#anyways- if it looks unfinished or whatevs uh

[twisting-in-wonderland]

ceremonial robes Jade re-draw for practice----

he’s soooooo trustworthy, don’t you want to give him all your personal information?   he’s a super trustworthy guy!

‘lineart’:

and progress stuff----- (not much though)

not pictured is the like,, five different mouths i drew trying to make it look right,,,

(one accidently was just.   :3  so just imagine smug cat jade lol)

(sobs wails i hate drawing backgrounds i hate drawing backgrounds i hate-)

[gotham-daydreams]

Okay we see how Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim and Cass become Yanderes for reader what about Damian, Steph and Babs?

That question is exactly why I'm kind of debating on making a kinda "Part 2.5" sort of thing, and it would show how Tim and Damian got further roped into things like Bruce, Dick, Jason and Cass. Along with how Steph and Babs take the news of "heyyy, um. you know Y/n? yeah that one sibling of ours that's lived here for years that we've barely have like, 10 conversations with collectively? Yeah, that sibling. Uh, we just figured out they've basically been living an entire life without any of us knowing, and might've run away because we were barely involved in their life despite them making multiple attempts to have us be there. So, we kind of need your help to find them. Like. Now-"

Though honestly I'll just put the run down here, so-

Bruce kind of gave Damian the little push he needed before hopping on the train, kind of like what he did with Jason but a little different. With him finding Damian, and some questions being thrown around, before Damian just decides to help look for you.

Honestly I can imagine that Damian wasn't super serious about finding you or anything at first, and was more so just trying to help because Bruce and Dick were looking for you. Hence why he looks for Alfred first with the intention to get the search done and over with. Though, that does begin to change a little when he eventually stumbles upon your room and gets that small glimpse of all he's missed out on after having talked with Alfred.

The room itself doesn't necessarily get to Damian — not like it does with Bruce and Dick — but it's more of the contents of the room itself that get him started on the yandere path.

Honestly, how Damian and Tim begin to develop their more Yandere thoughts and feelings for the reader is through finding something in your room, leading them to find more stuff, and that eventually getting to the thought process of "i didn't know they did this... i would've liked to know about this before/share this thing with them." Which then leads to a more yandere-like mindset.

For Damian (since we're already on the topic of him), he finds that one art award that you got, and becomes curious. Eventually he finds the unfinished art pieces that Bruce had found earlier, and while he isn't impressed or anything at first, the more unfinished pieces he finds the more he kind of begins to see your potential, and that leads to his own thoughts on the matter. With him wishing he knew about how you liked to do art too, and that eventually leads to him thinking that he could've helped you refine your skill, and the both of you could've drawn or painted together.

What strengthens that mindset is when he gets his hands on a notebook that you had used to practice whatever you were struggling with, and left notes for yourself on how you could improve upon certain things as well. Maybe if Damian had known you were into art before, he could've helped you, and you both could've improved together. Refine each other's skills, and just be able to create together. Which Damian really begins to like the thought of. Especially as he sees how you improved the deeper into the notebook he gets.

So, he also sets out to find you, but with a more positive mindset and thought process.

Honestly, out of everyone, Damian is the least worried about you and your well-being. Not because he necessarily has faith in your abilities to stay alive in Gotham, while also potentially being by yourself, but rather he isn't focused on that part? Not as intensely as some of the others, anyway.

Besides, if you were to turn up dead, then he'd have the "you die, I kill you" mindset. You aren't allowed to be dead or 'missing' in his mind, and so you aren't until proven other wise — but even then he's going to need a lot of solid proof to even believe it.

Damian is just more focused on the "we have a common interest and I want to do this thing with them" part of learning that you're into art. Even if you aren't anymore, just knowing that it was something that you used to do is enough to get him jumping on the yandere train. You'll be doing art with him one way or another, and you can't do shit about it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Sure his reasoning isn't a strong, but it's enough to get him started and to go looking for you with the others when they eventually start tearing Gotham apart in hopes to find you. Damian now has a sudden need for quality time and your his main target, sorry not sorry.

Tim on the other hand just sort of, stumbled upon your room, and thanks to Dick was very quickly roped into this mess (as mentioned in "Not Here").

He actually looks through the box with all of your more personal belongs first as Dick tries to call and text you like crazy, while also trying to figure out more stuff.

The first thing he minds is an mp3 player, which, again - as mentioned in "Not Here" held very early versions of songs you were working on at the time, along with some of the very first songs you ever wrote. Which, after listening to a few of them, is immediately a big fan. Though that ends up being both his downfall and how he begins to develop his more yandere tendencies.

Like Dick, you had tried to call and message him about certain performances and such you thought he'd like, and hoped he'd attend, but to no avail. It sucks even more for Tim now because if he had just given your music a chance just a little sooner, maybe things would've been different between the two of you. Maybe you wouldn't have left.

Not to mention that, since he now really loves your music - just knowing that he's wasted so many opportunities to hear more of it, and the completed, fully fleshed out versions of some the songs on the mp3 player makes him upset. He really feels the hit of neglecting you, and that hit only lands harder when he goes through that 'List/Progress' notebook that Bruce had seen earlier in "Not Here".

A notebook which does reveal a lot about you, and how you only did so many activities because you hoped that if anyone in the family was into one of the activities/hobbies you tried, then you'd be able to bond with them over it. Though look at where that got you. Countless awards hung on your walls, with a number of accomplishments to your name - and yet not once were you able to use them for their original purpose. Not once were you able to hold a full, long conversation with any of them about any of the things you've done.

It wasn't even your fault because you tried to put in the work, Tim could really see that now, but you just weren't given the chance to actually put it to good use.

Maybe that's why he ended up helping Dick as much as he did, and maybe that's why he took the time to download some of your songs before heading out to look for you. He wanted to feel closer to you then he really was, and wanted your music to be something shared between the two of you.

Tim wants to not only get closer to you, but to hear everything you've ever made music wise. A want which he fully intends on making a reality.

Stephenie and Barbara are a bit different, however. Since, as stated in "Not Here", both of them are informed of what's going on after everyone else but Damian and Alfred absolutely loses their minds over you not being in the Manor. Though, again, both take the news a bit differently.

Between the two, Steph easily feels the worst. So her motivations and actions — like Bruce, Dick, Jason, Cass, and Tim — are more out of guilt and regret. She already doesn't like the thought of her own neglect having caused you to keep so many things to yourself that you basically hid yourself away, but the idea of her — along with everyone else — having pushed you so far away that you ran away? That... doesn't make her feel good, to say the least.

Sure, she doesn't feel as bad as Bruce or Dick - who easily feel the worst because of their respective roles in the family, and them feeling like they failed to even be a semi-present figure in your life for you to recognize them as your Father and Older Brother (to which they are correct, but aren't aware of that yet) - but it's still enough for her to try and look for you too.

Kind of like Bruce when he was looking in the Manor, Stephanie doesn't know where to start looking, and that only worsens her regret.

I guess her development comes more with time? Since the more she and the others look, not only do her feelings grow, but she also learns more about you as everyone starts sharing information over the intercoms. Things they just found out about you — like how you spent your birthdays alone with Alfred and had waited for them each year until recently, how you made music, what kind of competitions and such you've participated in, who were your teachers, how majority of what you did wasn't even for yourself - but rather a chance that one of the many activities you did try out was something anyone of them were into, so that way you could actually have a conversation with them - and more. (Which may be shown later? Not in a official post/part to the series but perhaps in a sort of side thing that shows the mayhem going on. But who knows?)

Case and point, while they are all looking for you - Steph slowly becomes more yandere for the reader the more she learns about you and how her and the other's actions impacted you. Like some of the others, she wants to make it up to you, but isn't entirely sure how she'd even go about doing that. The more aware she becomes, the harder she falls.

Barbara on the other hand, I'd say, is more lowkey as of now when it comes to her development as a yandere?

I mean, Dick, while very much panicking, basically told her it was an emergency and he really needed her on the bat computer because he had to look for you. Which, in the same breath, gave a list of locations and possible teachers you might've had in the past (you can thank Tim for trying to figure all of that out) and if she could look into it.

It's safe to say that Barbara's introduction into the whole situation was very chaotic. An emotional, worried, and panicked Dick is never a good one, so that was fun to deal with while slowly drowning in confusion.

Eventually, she got the run down and was quick to help, but like Bruce, Cass, Damian, and Jason - she was more confused at the start.

Ouf of everyone, and maybe besides Jason, Barbara has had the least amount of interaction with you - and the room for possible interactions with you for her were much smaller anyway considering that you aren't a vigilante, and never intended to be. So, it only makes sense that one of the people you've easily had the least connection with, was the person who communicated and mainly interacted with the rest of the Batfam when they're doing vigilante work.

What didn't help is that she barely even saw you at events or even holiday gatherings and such the family would have, with you being so neglected that they just... failed to even notice you missing at the time. The day she was introduced to you was when you were first adopted, and that was basically both the first and last full interaction either of you have had with each other. Other than that, she would hear small comments about you sometimes from the others, but even then it wasn't much and those soon died out as one could've guessed.

Even when she was in the Manor, she might've caught a few glimpses of you, but nothing else - so the beginning of her fall into being a yandere is definitely much slowly and lowkey when compared to the others.

I feel as if this whole situation may encourage Babs to want to get to know you better? After all, your disappearance did cause the whole family to basically start a whole manhunt just to find you, so I feel as if that would be enough to get Barbara interested at the very least. Not to mention all of the things she's hearing about you from everyone - it would be nice to try and actually meet you, not just know about you.

In other words, I feel as if Barbara may develop more as a yandere in part 3, seeing as I can see her more yandere tendencies begin to develop once she actually 'meets' you. Y'know what I mean?

So tldr; Damian becomes a yandere for the reader by finding out they're into art/have done art in the past, and now has a deep need to bond with them.

Steph becomes a yandere through her guilt and regret, and like some of the others, want to make it up to the reader.

Babs, on the other hand, hasn't exactly become a yandere just yet, but will once she 'meets' the reader and see them for herself. As of right now, she's just curious, but we'll get there in part 3.

Also, this is unrelated to the ask, but I would like to point out how pretty much everyone in the Batfam thinks you ran away rather then you just leaving. Do what you will with this information for now :]

Anyways, I hoped that answered your question, even if I got a bit rambly! If there's anything else in particular anyone else would like to know, feel free to send in an ask!

[miguel-ohara-lover]

Kinktober day 10 - Ghost!Miguel

Prompt list

CW: nsfw, ghost, ftm!reader, kinda creepy, “pussy”/“cunt” used, squirting, eating out

Note: Tonight is gonna be a bit short because uh yeah depression fucking sucks ass… anyway- I like ghosts :] (🎶if you have ghoosssttt you have everythiiing-🎶)

Ps don’t question it it’s fictiooooonnnn…

Creepy stuff never bothered you before, and hey creepy generally meant cheaper. So when you heard of this really nice house that was half price do you a murder that took place, fuck yeah you wanna buy that shit. A little murder didn’t hurt especially when it meant you get cheap shit and it’s not like you committed the crime sooo…

The random noises and random moving objects was all easy to explain away. You probably forgot you moved it or it was probably the wind. Easy shit to explain. Though… seeing a figure of a man in the hallway was weird… You thought someone had broken in but as you got closer he disappeared.

This started happening more often, you’d see him, try to approach, and he’d vanish. He didn’t run and hide, he just went poof. Eventually you learned to not approach him, and instead would wave. After a few times he waved back, and that surprised you. Before it didn’t seem like he knew you were there, and know he’s acknowledged your existence.

He started sticking around more, started to acknowledge your presence more. He was very handsome for whatever the fuck he was. You figured he was a ghost, a spirit trapped in the mortal realm after his untimely death.

You noticed he would hang around more often, watching what you did or what you had on the tv. It didn’t bother you, and it was kind of nice knowing you had friendly eyes on you. At least you thought he was friendly, considering he hasn’t tried to possess and or murder you by now.

Some quick research told you what you were curious about. His name was Miguel O’Hara, his murder was unsolved. Perhaps that’s why he hung around, unfinished business and all. You tried to get him to open up to you, but he never spoke a word to you. He would just watch you and vanish before any progress is made.

One day, you were getting dressed in the morning when you noticed out of the corner of your eye he was standing in the doorway. He was watching you, but you didn’t feel unsafe.

“You have scars. Did someone hurt you?” He spoke for the first time since you met him. His voice surprised you. It sounded soft and distant, almost an echo to it.

It took you a moment to realize what he was referring to. ��Oh.” You looked down at yourself, then back at him. “No, they’re just from surgery.”

“Ah. Okay then.” He nods and looks around your room.

“Do you have to stand there while I get dressed?” You chuckled a little. You didn’t entirely mind, what could he do he’s dead. He didn’t respond, and instead stood there like he had been.

You shrugged and continued changing, removing your pants and underwear. You bent over looking at your dresser for some panties. He looked over and would have blushed if he had blood. Your pussy looked so perfect to him, so wet and just asking for his attention.

“I can feel you staring.” You spoke up, still bend over. Suddenly, cold hands grabs your bare hips. You let out a small gasp as the freezing touch. He moves a hand from your hip to your pussy, dragging a cold finger through your slick folds and sending shivers through your body.

He stayed silent as a finger slipped inside you, making you shudder and moan. Part of you wondered how this was possible, how was he able to touch you if he’s dead. You weren’t complaining, but the wonder was still there. The thoughts were immediately forgotten, however, when you felt another finger circle your clit, drawing louder moans from you.

Miguel seemed pleased with, and pulled his hand away. It was silent and still for a moment, and you started to wonder if he had walked away. That was until you felt something else against your cunt, something hard.

You bit your lip as you felt his cock push into you, stretching your already tight pussy. Fuck he was big. How could anyone wanna murder a guy with THAT in his pants. He held onto your hips, guiding you down his shaft until your pelvis was against his. Miguel’s hands moved upward, under your shirt as he felt your body, his fingers eventually finding your scars and touching the flesh.

He turned his attention to your nipples, lightly tugging and teasing, earning little grunts of pleasure from you. He enjoyed that sound, it made his dick twitch. Your pussy contracted around him and he groaned slightly, starting to thrust his hips slow at first.

Miguel steadily picked up the pace until he was slamming into you at an inhuman speed. You cried out and moaned into the palm of your hand as this spirit ravaged your cunt. You were dripping wet just from the initial touches to your pussy. A hand went back down and played with your clit, gently tugging and rubbing circles as you whined.

It was so overstimulating, everything was pulling you closer and closer to the edge. The warm knot in your gut formed quickly, with all this pleasure it wasn’t hard. He was eager and ready to please, ready to pleasure you in any way he could, you were gorgeous to him.

