#and also sitting on your horse IT WILL BE SO. IT WILL BE SO. IT WILL BE SO

[whoknowsyourfuture]

So, this is a bit of a tangent, but I think it's relevant.

I grew up riding horses. My mom trained, (people and horses), and I knew a looooooot of kids between 4-H, AQHA, and the local HSET (I didn't do HSET bc I was showing a lot in AQHA, but I knew people in it).

Now, I don't remember the first time I was on a horse, because I was probably literally 2 or younger, but riding has never been easy for me. Do I love it? Yeah, of course. Have I had access to horses that you can ride for 20 min and be done? Nope. Do I have long legs and natural balance? Hell no. I was so jealous of one girl I rode with during high school because she had just started riding and could just sit perfectly straight and keep every part of her body exactly so, meanwhile I had to constantly fight to keep my body stretched to the furthest extent just to look maybe a quarter as elegant as she did.

I'm still riding, while she, as far as I'm aware, is not.

That was kind of how it went, honestly. Of course, even in the area I grew up in, there's a certain amount of 'who can afford to get their kid a really good horse and then be okay with them getting bored of riding', but by and large, the people who riding came easily to did not continue with it. (The exception, of course, were trainer's kids, but like. My siblings got the same opportunity to ride and show as I did, we even shared horses at times, but they were natural riders and I just wasn't. I have had to put in so many thousands of hours to get good at riding. Of course I kept on during my youth years for a mixed bag of reasons, some good, some ehhhhhh, but I kept on for years after my siblings quit because I wanted to.)

Ok, I think I'm getting sidetracked, but the gist of my point is, if something is easy for you, it'll get boring. If you have to work at something, you're more likely to find out if you actually enjoy it for what it is. Of course, things can also be hard, boring, and you hate doing them (a lot of jobs, unfortunately), but if you don't learn to stick with something until you can really decide how you feel about it, well.

Are you ever going to find out what you really like doing, or are you going to give up 3 seconds into doing something you could have poured your heart into?

Something I don't think we talk enough about in discussions surrounding AI is the loss of perseverance.

I have a friend who works in education and he told me about how he was working with a small group of HS students to develop a new school sports chant. This was a very daunting task for the group, in large part because many had learning disabilities related to reading and writing, so coming up with a catchy, hard-hitting, probably rhyming, poetry-esque piece of collaborative writing felt like something outside of their skill range. But it wasn't! I knew that, he knew that, and he worked damn hard to convince the kids of that too. Even if the end result was terrible (by someone else's standards), we knew they had it in them to complete the piece and feel super proud of their creation.

Fast-forward a few days and he reports back that yes they have a chant now... but it's 99% AI. It was made by Chat-GPT. Once the kids realized they could just ask the bot to do the hard thing for them - and do it "better" than they (supposedly) ever could - that's the only route they were willing to take. It was either use Chat-GPT or don't do it at all. And I was just so devastated to hear this because Jesus Christ, struggling is important. Of course most 14-18 year olds aren't going to see the merit of that, let alone understand why that process (attempting something new and challenging) is more valuable than the end result (a "good" chant), but as adults we all have a responsibility to coach them through that messy process. Except that's become damn near impossible with an Instantly Do The Thing app in everyone's pocket. Yes, AI is fucking awful because of plagiarism and misinformation and the environmental impact, but it's also keeping people - particularly young people - from developing perseverance. It's not just important that you learn to write your own stuff because of intellectual agency, but because writing is hard and it's crucial that you learn how to persevere through doing hard things.

Write a shitty poem. Write an essay where half the textual 'evidence' doesn't track. Write an awkward as fuck email with an equally embarrassing typo. Every time you do you're not just developing that particular skill, you're also learning that you did something badly and the world didn't end. You can get through things! You can get through challenging things! Not everything in life has to be perfect but you know what? You'll only improve at the challenging stuff if you do a whole lot of it badly first. The ability to say, "I didn't think I could do that but I did it anyway. It's not great, but I did it," is SO IMPORTANT for developing confidence across the board, not just in these specific tasks.

Idk I'm just really worried about kids having to grow up in a world where (for a variety of reasons beyond just AI) they're not given the chance to struggle through new and challenging things like we used to.

[abiatackerman]

Mercy of Tiny Ackerman

❗I don't normally support ai arts but this one seemed so relatable with the story so I'm using this❗

Dad Levi Ackerman X Mom reader! Parenting moments! Fluff and comedy! Dad-Son quality time! 1.8k words!

Summary: Levi, trying his best to act as the best dad and husband because in this world you two are the only people he has now!

Tags: @theremainsof @spouseofleviackerman @levisbrat25 @itsnathateasy @violentvaleska @dreamerofthewest @meowmewow7 @mikabella7 @satorella @sugacor3 @darkstarlight82 @derealizationns

🩷If you wanna be tagged let me know🩷

✨Masterlist✨

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

The Ackerman house is quiet now, except for the soft crackling of the fireplace and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards. The warm, amber glow illuminated the small living room, casting flickering shadows against the walls. Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, a distant hum that only added to the stillness within.

Levi is sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back resting against the couch. His tired eyes softens as he watches the tiny figure sitting before him. His one-year-old son was babbling happily to himself, tiny fingers gripping a toy horse as he clumsily tried to make it "walk" across the blanket.

After claiming the Wall Maria and as everything settled down a little in the Paradise Island... You and Levi didn't waste any time and got married. Within a year this tiny little brat came into this world, lighting up both of your worlds. Also the fact that he's a carbon copy of Levi doesn't help much.... You two can't help yourself but spoil him to no end.

"Hey, I'm home!"

The sound of the front door opening and your familiar voice pulls Levi out of his thoughts. He looks up just as you step into the living room, a tired but warm smile on your face. Without hesitation, you make your way over to where your son is seated, his tiny hands reaching out toward you.

"Was my baby a good boy today?" you ask softly, scooping your son into your arms. You press him close, inhaling his sweet, comforting scent as you hug him tightly. "He didn't give Daddy a hard time, did he?"

Levi leans forward, brushing a light kiss against your cheek in greeting. His expression softens, his usual sharp features tinged with a quiet warmth that’s become more frequent since his son’s arrival.

"As always," Levi says, his lips curving into a small, rare smile. "He behaved like a proper brat."

As if understanding his father's words, your son squeals with delight and reaches his tiny hands toward Levi's hair, his wide grin mirroring his dad's subtle affection. Levi lets out a soft chuckle, tilting his head slightly as their son grabs his hair softly.

Levi watches you with an unspoken fondness, his heart swelling with quiet gratitude. He:s been smiling more these days, he realizes. A lot more. And it's all because of the two of you.

"Thanks for coming home early today, Levi. I was extremely busy today, all blame goes to Hange. And hey kid... Give your attention to mommy now... Daddy's tired!"

You say as you nuzzle with your son, taking him away from Levi.

"Tch don't thank me. I just did what I should do." Levi says as he ruffles his son's hair, "Also I've feed the brat dinner already and was waiting for him to fall asleep but... seems like he has far too much energy."

"Because he's an Ackerman."

You untie your bun, letting your hair cascade down as your son eagerly reaches for it. "Here, you can play with my hair instead of Levi's," you say with a soft smile.

Levi sighs and looks at the little boy in your arms, his expression betraying a mix of pride and amusement. There was no denying it—this was his son, an Ackerman through and through.

"You should go take a shower. I'll take care of him," Levi says softly, extending his arms.

"All right," you reply, stifling a yawn as you stand. "Can you put him to sleep then?"

Levi takes the small child into his arms. The boy coos happily, instantly clutching at Levi's shirt. You smile at the sight and playfully wink at Levi, causing his heart to skip a beat but his face, as always, remains unreadable. He knows once the toddler will fall asleep, you will finally be his again.

"Alright..." Levi mutters with a curt nod, rising to his feet.

The moment Levi stands, your son begins tugging at his dark hair with an excited giggle. You can’t help but laugh softly.

"Seems like he's obsessed with your hair," you tease, brushing a strand of your own out of your face.

Levi scoffs, his lips twitching into what might have been the ghost of a smirk. "Tch. I wonder why."

As the little boy yanks on another lock of hair, Levi gently grabs his tiny hand to stop him, kissing his tiny fist. He takes his son to his room and lay him down in his crib, yet the baby seemed distressed. He grabs onto Levi’s finger and refuses to let go.

Levi tries to pull his finger away to no avail. What was up with this brat's grip? It seems like the child's obsession with his hair extended to his fingers too.

"What's wrong, brat?"

Levi tries to pull his finger away from his son's grip, but to no avail. What is up with this brat's strength? It seems like the child's obsession with his hair has extended to his fingers too.

"What's wrong, brat?" Levi muttered, attempting once again to free his finger. The kid doesn't let go. Instead, he begain to whimper and whine, startling Levi. He never thought he'd see the day when he, Humanity's Strongest, would struggle to get a baby to release his hand.

Levi sighs, giving another gentle tug, but the boy only gripped tighter. Then, the crying started. Panic flickers across Levi's face as he tries to shush his son.

"Tch... don't cry, okay? Fine. You win. You want my finger? It's yours. Shhh… Dad's all yours…"

Levi's words come out awkwardly as he sits on the edge of the crib, surrendering to his tiny captor. The child immediately calms down, a satisfied smile on his face. Levi scoffs—this brat already has him wrapped around his tiny finger, literally and figuratively.

The room fell quiet except for the soft babbling of his son and the sound of running water from the bathroom. That's when it hit Levi.....

You were in there..... Naked......

"Damn it.... Get it together, Ackerman," Levi mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

His heart thumps at the thought. You are still his, the one he married, the one he loves. You are the woman who carried his child, the mother of the little boy currently biting down on his finger.

Levi winces as his son's tiny teeth sinks into his skin again, demanding his attention.

"Tch, what do you want, you little brat?" he grunts, but his voice holds no real irritation.

The child tugs at his finger once more, grinning up at him with wide blue eyes that mirrors Levi's own. Levi feels his heart tighten at the sight. How can something so small make him feel so weak?

After another failed attempt to free himself, Levi lets out a heavy sigh, resigning himself to his fate. "You're just as stubborn as your mother, you know that?" he mutters, glaring half-heartedly at the grinning baby.

Suddenly, your voice broke the quiet. "Hey, Levi~ Is our baby asleep yet?"

Levi's head whips around, and his eyes widened slightly as he sees you standing in the doorway, wearing his favorite nightie. You look stunning, your damp hair framing your face perfectly. But before he could form a proper response, you start laughing.

"Levi," you giggled, "what is this?!"

Levi scowls, feeling humiliated as you pointed at the baby still biting his finger.

"It's our damn brat. He won't let go of me, the brat keeps biting my finger."

You walk over, still chuckling. The sound of your laughter catches the baby's  attention and he finally releases Levi's finger, reaching for you instead.

Levi lets out a relieved sigh, rubbing his sore finger. But his relief was short-lived as jealousy creeps in. The boy wants you now, completely ignoring Levi.

You scoop up you son and cradle him in your arms, your wet hair brushing against your shoulders.

"What's wrong, baby? Your dad fed you, right? Are you hungry again?" you coo softly, rocking him gently.

Levi watches you, his gaze lingering on the way your wet hair clung to your skin. His heart races, jealousy mixing with an overwhelming sense of desire. You look effortlessly beautiful, holding the child you both created.

"Do you even know what you're doing to me right now?" Levi mutters under his breath, his voice low enough that you didn't catch it.

You smile at him, your voice soft and sweet. "You made me so happy by being a great dad today. I even prepared this surprise…" You say indicating your nightie. "I thought you'd already have him asleep by now, but…" You trail off, glancing at the boy now dozing in your arms. "Maybe he just needed his mother's scent to fall asleep."

Levi scoffs lightly. "Maybe. Or maybe he just decided to show mercy to his old man," he grumbles, though his eyes softens as they flick between you and his son.

You gently pat your son's back until he fully drift off, then carefully place him in the crib. "He's asleep," you whisper with a smile, tucking him in.

Then, you turn to Levi, a playful glint in your eyes. "Now…" you whisper and before Levi could react, you push him backward, leading him away from the crib. "Finally! It's only you and me now…" you murmur, your voice sending a shiver down his spine. Gently, he reaches out, tucking a damp strand of hair behind your ear.

"You're not the only one who needs this," he admits, his voice low.

Without another word, you slip your arms around his waist and lean into him, your head resting against his neck as you smile widely at his words.

"I love you, Levi,"

Levi’s lips quirks into the faintest smile as his hand cups your face.

"I love you too," he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, then your temple, and finally your lips.

The kiss was slow and deliberate, as if he was trying to convey everything he feels but can't put into words. His lips caresses yours softly, as if this is the first time he's kissing you. When you finally pull back, his forehead rests against yours, and for a moment, the world felt perfectly still.

"Come on," you whisper, taking his hand and lacing your fingers through his. "Let's enjoy the quiet while we can. You have to make a proper use of your suprise before your brat wakes up...."

Chuckling at your words, Levi follows your lead. His hand holding yours tightly as you lead him to the bed. The warmth of his gaze stays on you, a silent promise lingering in the air.....

You are his world, and nothing will ever change that.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 13

Source for pic

Trouble 13 🔞

Word Count: 5343

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Reader in a terror-like state; Dead Animals Mentioned; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: Early update! Are you all happy about this? Did I feel bad about leaving you with a mean cliffhanger? NO! But I managed to write a lot on Monday, when I had the day off work, so here's your reward! I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm thinking the next one will be the epilogue, but I still want to wrap some things up, so I'm not sure if there isn't going to be two more chapters instead of one, we'll see. Also, important WARNING for this chapter: non-consensual touching/kissing and overall descriptions of near-rape. It can be triggering, please be careful when reading, hence the 🔞 for this chapter.

Masterlist

King's fingers dig into your skull before he grips your hair tightly and pulls. You grunt and cry out for Zoro, holding him like he's an anchor, but the pain in your head is splitting. King pulls at your scalp relentlessly while he drags you across the floor, so you instinctively grab your hair to try to ease some of the pain, the sting of tears burning your eyes as your legs thrash. 

You feel Zoro's hands grabbing your thigh, trying to hold you close, but his strength is depleting, and as his fingers slip, he lets go with an animalistic growl of defeat. 

King snarls as he releases your hair and pushes you down until your back hits the hard floor, stealing the remaining breath from your lungs. Your back hurts and you hear the unmistakable crunch of broken glass beneath you. Then, King pins you down, his knees holding your flailing arms in place while he sits over your thighs. You're trapped. 

His hand pushes your cheek against the floor as he turns your face towards Zoro and you hiss from the sting of the glass against your cheek. “Watch!” He growls, spittle flying everywhere. His other hand wipes blood away from his eyes and then he presses your cheek even harder, making you wince. “Watch as your dear cop bleeds to death in front of you.”

You can feel King's rage as if it were waves, spilling slowly and venomously from his body. 

Your eyes lock with Zoro's, and he grits his teeth, his nails scraping against the floor as he struggles to try to get up. There's already a pool of blood beneath him, and you feel a wave of nausea overpowering you. 

“Zoro!” You sob, and he calls out your name. Weakly. So weakly. 

“I’m magnanimous, you know that, Kitten?” King’s laugh thunders around you maniacally. “You've been such a slut for this cop, and I still let you say goodbye!” He leans forward until his nose touches your ear, and his hot, heaving breath against your skin makes you shiver for all the wrong reasons. “And he'll get to watch as I finally claim what's mine.”

And then, with another snarl, King rips your top, leaving your breasts exposed to him, and you scream. 

This can't be real. It can't be.

“Fucker!” You hear Zoro grunt, fury permeating his words as he grits his teeth again, and with a pained, desperate sound, tries to rise. 

“You!” King barks, his face whipping to the side as blood still trails down his temple, and he wipes it furiously. You realise he has at least three broken fingers because of the way they seem crooked, but it's like he’s not even acknowledging the pain. “Fucking hero. You just die quietly.”

Your arms feel numb from the weight he’s pressing upon them. Your chest heaves from exertion, from crying, screaming, praying. But King doesn’t relent. His hands grope, squeeze, and pinch. 

It’s disgusting.

And it hurts on so many levels. 

“Please, please, please… stop. Please…” You mutter, your words piling over one another as you try to appeal to a sense of decency you doubt he possesses. 

“That’s it, Kitten. Beg.” He sticks out his bloodied tongue and swipes it over your nipple. You shiver and sob so hard your throat hurts. Zoro is spewing curses from where he’s standing, but you’ve shut your eyes tightly. You don’t want to look at Zoro when King is doing this. “Beg, beg, beg!” King snarls. 

Then his hand climbs along your neck, and his index finger and thumb pinch your chin, forcing you to turn your head to him. “Look at me.” You shake your head frantically. “No? Still defying me?” You hear the unmistakable jingle of a belt buckle being fiddled with and your whole body feels cold.

No. No. No.

“Stop. Stop. Please!”

“I will fucking kill you!” Zoro shouts, then coughs, and you hear a wet sploch as he spits blood on the ground. 

Just make it all stop. This needs to stop. 

“You will learn your lesson thoroughly.” King promises you.

Then, he moves his left knee to lower his pants, freeing your arm, and you seize the opportunity. Your numb fingers search the floor around your body wrapping tentatively around a shard of glass. You grit your teeth through the pain as you grip it tightly, then, with a sharp intake of breath, you plunge it against King.

You aimed for the neck - the artery - knowing he would bleed out fast: die, faint, anything! 

But your aim fails due to the numbness of your arm.

He’s too big, too tall, too massive. And the shard is insignificant. 

The shard sticks out from his shoulder, and he grunts with the impact. His eyes dart to the side, then back to you. The red in them burns brighter, hotter, and scarier. When a grin starts distorting his face as he rips the shard from his skin as if it were nothing, you don’t know if he’s aroused or angry with your actions. 

“Kitten… Kitten…” He tuts, and you squirm, trying to free yourself now that one of your arms is released from his grasp - as if that alone could make a difference in your escape. “So naughty.”

