His highness is offended by the wording of the offer, not the offer itself.” Lance sniffs, holding back a smile.

Keith sighs theatrically, “I’ll take what I can get.”

Lance doesn’t stop the smile as he resumes climbing, grateful to have Keith by his side for more reasons than he can spare the brainpower to think about.

Continued on:

[dronebiscuitbat]

Give me a Reason: Chapter 13- "Expedition (Part 1)"

Uzi hoisted herself over the chain link fence with scarily practiced ease, landing on the other side with a light thud and turning back to look at N still on the other side, looking up at the tall fence as if he was intimidated by it.

Which, you know. He was.

He'd never climbed a fence before, he'd never climbed anything before. Why would he? He didn't tend to have a habit for getting into places he shouldn't be. Unlike Uzi it seemed.

“It's not gonna bite you. Your legs are long enough you could probably just jump over it.” Uzi deadpanned, but it did seem like she was taking some amusement out of his nervousness. He looked from side to side, as if checking to make sure no one was watching him.

“No one's watching, and if they are, they don't care. Come on, we're burning daylight!”

Okay. Fine. He could do this, Uzi was right the fence was only a couple feet taller then him he could probably just jump over it if he got a running start.

He backed up from the fence, steadying his breath as he took a only half correct sprinters position before sending himself careening towards the fence, trying to get as much upwards momentum as possible.

To his surprise, we was clearing the fence quite well, he launched himself over it, feeling a bit like he'd just learned to fly.

It was…. oddly freeing.

At least, until his ankle got caught as he was halfway over the fence and he found himself loosing all forward momentum, slamming him breifly into the chain link on the other side before dropping him unceremoniously on his head.

His ears rang after his head made contact with the ground, feeling hands grab his head and neck firmly and strangly gently, he was moved into a laying position, his eyesight was strangely wavy, like he was looking through water.

“N. Hey, can you hear me?” He heard after his ears stopped ringing and his eyes refocused, she was looking at him, an expression of both concern and deep amusement etched on her face.

He tried to nod, but Uzi's hands were stopping any movements from it, he looked at her confused, and she scoffed.

“You just landed on your head, idiot, you could've broken your neck. When I said jump, I didn't mean give yourself a concussion.” She explained, before gently tilting his neck to either side, her hands were pleasantly cool, in contrast to his constant, radiating heat. Pink flared up in his cheeks.

“Any pain? Your heads going to hurt but does your neck?” She took on an oddly clinical tone, as if he was getting checked up at a doctors office. He gulped, before truly trying to feel for any pain.

“No. I mean my head kinda hurts, but my neck is fine.” Even as he said this, Uzi moved his head up and down gently, after seeing no reaction from him. Her hands snapped back into her pockets as if just touching him had somehow harmed her.

“I didn't expect you to try to clear it. I just meant jump and grab the top so you could pull yourself over.” She lifted a brow, smirking a bit as he slowly got up; somehow he'd avoided any major injuries aside from his head being bit sore.

“Ooh… yeah that makes more sense.” He admitted sheepishly, making Uzi roll her eyes, even still though, she was smiling even if it was a small one.

“Let's go, and let's avoid trying to fly over anymore fences. You don't have wings, last time I checked.” He laughed, falling in directly behind her as she led the way through the dense underbrush.

She seemed to move through it with ease, not afraid to grip onto a tree or a bush or dig her fingernails into the dirt if she felt she needed to. She was sure footed, even as the terrain shifted and sloped downward she never once stumbled, it was almost graceful. It was graceful in comparison to what he was doing.

Which was stumble and trip over literally everything. He'd yet to fall, but he had come close, the only thing stopping him being grabbing onto a tree and holding on for dear life as he regained his footing.

“You wanna know how to walk on slopes like this?” She asked after the second time he'd nearly fallen. As to which he breathed out an exasperated “Yes, Please.”

“Angle your feet to the left or right, not down, there's more surface area for your shoes to grip.” She demonstrated, angling both her feet to the left as she effortlessly climbed down into a clearing.

So that's what he did, angling his feet to the left, he found that it was indeed much easier to keep his footing then walking normally, he joined her at the edge of the clearing, this time without falling.

“Why didn't you show me that when we first started?” He whined, causing her to laugh lightly.

“You've gotta try on your own first, so you can feel the difference between the right way and the wrong way.” That's was… strangly sage coming out of her mouth, but then, much quieter came;

“At least, that's what mom always said.”

Before he had a chance to comment on thar, she gave him feral smile, gesturing in front of her. “We're here!”

He glanced around. Taking in the clearing.

It was immediately obvious that this place was long abandoned, old, 70's style vehicles were sat rusting in the middle of the clearing, which on further look, was actually an overgrown parking lot. Pressed up against a steep hill (the one they had just spent fifteen minutes climbing down) was the mouth to a decrepit old mine, the rotting support beams looking about ready to crumble, though the light hanging directly in the entrance was on, if flickering ever so often.

Yeah, it definitely looked haunted.

“Spooky.” He acquiesced, looking down at his project partner, who was setting up a camera facing the mineshaft opening, humming to herself.

“Hehehe, and this will film us, and catch anything we can't see with the naked eye!” She tapped the tripod, looking proud of herself, before having to lurch foreward to catch it, as she'd accidentally knocked it over.

“Cool! Uh… what now?” He asked, unsure how all this “ghost hunting" worked, he wasn't even sure he believed in ghosts. She'd just looked so excited at the prospect of going, he'd went along with it.

“You can test out the radio!” She fished again into the large bag she'd carried with her. (How had he missed that?! Not only had she been completely sure footed, but had lugged that down as well.) And handed him a very strange looking radio.

“You turn it on like this.” She came up to his side, leaning slightly on his arm as she pointed to the big button in the middle, he felt his face heat up again, hearing nothing but Tessa’s mocking voice asking if this was a date. He shook off those thoughts and pressed the button and after a quick second. A burst of static hit his ears.

“It cycles through different frequencies, it's supposed to let us communicate with ghosts.” She explained, N couldn't help but find her utter excitement about it cute, she was cool and collected most of the time, but not when it came to ghosts, apparently.

“Have you ever heard anything?” He asked, genuinely curious, but at this she stopped, looking back at him sheepishly. “Uh… no. Nothing that was anything clear anyway.” She looked slightly dissapointed, which N decided immediately that he did not like.

“Aw, maybe that'll change tonight!” He suggested, trying his best to cheer up his freind. Group partner?

She smiled, not a sarcastic or feral one, but a real one that spread to her eyes and made her already bright violet eyes seem to sparkle even more. “Maybe, help me film this intro?”

Freind. They were definitely friends, and that made N feel all the more warm inside.

Next ->

[ardbar]

I have been thinking about Evbo getting mutations from living basically in the void for so long.

There are a total of 5 possible mutations that the Noobs know of, that they keep to themselves. They know each has a purpose and those who manage to live long enough to grain even two of them are considered to be old, those with Three are considered to be nearing the end of their lives. Only 3 people have gotten all 5 of them since Evil Champion took over. Old Man, Noob Neighbor, and Evbo himself.

The Void sees The Noobs as it's people. Such silly little things, so ill adapted to its harshness. But it can help them, it will hold and change them and let them thrive. First it deals with the lack of light, the way it turns darker than pitch when the sun sets and even when it's up, the dirt above blocks out most of it. It changes their eyes so that they reflect light similar to a cat. That will help it's darling people to thrive.

After seeing someone consume enough raw meat, The Void will come to the conclusion that they to are a Carnivore, a Predator. An ill adapted one though, so it makes their teeth longer and sharper, perfect for ripping through their prey. It changes their stomaches so they can more easily digest the raw meat and bones they consume. What silly little things, eating Bones when they could not before, but it is okay because Void is here to help them.

The third mutation, which few achieve comes as The Void watches them struggle to stay on blocks, struggle to cling to them after jumps. The Void reaches out again and brushes against their code, changing it just enough. It's a slow and painful process that not all survive. It takes at least two weeks and as it happens, parkour is Hell. Nearly Half who get that mutation simply starve from being unable to get food. For when it is done, their feet have changed to the paws of a Sphinx Cat, with large claws to grip wood and dirt blocks so they can lean out over the edge with no fear. Some who last long enough, like Evbo, have enough flexibility and dexterity in their paws to grip onto things like Crystals and Glass Panes, wrapping around them and holding firm. The Void does this so that they will be better at Not Falling into its waiting arms.

The fourth mutation is one that rarely happens. The Void sees those who have Paws struggling with their jumps still and decides that it is not the sliding off that is the problem, so surely it must be power and balance they are lacking! After all, they can't catch up to those from the upper levels that come down so surely it must be that they are not fast enough to catch up! So The Void whispers to those it changes, "I can not make you are fast or nimble as your prey, but I can make you Stronger. All you must do is catch them by surprise." The Fourth Mutation changes their legs, making them thicker and stronger. It is now impossible to knock them from a perch unless they are dull body tackled into the Void or they slip on a jump. Their landings are also better thanks to this getting rid of any wobbling or sliding that could happen. It is why Evbo can land 360s but others can't, because they can not plant their feet to stop the momentum and simply tumble to the side.

The fifth, and possibly final, mutation is the most extreme yet. The Void saw those chosen few still unable to hunt for themselves and watched closely when they got their food. It watched as the Pros, the Prey, sprinted away. It watches as one tries to seemingly jump over a log at a Prey and misses the swipe of its arm, the Pro slipping from their grip. Grip! That is the answer, surely! The Prey must simply be wiggling away from Its Chosen Few before they can have their feast! So The Void reaches out one more time, changing their hands and arms, giving them strength enough to crush the bones of their Prey by wrapping their arms around them, strength enough to snap a wrist if they hold to tightly. And to top it all off, something between a cat's paw pads and the suction cups of a gecko upon their hands so they can grip not just Prey but Blocks as well, to pull themselves back up if they should slip.

The Void is proud of its work as it whispers lullabies in the pitch dark of night to all its lovely players. For those belong to The Void and it has makes them as so. Even as it's favorite, the strongest Predator it has ever created, climbs away from It towards the top, It Knows that It's Favored will return one day and while so high above, it will have plenty of Prey to catch and consume.

I love this so much, not only is the writing just beautiful but it's just really interesting. Personally I've always been a fan of concepts or strange entities being personified so I really think the way you wrote the void is really fun. I honestly don't even know what to say but I'll try my best.

First I think the idea that each and every mutation is the void trying to help it's citizens better adapt the the harsh environment is fascinating. One thing this does make me wonder is just how aware of this are the other layers, I remember in another one of your asks you described it as uncanny valley, meaning that people instinctually know something is wrong they can't quite tell what it is. While this does make sense for some of the more hidden augmentations I wonder how the things like the sharpened teeth and claws would be perceived. I wonder if Evbo is ever asked about them.

Another thing I found really fascinating about this is how you mentioned very few people make it long enough to get all of the mutations, only mentioning 3. The person I want to touch on is the Old Man. We know that after being beaten by the armored champion he returns to the noob level, assuming it wasn't until the armored champion took over that people actually started to spend a long period of time trapped on this level I wonder if he didn't get these mutations until he was old and had to flee to this level, or if he still had them but a lesser extent in his youth, if he was born on the noob level.

What I really find the most interesting about this is how the void views the noobs as it's people and the pros as the noobs prey. I wonder specifically how it makes this distinction. Also you mentioned how this belief effected the physical aspect of the noobs, however, I wonder if this also effects their mentality. They were forged to hunt and break those that once outran them do you think that when it battle these instincts to kill to consumer ever comeout?

The last point I feel like bring up is what exactly is the void. What I mean by this is what is it in comparison to the Parkour god. This is the parkour gods land his kingdom so what is this foreign entity existing at the bottom of it. I wonder if since there seems to be no bedrock in their world that the voids presence isn't dampened its free to do as it wants. I wonder if the layers exist to keep this being trapped to keep its corruption from spreading. I wonder if the armored champion wasn't wrong when he decided to keep noobs for ascending? I wonder what will happen now that one of the voids children bears the weight of godhood?

[femininenachos]

Does Lexa get her turn 👀

Previously: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Turns out, Lexa’s confidence is well founded.

Which is how Clarke finds herself flat on her back and sucking down moans while slim fingers run between her legs. 

That, and the drag of lips over her throat, Lexa’s breath hot on her skin, has Clarke writhing, one hand twisted in the sheets, the other buried in Lexa’s hair.

Despite her bedroom being located on the opposite side of the villa from Wells’, Clarke still does her best to keep the volume down—call it force of habit from living in close quarters with roommates in apartments the size of shoeboxes over the years—but Lexa really isn’t making it easy. Slow and deliberate about slicking her fingers, she slides through Clarke with light touches that she can’t help angling her hips up to chase. Sighing when Lexa retreats to trail her fingertips along the tops of Clarke’s inner thighs. Pulling in a shivery breath as Lexa traces her folds, only to stifle another moan when Lexa dips down low to gather the wetness and draw it up and around.