You let out a loud moan as you came from his fingers and cock. His pelvis and lower torso were drenched from you squirting on him. The sight made him unravel immediately. He groaned and grunted as he spilled inside you, ice cold cum filling your pussy as his fingers moved faster, drawing more squirt juices from you and making you cry out.

He pulled out and released your clit from the torment. You panted and leaned against your dresser to stay upright, clit twitching from so much stimulation. He couldn’t help but admire you even more, so soaking wet from cumming, it drove him made

Miguel moved onto his knees and licked your pussy, making you moan and whimper slightly. He loved those sounds so much. His mouth wrapped around your clit and he sucked gently, making you cry out once more. He was so eager, happily pleasuring your clit all over again. He pushed his cold fingers into your pussy and finger fucked you roughly as he licked and sucked your clit, hoping for another shower.

You whined and rocked your hips a little, rubbing your pussy on his face as the pleasure overtook you. You saw stars in the air as reality melted away, and all you could think of was Miguel’s mouth, pleasing your cunt so perfectly. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, holding you against his face, eating you out as if it were his last meal.

His grip tightened and you could feel another orgasm building up inside you. It wasn’t long before you came a second time, squirting once more and giving Miguel that shower he wanted. He didn’t stop going to town on your cunt, however. He just couldn’t get enough, holding your trembling legs as he feasted.

Eventually he did stop, after making you cum a third… fourth… and fifth time. By then you were gone, thoughts incoherent and words just a mumbling mess, unable to keep yourself up anymore. He helped you into bed, wiping up any mess left on you and tucking you in.

“That was fun.” He spoke up. In your sleepy mindless state all you could manage was “mhm”. He didn’t mind, smiling down at you as you drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

He’d watch over you of course. Always.

———

Tag list(feel free to ask to be on it):

@6thhokageswife @zaunsin @famouscattale @m4dyy @thedevax @migueloharastruelove @queerponcho @lynnxnnyl

[midnighthazee]

Greenridge ABO Series

Series Masterlist Masterlist

Warnings: Torture, mentions of abuse, mentions of blood, explicit language, name calling, fear, near death experiences....

WC: 1757

Chapter 1

“I have business to handle with the Harlow pack tomorrow. Frankie and Triston are going with me to meet with our allies. I need you here to be in charge of the house while I’m gone.” Alpha Lewis says to Hayes.

“You got it. I will keep you updated.” Hayes nodded his head.

“I know nothing will really be going on around here but I will be gone for a few days. Maids should be here to clean at 9 am… Oh and uh, make sure they feed the omegas. I think they forgot yesterday.” Lewis rolled his eyes as if it was silly for them to have forgotten.

“Surprised I can’t hear their stomachs growling from up here.” Milo chuckled, walking into the room.

“Y’all two stay out of trouble this time. Last time you burned down my shed.” Lewis pointed a finger at Milo.

“Hey…it was old anyways. We built you a nicer one.” Milo said.

“Yeah so I don’t want to lose this one either.” Lewis said, leaving the room.

Lewis is Alpha to the Nyko pack. A pack known for its ruthless leader, large numbers, and murderous ways. Alpha Lewis took over two of the neighboring packs, making them all submit to his rule. Anyone who refused, he slaughtered in front of their family. In doing so, he grew vastly in territory and numbers, now having nearly fifty members loyal to him. No one dares cross him, for a war could break out - most of the surrounding packs don’t even come close to the numbers he has. 

For the most part, any remaining packs that neighbor his territory live in harmony with him. They stay on their land and out of his way and he doesn’t overtake their land.

Alpha Lewis’s immediate pack consists of a lesser alpha, five betas and three omegas. The lesser alpha is his younger brother as well as one of the betas. The rest of the people under his rule live in their own dwellings and not in his house like the immediate pack. A few members of the pack share rooms but the omegas are kept locked up in the basement.

Nightfall was approaching as Hayes and Milo unlocked the padlock on the basement door. Alpha Lewis had left late morning and should be in Harlow territory by now. Which means he’s far away and off-the grid for the rest of the night. He will probably check in tomorrow morning but for now, the boys were home with just the omegas. The two other betas left behind decided to go see a movie in town.

The basement was half finished. The unfinished part had prison looking cells - one for each omega and an extra. Cement walls and flooring with reinforced steel bars in the front. The walls and floors were damp from leaks, the air smelling of piss and mildew. Each cell had a metal cot with a thin mat on a wire frame, a hole in the ground for them to relieve themselves, and a chain embedded into the wall and connected at the ankle of the omega inside.

The omegas were filthy, hair matted, and covered in injuries and bruises both old and new. They cowered into the back corner as the young alpha and beta appeared. They stopped at one of the female’s door. It was their favorite omega - YOU. You whined, pushing yourself further into the back wall, but they just laughed. 

“C’mon bitch….we wanna play.” Milo taunted.

Hayes opened your door and stepped inside. You cowered in the corner, shaking and shying away as he unlocked the cuff on your ankle. Then he snatched you up and guided you out. You winced in pain as he forced you to walk. You knew Alpha Lewis must be gone if they decided to “play” with you. They only took you out to play when he wasn’t home to boss them around and keep them busy. So they use you to stay entertained.

You endured whatever game they came up with, knowing no one would take your side or care what they did to you. Their latest interest is a game of hunting. And it seemed like it would be the same game again tonight as they led you through the living room towards the back door.

Wincing at the bright lights, you looked down and tried not to trip over your own feet as you walked. Your limbs hurt, you were tired and hungry, and you were not in the mood to entertain them. Not that you ever were, but most nights they bring you out, you use it to your advantage and study the terrain. One day you will escape, and when you do, you will know how to get away. But tonight, you didn’t have it in you.

“Alright bitch… run.” Milo commanded with an eager smile.

Your feet were heavy and you felt like doing anything but running. All the walking made you lightheaded honestly and you wanted to just curl up and die. You drop to the floor, sitting as your hands support you from fully laying on the floor.

They both sigh dramatically.

“I think she needs some motivation..” Hayes says.

Milo pulls a gun from the back of his pants. It was a BB gun, modified to have a stronger shot and shoot bigger pellets. He aims it at you, touching the side of your head. Your breath catches in your throat as you slowly turn to see the barrel of the gun aimed at you. Hayes flashed his BB gun too.

“I got new pellets…” Milo wiggles his eyebrows. “They are silver.”

Hayes whips his head to his brother, brows furrowed.

“So… run.” Milo growls.

You scramble to your feet and take off, knowing too much silver will kill you. You hear the pop of the gun and hear the whoosh of a pellet go by your ear. He just missed you. You run into the treeline, heading for cover in the woods.

“Silver?! Are you nuts? We aren’t out here to kill her.” Hayes speaks lowly. 

“Relax… I won't hit her much. I just want to use these special ones here.” Milo holds out a gloved hand with pellets in it.

“Why are they blue?” Hayes reaches for one.

“Don’t touch without gloves. Each one contains a small dose of cobalt.”

Hayes steps back quickly. “What the hell?”

“I have an antidote. I’m not gonna kill her.” Milo rolls his eyes.

“Silver is one thing Milo, but cobalt?” Hayes lectures. “Lewis can’t find out we do this when he’s away…remember?”

“She’s getting away, c’mon.” Milo says, running into the woods after you.

This went on for over an hour. They would get too close when you stopped to catch your breath, which was often, and you would feel the pellets pierce your skin. The pain kept the adrenaline pumping, pushing you to get up from behind whatever tree or bush you were using to hide and keep running. This was the first time they used silver pellets. Most of the time the regular pellets hurt enough to keep you running away, especially when they got too close. But this pain was much worse. 

One of the first times they decided to play their little hunting game with you, you decided that the pain wasn’t worth all the running. You refused to play along and in turn you were badly beaten - worse than the pellets would have been. They threatened to tell Alpha Lewis and when that didn’t scare you enough (because you knew he wasn’t home), they took to beating you. They broke three ribs and your leg. The healing was excruciating and took longer than it should have thanks to the terrible living conditions and lack of food.

They must have explained to Alpha Lewis what happened when he was gone because he didn’t say anything about your injuries and was more irritated with you than usual. He also withheld a few meals from you and kept you locked in the basement and used the other omegas for his fun for a while. From that day forward, she knew not to underestimate the brothers, or the absence of their alpha.

You ran as fast as your legs would go, the ground beneath your bare feet feeling like glass shards with every step. You huffed as you weaved between the trees and bushes.  You could feel the branches slashing at your skin as you ran past but you didn’t let it stop you. Plus the cover of night made it nearly impossible to see anything or where you were going.

As you ran, the world felt as if it began to tilt. You blinked and shook your head trying to focus. It didn’t work and you lost your footing, stumbling forward. You hit the ground with a thud, knocking the air from your lungs. You cough, trying to breathe in air as your heart pounded.

“We can smell your blood.” Hayes taunted.

Forcing yourself to stand, your limbs feel heavy. Wincing as you stand, you stumble as you try to stand straight. What was happening? Was this because you hadn’t eaten in like two days? You heard a branch snap behind you. Whipping your head around, you don’t see anything. They sounded close so you took off again. 

As you run, you begin to slow. It feels as if you're trudging through mud. You push with all your might but you don’t feel right. Looking around, you realize you’re not on your usual path. These trees haven’t been marked by you from the previous nights. There’s no dirt path beneath you either - at least that you can see in the darkness of the woods. Looking around, you were definitely lost. Fear creeped up as your stomach churned.

You run, hoping you can circle back to the path, afraid to run into any neighboring territories. Alpha warned you of the awful things they would do if they found you unwelcomed on their land. Shivering at the thought, your eyes feel heavy. You push through your head as it spins but it’s no use. You stumble over a tree root and tumble forward.

You reach a hill and manage to tumble down the ferns and ivy. Your body hits the ground with a thud and you feel yourself slipping into darkness, your whole body screaming at you in pain. When the brothers do find you, you are definitely going to pay for this.

TAGLIST:

@its-the-solar-system @estella-novella

[sorcerersseestars]

just like you <3

warnings: Gojo makes inappropriate jokes. Reader is gender neutral but refers to Gojo as “such a boy” once and is called princess by Gojo thrice. (it’s part of the story, I’m sorry ;-;). Kissing, suggestiveness, & confessions! Gojo is wearing his shades but I was too lazy to keep writing that in…

word count: 2.1k

I feel like Gojo and reader are in their late teens/early 20s in this! Also, I think this feels like more of a snapshot of one moment than a complete oneshot…I guess it’s a drabble then?? Not sure haha pls let me know if there’s a term for this

Gojo hates classical music. Growing up, his parents would drag him to so many ballets and operas, especially around the holidays. He can’t count on both hands how many performances of the Nutcracker he has seen, which was always such a snooze fest for him—he used to point and laugh at the poor child who had to play the rat, which is usually how he got out of seeing the rest of the performance, since the ushers would quickly kick out him and his family for his behavior.

In essence, Gojo has always gone about his life convinced that classical music is horribly boring and that he abhors it.

That is, until you reintroduce him to it. When you ask him if you mind listening to a piece with him, he’s a bit surprised—and of course, apprehensive. How is he going to break it to you that he hates something you hold so dear? But it’s you, so he relents—how could he ever say no to you?

“It’s called Scheherazade,” You say, shyly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s based on a Thousand and One Nights, y’know, the really old story. Do you know it?”

You’re both sitting on your bed. You are sitting cross-legged, while Gojo rudely stretches out his legs (manspreads!), leaving little room for you. You don’t complain, though—you like being this close to him, even if you can’t admit it to yourself.

“I haven’t heard of it,” He admits. He feels so relaxed with you that he yawns even though he isn’t necessarily sleepy. You seem to take this the wrong way, though.

You become embarrassed. “Oh shit, this stuff is kinda nerdy, huh? I don’t want to bore you-”

“You won’t,” He says immediately, firmly. His blue eyes seem to look right through you, making you nervous under his persistent gaze. Maybe if this was music history class, he’d sigh and moan, but since you’re the one telling the story, there’s no possible way he could get bored.

“Oh, r-really?” You stammer out, quickly looking away from his bold gaze (does he always look at you like that?) “Okay then. Uh, so basically, this king found his wife in bed with another man, so he uh– killed her and all of her servants. He kinda went crazy after that and took revenge on women by summoning one virgin to his chamber every night and executing her before the night was up.”

He shifts from his position, leaning in toward you to whisper, “I don’t think he was a very nice king, but don’t tell him I said that.”

You laugh at his lame joke, which makes him feel warm inside.

“Well, one night, a woman named Scheherazade volunteered to be the virgin to go to him one night. Her family was distraught, thinking they were going to lose their daughter to their insane king. But after the first night was up, everyone was surprised to see she was still alive in the morning. This repeated on and on. She was really clever and told him an unfinished story every night, telling him that he would have to wait until the next night to hear the ending. And she did that One Thousand and One times, hence the name of the story.”

“So you’re telling me that she edged him with the same story for one thousand and one nights and he never noticed? Seems kinda gullible, if ya ask me.”

“Why do you have to put it like that?” You say, flustered by his wording. “Ugh, you’re such a boy sometimes.”

“Am I wrong, princess?” He smiles. Your heart skips a beat at his use of a pet name, but you try not to make it obvious.

You roll your eyes. “W-whatever! Anyway, he eventually fell for her and made her his queen. That’s what this piece is based on—or that’s the simple version of it, at least.”

“So, let me get this straight—she tamed an actual virgin-killer?”

“Satoru!” You try to sigh, but can’t hold back your laughter. “That’s not the point!”

“It kinda is though, isn’t it?” He playfully argues. “Actually, I’d argue that’s the climax of the story. After that, everything gets resolved!”

You make a face when he calls it the ‘climax’. In turn, he pokes your cheek.

“What, you don’t like my literary terminology? C’mon, that’s literally what it’s called!”

“You’re such a perv! Virgin killer this, climax that,” You wrinkle your nose in semi-faux disgust. “Just shut up and listen, I’m going to turn it on.”

“Oooo, you’re gonna turn it on!” Gojo says, waggling his fingers and doing jazz hands.

You cross your arms and put on your sternest look. “Do you want to listen to it or not?”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, officer, I’ll behave now!”

You giggle. “Okay, enough. I’m gonna start it now, for real. It’s kinda long, so sit tight.”

You press play on your device, fiddling with the volume for a bit since classical music has such high highs and low lows. You’re still nervous if he’s going to like it or not, so you aren’t as immersed in the music as you usually are. You keep glancing at Gojo out of the corner of your eye, praying you’re not boring him to death.

As the music plays on, you begin to relax and imagine the story in your head. You close your eyes, savoring the colorful tones of the different instruments and the singing melodies.