King grabs your wrist and twists it in an unnatural way, squeezing at the same time. The pain is unlike anything else. It travels up your arm, takes hold of your senses, and pierces your soul. He shatters the bone with sheer strength. 

Your scream seems to go on forever, and tears burn on your swollen and bloodied cheeks. 

You seem to register Zoro cursing louder and calling your name. You hear scuffing and dragging. You feel the rage - a deadly aura rolling out of Zoro - but he can’t reach you. 

He can’t save you.

You’re doomed.

The fight is instantly drained out of you as your arm falls limply by your side. As your chest rises and falls, it fills with helplessness. King wipes the tears away from your cheeks with a mimicry of affection and leans down, taking your unmoving lips in his with a satisfied grunt.

“There. See? All quiet and still now. That’s my good girl.” He fixes your hair, and cups your cheek, stealing another kiss away from the numbness of your mouth. “You’ll learn to love this. I won’t have to hurt you again, love. I’ll take care of you. I’ll fix you up. You’re mine to take care of.”

Tears keep spilling, pain keeps making your arm throb, and your chest feels heavy with dread. As King keeps fidgeting with his pants, you let your face fall to the side. Locking eyes with Zoro again, you recognize the same desperation reflected in his wide eye. 

He punches the floor repeatedly with a powerless grunt, shaking his head as a stubborn tear mixes with the blood on his face.

He’s crying?

And then, he stops. His eye focuses to his left, and you slowly follow his gaze.

The gun.

Hope begins to claw its way into your chest. But when your eyes fall back on Zoro, you see how much he’s struggling just to keep his head up. He’s so pale. You don’t know if he has the strength to reach it. 

“Eyes on me, Kitten.” And this time, you obey. You don’t want King’s attention to fall on Zoro.

Not now. 

“Yes. That’s it. Focus on me.” You refuse to look down, but you still feel it. The way he’s caressing himself, watching terror flood your eyes with a lewd moan spilling from his split lips. “Beautiful.”   

You can’t help a whimper from escaping your lips as his fingers find the hem of your bottoms. King curses loudly and hisses, likely because of his broken fingers, then doubles his efforts to try and get rid of the pesky fabric. 

“Mine. Mine. Mine.” He chants insanely, his body bending down as he kisses your stomach, making you heave dryly in disgust.

“Please… please…” You implore, the word stumbling over his, repeated to exhaustion. A prayer, a plea, a supplication. 

It falls on deaf ears, and King’s hands finally pull the fabric down to expose you. His breath shudders as you feel his fingers dig into your hips, bruising and hard. “This was always meant to be, love. You and me, Kitten. Us. You’ll never even think of him again.”

King turns his gaze towards Zoro, and your breath hitches as you follow his gaze too. Zoro looks deadly still. He has managed to rise to his knees, but his body is wobbling with the effort. His shirt is crimson with blood, and his breath comes out in violent shakes of his chest. 

You don’t see the gun.

“You hear that, hero?” King chuckles, his fingers pulling your bottoms down further and further as tears keep staining  your cheeks. You still flail your legs weakly, but you have no more strength. No more will. “How does it feel to know you weren’t strong enough to save her? To die knowing she’s mine?”

Zoro’s chest begins heaving in a rhythmic motion, and you sob harder, your lower lip trembling relentlessly. Is this what death looks like? Is this what it feels like? A pit of growing despair? A hollowed chasm of hurt and indifference? 

And then, you hear it: Zoro’s laugh - something he rarely does. It starts slow, and then it crescendos into insanity, mixing with an animalistic roar as he raises his head to face King. There’s blood all over his face and mouth, but his eye… it seems to be glowing red with fury. 

Then, he smirks, raising his hand which is steady, despite all the blood loss, and he points the gun at King. “You talk too much, fucker.” And, without hesitation, he shoots. The gunshot rings like the thunder from the storm outside. 

Loud. 

Unforgiving.

Freeing.

King jerks violently, his hands climbing towards his torso, where blood is pooling. For the first time, he looks surprised - frightened, even. His breath hitches, and he coughs up blood, his eyes widening as his gaze falls on you one last time.

It’s a vision you know you’ll never forget. He looks defeated, but he still watches you like he owns you. He snarls low and gurgles on the blood coming up his throat. His hands inch forward, still trying to grab you - to claim you.

You hear Zoro grunting in pain before he speaks again. “I told you, you don’t get to touch her.”

Another shot.

King’s eyes open wider, his head jerking violently to the side as the bullet enters through his temple, exiting on the other side with a sickening, meaty sound. Blood and brain matter splatter everywhere, and you can hear pieces of his skull hitting the floor with revolting clatters, like the shattering of the finest china. 

And then, as if in slow motion, he collapses on top of you.

Dead. 

You stay frozen for a moment as your brain tries to grasp what just happened.

King’s dead.

He’s dead.

Zoro saved you.

Zoro!

A dry thud catches your attention, and you shift your focus back to Zoro. He has slumped forward and looks very still.

“Zo! Zoro!” You squirm, trying to push the massive form of King away from you. But if he was impossible to move when he was alive, it’s even worse now. A frustrated cry leaves your lips as you shove his limp body with all your might, ignoring the throbbing pain in your shattered wrist. 

With a lot of effort and kicking, you pry yourself away from King, taking an extra second to pull your bottoms up before you kneel down next to Zoro. The first thing you do is press your fingers against the pulse on his neck - you still feel it, soft and irregular.

A deep, shattering sigh escapes your lips as you slowly turn to Zoro to look him in the eye.

“Hey, Trou–” He groans, leaving the rest unsaid as he can’t seem to find the strength to finish the sentence. 

In the distance, you can hear the faint sound of approaching sirens, mingling with the receding thunder and the dwindling rain. 

“Shh, shh, Zoro. I’m fine, you’re fine. We’re going to be fine.” You sob through your words as your hands stick with the blood on them. Pressing the wound, trying to slow the bleeding, you stare into Zoro’s eye. “You saved me, Zo.” A mere whisper.

The sirens approach.

Blood keeps pooling around you.

Zoro hums, his smirk twisting into a grimace. “Always… gettin’… trouble…” You tremble as you chuckle, more from trying to contain the tears than from the gesture. 

“Yeah, I know… paperwork on your desk, right?” Zoro mumbles something and closes his eye. “Zo, come on.” You whimper, dropping your forehead against his and sobbing uncontrollably. “Open your eyes, come on.”

For an agonizing moment, he’s completely still. No breathing, no nothing. You hold your breath too, chin trembling.

And then he lets out a long exhale, opening his eye lazily, trying to refocus on your face. “Only… have… one eye…” He jokes again, and you hear a car screeching to a halt outside before you can answer him. You move your gaze towards the door and find relief when you see Captain Mihawk.

The older man falters for a split second, his eyes assessing the scene in front of him before he approaches you and mimics your earlier gesture by pressing Zoro’s pulse. He exhales in relief before removing his jacket and placing it on your shoulders so you can cover yourself. Then he sets his amber gaze on your eyes. “Keep talking to him. Don’t let him go unconscious. The ambulance was right behind me.”

Mihawk rises and walks towards King, repeating the process of checking for the pulse, and then he turns back to Zoro. “Roronoa, you are in no way dismissed. Stand your ground, Officer.” Zoro grunts and you feel your chest constrict. You can sense the way Mihawk is distressed over Zoro’s condition, so you refocus your efforts.

“Zo, Zo, look at me, come on, you Mosshead.” That seems to do the trick as he opens up his eye again and frowns. “Yeah, you heard me. Focus on me, will you?”

He tries. You can see he’s trying. But when he closes his eye, it just seems to be harder and harder to open it back up again. You hear the ambulance stop and the paramedics shouting outside, so you cup Zoro’s cheek and press a kiss to his cold, shivering lips.

“You can’t quit on me Zo. I love you. You hear me? I love you. Stay with me… please!”

You can see him struggling to answer, his lips trembling with the effort, but he can’t muster the strength. And then it all happens at once.

The paramedics rush to your side, and you give them space to work, though your hand still holds Zoro’s. One of the EMTs wants to assess you because there’s so much blood all over you that the poor man thinks you’re dying too. But you push him away, saying you’re fine and refuse to let go of Zoro’s hand.

It’s not until you’re both riding the ambulance to the hospital - your hand clutching Zoro’s so hard it’s already numb - that the worried EMT tries again and frustratedly asks you to please let him assess your wounds. 

“I said I’m fine!” You snap, your voice cracking, showing just how frayed you really feel. “Just… just fix him!” A sob claws at your throat, and you swallow it down, your fingers squeezing tightly. 

Zoro is laid on his stomach as the EMTs work on the stab wound on his back. He’s breathing very shallowly through an oxygen mask, and a sheen of sweat makes his forehead glisten. 

“BP’s dropping.” One of the EMTs who’s monitoring Zoro’s condition states and bangs on the window. “Speed it up!” The ambulance picks up its pace, and every jolt, every bump makes Zoro groan and turn paler. You lean down, your forehead touching his again while your shoulders shake violently. 

“Zo… fight! Please. This is not the way you die, hear me?” You can’t stop the whimper that escapes your lips, nor the way your heart hammers incessantly against your chest. 

“ETA to the hospital?” The EMTs talking are mere background noise. All you hear is the faint breaths Zoro’s taking, the slight wheeze every time he inhales, and the heavy grunt every time he exales. “Five minutes?”

“You will die a very old, very grumpy man. None of this bullshit, hear me?” Your hand squeezes his tighter, and you shake again, your shoulders shivering violently.

“That’s five minutes too many, step on it. Ma’am?”

“You stay right here with me, Zo. I selfishly want all of your years. Don’t quit on me, Mosshead!”

“Ma’am!”

You don’t answer, don’t even look. You’re laser-focused on Zoro’s pained expression and barely register when someone drapes a blanket over your shoulders. 

And then you feel it.

A gentle, very light squeeze of your hand. Zoro’s still awake, he’s still fighting.

Time seems to stand still as you strain your ears for any more sound, any other confirmation that he’s still there with you. 

And then time crashes violently, and all at once. 

The ambulance screeches to a stop, and the doors fly open. The EMTs haul Zoro’s gurney out, and you follow blindly, too stubborn to let go of him, too tenacious to focus on yourself. There’s already a team of doctors and nurses waiting by the hospital doors, white coats, medical jargon, the smell of strong disinfectant, it’s all too much.

“Talk to us.” One doctor begins, his voice steady.

“Male, early twenties, stab wound to the back, multiple lacerations, and blunt force trauma likely from a fight. No exit wound - possible organ damage, and massive blood loss. BP’s crashing!” The EMT states, and the doctor nods, you’re all moving inside the hospital, but the sounds are too loud, the colours too bright.

Everything feels surreal. 

“Get him to trauma one and prep for transfusion. Someone page surgery, if he’s bleeding internally, we’re taking him straight in.”

A nurse grabs your arm, and one of the doctors steadies you, making you let go of Zoro’s hand with a gasp and a whine. “Zo!”

“Ma’am?” One of the EMTs stops near the nurse and sighs. 

“She refused treatment on the way, possible shock, multiple traumas and lacerations, her wrist is a mess.” The nurse nods and talks softly to you, steadying your shoulders as you try to follow Zoro’s gurney.

“He’ll be fine, dear. We need to examine you. There’s nothing you can do about him now, he’s in very good hands.”

“No, no, no!” You sob, pushing past her, trying to run to Zoro again. “I can’t leave his side! I can’t, Zo!” 

Suddenly, security comes near you, a big man with an intimidating stride, though kind eyes and smile. He reaches to stop you from following Zoro and the entourage of doctors. “Listen to the nurse, Ma’am.”

“No! I can’t leave him!” You thrash violently, even though you have no idea where you find the strength. The security holds you, and you hear someone say something about sedatives. You keep calling out to Zoro and the last thing you hear before a needle pricks your arm and everything goes black is the scariest thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life.

“We’re losing him!”

And then… darkness.

-*-

You lost track of time.

Lost track of where you are.

But not of what happened. It takes you a full minute, but you get there. As the steady inhales you take slowly dissipate a wave of nausea, you remember everything. King; Zoro; The near-rape; Zoro; The desperation; Zoro; The stabbing, the gunshot, the sirens, the hospital…

Zoro.

“Zoro!” You rise with a jolt and a pained cry. Everything hurts. Your body feels sore and heavy, every cut stings, every bruise throbs, your wrist feels like it’s being crushed by a truck. Yet, what hurts most is your heart. 

“He’s alive.” A gravelly voice jolts you. 

Your face whips to the side faster than the speed of light, and you are met with a stern amber gaze. 

“Captain Mihawk!” How long has the man been seated by your bedside? You have absolutely no idea how much time has passed, but it’s dark outside, so at least an entire day. “Where–”

“It’s classified information. I can’t tell you where he is. But he’s alive, though heavily battered. He’s still asleep.”

Alive… alive! Alive!

You release a gargled sob, your good hand climbing to stop it from turning into an ugly cry in front of Zoro’s captain. 

You inhale quickly and sharply, trying to fend off tears and keep from being an emotional mess, since Mihawk seems bored to death by your display. 

“I called your father. I didn’t disclose too much because I didn’t want to worry him, but he’s on the first flight back. He’ll be home tomorrow.” 

You nod, relief flooding your veins. Shanks is coming back - you missed your dad - and if you noticed the way Mihawk’s voice softened when he spoke of him, you ignore it, feeling like it’s safest if you don’t mention it.

“Home? But our house is–...” Destroyed, filled with blood, a dead body…

Tainted…

“The forensic team finished up during the day, so the cleanup crew should be working now. By the time Red arrives, it will be like nothing happened.” His eyes soften for a fraction of a second, and he sighs. “Visibly, at least.” 

Right. Because emotionally and psychologically, you’re fucked. 

And you haven’t even begun to process it yet. 

“Red?” You can’t let this one pass. Even more so because the rest still feels too traumatic to address. 

Mihawk uncrosses his leg, sets it down, and crosses the other one instead. He never blinks. “I’ve known your father since school days.” Another heavy sigh while his lip curls up in slight discontentment tells you he won’t elaborate on the subject further. “Did you know him? King?”

Just as he mentions him, the pain in your wrist becomes unbearable, and you wince, bringing it closer to your chest as tears start to unwillingly pool in your eyes.

“Yes. He was my ex-fiancé’s bodyguard. Vinsmoke Ichiji, my ex, had many enemies and… fans.” You inhale a shaky breath. “I barely talked to King during the two years he worked for Vinsmoke Enterprises, but he was… obsessed. My phone it–...”

“We collected it for evidence.” Mihawk nods. 

“He… he hurt Rob Lucci and– God, I don’t even know his name, the store clerk of the supermarket by the corner street–...”

“We know. Roronoa connected the dots first, and by the time I went to speak to the clerk, he told me that you had called the supermarket to warn him. He didn’t know your name, but he had seen you with Zoro. When King threatened him to ‘never touch what’s his again’, he too connected the dots. He was just too scared to share that information when we first took his statement.” Mihawk purses his brows. “As soon as he told me that vital information, and since the special squad was heading over, we sped things up and rushed to your house.”

You nod slowly. Once more completely overwhelmed by everything King did. The tears threaten to return and you sniff loudly. Mihawk rises in his chair and sets the furniture back into its rightful place, by the corner of the room, coming back with a tissue in his hand, which he hands to you.

“I’ll take your full statement once you’re recovered. There’s no rush. Besides, I’ll speak with Vinsmoke first to see what type of information he can provide us with. Until then, please rest.”

You nod again, wiping your tears and nose. All you really want to do is see Zoro.

“Are you sure you can’t tell me where Zoro is? I–... Please?” Gripping the sheets with your good hand, you feel your chest constrict. You can’t spend another second away from him. 

“No. It’s completely classified information.” Mihawk heads towards the door and opens it. “I can’t tell you he’s in recovery room 3, down the next hallway, third door to the right. It’s classified, stop asking.”

You grin, the smile so foreign on your cut lips that it almost hurts. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Mihawk’s brow raises, and your grin widens. “Rest, child. You need it.”

-*-

You managed to peek at the time, and it’s nearly four in the morning. Twenty-four hours have passed since this nightmare came to its conclusion. It still feels so surreal to know your stalker is dead. That he’s not going to text you anymore; that he’s not going to hunt you, control you, punish you…

But all you want right now, all you need, is Zoro…

Your feet are bare as they pitter-patter down the next hallway and take you to the third door on the right. You’re lucky no nurse saw you or heard you, because you had to rip the IV needle from your arm, you’re still dizzy from being heavily sedated, and you’re pretty sure any nurse would have scolded you and dragged you back right away.

You don’t quite know what to expect as you push open the heavy green door and enter the dimly lit room, but whatever it is, it wasn’t this.

Zoro looks so unlike his usual self. His torso is heavily bandaged, there’s a small tube coming out of his nose - likely to help him breathe - an IV line in his arm, and all sorts of equipment set on his chest and finger to keep track of his vitals. 

He looks so frail.

So unlike the strong, unshakable Zoro who protects you and keeps all harm away. 

The small click of the door closing behind you disrupts the steady beeps of the monitors, and you bite your lower lip to contain your sobs as you walk towards him. 

“Hi…” You whisper softly, maybe hoping that he hears you. He doesn’t stir, so you swallow down the rest of everything you have to say to him. You want to thank him, you want him to know how much he means to you, but you also want to call him careless and reckless. Maybe not all in that order, though. 

With a longing sigh, you find a chair by the corner of the room and drag it towards the bedside. With your uninjured hand, you grab Zoro’s - it’s freezing - and just stare at his face. His brows are scrunched, even though he’s heavily sedated, but the beeping on the monitor seems steady and his chest rises and falls regularly.

He’s alive.

He made it.

He saved you.

“Thank you.” You know he doesn’t hear you, but the words burn so deep on your tongue that you need to release them. Then, you lay your forehead against his hand and hope he wakes up soon. You need to hear his voice. 

-*-

Time is so relative. It seems you were asleep forever, a dreamless, drug-induced sleep, but when you blink slowly, chasing away the drowsiness, the room is still dark, so you couldn’t have been out for too long.

