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cityandking · 1 month

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new tricks

middy/eniko + uncharted au. 2.6k. human shield requested by @two-crabs + gunpoint requested by anonymous // angst prompts tw for some gun violence, minor blood & injury. middy belongs to @snapdragonling

Enikö’s first thought is, I shouldn’t have left her.

Well. In truth his first thought is a great deal more colorful, and the one after that is a smothered, seeping rage about the job and the money and her bleeding fucking heart and the stupid, half-calcified thing in his own chest. But what it boils down to, eventually, is the sunk-gut fear and the chime of too late too late too late ringing in his ears as he backtracks. He’s glad, at least, that they’d endeavored to pass through the ruins as carefully as possible; their path is undisturbed, and he saves time scrambling up the ladders he’d dropped for her rather than inventing new pathways through the crumbling stone and rotting wood. He makes it back to the central square in record time, but of course she’s gone—her, and Farago’s men too, muddy tire tracks beating back across the bridge. It’s the stupidest thing, the most reckless, and he’s already halfway around the square, clinging to shadows in the lengthening afternoon, before he realizes he’s doing it.

The girls are never going to let him live this down.

He catches up with them as evening descends, slowing at the telltale sounds of a camp being set for the night—shouted orders, the creak and rumble of the trucks parking, steady swearing at the thick mud from the last round of summer rains. The shadows welcome him as he approaches, sliding between thick shrubs and thicker tree roots until he finds a decent vantage point to observe the operation.

At least they haven’t returned to base camp—he’ll take his victories where he can get them. Instead it’s just the strike team hunkering down for the night. They’ve got not quite a half dozen popup tents, three trucks—maybe twelve men all told, in addition to— He scans the camp again, heart loud, seeking— please, please let her be—

Yes, there. He catches the flicker of orange with a sweeping wave of relief. He’d told her it was a stupid thing to wear out in the jungle but he’s glad for it now, watching them lower her out of the back of a truck with the ridiculous scarf, muddied and bedraggled, looped over her shoulders. They’ve tied her hands but clearly not her mouth; he watches her kick and argue as they pass her along like a sack of flour, and someone recoils when she spits.

Despite everything, amusement flares warm in his chest. She'll give them hell, that's certain.

He waits only long enough to see where she ends up—one of the tents at the far side of camp—before he starts moving. Now is the best time, while they’re busy with building and dinner and settling in for the night. He tracks a wide, silent circle around their clearing, gun in one hand and ears sharp, but none of them are any match for his training. What irony, he thinks with a humorless smile, and then it’s full dark and he’s slipping through the shadows around the back of the tent where they’ve hidden her. He crouches low, listening for a moment, but there’s no sound inside to indicate anyone has noticed him, no movement against the faint glow of a camping lantern shining inside. Carefully, slowly, he slides a knife out of his boot and finds the seam of the cloth. The rustle of the night and the singing of the cicadas covers the ripping stitches, and when there’s a gap large enough for him to slide through, he eases his pistol out of its holster and ducks into the tent, which is—

Empty.

There's nothing but a big, empty hollow of tarp and canvas—not so much as a cot laid out, only the dim lantern hanging from the highest point of the ceiling, a dull glow barely enough to seep through the canvas. He turns slowly, still crouched, but there’s no sign that anyone has been in here at all. There’s no guard, and certainly no prisoner. Has he picked the wrong tent? But he’d been so sure—

“Looking for something?”

He’s on his feet in a heartbeat, knife in one hand and gun in the other, leveled unflinchingly at the figure in the door flap.

“Or should I say, someone?”

No, not figure. Figures. Plural.

“I wondered if you might show up,” says Farago, one hand clenched tight around Middy’s shoulder as he propels her into the light. Farago hides behind her, coward that he is, but Enikö isn't watching him—he's staring at Middy and the tight-lipped smile she gives him, jaw flexing against the muzzle of Farago’s pistol where it sits just next to her ear. For a heartbeat, something flashes through him, some fear or fury, and then he does what he has always done and smothers it.

"Cassius."

"Hello, boy."

Farago's smile is a genial, dangerous thing. Enikö holds himself perfectly still, mind racing. He'd been prepared for trouble, but not this. The man had been back at base camp. The man was supposed to be back at base camp.

"You know," Farago says, almost pleasant, "Miss Moorhop was was quite adamant you wouldn't bother coming back, now that you've got what you were looking for. I'm a little surprised myself, truthfully."

“I would hate to get predictable,” Enikö returns. Farago’s grin widens.

“Yes I’m sure you would. You always did like to stand out, didn’t you.” It isn't a question, and he isn't looking for an answer. "Weapons on the ground, if you don't mind. All of them. Don't forget I know your tricks."

Enikö's mouth pinches in irritation—he's no old dog, and he still learns plenty well—but Middy catches his eye, and something in her gaze silences him before he can bite.

"It's alright," she says. Her voice is hoarse, and there's mud in her hair and across her face, but otherwise she looks unharmed. She gives him the tiniest, faintest nod. "Do it."

So he does. The gun first, and then the knife, and then the other he keeps at the small of his back, and the one strapped to his forearm, and the one under his jacket. It's a comfortable little pile he makes on the ground, and when he's shed his blades he stands before Farago, empty handed. It's an unpleasantly familiar position.

"And the artifact."

"I don't have it," Enikö returns smoothly. "I am not that stupid."

Farago gives him a long searching look, which Enikö meets evenly. He may be desperate, but he would have to be an idiot to walk directly into camp with his only true bargaining chip on his person.

"Where did you leave it?"

"Why would I tell you?"

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear." Farago cocks the gun and sets it carefully, pointedly, at Middy's temple. The color washes out of her face, but she holds herself still and silent. Enikö wonders for a moment if she truly trusts him this much, or if it's her own self-preservation, trying to disappear in plain sight.

"The location," Farago prompts, any trace of geniality gone from his voice, and Enikö wonders, for a heartbeat, that old student's curiosity, just how far he can push before—

"Now," says Farago, and this time Middy does squeak as the hand around her shoulder tightens, Farago's knuckles going white. His finger twitches at the trigger, and Enikö folds like a house of cards.

"The old square," he says, heart tripping in his chest. All these years later and he's still playing right into Farago's hand. "The basin on the western side. There is a stone behind the eye. It's there."

The silence rings when he finishes speaking, stretching on for a heartbeat— two— three—

"There," Farago says, sliding his finger off the trigger, and Middy sags. Enikö nearly does the same; only years of practice keeping his spine straight in Farago's presence holds him upright. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"You don't deserve the find," Enikö says. "It should be mine."

"If that makes you feel better," he shrugs, careless. "Good little hound, aren't you, playing fetch for your master."

He doesn't think, which is what he'll blame later for the sudden, overwhelming lack of self preservation that sends him diving at Farago. The wide-eyed shock is more gratifying than Enikö could have possibly imagined—it almost makes up for the crack of gunfire and the sudden, searing pain in his shoulder that drives him to his knees.

"Nikö!"