You open your eyes at the start of the second movement, and are surprised to find Gojo’s eyes completely on you. The solo violin sings beautifully iand the harp tugs at your heartstrings in the background, making the sensation of his eyes on yours all the more evocative. You lose your breath; neither of you look away. It should be awkward, but it isn’t.

“D-do you like it?” You stupidly ask.

“It’s beautiful,” He says softly, eyes still on you. Just like you are the words left lingering on his tongue, right there yet left unsaid.

“Really?!” You answer excitedly—but again, stupidly. “I- uh, I’m gl–”

You cut yourself off with a yelp as the mood in the music suddenly changes. You had turned it up during the quiet opening, since you could hardly hear, so this loud and sudden start to a stormy section catches you off guard. You instinctively flinch and grip the nearest thing around you for comfort…

…That ‘thing’ being your friend, Satoru Gojo. You’re holding his thick biceps tightly, not realizing your blunder in your haste.

He smirks at you but doesn’t move away. If anything, he leans in to you. “Aw, did you get scared? It’s just vibrations wiggling the air, there’s nothing to be scared of.”

You instantly let go. He laughs at how quickly you back away, and you can only hope he doesn’t sense the heat on your cheeks. So embarrassing.

“You–! Ugh! I was just caught off guard!” You say, brushing your hands off just for show. "It just suddenly got so loud that I got startled.”

“That sounds like an excuse to me,” He jests.

“Think whatever you like,” You sigh, exasperated. “But c’mon, we have to finish it! We’re only halfway and we just missed some.”

“Okay, okay, let’s keep going then.” He says, motioning for you to continue. “Just so you know, it’s fine if you need to hold onto something—or should I say somebody—at the next ‘scary’ cymbals crash…”

You glare at him and harshly press the volume up button. You smile as the music returns to your ears, and you slightly sway to the melody. You’re too into the music to notice how Satoru gazes affectionately at your gentle swaying, a small smile gracing his lips.

By around the middle of the third movement, The Young Prince and the Young Princess, you check back in on Gojo. This movement is calmer and slower, not as exciting as the first two, so you worry he may not find it engaging enough.

“What do you think about this movement?” You ask him quietly.

“This one?” He responds, and you nod. “I like it, maybe more than the others. It’s very romantic. And it’s kinda fitting.”

You have no idea what that could mean. You freeze, worrying that it’s a joke that you’ll fall for and get hurt over.

But you ask anyway. “Fitting?”

“Mmhmm,” He rumbles. “The Young Prince and the Young Princess. That’s the title of the movement, isn’t it?”

“It…it is,” You confirm hesitantly, afraid to misunderstand him. “A-and…?”

“Well, princess,” He says, and you again practically melt at the pet name. “I think this movement is very pretty.”

“Pretty?” You echo back. “Yes, I guess it is.”

“Yep, pretty,” He says. “Just like you.”

“I–huh?!”

He said it so casually and with so much ease that you practically missed it.

Just like…you?

“What did you just say?” You ask with wide eyes. You’re trembling and your face feels so hot.

He inches closer to you. You have to fight not to react—whether that would be to lean in or back away, you do not know. You like him so much that it scares you—he practically holds the reins to your emotions.

“I said that this movement is pretty, just like you,” He says, eyes flickering down to your lips then back up to your eyes. “Is there something wrong about that? You can’t crucify me for telling the truth.”

You brain cells start to fizzle out. All you can think to say is, “Crucify you?”

Gojo chuckles. “I call you pretty, and you’re focusing on my wording?”

“Well, I- you’re talking like it’s biblical times or something!”

“Maybe your story reminded me of that. You were the one talking about executing virgins,” He says, then comes closer still. “Pretty.”

He’s so close that you’re sure he can feel your quick breaths fanning his face. You’re so nervous that your breathing comes fast and shallow.

You swallow your fears. It’s now or never.

“Satoru,” You start shakily, then steady yourself with a big breath. “I think…I think you’re pretty, too.”

He blinks. You blink.

You’re so sure that he’s about to make fun of you for what you said—is it weird to call a boy pretty?—and you’re so sure that he’s going to boisterously laugh in your face and reveal that it’s all one big joke that everyone else was in on.

You’re so embarrassed. You cover your face with your hands, mortified by your own actions. The laughter is coming, you know it.

And it does. But it’s different than you imagined.

He’s laughing softly. You peek through your fingers. He seems to be…amused?

“You’re so cute,” He says. “So pretty. So endearing, d’ya know that?”

Your voice comes out so small and vulnerable. “Really?”

“Really,” He affirms. “And I…I really want to kiss you, pretty.”

Your eyes meet his. You’re electrified by the genuine want and need in his gaze. He’s serious.

“Then kiss me, Satoru.”

Ah, so there’s the sassy tone you usually have towards him. He chuckles and traces your jawline with his fingers. He savors in the way you squirm and how your breath hitches when his fingers reach your neck.

He leans in and circles his arms around your waist, pulling you into a deep kiss. You hold onto his biceps again for support, which flex under your palms as he takes the kiss deeper. You feel even hotter than before, if that was even possible.

He finally breaks the kiss, and you’re surprised to hear his equally shaky breathing. “I really like you, princess. I really like you.”

You laugh softly, pressing a hand against his firm chest. “Satoru, I like you too. If it wasn’t obvious.”

“Maybe it was with the way you practically fell into my lap when you got scared–”

“I did not!!” You bury your face in your hands again.

“Kidding, princess!” He kisses your cheek. “You’re so easy to rile up…Oh, by the way, did you know that I hate classical music?”

“You do? Really? Oh, god, you must have been so bored the whole time, I knew it–!”

“No, no I really enjoyed this. Seriously.” He says with conviction. “I wasn’t faking anything. Ever. It just feels so different with you…”

“Satoru…” You whisper.

He starts leaving kisses on your jawline, causing you to shiver. “You just drive me crazy, princess. ‘Couldn’t stop thinking of you while we were listening. I wanted to kiss you so bad the whole time.”

“Then we gotta make up for the lost time, huh?” You say, pulling him into another kiss.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” He sighs, letting himself get lost in you.

Scheherazade continues playing in the background, but it’s on neither of your minds now. You barely even hear it, even though you had been so insistent on listening to the whole thing through before. Even when the ending chords fade out, both you and Satoru are trying to catch your breath, craving more.

Fin.

Thank you for reading!! I don’t feel like it’s my best work, but i hope it’s still a little enjoyable! 🥹 I got the urge to write this out of NOWHERE and wrote it all today…I never do that haha so that was quite the surprise for me.

Note: To all the fellow classical music nerds out there, I’m aware that Scheherazade isn’t actually classical, but…let’s just put that aside, shall we? :) I’m just using layman’s terms so that everyone can understand and enjoy!

[ohnoitsz1m]

Whatever. Combine Barney AU concepts. But also he's a furry because I just can't be bothered to draw people rn

Not by any means an original idea but I've seen so little of it and what IS around isn't very detailed or isn't finished so. I'll gladly add to the pile of unfinished stuff ^_^ I may not be good at keeping up with my AUs but I try to be thorough with them while I'm working on em

Okay continued rambling below final warning also there's a maskless combine down here so like .. HL:A spoilers and general body horror (?) below ↓

Anyways so. Barney is like. A figurehead. Of sorts. Very much a "hey look the combine is actually really great and basically your best bet at survival. We promise not to take away your humanity completely just let us do a little surgery and genetic modification it's totally okay we promise." Type deal. He exists for propaganda basically.

His mask is separated into different parts because well that's just how the design ended up. It's hard to translate shit to furry bodies T_T. The mask snaps together to make a fairly airtight seal since it is technically a respirator,,, but comes off in two pieces. External ears are lame you don't need em when you have a mask and implants that give you better hearing than any other member of your species. Stuff em in the mask they're not made for your comfort anyways.

He's got kind of a modified version of the Ordinal uniform because 1 I really like the HL:A Combine designs and 2 it was the easiest to make look like his Black Mesa uniform. Just for funzies

He's still "Barney" he just got his brain tampered with. And maybe a liiiittle extra stuff. It's fiine. But uh yeah he's lacking a lot of the visible modifications that the combine soldiers usually have because if this thing started trying to tell you how cool it is to join the combine nobody would listen.

So they had to compromise. A little. They let Barney have most of his personality and a good deal of his memories, juust modified to better suit their needs.

The How and the Why of this AU aren't quite set in stone yet but the basic gist of it is:

Barney initially joined Civil Protection early on as a double agent for the Resistance, buuuuut due to prolonged separation from the resistance, propaganda aaaand tampering with the food and water supply he started turning more to the other side. He was still working as a double agent but he started to get sloppy and became more sympathetic towards the combine. Eventually the Combine figured out what he was doing and fucked with his brain for funzies or whatever. Suddenly not only is the combine cracking down harder on rebel outposts, there's a new guy appearing in between breencasts!

[moralesmilesanhour]

Miles (1610 or 42 it doesn't matter to me really) x alt black!reader because i've been drawing it and i love it so far and i would for you do your own version of it

I've seen this prompt circulating for a while now and was never sure how I'd approach it sooo let's go!!

she plays bass

The pads of your fingers were red and sore as you plucked the tough strings of the borrowed bass guitar. The music room was empty now, but you were allowed an extra hour of practice. An amp had even been left out for you.

Your hand struck the front of the instrument repeatedly as you approached the part of the bass line that you always seem to miss, when the metal clang of someone pushing the door open interrupted you.

The lanky boy's expression was already sorry before he even opened his mouth to speak. A green puffer jacket was thrown over his royal blue uniform blazer and engulfed him (yours was currently tied around your waist).

When he finally did speak, he laughed nervously.

"Forgot my headphones. I'll be outta your hair in a minute,"

He took a glance at your afro, picked out carefully until it was nearly twice the size of your own head like a thunder cloud. Two beaded braids framed either side of your face.

"...Which you seem to have a lot of."

You stared at him blankly.

With a tight smile, he grabbed his headphones off of a stray music stand and nearly sprinted out of the room, making sure to stumble over an untied shoelace on his way out.

The next time you saw his face was in chemistry class, as your assigned partner for a lab. As the frumpy professor explained the procedure, the boy got your attention with a whispered "Hey".

You stared at him warily through tightly-lined eyes swept over roughly with black pigment.

"Yes?"

His eyes darted back and forth before settling back onto you.

"It's uh, nice to see you again. You play guitar, right?"

"Uh-huh. Why?"

"No reason," he shrugged, scratching the back of his head. "I just thought it was...cool. What kinda music do you play?"

You gave an equally non-committal answer:

"Rock, funk, whatever has a cool bass line."

Out of curiosity, you stole a glance at his red sneakers propped up on the stool he sat on.

"Your shoes are untied."

He grinned, like he'd just made a clever joke. "It's a fashion choice. I never fall, anyway."

You snorted, "Sure."

"Aye, you wear ripped tights in the winter and turn your uniform inside-out. Lemme have this one!"

This managed to pull a giggle from you, which unfortunately caught the professor's attention.

"Quiet in the back, please!" he admonished sharply.

Neither of you were paying attention.

You, because you were too busy trying to school your expression back to normal, and him because he liked the look of your crooked smile.

He saw it again after following the sound of your playing back to the music room during lunch time.

"Lost your headphones again, or are you following me?"

"Care to have an audience?" he smiled, grabbing a seat for himself.

You pursed your lips in consideration before answering, "Alright. You better not invite your friends in here, though. Music room's mine between classes."

He raised his hands. "You got it, relax. Not like I got friends to bring."

"Is that why you came over here to bother me even though we don't even know each other's names?"

"No, I came to figure out what that fire ass song was," the boy leaned back in his seat, and smiled. "And I'm Miles, by the way."

"Y/N," you said with a sheepish grin. "And thanks. Composed it myself."

Miles' eyes widened. "Damn. Can I hear it again?"

"Sure."

The piece was unfinished, but it was sharp, dynamic. Plenty of bass-slapping to go around. You even managed to nail that one part that your fingers usually slipped on.

"I still need to work out the ending, but...yeah. That's pretty much it," you remarked casually. "Thoughts?"

Miles let out a low whistle. "You need to finish that ASAP. Are you in a band?"

You set the guitar down, and cracked your knuckles. "Nope. I just play by my lonesome, for fun."

"So no one's heard you until now?"

"Nope."

There was silence for a beat, then you asked, "Do you play anything?"

He shook his head.

"Not all of us have that gift, I'm afraid. Wish I did, though."

You looked around the room, scanning the instruments until you landed on an acoustic guitar.

An idea.

"Say, Miles," a smirk spread across your lips, "How would you like to change that?"

Miles immediately caught your drift and perked up.

"When do we start?"

[killerandhealerqueen]

✨ weekend wip exposure club ✨

rules: post 7 sentences/a snippet of an unfinished work

@hyperbolicgrinch and @theotherwhybietoldmeso (my beloveds)

On this week's episode, we got some whump and a little hurt/comfort!

            “Who’s there?” he called out, just as he noticed a figure in the moonlight, causing him to quickly point his gun at them before he realized just who was standing before him.             “Oscar” he breathed, making the hitman look up at him before he smiled weakly.             “Hey” he replied as Logan quickly put down his gun and rushed over to him, grasping him by the arms.             “Where the hell have you been?  I was wor—” he started when he paused, noting the grimace of pain on his face.             “Oscar?  What’s wrong?” he asked before he looked him over, trying to figure out why he was making that face when he noticed that Oscar’s arm under his right hand felt…oddly warm and sticky, causing him to pull his hand away to see it covered in blood.  At the sight of the blood, his eyes widened before he quickly pulled up Oscar’s sleeve to see a large splice in his bicep, making his eyes widen even further before he looked at Oscar in concern.             “Oscar” he breathed as Oscar shook his head.             “It’s fine, it’s just a graze.  I’m fine” he assured, only for Logan to shake his head.             “You’re not fine, you’re fucking bleeding” he snapped before he grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him into his bedroom, sitting him down on the edge of the bed before he pointed at him.             “Don’t move” he ordered before he turned and headed into the bathroom, quickly grabbing the first aid kit out from underneath the sink before he walked back over to Oscar and sat down beside him, opening the kit before he pulled out the necessary items and began cleaning the graze, silence falling over them before he glanced at Oscar.             “What happened?” he asked.  Oscar sighed.             “Job went…a little sideways.  I mean, I still finished it, it’s just…one of his fucking bodyguards clipped me” he explained, making Logan frown.             “Bodyguards?  Who did you go after?” he asked.  Oscar glanced at him before he smirked.             “Probably shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, Detective” he teased, making Logan groan softly.             “I told you, call me Logan.  And besides, I’m going to find out anyways, so you might as well just tell me now” he argued, making Oscar look at him before he shook his head.             “I don’t…want to talk about it right now” he murmured, causing Logan to look at him before he nodded slowly.             “Alright” he agreed before he quickly bandaged the graze and hummed.             “There” he declared, making Oscar look down at his arm before he looked at him and smiled slightly.             “Thanks” he thanked.  Logan nodded before he frowned.             “What are you…doing here?  Shouldn’t you be uh…reporting to your boss or whatever?” he asked.  Oscar nodded.             “I will…I just wanted to see my favorite detective first” he replied, making Logan look at him in surprise.             “Your favorite detective?” he repeated. 