But Clarke is only able to withstand the teasing for so long when she’s crawling out her skin here.

“Lexa,” she pleads, an audible crack in her voice.

She feels the twist of lips against her throat before Lexa licks a path up to the edge of her jaw. 

A nip at the hinge. “How many fingers do you like?” 

She didn’t think it was humanly possible to be any wetter than she already was, but she gushes a little at the question. Feels it dripping down and soaking into the mattress beneath her ass.

In lieu of an answer, she turns her head to seek Lexa’s mouth, kissing her with unrestrained need for a minute, deep and hard and hungry enough to get the point across that she’ll take whatever she can get. 

Even so, Lexa goes no further, her hand remaining frustratingly motionless until Clarke pulls away, breathing heavily.

“Two,” she pants against the soft, plump fullness of Lexa’s bottom lip. “At least to begin with, then… let’s see.”

The searing look Lexa gives her makes Clarke think she could probably take four without breaking a sweat, but she refrains from saying that out loud for fear of sounding too whorish.

Their eyes remain locked while Lexa slides her fingers lower, running slow circles around Clarke’s opening, just barely dipping in. Clarke’s breath hitches, body tensing with the effort to keep still and not tilt her hips up like she wants to in case Lexa takes her hand away once more. 

She doesn’t, though. 

Dark, dark eyes study Clarke’s face with avid interest, watching every tiny, incremental shift in her expression as Lexa pushes all the way inside at last.

Clarke could cry with relief.

She makes a sound, a whimper drawn from the back of her throat. Another when Lexa starts to move; a slow, curling drag out, followed by a smooth thrust back in that lifts Clarke’s spine off the bed a little with the force of it.

Her hand flies to Lexa’s elbow. Grabbing on. Urging her deeper. 

A ragged “oh, fuck” drops from Clarke’s lips when Lexa adds a third finger, building up to a brisk rhythm Clarke is soon rolling her hips to meet. 

She tips her head back, eyes closing as pleasure rushes over her. Lexa’s mouth finds her throat again, teeth scraping over her pulse point, and the fluid motion of Clarke’s hips falters only for a second before she rocks down harder, arching to find an even better angle.

“Don’t stop,” she gasps. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

Lexa just smiles against the corded tendon of Clarke’s neck, descending in soft bites and licks. She shimmies down the bed a little, skin burning hot and slick with their combined sweat where she’s glued to Clarke’s side, but Lexa never breaks the momentum. Steadily pumping her wrist as her open mouth glides over Clarke’s clavicle and the swell of her breast, catching the nipple and swirling her tongue around the hard tip, taking it into her mouth in a deep, sucking pull that Clarke feels all the way down to her neglected clit.

When her mind flashes back to how it felt to be consumed by the relentless, wet heat of Lexa’s mouth, she can’t hold on.

Amid the rising chorus of creaking mattress springs and obscene squelches that fill the air, small grunts of exertion and high, stilted gasps, the headboard tapping against the wall, keeping time like a metronome, Clarke’s whole frame shudders as she clenches tight around the three fingers driving into her, Lexa’s name ripped from her throat in a hoarse cry as she floods Lexa’s palm.

Without missing a beat to even catch a breath, Clarke seizes Lexa by the cheeks and crushes their mouths together. Hard. Stealing the air from Lexa’s lungs in big gulps, kissing her messily and swallowing her soft, eager groan. Heart racing a million miles an hour, threatening to beat right out of Clarke’s chest as Lexa licks into her mouth.

She hooks her leg around Lexa’s hip, trapping her in place, keeping her fingers inside. Trying to stave off that inevitable, empty feeling once Lexa withdraws for just a short while longer. Weak ripples of sensation are still pulsing through her system, making her tremble and flutter, and Clarke never wants it to end. 

Their kisses become less frantic, the urgency fading as her muscles relax and the climax ebbs, and that loose, weightless feeling she gets after a good fuck settles over her. Sapped of energy all of a sudden, she drapes her arms loosely around Lexa’s shoulders, distantly aware of the clammy perspiration that causes their overheated skin to stick together. The room feels stifling, the air dense and muggy, but Clarke would rather faint from the humidity than move an inch or tear her mouth away. 

When Lexa’s fingers slip from her at last, Clarke has to bite back a complaint. Maybe Lexa senses it anyway, because she looks far too smug when they draw back to admire flushed faces and reddened lips, heavy-lidded eyes never resting on one place for too long.

“If you’re about to say ‘I told you so’, you can save it,” Clarke warns, though the husky break in her voice is damning enough. 

The fact is, she doesn’t think she’s ever come this hard without having at least some attention paid to her clit, but Lexa managed to pull it off so… maybe Clarke was wrong to doubt her skills, even in jest. Or maybe she’s just that sex-starved and thirsty that having a hot girl inside her made her pop like a balloon.

Lexa’s mouth curves just a fraction. “The evidence speaks for itself, no?”

She brings her wet fingers to her lips and pointedly sucks them clean one by one, which leads to another surprising rarity for Clarke: she’s ready to go again almost immediately. Arousal slices through the haze, sharpening her senses while she watches Lexa’s tongue curl around her knuckles to catch every last drop. 

It ignites a fire under Clarke’s skin.

She rolls them over and straddles Lexa’s hips. 

Satisfaction curls in her chest to see Lexa’s expression slacken with lust. The tip of Lexa’s tongue darts out to lick her lips and Clarke throbs at the sight, wetness tricking down. A thin thread lands on Lexa’s skin and she inhales roughly as she grabs hold of Clarke’s waist, pulling her flush against that toned, flat stomach. 

It’s only by the thinnest of margins that Clarke stops herself from grinding down, resisting the urge to slide over tensed abs to reach another quick and dirty orgasm.  

“I don’t know, Lex,” she says through a purposefully breathy sigh, and it doesn’t escape her notice how Lexa’s nails dig in at the use of the shortened version of her name. “I’m going to need more conclusive proof.”

Pure bravado, of course, but it succeeds in getting Lexa's fingers back where Clarke needs them. Slipping in with ease and fucking her slowly. She rocks her hips, never breaking eye contact while she rides two digits and a thumb draws lazy shapes around her clit.

Something shifts in the air, in the sweat-soaked intensity that builds between them.

There’s no place to hide from Lexa’s blistering stare. Her eyes drop from Clarke’s face to the sway of her tits to the fingers sinking into her over and over. Everything is on display here for Lexa, and it fills Clarke with such an erotic charge. Under Lexa’s gaze, she feels like a goddess incarnate. A deity of lust from myths and legends brought to life to be worshiped in the flesh. 

“You’re beautiful,” Lexa says, and it’s threaded through with awe. “Meizen.”

It doesn’t mean anything more than what it is: a simple expression of physical attraction without any other motive or agenda. But logic doesn’t stop Clarke’s pulse from leaping to hear the note of yearning in Lexa’s voice.

It’s too much when Clarke is on the brink, when Lexa has made her come three times so far and not once tried to assert her own needs or make any demands for reciprocation, like she would be happy just to devote herself to satisfying Clarke all night.

It isn’t what she expected from Lexa. So far removed from any frame of reference Clarke has for what a hookup should be, because she’s used to one-and-done on each side and either party being sent on their way. 

There’s no script for this. 

Lexa seems almost too good to be true, but she’s staring up at Clarke like she fell from the heavens, which is a stupid, overly romantic notion for what’s only supposed to be a casual fuck.

So she swoops down to kiss Lexa again. Firmly. Almost punishingly so to begin with, in an attempt to squash that thought.

It’s useless, though. 

Clarke is disarmed by the way Lexa meets her aggression with gentleness. How Lexa’s free hand lifts to slide up her neck and into her hair, directing the kiss as Clarke speeds the rocking of her hips while she kneads Lexa’s tits. The new angle has her gasping into Lexa’s mouth on every upstroke, planting her knees wider and bearing down until she starts to quake and her release grabs her by the throat. Roughly, thoughtlessly, Clarke squeezes the soft flesh within her grasp as her hips freeze and her muscles lock, and in the next breath she gushes hard, spilling over Lexa’s hand. A shared, drawn-out groan gets muffled by their lips, followed by a broken whine from Clarke at the abrupt retraction of Lexa’s fingers, leaving her clenching around nothing all of a sudden.

Before Clarke knows what’s happening, she’s already being tugged up the bed and brought to kneel astride Lexa’s face. 

“Oh. Oh. Fu—” Lexa dives in without preamble. “—ck!”

Clarke swears she blacks out for a nanosecond. She has to reach for the wall to support herself, both palms laid flat against the surface. Her legs haven’t stopped shaking from the last orgasm and she’s not sure she’s capable of remaining upright, not with Lexa’s tongue working her over like this, pushing in as far as she can reach then retreating. Moaning at the taste from the source. Tiny ears tipped pink and eyes peeling open slowly as Lexa inhales deeply, pupils blown so wide Clarke feels like they could swallow her whole.

She drops her hips and rolls them.

Mouth falling open, Clarke’s breath comes in short, shallow bursts as Lexa licks up through her, running around her clit then drawing it into her mouth with gentle suction.

It’s the little divot in Lexa’s bottom lip catching on the underside that does it.

The waves that pulled Clarke under only minutes ago come roaring back and she breaks sharply with a noise that she stifles by biting her knuckles, eyes screwed shut, forehead pressed so firmly against the cool wall that she’s at risk of putting a permanent dent in her brow.

Dragging in a few heaving lungfuls of air, she pries one eyelid open and chances a look down. Greeted by Lexa’s sloping smile, lips and cheeks and chin all glistening.

It makes Clarke go feral.

(Or she will, once her breathing is back under control and her knees stop trembling.)

“Now do you concede?” Lexa asks.

“Never.”

The broadening smile and the silent, chest-shaking laughter that accompanies it makes Clarke’s stomach flip.

Yeah, she’s fucked alright.

~*~

The sun is coming up, orange rays spilling into the room through the diaphanous white drapes when Clarke is roused from sleep by the quiet sounds of movement.

She opens her eyes to see Lexa pulling denim cut-offs up those mile-long legs, still topless, and the sight causes a stir low in Clarke’s belly.

She turns onto her side, head pillowed on her hands as she watches Lexa button the fly, conscious of the residual stickiness between her thighs, the pleasant ache in her muscles, sore from going round after round.

“Sneaking out on me?” Clarke asks, cutting through the silence, voice rusty with sleep and the strain on her vocal cords—how she’s going to face Wells, she doesn’t know, but that’s a problem for later.

Lexa offers a small, regretful smile. “We open early for the breakfast crowd.”

Clarke isn’t entirely successful at masking her disappointment. She clears her throat and lowers her gaze.

“Pity I never got to return the many favours.” Her face heats. “I really only meant to rest my eyes for a minute.”

“It’s fine, Clarke.”

“Still. You could’ve woken me.” 

She draws her bottom lip between her teeth and studies Lexa, washed in warm shades of gold, admiring the stretch of her torso as she reaches for her shirt at the foot of the bed. Her hair is a riot of tangled waves thrown over one shoulder, and Clarke thinks, I did that.

She wanted to do a hell of a lot more besides, damn it, but apparently an intense work week and transatlantic travel finally caught up with her. 

She summons her courage. “Sure you can’t be late?”

A smile remains tucked into the corner of Lexa’s mouth as she sits on the edge of the mattress and runs her eyes over Clarke slowly. The sheets are twisted around her middle, one leg exposed almost to the hip, but she might as well be completely uncovered given the heat in Lexa’s gaze.

Lexa hums, eyes fastening for a beat on Clarke’s cleavage. For her part, Clarke struggles to not to stare at Lexa’s bare chest too, at nipples that are getting perkier by the second under Clarke’s spellbound attention.   

With some effort, she forces her eyes up. “I’ll make it worth your while…”

She thinks about tugging the sheet away from her body as an added incentive, not above using underhand tactics.

“You’re very persuasive, and I am tempted, but Anya would kill me.”

Lexa’s smile edges wider at the not-so-mock pout she gets in response. 

“Come visit me at the taverna later.”

“Won’t you be too busy to entertain brash American tourists?”

Lexa looks at her steadily, eyes aglow, the palest green in the dawning light. She brushes a strand of hair from Clarke’s cheek with such familiarity, like she’s done this a million times before, like it’s muscle memory.

“For you, I can make an exception.”

Elation flashes through Clarke but she tries not to react or read anything into it, willing herself into nonchalance even as her pulse kicks up. 

She wets her lips to buy herself a second.

