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barefoothighlander · 9 months

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deluminate

summary: kylo ren stops at nothing to capture his target

kylo ren x fem!reader

warnings: mdni (18+), unprotected pinv, slight hunter/prey, force bondage, choking, dub con, mind reading?, creampie, idk how the force works, kidnapping?

a/n: having kylo ren brain rot so i needed to write this, i want to hear nothing about realism none of this makes sense, not proofread

Where are you.

His voice rings clear and heavy in your head, a tidal wave through the hazy ocean that was your mind, fogged and weary from his preferred methods of interrogation.

It was purely chance that you had gotten out, a fluke in timing on the account of the troopers that usually haunted your room, one small mixup in shift change and you were left unguarded for invaluable seconds.

You had no idea where you were going, simply letting your legs carry you on their own accord, twisting down hallways and turning the sharp corners of the black metal walls that made up the labyrinth of his ship.

It felt like weeks you had been locked in that room, the days fading into eachother as he searched your mind for any piece of information that could help him, reaching deep into your thoughts and fears, urging you to give up the location of the map.

Truth be told you were the last person he should’ve been asking, a minor ship technician that aided the rebellion with not the slightest inclination as to where the forces were keeping such a lucrative item.

I will find you.

The husk of his voice vibrates in you as fear sweeps your nerves, even if you did somehow outrun him, there was nowhere to go, you had no idea of the ship had landed somewhere or if it was simply tumbling through hyperspace, an eerie quiet settled in the air of the halls, only broken by the sudden hissing of pipes or clanging of armour as patrols made their way.

It didn’t make sense, how he was able to see into your mind, control your body the way he did, a simple twitch of his finger and your limbs were frozen, a nudge of his chin and he could see into your darkest thoughts, the most private and secret, held deep in your psyche for only you to see.

Why run? Come back to me and I’ll give you what you want.

A taunt, emphasized by the honey dripping from his tongue, even through the mask you can hear it. There was no trying to hide behind it, he saw right through you, that obscure primal attraction you held for him, the longing to see him beneath the cloak and mask, to feel that power on other parts of your body.

He was using it against you, like somehow he course sense the throb between your legs as his voice spoke to you, the heat that pooled as he used only his mind to restrain your body.

Sweat beaded your skin, falling in drops down your spine as you rest against a wall, legs screaming in pain, how far had you ran? There was no way to tell if you’d even gotten far, every hallway turning into another, every corner identical.

The conversation of troopers has you holding your breath, careful to keep quiet as they pass by, praying to the maker they were truly as stupid as people made them out to be.

You’re near, I can feel you.

Clasping your hand over your mouth and breathing through your nose, you turn a quick glance around the corner, no sight of the massive cloaked figure, there was no way he knew where you were, he couldn’t.

Down the hall you can see a pair of doors, if you could get in you could lock them, you’d worked on ships similar, nothing this large and nothing from the new empire but they had to have similar wiring.

You will your aching limbs to carry you the few feet toward them, slamming a palm to the panel, a whimper escaping your lips as the screen flashes red.

You drive your fist against the metal doors, willing them to open, to let you in but they don’t budge, a deferred breath falls as you rest your head against it, the cold bite of them cooling your skin.

It’s a gasp of shock that falls from your lips as the doors part, cool air rushing against your skin, how did they-

“There you are pet”

Fear strikes through your body like lightning, this time his voice sounded to close, the crackle of the mask like sparks in your ears. His presence is heavy enough that it sucks the air from your chest, a tear falling from your eye as you slump your shoulders, refusing to turn and face him.

He places a firm hand to your back, walking you forward into the room as the doors close behind you, the tell tale sound of a lock snapping into place as your legs give out, knees buckling sending you toward the hard ground.

You can hear the echo of his steps as he paces the room, damn him if he wanted to read your mind, there were no thoughts to be seen.

“It was a good effort”

Invisible arms will your body up, weak legs trying to regain balance as he emerges in front of you, dwarfing your figure.

His form sucks the life from the room, forcing you backward till your spine connects with the wall, harsh steel biting into your skin as he braces an arm beside your head.

“Are you ready to give me up?”

You shake your head, eyes refusing to look up at him,

“You know I can take whatever I want”

His gloved hand presses to your throat, holding you to the wall as an unseen force binds your hands above your head, leaving you at his will.

“Is this not what you wanted? I’ve heard every thought you’ve had, they’re very loud”

You squeeze your eyes shut at the words, your throat bobbing under his grip.

“I’ve seen what you dream of, how you want to be touched by me, it’s.. obscene, the way you offer yourself up on a platter”

There’s nothing you can do, he has you at his will, a simple prayer to the maker that he’d atleast bestow some form of mercy upon you.

“Do you want to see what I think about?”

His voice is gruff, laced with threat as his fingers squeeze your pulse point.

“Open your eyes”

You obey, parting your wet lashes to look at him, staring deep into the black visor as he watches you, you struggle in his grip as the force on your hands tightens.

He reaches his free hand to his neck, a hissing sound filling the air as the chin of the mask parts, the black helmet rising on his form to reveal his face.

Every sense in your body betrays you at the sight of him, obsidian hair that curls around his pale face, his cheeks flush from the exertion of power as plush lips and dark eyes stare back at you.

He closes his eyes, tilting his chin toward you as he wills his thoughts to yours, flooding your mind with images.

He too had thought about you, your naked body in front of him, legs parted and sex on display as you writhe against the sheets, the tip of his nose nudging against your swollen bud as he feasts on you.

The image sense shockwaves to your core, heat pooling as he continues to show you yourself, bent over a table, your ass arched in the air for him as his cock drives deep into you, practically forcing the air from your lungs with every thrust.

It’s too much, the visions, it feels too real, your skin flushing as he pulls back, his dark gaze glued to you.

“Do you see pet, what you do to me, why I could never let you run away”

He releases one of your hands, gripping your wrist as he drags it to his groin, forcing your digits to cup his length as he grunts. Even through the thick cloth of his pants you can feel his size, massive and pulsing, like pure iron in your weak grip.

You part your lips in shock as he grinds his hips into your palm, his hand on your throat tensing.

“Don’t shy away now, not when you’re so close to getting what you want”

Another grind of his hips has your fingers squeezing his bulge, a primal grin forming on his lips as he ducks his head next to yours.

“That’s it, give yourself over”

His breath ghosts over your ear, tingling the hair on your neck as his teeth dig into your earlobe, nipping at the skin.

His fingers creep over your stomach, inching down toward the pulse that’s settled between your thighs, strong hands tugging at your bottoms as the skin of your ass is revealed, the cool air hitting it.

He cups your sex with his palm, grinding the leather of his glove against your aching bud, cheeks heating as the sound of your slick fills the room.

“So wet for me already”

His words give rise to a tinge of embarrassment in your face as you roll your hips into his hand, searching for the contact against your clit as his cock strains against his pants.

“M’gonna drive my cock so deep into you, there won’t be any thoughts for me to read”

The threat has your core aching, clenching around nothing as he rips his hand from you, the black fabric of his gloves glistening in your slick as he raises a hand.

His free hand moves to loosen his pants, biting back a groan as his cock springs free from the fabric, keeping his eyes on yours as he fists it, the harsh rub of his glove rough against the skin of his shaft.

“Open your mouth”

You move to reach a hand for him but it’s pulls to the wall with that same invisible force, keeping you flat to the metal as it digs into your spine.

“I said open”

You obey, parting your lips slightly to allow his fingers to tease around the flesh, pushing past your teeth to flatten against your tongue.

Swirling the muscle around the digits, the bitter taste of leather mixed with the sweetness of your own slick dripping down your throat as he forces the fingers deeper.

He teases the head of his cock through your folds forcing your eyes shut as you hum around his fingers.

“You’re gonna take every last inch, and you’re gonna keep your eyes on me”

Parting your lids in a haze your teeth dig into his fingers as he pushes in, one swift motion has his cock stuffing you full, forcing your cunt to adapt to the stretch of him.

The angle has him dipping below you, forcing his cock upward as he thrusts, the head of it grinding against that sweet spot into you as it drags against your soaked walls.

“That’s it, eyes on me pet”

His fingers tilt your chin to face him, eyes clouded in lust as you watch him bite back his grunts. His hand grips at your thighs, tugging them around his waist as he lifts you higher against the wall, length driving into you, forcing your body to collide with the hard metal behind you with every thrust.

“Wanted this since I first saw you”

The words come through gritted teeth, your eyes drifting to where the two of you meet, his hand withdrawals from your mouth allowing you to suck in a breath before it makes contact with your throat, pinning your neck to the wall.

“I said eyes on me”

It’s a struggle to even keep them open as his cock splits you in half, feeling impossibly full from him, the base of his length grinding against your clot with every stroke.

Your legs lock around his back, holding him to you as you roll your hips into him, meeting every thrust. A grin plasters his face at the sight, using his hand to tear at your shirt, the lose fabric falling around you as your breasts are revealed, nipples peaked from the cold air.

Like a beast to its prey he eyes your form, bound and free for his taking, he leans down, his teeth closing around a nipple eliciting a yelp from you as he nips at the skin, flicking his tongue over it.

“So good for me, letting me take you however I want”

Heat rises in your chest, it was true, he could have you, the sight of him alone that first day had your thoughts betraying you, his form oozing power and command.

You snap from your thoughts as an unseen pressure hits your clit, rubbing against the bud in a perfect pressure that has your back arching against the wall, pushing your breasts further into him.

It’s obscene the noises the flood the room, the sound of his skin slapping against yours mixed with the wracked moans that escape you, he peers down, his jaw slack at the sight of your pussy swallowing him whole with every thrust.

“Never gonna let you go pet, you’ll stay here with me, as my little play thing”

The words sting your chest, the thought of remaining captive to the man who could invade your very soul, but the feeling of his cock driving into you is too tempting, feels to good, the pleasure blooming from your core has you nodding”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, letting me stuff this little pussy everynight, getting used by me, fucking slut”

That invisible hand flicks against your clit as his cock drives deep into your walls, your legs tightening around him as your push squeezes him, keeping him inside you, letting your orgasm rip through your bones.

As your high lowers you open your eyes, straight to his gaze, his hair sticking to his forehead in a sheen of sweat as the slightest pink tints his cheeks, his cock sliding into your drenched walls.

In a second he slams his lips to yours, swallowing your moans as he pounds into you, hard enough that the grind of your back against the wall was sure to leave you sore.

His hand meets the flesh of your ass, squeezing the muscle with force as he holds your body to him, allowing his cock impossibly deep as he buries it inside you, his hips staggering with each thrust.

“Say you’re mine, fuck, say it”

He leans his head back, lowering it to your shoulder as his teeth dig into the flesh, tears pricking your eyes as your muscles scream.

“I’m yours”

The words trigger something in him, a growl from his chest vibrates against your skin as he spills inside you, the warmth spreading in your core as he moves his coco slowly inside you, shallow thrusts to force his cum deeper.

He holds your body to him, the force on your hands gone, allowing the now sleeping muscles to drop to his shoulders, your fingers splayed over the rough fabric of his cape as his breaths ghost over your skin.

“You’re mine”

The haze of it wares on you, your mind weakened from the combination of everything as your body fights to regain its strength, held up only by his body.

Slowly he pulls his cock from you, allowing his spend to drop down your thighs as his hands keep you still. His eyes glued to yours as he watches you wince from the loss of contact, a hand settling on your cheek, the leather dragging against the thin layer of sweat on the flesh.

He bites back the words in his throat as he closes his eyes, his fingers flexing against your skin as your mind goes blank.

You wake in a dark room, legs bare against the black sheets that have settled atop them, your chest covered only by the large cloth of a shirt, you can feel the soreness from earlier already settling into your body as you sit up, trying to look around.

There’s a stream of starts outside the large window, the only light in the room as you squint to see, it was some sort of bedroom, the furniture below you soft and cushioned, you were in a bed.

Turning to your left you can see the light shine on his pale skin, the expanse of his back visible, alongside the pink pines of scars the adorned it, his dark hair blending into the sheets as his body rised slightly with every breath.

You were in his bedroom, his private quarters, in his bed, shock hits you all at once, every nerve in your body telling you that you shouldn’t be there, but he had brought you there, changed your clothes as set you beside him in bed.

He had stripped off his cloak and leathers, tucked away the facade of Kylo Ren and went to bed, beside you.

Running a soft hand over the curve of his spine you feel him twitch, his breath remaining slow, he was still asleep, he didn’t look like that large beast that invaded your thoughts like this, he was softer, calmer.

The sheets are soft as you slip back below them, turning to your side to face him, watching his skin flow under the streaming stars as your eye slide grow heavier, drawing you back into sleep.

#kylo ren #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x reader #star wars fan fiction #kylo ren smut #ben solo #ben solo fanfic

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chrisevansonly · 11 months

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Block Out the Noise

pairing: harry styles x female reader

summary: sometimes you just need to listen to your song and love on your boyfriend to make the negative thoughts go away

warnings: mention of past abuse, talks of depression and suicidal thoughts, potentially triggering(?!) very soft and caring harry<3

a/n: i wanted to write something about matilda because it’s a song that I hold so close to my heart. from growing up in an abusive home and needing to take care of my brother from age 6 and up, when i heard matilda i knew it would be a song i’d cherish forever. this is a fic i hold close to my heart because i was that scared and small little girl who didn’t understand why i got anger taken out on me and why i had bruises when other kids didn’t. you’re not alone, you’ve got me in your corner and your stronger than you know, i hope my inner child knows that too<3

No one asks to be born into a world of chaos and fear, especially not when you’re a child. Wondering why your parents fought, the screaming matches, the subtle bruises you somehow ended up with because you ‘stood in the way.’ As a child you never knew what went wrong or what you did to be treated this way but you still tried your hardest regardless of the war zone you once called home.

you were riding your bike to the sound of its no big deal, and you’re trying to lift off the ground on those old two wheels..

You taught yourself to read, to cook, to take care of yourself and your siblings. Going as far as to teach yourself to ride a bike and even drive, you raised yourself in a world where you wished you hadn’t needed to do that. When you got to high school the insults from your father got worse, the insecurity creeped in and you struggled with self worth and self harm.

nothing about the way that you were treated ever seemed especially alarming til now..

Then came college where you worked three jobs to pay your tuition and fought tooth and nail to get the best grades and work your absolute hardest to get your degree which you did all on your own. Mental illness and recovery was never linear and you battled some of your darkest days throughout college and even towards graduation when you met Harry.

so you tie up your hair and you smile like it’s no big deal

Harry was your world, he was the calm through the storm, the light that helped guide you through the tough times, he truly was your best friend. You’d been together now going on 5 years with no plans of ever separating from one another. He always told you that you provided just as much safety and comfort to him as he could to you.

you can let it go, you can throw a party full of everyone you know and not invite your family, cause they never showed you love, you don't have to be sorry for leaving and growing up

Now you were 26 and worked at your dream job, your life was filled with so much love and so much joy sometimes you found yourself needing to take a step back and just breathe, reminding yourself your life was real. Of course you had your rough days, and after the meeting and scolding you’d gotten today, all you wanted was to get home and see Harry.

matilda, you talk of the pain like it's all alright, but I know that you feel like a piece of you's dead inside

When Harry had started working on the album, he’d told you he was writing one very special song he couldn’t wait to share with you. So on the day that he sat you down and let you listen to Matilda, by the second line you were looking over at him with tears in your eyes, bottom lip wobbling ever so slightly and he was quick to pull you into his chest.