Tagging: anyone who sees this and wants to play

[short-and-ugly]

here hold on im gonna make a thing no one besides me is gonna care about

skoodgeisms dependent on company:

skoodge with zim: fully open and way too eager (genuinely has fun, silly business) doesnt actually salute to zim, ive noticed. he respects him but i think that respect is the kind that puts them around the same level as each other. (doesnt mean skoodge Doesn't put zim on a figurative pedestal -- just that he sees him as more 'equal' than, say, the hobo sergeant or the tallest) funny little guy with funny little words :3

(added the entire danceghost segment here because i love it dearly. look at him. panic boy ultimate. supreme.)

skoodge with irkens/irken-adjacent (squad sergeants/commanders/figures of authority): quick to salute fun words (hoo-ah) and out of place body/hand motions happen only when he gets in over his head/too excited. feels a lot more plain and "conformed" (as though attempting to fit in?)

even with zim involved, skoodge is... kinda dramatic throughout hobo-13 in a way that he isnt in any of the unfinished episodes. like. serious-dramatic. trying too hard to be a stone-faced irken brute that he thinks everyone else thinks he should be.

(Yes sir! I am your loyal- [gets his ass punted and sent careening down a cliff])

... kinda like how he is with the tallest during battle of the planets!

(the dialogue is wrong in this transcript... anger >:( )

So Zim involvement does not override other-irken-company involvement, but it does override other-not-irken-company. so say, skoodge is with the other invaders on conventia during the assigning and zim walks up next to him -- he quickly and quietly backs away because that is a public space, and doing anything to imply that he might have somewhat of a cordial relationship with zim would put him on... hot burning coals. to put it lightly.

and when skoodge is with the hobos, he treats zim with respect, but that's because zim is the leader of the group -- skoodge is probably at least somewhat aware of the fact that the tallest (and others) are watching him right now. he is treating zim... a lot like a stranger. curt words and mostly not talking to him directly unless addressed or thinking his skillset might be useful to zim.

... at the end, though, you see some of his actual personality start to leak through!

(Zim -- I escaped from the canyon -- I made it! I'm aLiiive! [immediately gets crushed by the sergeant])

(seeking validation -- he didnt need to come all the way out here, to say that to zim, specifically. he was still doing the test for the tallest the same as zim was, yes, but youd think if anyone knew to keep their mouth shut around zim for the sake of their own luck/lives/whatever, it would be skoodge. and yet! he doesnt!)

im feeling like... the adrenaline high from running through the entirety of the hobo-13 course, with a hogulus still chasing after him, probably made him a little excitable and lose his cool composure.

anyways that was a tangent. uh.

when skoodge is with other company. he is. awkward. (see: ghost scientist scene). though this is undoubtedly because of the situation (undercover during a supposed mission) hes still noticeably different from how he behaves on hobo-13! i think maybe this is just because earth is foreign territory that hes yet to learn. still thinks of it as a hazardous filthy wasteland of a planet with threats he hasnt properly assessed.

i think... if he were with company, not irken, and without the looming threat of being discovered and dissected (earth, humans, blorch, rats) then he would still be plain and awkward, honestly? kinda like sizzy when he fails to match zim's energy ('i wasnt laughing?') lots of ums and awkward silences and coughs and flies buzzing and crickets chirping.

hmmmm. yeah. good stuff <3

[kylorengarbagedump]

Playing Soldier: Chapter 10

Read on AO3. Part 9 here. Part 11 here.

Summary: You're starting to think you're never getting back home.

Words: 6800

Warnings: Serious attempts at historical war nerdery

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: Co-written with @bastillia

Hi, quick note here - we are not following the timeline of the film, since it's completely fucky and doesn't really adhere to any of the major battles closely enough for our nerd-brains to enjoy. As such, please note that the Battle of Camden occurred on August 16th, 1780, not whatever time the movie made up in 1778.

HELLO, WELCOME BACK. Sorry for the delay! We've had an insanely busy two weeks with family visiting, work being insane, and just generally having way-too-much-shit going on. However, we plan to have a new chapter out next week (though the one after that might be... uh, LONG), so please keep in mind we're doing our best to keep to a schedule of every 1-2 weeks!

(I used to write shit that was like, 2k words per chapter. What happened to that??? lmao how did I even do that. I don't even know)

THANK YOU EVERYONE for your very kind words and thoughts for last chapter. We were SO excited to write it and honestly I have been thinking about it non-stop? Idk I just want his cock so bad.

ANYWAY CHAT SOON <3

William.

William.

He’d asked you to call him William.

It had been about forty-two hours (not that you were counting) since your thoroughly unwise, thoroughly unfinished tryst with the colonel of the Green Dragoons. You had spent that time trying to purge yourself of his scent, his touch, his taste. So far, your greatest measure of success had been in slapping your hand whenever it crawled to relieve the pressure between your legs.

You cupped your hands in the creek, splashed your face cold.

Your thoughts needed to be clearer than the damn creek. To even offer this desire a place in your mind would encourage it. And the memory of his name in your ear continued to invite it to stay.

Another palms-worth of water, another splash.

Even more infuriatingly, it had managed to wriggle its way into your thoughts. Most of the time, he passed through your mind as Tavington, or Colonel, or both of them together. But there were moments. Weak, inane moments, wherein the only representation of him bore the name William.

William, as if he were a man who had introduced himself with a bow, a man who might call on your father and ask permission to write, a man who’d done anything other than everything he had done.

William, a name so representative of nothing William Tavington was to you.

And yet, in the dark of night, your fingers itching to chase away lust, that name drifted like foam on the sea of your thoughts; a word whispered in your voice; a soft, reluctant plea; a fantasy of a fantasy—that not only was he your relief, but a man who deserved his name at all.

You groaned, thrust your face in the creek and screamed into the rocks. A voice called your name from beyond the surface, and you jerked back to sit on your heels. Panting, water dripping down your face, you turned to see Lottie.

“Is everything all right?” She studied your expression. “This is, what, the third time you’ve dunked your face in there today?”

You exhaled, waving her off dismissively. “Oh, yes, I’m fine,” you replied, wiping the remaining drops from your face. “Warm day, isn’t it?”

She nodded, gazing back toward camp, squinting in the sun. “I suppose we’d best try to enjoy it before autumn comes.” Her attention turned back to you. “Did you want to play cards before dinner? Best out of seven?”

“Seven?” You grinned, pushing yourself to your feet. “Omitting last night, are you? Fairly certain I recall a winning streak.”

“I don’t know at all what you mean,” she replied with a smile. “Come! I’ve grown weary of stitching circles and gossip.”

You looked to the sky. The sun was cresting away from high noon. Daylight was in waning supply, and this was the first time since the storm that Tavington had left camp—your first chance to venture off without fearing him heeling at your shadow. There was no telling when he'd return, but you'd already spent at least thirty minutes of that time trying to wash him from your thoughts. You needed to get going.

“I thought I’d eat a bit later, actually.” You offered an apologetic smile. “I wanted to forage for some supplies before the day is out.”

“Later?” Lottie tried and failed to conceal a grimace. “With, er, everyone else?”

“Yes.” You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Oh, well I…” She looked at her shoes, rolling back and forth on the balls of her feet. “It just may be uncomfortable. With Alice.” When you replied with only a confused blink, she continued, “She’s still, ah, a bit upset.”

“Still?” You scowled, folding your arms. “Why?”

A sigh escaped her as she searched the ground. “I don't suppose it's that strange,” she said, and then lowered her voice. “Her miscarriage was only a month ago.”

“So?” Snorting, you rolled your eyes. “I said I was sorry. To her face, even.”

Lottie nodded sympathetically. “You did,” she said. “But—”

“But nothing,” you said. “I apologized. It’s done with. She needs to gather her skirts and start anew.”

“Perhaps…” Lottie pursed her lips, regarding you as she considered her words. “Though I'm sure she feels differently.”

“Perhaps she shouldn't have started it, then.” You shrugged. “I certainly don't start arguments that I don't plan on winning.”

“As I've come to learn.” Lottie smiled wryly. “Give her time. Alice clings to her grudges even tighter than she does to her Bible, I think.”

You nodded. “Precisely,” you said, comforted in your knowledge that Alice was the problem and definitely not you, or anything you’d done. “She won’t disturb me. I’ll scrounge some food and find you afterwards.”

“Lovely,” Lottie replied. “Don’t stay out too late. Benedict said we’ll be moving to Camden soon, and you know how the colonel is about giving notice for such things.”

“Camden?” You frowned. “Did he say why?”

Lottie shrugged. “Apparently we are to meet the general and his men there.” She wrung her hands. “Do you suppose it’s to do with those rebels who attacked us?”

“Most likely.” You sighed, forcing down a disquieted squirm. “Though if they know what’s good for them, they’ll have long since turned tail by now.”

If only you didn’t suspect that to be a false hope.

“Might they still be in the area, though?” A little line of concern folded along Lottie’s brow, and she glanced out toward the woods. “Planning an… an ambush, or something?”

“I doubt it,” you said. “Those men got a whipping they shan’t soon forget.”

Lottie let out a relieved half-laugh. “They did, didn’t they?” Skipping forward, she took your hands in hers. “Still. Do promise to be careful.”

“Of course.” You offered a small smile. “I’ll not allow Alice the satisfaction of my abduction.”

She grinned and pinched your arm. “Don’t say such things!”

“You’re right,” you said through a giggle, flinching from her. “Far more likely I’ll be tarred and feathered.”

“Oh, you!” Lottie swatted at you as you retreated, lip pinched between your teeth.

“Strung up as a warning,” you said, pantomiming your own hanging as you flounced away.

“Cards. Tonight.” Lottie shot you a final, quelling look as she began to turn back. “This time you’re done for!”

“You’re on,” you said, and watched as she departed toward camp.

Smile withering on your lips, you breathed deeply, turned your head north. Continentals were not only patrolling the road that direction, you knew militia were stationed toward that way as well. If the Wilksburg company had joined up with them, then that would be the best opportunity you had to find someone—anyone—who knew anything about your father.

In an ideal world, of course, he would be there when you arrived. But you knew better than to practice idealism.

After casting around to ensure that you weren’t being watched, you started down the road. Keeping to the sides, in the grass, was the best strategy for now. It gave you plausible deniability if someone from Tavington’s legion did happen across you.

You hadn’t considered, yet, what you’d even do if and when you found the Continentals. You just knew you needed to do something, anything to peel the guilt from behind your eyes. Kissing Tavington had been an incredible mistake that would require incredible redress. Providing the Continentals with whatever knowledge you possessed was your first attempt to achieve that.

The sun dripped down the sky as you walked, a bead of honey making its way to the horizon. Its heat had gathered sweat at your temples by the time you reached the bridge crossing. With a strange pang of disappointment, you found it deserted, the ground scarred by boot and hoof. The Continentals must have made good on their plans to fall back, spooked by the numbers they encountered at Tavington’s camp.

Huffing a sigh, you hiked your skirts and started over the bridge, reveling for a moment in the rush of cool air above the river.

There was always the possibility that you wouldn’t find the Continentals at all. That they had retreated all the way back to North Carolina, and you were following their long-cold trail. That no trace of them would be found by the time evening fell and forced you to circle back.

Or perhaps you wouldn’t circle back. It would be so simple. All you would have to do is continue walking. Forever. You would never have to see or touch or taste or dwell upon thoughts of William Tavington ever again.

And without you, your home would be burned.

And without you, Grace would be killed.

And you would never know if your father would live to learn of any of it.

Anger lashed you, quickened your steps. It settled into its chosen home of late: a dull, scraping throb in the back of your skull.

No, such whispers of despair would not seduce you. You would keep its lips just as far from your ear as you would keep Colonel Tavington’s lips from your own.

Continentals had to be here. You would find them. And this cacophonous discord in your mind would finally cease, so long as you could affix your sights upon—

“Madam? Madam, can I help you?”

To the west, a nearly-familiar voice. You turned to meet a mounted horse trotting over the hill. As the rider drew closer, you recognized his face.

“Wilson?” you said. “Is that you?”

Wilson gaped, kicking the horse to a canter until he reached you. Your heart was torn between relief and elation, tempered by confusion, since the last time you’d seen Wilson he was waiting out a hanging in Dorchester. Given his appearance now—closer to a bedraggled, bearded orphan than a soldier—you would’ve thought he’d just escaped.

“By God, it’s you,” he said, examining you. He glanced around. “What are you doing out here?”

You grimaced. Perhaps Wilson was trustworthy. But this wasn’t something you wanted to bet your safety on. You needed someone of higher rank.

“There’s a lot I need to explain,” you said. “How did you manage to get out of Dorchester? Do you know anything about my father?”

“Your…” Wilson frowned for a moment before realization dawned across his face.. “Of course. Your father broke us out of that lobster pit. He’s back at camp.”

“What?” It was definitely elation, now. You sidled up to the horse, grabbing at the cantle. “I must see him.”

“Indeed you must.” Wilson held out a hand and vacated his stirrup, letting you clamber onto the back of his mount. “We’re only a couple miles over the valley.” He urged his horse into a trot and laughed. “Oh, he’s going to be thrilled to see you, kid.”

Your chest tightened with excitement. “I know,” you replied, smiling.

You explained on the short ride to camp that you’d been paroled, but omitted anything about working for the British in the encampment down the way. And obviously omitted anything having to do with any superior officers or your attraction to them and how that potentially endangered everyone in your life.

Guilt trailed the horse’s stride. You’d be rid of it soon. Your father—your father—was at the camp. Safe. Alive. You brought your focus to that and that alone. It didn’t matter, the weeks of struggle, the fear and torment over your family’s well-being, the weight of it on your shoulders. It would all be worth it to hear your father’s voice.

A white mass of canvas bloomed into your field of vision, split into distinguished tents as you rode nearer. When you were close enough to shout at them, you could restrain yourself no longer. Squealing, you hopped off the horse, stumbling to the grass and nearly grinding your face into the dirt. You didn’t care. You scrambled to your feet and ran, ran toward the camp, waving your arms above your head, calling a single word out to the air.