“And… will you be wearing that sexy little uniform again? The tight blouse and short skirt? Because I’ve got to admit, I’m a big fan of how many buttons you left undone.”

A splash of pink on her cheeks, Lexa dips head to hide her smile, a small laugh bubbling up. It’s like fucking catnip to Clarke and she has to fight the impulse to drag this girl back on top of her.

There’s a playful gleam in Lexa’s eyes when she looks up again.

“If you’re lucky I’ll let you strip me out of it next time.”

~*~

She floats into the kitchen on a high, lured by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Not even the judgemental look on Wells’ face as he shovels granola mix into his mouth can bring her down. Still pleased and preening about the fact that Lexa spoke about “next time” like it’s locked in and guaranteed, a foregone conclusion.

As she pours herself a coffee, Clarke is already daydreaming about it, determined not to miss her chance. She’s going to show Lexa she’s not the only one who can fuck a woman into a nap. Clarke has talents. (She might be a little out of practice, regular solo sessions notwithstanding, but she knows her way around a vagina, and that is a skill that never goes away.) 

“Clarke!”

She’s rudely jolted out her x-rated reverie, alerted to the scalding liquid overflowing the mug by Wells’s sudden, alarmed bark of her name. 

Cursing under her breath, she hunts for a dishcloth to mop up the spill then wrings it out over the sink.

“My mind was elsewhere,” she says with a sheepish glance in his direction where he sits at the table, already showered and dressed for the day of sightseeing ahead, down to the bucket hat and sensible footwear.

“No kidding,” is his deadpan reply. He stands and collects his trusty fanny pack from the table, securing it around his waist. Checking and rechecking the contents, probably for the tenth time, he frowns, “Where’s Lexa? Still asleep?”

“She couldn’t stick around. Work.” Clarke pushes her fingers through her hair. “Uh, look, sorry if we—”

He holds up a forestalling hand. “Let’s just do the healthy thing and pretend I didn’t hear your all-night sexcapades. You can spare the sordid details.”

“Speak for yourself,” Octavia says as she comes twirling through the space with a bounce in her step, radiating major “sex hair, don’t care” energy, strappy heels hooked on her fingers and slung over her shoulder. She’s still in last night’s dress, her eyeliner is smudged, and she’s absolutely covered in hickeys. She drops her shoes and slumps against the kitchen island beside Clarke, elbows on the counter. “Tell me everything.”

Wells’s nose wrinkles like he smells the overpowering reek of debauchery emanating from the pair of them. Head down, he flees the villa, muttering something about “mentally scarred for life.” 

“He’s sorta asking to be mugged in that getup,” Octavia remarks once he’s gone.

“Yep.”

They both sigh.

“So.” Octavia scrutinises Clarke. “Judging by the sex glow, I’m guessing your night went as well as mine.”

“Mhm.” Clarke breaks into a laugh. She glances at the purpling splotches on Octavia’s neck. “Although, unlike your guy Count Dracula, Lexa isn’t a biter.” 

Octavia stares. “You sure? Because I spy a little souvenir. Right” - she points at a spot somewhere below Clarke’s jaw - “Here.” 

“What?” Clarke claps a hand over the general area. “Oh my god. Is it bad?”

Octavia shrugs one shoulder. “Some people find them tacky. Personally, I think it’s hot. It’s like… that loss of control in the moment when your lizard brain activates and you just have this primal, mff, urge to mark.”

She grabs Clarke’s wrist. “Okay, but hickeys aside? Holy fuck, the things that man can do with his mouth.” 

Octavia’s eyes roll back a little as though she’s reliving it in her head, and Clarke smirks at her friend. 

“Anyway. Lexa. Gimme the deets.” Octavia props her chin on her hand, grinning now. “She rocked your world, right? I mean, I’m straighter than a destination wedding in Dubai but even I recognise those lips are made for eating pussy.”

The crass observation earns a swift, stern rebuke in the form of Clarke’s scandalised “O!” but Octavia is entirely blasé. 

“Don’t act like you weren’t thinking the same thing.” 

Clarke huffs, although she doesn’t deny it. After a lengthy silence, she volunteers, “Let's just say I won’t be able to look at the hot tub again without being reminded of Lexa going down on me.”

Octavia’s mouth drops. She punches Clarke’s arm; impressed and delighted. “Clarke Griffin, you harlot!” 

“It’s so unlike me.”

“I know, and I approve.” Octavia holds a faux solemn hand to her heart. “I’m here for your voyage of slutty self-discovery.”

“Thanks.”

“Better keep Wells in the dark though, otherwise he’ll spend the rest of our vacation obsessively disinfecting the jacuzzi.”

Despite herself, Clarke snorts, because it isn’t hard to picture Wells in an apron, with a bottle of spray bleach and a pinched expression, furiously scrubbing at an invisible stain.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him?”

“Exactly. And we won’t have to listen to him endlessly bitch and complain. Win-win.”

It isn’t long before Clarke’s thoughts return to Lexa, a small smile creeping onto her lips as her mind replays a highlight reel of the spiciest sections of last night. She feels herself flush.

“That good, huh?”

She draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Pretty fucking incredible, actually.” 

“Hell, yeah!”

Octavia holds up her palm for a high five, and against her better instincts, Clarke doesn’t leave her hanging.

There’s a short lull while she turns the coffee mug around in her hands before she reveals, “She asked to see me again.”

“Well, duh. Now she’s had a taste, she wants another bite.”

“Is it too sad to admit it was probably the best sex of my life?”

“No, not at all. You’re strangers, both certified hotties, and you’re in this magical place,” Octavia gestures vaguely at their surroundings, “freed from your responsibilities and all the boring, fucking humdrum shit of daily life. All these things factor into the thrill, right? So it’s bound to be a heightened experience.”

Clarke shakes her head, because it feels like Lexa is being done a disservice to reduce it to the mere novelty and excitement of a vacation fling. 

“It was more than that, O. She’s attentive, but it’s like she anticipated what I needed before the thought even entered my head. And when she—”

“Alright, I’m gonna stop you there. As much as I’m dying for the play-by-play” - Octavia grips the edge of the counter and pushes off from it with a tired sigh - “I badly need to sleep, because your girl here got none. Gotta be well rested, because Linc is taking me spelunking tomorrow.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

Octavia only responds with a long, droll look before she reels away, wiggling her fingers in the air as she tosses a “toodles” over her shoulder.

~*~ 

The waitstaff are setting up for lunch service when Clarke arrives. Her heart sinks a little that Lexa is nowhere to be seen, but she spots Lincoln behind the bar, polishing glasses and holding each one up to the light for inspection. As soon as he notices her loitering in the doorway, he beckons her over with a smile and a wave. Relieved to see a friendly face, she barely gets a word out in greeting before he’s already calling for Lexa and garnering them a few sly smirks from the other staff in the process.

Clarke isn’t sure what’s more embarrassing: that her reason for being here is so transparent or that everyone seems to know.

But that all melts away when Lexa appears wearing a small scowl, signaling her mild irritation at being interrupted from whatever task she was doing. A scowl that smooths out the moment her eyes land on Clarke, giving a quick once over that warms Clarke’s cheeks and makes her pulse accelerate. She’s just in shorts and a tank top, but if she happened to spend an extra half hour on her hair and makeup, then she’s happy to see it paid off. 

A smile steals across Lexa’s face as she approaches, drawing close enough that Clarke detects the subtle notes of perfume that scent the air around her, clean and crisp and enticing. With a wordless tilt of her head, Lexa guides them over to a more secluded corner.

Afforded a small measure of privacy, Lexa runs her gaze all over Clarke’s features, flitting between eyes and lips, and the butterflies Clarke has felt all morning go into overdrive.

“Back so soon?” Lexa says, pitching her voice low. “You must really like the swisswima.”

“Mm. The service isn’t bad either.”

It earns a downward glance and a flirtier smile that Clarke has a sudden desire to kiss. They each open their mouths to speak, only for a terse shout from across the room to puncture their little bubble of intimacy. Eyes down, the other staff scatter in all directions to appear busy as a striking but severe-looking blonde emerges from the back, hands on her hips and a glare on her long face.

Although she bears no obvious physical resemblance to Lexa, they do share a certain indefinable something, which leads Clarke to conclude this must be the half-sister Lexa mentioned.

“Anya,” Lexa confirms with a slight roll of her eyes. She gives Clarke’s forearm a light squeeze, and even that all-too brief touch sends tingles down her neck. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Almost from the outset, the hushed confrontation escalates into a terse exchange of rapid-fire Trigedasleng that’s impossible to follow. Lexa looks away, lips pursed and jaw clenched, projecting her exasperation loud and clear. Meanwhile, Anya’s sharp gaze shifts towards Clarke and narrows before she launches into another tirade, and Clarke doesn’t need an interpreter to figure out who the main topic of conversation is.

She and Lincoln share a sympathetic grimace and she points to the doorway to indicate she’ll be outside, which he acknowledges with a nod.

The quarrel still reaches her ears regardless, but she tries to tune it out and turn her focus elsewhere. There are half a dozen cats lounging in the sun on the steps across the street, several others taking shade beneath the rustic tables and chairs arranged out front. Clarke crouches to pet the nearest one, a large tabby with a distinctive white bib and ear tufts. She offers a hand for it to sniff, smiling when the cat rubs its cheek against her knuckles. It even permits some chin scratches, erupting in purrs and basking in being the centre of attention. 

When she looks up eventually it’s to discover Lexa leaning against the door frame, observing her with a soft gaze and an amused twitch of her lips.

“You’ve made a new friend.”

It raises a tight smile from Clarke. 

“The cat approves of me even if your sister doesn’t.”

A sigh. “Don’t worry about her.”

Clarke straightens up, hooking her thumbs into the belt loops of her shorts, just for something to do with her hands that doesn’t involve grabbing Lexa by the collar and yanking her forward to meet her lips. It probably wouldn’t go down too well with Anya, happening outside their place of business in broad daylight.

“She seemed pretty annoyed about me being here.”

“Anya is always annoyed. She was born that way.”

“Should I go? I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

Without another word, Lexa takes Clarke by the wrist and leads her around the corner and into a narrow, cobbled side street. Backing her against the whitewashed wall, Lexa brings their faces close, long fingers framing Clarke’s cheeks. Looking into her eyes before Lexa kisses her. Mouth soft, but hot and insistent as it moves along Clarke’s.

She matches that passion while her hands slide around Lexa’s trim waist and roam up her back, curling around her shoulders. Fingers digging in as the kiss deepens. Lexa’s palms drop to her hips, dragging up Clarke’s sides and around front to skim over her breasts, and Clarke can’t contain a quiet gasp.

“You are trouble,” Lexa breathes out before kissing Clarke again. “You make me so…” 

She growls something in her own language that Clarke understands on an instinctual level. She feels it just the same, lust clawing up inside her body. Aches with it, this deep craving for Lexa’s touch; her mouth. Clarke can’t think of anything else, the draw even stronger after the night they just had together.

“Can we meet tonight?” Clarke asks, clinging to Lexa’s shoulder blades as warm lips attach to the side of her neck. 

In her fertile imagination Clarke is already plotting her moves. Because she’s got plans; graphic, detailed plans that involve getting comfortable on her stomach and camping between Lexa’s legs for hours.

A sigh is lost against Clarke’s throat.

Lexa pulls away. “I can’t.”

Her perfect pout is a natural wonder of the world. 

“I’m on until midnight and with the mood Anya is in, there’s no chance of her letting me get away early. But...” She tucks a section of hair behind Clarke’s ear, running her fingers over the shell and eliciting a shiver. “Tomorrow is my day off. We could do something together. Unless you already have plans with your friends?” 

“Nothing concrete. I could make myself available.” Clarke’s half shrug fools no one. Her hands drift to Lexa’s lower back. “What did you have in mind?”

The flex of an eyebrow says it all, and Clarke can’t control the way her body reacts, the tiny catch of her breath or the rush of exhilaration that sends her pulse rocketing once more. It’s only been a matter of hours since she had Lexa in her bed, but her body is buzzing at the prospect of more, and soon.

“I know a place,” Lexa says, the ghost of a smirk at the edge of her lips. “Be at the harbour at 10 a.m.” 

Her eyes darken as they meander down Clarke’s figure then drag back up. 

“Bring a swimsuit.”

~*~

A/N: I promise Lexa will get her turn next chapter.

