#SADDLING UP MY STEED

[eggo-tistical]

you, dearest

my sweet beautiful prince

real quick, im just gonna go out on a knightly quest in order to prove myself worthy of your affections. i shall upend the earth and skies with a blade sworn to your heart. for it is my duty to earn the honor and privilege of witnessing such majesties. call me sir ian. brb

Sudden realization

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: yo, work is driving me nuts.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Lady Jazlene, a queen by marriage, cries herself to sleep. You stay until she snores and snuff the candle as you leave her on her stomach atop the stuffed mattress. You emerge between the guards and wonder if they keep people out or keep her in. 

They don’t react to you. No one really does. A shadow approaches. The thickset man grunts at you as the moonlight shines off his dark mail. Bryce waits patiently as you near him. He turns and walks beside you in silence. 

Much of the camp is asleep. The only fires that remain are those of the soldiers on watch for marauders and bandits. Your soles kick loose pebbles and trample flattened grass further. You yawn as you reach the luggage carts and find the one you rode in. The grey horse is tie to the axle, dozing on its feet with puffing nostrils. 

“The road will not get any less turbulent,” Bryce warns as he grabs his bedroll from across his mount’s rump. “You will need sleep, maid.” 

“Thank you, sir,” you lift the canvas draped over the back of the wagon. 

He grumbles and unfurls his roll across the dirt. You climb up and nestle down beneath the cover, pressed against a chest as you curl up. You hear the soldier lay down with a groan, “...too sweet...” 

You close your eyes and rest your head on a bent arm. The darkness quickly swallows you up into slumber and the day fades into obscurity. You’re not conscious long enough to dread the one ahead. 

As the sun rises, heat gathers in the cart. You wake in a damp sweat, nearly suffocating as you gulp up cool air. You slip down onto your feet and grab onto the cart to keep from stumbling. Bryce grunts as your soles crunch on the ground. 

“Eh, where’re you off to?” He sneers. 

You look down at him. His eyes are still closed as his grey steed sniffs at the dirt close to him. 

“Sir, I... I haven’t... relieved myself since... erm, well...” 

“Go on, but not too far,” he opens his eyes and sits up. “Holler if you meet trouble.” 

The horse huffs into his steely hair and he pets its nose. He grabs onto its reins and hauls himself up. You quickly spin and flit away. You go off into the brush where its thick and squat down, your skirts gathered above your knees. You miss the springs behind the castle where you would bathe with the other maids, you could use a wash now. 

You finish up and peer over the stretch of bodies, horses, and carts. You set off back toward the cart and as you come in sight of Bryce, he unties a dented kettle from his saddles. You feel much better without the pressure beneath your guts.  

“I could fetch water,” you offer. 

He looks over his shoulder. You think you surprised him. 

“Quiet mouse,” he mutters and faces you, gripping the bent handle, “I can manage a potful of water.” 

“Yes, sir, I only was being helpful.” 

“You stay, take Daisy to find some fresh grass,” he points to the horse. 

“Daisy?” You look at the beast, “is that her name?” 

He shrugs and stalks off. You go to the reins and loose them. You glance around and lead her over to an unyellowed swath of grass. She dips her long neck and grazes, tearing the strands noisily as her teeth clack. You pet her ear as she comes rather close to the hem of your skirt. 

Heavy steps tramp up behind you. You don’t bother looking as you assume it’s Bryce. Those who are stirring are barely able to lift themselves out of their rolls. The lazy rise of dawn does not inspire fastidiousness as the clouds haze amber and rose. 

“Fine horse,” the king’s timbre rumbles over you. 

You turn and bow your head, “your highness.” 

He inhales through his nose before he speaks again, “are you a fast rider?” 

“I’ve never... I don’t ride, your highness,” you reply, staring at his black mail, just at the center of his chest. “It isn’t my horse.” 

“I know it, I thought perhaps...” he begins and shifts his weight in his boots, “you might’ve secreted away the mare. That you would be sick for your home.” 

“Your highness? No, I wouldn’t--” You put your hand to your apron, “I am not a thief.” 

He pauses and his thick fingers toy with his belt, fiddling with a leather purse, “that isn’t what I...” he blows out in exasperation, “I do not think you dishonest. In fact, you are the most honest creature I’ve met around here.” 

You keep your eyes down, “I only mean to feed the horse.” 

“Yes, I believe you,” he assures, his tone glum, “forgive my inference. Truly, it wasn’t intended as such.” 

“I understand, your highness,” you say. 

“It was a jape, a poor one, I suppose,” he hooks his thumb in his belt and turns to pace. “I wanted to thank you. I have yet to figure out how to handle Lady Jazlene but you keeping her company, I do appreciate it.” He stops and crosses his arms as he faces you again, “last night, what you heard and saw... we are strangers still, her and I.” 

“I am a maid, your highness, I serve the lady and you now,” you reply, “that’s all I do.” 

His arms bulge before he drops them, “yes, I suppose for you, the matters of nobility are dull.” 

“It is not of my concern, your highness,” you say, “I am to see that all the wine and food and little things are taken care of.”  

You peer up at the sky as the dimness slowly recedes. His figure looms below and he slowly treads closer. You squeeze the reins. 

“You serve the queen, the king, and... a horse,” he reaches to touch its snout, dragging his knuckles along its grey fur. “Make certain we are fed and content.” 

“Whatever is needed, your highness,” you answer and watch his hand stroke the horse. 

“And what do you need?” He asks. 

You quork your head and stick out your lip. It's an odd question. You have what you need. You have a place in the cart, you have some nuts left over from Bryce’s generosity, and you have some hours sleep behind you. 

“Nothing, I think,” you say. 

He scratches behind the horse’s ear, “and what do you want?” 

You purse your lips. You think. Another strange inquiry. What should you want? That’s not something anyone ever worried for. You only troubled after what others wanted. 

“I... I want to see the snow,” you say at last, “I think I dreamt of it but I can’t remember. I don’t really know what it would look like but I remember once Merinda spoke of it. She knew a stable hand who once lived in the north.” 

He’s quiet. Your answer isn’t very interesting. To him, the snows must be so tedious. Nothing more than ordinary. He makes a clicking noise. 

“I want to see the snow too,” he pulls his hand away from the horse and for a moment, he seems to reach for you, recoiling short of touching your grasp on the reins. He withdraws and presses his thumb to his teeth. He hums. “We have far to go before the snow...” he rasps, “should you require anything for the road ahead, you may ask.” 

“That is kind, your highness, but I don’t expect I require much,” you assure, “thank you.” 

“Mmm,” he drones as he faces the sunrise and sets his posture, “onward.” 

He marches away as you stay and watch Daisy munch on the grass. You comb your fingers through her main, loosening the tangles. When another approaches, you glance over. Bryce tidies his own hair with his hands. 

“Water is boiling, maid,” he declares, “I have some spare mint leaf for tea.” 

“Yes, sir, thank you,” you smile down at Daisy and move out of reach of her teeth. “I will stay with the horse until she is done.” 

“Hm, aye, I understand,” his forehead lines, “she is much more pleasant than I.” 

He nods and turns back the way he came. You watch after him as he goes to sit before the hanging kettle, a low flame burning beneath it. He rolls his shoulders and hunches forward as he plants his elbows on his knees. These people of the Hinterlands are not so cold as they pretend. 

⚔️

The long train continues through the lands. Some days slower than others. There are some where progress stops at midday in favour of passing through a village or approaching a nearby farm. The king departs from the larger party, riding with his soldiers to greet the commonfolk. Lady Jazlene refuses to accompany her husband in favour of her silk tent and wine. 

The pauses in your trek makes you curious; you only ever heard of King Waleran showing his face to the citizens during the harvest festivals and self-aggrandizing ceremonies. You never saw the king yourself, only heard Lord Dustan and his wife resentfully complain of how the king never made the journey to Debray. Did he not recall that once a duchess was married to his great-uncle? 

You spend the hours in Jazlene’s company. She wants her wine and mutton. You notice that her appetite for the former has grown since the first day’s travel. She even requested that some casks be sought during one of the king’s visits. He acted as if he did not hear her entreaty. Their few encounters since that first night have been terse and short, neither offering much more than a word or two. 

The queen swirls her cup, watching the motion of the wine within. She giggles and puts it down, picking up the looking glass and admiring herself. She sits on a wooden stool, her skirts dusted with the dirt of the road. Despite the filth, she insists on sporting a new gown each day, no matter how extravagant. 

“What a fool? To think he is wasting his time on commoners,” she trills, “you know, he should be here, worried about his wife and queen. Not married a week and all we’ve done is ride anon. I’ve had no wedding, no feast. How I am neglected for these dirty farmers.” 

You say nothing. You’re not certain she recalls you’re there. She speaks to herself often as if her mother is there. A few times, she has even called for the duchess. Often when she’s nearly finished the bottle. 

She pouts and sniffs. She drains the cup completely and puts it down heavily on the crate next to her. She grips the mirror with both hands and looks at her reflection. She contorts her face, sucking in her cheeks, pushing out her lips, turning her head this way and that. 

“Aren’t I beautiful?” She nearly whispers. You don’t flinch. You stare at your hem. She sighs and stomps her foot, “I’m asking you!” 

You peek up at her, surprised.  

“Yes, your highness, you are very beautiful.” 

She frowns, “you lie to me.” 

“I wouldn’t lie, your highness.” 

“Don’t argue with me,” she snarls and slams the mirror down, cracking the glass on the crate. She stands and blusters around, her skirts catching between her legs, “if I am beautiful, what makes me so, hm? Tell me!” 

You stare at her. She is beautiful. You always thought so.  

“Your hair, your curls, your highness, they are beautiful.” 

She rolls her eyes, “just my hair?” 

She wobbles slightly as she struts towards you. 

“Your eyes. They are pretty too. And you have a nicely set nose. And your lips are finely curved, your highness,” you explain as she looms closer and closer. 

“Hmph,” she stops, slouching drunkenly as she leans in to consider you, “of course you would say so. Look at you. So plain. An ugly handmaid.” 

You stare back at her, a strike in your chest, then drop your gaze. It is the wine. She huffs, her alcohol-laden breath tinging your nose. 

“The king,” she babbles as she turns on her heels, swaying dangerously, “we’ve only lain together our first night. It was... quick. He didn’t want me to sleep with him,” she raises a hand and flutters her fingers, “he shooed me away like some whore.” She spins and falls onto the stool, “if I am so beautiful, why does he not want me?” 

You watch her. She isn’t looking for your answer. She’s talking to talk. Lady Rezlyn isn’t there so she has only herself and stagnant air trapped in the tent. 

“It is my duty to have his babies. To give him heirs. I cannot do that if he will not touch me. But perhaps when are in one place, he might try again,” she smiles and lifts the broken mirror. She tilts it and lets her hand drift down to your bodice. She pushes her chest up, “when he lets me take this off, he will see. He will want me.” 

She convinces herself as she preens at her reflection, “perhaps it won’t hurt.” She looks around and sees the bottle of wine. She grabs it by the neck. She grips it and wiggles it at you in the air. “He’s even thicker than this,” she puts the mirror down and balances the bottle on her palm as she circles her fingers around the bottom of the bottles neck, just before it rounds out, “and longer.” 

You stare at the silk wall, mortified by her words. She giggles and the movement of her hand draws your eyes up. You watch from under your lashes as she brings her hands up and down the bottle neck. 

“Mother says, just like this,” she pumps it, “that he should like it very much.” She stops and focuses on the bottle, “mmm, he is a man underneath it all.” She tosses the bottle away, “and I am a beautiful woman. He will want me.” 

You lower your eyes again and twine your fingers together. You can’t help but feel bad for her. You only wish you had some words of wisdom or comfort to offer her. Or that she would hear them. You can’t help but touch the fading bruise along your stomach as you languish in the tepid silence. It’s better to let her forget you. 

[hyperactively-me]

Ok, for King!Ghost, how ab Graves as a hunting dog handler who the reader happens to run into one day while at the stables with Soap, and his gaze lingers a little too long 🫣. Soap, being Soap, tells Ghost ab the encounter and he threatens Graves that if he ever talks to his queen again, bad things are coming his way. Sorry if this is a terrible idea, I just have King!Ghost brain rot 😔😵‍💫

omggg great idea for some drama! coming right up!!

warnings: non-con touching (only area of unwanted touch is on princess's hand)

It was a warm, sunny day outside. Spring was such a lovely season here in Kastron. As you entered the stables, the earthy scent of hay and gentle sounds of horses greeted you. You approach your mare, waiting patiently in her stall. She always brought you comfort, a welcome break from your responsibilities in the palace. 

“Hi, baby,” you smile at her. She nuzzles you affectionately, her snout pushing into your hand. You begin to brush her mane, each stroke calming you down from a hectic week.

Just as you were about to saddle your mare for a stroll, a familiar voice broke your reverie. 

“Your majesty! Well, if it isn’t the fairest queen in the land.”

You turn to find the grinning face of Sir Soap, a pleasant surprise for your day. He bows dramatically yet again, making you giggle lightly. 

"Johnny," you greet him with a warm smile, "what brings you to the stables today?"

"Ah, Your Majesty," Johnny replied with a glint in his eye, “I thought I'd pay a visit to my trusty steed.”

“Didn’t you say when we first met that we should go riding sometime?” 

“Ah, yes, I think I suggested the idea!” 

“Well, I was just about to go for a ride, would you want to accompany me?” you ask with a friendly smile. 

Before Johnny could respond, a tall and sturdy figure approached the two of you. He was scruffy looking, yet his physique was lean and athletic. He had a beautiful yet intimidating dog on a leash in his hand. It was the kingdom's hunting dog handler, Graves, renowned for his expertise in training the finest hunting dogs in the kingdom. 

He bowed deeply. "Your majesty, it’s an honor to finally meet you" he said, "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Sir Soap. I want to introduce myself.” 

He takes your hand in his, squeezing it with a firm hand, but not tight enough to hurt you. He leans down, bringing the back of your hand up to his mouth to press a kiss to it, and you swear you feel the tiniest tip of his tongue over your skin.

You immediately shudder, wanting him to let go of your hand. You yank your hand from his grip, laughing awkwardly as Soap eyes your reaction, unbeknownst to you. Soap steps closer to you, hand resting on the hilt of his sword for Graves to see.  

“I’m Graves. Phillip Graves. I’m the one responsible for handling the hunting dogs for the palace,” he explains, motioning to the dog on the leash.

“May I pet it?” you question, admiring the dog. 

“Only briefly, your majesty. They must be kept disciplined.”

You paused for a moment, then gracefully lowered yourself to your knees, extending a hand to gently pat the dog on the head. Unbeknownst to you, Graves's gaze lingered on you a bit too long, his eyes roaming your figure without restraint. After a moment, you rose to your feet, giving the dog one final scratch under the chin. Graves reached down and offered his hand to help you stand, but he held it just a bit too long, causing you to clear your throat awkwardly, silently signaling him to release your hand. He complies, straightening his posture.

"Forgive me if I was impolite. This is my friend, Sir Soap."

“Oh, I’m well aware of who this is,” he snarks, rolling his eyes at Soap. “No need for an introduction, your majesty.” 

Soap remained silent, but his grip on his sword hilt tightened, and a frown creased his features. After a lingering look at Soap, Graves turned his attention back to you, his gaze making you feel vulnerable as it roved over your form.

“Well, I must be on my way, my lady. If you ever require assistance, please do not hesitate to call upon me.”

Your mouth flounders, unsure of how to respond. The way he says “assistance” makes your insides turn. 

“Good afternoon,” he smirks at you, turning on his heel to walk away with the hunting dog in tow. 

. . .

“Yeah, I’m telling you, the way he was eyeing her like she was a piece of meat…” Soap trails off, anger seeping from his voice. 

“Downright disrespectful,” he spits, clenching and unclenching his fists as he paces the room in front of Ghost. 

Ghost's mind churned with a mixture of anger and concern as he absorbed Soap's words. The image of Graves disrespecting you with his lecherous gaze filled him with a burning desire to rip him limb from limb. But he wouldn’t. 

Ghost cleared his throat, looking at Soap pointedly. “I’ll be dealing with Graves soon enough.” 

“Ay, you should. Otherwise, I would be doing it myself. Jus’ thought to tell you, being her husband ‘n all,” Soap explains. 

“Thank you for informing me, Johnny. That’ll be all.” 

. . .

That night, you slipped into bed with a sigh of relief, your body sinking into the silky sheets. 

You let Simon pull you into him, his hand cradling the back of your head with a certain firmness. 

“Is something wrong?” you ask, hands moving up to wrap around his torso. 

He tenses for a moment, his jaw ticking.

“It’s nothing, love, go to sleep,” he whispers, pressing the small of your back into him. 

You cuddle into him, ignoring the anger rolling off of him in waves. You already know what it's about, you’re just too exhausted to deal with it.

You’ll let him deal with the issue. After all, he is your doting, protective husband. 

. . . 

A single, harsh knock resonates in the study. 

“Please, come in,” Ghost says, rifling through stray papers strewn across his desk.

Graves takes a few steps into the room, standing before Ghost’s desk. 

He takes a quick bow, muttering a hurried “Your majesty” as he bows.

“How may I assist you today?” Graves questions, standing firm.

Ghost leans forward on his desk, hands folded in front of him.

“Don’t speak to the queen again,” he says simply, a sharp edge in his voice.

“Your majesty, I have no idea what you are talking about—”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Ghost says, pushing himself up from his seat. 

He strides to the other side of his desk, standing in front of Graves menacingly. The tension in the room grew palpable as Ghost’s imposing presence loomed over Graves. His stern expression and unwavering demeanor sent a clear message: there would be no room for evasion or deception.

Graves shifted uncomfortably under Ghost’s unyielding gaze. His voice wavered ever so slightly as he responded.

“Your majesty, I assure you. I have always acted with the utmost respect towards the queen—” 

“Do not test my patience.” Ghost’s piercing eyes bore into Graves, and he lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper. “I heard the way you looked at her. The way you treated her in the stables. It will not be tolerated.

Graves swallowed thickly. He had never encountered Ghost in such a formidable state, and the weight of the situation pressed upon him. “Your majesty, I meant no disrespect. I...I simply admired the queen's beauty.”

Ghost leaned even closer, his voice a low growl. “Admiration is one thing, but your actions were far from innocent. If you dare to approach her, touch her, speak to her, or even glance at her again, you will face consequences that you cannot even imagine. I’m protecting her honor. Protecting her.”

Graves nodded quickly, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I understand, your majesty. I apologize if I gave you any reason to doubt me.” 

Ghost straightened up, his expression unrelenting, his seriousness remaining. “Consider this your final warning, Graves. Do not forget the position you now find yourself in. You have been granted a second chance. Do not squander it.”

With that, Ghost returned to his desk and continued to sift through the scattered papers, leaving Graves to exit the room with a sense of anger and fear instilled in him.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[agyraty]

Heartshot

———————————————————

Arthur Morgan x Reader

Summary: Taking a ride with Arthur, you found yourself ambushed by O’Driscols, you were shot straight through the stomach..

Angst, fluff, some gore (I’m not good at writing it so)

Not my best work, hopefully you guys like it!

———————————————————

Arthur rode back to camp as quickly as he could, your weak body sitting in the saddle in front of him. His eyebrows knitted together tightly, a clear testament to the turmoil churning within. He held your limp body against him tightly, staring out at the road ahead. His free arm snapped the reigns of his horse, driving it faster.

"Stay with me, keep those eyes open!" he urged, cradling your weakened form. You had been Ambushed by O'Driscolls during while on your way to town to pick up things for Dutch, a bullet had found you, tearing through your midsection.

Arthur's embrace acted as both a shield and a sanctuary, his palm pressing firmly against your belly to slow the blood that quickly pored out. "We’re Almost to camp, I promise I’ll get you help there." he spoke with hushed urgency.

“Arthur..” you whispered breathlessly. Your hands rested atop of his, pressing it farther into the puncture wound on your stomach. This was the most intense pain you have ever felt, every little movement you made had sent searing pain throughout your body. Your knuckles began to turn white due to how tightly you held his hand, You weren’t meaning to squeeze him so hard.

His horse sprinted through the dense forest, staying on the path that would soon take you to horseshoe overlook. Each hard step the horse took, rocked your body, sending waves of pain through your wound.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you darling.” He whispered gently in your ear, trying to comfort you, all the while trying to keep himself calm as well. He was freaking out, his mind running with possibilities. He was so worried that he wouldn’t make it in time.. that you’d die in his arms.

You fought with all your might to stay strong, but eventually, the weight became too much. Tiny sobs shook your body, betraying the emotions you usually kept hidden.

Arthur could see the camp come into view, a small hopeful sigh escaped his lips. He urged his horse to go faster, matching the pounding rhythm of his heart.

The blood quickly pouring from your wound stained the fabric of your long sleeve shirt. You quickly began to feel light headed by how much blood you were loosing.. not to mention the awful pain.

"Darling, stay with me. Don't close your eyes," Arthur pleaded, tightening his grasp, and pulling you farther into his chest.

He pulled his horse up the road, and into the camp. He skidded to a stop just at the hitching poles, and jumped off, pulling you off his steed, and holding you carefully in his arms.

“Somebody, help!” Arthur called, quickly caring your frail body into camp. You curled farther into him, holding the puncture wound on your stomach tightly, letting out small whimpers and grunts.

You’ve never felt pain like this before. Sure you’ve been shot plenty of times, but in places like your leg and your arm. Never once have you been shot somewhere like this, somewhere so painful, so fatal..

He quickly carried you over to his cot, several other camp members following in tail, either curious if you were okay, or there to help.

Arthur laid you down with utmost care, his arms retreating as he cleared some space around you. "Back up, give her some air!" he yelled out firmly, ensuring no one crowded too close. “Arthur, what happened?” Susan asked him as she rushed over to his tent.

"Susan, she— shes been shot," he said, panic edging his voice as he moved to fetch supplies. "Reverend, we need you. I'll explain later—just help her now!"

Susan pulled up a chair besides the cot, swiping the medical supplies out of Arthur’s hand and placing them onto the night stand besides her.

She wastes no time, her hands find the hem of your shirt, and pull it up, just below your chest so that your whole stomach was exposed.

Your breathing grows heavier, panic coursing through your veins. You knew what was about to happen, and even though you needed it to be done to survive, you were scared. Your chest heaved up and down, eyes fixated on her hands as they grew closer to the bloody hole in your abdomen.

Susan reached her tweezers inside the wound, digging around for the bullet that hadn’t yet left. Your eyes shoot wide, a pained gasp leaving your lips as you began to squirm, instinctively reaching out for Arthur seeking solace and comfort.

"Just hang in there, darling. I ain't goin' anywhere," Arthur comforted, reaching down and placing his hands on your shoulders in a steady grip, offering a sense of comfort amidst the pain and fear, but also keeping you still.

"Just stay still, don’t move.” As the others worked to remove the bullet, Arthur's gaze never left your body, his concern evident in his eyes. He stayed in his spot, trying to keep you as still as possible so they could help you.

The pain shot through you as Susan carefully pried open your wound even farther. The edges of the torn skin exposed muscle underneath, a distressing sight.

In the midst of your groans from the intense pain, Arthur's hands laid on your shoulders, squeezing you slightly, providing comfort and support.

Susan quickly found the piece of lead that was lodged into you, pulling it out and dropping it beside you. Reverend to over, gently rubbing your stomach with a wet towel, cleaning it as best as he could.

"We've got it," Arthur whispered gently, his voice filled with reassurance. You faintly heard what he said as your head began to spin, eyes growing heavy. You knew you were about to loose consciousness..

“Hey— Hey! stay awake!” He spoke quickly, one of his hands going up to your cheek in a way to keep you awake. He could see your fatigue, he knew you were falling asleep.

You felt yourself going limp, your breathing growing slower as you began to succumb to your exhaustion. “I’m so tired..” Arthur’s Heart sank as he heard the last words you managed to say before passing out.

———

You awoke with a small gasp, your eyes squinting from the bright morning light. You quickly looked around, trying to piece together what had happened, you noticed the bandages on your body, and the slight ache coursing through your stomach. Confusion filled your mind, and then it all came rushing back—the events of the previous night.

You looked to the side, and there sat Arthur, his hand in yours. He was hunched over your bed, head resting in his palm.

“Arthur..” you whispered, although your voice was rather raspy. You watched as he quickly sat up straight, his eyes wide and his lips agape slightly. “Y/n..” he whispered, hand squeezing yours tightly.

You quickly looked away, not quite to sure what to say. You felt the need to apologize, for everything. For being reckless enough to get shot, and for making him deal with you. You felt like you burdened him.

“Arthur I— I’m sorry.” You shook your head, a frown finding its way to your lips. “I didn’t mean for you to have to deal with my mistakes.. I should have been foolish enough to allow myself to be shot—“

“No, no. Don’t apologize.” He hushed you quickly, shaking his head, bring his other hand up and squeezing your hand even tighter. “It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t ask for any of this to happen.”

His voice was filled with sincerity as he continued. “And I couldn’t bear to see you loose your life. I care about you to much for that.. so taking care of you was really no trouble at all.”

The warmth in your smile didn't wane, even as you attempted to push yourself up to sit. But as you moved, a sharp pain shot through your midsection. You froze, a pained grunt escaping your lips. The discomfort a rude reminder of your injuries. Through the haze of pain, you felt a surge of affection for Arthur, your heart swelling for the man who had stayed by your side through it all.

He quickly realized your hand, scooting one of his arms under your back to help you up. “Careful there.” He warned.

You smiled gratefully at him as he helped prop you up. “I would hug you, but unfortunately I can’t lean forward.” Arthur chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Then let me make it easier for you.”

He moved forwards, and gently pulled your body into a tight embrace, carefully though so he wouldn’t hurt you. He buries his head into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath, breathing in your scent. He never wanted this to end. He was so worried that he was going to loose you, that he was up all night sitting here by your side.

And now that your awake, and okay, sitting in his arms, he couldn’t help but feel over joyed and happy. His grip around you tightened. “Oh Y/n.. I thought I lost you..” he whispered against your neck.

Your face flushed red, as you felt his breath against the sensitive skin of your neck. “Oh Arthur, I ain’t going down that easy.” You joked, a small airy chuckle escaping your lips, but you immediately regretted it as soon as you felt a sharp pain move throughout your belly.

“Careful now.” Arthur pulled back slightly, removing one of his arms from you and bringing it to rest on your stomach lightly as he looked down at it, not realizing just how close your faces were.

Your eyes widened a bit, his face was just inches away from yours. You could feel your heart beating faster in your chest, and by now you forgot all about your pain.

Arthur slowly brought his gaze up to meet yours, his cheeks were tinted a light pink as he realized how close he was. Not that he was complaining.

His hand slowly slipped up, and cupped your cheek, his eyes never leaving you as he did. By now your heart was beating a million miles an hour, and you could feel butterflies settle in the pit of your stomach. Oh god, how badly you just wanted to love forwards and kiss him.

It seemed your prayer had been answered. Your heart skipped a beat as Arthurs hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head, gently moving you forward, and placing his lips atop yours. You closed your eyes and wasted no time in kissing him back. It was a quick, yet passionate kiss, And you could tell he was trying to be gentle with you, considering all that had happened.

A soft whisper escaped your lips as he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that..” you confessed, feeling a mixture of emotions swirling inside you…

———————————————————

[tilebytiles]

till you tell me to leave - a.t.

summary: alex would probably let you stay at his house for the rest of your life, right? word count: 3k warnings: making out so a little suggestive, major fluff otherwise a/n: this was SUPPOSED to be a short little drabble but quickly turned into a whole self-indulgent thing bc cowboy!al is very special to me. smiles cutely settle for a draw

the first time you went to Alex’s farm, you were immediately reluctant to leave. you were situated on Twilight’s saddle, ambling along behind Alex and Lizzie and barely past the front gates that he’d just opened before already trying to cook up some lame, half-assed excuse for your parents so you could stay another day. or two. or maybe for the rest of your life. he had a lot of land to his name; the fence around his property stretched on for a while, and the path that led to his house was a bit of a long one, although not unbearably so. to your immediate right was a little pond and — were those fucking ducks?

“you alright?” he asked, his low chuckle snapping you out of your momentary mystification. you gripped the reins and nudged Twilight around so you could face him, watching as he pushed the gates shut. you did, admittedly, watch the way his arm muscles flexed in the sunlight for just a little too long to be considered normal.

“you have ducks,” you said, as if that explained everything.