You showed me a power that is strong enough to bring sun to the darkest days

When you arrived home you dropped your work things by the front closet, kicking your heels off and dropping your shoulders in exhaustion. Harry wasn’t home yet so you allowed yourself a few minutes to get some water, your headphones and settle on the couch with a fluffy blanket.

it’s none of my business but it’s just been on my mind

On natural instinct almost, you allowed the soft melody of matilda to play through your headphones, eyes closing as you sunk into the cushions. It wasn’t as if you were trying to cower from the overwhelming feelings you had in this moment, but more or less trying to let them flow and escape from your mind

you can let it go, you can throw a party full of everyone you know and not invite your family, cause they never showed you love, you don't have to be sorry for leaving and growing up

You hadn’t even noticed the tears steadily falling down your cheeks, your breathing picking up slightly as you pulled the blanket up further, attempting to wrap yourself in more warmth. It wasn’t until you felt gentle fingertips dancing across your face that you opened your eyes, Harry looking at you in concern. Pausing the song you pulled your headphones off and sent him a soft smile

“Hey m’love…”

“Hi”

Lifting the blanket up you let him cuddle in next to you, the instant comfort you felt just from being wrapped up in his arms was enough to blow the stress and pain from the day away

“You okay y/n?”

Nodding you leaned further into him

“Just had a really bad day…got yelled at and it just made me think of old stuff and I don’t know…f-felt a bit sad”

Harry placed a soft kiss against your temple

“I’m sorry today was so tough, I know it was probably hard to remember what it was like growing up too..can’t blame you for feeling upset”

His hands ran up and down your arm softly, the constant touch helping to keep you grounded and in the present moment.

“You know what I think?”

Looking up at him you furrowed your brows

“What?”

Placing a kiss on your lips he smiled

“I think you are the most beautiful soul, inside and out. Despite everything you’re still here, fighting and working hard day in and day out. You don’t ever have to feel sorry or feel bad about doing everything you’ve done on your own, and allowing yourself to love and experience love despite it all”

“H…”

He was quick to swipe a tear from your cheek before continuing

“I love you so much, you’re my now and my future. Seeing you grow and flourish into the woman you are today has been a privilege to witness and support you through. I admire you so much m’baby, you’ve never let anyone dim your light and m’so lucky to get to love you”

Anything you would have said to him in this moment was caught in your throat, so wrapping your arms around him and holding him tight was enough for him in the moment. Harry was the moon and the stars to you, he was your whole universe and he’d been helping you heal since you’d been together. You’d done the hardest work on this journey, he had just been there to support and love you through it so he says.

“I love you so much H, thank you for letting me start a new family”

“I’ll always be your family, you’re safe with me my darling, always”

Matilda was a song that would forever have its hold on you, and it was even more special knowing Harry had wrote it thinking of you, including you in his album and one of his projects he really loved. The love he’d shown you and continues to show you had only helped you come out of your shell and finally feel as if you’d found your place and purpose in this world.

Harry was your home, just as you were his.

a/n if you or someone you know is struggling with abuse please reach out to someone you know, whether it be a friend, family member or adult you trust. I’d only wished i’d done so earlier, i’m here to help and support you guys in anyway I can. You are loved, you are cherished and you are worth it.

#harry styles #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x female reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles x girlfriend reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic rec #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fanfiction #rueswrites #ruesanswers #ruesanons<3 #ruesasks #ruesfriends💙

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in-my-feels-probably · 9 months

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hello! how are you? I hope you have a good day! can you please do “you drew stars around my scars but now im bleeding” with sirius but ends with fluff please? thank you sm!❣️

Cardigan

Request: hello! how are you? I hope you have a good day! can you please do “you drew stars around my scars but now im bleeding” with sirius but ends with fluff please? thank you sm!❣️

Hi! I’m so sorry for the long wait, it took me forever to make it through my inbox to get to this request. Thank you for being patient. I went a little bit literal with this one, but I think it turned out alright. Cardigan is my absolute favorite Taylor song, and I literally have this lyric on my phone case in a design I had made. I haven’t written for Sirius in a little bit, but I very much enjoyed writing this. I hope you like it!

(Warnings: swearing, mentions of injuries and scars, mentions of sirius’s home life, insecurity, mentions of trauma and panic responses, let me know if i missed anything)

—

Sirius had good days and bad days.

It hadn’t been that long since he had run away from home, and he was still learning how to cope. Although he had his friends by his side, adjusting to his day to day life and accepting what the future held for him was hard. Getting through the day without a hiccup was quite the feat for him.

He could go from smiling and laughing one minute, to shutting down completely and harshly snapping at someone in another.

Trauma isn’t pretty.

It never is, and it probably never would be, but it was something Sirius was learning to process and work through. Luckily, he had you by his side to help him. He knew he would never be alone as long as you were there.

Still, that didn’t stop him from trying to push you away when you got a little too close for comfort. Having someone that close meant that you knew him well. You knew every part of him, including the darkest parts, and that terrified him. It was his instinct to run when he felt you near. Like you were burying yourself under his skin, and there was nowhere left inside himself where he could escape to.

He fought that instinct every day.

You knew when to leave him alone. Over time, you had picked up on all his tells, and it was easy enough to tell when he needed some time to himself. Giving him the space to breathe was important, and you were happy enough to do so.

But you couldn’t let him be truly alone.

In the moments where he’d push you away, you’d just cling harder. If you didn’t cling, he would forever keep you at arm’s length, regardless of if he knew it was bad for him or not. He didn’t know how to do what was best for him, so he had to trust that you and his friends could do it for him until he learned how to do it for himself. And while he knew it was best to let you all do that for him, he’d still fight it sometimes.

Today was a bad day.

It had started alright. He’d even woken up with some pep in his step, his usual grin plastered on his face as he joined you in your first class of the day. He sat next to you with a smile, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

“Hello, love.”

You smiled, raising a brow. “You’re unusually cheery today. Did you sleep well? I normally have to wait until at least noon to speak to you if I don’t want my head bitten off. What’s different?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, reaching for your hand under the table. “I’m just happy today.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Good.”

—

You weren’t sure what had happened.

You had gone to your next few classes, sitting in your last one while you waited for it to start. It was the one class you and all your friends had together, and you seemed to have gotten there first. Your table was empty as usual, with three vacant stools next to and across from you.

You were beginning to worry just as James walked through the doorway alone, a frown set on his face as he took a seat on the stool next to you.

You turned to him, confused. “James? Where are Remus and Sirius? Is everything alright?”

“No,” he said quietly, looking around to make sure no one was listening. “Something is wrong with Sirius. He showed up to Potions in a panic and wouldn’t tell anyone what happened. He bolted for the dorms the second class ended and wouldn’t stop for any of us. Remus followed him back, I came to tell you.”

Your eyes widened, and you felt a sense of dread wash over you. You quickly stood, haphazardly grabbing all your things. You carried them over to Lily, who was at a nearby table.

“Would you mind holding onto these for me? I’ve got to go.”

She nodded, sliding them closer to her. “Of course, love. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you rushed out, already pivoting on your heels to leave. “Thank you!”

You hurried out the door, James hot on your heels. You tried not to let your mind wander to the worst possibilities, choking down your fear as you approached Gryffindor tower. James took the lead then, guiding you up the stairs to his dorm. You found Remus at the top, banging on the door with his fist.

“The dickhead locked me out,” he huffed, banging on the door once more. “My wand is in there, I can’t unlock it. I think he blocked it with a chair anyways.”

“We could knock it down,” James suggested, already preparing himself to kick the door in.

“Or we could do the smart thing,” you countered, pulling your wand from your pocket. “Alohomora.”

If Sirius had barricaded the door, that was a problem for later. It didn’t matter whether he had or not unless you could actually open the door. You heard the door unlock, the click prompting you to wave your wand once more.

“Evanesco,” you mumbled, making the chair vanish from behind the door.

“Huh,” James said, more to himself than anyone else. “I didn’t think of that.”

His words would have made you chuckle if you weren’t already preoccupied. Your anxiety was stifling any other emotion you could have felt. You quickly pushed open the door, peering inside. You found Sirius in his bed, the curtains drawn.

He was shutting you out.

It was eerily quiet. You realized he had casted a Silencing Charm, preventing you from hearing anything. The room was dead silent, as if your hearing had completely disappeared. James and Remus stood on either side of you, exchanging nervous glances.

“Should we talk to him?” James asked.

Remus shrugged, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s better to let him cool off for a little while.”

You sighed in frustration, hesitating. After a minute of waiting, you couldn’t take it any longer. You marched towards his bed, trying to open the curtains. But as you tried to tug them open, they wouldn’t budge. Not even a little bit. You groaned, taking a step back.

“Sirius? Sirius, open the curtains,” you asked sternly, trying your best not to let your voice waver. “I know you can hear me. Please just open the curtains, don’t make me have to do it.”

You knew your tone was harsh. But it had to be. You had no idea what had happened, and none of you could help unless you knew what you were up against. He was already beginning to block you out, and you couldn’t let him.

You tugged on the curtains again, speaking softer. “Sirius, please.”

All of a sudden, you heard the sound of blankets being tossed and a muffled shuffle. It was like your ears had popped, as if you had been underwater the whole time you were in the room and you had just now reached the surface. There was a spell mumbled, and then Sirius’s head was peeking out from in between his curtains.

“Go away,” he spat, before sinking back behind the curtains. “I don’t want you here, I don’t need you.”

“Pads!” James quickly scolded.

“Oi! Watch your tone with her,” Remus snapped at the same time.

You ignored the twinge in your heart, pushing down the sting of his words. “It’s fine, guys. Just help me.”

Sirius heard your words, and you could hear another shuffle as he reached for the curtains. He tried once again to spell them, but James was quicker. James held onto one end, while Remus held onto the other. You stood at the foot of the bed in between them, silently scanning Sirius for any visible injuries or signs of distress as he gave you all a few colorful choice words. You let him get it out of his system before you spoke.

“We’re not going anywhere, love. Are you going to tell us what happened, or are we going to sit here? I’m happy to do either.”

When Sirius was defensive like this, one of you had to lead. It may not have been the kindest way you could have said it, but kindness isn’t what was going to get him to talk. First, you had to get through to him. Afterwards was when it was time to be kind. And he certainly wasn’t going to give you an easy time.

He was being childish. You couldn’t blame him, you knew it was just an involuntary response. But it was hard to work around it sometimes. It was one of his many reactions to being upset, and your second to least favorite—only ahead of finding him in tears.

James, ever the worrier, placed a hand on Sirius’s shoulder. “What’s going on, mate? Do I need to hit someone?”

“I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself, Potter,” he muttered, shrugging him off.

“Alright,” Remus said, stepping around the bed to grab onto James’s shoulder. “You let me know when you’re done being a git. We’ll be downstairs. Call if you need us.”

James gave you a concerned look, but he let Remus pull him away. You gave him a small reassuring smile, and he took that as enough reason to follow Remus out the door.

You sighed, turning back around. Sirius was looking up at you with dull eyes, a frown on his face. Slowly, you crawled up onto the edge of the bed. He watched as you sat, crossing your legs and folding your hands in your laps. You settled in, and it was becoming clear to him that you really weren’t going anywhere.

“Hey, sweet boy,” you murmured, trying a gentler approach. “You gonna talk to me?”

Sirius’s face softened as you spoke, but he didn’t move to speak. You reached for one of his hands, and he absentmindedly began playing with your fingers.

“You were alright when I saw you this morning. What happened? James was quite worried when he told me.”

“I didn’t mean to worry him,” he said quietly, slipping a ring off one of his fingers to slip it on yours, beginning to twist it around.

You quickly nodded. “I know. He just doesn’t know what’s happening, love. He doesn’t know how to help you if you don’t tell him what’s wrong. None of us do. I think it upsets him more than it worries him. He doesn’t like seeing anyone sad, but especially not his best friend.”

Sirius didn’t say anything, only humming in response. You let him twist his ring around your finger a little longer, before you laid your free hand on his knee.

“If you don’t want to talk, we don’t have to talk. But I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here until I see that pretty smile. And if that’s tomorrow? Well it looks like I’m staying the night, then.”

He finally looked up, tugging your hand closer. “What’s this from?”

You looked down to see a little white scar at the base of one of your fingers, with lead stained underneath the skin. You nearly laughed at the memory.

“I got stabbed with a pencil.”

“What?” He asked, inspecting the scar. “Why is there gray?”

“It happened when I was a kid at school. Muggles don’t write with a quill and ink. Especially when you’re a kid, a pencil is easier to use because you can erase all your mistakes. I was playing with a friend, and they had their pencil in their hand. It slipped, and the point stabbed my finger. I tried to wash it out and clean it, but some of the lead stayed under my skin I guess. And when it healed, you could still see it. I actually forgot that it was there.”

“You never tried to heal it once you got here?” He asked, and you shook your head.

“It is healed,” you shrugged, placing your hand back in his. “But if you mean the mark, then no, I never tried to get rid of it. I don’t mind it. I hardly ever notice it, but when I do, it’s just a reminder of something silly that happened to me as a kid. It’s a good laugh.”

You pulled your legs out from under the covers, showing him the raised skin on your knee. “Remember when I did this one?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a person as clumsy as you,” Sirius mused, resting his hand on your knee. “You managed to trip not once but twice in the stands down at the Quidditch Pitch.”

You shoved his shoulder, feigning offense. “It was raining! And I seem to remember someone laughing quite hard.”

“I couldn’t help it, love. The first time looked like it hurt, but the second time was just funny. Don’t look at me like that, I took you to see Madam Pomfrey. You didn’t let her fix it?”

“I let her patch me up and give me a bandage,” you said, running your finger along the raised skin. “But I said no when she offered to try and make sure it didn’t scar. What, you don’t think it’s pretty?”

Your tone was playful, but Sirius seemed to take your words to heart. He shook his head, his face pensive.

“I think all of you is pretty. All of you, the scars too. I just thought they might bother you a little bit.”

You smiled, shaking your head.

“As silly and small as these two are, I don’t mind any of my scars. They’re all reminders that something happened to me, and I made it through. These little cuts and scrapes aren’t much of a memory worth retelling, but I’ll tell you the same thing again if I ever manage to hurt myself worse. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, no matter how big or small a scar is. They’re part of you, and I quite like the idea that they’re physical representations of a moment where you were strong. They’re unique to you and your life, and I think they add a lot of character.”

It was a long while before Sirius spoke, seeming to be lost in thought. He took your hand in his, flipping it over so he could see the scar on your finger again.

“I can’t believe I’ve never noticed it.”

“I don’t blame you,” you said, looking at the mark on your skin. “I forget about it myself unless something reminds me. I forget about most of them honestly, you know? Out of sight, out of mind and all that.”

He nodded, and you suddenly realized what may have been going on. When you walked in, Sirius wasn’t wearing his full uniform. He didn’t have his robes on, and his sleeves were rolled up. You figured he had just thrown them all off when he got back up to the dorms, but you were starting to think that may have not been the case.

You tried to gently coax out what you thought may have been troubling him. “What’s going on, love? Are scars on your mind? Did something happen?”

The way his face fell confirmed your suspicions. His vision began to cloud, tears stinging his eyes. He wouldn’t look at you, despite you gently asking him to. He was embarrassed, and you knew it. Eventually, you had to hook your finger under his chin, tilting his head up to make him look at you. You cupped his chin with one hand, running your thumb along his cheekbone with the other.