[izzyspussy]

[MENTION OF SUICIDAL IDEATION, GRAPHIC VIOLENCE]

i also think it could be fun and funky fresh if ian was gone a little longer and mickey eventually couldn't fucking take it anymore and came out at the alibi on his own and like. okay he's fighting back against terry like on the fucking principle of the thing, and a little bit because he really does want to get at least a few good fucking hits in - god he's so fucking angry and he's so fucking angry about being so fucking angry and - but on the other hand. he's by himself, he's like a third of terry's size and only half as vicious, and most importantly he lowkey kind of wants to die at this point anyway.

so. mickey comes out half because he just fucking can't stay in anymore and half for fucking spite - the latter being the main reason he does it publicly. this way terry can't keep it quiet that he's got a queer son. cause you know, unfortunately for terry, a dead fag is still a fag. so fucking there.

terry charges him of course just like in canon, and like in canon (iirc) mickey gets in the first hit. maybe even the first couple. but it's not seconds before terry has mickey down and spitting blood onto the floor. and once mickey's down... well he doesn't stop fighting entirely. he doesn't give up and he doesn't fucking tap out, and he won't let anyone else claim they taught him that, that's all him, it's his fucking nature. but he maybe starts phoning it in a little bit.

and it's. i mean it's brutal. the bar is quiet, because no matter how accustomed to this sort of violence you (think you) are there will always be at least a moment of frozen horror, and it's only worse when there's such a clear imbalance, when you know the guy on the ground is just a kid, when you know the guy kicking him is his dad. so everyone can hear the dull, concussive whap of the back of terry's hand across mickey's face, can almost feel the way it snaps mickey's head to the side so hard he stumbles with the momentum. et cetera.

and it's... it's lip who breaks the dam. he's pissed about it, he doesn't want to be doing this, mickey is the last fucking person he wants to stick his fucking neck out for, but ian fucking loves him. loves him loves him, the real fucking deal, and that makes mickey a piece of him whether anybody fucking likes it or not. and lip will always stick his neck out for ian.

so he curses mickey's name black and blue, and he bitches about how he can't believe he's doing this, and he threatens that he'll never forgive either of them, and he grabs a chair and he swings it right into terry's face.

mickey looks up at him from the floor, bloodied mouth hanging open. bro is flabbergasted dot jpg.

"i draw the line at giving you a hand up," lip says, and that kicks the whole fucking bar into gear.

mandy jumps onto terry's back, screaming like a fucking banshee and wrapping her skinny arms around his neck as tight as she fucking can, probably bites him too by the way he yells. terry's few buddies/sycophants/goons leap up to take his side, only to realize they are wildly outnumbered when the milkovich brothers and uncles take mickey and mandy's. kev calls the police, even though it makes him throw up in his mouth a little. some unaligned bar patrons flee, and most of the upstairs girls do too. some patrons start fighting each other, since there's a fight and all. some settle in for the show, and some just plain don't fucking care.

and mickey gets himself up off the ground, insert non-diagetic punk remix of i'm still standing by elton john here, and wipes his mouth with his hand. he surges forward to twist terry's arm behind his back when he rips mandy off his back, before he can throw her to the ground. she slaps their father in the face with her fingers curled, leaving four bleeding scratches across his cheek. mickey hears lip cuss again, impressed, before the back of terry's head breaks his nose.

and even as blood splurts down his face mickey wonders, dazed and almost giddy with the possibility, if lip backing him up means ian still cares about him. at least a little.

[cognacandlilac]

To the Depths - Part Six - NSFW

(Pirate!Silco x F!Reader) Promises and Pomegranates

AO3 - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3.1 - Part 3.2 - Part 4 - Part 5

Rating: Explicit/MDNI Chapter Summary: You come face to face against an impossible creature and it royally screws with your understanding of reality. Will Silco help you? Chapter Warnings/Tags: this chapter is SFW. Don't you worry, more smut is coming <3 A/N: Not beta'd because I'm trying to feed my momentum monster. She's starving and she's mean.

You stand in place, still staring up at the towering monster of living water. A part of your mind understands that it is about to snap at the ship like a wild animal but the thought is simply too impossible to comprehend. 

“Torches!” Sevika shouts sharply enough to drag your attention back to the deck and crew. You are not the only one frozen with fear and disbelief. Most of the crew cannot seem to believe their eyes either. 

“Torches!” Sevika snarls and shoves the nearest crewmember. This sends them scurrying off to illuminate the ship as much as possible. Your gaze drags back up the column of water to the beastly head and glowing eyes. Its neck reminds you somewhat of a snake, coiled to strike. 

When its head darts forward toward the deck, you at least have the good sense to brace yourself. The beast thuds against the ship as though it is made of pure, solid matter. You are knocked clean off your feet, unable to stop yourself from colliding with the railing. Breath leaves your lungs in a sharp gust just in time for a rush of water to slam against your body. 

Gasping, sputtering, and dazed, the only thing you can think to do is look for Silco but you don’t see him. An unexpected stab of pain blooms in your chest that has nothing to do with the physical blows your body just experienced. 

He left you to fend for yourself. 

You should not be surprised. Why would you expect anything different? So what if he danced with you and briefly participated in a conversation that didn’t consist of throwing insults at each other? That does not change the fact that you are a prisoner. Less than that, even. You’re a stolen commodity. 

A lump rises in your throat and you tell yourself it’s because the pain in your right side is growing more intense by the moment. No other reason. 

You know why you are here. You know where you stand. 

The water creature lets out another shrill roar as its glowing eyes scan the deck. Your eyes follow the serpentine curve of its neck to where its body meets the deck and continues, rising over the railing, not unlike the way a snake’s body slides over a branch. Yet, as water pours off of its form, it never changes size. 

It strikes again, aiming at Locke who manages to dive out of the way. Like before, the brace of its impact rocks the ship. This time, you are able to see the way water bursts from its body and rolls across the deck the way a rogue wave would roll across a calm sea. 

What in the hell is it? 

“Princess, you either need to get moving or get fighting. I don’t care which one you do. Just don’t get in the way.” Sevika brushes by you with a vicious look in her eyes as she attaches what looks to be some kind of miniature harpoon to the end of her mechanical arm. 

You nod, though Sevika has already moved her attention back to the water creature. 

“Bring its head down!” She barks at whoever is within earshot. 

You try to make yourself move in any direction for any purpose but you simply can’t. Your mind is racing and grappling with the reality in front of you, leaving your body stuck in a state of awe and terror. It is only when a crewmate, the same one who nearly came to blows with Locke, crashes against the deck in front of you. 

“Fuckin’ waterwyrms,” he grumbles as he scrambles to his feet just in time to avoid another wave rolling off the body of the beast.

A waterwyrm. An apt name that scratches along the outer edge of your frazzled memory. You cannot chase after it just now. 

The clatter of metal pulls your attention and you realize a thick dagger has fallen from the belt of the swearing crewmate. You call out for him, realizing too late that you never learned his name. Not that it matters. You can’t see him anymore. 

You reach for the dagger, figuring it’s better to arm yourself in one way or another while you decide what you’re going to do. 

The storm the other day was frightening but familiar. You’d sailed through storms before. You knew what to do, to an extent and if you didn’t, the crew was there to set you right. But that isn’t the case now. 

Only a handful of the crewmates crisscrossing the deck seem to know what they’re dealing with. The rest wear expressions you imagine are similar to the one on your face right now. You are not the only one out of your depth with this. 

The dagger is heavier than you expected and, truth be told, you do not know how to wield it. The closest thing you’ve held to this is an engraved letter opener that you keep on your bedside table at home, just in case. 

You struggle to decide whether or not to keep the dagger or discard it but you cannot remain rooted in place like this. You are completely unprotected. Once you find a bit of shelter, you can organize your thoughts, and pull yourself together. 

A flickering instinct tugs at your mind. It whispers to you, urging you to find Captain Silco. He’s supposed to keep you from harm until you are returned safely to your father and fiance. That was the agreement. 

A cruel stab of logic reminds you that not even Silco could offer absolute protection against a creature of myth and magic, especially not one that is determined to flood the ship with its watery form. Besides, Silco did not hesitate to abandon you once the waterwyrm rose from the black sea. 

Another flash of hurt sears into your chest and you quickly replace the hurt with anger, unwilling to allow your ego to be bruised by that man more than it already has. Enough is enough. The familiar clarity of anger awakens the part of your mind that had gone hazy with shock at the sight of the waterwyrm. 

You need to get to a safe place. Quickly. You flee, heading toward the stern, nearly tripping with every step as you do so. As much as you do not want to look at it, you keep your eyes fixed on the waterwyrm. Perhaps, if you were seeing it in a painting or sketch, you would find it beautiful but not here. Not when it’s real and dangerous and hell-bent on fracturing your reality. Things like this only exist in stories. 

Then again, you thought Silco only existed in stories, and look how that has panned out for you. 

With a soft groan, you keep moving forward. Even in the most dire of situations, the Captain still manages to snake his way to the forefront of your mind. The thought stokes your anger and you cling to it as you navigate around the scrambling crewmates and thrashing waterwyrm. It has slithered around to the port side of the ship, an equal distance from the bow and stern. This would be a good thing if you didn’t feel a spray of water coming from behind you. You look over your shoulder to see its watery, snake-like tail rising on the opposite side of the ship. 

You’ve seen plenty of sketches of mythical krakens wrapping their tentacles around ships to squeeze them into splitters. Could a waterwyrm do such a thing? 

The tail swings like a whip, heading right toward you. You dive forward, evading the tail but you’ve realized you’re now scrambling to find your footing right beside the great neck of the beast. You gaze up, tipping your face all the way back to look at its head. Its attention is drawn elsewhere, for the moment. Instead of moving away, you feel the weight of the dagger in your hand. 

You look at the rippling, translucent body of the waterwyrm. Surely, if it is solid enough to perch on the deck as it wreaks havoc, it is solid enough to feel the pierce of a blade. Without thinking twice, you lift the dagger and stab it into the side of the waterwyrm. The dagger pieces its watery hide like a hot knife through butter.

It does…nothing. 

No, that isn’t true. It’s done something. It’s gotten the beast's attention. The waterwyrm’s serpentine neck swivels and bends, bringing its head down until it is looking you right in the eye. Those blue orbs glow and shine like fire. It has no pupils but you know it’s looking right at you, into you. 

With a low, gurgling hiss, it opens its mouth. 

The anger that propelled you forward evaporates, leaving you with nothing but a cold, hollow sense of fear. You cannot move. You are vaguely aware that the dagger has slipped from your hand and has clattered onto the deck. 

Every inch of your skin, every drop of blood, every bone screams at you to run but you can’t. You can’t look away from the waterwyrm’s eyes. Now you see the beauty of such a creature, though the notion is far from soothing. 

You will be swallowed up by its hungry maw. 

You wonder if it will kill you by drowning or if its teeth are more solid than they appear. You wonder which you’d prefer. Probably the latter. You’ve never seen someone drown, but enough of your father’s men have had close enough brushes with such a watery death that you know it’s unpleasant.

It occurs to you that this is the first time you’ve pondered your own death. It always seemed like such a faraway thing. An inevitable thing, like a candle blowing out. You would be here and then you would be gone. You never gave much thought to what happened in between. The act of dying itself. 

A crack rings out and it doesn’t fully register with you that something has happened before the waterwyrm’s head reels back. It snarls and snaps, howling with rage. Something bright and sparkling falls in front of your face. 

“Yes!” Jinx’s delighted laugh is out of place with everything happening around you as she appears by your side. She scoops up the bright, shining thing. With a slow blink, you realize it’s one of the waterwyrm’s eyes. She slips it into her pocket. Its glow is so intense it shines through the fabric of her pants. 

“You should probably move,” Jinx says, putting a hand on your shoulder and tugging you back toward the weather deck. “I just made that thing really angry and I still need the other eye.”

She turns you a little and gives you a small shove in the direction of the weather deck. There, at the top of the steps, you see Silco with a rifle in hand. As always, he looks eerily still amongst the chaos. His ocean eye is bright and focused as he watches the waterwyrm.

You dart forward and start to climb the stairs, but your legs have gone wobbly. You stumble near the top, reaching out and catching yourself on his leg to keep yourself from sliding down the steep steps. 

“You’re alright, treasure.” You feel a large, gentle hand on the back of your head. “Stay right there. This will be over and done with soon.”

Several words leap into your mouth but none of them make it past your tongue. You find that you can do nothing but cling to his leg and hope his words ring true. 

“Line it up for me, minnow,” Silco orders. You see a flash of blue as Jinx scrambles up the nearest mast and begins to wave and shout at the waterwyrm. The half-blind beast whips its head around, teeth bared and snarling with fury. You close your eyes, not wanting to look upon it anymore but that is worse. The moment you close your eyes, all you see is the waterwyrm bearing down on you, ready to devour you. Your eyes snap back open just as the waterwyrm strikes at Jinx. Its head moves into the perfect position for Silco to take the shot, and he does. Another crack rings out, shooting right into your bones. The second glowing eye comes loose. This time, Jinx is able to catch it before it hits the deck. 