“that I do.” Lizzie’s reins in hand, he approached you and your steed, peering up at you from beneath the rim of his hat. if you didn’t know any better, you would have reached over and snatched it from his head to put it on your own. unfortunately, you did know better, and your relationship with Alex was nowhere near the level that you felt was appropriate for riding a cowboy.

the dirt shifted and was kicked up beneath his boots and your horses’ hooves as the two of you made your way down the path to his house. the silence that settled in the air was comfortable, although you did still try to search for things to say. finding none, you opted to look around the property some more, now that you weren’t so distracted by the ducks. the area immediately surrounding his house and, consequently, the farm had been cleared of trees, although there were trees closer to the perimeter, making the fence almost imperceptible. you could hear birds chirping in the distance, and one of the ducks quacked. scattered throughout the grass were flowers of different kinds. the sun was out, but it wasn’t uncomfortably hot; just bright. you felt like you’d stepped into a scene out of a fairytale, not your boyfriend’s farm.

ah. boyfriend. that term still felt weird to use.

although he’d given you his phone number and texted you regularly (you remembered the smile he’d given you when he said “I’m not good with phones, but f’you, I’ll try”), your relationship with him hadn’t been solidified until the last time he’d dropped by your house for a quick visit. it wasn’t intentional — neither of you had planned to bring it up to your parents, but when you’d sat down for dinner, your father chewed his food and eyed Alex for several seconds before saying, “you want my blessin’, boy?”

Alex nearly choked on his water. he coughed a few times and set his glass down, spluttering, “what?”

“hon, what did I tell you about scarin’ him like that?” your mother scolded, lightly swatting at your father’s arm.

his resolve was stronger than steel, though. “you think I’m blind?” he pointed his knife accusatorially at Alex. “I’ve seen the way you look at my daughter. I might be old, but I’m no fool. I’ve seen it all, boy.” he lowered his knife to carve another piece out of his steak. “you’re pinin’ after her the same way I pined after m’wife.”

you dropped your fork and buried your face into your hands. “papa, please,” you groaned.

“your … wife.” Alex’s foot nudged yours beneath the table, a silent plea for your help. you all but kicked him, making him hiss under his breath. he was on his own.

"don't pay him any mind," the wife in question said, waving her hand dismissively at her husband's words. "he's jus' grumpy 'cause I didn't let him have his nightly beer."

"right." Alex didn't seem to buy her reassurances — he might've looked a little more panicked, actually — but he certainly wasn't about to dwell on it. he glanced over at you then, setting his fork down. "marriage wouldn't be ... so bad."

"Alex!" you hissed, kicking his foot again. he winced. you glared at your father. "no more marriage talk. I'm not even twenty-one yet."

later that night, as Alex laid beside you, arm draped over your waist and fingers drawing lazy circles against your back, his expression grew contemplative. "I meant what I said earlier, y'know."

you opened your eyes. you'd almost fallen asleep. "what do you mean?"

"about marriage. I think I'd like t' marry ya someday."

you were sure he could make out your blush in the darkness. "well ..." you let out a small huff. "that's not for a while."

"no, I s'pose not." silence, then, "can I at least call you mine?"

and that was that.

Alex’s home was quaint; not too big and not too small, it was constructed of wood and had a porch with stairs that led up to it. on the porch were two rocking chairs, as well as a table with a lantern. one of the chairs had a blanket draped over its back; you wondered how much time he spent out there. with his help, you hopped off of Twilight and followed him up the steps to the front door. late nights were etched into the wood that surrounded you, and when he saw you eyeing a small stain beside one of the rocking chairs, he said, “Nick spilled his whiskey there. was never able to get rid of that damn stain.”

his keys jingled as he pushed one into the knob and unlocking the door, swinging it open. he turned to you with a soft smile, the kind that made your heart flutter every time. “go ahead and make yourself at home, alright? I’ll take the horses ‘round back an’ bring your stuff in for ya.”

“okay.” he freed his keys from the doorknob and stuffed them back into his pocket, then turned to retrieve the horses, but not without giving you a quick peck on the forehead first. affection had become easier between you two over time, as natural as breathing. every touch, every soft utterance, felt like hot chocolate on a bleak winter’s day. the affection he held for you — you weren’t sure yet if it was love, and frankly, the L word was a scary one — never failed to set off fireworks in your head, momentarily putting your neuron pathways on halt as every cell rejoiced.

the walls of the home were painted a creamy white — briefly, you wondered if he’d built the home himself, but while Alex was a lot of things, he was most definitely not a carpenter. the floor was comprised of wooden planks that were polished and shiny, and the sight of it reminded you of sliding around your house in socks as a kid. the door that led to the backyard was situated beside a large brick fireplace. in the living room, different photographs sat framed on the walls, some of landscapes and others of Alex and his friends. he had a couple of guitars hanging by the fireplace, and they made you wonder how serious of a hobby playing was for him. did he know any other instruments? could he sing? you’d have to ask him at some point. there was a sofa and an armchair, and a giant rug sprawled out in the center of the room. there were bookshelves, too, and they were filled to the brim with novels, biographies, and the like. they hosted random trinkets, too. there was even a potted plant in the corner.

you made sure to slip off your shoes and leave them by the door before venturing any further. despite appearing quite rustic on the outside (and on the inside, to some degree), the interior had clear modern touches. one of these was the partially open floor plan, with a wall that spanned from floor to ceiling but not wall to wall and served as a barrier between the kitchen and the living room — it had a window installed in it, offering a glimpse of the kitchen. behind the wall sat the dining table; it was a paler wood than you’d seen so far, as were the chairs. the kitchen walls were painted the same cream color, and there were a couple of photos here, too, including some held up by magnets on the fridge. the sink and dish rack were both clear of dishes — Alex must have cleaned up before he left to get you. the ceiling fan overhead had a light bulb in its center, protected by a small glass dome. the microwave sat above the oven, and there was a door that led into the pantry.

wandering back into the living room, you headed for the stairs next. there was a closet built underneath the stairs that didn’t house much, likely due to its size. you quickly ascended the staircase, which opened up into a hall on the second floor. both sides had two doors, and there was another door at the end of the hall. opening the first door on the right revealed another closet; the second door led to what you assumed to be a guest bedroom. the first door on the left was the master bedroom (where Alex slept), and the second was the bathroom, which was connected to the bedroom. the door at the end of the hall led to a bigger closet than the one downstairs.

the room you were most interested in was Alex’s. it wasn’t as decorated as the living room, which surprised you. one of the only photos you saw sat idly on the nightstand, right beside the bedside lamp. there was a book on the nightstand, too; you guessed he was in the middle of reading it. the window provided a nice view of the front of the property, and you peeked through the blinds to see if you could spot Alex below. he was nowhere to be found, though. his bed was neatly made, and you wondered if that was a regular habit of his or if he’d only done it for you. his closet was full of jeans and button-down shirts — typical for a cowboy, you thought. he had a fair number of shoes, too.

“if you wanted to wear my clothes, you coulda just asked.” you jumped and whipped around, spotting Alex in the doorway. he leaned against the frame, arms crossed, and cocked an eyebrow at you. he was smirking, too. you wanted to punch him.

you refrained, though, and smiled sheepishly. “I was just looking.”

“well, the offer stands as long as you’re here,” he said, approaching you. he stood beside you and peered into his closet, as if it, too, was his first time seeing his own wardrobe. “I think you’d look real cute in one o’ my shirts.”

you flushed and looked away. “I’d probably look kind of weird. they’d be too big on me.”

he snorted. “yeah? that’s why you’d look cute, doll.”

deciding you needed to end this conversation before you combusted, you quickly asked, “where’d you put my stuff?”

“in the other bedroom.” he jerked his head back towards the hallway. “figured we can jus’ move it in here later an’ get you properly unpacked.”

“you want me to stay in here with you?”

he threw an arm around your shoulders and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “what kind of prick would I be if I left my girl to sleep on her own?”

his girl — you liked how it sounded coming from him.

•••••

“Alex, that’s cheating!”

“it is not! Y/N, I swear on m’life, I’m not tryin’ to cheat!”

the two of you were sat in the middle of the living room floor, engaged in an intense game of uno. you hadn’t even planned to play at first, but after having dinner about an hour ago, you’d found the pack of cards on one of the shelves (one of his friends had left it after a visit). your first round, which was a practice round, was comically short-lived (“I’m rusty,” he’d said after losing in less than ten minutes). the game you were currently locked in had lasted about half an hour and showed no signs of stopping soon; each time one of you approached victory, the other took it away.

“I have to be able to see all of your cards,” you huffed. “it’s cheating.”

Alex sighed, rolled his eyes and made a dramatic show of fanning his cards out further, revealing the card that had been hidden behind another. “I wasn’t trying t’ do it on purpose,” he grumbled. “why does it even matter?”

you put down a yellow 7. “because it’s the rules, alex.”

his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he set down a draw four card. “blue. I didn’t expect you to get so worked up over this, y’know.”

“the aggression is a staple of uno.” you drew four cards and swore under your breath when none of them were blue.

he planted his hand down on the floor behind him and leaned back, eyeing you over his cards. “it’s not like you.” a beat of silence, then he said, “I like it.” he dropped a blue 5.

that made you pause. “you like it?”

he hummed in response, his gaze dropping to your cards as you mulled over what to put down next. “you’re attractive when you’re frustrated.”

ah. that was what he meant. you set down a green 5, hiding behind your hand as heat rushed to your cheeks. “you’re just saying that.”

“yeah? just to get under your skin and tick ya off?”

“yeah.”

he sighed and plucked a green 6 from his hand, dropping it into the discard pile. “my mama didn’t raise a liar, so I’ll say it again: you’re hot when you’re mad, sugar.”

you looked up at him, only to find him staring right back at you. you both remained silent for a few seconds, although you were the first to speak up. “um ...” you looked away again before setting down a green draw two. "thank you." I think, you muttered internally.

he cracked a grin and set his cards down beside him, then motioned you over. “c’mere.”

you set your own cards down and maneuvered over the discard pile, being careful to not knock or scatter any cards. once you were within reach, one of his hands went to your waist and the other to the nape of your neck, pulling you in for a bruising kiss. your home quickly became his lap as you straddled him, and your hands found purchase in his hair in a desperate bid to maintain as much contact between the two of you as possible. although you had kissed like this before, it had only been very occasionally, and the way he pressed himself to you made you feel warm all over.

his teeth grazed your lower lip before his tongue plunged into your mouth, rehearsing its usual dance with yours. a quiet groan crawled out of his throat, muffled by your lips on his, and the hand that had been at your nape moved down to your ass, giving it a light squeeze. you yelped and broke the kiss, practically panting as you stared down at him. a faint string of saliva remained as the only tether between your mouths, although it quickly snapped. you were sure your face was redder than a firetruck, and you dipped your head down to hide it in his neck. his chest rumbled beneath you as he chuckled, his arms wrapping around you and keeping you tucked against him. "so shy all of a sudden," he teased.

you rolled your eyes and nipped at his neck. "shut up."

"I don't think you want me to."

you chose not to satisfy him and turned your head, looking down at his cards on the floor. you squinted. "you had a yellow 4 this entire time?"

he hummed. "that I did."

"you cheated!"

"Y/N, you didn't even notice!"

after you (rightfully) called him out, the two of you decided to wrap it up for the night and head to bed. although your belongings had since been moved into his room, you opted to steal some of his clothes for the night instead. you were right — his shirts were too big on you. his shorts were, too, and they sat low on your hips. he thought you were absolutely adorable, though, and couldn't help but take pictures with his phone when he thought you weren't looking.

as you settled down for the night, he turned to lay on his side, staring at you amidst the darkness of his bedroom. "you should come over more often," he mumbled, almost as if he was talking to himself.

you turned to face him; there was hardly any space between you now. "I was kind of hoping you'd say that," you quietly admitted.

even in the darkness, you could make out his smile, soft and lazy and reserved for only you. "maybe I should kidnap ya. keep you here forever."

"I don't think my parents would like that."

he scoffed. "if I kidnapped you, I wouldn't give a damn 'bout your parents, sweetheart. wouldn't even bother with a ransom, I'd just keep ya all for m'self."

you giggled softly. "I don't know how much I'd complain if you did that, y'know."

he cocked an eyebrow. "you wanna be kidnapped?"

"that's not what I mean, Alex, and you know it."

you both grew quiet after that, and you could feel sleep tugging at you, begging you to succumb to its siren song. you were a breath away from doing just that when he spoke up again. "I really oughta marry you someday, Y/N."

you really hoped he would.

tags: @elexnorislingtxn / @edandmollydeservebetter / @sagegreensimmr / @billyseye / @supernaturalandpain / @not-a-big-slay

[literatureatthebowofnails]

A/N: Looking forward to your feedback

Series masterlist

Pairing: Loki x reader

Summary: Your first trip to Asgard

Warnings: Vomiting, fluff, angst

You land on Asgard, clutching Loki's arm in a death grip. Your nails dig into the black leather of his jacket, knuckles white as you fight to keep down your breakfast.

At Loki's other side, Steve Rogers grasps Thor's shoulder to steady himself. Beside you, Director Fury stands almost entirely still, the only sign of movement a slight flapping of his coat.

"Welcome to..."

"I'm going to be sick," you cut off the gatekeeper, releasing Loki and running to spill the churning contents of your stomach off the bridge.

You look up and see a grand procession approaching from further down, their guilded armor bright in the morning sun. Leading the group are four warriors: a stunning dark-haired woman, a blonde with a charming grin, a stout soldier sporting wild facial hair, and an overly serious crusader.

You wipe your mouth, feeling better but still unsteady on your feet as you return to the circular chamber. "Sorry," you mutter.

"Don't worry about it," Steve says. "I was a mess on my first visit."

"Um, thanks." You don't really believe him.

"I am Heimdall," the golden god continues, unfazed by your interlude. "Gatekeeper of Asgard, protector of the Bifrost, and seer of all things."

At this point, the entourage arrives. "May I present Lady Sif, the Warriors Three and the Einherjar," Thor makes your introductions, noting that Rogers and Fury are already acquainted with the leaders.

Three horses are presented for your journey to the palace. You perch nervously at the front of your saddle, grasping the horn for dear life. Loki swings up gracefully behind you and reaches around to control the reigns.

"It's alright, darling," he coos, wrapping an arm snuggly about your middle. "Nótt is steady and true. He will deliver us safely, I guarantee it."

You take a breath, trying not to shudder or look beyond the bridge. "It's my first time."

"And you're doing splendidly," he hugs you closer and you begin to relax as you watch Steve cling to Thor's waist.

Fury kicks his steed to a trot, joining Hogun at the head of the group.

☕

The five of you gather in an antechamber, preened and swathed in Asgardian finery. Rogers and Fury are called first, leaving to greet the court. After some time, you and Loki are announced.

He takes your hand, placing it around his arm before entering the grand golden hall. You walk side by side down the long aisle to the throne. Loki's steps are assured, his pace steady, honed jaw set in determination. The crowd claps respectfully, their observance subdued, even hesitant.

You reach the stairs below the throne and bend in a nervous curtsy. The prince gives his father a minimal bow; enough to show the necessary respect, but not a hair more.

"My son," Odin addresses Loki. You watch as his lip gives a slight twitch of irritation. "Welcome home."

"Father," comes the strained reply.

He then turns to the stately woman on your left. "Mother," he greets with a warm smile.

The queen comes to bestow a kiss on each of her son's cheeks. "It's so good to have your home." She turns to beam at you. "And you must be the gracious lady my sons speak so highly of!"

Loki provides your name and you exchange pleasantries with his parents before standing beside the queen, opposite Steve and Fury.

"Thor Odinson!" the herald bellows, followed by a roar of cheers and clapping from the crowd. The crown prince swings his hammer around, eliciting further excitement. You give Loki's hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Father! Mother," Thor greets as he approaches, kneeling before the throne. "It has been too long."

"Too long indeed," Odin beams with pride for his first born. "I fear that if it were not for these mandatory check-ins, I we would never see you."

"I was here only a month ago," Thor's brows draw together in confusion before he brightens like a lightbulb. "Loki and I will make a point to visit more often." The dark-haired bother exhales a measured breath beside you. You doubt he plans to follow though with that promise.

☕

While the king reviews his youngest's contributions to Earth's safety, Queen Frigga invites you to tea.

Guiding you along a winding garden path, the matriarch asks how you and Loki are settling into your new space. She listens with interest to the explanation of your minimalist design preferences and methods taken to assimilate his more extravagant leanings.

Eventually you reach a grand birch tree. Beneath it sits a table set for two. A tiered tray boasts bite size sandwiches, petits fours, fruit, and madeleines. Small jars of curd, cream, jam, and honey surrounded it, with a heaping plate of scones and large pot of tea to complete the spread.

"I'm impressed to hear how well you collaborate with my youngest," Frigga comments as she pours your tea. "He's not always the most amiable, but he's unfeigned when it comes to you."

You smile, adding cream to cool your steaming china cup. "I think people rely too much on first impressions. Though impulsively acting superior when he feels insecure doesn't exactly help matters."

The queen nearly spills her tea, covering a smile. "That's quite an astute observation."

As your meal comes to a close, Loki appears. "I take it you're becoming better aquainted?"

"We are indeed," Frigga confirms. "I'm so glad you've finally introduced us."

"Mother," Loki smiles, "you know you're always welcome to visit Midgard."

"Maybe we should make a formal invitation?" you suggest.

Your trio walks slowly back to the palace, discussing potential opportunities for the king and queen to visit New York. A pattern forms with Loki suggesting inconsequential dates, and Frigga being forced to "remind" him they're during occasions that require the Alfather's presence onworld.

Tags in comments because I got trigger-happy posting this one 😆

Before you part ways, Loki stops a passing servant and requests they show you to his chambers, noting he requires a moment alone with his mother. You say your goodbyes to the queen until supper and her son assures he'll join you imminently.

Next Chapter

Main masterlist

[skyloftian-nutcase]

DAD SQUAD DAD SQUAD

(for the prompt event)

Abel swore as he ran.

That soldier, that Hero, that idiot child had wandered off, distrusting as he was, or scared or petulant or arrogant, he didn’t even know - all he knew was the Fierce Deity’s other Hero had sauntered off and the Yiga had him.

But it had just happened. Abel was not letting them get away with this.

The Yiga were too far to reach quickly, but close enough to still be seen as they hauled their prize away. The blonde Hero of Hyrule, wrapped in his green and armor and blue scarf, was bleeding from the head, carried easily on the shoulders of one of the Yiga’s massive commanders.

Rusl was hot in his trail, already trying to prepare a weapon of his, but there was no way they were in range for anything. Abel tore across the open field as quickly as he could, adrenaline and rage bringing heat to his body, fueling his legs to move at breakneck speed.

As Abel ran, he caught sight of a traveler atop a horse, and an idea immediately came to his mind. Nocking an arrow, he let it loose, aiming low. When the arrow sank into the unsuspecting traveler’s leg, he let out a yell of pain, falling off his horse.

Abel immediately took advantage of the situation, making a beeline for the steed and leaping atop its saddle, ignoring the animals’ anxious protest, and directed it to run straight for his quarry.

“Abel, what the hell are you doing!” Rusl shouted from a short distance away.

“Get him a potion!” Abel ordered sharply, not wasting another moment, tearing after the Yiga.

Rusl stumbled, breathless, kneeling down beside the poor traveler and searching hastily through his bag. “I’m so sorry, he’s—my friend’s insane.”

As the Ordonian watched his Hylian companion make chase, he pulled out a little whistle, blowing into it while the traveler choked down the potion he’d offered. A hawk cried out in reply, swooping down to land on Rusl’s arm. With a brief, whispered command, the hawk took flight once more, soaring overhead and tearing after Abel.

The Yiga were growing ever closer as Abel urged the horse to move faster. As he rode, he heard a cry from overhead, glancing up to see a brown hawk, talons hovering a short distance above his head, gliding effortlessly before it flapped its wings to speed ahead. Abel’s eyes followed it until he saw that the Yiga were getting close to the wooded area at the edge of the clearing. If they got in there, he’d lose them.

He was close enough. This would do.

With a grunt, Abel moved one of his feet out of the stirrups, planting it on the saddle so he could rise above to get a better shot and more distance. He readied an ice arrow, gritting his teeth and glaring as he let it loose.

They were not getting away this time. He would make sure of it.

The arrow didn’t hit any particular target, but the magic that it spread from the impact managed to reach the majority of the Yiga, including the one carrying this newer Link. The hawk swooped down, pecking at the Yiga as Abel finally caught up to them, leaping off the horse with his sword at the ready. He sank the blade into an unsuspected enemy as he landed, digging his foot into the Yiga’s chest to pull the blade out and swinging it across another foe. He pulled out his shield just as another Yiga tired to fire some arrows at him, protecting him while the commander rose and readied his enormous blade.

Abel managed to move just in time as the Yiga commander’s blade crashed downward, sending a powerful strike his way. The hawk swooped down once more, distracting the archer behind Abel as he charged forward, sliding to one knee as he held his shield overhead, the impact from the massive blademaster’s attack making his shoulder scream in protest. He braced with his other arm, letting out a yell and pushing himself to stand, throwing the Yiga off balance.

It gave him just enough time, and he directed his sword diagonally upward, cutting across the man’s chest. When the Yiga fell to his knees, making him and Abel nearly at eye level, it gave the former knight all the time he needed to finish the job.

The Yiga archer yelled as the hawk pecked at him again, and then he realized the fight was over as his commander’s head rolled to his feet. He vanished in a puff of magic and light, and Abel stood over the bodies a moment, catching his breath.

Link watched him, eyes wide, leaning against a tree, his arm partly frozen from the blast of the arrow, hands bound, face gagged with a cloth.

“I told you,” Abel finally said as he approached him, pulling the gag off first. “Don’t wander off.”

Link seemed like he was trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, or he was just being defensive. He let out a breath through his nose in what was probably supposed to be a huff of defiance. “The last thing I remember was being attacked by people, and then I wake up weak and ill and you’re there talking about traitors to the crown trying to kidnap the Hero. You can’t possibly expect me to trust you instantly.”

“No,” Abel supposed mildly as he cut through the boy’s bonds. “But you currently can’t defend yourself, either. You should know better. Now on your feet, soldier, and this time, listen to orders.”

Link watched him a moment longer and then obeyed, seeming to give in, looking almost ashamed. When he stumbled a bit, Abel caught him easily, pulling him a little closer, finally letting some sympathy bleed through his exhaustion and worry. The boy couldn’t be much older than his own son, and he was going through a lot.

Sighing, Abel let him sink to the ground once more, sitting beside him and letting the boy lean against him. “Link… you have to trust me, okay? I feel it’s fairly obvious who the actual threat is now. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

As he spoke, his hands worked gently away at the ice melting off the boy’s arm. He felt a slight twinge of guilt that he’d hurt him a little, but if he hadn’t he would’ve lost him, which was far worse.

Link swallowed, saying nothing, but he relaxed a little in his hold. When Abel had picked off as much of the ice as he could, he tried to help the boy stand once more. Link was more stable on his feet, clearly trying hard to pull his own weight. Abel directed him towards the horse, helping him mount, and he took the reins away from the Hero so he could direct the mount from the ground.

The pair made their way back across the field, and Rusl finally caught up to them. “Are you two alright?”

“Link will need some looking after,” Abel noted. “I’m fine.”

Link ran a hand through his hair, the streak of white glistening in the sunlight, and then he sighed. “I take it those Yiga have been attacking you two?”

“They’ve been attacking Heroes,” Rusl answered as he walked alongside the horse. “We’ve been trying to get our sons back.”

Link blinked. “Your—you—”

Abel was somewhat exasperated that Rusl just admitted that, but he supposed there was little point in hiding it. It was a natural habit, though, so he didn’t comment, letting Rusl be he personable man that he was. It eased what little tension was left in the young soldier’s posture, and when they returned to camp, the boy was listening to the Ordonian tell stories about his boy. A realization of some sort was slowly dawning across the teenager’s face, though he kept whatever epiphany he had to himself.

He still didn’t entirely trust them, perhaps. Abel wasn’t too bothered by it. He knew the boy would at least listen to him now.

As the sun set, Abel cleaned the blood of his blade, satisfied that he’d managed to eliminate some Yiga and relieved that he’d at least fulfilled his duty in protecting one Hero. With another victory against the Yiga under his belt, he was almost starting to feel…

Well. He wouldn’t say it. He hadn’t been one to hold on to such sentiment since the Calamity.

But perhaps things were finally starting to look up for them. And… perhaps… his son…

Abel sighed, putting his sword down as Rusl and Link laughed over some story or another.

[sotwk]

Taken (Eomer x unnamed OC) - Part 2 of 3

Part 1 / Part 3

Love Confession feat. Eomer Eadig

Valentine 2023 Event by @sotwk

Summary: Eomer is determined to convince the woman he loves of his long-hidden devotion, but the obligations of his new crown and her baseborn origins shake her faith in their future together.

Prompt: "It's hard for me to describe what I feel for you… but just know that it's love nonetheless."

Requested by and Dedicated to: @laneynoir You've probably forgotten about making this Valentine ask, but I remember and write down everything you ask of me! <3 Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 3.9k

Content: Angsty romance, declarations of love, jealousy, mutual pining, class division, shield-maiden, King Eomer, post-RotK, non-canon pairing

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Excessive angst? Verbal passion? This is clean but it will do a number on your feels.

To Read on AO3: Link

Tumblr Post for Taken, Part 1: Link

Taken 

Third Age 3019 May 2

Minas Tirith, Gondor

PART TWO

“My lord, are you certain it is safe for you to go without a proper escort?” 

Eomer cast a taut but amused smirk at Haleth, son of Hama, over the horse they had just finished tacking up together. His new squire, one of the youngest fighters to survive the Battle of Hornburg, had been appointed to the post just very recently, and so still had much to learn. 

Eomer dismissed the given counsel that a king needed someone with experience in his direct service, not a novice that required training. He had seen with his own eyes how bravely Hama’s orphaned boy had helped to defend the refugees at the Glittering Caves; in Eomer’s eyes, the child had earned the honor several times over.

“Surely you don’t mean to imply that the King of the Horse-lords is incapable of defending himself on a short ride?”

“No, sire. It is just…” Haleth’s eyes darted about nervously and he lowered his voice. “You ride with a woman. If something were to happen, would you not have to defend yourself and her as well?”

At that, Eomer chuckled. “I commend your gallant instincts lad, but I advise you not to make such an insinuation in the presence of a known shield-maiden. They do not take kindly to having their abilities questioned, and will be quick to set you right.” He patted his squire’s shoulder to show that no offense was taken. “Rest assured that the lady is more than capable of holding her own, and of shielding me from harm if need be.” 

The boy need not know that Eomer would sooner die than put her in that position. He had kept that a secret from her and the rest of his Éored for years, although perhaps a little too successfully and to his own detriment.  

Riding Firefoot into the white-stone square courtyard that connected the galleries of stables, Eomer quickly saw that she was already waiting for him, standing alert beside her own horse. Greywind, a dappled mare that bore no meager resemblance to her equine brother, tossed her head and whickered softly at Firefoot's approach. It was a warmer reception than his master received.

"Good morning, my lord," the shield-maiden acknowledged with a nod as curt as her tone. Royal protocol satisfied, she turned and swung up into the saddle of her own steed. 

Her cold shoulder was to be his comeuppance, then. So be it. Her silent rages were nothing Eomer had not seen, borne, and successfully navigated before. 

But today, this time, would be different. Everything was sure to be different after that kiss, which, after a sleepless night of pondering and self-debating, he would still swear on Bema was no mistake. Clumsy perhaps, but an action he did not regret leaping into. There was no part of Eomer that did not desire to repeat it, over and over. 

First, he must resolve the confusion his recklessness had caused. 

"Follow my lead,” he said, and spurred Firefoot on toward the exit gates. 

His command came from habits formed over years of riding together, and so did her immediate obedience. Her loyalty had always been faultless; loyalty to Rohan, loyalty to him. Whenever he called and whatever he asked for, she gave, just as she came to meet him now, regardless of what had transpired between them last night. 

This new epiphany that her devotion to him might be encouraged not just by duty, but a love to reciprocate his, still felt like too much to hope for. 

They rode side by side down the levels of Minas Tirith, and soon were past the city’s great white walls. At the slightest shift of his master’s weight, Firefoot burst into a full charge down the North-way, rejoicing at the freedom to run across open land once more, an impatience that mirrored Eomer’s own. Next to them, Greywind and rider matched their gait to keep up, and they tore their way for several miles northward into Pelennor. 

Eomer’s body sang at the rush of the wind over his skin, through his hair and his cloak that streamed over Firefoot’s haunches. Too long had he been cooped up within the city walls, tethered to the duties of his new office. It still felt unseemly for him to carry the title of King while his uncle had yet to be properly laid to rest among his forebears, but he was determined to serve in every manner his people required. 

This involved taking guidance from his newly formed council, who seemed to believe that the first order of business was to reaffirm and restrengthen Rohan's alliance with Gondor. In the weeks that followed the great feast at Cormallen, Eomer spent more time with new acquaintances, lords and ladies from the noblest families of Gondor, than with his own men. His Éored, who had been the rock at his side for nearly the whole of the past year, were granted time to rest and convalesce according to their desires, and every one eagerly embraced the offered leave.

That included her, most painfully and noticeably. Each day that passed by filled with council meetings and formal dinners but nearly nothing of her, had dragged Eomer further into despair. When she finally reappeared for the coronation, dressed the way she was…small wonder that he finally lost hold on propriety the moment he touched her. 