You inhale deeply, ignoring the pain in your back from the small cuts of glass from the table; the sharp sting of the still-fresh bite mark; the constant throbbing of your wrist, yet– there’s something you can’t ignore: a steady thread of fingers through your hair.

Zoro!

With urgency in your movements, you raise your head, eyes already opened wide as they meet his soft gaze. 

“Zo…”

“Hey there, Troublemaker…” He grunts and smirks. “This time, you really made some trouble, huh?”

A choked wail leaves your lips as you scramble to get up and wrap your arms around him. For a second, it's bliss. 

Then it’s pain.

“Ouch!” You both wince at the same time as you disentangle away from him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You start babbling, and he chuckles softly.

“Missed you too, Trouble.” You can’t help but notice the roughness of his voice and how breathless he sounds. 

“I thought I was going to lose you!” You can’t stop the stubborn tears, nor do you really care about stopping them. You want to press closer to Zoro, to never let him go, but you’ve just learned that you have to be careful. Instead, you grip his hand tightly. 

“I thought the same about you.” Zoro tries to raise his hand, but his strength fails him, so you lift it and bring it to your lips, pressing a soft kiss on his knuckles. “When I woke up and you were gone…” Zoro snarls softly. “We’re still going to have to talk about that stunt you pulled.”

“Later.” You dismiss him, not caring about being scolded.

“Later.” He agrees, too tired to argue with you. “C’mere.” He lets go of your hand and scoots softly to the side, taking care not to strain his wounds.

“No!” You protest, though feebly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He sighs. “Here.” Then he pats the side of the bed softly. “C’mere.” He talks as if he’s scolding a small child, and frankly, you don’t have it in you to protest. You need to feel him against you, to know he’s real and alive and breathing. So you climb the bed, taking care not to strain your injured arm and wincing as everything hurts. 

Zoro grunts as the mattress dips but hums in agreement when you nestle close to him, your foreheads almost touching. “Better.” He mutters with a long, relieved exhale. 

Then he pulls you a bit closer by placing his hand on your waist. You grin and brush your nose against his. “Softie.”

“Shut up.” He scolds. Then you feel him chuckle even before he curves his lips to release the sound. “I heard you, you know?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you love me.”

Your breath hitches as you feel your neck burning from embarrassment. “You were half-dead, what do you know?”

“I know what I heard.” He counters, and you press your fingers against his chest, softly. 

“No, you don’t.”

Zoro’s hand moves slowly but surely, when he raises your chin so you can look at his eye. “Lie to me one more time, Trouble.” You almost melt. God, you do love him. Your blush and soft smile are answer enough. “That’s what I thought.”

Then he presses his lips softly against yours. Just a small peck, a reminder, a promise for more. 

“Fine.” You admit in a barely-there whisper when you break apart. “I do love you.”

His eye softens like you’ve never seen it do before, all the usual harshness being replaced by something sweet, just for you. 

“Good.” He pecks you one more time. “Because I love you too.”

The blush on your cheeks spreads, but so does the warmth in your chest as you bury your head against the crook of his neck. “Idiot. You just wanted me to say it first.”

You don’t have to look at him to know he has a smug smirk on his lips. “Yeah, I did. Especially because I’ve loved you since I was a horny teenager.” You can’t stop a heartfelt laugh from escaping your lips. “I think I loved you more than swords back then, and that’s saying something.”

You laugh again, feeling so much relief from this interaction. It’s normal. It’s back to how things were before King broke you. It’s you and Zoro. Real, steady, familiar.

“It’s not a competition, you bonehead.”

He chuckles and snuggles closer, exhaustion and drugs getting the best of him as his eye droops slowly. “Tch. If it was, I’d have won.”

You let out another breathless laugh as you feel him drift off, a smug smile still pressing his lips.

It’s over.

The nightmare’s over. 

Finally.

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[lostinlovingrevery]

Cat-and-Mouse

Cowboy! Logan X F! Reader

You can run, but he'll always catch you

A/N: A lil hint of the dynamics between reader and Logan in the cowboy!Logan series that I will eventually (hopefully) write. This could be considered standalone tho! also this isn't going to be the only fic where you get lasso'd by Logan (im a lil obsessed w the idea)

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, CNC elements but not really?, unprotected PiV, you get Lasso'd and tied up lol, creampie, it's complicated style relationship, possessive logan, a little bit of mean!logan too, outdoor sex? kind of a plot

Your feet pounded against the dirt as you ran.

Your heartbeat flooded your ears. Adrenaline coursed through your body, pushing you faster than you ever have before. Your hair and dress were with the wind as you ran. You nearly tripped several times from your skirt tangling with your legs. 

Ahead all you saw was a dirt road, lined with trees, towering over you- silent watchers. It seemed endless but it was the only option you got. All roads lead to somewhere. 

The thundering of hoofprints was distant, but there.

Reason told you, you weren’t going to win this chase. Panic pushed you faster, beyond your limits.

You hear a sound of a rope, as you turn your head to see a lasso twirling through the air, before being tossed in your direction. The feeling of a rope wraps around you, tight, constricting your arms to your torso, and pulling you back with a harsh tug. You landed into the dirt, your body rolling backwards as it followed the tug of the rope, making your pretty white dress dirty, and your face smeared with dust. 

You pant, your lungs desperate for you, your head screaming at you to get up. You rolled to your side, but the wind had been knocked out of you so fiercely you couldn’t utter the strength to get up.

You heard the sound of a horse huffing nearby, before the sound of boots landing into the dirt. A steady, slow walk towards you, the jingle of spurs filling you with anticipation. 

“Well now. You enjoy that run, little rabbit?”

You open your eyes, squinting up at the sky where the sun blinded you until he came into view. His body shielded you from the sun's harsh light, but created a foreboding darkness as shadows covered him as he looked down at you with a smirk. 

He leaned down, a small grunt escaping him, as he picked you up with ease with one hand, grabbing your arm and bringing you to your feet. He turned you around roughly, binding you with the lasso, tying it- not uncomfortably, but reminded you that you were bound and helpless to him. He spun you back around, his hand coming up to clench your jaw.

“I thought we were done with that little cat-and-mouse game.” He mumbles. “Trying to break an old cowboy's heart?” 

You scowled at him and he forcefully tightened his grip on you. Pulling you closer, and forcing you to look into his eyes. “Do I need to remind you of a few things?” 

You yelped as he lifted you up, throwing you over his shoulder with ease like a bale of hay. He clicked his tongue, 

“C’mon Cinnamon.” He orders his horse, who then follows him at will, as he begins walking down the road. You attempted to wiggle from his grasp, but his hand came up, smacking you harshly on the ass, making you yelp- and cease your struggle. “Settle down there bunny.” He taunts, making your face hot in embarrassment. 

He didn’t carry you for long, just somewhere off-road. Cinnamon was left to graze while he put you somewhere more secluded. He dropped you onto the grass, gently but still made you gasp. You struggle a bit, pushing yourself to sit up, as he stands over you and watches with disappointment.

“Logan.” You looked up at him angrily. 

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head. 

“Let me go.”

He clicked his tongue, baring his teeth as he sucked air through them. Look up and around at the nature that surrounds you both. A small clearing with a nearby pond. It would be a pretty place to relax in- if it weren’t for your current circumstances. He looked back down at you, and you saw a flash of anger on his face that sent chills down your spine. 

He kicked your legs open roughly, kneeling down between them as his hand went around your neck, pushing you back onto the grass, before hiking your dress up to your waist as his other hand cupped your clothed cunt. You let out a whine, turning your head away from him.

He chuckled. “I told you. You’re mine now.” He says lowering himself to your ear. His fingers pushed your panties aside, brushing through your folds, making your hips involuntarily thrust. “You still got me leaking out of ya, and you thought you could run?” He tsks. 

You turned your head to look up at him, a pout on your lips. 

“Should’ve kept you tied up but I thought you were smarter than that.” He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, his nose bumping into yours as his lips sit a mere inch away. 

You began to tip your head up to kiss him, but he pulled away. “Nice try.” He smirked, before his eyes flashed with possessiveness, and his voice turned low. “You’re going to pay for that lil escapade you just did.” 

He sat back up, undoing his belt and holster, dropping it to the side. He shoved his pants down to his thighs, and his thick cock popped out, hard already. He pushed your skirt father up, pulling your panties off you. 

In a swift movement, he grabbed the rope bounding you, pulling you onto his lap. You felt his cock brush over your folds and the chilling warmth of fear and arousal rushed over you. Taking his hat off, he placed it over your head firmly.

He leaned back onto the grass, gazing at you above him, as he goes and pushes you up, before angling his cock at your entrance. 

“Go on. You don’t got a choice.” 

Your lips parted, a gasp escaping you as your head fell back, the stretch as you began to lower yourself over him, pain and pleasure wrapped into a delicious combo that made your thighs tremble. You purse your lips together, before looking at him pleadingly.

“C’mon now. None of that. You took me so well last night darling.” He purred. “and I know you loved every goddamn second of it. Get moving.” 

You continued lowering yourself onto him, down to the hilt. Tears well in your eyes as you attempt to adjust to the size of him. Somehow, it felt harder lowering yourself over him- than it did when he fucked into you. He knew how to take care of you better than you did yourself.

“Goddamn sweetheart.” He let out a groan, tipping his head back for a moment as his grip tightened over the rope.

His hand caressed your thigh. He didn’t loosen his grip on the rope that bound you. A small tug of the rope, and an order. The sound of his voice dared you to disobey.

“Now, ride me cowgirl.” 

With a trembling body, you began to lift yourself up, and back down his cock. Without the use of your arms to support yourself, you find more strain in your legs as you attempt to move up and down his girth. 

Not wanting to disappoint- or anger him more, you pushed through it. Small whimpers escaped you, as pleasure began to erupt through your body. The ache melted into something honey-like. Your arms pressed into the rope as you arched your back, wishing to go faster but not having the strength to. 

His hand continued caressing your thigh, as he watched you with satisfaction at seeing you bound and struggling. Your cunt was squeezing so tight around him, despite how he had fucked you last night. It was cute, how you thought you could get away from him.

Maybe you did. Several times in fact.

He always found you. He always will.

You crawled under his skin. Become an itch he can’t scratch - only you could. 

Your thighs were beginning to give out. He could see the tears threatening to break through as your lips parted. Your previous cardio had already left you exhausted, and now you were at your breaking point, your vision becoming blurry, as the burn in your legs started to numb. 

Suddenly, your world shifts, and you feel the cool grass on your back. 

A hard thrust left you whining Logans name. A warm chuckle graced your ears. 

“Let this be a lesson, little bunny.” He says, his gloved hand softly brushing some hair out of your face, before gripping it and making you open your eyes and look at him. “You can run, much as you want, but I’m always going to find you.” 

You let out a soft gasp. “Logan.” 

“Hm?”

“I just want to keep you safe.” 

The hardness on his face softens. He leans forward and captures your lips in a possessive kiss. Slowly he began moving his hips against yours, thrusting in and out, small hiccups escaping you as you attempted to kiss him back. 

His arm wrapped around your back, adjusting you by lifting your hips higher, the angle sent you careening, as his cock continues to bury himself inside you over and over. He moved down to your neck, sucking and nipping at your skin. You heard small grunts escaping him with every hard thrust inside you. 

You wanted to grab him, hold onto him as he claimed you. The lasso he had caught you with, tied you, kept you restricted from him. His own barrier he’s made between you- yet doesn’t acknowledge. 

His thrusts become erratic, his grasp around your waist becoming tighter as he buries himself into your neck. His hand braced into the grass next to your head digging into the dirt. You let out a cry tilting your head towards, as you felt your own overwhelming finish approach. A tight sensation in your lower belly that finally snaps at his next words,

“You’re mine-” He growls. “No ones fucking taking you from me. Got that?”

You moaned, tipping your head back as relief washed over you. Pleasure rolled through in waves as you squeezed him over and over, now merely rutting into you until he came to his own finish, burying himself inside you as he let out a guttural moan. He takes a moment to catch his breath, before pulling out of you. 

He sat up, pulling his pants up over himself, setting the buckle back in place as he looked down at you. Seemingly hypnotized by your ruined form. Your legs spread wide still, as you shook, and his cum beaded out of you slowly. Dirt covered your dress and skin. Your hair was a mess. 

“Think ya got the message now?” He says in a low grumble. You opened your eyes and looked at him. You didn’t respond. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t consider yourself his. At this point, you were utterly devoted. Your lives though were complicated. 

You couldn’t risk losing him.

He smirked. “No? Guess I’ll just have to keep ya tied up darling.”

[zorostitties]

Aurora; 7 (m)

�� Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom. Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, slow burn, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.

rating: 18+

word count: 5k

A/N: HELLO Y'ALL!!! This one is coming a little earlier than usual because I am more anxious to update than y'all are anxious to read lmao Past chapter had so many comments!!! I'm glad you guys liked it so much. It was such a fun chapter to write! Hope y'all will like this one as much! ALSO checks page HOW MANY KUDOS??? WHAT THE HELL??? 😭😭 Thank you so much!!! It truly means so much to me 😭😭 Anyway let me shut up lol enjoy!! <3

⤕  Chapters: check masterlist in bio!  ⤕ Also on AO3

Guilt was a feeling Alucard avoided vehemently.

After you reach a certain age, you realize that there are some feelings and situations that you should avoid for your own sanity. One of them – perhaps the most important – is to avoid thinking too much about the past. One thing is to cherish the people you’ve met and loved, to keep some moments close to your heart; another thing is refuse that they will never come back and to avoid facing the present. Alucard knew quite well that this can sink you. That’s why he was constantly busying himself – traveling the world, meeting new cultures, learning new things.

Another thing he avoided – this one took him a long time to learn, a whole lot of grief to understand – was to… get too attached. And yes, this made him lonelier than ever. Yes, this wasn’t entirely healthy. He knew about all that. But his mortal heart wasn’t strong like his immortal body, and there was a moment in his life when he decided that he couldn’t take much more pain anymore. Stepping away from the Belmonts was… difficult, but was what the needed at the moment. He needed to let his heart heal, and the only thing that heals is time. Perhaps much more time than he first assumed.

And then there was guilt. Alucard didn’t like to feel guilt because it meant that he failed. Unfortunately, he wasn’t someone that could fail. His ways of life, his fights, the things he stood for usually involved countless innocent lives, so he couldn’t give himself the luxury of failing. Alucard was methodical, precise, insistent – not to say stubborn. Because yes, he could he stubborn –; he only accepted perfection of himself. Him succeeding meant no one suffered. Therefore, no guilt.

That’s why Alucard was partially hating himself at that moment. He’d felt more guilt in the span of 48 hours than in the last few years.

He almost couldn’t look at Ruby in the eye.

Luckily, she was sitting behind him as he guided the horse on the streets of Paris, so he wouldn’t have too see her for some moments – but her arms around his waist and the warmth of her body were a reminder that she was there.

His feelings were a bit… chaotic at the moment, to be honest. On one hand, he was glad – relieved – that Ruby had healed. On the other hand, he knew that the reason why she got so hurt in the first place was because of him. He told her she wouldn’t get hurt and he weren’t there to protect her, even if she claimed to have jumped in front of a night creature to save Annette. And then there was the other part of him (the methodical, precise and stubborn part of him) hissing that he shouldn’t be wasting time going to the Louvre because there was an army of vampires coming and he had to act.

But Alucard couldn’t tell her no. Not really. Not when she looked at him with that glow in her eyes – a glow of hope he hadn’t seen in her yet. Alucard couldn’t bring himself to be so cruel. Especially not after what she’d been through mere hours ago.

He owed her that.

Ruby was becoming a bigger mystery to him in more complicated ways than he first assumed. It didn’t involve only her unknown past, but also her behavior. It was difficult for him to understand how she was acting so normal after what she had just suffered. Sure, the methodical part of him was thankful to that – he had to act fast; quite frankly, he wouldn’t have time to wait until she recovered. If her healing took longer than it did, he would have a real problem at hands, and if she was frozen in shock, it would also be a problem.

But then there was his mortal heart speaking into his mind, too. It never shut up, unfortunately.

There was something so deeply wrong with Ruby.

The more time he spent with her, the more he watched her, the more he heard her heart race and her fingers shake at the most casual situations – like walking into a crowd or mustering courage to speak –, the more he realized that Ruby didn’t have any care for herself, the angrier he got.

Alucard also avoided getting too angry. Anger was a form of attachment as well; it tied the ones he despised to him. Anger could take a person like him – eternal and powerful – down a very dangerous path. Anger led to wrath, which let to hatred.

But again… it was getting hard for Alucard to keep his feelings in place. Not when he could still feel the now faint smell of Ruby’s blood.

In fact, he thought she was going to die.

Her blood was everything Alucard could feel the moment he stepped out of the Seine. He knew it was Ruby’s; he got quite familiar with it due to that scratch on her heel as they walked to Juste’s cottage. It was so strong that he almost could see the air turning red. It must’ve drawn the attention of every vampire in the area.

And then he rushed to the palace and saw her in that state.

She can heal, Alucard tried to convince himself, but could she, really? He’d seen her heal from cuts, not multiple fractures and mass bleeding. Those wounds meant death to any human and vampire, unless they could drink blood to strengthen their healing process.

Alucard barely knew her. He was still a tiny bit suspicious of her – of her cloudy past, at least. And yet, the thought of Ruby dying scared him.

Not many things scared him.

Death was one of those things. Not the fear of facing death himself, but having to watch someone close to him die. Alucard was far too familiar with the feeling and he never got used to it.

If Ruby had died at that moment, he’d carry that scar with him for a long time. She didn’t even had a chance to live. She didn’t even remember if she had lived before her imprisonment. If Ruby had died, it wouldn’t only be painful; it would be unfair.

So yes, he got scared. Yes, he held her close and tried to ease her pain – Hell, she looked in so much pain, even if she didn’t scream – because it was the only thing he could do. The Universe couldn’t be so cruel to that woman to just let her die like that. It… it couldn’t.

To his utter relief, Ruby healed. Her skin closed the wounds, the bleeding stopped, she finally passed out and slept for a bit.

