#av writes

You hum contentedly and lean back against him, hand dropping to rest over his when he wraps it around your waist; Beckman responds to you, the gruff man betraying nothing of his reaction beyond the slight glimmering of warmth in his dark eyes--he'd never admit it outright, of course, but he dearly loves seeing his captain happy like this, loves that his friends have found such joy in each other.

Behind you, Shanks shifts, something light like laughter rumbling through his chest and against your back at something you said. You smile and nestle into him a little more tightly, that seed of contentment blossoming into something more steady and full when he squeezes you a little tighter in return. His chin shifts against your skin until you can feel the softness of his cheek resting further out against your shoulder. When you turn your head slightly to kiss his chin, Shanks sighs softly, almost dreamily, breathing the same contentment you feel out into the air between you.

Beckman, sensing the impending loss of his conversation partner for the evening, lights another cigarette, hiding the curve of a smile behind filter and flame as Shanks lifts his hand from your waist to tuck your hair back behind your ear. Affectionate, gentle.

"Everything alright, love?" You ask him softly, sweetly, turning to properly look at him at last, sinking into the endless deep of his warm, brown eyes.

Shanks smiles at you, wide and easy, and nods against your shoulder before turning his head slightly to press another kiss there.

"Just wanted to be able to see you while you're talkin', darling," he says earnestly, unabashedly, complete adoration etched across his beautiful features. He feels it when you blush, even before the heat rises to your cheeks, laughing as you grin; he watches the way your nose crinkles in giddy affection, commits to memory the little peek of your tongue between your teeth and the way your brows draw together just before a soft peal of laughter escapes you.

Beckman kicks his feet up on the table and leans back in his chair, exhaling a plume of smoke up at the sky to give you a moments privacy when you turn in Shanks' grasp to kiss him, to slide your palms against his cheek and into his hair, to really hold him for a moment the way he's always holding you.

The conversation dies then, for a time, but not unhappily so, the silence and warmth that ensues just as comfortable as the talking had been. When Shanks folds you in against his chest, mission accomplished and well pleased, the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear sings to you a familiar song.

Haha, nothing wrong with that.

Congrats. You’ve inspired me! 💜

————

Steve,

Just taking a few of my last minutes in this world to tell you thanks for all those times you snuck us into the movie theater last summer. I got to see a couple of R-rated movies and save some money so that was pretty cool.

Oh. Is it still too soon to joke?

In all seriousness, I do want to thank you. Thank you for standing up for us, which made me brave enough to stand up for myself. Sorry your face had to get pounded first, though. 

Thank you for coming to our rescue from creepy vines, demodogs, and giant human meat spiders. And I guess for being a pretty good getaway driver yesterday.

Thank you for letting me hide at Family Video when Mom and Neil fought. For letting me watch movies in peace there without ever bugging me about Sharing My Feelings. And thanks for driving me back from the arcade (when I still bothered going) when my mom forgot me or she couldn’t drive.

Thank you for going to Lucas’ games. I just can’t face it and I know what it means to him to have someone there who actually gives a shit about basketball.

And… I know it was you who started mowing the lawn and other stuff like that for us after I broke up with Lucas. I know it was you who helped my mom with all the heavy furniture when we moved. All of that, even though it meant you had to tell her it was because you were friends with Billy. Which… really must have sucked.

I won’t insult you by asking you to look after the boys. And El, if the Byers ever come back somehow. I know you will. But I was wondering… would you mind checking up on my mom from time to time? If she doesn’t flee this shithole, that is. I know it’s a lot to ask but I’m sure you get why Lucas, Dustin, or Mike aren’t an option. Even if it wasn’t too far on their bikes, I don’t want them to see my mom like that and she wouldn’t want them to see her, either. 

I’m not saying you still have to do yard work or have afternoon tea with her every Sunday. You can even just call a couple times a month to make sure she answers the phone or that Vecna isn’t after her next.

Just before my mom married Neil and I actually got to know Billy, I used to imagine what having a big brother would be like.  I’m sure you can guess that reality didn’t exactly match my expectations. At least, not until I met you. 