“Papa!” you cried. “Papa!”

A dozen heads poked out of or around the side of the tents, squinting in the direction of the wild running woman. Realizing you weren’t their daughter, they dismissed you, nudging their comrades to look in your direction. It wasn’t until a head crowned in a tricorn hat emerged from the crowd that you met recognition in someone’s eyes.

First it was disbelief. Then a yielding, laughing shake of his head. Then he stepped, ambled, bounded toward you, his arms outspread in joy. To see his face was to see a mirror etched with age. He called out your name.

“My girl!” your father hollered. “It’s my girl!”

In long, loping seconds, you crashed together, your arms curling around him, his own embrace crushing your shoulders and head against his chest. You laughed, burying your face in his shoulder, every single shred of shame, panic, and fear withering to the ground. He was warm. He smelled like home.

Papa. Papa was here.

“Papa,” you mumbled. “I’m so glad you’re faring well.”

Papa squeezed you again before holding you at arm’s length, and looking you over. “No worse for wear, yourself.” He met your eyes. “Now what in God’s holy blessed green-and-blue earth are you doing here, cub?” His attention fell to Wilson, riding up behind you. “Where did you find this rascal?”

“She was looking for us, Captain,” Wilson replied with a sheepish shrug.

You fought off a grin, tilting your chin to the sky. “I found him,” you said, fixing your hands on your hips. “And we have much to discuss, Papa.”

“Oh-ho.” A laugh broke out of him, and he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into another hug. “Of course you did. Of course we do.” He rubbed your back before guiding you around to face the camp. “But first—let me introduce you to everyone!” Papa led you forward, hand raised triumphantly in the air. “My girl is here!”

As you entered the Continental campground, men parted for you, greeted you, tipped their hats in your direction. Miss, missus, good day, pleased to meet you, pleasant to make your acquaintance; all floated in your ears, the words melting together in unfamiliar groups of sound. Never had you been treated with such deference. And never had men seemed so interested in earning your favor.

Even back in Catawba, where Papa was well-known and well-regarded, the local boys had grown up with you. Knew you too well to try speaking to you any more often than courtesy demanded To the Continental men, you were a potentially pretty stranger exposed only through anecdotes shared by a respected, impressive man.

Unfortunately for them (and, given your recent inclinations, perhaps you as well) not one of them impressed you. Though they were, potentially, not at fault for that.

Men shambled through the camp without shoes, without trousers. Handfuls waddled in mud only draped by blankets. Those who sought you to introduce themselves appeared to have gone without shaving—or washing, given the crescents of dirt under their nails—for days. Wilson had not been unique in his swamp-mongrel regalia, you realized.

The condition of the Continental encampment was abominable.

You looked to your father. Glee beamed from him like sunlight. If he was concerned about the deplorable circumstances of his soldiers, it didn’t show. He directed you toward a fire, where several men were seated in a circle, all of them outfitted in some sort of blue coat. They each eyed you as you approached, their gazes flitting between you and your father in confusion.

“Gentlemen,” he said, gesturing toward you, “this is my daughter.”

You gave them your name, bowing your head toward them. One of the men shot to his feet, his eyes wide and locked onto you. The rest of the men followed, standing and nodding toward you as they introduced themselves with names you didn't remember. The first man to stand tipped his cap in your direction.

“Miss.” He was dressed in an outfit that resembled your father’s and stood tall, with tawny hair and high cheekbones. “Captain Pearce. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Your heart stalled. Pearce. That name pierced your memory in a clap of thunder, a flash of lightning. Your eyes widened, and you offered him a tight smile in the most normal manner you could possibly muster.

It had been dark. Storming. He hadn’t been the one speaking to you, and no hint of recognition stirred within his gaze. When you met his eyes, he grinned and returned to a seat around the fire. Your chest fell in relief.

You planned to tell your father what you’d been doing, but involving anyone else seemed foolhardy. If Tavington learned from some desperate Patriot soldier that you’d been dipping between camps with the desire to undermine him, you didn’t think you’d be able to get to Grace before he strung you up on the nearest tree.

Besides, the thought of even considering, let alone explaining, what sort of game you’d been playing with him made your stomach sink. Now that you knew your father was alive and occupied by the war, you could even dare to hope you might never play that game again.

The thought sparkled like a distant star. You imagined bidding your father farewell, escaping back to Catawba, whisking Grace away to Pennsylvania and never seeing William—Colonel—Tavington again.

Why, oh why did some awful, craven piece of you wilt at the very thought of it?

“Cub?” Papa said. “Everything all right?”

You blinked alive. You’d been staring into the fire. “Oh!” you said, laughing. “Yes, yes, Papa, sorry.”

“Go ahead and have a seat, my girl.” He sat on one of the benches by the fire and patted the spot next to him. “You said we have much to discuss.”

Nodding, you took the seat. Your hands folded into the fabric of your dress, your palms sweat onto your knees. You weren’t sure why you were nervous.

“I have information. About the British Army.” There was something important Lottie had mentioned earlier, too. “And about Camden.”

One of the named-but-forgotten men sat forward. “You know about the attempt—”

“Hold on.” Pearce extended his arm as if to quiet him. “Hold on, now.” He met your eyes before setting his jaw, sitting up taller. “By what means did you attain this information?”

You stiffened, looked toward Papa. “I’d rather reveal that to only my father, thank you.”

“Is there a reason you refuse?” Pearce sat forward, gesturing to his uniform. “I’m a captain, just like your father.”

“That’s evident,” you replied, “but my father you are not.”

Pearce glanced at Papa before continuing. “Well, yes, miss. I understand. But I can assure you that I, too, can be provided with sensitive information. My accomplishments in the war—”

You frowned. “I care little for your achievements, Captain Pearce,” you said. “Your behavior is what engenders my trust, and I have seen nothing of that thus far.”

Papa held up a calming hand. “Pearce, it’s all right. She’s a skeptical type. As well she should be.” He grinned at you. “We can talk in a moment.”

“Thank you, Papa.” You folded your arms over your chest.

Pearce huffed, but relinquished, easing back and glancing around. “Very well, then,” he said. “Should we gather the militia?”

“No need,” Papa said. “I’ll inform Colonel Martin later. He and his boy went out scouting a couple of hours ago.” He nodded toward you. “Go on.”

You took a breath, glanced around the circle of men, then at the fire. Your chest tightened. You swallowed the feeling.

“First,” you began, “how long since your forces returned to South Carolina?”

Papa pursed his lips, glanced at Pearce. “Six days, I believe,” he said. Pearce nodded in agreement.

“And how far out have you managed to scout in that time?”

Pearce straightened, shifted where he sat. “Well…”

“Not as far as we’d have liked, cub,” Papa said, raising a hand to the back of his neck. “Our General, you see—”

“Our resources are occupied elsewhere at this time,” said Pearce, a hint of what almost resembled distrust flickering over his face as he regarded you.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“Yes,” Papa said, and you caught a mote of frustration in his tone. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

“Show me the most current map you have,” you said. “Much has changed, even since you were last here, Papa.”

Papa nodded, then gestured to a man seated across from him, who sprang to his feet and made for one of the surrounding tents.

“Changed, how?” Papa asked, turning back to you.

“Well,” you sighed. “The British have not rested a day since taking Charleston. They fan the flames of Loyalism across the colony as we speak. By force, or by…” You swallowed. “Enticement.”

Papa frowned. “This land has more backbone than that, surely.”

“Evidently not,” you returned, perhaps too sharply. “More towns pledge fealty to the crown by the day. Lord Cornwallis has dispatched entire legions of men to sweep the countryside and ensure it.”

“Perhaps they lie,” offered Pearce. “Swear whatever oath they must to be left in peace, while their allegiances truly lie elsewhere.”

“Precisely,” said Papa, holding a hand out as if to showcase Pearce. “The soul of liberty is not so easily snuffed.”

You met Pearce’s eyes. His shoulders rolled back. Words of doubt on your lips were distracted by the soldier returning with the requested map. He held it out to your father.

Papa frowned. “I wasn’t the one who asked for it, Private.”

The private’s back hunched in submission and he handed it over to you. As you spread it on your lap, he retreated to his seat around the fire, and you shot him a glare for good measure.

“So.” Your finger swirled over a swath of land in the backcountry. “All of these towns have sworn loyalty to the Crown over the past months.”

Scrutinizing the map, you hummed, leaned forward, and plucked an old charred stick from the edge of the fire pit.

“And there’s a road you’ve not accounted for. Here.” You scratched a charcoal line into the map. “It’s part of what they’re calling the King’s Highway. Supplies move from Charleston to be disseminated to outposts across the backcountry. These seem to be their primary fortifications, as far as I know.” With each new trail, you drew a new, black line. “Fort Ninety-Six, to the west. Stono Ferry, in the south. And Fort Carolina, here in the north.”

“New points of attack,” Papa said, staring into the map. “They’ll be vulnerable along those routes.” He gazed at you, face splitting with a smile before he slapped your back so hard he earned a small oof. “That’s my girl!” He looked to Pearce. “I told you that she was quite a woman, didn’t I?” Before you could begin to question that that meant, he continued, “Do you have anything else, cub?”

“What about the movements of their officers?” Pearce asked.

Your mouth parted as your pulse skipped. “I’m not quite sure what you mean, Captain.”

Pearce sighed. “We believe colonel of the Green Dragoons—William Tavington, if you know him—”

If only he knew how well.

“—was spotted here not more than a couple of days ago after our patrols encountered a redcoat encampment. We nearly captured him.”

Papa nodded. “Too bad, too,” he said. “Would’ve been excellent information for Gates.”

“General Gates continues to resist suggestions for the procurement of further intelligence,” Pearce said, partly to you, partly to your father.

“Well.” Papa scoffed. “Gates is a damn fool.”

Pearce gave a commiserating look before turning back to you. “We have reason to believe Tavington’s legion is in the area.” Grey eyes scrutinized you, flicked over your face and hands before meeting your gaze again. “Do you know anything about that?”

Had it been Papa asking, your answer would have been instant. But this was something you didn’t want to confirm for a stranger who could sell you out with the right amount of pressure. And you couldn’t discern Pearce’s intention, couldn’t figure if he already knew the answer to the question he was asking. He was studying you in a way that made your skin want to flutter off in flakes.

“No.” You spun to face your father. “I have something I want to discuss with you.” You glanced at Pearce. “Privately.”

Pearce frowned, looking between you and Papa like he was lost. Papa scanned your expression, chewed his lip before acknowledging Pearce, nodding at him and the other men around the fire to dismiss them. Exhaling, Pearce’s shoulders sank. He stole a final glimpse of you before tipping his hat again and following the rest of the soldiers to the tents.

Before he could speak, you lowered your voice. “Papa, how are you men surviving?” you said. “The state of this camp is horrific.”

Papa grinned, shaking his head. “Don’t be preposterous! No, it isn’t.”

“It’s atrocious.”

“What do you mean?” Papa craned his head, surveying the grid of tents. “Can you not see the fervor here? The thirst for revolution?” Like a poor boy on the eve of Christmas, the reality of his circumstances were obscured by delirious thrill. “These men are Patriots! They believe in something.”

From your perspective, it was difficult to identify what they believed in other than not being fully dressed. Perhaps the British encampment wasn’t possessed by passion, but they at least had the provisions to make it through a single battle. You weren’t sure how the Continentals had gotten this far.

“I’m just a bit concerned with the state of your men right now, is all.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “The colonel of our militia is a legend from the French and Indian war. If I could only tell you of his feats at Fort Wilderness.” He looked at you with utter conviction. “A word from that man could stir even the most phlegmatic hearts to fervor.”

You nodded. “All right then. Perhaps I need time to see it.” Giving him a sly grin, you added, “As of now, I see no such stirring man.”

“Not one?”

“Not one.”

“Ah…” Papa rubbed his knees, shooting you a rueful grin. “So, Captain Pearce didn’t impress you?”

Your brow furrowed. “No, he didn’t,” you replied. “Speak your meaning plainly, Papa. From where did this question arrive?”

He leaned back, sucking in air through his teeth. “Oh, I don’t know, cub,” he said. “He’s been a great help to me, and he’s around your age. He’s intelligent. Ambitious. I know you’re not easily impressed, so I thought maybe…” He waved you off. “Forget it, forget it.”

“Wait.” Your jaw dropped. “Were you trying to…” A laugh of disbelief escaped you. That’s why Pearce had been acting so strangely in front of you. “You were trying to arrange something with him?”

Papa threw up his hands defensively. “No!” he insisted. “No, no, no. Nothing like that. I just thought perhaps if you met him…”

“What, he’d—he’d… wing me away in a fit of infatuation?”

“Not a fit—no!” He clapped to silence further discussion. “Anyway. Just. Forget all of that.”

You grumbled, but nodded along anyway. Papa had never cared if you were married and had never tried to foist a man into your arms regardless. The romance of war had swept him in flight. He’d simply hoped to pass it on to you, as he’d done with all of his other idealistic aspirations.

The relics of your rage from a couple of nights prior resurrected themselves. If it hadn’t been for these very idealistic, romantic aspirations over something incredibly dangerous, you wouldn’t even be sitting in this camp. The three of you could have fled the encroaching war together, could have done something sensible for once.

Instead, just one of you was left with obligation.

Just one of you was left to put out the candles, to sweep the porch, to lock the doors, to tuck the sheets under the mattresses.

What had Tavington said, that first night you’d met him?

Is your father so thoughtless, leaving his daughters vulnerable while he dies in war?

You ground your teeth together. He wasn’t right. He couldn’t be. He wasn’t allowed to be.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” you said, shaking off all thoughts of the colonel and how right or wrong or whatever he was. You dropped your volume to a whisper. “I’ve been traveling with the British army since mid-June. Grace and I were taken—”

Papa’s eyes widened. “You—cub, you’ve been what?”

“That’s where I came from!” You inched closer to him. “Tavington’s legion is just south of the river. That’s where I’ve been. Papa…” You glanced around. “Do your men mean to advance on Camden?”

His face fell. He drew in a long inhale, gazing into the fire. “Dammit. So they know, do they?”

“You must withdraw,” you said. “Cornwallis is on his way north to defend it. Whatever you’ve got planned, it won’t be enough.”

Papa nodded, silent, chewing on his cheek in thought. “Thank you,” he said, finally. “Though I’m not sure what good it will do with this fool Gates commanding us. I doubt he’ll hear a word of it.”

“Then you must make him hear. Relief though it brings me to have informed you of it.” You could let the load of this war die in its own wake. After seeing the state of the Continental camp, you were more determined than ever to get home and get Grace out of South Carolina. “More relief still to know you’re alive. I’ve spent all of these weeks thinking you might have been dead. Or hurt, or… I don’t know. Worse.”