Mixed with his relief was also confusion.

Her healing was far more powerful than Alucard first assumed. Alucard didn’t know many vampires that could heal from injuries so serious.

What was Ruby?

Why did she have this strange condition? How did she achieve it? For what end?

Alucard wanted to know. He needed to know. Erzsebet must’ve had a reason not only to keep her, but also to want to retrieve her.

The white-haired vampire instinctively held the reins a bit tighter as he remembered Drolta.

Ruby’s face of pure panic. Fuck, he couldn’t take her expression off his mind. The way Drolta was twirling that necklace around her finger. A ruby necklace. Everything made sense at that moment.

Her nonchalance after getting injured, the little care she had for herself, her fear and hesitance…

These things were growing on him in an ugly way.

A week ago, Erzsebet and Drolta were just two maniacal cult leaders that needed to be stopped. It wasn’t exactly personal. Alucard had dealt with vampires like them many times in his life.

Now, however, he not only needed to stop them – he wanted to kill them.

And this time, he would make sure that they were gone. He would personally make sure that Drolta was actually dead. He would make sure to slash her head off her neck and burn her body to ashes.

He would make sure to shatter that necklace to pieces.

Alucard couldn’t heal Ruby’s soul, but he hoped that their death, at least, would bring her some peace.

Alucard pulled the reins and made the horse gallop significantly slower until it stopped.

“What’s the problem?” Ruby asked close to his ear as she tried to peek ahead over his shoulder.

“The streets around the palace are blocked.” Alucard tightened his eyes a bit. Soldiers barricaded the entrance to the front square of the Louvre, trying to keep a crowd of curious people away. The man let a tired sigh. “Well, I guess I should’ve expected it.” He looked at her over his shoulder. “We’ll have to sneak in by foot.” Ruby nodded. She dismounted from the horse first, being shortly followed by him.

Alucard wandered his eyes around the crowd. They chatted suspiciously among themselves. “I heard an attack happened,” someone said, while another person murmured that “my cousin’s a guard, he told me it were the royalists that wanted to avenge the King,” or someone else said “This is all fake! It’s just to keep our attention here. Another faction is planning to take the country overnight as we speak!”

But then, some young voices caught his attention the most. Three boys discussed excitedly among themselves.

“He’s obviously lying,” the boy in the middle said, crossing his arms and frowning. “Don’t believe him.”

“I’m tellin’ ya!” The shortest of the three insisted, gesticulating excitedly. “I saw a dragon flyin’ inside the palace. Then, some minutes later, I saw another winged thing flying away!”

“It could’ve been a bird.”

“It wasn’t a bird! Never seen a bird so big in my life!”

“Your eyesight isn’t even that good anyway. He said he saw a crocodile in the Seine last week, remember?”

“Hey– you said you saw it, too!”

Alucard couldn’t help but feel a bit of his tension dissipate. The sight was... a bit familiar.

He made a sharp whistle, immediately calling the three boys’ attention.

“Do you lads mind watching my horse for a while?” Alucard said, still holding the reins with one hand. He shook the small coin pouch in his palm.

Their eyes immediately gleamed excitedly. They clumsily made their way to approach him, bumping into each other and grinning.

“Of course, sir!” The shortest one saluted Alucard as if he were a soldier.

The tallest one, noticing Ruby standing near, bowed awkwardly, pinching the tip of his worn out beret. “Mademoiselle,” he said in a high pitched voice. Then, his eyes rapidly traveled from her to Alucard, and he coughed. “I mean– madame.” The two other boys imitated his action like tiny echoes, all equally clumsy.

They earned an endeared smile from her. She held her skirt and bobbed a small curtsy graciously in return.

The three blushed.

Alucard inhaled a small chuckle.

“We won’t take long, so stay in the area.” The white-haired vampire said, catching the boys’ attention again. The shortest one seemed to be some sort of leader of the group, as he was the one to approach and hold the reins. Alucard swiftly placed a coin on each of their open palms. “Rest of the payment when I get back.”

“Thank you, sir!” They said in unison, eyes glued in their shiny coins.

The one that looked the oldest tightened his eyes. “Hm, may I ask, sir, what exactly is your business here? The palace is blocked, as you can see.”

Alucard tightened his eyes at him, too. “I certainly see that it’s blocked, and I certainly wouldn’t advise you boys to get any closer to it.” Then, he dropped his voice, his tone picking their attention once again. “I wonder, however, if you were to get closer to it, which street would you pick?”

They eyed each other. The tallest boy coughed again.

“Well, if I were to get closer to it, I would pick an alley behind the Perrault street… most people don’t gather around there, so…”

“...Less guards,” the oldest completed.

Alucard nodded. He placed one more coin on each of their hands. They giggled.

He pointed ahead with his head to Ruby. However, as he was turning around to leave, he stopped and looked at them.

“By the way, what you saw is correct,” Alucard said in a quiet, serious voice. They all froze. “But that wasn’t a dragon; it was a demon. The city is in danger. When we get back, you boys should get your families and hide.”

He didn’t wait to see the boys’ reaction. Ruby, however, lingered her gaze a little longer on them before following him.

A quiet sadness clouded her eyes, made her shoulders drop a bit. She interlocked her hands on her lower stomach as she walked. It seemed to be a standard quirk of hers, besides the one of gripping her skirt when she was nervous. This specific movement as she walked, however, was very… polite.

Alucard didn’t exactly like it.

Not because he didn’t appreciate good manners. Ruby was, in fact, very gracious in anything she did – from her impeccable posture at all times to the way she sat or the way she ate, the way she held cutlery, the way she never raised her voice too much, or even how she insisted in calling him sir when they first met. She had the good manners of a high society lady.

But Alucard knew that all of this was a product of what she had endured. Making herself smaller, quieter, imperceptible. Ruby didn’t do any of that to impress anyone or to fit into some sort of societal standard. She did it because she was afraid of bringing any attention upon her.

The more he observed her, the more he caught himself silently wishing Ruby would… slouch. Raise her voice, show anger or tiredness or boredom. Make it clear when she didn’t like something or voice her opinions without becoming a puddle of anxiety.

That’s one of the reasons why Alucard couldn’t bring himself to say no when she asked to go to the Louvre. Most of the time, she wasn’t brave enough to speak her mind and make requests. She felt comfortable enough at that moment to ask him. And… Alucard actually hated it, but he had also noticed that, sometimes, Ruby flinched away from him and seemed scared when he showed annoyance or moved too abruptly. Unfortunately, he still had similar physical traits of the ones who hurt her so much. The fact that she was growing comfortable around him made him feel… content.

Ruby looked down. “Poor kids. Their clothes are so worn out…”

“This is the situation for most children in this country. That is mainly why the revolution started.”

“...I guess Richter was right. How can a king have a palace this big while his people die of hunger?” She took some moments to speak again. “And if Erzsebet succeeds… she will make things worse.”

Alucard nodded. “Yes. But she won’t, because we’ll stop her.” He pointed with his finger to a nearby street. “Let’s go.”

They quickened their pace, keeping silent for most of the way. Most streets were crowded by a mass of curious people; the news traveled fast, and it seemed that everyone forgot about the execution earlier and decided to gather at this part of the city. Paris was drowned in chaos. Most soldiers were too worried trying to quiet down the population. How could they even prepare for the incoming battle?

Finally, they arrived at the alley the boy had mentioned – and the little bastard was right. It was a dirty small alley where most people avoided, only being guarded by two soldiers that weren’t paying much attention to their job.

At last, Alucard stopped walking in a spot out of their sight. The back view of the palace was just ahead. He turned around and looked down at Ruby, sending her a hesitant look.

“My apologies, but I will need to do that again.”

She widened her eyes slightly. “Oh. Okay.”

“...Do you think you can handle it this time?”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll be fine.” She was clearly lying. Well, there was nothing he could do about that.

Alucard wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her up slightly to a point her feet weren’t touching the ground anymore. He narrowed his eyes, visualizing the path he would have to make.

A familiar red glow enveloped his body–

He sprinted through the alley, passing in between both guards so fast that they didn’t even understand what was happening; to them it was just a sudden, violent gush of wind that made their hats fly away and their eyes widen in confusion.

And just like that, they were within the palace’s gardens.

Alucard put Ruby on the floor again. She was visibly dizzy, so he still held her arm for support. She blinked several times, as if trying to fade the vertigo away.

“It… wasn’t that bad this time,” she lied again. It didn’t look like she wanted to vomit this time, though. Alucard smiled slightly and let go of her arm.

“Do you remember in which room you found the artifact?” He asked quietly, worrying that anyone would hear them. He didn’t want to have to confront any human.

“The same where I was trying to hide in,” Ruby looked around the tall building. “The night creature came crashing through the window. We can use it to get in.”

Alucard nodded, trying to remember in what section of the palace that was…

Then he realized that he didn’t need to remember anything, because the scent of her blood was still very much in the air. They didn’t even have time to clean it. Alucard turned his head in the direction where the scent was stronger.

“There. Let’s go.”

They walked fast, Alucard always placing his body in front of her, walking near the wall under the windows to not get caught. They crossed paths with some guards, but luckily were not seen. He wondered why the hell did that place need to be so horizontally big.

Finally, the sight of a destroyed window appeared ahead. As the building had a double height ceiling, it’d be necessary to climb to get through the window. Alucard gesticulated for Ruby to wait. His sword unsheathed itself and floated up; through the reflection on the shiny iron, he saw that although the doors were opened, the gallery was empty.

Alucard once again wrapped his arm around her waist and floated, graciously passing through the window. As soon as their feet landed on the floor, he nodded his head softly; the double doors closed and locked.

He let go of her and she stepped aside.

The gallery was absolutely destroyed; debris and glass everywhere, broken pieces of the wooden crates, rags of once was a curtain around the floor, statues and paintings destroyed… and blood. A lot of blood.

Ruby widened her eyes at the sight of her own dried blood over the floor. It seems she hadn’t realized how much she bled. She gulped and averted her gaze somewhere else.

“It seems they didn’t start to clean things up yet,” she stated the obvious in a nervous tone.

“They’re probably measuring the damage first. It’ll take them a few days,” Alucard crossed his arms, his eyes wandering over the room. He, in fact, felt bad about all that. So many artifacts were destroyed during the fight… thousands of years of art and history went to waste. It was especially outrageous how Drolta didn’t care about the damage at the Egyptian gallery, given that she came from those same ancient times. She had no respect for her own culture anymore.

“Is it here?” he asked, paying attention to her again.

Ruby hummed quietly.

She walked towards the doors, looking for something on the floor. She tip toed around a pool of blood, trying to avoid stepping on it at all costs. Alucard followed her, albeit keeping a good distance so she could scoop the area without his interference.

Finally, she gasped and rushed to grab something at the corner of the room, near the wall. It was hidden behind a destroyed crate.

Ruby turned around, holding a golden scepter with both hands. Her eyes glowed with afraid amazement.

“This is it,” she confirmed.

They approached each other, meeting at the center of the gallery. Alucard analyzed the artifact she held. It was almost as tall as her with a symbol of the sun at its tip. Throughout the entire staff, there were tiny writings engraved. Although it was golden, it wasn’t much adorned; other than the symbol of the sun and the intricate sun rays in the form of curvy spikes, it was very plain. It appeared to be something used in religious ceremonies.

“What happened exactly when you held it for the first time?” He asked.

Ruby looked down at the scepter. “It was covered in rust. I didn’t even know what I was looking at. Then, when I held it, it got… hot. And it shone.”

“It shone?” Alucard quirked one eyebrow up.

“Yes. So bright that I had to close my eyes. And then… all the rust was gone.”

“And after that?”

Ruby pressed her lips together. “...Nothing. The night creature came in and I dropped it.”

Alucard nodded. “Do you feel anything strange right now?”

She shook her head slightly. “No.” She lifted the object closer to his eyes. “But, see? The writings? It’s that same language. Do you recognize what this is?”

Alucard narrowed his eyes. “Can I?”

Ruby handed him the scepter, which he held with both hands. It was quite heavy – actual pure gold. It was a miracle that the royal French family didn’t melt it, or whoever was in possession of the artifact it previously. He brought it close to his face, analyzing the scriptures.

The characters appeared to be organized vertically instead of horizontally, very similar to Mandarin or Japanese structures of writing. These characters, however, meant nothing to him. They weren’t rounded like Sanskrit, weren’t allusive of animals or nature like Egyptian hieroglyphs or ancient Mandarin, and they didn’t resemble the common Latin alphabet. At most, it reminded him a bit of Sumerian writing, given how simplistic the characters seemed to be – but if it really was Sumerian, Alucard would’ve known.

“You know how to read it, but don’t understand the meaning of the words?” Alucard asked without taking his eyes off the scepter.

“Yes.”

“So, each character means a sound.” Ruby nodded. Phonetic, as he suspected, since the characters repeated themselves over and over again.

“Do you have any idea of what it is?” she repeated, sounding hopeful.

Alucard pressed his lips together.

He really missed Sypha in moments like this.

She would’ve immediately known what it was – or at least, had an idea of how to start investigating the origins of this strange language. Alucard became quite good at learning new languages over the years, but not as good as her. Never.

It felt like there was an invisible cold hand pressing around his heart – like it did anytime he thought of her.

“Unfortunately no.” Alucard shook his head. Ruby’s shoulders dropped. “Let’s not be discouraged. This artifact definitely has magic in it; I can feel it.” Yes, it vibrated under his palm in a high frequency – a metaphysical frequency, like all magic things did. It didn’t reek of demonic magic or negative alchemy either. It felt quite neutral; Alucard couldn’t tell what type of magic it stored.

The white-haired vampire frowned.

“And it certainly doesn’t like me.”

Ruby tilted her head to the side, visibly confused. “What?”

There was a strange sensation in his gut. A certain aggressiveness. Alucard didn’t feel like the scepter could actually hurt him, but the bad feeling was there anyway. He handed the artifact back to Ruby; the moment it left his hands, the sensation was gone.

“Some magical items don’t accept being touched by anyone. Some can only be touched by their masters.”

“Like your sword?” She asked, eyeing the weapon that was still protectively floating near Alucard’s body.

“Precisely.” Alucard shrugged. “Or it just doesn’t like me because I am part vampire.” At her utter confusion, he decided to elaborate. “In magic terms, my existence is an aberration. A half-human, half-vampire being goes against the natural order.”

She pressed her lips and looked down. “...But it’s not your fault.”

Alucard chuckled softly. It sounded like she felt bad for him, which he found quite endearing. “The scepter doesn’t know it.”

They were interrupted when someone tried to open the doors. Both turned around immediately, Ruby visibly startled at the sudden sound.

“Who’s in there?” a male voice was heard from the other side. “Open the doors!”

“Let’s go,” Alucard hurried towards the window again. Yet, she froze in place.

“Do we take it with us?”

“Of course.”

“Isn’t it stealing?”

He couldn’t even bring himself to be annoyed at her. Alucard stepped closer again. “Everything here was stolen from some other country, Ruby. They won’t miss it.”

And then, he was holding her close to his body again, floating out of the palace through the window. The sword obediently sheathed itself again. However, when he stepped foot on the grass, he didn’t let go of her.

“I’ll have to…”

“Yes. I understand,” she nodded before he could finish, tightening the scepter close to her chest.

Alucard felt a tiny bit bad for a moment before sprinting out of the palace’s gardens in a red blur. She seemed to handle the post-dizziness a bit better this time, though.

They hurried around the streets. Ruby held the artifact with nervousness.

“This thing isn’t exactly subtle,” she said between gritted teeth. Indeed. An object made of gold wasn’t something you could hold around and act nonchalant about.

“I can hide it under my cape if you want,” he offered, to which she shook her head.

“No. If it makes you feel bad, I’d rather not.” It seemed she really didn’t think before saying that, because she froze for a moment and immediately avoided his gaze.

Alucard knew that if he chuckled it’d make her feel bad, so he swallowed it.

They didn’t take long to reach their destination with their fast pace. The street appeared a bit less crowded now. And there they were – the three boys sitting on the sidewalk, the horse obediently beside them. They got up in a jump.

“Here it is, sir!” The tallest presented.

“We took care of it. See?” The oldest boasted.

“Some men even wanted to take it away, but we fought valiantly!” It was the youngest’ turn to lie with a grin.

Alucard opened a small smile and took the reins again. “You did a good job, indeed. As promised, the rest of the payment.”

Their grins got even bigger when the white-haired vampire deposited two more coins each over their open palms.

The shortest of the group then cleaned his throat and stepped further towards Ruby. He had both hands behind his back and an already apparent blush over his cheeks.

“Hm, sir! Respectfully!”

“Respectfully!” The tallest one reinforced. He fiddled with his beret nervously.

“We got madame a gift!”

“Out of respect!” The oldest one reinforced again.

The three eyed Alucard with much apparent nervousness, waiting for his… permission. Ruby looked down at the boys with quiet confusion.

Oh, this was getting funny.

Alucard shrugged and nodded. The three boys smiled again and turned to Ruby. Once again, the shortest cleaned his throat.

“Madame! We were attentively taking care of the horse when we saw something that could suit you!”

“I saw it,” the oldest one elbowed him.

“But it was my idea,” the short one hissed back before turning to her again. “Anyway, hm, here it is!”

Finally, he unveiled what he was hiding behind his back in an extravagant gesture: a lily flower.

Alucard looked behind them. On the other side of the street, under a windowsill, there was a vase full of lilies. He had to cross his arms and lower his chest, trying to muffle a laugh.

“It matches your ribbon, madame,” the oldest remarked.

“I was the one to pick it. None of them could reach it but me,” the tallest said with pride.

Ruby watched the three boys with a bit of shock for some seconds.

Then, she smiled.

Not one of her small, timid smiles. For the first time, that smile reached her eyes, too. For the first time, it seemed that she wasn’t embarrassed for smiling; for the first time, her giggle wasn’t dry. Wasn’t clouded by sadness.