In seemingly no time at all, they left it all behind. The high ramparts and looming towers of the grand city turned into a white speck on the mountainside. So far out north into the fields and away from the main road, they had separated themselves from the thousands that had flocked to the city to celebrate the coronation, and retreated into the peace of the vast plains that bore some semblance to their home. 

Eomer eased Firefoot into a relaxed pace and she followed suit. Afterward they were blanketed in silence but for the clink of tack and thud of hooves on the long grass finally regrown in the end of Pelennor’s strifes. 

One sideways glance showed Eomer that she remained resolved to look anywhere but in his direction. No matter. If she refused to look at him, he would gladly stare at her, and take his fill of what he had been deprived of for weeks. 

He had forgotten what a vision she made outside of armor, so long had they lived in battle gear. The gown she wore to the coronation ball had distracted him all evening, but it painted her beauty too foreign. The plain clothes of their people suited her best. On her, the wine-red dress underneath her green Rider’s cloak outstripped any fine silk confection. Her hair, usually held back in tight braids or trapped underneath a war helm, flowed in free waves that tumbled to her waist and made his fingers ache with longing. 

To see her in this manner reminded him of what Rohirrim sacrifice had achieved: the end to a life of constant peril, and in its place, domestic bliss. Eomer knew he would be wholly content to look upon her this way forever. And by Bema, by all the Valar that might hear, he prayed that she would let him. 

Another mile or two passed in the bleak silence before the skies gave him the opening he needed. The faint drizzle that had lazily harried them gradually intensified into a downpour, and the menacing grey clouds above rumbled a fair warning. 

Eomer pointed to a copse of beeches in the distance. “That should suffice for us to wait out the worst of it,” he said, and they directed their horses into the thicket. 

After releasing Firefoot and Greywind to find cover and graze at their leisure, they took their shelter underneath the tree with the most generous canopy. As Eomer watched her gather the cascade of her soaked hair over one shoulder, she happened to raise her eyes in his direction and catch his gaze. Her face remained impassive, but she did not look away again. She knew she could no longer delay what he had requested her company for. 

“May we speak now?”

The tense lines on her brow softened. “My lord,” she said, in a tone that was almost contrite. “I am here to listen to whatever you wish to say.”

“Good,” Eomer said, and needed one more breath to steady himself. “Good...” 

"Long has there been great camaraderie between us as comrades in arms, but in time that deepened into…more meaningful affection.” When she did not flinch at that attestation, he carried on. “After last night, it is clear that we must lay bare the extent of our feelings and finally be open with each other."

Her mouth trembled. “My lord--”

“I love you,” Eomer said. “I recognize no plainer truth than that. I am no bard or scholar, and so it is hard for me to describe what I feel for you...as it would be hard for anyone to explain the glory of the sun or the vastness of the skies. But you must know that it is love, nonetheless."

She remained silent at this, and her clenched jaw told him no response was forthcoming. But he had more. 

“These past years, Rohan’s protection occupied all of my waking thoughts. There was no time to consider ambitions for myself. And what need did I have for that, when the sole object of my desires rode in my company to every battle? But after all our years together, I suppose I began to take for granted that you would always be close by, even while I drowned in fear that one sword stroke could separate us forever."

He edged a step closer to her, driven by the mere suggestion of such unspeakable loss. 

“When you grew distant after Theodred's passing, I awoke to my folly. I wished to blame your withdrawal from me on your grief, but my jealous mind whispered that my long buried suspicions were confirmed, that you had always desired his devotion over mine. I wrestled with the torment from it, until last night, when you gave me reason to hope again.” 

“But..but I did not…y-you had never…” She cut off her own stammering and squared herself determinedly before continuing. “I never found sufficient cause to believe you could care for me so, my lord.” 

“The fault is mine for not being forthright with you from the start. I will do whatever I must to remedy that now.” Suddenly they were face to face on the same side of the tree, for she had not thought to dart away from his advances this time. “I would shout it from the very spire of their great Tower if it will end your doubts.” 

He reached for her, and the edge of his hand found her chin. Contrary to his bold declaration he repeated, barely above a whisper: “I love you.” 

“No,” she murmured back. “Please. You must not say such things.” 

“Why not, when it is the truth?”

“Because it is a truth you cannot act on.”

Eomer’s hand dropped to his side as he barked a humorless laugh. “Granted I have not held the role for very long, but that seems a peculiar thing to tell a King.”

“You are the King now, and that binds you to do things according to your duty, not according to your desire.” She lowered her head. “That is the truth that matters, my lord. Love cannot always prevail over everything.”

The familiar frustration marked with dread clawed at Eomer again. “My love for you will prevail over this,” he vowed. “Moreso because it is love returned.”

Only the sound of splattering rainfall followed, and the realization that she was starting to turn away.

“You… you do love me.”

“I do not.”

The ensuing crack of thunder paled against the shock her reply struck in Eomer. She slipped away from his side once more while he fumbled through his recollections of the previous night.

Drunk as he had been on the taste of her kisses, he could not have misunderstood her impassioned outburst. You are all I ever see, even when I do not wish to!  He had dissected that precious confession over and over in his head and basked in sweeter hope that he had ever dared to feel about anything.

“I will not accept that. I do not believe it!”

In a handful of strides he overtook her as she fled to the edge of the grove, where the trees stood further apart and exposed them to the deluge. 

“What is causing you to deny me? Deny yourself, deny us?!” She attempted to step around him, but Eomer blocked her progress relentlessly. “Is it that misguided belief of yours that I am, in your words, ‘taken’?” 

Finally she succumbed and stood in place, cold and drenched and as stock-still as a soldier holding the line. But Eomer found the answer clear on her grimace. 

"Do you mistake me for some bull that has been put on the market for the highest bidder? Or believe me so feeble that I have no control over my choice of wife?!"

She stiffened at his rising rebuke and shook her head. “Not just a wife, my lord. A Queen. You must choose the right woman to offer to Rohan as our long-awaited Queen.”

“Marry me and it is done.”

Immediately her eyes widened and her face blanched, as his bluntness finally plowed through her shields.  “Oh Eomer,” she breathed, and the return of his name on her lips nearly rendered him as dazed as she was. 

He moved to embrace her, but she clutched him by the forearms, guarding her space. He felt her fingers tremble as they dug into the fabric of his tunic sleeves. He thought he might have heard a sob, but in the rain it was impossible to discern the source of the drops slipping down her cheeks. 

“I know you are wiser than that,” she told him. “You know Rohan’s political realities, regardless of your distaste for them. Your rise to your uncle’s throne has separated us by a chasm that cannot be bridged.” She sensed his intention to interrupt and spoke even louder. “I am an orphaned stray, Eomer. Theodred’s favor may have rescued me from a life of insignificance, but I am still baseborn by anyone's standards. Yet however lowly I am, I can hold my head up with pride, because I have always known my place.”

“As do I.” Eomer slid his hand up the curve of her neck. “Your place is with me.”

“Yes it is.” Her smile was joyless as she gripped his wrist to keep his obvious desires at bay. “I belong at your side, on the open fields, with a sword in my hand, ready to give my life for you at a moment's notice. You gifted me with purpose, and riding in your company has brought me such honor. Please do not ask me to play a role where I will only fail and return to an object of derision.”

Eomer frowned. “I have only ever loved you. No one else is suitable for me to take to wife.”

She lifted those beautiful eyes to stare dead-evenly at him for the first time in months. “Dol Amroth,” she whispered. “The daughter of Prince Imrahil.”

The sadness in her eyes lifted the fog of ignorance that obfuscated him. He recognized that pain as the very same one that had pierced him each time he watched her in Theodred’s company. The way they smiled at each other, their intimate touches, their freely exchanged affection that made his stomach twist with envy. But he had been wrong in his interpretation of that situation, and so was she on this one. 

“What of her?” he said brusquely, pushing aside his full realization of what she was implying. 

“One does not have to sit at the council table to see the soundness of your match.”

“There is no match!”

“Then there will be and there should be!” she insisted. “Everyone sees it, and if you tell me you do not, then you have no right to accuse me of denying what is true.”

A low growl rumbled off Eomer and suddenly he was the one to swivel away, rubbing his face and rain-matted beard while he weighed his answer.

“I do not deny that overtures have been made by advisors, both mine and King Elessar's," he said finally. "Lothiriel does seem an obvious candidate to put forward as a consort for the King of Rohan. But that appropriateness has nothing to do with me. Had Theodred survived to stand in my place, they would be pushing her to him. Have I been counseled on the benefits of an alliance with Imrahil's house? Oh yes--with the subtlety of a hammer's blow. But I barely paid heed to that, since all that mattered to me was your opinion on the subject."

"My opinion," she echoed. She planted her hands on her hips and studied her muddied boots for a long moment. "I can offer you what I know. You, Eomer King, will be the greatest ruler the Mark has ever seen. Your rule deserves every opportunity it can claim, and this offer of an alliance with Dol Amroth is one you cannot dismiss. I have heard nothing but praise and approval at the prospect, from mouths both common and noble."

"Princess Lothiriel is young, and beautiful, and beloved. Her blood is of the most distinguished and most powerful house in Gondor. She will give you exactly what you need. What Rohan needs."

She suddenly came forward to cradle Eomer's face between her hands, a touch he had only experienced in dreams until then. Except this was more akin to his worst nightmare. His inner wretchedness must have become evident in his furrowed brow and was too pitiful to ignore. "Moreover she will adore you, if she has not fallen already, for no maiden has ever lived whose heart you cannot ensnare.”

“Do not flatter me in one breath only to spurn me in the next,” Eomer muttered. “I did not ask for you to wax poetic about my future with another woman. I want your thoughts about all that matters. Us.”

“Us?”

She tried to withdraw her hands, but Eomer caught them in time, and held them firm against his chest, as if it could make her feel how consumed his heart was by her. 

“Once I might have carried hope for us,” she said softly. “Hope that I could one day be enough, because I knew you cared for Rohan above all else and admired my dedication to our people. I thought perhaps in time, that admiration might grow to love, as mine did so quickly after I met you."

“But it did, it--”

Her hands jerked inside his grip, their next attempt at escape futile. “Any hope I had for us died with Theodred,” she said tersely. “When his charge as the King's heir passed on to you. Let it rest with him.”

The roll of receding thunder brought Eomer back to a distinct memory of that dreadful day at Isen. The raw anguish on her face as she looked up at him with Theodred's head on her lap. Her frightened reluctance at releasing the prince for Eomer to take on Firefoot. 

It had rained too when Eomer came to bring her the news of his passing not a day later. Ignoring the heavy downpour, she ran out to meet him as he approached her cottage, and broke down before he could get the words out. He had to lead her back inside and wrap her in a blanket before she caught a chill. She clung tightly to him as he held her for a long while, bewildered by her sobs. It was the only time he had ever seen her weep. 

Only then did it dawn on Eomer: it was not just the loss of Theodred that she had mourned. 

“Run away with me.” 

It burst from his lips without a thought. 

“Wh-What? No!” She yanked away from him with such force he was left grasping for empty air. 

“Come with me, and let us run away together.” He rushed after her as she strode toward their horses. She already knew his mind, but he also knew hers, and there was nothing left for him to employ to sway her to his thinking. Nothing but this brazen proposal. 

“Away to where?!” she cried, without bothering to look his way. She came up to Greywind and seized her saddle pommel, but Eomer’s hand closed around hers, stilling her progress. 

“Anywhere. Far enough to take you away from all this--” Eomer swung out his free arm in a gesture as wild as the fervor in his eyes. “Away from everything that is confusing you.”

She started shaking her head vigorously and backing away. “Eomer, no. You are mad!”

“Do not tell me that!” Eomer lurched forward in pursuit, yet knew better than to grab her. She could not lose him out here where there was nowhere to hide. But he would lose her if she shut him out again by refusing to listen. 

“Do not tell me I am mad when the only madness is you believing we do not deserve a future together!” Each time he blocked her path, she pivoted in another direction, and he immediately swerved to repeat the dance. “Madness is you rejecting a man who yearns for you more than a mortal heart could possibly bear, clinging to the barefaced lie that you do not feel exactly the same.”

At that, she fell still. In the stillness Eomer realized that the rainstorm had finally dissipated, and in studying her face, he noticed the drops that continued to slip from the edges of her closed eyes, gliding to her quivering jaw. 

“You know as well as I that we belong together.” He caught one of the tears with the edge of his thumb, smoothing his finger over her soft, flushed skin. “So let us take the road west and… and just keep riding. Let me take you home. Our people here will follow soon enough, and when they arrive we can meet them as man and wife.”

“Eomer,” she sighed, before falling silent, her eyes still shut. He hoped she would take her time finding ease, so she may really consider his offer. But she responded immediately, too quickly, once again. “We cannot just abandon our obligations.”

“You insist we cannot, but we can. You can do whatever you wish. You just need to decide what that is--"

“No! No, no, no…” The word morphed into whimpers on her lips, an effort to drown him out.

“--and that is all I ask. That you shut out thoughts of all else and answer truly, from your heart." Something in Eomer’s throat tightened, as though an invisible hand had seized his neck and threatened to choke him. He swallowed and persisted with all the courage he could muster. "Will you marry me?"

“No.”

“Please.” It tasted bitter on his tongue, for Eomer son of Eomund had never begged for anything in his life, even as it took the last shreds of pride for him not to fall on his knees in his final bid. “I am asking you for the truth. Your truth alone. Do you want me?”

Her eyes fluttered open, bearing the steely determination and battle strength that had won his respect years ago, and in that moment Eomer saw that that inner fire he loved would now crush him.

“No,” she answered. “I do not.”

To be continued in Part 3...

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[sweetbonniebel]

Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

Seven

Daemon x reader, Rhaenyra x reader (platonic), Qoren Martell x reader

Synopsis: Rhaenyra's wedding takes place, y/n and her husband return to the capital.

Masterlist <-previous , next->

113 AC Sunspear

"Mother can I see Vermithor?" Derran asked as you held him in your arms.

"Perhaps on the morrow, I feel quite tired now." You answered kissing the top of his curly black hair.

"Because of baby?" He asked delicately patting your swollen belly.

"Yes my sweet boy... Where did you loose Aegon?" You asked, knowing that whenever Darren was Aegon was around.

"Eggie in lessons. Didn't interrupt." Your son mumbled playing with your silver hair.

"You did good, my love."

"What a sight to see." Qoren said entering your shared chambers. "Hello my love." He said and kneeled in front of you, pressing a kiss to your lips and to your son's forehead.

"Good morrow, Qoren." You answered.

"A letter arrived from the capitol." Your husband said and passed you the parchment, he took Darren into his arms and pressed kisses on his chubby cheeks. You read the letter carefully.

"Shall we prepare for travel?" You asked.

Rhaenyra's and Laenor's wedding has arrived.

"I would assume so."

"I love you." You murmured and pressed a kiss to your husbands lips.

"As I you. How is our little one doing?" He answered, caressing your cheek.

"Good, I would assume. I am tired without a reason." You answered rubbing your pregnant belly.

"She will be strong then, since she's taking yours."

"I would like a girl, it seems you do as well." You mused noticing that your husband oft referred to the babe as she.

"Could we name her after my grandmother? I think the name Arianne would suit her."

"And if it's a boy?" You questioned tangling your fingers in his curly, thick black hair.

"What do you think we should name our son?"

"I like Nymor, after Nymeria the warrior Queen."

"A fine name, princess." He looked fondly at your growing belly. Caressing the swell through your pale orange dress.

You were excited to go back to King's Landing, you missed your family terribly. After all it has been three years, six moons after your wedding you conceived and then bore a son, Derran. He was born strong, with violet eyes and black hair. Two years later you fell pregnant again.

You along with your son and Aegon would depart on dragon back. Nothing compared to the feeling of flying with your steed. Vermithor was not overly fond of the hot temperature of Dorne so he was excited to come back to the Crowlands.

Sunfyre was able to lift Aegon, and per his request he flew on his own, next to your mount. Vermithor took off, his wings threw shade at the city below. Derran was strapped to the saddle with leather belts while Nymor was tied to your chest.

The flight took a few hours, the bronze fury flew on his own remembering the path. Sunfyre flew circles the elder dragon. Vermithor screeched in dismay at the energetic young dragon. The bronze fury landed on the hills near the dragon pit, the dragon walked towards the gates to the caves he once called home. 

...

The streets were clean and decorated with Targaryen sigils, the wedding of the crown heir was a huge ordeal and rightfully so. You smiled as you saw the familiar red bricks of the place you grew up in.

Rhaenyra along with the rest of your family awaited your arrival in the courtyard. You stepped out of the carriage, the stench of the city invaded your nostrils.

"y/n!" Rhaenyra smiled and ran up to you, she engulfed you in a bone crushing hug. You smiled and hugged her back, you heard the little footsteps of Haelaena and Aemond. They hugged your skirts smiling and laughing as you caressed their silver locks.

"Sister it has been far too long." Viserys smiled, you approached your brother and smiled sadly at his condition. You placed a kiss on his cheek and bowed your head at Alicent. Ever since you started taking an interest in her children she could not stand you. Even though you have done nothing wrong she knew how much her children loved you.

"There is someone I would like you to meet, brother." You mused and walked into the carriage picking Derran into your arms. "Brother this is my son Derran."

"Adorable babe." Viserys mused picking up Derran into his arms. "He looks like our father. The same brows, nose and eyes."

"I will take your word for it, then." You answered, servants approached taking your belongings to the chambers that once belonged to you.

"Mother!" Derran whined in his uncles grasp.

"This is your uncle Viserys, Derran." You answered, Rhaenyra fawned over her cousin and took him into her arms, he giggled in delight.

Soon enough your child was taken away from you, and you were left with Daemon.

"Brother" You said, the man smiled and kissed your cheek pressing his forehead against yours.

"Sister" He answered, his violet eyes stopped at your pregnant belly. His large hand rested upon the top he smiled gently as he felt the babe kick. "What will you name it?"

"Nymor if it's a boy and Arianne if it's a girl." You answered in common tongue.

"Dornish names." He responded taking you by your arm, the two of you walked to the gardens.

"They will be princelings of house Martell, it is only fitting." You mused and leaned on Daemon's shoulder.

"Do you love him?" Your brother suddenly asked. You took a deep breath and glanced at his violet eyes.

"I do." You whispered, you could see the evident anger in his orbs. The happy atmosphere soon soured, not wishing to spend another moment like that, you departed for your chambers.

...

You awoke feeling the babe press itself onto your spine, you sighed leaning towards your sleeping husband. A small smile graced your lips, you pressed a kiss to his dark curly hair.

"Is it the babe?" Qoren mumbled still half asleep, you smiled caressing his naked back.

"Don't worry it is nothing." You mused and left your shared bed to the chamber pot. "Your child however presses itself against my spine and bladder."

Qoren laughed.

"Our child are they not?"

"Of course but only one of us has to carry it for nine months and then push it out of my body."

"That is true and I am eternally thankful for your sacrifice." Your husband mused kneeling in front of you and pressed his ear against your belly. "Hello little dragon." He said and pressed a kiss.

"Could we stay here longer? As much as I and Aegon enjoy Sunspear I do miss my home" You asked your husband.

"As you wish dear wife." He answered "With having a flying beast there come some perks." You laughed at his jest a comfortable silence falling between the two of you. Your body leaned into his as you laid comfortably on the bed.

"I love you." Qoren muttered into your silver hair, you looked up at him kissing the bridge of his nose.

"As I you."

...

Your maids tied the red and silver dress as the others combed through your long silver locks.

"How do you feel your highness?" One of your maids a young girl of only four and ten asked.

"It is bearable, Annora. Though I cannot wait once it's out of me." You mussed caressing the swell of your belly.

"It is good the pregnancy is at its end." Annora smiled and tied the knots of your sleeves. "I pray to the gods everyday for a safe delivery."

"Thank you my dear." You thanked the red haired girl. "Come now I intend to visit my niece."

...

You watched as the maids helped Rhaenyra put on her dress, when they moved towards her silver locks you interrupted.

"Please leave us." The maids bowed and left the two princesses alone. "I always did your hair, I will do so as long as we're together." You caressed Rhaenyra's cheek and begun to brush her hair. 

"Thank you, y/n" The princess of Dragonstone mused caressing your palm. "I missed you so much."

You answered back and braided her hair in comfortable silence, embedding rubies and obsidian into the hairstyle. A Valyrian song leaving your lips.

Ser Steffon and Ser Criston escorted the two of you to the great hall where the celebration for Rhaenyra's wedding took place. Ser Harrold announced the two princesses.  

You smiled as you noticed your husband already seated at the high table you took your place next to him as Rhaenyra sat next to her father. The guests begun arriving, ser Harrold announcing their presences. You chuckled quietly as lord Lannister embarassed himself in front of Rhaenyra and Viserys

"Lord Corlys of house Velaryon, lord of the tides and master of Driftmark and his lady wife Princess Rhaenys Targaryen and their son and heir Ser Laenor Velaryon the future king consort!" Ser Harrold announced the powerful house. All of them dressed in gold and teal, a true Valyrian house. You smiled as you saw them enter, the crowd applauded their arrival. They bowed before the high table. Rhaenyra abandoned her seat and met with Laenor half way.

"My bethroded." She smiled, Laenor kissed the palm of her hand and the court once again applauded. The Velaryon's took their place on Viserys's left side of the table. But the peaceful moment has been interrupted by Daemon making his appearance soon after the Velaryon's.

He strode proudly through the great hall, the crowd whispered at this sight. He smirked as he approached the high table, an extra chair placed on the tail end of the table.

"Be welcome, as we join together in celebration. Tonight is only it's beginning we honour the crown's oldest and fiercest ally, House Velaryon. Reaching back to the days of Old Valyria and the Age of Dragons with House Targaryen and House-" Viserys stopped his speech mid word, he intensely gazed at the entrance to the great hall. The crowds eyes soon followed.

Queen Alicent dressed in Hightower green has arrived. The courtiers stood up to honour her grace. You exchanged a look with your husband, the green beacon of Hightower you thought.

"Congratulations stepdaughter. What blessing this is for you." She spoke the new way that she addressed Rhaenyra did not go unnoticed.

"Please be seated." Viserys asked once Alicent took her seat. "With House Targaryen and House Velaryon united, I hope to herald in a second Age of Dragons in Westeros." Viserys finished his speech the court applauded and banged their hands on the table cheering for his grace. "And after tonights small affair... Seven days of tournament and feasting. And at the end of it all, a royal wedding between my daughter, my heir, your future Queen and Ser Laenor Velaryon the heir to Driftmark." You clapped and smiled as Viserys confirmed Rhaenyra as heir.

The first dance was started by Rhaenyra and Laenor the two of them moved gracefully to the sound of music. An old Valyrian dance, to display the two houses origins. You watched with your husbands the two smiled and talked. Soon the rest of the courtiers decided to dance as is the custom in such celebrations. Alicent moved from the table to where house Hightower was sitting.

"Shall we dance, my dear?" Qoren proposed and you agreed taking his hand. From the corner of your eye you saw ser Gerald talk with Daemon. The tragic incident that befallen Rhea Royce was no accident. Laena skipped towards the dance floor and Daemon followed after her. The two seemed engaged in conversation, as your feet ached you walked to the table.

"Cousin I am so glad to see you in King's Landing." You said to Rhaenys.

"As am I. I believe congratulations are in order." She said and her husband Lord Corlys agreed.

"Thank you, it is rather tedious to be with child." You muttered and Rhaenys chuckled.

"It is, isn't it? I remember when I was pregnant with Laenor. I could not sleep for the death of me." Rhaenys told her memories.

Your pleasant conversation has been interrupted by various screams. You stood from your seat searching for Rhaenyra. She was carried by Ser Harwin breakbones. The crowd stilled and Ser Criston rose from the floor, his hands and armour bloody.

...

"The love of the seven is holy and eternal. The source of life and love. We stand here tonight in thanks and praise to join two souls as one." The septon spoke "Father, Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. Hear now their vows."

"I am yours and you are mine." Laenor spoke through tears "Whatever may come."

"I am yours and you are mine. Whatever may come." Rhaenyra held back her tears. You watched with sadness in your own your husband caressing your back in comfort.

"Here in the presence of gods and men, I proclaim Laenor of House Velaryon, Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, to be man and wife. One flesh, on heart, one soul now and forever." The high septon said the vows. Viserys fell to the ground, the crown of King Jaehaerys rolling on the stone floor.

...

"AHH!" You screeched crushing the bedpost with your hand as another contraction paralysed your body. Sweat drenched your cotton tunic, you could feel the anger and pain of your dragon. His roars shook the Red Keep.

"Princess-" One of the midwives approached your curled form.

"Don't touch me!" You seethed, baring your teeth. The servants watched as you suffered on your own.

"My wife! Where is my wife!?" Qoren burst into the room to see you scream and cry with pain. He stared in disbelief at the midwives who did nothing. "Why are you not helping the princess?!"

"S-She refuses our help." One of the maids whispered.

"Leave then!" He screamed and rushed to your side kneeling next to you. "My love, I'm here."

"Qoren..?" You asked absentmindedly "I can't-" You breathed, your face contorting in pain.

"Yes you can! You already did this once, our boy. He cannot be without you! I cannot be without you." Qoren cried as he helped you stand.

"Get it- Get it out of me." You pleaded leaning on your husband.

"No child should grow up without parents, remember?" He pleaded "Please, my love."

You stared up at his worried face, placing your palm against his cheek. You squatted taking your husbands hand the other leaned on the bed.

"Urghh!" You groaned and pushed, pushed and groaned. Qoren kneeled between you, his hands under your tunic helping you.

"The head..!" He whispered hopefully.

You placed your hand in between your legs to feel the babe make its way into the world. With a final push, it slid out of your body into your husbands arms. A loud cry pierced the silence that befallen the chamber.

"A boy" Your husband breathed in relief handing you the newborn, tears streamed down your cheeks. This time from happiness.

"Nymor, my son. Oh my sweet boy." You cried cradling the crying infant. One of the midwives walked in, helping you with the newborn. Swaddling him in cloth and cutting the cord.

"He's beautiful." Qoren mused pressing a kiss to your sweaty brow. The midwife placed him in your arms and you latched him to your breast. Wisps of blonde hair and eyes a light brown bordering on red.

...

The Grimm beginning of the union between Princess Rhaenyra and Lord Laenor became a subject of superstition. A bad omen for the future Queen and her royal Consort. But a fortnight after Princess y/n delivered a healthy son, lifting the sour mood.- From the dragon bringer by the feather and quill of Grand Maester Roland.

[vivwritesfics]

I need rhett or jake to teach me how to ride a horse

I feel like you already sent me a jake one (which i wanna save for my princess au) so I've gone for Rhett (this could be read as Waiting For The Sun Reader but I'm not specifying)

Horses weren't supposed to be scary. Rhett had never thought so, but, then again, he'd grown up around them. His girl, though, she hadn't grown up around horses.

She looked so cute, in her jeans, white shirt (that said Cowboy Pillows over the tits), and his Stetson. Rhett wore one of his caps as he tacked up Pumpkin. Pumpkin, who acted like she didn't know him when he walked up in his cap. That was his lovely, overdramatic mare.

Her ears were pinned back as he brushed her back. "Seriously?" He asked and pulled his hat off, revealing who he was. She calmed down after that, ears moving forward as she realised it was his dad. "Are you gonna be nice for my girl?" He asked and fed her a treat.

Pumpkin snorted.

He placed her saddle on her back and cinched it. As soon the girth tightened around her belly, Pumpkin put her ears back went to bite him, but he just pushed her away.

She was all talk. Rhett knew she was gonna be the best girl for his girl. He placed his cap back on his head, grabbed her reins, and walked her out of the barn.

That was the thing about Pumpkin. As soon as she had her tack on, she was like another horse. She was calm, almost like she was high.

And there she was, thumbs hooked around her belt loops as she watched him with Pumpkin. Rhett sucked in a breath. He placed the reins over Pumpkins neck and walked towards her.

"Cowboy pillows, huh?" He asked as he grabbed her hips and pulled her into him.

She licked her lips, keeping on hand on the back of the Stetson as she looked up at him. "Yep," she said, popping the p. "You can lay on them once you teach me how to ride.

"Darlin', I already know you can ride."

She rolled her eyes, but kissed him anyway. "C'mon, introduce me to your noble steed."

Noble steed. Pumpkin had never been called that before. He took her hand and led her over to Pumpkin. Rhett was so calm and patient with her, telling her where to put her hands. He helped her get her foot into the stirrup (something he knew he'd have to adjust as soon as she was sitting) and helped to lift her into the saddle.

"Sit straight, Darlin'," he said as he took her foot from the stirrup and made them shorter. She did what she was told, sitting so pretty for him. Rhett held her leg as he placed the stirrup back on her foot and patted her knee.

He looked up at her. "Fuck, c'mere," he said and pulled her down to kiss him.

"Rhett!" She cried, slipping slightly. But he got her back into the saddle and passed her the reins to hold.

It was only her first time on a horse. Rhett led Pumpkin around the pasture as she sat there in the saddle. "You're doing so good, darlin'," he said to her. "My two girls together."

"Can we go faster?" She asked.