“Talk to me, darling. I’m here to listen,” you spoke, wiping away any stray tears that fell.

Sirius sighed in frustration, holding his arm out for you to look at. You gently took hold of him by the wrist, carefully looking him over. You were pretty sure what he was referring to now, but you stayed quiet. It was better to let him tell you on his own.

“Evans saw the scar from the curse Mother used on me the night I left,” he mumbled after taking a breath.

You winced, but didn’t overstep as you coaxed him to continue. “How? What happened?”

“It was hot in DADA, so I rolled my sleeves up. I wasn’t thinking about it, I just did it. She noticed it and apparently knew what it was from. I guess she figured it out from the look of it. I had almost forgotten it was there until she pointed it out.”

You frowned. Sometimes, Lily was too smart for her own good. Of course she would know what it was, everyone had studied curses similar to the one used on Sirius all year in preparation for exams. She took these lessons quite seriously in case she’d ever have to put them into practice.

Some spells leave a distinct mark, even if they’re healed soon after they’re inflicted. In all the chaos, it took Sirius quite a while to get it looked at, so it was sure to scar. There were things he could do to lessen its intensity, or he could use a Glamour charm to mask it, but it would always be there.

A parting gift from his Mother.

“What did Lily say? She wasn’t rude about it, was she?”

“No, it wasn’t anything like that,” he murmured, watching as you ran your thumb over the scar. “She was just curious how I got it. I froze up like an idiot when I looked at it, and couldn’t focus for the rest of class. I went to Potions, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. I panicked, and bolted for the dorms the second we were let out.”

Your heart broke as he spoke.

It wasn’t often Sirius talked about the night he left home. He hardly let himself think about it, let alone tell anyone about it. He always found it easier to block out those types of memories instead of confronting them, but this time his memories decided to confront him. And he had no choice but to sit with them. Your face fell as you imagined him sitting in class, panicked and working himself up as he remembered the worst night of his life.

Unlike most of your scars, his had a much heavier weight to them. He had a much harder time accepting them than you did with yours. He didn’t want them to be a part of him.

You felt him reach for your hand again, turning it over to look at the scar on your finger.

“You said your scars are a part of you, and a reminder of how strong you were,” he said, squeezing your hand. “Well, I wasn’t strong. If I was, I wouldn’t have gotten mine. They may be a part of me, but I don’t want to remember them. They don’t have any good memories attached to them, or any stories I want to tell.”

He may as well have slapped you in the face. It would have hurt less than the burn in your chest as you listened to him degrade himself, knowing there was little you could say that would make him feel better. He had the idea that he wasn’t strong ingrained in his mind, and it would take more than just this one conversation to make him understand just how strong he was.

He was one of the strongest people you had ever met. Brave enough to stand up to his family, and even braver to get himself out of it. He was so young, and he had already lived through so much. He woke up and managed to drag himself out of bed every day, and he did it with a smile on his face—once he was fully woken up and no longer grumpy, at least. That took more strength and courage than you’d ever have.

But he didn’t see himself as strong. He didn’t see his scars as a reminder of how strong he was. You’d just have to show him until he figured it out for himself.

“Well, we can change that,” you said, hopping off his bed to rummage through his trunk.

“What are you doing?” He asked, looking over the side of the bed as he watched you.

You pulled a bottle of black nail polish out of his things, smiling in victory as you showed him. You crawled back into bed, setting the bottle in your lap. You silently held your hand out for his arm, and he reluctantly placed it in your grip. You opened the bottle with your free hand, dipping the brush into the polish.

You traced the scar, stopping at every curve to place a big dot of polish. “I know you didn’t take Astronomy, so bear with me for a minute. See all the points? It’s shaped like the constellation Hercules. He was known for his strength and resilience. He was cursed by the goddess Hera to a life of misery and constant trials, and he did some bad things while under her control. But when he realized he had done wrong, he asked the Oracle what he could do to atone for his sins. He spent the rest of his mortal days trying to make up for what he did through a series of terrifying tasks, and he eventually paid for his sins with his life. After his death, he became immortal, and he joined the rest of the gods on Mount Olympus. Zeus placed him in the night sky with stars to represent each of his victories, and now Hercules is remembered as a hero. His strength and determination is what defines him, not his past. His stars shine bright, just like he did in life.”

After you dotted along each major point of his scar, you carefully connected the dots with a thin line of polish. Sirius watched you with soft eyes as your face twisted in concentration, your brows furrowed as you worked. When you finished, you casted a drying spell, carefully touching the edge of the polish afterwards to make sure it was completely dry.

“There,” you smiled, closing the bottle and setting it down. “Now you’ve got a story to tell if anyone asks. I think it would look really cool as a tattoo. I just might have to see if I can hurt myself so I can have my own constellation.”

Sirius mustered a laugh, making you grin as you looked up to see him giving you a watery smile. You were kidding of course, but the sentiment still made his eyes well with tears. Before you could speak, he had already hooked an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him.

“Don’t hurt yourself, silly girl. We can get you any tattoo you want without actually scarring you.”

You chuckled, wrapping your arms around his waist. “What’s the point, then? Where’s the fun in that?”

Your smile widened as he continued to chuckle, and you pulled away to cup his cheeks in your palms. You held him steady, tucking stray hairs behind his ears.

“There’s that pretty smile.”

His cheeks flushed as you spoke, and you felt your heart swell. It’s criminal, really—how pretty he is. Just looking at him made you want to burst into tears sometimes.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he said suddenly, his hands resting on your knees. “I didn’t mean it.”

You had nearly forgotten about how he had snapped at you. The twinge in your chest from his words was long gone, replaced by the warm comfort of knowing he was alright and voluntarily opening up to you.

You just shook your head, waving it off. “I know you didn’t, my love. If I took everything you said when you were grumpy to heart, I’d be a lot worse off.”

Sirius gave you a sheepish smile. “Still. You didn’t deserve that, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, I didn’t. And you were being a git. But I’ve already forgiven you for it, so don’t beat yourself up about it. I’m sure James and Remus will do the same. Speaking of which, we should probably go tell them you’re alright. We can show off your pretty little design, too. James will be jealous.”

“We can figure out one for him. He’s got plenty of scars from falling off his broom, the clumsy bloke. He’s nearly as clumsy as you are,” Sirius teased, dodging your attacks when you picked up his pillow to smack him with.

“Be nice!” You scolded, continuing your attack. “I haven’t even gotten onto you for stealing my nail polish yet.”

Sirius finally raised his hands in surrender, taking a breath as he snatched his pillow back. “Alright! You’ve made your point, darling. Quit it, you’ll chip the polish.”

You gasped dramatically, raising your hands in surrender as well. “Well, we can’t let that happen, can we?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but smile. Your expression mirrored his, and you leaned back, resting against one of the posts of his bed.

“What were you so cheery for this morning anyway? I’ve been wondering all day,” you asked, watching his cheeks flush once more.

“Oh, uh…I had a nice dream is all.”

“Yeah?” You asked, raising a brow. “What about?”

He gave you another sheepish smile. “You.”

You cracked a grin, stifling a chuckle. You could feel your heart fluttering in your chest, a warm feeling spreading across your chest.

“You’re such a sap, Black,” you teased, but you were smiling all the same.

“Says the girl reciting Greek myths to me. Kettle,” he said pointing to himself, before turning his finger towards you. “Pot.”

“Shut up, or I’m grabbing the pillow again.”

—

A/N - Hi! I’m so sorry again for the long wait, I really appreciate you being patient. I wasn’t too sure what to write, hopefully this is what you were looking for. I hope you liked it! Let me know :)

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daydreaming-en-pointe · 4 months

Text

⇢ ˗ˏˋ you know the greatest loves of all time are over now. ࿐ྂ

Pairing: Hobie Brown (Spider-Punk) x GN!Reader

Type: Oneshot - Angst

Warnings: Angst, Reader is dead (died before the events of ATSV), Hobie visits their grave, mentions of death (and grief), use of nicknames (sunshine, my love), inconsistent-ish Hobie accent (I’m trying my best but this man’s accent is so confusing 😭)

Word count: 930

A/N: This is my first proper attempt at angst with Hobie, and I’m still getting the hang of it so any constructive criticism or feedback is welcome! 💜

I might’ve gotten a bit carried away lmao

We never painted by the numbers, baby

But we were making it count

You know the greatest loves of all time are over now

I guess you never know, never know

And it’s another day waking up alone

(the 1 by Taylor Swift)

Inky tendrils of darkness curled into the atmosphere, chasing away any traces of light remaining. Cruelly fitting, he had to admit, considering the reason for his visit.

Everyone was probably either asleep or trying to get there, but he couldn’t sleep. How could he? It wasn’t like his thoughts were occupied by anything else. The incident had happened a few months ago, yet it was all he could remember during the darkest hours of the night when he didn’t have it in him to push it away, to bury it under a false sense of happiness like trying to hold a sheet of glass together while it was cracking. Glue could only do so much to hold the fragile shards together.

Your voice, your laugh, the way your eyes scrunched when you smiled, how you would dance around to your favourite song, the way you could soothe his worries that would spiral into despair without you and calm him with a simple embrace.

He remembered everything clearly, which only added to the pain of it all. Jokes which were so bad that they got you giggling almost hysterically, spinning around on rooftops, tending to his wounds, making him food when he was exhausted, loyally coming to every one of his shows, painting his nails, waking up practically wrapped around him like a koala, cuddling after long, tiring days, holding him close and whispering sweet reassurances that he so easily believed as they fell from your lips.

“Wha’ would I ever do without ya, sunshine?”

Those words so innocently chuckled out on a park bench, his head on your lap while he looked up at you like you were the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen — which, of course, you were in his eyes.

Now he didn’t have to imagine.

It was truly twisted how fate could snatch someone so suddenly, right after they’d promised that they’d be there forever. Twisted that he had just enough time to start believing that out of all the inconsistencies in his life, you might be an exception, one for the better.

Hobie stood in the bitter cold, the light dusting of snow mingling with mud crunching under his boots. The thin material of his leather vest and trousers on top of his spider suit was definitely not enough to keep him warm, but he was barely registering the chill creeping in through his clothes as he pulled off his mask.

His eyes ghosted over your tombstone, reading the all-too-familiar words etched into the stone. He let a shaky exhale and leaned down to drop a bundle of flowers in front of the unforgiving marble, displaying that name - carrying so much gravity because of the person it once belonged to - with a ruthless, twisted sort of pride.

The birthday - no, birth anniversary - of the love of his life. Those two words sounded hollow and meaningless, yet carried the weight of an impossibly heavy truth behind them. You were gone. You were never coming back. You would never be able to come running and leap into his arms again, never be able to fall into that familiar rhythm that belonged to you two alone.

“‘Ey, sunshine. It’s me again. Happy birthday, my love.” He still called you that, even months after your passing. It wasn’t like he didn’t notice the pitying glances and sad little sighs at the nickname. Oh, he noticed them alright. That just made him stubbornly insist on calling you that even more.

He sat down on the ground, tucking his legs underneath him to get down to the headstone’s level. As if someone hidden behind the invisible veil of life and death could meet his eyes and give him that smile that used to make his heart flare every time without fail. As if said someone could make the hurt go away with a gentle kiss, get him thinking about something else like changing the channel on a radio station.

“I miss you. A lot. I wish you were ‘ere. And I’m sorry I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t protect you. I know you wouldn’t want me to beat myself up about it, but…” Hobie trailed off, trying to swallow the lump in his throat that made his voice sound thick to his own ears. “Anyway. There’s this kid who got recruited into the Spider Society. Remember, I told you about it before… yeah. ‘Er name’s Gwen, ‘er dad - ‘e’s a cop - threa’ened to arrest ‘er so I took ‘er in. Spider-Woman’s viewed as criminal in their universe, so obviously that doesn’t work well for ‘er. She’s a wicked drummer. I wish you two could meet, you’d love ‘er.”

He cut himself off as his voice broke at the end, closing his eyes as he allowed a few tears to well up. “I got you somethin’, by the way.”

He reached into his pocket and brought out a tiny clay tabby cat that he had made himself. He was so proud of it because its eyes reminded him of you, sparkly and crinkled with amusement in some ways but mostly kind. Kind eyes that held enough understanding behind them for anyone to feel safe.

He set it down amongst the flowers in front of your gravestone, nestling it in the comfort of a curtain of petals. “I didn’t tell you this since I wanted it to be a surprise, but… I was gonna get you a kitten for your birthday. We could’ve taken care of it together. Your constant pesterin’ would’ve finally paid off.“

I guess it’s too late now.

Hobie slowly got to his feet, trying to force a smile for you before giving up and just pulling his mask on again, feeling his tears sink into the fabric as it brushed against his eyelids.

“I’ll come visit you again soon, sunshine. I’ll bring my guitar too, maybe play you a song or two. Promise. I love you.” He brushed his fingers against the top of the gravestone, where a thin carpet comprised of tiny flecks of snow had gathered. The knowledge that you’d never be able to echo that sentiment back to him again pierced a hole through his heart for the umpteenth time.

I miss you more than I ever thought was possible.

@hobiebrownismygod @l0starl @therealloopylupin2099

#⋆·˚ 🌹 ༘ * — 𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗶’𝘀 𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙨!#⋆·˚ 🌺 ༘ * — 𝙝𝙞𝙗𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙨!#atsv #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #atsv hobie #hobie atsv #hobie spiderverse #atsv x reader #atsv x gn reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x gn!reader #hobie brown x gender neutral reader #hobie angst #atsv angst #gn reader

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mdhwrites · 10 months

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I believe Vee was created because the writers didn’t want to explore Camilia worrying and grieving over possibly losing Luz, the only family she had left. We didn’t witness Camilia spend months wondering what happened to her daughter since Vee pretended to be her. Even after Camilia discovered she wasn’t her child, she kept her and formed a familial relationship. Another issue is that Luz didn’t have any questions surrounding her disappearance, nor did she have to repeat a grade since Vee had taken her place, leaving others none the wiser. Vee was a copout by the writers, who didn’t want to have Luz face consequences for going missing.

Here's my rebuttal: What place did that have in this story?

Especially by the time of Yesterday's Lie, TOH is still a kid's show. It's still the story of a girl escaping to a fantasy realm and getting to live the dream of being a witch that she always wanted. While S2B will get more dramatic, it never gets truly dark frankly. All of its water works are pretty basic and bare bones for the fantasy genre frankly. I mean, the darkest it gets is "I'm a clone and Belos has murdered me untold amounts of times" and they don't explore that either because that'd mean following through on the plot point and one dark plot point does not a drama make. It's part of why the fandom constantly shouting trauma never rang true because these are the first actually bad things to ever happen to these characters and they never respond quite properly to them.

All that you want is befitting for a genuinely dramatic story. One that is trying to face the consequences of EVERYTHING. It'd actually be a really bad, really brutal gut punch to a story that is already exploring the genuine effects of being an isekai protagonist, already exploring how much that would already suck, and that's the exact OPPOSITE of what TOH was interested in doing. It never properly faces consequences for anything that happens in the show and actively shoots possible consequences in the face much of the time so they can move on to the next moment the writers actually care about.