Alucard knew that it was the first time he was seeing the real Ruby – the person she was underneath the trauma, the fear, the anxiety; the person she didn’t even know she was yet. And at that moment, the glow of the golden scepter got pale in comparison to her.

Ruby lowered herself to get to their eye level. She took the flower and placed it inside the small pocket of her vest, right above her heart.

“What are your names?” she asked.

“Victor,” the tallest said.

“Pierre,” the oldest one.

“Oliver,” the shortest.

Ruby repeated their names, then patted their heads, rubbing their hair softly.

“This is very sweet, boys. Thank you so much. I promise I’ll take care of your gift.”

It looked like the three boys forgot how to close their mouths. They stared at her in awe, their faces completely red, their three little hearts beating at a rapid pace.

Alucard couldn’t blame them. Not when his own heart missed a beat.

Three hundred years didn’t make him much better than a little boy, after all.

“Ruby.” He called quietly. “We should go.” She nodded and straightened her posture. Alucard turned to the boys, and they all seemed utterly embarrassed when his gaze fell over them. “I wasn’t joking about what I said earlier. Tell your parents about it. After the sun goes down, do not leave your homes.”

The three tensed up at his words, but nodded accordingly. The short one – Oliver – seemed to be the smartest, too; he was the only one that paid attention to Alucard’s mouth and had a fast glimpse of his fangs, which made him get pale. Well… if that helped send the message across, he was fine with it. They finally started walking away.

Ruby waved them goodbye and they waved back, clumsily bumping into each other and elbowing one another. At last, they ran into the crowd again.

A ghost of that smile still lingered on her lips as she turned to him, touching the flower with care. Alucard mimicked her small smile.

“You just made their day.”

She looked shy again, and it made Alucard regret saying that a bit; he didn’t want her to feel embarrassed of herself, not after what he had witnessed. “No, you made their day by paying them.”

Alucard shook his head softly and closed his eyes for a moment.

“It doesn’t even compare.”

He looked down at her again.

This time, instead of the skirt, she gripped the scepter nervously.

Still, Alucard sustained her gaze for a few more seconds. He… enjoyed this. He liked how her attention was frozen on him, even for these brief moments. He liked the sensation of having the world around him blur as if he entered a parallel universe until she’d finally look away.

Alucard knew himself all too well. He didn’t bring himself the trouble of being in denial about anything. It was also one of the things he learned over the years, for the sake of his own sanity.

He understood why the entire mission was becoming personal to him very fast. He understood that, behind his growing anger towards Drolta and Erzsebet, there was something else growing, too – though he wasn’t sure if he’d act on it. No; it was way too early to assume anything. There were still many mysteries to solve, too much at stake, too much trust to be gained on both ends… and way too many traumas to get through, too.

For now, Alucard was satisfied with these small moments of sweetness.

Finally, he took the reins again, and then they were in a crowded street of a city in chaos, and not in a quiet parallel universe.

“Let’s go… madame,” he said jokingly, imitating the honorific the boys repeated over and over again. Ruby chuckled, at least.

Alucard was under the impression that, if Ruby knew what the implications of being called a madame meant, she wouldn’t be so calm about it.

He’d like to keep it as his little secret for now.

[dollveis]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐇 !

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀you've got a fetish for my love

❝ ELLIE WILLIAMS ❞⠀ ✿ you always push ellie away because you're sure you couldn't work together, but maybe you can under the bed sheets. 3.3k words.

pairing. jackson!ellie x fem!reader content warning! mention of consuming alcohol, smut, vague plot tbh, the smut it's actually pretty light and there's more tension and making out than anything, a bit of fluff and maybe angst if you squint, kind of a enemies to lovers but they're not completely enemies (just don't get along), open ending, oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), top!ellie, bottom! reader, there's not really a dom/sub dynamic here.

☆ this is the first thing i've wrote in like a year and a half so bear with me please, this also has been sitting in my drafts for two years already and i finished it just now. i hope this isn't that bad! if there's any grammatical mistakes please let me know, english is not my first language, enjoy ♡

The party was obviously Dina's idea. She'd been going on about it for weeks now, how the younger crowd of Jackson needed a break, no one had barely time to just be and exist with all the patrolling, hunting and just surviving in general.

The party is already in full swing when you finally arrive, half the town's twenty-somethings crowding Dina's place. The warmth it's the first thing that hits you, the house is candlelit, the soft cracking of the fireplace and the strong scent of whiskey and woodsmoke fill your nostrils. The sound of laughter echoes from the living room, someone's half-drunk attempt at playing the guitar makes everyone laugh, you hear Dina's voice rising above it all, welcoming everyone, teasing people, just keeping the energy high. She really outdid herself, the whole place is alive in a way that Jackson rarely is.

And you hate it.

You immediately thought you shouldn't have come. The party is loud, too loud. It's not that you don't like the people here, you do, for most part, but crowds make you restless and you've spent the whole day convincing yourself that this? this isn't what you need, you should've stayed home but Dina insisted, said you were wound up too tight.

“Loosen up, drink a little, talk to someone who isn't your damn horse!” she said when she greeted you and saw that expression in your face, like if you were about to run back to your house.

So now you were stuck there, standing stiff against a wall, drink in hand and watching the room from a distance like it might swallow you whole.

Then your eyes land on her.

Ellie.

She's sitting in the corner, half sprawled on the couch, beer dangling from her slender fingers and her other arm resting lazily over the back of the couch, boots kicked up on the edge of a coffee table just if like she owns the fucking place. She's laughing at something Jesse just said, her head tilting back slightly, exposing the column of her throat. It's a rare sight— her guard down, her expression relaxed, warmth slipping through the usual sharp edges.

For a second you let yourself look, your gaze fixated on her. The way her shirt clings to her frame, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her tattoo catching the dim light of the place. The way her fingers absently trace the label on her beer bottle. The way her green eyes flick across the room, scanning, searching, until they land on you.

There's a pause, a beat where neither of you look away. Then—

She smirks. Fucking smirks. She lifts her beer slightly, a silent acknowledgement of your presence, before taking a slow sip. She knows exactly what she's doing, she enjoys watching you bristle.

You scoff and turn away, pulse kicking up in annoyance. You and Ellie don't get along, y'all never have, she's stubborn, reckless, too sure of herself in a way that grates on your nerves. Every patrol together turns into a heated argument, every introduction a silent battle. It's not like she's mean, if anything, it'd be easier if she was, but she's just Ellie, all sharp words and cocky grins, pressing your buttons like it's a game. And she's determined to win it. For some reason she never lets up, not with you.

Maybe it's a game of push and pull and you always push first.

An hour passes, maybe more, two? you spend most of it trying to avoid her, talking to Dina, Jesse, anyone else but you feel her presence like a weight. Every time you glance her way, she's already looking, every time you move, she's just there and it's pissing you off.

You down the rest of your drink and push through the crowd, slipping down the back hallway, you don't run but you walk fast enough that it feels like it, you dodge Jesse's half-hearted attempt to pull you into some drinking game. You just need air, space—distance.

The first door you find is half open, a guest room, mostly unused since the bed was neatly made. You step inside, inhaling deeply, relishing the silence

Then the door shuts behind you, you don't even need to turn around to know who it is.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter glaring at the ceiling, “do you ever take a hint?”

Ellie just chuckles, the sound low and amused, “Not when it's this much fun, to be honest,” and you don't even need to look around to know she has that stupid smirk plastered on her face.

You spin to face her, your eyes meeting her intense emerald eyes and your arms crossing tight over your chest, “What the hell do you want?”

She leans against the doorframe, her hand holding her chin like she was pretending to think, “dunno. . . maybe i just like seeing you squirm.”

Your jaw clenches and your fists close, “i'm not squirming.”

You see her smirk grow, a knowing look in her eyes, she looks at you like if she was able to read your thoughts and body language, like if she knew something you don't.

She steps closer, “no?”

You hate how easily she gets under your skin, how quickly she turns the air electric. The room feels smaller with her in it, the tension between you palpable. And the worst part? She knows.

You can feel the anger growing inside you, “why do you always do this?” you snap.

Through her lips escapes a soft chuckle as her brow raises, “do what?”

“This. You act like— like —” you exhale sharply, trying to put your mind in order and find the right words, “like you're trying to get a rise out of me.”

Another step, now you can smell the mix of beer and whiskey on her breath, the faint scent of smoke clinging to her shirt, “what if i am?” she says, her voice now lower, rougher.

You breath hitches, for a moment neither of you move, the tension is thick, suffocating, a rope pulled too tight between you, you're both too stubborn, too reckless, you'd burn each other out before you even had the chance to try.

Your heart pounds, your skin prickles, and fuck, you should push her away like you always do.

But you don't.

You take a step forward, closing the distance completely. Ellie doesn't flinch, doesn't back down, if anything she leans in, her usual green eyes now dark and heavy lidded, her smirk fading into something different. Something dangerous.

“You gonna keep pretending?” she murmurs close to your ear.

You don't answer, you can't because she's right and you both know it. So when she tilts her head, gaze flicking down to your lips— when she hesitates, waiting for you— you do the stupidest thing imaginable.

You kiss her.

The kiss is not soft, not sweet, there's frustration, months of tension unravelling all at once. Ellie makes a sound low in her throat, something between a gasp and a groan, and then she's grabbing you, fingers curling around the back of your neck, pulling you into her, pressing you against the door. The alcohol on her tongue is dizzying, her body solid and warm against yours and fuck, maybe you should stop. Maybe this is a mistake— but when she bites at your bottom lip, hands slipping under your jacket, pulling, teasing, demanding, you know there's no going back.

Ellie kisses like she fights, hungry, restless, all consuming. Her hands grip at your waist, pulling you impossibly close, fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt like she's trying to stake her claim. The taste of her mouth makes your head spin. You should stop, you really should, you keep repeating that to yourself in your mind but when she presses you harder against the wall, when she nips at your lower lip and swallows the soft, sweet sound it pulls from your throat— you don't. You won't.

Your hands move on their own, fisting into the front of her shirt, yanking her closer, until there's barely any space left between the both of you. You feel Ellie exhale sharply against your lips, a quiet, breathy curse before tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Months of pent-up frustration unraveling with every movement.

Her hands now drag under your jacket, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, her rough and calloused fingers grazing over your bare skin. The touch sends a shiver through you, your breath hitching as she maps the contours of your waist, ribs, back and dangerously close to your chest.

“Fuck,” Ellie mutters against your mouth, voice husky and almost desperate, “you're—” she cuts herself off, biting at your lip again before pulling back just enough to look at you.

Your chest rises and falls in tandem, lips swallowed and face flushed. And, God, that sight was delightful for her, she could feel herself getting wet just by looking at you, her pupils are blown wide, green eyes dark and unreadable as they flick between your lips and your gaze. She's still gripping at your waist, still pressing you into the door, but there's hesitation now— like she's waiting, like she's asking, like she needs you to make the next move.

You exhale, reaching up, letting your fingers tangle in the short hairs at the nape of her neck. She shivers under your touch, just barely, and something about that sends a thrill directly to your core, making you bolder and almost demanding.

You tug her back in, Ellie groans softly as your lips crash together again, her hands gripping tighter, wandering and exploring beneath your shirt, sometimes her hands traveling to graze your chest. She moves like she's trying to memorize you, like she's been waiting too long for this moment and doesn't want to waste a second of it.

Somewhere between kisses and touches she starts backing you up slowly, steady, until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and your stomach tightens.

Ellie pulls away slightly, breath ghosting over your lips, “tell me to stop.”

You obviously don't. Instead, you hook a finger into her belt loop and pull, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress, bringing her down with you. She lets out a breathless chuckle, bracing herself with her hands on either side of your head.

“Yeah?” she murmurs, voice teasing but still rough around the edges, like she's barely holding herself together.

You swallow, breath shaky, “yeah.”

And that's all she needs. She kisses you again, even deeper this time, slower, like she wants to savor it. The weight of her body presses into you, her thigh slotting between yours and pressing it softly against your core, the heat of her touch setting your skin ablaze.

She takes her time now, trailing her lips down your jaw, your neck and collarbone, her hands moving and groping deliberately, teasing your nipples over your shirt. You arch into her touch, finger gripping at her shirt, nails dragging lightly down her back.

Ellie exhales shakily, her lips barely brushing against your skin as she murmurs, “I knew you wanted me.”

You laugh, breathless and heady, tilting your head back as she marks your neck with her mouth, “shut up and prove it.”

And Ellie doesn't hesitate at all now, the second your words leave your mouth, she moves— lips tracing a slow path down your throat, hands now gripping your waist with just enough pressure to keep you grounded. The heat between you is unbearable, every inch of your body hyper aware of her. She really takes her time, dragging her fingers along the hem of your shirt but not directly touching, she's just teasing, testing. Like she's giving you again the chance to change your mind, like she wants you to stop her and you won't.

You tilt your head back, giving her more room to work, breath hitching as her lips graze over your collarbone. Your fingers curl into the fabric of her shirt, tugging her closer, needing more, she grins against your skin, clearly pleased, before shifting her weight just enough to pull your jacket off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

The room is quiet except for your breaths and soft moans, the faint crackling of a candle in the dresser, the muffled sound of the party still going outside. It feels like another world, distant, unimportant. Right now it's just you and her.

Ellie leans back to look at you, her green eyes searching your gaze, “you sure?”

And that almost made you roll your eyes, wasn't the whole situation obvious enough?

You exhale, heart pounding and voice low, “Ellie.”

That's all it takes. She kisses you again, her hands slip under your shirt, fingers warm against your skin as she softly gropes your tits, sending a shiver down your spine. You press into her touch, drinking in every sensation, every little sound she makes as your hands wander, lifting the hem of her shirt, feeling the taut muscle beneath. She groans when you drag your nails down her back and the sound sends a rush of heat directly between your thighs. A slow, aching need building, making your head spin.

The bed creaks slightly as she shifts, settling between your thighs like earlier, her weight pressing you deeper into the mattress. When her knee makes friction with your wet and aching pussy, you gasp, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her back down to you, lips meeting in a heated, breathless rhythm.

She moves like she wants to take her time, like she's been waiting for this moment as long as you have but neither of you have the patience for that.

Clothes come off in slow, teasing increments— shirts and pants slipping, fingers tracing new paths along the bare skin. You shudder at the warmth of her mouth trailing lower and lower, her lips leaving marks you know won't fade by morning. She's restless, enjoying every reaction, every gasp and sharp inhale.

When she finally, finally, presses closer, when her wet mouth meets your core through your panties, when her fingers tighten against your hip,it's nothing like fighting. There's no sharpness, no stubborn push-and-pull, there's no battle to win.

Just heat. Just the press of her body against yours, just the slow, aching rhythm her tongue sets, the way she whispers your name like it's the only thing she knows. Just her.

She pulled away her mouth for a moment, enjoying the sight of soaking wet panties, your own fluids mixed with her saliva. With her free hand she began to rub up and down your slit, the thin fabric of your underwear making the friction even more delicious.

The way she was edging is making you crazy, she finally decide to move the fabric aside, she iz quick to attach her warm mouth directly to your, already, sensitive clit as her two of her fingers make their way to the entrance of your needy hole. A gasp escapes your lips when you feel her calloused fingers teasing it at the same time she sucks and licks your clit. The humid sounds of her mouth making your arousal grow even more and she knows.

Her lips let your clit go for a moment, she speaks in a lustful, almost velvety, tone, “i prefer when you're like this and not fighting me back,” and you can't even fight or bite back, you just whimper in response and she grins before going back to work.

She finally stops teasing your entrance and she slips one finger inside you, slick dripping down to her wrist. She was quick to find your spongy spot and she presses exactly where you need and while a soft moans leaves your lips, she inserts another finger, feeling how your walls clench against her digits.

The feeling of her fingers pressing your g-spot as her lips latching onto your bud quickly turns to be too much, you don't even know where to grip, you feel like you need something to keep you grounded, your whines and whimpers music to her ears.

And you don't know how much time passes but the room is warm, your breath stutters as Ellie moves against you, her fingers shifting slightly inside you, every touch, every word, sending a wave of arousal. She's steady, controlled, like she's savoring every second, like she's engraving this moment in her memory.

You, on the other hand? You're unravelling, your hands grip at her naked back, your fingers pressing at her warm skin, desperate to keep her close, to pull her even closer. She responds with a quiet, breathy chuckle, but there's roughness to it, a slight tremor beneath her confidence that tells you she's just as lost in this as you are.

She leans in, pressing her forehead to yours, breaths mingling, eyes half-lidded as she watches you, “you're so fucking stubborn,” she murmurs, her voice rough and teasing.

You let out a shaky laugh, tilting your head back as her lips find your throat, “look who's talking.”

Ellie hums in agreement against your pulse, her grip tightening at your waist before she started to move again inside you, it was slow and measured but intentional, the way her fingers curl inside you pulls an embarrassing sound from you, but she swallows it with her mouth, kissing you deep, hungry. She doesn't let up, doesn't rush, just takes her time learning you, every sound, every shiver, every spot that makes your breath hitch. It's infuriating and intoxicating all at once, the way she knows exactly what she's doing.

And when she finally pushes you past that point, when you can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel her, when you're about to hit ecstasy— she murmurs your name against your skin, like it's a confession, like she's giving you something she hasn't given to anyone else.

When the tension finally shatters, your fingers curl against her back, scratching her, pulling her down into you as everything blurs, melts, breaks. She helps you to ride your orgasm, cooing you with sweet words and praises even if everything you can say it's just “hah-ahh” and moan.

The aftershocks leave you both breathless, tangled in each other, skin sticky with heat and effort. Neither of you move for a long moment, just lying there, letting the world settle back into place around you.

Ellie shifts first, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder before resting her head against your chest. Her fingers trace lazy forms over your side, absentminded.

You exhale, your body still trembling slightly, you lift a shaky hand to run through her hair, pushing damp strands from her forehead. Silence lingers between you, but it's not uncomfortable. It's new, uncertain, but not something you want to pull away from just yet.

The auburn haired girl lets out a slow breath, pressing a kiss to your marked collarbone before murmuring, “still think we don't work?”