"Don't be stupid," Farago says mildly, and Enikö vision swims for a moment. The man stares down at him, face blank and aim steady as Enikö bares his teeth, and then Middy is there, knelt between him and the barrel.

"Don't," she says, face tilted up, hands clenched into fits where they're bound behind her. His stomach twists; she shouldn't beg for him, shouldn't care nearly so much about what happens to him. "Don't, please, he told you where it was."

For a moment, Enikö thinks Farago might shoot anyway—neater that way, both of them gone, nothing but a ruined tent and a pile of old knives—but he sighs and plucks the walkie talkie off his belt instead.

"Finch."

The walkie crackles. "Go for Finch."

"The old square," he says, still watching them dispassionately. Enikö breathes through his teeth, shoulder throbbing, blood hot and itching where it drips down his arm. It's not that bad, not really. Just a surprise, that's all. "A basin on the western wall. Fetch it and bring it back."

"Copy, boss," comes the response, and the walkie crackles off. Farago slides it back onto his belt.

"Now we'll see," he allows. "If either of you tries anything, or if you have lied to me, I'll shoot one of you and leave the other to bleed out with the body. I'll even let you pick who goes first—I'm feeling generous today."

Enikö can't see what face Middy makes, but he sees her flinch.

"Bastard," he spits. Farago smiles.

"You would know," he returns, stepping out of the tent. For a moment, Enikö's eyes fall on the weapons on the floor, but then there's a new pair of soldiers stepping into the tent, broad and heavy in their armor, their automatics loose and ready in their hands, and Enikö had had enough stupidity for the evening. When one of them steps forward to bind his hands behind his back, he lets them without a word. His shoulder burns, but that's alright. He should have been smarter. Farago has always been a deft hand with dealing out punishments to fit the mistake.

"Are you okay?" he asks Middy. Outside comes the revving of engines and the glare of headlights, and then the rumbling of the trucks fades. Enikö counts two—that leaves one nearby.

"Fine," she says, and now that Farago's gone there's a waver in her voice, a half-wild look in her eye, and the start of a bruise at the corner of his mouth that sends that same fear-fury flash through him. "He shot you."

He wishes he could say it was the first time. "I've had worse."

"You've had—!"

"It's alright."

She mutters something under her breath—a curse, maybe—and then lets out a long, slow breath and closes her eyes. When she opens them, there's a sharpness to her gaze that he hasn't seen before.

"What?"

She gives him a look, pointed. "You came back."

"For all the good it did."

"You came back for me."

"I—" He cuts himself off. When he imagined this in his head, it did not involve sitting around as prisoner with the woman watching him so closely. What else is he supposed to say? "Yes."

He expects her to push, to make some comment on his heart of the lack thereof, to blame him for letting her go in the first place. But she only smiles and shuffles over, perched up on her knees to grin at him. He narrows his eyes. There's something going on behind that bright gaze of hers, and he doesn't know what it is but he isn't sure he likes it.

"Are you going to make a fuss about this?"

"No," she says, still smiling, and she leans up to press a lingering kiss to his cheek.

He nearly swears—nearly jumps—but her voice murmurs, low in his ear, "Lockpicks, left boot."

And then she's pulling back again, sitting with her ankles tucked under her, angled so he can reach without alerting the guards, both of whom look more than a little uncomfortable at the display. Minx. He swallows back an unexpected burst of pride.

"I knew you cared," she says, which nearly makes him snort.

"I thought you believed it was unlikely," he returns, slipping a hand down to grope for her ankle.

"Of course not. That was all talk."

"Ah, talk. Of course." His fingers close around something slim and light, and he tugs the picks out, twisting them around to get at his cuffs. His arm burns, but they're simple things, easy to get off, and then he presses the picks into her waiting palm. "Simply an idle besmirching of my good name."

"Exactly." She's even quicker with the tools than he is, and he feels the way her shoulders ease when the lock clicks. "I hope you don't mind?"

"You can make it up to me," he offers, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, and then he's moving. The shoulder slows him down, but only a little, and the guards fall one after the other with a wheeze and thud of armor. Enikö winces.

"They will check in on that soon," he says, crouching to collect his weapons, slotting his gun back into its holster and his knives back into their sheathes. He touches the hilts one by one, each one a comfort. "We must move quickly."

"Wait, first—" She tugs her scarf off and nudges him to lean down so she can tie it around the sluggish bleed of his shoulder. "Can we beat them back to the square? If we take a shortcut?"

He frowns at her. "Why would we go back?"

She looks at him like he's grown another head. "The artifact. If you hid it—"

"It isn't there," he says. Middy pauses.

"What?"

"I have it. Here." He slides his good arm under his jacket and unzips the hidden pocket, sliding the thick gold disk of the star map out into the open. It glints dully in the lamplight. "Safe and sound."

She stares at it for a moment, then yanks the knot of her scarf tight with enough force that Enikö nearly drops the map. He bites down hard on a curse.

"You idiot," she hisses. "What were you thinking—"

"I came to rescue you," he returns. For some reason, he finds himself griped with the urge to smile. "Didn't you know I would? Or was it all talk?"

"You—! I'm going to strangle you!"

"Perhaps after we leave."

"And how are we going to do that, Mr. I Walk Into The Enemy Camp With Ancient Artifacts Strapped To My Back?"

"Quite the mouthful."

"Enikö!"

He shrugs and crouched over the guards, rifling through their pockets. It is unlikely, but if his is lucky, if for once luck is on his side...

The keys are in the shorter man's inner jacket, and he raises them with a grin. It's her, he's certain—a small, bright, unquenchable good luck charm.

"I don't suppose you know how to drive one of those trucks?"

Middy blinks at him, and blinks at him again, and then grins, a sharp and clever little thing.

"I've never tried," she says, "but I'm sure I could figure it out."

#and then they set everything on fire and ride off in a blaze of glory #mine; writing #mine; eniko #writing; eniko #.au #.uncharted au #eniko #r: m.a.e.#r: hunting hound

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riyasharma24mr-blog · 6 years

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cityandking · 3 months

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1, 14, 23, 42 for dairef, middy/eniko and um [checks notes] dai/ozy for a laugh

thanks my dear!! // send me a ship

1. How do they fall asleep? Wake up? Any daily rituals?

DAI/ZAREF — I feel in my heart that they're both disciplined about keeping regular bedtimes (quest permitting) and waking up early. dai is always up with the sun to go pray/meditate, and then after he and zaref will spar, and then it's time to wash up and make breakfast (daichi cooks). MIDDY/ENIKO — eniko will stay up late no matter how hard middy tries to coax him to bed, but the longer they're together the more that means staying in bed with a book/tablet/computer as she falls asleep (if he's having a particularly restless night he'll leave the room so he doesn't bother her and come to bed much later—though it's always a bit of a challenge navigating the millions of pillows that spawn in bed when middy is around). mornings are a little easier—it's a tossup who wakes up first, but they'll both the other one sleep in whenever possible. waking up slow and all that. DAI/OZY — this is so funny. given ozy's current *waves hand* everything, I'm imagining daichi turns in first (always on schedule) and ozy shows up whenever (some time after the moon is in the sky). in the morning, daichi is still up early which probably means ozy is too. maybe he has coffee ready for them when dai finishes with his morning prayers