Rhett had her let go of the reins. He placed her hands on the pommel. "Just sit as best you can, Darlin'," he said and stepped back.

He waited until she gave him a walk before he began running. Well, it was more of a jog really, with Pumpkin trotting behind him. Periodically he looked back, make sure she was still with him and that she hadn't slipped from the saddle.

They slowed back to a walk and Rhett had her pick up the reins again. He had her walk back without his assistance, hands shoved into his pockets as Pumpkin followed her back to the barn.

As soon as they were there, Rhett helped her to jump down into his arms. "You did so good, pretty girl. A regular cowboy out there," he said, hands around her waist as he pulled her closer.

She swapped their hats, placing his Stetson on his head and his cap on hers. "You go take care of Pumpkin, and I'll get the cowboy pillows ready," she said, reaching back to unclasp her bra through her shirt.

(Welp now I wanna write a fic about Cowboy Pillows)

[margowritesthings]

ROMEO AND JULIET: II

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧.

series masterpost part I

pairing: low honour!Arthur Morgan x O'Driscoll!reader (f) word count: 5107 words warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexually explicit, low honour Arthur, rough sex, fingering (r receiving), oral (r receiving), blood play, knife play, gun play, touch of cnc, dirty talk, degradation, enemies while lovers, violence, murder, choking, low honour Arthur being sexy af (yes it needs its own warning) authors note: okay, it's been a whiiiile for these two crazies, but part 2 is finally here!! i gave this one my all, i hope y'all enjoy <3 i have a plan for this series that's mostly built on requests ive received, so if y'all have any suggestions please feel free to drop them in my asks!!<3 as always thank you to my darling Bea for being my cheerleader throughout getting back to writing. couldn't do it without ya <3beta read by @cowboydisaster

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @mrsarthurmorgan7 @twola

Thanks to Arthur, and your own terrible decisions, it is far from the easiest ride back to camp, your bare, sticky skin uncomfortably grinding against your saddle with each movement your steed makes. Also thanks to Arthur, ironically, it isn’t the roughest ride you’ve ever had. You’d actually be hard pressed to find a harder ride than the one you experienced just minutes ago. It infuriates you, how unbelievably satisfied you feel despite everything. It’s bone deep and unlike anything you’ve felt with any of the other men you’ve been with. It even dopes your mind up enough to allow you to reach the bridge out of Saint Denis before the real regret sets in like a gypsies fuckin’ curse. 

You urge Tybalt, your snow white Arabian, faster, almost frantically squeezing your calves and verbally ordering his gallop. The saddle burn is searing, but it’s not nearly as bad as the ice water that feels as though it’s being dumped over your head when you realise what you’ve done. 

Arthur Morgan.

Arthur Fucking Morgan.

Fucking Arthur Fucking Morgan.

You don’t even really remember how it happened. It’s a complete blur of pleasure and pain and the smell of Arthur’s smoky breath and the feel of his calloused hands against your softest, most sensual parts. One minute, you’re gathering information, planning just how you’re going to loot the bastard, the next you’re bleeding for him, burning for him as he takes you under the orange glow of the streetlights.

The wind whips at your cheeks painfully, the skin of your thighs ripping against the hard leather of the saddle. The faster you ride, the more it hurts, but you’re grateful for it. It's the perfect punishment for what you’ve done, a painful distraction from the thoughts plaguing your mind of you fucking someone who considers your father’s killer a father to him. To add insult to all the injury, you have to go back to camp empty handed. You didn’t even think about the job Morgan is probably off finishing right now after finishing you, which is probably exactly what he wanted.

“God fucking dammit!” you scream out into the swamps of Lemoyne, scattering a few birds from the trees into the inky night sky. 

Tybalt carries you home, but in your current state you simply cannot face your family and the other gang members. It's 4am before all the lanterns are distinguished and you can finally hitch up and bring yourself to enter camp, tying Arthur’s jacket tighter around your waist and walking as quietly as you can back to your tent. You don’t sleep, despite longing for nothing but your cot the whole time you were waiting. 

Your jeans burn faster than expected. 

If only you could burn the rest of the night to ashes just as quickly.

═══════☆═══════

It’s been three weeks since you’ve seen Arthur Morgan. Actually seen Arthur Morgan, that is. Three weeks of good old Uncle Colm handing you the shittiest jobs as punishment for your failings. Three weeks of trying so damn hard not to bring yourself back to that night every time you’re alone in your tent, but finding it near impossible. It takes 9 days for the bruises on your thighs to fade and 14 for the cuts on your neck, though the constant reminder of your sins lies just on your inner thigh, where Arthur’s knife ripped your skin as you came undone in his arms. The scar shines in the candlelight, only seen in the dead of night when you’re alone, shamefully tracing the same lines Arthur did with your fingers over and over, chasing that rush you know deep down you won’t find without him. He haunts you, and yet you’re infuriated each and every time his cocky goddamn smirk somehow shows up in your deepest fantasies. 

It’s not your fault. You can’t even get yourself off without brushing against the mark he left on you. Hell, he may as well have branded his name into your leg. Bastard.

These are the grievances you grumble to yourself near nightly, the battle you fight with your subconscious even now, as the lock to the gunsmith’s clicks open in your nimble hands. The old door screams out the tale of years without oil for its hinges when you push it open, stepping inside into the dark, empty room. You’re far too focused on everything you shouldn’t be focused on right now to check over your shoulder before slipping inside, but in your years as an outlaw that mistake is yet to cause an issue.

The moonlight streams through the windows, the panes casting shadows of crosses on the shelves and the weapons adorning them. Your tired eyes scan your surroundings, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lip at the sight of those beautiful weapons, all yours for the taking.

The owner of the store almost certainly lives upstairs, so when the weight of your boots on the wooden floorboards makes them creak underneath you, you wince. Yes, you’re more than prepared for any disturbances, but you’d rather not have to deal with the hassle of shooting some guy in the face. A quick job, in and out, and you can get back to camp victorious and not think about Arthur Morgan.

You start with the ammo, loading the leather bag up with all the little boxes. The shells and bullets make such beautiful music to your ears as they clatter around their cardboard boxes, a song of abundance and a successful loot that you could listen to all night. When all the side pockets are full, you turn on your heel, spurs scraping against the wood as you begin to survey the shelves upon shelves of weapons. They appear to be organised well, the rifles in one corner, repeaters next to them, there’s an entire wall of pistols, some glinting in the moonlight that breaks through the dusty window, with all the other types delegated to an area of the shop each. It’s a beautiful sight for an outlaw, especially when you see the cabinet of knives and start to imagine all the different places you could shove them into Arthur’s ridiculously muscular body…

You’re getting off topic. 

The floorboards groan under your weight again the moment you start pacing the shop to grab at least two of each kind of gun. For each that goes in the bag for camp, you grab another, ever so slightly better one for yourself. You’ll carry them out separately and tie them up to Tybalt once you’re out of this place. That’s the plan, at least. 

It takes you the longest to pick out the knives, each one possessing a captivating reason to be your favourite. The carvings on all of the different handles are stunning, each blade almost glowing right to their pointed tips. Guns are great, but you’ve always been fond of the art form of blades. You reach for one, an ornate dagger that seems to shine brighter than the others, its handle carved into a beautiful, twisted scene. There’s a woman in the middle, flames wrapping around her legs and waist as the Grim Reaper holds her from behind. The detail is incredible, each bony finger of Death himself gripping into the woman’s hip. It almost takes your breath away, but something beats it to it. Someone beats it to it. 

“Aw, shucks, I caught another stray!” Arthur exclaims, all sarcasm and bravado as your gasp gets stuck in your throat. How the hell did he sneak up on you? You can’t even breathe without the wooden floorboards threatening loudly to collapse in on you. 

You set your jaw, grinding your molars and letting out a long sigh through your nose. You don’t turn around to face him, not wanting to look at him for fear everything will come racing back again.

“Fuck off, Morgan. This job’s mine. You’re too late.” 

He takes two long strides forward until he’s right behind you, which you only know thanks to the buzzing of energy tickling your back. How you can feel him without actually touching him, you may never know. But you do, and it clouds your mind something awful. 

“Now now, little stray. Don’t we share jobs? I seem to recall you tryna’ claim some of my takin’s a few weeks back.” 

Your grip on the ornate handle of the knife gets tight enough to turn your knuckles white, but you still refuse to face him, telling yourself it’s so you don’t have to look at his stupid face and absolutely no other reason. 

“And if you’ll recall, I took nothin’ from you.”

“Not for lack’a tryin’, princess. I think we both remember just what I had to do to you to stop ya’...” he taunts, low and gravelly. It vibrates against your back.

Even with your back to him, you can picture so clearly exactly what shit eating smirk he wears right now, as Arthur reaches up to the nape of your neck, running his knuckles so softly down each vertebrae of your spine, melting your very bones. For some reason, you allow yourself a moment- just a moment- to indulge in it, to let that tingling feeling spread like ripples in a pond crafted by his hand, before the immense effort you have to put in to not moan audibly slams you back into reality. You spin to face Arthur, braid whipping the air around you from the speed of it as your new weapon is pushed against Arthur’s throat, the tip threatening to slice open his jugular.

“Now you listen here, Morgan, and you listen good. That night never happened. You had a knife to my goddamn throat, you took whatever you damn well wanted from me and I’ll be damned if you take one more single fucking thing. Now get out of my fucking sight and let me do my job.”

Despite your white hot rage, despite the sharp metal nearly being forced through his windpipe, Arthur is still smirking, and by god if that doesn’t throw more fuel onto your burning fury. He scoffs a laugh out, swallowing hard enough for his Adam's apple to push back into the blade, making a point that he isn’t in the slightest bit scared of you. When he leans in, your arm follows, your resolve to slice his throat open dissipates into the thick air. Arthur reaches up, wrapping thick fingers around your wrist to pull it down away from him. For some reason, a reason you’ll spend an eternity searching for, you let him, you chest rising and falling as you attempt to merely exist without the growing tension cutting you apart limb by limb. His breath tickles your nose, and his lips are so close to yours you’re sure he’s going to kiss you, but he stops no more than half an inch away from you.

“You know I took nothin’ from you that you didn’t freely give me, little stray.”

The insinuation shatters that lie you keep telling yourself, the version of events where Arthur forced himself upon you and none of this is your fault. You know he’s right, but admitting that to yourself would break you, does break you. But you can’t break in front of him, can’t allow the slightest crack for him to prise open and reveal your true self. You hate him so much, that much is the truth, but there’s so much hiding behind that veracity that you can never allow to see the light of day nor the glow of the moon. 

You grit your teeth, jaw painfully twitching from the strain of working the muscle so hard since Arthur’s presence has begun to drown you. The fire in your eyes burns threateningly, but it’s taking more and more to keep it aflame the closer Arthur’s wandering hand gets to cupping your cheek. Without breaking the stare tethering you together, you reach up with cat-like reflexes to grip his wrist, stopping him just before contact is made.

“Get out, or I’ll scream and everyone will know you’re here.”

You’re at an impasse yet again, Arthur clutching your wrist with a near bruising force, you gripping his with his hand suspended in the air. It’s silent, save for the deafening buzzing of electricity cracking between you. Arthur chuckles, the sound coming from deep in his chest and reaching the depths of you.

“You think that’s a threat, woman? Scream in fear of me, scream for me while I take that pretty little cunt of yours again, it don’t matter. Ain’t nobody gonna come runnin’ to save you.”

He lets go first, because he knows your threats are empty. He knows you’re clenching down tight on your molars because it’s the only sensation distracting you from the heat pooling between your legs and he knows you want him just as much now as you did that night in the alleyway. Arthur Morgan always gets his way, it would seem. And you’re no different. 

You don’t expect him to release you, so the silence between you fragments and slices you when you drop your blade to the ground with a loud clatter. Anybody upstairs definitely would have heard that, and you’re infuriated that Arthur is ruining the first decent job you’ve been given in weeks, as much as your anger is overshadowed by… other sensations.

“We’re… we’re trespassing. They’ll call the law, ain’t you a wanted man, Morgan?” There’s no integrity to your words, no more fire, only an apprehension that you pray to god he can’t detect. 

He sneers, “And you’re here to what? Clean this bastard’s floors? C’mon, O’Driscoll…” At that, Arthur kneels down, picking up your discarded weapon. He drags the blade lightly up your inner thigh, making it all that much harder to suppress the little moan building from the sensation. He spins the dagger so that the blade is in his hand, offering it back to you. You look down at him while you take it, enjoying the sight of the notorious Arthur Morgan kneeling before you like this more than you could ever admit to yourself. “You know we’re just as wanted as each other.” 

His words strike a chord. A lonely chord, in a lonely song of two lonely souls who can never let anybody else in. In your line of work, closeness is danger, it’s risk and it’s not worth it. Nobody outside could ever understand… except him. You know the stories of the Van der Linde gang, of Arthur and his son and suddenly it all makes sense, why he’s chasing you like a hungry cat after a mouse. It’s the same reason you didn’t stop him the first time, the same reason you haven’t screamed like you’d threatened to, the same reason why you’re going to let him do this all over again. That closeness… you need it, even if it is with a man you can’t bring yourself to stand. You’re just as wanted as each other… just not by anybody who matters.

He watches in real-time as you realise all this, as you figure out that the man you hate most in the world is the only one you could possibly let in. It’s maddening, infuriating, and now you need a distraction. And you’re going to take it. 

You meet each other's eye, spotting the challenge hanging between you to see who will be the first to break. You feel the tension infiltrating your body, stealing the breath from your lungs and setting your skin aflame and you know the only way to stop it isn’t through extinguishing the flames but fuelling them. You need to burn with Arthur until there’s nothing left but ash and soot. 

You spark, while your oxygen gets ever closer. Arthur takes a few slow steps forward, and it’s only when his smoky breath infiltrates your senses do you realise that despite everything, you have never kissed him. He backs you up against the display case until there is nowhere for you to escape, your lips so close you can nearly taste the whiskey on him. Your heart hitches in your throat, convinced he’s about to break the barrier you didn’t cross before. 

Arthur doesn’t kiss you, instead growling deep in his chest as he sniffs, trailing his nose from your collarbone to your jaw. You shudder, your shirt suddenly feeling much too tight on your form.

“W-What are you-”

“Exactly what you want me to, little stray.” He whispers, “Or should I-”

“No. D-Don’t stop, I-” 

He doesn’t let you finish your request, knowing exactly what it is before the words can leave your lips and you’re grateful, it means you can hold full deniability after the storm just like you did last time. Arthur grasps your collar in each hand, tearing your shirt apart and scattering your buttons across the floorboards. Your nipples feel the cool night air only for a moment before one is taken in Arthur’s mouth, the other pinched between his calloused fingers. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and you feel the heat and moisture pool in your underwear at the very thought of what's to come. You need more. Now.

Your nails dig into Arthur’s shoulders, pushing him to his knees before you with a force enough to bruise him. It is an addicting view, Arthur kneeling for you, and it’s not one you’re about to pass up again. His hands are quickly on your belt, unbuckling it to access your buttons and zipper to slide your jeans and panties down your legs. Clothes discarded, he grips into your thighs and spreads them, diving into your heat like it’s a source of oxygen. There’s no teasing, no featherlight touches nor gentle licks… no, he takes your clit in between his teeth, the sharpness shooting everywhere as he begins to suck. It catapults you. To where, you have no idea, but it’s incredible, otherworldly, and enough to make you instantly forget where you are. You mewl, tugging at Arthur’s locks as he begins to lap your juices up like a man starved. Say what you will about Arthur Morgan- and you do, often- but by god does he know exactly how to make you feel good. 

You’ve never had a man take you like this, with you standing above him while he bows to you, and it takes near everything you have to not let your legs buckle beneath you. Somehow, you know Arthur would catch you, but you’d rather not find that out right now. 

“Fuck…” you breathe out amongst moans and whimpers, hips bucking against Arthur’s face. His stubble burns against your thigh beautifully, each and every sensation of the moment working harmoniously to send you to dizzying levels of pleasure. You ride Arthur’s face, bare feet pointed on your tiptoes to allow him better access as you climb closer to nirvana. Your nails scratch hard against his scalp, wordlessly letting him know just how close you are, silently demanding he doesn’t dare stop. Arthur sucks hard on your sensitive little bundle of nerves, his teeth catching it every so often in the sweetest pain you’ve felt in… well, about 3 weeks. It hurtles you over the precipice you’ve been dangled over, and you have to bite down on your lip so hard you draw blood. A coppery taste blooms over your tongue, your only sign that you’re still human despite the unearthly, ethereal sensations burning every inch of your body inside and out. 

When you reach what you assume to be the peak, the very edge of what you’re sure a human body can handle, the strength of your bite becomes no match for the need to moan out. It echoes around the room, a positively obscene sound that you can’t even really hear over the rushing of your own blood in your ears. 

“Quiet, goddammit.” Arthur grumbles, all but slapping his palm against your open, quivering mouth. Just as you think you’re about to come down from this immeasurable high, you feel two of Arthur’s thick fingers run over the part of your soaked slit that isn’t consumed in between his teeth. It’s the only warning you get before he plunges them deep inside you, curling to find that swollen spot he seems to have a map to. No barrier on this Earth or otherwise could stop the scream derived from pure ecstasy escaping your lips. The combination of the delicious suction Arthur has on your clit and the curved pumping of his fingers is a completely new level of euphoria. You feel so full before Arthur’s cock has even broken free from its denim confides and you’re not sure how much more of this relentless orgasm you can take without collapsing into him. 

You reach a crest higher than you thought possible, crashing back down into this realm as if your body is nothing but seafoam. Your chest swells with each laboured breath you’re finally allowed to take once Arthur removes his hand from your mouth, though you still can’t really see straight. Your mind is fuzzy, still trying to wrap itself around the concept that anyone could make you feel that good, so Arthur already has his zipper undone and is reaching to pull his cock out before you’ve even registered that he has stood.

After three weeks of Arthur only existing in your mind, you’d convinced yourself that your memory couldn’t possibly be accurate, that over a few lustful nights alone in the dark you’ve managed to exaggerate… but no. Arthur is, as much as you loathe to admit it, magnificent. Just as thick as you remember, with veins that wrap around his shaft like ivy throbbing with pure need. He’s almost too big, your overstimulated cunt seems to think, widening your eyes in awe to watch when Arthur begins to palm his leaking cock.

“I-I don’t think I can-“

“Oh yeah you fuckin’ can,” He grits, giving you no time to catch up with your own racing heart as he grips your thighs, lifting you up to perch on the glass counter of weapons and spreading you wide. Arthur surges up, spearing into you. He wastes no time, he needs not warm you up; after such a blinding orgasm, you’re already soaking for him. He feels your arousal, mixed with his own residual spit, coating his cock as he slides in up to the hilt. He groans viscerally, leaning right into the crook of your neck so his breath burns your skin. He takes your flesh between his teeth in a sharp, pinching bite and you yelp between mewls. Tears form in the corners of your eyes from the pure stretch and invasion of Arthur filling you so wholly, but you’re too far gone into this cloud of sensation to care if they fall. 

“See how much you need me, little stray… how much you fuckin’ need this cock, huh? Actin’ like you hate the big bad wolf, but I feel how your cunt weeps for me, how it wraps around me while I fuck you senseless.”

Your inner thigh is left with a burning red handprint when Arthur releases it to reach and rub hard circles on your clit. It makes it so hard to meet his eye without your own rolling to the back of your head in bliss, makes it near impossible to argue back when you can already feel another orgasm approaching, but your stubbornness persists enough to let you try and struggle out an argument.

“I can enjoy your cock and still hate you, wolfie.” 

Your less than affectionate nickname earns you a harsh slap against your clit, the pain bouncing through your every inch in the sweetest pain you could imagine. You cry out again, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth as Arthur continues to relentlessly pound into you. You’re sure you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, or ride for at least a week, but it’s a small price to pay for something so fucking good.

Neither of you are holding back, moaning into eachothers mouths, inhaling eachothers breaths, growling for each other and just barely avoiding your lips touching. You don’t hear the ceiling creak, nor the stairs groan under the weight of the gunsmith on his way to see who or what is making such grotesque noises in his humble little shop. All there is in this moment is you, Arthur, and his glorious cock fucking you insensible. Your ass burns from the friction of rubbing up against the glass display case, even more so when Arthur releases your other thigh to reach for something at his hip and the case is left to hold your entire weight. You see nothing but your big bad wolf, grunting and growling deep as you climb ever higher with him.

“What in the-”

BANG 

A gasp is ripped from your throat with the gunshot ringing in your ears. Your heart couldn’t pound any harder without breaking free of your ribcage, but a swift look to your left shows that you’re in no danger at all. Arthur’s arm is outstretched, smoking pistol pointed to the air above the now dead gunsmith. He doesn’t even look away from your face, contorted in such bliss as he continues to dangle you over the edge. He killed a man while buried so deep inside you, his victim’s blood now splattered across both your faces like crimson freckles. 

There’s no time to mourn, or even acknowledge, as grasps your jaw hard between his thumb and forefinger and forces your eyes back to him. The blood sprayed on his features suits him, you think, but that makes sense for the big bad wolf. The way he takes a life with such ease… it terrifies and enthrals you all the same. Your pussy squeezes around his shaft involuntarily at the thought of watching him kill again and again just to fuck you just that bit longer, at the idea that those measly mortal lives pale in comparison for his need to be inside you. 

“Oh, fuck, Arthur I’m gonna-” 

You’re cut off by a sharp slap to your cheek, and it burns so beautifully. The blood on Arthur’s hands smears across your skin, tainting you, body and soul. His hand quickly returns to its bruising grip on your cheeks, and you feel the heat of the pistol in his other hand pressing into your stomach. His finger isn’t near the trigger, and somehow you don’t think he would hurt you with it, but you suddenly realise the danger you could be in right now. You and Arthur hold a long-standing feud, your respective gangs have been fighting for even longer than that. The outlaw just executed a man ruthlessly for simply being in the wrong place, his own property, at the wrong time, and now he holds your life in his hands, literally. There is nothing stopping him from widening those jaws and consuming his little stray right here and now…

And what a way to go it would be.

You can’t bring yourself to care, can’t let the fear serve any other purpose than to pump the adrenaline around your veins and carry you back to the climax you’re searching for.

“Gonna cum, little stray? Come apart for me all over again? Hate me all you want, you n’ I know what you do for me when we’re all alone. Cum, little stray. Now.”

And you do. You come apart not with a fizzle but a bang. A blinding, screaming bang, where your limbs tighten around Arthur and your skin fizzles at any contact. He never stops his thrusts, each one seeming to renew the sensations spreading around your whole body like waves lapping and crashing against you. The gun presses into your flesh, serving as a reminder of the danger Arthur is capable of inflicting, yet it only heightens everything. You moan into his ear, your tongue running across his lobe not by design but because you have completely lost control of yourself. In this moment, you’re Arthur’s. And you feel too fucking good to even worry about it. 

The fear that he could snap your neck with so little effort, or pull the trigger of his gun and blast you to bits, lingers, spurring on your frantic movements while you grind needily against his own thrusts. Part of you wishes he would, so the both of you could find some twisted hellish realm where this union makes sense and you can rule it, together. The big bad wolf and his little stray. It’s an alarming thought to have, but who could blame you? If the devil himself could make you feel this good you’d bow to him too, weapons or none.

Arthur’s movements become sloppier, less controlled, and his grip on your cheeks tightens. He’s close, while you’re still riding your high. There’s a sharp aching where the gun presses hard into your ribcage, giving your future self the perfect excuse as to why you didn’t make Arthur pull out. He curses loudly, though it comes out more a growl, before biting hard into your neck. He surely draws blood with the force of his teeth against your skin, but it’s difficult to find it in you to care. He’s pounding you so hard into the glass you’re worried it’ll smash beneath you, but being shredded by broken glass seems an easy punishment for the sins you’ve committed again with this man.

You both come down together, glistening with blood and sweat and tears. Arthur remains in the crook of your neck, exhaling hot breaths over your skin. There’s a few seconds of a silence only broken with exasperated gasps, and then a wince when Arthur slides out of your drenched cunt. Now you can actually think straight, your hand shoots to your swollen lips at the sight of the deceased gunsmith beside you. Arthur is covered in blood, and you’re no better, but by God does it suit him. 

Having not gotten fully undressed, save for resting his jeans below his hips, Arthur takes no time at all to right himself, holstering his gun and pulling his jacket over the bloodstained shirt. He looks over to you, the harsh shadows cast by the moon only exaggerating his smirk. It takes everything you have not to flinch when he reaches for you, though the panic quells when he runs his thumb gently over your jaw, leaving a scarlet trail in his wake.

“See you on the next job, little stray.”

[astralnymphh]

god knows she tried.

ellie williams⊱.

“the monster inside her was baying for blood, it had to come out some day.”

⤹𓍢ִ໋listening to; lacrimosa and sour

𖤐.an; I present to you, my proudest piece. wowowoww I really enjoyed writing an emotional piece like this. I hope it suffices and gets enough recognition cause this surely won't be my last angst piece!! inspired by lacy, oh lacy by @coeurify

𓍢ִ໋-cw; ellie pov focus leaning, large analysis of ellie throughout tlou2, loser-esque jackson ellie, angst, heavy feelings, depictions of death + wanting death + blood + guts + sharp objects + nausea/vomit + self hatred + jealousy + starvation, mild glimpses of happiness, reader replaces dina, reader isn't pregnant, poetic writing

⋆.ೃ;wc; 5k+

masterlist ୨୧

the sun was shrouded in gloom. the water did not glisten, but her tears did. droplets of gray guilt pour in slow motion down her bloodied cheeks. tears glistening with hurt.

washed up like a sea carcass, phantom fingers pounding in pain. made into a husk by her own self-corrosion. her mind would have been bare, except, you're there. a figment of time, standing there, suffocating in your blank stare. why are you staring like that? it's not even you. ellie can't grasp that truth. it's only her subconscious. projecting an apparition of your mortal flesh and briny blood. salty like the sea she's sitting in.

would you echo that figment in real time?

the past figments she saw had character. one shaking their head, one like a beacon of comfort caressing her shoulder, and never dead. you're not dead, why is she crying?

she cries for everything.

her limbs calcified of stone. nothings' moving. lungs that felt dried up from all the tears leaving her eyes. a throat that strains and tugs with each dense swallow, reminding her of the atmosphere that appeared so devoid of air, thinking, how could she breathe right now? the insoluble pain of self-destruction. the hunger for revenge, snuffed like a breeze to flames. it was all in her head. the choking. her lungs begged for air, and she could not breathe it.

ellie cusps the hand that gushes with beady red blood that drips into the dark murky water, pressurizing the exposed throbbing knuckle. it hurt like hell, an unlivable hell. yet, not a wail is heard by the ocean. only the whimpers and sniffles graze the ears of her highness, the sea, the only one physically there to listen.

behind her, feet are hung at head-level. wooden pillars that scarcely mimicked crucifixion. this place was dark, in all dimensions.

just minutes ago, her skin was forming bruises and jaw nearly caved in from the force of abby's struggled hits. knuckles praying to live. not even the mass of a gun tucked in her jeans had her awareness. no, she didn't use it. she wanted to feel abby fucking dying in her hands. her hands that have siphoned the lives of many before. but, when she realized someone was actually dying in her hands, when she could feel that through her skin, it was over. the flashes of joel in her head beckoned her to stop, without uttering any words. the same mental imagery that motioned her to break skin in the first place.

joel was always there.

soaping up the harshly served reality that projected on the foggy thalassic horizon and toxified the surrounding waters, her mind sails to different times. supposed simplistic times that, by fate, turned rotten.

the day you two met. a mere four years ago. the town was a busy winterscape. you both were the golden age of sixteen, well, not that golden admist the post-apocalypse. steady clanking hoofsteps that striked the concrete track streaming into jackson, mounted on your midnight coat steed that trailed behind tommy's. heads turned at the sounds of large rusty hinges twisting, including hers, watching from beyond the stable's fencing.

goddess above and below, you're were so stunning.

she remembers she was gearing up for group patrol that day when you arrived, the saddles' horn nearly slipping from her bay leather grasp. thoughts of interest and curiosity had slowly piled up from that point. her pupils picking up on each hoofprint left as you pass the open paddock and stroll into the connecting stable. her browlines furrowed, wondering if you we're some backpacker hauled over for a spell, or a new resident.

she's lucky it would be the latter.

the veil of frigid air that seeped her skin and snapped her focus out of a daydream by the echo of dina's voice, calling her,

"earth to ellie?"

and it tethers her back on earth, turning her face to dina. she thought back to how her gloved fingers snapped in her face, asking for her focus, there and then.