You huff a quiet laugh, shifting beneath her, “i still think you talk too much.”

She grins, biting lightly at your shoulder in retaliation before settling back down, “yeah, sure,” a pause. Then quieter, more serious, “you're not gonna run, are you?”

Your stomach tightens at that, at the way she asks like she already knows the answer, like she's bracing herself. You hesitate, your fingers playing with her hair.

You don't know what this is, what it means, if it even means anything at all. Maybe you'll still fight on patrol, still push each other's buttons, still refuse to admit how deep this thing between you two really runs.

But right now, here, in the quiet warmth of this bed? You don't want to leave.

“No…” you finally murmur, feeling the way her body relaxes against yours at the answer, “not tonight.”

Ellie hums, pressing one last kiss to your skin before sighing, “good.”

And for now, that's enough.

[bunny-snot]

i went into dungeon meshi thinking it was about sapphic monsters and elves but came out of it obsessed with Senshi.

also i love Laois and i think if he could eat his freinds without harming them he probably would and that cool, we could always use more cannibals

[dragonfruitflamb3]

WAIT HOLDON. HOLDUP... WDYM YOU FOLLOW US OH MY GOD??!!??!! HELLO MUTUAL OMMMGGGG?!?!?!? IT'S US, MAGICCLOWNJUICE/THE WORMIES FROM THE DCA FANDOM!!!!!!!!!!

Am I allowed to say that you draw the DCA in every form so severely attractive I had no choice but to follow

Also Snatcher???? I'm sorry but I ADORE the dynamic you've made for them and the Y/N and I don't even know what Snatcher is from I'm sorry but they're hot

ANYWAYCOUGJCOUGHCOUGH HI!!! YUP! Dats me!!! :D which makes it even MORE ridiculous that you like my fic because GUHHHHH idk idk it's just!!!!!!! YIPPIE????

[the-acid-pear]

No because nothing makes me crazy like characters w negative dog symbolism. Especially when I can do something w them and L.L. . Like Midori who I still want to make this piece w a line from the movie. Literally insane.

[gothmods]

The thing about discourse around the mythical ~person who is fully capable of working but chooses to do nothing~

Is having met people who could be pegged as such, they don't just spawn out of the ether.

There are factors throughout their life that shape them.

And frankly i think focusing on their lack of contribution is focusing on the wrong issue entirely. Not just in that i think there are factors in their early lives that should have been adressed, but also like

If you take any discussion of early preventative methods off of the table. If you look at it strictly in the here and now, people who seemingly lack any motivation to be productive or engage with the world around them, well they tend to neglect a lot more than just work.

And if someone is neglecting the basic tasks in their daily lives, the people around them, the wellbeing of their kids, their own wellbeing etc etc its so pointless to hone your focus in on merely whether or not they are laboring to the level you think they can.

Like sorry but there are more pressing issues here

[quietwingsinthesky]

but like speaking seriously. i genuinely, truly wish this was still the age of terrible shovelware games and not. whatever the fuck is happening now between the mobile gaming market, microtransactions, and. the everything of it. it’s not that shovelware is good, it’s that it’s interesting! it’s not any less corporate in its goals, but it’s less… evil? you know? you pay for shovelware game, you still get a game, as terrible as it might be. it won’t have ads in it, it won’t ask you to pay more money once you’ve bought it, it’ll just be almost innocently terrible on its disc in its entirety, entertaining to shit on with friends and an enigma as to what went into its creation. i have a genuine little place in my heart for awful tie-in games, especially when you can tell that for however bad they are, there was one person on that team that you can tell gave a shit. (and sometimes there wasn’t. but that’s still fun. the game still had to be made, someone still had to make choices about it’s creation, and those choices can be fascinating!)

[bellshazes]

reopening ruinsfic sequenced version and it's 2k. and i would say maybe 40% of t he sections are half-written and the rest are one-sentence placeholders

[undercooked-spaghetti]

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me!

i’ll never understand people who can’t make fun of their faves a little. like yes i love this character and would defend them to my grave but also they’re stupid sometimes and they do dumb things and imma make fun of them for it

[sirfrogsworth]

How do you take a photo of time?

I've been watching the track events at the Olympics since I was a wee lad. It was a tradition in our family. We'd gather around our ancient low-definition 19 inch CRT television and watch tiny blobs compete against other tiny blobs and root for our country.

It was a bit like watching YouTube on your phone in 144p.

Several heroes emerged.

Jackie Joyner-Kersee was amazing.

You can't forget about Flo-Jo.

And then the Olympics decided NBA players were allowed in the competition.

Which formed... The Dream Team.

Was this fair?

Well... they won each game by an average of 44 points.

So... no. It was not fair.

Though it became more fair as time went on.

But, umm... yeah. The other teams looked like the Washington Generals and the US looked like the Harlem Globetrotters if they stopped screwing around half of the game.

But my absolute favorite Olympian was a runner named Michael Johnson.

He was cool as heck.

For one thing... gold shoes.

But he also had this crazy, upright, Tom Cruise-ish sprinting style that just made him look like a running robot on the track.

And in the 1996 Atlanta games he just trounced EVERYONE. I mean, it wasn't even close.

Yikes. Those losing blobs are probably really embarrassed.

Last night I decided to invigorate my nostalgia and watch the track events again. And I got to see one of the wildest races in history.

It didn't even last 10 seconds but it was one of the most exciting sporting events I've ever witnessed. Almost every runner won the race.

After I saw that initially, I was like... who the heck won???

Even in slow motion I wasn't sure.

This was one of the closest finishes in history. There has never been a race where all 8 runners were within this margin.

The arena was silent as the winner was being confirmed. The runners just kind of paced around waiting for official word. My best guess was the Jamaican runner, Kishane Thompson. But then the loudspeaker announced Noah Lyles.

The last tiny morsel of American pride burst out of me with a big "Wooooo!"

I forgot what it was like to be proud of my country. I wish it happened more often. But this young man, despite being last place in the first 3rd of the race, turned on the afterburners and won in a photo finish.

And that's when my inner nerd took over.

Because when they showed the photo finish image, it looked super weird.

Why is the track white?

Why do all of the runners look all warpy like that QWOP game?

So I went down a research rabbit hole to figure this out.

Photo finishes are actually fascinating. The first photo finish captured the end of a horse race in 1890. But that was mostly luck and timing. The actual photo finish mechanisms weren't used until 1937.

Originally they would film the finish line through a physical slit.

And the first horsie head that appeared in that slit would be the winner. This technology ended a huge aspect of corruption in horse race fixing almost overnight.

But we have come a long way since then. And I'd like to introduce you to the Omega Scan 'O' Vision Ultimate.

This slow motion camera sits fixed on the finish line of every race. The concept of the photo finish has remained remarkably similar to the 1930s approach. The camera sensor is specially designed to only record a vertical slit.

Only the finish line itself is actually captured.

And because it limits what it records to only that slit, it can capture 40,000 frames per second to get amazing temporal resolution.

So why don't the photo finishes just look like, well... this?

That is because the camera takes a picture of time more-so than dimensional space. I guess it would be more accurate to say it *assembles* a picture of time.

As the runners cross the finish line, the camera combines all of the little strips of pictures into a single image.

It's almost like if you tried to reassemble a piece of paper after it had been shredded.

Imagine each strip of paper is a picture of ONLY the finish line, just at a slightly different point in time.

What if someone stopped on the finish line and didn't move... what would that look like?

Once they got there, the same part of their body would just be repeated.

So the right side of the photo finish picture represents earlier in time and it just assembles the image strip by strip as time passes and you literally get a picture of time itself.

NEAT!

Okay, but how do they determine the winner from the photo finish?

I mean, that shoe looks like it is ahead of Noah Lyles!

Clavicles!

The IAFF rules state the foremost part of the torso must cross the finish line first. And the endpoint of the torso is the outer end of the clavicle.

So if you get this bone across the finish line first, you win the race.

Two more fun facts!

The start of the race is actually just as carefully timed as the end of the race. There are sensors in the starting blocks of each runner.

The starting gun also has an electronic sensor.

They have determined the fastest a human can react to the sound of a gun is roughly 100 milliseconds. So if you start running before 100 milliseconds they know you didn't actually hear the gun, you just got antsy and started running too early.

And the final fun fact...

Did you notice the Omega logo at the top of the photo finish?

That isn't superimposed or added after the fact. That is captured by the camera.

But if this image is composed only of tiny little slivers, how did they get the Omega logo to show up?

That is a little display. And it is synchronized with the Scan 'O' Vision Ultimate to show a little sliver of the Omega logo for each frame captured.

So when the final image is stitched together, it looks like a cohesive logo at the top of the photo.

Pretty clever, Omega!

[vividxpages]

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ "in the dead of night"･ﾟ✧*: ･ﾟ✧*

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 7000

summary: when Jace is attending a late council meeting, two hired assassins take their chance to sneak into your chambers and hold you captive. Taken to the dragon caves below and meant to be slain by your own betrothed’s dragon, you have to trust the bond between Vermax and you is strong enough to escape your captor’s murderous plans.

warnings: soft!reader, fluffy start but HEAVY angst (reader being held captive by two assassins similar to Blood and Cheese), physical violence (slapping, hair pulling), verbal abuse, threats of rape and violence, Vermax being Vermax and also protective of reader, hurt/comfort, shock and crying, Jacaerys being a caring betrothed, Rhaenyra being the best mother in law, aftermath of trauma, healing, hopeful ending

a/n: please mind the warnings for this story, it’s my angstiest so far! Big thanks to @princessvelaryon and @princesschimchim1325 for being awesome and inspiring me to write this!

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You smiled to yourself as you held two small wooden figures in your hands, a princess and a prince, their hands linked together and small attires made of cotton and wool. When you were younger, you remembered playing with them for hours, creating little scenarios of the prince who might sweep you off your feet someday.

Now, many years later, you had found the love of your life in Prince Jacaerys.

Ever since your own parents had died too young, Jace’s family had welcomed you as if you were one of them by blood, making you a home at Dragonstone and accepting you with open arms as theirs. Perhaps, a huge part of it was because Rhaenyra’s oldest son had been in love with you ever since he had first laid eyes on you, but there was more to it. His mother adored you and you got alone with his siblings and cousins and brought a joy into their house that was much needed in those dark times of war.

This afternoon, you were sitting on the soft fur carpet in one of the big living rooms of the castle, Rhaenyra’s twins peacefully playing with their wooden toys all around you. Earlier, Baela and Rhaena had joined you for a chat and the newest gossip, but you didn’t mind being alone with the kids as well, your own inner child always coming down around their soft souls.

You let out a playful gasp as little Viserys assembled a row of knights on their horses along the imaginary street you had built together. “Are your noble knights going to a tournament, Vis?”

The boy nodded timidly at you, letting one of the horses gallop forward and making you laugh.

Your betrothed Jacaerys leaned against the doorframe and smiled softly as he watched you. Little Aegon had snuggled close to you and you helped Viserys move the toy carriage around the carpet.

You looked up as he pushed himself off the frame, walking towards you with pure adoration in his eyes. “Oh hello. I didn’t hear you enter.” You said, letting your hand be lifted by him so he could press a soft kiss against your knuckles.

Moving to stand and placing Aegon on the ground, he laid a hand on your shoulder, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to interrupt your play. What adventures is my princess going on today? Have my brothers been behaving?”

“They are the sweetest.” You told him in all honesty, your heart melting at the two little blond boys in front of you. Whenever you spent time with Jace’s smaller siblings, you could not help but notice how your heart expanded and spoke to a deep part in you that wished for children of your own someday. “We were playing a carriage ride to a tournament, I believe, but then a dragon escaped and now we have to look for him.”

Jace squatted down for a moment and handed Aegon a rattle shaped like the bell of a sept, which he immediately took with a toothless grin and tried out. You watched your betrothed with a soft heart and thought what a wonderful father he’d make…

“I dream of the day this will be our life someday.” He confessed to you, the corner of his plump lips lifting sadly. “When there is peace in the realm and we have time to take care of our future children together.”

“I wish for nothing else.” You replied softly, your heart blooming with love for him.

For a moment, Jacaerys looked as if he wanted to sit down and join you and his little brothers, but as you knew your hard-working betrothed all too well, he sighed and stood up again, careful not to step on the big skirts draped around you like a blooming flower.

“There will be a late council meeting this evening.” Jacaerys announced to you, his displeased expression betraying him. “Everyone of the council and the dragon keepers will sit together to discuss. I wouldn’t ask you to join us, it will be very boring and entirely unnecessary.”

You chuckled, knowing all too well how different Jace would do many things if his say in the matters of his mother would be of more weight. But at the same time, you were glad, Rhaenyra kept him sheltered and protected with you for now, at Dragonstone where it was the safest place for the future king and his queen.

“Will you come to bed later?” You asked shyly, although it was not uncommon for the prince and you to share a bed before your marriage had even been consummated.

A small and narrow passage connected your room to Jacaerys’ and you had often made use of it, whether you wanted someone to talk to before heading to bed or were in need of his warm embrace before you eventually drifted off into an innocent sleep together. When he was gone or bound to duties, you usually made yourself comfortable in his bed, but perhaps you’d return to your own tonight if the meeting was going to take a while before he’d be released.

Jacaerys smiled softly at you and nodded before he raised your hand towards his lips. “I will. Don’t stay up too late, I’ll be with you as soon as I can, I promise.”

You hummed pleased and let him kiss your knuckles. “I hope it won’t be too long. And don’t take their words to heart too much, Jace. You’re the prince and they’re lucky to have you.”

“It is me who is lucky to have you, my beloved.” He said and watched in delight as you blushed at his appreciation. “My safe haven, my light.”

Jacaerys leaned down, softly cupping your cheek before he gently kissed your lips, your back arching a little to reach him better. Your lips brushed tenderly against one another and you sighed in bliss at his open affections for you.

You smiled at him when you separated, squeezing his hand in yours. “I love you. I’ll see you later.”

“I love you.I’ll do my best to hurry.” He promised, hugging his little toddler brothers as well and softly stroking their hair before he departed. You sighed to yourself, eager to have the hours pass and let the two of you be reunited again as little Aegon presented you a wood dragon, silently asking you to rejoin their play..

“Alright, where were we, my princes?”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Being alone in your private chambers had become a rarity since you had been promised to Jacaerys.

You listened to the quietness of the room, the fire cackling in the pit as you sat on your bed and combed out your hair. You had taken a bath after bringing the princes to their nurseries and changed into something comfortable for the night.

The small evidence of Jace’s frequent visits to your room were visible all over the place. A cloak of his was thrown over one of your chairs by the fire and one of his books laid open by your desk. Even his smell still faintly clung to your pillows, a little gift from the last time he had fallen asleep here, not bothering to retreat back to his own chamber under your soft and lingering touches to his hair.

You could not even remember the last time the connecting door between your rooms had been closed.

You let out a small sigh as you sunk into bed, watching the dark outside of your window for a while. The council meeting must’ve been going on for a while now and you tried to read a few pages to keep you awake, not wanting to miss the moment Jace would come to you.

The time went by and your eyelids kept dropping.

But after a while, the door to your chamber opened and a wide smile split your face as you sat up in your bed, ready to welcome Jace back. Your hair fell over your shoulders, the blanket slipping down your body a little, but just a second later, everything in you froze to a stop.

Two men entered your room, their clothes dirty and faces dark as they took you in. These weren’t your guards and as one of them unsheathed a blade from his belt, you opened your mouth to scream.

They were on you in a heartbeat.

One of them drew the blankets off the bed while the other grabbed your hair, dragging you from the mattress and onto the floor, every sound in your throat seizing up and choked off by their sudden display of violence.

You were not a fighter, never had been. You stood no chance as they manhandled you in their middle, the taller one quickly looking over his shoulder as you struggled to no use against their tight grip.

“Look at that.” You heard close to your ear, the deep raspy voice sending shivers down your spine. “The bastard prince’s little bird, right between us. What would your man say now if he could see you like this, huh?”

You whimpered when your head was tugged back, the other gripping your wrists and making quick work of a tight rope around them, scratching over your soft skin and successfully binding you.

“Who are you?” You demanded to know, your voice barely louder than a whisper. You were shaking from head to toe, your body and mind gone into overdrive when they had first laid hands on you.

They shared a grin with each other. “Does it matter? All you have to know is we’re not your fucking maids. And that you will die tonight, princess. Now be a good girl and shut the fuck up.”

You tried to press your heels into the floor, to keep them from stirring you towards the door, but after a moment the tall one simply picked you up and carried you towards the door. Your nails scratched over the man’s back, but it was like he didn’t even feel it, his grip around your legs too tight for you to struggle and free yourself.

“Behave.”

You were set on your feet again, crowded by them against the door. You swallowed hard against the lump in your throat, your eyes flickering between the two of them. “Whoever paid you, their reward is not nearly enough for the misery my family will bring down on you when they find you. I am a princess of Dragonstone and you have no right to-“

They pushed you out of the door, not bothering to listen.

A horrified gasp escaped your lips as you stepped outside your chamber and nearly stumbled over the dead bodies of your two guards, bleeding out and cold on the floor. The sound echoed through the hall and before you knew what was happening, your head was pulled back by your hair and a hard hand slapped you across the face.

Pain exploded in your mind, blinding you for a moment before the sting ebbed away and was replaced with a dull throb in your cheek.

You held the palm of your trembling hand to your throbbing cheek, breathing hard as you recovered from the blow. “You will die for this.” You said oddly calm and collected. It had to be the shock, you could not think clearly, but you knew one thing for sure: “The prince will cut your hands off for laying hand on me.”

The tall one grinned as if it was an empty threat. “We will be long gone once your prince finds you, stupid cunt. And in what state that will be, I still have to decide.” His disgusting hungry gaze crept over your body, barely hidden underneath your thin sleeping gown. You wanted to throw up.

“You will lead us to the place where the dragons are.” The shorter one said. “We know the keepers are all at the meeting and you know ways where no guards keep patrol. And if you dare to scream or run to wake anyone, I’ll cut out your tongue and heart and throw it in front of the bastard prince’s feet.”