Instead, Vee is a genuinely brilliant work around the problems of the isekai genre while not pretending they just don't exist. Does she fully function? Not entirely, you still have to suspend your disbelief that this lab grown creation who never had any schooling or social interactions can FUNCTION in society but that's pretty normal suspension of disbelief for this sort of thing frankly. It would have started straining more if they'd gotten a full S3 and so actually had to spend time with Vee and dealing with the twin identities but at this point I hope I've pointed out enough in the rest of my blogs that this show just wouldn't properly explore any of that really. We'd maybe get one episode that ends up on Luz's side in the end and that'd be it.

But as I've talked before with Vee, her main goal wasn't even just to wave away tonal issues. She was meant to directly be able to show that Luz could have had friends. Could have been happy. That, as Vee states, "She had it good." Which, you know, was a GIANT mistake since they never backed up Luz being bullied or an outcast or having social anxiety or anything like that so it just makes Luz like a lying bitch and recontextualizes her entire introduction in terrible ways. It WAS the intended goal with Vee though to do that.

That's honestly part of the tragedy of TOH and why it's hard to defend the writers as writers. There's almost ALWAYS an explicit point to most of the elements included in the story for a short term gain or statement but there's no thought to the overall effect of it. It could NEVER have been serialized because these writers don't think about the big picture. Instead, they sloppily put together a Jenga tower and the longer the game goes on...

Well, eventually a good base is eroded until it all comes crashing down.

#the owl house criticism #toh critical #toh vee

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millenari · 3 months

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1, 11, 3, 5, 6, 9, 16 for Demeter and Tugger ☺️

I got a separate ask for Tugger so I'll do him next ✨✨✨

1. Canon I outright reject

I still sometimes get annoyed by this, like genuinely ALW or whoever can truly fuck off if they think Demeter's singular noteworthy skill is 'flirting'.

Also this isn't necessarily 'canon' but I can't do her and Bomba being sisters AND I can't see Demeter as being 'young' OR younger than Bomba. That woman is in her thirties. To Me.

3. Obscure headcanon

Back when Demeter ran with Macavity she was kind of his 'showgirl'. The image that kind of comes to mind is this Harley Quinn and Joker scene in that awful s‌uicide squad movie where Harley is dancing and Joker and his coworkers or whatever are all watching her? Kind of like that (but with more of a jazzy vibe)-- she would sing and perform for the cats that Macavity 'led', and would often be his hype-man and sing about his accomplishments. So when she pops up to sing his song in the musical it's a weird moment for her-- she's kind of returning to what she knows and finding comfort in that, and also feeling a little horrified in herself for finding comfort in it.

5. Best personality trait

Despite everything she's gone through, Demeter genuinely tries to see the best in everyone. For example, Bomba can be a bit callous sometimes (as much as she genuinely loves Demeter) and I do think there have been periods of their relationship that were so rocky that they wouldn't have been able to pull through if not for Demeter's compassion & understanding. (Like I said, Bomba does love Demeter, but in Bomba's own words, she's 'not good at loving things').

And this can be a genuinely hard thing for Demeter to do, but it's something she puts a deliberate effort into all the time. She doesn't want Macavity to dig his claws into her any more than he already has. Doesn't want him to twist her into something like him, especially not when he isn't even around to torment her anymore.

6. Worst personality trait

Most cats I think would say it's her paranoia. Personally I think she has every right to be paranoid, but for the others it can be difficult when something 'sets her off'. Partially because she will absolutely not back down if she thinks she or the others are not safe, and partially because it happens so often. Macavity has a lot of magical powers that allow him to be sneaky, so all sorts of strange sounds or weird shadows will have her convinced he's nearby, which can instantly turn a fun outing on the town into an emotionally draining hours-long crawl with everyone's noses to the ground in order to convince Demeter that what she saw or heard was completely mundane.

Again, I think she has a right to it, but it can be difficult for the others to contend with her in those situations.

9. Scene that first made me love (or hate) the character

Everything about the Macavity song, man. She's interesting through the whole play, but her choreo and singing (esp 98!Demeter, Aeva May is 👌) has so much character in it, and it's one of the moments of Cats where, if I've gotten distracted while watching, my attention is immediately drawn back in.

11. Faceclaim for the role

Aeva May is my favorite Demeter of all time. Her face, her bodytype, her voice, all of her. I don't necessarily have face claims for my humanized hcs (despite thinking of them often lmao), but in my stuff she's basically a blonde white woman with short spikey hair, big eyes, and a reputation for wearing mom jeans.

Additionally, most of the cats I couldn't really give a shit about their eye color, but I love a green/hazel eyed Demeter. Something about how their eyes look so big and haunted.

16. Deepest darkest secret they won’t even admit to themselves

As much as Macavity made her life hell, and twisted her up emotionally in ways she'll probably never recover from, and stole years of her life & pounds of her innocence that she'll never get back... She doesn't completely want him gone from her life.

She doesn't want him dead, that she would admit with only some reluctance. She still loves him in some awful way, that she'll admit to herself (and solely to herself). But on top of all of that, she doesn't even want him gone, not fully. Doesn't want him to move on from her (God knows she'll never move on from him), doesn't want him to hassle someone else, doesn't want to live her days in peace. That's her monster, and she bled for it and cried for it-- for years. It took so much of her she wouldn't feel like a full person anymore if it left her entirely.

That's something she'd never even admit to herself. The fear of Macavity returning for her keeps her awake at night-- so even admitting that she feels in such a way almost feels like a betrayal of her own self.

#cats fan on main #thank you for the ask! 🥰🥰#demeter cats #edit: added 6 👍

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yakuzacanons · 9 months

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ya dont have to answer this one cause it might be a bit silly goin to headcanons blog for this but idk ireally like ur blog ur posts always cheer me up. ive had a rough day and idk i thought it might be nice to hear how ya think these characters would try and comfort and/or cheer up their partner, yknow, make em feel better?

This is actually a great double feature to my last post which was specifically about comforting their partner on their period. That one was kind of more focused on their partner feeling physically unwell so this one will be more catered to their partner feeling emotionally unwell, if that makes sense and if that's okay.

Also, I'm sorry to hear you had a rough day and I genuinely hope you feel better. I don't think it's silly at all to ask for these kinds of things, we all have to do what we gotta do and happiness comes in all kinds of forms, so if this is one of those forms, I'm happy to be of service. I'm also sorry this post took a bit to get too as I've been rather busy but I didn't forget you dear anon! Thanks for your ask, headcanons beneath the cut as always.

I'll get to the rest of the asks in my inbox tomorrow, so good night my sweet sweet friends! Thanks as always for your kind words and asks, I really love writing these and sharing these with you. Goog nitey.

Kazuma Kiryu

He understands all too well what it's like to feel down and out. Having said that, Kiryu won't try to cheer you up right away or distract you as he believes getting to the bottom of what's bothering you is more important. Regardless of it's a rough day at work or if someone made a rude remark at you, he wants to hear you out. He is THE best listener, he never interrupts.

His very first action always is to give you a long, warm hug. How often Kiryu wishes he could've been held during his darkest and toughest moments, so now he pays that forward to others who need it. If you cry, he'll tell you it's okay and to let it all out.

Now that you've gotten that all out, it's time for him to cheer you up. Nothing makes Kiryu feel better more than a hearty meal so he'll offer to get food at your favorite place, his treat. If you'd rather stay home, then he'll do his best to cook something up for you. Maybe Haruka and the other kids at Morning Glory will get in on it and clamber to help him out in the kitchen, which you can't help but smile at. You're truly surrounded by loving and caring people.

Majima Goro

Now, if the issue was caused by someone else, his first reaction will be to go give them a nice talking to a.k.a. kicking them really hard. If you're down with that, he will actually go do it but if you're not, he'll grumble and say "Fiiine... only 'cuz you said not to."

Eventually, his thoughts will turn to finding ways to make you smile. Majima is a bit more of a "forget your troubles" guy, sometimes more than he'd like to admit. If there's nothing particular that you want, then he'll just start trying things until you crack a smile at his earnest attempts, to which he'll say "Ah, there's that adorable smile!" before giving you a hug and a kiss.

If you cry, Majima will actually become quite serious. More than anyone, he's felt so many times in his life like he was on the verge of tears but he's always held them back. He'll drop everything to comfort you through the tears, quietly reminding you to take deep breaths and just holding you until it's over.

Akiyama Shun

He believes rest is the ultimate medicine, especially when you're feeling bad. Nothing works wonders more than a warm shower and a nice, long sleep. Granted, he is the king of being exhausted so maybe he's projecting just a little bit here.

As goofy as Akiyama can be, he's pretty good at hearing you out. However, he might be somewhat oblivious and slow to notice you're not feeling your best. Once he realizes it, he'll apologize for not noticing sooner and ask what he can do to help.

If some alone time is what you need, he's absolutely not offended. Akiyama knows when to back off and won't pester you and ask if you're sure you want to be alone. He trusts your intuition on that and won't put his ego before your feelings. After all, to him, that is the very meaning of loving someone else.

Saejima Taiga

Out of all the boys, he's going to feel the worst when he sees you're feeling down. Some part of him just feels bad that he wasn't able to prevent whatever it was that hurt or upset you. Saejima has major protective vibes and he'll always wonder if he could be doing more.

In the end, making sure you're okay is more important to him. Saejima is pretty mature and he'll be able to push through those weird self doubting feelings in his own time. He'll gently hold you but won't pressure you to tell him what happened. If you want to, he'll listen intently although he may not always know what to say in response, especially if you want advice, as he doesn't think his life experiences necessarily line up with most people.

Definitely the type of guy to say things like "I'm here for you, okay?" and really mean it. If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, Saejima is your guy. After all, he has giant shoulders.

Tanimura Masayoshi

His life experiences have made him very empathetic and he will be able to really connect with you if you talk about your problems verbally. Where he struggles is if you don't talk about it because he doesn't want to force it but also doesn't really know what to do unless he has some direction to go in.

If you don't want to talk about it, he'll just sit next to you in silence. He doesn't want to just fill the space with his words, so instead he'll just lean his head against yours, taking deep breaths with you. Tanimura will stay for as long as you need, just so you know that you're not alone in this.

He's down to get some food at Homeland once you feel ready to get back up and out there. Tanimura is very food oriented and nothing makes him feel better than a nice meal, especially since Zhao and Mei Hua are always so welcoming and kind. He has a very infectious smile and he notices that you light up a bit when he smiles, so he'll try to do something fun with you like eat food or maybe play a video game at his place. By the end of the night, you'll both be grinning ear to ear.

Ryuji Goda

Secretly, he's also a "Show me who upset you and I'll give them a real nice talking to" type of guy but he's better at keeping that under wraps than Majima is. Of course, if it's not a particular person bothering you, that's where he stumbles a bit. He's never been great at just talking about things, like giving advice.

He'll refute any thoughts of self doubt you have. Did someone make fun of your hair? "They were probably bald 'n ugly themselves anyways, the hell would they know?". Do you feel self conscious about your weight? "I'll have you know that yer damn perfect as ya are." Ryuji loves you for you, for better and for worse, so what he lacks in advice or long talk sessions he makes up for with pep talks.

He's the type of man to kiss your forehead and ruffle your hair while holding a box of tissues while you cry. Ryuji rarely if ever felt safe crying in front of others before and honestly wishes he had spaces like that when he was younger, so he takes care to make sure that you feel completely safe in letting those feelings out if you need to.

Nishikiyama Akira

King of self care. Self care is the solution to everything. Nothing makes it all better like looking AND feeling good. It might sound shallow but Nishiki tries to make it fun in some ways, like getting face masks with silly colors or faces printed on them.

Out of all of the boys, he's best at gossip. If you're someone who wants to go on a long rant about all the stuff bugging you, he's all ears. If someone in particular is bugging you, he'll interject with "Oh, she did NOT" or "They did WHAT?" every so often.

He won't ever get violent. He might feel frustrated that he can't really do more than just hear you out or distract you with something silly but that won't stop him from trying at least. If you have suggestions or things you want, he's all ears though.

Daigo Dojima

The gentlest boy there ever was. He's the most perceptive of all the boys, able to immediately spot if his partner is feeling off that day. He'll always ask you about it in private, making sure to never embarrass you, softly asking "Honey, are you alright?"

If you're at a work related function and it's obvious that you're overwhelmed, Daigo will excuse you both from the event early and bring you home so you can have a safe place to decompress. When he's at work and if he knows you've been having a bad day, he'll call from his office and say "Hey honey, I just wanted to see how you were feeling". He makes himself as available as possible, always looking out for your welfare.

Daigo is really in tune with your needs and quite attentive to the things that make you happy, the things that bother you, and the like. When you're having a bad day, you'll hardly have to ask for a thing. If you're a stay at home and lay in bed all day person, he'll bring your favorite drink in and sit on the bedside while listening to you talk. If you'd rather go out, just say the word and he'll be out front with his private car ready to go wherever you want as soon as he can slip away from work.

Mine Yoshitaka

He often feels helpless in situations like this. If it were up to him, every day would be the best day possible for you. He doesn't necessarily feel like a failure but he definitely feels your pain and sadness, wishing he could just magically make it all go away.

His best skill is reassuring you. If you ask if you're actually good at something, the answer is yes. If you feel like you're failing at something new, he'll say something like "The important thing is that you're trying, and I admire that about you". He's very steady in supporting you with things like chasing your dreams, no matter how hard the road may be.

He's probably the most practical when it comes to interpersonal issues, likely a direct result of his type of work. He's good at helping you iron out tough situations, like an awkward conversation with a friend. His deep understanding of you combined with his solid reasoning skills allows him to give you a pretty good outside perspective on those kinds of situations, provided you want him to of course. Mine wouldn't offer you advice without asking if you wanted it first. Also the type of guy to wipe away your tears for you.

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yxkhei · 6 months

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I'm gonna gush for a moment because..I can!

So, I've been here what feels like..forever, joining in 2018, leaving for a bit and then coming back, I can't seem to stay away! Especially not after meeting some special people and creating some genuine connections that I'll be treasuring for forever because they mean so much to me. This group and the people in it truly brought back my love for writing and creating in a point in my life where I felt as if I'd lost it and didn't enjoy it anymore. I know I've gotten much busier lately (adulting..iykyk) but I still love spending my time here, writing with you all and creating some amazing memories I'll truly treasure. But I wanna give a special shoutout to the one person who really does mean the absolute most to me, and that's M. I gushed to you last night, but you genuinely do mean the world to me. You've been there for me through some of my darkest moments and toughest trials in life, especially this year more than most because you know all the things I'd gone through and you were by my side through all of it. I cannot begin to tell you how much that and all your support truly means to me. You've seen me through a lot of shit that I don't know if I would've been able to make it through without you. You always know how to put a smile on my face and bring me out of my moods and make me basically feel like a person again when I don't ever think I can. You also amaze me with how strong you are, just like you said to me! You're also able to really see the good in everything and everyone and that's so special because you never see that much anymore in people. Writing with you is the highlight of my rp-ing career just because of so much fun we have with all of our babies. You really made me enjoy and love writing again when I never thought I'd be able to. You inspire me to want to try harder, to create more and be as creative as I can be and I can't tell you how amazing that feels. Like you said, thank you for always putting up with me all these years and I've found someone amazing in you, babe. Thank you for everything else you do with and for me, it never goes unnoticed. I love you, bb! 💕 @tcemint

I wanna give another shoutout to some others who are always so welcoming and make me happy writing with too! I love all the friendships and connections I've formed with all of you on my fcs and I always look forward to writing and doing things with each and every one of you. You're all so amazing and thank you for being there and being so welcoming to all of my fcs even if you may not know much about them or who they are. None of it goes unnoticed! @tcmhcll @tthompscn @kvmnamjoons @westcoastsaweetie @margseliserobbie @scrchdrew @janggyul @ninqningie @thatnattyice @m-mount Ilyyyyy all. 🫶🏼

#( ooc. )#hfrpappreciation

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fyre444 · 6 months

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Still stuck in Johnnys arcade and how blehg it was so I made a fan made “what if” for it

Hope ya enjoy ^ ^

ok so johnnys story starts off with him meeting testament, his usual line for them. ("Now here's a face I haven't seen in a minute" ) Testament has a line with him something along the lines of "And you've grown a bit."