“And that’s what had you out here staying in… did you say Tavington's legion?”

“I did.”

He hummed, giving another knowing shake of his head. “Tavington isn't known for being obtuse. Or charitable.” He laughed. “You might have gotten yourself killed.”

Or worse—deflowered. “I can handle myself,” you said. “Besides—”

“I know you can,” Papa said. “Just don’t give them too much hell when you get back there.”

Your fingers wound around each other. There, as in return to the British encampment. Not head home. You swallowed, panic creeping up your neck and bringing a wave of sweat with it. You’d thought it would be clear for you to abandon this entire charade and put the devilish whims of war—and Tavington—behind you.

Had you been neglecting some duty when considering your plan? Was there some important piece of information you’d omitted?

“But…” The word sounded wrong on your tongue. “How will I… what will I be doing?”

“What you’ve already been doing,” he said. “We need Tavington crippled. He’s been slaughtering us.”

“But how will I get you information?”

He shrugged. “Write letters to Grace, if you’d like. She can keep them for me. But I’m not worried about the information. I trust you to do what’s right.”

It wanted to leave again. “But I…”

You would never do that. There was no way you’d even accidentally implicate her anything. The fact that he’d even suggested it irritated you.

“Of course.” And then, with far more acidity than you realized you’d been holding, “Grace is well, by the way, since you asked.”

Papa frowned, face drawn with concern. “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” he said, “I’m glad she is. But I never doubted she would be with you there.” He paused, considering you. “Everything all right, cub?” He nudged you playfully. “Aren’t you inspired?”

Shame consumed you. Your stomach fell to your feet. You hadn’t been careful. You’d been selfish. That was the problem.

You held importance to people like your father, who was clearly awe-struck by the vigor of rebellion. You served a crucial point in preventing him from coming to harm. At least with the information you’d given him today, he might stand a chance in escaping certain death from a confrontation at Camden.

This was your father. Of course he trusted you, of course he assumed the best in you. How was it possible you considered doing anything but what he hoped for?

You’d been so stupid.

Nodding, you looked at Papa. Forced a smile just like you had when he told you he was heading off to join the Wilksburg company.

“Yes, Papa,” you replied. “I’m going to do my best for you. I promise.”

Papa smiled and pulled you into a strong, close hug. You closed your eyes, a knot bubbling in your throat and escaping as a pained laugh. You pressed your face into the crook of his neck.

“I lost your boots,” you whimpered.

His body shook with a chuckle. “My boots?”

You nodded. “Redcoats took them.” Your voice strained the words. “I’m sorry.”

“Damn the boots,” Papa said, holding you closer. “Damn the redcoats, too. It’s hardly the most consequential thing they’d take from us, given the chance.”

Warmth spread through you. Your father was right.

Tavington hadn’t been, wasn’t, and would never be right.

You allowed yourself to feel safety in your father’s arms for a few more moments. The sun was painting purple streaks through the sky, and you needed to return to camp with at least a few plants in your pocket. But for just a few seconds, none of that mattered.

After you bid Papa farewell with another long embrace, you waved at the Continental officers and their poorly-clothed subordinates. Wilson offered a ride at least to the bridge, but you declined it. You were not going to put yourself or anyone else at greater risk than you were already in.

The walk back to camp was long, but helped to soothe your racing mind. And at least it gave you the opportunity to collect whatever vegetation you could find. You managed to snatch a handful of a few different prophylactics for swelling along the way—the sumac and plantain would be best for that—and added in some dogwood to help reduce fever.

By the time you returned to camp, the sun had tucked itself into the trees, the eastern skyline bleeding black into the dying day. You neared the perimeter, and a couple of soldiers seated by a tent spotted you. Their eyes widened. One stood and slipped into camp.

Your mouth dried. Instead of waiting to find out what that was about, you scurried to the hospital tent, hoping to make yourself appear very busy instead of very delinquent. It was empty when you entered. You couldn’t decide if that was a relief or a disappointment.

Holding your breath, you hovered over one of the work tables and grabbed your mortar and pestle along with a few bottles. There had to be something you could start on that would allow you to perform innocence. If William—Colonel, dammit—

The flap to the hospital tent parted. Colonel Tavington stalked through.

You turned to see his brow relax when he saw you, only for his jaw to shift and tighten when his eyes met yours. His lip twitched.

You looked at your hands. “Good evening, Col—”

“Where were you?” He stepped toward you, hands behind his back.

“Sir?” You gave him a placating smile, gesturing to your bottles. “I was out gathering supplies.”

Tavington raised a brow. “Is that so?” Nodding toward the table, he said, “Show me, then.”

“What I gathered?”

“Unless you believe there’s something else I’d rather see as proof of your reason for absence.”

You pulled your lips in over your teeth and retrieved the vegetation from your pockets, spreading them all on the table. They sprinkled across the surface like a handful of hay on a pig’s belly. The amount now seemed pitiably inadequate for the time you’d been gone. Heat flushed your neck.

He stepped closer to you, looming over your shoulder. A slow breath left him as he examined them.

“This,” he said, pitch lower and quieter than you anticipated, “is all you managed to find?”

Ignoring the twist in your lower abdomen, you shrugged. “This was all that was worthwhile. And they’re all that I needed.”

He reached around you, lifting one of the crimson sumac clusters from the table and spinning it in his fingers. “Tell me about this, then.”

“That’s staghorn sumac.” You forced a small grin. The breadth of his chest, the rumble of his voice there almost unsteadied you. Almost. “Helpful for inflammation.”

“Sumac,” he said, twirling it again. “I remember you asking me if I could identify it.”

Your heart thumped against your chest. “I did.”

“Does it always look like this?” He slid his thumb up the tender stem, flicked it across the base of the fruits. “This color.”

“It does.” Your chin quivered, your insides writhing in a knot. The very fact he’d even asked made you want to hop on the table and wrap your legs around his waist. “You'll…” You exhaled a steadying breath. “You'll know it, now.”

“I should hope I never need to.” You didn’t reply. Only watched as he laid the sumac on the table and cradled one of the white flowers in his palm. “What does this do?”

“Dogwood,” you murmured. The heat from his body was not distracting. You were not thinking about how his palms would feel on your hips, your breasts. “For. Ah. For fever.”

“I see.” He brought the flower—and his arm—closer to your waist. “Have you noticed any…” he said, the next word hanging on his tongue, “neglected instances of feverish behavior recently?”

“No.” You swallowed. “Just preparation.”

“Ah.” Returning the dogwood, he picked up a plantain leaf, humming thoughtfully. “And this?”

“It’s good for insect bites,” you murmured. The memory of his lips, the moan he’d made into your mouth stole the stability from your knees, and you braced yourself on the table. “I know the men have been complaining of mosquitoes recently.”

“How thoughtful.” He stepped closer, hips grazing yours. “And unlike you.”

“Perhaps so,” you said quickly, stupidly. You needed him out of your space. “But I’ve found them bothersome as well.”

His tone grew cold. “I believe that’s the first honest sentence out of your mouth all evening.”

You straightened, moving to the side. “I really must ask—”

Tavington gripped the table, barring your escape with his arm. Spinning to face him, you found his chest an inch from yours, his gaze boring into you. Every good intention you had to tell him to leave chilled to ice.

“Where were you?” His tongue rolled in his mouth. “This,” he said, crushing a handful of the flowers in his palm, “did not take you hours.”

“We’ve been camped here for weeks. I’ve picked these woods bare,” you replied. “I had to go far out into the field.”

His eyes narrowed. “To find scraps?”

The wicked edge in his tone cut a shiver up your spine. You could almost taste his lips again, could feel the yearning to dissolve against him. Clearing your throat of need, you lifted your chin to the air.

“I’m being honest,” you lied.

“Honest, are you?” That smirk that you found so irritating, so devastatingly irresistible, quirked on the mouth you did not want to kiss. “Then tell me this, my little soldier.” Tavington’s hand drew close to your hip, found the edges of your skirts, tugged at them by only an inch. You flinched. “Do I detect the vestiges…” He leaned close to whisper with soft, trembling rage. “... Of desire?”

Your nails dug into the table. Finding his eyes, you did the only thing you could think to do.

“Lottie!” you shouted. “Lottie, come quick! I want to show you something!”

Tavington’s brows rose, and his jaw stiffened.

“I knew you to be a liar,” he muttered. “But I did not take you for a coward.”

With a short exhale through his nose, he withdrew from you. Seconds later, Charlotte Goddard charged into the tent.

“I’m here! I’m here!” She was heaving. “What, what is it? When did you get back?” Spotting Tavington, she stood tall. “Oh, Colonel! Excuse me, sir.” She bowed her head. “Good evening.”

Colonel—yes, Colonel, thank you very much—Tavington’s attention flipped between the two of you. He marched out of the tent without a word. Lottie looked to the table, then at you.

“About as good as that’s going to get,” she said, walking over toward you. “What is it you wanted to show me?”

A long, heavy breath slid from your nose. An ache lingered between your legs. There were so many things you could have shown her, could have told her. All of them had to remain secret to your grave. So instead, you scooped up the sumac, dangling the clusters from your hands.

“Look,” you said, half-grinning. “It matches your hair.”

[persesphonestears]

Another tattoo

(Gif not mine :>)

A/N: So I have to make this a more than one part series because I wrote like way too much and I’m gonna die if I don’t post this already. Also so sorry it’s only Ghost in this post, but promise the second part will have the others!! I actually had so much fun writing this like omfg, I don’t have any piercings or tats for myself thanks to money problems atm but like actually I don’t know where I was going with that- uh anyway enjoy! I’m very tired. (looking at the amount now seems rlly small so sorry :/) ALSO I FUCKIN HATE THE NAME TOO LEAVE ME ALONE.

CW: He/they pronouns used for reader(? I might have ended up just using they/them), Reader has tattoos and piercings, I DONT THINK I USED Y/N LES GOO, I call ghost Simon when he isn't at work, Probably incorrect tattoo health procedures, Reader may be a little bland when first meeting Ghost(?), small mentions of gods(?)

Word count: 1342

Simon was finally let off for a break, given it’s only because Price knew he wasn’t keeping himself healthy or sleeping, so being the ‘dad’ boss he is, Simon was forced to take time off. While Simon wasn’t even close to being happy about having to not stay at base and having to make himself food and all the other human necessities, he’d been wanting a new tattoo for some time now. While maybe some of the privates would simply tattoo each other with pen ink, he’d rather die on the field than die from an infection from a more than likely shitty tattoo.

Walking through the somewhat dodgy looking part of his hometown, looking for a seemingly decent tattoo shop. While walking his eye was caught by the small little tattoo shop that looked clean and not all that dodgy. A small bell as the door opened rang as Simon stepped through, looking around at the walls he was impressed with the artwork that was displayed. He could hear faint 2000s rock music in the background of the shop, standing awkwardly waiting to see if anyone was actually here.

Turning around to walk out, he heard a small crash and a string of curses that followed.

Simon stopped and turned to see a short tattooed and pierced person walking out from the back of the shop. “Hi, sorry I was uh..” their talking trailed off as he looked down to see a fresh and unfinished tattoo on their leg. Unknown to Simon, the person in front of him was just very very happy that they weren’t able to be seen from the back, preferring not to be caught staring at the huge 6’4 man in their shop. 

“Uh anyway, I’m guessing you don’t have an appointment cause I don’t have any till later tonight, but I take walk in’s, both for tats and piercings'' They rambled off as they walked around to the front desk checking through their computer, Simon watched them, surprised by the feeling of fluttering in his stomach. Pushing it away he cleared his throat “Uh yeah walk in, are you able to tat up my other forearm?” he was wearing a t-shirt under his hoodie, happy he wasn’t going to be taking his shirt off. “Mhm sure, I just need to ask a few questions and then get you to sign some consent forms, that cool?” He asked walking back around and sitting on one of the couch chairs at the front, taking a seat after them, Simon sat and agreed to the others' request.

“Cool, alright so first is which arm you want it on obviously and if you have any tattoos on your forearm already?” Simon answered with short and gruff answers “My right arm and no, my left is already tattooed(I think I can’t remember which arm of his is tatted).” “Right cool okay so I’m not gonna bother asking if you're of age because it's pretty obvious because holy shit you are probably the biggest and hottest man I’ve ever seen, but just read through these quick and sign ‘em” Thanking whatever gods there were for people not being able to read minds. Handing the forms to Simon he grabbed them and the pen from your hands, giving a quick read through signing where he had to. Putting them back on the desk, you grabbed them right back and skimmed through them, “Okay Simon, well what do you want?”.

—tiny time skip–

After setting everything up and placing the stencil of the sketch that you drew up (That Simon wouldn’t admit but absolutely adored) onto the gruff military man that was sitting in your chair. “Okay, you ready?” A simple nod was what you received in response. Instead of pushing you continued to go ahead and start his tattoo, not once deciding to ask about some of the many scars that graced his arms. Them seemingly adding onto your attraction for the stranger in your shop as he sat still and silent. Becoming; as you do when tattooing, engrossed in the soft buzzing, the hushed music of your playlist and the ink going into skin at your hand.

“How many do you ‘got?” The gruff voice from above me spoke as I continued to stab his skin. “Tats or piercings?” Responding with another question as I kept my focus on the shading, trying to not let the fact that this absolute 10/10 was asking you about yourself. Sure it was most likely to just make conversation but you could dream. “Both?” The voice behind the black surgical mask didn’t sound overly confident but even when peeking up at the man he was still only looking forward. “I stopped counting how many tats I got a while ago. As for my piercings uh..” cutting myself off to count in my head. “I’d say about 9, not counting my ears.” Feeling a cold gaze turn towards me I stiffen slightly. 

“You only have 6 on your face.” (I chose to give reader a vertical labret, septum, both sides of the nose(like so you could use a chain), bridge, eyebrow :D) His voice replies, stifling my laugh “yeah I know I just don’t normally let people see my chest or just randomly show my stomach.” Giggling, I look up to see his ears turning a slight pink. “R-right sorry.” Trying not to laugh at a client, we continued to talk for a bit more before I suggested to put a movie on more to make it less uncomfortable for me with the awkward conversation. After picking a movie, he seemed to relax just a tad more, getting myself comfortable. I continued to finish up the art piece I was adding to someone's skin.

—another time skip because Ghost would get something edgy and big and I can’t keep writing silly awkwardness—

By the time you had finished and made sure to add some disinfectant and soothing cream to the skin before wrapping it up. You pat his shoulder smiling softly “you’re all done big guy”. Rising from the seat, he walked somehow (even though this man is huge) silently towards the front desk. Scanning his card and giving him the papers that explained how to look after his tattoo. “Thank you. You’re uhm. Very handsome- or uh pretty? I don’t know, can I just get your number?” Stumbling over his words brought a smile to your face. “Sure, I’d uh I’d actually really like it if you took my number” you ramble as you grab some scrap paper, quickly writing your personal number you hand it to him.