14. Anything they both dread?

DAI/ZAREF — they're equally invested in not losing the other one to the Void or some other horrible death (zaref has been much better at avoiding this than daichi). I think they're also both a little trepidatious about the Void-ified Underdark right now. MIDDY/ENIKO — I don't think their dreads intersect a whole lot, actually. broadly speaking there's the "something bad happening to the person I care about" fear, but their specific dreads move kind of in opposite directions—middy spends a lot of energy thinking about other people and eniko spends a lot of energy thinking about himself (I think maybe depending on the AU they'd both dread whatever's going on with loreth—middy because it's loreth, and eniko because it'll hurt middy) DAI/OZY — they're on the same page quite often about the bad situations they're walking into and the relative unpleasantness of them, but they're also both the kind of person who will just grit their teeth and do it, so I'm not sure dread is the right word. I guess they're both confirmed Not Fans Of The Traveler

23. How do they hug? Kiss? Tease? Flirt? Comfort?

DAI/ZAREF — daichi is Bad at flirting and also not great at teasing, but he gives a great hug. he is also very good at kissing zaref, because he's a good student and a quick study and zaref's preferences are the only ones he has experience with. zaref is good at flirting (and teasing) and daichi, despite being an awkward little dude, very much enjoys it when zaref goes through the trouble of flirting with him. they exchange a lot of physical comfort—hugs, touches, etc—and they're also better about talking things out directly than they used to be. MIDDY/ENIKO — they're a surprisingly tactile couple given eniko's endless issues. good hugs, very good kisses, lots of flirting and teasing. for eniko that's all fun, easy stuff he doesn't have to think too hard about, and he enjoys doing it with middy. comfort is harder. he's bad at giving comfort and really bad at accepting it; he'd rather nurse his hurt like a bruise than let anyone try to comfort him. it's maybe one of the most difficult parts of their relationship DAI/OZY — sorry this is so funny. um. I don't think they hug. I think there could be some really weird (read: fun) power dynamics to explore with how they kiss. ozy is both the tease and the flirt in this relationship, though daichi gets a certain sort of entertainment out of stonewalling him. (this is actually also flirting, in a "I know you can do better than that" kind of way. like I said. weird power dynamics.) ozy is canonically Bad at comfort, and dai doesn't try to comfort ozy so much as he tries to talk through thorny issues and concepts. I think maybe there's a kind of comfort in that though? like he's willing to meet ozy where he is for those conversations

42. Do they let each other get away with things that would normally bother them?

DAI/ZAREF — dai definitely lets zaref get away with more shit than anyone else. I feel like zaref is general inclined to let people get away with stuff, dai included (ozy is an outlier etc) but idk I don't hold the zaref lore. daichi's much more patient and gentler and inclined to look the other way with zaref than pretty much anyone else, sometimes to an unhealthy degree, tho it's been better recently MIDDY/ENIKO — yes, but mostly in the sense that the things that would normally bother him don't bother him when it's middy. she can get away with so much, and she knows this. (middy tends to let people get away with plenty that they shouldn't, so eniko tries to hold himself to a higher standard for her sake, particularly when it comes to communicating and being available) DAI/OZY — absolutely not. if anything ozy gets away with less than other people would. daichi's calling him on everything.

#lksdjfldk ty #some of these were surprisingly hard!#memery #r: m.a.e.#r: light through stained glass #r: tbd #fuckin rip daizy #daichi #eniko

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cityandking · 3 months

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i was listening to mr dermot kennedy's new song 'lucky' and it gave me a couple middy/eniko vibes

cool the first line punched me in the face 👍

#got me 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 on the metro #r: m.a.e.#music musing

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cityandking · 8 months

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I have like half a dozen aus rattling around my head right now including

hunger game au branwen a couple years after her games, shackled to the capital and so so good at playing its games but slowly starting to unravel under the endless horror (she finds purpose in these tiny, insignificant rebellions until a certain someone drops a comment at the edge of one of those interminable parties, and she's never sought out anyone involved with the games before but ozy makes it easy to get in touch) (idk if sabine would already be on board or not but I like to imagine a hushed rooftop conversation where the spark is finally back in bran's eyes and maybe they aren't Them yet but sabine finally gets why everyone was rooting for this wild-haired, windswept girl from Four)

hunger games au daichi, would would honestly rather die than take the life of another child forced into this, except that his father is old and fading and daichi will do anything to get back to him and make sure he's taken care of (the worst version of this is one where zaref is reaped the same game; the best is one where they stumble across each other after)

dark au girls where they're shipwrecked on some godforsaken spit of land and the navy is coming for them, but there's this minuscule chance that sabine's people will get there first, and even as they're saving each other's lives and working together to survive there's the understanding that one of them is going to walk away in chains (they don't; whoever's people get there first leaves the other to hide and doesn't mention their presence. one more strike between them, though at that point neither is quite sure what the score means or who's winning)

zombie au and that good ol' "who could shoot a loved one" question (daichi faced with his father; he could do it but it would break him. he'd just completely shatter. dai on his knees, silent, all his strings cut, and someone desperately trying to get him to move before the rest of the horde shows up)

that one au where middy and eniko are childhood friends reconnecting and I think probably eniko has gone through Some Shit since he last saw middy and there's a pretty heavy helping of "I can't be your friend again I'm not that kid anymore I'm all fucked up now" and middy being middy is like "you can't stop me" (and she's right! he can't! she's literally just as bright as she was back then and all the feelings he thought he'd shed or atrophied or forgotten come roaring back to life and he ends up on his back in branwen's apartment at like 2am stiltedly admitting "I.... like her" like it's the most awful thing and bran's like "oh buddy")

da: inquisition au spymaster eniko keeping tabs on everyone and captain ar calagri getting on his case about it

au where daichi and zaref get a night off to go bowling or something idek

#sometimes I fear that the whole ''hollow shell of your loved one'' sitch is gonna happen wrt papa amelkiir and the void #.au #sorry I am just a grab bag of slightly-to-very depressing au content and idk where to put it so. here is all of it.#.zombie au #.hunger games #r: m.a.e.