(doing a perfect run for this sooo)

Johnny beats Testament and Tes makes a remark about how strong they still are, even through age they're still the same old johnny. Testament then begins to ask about the pirates, Dizzy, and May.

"Thats actually the reason I was searchin' for you."

"Pardon?"

"Jus'.... May's been off lately and I feel lost as what to do with us."

"Hm, I see... after all everything you've done for me it seems fit I return the favor."

"Go on, Johnny."

Johnny then begins to talk to Testament about how May has liked him for the longet time it seems and though he thought it would go away after a bit, he sees it hasn't and its just gotten worse. He feels bad about it but can't speak upon why he hasn't confronted her yet as its a long story.

Testament understands and even takes Johnny's offer of "Grub" (His line "Wanna grab some grub after this?")

Johnny makes a cheekish remark about how flattering it is and Testament immediately puts him down.

Stage 7

(im unsure if there should be a gimmick where if you perfect the rest of the other battles then you can skip thi one, and unlocks more dialogue, but if not just imagine Testament and Johnny had grub after their fight)

Testament brings up him and May again and Johnny comes through

He is scared of the repercussion of telling her off and that their bond will forever be tainted. He also feels as if its too late. Lastly, hes scared of breaking his person that is "Johnny".

Johnnys person of being a super cool, sly, awesome guy is simply a persona because he feels as if thats a part of his dad with him. He saw his dad as a figure to look up to and just like he is right now, and wants to keep that on to remember him. Hes afraid of losing him completely.

Testament understandably, has compassion for Johnny. They understand his worries and such. Testament mentions their relationship with Kliff, their father figure. They bring up how they always felt love for Kliff, even through their darkest times and even as Kliff wanted to kill Justice and Testament. Testament wishes to have that moment with their dad again, to tell them that they always do love them, but understands that sometimes thing have to die and its okay to let go of them Testament says that Johnny should take the chance to talk to May, as he has it now, and shouldn't waste a moments notice.

Johnny thanks them, even asking to come visit them sometime, Testament only replying that, “They’ll put some thought into it.”

Stage 8. Johnny and May meet for the first time again and May makes a comment about Johnny being off and cheating on her and hes just extremely awkward and clearly not up for it, so they fight as shes pretty upset.

After they fight though, May mentions that they do love Johnny, hence why shes going hard on him. Johnny isnt mad or anything but once May starts to go on about them two and how hardship breeds love, Johnny cuts her off. He tells her that he does love her but, not in that way. She asks to elaborate and still tries to go on but Johnny says hes serious

May begins to ask “why?” Why does he say this?? Johnny elaborates saying hes seen her as his daughter always and loves her in that way but, not romantically. He wants the best for her and just wants her to truly be happy with someone who loves her back.

May even gets more upset, asking him why now, why does he NOW say it. After everything and all the time she spent on him and their love?! Beginning to tear up, she ask herself if she’s even been a good daughter for him. Johnny could even get a word out shes even more upset, and proceeds to Stage 9

Stage 9-

May in her intro is a mix of both sadness, frustration, and anger as to why he didnt say anything or went along with it.

Johnny tries to calm her but it proceeds to the fight

Post fight, May is tired and sitting on the floor, beginning to sob a bit. Johnny crouches down and listens to her from an arms distance, even putting and arm on her shoulder. She feels so wrong for liking him for so long, yet is angry at him for not telling her earlier or doing anything about it. She feels like a mistake and wrong for all of her feelings. She tells herself that she shouldn’t have been saved by him, that all of this could’ve been prevented if-

As Johnny sees this he goes up to her, a hug, giving her a tight squeeze around her as she sobs. Taking off his hat and glasses, he tells her hes truly sorry, to the depths of his heart. He felt so nervous and scared to do so, he never wanted to upset her and thus, stayed quiet about it. Johnny was afraid to lift off the cool guy persona for just one second, in fear of destroying the image he built for the pirates as a strong dad, but now; he knows it wasnt right of him though. He tells her that not telling her earlier was truly his fault, he accepts that. He acknowledges that shes mad, and understands, but he wants to let her know that he will still always love her as his daughter. Shes done nothing but be a spark of light in his life, and shes not wrong or disgusting.

He loves her and always will no matter how angry or sad she is, but wants to let her know that for her sake, she has to move on. He hates seeing her stuck on someone who can't love her romantically. Though, he’s going to be there for the entire way through this tough process.

Johnny finishes by saying he loves her.

May, wiping her nose, says she does too.... dad.

#guilty gear #may guilty gear #ggst #guilty gear strive #johnny guilty gear #testament guilty gear #fanfic #alternate ending #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr

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kriz-fics · 9 months

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The Sword's Legacy

Series Summary: As the heir of your father's lands, you have grown up knowing that one day you must wed to your House's advantage, and there's no better catch than the younger son of the Magister himself. Meanwhile tensions within the king's court are set to come to a head at any moment - it just needs that spark to send everything ablaze. Now in a court more dangerous than the one you entered, you find distraction and joy in the company of the beautiful boy with the beautiful eyes. You can only hope to weather the storm you can sense brewing in the horizon.

Masterlist

Chapter Eighteen: Paints and Seas

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader

Genre: Royalty AU, Historical Fantasy AU, Romance, Politics, Warfare, Eventual Smut (future chapters), Slow Burn

Length: 12.2K

CW: None for this chap

“Glaring at the thing won’t make it finish itself, you know.”

His spirits, already so low, plummet even further, if that is possible. Jean grits his teeth, forces a breath through his nose, and persists glaring at the half-filled canvas before him. “I told them I was not to be disturbed.”

A soft scoff answers those words, followed by soft footsteps, and the sound of things clinking and rattling against each other as she moves further into the room. The sound is familiar, but for the life of him, he can’t quite place it.

Not that he is particularly bothered to at the moment.

“Lord of Trost you may one day be, but your lady mother is not without her own power. My word has as much weight as yours, my son.” The rustle of paper resounds somewhere behind, which tells him his mother has stepped on his artist’s leavings. “How many times have I told you to pick up after yourself?” the Lady Eleanor Kirschtein tsks disapprovingly. She is always so disapproving. And, gods, does that always set his teeth on edge.

“If I’m to be Lord of Trost, I have every right to do as I please. Especially in my own rooms. And most especially in this room, where I am not to be disturbed at all times.”

His mother sighs. “Must it forever come to war between us? Since when did my sweet little Jean-boy become this war-like?”

It is all he can do not to physically recoil at that old pet name. “Boys such as me were meant for war, Mother. Best not forget that.”

“How could I, knowing what you are now? It was such an opulent ceremony, the one that made you, so contrived as to never be forgotten. And that cloak… I pray that is the last time I see you cloaked in red.”

The worry, sadness, and fear give him pause. And guilt. She always gives him that, it seems. You can be the most difficult boy, a voice within tells him, so matter-of-fact. Inwardly, he sighs, deflating. He is not angry at her, he reminds himself. He never truly is. It is just so easy to unload everything on her, especially his rage. She will never hate him for it, no matter how vile and disagreeable he becomes. Because that’s just how mothers are.

He hears the rattle and clink of something being placed on a table, and then his mother’s footsteps coming closer to his right. “Ah, of course. The Muse, as always.”

How can it be anything else? Only Mikasa Ackerman’s lovely visage can bring him out of the darkest pits of his mind. If he can only get it right.

“Those lessons are well worth it, I told your father, and I am right. You have gotten so good at this artist’s business.”

Not good enough. “Not nearly good enough.” He is angry again, just like that. “If I was any good, her fingers wouldn’t look so crooked, the sword wouldn’t be so lopsided, the red would be the right shade-”

“Jean.” His mother places a hand on his shoulder, and this time he does recoil. An unpleasant silence drapes over the art room like a heavy shroud. “I brought your favorite,” Lady Eleanor says, light and gentle. No amount of gentle lightness can conceal the hurt, however. That brings on more guilt, and guilt has never been known to lighten the mood. “Come, eat. Sometimes, it is best to step away for a while and not agonize overlong over one’s troubles. Unwind, let loose, and before you know it, clarity will come and all will fall into place.”

It is only then that Jean could bring himself to look at his mother. A smile lights up the plump, matronly face, deepening the lines around her eyes and mouth. The brown of her tightly knotted hair is streaked liberally with gray, though she is still shy of forty. Plump and aging and female she is, but her face is his all the same. He has more of her in him than he has his father, or his forefathers, for that matter. Only his height marks him as the heir of the horselords, they who have oft been described as golden-haired and gray-eyed and tall as lithe willows. They have been blessed to escape the long face of the Obsts, too, but then how many of them could claim to have Obst mothers, as his is? Not nearly enough.

The horse-faced horselord, how fitting, murmurs a voice nastily, and it sounds like Eren, like Porco, like all the spiteful little shits of a squire there are in the castle yard. He grits his teeth against the onslaught and looks away from Lady Eleanor.

He is not angry at her.

Jean does not resist when his mother takes hold of his arm and steers him toward the nearby divan. Sun Day eggs, he sees sitting on the wooden table beside the divan. Lusin’s Day has long passed. Yet he is to have his treat. Guilt makes his stomach roil, but soft fondness throws the worst of it back, far enough away to let him eat, at least. There is even a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, a southron delicacy so rare in the North. The smell of it all sets his mouth to watering. He is hungrier than he thought.

“It is good to see such a healthy appetite,” his mother beams from her seat at the other divan on the other side of the table, watching as he wolfs down his meal. A more comfortable silence falls over them as he focuses on nothing more than his repast. Neeps and cheese and eggs take the place of portraiture, bodily structure, and composition in the forefront of his mind, and he is glad of it. “I wonder how it goes, with her and hers.”

That slows his ravenous gorging down considerably. Jean looks up at his mother to see her glancing over at his unfinished painting standing before one of the arched windows, face contemplative. She catches his eye and smiles. “I’m sure they haven’t experienced anything near as… exciting as we have so far this season, but I do wonder about those rumors.”

There are a lot of those flying left, right, and center certainly, brought on by all the excitement. We certainly saw that excitement, Jean thinks grimly, recalling that most memorable entrance into Egstatten all those months ago at the beginning of the season. They had been traveling for weeks, and home was mere days away. He was the only one of the immediate family not to be in the wheelhouse at the time and so had the full extent of the commons’ ire.

“Swords! To swords!”

“Call the banners! Vengeance for Zheletov!”

“Richard! To swords!”

Swords, swords, swords, they all screamed as cabbages, turnips, and tubers flew all about the Kirschtein convoy. The captain of the guards had led them through the gale of produce with all his might and main, his men keeping the boiling press back until the high, sturdy walls of the Barrow welcomed them into their protective hold. The ordeal shook Jean, more than he knew. Their reputation for hotbloodedness aside, he had never seen their folk this livid, much less had that rage directed at him and his. It was a most chilling encounter.

The Lord Dot Pixis had begged pardon of his folk most earnestly that very same night. “They are boiling but not yet boiled over, thank the gods. These are yet manageable, you have no cause to fear, my lord, but still…” The bald, aged lord gazed somberly at them all at table. “You cannot deny their rage has merit.”

As the closest of neighbors, Egstatten and Zheletov have ever been partners through thick and thin regardless of their differing States. Both oft provide brides to one or the other through time immemorial and are thus bound by blood as well as proximity. They had suffered through Tybur’s incursions together; it is only meet for one to avenge the other. How many of the slain Zhelevic were fathers and sons and husbands to Egstattian fathers and sons and wives?

Merit. Jean chews on that word as he chews on his eggs. The senseless slaughter of one’s blood is as good a reason as any to seek vengeance, he supposes. A man has a right to it, after all - it is the law of the gods themselves. The law of the land forbids any man to flout his own king, however. If the king is behind the senseless slaughter, what can anyone do but seethe in silence?

Perhaps the law of the land is worth more than the laws of gods, in the end.

“Kolozniki, isn’t it, the outlaws’ refuge?”

“That’s what’s being said, yes,” his mother confirms quietly.

The talk isn’t much of a surprise. He won’t be surprised if they’d fled to their own neck of the woods, to the Yuvichi border to the northeast. The far North has always been the haven of the most unsavory sorts. Wild it is and big - no Prior or learned man has ever mapped its true breadth. Up there, wolves and tigers and trees hold sway, and who knows what else. Up there, the laws of gods and men mean nothing. It is the end of the world.

“Lady Hareckaya has just arrived.”

“I know.” He had taken a respite from his paints and slipped out into the art room’s terrace not too long ago. Even from that distance, the Lady of Yuvichi’s convoy was not hard to miss. He had watched its slow trek through the city for some time, stomach churning, before returning to his muse. The dread hour that brought me here is nigh. Jean the Heir is always needed to be on hand to greet noble guests and play the proper lordling. Let Jean the Artist hold the reins just for now, just for a little while. Gods know the poor sap needs to see the light of day; being cooped up for extended periods of time does no one any good.

“Get dressed after you finish, your father expects you downstairs in a quarter hour.”

His shoulders slump down in resignation. “All right.” It is time for Jean the Heir to come out and play the proper lordling once again. Jean the Artist must needs be cooped up once more. Poor sap.

The sky has turned to lead, he sees as he glances out the window behind his divan. It is snowing; soft, delicate flakes drift across the capital city of Dübenrus and paint the buildings white. Above, the leaded glass dome of the art room is streaked with drops of snowmelt. The air had begun to grow chill, but the braziers they had lit all around the chamber keep the space comfortable.

It is only the Month of Storing yet snow there is this early, for them as live in the North. First to snow, last to thaw, as that jolly little quip notes. It never truly thaws up here, though. No northman has ever known true summer, or heat.

Jean finds his feet dragging as he follows his mother across the room. He does not want to face their gracious guest and have his misgivings given life. He does not want his father’s secret inquiry to bear fruit. He does not want to be a true knight in truth. Not yet. Not so soon. With the way things are, though…

Their reception in Egstatten and the people’s mood seemed like the first act to some sinister masque, the ending of which he does not know but dreads. Then, there is the matter of Ishvelune, brought up time and time again by their visiting vassals… a matter of which, no doubt, adds further fuel to the flickering northern flames.

Interesting, that. The North has never been known for its flames. What fires burn up here come within. Now that they are known - and hated - for.

Countless Mikasas, including the unfinished one that had vexed him so, are all about them to usher their way out. Mother and his aesthetic tutor had urged him time and time again to expand his range to something other than his muse, which he had, eventually. A true artist should have more in his arsenal than his constant, after all.