You swallowed down bitter tears, your head screaming at you to do something, anything. But your hands were painfully tied and you did not find your voice as you slowly began to walk with them through the castle.

In the past, you have had nightmares like this, terrible visions of you being powerless as hands held you down in the dark, doing horrible things to you. You sometimes had woken up screaming, but Jacaerys had been there for you every time, holding you until the worst of it was over and you slowly were able to calm down in his safe and warm embrace. Now, there was no one, all people living and working at Dragonstone either asleep or summoned by Rhaenyra and Jacaerys for the council meeting. By the time someone had discovered the corpses of your guards in front of your chambers, you’d likely be dead or taken to who knew where.

You walked through your home, shivering against the cool air with only the thin nightdress you wore on you, the dangerous presence of your captors behind your back. You knew Jacaerys would blame himself for leaving you alone and suddenly, a sorrow so consuming filled your chest, you choked on a quiet whimper. You had not even said goodbye…

“Shut the fuck up.” They hissed at you and one of them slung his arm around your waist, your fingers digging into his flesh in protest as cool metal suddenly rested against your ribcage. A dagger. “Be fucking quiet and keep walking.”

Soon, the air began to smell of salt and sea and you heard the distant crashing of the waves against the island. The entrance to the dragon caves came into sight and you turned around to face them.

“Now tell us, girl, where is your precious dragon?”

Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach, but before you could open your mouth for a reply, the other one of them shook his head. “No. Don’t be stupid. The beast will kill us right away if it sees their rider in our clutches. But…the bastard’s dragon. It’s a foul ill-tempered beast, isn’t it? Where is it?”

Vermax.

A protective wave washed through you and for a moment, you regained the little confidence you had before the man had laid his hand on you. “What do you want with the dragon? You are in no state to have a chance at killing him.”

They shared a look, both grinning viciously. One of them stepped up to you and touched your chin with his dirty hand, right where a fresh bruise from his violence bloomed. You tried to flinch away, but he held you close.

“We don’t mean to kill it, flower.” He told you, bloodthirst flickering over his features and making you sick. His knuckles brushed over the cut on your lip and you wanted to gag from disgust. “We’re going to watch as it kills you.”

Your mind was swimming as you led them through the darkness, watching their big shadows looming over your small own. The taller one still held his dagger against your waist and you knew he’d make use of it if he noticed you playing any games. There were wild beasts slumbering in the depths of these caves, but would they be faster at attacking your captors than the knife against your skin?

The hope in your chest thinned the further away you walked with them from where you knew your own dragon slept, but one last shimmer of it remained in you. You knew Vermax and he knew you just as Jacaerys did. You had to hold on to that.

“It’s here.” You announced quietly, your whisper echoing across the cave near the ocean. It was quiet here and you had to squint your eyes to make out the big nest at the end of the cave where a green-scaled dragon slept fitfully.

“Call it.” The smaller one muttered, his eyes fixed on the beast. You winced as the tip of the dagger pressed into your skin, a warning. “We will stand behind you and when it has come out, you will command it to kill you, you hear me? No tricks or I’ll gladly be the one to end your suffering, right after my friend here has had his fun with you, princess.”

You took a deep breath as they retreated into a safe distance.

„Naejot Māzīs, Vermax.“ You commanded shakingly and the sound of your familiar voice, the big pile of green and red in the corner of the cage moved, uncurling himself from his light slumber.

Jacaerys’ dragon blinked at you sleepily, a shudder going through his beautiful scales as he tilted his head to the side questioningly. When he spotted the two men in your company, he tensed, stepping forward and showing himself in his full height.

“Lykirī…“ You lifted your hands, trying to catch Vermax’ eyes again so he’d look at you instead of them.

With a low growl in his throat, he settled, stepping closer to you until his snout almost touched your outstretched hand.

“Say it, girl!” You heard the commanding voice behind you, in a safe distance of the beast that slowly blinked at you, considering. “We’re not going to wait much longer!”

You took a deep breath and looked Vermax in the snake-like eyes.

He met you with a calm stare, tilting his head to the side again, a deep rumble in his chest.

You had to trust in him now. You had to trust in the love Jacaerys and you were sharing and the bond between you and the dragons.

Out of the sudden, a heavy thrown stone hit you in the back and you gasped in pain, stumbling forward and almost slipping in a dirty puddle.

“DO IT!”

Trust in Vermax, just as you trust in your Jace.

“Dracarys.” You whispered finally and closed your eyes.

Vermax surged forward with a furious roar, one sharp claw in the ground, his wing shielding you from the scenery. Nearly pushing you out of the way, he advanced on the men who had threatened you with a snarl and warmth filled the large cave, fire burning low in his green-scaled stomach.

A horrible realization flickered over their faces as the green beast drew closer, their backs hitting the wall behind them as they looked at you one last time. “You fucking cunt-“

Vermax wiped out their miserable existence with one single breath of fire. Heat tore through the cave and you stumbled backwards as the dragon fire burned them and the scent of roasted human flesh reached your nose.

You squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face in your hands as you listened to their screams. Their agony bounced off the stone walls and heat crept down your spine, but Vermax kept you close, the leathery feel of his wing a small comfort against your skin.

Suddenly, silence rang in your ears.

You dared to peek up over the protective curl of Vermax’ wings.

Where your captors had stood, only ashes and bones remained.

Vermax let out a self-satisfied growl, clearly pleased with what he had unleashed on the terrors. He bent down, blinking at you with his sharp eyes as if to make sure you were alright. Tears, both from the shock and gratitude, filled your eyes and you leaned your forehead against his snout, trying to take deep breaths to steady yourself.

You shrunk back as you heard footsteps in the caves, hurried steps running over gravel and through the water puddles, a flame throwing a long shadow over the walls. You felt Vermax tense, his wing drawing itself tighter around you. Any other threat advancing, he’d burn to the ground.

In the next moment, Jacaerys stormed into the chamber, his sword drawn as his other hand held a lit torch. His chest was heaving, sweat gathering at his hairline as he quickly took in the state of the room. He looked like he had run the length of the castle and you knew it likely had been the case.

Vermax snarled without threat, greeting his rider and lifting his wing to present you to your love.

Your eyes met and you let out a shuddering breath.

The sight of you was a thousand daggers to his heart.

Your face was smeared with soot and the blood from your split lip coated your chin, your hair unruly and disheveled from the way they had grabbed and dragged you along. Your silk dress was dirty and you shivered against the cold of the cave as you slung your bruised arms around yourself.

Behind you, Vermax hovered like a protective shadow and waited, willing to serve with Jacaerys now here with you.

As he took a step towards you, his boot made contact with the skulls of the assassins. Two of them, he realized and the rage surging through his veins was all-consuming. He looked down at their bones and wished to go back in time to kill them himself, over and over again until not even these mortal remains stayed behind.

But his own bloodlust vanished as he raced towards you, your own legs unsteady and finally giving out under you just as he reached you.

He fell to the ground with you in his arms, holding you tightly as you clawed your hand in his clothes, his heart breaking for you right underneath your tight grip. It was like any last strength in you had left, leaving you a broken and sobbing mess in his embrace.

“You’re safe, you’re safe…” Jace murmured into your ear, softly swaying you back and forth as you wept, the adrenaline and shock from the situation finally crashing down on you with full force. “Nothing is going to happen to you, I’m here…”

The Queen and the dragon keepers found the prince and his princess just like this.

Jacaerys was kneeling on the ground, the princess dissolved in tears in his arms and the ill-tempered beast that had saved his love curled around them, chortling comfortingly as the prince stroked her hair and whispered sweet nothings in her ear.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You had been escorted back to the castle, but you couldn’t say you remembered much from the journey. Your mind had gone into an odd state of survival, the girl from before the attack having retreated into a far corner of your mind.

The guards, now dead because of you, had been carried away in front of your door and you had stopped in the middle of the hallway, not able to go another step as you stared at the spot where maids were now scrubbing the blood from the floor.

“Come on, my dear.” Rhaenyra had gently told you and you tore your eyes away from the scene as your Queen and Jacaerys led you into his chambers instead. The warmth and unique scent of Jace’s quarters – the smell of old parchment and books, mingled with the wax of the candles and the smell of his sheets – enveloped you and you drew the cloak Jace had draped over your shivering form tightly around you.

Now, a little later, you were seated at Jace’s work table and blankly stared at your scraped hands in your lap.

Jacaerys had instantly expressed his dislike for an interrogation at this hour of the night, but you had shaken your head, willing to recount the situation to Rhaenyra as if words could wash away the poison they had brought onto you. Your skin felt coated with it and you feared the stain might never go away again.

Yet, you had told her and Jace what happened, slowly and quietly, and when you were done, Rhaenyra was holding your hand and Jacaerys looked as if he wanted to break something.

“My brave girl.” Rhaenyra murmured and softly cupped your cheek as she looked at the bruises on your face and neck. “You’ve fought enough for tonight, darling. I’ll call the maids and healers and-“

“No.” You cut her off, shivering at the prospect of unfamiliar hands on you, seeing the evidence of what had happened on your naked skin. You swallowed hard, your eyes filling with unshed tears again. “No one else. It’s- it’s alright, I can do it myself, I really can-“

Rhaenyra smiled sadly at you. “You are hurt, my dear.”

“I’m not broken.” You insisted, although you felt like it. You were shattered pieces on the ground.

“And no one says so, dear.”

Jacaerys, sensing you were on the verge of breaking down, knelt down next to your chair and caught your gaze with his. “I can help, if you want.” He offered quietly.

You looked back at him, conflicted. If Jace stayed, there’d come the point where he’d see the damage you had taken and you did not know what troubled you more; him seeing you like this or seeing him as his heart shattered for you.

“Jace.” Rhaenyra looked at him. “Perhaps a woman’s presence at this time is better suited for her. I’ll fetch you later, I promise, but she needs a moment for herself now, alright?”

He was tense, your beloved prince, but after a moment he nodded with a set jaw before he stood and looked at you one more time. “I’ll wait outside.”

You didn’t want to meet his sad expression, so you kept your gaze down as mother and son went to the door, talking in quick and hushed voices before Jace stepped outside and Rhaenyra returned to you.

She leaned down and brushed a little bit of soot from your cheeks, careful not to touch your split lip. “Vermax surely knows how to rain down fire on our enemies, hm?”

A weak smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “He saved me. He knew exactly what was going on the moment I entered and he was intelligent enough to play along until the right moment had come.”

Rhaenyra hummed, offering you a hand to stand up. “And still, they only call my son’s dragon ill-tempered. How does a bath sound? I’m sure you’d like to step into more comfortable clothes, wouldn’t you?”

You nodded, longing for a simple cotton shirt, preferably one of Jace’s that smelled like home and warmth and safety.

Your future mother-in-law went to the big bath next to Jace’s bedroom with you, a steaming bath already having been drawn for you.

When you saw her drawing a stool close to the tub, your eyes widened and you were quick to interject: “I-I can do it myself, Your Grace, there is no need for you to-“

“Please let me help you just as I would help any other child of mine.” She interrupted you kindly and soon after, you gratefully sunk into the bath, your sore muscles relaxing in its warmth.

Rhaenyra helped you tilt your head back and you closed your eyes as warm water flowed over your hair and down your neck, tears of your own silently running down your damp cheeks. Your throat bobbed painfully as you let her work, the Queen’s gentle hands a mother’s comfort as they helped to get rid of the dirt from the caves and a root clinging to your skin.

“I have sent Jace to fetch an ointment for your bruises and cuts.” She told you quietly and you nodded silently, cupping some of your water to rinse off your face, careful not to touch your throbbing lip. “I want you to tell me if I should send him away for the night. You can be honest with me, dear.”

You sniffled, gladly accepting the towel she lent you after helping you out of the bathtub. After a moment, you rasped: “It is not him I am scared of. It’s just…I know it pains him to see me hurt.”

“He hurts because he hasn’t been there for you, my dear.” Rhaenyra explained softly and you sighed to yourself as you slipped into a silken robe, the fabric easy on the big bruise on your back and arms. Underneath, you already wore one of Jace’s long shirts, the fabric more of a dress on you. “If it is one thing I have learned, as someone who loves and is lucky enough to be loved, it’s that healing means accepting the help of others. No one will fault you if you want to be for yourself tonight, but I know Jace will do anything he can to help you recover from this, no matter what that might look like.”

You did not want to be alone.

You feared it, laying down in bed once again when the door could open at any moment and reveal the terrors, although Jacaerys had doubled the amount of guards outside his door, simply so you’d feel safe.

You wanted to feel sheltered and able to move past this with the one you loved more than anything else, the one who had first thought about when your life had been in grave danger.

You needed Jacaerys.

“Jace may come in again.” You said quietly, suppressing the urge to groan with every step. You had not seen it yet, but the pain the stone thrown to your back caused felt like a flare and you were sure the spot was already turning a deep shade of purple.

Rhaenyra led you towards Jace’s bed, seemingly pleased with your decision. “I’ll make my leave then. Sleep in tomorrow, the both of you. You need all the rest you can get.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” You squeezed her hand in yours, bowing your head in gratitude. “And thank you for helping me.”

She smiled at you one last time, although there was a strain to it, her worry over a sneak attack like this consuming her mind. Tomorrow they’d speak about this in council, but tonight she’d let her son do the rest, his wide eyes meeting hers when she opened the door and let him in.

You turned around to look at him, your damp hair falling over your shoulder and his clothes, a princess despite the cuts and bruises on your skin. Jacaerys slowly walked to you and your heart stung when you noticed his blood-shot eyes and how pale he still was. He was tense all over, yet he softened as he came to a stop in front of you.

“Where does it hurt?” He asked quietly, looking for your honesty and not a false promise towards him.

You let out a shaky breath and leaned into him.

For a moment, you simply stood in front of each other, forehead against forehead and breathing each other in. Hot tears welled up in your shut eyes, his closeness rescuing and suffocating you at once. Jace’s nose touched yours and his soft curls tickled your cheeks and for a second, you thought that everything might be alright again when the morning came.

“My back. My cheek and wrists…” You whispered, your breath tickling his lips. “I know I’ve bathed and changed and I’m safe in your rooms, but…it feels like they’ve put me apart and I’ve been assembled back together wrongly.”

He shook his head, swallowing against his own lump in his throat. “You could never be wrong, my love.”

Your bottom lip wobbled dangerously, only doubling the pain in the cut grazing it. “I’ve been so scared, Jace. When they entered my room- Anything could’ve happened, they could’ve done anything to me-“

You gasped both in relief and sorrow as his arms pulled you against him, the hug both grounding and warm, something you thought you’d lost forever mere hours ago. You were too exhausted to cry once more, but the horror over what else could’ve been done to you shook you to your very core.

“I’m never going to let something like this happen again.” Jace promised you darkly as he tightened his arms around you, soothingly brushing his hand through your hair as you rested the unwounded side of your face against his heart. “You will never have to be afraid again, I promise. I should’ve been there, I should’ve stopped them-“

“You didn’t know they were here.” You reminded him, but you could feel the fury radiating off his body, an all-consuming rage deeply rooted in him. “No one did. No one is to blame except for the ones who sent them, Jace.”

“And they will pay.” You could practically feel the daggers he was glaring at the wall behind you. But just after a moment, you felt his anger deflate as he softly kissed the top of your head and gently lifted your chin so he could look at you. “You’ve been fighting all alone tonight, but I am here now and I want to be of use, beloved. Will you let me help?”

“I don’t want to upset you.” You almost bit your lip before you remembered the pain.

His gaze softened endlessly and he tucked a damp strand of your hair behind your ear. There were lots of tangled emotions inside of him still, but he saw you, this sweet delicate girl he had fallen for ever since the beginning and knew he had to take care of you now. “You could never upset me, my beautiful strong princess.”

The words were mending on your shaken soul and you closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before you let him to his work.

“The maester said the salve might be a little cool on the skin.” Jace murmured and you nodded in understanding. “And he gave me ice, scratched from the old side of the island’s cliffs, for your cheek.”

You took the dripping bundle from his hand, sighing as the cold cloth touched your cheek, the swelling subtle so far yet inevitable to strengthen throughout the night. But every bruise and cut on your body was better than not living to see the sun rise in the morning. “I could apply the salve on my own?”

Jace shook his head. “Let me do this for you.”

He walked with you to his bed, helping you sit down as he knelt before you, devotion shimmering in his eyes. You realized that he needed this just as much as you did, to prove himself he was able to take care of you now, even if he had not been there for you then.

He cupped your healthy cheek as you covered the other one with your ice. “Should we start with your back?”

Jace helped you lift the fabric, only so much so he could see where the stone had struck you, a dull bruise blossoming right next to your spine. It was nothing he had not yet seen so far, still you felt self-conscious under his attentive eyes.

You held very still as Jacaerys began to carefully apply the ointment to the bruise, his finger drawing soft and soothing circles over the blue spot. His other hand touched your waist, just barely underneath the fabric of his shirt on you and you closed your eyes as the cooling sensation drew a little pain from you and let it vanish.

“Good?”

“Feels good…” You murmured and tried to crawl into the feeling, the tiny relief washing away a little of the darkness from before. With a small kiss to your nape, he let the shirt fall and cover you again.

Next came your sore wrists. He lifted both of them, seeing the red marks where the tight rope had cut into your skin and swallowing hard. He wanted to unleash Vermax on the dusty bones of your captors again until their remains were annihilated from this earth. Jace softly kissed both of them before he dipped his fingers into the small jar again and repeated his careful motions.

You made a small sound in your throat and he stopped instantly.

“Too hard?”

You shook your head. “My lip…”

He sat down beside you, the mattress dipping underneath his weight and bringing you closer to him. The cut wasn’t pretty, but no cut was and you did not shy away from him as he took in the damage, one of his hands still rubbing circles into your wrist.

You held your breath as his coated thumb touched your bottom lip, his touch light as a feather as the cooling salve instantly mended the throbbing. Your hand reached up to hold his wrist, not ready yet to let him go when his touch felt infinitely good for your aching body. There was nothing sexual about the way you breathed against the pad of his thumb, relishing his care and simply letting it wash over you, and for a while you were simply content like this, Jacaerys remaining close to you as you breathed through the slowly ebbing pain.