Seeing his eyes scrunch slightly, let you know he was smiling at you, and god almighty if the fact that this huge, scary, masked, stoic, man giving you a smile, that you couldn’t even see, wouldn’t make you swoon. Giving you a quick nod he walked out, the small bell above your door ringing in your ears as you watched him leave. 

Giggling to yourself as you stupidly fist pumped the air and twirled around happily, not registering the sound of the bell being rung, indicating the opening of a door. What you did register was the once again gruff voice, clearing their throat as you turned back to look at the man who just left back in your shop. “Forgot ma’ cap.” Swiftly grabbing his hat back with what you could only assume was the smuggest look ever he turned back around. This time leaving you with a curt “Bye now, doll”

Leaving you red faced, in the middle of your own shop. Snapping out of it you groaned loudly before retreating to the floor, hidden by the desk. Cursing yourself for your stupid victory jig you did before even making sure that he wouldn’t come back for a bit. A buzz in your pocket distracted you from your internal dread, pulling out your phone and opening it to see a message from an unknown number. “That lil’ dance was very cute btw”.

A/N: *twerks cutely* ANYWAY

[cosmicanemoia]

Things and Doubts

Amelia Shepherd x Reader (broken up)

Amelia Shepherd x Kai Bartley (back together)

Love Me Till You Leave Me part 14

You have been mustering some courage to get some of the things that you've left in Amelia's place. After some time, you finally have enough courage to get your some of your things from Amelia's place.

As you walk over to her place, you feel yourself lacking the courage 'you haven't saved up enough' you thought to yourself, but you're already there and if you back out now, you won't be able to anymore.

You still had your key and you still know the pass code, atleast that's what you think, you hoped she hasn't change the locks or the pass code, and to your luck, it wasn't.

There's one major detail you have forgotten. Someone else might be there. Someone else named Kai. "You're y/n, right?" You turn around in shock hearing that question, and you see Kai standing with her arms crossed in their chest, "Uh-- yes. I texted Amelia to let her know I'm getting my things. I didn't know someone would be here, I can come back later if I'm intruding."

K:No, it's okay. Please continue.

Y/N: Thanks. I'll be quick.

K: Take your time.

A few silently awkward moments later. Kai cleared their throat, which made you look at them. "That's pretty cool. Not making her feel guilty for not choosing you." They said, which made you confused, you scoff, "where did that come from? We don't need to make small talks if you don't want to." You chuckled. "I'm just saying. Not everyone would do that." They said, which made you stop what you're doing and look them straight in the face, "she have nothing to be guilty of. And, it is not cool. It's just the mature and right thing to do. You know, basic human decency 101. I can't remember where I've read it." You chuckled at your own joke. You can tell that they tried to hold back a chuckle but failed anyway. "Damn! I can't hate you even if I wanted to." You raised your eyebrows at them, "uh-- thanks?" Then you narrowed your eyes, they try to defend their last sentence by saying, " I didn't mean anything by it. It was just-- you, uh---" ending the unfinished thoughts that can't be formed by words in a scoff, they scoff and just smiles, "Sure. Whatever." You replied, letting them know you get what they mean.

There is this awkward silence again. The only sound is when one of you cleared their throats. When you move things, it is so silent you can hear yourself breath. And it went on until you finished packing and getting your things.

************Later that night************

Amelia and Kai are now cuddled up in bed. There is silence still, but for them, it wasn't awkward. It was just soothing. "Y/N took the last of her things earlier." Kai said, and Amelia just hummed as a response.

Kai wandered in their own mind. They would remember insignificant little moments like how they thought they caught Amelia stealing glances, looking at y/n. How would Amelia smile every time she saw y/n smiling around the hospital. How Amelia quickly turns around to avoid y/n's gaze.

Without Kai's knowledge that Amelia is already sleeping, they blurted out, "Are you still in love with Y/N?". When they got no response, they checked and looked at Amelia, 'she was sleeping,' they thought as they let out a sigh.

They tried to go to sleep, but they just couldn't. Something is bothering them, and they can't get it out of their mind. As Kai is about to fall asleep, Amelia unconciously shuffled on the bed that makes them look at her.

Since Kai couldn't sleep, they sat up on the bed to watch Amelia sleep. How beautiful and peaceful Amelia looked while she slept. While Kai watches Amelia, a smile forms on her girlfriend's lips, and then she mumbles something. Kai moved their ear closer to Amelia's mouth so they could hear what she was saying in her sleep. Their curiosity only broke their heart as they heard her say "y/n" in her sleep while she smiled and slept soundly.

Kai finally fell asleep but not as peaceful as Amelia. They fell asleep wondering what her girlfriend was dreaming about, why she said that name, and why was she smiling as she dreamed of y/n. Wondering if Amelia is still in love with Y/N.

In the morning, Kai woke up first even if they slept last and late. They caress Amelia's face as she sleeps, but it only wakes Amelia up. "You were dreaming last night." Kai whispered. "I am?" Amelia asked, confused. "Yes," Kai responded

"How would you know?" The blue-eyed girl asked. "You were smiling and humming and saying something last night. You said y/n's name in your sleep. " Kai vocalise, Amelia, who's shocked and confused, "I did? Really?" She then chuckled nervously, having an idea where this conversation might be going. "Yes," the brown eyed person replies monotonously. "I don't know. I don't remember." She depended herself. "Was it a sex dream?" Kai asks, Amelia quickly said, "What!? I told you, I don't know and I don't remember. Now let's get some coffee. " She stood up from the bed and tried to go to the bathroom to wash her face, but Kai suddenly grabbed Amelia's hand, making her fall right back into bed. They were both shocked at how their conversation quickly escalated to this. Whatever this is. Kai tried to apologize and explain themselves, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to---" but Amelia quickly cut them off and frustratedly utter "what is it?" They both let out a sigh, and there was silence for a minute.

Amelia is now standing beside the bed while Kai is still in bed, half lying, half sitting. "Are you still in love with y/n?" They finally asked the question they've been dying to know the answer to.

Both of their hearts are beating loudly on their chest. Amelia is silent for a moment, thinking how could they ask her such questions. Before she could think of a rational answer, she just blurted out, " Stop with these nonsense. Let's go get coffee... Don't ruin such a beautiful day. "

Before Kai could bother her some more, she is already out of sight, and she slammed the bathroom door, both of them shocked at the sound it made. Amelia didn't even mean to slam the door, but there's no turning back time. Kai could understand why she did what she did, but they're still waiting for and wanting an answer.

Nobody said a word on their way to the hospital. Not even a small glance in another's direction. Everyone in the hospital could feel the tension emitting from the said power couple, but they knew better than to pry. Their colleagues get out of their way as well.

They only speak with each other if they really need to, but other than that, they will avoid each other to avoid such uncomfortable conversation. Even if they both know they're still gonna have that much needed discussion and conversation, they just didn't want to right now.

There are only two possible outcome when they have the conversation. Either they stay together, or they don't.

[paperstarwriters]

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa almost forgot to submit my Vesuvia weekly WIP!!!

It’s uh wholly unfinished and increadibly sloppy but Brainrot said WIPs are ok so I’m throwing this up I guess lol. I'll finish it when my exams are done! ...hopefully.

How to hold your loved ones

Muriel x reader x (unfinished)

Angst (though will eventually have a happy ending! If I write it :/ )

──────────────

Are you struggling to show affection to the one you live the most? Are you longing for the chance to hold them to keep them close and express your fondness and affection in a manner often argued to be the most simple and widely applicable of methods? Then  boy do we have the form of affection for you!

A Hug!!

Now, you may be thinking to yourself, “well duh, I know what a hug is!” But wait!

Have you never encountered a social situation where you feel that need to express affection to the ones you love but you feel convinced that rather than your affection they need more space and time to themself rather than your clinginess? Have they (or you!) expressed more than once that space is needed and that they would rather spend time away from you rather than with you? Does it break your heart and twist your guts to see them face their inner demons all on their own and insist that it’s for the better, or do you perhaps do this and try to apply the same to them, thinking that they like you might need the space even if you crave the affection, even if it hurts more than it helps when your all alone.

Do you ever find yourself thinking: “I shouldn’t show my affection… I’m not…. I don’t deserve that right. I don’t have that right…” or “they need something better than me right now….” or “they… they don’t want me.”

Well do I have the solution for you! In just three easy steps you too can figure out how to hold your loved one and show all that affection you so longed to give them!

So what are we waiting for? Let’s begin!

How to hold your loved one:

Step 1: Don’t.

You’ve gone too far.

—————————

How to hold your loved one:

Find them first. You can't exactly hold someone who isn't there. Search the space you once shared together. Look for them in the remnants of all their familiar items, their clothes, their trinkets. It's little things, things that make you want to hold them more. You can hold onto these, a feeble substitute, but ample for now. It gives you drive to find them. You need to find them. Sometimes you don't find them right away, anyways. Sometimes you find them in bits and pieces. Sometimes you find them by their fingertips, sometimes you find them by their voice. Find them regardless, and collect whatever pieces you can find. Hand, wrist.... ...head.... ...This should be enough.

Cradle them in your arms. This is not quite holding, this is not quite what you desired, this is not the objective you sought to reach, but it is close enough. A faint substitute like clothes. You will not be satisfied. You will have to let go eventually.

Do not let go. Hold on. As tightly as you can, as tightly as you can manage. Hold on. Something is coming, something big is approaching, hold onto them when the shadows overtake you, when the water fills your lungs, when it pours from your face, when it drips from theirs. Hold them. It's the only thing you can do right now.

Remember that this isn't the first time it's happened. Remember that there is more you can do. More you must do.

Run. Cry. Do something. Anything. Don't just—

Muriel gasps when he clambers out from between the looming forest's trees. He holds you, shattered as you are, cradling you against his chest, as you sleep, as your eyes remain closed to all the world, as you lie in a state he cannot name in fear that it may be true, in fear that it may be real. It can't be real. If it's real he doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know what he would do.

Scream. He thinks distantly. Maybe I'd scream. If it was true... If it was true he would have screamed by now perhaps. Surely yes. He hasn't screamed yet so it's not. It's not true yet, it's not true yet. It's not true yet.

Muriel cradles the back of your head, presses his hand over the bleeding wound, tries to staunch the flow that drips down your spine. He holds you to his chest, as if hearing his heartbeat would remind yours to beat. He runs to grab the bandages.

Gauze is pressed firm against the wound, and bandages are wrapped tight around your head. Stop the bleeding. To stop the bleeding. To stop you from loosing more...

...Whatever this was.

White bandages soak black, as they absorb the fluids that drip from somewhere in your skull. Something morbid in his mind considers if it's your brains, but he knows better than that. He's witnessed it first hand, he's seen the gore before. This is something else. This is something new. It's not blood it's not gore it's—

Magic.

Inanna, behind him, stares, fur bristling and teeth bared, ears pressed flat against her neck. She snarls, eyes bright and teeth snapping and gashing at something he cannot see.

No, something he fails to pay attention to.

Blackness seeps through the bandage, it continues to drip down to the floor, running down the rivulets of your skin, the soft dents left by your spine. It flows and bubbles from in between his fingers, and for just one moment, Muriel leans back. He lets go of you—only with one arm, he still holds you by the other—to examine the fluids that drip from your wounds.

Slick like oil, he rubs the shadows from between his fingers, and watches as it lights up in a familiar myriad of colours, iridescent, lIke opal, a culmination of colours that ripple in the palm of his hand. Magic. Your magic. The Fool's magic, Asra had mentioned once.

And the stone sinks down his stomach.

He rips the bandages open but doesn’t dare tear the fabric away.

"Careful!" Inanna barks, but he can’t afford that, not now, not when something is eating your magic, not when you’re made of magic.

Asra had told him about it once, that your magic was so different in your revived state. Not only from its colour but the sheer overflowing amount of it, the endless shapes it could take, and the way once your arm had gotten caught in the midst of a spell, how the magic tore away your flesh to reveal iridescent opal beneath.

You bleed like a human, you cry, you get dizzy you have stomach aches, you have all the human parts, but this…

Perhaps it’s what ties you here, perhaps it lets you exist, but regardless of the fact, it is something you can’t afford to loose. Something he can’t afford to loose.

You.

White bandages soak black as Muriel presses the fabric against the wound. With furious motions his ands sweep down to wipe the ink off your back, to free your spine from its clutches before the shadows eat there too. Already your skin looks discoloured beneath its ministrations raw like a rash, like someone had torn up the surface of your skin, revealing softer raw layers just beneath. But thin bandages are not enough, and Muriel scrambles to find fabrics that could soak the shadows from your wound.

“Inanna” he pleads.

"Yes" she replies. And out the door she bounds, nose to the grass already searching for the plant that they need.

Something that the fae would find unpleasant. Something that would make magic reel.

But for now he needs something to these shadows away.

Muriel chucks the soaked bandages into the fire and watches for a moment as it roars in reply, casting deep shadows to leap up at the walls. He turns your back towards the light and watches as the fae leap from their hiding places scurrying away from the ferocious burn.

With the nearest cloth he can get, already clutched tight in his hands, Muriel soaks absorbs the shadows into the fabric and watches as they readily retreat into the coloured cloth.

His stomach twists just a bit as he realizes what he’s using, what’s in his hands and what now will have to be thrown into the flames. A shirt of yours, well worn and well loved, and something he’d steal to keep him company when you were away. He had stolen it now—earlier. Pilfered it from your shared pile of dirty clothes and held it tight in his arms when you had fled into the woods. When he had thought it best to give you your space, even as you sobbed, even as his chest ached knowing he was the cause.

He did this to you.

He....he knew you had been upset, he knew that you had been struggling with... Something, and yet he never asked you what it was, he never reached out, even when, if it were him, you would have reached out for him, you would have stood as an anchor for him, a place for him to think safely, a place to keep him from drowning. He knew how it felt to get stuck in his own mind, to feel so distant from any aid or help, helpless to your thoughts, foaming at the mouth with all the things you can no longer say. The fear of distain of rejection, he knows it all so, so well.

And yet, even as he saw you suffer, he sat back on his haunches and thought, maybe you need some space.

He could have asked at the very least. He could have asked.

He could have asked how you were feeling, or even just your day had been.

He could have asked where you were going.

He could have apologized.

He could have done something.

Why didn’t he ever act until it was too late?