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cityandking · 7 months

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5, 10, 14, 18, 21 for vesper/cullen and middy/eniko!

tyyyyy // development questions for couples

5. How do they consciously realize that they like the other character? Does it take them a while?

VESPER/CULLEN — it takes ages. to be honest, vesper can't remember when it started, only that suddenly she was right in the middle of it. it was something innocuous, a moment of levity or commiseration over the war table, late into a meeting and deep into the night, everyone's eyes burning and shoulders aching. he said something and she caught his eye and the liking was suddenly there with her. (even then, she didn't put the liking together with the wanting until much later.) for his part, the realization came slightly earlier—he saw her from the outside, all that grace and strength and patience, and then got to know the woman underneath in quiet moments between the chaos (mostly late at night, neither of them particularly good at resting), and understood that his admiration was more than just admiration. MIDDY/ENIKO — it was somewhere crowded, a party or an outing or some other group setting, and he was sitting on the outskirts watching people move and his eyes kept finding her, the bright center of everything. it took a few times for him to realize he was seeking her out. he'd already liked her plenty—she's by far his favorite of bran's friends—but this was a different sort of looking and a different sort of attentiveness. it scared the shit out of him, which means he shoved all his feelings down as far as possible and was kind of a dick about it. he's so lucky middy is the very best person in the whole wide world.

10. What scares them about entering a relationship?

VESPER/CULLEN — vesper's intensely private and doesn't particularly enjoy people in her space—comes from growing up in a Circle where nobody really has any privacy or space to begin with. she's also got some general worries about not living up to expectations, her own or others, which isn't something she wants to worried about/put on a partner. fears of inadequacy, that sort of thing for cullen's part, there's the weight of his past failures and the ugliness of weaning himself off lyrium and his own fears about inadequacy and failure, all of which are things he doesn't necessarily want to bring into a relationship. fortunately they're much better about believing in each other than they are believing in themselves MIDDY/ENIKO — being seen, being known. he's seventeen layers of deceit and misdirection wrapped around a hollow shell and she's a light in a dark place and it scares the shit out of him. plus he's not good at any of this and doesn't want to be another thing that hurts her—nothing should ever hurt her, but especially not love. (trust is the hardest thing for him to give, but he gives it to her. if he's brave, it's because he's learned it from her.)

14. What makes them feel loved? Would they build up the courage to ask for it?

VESPER/CULLEN — having someone in her corner, literally or figuratively, does a lot for vesper. she'd never ask for cullen to step in for her or make her fight his own, but he tends to do that anyway. respecting her boundaries is a big one too, which is also something he's always been good about. tbh it's not having to ask for it that makes her feel the most seen and known and cared for. MIDDY/ENIKO — I'm not sure he even knows. probably something small and private that they share—the way she sometimes smiles just for him, maybe. he definitely wouldn't be able to ask for anything out loud, but I think they'd have their ways of reading each other and asking for things they need without words. he's much better at asking with actions anyway

18. They’re going through something incredibly difficult—perhaps they’re very sick, have lost a loved one, or have gone through a traumatic event. Do they ask for or accept support and care from their partner, or try to isolate themselves?

VESPER/CULLEN — vesper is historically very bad at asking for things she needs when she fears it would inconvenience anyone else, but I do think cullen tends to be an exception to that rule. she's more honest with him than she is with almost anyone, and there's a lot of trust there—to see her when she's vulnerable, to help, to not think any differently of her just because she needs support. they're both incredibly similar in trying to suffer alone in order to protect others, which makes them both pretty good at pointing out when they're self-isolating and need a little extra care. (vesper supporting him through the lyrium withdrawals lays a lot of good groundwork for future trials and tribulations.) MIDDY/ENIKO — he's shit at accepting support and even worse about asking for it. he doesn't like to be vulnerable and he doesn't like to rely on anyone and he hates being seen when he's small or weak or hurting. the only thing that keeps him from isolating himself entirely is that he's determined not to make things hard for middy, but it really sucks for everyone involved I think. (he'll cave eventually, probably—he's like a cat; you have to wait for him to come to you)

21. If sex is something that would be part of a relationship for them, do both or either of them have prior experiences? If not, how do they feel about it?

VESPER/CULLEN — sex isn't really something that interests vesper—she doesn't get that kind of attraction and pretty ambivalent about sex in general. she briefly had a lover in the circle, but that was mostly two curious kids exploring together, and in the end she decided she didn't particularly enjoy it and she's been perfectly happy to leave it by the wayside. I imagine cullen is a little more interested and has a little more experience, though I can't imagine it was ever anything particularly intimate. I think for the both of them there's a lot of exploring what they like and what they're willing to try and what they're getting out of the experience (intimacy, mostly). MIDDY/ENIKO — nikö has a lot of experience, though it's a really mixed bag. he's not much for intimacy, and his past experience have been pretty transactional (sometimes literally). that said, I think he and middy would have a lot of fun in the bedroom. I also think he'd be willing to give up control to her in a way he wouldn't with literally anyone else, which. yeah.

#me answering these: wow I love middy. middy is the best. middy nation rise.#ty for these my dear #r: m.a.e.#r: like quiet #memery

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cityandking · 1 year

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also I am thinking about a middy/eniko bodyguard au

#researcher middy who is a vital witness for *mumblemumble* and bodyguard eniko keeping her safe #.au #r: m.a.e.

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cityandking · 1 year

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🌈😚🔥☔ for an eniko ship of your choice!

I'm so sorry idk how I missed this but here's middy/eniko // otp headcanon questions

🌈 - What were their first impressions of each other?

nikö just thought she was bright. I'm not entirely sure how they met each other at the very beginning—probably through bran by way of sabine—but she was just. impossible to look at head-on. at the time he thought it was because she was way too friendly and energetic but no matter how much time they spent together the brightness never went away. to this day sometimes he looks at her and he's just. utterly blinded. (he doesn't mind it nearly as much now as he did back then.)

😚 - When one gets sick, what does the other do?

he is a surprisingly decent nursemaid. he's really pragmatic about it all, but that pragmatism involves like, not only taking care of her physical needs (meds, liquids, soup—he's a decent cook) but also making sure she's comfortable and content, or as content as anyone can be when they're sick. if she wants something, he's getting it for her. (as a patient eniko is a cranky little fuck who doesn't know his own limits. middy definitely has the worse end of this deal.)

🔥 - Who realized they were interested in who first?

I think enikö knew first and was so incredibly determined not to make a move. it was like—she's so lovely and open and good and he stains everything he touches and he wouldn't dare fuck it up with her. middy kissed him first, though—called his bluff and made the move and left him to reciprocate, and what the fuck else was he going to do? he loves her.

☔️ - How do they make up after a fight?

eniko apologizes. given that 99% of the time it's his fault, this is kind of to be expected. (the very first time they fought, she apologized to him for it and he was so scandalized by her apologizing for something that was 100% on him he's never let her do it again. which, like, to be clear, this doesn't translate perfectly into "he always apologizes first and right away" but he is very obstinate about her not apologizing for things that aren't her fault so. baby steps.)

#oh I love them #r: m.a.e.#memery

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cityandking · 2 years

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smallest hours

Her phone reads 3:34 and the bed is cold. [middy/eniko. roommates au. 1.2k. middy belongs to @darlingicarus]

my good god, it’s been an age. originally this was for the insomnia prompt for an old whumptober challenge. now (as always) it is for @forcekenobi. I can’t hug you, but these two can hug each other (ish) and that’s what counts. happy birthday my dear!