"sor- um, what were you saying?" her speech was floaty, stacking on each other as she stuttered.

why was her focus glued to you at that moment? you had literally just entered. fucking hell, must have been something intruding the air. it's unlike herself to be so.. enraptured.

and later that evening, after a session of controlled gunshots mowing down the rigid fungoid heads that dared to disrupt their supply run, she was tired. plain tired.

as it turns out, a sturdy bench baring wooden boards as seats was enough comfort after all that shit. legs beat down to drooping over the woods edge, feeling like jelly. her hair bathed in the dining hall's incandescent lights, rendering a mellow orange halo. lips in pure quietude, she sat as a stranger to the conversation had between joel, jesse and dina.

ellie pondered the expedition for guitar strings that happened weeks ago, still processing what joel had told her. 'there was, no cure.' was it fabrication? what really took place in her state of unconsciousness? this was the beginning of a lurk. an unabating, rough gloom that presides under and through the chamber of her stomach, telling her something wasn't right. a thing she can't exactly point a finger to. a gut hunch that anchors her heart tightly. all is not true. she must seek.

blanked inside the home of her mind, only to be yanked by the wisping holler that ran over her head.

"hey! over here!" it was dina, ushering you over with the jerks of her wrist.

you passioned your way through the meal lines, appearing before her. she recalls how you looked, you were perfect. you wore the same ebony winter jacket that gathered dust on the wall-mounted rack of your farmhouse bedroom. it had its wears and tears and excerpts of journies to tell, but it was perfect on you. it's just a plain jacket. but for her, it was the jacket.

"the house up to yer' standards?" joel asked you, the usual mug of piping hot joe whaffed a steam around the aged and cracked skin of his face. tender in the light.

your voice rang through, "yeah, nothing I could ever bargain." and it cleared a trench between her temples. that rough gloom took a rain check instantly.

a fuzzy feeling that fords neither love or hate embraced the nape of her back. she didn't realize it just then, but, between the vault of aching uncertainty in her gut and the day to day neutrality she feels, a blossoming delight would come from your arrival at jackson, should she consume its goodness.

she didn't remember much of that conversation until the spotlight beamed towards her.

"this is ellie, she jus' came back from patrol. she'll show ya how we handle things 'round here." joel had gestured your sights over to her, to consume her first impression, with a smile that would become signature.

her ears tuned to you.

"hi!" you greeted with the softest wisping of your lips. oh, it made her evening that much more animated.

from that day onward, it was like a sweet lullaby of love. waving from across the horizon for weeks, your hand splayed out flat in the air, and hers curled up a bit. another week passes, and she's inviting you to the tipsy bison on her own accord. months pass, and she's constantly slumbering on your sofa over long nights, preferring it over being alone in her garage home. at this position in your shared timeline, ellie has grown distant from joel. you swore she forgot that old mans' bowed and bearded face sometimes.

it stung to relive the memory of pushing joel away. outside that damned hospital. saint marys' piece of shit. yelling, "don't you fucking, touch me!"

the tears were scorching. they were brought up to be. and they burned. the inside of her throat felt sliced up, chewed up, and ran through with barbed wire. swallowing was too much to bear, just how it is now, sitting on that dark beach.

that same day, she returned to find you waiting at her doorstep, box in hand. worry-struck. ellie took off out of the void, it made sense you were distraught. she felt mutually the same, her wrenching heart suffering the aftermath. the dawn of day she assumed would be spent alone, was sat atop her bed. losing herself in the video game you brought in that box, laying on you while she flicks the joysticks and taps the bumpers. it was a sunny yellow haven. a light she found in the darkness, that was you.

a tightly braided friendship.

and her mind lingers on something you once uttered at the crux of night during a sleepover, entailing the words;

"i like moths now, because of you."

that made her flustered across the span of a whole week, even joel questioned why she was blanking out during patrol training.

she was your moon. someone to subdue the spines that pricked your skin every day. sharp edges that tell you, happiness wasn't meant to stay. battle it all you wanted. moons eventually dim and embellish darkness.

two years pass, and she's being led to the center of an ornamental string-lit dance floor during another peak of winter, by none other than dina.

not you. if only it had been you. or else she wouldn't have felt that specter of gloom wrench her gut in disgusting ways later at dusk.

at least her gut didn't feel as it does now. torn open for this sorrowful sea to behold, exposed to a retch colored with regret. ill aversion.

her hands guided to the small of dina's back, draping like a silk curtain. missing a flinch when her arms huddled ellie's shoulders. not a flinch. ellie didn't love dina, but they were close. pinkies-tied close. it's just dina being dina, right?

"every guy in this room is staring at you right now.." her voice croaked in a demure whisper. the blood cells in her being were fluttering, the weight of her position then and there, made her feel lit up inside a dark room. backed into a corner. she was the spotlight once more.

"maybe they're staring at you.."

they would soon.

you never resented ellie for that night. you liked her, yeah, but it wasn't her fault. it only felt like you'd gulped a clump of metal bolts, weighing like a sick burden inside you. cold and rustic. your will of steel didn't let that shatter you completely, though. bottled it up and bluffed your feelings. it was never her fault. sucked down that bitter shot and let it ferment in your sickly gut packed with a stir. a stir of pungent nausea jabbing thorns in your esophagus. it delivers a nasty taste. but you swore, you wouldn't resent ellie.

ellie was unaware of your shared adoration. what seemed like a one-sided crush, was not. nights left off with a friendly hug could have been so much more divinely satiating. she wishes her body wasn't bound to the now, wishing she could back to then. the past, and express her affection. tell you everything.

a wish brewn too late. a drunken kiss to her buds out of wills' reach binds a woolly, empty headed fizzing to her ears. tossed into a stupor. all she could do was stand still like a willow tree in the windless plains. lips unable to jerk away. then it sunk hard. you're there. you're watching. people are peering. you saw.

"fuck." was emphasized in her toneless breath, narrowly letting loose another swear in the flavor of a loud scream.

in that gloomy darkness, she saw you. illuminated like a beacon too. your face plasters an unbothered exterior, but the eyes, the eyes are a glass screen. you can understand the essence fueling a person's emotion with one meager glimpse. a new gag clots her gullet. she can't show it, but she for heaven above and hell below, could fucking feel it.

you virtually felt a crack in your heart. cracks in a porcelain antique. you're sure the two looked similar.

strung between multiple conclusions, you pondered. if ellie liked dina, you'd have to woefully accept it. and if she didn't, then she didn't. what more could you have proposed at that time. life is life.

your feet carried you with a saunter, skirting the doors brinking you from the ghostly streets of a slumbering town of jackson. a jarring contrast from the lively party howling behind you. even for someone who's experiencing confusion, you walked with a gentle gait.

pausing under the descending pearls of frozen water, casting your eyes heavenward into the starry globe above you. the stars twinkled so perfectly on such a gut-wrenching night as this one. it dawns on you. how the celestial bodies of space feel no pain, no heartbreak. how their life is lived without the mortal trials you face. it must be so easy up there, suspended in space, feeling nothing.

as the snow nestled in the beds of your hair, melting on your blue hot face, you claimed a sense of emptiness in your head amidst the vomit begging to unfurl from your throttle. please, let it be a dream.

piercing isolation.

ended suddenly.

the swinging of a door wooshes through your ears, and capers your sights to its source. and there she was. joining you in the twilight snow-shower. ellie.

she trotted up to you, lone in the wintry streets, and harvested the same pellets of opalite snow that decorated the strands of your hair like constellations hovering above. her head, too, snowflakes cling to her russet bang and lashes, framing her eyes so damn right.

oh, snowy fern eyes. the most serenic evergreen rings encapsulated behind gloss. dewey eyes sitting atop red sweltered cheeks. her lids fluttered back the tears, the tears that might wither the snow, and surely wither her soundness of mind. a quiver of the lip, bent over her teeth. frozen fucking wind that chars the lining of her lungs with ice. every single thing fucking wounded her.

you gazed into one another, emotions roaring loud. she could peer right through you. through the glass windows of your eyes. things were felt and not shown, it was evident in your expression. no words were uttered in those seconds before. before the infamous words you spoke. words that forced everything to the shore.

"do you love dina?"

fucking gag. another smother of disgust gurgling in her gut. the sheer assumption that you believed her heart to be penchant for dina, and not you, drowned her guts. a quick spurt of unease penetrates her whole esse.

here went nothing.

"I love you."

whorled away from your envy like whiplash. it added up by that point. she appeared like a puppet to that kiss on the dance floor. you recalled it then. ellie's teeth were never bared in a smile, more so, it was the true one-sided love. now, she is standing in front of you. physical, mortal, and all. retching out that confession like it was stifled beneath a tombstone.

to ellie, that tombstone represented everything she expected to fail. to be dead. a wish foreseen as ash, fled to the gales of something more worthy.

that wish sailed the breeze, and landed at your feet.

you reached that shore too.

"I love you too, ellie."

her name levitating off your tongue with a tone so soothing felt affirming. grounding. this is not a dream.

her eyes transmutated, eclipsed by a sun. what was once dewey, red and puffy, then softened to a set of almonds brazed in sweet syrup. calmer tears that were golden. joyous. lids relax and anchor her brows, straightening out like rows of a poem. after straying so long beneath the falling snow, her nose suffused a red-orangey tint, nostrils even redder.

love passioned its way through the gelid space, accompanied by the humid huffs of your breath. but nothing was as warm, not even a star, as what brought your bodies a few measly steps closer.

a kiss.

huddled in the somber streets was an effigy of igniting amour. two souls stuck together. her arms wrapped around your back like you were the only life she could clutch. reddened knuckles crumpling up the same ebony jacket you attired in the winter, holding you dear. your arms found a natural embrace, cusping her shoulders and marrying fingertips into her coppery mane that tied into her bun.

nothing beats the way you two rolled lips, tasting the skin and smacking slowly. her peachy buds that fit the open groove of your mouth so easily. her lips were formed for you. cells that build her body, are building for you. she existed solely for you. graciously drinking up the kiss like a fucking sweet milkshake.

a taste so addictive, you could die on it.

shit, she's smirking into your lips. ellie, you blasted dork. even the dimples denting her cheeks could poke you back. that's how wide her smile travels from ear to ear, even her cheeks fattened up, creasing those beautiful crinkles at the edges of her eyelines. a true smile.

and once that kiss severed, you saw those bloated, ruddy cheeks plucking the corners of her lips. too fucking adorable.

"well, there's that smile. lost her a while ago, els?" the teaser you were, and the loser she was.

her lips refine into the same toothy, adorable beam. she nearly cringed at your observation. the way you kept notation of how often her midface perks up, it was cute. her flesh bites the bitter cold, and blood that heaped her cheeks burnt so vibrant for you.

she couldn't believe you were true.

"i think you're the only person that makes me smile," she recalled this vividly, trying her darndest to uplift every waking thought about you through a cold shell she fabricated, "fuck, i'm so bad at this.." laugh it off past ellie, laugh it off.

if she pinpoints it correctly, you had said the words "i like bad." jokingly. fashioning the most proud smirk ever. pfft, she giggles every time her brain resurfaces that memory of your snowy brimmed confessions.

"tsskk- u're weird."

"you're a big dork."

"shut up.." her ardent palms pancaked against both of your cheeks, passionately pulling you in for another tangerine sweet kiss.

the ivory supermoon set on a blissful night, luckily enough. ellie ended up fleeing that street, hand in hand mingled with you, towards her home. fuck that dance. fuck those feelings flush of guilt that died right there on that street. being tangled in the sheets with you snuggled in her arms was enough. enough to submerge what galloped through her head.

"i don't need your fucking help joel."

shit.

gods above and below.

what did daylight bring?

bloodshed. blood stains her eyes to this day. she was there. she saw. the blood spilt and it splashed towards her. if joel couldn't reach his torn, bashed and narrowly mutilated hand out to her, his lifeline would. the plasma pumping his heart to sustain life, hurling out like a ribbon of crimson. a downright disrespectful invitation of rememberance abby had chucked to her fucking face.

this memory. this disease, an immoral plague. who the fuck up there in the pristine realms of divinity decides a mortal punishment like this?

that memory, lives on. it weakens the marrow in her bones. turns the tides in her head. she wanted to rip her skin off. her skin that gets to survive. disgust. again. the muscles attached to bone, felt like they didn't belong.

she stopped genuinely breathing after that day.

you saw the will to breathe drain from her eyes. etching into that lodges' oak floors. the first grave she ever dug.

"i'm so sorry, ellie."

was the first swan song she ever heard.

now that rough gloom, plummeted and shapeshifted into a dark cavern of misery. starless, desolate gloom. her room turnt cavernous too. blocking all rays of bright luminosity from injecting a disturbance in her seclusion. era of mental death.

you had been visiting her daily in her time of barren sensitivity, at the least, visiting her door. you uneasily sat on the exterior end of her door. poised aside and smushing your ear into it's solid strength. praying that you might hear any peep of life on the other side, you wait. you miss her bloodcurtiling sobs reserved for nighttime, sowing the conclusion that she, inside, was empty. a husk.

if death is so morbid, why did graves look so peaceful? so prettied up. why are the baby blue hydrangeas sitting atop his freshly cold grave, soft in their glory, delivering such a potent posion. they plant their own seed. clotting ellie's throat with a nest of hydrangeas she'll carry with her forever. roots latched to a deep spring in her spirit that navigates every little emotion. the flowers bulge from her esophagus and cough up in petals of regret, forgiveness, and rejection.

she can't accept that.

she didn't.

she heard the rainy forest calling for her.

seattle is here. seattle is waiting. the old flame lights the new wick, and so it ignites, her immortal foe. revenge.

and she brought you along.

ellie respires every soul set free from mangled bodies she creates. her hands a syphon, the weapon her postman. delivering screaming letters of justice with every pull of her finger on the trigger.

a once starless gloom was snapped in half by her own drive with spheres of guttural fire baying for blood. she wakes up a blood-gutter every sunrise. her face just might fossilize and cherish this total takeover. she was someone new. angled fuming brows, irritable red nostrils flared more than ever, and an awful intensity in her eyes. it made them scintillating, more so, grossly gleaming. irises fern green to hazardous toxin in just a few months.

enemies could read ellie's aura nimbly, if their visions should even grasp it faster than their machetes and hammers meeting a clenched palm. she wasn't just a girl. she was a threat.

miles of blood patterned in her path, splotching the diamond modeled bottoms of her converse like abstract art. she was lost in her own world. driven straight to the goal.

you promised you'd be there every damn sliced throat of the way, no matter what. but this scares you. slowly, the fire burning in her eyes had charred her up till she could barely give anything more.

the fire had only engulfed her when she appeared at the theater's lobby doors, banging the margin of her balled fist on the wood. the fist gloved in crescent scars, peeled cuticles, and raised callouses. when the doors waved open to you, gliding up to her and weaving yourself with her body in a relieved hug, she couldn't do it. it was too much. the torture lingering in her muscle memory stung, frozen hands jittering above the small of your back momentarily.

ellie was enervated.

it took her a second to even hug you back. that was, too kind of you. to embrace her body slathered in the lifeline of someone else. why would you even do that, she thought.

her mind looped on a cycle, processing that damned notion as you pleat the soiled shirt off her back. she couldn't even feel the salient tear in her back, the brutally severed dermis throbbing red, not a whimper soars her gullet when you tend to it. numbness riddled her. stitch her up, and she won't flinch.

then ellie croaked,

"i made her talk."

she was revolted. how could she touch you so tenderly after whacking a metal rod into a beating body 'till they coughed up the words. knackered them up for eternal sleep. the face she just wiped from this earth, blurred. does she even remember what she looked like?

it was your own arm, meshing around her blistered collarbone that prompted her to gauge the value of her life, even just for an iota of solace time.

problem being, she couldn't remain enlightened of her value- without you.

"i don't wanna lose you."

your lips kissed her pain away, pitter by patter along the scruff of her neck to her seared shoulder. every peck embedded with a melodic note that forges a song saying, 'i am here, you won't lose me' without even brushing that past your satiny lips.

won't you seal my hardships with your lips of silk? taint my lips of leather and gums of thorns with your soothing buds?

"you wont."

then that day arrived, when she almost did. a scene depicted by the ten of swords. a major disaster indicated. as the arrow speared the air suddenly, and in no time you could count, it had already paved through the plate of your shoulder and strung out blood to the planks before you. rendering you unconscious.

"please stop!" ellie pleaded, just like she did before. god forbid if she had to witness another loved one being lacerated from life. her limp body prays, prays for your safe survival, and not your safe passage. she wonders if god is even real, if any god is real. do they hear her now? we're they aware when she shrilled for mercy at every red ribbon lashed out from his body? did they welcome him, home?

and right before that cold steel nearly divided your skin, a voice erupted.

"abby!"

thank fuck you hadn't ended up a resemblance of the 'ten of swords' illustration. thank the sun gods that you were able to bask and tan under the light that fondled the rustic farmhouse with her. ellie is so lucky, for someone who doesn't believe in it.

"don't ever let me see you again."

you then retired to that old, rustic farmhouse. aging under the continuous moon phases for two years straight.

it was a strenuous journey getting to where she was supposed to be the happiest. despite all the treasures she owned on that farm property, the lagoon of corn fields and hills of verdancy that sung in spring, mighty splendors anyone might wish for, ellie still lived with a loom. ellie bore tantrums inside the confined loneliness of the farm's supply room, kicking the hilt of a rake as it clatters to the stony ground, yelling, "fuck!" when it startled her badly enough, or when it enraged her ptsd well enough.

reminiscence is woven into the scar risen on your shoulder. it reminds her. every. damn. glance.

every approaching dream was daunting to ellie. she'd wake up. cold beady sweat. go back to sleep, suffocate in her subconscious again, and surface them in a panic once more. not even braving the night with a stroll around the perimeter helped. it only sunk everything deeper.

if she was drunken in her sorrows, would you carry her?

the daylight spent with you was her only source of felicity. the mundane made it feel much more liveable. a day spent baking together, flour dappled on each other's noses, roused as she pushed up behind, and swayed you to the cordial and funky beats thrumming from the viynl player. that day, that simple day made her want to live fully for you. she wanted to be tied to your pinkie with the lusty filaments of love.

and in that humble kitchen laid a promise;

"so- this means you'll marry me?" a stupid smirk muffled ellie's voice out huskily, flowing against the shoreline of your ear.

"can't we just announce ourselves married already?"

"baabeee.." that freckled idiot whined.

"eelllssss.." you rung back.

her arms fastened you tighter, pout puffing on your shoulder, "i wann' make it feel real.." she intoned, inclining up and stuffing her nose into your neck. pretty sure she rubbed all the flour onto you, being the bear hugger she is.

no answer parts your lips.

"babe?"

ellie felt you twirl in her caging arms, perking up to even up with your gaze in curiosity. her brows fumble and arc inwards to visibly show her interest for your next words.

"we're real, els. i don't need a ring or declaration to show that.." your tone caters to her love of soothing sounds, as she breaks into an even toothier smile that trails your words.

"you don't?"

you had leaned in, devoid of words. a quiet kiss to her brows, said so much more than she expected. that inner-loser knocked on the door of her mind and took control. blasted blush coating her cheeks. you really knew how to woo her, cradling her head in your tender cusp.

"i just need you."

"don't go."

the grounding touch of her cheeks held between your hands was not enough. the blank, void, and unnerving night was not enough. nothing was enough to keep her waiting.

what kind of songs do you play when dwindling into internal madness?

her own screams battle the wood boards of that farm too often. her screams synchronize with joels, replaying in her head. scared and unable to hold onto anything. thoughts running amok. she fucking needs you more than she thought.

"ellie- ellie.. I'm here. it's okay."

it's not okay.

it's not okay for her to play pretend and cast an ocean over those feelings 'when she can'. you told her, it's okay. to be broken. but her heart anchors towards an obligation to be picture perfect for you, for anyone. every positive cover-up felt like posion pooling from her mouth. lying til she couldn't feel her lips.

she lied to you once. for someone who despises lies and has been lied to, she lied. that fucking lie hurt. but it was too loud. the gloom that stuck with her for so long has grown into a pounding, jarring sound similar to intense whirring, but echoed. nothing had color at that point. everything was a null void, and every sound was a silence too loud.

a sentence meant to be; "i'm going to find abby." sounded a lot more like,

"i'm so tired, baby." murmured ellie, collapsed flat on the plateau of your chest and drained of energy.

you assumed it was just physical fatigue.

"it's fine, go t'sleep, we can talk later."

ellie's eyes looked so dull, so scarce of humanity. she was tired. each passing day had been vampirically sucking the motivation from her veins. some days, she didn't even catch you calling her name from the farmhouse. earth to ellie, are you still in there?

"I have to finish it." ellie's forehead bent to yours, felt so wrong.

"why didn't you tell me?"

"I can't." her voice nearly shattered into a waterfall of sobbing.

your voice cracked, however, "bullshit, els."

that was the drawing line. she finally breaks and is consumed by that hovering gloom. she lost herself.

ellie dashed every chance of losing you, and yet took it upon herself to leave you, instead.

that fucking thing that leeched off her for so many years is finally getting what it yearns for. greed of revenge to feed the darkness. starving herself as it ingests every fiber barely holding her together.

you spun away with leisure, breaching your hands from her, "I am - not, doing this again."

you couldn't save this. she was leaving. nothing blocks her way.

heart-wrenching silence dawns.

"that's up to you."

her heels unhurriedly turned in an instant, abandoning you, and her dreams born of soft blue dasies. her omens of happiness and trust, becoming a fatuous foreground. the door waving shut behind her would soon come to bite her in the heart.

now she sits. almost dying in that water. the water was her gloom all along. she was the vessel, she paid the price, it's free. now she bleeds into it. red rivers dance and make a mockery of her weeping body.

she tried.

it won.

she tried for the false clone of you haunting her mind. it's the only thing she had left of you.

she tried so hard to be strong. only she and the gods above know that.

you wouldn't though.

coming home to jackson a walking carcass, pinning her hopes on you being there. it was obvious you moved from the farmhouse. why would you live there alone?

so, she stands. inside your old jackson home, to divulge its absence of you. no, you weren't there. you weren't in jackson. all that remains are old memories crammed into boxes. motionless without a requiem.

ellie closes in on one of these.

and what she finds is painful.

that winter jacket.

she clutches it tight to her barren eyes, burrowing the trench of her nose with your lingering scent. the scenes trance her mind. visions of you tackling her in the thick mud puddle on your farm's acres, an enchanting laugh wheezing in your throat. visions of holding your stomach while you scrubbed fine china of its grub and stains, wishing you two had a real family, a child, by some miracle. recollections of you, legs sitting pretty across her lap as she thrashed a controller, casting her evil curse whenever the game ticked her off just enough and how you giggled at her. the everlasting evocation of you two, kissing under that snow-ether night, vowing a love to extend across times bounds.

the jacket smells so fucking good.

"please.." whispered ellie, with a taut countenance, "where are you.."

not a clue of where you went is in those walls.

are you dead? nobody knows.

where she left the farmhouse, you left her entirely. unknowing if it stems from love, hate, or neutrality. the guilt felt disgusting, once more. the pain stung in her lung far harsher. the air siphoning out.

in a room so devoid of air, and you, how could she breathe?

you can't pay in blood and sacrifice. ellie has learned that. she paid in loss of something that didn't have to go.

love was understanding each other's limits, and so was losing each other. she just never realized you had limits plummeting down on you, until the new moon phase had begun, and it was too late.

that figment of you is all she has left.

𓍢ִ໋-likes and reblogs appreciated, bright blessings!

[swaps55]

Okay, but if I ask *nicely* will you yell about how Shadowfax can't do lead changes? :D

MY TIME HAS COME.

Ok. So. When horses are moving at a canter or a gallop, they have ‘leads.’ As in, one front foot and one hind foot is always ‘leading’ the opposite foot. Generally, when they are tracking to the right, they will lead with their right foot, and when tracking left, they’ll lead with their left foot. Turning is smoother when the lead foot matches the direction you’re turning.

Horses can change leads while moving at speed. It works a lot like a skip, only they have to skip the front and the hind end. Changing leads is something horses do naturally, but they can also learn to do it on cue. The trick is getting them to change both the front and the hind in the same stride. If they don’t – and what usually happens is they change the front end but take another step or two to change the hind – their movement gets really choppy because their front and hind ends are on different leads. This can cause you problems when jumping a course, for instance, when you sometimes have to change directions quickly.

Here's a video that demonstrates it:

SO. Imagine my horse-obsessed ass sitting the theater at the midnight showing of The Two Towers, eyes peeled for Shadowfax, because the Lord of Horses was going to be in front of my eyeballs AT LAST, and if Asfaloth in Fellowship of the Ring was not the Lord of Horses, then holy fuck I can’t wait to see who IS.

...

Before I continue, let’s talk about the Flight to the Ford.

This is one of my favorite sequences in film, and it’s largely because Asfaloth is such a badass. Watch this horse’s feet throughout this sequence. This horse is carrying two fully costumed riders (I can’t remember if they had Kiran – Elijah Wood’s stunt double – actually in the saddle for those scenes, but even if they didn’t, they had something bumping along up there) while moving at high speeds, turning, and jumping.

WATCH THIS HORSE’S FEET.

The way this horse moves, the way he changes leads is incredible to watch.

(Side note: the horse’s name is Florian, and his stunt rider, Jane Abbot, adored him and was devastated that she couldn’t afford to buy him when filming ended. Viggo Mortenson bought him for her, and when I looked, she still had him at age 29.)   

[gently takes your face in my hands] WATCH THAT VIDEO AGAIN.

I believe without question that Florian was indeed Asfaloth, Glorfindel/Arwen’s steed.

Hang on, I’m gonna go watch it again.

…

Ok. I’m better now. I’m fine. I’m not totally overwhelmed by how much I love Asfaloth and how quickly I would sell my soul to sit on that horse’s back.

Now let’s talk about Shadowfax.  

One of the Mearas. Lord of Horses. Who should definitely be able to do a really elegant lead change, because of the whole Lord of Horses thing.

As Shadowfax is running down the hill towards Gandalf, he’s on his left lead. Since he’s about to bend right towards Gandalf, he switches to his right.

In the front.

It takes him another step and a half or so to get the hind end to follow suit.

Is that totally normal for a horse, especially one with no rider? Sure.

BUT THIS IS SHADOWFAX, LORD OF FUCKING HORSES.

ASFALOTH IS OUT THERE DODGING RINGWRAITHS WITH TWO PEOPLE ON HIS BACK AND SWITCHING LEADS ON THE FLY LIKE IT AIN’T NO THANG AND THIS ‘LORD OF HORSES’ CAN’T EVEN HANDLE A HILL.

This was your BIG INTRO, man. There was inspirational music. The rapt attention of Aragorn, Legolas, and fucking Gandalf, and he flubbed the lead change.

SHADOWFAX: LORD OF LAZY LEAD CHANGES.

It’s been over 20 years and I am still not over it. Asfaloth was better, fight me.

[thescarletnargacuga]

IT'S ME AGAIN! BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH ANOTHER KINGDOM AU REQUEST!

Could you do one where Pomni gets kidnapped by the gummi bandits and taken to the dark lands where the Ether dragon (sun and moon) is? And then have Caine come in to rescue her?

And have a romantic ending? 👀👀👀

ALSO BUBBLE TRANSFORMING INTO A HORSE BECAUSE CAINE NEEDS A NOBLE STEED HEHEHE

A/N: a classic fairytale setup, I like it!