You’re a really good guy, Steve. I’m sorry I wasn’t ever able to say any of this to your face. But I really suck at this kind of thing. If I tried, I probably would have just ended up calling you an idiot or something. But I don’t think you’re an idiot. I actually think you’re a lot smarter than we tend to give you credit for. 

I know things have been weird for you for awhile, but I know you’re going to find your way.

—Max

She couldn't bring herself to care, for she was finally warm.

She didn't pray, but she did for Missandei. Her truest and closest friend, standing on that platform, surrounded by enemies. Shackles bound her hands in front of her. Dany's ears were ringing so loudly she couldn't hear anything happening around her. Her eyes locked with Missandei's and she tried to tell her in a look that she wouldn't let her die. That she and Grey Worm would find a way to her. She wouldn't die a slave today, nor any other day.

But then her eyes lost all emotion as she yelled out the word Dany herself had used so often. "Dracarys!" And then, just like that, her head was separated from her body, her headless corpse crumbling into a heap in front of the gates of King's Landing. The ground was tinged red with blood, and it got worse as Dany stared at it in horror.

That had been two days ago, and everytime she closed her eyes, that's all she could see. The person she had seen in the looking glass at the hour of the wolf didn't look well. She had woken up again, sick and shaking at the thought of Missandei's corpse. Jorah's funeral pyre. Rhaegal sinking beneath the sea. Qhono disappearing with the rest of the dothraki warriors into the night. Viserion's dead and mangled form. Grey Worm's absolute anguish. Ser Barristan's lifeless body. Irri bleeding and cold on the floor. Drogo's far away stare. Rhaego, her baby boy that she'd never known. Rhaegar and Elia and Aegon and Rhaenys and Viserys and her mother.

And Varys' obviously shifting loyalty. Tyrion's worried looks. The face of the man she loved as she had begged him not to let loose the secret that would take him away from her.

Her dead eyes staring back at her were dark, and her hair was half down. Her face was gaunt and pale. She couldn't eat, and now she couldn't sleep.

For the first time in a long time, she wished she would have gone through with her thoughts of ending her own life in the dothraki sea. That dream of finding a home in Westeros, the one that had kept her going, was dead. Dragonstone felt more like a mausoleum than anything else.

A special reunion.

The way he wraps his arm around you, pulls you close, hums softly when it's clear you're not letting go, the way he breathes so slowly as the weight of it settles in his chest, soft and warm and soothing. The way he seems to pull all the breath out of you when he deepens it, the way the wind seems to tug at you like the whole world turns on your shared heartbeat.

think about the way his eyes glisten with something so tender it's almost wounded when you pull away just enough to tell him you love him. that of every soul alive and every treasure at sea, he's the one you want.

Shanks would totally get up in the middle of the night to put more fire in the wood-burning heater. He would brave the chill and make sure it had enough wood to keep going for a while, would crouch there in front of it in just his pajama bottoms waiting until the ambient temp started to come up again.

Also btw he would crawl back in bed with you, chest and cheeks a little flushed from being so close to the heater, and kiss you with unhurried bliss. He'd smile against your mouth at the feel of you trying to cool him off while he's trying to warm you up, too.

Fwiw he'd bundle you up under the blankets until your legs were draped over his and nuzzle into your shoulder, makin some silly joke low against you just to hear you giggle while the warmth starts to lull you both back into sleep.

and if you stroked your fingers into his hair and rubbed along his spine and told him he was the only one for you, that you'd have chosen him as happily as a fishmonger as you had as yonkou, that the man he is is enough, that his heart stands on its own merits without the caveats he's accumulated

and if you sighed softly into his hair when he pressed soft kisses against your sternum, let him breathe you in, let him shed the quiet, unspoken tears meant only for the two of you

and if you took him into yourself until the lines that blurred the incomplete, imperfect, beautiful physicality of your love were indistinguishable from one to the other

and if you let him wake each morning curled around you, if you let him know that waking this way, to the warmth of him, the softness of your bed, and the swaying of the ship, was the way you wanted to spend your life...