She can’t say what wakes her. It’s not even waking, not really, just the vague notion of consciousness plucking the edge of her mind like harp strings. She mumbles something indecipherable and reaches through the tangle of blankets and nest of pillows for Enikö, and finds the bed cold.

That wakes her properly. She blinks a little, blearily turning over to check the time. Her phone reads 3:34, blazing white numbers across her lock screen, half a dozen faces grinning back at her. She blinks again, vision clearing, and peers back at the far side of the bed as if to be sure, even though she already is, even though she was before she was even awake to be sure.

It isn’t the first time. It won’t be the last.

She yawns and nestles herself deeper into her nest. It hadn’t been like this the first time she’d stayed the night, everything crisp with tight corners, more than a little alien. At some point that had changed, bit by bit, piece by piece. He hadn’t said anything of it, and she had let him keep his silence, but now, with her blankets and her pillows—

Well, there’s still something missing. She sighs and stretches, squinting around the room. There’s no sign of him, nothing but the faint shine of light under the bedroom door, thoughtfully closed. She considers it for a mullish moment—it’s so late, and she’s so cozy—but her decision was made as soon as she woke. Before she woke.

She drags one of the blankets along with her, holding tight to the warmth as she pads across the hardwood and out the door. It swing silently open onto the wide, high-ceiling living room. The softness of their— his— the bed hasn’t crept in so far here, corners still sharp, furniture still squared-off and sleek, taking up as little space as possible. They don’t talk about that either, but she understands it too, the need to move. One of the windows is cracked open, even though the night is frigid. He doesn’t say, but she thinks it helps him breathe.

For his part, he sits on the couch, stark under a single lit lamp, frowning down at the tablet in his lap. Middy leans against the door frame, watching. He gives no sign he’s seen her, no sign that anything is off at all, even at half three in the morning, even sitting in the chill breeze in his sweatpants and bare skin.

There’s certainly something to be said for the unobstructed view.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he says without looking up. “I had something to take care of.”

“This late?”

He doesn’t so much as twitch, so whatever’s going through that ridiculous head of his certainly isn’t work. But she knew that when she woke up to a cold bed.

“Nikö—”

“Only a little longer.”

She huffs and pulls her blanket tighter around her shoulders to ward off the chill and trudges across the room. It’s a little strange. The first time she’d seen it she’d found the apartment bare, impersonal. Now the lack of barriers between her and her destination is a comfort. She can reach him like this, at least.

She perches on the couch near him, not quite touching but invitational, and after a moment he places the tablet on the coffee table, screen down.

“You do not need to wait up for me,” he says mostly to the table in front of him, a measured dismissal.

“Okay,” she says. She tucks her feet up under her where they’ll keep warm and closes her eyes and waits. After a long, silent minute he sighs.

“Middy.”

“Not waiting,” she says. “See? Eyes are closed.”

That doesn’t even win her a sigh. After a minute, she cracks an eyelid. He’s not looking at her, not really. His eyes trace the apartment. The thin, cold breeze cards through his hair, loose in his eyes for once. He looks so much more his age like this.

“You should go back to bed,” he says quietly. “It’s cold out here. You should sleep.”

“Shouldn’t you?” she returns, and something in him slumps, shoulders falling, tight-wound poise loosening.

“I,” he says, and stops. “I do not think I will be sleeping tonight.”

It’s more of an admittance than she expects. More than she usually gets, more than she would push for on a night like tonight, when he is loose and bare and sitting in the cold. She opens her other eye and frowns at him, tucking her chin over her knees, picking up one of the couch cushions to hold onto. It’s a warm, musty orange. Not a great softness, but softness nevertheless.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

His fingers, smoothing over the creases of his pants, go still.

“No,” he says, snorting, like this is funny. Maybe it is, a little, the two of them on the couch and him lying so poorly he’s given up entirely. It isn’t the word she would use. “Just— old ghosts.”

“Okay.” She’s proud of him, she thinks, for saying it. That certainly isn’t something he’d like to hear right now, so she tucks it into her chest with all the other things she’s waiting to say to him. Maybe she takes too much on faith in thinking that she’ll have the chance one day, but she’d rather the hope than the doubt. She deserves her hope, hard-earned at each turn, and he has few people in his life to hope for him.

And she has little pieces of softness, blankets and pillows and hair loose in his eyes, to promise that the waiting will be worth it, tonight and many nights from now too.

Quietly, she says, “Is it alright if I stay?”

He looks at her finally, brow furrowed. She itches to smooth it out. “You should sleep—”

“I can sleep here,” she says. She can sleep anywhere. “I even brought my own blanket. But is it okay?”

His mouth twists, like he means to smile and can’t remember how, or like he doesn’t mean to and can’t help himself. It eases some of her concern.

“You are more than welcome to stay,” he says, one of those strange, earnest truths he offers up when she least expects it. She swallows, momentarily overwhelmed, and then a wide, jaw-cracking yawn distracts her from the fluttering in her stomach. His smiles softens into something small but true, and that feels like a mark she has left too.

“Good,” she says—and it is, because she would have anyway, likely as not. She tips herself over where she sits, still curled around her pillow, still wrapped up in her blanket. Like this, the top of her head almost touches his thigh, and she wiggles herself deeper into the couch until she can press up against him, seeking warmth. Her eyes close. “You can leave the light on. I don’t mind.”

His hand settles against her head, fingers carding through her hair. She hums, turning into the touch.

“I won’t be much longer,” he says, and this time she believes him.

Quieter, he says, “Thank you.”

Middy hums, breathing in the cool night air and the smell of his apartment and the smell of him, sinking back into that quiet, warm place between sleep and waking. At some point there’s motion, gentle and slow, not enough to stir her. The chill lessens. The room goes dark.

By the time he joins her on the couch, wrapped up together in the wide, vaulted hollow of his austere apartment, she’s asleep.

#happy BIRTHDAY MY DEAR #time zones are a little *wiggles hand* but it's still your birthday here and I have this for you because I love you #r: m.a.e.#mine; writing #mine; eniko #eniko #friend ocs #writing; eniko #wow I don't remember any of my tags ANYWAY #the point is!!!!!!#happy birthday!!!#you make me happy you make my life better you are my little softness in the small hours of the morning #I love when it's your birthday because I think of you every time I see the date <3

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cityandking · 2 years

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23 for Middy/Eniko and 35 for Lira and Zevran (and/or Lira and Alistair)!

thank you!! // send me a ship

23. How do they hug? Kiss? Tease? Flirt? Comfort?

MIDDY/ENIKO — I think enikö is secretly a good hugger. like super secret because he never instigates human contact unless he's being paid for it but still. he's definitely a little on the sharp side and a little on the tall side but I think he's really good at that kind of hug where you just get all wrapped up and I think middy "physical affection" moorhop would definitely bring out the best of him. imagine him picking her up while they hug. full koala. good content. he's also a very good kisser. the height difference makes things a little awkward but he's got a lap perfect for sitting and I think middy could probably get behind that little height advantage when he's sitting down y'know? he's not complaining.