And then, you aren’t fully sure what happens. The waterwyrm moans weakly, its head swaying as it struggles to keep itself upright. It begins to collapse, as though it’s been mortally wounded rather than blinded. You cling harder to Silco’s leg, bracing for an impact that could be severe enough to damage the ship. Just before the waterwyrm’s limp body hits the deck, it melts into water. Thick droplets of seawater smash into the surface of the deck like a vicious rain, but that’s all that happens. 

Your brow furrows with confusion before you look up at Silco. He sets the rifle aside before reaching down to help you to your feet. Around you, the crew checks for damage to the ship. Some look exhausted and annoyed. Most look as confused as you feel. Sevika looks as though she’s just eaten a whole lemon. You briefly wonder what she must have seen in her life for something like the waterwyrm to be considered little more than an inconvenience. 

“Those glowing stones gave life to the water,” Silco explains, his voice gentle and filled with patience that makes something hurt inside of your chest. “Remove the stones, remove the problem. The stones are very valuable as well, as you can probably imagine.”

You nod, though it’s a jerky, automatic response to his words. You hear them. You know what you saw. But your mind just refuses to accept that something like that can exist in your world. 

“Are you hurt?” Silco keeps speaking to you in that low, gentle voice. You hate it. You don’t want to see that softness in him. You don’t want it to steady you or soothe you. 

“I’m fine,” you manage, though you’re not certain that’s the truth. You feel like you are going to keel over at any second. 

“You’re bleeding.” Jinx glides up to your side, ever the helpful little wraith, and lightly touches your arm. Sure enough, there is a gash stretching nearly from elbow to wrist on the underside of your forearm. You can’t even feel it, though you decide that’s a good thing for now. 

“Get her down to the doctor, minnow.” Silco’s good eye fills with something you refuse to acknowledge as regret, possibly even worry, when he looks at the wound on your arm. 

“So much for not allowing damage to your cargo,” you mutter as you let Jinx lead you below deck. She takes you to the bottom level of the ship. You pass dozens of hammocks strung up and layered over each other as well as an assortment of trunks and personal belongings. 

“Do you sleep down here?” You ask her. 

“I bunk on my own,” Jinx explains, but does not offer more details.  

You pass three iron cells, each fitted with several pairs of shackles. They are all empty and, thankfully, look as though they’ve been empty for a while. You briefly wonder if you were meant to occupy one of the cells. Why did Silco insist on watching over you so closely when he could have thrown you down here and been done with it?

Just past the cells is a solid wall made from spare bits of wood. Though it looks sturdy enough, it’s quite slapdash. Gaps between planks allow you to see glimpses into the room beyond. The wood bulges and indents in strange ways. With a small start, you realize the wall is made of pieces of other ships. Perhaps, ships the Zaun’s Revenge attacked and scuttled while looking for goods.

There are two crude doors set into the makeshift wall. 

“I sleep there.” Jinx points to one of the doors. Its placement against the wall implies that it’s the smaller of the two rooms. She points to the other door. “That leads to the laboratory. It’s best if you wait for me or the Captain to bring you down here if you ever have a need to see the doctor.”

“Oh?”

“He’s nice, usually,” Jinx shrugs. “But he gets very annoyed if his work is interrupted. He’ll always help you if you need it, though.”

Jinx raps her knuckles against the door. Through the gaps in the slats, you see warm candlelight but also some kind of glowing, purplish light you cannot envision a source for. There is no answer from inside the laboratory but that doesn’t stop Jinx from pushing in. 

The room is small, though the curved hull of the ship that makes up one wall allows for a little extra space. All manner of indistinguishable items have been cleverly stored where the room comes together to form the underside of the bow.

Tucked against the curved wall is a desk cast in shadow by a tall, thin figure whose black coat seems to eat the light around him. Shelves fitted to the curve of the hull contain jar after jar of that strange purple powder. The jars glow faintly in the darkness of the room. 

The man does not look up from his desk nor does he acknowledge the presence of two new people in the cramped space. 

“This is where I work on projects.” Jinx taps a cluttered workbench stocked to the point of overflowing with metal bits and bobs, screws, nuts, bolts, and plenty more objects that you can’t identify. The walls around her workbench are covered in sketches and schematics, designs of a mechanical nature. You spot a page with the words ‘MAGNETIC CANNONBALL’ scrawled across the top in big, messy letters surrounded by complex equations you can’t ever hope to untangle. The sight makes you smile a little. 

“Mr. Doctor, we are in need of your assistance,” Jinx chirps and taps on the bony shoulder of the man. He glances back at her with a foggy look that is somehow both dazed and focused. He wears a cloth tied around the lower half of his face in some kind of makeshift mask. 

“Hm,” he grunts softly before turning around to face you fully. You bite the inside of your cheek so you do not react to the severe burns covering the previously hidden side of his face. His other eye is surrounded by scar tissue so thick he can barely open it, which doesn’t seem to matter since the eye itself is a pale, milky color. Despite that, you can still make out dark hollows under both of his eyes. 

His functional eye quickly examines your body, spotting the laceration on your arm. 

“What happened there?”

You open your mouth to explain, but you aren’t actually sure how you injured yourself. “I’m not sure. I fell a few times during the waterwyrm’s attack.”

The doctor’s nonexistent eyebrows shift upward. “Waterwyrm?” 

“Yes, one just gave us a hell of a fight.” Jinx’s eyes spark with pride. “Nothing we couldn’t handle though. It looks like everything held up in here just fine.”

She looks toward the shelves and she’s right. Despite the viciousness of the waterwyrm’s attack, not even a single pen looks as if it’s rolled out of place. 

“Good, good,” he nods, taking a step forward on spindly legs. “Come into the light, please.”

You do as you are asked, holding out your arm for him to examine. His long fingers wrap around your wrist and put the icy grip of the reaper to shame with their coldness. 

“You truly did not notice that the ship was under attack Mr…Doctor?” 

“I have learned how to maintain focus in even the most unlikely situations. Besides, the Captain and crew are more than capable of handling any dangers the sea flings at us.” He chuckles softly, the sound reminiscent of scraping bones, before speaking again. “Singed. Only the little one calls me Mr. Doctor.”

Singed. Surely, that is not his true name. You find yourself staring at the ruin of his face until you remember yourself and force your eyes down. 

“It’s quite alright,” Singed says as he moves to one of the heavily stocked shelves and retrieves squares of pristine white cloth and two glass vials each the size of your thumb. “For all of my faults, vanity was never one of them.” 

He holds up the first vial filled with clear liquid. “Clean your wound with this first and wait for the bleeding to stop.” He holds up the second vial, half filled with liquid the same vibrant purple as the powder. “This will encourage healing. I suggest you ask the Captain for assistance. It is most potent in its liquid form.”

“But what is it?” You ask softly, taking both of the vials as well as the scraps of clean cloth. 

“Have you received advanced education in biology, chemistry, anatomy, pathology, and alchemy?”

Your eyes widen. “I have not.”

“Then all you need to know is that this is something that will help you.” There is a slightly condescending tone in the doctor’s voice but you don’t have the energy to let it pinch your pride.

“We call it shimmer,” Jinx says with a helpful smile. 

“You call it shimmer,” Singed corrects, turning his attention back to his desk. “That is an inaccurate and purely cosmetic name.” 

“It’s catching on with the crew so you should get used to it,” Jinx shrugs before ushering you out of the cramped laboratory. 

“Thank you,” you call over your shoulder but Singed is already engrossed in his work once more. You follow Jinx above deck, staring at the little vial of glowing purple liquid. The crew has largely recovered from dealing with the waterwyrm. Considering the violence of the attack, it did little damage to the ship.

“Oh, rats!” Jinx groans softly, lightly placing her fingers over the glowing stones in her pocket. “I forgot to give these to Mr. Doctor.” She hurries back below deck, leaving you alone. You aren’t sure if you’re grateful for the solitude or not. 

Your mind still feels caught, stretched thin over the gap between what you thought you knew and what you now know to be true. You move toward the Captain’s cabin without thinking about it.  

There are stones that somehow bring water to life. You grew up listening to myths and legends from all corners of the world. While many were soaked in magic and impossibility, you also knew the ocean still held many secrets and mysteries. You just didn’t think the secrets would be so close to the myths. 

Desperate for something to occupy your mind, you dig through your memories for scraps of any myth containing the waterwyrm. Nothing comes to mind. Frustrated, you push into the Captain’s cabin to find it empty. Both relief and disappointment settle like stones on your chest. You toss the stone of disappointment away and will yourself to be happy for a moment to tend to your wounds alone. 

While the bed looks welcoming, you choose to perch on the desk instead. You briefly consider sitting in Silco’s chair but you can’t bring yourself to do it. 

It’s…his. Somehow, sitting in that chair feels more intimate than sharing a bed. 

You place the vials and the cloth on an empty part of the desk. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks as the image of your hands intertwined with his, bent over the desk, as he took you from behind fills your mind. Something tugs low in your belly as the need for a distraction attempts to disguise itself as desire. 

Your upper lip curls in forced disgust, but you cannot summon any anger behind the motion. You call your anger over and over, wishing to wrap yourself in it to shield yourself from the strange feelings fighting to form within you. It does not come. 

With a slow, deep breath, you turn your attention to the clean cloth squares and the first vial of clear liquid. You open it and take a sniff. It’s nothing more than a simple disinfectant if your nose is to be trusted. 

Singed instructed you to ask the Captain for help with the shimmer. Even if the idea of asking Silco for help was palatable, you aren’t sure you want to put shimmer anywhere near an open wound without a better understanding of what it is. 

You soak one of the cloths in a small amount of disinfectant and brace yourself as you press it to your wound. The stinging pain rips through you, far worse than the pain of the injury itself. 

Tears prick at the backs of your eyes and you go stone still, keeping the cloth pressed to your wound. The threat of tears has allowed a tiny spark of anger to rise. You clutch those sparks hard and throw them against the feeling your tears wish to bring forth. The sting grows until you can’t stand it anymore. 

Just as you remove the cloth from your wound with a small sound of frustration and anguish, the cabin door opens. 

“There you are.” Silco steps into the room and lets the door swing shut behind him. He locks it with mindless movements as his eye focuses on the sight of you sitting on the edge of his desk. Worry flickers behind his ocean eye. “What are you doing?”

“The kind doctor gave me something to patch myself up with.” You hold up the cloth as though it’s obvious. “The experience has been less than pleasant.”

“Have you ever had to tend to a wound like that before?” He asks, that horrible softness returning to his voice as he approaches you. 

“I think you know the answer to that.” You try to put a little bite in your voice but fail to do so. 

“Perhaps, but I’ve learned several times now that underestimating you is a foolish thing to do.” He takes the cloth from your hand without a word and frowns. “Did you dilute this at all?”

Your cheeks feel hot. “The doctor didn’t mention that I’d need to do so.”

Silco removes the seal on the water pitcher near the vanity and wets the cloth before adding a drop or two of the disinfectant. “This will get the job done and sting far, far less.”

You hold out your hand to take the cloth but he ignores it. He moves close once more and holds your injured arm in his free hand before gently cleaning the rest of the gash. The sting is still there, but its bite is far less vicious. You find that you are able to breathe with some normalcy again, though something heavy still sits on your chest. 

“Ah,” Silco murmurs as he spots the vial of shimmer. “Excellent.”

“I don’t want…whatever that is,” you say quickly. 

“It’s perfectly safe when administered correctly, I assure you.” He opens the vial and the cabin is soon filled with a sweet, medicinal scent that makes your nose tingle. “I use it every day.”

You tilt your head. “You do?”

He meets your gaze before bringing his fingertips to the scars around his ruined eye. “It is the only thing that keeps the infection from progressing. It dulls the pain as well. I wouldn’t be fit to man a rowboat let alone captain a vessel without it.”

“Oh.” Your gaze dips to the vial in his hand before falling silent. 

Silco leans forward, bending down a little so his face is level with yours. “What, no quips? Surely, you can think of some remark to make about such a substance turning me inhuman.”

You say nothing. 

“Not even a little jab at my charming personality and wonderful temperament?” There is a teasing lilt to his voice but that softness still remains. 

You shake your head. You aren’t in the mood to trade barbed remarks, not that your mind would cooperate with you if you were. 

Silco sighs softly and returns his attention to the shimmer vial. He moves away from you for a moment to fish something out of one of the desk drawers. You hear something clinking and glance over from the corner of your eye. He holds a small glass eyedropper, which he cleans thoroughly with the remaining disinfectant. 

“This will make it easier,” he explains. “You really won’t need more than a drop or two.”

“Will…?” You start to ask but you swallow your question down, hoping he’ll be gracious enough to pretend you hadn’t spoken at all. 

“Will what, treasure?” He finishes cleaning the eyedropper and dries it off before giving you an expectant look. 