Hence the land became his muse. One side of the chamber is dedicated to Lovaya’s wonders, made by man and nature both. Lenberg’s many rivers and streams and falls aare displayed next to the Knight’s Rise, that magnificent seat of the Brauns, something his lord father will contest vehemently; as such, the very existence of this painting is kept a tightly guarded secret.

A much more paternally palatable image is in front of the secret canvas, that of Inareom, Thunderwing, who stands forevermore atop this very city, turned to stone by Dübenrus’s defending mages as the dragon sought to bring death and destruction upon the horselords’ capital all those centuries ago. Now, he brings the city life through wealth - thousands come from all over the realm and all over the world to see the most perfectly preserved dragon in existence, and that great stream of curious hearts brings a great stream of income to their coffers.

Like most artists, not all his pieces are complete. One such stands near the stairway leading down to his private rooms. Jean had been looking to tales for inspiration of late, and what better inspiration is there than his own blood? No matter his feelings about the man, it cannot be denied that Gerald Kirschtein was the greatest knight of his time. There he is beneath the royal box, bold as brass as he holds out his lance for the favor of his lady love. His royally married lady love. She never discouraged the attention, in any case, as far as the histories and songs are concerned. Which is just as well. No woman - or man, Jean should think - in her right mind would want to be wed to her own brother and bring forth abominations cursed by the gods.

Without features, it is hard to tell the depth of the knight and the princess’s feelings for one another. Without color, their loving moment seems much depleted, and lifeless.

Without features, they could have been any knight and his lady.

Another Mikasa is displayed just a short distance from the drab work. She smiles at Jean so tenderly, dressed in cardinal red and crowned with sword lilies of every conceivable shade. Her Majesty, the Queen of Love and Beauty.

He will bring the knight and lady to life soon enough. He will leave the place as Jean the Heir, but Jean the Artist will return to finish what he started. He always does. And, gods willing, he always will. Whatever comes next.

“I hope my lady is pleased with the work?”

“Oh, I am, Master Dinu, this is all I could have asked for, and more.” You gaze around your privy chamber, watching as the master artisan’s apprentices hang the last couple of glass frames up on your gold and crimson walls. It is good work, indeed, you think, well-satisfied, as you stare up at a small bunch of pressed monk’s roses encased in the finest Rhoseine glass. Your knight’s summer gifts are in their rightful places at last, perfectly preserved and forever beautiful, each one a memory of the early summer when all was light and lively and fun. Each one a reminder of his affection, of him.

The very first of these, the most special of them all, you have displayed in your bedchamber, along with the goldenglow. Autumn is at its half-life, it will not be long ‘til winter sets in, and with it its beautiful roses. Lady Theresia had told you to press the ice-blue blooms between the pages of a book, to conserve the memory of your beginning. You obliged, more out of rote than sentimentality, really.

You are glad you did. The new trothed little lady had not the slightest inkling of how much that young man in front of the shrine would come to mean to her all this time later.

Speak of the young man… “Is that all of them, good master?”

“Yes, my lady, that should be all of them.” The glassblower sweeps you a deep bow, as do his apprentices. “This one is pleased to have pleased you, my lady. Should you have further need of fine glassware, do not hesitate to call upon Marcel Dinu’s services once more.”

“Of course, good master. The steward should be on hand, Paul will see to your payment.”

You hasten to your bedchamber and into your bath to change out of your formal vevda the moment the last of the men leaves. The dark red charovma you choose is as far away from formal as any garment can get, falling to just above your knees and dipping down low at the back to bare as much skin as possible. The day is so nice out, it will be pleasant to spend it by the coast. And coastal outings call for comfortable clothes.

Your fingers brush the side of your neck when you reach up to fasten the halter dress in place. The light touch of pain gives you pause and makes you take a good, long look at the silvered mirror in front of you. The halter straps slip from your hands, leaving your dress to pool around your waist.

It is a thing of great fortune that Yelena’s services as handmaid are reduced in the autumn. It had been no simple feat to hide the imprint this past week.

Eren’s mark had faded but the pain remains. You trace over the unmarred stretch of skin once more, and feel the sweet soreness. Feel his hands trace lines of fire up your legs, feel the hard, lean span of him pressing you down, feel his lips and tongue and breath sear your skin. Feel his teeth sink, hard, into your flesh and set you ablaze with desire, so much desire.

He is fire made flesh, and his fires burn hot. So hot, so much hotter than you are primed for, and all-consuming. You have only ever been subject to a boy’s passion. Clumsy, eager, yet tentative for all that. The passion of a young man is another thing entirely. His passion stunned, and scalded, and hurt. But, gods, if you did not welcome the pain with all your being.

Already, he is overwhelming. He hadn’t even truly touched you. He hadn’t even kissed you. Not where it matters the most. You can only imagine what it will be like, what he will be like when you, at last, have him in full.

Your hand drops down to your side. On your neck, the dull ache of his now unseen seal fades away into nothing. But no power in this world will make you forget.

For a spell, you and the girl in the mirror stare at each other. Gooseflesh has risen all over the lass’s bare torso, and her nipples have begun to harden, though there is no hint of chill this fine autumn afternoon. Her breaths have quickened, coming from her slightly parted lips in soft pants.

Was this how you sounded to him then, gasping, panting as you poured your lust into his ears back there in the cave?

You avert your gaze from the mirror girl’s, from those dark eyes full of such desire, and resume dressing.

No, you will not be forgetting any time soon.

You finish dressing, go back to your desk to snatch up the token, and leave your rooms, light and happy and eager.

The object of your desire is nowhere to be found within the palace, though you scoure his haunts as thoroughly as you can. Not even your sister’s rooms yielded the young knight. He has been spending some time with the younger Rhyzkov girls of late, to their bemused amusement, always in Darya’s chambers under the watchful eye of her governess. It is nice, you suppose, and heartwarming to see him make the effort of further endearing himself to the family.

Something tells you this is more than just an attempt at brotherly bonding. More than once, you had caught Lydia and Darya whispering and giggling pointedly at you when they thought you weren't looking. That was most baffling, indeed.

He must have gone out, Darya tells you when you come calling, once again bursting into poorly concealed titters. You raise an eyebrow at that but act on her counsel.

Your betrothed is by the crafts arcade, reclining behind old Taras’s stall, manned today by his son, Pietro. Otto, one of Eren’s menservants, is stationed not too far from the table, scanning the passing folk for any signs of trouble.

You find yourself just standing there at the edge of the path, keeping your distance for the nonce, lost in the splendor that is Eren Jaeger. Will there ever come a day when his beauty will diminish in your eyes? You scan over his fair features, taking in the fringe of dark hair falling over his eyes, the fine line of his nose, the sensual mouth, which is just now turned down at the corners in complete concentration as he focuses on his latest project. His large hands work the knife and the block of wood in his grip so very deftly.

When the skies turn green as summer grass. When the oceans boil and seethe and turn to flame. When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. Only then will he diminish in your eyes.

“Beg pardon, goodman, I would like to buy a carving, if you please.”

Eren freezes, eyes widening down at his featureless piece. He is whisking it away the next moment, hiding it in the table’s drawer before you can so much as blink. He stammers your name out a little and coughs into his fist, trying to salvage his composure. You smile. “Y-you found me.”

Your smile widens. “It seems I have.”

“Milady.” Pietro the woodcarver stands from his seat beside Eren and bows low.

“Goodman. Well met,” you answer, nodding at him, very much the proper lady. You shed the mask as soon as you put it on. “May I borrow your ‘prentice boy for the day? I promise to return him well and whole for work tomorrow.”

Pietro laughs, blue eyes twinkling on his sun-tanned face. Though his wavy hair is yet dark to his father’s white (and more plentiful), the likeness is uncanny. “Milady asks, this one answers, and he says, aye, ‘course you can take him. ‘M sad to see him go, though, business has never been more booming with him around. Boy of yours has a way of drawing in the womenfolk, eh?”

You laugh, light and polite, and not disposed to be either. Sometimes, it is good to have two faces. “I’m sure he does.” You turn to your betrothed, your smile warmer. For half a heartbeat. That knowing smile of his freezes you up again. He can be such a little shit sometimes. “Is that amenable to the ‘prentice boy? I’d be loath to take him away if he does not want to be,” you state, frostily.

“It’s very amenable to the ‘prentice boy, milady,” Eren repeats the new Rakivan words, slow and careful, and grins at your jerky nod - you have taken to speaking in the Old Tongue of late for his benefit, you had felt so remiss in not doing so earlier for his tuition. It has not been too much of a hard jump for him as Rakiva is part of the highborn curriculum; it is only a matter of getting him used to its usage. He is a fast learner, at any rate, and is improving at a prodigious scale, taking in new terms and making fewer grammatical mistakes. “Anyhow, I think I’m done for the day. Tomorrow again, the soonest,” Eren tells the older man, who bobs his head with a grin. “Give our regards to Povik Taras.”

“As you say, Sir. Have you a good day. And to you, milady.”

“Don’t,” you say sharply once you are well without earshot of the woodcarver.

Eren closes his mouth agreeably and snickers. “Only you, love,” he states simply, patting your lesos-covered head all gentle-like. You huff and look away, suddenly hard-pressed to suppress your smile. “Where to, my lady?”

“I thought a visit to the docks, and then the beach?” Your mood lightens when you see his eyes light up. They truly are terribly beautiful things. And made more beautiful today by the sea-blue vidnon jacket he is wearing. Blue has such a way with his eyes. Truly.

“Oh, the beach, hmm? I’d love that. But, before we go, I’d like to take a little excursion, if you will.” He tugs you along animatedly, toward another arcade.

The Arcade of Gold, you realize, puzzled and more than a little intrigued.

“I seem to have upset my lady earlier, so I thought to get her a trinket to get back into her good graces.” You approach the stairway to the most prosperous arcade in the city. While it is common for the more affluent merchants to hire swords to protect their wares, the case is doubly so for the goldsmiths. Here, rank upon rank of guards stand, to prevent light-fingered folk from making off with the valuables. They salute as you and Eren draw near, and immediately step aside to let you pass.

An elaborate fountain of naked figures splashes away halfway up the steps. A fine, cooling mist sprays over you as you pass, carried by the soft breeze that gusts lightly through the city. You blink at your betrothed, befuddled. “I don’t think it’s necessary-”

“But I insist.” He leads you through the almost empty marble hall once you step into the arcade proper, passing several stores - still guarded by heavily armed sentries - with the most interesting air of assuredness.

As though he had been planning for this occasion for some time now.

“Master Thabiso,” Eren greets the black-skinned proprietor of the shop you stop at at length. A Goldvein of Rabari, you recognize, noting the elaborate braids clipped with golden beads that fall down his back in long, heavy strands. Rabari custom dictates the sort of braids the Goldveins may wear, you recall from your studies. There are clan braids, family braids, braids for one’s vocation, and so on, all of these unique to each facet of life. Even the beads that hold them fast are special to their worldly status. You have never truly had a chance to examine such trappings before. What you see now is most fascinating; the whole custom is fascinating, truly. It is an astounding thought that one can immediately know intimate things about a stranger just by looking at his hair, if one knows what to look for.

“Sir Eren, it is good to see you returned to my premises,” answers the merchant, bowing low and coming up smiling amiably. “My Lady Rhyzkova, well met. It is an honor to have you grace my establishment with your esteemed presence.” He bows once more, lower than he had before, and straightens up. His eyes and his attention return to Eren as he inquires, “Has my lord come for-”

“Yes, if you still have it.” Eren gleams down at you but does not answer your silent query when you turn to look up at him, utterly stumped.

The master goldsmith smiles and leads you further into the shop, past glass cases full of the most exquisite work - the Goldveins are the best goldsmiths in the world, this is known - to the back of the room where stands his counter. He reaches behind the table and pulls out a green and silver filigree box, which he opens with a flourish. “Saved for you, Sir, as requested.”

Inside lies a hairpin, a most intricately wrought piece of silver and emerald that draws the eye. An expertly carved emerald rose is the heart of the piece. Atop it rests a silver bird, its silver wings spread wide as it braced itself for flight. Filigree chains drip down the rose, set with emerald beads and another smaller rose of silver, which dangles at the end of the longer chain.

You look at the pin, then Eren, and back again, starting as he reaches up to gently pull your lesos down to bare your head. You stare at him, questioning.

“Let down your hair,” is all he says, smiling and gentle, so very gentle.

You reach up to remove the simple bronze hairpin that keeps your hair up in its knot. Your tresses tumble down your back, heavy and curled from prolonged twisting at the back of your head.

For a while, Eren merely takes you in, as though spellbound. You fight the urge to fidget under his gaze. He had seen you with your hair loose a hundred times before, especially in your nightly jaunts. What is so different about you now?

“Tilt your head up for me,” he bids you. You comply, then bite back a gasp as he takes a hank of your hair and twists it up, nimbly, back into a knot, securing it in place with the new, more elaborate hairpiece. His hand slips slowly down, from your hair to your face, rough, calloused fingers feathering lightly over your cheek. He cups your face, rubs tender circles on your skin and leaves warm, tingling trails in his wake. “Yelestala.”

Beautiful.

His eyes have never been more beautiful than they are now. No emerald ever mined can ever compare. The way they behold you makes your throat close up.

He’s never looked at me that way. Never. Never.

It is then that you wonder. What does love look like?

Thump, thump, thump.

One last gentle caress, and he is turning away to ask the shopkeep for a looking glass. It is not long before you are once again staring back at the girl in the mirror. She is a great deal more astonished, and a great deal more elegant than she was earlier. You step forward before you have quite gathered your bearings. When did he learn to style hair? The young woman in front of you will not look out of place in some ball but for her common garb. Had you not known better, you would have attributed the look to Yelena’s skillful hands. The hairpin completes the ensemble.

You can feel your fingers trembling a little. You twine them together and rest your hands on your stomach, now besieged by a battalion of butterflies.

“A beautiful piece for a beautiful lady,” beams Master Thabiso, to which Eren murmurs agreement.

“Ten crowns, yes?” he says, handing the merchant a small money bag, which he hefts.

“I thank you kindly for the custom, Sir, my lady. And for that display. Ah, the romance of youth. There’s nothing quite like it, I do believe. It’s not every day I am treated to the sight of earnest, honest love.” He bows you out of his shop soon after with further thanks.

“You didn’t have to get this for me, you know,” you mutter as you cross through the arcade’s lavish hall and start down the stone steps. Eren’s hand in yours has never felt more comforting. Never have you felt this shy around him either. Which is passing funny. Not even his ravishing of you made you feel so timid in his presence. You had been as you always are with each other, afterward. Except, perhaps, for that added tension. As if our pool of tension needed more filling. A couple of drops more and it will be set to overflowing. The gods only know what will occur then. The prospect is most thrilling.

“But I want to,” Eren answers, smiling sweetly down at you. “I, uh, just remembered… since it’s near the end of the Month of Storing, we most likely missed the Day of… Lovers,” this he utters with the softest pink flush rising up his tanned cheeks, “being in the Old South and all. And I haven’t, you know, ever gotten you a gift for the day… we weren’t really all there during our first celebration, so…”

That reminds you. You reach into your pocket for the token and draw him to a stop beside the fountain. “I… was also thinking about the Day of Lovers lately,” you murmur, somehow finding your clasped hands much easier to look at than his face. “And I thought to make you a present.” You laugh and find the mettle to look him in the eye once more. The affection in his gaze makes you feel surer of yourself, so you continue, “I didn’t know you were getting me something that cost the earth. Now my token seems so paltry in comparison.” You hold out the shell-and-twine bracelet you had woven for him the past couple of days. “Should’ve bought you that set of gilt shortswords you were eyeing so keenly that last time.”