I also think he would really really like to see her just a little flustered once he gets past the initial angsty drama stuff and he is a smooth talker when he cares to be so. yeah. lots of flirting. mostly it's quiet comments aside to her—obviously he's not going to share with anybody else, but when she gets all happy and bright his whole world just lights up so why wouldn't he try to bring that forward every single time they're together? plus he just thinks she's smart and lovely and wonderful and he likes her so much. middy & eniko in the honeymoon phase would be insufferable. he'd be so smug all the fucking time. good for him.

the comfort he is... not quite so good at. he never really knows what to do when she's down and he really hates it and it kind of takes him a while to figure out why he hates it. it's just— she's middy. she's the best and brightest thing. he really tries, which is more than he can say about most other people and things, but he's still trying to learn how to be a comfort in the right way. he'll figure it out eventually. (the worst is when it's his fault, because he's still kind of a dick and she deserves someone who isn't a dick but she's still here so? guess the solution is to learn how to not be a dick.)

35. Do they bring out the best in each other, or the worst? Do they have a fatal flaw?

LIRA/ZEVRAN — I think they bring out better parts of each other. for zevran for sure with his whole origins character development, but he's really good at pulling lira away from the darker parts of herself. I think he sees enough of his own hurt in her to navigate it, and also he's a stubborn little fucker. I think he really just helps her breathe.

LIRA/ALISTAIR — the best, but it's hard. the best but in the sort of way that hurts. they're all growing pains. well, not all growing pains. there are soft things in between, bits of seeing each other full and clear and not turning away—bits of seeing everything the other could be and encouraging them down that path—but they're also kids and in a horrible situation and they don't hold on as tight as they could to those moments. lira sets them down a path that puts duty before all else and it takes them ten years after to find their ways back to each other without all the hurt and duty between.

#lira my favorite fucked up child #just a nightmare #but she really does try #r: m.a.e.#r: flowering wounds #r: never ours #eniko #lira #memery #shipping stuff

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cityandking · 2 years

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4, 22, 29 for dai/zaref!!! (aaaaaand the gorls and middy/eniko, if you like :3c)

ty sweets!! // send me a ship

4. First impression of each other? Was it love at first sight?

DAI/ZAREF — I believe zaref predated dai at the northern garrison—he wasn't leadership but he was the soldier who had been around longer than most of the others and everybody sort of looked up to him. their relationship was very much professional but daichi liked him; he was the right sort of kind to take newer recruits under his wing and could be fun but not at the expense of his duty (which dai found admirable) and a good soldier above all. they weren't particularly close I'd say but they were probably friends, or friendly if not truly friends anyway. that said, dai really wouldn't have even considered the possibility of being anything more had it not been for the disaster that struck and the way they ended up thrown together

BRAN/SABINE — oh I think bran was fascinated by sabine from day one. whether it was a wet rat of a woman scowling solitary and proud upon the pier or a friend of middy's or a sharp-faced rebel uncowed before the empire's blade I think branwen knew almost as soon as they met that they were the same sort of person, were both running from something. I think bran saw sabine and in her own covetous way wanted to put hands on her and see what she was really made of

MIDDY/ENIKO — he just thought she was bright. bright bright bright, the kind you can't look at head-on because it's too much. he didn't think of anything beyond that, of the warmth or the kindness or how lonely it can get in the light—all that came later. he just liked her for her glow.

22. Does their work ever interfere with the relationship?

DAI/ZAREF — I don't think so? I mean it's not exactly like they're employed right now or anything but like. work is kind of what brought them together. I think work certainly could in the future given all of zaref's vague shadow soldier of the void background stuff but I think, honestly at this point if dai was given an ultimatum between his holy order and his friends he knows which one he'd choose in a heartbeat.

BRAN/SABINE — I mean maybe in the dark au, technically, but I don't really think it would. maybe in worlds where bran travels a lot? but even then I don't think it would be, like, any serious interference, cause like I said, I think they could manage long distance well enough.

MIDDY/ENIKO — oooh hm. yeah I think in some au's it could definitely make things rocky. eniko lying in the treasure-hunting au, for example. or an au where they're both rogues and thieves and enikö is the very worst of himself—I think that would probably cause problems. not in a way they couldn't overcome, just in a way that they'd have to overcome, y'know? in those worlds where enikö sees himself as too much of an object to treat people and relationships with the full depth they're owed. what a dick.

29. How do the handle disasters or emergencies? Minor injuries? Sickness?

DAI/ZAREF — dai really truly grew up in and around triage situations and disasters and emergencies and he's really really good at sliding into that sort of healer/cleric mode where he works through the immediate disaster. for minor injuries he's pretty one-n-done about them (though definitely with a small and shy side of physical affection). I think he'd be a bit fussy about sickness, mostly cause he grew up taking care of his dad so that sort of long-term caretaking is kind of hardwired in.

BRAN/SABINE — really fucking well I think. they're both pretty good at rolling with situations as they come and I think between the two of them they'd be even better. I also think they get into enough scrapes and messes that patching each other up is sort of a familiar, wry, almost comfortable ritual and also sometimes maybe foreplay ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ when one of them is sick I think there's probably moderate complaining about one or the other not saying anything and then complaining about mothering and complaining about it not being that bad but at the end of the day someone is tucked into bed with soup and the other one is right next to them. obviously it's sad when sabine is sick but it's cute when she's not feeling well enough to fend off bran's more aggressive affection

MIDDY/ENIKO — okay first things first eniko absolutely refuses to acknowledge when he's sick so middy has to physically suplex him into bed. however he's a very good boyfriend when she's sick so it's? okay?? I guess??? anyway. I think he's a super steadying presence when things get frenetic. not cause middy can't handle things just cause every now and then she gets sort of overwhelmed and bottles it up to come out at worse times and he's always so even keeled, maybe more so during disasters and emergencies than any other time, so it works out well. (on the other hand when something is bad enough to ruffle him you know it's really really bad). enikö's also the kind to ignore minor injuries which I imagine middy is having none of

#middy forcing eniko not to be such a fucking sadsack martyr about things 2kforever #sorry this got really long I just love them a lot #r: sea and salt #r: light through stained glass #r: m.a.e.#branwen #eniko #daichi #memery #shipping stuff

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cityandking · 3 years

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anchor rope

A rising tide sinks all ships, but this feels weightless. [middy/eniko, 3k, mermaid au]

I swore I’d have something written for mermay and by god I meant it. middy belongs to @darlingicarus. eniko and branwen are mine. a follow-up of sorts to this art.

The worst of it isn’t the blood or the bathtub or the blur of a week spent seeping in and out of consciousness, waking to bright light and pink in the water and a brown frowning face scattered with constellations. The worst of it is that, afterwards, he keeps coming back.

Stupid, that’s what he is. One of those reef-mad idiots whose curiosity leaves them down with the whalebones or bleaching on some forgotten saltspit crag. Branwen will never let him live this down.