“Will it hurt?” The sting of the disinfectant nearly brought you to tears. Another strike of pain would be too much for you to fight through and you were not going to cry. Certainly, not in front of Silco. 

“Yes, but it’s an unusual sort of pain,” he explains. “It’s intense, but it’s quick. A bit like someone flashing a bright light in your eyes unexpectedly. Your senses will feel scrambled but, like I said, it’s quick.”

He loads up the eyedropper with just two drops of the violent purple liquid and takes hold of your arm once more. He looks at you, waiting for permission. You nod. 

A single shining drop falls from the end of the eyedropper onto your wound. You feel a tingling sensation for a fraction of a moment before something unlike anything you’ve ever felt before wracks through your body. Too much air is crammed into your lungs yet it also feels as though the wind has been knocked from your chest. Your veins feel as though they widening and narrowing, wriggling beneath your skin. It’s unbearable. 

And then it’s gone. 

You gasp hard and brace on the desk. 

“Easy, treasure,” Silco’s voice tethers you to reality. 

Your mind scrambles to right itself. You feel exposed, vulnerable. Your anger has failed you so you fight to call forth anything else that will shield you from the terrible weight on your chest and the tightness in your throat.

His quick hands wrap your forearm in soft, clean bandages before you have a chance to see what your wound looks like now. Already, you note the absence of physical pain. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His hand comes to rest in the middle of your back. You feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of your shirt. Tears spring forth but you quickly scoot off the desk to stand in the middle of the room, out of his reach. 

“I’m rather tired.” You keep your back to him as you blink and blink and blink. 

“I imagine so.” His boots thud against the wooden floor as he moves to stand behind you but he does not try to touch you again. “You’ve had quite a fright.”

Once again, you feel a tiny spark of your anger ignite but it’s not enough to catch fire and burn away the terrible feeling that creeps in around you. You are not yet in control of your emotions enough to speak, to deny his words. 

“Most of the crew is in the same boat as you are, so to speak,” he says. “Waterwyrms are incredibly rare. I’ve only seen three, myself. Seeing something like that for the first time can be rattling.”

“I am not rattled,” you hiss. You clench your hands into fists to hide how much they shake as you move toward the bed. You sit down and fumble with the lacings of your boots until you’re able to shuck them off. “I’m tired.” 

For a moment, Silco looks as though he’s going to press the matter. A small part of you, one that you’d like to squash beneath your heel, wishes he would. 

He takes a half step back and nods. “Get some sleep, then. You’ve earned it.”

He takes a seat at his desk and goes through the motions of clipping and lighting a fresh cigar. The warm, spiced smell of it banishes the lingering scent of disinfectant and shimmer from the cabin. Something in your chest loosens, but you’re not sure if it’s a good thing. 

You slip out of your breeches and crawl under the covers, pressing yourself as close to the wall as you can with your back to Silco. The only sounds in the room are the faint scratching of his pen across parchment and his soft exhales whenever he takes a puff of his cigar. It’s not enough to hold your focus. 

Your mind begins to spin again. Your heart slams against your ribs but you tell yourself it’s nothing more than your body responding to the shimmer. 

You are not rattled. You are not frightened. You can handle this. You have handled everything life has flung cruelly into your path and you will continue to do so. You will remain in control, just as you always have. 

But you know that’s not true. The words float through your mind like a lullaby despite the threat they pose to your quickly fracturing resolve. It’s never been true. 

It becomes harder to keep your breathing slow and even. That horrible feeling continues to tighten its grip around your throat, growing stronger and stronger until you fear you won’t be able to break loose. You won’t be able to keep it at bay. You’ll have to feel it and know the truth of it. 

You are not rattled. You are not frightened. 

You’re terrified. 

And the moment you let yourself feel that terror, you’ll be lost.

Fear claws at your throat and sits on your chest, prepared to suffocate you. Already, you can feel it seeping through your skin and stealing your breath. 

Fear has come for you before, but you fought it off. It pounced on you the day your mother died but you evaded it, letting grief shield you. It tried to ambush you again the day your father abandoned you at the family estate but your anger was so great and so fierce that fear could not touch you. 

Now, your grief was a quiet, content creature resting near your heart alongside the memory of your mother. And your anger…where was it? How could it have abandoned you and left you so vulnerable?

There had to be something you could do. Fear would not reach you this time. It never had and it never will. 

Not true. Not true. Not true. The words skitter across your brain, less gentle than they were before. 

You fight the urge to scream, choosing to bite the inside of your cheek instead. It's no use. The truth has started to seep through the cracks of your mind and you have nowhere left to run. No place to hide.   

How close will you allow yourself to come to madness for the sake of clinging to such a fragile illusion? 

You only believed yourself to be capable because you had never faced a true challenge. Now that you had, now that you stared the waterwyrm in the eyes and saw death, you can no longer hide from what you are. A small, scared, stupid girl who doesn’t know a single thing about the world. 

You do not have the strength or skills to survive on your own without your father’s money and protection. If you fled your engagement, you might as well forfeit your life. If you allowed yourself to be caged within the gilded bars of marriage and societal expectations, you would never feel alive again. 

One way or another, death surrounds you. It does not matter if it’s a death of your body or a death of your spirit. Both are equally devastating in your eyes. There is no escape. 

You bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood as you keep fighting the cold sense of fear that tries to wrap you in its embrace. You can’t give in to it. You can’t allow yourself to feel it. You’d never be able to pull yourself out if you did. You don’t bother trying to call on your anger to help you keep fear at bay. You realize now that it did not abandon you. You’ve simply burned it all up. 

Only the faintest scrap of pride allows you to hold yourself together. If you are going to fall apart, it will not be on this damn ship surrounded by these damn pirates. 

You are so caught up in your own mind that you do not realize Silco has moved until you feel the bed shift beside you. You stay still, pretending to be asleep, not that it matters. Aside from your failed attempt to bring yourself some relief last night, Silco keeps his distance from you in bed. 

He shifts and rolls a bit before he seems to settle. Thinking he has fallen asleep, you allow your mind to resume its heavy task of stopping your fears from consuming you. 

A hand presses against your back. Your breath catches in your throat and it takes every bit of your frayed self-control to keep up the act of pretending to sleep. 

“Brave girl,” comes Silco’s soft whisper, so quiet you are unsure if you were meant to hear those words or not. 

Warmth spreads across your back, radiating from his palm. If you focus, you can feel the shape of every long, thin finger. It may be exhaustion, the shimmer, or the fact that you had your toe over the line of madness just a moment ago but you swear you feel him pressing against your back with every breath you take. His movements, if he’s moving at all, are slow and faint. When you feel him press, you extend your exhale. When he lightens the pressure, you inhale. Over and over until your breathing slows and your heart calms.

The urge to check if he’s awake or say his name gently pulls at you, but you let it pass. The peace of this moment is a fragile, hard-won thing that you aren’t ready to give up. Besides, if he actually is asleep and this is all in your head, you’d rather keep that to yourself. You continue to breathe slowly, focused on the way his hand feels against your back, and eventually allow sleep to take you. 

********

When you wake, you roll over to find an empty bed. You open your eyes, expecting to see Silco sitting at his desk like he usually does but he isn’t there. A small amount of relief fills you. You’re spared from confronting him after…whatever that was last night. 

Maybe you sent yourself into such a deep state of distress that you imagined it. But then that means that you imagined him for comfort, which might be worse. 

Your mind still feels clouded and sluggish as you dress and leave the cabin. Above deck, the air is still and there is not a cloud in the sky. The Zaun’s Revenge bobs gently on a calm sea. To the west, you spot a strip of land but no distinguishing landmarks that might tell you where you are. Your eyes scan the deck for Silco, but you do not see him. There does not seem to be any work to be done so you head below deck to the galley.

Arlo has already started preparing for the evening meal, causing you to realize just how late you’ve slept in. You offer to help, he accepts. Soon, you are chopping onions. Your eyes burn and your mincing skills leave much to be desired, but your mind is occupied. Plus, you are learning something new. That always makes you feel better, more in control of yourself. 

“You seem a bit out of sorts,” Arlo says. “Something on your mind?”

“That waterwyrm has rudely forced me to reexamine my understanding of the world and my place in it,” you answer. “It’s been horribly inconvenient.” “Oh, I see. That happened to me the first time I saw something like that. It wasn’t a waterwyrm, though. The carcass of an ushkya floated to the surface. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

“A what?” You hope you won’t regret asking. 

“An ushkya. Merfolk use them similar to the way humans use horses. They’re actually quite gentle by nature. I’ve seen a few wild ones before. Their fangs make them look scarier than they are. I’d go as far as to say they’re more docile than horses.”

Your mouth drops open. You regret asking. “I am not in a position to take in that information.”

“Fair. How are you getting along with those onions?”

“Badly, I’m afraid.” You dab at your onion tears with the back of your hand. “I hope you like a bit of a rough chop.”

“It’ll do just fine. You aren’t cooking for the Council,” he chuckles and rests an affirming hand on your shoulder. “Keep at it. I have plenty of work for you when you’re done.”

Time ticks by in the kitchen as you and Arlo take turns teaching each other things. It will be a while before he can read properly, but he knows how certain words look written down, which is an excellent start. The two of you make a plan to redo all of the labels in the scullery. Having a plan like that makes you smile. It’ll keep you occupied during the days and will hopefully make your imprisonment pass quicker. 

“Ah, so is this where I can expect to find you when you vanish from the cabin?” At the sound of Silco’s voice, you are flooded with memories of his hand on your back. You can feel the pressure between your shoulders as you turn around to face him. 

“If I say yes, does that mean the longboats will be left unattended?” You fire back.   

“Glad to see the stress of last night has not dulled your wit. You’re going to need it.”

“Why?”

“We’re going ashore. I have to meet with an associate of mine and I know better than to leave you to your own devices.” A small smirk twitches in the corner of his mouth but it is not accompanied by the usual mean glint in his eye. 

“Scared I’ll ambush you with another oar attack, pirate?” You say, moving out of the kitchen with an indifferent look though you are glad to be back in the familiar territory of banter and quick remarks. 

“If I remember correctly, I was the one who snuck up on you,” he says. 

“But my first instinct was still to give you a good whack,” you point out, earning a quiet chuckle from him. 

“True.”

Silco starts to lead you out of the galley but you pause and look over your shoulder. 

“Will you get on without me, Arlo?” you ask. 

“I’ll be fine. We can start our labeling project when you return if you’re up for it.” Arlo’s gaze darts to Silco and his face pales a little bit. “With the Captain’s permission, of course.”

You turn your head and look up at Silco, arching a brow. 

“Hm,” he mutters before ushering you above deck. He lowers his head so his mouth is close to your ear. “Should I be concerned by how well you are ingratiating yourself with my crew?”

“Probably,” you shrug. “Do I need to put on that beloved harlot costume again?”

“Beloved indeed,” he chuckles lowly. “But no. Port Squawkfeather is not quite as…colorful as Port Fairna. You are perfectly fine as you are. Unless, of course, you secretly liked playing the harlot and wish to do so again.”

“Hold your breath and find out.” You smile sweetly before turning your attention to the port in question. 

“Ever the charmer.” Silco stands by your side as the Zaun’s Revenge docks and the gangplank is lowered.

Despite its unusual name, Port Squawkfeather looks orderly and clean for a pirate haven. From what you can see, there is some form of authority patrolling the docks and the shore. They bear a discreet insignia that looks strikingly similar to a waterwyrm.

The small port town is clustered on a spit of land between a narrow, pebbly beach and sandstone rock formations that vary in height. A few structures stand on plateaus scattered across the cliff faces, but most of the buildings appear to be concentrated around the mouth of the port. 

“What business do you have here?” You ask, glancing at Silco from the corner of your eye. You don’t expect an answer but you can’t help but ask. Silco is certainly making quite a few stops for someone with a valuable hostage underfoot. 

“I’m sure you recall the blue stones that served as the waterwyrm’s eyes. I plan to sell them. They are extremely valuable,” he replies. “Even more valuable than you.”

“I am worth less than a pair of glowing rocks?” You scoff. 

“These are not just rocks. The power they contain is unlike anything else in the world. Those stones contain pure arcane energy.”

“And you would sell them to the highest bidder?” You arch a brow. 

“Of course. I do not have the resources to harness their power myself so I may as well make a profit from them.”

He offers his arm, which you take, and the two of you disembark. 

“Are you going to make me sit in your lap in a dingy tavern again?” You ask. 

“No,” he replies. “You aren’t wearing a skirt. I won’t be able to have any fun.”

His words bring a hot blush to your cheeks. You fix your gaze straight ahead and hope he does not notice. Once more, you feel the ghost of his hand on your back, guiding you through your breaths. 

The entrance of the docks feeds into a well-maintained dirt road that leads right to a lively market. Instead of walking down that road, Silco cuts to the left and walks along the shore for a time.