MY HERO

A KINGDOM AU SHOWTIME ONESHOT

AU credit @allisonraeyt @tadk-ask-blog

WARNING: fantasy action

~~~

Pomni felt dizzy as she slowly came to consciousness. The world was still dark when she opened her eyes. She tried to move. Only to find that her hands and ankles were tied. She let out a gasp and her voice was muffled by the rag tied around her mouth. Her heart started to race and she struggled against her bonds.

Torch light blinded her against the night when the bag over her head was violently ripped away. "Knock it off!" A gruff voice barked in her face. Pomni flinched away and froze in place, breathing heavily against the gag. "Cooperate, and you won't get hurt. Understand?"

Pomni had no idea where she was other than some cave. It smelled dank and reeked of animal filth. Three anthropomorphic gators stood over her. The largest held a bright burning torch that lit the whole cavern.

"Boss," The smallest of the three gators spoke. "When is the dragon gonna be here? The longer she's with us, the more likely-"

"Shut it. They'll be here when they get here. The amount of gold from their hoard they're offering for her will be worth the wait." The largest gator pointed a jagged knife in Pomni's face. "And once you're no longer our problem, you can scream and struggle all you want. No one gets past the Ether Dragon."

~

Gangle knocked on Pomni's door not long after sun up. "Princess? Are you awake?" The bedroom was silent, so she opened the door carefully. "Princess Pomni? I'm terribly sorry to-" The room was completely upturned. "Skies above! Guards! GUARDS!! PRINCESS POMNI HAS BEEN KIDNAPPED!! GET PRINCE CAINE!!"

Not even a minute later, Prince Caine rushed into the bedroom. He was just as taken aback as Gangle was on first entering. "What...!? How did this happen!? Did none of the patrols hear anything!?" He roared at the guards that followed him.

"No, my liege. We had no reason to believe anything was amiss." One guard answered quickly.

Pink magic glowed along the edge of Caine's pupils. His mystic sight scanned the room. The room was a mess, but jewelry and expensive silks were still there. Pomni fought back. She had to have cried for help.

There was a strange aura to the room. He could feel it. He kicked aside a broken drawer to find the source. A piece of scroll parchment covered runic symbols was stuck to the floor. "A silencing seal. That explains why no one heard her, and tells me they don't have natural magic."

He went to the open window. It was a long drop from her bedroom. Claw marks scratch the strong stone wall. "Strong enough to climb several stories without rope." Caine commented to himself. At the bottom of the tower, something glistened.

Caine vaulted out the window, much to the shock of everyone else in the room. He let himself freefall most of the way down before teleporting short range to the ground. He knelt down to inspect the shining magic only he could see. A single drop of water, sparkling on a single blade of grass.

"A tear!" Caine elated. "Well done, Pomni!" He looked ahead and saw another shining tear in the distance. Caine whistled loudly and Bubble flew to him as quick as a lark. "I need you to be my wings! The princess is in danger!"

"Right away, your majesty!" The tiny voice of the bird shapeshifted into something much larger and more regal. A pegasus. His bright white coat shined in the morning sun as he pawed the ground, eager for take off.

Caine mounted bareback, no time to saddle up. "Ya!"

Bubble reared, flaring his wings and galloped into take off. His powerful wings putting distance between him and the ground quickly.

Caine watched for tears on the ground, steering Bubble to follow. "I'm coming, Pomni."

~

Pomni wiped her cheek on her shoulder. Her face was still wet with tears. She hoped the spell Caine taught her worked, even when they knocked her out. She and her three captors sat in silence for a long time before a booming echo came from the entrance. Something huge landed at the entrance to the cave.

With each rumbling footfall, Pomni lost more and more hope that it was Prince Caine. From the dark emerged a two headed, dark blue and bright gold dragon. Its colors split down the middle like the horizon at twilight. The golden head glared down at the group. The dark blue head gazed down with indifference.

"We got your prize. Hand over the gold and we'll be on our way." The leader of the three bandits boldly states to the Ether Dragon.

"Stifle your arrogant tone, mortal. Or I will burn it away." The eyes of the golden head flared like stoked flames.

The two meeker bandits backed up. The leader stood steadfast. "This mortal successfully stole from the High Prince himself. I have every right to be arrogant, but we're not here for me. You want to Princess? Hand over the reward."

The golden head huffed angrily, but remained silent when the dark blue head looked at her. The blue half clutched a large chest and set it down in front of the bandits. "As honored."

The lead bandit kicked open the chest. It was full of treasure from the dragon's horde. He gestures to his lackies to bring Pomni forward. "She's all yours. Pleasure doing business with you."

Pomni fought the grip of the bandits, doing everything in her power to stay out of the dragon's clutches. She screamed against the gag as the clawed hand of the golden dragon reached for her.

A pink bolt streaked through the air and exploded on impact against the scaled hide of the dragon's claw. The Ether Dragon roared in pain and turned to the entrance of the cave to see a winged horse and rider swooping into the cavern.

"UNHAND HER!!" Caine held up a shining silver sword, blazing magenta with magic.

With all attention on Caine, Pomni headbutted the bandit lacky next to her. He doubled over and dropped his knife. She awkwardly hopped over and managed to get a hold of it. She struggled to try to cut her wrist bindings as the cave shook with the movements of the huge dragon.

The golden head immediately shot a stream of bright orange fire that heated the whole cavern. The blue head tried reaching for Pomni again.

Bubble flew forward bravely headlong into the wall of fire. Caine pointed his sword straight ahead and a powerful beam of pink magic split the dragon's fire.

Pomni barely dove out the way in time to avoid the pearly white fangs of the blue dragon head snapping at her. Her ankle bindings held tight but she was making progress on freeing her wrists. She squirmed away as fast as she could out of reach of the reaching dragon head.

"Foul light bringer." The dark blue head bared its fangs, unable to reach further without the cooperation of its more temperamental half.

The bandits sheltered in place the best they could. The packed treasure chest was too heavy to move quickly and they were staying out of this fight.

The golden head roared and snapped its jaws at Caine as he flew into range. Caine lashed his sword and pink magic flared out in a wave, slicing into the dragon's face. Both heads felt the pain, and the dark blue head turned to fight Caine as well.

Caine was waiting for that. He has Bubble swoop down and he reached out for Pomni. Pomni had just got her wrists free and dropped the knife and rope as she reached out for Caine with both hands. Caine grabs her wrist and hoists her up in his lap on Bubble's back.

Bubble double timed it out of the cave. Both dragon heads roared as the dragon gave chase. Once outside, the massive wings folded to the dragon's sides unfurl and the Ether Dragon takes to the skies. Both heads release a breath attack, orange fire and light blue lightning merge to create an overpowered blast of elemental energy.

Caine held his sword out vertically behind him and shielded Pomni with his body as the energy hit the sword's defensive aura. Fire and lightning blazed around them with terrible force. Bubble's wings were singed but he kept flying as fast as he could.

Caine's eyes went completely pink as he whispered to his sword. The sword sang with a metallic ring and he threw it. The sword flew like a guided missile and sliced through one of the dragon's wings multiple times. The dragon rapidly lost altitude, despite its best efforts to stay in the air.

The sword boomeranged around to Caine's open hand. He blinked the light like from his eyes as he watched the Ether Dragon crash-land on a hillside, roaring furiously.

Caine tapped the rope around Pomni's ankles with his sword and the binds disintegrated. Things were finally calm enough for Pomni to pull off the gag in her mouth. "Blegh!" Her mouth felt horribly dry, so instead of speaking, she buried her face in his chest in a right hug.

Caine snapped away his sword and hugged Pomni back. "Thank the stars you're okay."

Pomni looked up, tears of overjoyed relief walked in her eyes. Caine gently caressed her cheek. "The tears shall lead you to the Kingdom. I'm proud of you for remembering."

"I had a good teacher." Pomni said quietly.

~

The three gators bandits. Slowly carrying their massive box of loot, the smallest makes conversation. "Why didn't the Ether Dragon steal Pni themselves? Aren't they super powerful?"

The other lacky answered. "The castle has special defences just for ol' two face. They can't get close, but even if they could, they're massive! Caine would see them coming miles away and he's quite powerful himself. He's High Prince for a reason."

"Oh."

They stop when the ground starts shaking out of nowhere. It's not until they look behind them, they see the massive enraged Ether Dragon sprinting right at them.

"No Princess. No deal." Stated the blue head.

"I'M GOING TO DESTROY YOU FOOLS!! YOU LED HIM RIGHT TO US!!" Screamed the gold.

[tilebytiles]

settle for a draw - a.t.

summary: you didn't expect to meet a cowboy. you didn't expect to fall in love with him, either. word count: 5.5k warnings: age gap (reader is 20, alex is 25) a/n: im not the only one who sees tbhc alex as a cowboy ..... right </3

You shouldn't have been so surprised to see the figure approaching your parents' farm, riding his trusty steed and kicking up dust as he approached. You lived on a farm, for crying out loud. You knew the rural life was one a lot of people chose; the countryside was beautiful, for one, but it also offered the perfect chance to get away from it all. None of that stopped you from practically gaping as who you could only assume to be a cowboy approached the front gates.

Okay, maybe you were stereotyping by calling him a cowboy, but he certainly looked the part. One hand was firmly clamped down on his hat, preventing it from being swept away by the wind, and the other clutched the reins, guiding his horse forward with practiced ease. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing tanned and muscled forearms, and the undone buttons of his shirt offered you a sliver of his chest, the gold chain around his neck jostling with each movement.

You were content to stare (ogle), but your father came up beside you on the front porch and clicked his tongue. "Should go see what he wants," he said.

You looked over at him. "Me?" He nodded. "But you said-"

"Y/N, if he tries anything with you while I'm standin' right here, I'm gonna rip him a new one and make sure he sees God."

Your father had a funny way of showing how much he loved you.

You descended the steps and hitched your skirts up, rushing over to the front gate right as the dashing stranger slowed his horse to a stop, gently petting its mane. He looked down at you and tipped his hat politely. "How do you do?" His voice was smooth like velvet and deep, reaching the sort of vocal depths that made your stomach tingle.

"I'm fine, thank you," you said softly, lifting a hand to shield your eyes from the sun. "Can I ask what you're doing here?"

"Ah ..." He released the reins to dip his hand into the bag attached to the saddle, pulling out a rolled-up sheet of paper and handing it to you over the gate. You unfurled it and observed the printed colors, taking note of the hastily scribbled markings, presumably by his hand. It was a map. As you looked over it, he said, "Been travelin' for a few days and decided it was best to take a rest. I'm low on supplies, and I wanted t' see if you could help me out any."

You looked back up at him. Your family had never housed anyone outside of your relatives before, but you didn't see why you couldn't accommodate this gentleman. Granted, you'd only spoken to him for ... a minute, max, but he seemed nice enough. Plus, there was a spare bedroom in your house, and your mother was always guilty of making too much food ... You undid the latches and pulled the gate open, producing a thunderous creak. You really needed to oil the hinges soon. The stranger smiled at you, taking the map when you offered it back to him, and stuffed it back into his satchel before swinging one of his legs over and sliding off his horse. He was taller than you, but not by too much. You led him to the front porch, where your father still stood, and asked, "Papa, can he stay for a few days?"

Your father eyed the supposed cowboy for a few long, long moments before finally sighing and nodding. "You better stay away from my daughter," he said, pointing his finger rather threateningly at the man.

The man was at least smart enough to nod quickly. "Of course, sir. I wouldn't ever think o' trying anythin' with her."

Your father slowly nodded in approval before turning to head back into the house, presumably to update your mother on the situation. You watched the door shut, then gestured for the man to follow as you led him around to the back of the house, where the stables were situated. If he was content to remain in silence as you opened one of the stall doors so he could lead his horse inside, you had other plans. "What's your name?"

He glanced at you for a second as he led his horse into the stall, releasing its reins once it was inside. "Alex."

"Alex ... ?"

"Turner."

"That's a funny last name."

He cocked an eyebrow, following you as you picked up a nearby bucket to fill the trough in the stall with water from the pump behind your house. "Well, what's yours?"

"L/N." You dropped the bucket into the grass and began working the pump, your brows scrunching together with exertion.

He crossed his arms over his chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the movement. "I could argue that's no better than mine."

"I never said it was."

"You got a first name, miss L/N?"

"Y/N." Once the bucket was adequately filled, you lifted it up (trying to ignore the way your arms already wanted to give out) and hauled it back to the stall Alex's horse was in. "How come you're going to the mountains?"

He watched as you poured the water into the trough - it only filled it up about halfway. Silently, he gestured for the bucket, and you hesitated before handing it to him. He headed for the water pump, but you remained by the stall, leaning against the wooden beam that reached up to the stable ceiling. "I got some friends up there," he said, speaking louder so you could hear him. "Plan to stay a week or two with 'em, then head back home."

"It'll take you a couple more days to get there."

"I know. That's why I'm restin' for a few days."

You immediately noticed how much faster he was than you at filling the bucket up. You wanted to be surprised, but you knew you couldn't - he was a skilled rider, and if he was a cowboy, he likely had multiple horses. He knew what he was doing, and his muscular arms hinted at years of practiced motions such as these. He lifted the full bucket with ease, too, as if it was little more than a bundle of feathers. You wondered if he was showing off, only holding it with one hand while you'd needed two. "What's your horse's name?"

He stepped past you to pour the water into the trough. "Lizzie."

You eyed the horse for a few moments. Yeah, she looked like a Lizzie. "She's pretty."

He smiled at that - a small smile, but one nonetheless. "D'ya wanna pet her?"

You blinked. "Can I?"

He set the bucket down outside the stall and pushed the stall door shut, nodding at you as he did so. "She won' bite, if that's what you're worried about."

You stepped up to the stall door and slowly reached your hand out, letting your fingers brush against the top of her nose. In response to your fleeting caress, Lizzie leaned her head forward, her eyes fluttering shut - a silent encouragement. You gave her a more confident pat on her head, then ran your hand along her mane, marveling at how smooth the hairs were. She truly was a stunning horse.

Beside you, Alex was still smiling; you could see it in your periphery. You turned your head to look at him while still offering Lizzie affection. "What?"

He shrugged. "I dunno, 's just always nice t' see people interactin' with her. She's a real attention seeker, y'know. Don't be too nice t' her, or she'll never leave you alone."

That made you laugh. "Is that how you ended up with her?"

He nodded, reaching his own hand out to scratch under Lizzie's chin. "Found her near my farm a few years back. Poor girl was shiverin' to death - looked like she hadn't eaten in a while, either. I gave her some food an' before I knew it, she wouldn't stop nuzzlin' me, demandin' attention. I didn't see the harm in bringin' in one more horse."

"How many do you have?"

"Countin' her, five."

Five? Your family only had two. Maybe your cowboy theory wasn't so far off. Speaking of ... "Are you a cowboy?"

Amusement immediately engraved itself into his features. He opened his mouth to answer, but right as he did, your mother's voice sounded from the back door of your home. "Y/N!" she called. "Time for dinner! Bring your friend, too!"

Beside you, Alex snorted. "I'm your friend, am I?"

You just rolled your eyes and motioned for him to follow as you left the stables.

As soon as you stepped past the threshold of the back door, the smell of herbs filled your nostrils, urging you into the kitchen to find the source. Your mother had just finished plating and was setting a pot down on the stove when you appeared in the doorway, Alex in tow. She looked over at the both of you and smiled. “C’mon, sit down,” she urged, gesturing towards the dining table. You were both quick to acquiesce - you were hungry, and Alex was starving.

Your father appeared and sat across from Alex, your mother sitting across from you. You picked up your cutlery and began to cut into the chicken breast on your plate; the sounds of forks and knives clinking against plates, along with glasses being set down on the table, filled the room. Your mother’s cooking was divine, as always, and you were content to sit in silence and devour everything on your plate. Your father, however, had other plans, and after wiping the crumbs from his mouth, said, “I saw John’s boy in town today.”

Your ears perked up. “Julian?”

He nodded. “Spoke to him some, too. John’s lookin’ to sell one of his horses. I was thinkin’ to pay him a visit tomorrow.”

Your mother, not wanting Alex to feel left out, asked him, “How many horses do you have?”

“Five, ma’am,” Alex said.

“What’s your name, anyway, boy?” your father asked. You wanted to kick him under the table for the way he said it.

“Alex Turner, sir. My farm’s ‘bout a three-day trip from here.”

“Three days? What the hell are you doin’ out here?”

“Goin’ to the mountains, sir, to stay with some friends o’ mine.”

Your father simply nodded and stuffed a forkful of roasted potatoes into his mouth. You looked over at Alex and asked, "Do you think you could help me with some chores after dinner?"

"Now, Y/N," your mother said, "Alex is probably tired from all the ridin' he's done."

"No, ma'am, it's no problem." Alex smiled softly at you, the kind of smile that made your stomach feel light. "I'll help you."

You returned his smile. "Thank you."

After dinner, you helped your mother clear the table, get the leftovers into containers that went into the fridge, and wash the dishes. Once you were finished in the kitchen, you headed out into the back with Alex in tow. "We have to make sure everything's locked up," you explained as you walked, "and set the traps for the night."

"Gotcha." You were surprised when he didn't question what the traps were for, but you quickly reminded yourself he had a farm of his own; he probably set traps, too.

While you set about making sure the stables, barn, henhouse, and pens were all locked, Alex worked on the traps. Somehow, he knew exactly what to do without you telling him, and as you passed him on your way to the henhouse, your brows furrowed. "How do you know how to set them?"

He looked up at you from where he was sat in the grass. "I have these traps on my farm. They're the cheapest an' the most convenient."

"Oh." Now you felt a bit silly for asking.

Once you were both finished, you made your way back inside, making sure to lock the back door behind you. While you'd helped your mother in the kitchen, she'd told you she'd already made up one of the guest bedrooms for Alex to stay in, so you led him upstairs and down the hall, stopping in front of the last room on the right. "My room's right across the hall," you said, looking up at him, "so if you need anything, just let me know."

"Okay." He smiled at you. "Thanks, Y/N. Have a good night."

"You too, Alex." You watched as he stepped into the bedroom and flashed you one last smile before shutting the door.

•••••

By the time morning came in the form of rays of light filtering through the window and incessant bird calls from nearby trees, you had forgotten Alex was staying for a few days, not just last night. In fact, you’d nearly forgotten about Alex entirely, resulting in you letting out a yelp when the door to guest bedroom across the hall creaked open to reveal a human figure. A ghost? No one had stayed in that bedroom since your relatives came for the holidays. Your house was haunted, you needed to tell your parents -

“Y/N?” The sound of Alex’s voice was like a lighthouse in the storm, clearing the dark clouds that obscured your vision. No ghost - just the man you thought was a cowboy. You made a note to ask him about that again later.

“Oh …” You cleared your throat, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning against the doorway of your own room. “Hey.”

He cocked an eyebrow at you and leaned against his doorway, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He still wasn’t dressed, you noticed. He was like you and ate before getting ready for the day. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You stared at him, opening your mouth to respond and closing it again when you had nothing to say. Finally, you looked away and mumbled, “I forgot you were here.”

He barked out a laugh at that. “Did you now? Guess I scared ya, huh? Sorry ‘bout that.”

You didn't say a word and quickly headed for the stairs.

You saw your mother setting plates on the dining table, but your father was nowhere to be found. Confused, you asked, “Where’s papa?”

“He went to go talk to John ‘bout his horse, remember?”

Oh. No, you didn’t remember.

Breakfast went by quickly, with neither you nor Alex saying much. Once you were done eating, you went back upstairs to get dressed, then headed outside to tend to your morning chores. Your first stop - the henhouse.

You set down the wicker basket you’d brought with you on the ground and hauled the sack of chicken feed up into your arms, grunting with the effort. You did an awkward little waddle around the yard, scattering feed as you went. Once you were satisfied with the coverage, you set the sack back down by the henhouse, then picked your wicker basket back up. You undid the locking mechanism and opened the henhouse doors, immediately greeted with a cacophony of clucks. “Good morning to you, too,” you hummed, watching as the hens headed down the wooden ramp in a single file line.

As you poked your head inside, examining their nests, you heard a voice behind you. “Any luck today?” Alex.

You straightened up and deposited the few eggs you’d found into the basket. “Just a few,” you said, looking up at him. “What are you doing out here?”

He shrugged, watching as one of the hens pecked at his boot. “I was gonna see if ya wanted t’ take Lizzie for a ride once you were done.”

You smiled at him. “I’d love to.”

His gaze snapped up to meet yours, and he returned your smile. “D’you need any help?”

“Actually, yeah …”

With Alex’s help, you were able to get the rest of your chores done with ease. Having someone help you made it all go by much faster, and you were already dreading the day he’d have to leave. Maybe you would need to remind your father of the idea he’d had of hiring a farm hand.

You stood and watched as he opened the stall door, stepping inside to get the saddle and reins back onto Lizzie. “Is she the feisty type?”

He snorted. “Hell no. She’s a real sweetheart.”

You stepped aside so he could lead Lizzie out of the stall and followed behind him as he took her out of the stables. The two of you (three, technically) headed for the forest behind your house; it was your idea to take the unofficial path you’d trekked with your horse a number of times before. You came to a stop outside the tree line, and Alex held his hand out to you. You knew you didn’t need help getting onto Lizzie’s back, and you knew Alex probably knew that too, but you took his hand anyway, hauling yourself up onto the horse and clutching the front of her saddle to steady yourself. Alex hopped on behind you, his chest almost touching your back as he reached around you to grab the reins. You knew the close contact couldn’t be helped, but that didn’t stop you from blushing at the proximity.

He tapped the side of his boot against Lizzie’s side, urging her into an idle trot as he directed her into the forest. The scene was like something out of a fantasy novel: a couple of downed trees lined the path, covered in overgrown moss; you could make out the occasional cluster of mushrooms; and sunlight filtered down through the trees branches overhead, casting the path you were navigating in an otherworldly glow. You were half expecting fairies to start whizzing by. Behind you, Alex let out a low whistle. “This sure is pretty.”

You nodded. “I like coming out here when I can with my horse.”

“And what’s ‘er name?”

“It’s embarrassing,” you mumbled.

That only piqued his curiosity. “Embarrassin’? How could it be embarrassin’?”

You sucked in a breath before quickly muttering, “Twilightsparkle.”

“Sorry?” His knee bumped against the back of your thigh; whether intentionally or not, you didn’t know. “You’re gonna have t’ repeat that one for me.”

“Twilight Sparkle.”

Silence followed.

And then, in possibly the most mortifying outcome, he guffawed. “Twilight Sparkle?”

“I got her when I was a child,” you said defensively. “I wasn’t exactly a name aficionado.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he chuckled. “Ain’t that one of the … oh, what’s that show-“

“My Little Pony,” you mumbled.

You could feel him nodding behind you. “Yeah, My Little Pony. You liked it when you were young, then?”

You nodded. Suddenly, you thought it wouldn’t be so bad if a giant hole opened up in the ground and swallowed you. “Twilight Sparkle was my favorite character, so when my parents got me my own horse, it felt fitting. I call her Twilight for short.”

“Just Twilight is less embarrassin’ than throwin’ the sparkle on.”

“You don’t have to keep rubbing it in, you know.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He chuckled again. “Definitely not the worst thing you coulda named ‘er, though.”

You rose an eyebrow and looked at him over your shoulder. “There are worse things?”

“Lot worse.”

“Like what?”

He grew silent, his expression turning to one of contemplation as he mulled it over. “One o’ my friends in the mountains is like you - got a horse when he was a kid. He named ‘im, uh … what’s the full thing …” Another few seconds of silent thought, and then he smiled. “Armageddon the Destroyer. The Third. Dunno where the first two came from.”

It took every last bit of restraint you had to not burst into giggles. “Armageddon the Destroyer the Third?”

He nodded. “He’s still got that damn horse, too. Likes to just call him Destroyer now.”

“Which friend of yours is this?”

“Matt Helders. If ya ever get to meet ‘im, don’t tell him I told you all this. He’ll throw me off the nearest mountain.”

You didn’t think you ever would meet him, but you made a mental note to keep this story to yourself if you did.

The three of you (it was only fair to count Lizzie, you thought) continued down the path, falling into a tranquil silence. You pet Lizzie’s mane and occasionally scratched behind her ears, eliciting a sound that you assumed was her way of showing appreciation.

Abruptly, you asked, “Are you a cowboy?”

There was a pause. “You asked that yesterday.”

“Yeah, and you didn’t get to answer.”

“Hm …” He sighed. “I certainly look the part, don’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess technically, yeah, although, er, I don’t really go around callin’ myself one.”

That was fair, you supposed. “So is it, like, a generational thing?”

“Yeah. My dad was one, his dad was one, so on and so forth … the farm life’s the only thing I’ve ever known.”

“Do you like it?”

“Like it?” He snorted. “I wouldn’t trade it for a damn thing.”

You were going to be sad to see Alex go.

•••••

“I’m taking a bath,” you called down the stairs.

There was a beat of silence, then your mother called back, “Okay!”

It was the night before Alex would be leaving. He’d been an incredibly helpful guest; he’d always helped with chores without having to be asked, and your father thought him especially helpful because he kept you out of his hair whenever you got bored. You’d been taken out on Lizzie a number of times, told dozens of stories from Alex’s childhood and adulthood, and he’d even played songs for you on the acoustic guitar your father owned but never used. For the first time in years, probably, it’d gone a day without collecting dust.

You shut the door to the bathroom and stepped over to the tub, making sure to plug the drain before turning the faucet on and watching as the water began to rain down. As you waited, your thoughts drifted back to Alex - not just the stories he’d shared or the skill with which he’d played your father’s guitar, but the way he made you feel. You didn’t really like it; for one, you weren’t used to feeling that way about people, but you also knew nothing could ever come out of it. He was going off to the mountains to see his friends, and after that, you’d probably never see him again. He was always destined to just be a blip in your world. Plus, you felt incredibly silly for feeling anything at all, considering it’d only been a few days. Maybe you just needed to talk to people more often …

Once the tub was filled, you turned the faucet off and stripped out of your clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. You stepped into the tub and sank down into the warm water, letting out a sigh of relief; it was an instant balm to your aching bones. You closed your eyes, content to think of literally anything, but your brain kept wandering back to Alex. His perfect eyes, his perfect smile, his perfect beard and perfect chest and perfect arms and perfect legs and perfect ass that you had unashamedly stared at once. Okay, maybe you were ashamed now, but at the time, you'd had to pinch your arm just to get yourself to stop staring like an idiot. You were hopeless.

You had seen him shirtless once. On one of the days where there was too much work and it was too hot to do it all. You were convinced you were going to explode when you saw him, chest and abs bared and sweating in the summer heat. He was probably used to being shirtless in weather like that, but that didn't mean you were prepared to see it. When he'd seen you gawking like a fool, he'd apologized and offered to put his shirt back on, but you'd told him it was okay and that he didn't have to under the guise of not wanting him to overheat. Deep down, though, you wanted to be able to ogle him, just for a little longer.

Were you only physically attracted to him? That thought haunted you like an unseen phantom as you worked shampoo into your wet hair. Of course he was attractive - he had the perfect body, in your eyes - but was that the only reason he appealed to you? You didn't think it was; you knew it would be a lot easier to get over his absence if that was just the case.

He would be gone tomorrow morning.

That became your mantra for the rest of your bath, and you kept repeating it to yourself as you dried off, emptied the tub, and got dressed for bed. He would be gone tomorrow morning. You left the bathroom and headed down the hall, stepping into your room. He would be gone tomorrow morning. You shut your door and let yourself succumb to the warmth and comfort of your bed, making sure to turn your bedside lamp off before drifting off to sleep. He would be gone tomorrow morning.

“Hey. Y/N. Wake up.”

“Huh?” You forced your eyes open and stared up at the partially illuminated figure that hovered above you. "Alex?" you mumbled. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanna show you somethin'," he whispered.

"It's late. Can't you show me in the morning?"

"Nope." He shook his head for emphasis. "Gotta show ya now."

You felt like a parent arguing with their child.

You forced yourself out of bed and slipped your shoes on at his request before following him out of your room and downstairs. You were expecting to go out the front door, but he led you through the back, making sure to be extra quiet to avoid waking your parents until you were both outside. You were both still in your pajamas, and you were still trying to blink the sleepiness out of your eyes. You followed him into the forest behind your house, confusion settling across your features when he suddenly deviated from your usual path and led you to a different part of the forest. What the hell was he doing?

Eventually, he stopped, and you nearly crashed into him. "We're here."

"You dragged me outside in the middle of the night for-" The words died out in your throat as you realized what you were seeing.

You'd never gone this deep into the forest before, so you had no idea a scene like this even existed. The trees opened up in a wide circle, revealing a little pond surrounded by different stones. The grass was soft as it brushed against your ankles, and flowers were scattered all across the ground, practically beaming up at you. You felt like you'd stepped into some pocket dimension.

"Come on." Alex nudged you and stepped further into the clearing, and it was at that moment that you became aware of the blanket tucked under his left arm.

Your brows furrowed. "What's the blanket for?"

You watched as he laid it out in the grass, making sure it was neat and straight and there weren't any rocks hiding under it for your body to find before straightening up and smiling softly at you. "Stargazin'."

Oh. You weren't annoyed at him for waking you up anymore.

You walked over and sat down on the blanket, removing your shoes and setting them off to the side before stretching yourself out. You stared up at the sky, mystified by the sheer number of stars you could see. "It's so pretty," you breathed.

"I was hopin' you'd like it."

You turned your head to look at him as he laid beside you. "Did you find this just for me?"

He nodded, his smile turning a bit sheepish. "I'd sorta stumbled on it the other day when I was out here. I've been meanin' to show it to you."

"Thank you, Alex."