He idles in the dip between low swells anyway, watching the house appear and disappear behind rolling green water, watching the pier. She stands at the edge, face turned to the ocean, small and slight and dressed in a sweater as orange as the sunset sky. It is not the first evening he has found himself here. He has given up on telling himself it will be the last. He is, at least, not the only one who cannot seem to let the past sink in his wake.

She stays a long time, face too distant to make out, sky fading to pinks and purples and the star-studded velvet of night. Her open door makes a perfect yellow rectangle high up the beach, light spilling down to the water as the sun slips away. If she speaks, the ocean crash swallows the sound. It doesn’t matter. He’s too far to hear anyway. Hovering, poised to leave, unable to turn away.

He lingers until she turns around, door closing behind her, cutting off the light. It leaves the night perfect and black and moving, the ocean never still. Only then does he throw himself backwards, dorsal scything through cool air before he sinks beneath the waves.

Branwen greets him with a glinting smile, sharp and too-pleased at the corners, and kindly pretends to ignore the way his fingers skim the ropy knots of his scars.

“Do I get to meet her?”

“There’s no one to meet,” Enikö grumbles, eyeing the school as it flips from silver underbellies to bright scales and back again, glimmering in the surfacesplinter sunlight. He isn’t hungry, exactly, but he’d rather hunt than discuss... well, anything. This. “Leave it alone.”

“Because you’re doing so well with that,” she drawls, thumbing over rings upon rings of bracelets. The downside of summers spent too close to shore; she picks up human habits and castoffs with ravenous curiosity, brings them back like bits of shell or seapearl to decorate her person. He flicks his tail at her, startling the school, and they spend a frantic minute spearing dinner, all bubbles and bloody water. She has a fish caught in her jaws when she finds him again, coiled near the sea floor and picking bones from flesh.

“I’m just saying,” she huffs around her food, and he ignores her in favor of prying out the spine. “She helped you a lot, Nikö. You could introduce us at least.”

“You are a beast and a pestilence,” he tells her sourly, and she has the audacity to laugh, coiling bubbles all the way to the surface.

It rains. Fat full drops sting when they hit the water, the sea chop rough and unforgiving. Clouds roll over overhead, turn belly-up like dead fish and pour and pour and pour. Her house is a patchwork of yellow windows and dripping dark facade and the inconstant flicker of motion.

Rough weather makes him brave, and possibly foolish. Mostly foolish. But the pylons of the pier make for good shelter from the slapping waves, and it is always easy to make oneself lost in a storm. His tail curls beneath saltwater-swollen wood, chin settled on crossed arms, watching.

She pauses in a window. Busies herself before a bulk of iron and blue fire. Greenery frames her through the glass, hanging plants draping down around the picture of her: the wrap of her knitting, the curl of her hair, the motion of her hands. Clever hands, quick and fine, hands made for stitching skin and wiping away old blood and—

There is no blood here, not now. He watches her hands open cabinets, spoon dead-dry leaves out of a glass jar, pour water, fix the slump of her shawl. Tap against the painted ceramic of her mug.

Around him, the wind howls. The weather will be worse before it is better. He pushes hair out of his eyes and blinks water away. The door opens.

The rain makes a beaded curtain, splintering yellow light into a hazy glow as it spills over seeping puddles down the sloping beach, and she stands there in the frame with her shawl and her steaming cup and her fisherman’s sweater. Rain strikes the ground and splashes up over her bare feet.

Her face, wide eyes and parted lips and the constellations of her freckles across her cheeks, stares at him in the lavender glow of a lightning flash. The weight of her gaze is an anchor, dragging him into deep water.

He’s gone before the thunder sounds.

He almost manages to stay away after that.

Almost.

The trick with anchors, you see, is that they are tethers too.

The season turns. Not fully, not quite yet, but the first taste of chill sits on his tongue in the aftermath of the storm. The first itch to move, to go, to flee the encroaching winter. It sours his mood, leaves him feeling caught and netted. Branwen, shamelessly eager for warmer waters and the red-tailed sea witch who calls them home, old injuries ill-suited for long migrations, is unimpressed with his sulking.

“You’re not going to stay.”

He snorts in reply.

She tilts a brow at him, but doesn’t pause her meal. They spend less time lazing in warm waters these days and more time hunting, seeking food and fuel and fat for the journey. He forgets, always, the energy it takes. The sheer amount they eat beforehand.

“I have no interest in starving,” he scowls. He hates when her silence drags admittance out of him. He knows she does it purposefully, but the knowing doesn't help. He snaps at her, irritated, and she darts around him, abandoning her fish.

“She might feed you.”

He snags her meal out of the water to make a point of who feeds who. She laughs, tail sweeping long and slow to hold herself still against the current.

“Will you say goodbye at least?”

“Why would I?” He wipes his mouth, turning to watch her out of the corner of one eye. She fixes him with a narrow look.

“Will you say thank you?”

His gills flare and settle again. The food in his belly weighs him down, turns sour and sick.

Branwen doesn’t call after him when he goes.

She’s there on her pier, bundled against the encroaching cold.

Humans do not migrate. This one stays as though rooted, a creature planted at the end of her pier, grown out of the wood itself. He thinks he should be surprised to see her there, still, but he isn’t. He has come back too, has he not? Like a fish caught on a line, unable to keep away.

He admires her tenacity, like hope but harder. Such a stubborn, bright thing, refusing to be worn down by the crash of salt water.

“I knew you’d come back,” she says to him. He watches her, rising and falling with the waves, and she watches him in turn. He thinks he doesn’t mind so much. Seeing, being seen.

“I’m glad you’re better now,” she says. Her hair snaps in the wind.

He lingers a long minute, watching, being watched, before he twists himself around and returns to deeper water.

Better, she says. He doesn’t think he is better. The wounds have healed over, scars turning seapearl silver, but he does not think he is better.

If he were better, he would know how to keep away.

At least, he consoles himself, floating beneath the waves, watching her watch the water, he is not the only one caught by the tide.

“I was worried the first time I saw you come back.” She sits today, legs folded under her, scarf thick around her neck. It makes her look even smaller, makes him willing to drift in with the pull of the waves. “Like maybe you were still too hurt and couldn’t go that far.”

Of all of her, constellation skin and clever hands, he likes her smile most. It warms him all over, better than an open beach and the gleaming sun.

“Then I realized you were just visiting,” she says with that noontide smile. “It’s good to see you again. I’m glad you’re okay.”

He holds her gaze. She barely needs raise her voice to make herself heard; that is how close he has come. It is a long minute of stillsea silence before he slips back beneath the waves. Even then, he holds himself just beneath the surface until she rises, arms stretched high to greet the autumn sky, and retreats inside.

The depth of his gratitude unmoors him. He shakes himself hard enough to stun and lingers until the tide slips out again.

“Do you think she waits every single day?” asks Branwen, hair unspooling in the water, only her eyes visible above the waves. He hums, eyes flicking forward.

Branwen’s attention shifts, sighs, settles on him. He resolutely stares at the woman at the edge of the pier, hat jammed on her head. The puff at the top reminds him of an urchin.