The fabric of that shirt of yours is thoroughly soaked through. And though his stomach twists as he does it, he casts the fabric into the fire, letting it burn, and letting the fae burn along with it. The shadows leap at the growing flames but the fire itself illuminates it's surroundings, creating no shadow of it's own, no trace that would lead him to believe that the fae had somehow managed to scramble away from it's burning fate. It's a cruel fate, but he's already made the mistake of choosing your shirt over you. .

This time the next closest cloth item is one of his shirts, and Muriel is all too eager to soak this one, and cast it into the flame. A trickle no longer runs it's way down your spine, and the flow is growing noticeably slower, but Muriel's back still tickles with anxiety still fearful that he may make the mistake of letting go too soon, of lowering his guard only to let your condition get worse.

A trickle of water drips down your cheek, and warmth slowly begins to return to your limbs, sounds slowly returning to your voice, even if only in the forms of sniffles and whimpers.

"I'm sorry." You whisper, and his heart aches at the question. Do you even know he's here? Was this what you were sobbing all alone in the forest?

“I’m so sorry.” What we’re you even sorry about? He was the one to blame here. He was neglectful, he was ignorant to your stressors or… or something he did had set you off. That had to be it wasn’t it?

Perhaps you saw him and thought he was angry at you somehow.  It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened…

But didn’t you know him? Weren’t you…familiar with him by now? Or did he just…..

[kozykricket]

havent been very active on tumblr, for no reason in particular. anyways, as a risk of rain fan, i must clarify my opinions on the SOTS release

i think we can all agree on "the dlc is great content"

but anyways, its clear to me that the devs are people who care and are passionate about ROR as a series and about keeping ror2 going as well. i mean, hopoo and ghor have said as much! and their community manager seems nice i really dont blame the actual DLC team, because like. its always rude to just point fingers at the people who are just doin' darn good work. point fingers at the executive decision makers i think uh, the unification of console and pc code is... well, ill miss the old codebase, but honestly? the fact they've rewritten the games code from the ground up basically... tells me that they're in it for the long-ish haul. that they dont want to just drop ror2. they want to make their own basis that they can cleanly work on and continue this game into its second life of sorts i guess its like a soft reset of development - everythings jank like early access now. but itll get better is the current ror team the best at making decisions for the game? maybe not, but i really dont think they're malicious

its funny though, because the 2 things i was worried about was "oh gearbox is totally gonna mess up the lore with weird inconsistencies and it wont feel right, and they'll add powercreep" but honestly. imma be real, knowing some stuff ghor has said about his intentions behind the lore (shoutouts to Ghor btw, hes done so much for both the lore and the... well, the creation and foundation of risk of rain 2s codebase as a whole. the more i look into ghor, the more i realize he truly is mr ror2) anyways knowing his intentions with certain things, i can say... the Anniversary Update and SOTV actually messed up lore more than SOTS has, lol. the lores well done in SOTV. the non-lore-important logs kinda suck though, they're clearly unfinished. but i think... what they lacked was Time. Time, to complete the clean unification of code ... and for general polish. so i say we give them what randy pitchfork didnt. lets give them time, aight? im not super happy with the idea of a ror2: bedrock edition future, but... i think if the right balancing tweaks are done, then things can look pretty bright. and they do seem to want to listen to the community (though i doubt randy pitchfork wants them to. heck CEOs)

and as for powercreep? lmao we got the opposite, the items are almost too underpowered.

AS for the dlc content, i think seeker is goated. really fun character to play. chef is... undercooked tbh, jank m1. still havent gotten the third survivor, though i know who it is, and seems pretty well done minus the lack of visual and audio feedback / game-feel i think the stages are fantastic, the music is as always banger, and honestly the items are like. really CLOSE to being interesting. like noxious thorn? a green item that plays with debuffs? very cool. but why is it "on taking damage" and. i dunno, instead of adding more stacks of debuffs, i'd make it spread those debuffs to more enemies! knockback fin should be turned into a void of stun grenade if you have both DLCs on, tbh. so yeah, im. cautiously optimistic for the future. dont fall for all of the doomerisms that the youtubers are trying to spread - they're doing that to apply pressure to gearbox, mostly. which is fair, but its also fearmongering kinda. and like actual devs dont seem too concerned for the games future im just hoping that everyone who has been involved with ror2... has a good future. i dont want gearbox to just cut off the ror2 team, and i hope ghor can find whatever he needs

[neonbrutalism]

RIP Dead Guy (working title)

Unfinished WIP time.... there's a lot more to this but too many scene gaps to post officially, so here's the first bit for the Tumblrerers.

(Speculative Post-BTSV in which Miguel O'Hara of Earth 928B dies saving the multiverse and defeating the Spot. The Society is in mourning and the Spider-Gang is forced to reckon with their feelings. Complicating matters is that Peter's brought back another Miguel from the multiverse who is obviously not comfortable with how they're projecting all this on to him.)

Why hadn’t Miguel put a chair at his work station? 

Peter cracked his back and peered again at the the symbols on the glowing, orange screens, trying to make sense of whatever organizational system Miguel was using. 

Had used.

Dammit.

He didn’t want to bother LYLA anymore with this. She’d been subdued for weeks – well, almost everyone had been – and Peter wasn’t sure how long AI took to mourn. She did her scans and ran numbers, sure, but it was all without any … snap. 

Peter didnt think she was, well, aware enough to grieve… but he also didn’t think Miguel would put her mourning his death in to her programming. Hell, Peter was pretty sure Miguel wouldn’t have wanted anyone to mourn him at all, the stupid, stubborn, broken bastard. If only Peter had moved faster, had recognized what was about to happen…

But maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything. He saw Miguel’s face at that last moment, before…

There was nothing else for it.

“Hey, LYLA?” 

“Yes, Peter?” LYLA appeared next to him, expression unnaturally blank. 

“Sorry to … bother you? I’m just trying to, uh—“ Peter gestured at the orange screens, “I can’t make webs or tails of this.”

He paused, waiting for a reaction. None came. Miguel wouldn’t have reacted either.

“Anyway, uh, I keep seeing this symbol on certain earths? Looks like a… U?”

“A closed eye,” said LYLA, “After the incident, Miguel cut off any viewing access to mapped earths with… other versions of himself.”

“… Oh,” said Peter, slowly,”I guess he, what, didn’t want the temptation?”

LYLA’s eyes narrowed at Peter, “If you think it would have been tempting for him after what hapoened, you didn’t know him as well as you think you did.”

“Uh. Sorry?”

“Is that all, Peter?”

“Yeah, uh. I guess so. Th—“

LYLA vanished before he could finish thanking her.

Peter shook the interaction off and returned to the screen. He touched the closed-eye symbol. The system pop-up counted 793 locked earths. More than Peter was expecting – but maybe that wasn’t a crazy number, since there seemed to be tens or even hundreds of thousands of Peter Parkers. Had Miguel locked them all manually, or had LYLA done it automatically as their map of the multiverse expanded? 

In the corner of the pop up, there was an Unlock All button. 

He shouldn’t. 

Miguel had once told him, when he asked about seeing versions of Aunt May or Harry, that the only thing that spending time watching the dead live without you in another world was good for was torturing yourself.

Ha. Maybe if Peter had remembered to point out the irony if him saying that, Miguel wouldn’t have…

Fuck it. Whatever. Miguel wasn’t here to tell Peter not to. Miguel was just a miserable, guilt-ridden, self-loathing, dead hypocrite and… and Peter wanted to see his friend again.

He pressed the lock. There was a buzz of haptic feedback and all at once, the eye icons blinked open and Peter found himself looking at dozens of versions of a dead man’s face. 

Plenty of them were scowling, wiping blood off their faces after pulling their masks off or boredly picking at paperwork in an office or laboratory. Mostly they were just familiar in a way that felt like a punch in the gut. Stretched all the way out, slouching in a chair looking crabby or curled in with their hands hooked around the back of their necks, poorly dealing with some emotion or stress or another. Some of them, though, looked … happy. Or, at least they looked happier than Peter had ever seen Miguel, outside of those few weeks he’d spent with Gabriella. He didn’t see any versions of her, though. But still, at least there were some versions that weren’t alone.

One Miguel was standing looking out of a large broken window, expression dark and triumphant while a pretty, asian woman in a lab coat and inexplicably a pair of high top sneakers from 1993 curled her arm around his waist and smiled. Peter decided he didn’t want to know what they looked so happy about. 

A teenaged version of Miguel and a girl – maybe a younger version of that woman in the lab coat – with her hair in purple pom-poms, sat in a bedroom. The girl pulled out a box from under her bed, revealing what looked to be a lot of ancient Star Trek merchandise, smiling like she was a little embarrassed. Peter pushed that node aside too, he didn’t want to intrude on that.

A pink haired woman covered in chitin and with a thousand needle teeth hovered in the air on vibrating wasp wings and chatted happily while Miguel in his spider-suit listened, sitting on the edge of a tall building. Behind them, the sky was dark and filled with pistons and girders – Downtown Nueva York.

And speaking of Downtown Nueva York – an explosion caught Peter’s eye. He pulled the node forward – Miguel, in a different mask but it could hardly be anyone else, was fighting, his suit torn and bloody, not flickering with broken light like the suit Peter knew. Someone else – some kind of cyborg or robot, slammed a whirling metal thresher down on the spot Miguel had been lying less than a second earlier. He was losing the fight. 

Okay, calm down, Peter. Miguel was tough and could take a lot of hits  – he just needed a chance to recover. Miguel, no matter the dimension, was perfectly capable of surviving – until he wasn’t. 

Behind the cyborg … A Green Goblin rose up on his glider, bombs in hand. Miguel looked up at the Goblin and Peter was through the portal to Earth 416647 before he could stop himself.

(UNFINISHED FIGHT SCEEEENE!)

Peter stared.

This Miguel looked a little younger — or maybe just got more sleep. He was less gaunt, less haunted. Less like he hadn’t eaten or drank in weeks. His hair was little reidder, messy from his mask, curls hanging over his forehead. He had a small scar across his upper lip that the original Miguel hadn’t had either.

Peter realized he’d been staring too long only when Miguel took an awkward step back from him and exchanged a quick, nervous look with the now unmasked Green Goblin. He looked a lot like Miguel too.

Oh… this was Gabriel — his brother. Miguel had mentioned him once or twice. Peter was pretty sure the Original Miguel’s brother was dead — but then again, he’d never really asked.

“Uh — sorry, I’m. Spider-Man.”

“We know,” said Miguel.

“You said that already,” said Goblin.

Peter was struck with a terrible idea. One of his worst. But … the society hadn’t been the same in the past few weeks. A dark cloud had come over it and Peter wasn’t sure how to get it to pass. The fact was, nervous breakdown in the last couple of days notwithstanding, just about everyone had liked Miguel. He’d been their leader, he’d taken care of them and listened and tried to help them. They’d all loved him … 

Not that Miguel would have ever believed that in a hundred years.

But without Miguel, things were kind of falling apart. Not literally, LYLA ran the place like clockwork, but emotionally. Miguel could de-escalate petty arguments and fights that broke out better than any Peter Parker could (because most of the arguments involved at least one other Peter Parker). But now, arguments festered, problems went unresolved and still, every time that Peter went to the cafeteria, he almost picked up some empanadas before he remembered himself.

Maybe … a familiar face would help everyone move on? Or at least return a sense of normalcy until people got used to the idea that Miguel, their Miguel, was gone.

“Right! Right – um,” shit, how had Miguel done this ‘I’m from another dimension’ shpiel? “I’m from another dimension! I’m part of a – uh, strike team? Thing? It’s a few hundred other Spider-People and we travel around the multiverse to help people! And stop anomalies — wait, no, we don’t do that anymore. So just the helping people. That’s why I came to help you fight — well I guess you didn’t need help, you two weren’t fighting – but it’s cool! We have a headquarters! And a cafeteria and a gym. Just … amenities. You should come check it out. Miguel should – uh. No offense, Mr. Goblin, but a Spider-Society is kind of. Spider-centric.”

“Wow,” said Gabriel in a familiar flat tone, “I’m devastated but I think I’ll survive.” 

“Pass,” said Miguel. He turned to leave. 

“Wait!” said Peter, “I’m underselling it. I promise, it’s … really cool. Super elite.”

Miguel raised a skepical eyebrow, “Super elite with ‘a couple hundred’ people?”

“There’s a bazillion different universe, so I mean, it’s all relative.”

Miguel pulled his mask back down over his face, “Yeah, still pass.”

Miguel fwizzed a strand of web (pale, organic, not like the glowing orange Peter was familiar with) to the upper corner of the building and the Goblin kicked his glider’s power on. 

“Wait! Please!” said Peter, his voice breaking a little, “just – just come see it? And then you can come right back! Please?”

The lenses on Miguel’s mask squinted at Peter and then he sighed, “Fine. Okay – Gabri, will you tell Xina I’m …” 

“Being kidnapped by a time traveller?” 

“Dimensional traveller.”

“Whatever,” said Miguel, waving his brother off, “I’ll be home later.”

Gabriel gave a lazy salute and sped off on his glider.

Peter opened the portal to 928.

Miguel — this new, other Miguel — eyed it suspiciously, then stepped through.

[dreadwulf]

Hi idk if I’m doing this right, I don’t really use tumblr. I’m 36 and getting into fan fiction for the first time. A Man for All Seasons is like only the 3rd I’ve ever read in my life and certainly the longest/most detailed but I just wanted to tell you I love it so much and I’m so impressed. My husband doesn’t know anything about fan fiction at all but he is into ASOIAF and when I was telling him about the Kings of Winter he was also super engrossed and now he’s reading your fic, too. I’m on The Light chapter rn and can’t wait to see how this ends. Also can’t wait to read all your others. Just wanted to say thank you so, Thank you so much!

Aww, thank you! That means a lot! I love that you're recruiting your spouse to read fanfic, excellent work!

So uh, you're about to read The Light. You're about to be real disappointed to find that I have not updated in a WHILE and I left off with many things unresolved. Unfortunately I had a nasty breakup with the TV show, the kind where I can't even look at images of it without getting angry all over again, and that made it a bit difficult to keep writing. I had to take some time away to write book-canon fics only for a while (and whatever this is) and then life hit me like a freight train and I didn't write at all for a little while.

I started writing again this month and guess this is as good a place as any to mention I'm finishing up my last three unfinished stories now. After the End will be done after the chapter I'm working on today. Then A Simple Twist of Fate will be next, that will have quite a few more chapters to complete. And then, yes, I will complete AMFAS. After that? Well, it'll take me a while to finish them, they're both going to be quite long. But once it's done, I think I'm going to write the novel I've been plotting in the back of my head for a while. Don't know if anyone will be interested in that, but I'll share it here first anyway.