"Ah, don't mention it." He turned his head to look up at the stars, and you stared at him for a beat too long before doing the same.

Silence consumed the both of you, broken by the occasional chirp or drone of some nearby insect. You didn't know what possessed you to shatter the silence and say anything, but after a few minutes, you quietly confessed, "I don't want you to go."

It took a couple of seconds for Alex to respond. "Why not?"

"I don't know." You crumpled up the fabric of your shirt between your fingers. "The last few days have been really nice, and I don't really want all this to end."

"I can't say I'm particularly fond o' goin', either," he mumbled, letting out a sigh afterwards. "I'd like to see my friends, of course, but ... y'know."

"Yeah."

Another minute passed, and then he rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand as his elbow dug into the blanket. "Y/N, can I ask you somethin'?"

"You just did, technically," you said, looking up at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, smartass. You know what I mean."

"Go ahead."

"Have you ever ..." He trailed off, his expression growing pensive as he searched for the right words. "You ever left home before?"

You blinked in surprise. You weren't sure what you'd been expecting him to ask, but it wasn't that. "Uh ... no. Why?"

He shrugged, as if to brush it off and act nonchalant, but you could tell he was hiding something. "Just thought I'd ask."

"You're a bad liar, Alex."

"Why would I be lyin'?"

"I don't know. Why are you lying?"

He sighed. "I guess ... I dunno. It'd be nice if I could bring ya with me. I think you'd like my friends."

Oh. There was that fluttering sensation in your stomach. "You want me to go with you?"

"It'd be nice if you could," he corrected. "Way too late for that to get worked out. Plus, your parents might kill me. Or your dad would. Your mom's a real sweetheart."

"She does hate killing bugs," you mused. You thought on what he'd just said. "Why would you want me to go with you?"

He looked off at the pond, growing silent as he tried to figure out how to say whatever was on his mind. You waited patiently, and eventually, your patience paid off. "I think I'm growin' attached to you."

You stared at him. "What?"

He looked down at you. "I said it in English."

You wanted to slap him. "What do you mean, you're-"

"I like ya, Y/N. As in, I think you're cute, and maybe I wanna kiss ya."

If you were going to explode when you saw him shirtless, you were sure you were about to turn into a nuclear bomb.

"Oh," you managed.

He rose an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that it?"

"Well, I mean-" You sat up and turned your head to look at him. "I don't think ... I'd mind it if you kissed me," you mumbled.

He stared at you, his eyes widening minutely before going back to their original size. Now it was his turn to say, "Oh." He cleared his throat and sat up fully, looking down at the blanket you were sat on. He eventually looked back up at you. "So ... can I-"

You cut him off by crashing your lips against his.

It took him no time at all to react. His hand went to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer as your mouths slotted together perfectly. You didn't want this moment to end, but too soon was he pulling away to stare down at you. "Christ," he breathed. He dipped his head down to kiss you again, and again, and again. The onslaught of pecks made you giggle. Your blood was practically singing in your veins.

When he finally stopped kissing you, you smiled up at him. "I didn't realize cowboys were such softies."

He scowled, although you could tell there was no real malice behind it. "What, am I supposed to act all mean an' tough around a cute girl?"

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Call me cute again, and I'll get a big head.

"You'd still look cute if your head was the size of the moon," he hummed, leaning in to kiss you one last time.

You wrapped your arms around his waist and squeezed yourself closer to him, listening to his heart as it thrummed against his ribcage. "The next time you go to visit your friends, you should take me with you," you mumbled.

He pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head and murmured, "It's a deal, sweetheart."

"And I promise I won't bring up Armageddon the Destroyer the Third in front of Matt."

He let out a breathless chuckle and pinched your side, making you yelp. "If you do, I'm leavin' you up there to deal with him."

tags: @elexnorislingtxn / @edandmollydeservebetter / @sagegreensimmr / @billyseye / @supernaturalandpain / @not-a-big-slay

[squintyeyedjoel]

Through Your Eyes | Part 2 - More than Meets the Eye (Joel x Reader)

A/N: IT’S FINALLY FUCKING HERE!!!! I’m so sorry it took so long! I’ve been sitting on this for almost a year and it’s just been evolving and marinating and improving, and I hope it lives up to the hype. It’s time for it to be set free. ✨ This is truly a hybrid of game and show Joel. I see them both, hence both gifs.

I do not own The Last of Us or it’s characters. Sadly. But I carry them in my heart. Does that count for something? My soul says yes.

Warnings: Oooo, this one’s a doozy. So many things. (Let me know if I miss anything.) 😮‍💨 Some original characters, mentions of an elderly family member passing, lots of canon violence and swearing, (this one is a big one. Like a lot. There’s a hefty amount of swearing.) mention of attempted sexual assault (not to reader) without detail, graphic description of injury (not to reader) and blood, attempted abduction? Reader is a badass and sports a black eye and bloody knuckles with pride. Panic attack? But Joel scares it away. 😌 We round it all out with obscene amounts of fluff and humor between it all, sweet moments, and just soft things. It’s me. I can’t not. No use of Y/N.

Word count: 11,928

Thank you to @fordo-kixed-rex for reading over this five bazillion times for me and fangirling over it when I was having my down moments. You’re a real one.

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Xxx

You rocked in the saddle of your horse as she slowly followed behind the first few people in the group.

Left.

Right.

Left. 

Right.

Over.

And over.

And over.

Some quicker footfalls to your left made you turn your head, seeing Joel atop his horse come alongside you before slowing his steed back to the slow crawl the rest had fallen into.

“You okay?” He mumbled. “Look like you’re about to fall asleep.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you groused, turning back to face forward with a yawn.

He huffed out a laugh before shaking his head at you almost imperceptibly, nudging his horse to go a little faster toward the front of the group.

Watching him with narrowed brows, you saw everyone else make sure to steer clear of him, giving him a wide berth and a clear path to the front. Tommy’s words from that first day rang in your head.

“You saw a side of Joel right out the gate some wait a lifetime to miss.”

Joel whistled loudly, gathering everyone’s attention, as the whole party came to a stop. “Alright! Listen up!” Some grumbles began to go around, but stopped with one crook of his brow. “That’s an awful lot of yappin’ for people suppose t’be listenin’.” 

If a pin had dropped in the grass underfoot, it would have echoed in the vast forest around you. Even nature seemed to heed his warning, only a few stray birds chirping somewhere in the distance brave enough to break the silence. A lone frog echoed in a nearby creek bed. A few bugs buzzed by, trying to ease the tension, and it seemed to work, because finally Joel went on after staring at everybody.

“We need to pick up the pace. This isn’t a leisurely walk to the park and back. We have a goal we need to get to, and back, and we got one week to do it.”

“Who made you the boss?” Some poor brave soul asked from behind you. A young man, maybe in his mid twenties from how he sounded. You didn’t dare turn to look at him, not wanting to move your eyes from Joel, because if looks could kill…. Joel would currently be facing a serious charge for the way he was glowering at the faceless voice behind you.

“Common sense.” A few small laughs went around the group, the corner of Joel’s mouth twitching up just slightly when he saw you shake your head with a smirk. “This was my run- our run,” he pointed to you then back to himself before retaking the reins to his horse, “and the council thought it best you all tag along to bring the most back we could. Now I don’t mind-”

“Yes, you do,” another voice behind you said, female, almost teasingly, making another round of soft laughter go around.

“Fine. I mind. A lot. But we’re here now. So, since you’re tagging along on our run, what we say goes. Agreed?” When no one protested, he gestured you up to the front with a tilt of his head, going on while you nudged your horse forward. 

“Now, we need to move faster. Any bandits or infected we pass by would pick us off like flies at this pace. The cart will be the slowest, I want the four of you to stay with the cart at all times and watch all four sides.” He pointed to four individuals who nodded, moving toward the cart pulled by a single horse and rider. 

“The three of you pull up the rear.” More pointing and nodding. “The rest of you, in the middle. Keep your eyes open. Everyone keep at a steady pace, we camp at sundown wherever that is. Don’t push your horses too far.” He began to turn his own mount to move forward. “Not their fault we’re a bunch of dumbasses.”

“I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard him say at once,” you heard someone mutter behind you, making you smile.

“At once? Try ever,” another retorted.

Joel looked over at you. “What? Why you grinnin’?”

“They respect you.”

He scoffed. “That so hard to believe?”

“It’s a side of you I’ve not seen before. I’m used to bad puns and screwdrivers, not….” You made a swooping gesture to the group behind you, “that.”

He shook his head once, tisking at you. “Shows what you know. I’m actually partly in charge of security around Jackson.”

Your eyes widened as you turned as much as your saddle would allow to look at him, the leather creaking against the movement. “Really?”

He nodded once in confirmation, a proud smile starting up his face. “Only a part time type’f thing, and it’s purely on a trial basis right now, but…. Yeah.” He grinned brightly at you. “The jokin’ and woodworkin’ are just for fun.” The smile turned somewhat dopey and lopsided.

“There’s more to you than meets the eye, Joel Miller.” He rolled his eyes at you, the grin melting into a scoff and his signature sour expression with impressive speed. Though his eyes still shone brightly, giving away his true amusement. “And I’m gonna try to see it all.”

Shaking his head at you again, Joel looked back forward, nudging his horse to go a bit faster and pull ahead of you. “Nah. Not that deep, darlin’.”

Urging your mount forward, you maneuvered to your right, and fell in beside him with a grin. “That’s what you think.”

Joel tilted his head down and to the side toward you as he spoke for emphasis, keeping his eyes forward. “That’s what I know.” He cut his gaze to you briefly after a moment to try and drive his point home before straightening back up in his saddle, his eyes going studiously back to the wide expanse of land ahead. 

Your grin melted into a smirk, seemingly a new permanent fixture since moving to Jackson. Or more specifically, since moving in with Joel and Ellie. That thought made the side of your mouth tick even higher. “We’ll see.”

Xxx

In the chaos of starting up a new life in Jackson, you’d overlooked one little detail. While you could repair and paint just about anything on your own, you were shit at stitching any stuffed toys back together Joel happened on during runs. It was possible, but it was slow going, and to be honest, looked a bit like field dressings for a battle wound instead of repairs. 

You’d thrown the last attempt of an old wrinkled teddy bear at Joel when he’d called it Sargent Cuddles, Ellie only adding to the confirmation when she asked if you could make an eyepatch for the bear instead to cover the deep scar you’d given it by way of cross stitches.

Halfway through that first week, you’d walked into the town’s seamstress with the best smelling cinnamon loaf the bakery had to offer, fresh and steaming, under your arm. When the girl behind the counter stopped what she was doing, setting down the socks she was darning while her nose went high in the air like a bloodhound as she took a deep sniff with her eyes glassed over, you grinned. 

Target acquired.

“Can I help you?” Her voice was soft and kind, and her smile as she rose to her feet from the chair helped settle any trepidation you felt about reaching out.

People hadn’t always been kind about your hobby, for one reason or another, hence why you came with bribes at the ready. But you had a feeling this time would be different. You smirked as she nonchalantly eyed the loaf under your arm.

“Hi! Yeah! I’m the one who restores the toys? I opened up in the old bookstore down the street?” You introduced yourself, and recognition went off behind her eyes at the sound of your name.

“Oh! Joel’s girl!”

Your breath caught in your chest as your head gave a little shake of confusion at the declaration. “What?”

She chuckled somewhat nervously. “No! No, not like that, I mean…. His neighbor. His new lodger. The one in the attic.” She was talking a mile a minute. “Not his ‘his’ girl….” She slapped a palm to her forehead, cradling her head in her hand as she rocked it back and forth before pulling back just enough to look at you conspiratorially. “But can you imagine?”

After a moment of silence where you both simply stared at each other, soft laughter took over, melting the tension between you.

“Let me start over,” she huffed, lowering her hand from her face to extend it to you in greeting. “I’m Jane. Nice to meet you.”

As you shook her hand, you couldn’t help but smile at her antics. “Likewise.”

Jane turned her attention back down to the socks she had abandoned when you came in, fiddling with them absently before she looked back up at you, a soft tint of embarrassment staining her cheeks. “So, what brings you here?”

“Oh! Right.” Setting the loaf on the counter, you shrugged the backpack off your shoulder and set it down beside the bread, fishing out the few stuffed animals Joel had brought back that needed the most help. “I was hoping we could work out a deal. I can do some basic stitching, but even then, Joel and Ellie have compared my work to that of a field medic more than anything.” 

Jane snickered at the comment as she took one of the worn stuffed animals, turning it over in her hands and analyzing it as you continued.

“People trade me all sorts of goods for these, like this loaf.” You gestured to it with a bob of your head, then placed your hand on the still steaming bread. “The baker’s son has a birthday coming up, and she wanted something special. Joel and Tommy don’t always bring back stuffed animals so it wouldn’t be constant work, but I was hoping when they do, I could bring them here, and we could work out some sort of trade system for the repairs-”

“No need,” Jane said, smiling down at the stuffed tiger in her hands. You arched a brow at her, waiting for her to go on, and she finally tore her gaze away from the toy and up to you. “I had one just like this as a kid. Loved it to bits. It looked like it had been through the wars before I lost it, patches everywhere and stuffing missing so it was lumpy…. I learned to sew on that thing.” Jane looked back at the toy again fondly. “I’ll help you. All I ask is that I get to keep this one, and maybe one every few runs if they happen to stumble on any others like I used to have. I…. I had a collection.” 

When she brought her gaze back up to meet yours, her eyes were misty. “It was small, but it was everything to me. Got a new one every year when I was little from my grandparents. Stopped when I hit that certain age where adults deem you too old for those things. Which was fine.” She sniffed, a tear falling silently down her cheek. “Then my grandpa he…. He started having memory issues.” She took a deep, shaky breath, smiling sadly at the toy. “Regressed a certain amount of years…. Just so happened to be when I was a certain age, still, in his mind, and he got me a stuffed toy every year for my birthday, until….”

You reached out, placing your hand over hers. “Keep whatever you want. You don’t even have to do repairs to keep them.” She began to protest, swiping at her tears with the back of the hand still holding the tiger when you squeezed her other hand gently. “The whole reason I’m doing this in the first place is to help bring some joy back into the world. And I want you to be happy, you deserve to be happy, without me lording something over you like demanding a trade in exchange-”

Jane flipped her hand in your grip, squeezing you like you had her. “And doing this will make me happy.” You studied her for a long moment. “Do you know how boring it is to darn a sock?” You snorted a laugh, and she smiled. “Everybody in this damn town needs to take better care of their socks, I swear…. I’m up to my eyeballs in them. Nothing would make me happier than to work on something that would be giving back more to the community than dumb stinky, holey, wool.”

With a nod, you gave her hand still in your grip one firm shake, a grin crawling up your face. “It’s a deal. I’ll try to tackle the easy ones and send the few in need of more love your way. But!” You let go of her hand and held up a finger, wagging it like you were lecturing a petulant child.  “I’m also dropping some of these goods by, too.” Patting the bread on the counter before softly pushing it closer toward her, you laughed at her show stopping grin and good-natured roll of her eyes in response.

“Fine,” she mumbled around the smile, the sound anything but angry. “If you insist.”

A few days later, you’d dropped a few stuffed animals off to her that Joel had stumbled on during patrol, Ellie tagging along with you. She had opted to stay outside the shop while you went in though, leaning against the doorframe by the front window, taking in the sights and sounds of the city street.

“Not a fan of needles,” she mumbled, glancing into the shop as you opened the door to go in.

“This isn’t that kind of needle.”

“I said what I said.”

You didn’t press her on it, just nodded and mumbled an ‘okay’ before disappearing into the shop.

“Hey!” Jane greeted you, pushing aside her current project immediately to make room for the box you were carrying. “Oh, these are cute!” She picked one up in each hand, lifting them up to look at them better before trading them out for another and repeating the process until each patient had been analyzed. “They’ll be easy.” She turned to you with a smile. “I’ll be done by this weekend.”

“No rush!” You assured her as she set the box behind the counter. “If you’re not done until then, you’ll have to leave them with Tommy, though. I’m going out of town with Joel on a run, it’ll take a few days, maybe a week max. We leave tomorrow. Though, no, actually, you can just leave them with Ellie, what am I saying-”

“You’re doing what?” She interrupted you.

Focusing back on her face, you tried to get back on topic. “What? Oh, yeah! We’re going back to where I lived right before Jackson to get the stores of paints and stuff I had. Bucket loads of it, no pun intended.” You turned to look at Ellie over your shoulder. “She’s rubbing off on me in more ways than one, I guess….”

“Is it just you and Joel?”

Her question caught you off guard, pulling your gaze back to her with knit brows. “It was going to be, but the council decided it was a ‘waste of resources’, so we have to take a little group with us. Why?”

“I’m coming with you.” No hesitation, just straight to the point.

Your eyes went wide. “What? Why?”

“You said you lived about a week north, right? Near the university?”

“Yeah. Because of the university, there were storage units nearby, used to be climate controlled before everything, now they’re just enclosed spaces with extra security to keep clickers n’ shit out. I lived in one, worked in another, and stored in a third. Got pretty good at picking locks, too.” You smirked.

Her eyes were wide and serious. “The ones by the north end of campus?”

Your expression went flat. “Don’t tell me….”

“I lived in an abandoned place on the south end of campus.” She had started to grin like a Cheshire Cat. “We probably were within spittin’ distance of each other and didn’t even know it.”

A laugh barked out of your chest, several more tumbling out after it until you were bent over her counter on your elbows, wheezing. Pushing up to rest on your forearms you met her gaze again, amusement on both your faces. “No fucking way.”

“I left a sewing machine behind. It was there when I moved in, and I hope it’s still there and still works, heaven knows, but…. The buildings by the school had power when the Fireflies were there. I’d use it when I could, and I was able to do so much more work. Now that I’m here I could actually make use of it with all that I have on my plate, and the dam giving us electricity….” She sighed dreamily. “I’m going. That’s final.”

Before you could respond, the bell over the door jingled, making you stand up straight and turn to look at the newcomer.

“Everything okay?��� Ellie’s voice was soft as she poked her head in, causing you to do a double take. “I heard raised voices.”

You nodded once. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re all good. Just excited. Turns out we lived right by each other before moving here.”

“Oh shit! No way!” She stood up straight with a wide grin, stepping fully into the shop and letting the door close behind her.

“Language,” you scowled.

“Sorry, Miss Fanny,” she looked sheepish, spinning on her heel dramatically before exiting the shop.

You turned back to Jane who looked on amused. “She thinks she’s funny because I use a fanny pack.” Plopping onto a tall stool that sat in front of the counter, you stared at your friend.

Jane let out a low ‘ah’ as if she now understood everything.

Knitting your brows before arching one, you leaned on one elbow on the counter. “What?”

“Why is she outside?” She asked as she fiddled with some projects behind the counter.

“Said she ‘wasn’t a fan of needles’,” you mumbled, air quoting her words as you turned to look back at Ellie through the window. “Whatever that means.”

Jane hummed in understanding, drawing your eyes back to her. “Tommy got really drunk at the bar one night after I first got here. Saying all kinds of shit. People kept walking off because he wouldn’t shut up, so I opted to walk him home to Maria. It wasn’t far, and he’s a good guy. Anyway, on the way to his house, he starts mutterin’ about his brother and his new kid, how they just got back from some failed medical something or other with the Fireflies, most of it was unintelligible.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking at Ellie. You followed her gaze, finding the teen walking back and forth in the shade in front of the building, scuffing her heels as she went, and kicking rocks.

“Then, he got real sad, and said somethin’ about how he’d sent them to the university right after seein’ him for the first time in months. It was to get info on where to go for the medical procedure, I guess. Anyway.” She took a deep breath. “Apparently they got ambushed there, and Joel got stabbed real bad, almost didn’t make it. That girl out there had to care for him for weeks, drag him somewhere safe, stitch him up….”

Your breath caught in your chest as she paused for emphasis, unable to tear your eyes from Ellie as emotion swelled in your gut for your fellow housemates, but especially the tiny redhead on the other side of the glass.

“Tommy was real broken up about it. Said Joel almost died, and he felt like it was his fault. Ellie had to hunt, and somehow got Joel medicine.”

You turned to face Jane again. “How?”

“Those details weren’t real clear.” She shrugged. “Like I said, he was plastered. Maybe this whole story is some drunken imagining, but the way he sounded compared to all the shit he said in the bar?” Her face melted into something between sadness and understanding. “I’m inclined to believe him.” 

She took a hesitant breath, but stopped before letting it out slowly, then closed her eyes for a moment. After another shallow breath, she opened them to focus on you, and tried again, her voice even softer still. 

“We’d made it to his house by this point. Maria had come out and was helping me to get him inside, up the porch steps…. And he just broke down halfway up. Sat down, broke down, and started sobbing. Made it even harder to understand.” She rolled her eyes and you chuckled softly. “He said something about the medicine came at too high a cost. That Ellie paid…. Would be paying….” Jane swallowed roughly, looking to the girl through the window with something akin to admiration, then back at you. “He said it changed her.”

“Changed?” You could only whisper.

“Broke her. He said whatever happened was enough to take a spitfire, and make her an ember.” You both looked back at the teen one last time. “She’s improved a lot. I’ve seen her grow, come out of her shell just since I’ve been here, but…. It’s her eyes. They’re haunted. Whatever happened out there…. It didn’t stay out there. And it ain’t leavin’ anytime soon.”

“That explains a lot. About both of them,” you mused quietly.

“Joel I don’t know much about. He’s just the town grump.”

Despite the dark turn the conversation had taken, you burst out laughing, seeing Ellie turn toward the window at the sound with a grin.

“Everyone keeps telling me that, even him, but I just don’t see it!”

Jane’s face turned up in amusement softly. “Well, maybe you’re just one of the lucky ones like Ellie, and he likes you.”

“I think he tolerates me.” You looked across your shoulder at her, getting back to your feet from the stool you’d been perched on and faced her fully. “I live in his house. It’d be awkward if we hated each other.”

“True,” she grinned smugly.

“What?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Xxx

Jane came riding up beside you, smiling wider than the canyon you’d passed a few miles back.

“I’m gonna regret askin’ but what in the hell has you happier than a butterfly on a daisy?”

“That’s not a real saying,” Jane mumbled, looking at you through skeptical, knit brows.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not applicable,” you countered, your own brows arched high in challenge. 

With a roll of her eyes and a sigh, Jane circled back to the topic at hand. “We’re out in the open!” She whispered, excitement lacing her tone. “I love Jackson, don’t get me wrong, but it’s so nice to be able to breathe.”

A smirk made its way up your face. “I know what you mean. Problem is you trade security for a great wide unknown. The possibilities of things that can go wrong out here are much scarier than anything in Jackson.”

She pulled a face. “Nothin’s gonna go wrong when we have a man like Joel leading us. He knows what he’s doing.”

“Most of the time,” you mumbled. “The rest he’s just wingin’ it.”

“Heard that,” Joel grumbled as he passed by your other side, pulling in front of you from the back of the group where he was making rounds. “You’re one to talk.” He looked over his shoulder at you, face stoic as ever, but his eyes showed his amusement.

“I know things,” you shot back, head tilted back to look down your nose at him. “Lots of stuff.”

“Oh, I see,” his tone was condescending, but playful. “Stuff.”

“And things.”

“Oh, we mustn't forget the things….”

“Yeah, okay.” You looked to the side with an unamused grin. “Fuck you, Joel.”

“I mean, if you’re offerin’….”

Your jaw dropped as your head turned slowly to face him, eyes wide as you simply stared at him in shock.

He smirked. “What? You can dish it, but you can’t take it?” Joel’s tone was nothing but teasing, his eyes dancing with unspoken amusement.

Narrowing your eyes at him, his smile faltered slightly. “You have no idea what I can take.” Nudging your horse forward to fall into step beside him, you held his gaze with your head high, brow arched. “And I don’t think you want to find out.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“When I push back. You wouldn’t be able to handle it, Joel.”

He cleared his throat. “Look, I was just messing around. This wasn’t supposed to take such a serious turn. I’m sor-”

You couldn’t take it anymore. The laugh tumbled out of your mouth before you could catch it, more and more coming out to join it.

Joel lowered his brows, glaring at you. “That ain’t funny.”

Wheezing, you pointed at him. “You should have seen your face!”

A horse trotting up beside you made you turn, expecting to see Jane once again at your side, but all you were met with was her horse, sans rider. You thought quickly enough to grab the reins and guide it along with you, before you looked back at Joel, finding his eyes already searching the group. Turning, you tried to sit higher in your saddle for a better vantage point, when movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention.

Near the tree line, Jane struggled in the arms of a man as he yanked her back towards the cover of the woods, none too delicately, one hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

“Jane!” You yelled at the top of your lungs, and you could see when she heard you, her body going rigid in her captor's hold.

The man yelped, pulling his hand back from her mouth and shaking it. 

She must have bit him. 

Before you could fully process much of anything else, Jane was screaming at the top of her lungs, “Run!” 

The hand was back over her mouth before she could say anything else, the raider pulling them both back until they disappeared into the trees, Jane putting up a violent struggle as they went. 

Not willing to look away from where she disappeared, you called out for Joel, and he was beside you in an instant. His horse picked up on the sudden unease spreading over the group, shifting its weight from foot to foot restlessly.

“We’ll get her, darlin’,” Joel reassured in a low voice. “Don’t you worry. We ain’t-”

Suddenly the entire group was surrounded by raiders, guns and knives of various sizes pointed towards every member of your party, violent threats being traded back and forth from both sides. 

While you had thought your group was large, this bandit raid made your numbers pale in comparison. At least double your head count at first glance, easily. And you had a feeling more were lurking in the shadows somewhere, if what had happened to Jane was any indication. 

You noticed that while several of the men aimed menacing looking rifles at your party, they lacked the magazines full of ammunition to back them up. Leaning toward Joel as subtly as you could when they ordered everyone to dismount their horses, you mumbled under your breath, “They have no bullets.”

He looked at you in confusion for just a moment, brows knit until one of the raiders yelled loudly and pulled his attention away. 

Falling in behind him, you whispered again, “Their rifles. They have no ammunition. No magazines. It’s all for show.” You saw the moment the information registered for him, his shoulders setting a bit broader, and his head held just that much higher.

A raider a few feet to your right was eyeing you skeptically, looking like he might dismount his horse any second and make a move toward you, so you pretended to trip into the back of Joel, smirking into his chest when he caught you.

Without missing a beat, his arm firmly around your shoulders to steady you, Joel went straight for negotiations, trying to talk the men down, offering supplies, whatever they wanted. You weren’t far from Jackson, it was a smart move. You could get back and recoup your losses in no time. But people? You can’t replace them.

“Nah,” the head honcho said with a sarcastic sneer. “We’ve got somethin’ else’n mind.”

You didn’t like the sound of that.

The raider in charge gestured Joel over to a smaller group of his men, which he obeyed reluctantly. After looking down at you for a moment, offering the most subtle nod you’d ever seen a person give, he began to move toward the small group of raiders. 

The boss stopped him just short of the rest and asked him a question in a low voice, which Joel answered softly, shooting you a look which you couldn’t quite read. You couldn’t quite make out what he said, either, but then the head raider decided to make a scene, show who was in charge, and it all made sense. 

In a loud voice, full of bravado and misplaced charisma, the raider turned back to your group with arms spread wide, rifle held lazily in one hand, and called for Joel’s second in command - Will - to hop down and join his ‘fearless leader’. 

Surrounded by the smaller group of thugs, you could tell what the goal was…. They meant to make a spectacle for the rest of you. Take the leaders down, the rest will follow. But Joel didn’t let them get that far. He mumbled something to Will so subtly, you almost missed it, but you saw the younger man’s eyes dart to one of the raider’s guns, and you immediately knew where this was headed.

It all went by in a blur, and yet it was like you could see every detail in painful accuracy. And you couldn’t look away.

In an instant Joel had dropped three of the men in the smaller group surrounding them.

Will another two.

They both had commandeered their own rifles back off of those men, and they were now aimed at the remaining two raiders around their small group. 

The one in front of Joel began to move forward, only making Joel smirk as he jerked the bolt action on the rifle. “Try it.” The raider stopped, making Joel’s smirk only rise higher up his cheek. “Good choice.”

That’s when all hell broke loose. 

It was almost like someone kicked a pile of ants. The stillness of the valley you were in was broken and everyone swarmed at once. A cacophony of sounds clashing all around you. 

You went on autopilot for most of it, simply fighting for your life and that of those in your group. It could have been hours or only minutes later, but the next time you really started to pay attention, or frankly, were able to focus on any one thing in particular, you saw a raider sneaking up on Will a few paces in front of you, and you lifted the rifle you’d snagged off of one of the men you’d taken down.

“Hey, bucko!” The raider froze and turned to you with a sneer, the expression falling off his face when he came nose to nose with the muzzle of your rifle. You cocked the bolt action just for added effect, chambering a bullet as you somehow had found the one locked and loaded gun the raiders had. Hands lifted in surrender, he slowly took a resigned step backwards, grip tightening around the knife still clutched in his right hand. “Drop it,” you ordered, narrowing your eyes at his slight smirk. “Nice and easy, now.”

Will turned to see what the fuss was, his eyes going wide when he realized what had happened. He looked between you and the raider from over the bandit’s shoulder, raising a brow at you in question, but you motioned him on with a jerk of your head to the left, keeping the rifle braced on your right shoulder and aimed at the raider. “I got it. Go help the others.”

Nodding, Will took off toward the remaining chaos, leaving you with the scumbag at the end of your barrel. He started to move after Will but you tisked, taking a step closer. “Not a good idea.” The lowlife hissed through his teeth in aggravation, but you cut him off before he could even start in on an actual sentence. “Knife. Ground. Now.” With a half step forward for emphasis, you gestured toward the field underfoot with your rifle before centering your sights back on their target. 