Yes. He thinks so. But Branwen does not need to hear that from him. She is insufferable enough as it is.

She hums quietly, nudges his shoulder, and leaves first. He will not say it, but he’s grateful for the privacy. She’ll know anyway.

Eyes watch him from the pier as he drifts, not approaching, not hiding. On the pier, she smiles.

Thinks is the wrong word for what he does. He hopes she waits. He doesn’t know what to do with the hoping.

Winter rattles down from the north, slowly and then all at once. He spends what little time he is not feeding watching the pier, watching her and her world and her house turn grey and drab with the coming season, except for the lights which are yellow no matter how cold and whistling the night.

“We can’t stay,” Branwen says in the hazy quiet after a meal, draped over his back, itching to go, waiting for his sake. He is aware, not for the first time, that he does not deserve her.

He says, “I know.”

“Nikö.”

“Soon.”

She hesitates, weight warm and lazy as they drift, chin propped sharp on his shoulder. “If you want to stay—”

“No.”

She sighs. He isn’t sorry for the edge, is only sorry to be scattered. Caught by an anchor rope not of his own making, caught in a net as wide as the ocean and narrow as a sun-bleached pier. He runs his fingers along old, knotted scars.

“Tomorrow,” he offers quietly. She hums and accepts it. Another thing he doesn’t deserve.

“Okay.”

So it is luck, then, that he is there in the chilled and bitter hours of the late autumn morning and not the firesplash sunset. He feels it before he hears, and hears before he sees, and by the time he spies her he is scything through sharp grey waves, cutting in crosswise to the rip that drags the tide out to deeper water.

Her sweater is alarm orange and it blazes in black water, loose around a limp frame, tiny in the vastness of the ocean. He dives.

She is light. Light in the water, yes, but light when he breaks the surface too, when he cradles her in both arms, head lolling, blood slow and thick in her veins. She is light, and a long way out from her pier.

He has never crossed the distance faster.

It takes no effort to hoist himself out of the water, to lie her down on dark wood. She is still save for the shallow lift of her chest, and he does not know what to do. He is no good with fragile human things, with fixing things. His fingers brush across her face, her chest, unsure. Something sour and panic-sharp broils in his rib cage. Of the two of them, she is the one who knows how to help. She is the one who put him back together. He doesn’t know what to do.

“Wake up,” he murmurs. His voice is rough out of the water, words strange on his tongue. He fumbles over consonants and vowels. “Please.”

For a horrible, stilted heartbeat there is nothing. He leans over her, fluke and gills and nostrils flared, and hopes.

It is a horrible thing, hoping. He does it with greater effort than he ever has before.

She surfaces with a cough, horrible and flailing, and he flinches back, slithering off the pier, fingers wrapped around water-worn wood. She coughs again, hard enough to lift her body up, and retches up brine and water. He holds still, squashes the urge to flee.

“What?” she demands of the sky, voice strained. “How—?”

He lifts himself a little further, and her eyes find him, unerring. She has always been quick to see him.

For a moment, the only noise is the slap of the winter-rough waves against the pylons. He raises himself further.

“Thank you,” she says. The sky sulks above them, flat and grey as slate. “Thank you, sorry, I don’t— I can’t swim very well. I didn’t mean to go that far.”

He blinks down at her, flopped flatbacked and fishmouthed on the pier. The winter air stings and his scars are silver-white, stark against his skin. He frowns at her.

“Why,” he asks, voice rusty, “do you live by the ocean if you cannot swim?”

And she, bright and lovely and curious and stubborn to the point of foolishness, to the point of drowning, sits upright and demands, as though it is an offense—

“You can talk?”

A sound catches in his throat, croaking and sharp, and it takes him a minute to realize he is laughing.

“All this time!” Water runs from her hair, from her clothes, soaks the pier beneath her, and she ignores it to prop herself up with the meat of her palms, face a thundercloud of indignation. “All this time, you could talk and you didn’t say a word!”

He hums, low and clicking, and her ire melts away into something more gentle, something familiar from long blood-soaked nights in a bathtub surrounded by drying herbs and living plants and things that can only exist out of the water.

Quiet sits between them, a shoreline uncertainty, washed fresh by waves again and again. He sinks lower in the water. She sits forward.

“Are you okay?” she asks him.

“Are you?” he returns.

“Yes I think so.” She says it matter-of-fact, as though near-drowning is simply one of those things that occurs in the course of everyday life. Perhaps it is, for one who cannot swim. The thought catches at him; he swallows down a smile, too many teeth and too much humor.

“I am leaving,” he tells her. “For the winter.”

“Oh,” she says. And then, “Oh, yes, that makes sense.”

There is more to be said, he thinks. There is more that could be said, certainly, but she does not ask if he will come back and he does not promise that he will. They only watch each other, curious, patient. Uncertain like the shoreline, ever changing, worn away with each crashing wave and still there despite the violence.

There is more that might be said, but there is one thing he must say before he leaves. There is one thing he must say no matter if he will come back or no.

So he tells her, “Thank you.”

Her smile cracks across her face, small and certain and brighter than anything upon the greywater seascape that holds them.

She says, “You’re welcome.”

And he holds her eye, and nods, and leaves. He does not look back to see her stood upon her pier, no matter how much he wishes to. There will be time for that later. He intends it.

Branwen does not comment when he is late to join her journey south, only loops around him once in silent greeting and leaves him to his quiet. If he is slow to follow, she pretends not to notice.

Spring again, and the journey north. Branwen lingers in warmer waters longer than he does, uneager to leave. Not stationary, never stationary, but. Anchored. Enikö isn’t the only one caught up in something as certain as the tides.

He bids her and her sea witch farewell and makes the long journey alone. He does not entirely mind the solitude. It gives him time to think.

The pier is there still, a little more worn by the rough winter. She is there too, anchor weight and rope to tie it. She sits when he approaches, mouth twitching at the corners.

“You know,” she says, chin propped in her hand, nose wrinkling with the force of her smothered grin when he comes to rest before her, bobbing with the waves, “you never told me your name.”

He likes that she does not ask. That she waits, patient, for him to give it, sure as the sea that he will.

“Enikö,” he says. Her smile breaks like sunrise.

“Hello, Enikö.”

He pushes himself out of the water. The sun is warm on his back, on the wood beneath his forearms. Like this they are face to face. The freckles of her skin map out constellations, worlds upon worlds, as deep and unknown and beautiful as the sky at night, as its reflection upon the open ocean. It is like seeing her for the first time. He smiles for her.

He says, “Hello, Middy.”

#mermay #mermay2021 #my god it's been 84 years #anyway I said! I'd do something for mermay!! and by god I did!!!!#I simply think they are neat #am I thrilled with this? no. but I wrote something so we're gonna celebrate anyway #anyway alana this is for you #r: m.a.e.#.mermaid au #mine; writing #mine; eniko #branwen is the MVP of this fic and possibly this au #I don't remember my tags #oh well!#is this edited? not really!#(sorry)#r: forward always

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