You had found the prettiest shell that day, the first you took him to the beach. You had never seen him so happy. The seawater woke echoes in his eyes and made them come to life so beautifully. You wove the memory of the sea and of that day into your token, to keep him company when he is far from his beloved coast. And his beloved lady.

He stares down at your gift for a good while, then back up at you. Your heart thrums at that look. Is this what love looks like?

“The gift was made with your own hands and laced with your affection. That alone makes it worth more than gold.” The corner of his lips kinks up. “But I wouldn’t say no to those shortswords, if you’re so minded to get them.”

You giggle. “I’ll keep that in mind.” You tie the bracelet around his right wrist. It is a good fit. The tan of his skin brings out the white of the shell in its black twine setting.

“Much thanks, my lady,” he says, taking up your hand in his and giving it a long, lingering kiss. His eyes bore into yours, green as the emeralds in your hair and twice as stunning. Behind you, the fountain splashes away. Below you, the silent sentries stand, keeping a watchful eye on the passing folk.

None of them exist. None of them matter. But he moves away and so the spell is broken.

It makes no matter. He can always cast it again.

“I didn’t know you could style hair like this,” you remark as you proceed to the docks. The cool sea breeze blows strong about you as you cross one of the bridges to the pier and, from there, to the Lodge where the foreign ships are allowed to berth.

“Uh, I don’t, actually,” he laughs and scratches the back of his head. “I only learned recently. With loads of help from Madam Sonya and a little help from your sisters.” He makes a mock grimace. “I hate being indebted to a little brat like Lydia but I guess I do owe her some.”

So that’s why he’s been spending time with them. His confession makes you hearken back to the past week or so, wondering which of your sisters’ many hairstyles had been his work. You feel your heart melt into mush.

Eren turns to you with an anxious look. “Do you like it? The hair, I mean. I know it’s nowhere near Yelena’s best work but-”

“I love it, Eren. It’s simple but elegant. It suits the pin well,” you tell him and feel yourself swoon as he flashes you a relieved, and crooked, grin.

“I’m glad you like it. I’d hate to tarnish such beauty, after all,” he says, thereby sending the battalion in your stomach into the frenzy of battle. He has gotten so irresistibly romantic; it is a wonder your lines hold every time he goes on the offensive.

You are nearing the end of the bridge and thus the docks. You draw your lesos back up to cover your head and the pin. Leaving something so precious out in the open is only courting trouble, especially in a place as seedy as the port. It is the only time you will allow your guards’ proximity.

Not a couple of paces behind trail Otto and Troian, the latter of whom was also your guard that fateful day of the cave. He had been so terrified when he had come upon you at your… affections. For good reason, you suppose. Your father would have sacked the man had you lost your virtue during his watch, and Troian needs this post for the mouths he feeds and provides for. That was the only thing that drew out the guilt, and even then, not by much. Losing yourself to Eren even for the briefest of moments is never something you will ever rue.

You had come so close to allowing him further liberties with your body… That you would have crossed the line, you do not know, but the thought is terrifying in the way that terror often is: rousing and exhilarating. And there is a sweet irony in being deflowered in a field of flowers.

There are worse places to become a woman in truth.

Eren pulls you closer to him as you step foot on the docks’ streets. Behind you, Otto and Troian close ranks. Not that they will make much difference, Eren blustered, he is a better sword than either. “I could keep him safe better than he could me,” he claimed after his first solitary excursion into the city, when you had asked if he had protection. Otto keeps guard but he isn’t truly one, not in the sense that any of your tails are. “He’s more a manservant that has some skill with the blade. I only keep him around for both our fathers’ peace of mind. Your lot would never let me out otherwise.” You took his word for it. He is the anointed knight after all, and trained by the greatest knight in the realm. The more swords in seedy places, the better, in any event, no matter how little trained.

For all its seediness, though, the docks offer its own brand of delights. The noisier, dodgier Lodge is a seedbed of adventure and wonders in a way that the relatively safer, cleaner Cradle - the port where local ships moor - simply isn’t. The Arsechkalan ports are some of the greatest in the realm, filled with myriad sights and sounds and smells.

The sights and sounds and smells are a deal more exciting in the Lodge. Inns and taverns and pillow houses of every ilk line the streets. Here and there, the odd temple to foreign gods sits between the establishments, to cater to the myriad sailors’ prayers for a safe voyage. Captains and oarsmen and mates amble about amongst vendors and urchins and cutpurses, this last easily avoidable by hunching in, staying discreet, and keeping a sharp eye out.

You revisit the qaxan parlor, though this foray ends up an utter dud. It starts out well enough, with a few wins. Until Eren happens upon a most interesting conversation. It seems as nothing at first, until you see his face grow ever darker with every passing heartbeat, until his moves become more careless than the last, until he starts losing everything he has won. You hurriedly pluck him away before he can lose his whole purse.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” you ask once you have gone outside, standing in front of a baker’s cart. The harbor seems quiet to you that day, though it does not lack for bustle. Dimly, you note the far-off thunderheads all the way out to sea. The sea breeze gusts over you, bringing with it the scents of the docks: cooking meats and sweets, tar and spices and humanity, all bound by the pervasive smell of salt.

Eren is silent for a moment, glaring down at the ground, before finally answering. “My father… they were talking about Father.”

“Who?” You had not heard anyone speak of the Magister. Not in any of the Lovayan tongues, anyway.

“These sailors, foreigners, who know fuck all about our matters.” His hands clench into fists. “They were going on about how it’s so much better trading with us this year as opposed to last year with the port fees and all. Father got greedy, they said, all that about filling up the royal coffers was a big lie, he just wanted to line his own pockets by skimming off honest men’s gold. They know fuck all,” he growls, voice steadily rising. “Father would never do that, he’s never done that, we don’t need more gold, we have more than enough-”

“Eren.” You reach up to take his face in hand. His eyes flash up to yours, wide with surprise and indignation. You hold his gaze, and caress his cheek with your thumb. “What they say makes no matter. You’re right, they know fuck all.” You smile when he chuckles a little at that, and continue, “And it is enough that you know otherwise. It was not what he wanted, Lord Grisha. But even he cannot supersede the king.”

For all his promises to bring back port fees to their earlier rates, the king dragged his feet on enacting his policy. To make the contentious decree hit the tradesmen hard. The yearly spring opening of the ports had not been pleasant for those in the business. Even Father, a tradesman himself, had seethed, yet he did not complain to the king’s face. Though His Majesty often, and loudly, made it known to all and sundry that his Magister was to blame, Lord Alexander knew the way of it all too well. It was only at the start of summer that the fees were lifted and put to rights.

Eren deflates at the mention of His Majesty. “It all returns to him, doesn’t it?” He reaches up to wrap his large hands over your smaller ones, keeping your touch on him, caressing your skin as you had his. He brings both your hands down at length but laces his fingers through yours, holding on. “It all returns to cutthroat politics in the end.”

“His Majesty and your father… don’t always see eye to eye.”

“Because Father is the shadow king.” His voice has quieted. He looks almost thoughtful as he utters the words. “That’s what they all say. But it’s true, isn’t it? I don’t see His Royal Majesty getting off his fat arse to make this kingdom better for us all. It’s all fallen to Father all these years.” He snorts, derisive. “At least we know there’s one thing that royal belly can’t stomach. I suppose truth is an acquired taste to some more than others.”

You glance about reflexively for too-close ears. The baker, behind you by his cart, is making a new batch of honeycakes; Otto and Troian are talking nearby. Six years at court have taught you not to tread around such sentiments lightly. The Quaestor, Darius Zackly, has little tattling birds everywhere, as is his right as the master of espionage. One can never be too careful when it comes to airing treasonous thoughts.

“Truth it is but best have a care. There might be those around who will find it as unpalatable as His Majesty does, and you do not want them giving him fodder.” You smile to lighten the mood. “Here, a sweet to sweeten the bitter humors,” you say, turning to the baker for a couple of honeycakes, which you munch on as you continue your stroll through the docks.

You bring your betrothed around to the quays to explore what is to be had from the outside world, knowing well that this will bring the life back to him. So it does. Galleys, cogs, carracks, the most accommodating of these you visit. The cheapest place to buy goods is off the ship, and the sheer quantity and diversity of foreign wares are too much of a temptation. A cog or three later and your guards become pack mules, weighed down with a couple of kegs of Caerleine firewine, bolts of beautiful bronze lace and silver damask, and a book detailing the life and reign of Rhodora Braveheart, the most famed queen of Huanurian history.

News, too, you have in plenty. There is plague in the Countship of Mechiriya, south of Lakpathar. A dragon has been found in one of the mountains of the Gleaming Isles; this you dismiss as fanciful sailors’ talk - there are no more dragons, that is known, not since the Sundering. You are more apt to believe the news of a leviathan lurking beneath the Diamond Depths, and the holy schism occurring in southern Anderven seems even likelier.

“She’s older than my lady grandmother, and she’s dead,” Eren mutters, repulsed, as a whore, old as sin and twice as ugly, loudly propositions him from across the street. He lengthens his stride at once, hauling you along as you try not to laugh.

“Oh, you don’t want to tick these off,” you say, glancing back and catching the glare the ancient slattern shoots at your backs before looking off for likelier sport. “Dockside whores are vicious.” No local man with half his wits intact will touch them with a ten-foot lance. New-come sailors who don’t know any better are preyed upon most malignly. They are robbed as they are fucked, and those can count themselves fortunate. Better to be robbed and live to tell the tale. Once in a great while, they will find a bloated, naked corpse on the pier, all that is left of the sad sack unfortunate enough to run into a Killer Cunt.

Eren shudders, looking ill. “Well-”

You are stumbling behind a wall of young man the next moment as he abruptly pulls you out of the way. The suddenness of it all does not leave you time to ponder.

A child’s cry, the crash of a dropped crate, the soft thumps of falling fruit. A piping babble of a tongue most foreign to you, answered by the deeper, intimidating tones of your betrothed as he speaks in kind. The rough and rustic burr of the Traders’ Tongue makes him sound even more menacing.

You peer over Eren’s shoulder once your faculties return. A boy with deep brown skin is on the ground, thrown back on his rear from his collision with the older boy. Blood oranges are scattered all about him, spilling from the upturned crate at his side. A conical red hat has been knocked off his dark head. Wide green eyes stare fearfully up at infinitely more terrifying ones as Eren speaks to him once more, voice hard and pressing. His hand has gone to the dirk on his right hip, his other holding tight to your wrist as he shields you with his body.

The guards have come running up to flank you and Eren protectively, their loads dropped and forgotten on the ground behind them. The boy shrinks back even more as another lad, this one younger, brown-skinned and brown-haired, runs up to you and rattles frightened, pleading exclamations in the Traders’ Tongue.

How frightening they must seem to two young ones, you think, these tall, looming guards of yours, them with their naked steel, hard voices and equally hard gazes. Only Eren is privy to the conversation, and for a while, he and the boys trade foreign words. At last, the stream of talk ceases to flow.

Eren eases up, but only just. “Cabin boys,” he tells you all, switching back to the familiar Belin of your homeland, more for Otto’s benefit than anything. “Just having a little lark, a race to see who could get back onboard first.” He sighs, scratches his head. “I suppose we could take them at their word… purses still whole?” He pats his own person to check his purse and look for any tears in his garments, coming up short of tears and with his money bag intact. You and the guards do likewise and announce yourselves equally as untouched.

“We should help them,” you say, watching the boys scramble for the fallen oranges. It is the least you can do for giving them such a fright. You step forward with a smile for the lads. The elder’s eyes - green, like your knight’s, yet of a different shade - sparkles as he looks up at you and utters something in his tongue. Incomprehensible he may be yet you need no linguist to translate the sentiment behind the words. That sweet smile is enough.

Eren hesitates yet acquiesces in the end. “Just keep close to me. And keep a close watch.”

The lads are glad of the help, in any case. So much so that you and Eren find yourselves invited to the lads’ ship, As Samaditha, a big-bellied carrack off the coast of Qa’ihij, west of Agankaya, captained by the boys’ father, Qamar. Ramzi and Halil, the boys are called, and they had a grand time showing their guests around the vessel. Ramzi, in particular, had taken a shine to you and kept you close, with Eren trailing behind as linguist. The most miffed linguist you had yet seen, you thought, noting his increasing crossness as the hour passed. He lightened up considerably when the lads took him aside to play a game of knucklebones, a novel pastime not oft seen in your side of the world, as the boys and their ilk are not oft seen in Lovayan shores; Agankayan merchanters are rare in these parts, after all.

You left the ship laden with good memories and foreign tokens. Ramzi had given you a beautiful glass bottle of red sand from the Ruby Basin. It had healing properties, he claimed through Eren, and was good for burns and indigestion. The thought of edible sand astounded you, and you thanked the boy profusely; this would be good for your own budding stores of Healer’s supplies.

Eren had come away with his own set of knucklebones. “Nice of him to give me something. I thought he’d forgotten all about me, with the way he was hoarding you and all. You’d think no one else existed outside of you.”

“Hoarding?” you snort. “He wasn’t hoarding me. He played with you, didn’t he?” You direct your course to the beach at last; you have had your fill of the docks for the day. “I was meaning to ask you - he kept on repeating a certain phrase, ‘Gim-’”

“Gim verrhia.” The phrase seems to offend him, to judge from his expression.

At once, you are apprehensive. “What does it mean? Is it some kind of backhanded-”

“Pretty lady.”

You blink at his cross face. Being called pretty is hardly backhanded and is nothing to be offended by. It is most flattering. “Right. I’m glad it wasn’t anything offensive… but why are you so-” You break off abruptly, cast back to his steadily souring mood on the ship, and put two and two together. “Eren, are you jealous?”

“No,” he denies immediately with a scoff. The reddening tips of his ears give the lie to his denial, however.

“He’s a child, Eren.”

“I told you, I’m not-”

“He’s a child and a foreigner, that was probably the last we’ll see of him.”

“Good,” he rumbles under his breath.

His irritated jealousy is the most delightful thing. You giggle and hug his arm close. “Oh, love, don’t you worry. There’s only one green-eyed dark-haired boy for me.”

There is that crooked smile again, so sweet, so endearing. “What of brown-haired ones? Blonds, reds? Those with blue eyes, gray, brown, black? What of them?”

You smile, and nuzzle close. “There’s only one boy for me. Only ever one. And he’s here in his rightful place: by my side and in my arms.” As he should always ever be.

The smell of the sea comes strong, and the blue is calling. There is nothing for it but to answer, and so he does.

Eren drops the shell he is examining back into the foaming waters - it is no good for his collection, not with that unsightly hole - and looks over at the receding back of his betrothed. You make an enchanting figure, you with your driftwood wand tracing spells in the sand.

The enchanting maid is a sensual one as well today. It is not the first he has seen you in such garb but it is the first he can look his fill without fear of being accused of impropriety. It had been a beautiful autumn day, which the Rhyzkov women took advantage of by heading to the beach, bringing him along as your most esteemed guest. His eyes had near popped out of his skull when you dropped your lesos and exposed a great deal more than he bargained for. You had worn charovmaya before in his presence but never one so short. He spent the day in a silent frenzy of desire as he contended with not only your smooth, naked back but also those fine, shapely calves, so exposed by that knee-length garment - never mind that Lydia was similarly attired.