The man arched his back away from you as you took the small step closer, his hands shooting up higher beside his head. He then began to slowly lower to his haunches to lay the blade on the grass, his other hand still held up in surrender. His eyes flitted from the weapon to something behind you, and before he could set it all the way down, or you could turn to look, an arm wrapped around your neck, cutting off your air supply.

Both the man behind you and the man in front of you laughed, cheering at your misfortune as you dropped your rifle, the weight of the weapon jerking its strap across your shoulders as it fell to your side. 

You clawed at the arm wrapped around your neck, gasping for air, and grunting as you tried to get a shot in with your elbow, but he pinned down your arms with his other arm wrapping around your torso.

A voice close to your ear leered, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’ll all be over soon.”

The raider in front of you suddenly started screaming, dropping the blade in his hand in order to clutch his knee, blood pouring violently from a wound made by a large pocket knife you’d know anywhere protruding from its side. 

“Don’t move!”

All three sets of eyes pulled over to find Joel standing just a few feet away, rifle raised and aimed at the raider now in a heap on the ground. His gun swung over to the man still holding you hostage, a dark chuckle rippling out through the chest pressed closely to your spine at the movement, and it made your skin crawl.

“Let ‘er go,” Joel said in a low voice, something dark and menacing thrown right back at the thief trying to steal your life away.

“Nah,” the man said after a minute, amusement heavy in his tone. “We’re just havin’ too much fun, aren’t we, sweetheart?” He tightened his grip around your neck as he pulled you closer, squishing his cheek to yours in mock affection.

You mumbled something as best you could, but it came out all garbled from the pressure on your windpipe.

“Aw, I’m sorry, I’m bein’ mean, aren’t I?” His tone was mocking. He loosened his grip slightly, the arm around your midsection disappearing altogether as he twisted slightly to get a better view of your face. “Now, try that again?”

“I said,” your voice was hoarse from the struggle, so you cleared your throat, shifting your weight slightly as you looked to Joel with wide eyes in mock fear. “I said-” In one smooth motion, you swung the butt of your rifle up and back, and slammed the man in the face, squinting when blood sprayed out of his mouth and onto your cheek.

Taking the opportunity, you elbowed him in the ribs, before stomping on his foot, spinning around once his arm around your neck released you and kneeing him in the crotch. 

Stepping closer to him once he fell to his knees cradling his damaged manhood, you looked down at him as you wiped his blood from your cheek with the back of your sleeve. “I said fuck you.”

With a quick jerk of your knee to his face, the raider fell backwards, out cold. You turned to face his friend who laid in a ball on the ground, hands gripped tightly around the knife still protruding from his knee.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He began to try and scramble back, looking to Joel for some sort of help as you approached.

Joel only shrugged, looking at you with wide eyes for just a moment before turning back to the poor man. “Hell hath no fury ‘n all that….”

Kneeling in front of the man, you smiled disarmingly sweet. Reaching out to grip the knife, you looked up at Joel. “This yours?” Lifting a brow at your rhetorical question, you knew very well it was his, he nodded. With a yank, you pulled it out of the man’s leg, his screams cut short when you elbowed him in the face, knocking him out like his companion.

Lifting your rifle slightly, Joel began to make a fuss, “Darlin’, they’re down-” but he stopped when you over exaggeratedly clicked on the safety, lifting a sarcastic brow at him. Rising to your feet, you wiped the blade off on your jeans before closing it and handing it back to Joel.

He took it cautiously, watching as you rubbed at your throat with a wince. “Thanks.”

“No, thank you. If you hadn’t shown up and distracted them, I wouldn’t have been able to get the jump on ‘em.”

He looked at the two men before looking back at you, his eyes flitting down to the rifle for the briefest of moments. “Looks like you would’ve been just fine.”

You leaned in closer to him, adjusting the weapon’s strap across your chest. “Take the compliment, Joel.”

He grinned softly. “Yes ma’am, Miss Fanny.”

You groaned at the nickname. “You know what? I don’t even really mind.”

It looked like Joel wanted to say more, but other members of your group came running up, looking around frantically only to find all the enemies already taken care of.

“We didn’t hear any shots,” Will said absently, staring at the two motionless forms on the ground after a wary glance. “Thought you might need some help.” After a long moment of silence, he looked from you, to Joel, then the raiders. “They still alive?” He pointed toward the men, one of them stirring with a pained moan.

“Only just,” Joel mumbled, watching the one man begin to roll to his side, the one who had held on to you, before his gaze flicked to the other, noticing his breaths becoming shallower and shallower. Gesturing to the latter with his rifle still held in his hands, he looked back up at Will. “That one’s not longed for this world if you don’t get something to stop the bleedin’. Need information from both, preferably.”

Will nodded, motioning to the others with a nod of his head, quickly moving toward the raiders.

You had turned toward Joel, your back to the men when a twisted voice rose up behind you, slurring around laughter as if it knew the funniest joke in all the world. 

“Well, sweetheart, I’m just so goddamn sorry things didn’t work out ‘tween us.” 

Joel glared at the raider over your shoulder. “Stop talking, asshole,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes as he took a step closer to the man, slightly in front of you. Turning to face the man yourself, you thought you’d steeled yourself for whatever you’d see, but the twisted smirk you were met with made your stomach drop. 

Laughter turned to wheezing, wet coughs before the man spit off to the side in front of him, blood painting the ground an ugly, violent color. He lifted his head just enough to look at you again, snickering as he peered through his lashes. “I had such plans for you….”

“I said be quiet,” Joel’s voice had grown more firm, and he opted to step to the side, obscuring your view of the creep instead of taking any steps closer.

“Oh, but they were nothin’ compared to what we were gonna do to that little friend of yours…. That blonde? Whoo! She was feisty!”

“Can somebody shut him the fuck up!” Joel bellowed, turning to the group simply standing by and watching the exchange.

Will shrugged off his outer layer flannel, balling it up as he stomped toward the man and began to shove it in his mouth.

The man weaseled back away from the cloth, shouting with wild eyes, “You’ll never find her!” His following laughter was muffled around the material, manic and unhinged.

“Will, I need you to….” Joel trailed off when you put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him to the side gently. He tried to stop you walking towards the lunatic, but you met his gaze with your own, unwavering, and he let you go, following close behind, one hand adjusting his grip on his rifle as he held it loosely just in case.

Kneeling down in front of the man, you got close to his face. “What did you do with Jane?” Your voice was so low and quiet, you barely recognized it.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The man mumbled around the shirt, eyes wild and sure of himself. 

Looking down toward the ground, you huffed out an unamused laugh. “I’m going to ask you one more time,” you lifted your gaze to look at him straight on again, “and you’re going to tell me, or else my friends are going to be not so nice to you.” The man scoffed. “What did you do…. with Jane?”

The man leaned forward, his nose almost touching yours. “Go fuck yourself, bitch.”

Without hesitation, you slammed Joel’s pocket knife you’d swiped from his jacket a moment ago into the man’s hand where it rested on the ground with your left hand, yanking the shirt out of his mouth as he screamed with your right, and tackled him backwards onto the ground, pinning your right forearm against his throat. As he struggled against your hold, you twisted the knife still gripped tightly in your hand, making him settle into the dirt.

“Okay! Okay! Okay! Fuck! Just stop!” He looked at Joel with wide, wild eyes. “Get the bitch off me!” 

You noticed some of your party moving toward you, but they stopped with a hand motion from Joel.

He studied you with an unreadable expression before looking back at the man and jutting his chin toward you. “Tell her what she wants t’know.”

“Get her off me first!”

“Talk!” You growled, digging your arm in further, making him gasp. When he turned a defiant look up your way, your knee ‘slipped’ where you straddled him and landed dangerously close to his ego once again.

“Okay, okay, goddamn!” He wheezed, collapsing fully into the ground below him, eyes fluttering shut as his face twisted in pain. 

It was all you could do to repress the triumphant smirk wanting to crawl up your face, your brows arching in amusement instead.

“She’s back at our camp. ‘Least that’s where we left her. Don’t know how she’d move much after what boss did, though.” He looked back up at you again, everything about his expression amused, and nothing seemed to dull it, even as you pressed your arm harder into his throat, only causing his words to take on a sinister hiss. “He stuck her good. You think this little knife is somethin’, you should see the one he used on-” his words trailed off on a gurgled chuckle as you continued to lean into him.

“Hey,” Joel’s calm voice near your ear made you pause, staring down at the creep. “We need him alive, darlin’. Stop.” A warm strong hand gripping your upper arm firmly made you lift off the man just slightly, glaring down at him as he sucked in a breath and started coughing, grinning up at you triumphantly. He hissed with a wince when you yanked out the knife, bringing the hand close to his chest to hold it tight with his other, and wrapped it haphazardly with the flannel Will had shoved in his mouth to stop the bleeding. 

“You Jacksoner’s are all the same,” he shook his head in amusement. “Bleeding hearts, all of ya!” He grinned up at the group in the most sinister way you’d ever seen. “And that is why you’re all gonna burn.”

At that, Joel was yanking you off the raider and pulling him up to a seated position with both hands twisted into his jacket, getting right into his face with the most menacing voice you’d heard yet. “What did you just say?”

The man just smiled a tight lipped smile, eyebrows shooting up before he used his good hand to pantomime locking his mouth and tossing away the key.

“They had a bunch of dead guns. No ammunition. How in the hell were they planning to do something to Jackson?” You mused offhandedly, mostly talking to yourself.

“Guns ain’t the only way to make somebody bleed,” the freak singsonged, looking at you gleefully.

You glared at him. “I liked you better out cold.”

He guffawed. “I liked you better up close….”

Joel gave the man a forceful shake by the front of his shirt still in his grip. “What’d I say?” The man rolled his head back to Joel with a bored look, his lips twitching up just slightly. “Y’either start talkin’ ‘bout somethin’ important I want t’hear about, or I’ll reach my hand so far down your Goddamn-”

“This one’s not doing well, Joel,” one of the party mentioned, checking the pulse of the other raider. “We need to get them back to camp.”

The man in Joel’s grip slowly melted into a wide grin. “Looks like you need me now more than ever.”

Joel began to smirk, and it made the raider’s sure grin falter. “Yeah, but that can change real quick.” He shoved the man back, rising to his full height before turning back toward you and walking quickly. A hand closing around your arm once again, you followed where it led. 

“Get them to camp. Will, get a party of four together and come with us to go get Jane. The rest of these assholes are dead, there’s no one to keep her there anymore. She probably tried to run, and if she’s injured, we need to spread out and cover as much ground as possible.” 

He stopped, looking over his shoulder when no one was moving. “Let’s go!”

When he turned to look down at you, you saw something in his eyes close to fear. “We’ll find her, Joel.”

He held your gaze as he kept moving you further away from the scene. “I know, darlin’.” He looked forward again, walking a bit faster. “I know. Now let’s get goin’. Sun’s gonna be settin’ real soon.”

Xxx

As the two of you made your way in the direction the thug had sent you in, your mind began to wander.

“What if it’s the wrong direction, Joel?”

“He said go east-”

“No, I know.” You closed your eyes briefly as you took in a sharp breath through your nose before looking forward once again. “But what if he lied?”

Joel sighed, looking down at his feet as he continued to walk. “Darlin’,” he looked deep in thought but also at a loss for words at the same time. It was such an inextricably Joel thing to do, it almost pulled a smile up one side of your face.

Almost.

Glancing over his shoulder toward the small group that was following along to help, the rest staying behind with the two assholes, he then took a step closer to you, speaking in a low voice.

“He very well may’ve.” When your eyes went wide, Joel was quick to continue on. “But,” he smiled at your now narrowed glare. “I’ve been patrolling these hills for a few years, now. Never out this far, mind you, but I know the general area. There’s a stream that runs not far from here. Anyone with any brains would camp near it. I know the worlds gone t’shit, but I refuse to believe we as a species have fallen that far that fast.”

His smile spread a little further at your soft chuckle.

“Touché, Miller. Touché.”

Grinning like a child, Joel turned back to the rest of the group, his expression turning stony in an instant. “The rest of you, fan out!” His voice was a low hiss. “Keep quiet and keep aware. These trees are dense from here on out to the creek. Keep a lookout. I’m not responsible for your own stupidity.”

Good-natured eye rolls went around as the few people spread into the trees starting to populate the clearing you’d been passing through.

Joel grabbed your arm when you went to take a step forward. “Not you.” He shook his head gently when you looked up at him. “You’re coming with me.”

“I’ll stay within sight,” you argued, pulling your arm from his grip. “I’m not a child, Joel.”

“No, you don’t-”

“I can take care of myself.” Taking a few steps forward into the tree line, you looked for any signs of life, but before you could get far, Joel’s voice was at your ear again. 

“Don’t-”

He yanked you back into him, making you stumble into his chest. Lifting your head up to glare at him, you came nearly nose to nose as he looked down at you and you looked up at him. Your breath stopped, catching in your chest as your eyes scanned his face.

“Tripwire,” he mumbled, his eyes firmly watching your lips as they moved soundlessly in shock.

“Thanks,” you finally managed, closing your mouth and clearing your throat.

Joel nodded.

You went to take a step back, looking over your shoulder towards the trap, but his grip on your upper arm wouldn’t let you move. 

Turning back to look at him in question, your curious expression melted when you found him even closer than before, his eyes cast down as his nose lightly bumped the side of yours.

The distance continued to close, only a breath left between you when a faint scuffle then a thud was heard, making you both pull apart like lightning.

Turning, the two of you saw Will suspended upside down by his ankle from a nearby tree.

“Careful. Tripwire,” you grinned.

Will smirked sardonically, arms coming to cross over his chest after batting away his flannel outer layer that hung in his face since he was inverted - he’d dug out a spare from his bag after using his original to shove into the mouth of the crazy raider. “We found a blood trail.”

The smile fell off your face as your gut sank. “That’s-”

“A good thing,” Will cut you off. “Means she was moving. She was alive.” After a loaded moment of shared looks, he cleared his throat. “Can someone cut me down, please? I’m getting woozy.”

Xxx

You only encountered a few stragglers at the camp, Joel earning some bloody knuckles and you a black eye, but the remaining members of the bandit group lay in lifeless heaps at the feet of your group when it was all said and done. There was no chance for prisoners, they weren’t going to be taken alive. 

Which meant that one idiot back at the camp who’d tried to kill you had to stay alive if you wanted any answers.

The thought of that made you start to hyperventilate. 

Which wasn’t like you.

You took everything in stride, this new world required it, but suddenly you felt his arm around your neck again, and you began to claw at the phantom limb, gasping for air as tears began to stream silently down your face.

You couldn’t look anywhere without seeing a body, violence, bloodshed….

Can’t breathe….

Everything blurred by as you faintly registered your feet moving you forward, a warm hand around your forearm pulling you gently along before the firm press of tree bark met your back with a gentle thump.

The soft trace of rough, callused fingers making their way past your cheeks to rest behind your ears drew a shiver from your bones. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re good. It’s over. I’m here.” Joel’s mumbled words vibrated somewhere in front of you, desperately grasping at you to give you something to hold onto. Cradling your face in his hands, Joel stood toe to toe with you. He took a small step closer and leaned down, pressing his forehead to your own as you fought for air. “Nothing’s gonna get you. I won’t let it.”

The phantom touch of that asshole’s arm around your throat still constricted your airway, threatening to make the world cave in.

Joel reached up to gently grab your hands still frantically clawing at your throat, placing them on either side of his ribcage, and you clutched onto his flannel under his jacket for dear life. The warmth from his body heat radiated into your palms and sent a wave of something down to your toes. Worrying the threadbare fabric between your fingers mindlessly, Joel seemed to notice and step even closer still, enough that a deep enough breath would close the distance. 

Though, as you thought about it, how he still had room to maneuver any further into you was a mystery, you didn’t even know it was possible. It seemed like every part of you was wrapped up in every part of him.

His voice drew your thoughts back to the present. “Hey, hey. Shhhh…. No more. He’s gone.” Did his voice just crack? “It’s over.” His voice grew a little firmer, if not quieter. “It’s over.”

If only he knew, you weren’t struggling to breathe because of the remnants of a panic attack anymore. No, now it was his proximity. His warm breath fanning across your face as he mumbled words of peace. The press of his skin against yours as he cradled your face so gingerly.

Time stopped, the world ceased its spinning, and suddenly all that was left was this right here between the two of you. This quiet moment, in the middle of a forest, painted in violence and hope, in fear and tenacity, in…. Vibrant shades of both of you.

Will walked up around the tree quietly, clearing his throat softly. “Some of these men were dead long before we got here.”

“Jane,” you smiled. 

“That girl sure is a spit fire,” Joel remarked with his own grin, pulling away from you just slightly, but still keeping you in his hold.

Turning to Will, you steeled your shoulders. “Take me to the blood trail.”

Xxx

It took all of ten minutes of tracking to find Jane leaning against a tree with her back to you, heaving breaths as the right side of her shirt was stained crimson. The violent splotch was spreading, whatever wound obviously still angry and weeping under her white shirt, her outer layer long gone and forgotten in the chaos by now. 

“Jane?” You called out softly from several yards back. A twig snapped under foot, causing a flock of birds in the trees above to startle and take flight in a whir of wings and wind.

She whirled around, knife held out in front of her at the ready, eyes wide and wild from the adrenaline. When she realized who it was, relief washed over her features so strongly it brought tears to your eyes. She dropped the blade to the ground with a clatter and slumped the side of her shoulder against the tree with a huff.

“Took you long enough,” she breathed in amusement, turning so her back was to the tree with her head thrown back, her face toward the sky, wincing in pain.

Before you could even make a move towards her, Will was there helping her back to her feet, scooping her up bridal style and carrying her back towards camp, her head on his shoulder as she went limp, finally able to rest.

Will glanced back when no one else moved. “Come on!” He whisper shouted. “She needs help as soon as possible, or I’m going to-” He caught himself. “We’re going to lose her.”

As the group moved in unison behind a speedwalking Will, you glanced up at Joel in amusement. “Do you think he knows?”

Joel shook his head with a grin. “Everyone else does, so no, probably not.”

You chuckled, despite the situation. It was probably the relief that she was alive finally catching up with you. “That girl’s got his number.”

Huffing a laugh, Joel looked at the back of Will’s head as he rapidly disappeared at the front of the group. “Wrapped around her little finger like those little things she uses to protect herself when she sews back at her shop. Oh, what’re they called?”

You stared at him for a long moment before quietly suggesting in hesitation, “Thimbles?”

Joel slapped his thigh before pointing at you with a renewed grin. “That’s the one!”

With a shake of your head, you turned back to face forward and head up toward the front with your friends. “Ellie was right. You’re losing it, old man.”

“Ain’t old,” he grumbled, his face instantly turning sour. “Jus‘ ‘xperienced.”

“Then you should know all the words, Joel.” You smirked. “No excuses.”

“I do know all the words,” he groused. “That’s the problem. I know too much, my brain can’t keep up.”

You turned to face him, walking backwards. “Sure. That’s the problem.”

“I know things,” he shot back, echoing your words from earlier, his head tilted back to look down his nose at you in a mirror image as he continued to mock your earlier statement. “Lots of stuff.”

“Oh, I see,” your tone was condescending, but playful as you mimicked him right back. “Stuff.”

“And things.” He was trying so hard not to smile.

You were not, letting the grin spread broadly across your face. “Oh, we mustn't forget the things….”

“Yeah, okay.” Joel looked to the side to try and hide his amused grin. “Fuck you, darlin’.”

“I mean, if you’re offerin’….”

His head snapped back to look at you in surprise as you threw his words right back at him yet again. Joel opened his mouth to refute, but you cut him off with a grin. 

“I’m going to go make sure he doesn’t promise her his house or something. Boy would give her half of Jackson if he could.”

“He can have your half, you jackass,” Joel grumbled playfully as you turned back to face the front of the group. “Mine ain’t for sale. Don’t care how pretty you are.”

You glanced over your shoulder, fluttering your lashes ridiculously. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I meant her,” Joel gestured to your friends with his rifle still loosely gripped in his hands, strap slung over his shoulders, at the ready just in case, like always. “Ain’t nothin’ pretty ‘bout what you just said.”

“I only spoke the truth.”

“You’re only makin’ it worse.”

Xxx

The sun was setting by the time Joel was able to pry you away from Jane. You hadn’t wanted to leave her side as Will took it upon himself to treat and dress her wound. 

You held her hand as she grunted in pain while he disinfected the area with a bottle of alcohol someone had brought, then stitched it up. Luckily the blade had missed anything vital, and hadn’t been rusty, thank goodness.

So far this whole trip had been getting by by the skin of your teeth, and that didn’t bode well with you. 

Once she fell asleep, Joel coaxed you over to a clearing not too far away for a breath. A bucket full of water from the nearby stream had been brought to wash the blood off your hands.

Staring down at the water as it turned pink under your touch, tinged with the blood of your friend, you looked up when a shadow crossed over the little bit of sunlight left in the day.

Joel stood just in front of the dying light, backlit and a silhouette as he extended a…. rock? to you.

“That creek is fed from the mountains. Snow melt. Coldest thing around. Best alternative to ice we’ve got right now.” You narrowed your brows at him, making him sigh in frustration. “For your eye,” he said as if it were obvious. 

“Oh,” you said dumbly and took it, lightly resting it against your left eyebrow where you felt the worst of the black eye forming. The cool, smooth stone instantly offered some relief for an ache you hadn’t even realized you had, making you groan softly, and shut your eyes with a grateful sigh. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “Mmm-hmm.” The side of his mouth twitched up as he lowered himself to the ground beside you with a quiet groan. “T’ain’t nothin’.”

Pulling the stone away to examine it for a moment, you arched a brow when Joel slowly pressed it back to your head. “Don’t work if you don’t keep it there, darlin’.”

“Really?” You said as sarcastically as you could muster.

“Huh-uh,” he confirmed with a gentle shake of his head, keeping the stone pressed firmly to your skin. “It’s not a comfort by osmosis thing.”

“No healing by proxy?” You groused, despite the smile working its way up your face, your one good eye squinting from the held back laughter you were just managing to reign in as you looked up at him.

The corner of his mouth lifted so high a dimple creased his cheek. “Now wouldn’t that be somethin’,” he mused softly. 

The two of you sat in comfortable quiet for a long moment, his hand still holding the rock to your head gently until you finally decided it was time to break the silence.

“So what’s the plan from here, Mr. partially-in-charge-of-security?”

Joel’s hand fell from you with a sigh as he shook his head slightly in disbelief, his gaze turned forward as if he couldn’t even bear to look at you after an attempt at a joke that bad. “I’ve been goin’ over it in my head since we left their camp-”

“That must’ve been painful,” you muttered, grinning innocently when he cut his eyes over to you.

They shut briefly with another loaded sigh before they fluttered open and he turned to look at the forest on his right while he continued. “Best I can come up with-” he held a finger up in front of your face without a glance back your way. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

You stared at his finger inches from your nose. “I wasn’t-” You totally were. 

The finger began to wag as his head rolled back to level you with a look. “Now, we both know that’s a lie, darlin’.” You shrank under his continued stare and he went on. “Best I can think of is to send the majority back home since we’re still so close to Jackson. Have them protect Jane and those two raiders we got to interrogate.” His arms were propped up on his bent knees, and his fist clenched at the mention of the thugs.

After he stared off vacantly for a moment, he brought his gaze back onto you. “That means the cart is going to have to go back with them, though. Jane’s in no condition to walk, and you did a number on asshole number one.” He chuckled. 

“Don’t even worry about the cart,” you waved him off. “Jane is more important. What about asshole number two?” Rubbing your throat absently with the hand not holding the rock to your head, you stared into the trees straight ahead before you realized what you were doing and lowered your hand, turning your gaze back to Joel. “He can still walk just fine.” You tilted your head in thought for a moment. “May be a little bit more of a waddle, but….”

Joel chuckled darkly, hanging his head as his shoulders shook with the laughter. Finally he looked up at you through his lashes, a conniving expression twinkling in his eyes. “Let the little ugly duckling waddle back, then.”

“How will we be sure he doesn’t waddle off?”

“I’ve been known to tie a knot or two in my day.”

As the novelty of the whole situation wore off, you turned to face Joel a bit more fully, letting the hand that held the rock fall from its spot against your face to rest in your lap, ignoring Joel’s scowl in protest. 

“You said most of the group. Joel, we should all go back. Safety in numbers. Making sure everyone is safe is more important than my paint-” 

“Safety in numbers. Exactly. That’s why most’f’em are goin’ back. We only need a few t’do this run. It also made us a target bein’ such a big group. The council made a shit decision ‘bout that. There’s a reason patrols’re only two people.” He looked out at the woods again. “It was temptin’ to leave it just the two’f us as originally planned, but, after yesterday, even you could see the perks’f havin’ a few extra people should somethin’ happen.”

“Quality not quantity.”

Joel bobbed his head, his eyes shining proudly as you understood. “‘xactly.”

Something wasn’t sitting right. “But what about the threats, Joel? They said somethin’ about Jackson was gonna burn….”

“People say all kinds o’shit when you’ve got a pocket knife in one hand n’your knee pinnin’ their crotch to the dirt.”

You let out a snort, unable to contain your laughter at his blunt explanation. “Can’t say you’re wrong there.”

Joel leaned back with a contented sigh, propping his arm up on his bent leg. “I’m never wrong.”

You let out another snort of laughter, more bubbling up and out when he shot you a glare. 

Xxx

That night, just as the sun began to set, Joel slammed the back tailgate of the cart shut after helping Jane up into it.

“You good?” He asked quietly, his voice soft and kind.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, Joel.” Jane reached out a hand to rest on his shoulder. 

“Not worried ‘bout you, sweetheart,” he mumbled, his eyes darting over to the wounded raider sitting as far from him as he could get in the front corner of the cart. The bandit cowered under his stare but stayed silent. “Was more worried ‘bout him.” Joel looked at Jane pointedly as he explained, his head tilted forward while he looked at her through his lashes and arched brows.

“Like I said,” Jane spoke firmly, her voice low and even as she turned to look at the asshole, making him cower even further. “I’ll be fine.”

“Whaddabout me?” The second bandit who had tried to choke you said loudly and amusedly from where he stood behind the cart a few feet away from Joel, his hands bound by one end of rope and the other end tied to the back of the cart. “Do I get a send off from tall, dark and brooding?”

Joel turned to him without even fully looking at the man, cocking his rifle as he spoke on a tired sigh. “That can be arranged.”

The raider guffawed as he stumbled back a few steps, Joel striding forward the ground he lost, while you stepped in between, hands extended.

“Stop. There’s no time for this.” Turning to face Joel, you lowered your arms. “Joel, let the little shit leave.”

The raider’s voice rose behind you like a forgotten tendril of smoke, thin and pungent, just enough to remind you it was there. “Ain’t nothin’ little ‘bout me, darlin’.”

Without a second thought, you whirled around and clocked the thug in the eye, making him stumble back further, the rope stretching to its limit and yanking him forward to his knees.

“Except your brain, apparently.” You shook out your hand to your side, the impact from the punch leaving a searing sting across your knuckles. “You don’t get to call me that.”

“What do I get to call you then?” The man sneered, bringing his bound hands up to swipe at his face.

You took a step closer, smirking, and enjoyed how the amused sparkle in his eyes faltered slightly at the sight. “Whatever you say when you’re begging for your life, tough guy.”

The man swallowed nervously, despite his narrowed eyes of contempt. “I don’t beg for anything. From anyone. ‘specially not you.”

You let your eyes travel up and down the length of him slowly in an unnerving appraisal. “We’ll just see about that. Won’t we, Joel?”

“Lookin’ forward t’hearin’ just how loudly he won’t beg….” Joel mused behind you.

“Fuck. You,” the man hissed.

“No. Thanks,” you sneered back.

Will pulled your attention away as he stepped up on the wheel of the cart to lean in beside Jane, his weight making the whole thing squeak under the pressure. “Are you sure you don’t need me to come with you to keep this asshole in line?” He jerked his head toward the guy tethered at the back.

Jane smiled and patted Will’s cheek lightly. “I think I’ll be just fine. Like I told Joel.” Her eyes flicked between the two of them. Her voice sickly sweet. “Now if you two don’t stop coddling me, one of you is going to be injured and sitting beside me on this trip back to Jackson. So shut,” she looked at Will, “your,” Joel, “piehole.” She looked at you.

You raised your hands in surrender. “Me? “ They turned out in question. “What did I do?!”

She shrugged, her head tilting just slightly. “It was preemptive.” Leaning towards Will again, she kissed him on the cheek, smiling when he began to sputter and turn six shades of red. “Stay with Joel. He needs you here more than he’ll admit.”

“I heard that,” Joel grumbled, walking past the end of the cart as he began to check in with the rest of the group.

“Good. You were meant to,” Jane grinned, lurching slightly as the cart began to move forward, Will jumping from the wheel before it could turn fully.

As the bandit walked past Will, he turned to him with a sadistic grin. “Don’t I get a goodbye kiss, handsome?”

“Sure,” Will said with a disarming smile, making the other man stumble for a moment. The next he was stumbling further after Will sucker punched him in the mouth. “How was that? Was it good for you, too?”

The raider in the cart was looking on wide eyed, but you caught him grinning slightly at the exchange, looking away quickly to try and hide it when Will glanced his way.

Jane was laughing as the cart began to disappear into the sunset. Her head thrown back, eyes closed, hand over her stomach type laughter. “Don’t make me laugh! It hurts!”

Will gave a dopey grin as he watched them disappear into the dying light, Jane and the bandit tied to the back of the cart bickering back and forth about nonsense that you couldn’t quite make out at this distance, but you could tell she wasn’t taking any shit.

“She’ll be okay.” You walked up to Will, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I know.” He was distant, his mind a million miles off. “I know.”

Xxx

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