“I hope you can handle a small climb, treasure,” he says before turning off the path onto a thin trail that snakes up the side of a sandstone formation. “I won’t carry you if you feel faint.”

“I’d rather be left in the dust than rely on you to carry me,” you reply, though a touch of worry reaches your heart. You nibbled on a few things while assisting Arlo, but you haven’t had a proper meal since last night’s dinner. 

The trail isn’t steep but it snakes back and forth along the side of the cliff, carrying you higher and higher with each twist. The trail dips into a valley dotted with scraggly bushes before traveling up the side of another sandstone formation. 

Sweat breaks out across your forehead and your throat feels scratchy and dry, but you don’t say anything. Silco doesn’t seem to be any worse for wear. It’s unlikely he has anything on his person that can relieve your discomfort so there is no point in opening yourself up to ridicule, especially after he saw you in such a vulnerable state last night. 

It is a hot day and the air is dry. Your legs ache from walking at an incline for so long. As much as you want to ask Silco for a moment to stop and catch your breath, you push onward.

Each step gives you a frail sense of reassurance. 

You aren’t weak. You aren’t helpless. You’re capable. 

Even as your lungs burn and sparks tease the corners of your vision, you take comfort in your ability to keep pushing. 

You are resilient. 

The panic brought on by the waterwyrm was a fluke. A perfectly reasonable lapse in judgment, all things considered. 

You are fine. You have always been fine. You will continue to be fine. 

Is there not something better than fine? That wicked little voice whispers to you but you shut it out. Now is not the time. You must focus all of your energy on not collapsing on this forsaken trail.

“Steady now, treasure. Our destination is atop the plateau, just there.” Silco seems a little out of breath himself when he gestures to where the path curves just up ahead. 

“I’m perfectly fine,” you reply, ignoring the slight wheeze in your voice as you speak. If Silco noticed, he has enough grace to refrain from commenting on it. 

You round the bend and the land flattens. Straight ahead, the path extends into a flat stretch that overlooks the port below and the ocean beyond. To the left, there is a small, slapdash house that looks to be made of driftwood, thatch, and other salvaged materials but that isn’t what captures your attention. The trees surrounding the home are filled with brilliant-colored parrots. Their feathers are a deep ruby shade that almost seems unnatural. They chitter and squawk as you and Silco approach. They fix you in their beady gazes but do nothing. 

Now you know how Port Squawkfeather got its name.

“Who, exactly, are we meeting?” You ask, moving a little closer to Silco. 

“An old associate of mine,” Silco says. 

Just before he knocks on the door, another parrot flutters over and perches on a specially-made stand near the door. Unlike the others, this parrot is a deep azure, blue as the sea. 

“Oooh, visitors!” It screeches as it flaps its wings. “Get your ass out here, ya drunk!”

“Good heavens,” you chuckle softly at the bird. “I wonder where he learned to say such a thing.”

“You’re about to find out, treasure.”

The door to the driftwood cabin flings open and in the doorway stands the oddest man you have ever seen. Spindly legs support a bloated belly that leads to narrow shoulders and skinny arms. He wears a shirt of bold coral splashed with an assortment of random, vibrant colors that resemble tropical blooms. A hat of woven straw sits atop his head, blocking the sun from a leathery face and brilliant blue eyes that are almost white. He also wears trousers shorn choppily to knee-length. On his feet are sandals that look to be made of the same material as his hat. 

“Captain Jimmy,” Silco says with a sense of familiarity and a warm smile. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“Damn right, I haven’t!” The man cackles. When Silco extends his hand for a shake, Captain Jimmy pulls him into a tight hug. “Glad to see you aren’t dead, my lad!” 

You bite back a laugh at the display. Silco looks like a cat that has just been doused with cold water. 

“I could say the same to you.” His discomfort is palpable and you see no reason to intervene. The azure parrot makes a squawking noise that sounds like a human chuckle. You glance at the bird with a fond smile. It gazes back at you as if it can read your thoughts. Its gaze is so intense that you find yourself looking away. 

Silco has managed to extract himself from the eccentric man’s embrace. “I’m not here on a social call, I’m afraid. I have something for you.”

“Oh?” Captain Jimmy raises a bushy grey brow before sliding his gaze over to you. “Well, she’s pretty but I don’t deal in that sort of trade. You know that.”

“Oh! No,” Silco shakes his head and stammers. “Not her. She’s a different sort of investment.”

You huff with indignation at his choice of words but say nothing. 

“I’d prefer to discuss this inside,” Silco presses. 

“Shady deal! Shady deal!” The azure parrot screeches. 

“Hush now, Barnaby!” Captain Jimmy snaps. “I know damn well Captain Silco brings me nothing but shady deals. You needn’t insult me by stating the obvious.”

The parrot looks abashed. You did not know a parrot could convey such an expression. 

“Come in,” Captain Jimmy steps to the side and ushers you and Silco into his home. 

The inside of the small home reminds you of Silco’s cabin. It is crammed to the gills with interesting baubles, trinkets, and artifacts. 

You try to hide your surprise when Captain Jimmy waits for the blue parrot, Barnaby, to fly into the sitting room. The parrot settles on a perch in the corner of the room. 

“You look thirsty, lass,” Captain Jimmy says to you. “May I offer you a refreshment?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” you say, summoning your most charming smile. Once Captain Jimmy has moved out of sight, you turn to Silco. “You should take notes in regards to manners.”

“Oh, I think I’ve been more than generous with you, treasure,” he murmurs with a glimmer in his eye. “At least, that’s the impression I got when you screamed my name-”

“Hush!” You snap just before Captain Jimmy returns carrying two hollowed-out coconuts. 

“One for you and one for me, lass,” he grins, showing off several missing teeth. 

“You’re too kind,” you say as you take in the fruity fragrances of the drink he offered. You take a sip and can’t help but sigh at the sensation of sweet flavors exploding on your tongue. “Oh, this is lovely! What is it?”

“A carefully curated and blended assortment of fruit juices from the surrounding land. Though it looks rather barren, this place is a treasure trove of natural wonder.” “Oh, I’m sure,” you nod as you take another deep sip of the delicious juice. “I can’t imagine those parrots would stick around otherwise.” Through the window, you can see clusters of ruby-red parrots chirping at each other and fluttering their striking wings. 

“True enough!” Captain Jimmy cackles. “Shame I can’t get rid of this one.” He jerks a thumb toward Barnaby, who fluffs up his feathers as though he’s heard every word. 

“Old bastard,” Barnaby croaks. 

“Waste of poultry,” Captain Jimmy fires back. 

Before you can comment on the odd exchange, Silco speaks up. 

“As much as I’d like to chat, I am here for a reason.” He reaches into his coat pocket and produces a pouch. You recognize the faint blue glow bleeding through the fabric. “What sort of trouble have you brought me now?” Captain Jimmy grumbles as he sets down his hollow coconut. You sip at your drink while Silco spills the two glowing blue stones into his palm. 

“We ran into a waterwyrm and got these for our trouble,” he says. “Any chance you can give me gold in exchange for them?”

Captain Jimmy thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “No gold but I have a decent trade, I believe. Let me see.” He gets to his feet and walks toward an empty wall before pulling down a sheet of canvas covered in writing. There is so much information and you struggle to understand what you read. 

You see a list of creatures listed out in a neat collum, the waterwyrm among them. When it is all laid out in front of you, you understand. The night in the tavern at Port Fairna, you believed Silco and his associates to be speaking in code. Now, you realize you were mistaken. Every mythical creature you heard mentioned that night is plastered on the canvas in front of you. If the waterwyrm is real, you cannot deny that the others must be real, too. 

So, what does that make Silco? Is he a pirate? Does he poach creatures of myth for money? Is he more than that? Is he less than that?

“They’re all real?” You murmur softly, more to yourself than either of the men as you take another refreshing sip of the sweet juice. 

“All these?” Captain Jimmy responds, rapping his bony knuckles against the canvas sheet. “Of course!” He shoots Silco a withering look. “Have you taught her nothing?”

“She has a talent for learning things on her own,” Silco replies.

You are too caught up in reading the list of creatures to throw a verbal barb back at Silco. At first, you’re pleased that you recognize most of the creatures listed from studying various mythologies but you quickly withdraw your enthusiasm. 

After witnessing the waterwyrm, nothing should give you much of a shock but seeing just how many fairytales are actually true makes you feel uneasy. That horrible feeling of uncertainty and imbalance squeezes at your throat again. Your breath comes a little quicker but you hide it by taking quick sips of your drink. You feel lightheaded but you are determined to breathe through it. 

“Would you like another drink, lass?” Captain Jimmy offers. 

“Yes, thank you,” you say. “It is quite a trek to get to your hidden abode.”

Captain Jimmy takes your hollow coconut to refill it. When he’s out of sight, Silco places his hand over yours. 

“Are you alright?” He asks. 

“Just tired. Out of breath. I’m not used to walking over such challenging terrain,” you say. Silco’s good eye narrows just a touch and you can tell he doesn’t fully believe you. Before he can press the matter, Captain Jimmy returns. 

“Here you are, lass. Careful now,” he cautions. “Few can handle more than three servings of my juice.”

“Why is that?” You ask before taking a long sip, allowing the sweetness to settle your nerves. 

“Well, I mix it with the most potent rum found west of Ionia,” he replies. “It’s not for the faint of heart nor drink.”

You swallow your last swig and summon a smile. “Is that so? I can’t taste anything other than fruit juice.”

“That’s the trick of it,” Captain Jimmy lets out a wheezing laugh. “It sneaks up on you.”

“May we return to business, please?” Silco cuts in, a soft snarl in his voice. You fall silent, more than happy to let the attention move away from you. 

Barnaby flutters over, his wings creating small gusts that send your loose hair flying. 

“Drink up, pretty one,” he chitters. “Drink up!”

“You are a very clever bird,” you murmur to him. “Do you like to be pet?”

“Pretty lady pet pretty bird.”

“Oh, I see,” you chuckle softly and run a fingertip over Barnaby’s sapphire head. He rumbles softly as you lavish affection upon him.

“I don’t have enough gold to buy a mermaid’s wish, but I can arrange a trade.”

At the word mermaid, you return your attention to the conversation between Captain Jimmy and Silco. Silco’s upper lip twitches as he shakes his head. 

“I need gold, Jimmy. I can’t go through the trouble of trade after trade,” he says. 

Captain Jimmy frowns. “Then I can’t help you today, old friend. I can check up on some old contacts but you know that will take time.”

Silco goes silent for a moment. He looks at his hands as he appears to be lost in thought. After a while, he looks up. “No trades, but I will leave one wish with you and see if I can’t put the other to use.”

“Wish?” You blurt without thinking. 

Silco turns to you with an expression of annoyance. “I’ll explain it later, treasure. Finish your drink. There is no reason to linger here.”

“Are you sure?” Captain Jimmy says. “You look like you could use a drink, Silco.”

“You aren’t wrong, but now that you’ve given my companion two servings of your special juice, I need to ensure she gets back to the ship safely.”

“I’m fine!” You protest with a frown. 

“Oh? Stand up for me,” Silco challenges.

With a haughty sigh, you do as he asks. The moment you are standing tall, the world spins. You wobble and make several futile attempts to right yourself before Silco reaches out to steady you. 

You are thoroughly drunk. That damn juice was more deceptive than your captor. 

“What is it with pirates and their inability to offer any drinks that aren’t spiked with something or other?” You grumble as you finish off the last of your drink. You’re already sauced. There is no sense in letting it go to waste. You do not wish to be a rude guest. 

“Why do you keep drinking things without checking to see what’s in them? That seems like the better question from where I stand,” Silco says. 

“I never had to think about that until now,” you huff. 

“She’s a bit of a mess, isn’t she?” Barnaby asks, looking at Captain Jimmy with an almost human level of intelligence. 

“What did that bird just say?” you whisper to Silco. The rum obviously had more of an effect on you than you realized.

“You’re a mess,” the blue parrot repeats.

“Now, see here-”

“Treasure, you do realize you’re about to argue with a parrot, right?” Silco gently takes hold of your chin and redirects your gaze so you are looking into his eyes. 

“Right,” you stammer, giving your head a little shake. “You’re right. I apologize.”

“You’re fine, lass. The rum is strong and Barnaby likes to provoke,” Captain Jimmy says before turning to Silco. “I’ll contact you if I get any gold for your mermaid’s wish. Don’t hold your breath, though. Very few have that kind of gold.”

“You know me, Jimmy. I always have to try,” Silco says. “Besides, I still have the other one. I can make something of this.”

“If anyone can, it’s you. Heading out, I suppose?”

“I should get this one to a place where she can’t get into trouble,” Silco says, giving you a gentle nudge. 