“Do you want me to braid your hair for the night?” He asked quietly like he had so many times before.

Your wonderful beloved Jace. You nodded gratefully as he shuffled once more on the bed and sat behind you. Kissing the back of your head and brushing your hair over your shoulders for you, he got to work.

Your body was lulled into relaxation as his fingers combed through your hair, loosely braiding it so you wouldn’t have to wake up with tangles and knots in the morning. His warmth was a comfort against your back and if the vicious bruise hadn’t been there, you would’ve leaned back against him, ready to melt into his tenderness.

“Vermax saw right through them.” You spoke up after a while, your eyelids drooping from time to time from exhaustion as Jace finished up his braid for you. “He didn’t let them see at first, but there was a moment where I knew he was going to protect me, that he knew what was happening.”

“He loves you as if you were his own rider.” Jace mumbled, affection for you and his dragon in his voice. “I am glad he had been there for you when I wasn’t.”

“I want the finest sheep the shepherds can organize for tomorrow.” You looked over your shoulder with determination and Jacaerys frowned at you, a question in his eyes. You welcomed the small sting your lip caused you when its corner lifted up into a weak smile: “I want Vermax to be rewarded for defending his rider’s princess so honorably.”

“And I’d be honored to be the one to select it for you, my princess.” Jace’s face darkened, fury swirling in his brown orbs. “I still wish they would’ve suffered more. They deserved much more than a quick death of fire.”

His revengeful words were nothing against the soft touch with which he doted on you and when he was done and brushed his fingers once more over your hair, your body wanted to sink into his pillows and melt into them.

Jace laid down with you, carefully adjusting his position beside you so he wouldn’t accidently bump into your sore body. You exhaled deeply when your head touched his pillow, smelling so comfortingly of him. You could not bear to lie on your back, so you snuggled into Jace’s bed on your stomach, hugging his pillow and turning your head so you could look at your love.

He was resting on his side, his brown eyes searching for any discomfort you might have. Your eyes flickered over his shoulder, towards the door of his chambers.

“You are safe now, I promise.” Jace whispered and leaned forward, pressing a small kiss to your nose. “There are five guards outside and my sword leans against the bed. I’m here. Nothing bad will ever befall you again, my love, I swear it with my life.”

You gave him a tiny nod and tried to relax, although it was hard to keep the shadows lingering in the corners of the room at bay. You wiggled one of your hands out from under the pillow and found his, tugging him closer until his lean body warmed your side, one of his hands resting securely on your lower back.

“Tomorrow, I want to take a walk to the cliffs.” You whispered, longing for the fresh air and its cleansing effect.

Jacaerys smiled. “Then it will be arranged. Does my princess wish for any company?”

You nodded timidly, his playful undertone distracting you from the dull throb underneath the ointments. “And I want to have a picnic if the sun is out, with all my favorite things.”

“I’ll tell the kitchens then, first thing in the morning. They’ll be happy to please their future queen.”

“And when I’m healed, I want you to kiss me…” Your eyes drooped, the exhaustion from the night overpowering the little anxiety that remained in you.

“Your wish is my command...” Jacaerys mumbled back, his eyes on you as you slowly drifted off into a well-deserved sleep. He had not been entirely honest with you, there were many things he wanted to do.

He watched you sleep beside him, the most innocent sweet being he knew, covered with his warm clothes and bruises on your skin. Jace still held your hand and was not willing to let it go for the rest of the night.

At the soonest time, he’d convene a council meeting and strengthen the security around Dragonstone. He already had caught word of Daemon wreaking havoc on the guard unions patrolling around the castle for not being more attentive, for the princess was one of his favorite people in this family and Jace knew he’d have an ally for his cause.

He’d take his revenge for you.

But for now, he knew you needed him more than ever, and tomorrow he’d do his best to make you happy again. 

He could almost see it in the dark of the room, your eyes closed blissfully against the sunbeams, your hair dancing with the wind as you walked hand in hand as you had done so many times as children. You’d eat ripe peaches and cake and slowly, this incident would move past you until it was only what it was; a shadow in the corner, in the dead of night…

my taglist (open): @princesschimchim1325 @cecestea @jacesvelaryons @princessvelaryon @diannnnsss

[sybbi]

Something to add to the refution of the "horseback riding isn't exercise" myth:

I once interviewed a kid and his mom who said horseback riding had essentially helped the kid maintain his ability to walk. It's been years now so I can't remember the name of the disease/disorder he'd been born with, but iirc it essentially was supposed to lead to worsening muscular dystrophy, and doctors had told his mom to prepare for the boy not being able to walk on his own.

Well, mom was prepared for that, but as her boy got older, he showed an interest in horses and mom signed him up for lessons. Iirc I think she did it with the mindset of "might as well let him do it while he can."

When I interviewed them, he was about the age the doctors had predicted he wouldn't be able to do much outside of a wheelchair -- and you would've never guessed from watching him that he was fighting with something like that. He was active in showing, and he was working with a new Arabian mare he'd gotten recently and handling her so well -- he was able to tack her up, lead her around the arena, hop up on her back and do some tricks. The theory his mom and riding instructor had went that he hadn't lost his mobility as quickly as the doctors thought he would because being a good rider isn't just about working the horse, it's about your posture and your control. It can help work the kind of core muscles that are essential for people when keeping our balance on our own feet, and given that he was at the barn basically every day, including after school (I think they lived over an hour from the barn, which shows how much mom loved him and wanted to support him), he was getting more steady workouts that helped mitigate dystrophy than was probably normal for other kids with his condition.

Horses: Since There Seems To Be A Knowledge Gap

I'm going to go ahead and preface this with: I comment pretty regularly on clips and photos featuring horses and horseback riding, often answering questions or providing explanations for how or why certain things are done. I was a stable hand and barrel racer growing up, and during my 11 year tenure on tumblr, Professional Horse Commentary is a very niche, yet very necessary, subject that needs filling. Here are some of the literary and creative gaps I've noticed in well meaning (and very good!) creators trying to portray horses and riding realistically that... well, most of you don't seem to even be aware of, because you wouldn't know unless you worked with horses directly!

Some Of The Most Common Horse + Riding Mistakes I See:

-Anybody can ride any horse if you hold on tight enough/have ridden once before.

Nope. No, no, no, no, aaaaaaaand, no. Horseback riding has, historically, been treated as a life skill taught from surprisingly young ages. It wasn't unusual in the pre-vehicular eras to start teaching children as young as 4 to begin to ride, because horses don't come with airbags, and every horse is different. For most adults, it can take months or years of regular lessons to learn to ride well in the saddle, and that's just riding; not working or practicing a sport.

Furthermore, horses often reject riders they don't know. Unless a horse has been trained like a teaching horse, which is taught to tolerate riders of all skill and experience levels, it will take extreme issue with having some random person try to climb on their back. Royalty, nobility, and the knighted classes are commonly associated with the "having a favorite special horse" trope, because it's true! Just like you can have a particularly special bond with a pet or service animal that verges on parental, the same can apply with horses. Happy horses love their owners/riders, and will straight-up do their best to murder anyone that tries to ride them without permission.

-Horses are stupid/have no personality.

There isn't a more dangerous assumption to make than assuming a horse is stupid. Every horse has a unique personality, with traits that can be consistent between breeds (again, like cat and dog breeds often have distinct behavior traits associated with them), but those traits manifest differently from animal to animal.

My mother had an Arabian horse, Zipper, that hated being kicked as a signal to gallop. One day, her mom and stepdad had a particularly unpleasant visitor; an older gentleman that insisted on riding Zipper, but refused to listen to my mother's warnings never to kick him. "Kicking" constitutes hitting the horse's side(s) with your heels, whether you have spurs on or not. Most horses only need a gentle squeeze to know what you want them to do.

Anyway, Zipper made eye-contact with my mom, asking for permission. He understood what she meant when she nodded at him. He proceeded to give this asshole of a rider road rash on the side of the paddock fence and sent him to the emergency room. He wouldn't have done it if he didn't have the permission from the rider he respected, and was intelligent enough to ask, "mind if I teach this guy a lesson?" with his eyes, and understand, "Go for it, buddy," from my mom in return.

-Riding bareback is possible to do if you hold onto the horse's mane really tight.

Riding a horse bareback (with no saddle, stirrups, or traditional harness around the horse's head) is unbelievably difficult to learn, particularly have testicles and value keeping them. Even professional riders and equestrians find ourselves relying on tack (the stuff you put on a horse to ride it) to stay stable on our horses, even if we've been riding that particular horse for years and have a very positive, trusting relationship.

Horses sweat like people do. The more they run, the more their hair saturates with sweat and makes staying seated on them slippery. Hell, an overworked horse can sweat so heavily that the saddle slips off its back. It's also essential to brush and bathe a horse before it's ridden in order to keep it healthier, so their hair is often quite slick from either being very clean or very damp. In order to ride like that, you have to develop the ability to synchronize your entire body's rhythm's with the rhythm of the horse's body beneath you, and quite literally move as one. Without stirrups, most people can't do it, and some people can never master bareback riding no matter how many years they spend trying to learn.

-You can be distracted and make casual conversation while a horse is standing untethered in the middle of a barn or field.

At every barn I've ever worked at, it's been standard practice with every single horse, regardless of age or temperament, to secure their heads while they're being tacked up or tacked down. The secures for doing this are simple ropes with clips that are designed to attach to the horse's halter (the headwear for a horse that isn't being ridden; they have no bit that goes in the horse's mouth, and no reins for a rider to hold) on metal O rings on either side of the horse's head. This is not distressing to the horse, because we give them plenty of slack to turn their heads and look around comfortably.

The problem with trying to tack up an unrestrained horse while chatting with fellow stable hands or riders is that horses know when you're distracted! And they often try to get away with stuff when they know you're not looking! In a barn, a horse often knows where the food is stored, and will often try to tiptoe off to sneak into the feed room.

Horses that get into the feed room are often at a high risk of dying. While extremely intelligent, they don't have the ability to throw up, and they don't have the ability to tell that their stomach is full and should stop eating. Allowing a horse into a feed/grain room WILL allow it to eat itself to death.

Other common woes stable hands and riders deal with when trying to handle a horse with an unrestrained head is getting bitten! Horses express affection between members of their own herd, and those they consider friends and family, through nibbling and surprisingly rough biting. It's not called "horseplay" for nothing, because during my years working with horses out in the pasture, it wasn't uncommon at all for me to find individuals with bloody bite marks on their withers (that high part on the middle of the back of their shoulders most people instinctively reach for when they try to get up), and on their backsides. I've been love-bitten by horses before, and while flattering, they hurt like hell on fleshy human skin.

So, for the safety of the horse, and everybody else, always make a show of somehow controlling the animal's head when hands-on and on the ground with them.

-Big Horse = War Horse

Startlingly, the opposite is usually the case! Draft and carriage horses, like Percherons and Friesians, were never meant to be used in warfare. Draft horses are usually bred to be extremely even-tempered, hard to spook, and trustworthy around small children and animals. Historically, they're the tractors of the farm if you could afford to upgrade from oxen, and were never built to be fast or agile in a battlefield situation.

More importantly, just because a horse is imposing and huge doesn't make it a good candidate for carrying heavy weights. A real thing that I had to be part of enforcing when I worked at a teaching ranch was a weight limit. Yeah, it felt shitty to tell people they couldn't ride because we didn't have any horses strong enough to carry them due to their weight, but it's a matter of the animal's safety. A big/tall/chonky horse is more likely to be built to pull heavy loads, but not carry them flat on their spines. Horses' muscular power is predominantly in their ability to run and pull things, and too heavy a rider can literally break a horse's spine and force us to euthanize it.

Some of the best war horses out there are from the "hot blood" family. Hot blooded horses are often from dry, hot, arid climates, are very small and slight (such as Arabian horses), and are notoriously fickle and flighty. They're also a lot more likely to paw/bite/kick when spooked, and have even sometimes been historically trained to fight alongside their rider if their rider is dismounted in combat; kicking and rearing to keep other soldiers at a distance.

-Any horse can be ridden if it likes you enough.

Just like it can take a lifetime to learn to ride easily, it can take a lifetime of training for a horse to comfortably take to being ridden or taking part in a job, like pulling a carriage. Much like service animals, horses are typically trained from extremely young ages to be reared into the job that's given to them, and an adult horse with no experience carrying a rider is going to be just as scared as a rider who's never actually ridden a horse.

Just as well, the process of tacking up a horse isn't always the most comfortable experience for the horse. To keep the saddle centered on the horse's back when moving at rough or fast paces, it's essential to tighten the belly strap (cinch) of the saddle as tightly as possible around the horse's belly. For the horse, it's like wearing a tight corset, chafes, and even leaves indents in their skin afterward that they love having rinsed with water and scratched. Some horses will learn to inflate their bellies while you're tightening the cinch so you can't get it as tight as it needs to be, and then exhale when they think you're done tightening it.

When you're working with a horse wearing a bridle, especially one with a bit, it can be a shocking sensory experience to a horse that's never used a bit before. While they lack a set of teeth naturally, so the bit doesn't actually hurt them, imagine having a metal rod shoved in your mouth horizontally! Unless you understand why it's important for the person you care about not dying, you'd be pretty pissed about having to keep it in there!

-Horseback riding isn't exercise.

If you're not using every muscle in your body to ride with, you're not doing it right.

Riding requires every ounce of muscle control you have in your entire body - although this doesn't mean it wasn't realistic for people with fat bodies to stay their weight while also being avid riders; it doesn't mean the muscles aren't there. To stay on the horse, you need to learn how it feels when it moves at different gaits (walk, trot, canter, gallop), how to instruct it to switch leads (dominant legs; essential for precise turning and ease of communication between you and the horse), and not falling off. While good riders look like they're barely moving at all, that's only because they're good riders. They know how to move so seamlessly with the horse, feeling their movements like their own, that they can compensate with their legs and waists to not bounce out of the saddle altogether or slide off to one side. I guarantee if you ride a horse longer than 30 minutes for the first time, your legs alone will barely work and feel like rubber.

-Horses aren't affectionate.

Horses are extraordinarily affectionate toward the right people. As prey animals, they're usually wary of people they don't know, or have only recently met. They also - again, like service animals - have a "work mode" and a "casual mode" depending upon what they're doing at the time. Horses will give kisses like puppies, wiggle their upper lips on your hair/arms to groom you, lean into neck-hugs, and even cuddle in their pasture or stall if it's time to nap and you join them by leaning against their sides. If they see you coming up from afar and are excited to see you, they'll whinny and squeal while galloping to meet you at the gate. They'll deliberately swat you with their tails to tease you, and will often follow you around the pasture if they're allowed to regardless of what you're up to.

-Riding crops are cruel.

Only cruel people use riding crops to hurt their horses. Spurs? I personally object to, because any horse that knows you well doesn't need something sharp jabbing them in the side for emphasis when you're trying to tell them where you want them to go. Crops? Are genuinely harmless tools used for signalling a horse.

I mean, think about it. Why would crops be inherently cruel instruments if you need to trust a horse not to be afraid of you and throw you off when you're riding it?

Crops are best used just to lightly tap on the left or right flank of the horse, and aren't universally used with all forms of riding. You'll mainly see crops used with English riding, and they're just tools for communicating with the horse without needing to speak.

-There's only one way to ride a horse.

Not. At. All. At most teaching ranches, you'll get two options: Western, or English, because they tend to be the most popular for shows and also the most common to find equipment for. English riding uses a thinner, smaller saddle, narrower stirrups, and much thinner bridles. I, personally, didn't like English style riding because I never felt very stable in such a thin saddle with such small stirrups, and didn't start learning until my mid teens. English style riding tends to focus more on your posture and deportment in the saddle, and your ability to show off your stability and apparent immovability on the horse. It was generally just a bit too stiff and formal for me.

Western style riding utilizes heavier bridles, bigger saddles (with the iconic horn on the front), and broader stirrups. Like its name may suggest, Western riding is more about figuring out how to be steady in the saddle while going fast and being mobile with your upper body. Western style riding is generally the style preferred for working-type shows, such as horseback archery, gunning, barrel racing, and even rodeo riding.

-Wealthy horse owners have no relationship with their horses.

This is loosely untrue, but I've seen cases where it is. Basically, horses need to feel like they're working for someone that matters to them in order to behave well with a rider and not get impatient or bored. While it's common for people to board horses at off-property ranches (boarding ranches) for cost and space purposes, it's been historically the truth that having help is usually necessary with horses at some point. What matters is who spends the most time with the animal treating it like a living being, rather than a mode of transport or a tool. There's no harm in stable hands handling the daily upkeep; hay bales and water buckets are heavy, and we're there to profit off the labor you don't want or have the time to do. You get up early to go to work; we get up early to look after your horses. Good owners/boarders visit often and spend as much of their spare time as they can with spending quality work and playtime with their horses. Otherwise, the horses look to the stable hands for emotional support and care.

So, maybe you're writing a knight that doesn't really care much for looking after his horse, but his squire is really dedicated to keeping up with it? There's a better chance of the horse having a more affectionate relationship with the squire thanks to the time the squire spends on looking after it, while the horse is more likely to tolerate the knight that owns it as being a source of discipline if it misbehaves. That doesn't mean the knight is its favorite person. When it comes to horses, their love must be earned, and you can only earn it by spending time with them hands-on.

-Horses can graze anywhere without concern.

This is a mistake that results in a lot of premature deaths! A big part of the cost of owning a horse - even before you buy one - is having the property that will be its pasture assessed for poisonous plants, and having those plants removed from being within the animal's reach. This is an essential part of farm upkeep every year, because horses really can't tell what's toxic and what isn't. One of the reasons it's essential to secure a horse when you aren't riding it is to ensure it only has a very limited range to graze on, and it's your responsibility as the owner/rider to know how to identify dangerous plants and keep your horses away from them.

There's probably more. AMA in my askbox if you have any questions, but that's all for now. Happy writing.