Without your mother and sisters and attendants, he is free to bask in your glory (there are your guards, but they do not matter). He cannot do so properly at this distance, though, hence he must needs come closer.

He stuffs his shells in his money bag and makes his way to you. The surf is cold around his bare shins, frothing against his skin. The brisk breeze blows fierce inland, chill and salty and fresh, tugging at his hair and clothes, insistent as a desperate lover (insistent as he hopes you’ll be as a lover). Overhead in the overcast sky, the sandpipers that give the bay its name fly in their scores, filling the air with their trilling cries. They are your only companions in this stretch of coast.

“How goes the casting?”

You turn to him with that smile that never fails to tug at his heartstrings. He had secured your hair well, he sees, pleased; only a few tendrils escape your bun to whip about your face. The emerald rose sparkles in your hair, a green distinct from the ocean waters, untouched by any hint of blue. “I just finished.”

He glances at the pale sand beneath your feet. ‘Happiness,’ ‘Luck,’ and ‘Safety,’ are writ large upon the shore in the ancient runes of Old Lovaya. Already, the waves are claiming the words - the bottom of the rune for luck has been wiped smooth. “The Old Man means to grant your wishes.”

“Or the old gods. But the sea isn’t usually their domain.” You turn toward the sea, Old Nyrdos’ domain, and stare out at the churning waters. “They make an exception.” Not far from the coast is a rocky outcrop, a tiny tidal island covered with sea-loving vegetation. Between two palms a godstone stands, worn and weathered by countless years of salt spray and salt wind. “Perhaps we can visit them, for a better chance of being heard.”

“We’ll get wet.”

“Is the Falcon Knight put off by a little seawater?” You raise your eyebrows at him.

That makes him bristle a little. “I was weaned from the stuff, love, no amount of seawater would be too much for me. By all means, let’s go, but we don’t have drying sheets. I’m not sure how well you’ll like dripping your way back home through the city.”

You smile in the face of his indignation. “We could use my lesos. Or the guards’ cloaks.”

His lips twitch upward. “Why don’t we use that fine damask you bought while we’re at it? You have yards of it, more than enough to rub us dry.”

Your smile vanishes like a snuffed candle. “Piss off, Jaeger, that thing cost a fortune.”

That makes him laugh out loud. “Now I know how to get your hackles raised. Threaten a good bolt of cloth.”

“A most expensive bolt of cloth.”

“We could always go naked.” His grin widens at your look.

You turn your head away, with all the appearance of a prim and proper lady turning away from bawdy humor. It is most convincing but for that smirk. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“If I told you how much, you’d never hear the end of it.”

“My lesos it is.”

You strike out across the heaving sea very much clothed.

Not that it matters. Eren lets his lady lead the way, if only for his visual pleasure. Southron fashions truly are the best, the charovma best of all. It is the most revealing garb you have yet worn. Never has he seen so much of you, short of you being naked. A long, ropey braid had served to, at least, partially obscure your bare back, before. Now, there isn’t even that; a large part of him wants to pat himself on the back for putting your hair up and out of the way of such perfection.

That day in the cave had brought you to that place where the line of tension and desire had stretched so taut between you that it had near snapped. He wonders how close you were to doing so, how far you would have gone had the gormless guard not come into the picture; Eren had hardly looked at the man all day, his sin is too fresh for forgiveness. He had sinned anew by balking your plans, and it was only through your silver tongue that you managed to wheedle the man into assent.

The waves roll toward Eren, slapping lightly against his stomach, though never higher, as he cuts his way through the gray-green crests in the wake of his lady. Your dark red charovma swirls about you like some gigantic nennymoan, those flowers of the deep.

His fae maid is in a new element. Vilas, that is what they are, the fae of the deep. He is fortunate, he feels, to have earned the favor of one. But he knows the tales. The fae are as lovely as they are lethal, just as like to kill him as to kiss him. For all he knows, this lovely vila means for him to drown. With one such as this, though… he will be more than happy to enter the Fields by your hand.

Eren watches the swells of water enfold the swell of your hips, eyes the play of movement beneath your skin as you wade through the waist-deep sea, traces the dip of your spine down that supple back. You are as smooth and faultless as you ever are. That only makes him want to mar you, mark you as his. His mark had vanished, he sees with a burst of displeasure. He can always leave more, he placates himself. It will be so gratifying to leave them all over that flawless back as he holds on to your hips, biting all over your silky skin as he ruts you hard into his mattress…

It is a good thing the seawater is cold.

The islet looms over you, deceptively large at this vantage. You haul yourself up the stone steps slick with sea lichen and seaweed. The action breaks his attention away from the cluster of barnacles that cling to the bottom of the rocky formation.

She might as well have gone naked, is his only thought. The weight of the water makes your dress cling to your body like a second skin. There is next to nothing left to his imagination at this point. Every curve and dip and line of you is limned by crimson. The sway of your hips as you climb the steps makes him want… His hands are twitching, itching to grab hold. You make him want. So badly, so madly, so desperately. He drags legs of lead up the steps, taking deep, calming breaths of the cool sea air. He is a man, not a beast, he won’t lose himself to lust in such a place.

The gleam of wet, naked thighs as you wring out your skirt makes him want to scream. Surreptitiously, he glares at the godstone; how dare they test his mettle in such a way.

“Here we are, you old gods,” you say, running a hand atop the worn monument reverently. “May my words and wishes reach you.” You look over at Eren and beckon him forward. Fast as that, worship is done. That is what he likes about the Old Faith.

He brushes the godstone himself, letting his pettish consternation vanish with the wind. May her words and wishes please enough, you old gods. He follows his lady deeper into the little island, striding past the palms into the back of the place.

The stretch of rock ends here. You sit down on the stony ground, unmindful of the dirt, and wrap your arms around your legs. Eren sits beside you, heedless of the sensation of his sodden pants sticking to his skin. The chill sea breeze does not bother him either; it never has, though his bottom half is soaked to the bone.

“A crown says Troian’s having a conniption back there,” you quip lightly.

“I’ll pass on this wager, I am in total agreement,” he rejoins, amused, fiddling with the hems of his rolled-up trousers. “This’ll be the last place anyone would want to play the pillow game in.”

“Oh, but they do.”

He stares at you, not quite sure if you are teasing or not, you have been so playful of late. You are, yet there is truth in your eyes all the same as you go on, “I’ve seen a couple long ago, fucking in full view of the coast, right in front of this godstone itself. Figured they were new-wed. It’s old custom, and it’s not oft practiced anymore, but it was tradition to consummate Old Lovayan marriages in the sanctum, right in front of the gods. I don’t know why they didn’t do it in the Great Sanctum… it’s roomier and all, but I guess doing it here has its thrills.” More of the memory seems to come back to you then; whatever you recall seems comic, to judge by your expression. “Mother, bless her fusty new blood, was scandalized, of course. Rushed us all out of here faster than the hare in his race.”

“I bet she did,” he chuckles, tickled by mothers’ general fustiness, new blood and otherwise.

“You new blood are such hidebound creatures,” you remark, pretending to derision. “It’s that sort of thrill that gives life such flavor. Imagine fucking in the Great Temple. It’ll be the grandest bedchamber to tumble someone in.”

He cackles, long and hard, at the statement. “Ah, the scandal of that, though. But who’s to say someone of our sort hasn’t done that already in some obscure village shrine?”

“Hmm, true enough.”

“What say we lend his fears legitimacy?” His heart begins to drum inside his chest as you turn to look at him. It is a jest, of course it is a jest, yet the ever-growing primal, irrational part of him is as serious as a stab wound. He grinds the beast down beneath his proverbial boot. You deserve better for your first than some rocky crag in the sea (no matter how holy, or traditional). And yet… The cave wasn’t any better but she was willing, you saw her.

His brazen lewdness makes the minx stick out her wanton head. Just a little. “I knew you were adventurous,” you murmur, and the heat of your gaze makes the beast stir beneath his abstract foot. He fights the harder to tamp it back down. “As much as the idea intrigues me, I’m afraid we’ll have to put it off.”

“Put it off, hmm? So, it’s a given for us somewhere down the line. I’ll hold you to that, my lady.” That should’ve been that, it should have ended there, yet his eyes fall on your lovely neck and he is lost.

“It’s vanished,” he says, reaching up to brush gentle fingers across the terribly unmarked skin. You draw back, as though his touch scalded you, but not by much. The gooseflesh blooming beneath his fingertips gives the truth to your feelings. He has not crossed a line, he can see, relieved. Never will he have you balk at his advances.

You reach up to put your fingers on his, your touch so very light. “It still hurts, you know.”

“Oh?” He traces over your skin once more, the flesh so very soft yet pebbled. “You still feel me, here?” He presses down, lightly, and feels you shudder, hear your barely stifled gasp. Your fingers twitch above his. “My mouth, my tongue… me. Do you still feel me on you?”

You look away, dropping your hand and releasing his digits, but he knows better. Your face can lie, be covered by a mask, be concealed; the rest of you is there to bare your truths. And, truly, you are so very responsive to him.

His touch trails down your shoulder, your arm, down to your leg, bare to the knee and still slightly damp with seawater. He leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake; he watches them rise, entranced. Eren lifts his eyes to catch yours. Those are pools he will never be able to swim.

The line of tension and desire stretches taut between you. One more move and it may just snap. One more move and one or the other of you may break. He wonders who will succumb first. He has to laugh at that; at this point, he won’t give a groat for his own chances.

“Is this where you got it, this scar?” he asks, following the thin raised line that slashes down your right calf. “Those stairs are slipperier than politicians.” Again, yet again, there comes a time for a change of topic. It will be better for you in the long term, he thinks, if you can dispel some of the tension now. You will always deserve better for something as dear as your first than a quick tumble born from rampant lust. You are more than that to each other, surely.

The old wound is lumpy and rough. Some may call it disfiguring, the only thing that ruins your perfection. Not to him, never to him. It is only proof of that fire, that spirit that so draws him to you. The scar is as fit a match for any of his own. It is further gratifying to know that he is not the only one willing to tough it out. You can keep up with him.

You stare down at the old lesion, drawn into memory and out of the heat of your preceding desire. “No, it was another sea mont from another stretch of this coast. It was the worst day of my eight-year-old life. I thought I’d never walk again.”

He is drawn into his own memory, too, of the day he first saw the mark. It was the Day of Sun and Youth, and you had worn simple garb such as a milkmaid or a shepherdess might wear in the country in summer (he had never seen peasants’ garb as clean and well-cared for, to be sure). Your short peasant skirt had fallen to just a bit above the knee. He would’ve lost himself to a silent fit of lusty excitement, but the sizable scar marking your right calf gave him pause. He had missed the scar all those times he had caught flashes of your bare legs. They were flashes, though, quick and swift and hurried, and they had not come often, not at your conservative court, certainly not with the cover of your long gowns. He had the tale from you much later in the day as you headed back to the Bulwark after your Sun Day frolics. It is one of his better memories of the summer.

“I’ve always thought it an ugly thing, this mark. I’ve learned to take it on the chin, though, over the years. But you… you don’t look at it with disgust. You make it seem as if it’s something I should be proud of.” The smile you favor him with seems almost shy, and so endearing.

“It is something to be proud of, love. It shows what you truly are beneath all the frills and decorum and propriety.” He leans in close, grins at the widening of your eyes, and flicks his nose lightly across yours. “It’s never an ugly thing to be a free spirit.”

“Are you going to make a habit of that?” you ask, sweetly, shyly discomfited, yet smiling all the same.

“Mm-hmm.” He does so like to tease you, after all, no matter how gently. Another remark - about outer appearances and what lay beneath and true selves - comes to mind, yet he dismisses it as being too ribald. He’ll make it some other time. When you are there.

Movement from far off across the horizon catches his attention. “Incoming traders,” he announces. He knows the origin of every one, of course.

“Caerleon, Mbokel, Ithasa,” you list off, giving his thoughts a voice. The merchanters and carracks and galleys make the slow trek toward Lovayan shores, each one distinct from the other. Nearer to your vantage is the sacred lagoon of the Great Sanctum; the towering godstone is silhouetted against the gray skies, as imposing as ever. “Have you ever thought of traveling? Just getting on some ship to see the Known World and its wonders?”

“Of course, but especially as a boy.” He smiles in wistful recollection. “Armin and I would often talk of stowing away when we were in the docks back in Lenberg. Never happened, as you can see, but it was the most exciting thought.” He fiddles with his new bracelet - she had such nimble hands, his lady - and notes, absently, the rising of the tide and the choppier waters slapping up against your little rock. “Nowadays, it’s not really too much of a thought… but it’s still there. We’re a lot more dutiful - and like to get more dutiful, lord that he is and knight that I am - but perhaps someday… when the poxy bitch permits.” He grimaces. “To be in thrall to such a mistress turns my stomach. I’d rather be in thrall to the one woman.” He gleams at you, filled with suggestive mischief, and you giggle, leaning into him and resting your pretty head on his shoulder. He feels his smile soften and presses a soft kiss on the cherished head.

The wind has grown stronger. Above and around you, the palms and the surrounding shrubs sway with the draft, rustling. “It would be nice, to get away.” Your voice is quiet, eyes fixed on the horizon and the far-off lands you have yet to see. “To see the world and live a little. Away from court, and the realm, and reality. The realm doesn’t matter when you’re elsewhere. It’s only one of many, after all.”

Realm and reality. Your realm and reality seem headed to stormy seas, if the news from the North is anything to go by. Even this far South, talk is rife. Of outlaws and dens and lost justice they all speak. Eren wonders what Father is making of all this. As the Magister, it is his duty to stick his nose into everyone’s business. Our shadow king.

“Storm coming,” you comment, lifting your head from Eren’s shoulder. A bolt of lightning turns the gray skies white for half a heartbeat, the thunderheads have come closer; the rumbling thunder comes not long after. Ships are coming in yet none are going out, he just now realizes. Your day at sea is at an end. “We had best get going. I think I hear the sound of Troian calling even above the waves.”

He is calling, Eren can hear. He would’ve admired the man’s devotion had he not found it so stifling. And amusing. “Right. We wouldn’t want him having a convulsion or something. I don’t think we’re doing his heart any favors. And the water’s getting rough,” he adds, looking down at the gray waters churning below you.

You chuckle and stand. “Don’t worry, I’ll tow you to shore if your legs give out.”

He scoffs and pinches your calf before standing himself. “I’ve been swimming before I was riding, my lady, I’m as good a swimmer as you southron eels.” He turns his head and looks back at you, smirking. “Do we have a race?”

“If you think a man can beat an eel in her own turf.”

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A/N:

Relatively shorter chap this time but only just.

Jean the Artist is given more focus, and he's not as much of a mama's boy as Eren was. Eren is getting even more romantic sighs swoons that hairpin is such a precious thing. We see the docks, hear things said about Grisha that pisses Eren off, and meet Ramzi and Halil! They have a happier ending here, thankfully (unless the storms sink their ship on their way home… huehuehue, I kid, I kid). A visit to a holy sea shrine somehow makes Eren unendingly horny. And beneath it all the North is stirring. Storm coming indeed.

This isn't as frisky as last time but we'll get there, we'll get there.

Forever and always, thank you all for reading! Til next update!

Tagging: @princess-okkotsu @lukepattersin @tojis-discord-kitten

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren jaeger #eren yeager #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan

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