“Let the pretty mess stay,” Barnaby squawks before landing close to you. You reach out and gently pet his head. He blinks slowly and leans into your touch. 

“We have to catch the tide,” Silco says. “I’ll be in touch, Captain.” 

“Of course!”

Captain Jimmy waves you off with a flourish as Silco helps you down the trail leading away from the slapdash homestead. 

“Is it just me or is something off about that parrot?” You whisper as you lean on Silco, allowing him to guide you. 

He looks over his shoulder and takes a few more steps before whispering back to you, “just between you and me, I think Barnaby is a man trapped in a parrot’s body.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “You’re joking, surely.”

“He’s always been more vocal than the other parrots and he doesn’t seem to mimic phrases. Captain Jimmy specializes in trading rare goods. A parrot with the intelligence of a man would fall into that category.”

“Oh, that makes me uneasy.” 

The sandstone landscape pitches and you cling to Silco to keep yourself upright. “Why didn’t you warn me about the juice?”

“Honestly? I figured you needed a drink after your ordeal last night. I didn’t think you’d gulp it down and asked for seconds. That’s not very heiress-like of you.”

“I was parched after the trek up here!” You protest. “Of course, I was thirsty.”

Silco chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re right. I miscalculated. I should have said something. But how do you feel?”

You go still and pay attention to your body. Your limbs feel loose and your mind is pleasantly fuzzy. You know there are many things you should feel stressed about but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“This is a nice respite from coherent thought, I won’t lie,” you admit. 

It is later in the day that you initially realized. The late afternoon sun has broken through a thin patch of clouds and now shines on the ocean, turning the water into liquid gold. You move toward the light, forcing Silco to follow you. You do not even notice the edge of the plateau until he prevents you from moving forward and pulls you closer to him. 

“I would prefer it if you didn’t fall to your death, treasure,” he says, his voice low and velvety. 

“How gallant,” you murmur back. Your gaze settles on the dark silhouette of the Zaun’s Revenge, bobbing peacefully against the dock. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Are you sure? Last time I brought up this particular subject I’m certain you envisioned all the ways you could end my life.”

“Now you’ve made me truly curious. Out with it.”

What you thought was a confident question evaporates on your tongue and you’re left scrambling for words through a fruity rum haze.

“The life you’ve given Jinx is a life I would kill to have. You, and those serving on your ship, have the freedom that so many dream of. Why would you work against that in search of what you think is a real home?”

Silco stiffens at your words and you worry you’ve pinched a nerve but he eventually lets out a long sigh. 

“Why do you think we are free?” He asks.

“I spent many years at sea with my father. During those years, I felt the most free. I felt like my true self.”

“But during those years, did you not have an estate you could return to whenever you pleased?”

“Well, yes,” you answer. “But I do not like the family estate.”

“Whether you like it or not is irrelevant.” A sharp edge sneaks into his voice. “When you played at being a seafarer, there was always a safe option. You could return to a plush home filled with luxuries.”

“But I didn’t want to,” you reiterate.

“But you were also never in real danger,” Silco points out. “Jinx has no other home. She has nowhere to flee if things become too dangerous. If something happens to me, no one will go out of their way to make sure she’s okay. We need to have a place away from the ship, away from everything we do. I need to give her a home that can never be taken from her, even if something happens to me.”

A horrible sense of guilt fills you. Shame colors your cheeks as you watch the golden water dance. 

“I didn’t think of it that way. I’m sorry,” you say. When Silco says nothing for a long while, a horrible feeling makes your stomach twist up in knots. “It’s good of you to want Jinx to have a safe haven to flee to. Will my ransom go toward that?”

Your question seems to catch him off guard. 

“In a way,” he answers. “There are some debts to be paid and some investments to be made, but yes. Your ransom will put us closer to a safe home.”

“And the stone eye from the waterwyrm? What will that do for you?” You ask. 

“Eventually, Captain Jimmy will find someone prepared to pay its worth in gold. I expect that will take months, even years. But those profits will go towards making a safe haven for me and mine.”

“But there are two stones. What will you do with the other one?”

Silco looks down at you with a faint smile. “I think you’ve had a little bit too much rum to worry about my trade. We need to head back to the ship. We already docked far later in the day than I would have liked.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“Yes, I am,” he grins as he guides you back down the trail. He keeps you close as you navigate the winding path, hugging the sandstone formation. You wobble and trip over your own feet often but he never gives you grief for it. At most, he chuckles and tucks you under his arm more securely. 

“Why did you call those glowing stones mermaid’s wishes?” You ask. 

“Just focus on putting one foot in front of the other, treasure,” Silco urges. “I can’t have you tumbling down a canyon. It’s bad enough you were injured when the waterwyrm made its appearance.” 

“Oh, do you care about me, pirate?” You taunt.

“If I have to trek through a valley to find you when you fall victim to your carelessness, I’ll have to carry you back to the ship. If I have to do that, I’ll miss the opportunity to scope the market. That’s bad for business. I dislike practices that are bad for business.” 

“Lucky for you, I enjoy exploring markets more than I enjoy falling into valleys,” you say, though you need his constant support as you navigate the thin trail toward Port Squawkfeather.

The sun is just barely kissing the horizon when you and Silco reach the market. He browses silently with a look of deep concentration nestled between his furrowed brows. You stay quiet, not wishing to interrupt him as you take in your surroundings.

As you pass a table filled with exotic fruits, Silco stops. He picks up a pomegranate and inspects it as though he were assessing a diamond. 

“One crate, please,” he says to the shopkeeper, who looks both shocked and delighted at such a request. They quickly set about packaging an entire crate of pomegranates while you stare at the one Silco holds in his hand. 

Pomegranates are your favorite. Your rum-addled mind can’t conjure a more enticing prize. 

“Here, treasure.” Silco tosses the pomegranate to you and you manage to catch it. You bring it to your chest like some greedy little scavenger as he gives the vendor the information they need. 

You marvel at the color of the fruit like it’s some kind of precious jewel. You are so absorbed in your examination that your mind barely registers the flash of pink in the corner of your eye. 

You go still. You lift your gaze. You turn your head slowly until you spot someone familiar.

Violet. Captain Vander’s first mate. You recognize her hair and her steely demeanor. She does not face you directly, but she is clearly searching the market for signs of you. She must have seen the Zaun’s Revenge docked and idle. 

Beside her is a slender young woman with a shiny sheet of deep blue hair. She clutches a pristine rifle in her hands as she scans the market with sharp eyes. 

For a split second, you prepare to call out to them. They can take you back to Vander, back to your father. But the words get stuck in your throat. 

You look at Silco as he arranges for the crate of pomegranates to be delivered to his ship. You hear his words about wanting a safe place for Jinx echo through your mind. Your ransom will help with that. 

“Captain,” you murmur softly. Your tongue feels like lead as you tug on his sleeve. 

“Treasure?” He looks at you, arching a brow. 

“I…feel ill from that juice. I’d like to return to the ship, please.”

His ocean eye fills with sympathy before he gives you a quick nod. He gives instructions to the fruit seller before tucking you under his arm and guiding you back toward the docks.

“I shouldn’t have let you have that second drink,” he says quietly. 

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you say. “Perhaps Arlo can funnel some solid food into my system and give me some water.”

“I’m sure he can,” Silco nods.

You are returned to the ship and quickly disappear below deck. You flee to the galley under the guise of helping Arlo, as you promised. You do just that, but as you work on making new labels for everything in the scullery, you can’t help but wonder if you made a mistake not seizing your chance to escape. Worse than that, you wonder why you didn’t want to seize such a chance in the first place. 

[aequitas-if]

Genres: Superhero Fiction, Action, Mystery, Romance

Rating : 16+ for depictions of violence, drug use, mature themes and language.

[[DEMO]] [[RO Character Profiles]] [[Other Characters Profiles]] [[Timeline]] [[Pinterest]]

Aequitas. There was a time when it was a household name (...or there was six years ago). There was no way the team could have avoided attracting attention. A group of heroes, let alone a group of teenage heroes, was always going to attract the world's attention.

Whether it was stopping crimes, combating villains, or protecting civilians, heroics added a sense of completion that other things could not.

It is inevitable that all good things in life come to an end, including the group that once protected Metanoia.

Although the name has lost its renown, a part of you still feels a slight sense of pride whenever the name of the ragtag group of young heroes is uttered. On some level, you assume that's to be expected.

After all, you used to lead it.

• Play as a former(?) vigilante that is suddenly thrown back into the world of heroics. Once the (superpowerless) leader of an unstoppable group of heroes, you are now job-hopping in order to stay afloat.

• Train a new group of (unskilled) new young (far too young) heroes (not at all against your will)!

• Customize your MC’s current personality (their past personality is a different story…) and appearance!

• Reunite with your former teammates and look back on what exactly led to your team disbanding (and try not to repeat your past mistakes).

• Form bonds with new friends and rebuild bonds with old ones.

• Reminiscence on your past and remind yourself what led you down the path of heroics in the first place.

• Romance your former (friends) teammates

• Defeat the villains and save the world (again). Obviously.

The (Original) Team [ROs]

Alexandria “Alex” Andeno [She/Her]

Alias: Elysian

The former co-leader of Aequitas, Alexandria Andeno is a force to be reckoned with. With her tactical mind as well as her unbeatable strength and stamina, Alex acts as the perfect warrior as well as the perfect protector to both civilians and her fellow heroes.

With her diplomatic and compassionate disposition she easily fell into the role of the team “big sister” and it was a title she wore with pride. She is someone that had always given great advice so it is unsurprising that she went on to become a therapist. However, there seems to be shadows of discontentedness hiding in different aspects of both her personal life and career.

Napoleon Jasper “Jasp” Walker [He/Him]

Alias: Momentum

Your (former?) best friend. Loudmouthed and snarky, Jasper’s mouth runs almost as fast as him (a remarkable feat truly). Due to his (self-given) role as the goofball (moron) and prankster of the team, Jasper was not only a thorn in your side but also everybody elses.

Despite his rashness, Jasper is incredibly skilled and intelligent- a fact that is made abundantly clear from the awards hanging on his childhood bedroom wall as well as his job as a scientist at one of the most technologically advanced labs in the world. However despite his flaws you can always count on him to have your back (or that’s how it used to be).

Zhiuxzoe “Zoe” Smith [She/Her]

Alias: Onism

An alien from another planet, Zoe is truly an interesting being to be around. Despite her overly naive attitude, her bubbly and kind disposition make it truly difficult to be mad at her.

The most (openly) upset about the team disbanding, she is the only one who has went out of their way to keep in contact with all of the former members. Her overly inquistive and curious nature led her to journalism which she does exceptional job in despite it putting her in a position where her out of this world nature being revealed is at risk.

Rowan Parker [He/Him]

Alias: Kalon

Rowan Parker is the human embodiment of a forest fire- intense, pretty from a distance, and will 100% burn you if you get too close.

The former “bad boy” of Aequitas and currently a mechanic, his hot-headed demeanor is what led to him being the first to leave the team and was the main factor in his (initially one-sided) rivalry with you. Rowan is the only other (former) member of Aequitas that still fights crime, of course now and days he’s leaning more towards “anti-hero” then hero…

Vesper ??? [They/Them]

Alias: Lacuna

The kid that (forced) got you back in the game. An individual made up of all knowing smiles and snarky remarks, Vesper is an enigma that nobody can truly solve. They usually put up a hyperactive and occassionally “ditzy” attitude…although sometimes if you look close enough you can see something else lurking in the depths of their eyes.

Leonardo “Leon” Cabello [He/Him]

Alias: Curio

Compassionate yet uncertain, Leon is quite clearly the newest to the heroics business (of course that might be because of the ancient artifact forcing him into it…). With managing both schoolwork and heroics as well as being the only one on the team with any common sense, Leon has his work cut out for him.

Juniper “Juni” Kent [She/Her]

Alias: Apricity

Loud, hyperactive, and a bit obnoxious, Juniper Kent is about everything you would expect a teenage superhero to be. You’re more likely to find her playing on her phone then patrolling the city but behind her somewhat childish and excitable personality lies a truly kind and selfless indvidual that wants to help others.

Lenora “Nora” Croce [She/Her]

Alias: Moira

Painfully timid and incredibly kind, Nora is one of the most selfless people you will ever meet which is saying a lot considering she is in a group of other heroes. She would give you the clothes on her back and more if she needed to. Just make sure not to get on her bad side…

Sebastian Barrere [He/Him]

Alias: Calamity

The human version of the anti-christ, Sebastian Barrere is bratty, uptight, and just a little bit petty. Wanting nothing more than to prove himself both to the world and his mother, Sebastian focuses all his time on getting stronger. However there might be something kinder lurking beneath the surface of his prickly attitude.