#at first i thought it was a bird but then? the lighting was like stable and consistent and birds dont like. reflect light.

[splattacks]

okay i was just stargazing with my dad for a bit when i arrived home and um. ummmmmm. please bear with me on this one but i saw something weird and i cant figure out an explanation for it so im just going to say that its supporting the splatfest team choice ive been considering

[sh1-n0bu]

♡︎ 𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙮 𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙! ♡︎

characters: sub!yandere!AFAB!characters x dom!gn!reader

warnings: character uses he/him pronouns but has female genitalia/tcock (words such as pussy, vagina, cunt will be used), character is transmale, reader has you/your pronouns, cock/strap, yandere character, established relationship, protected sex, unprotected sex (don’t do that folks), breeding, creampie, belly bulge, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of death and light torture

notes: you can think of any character you want with this fic, i just had a wild thought during a car ride at my vacation. divider from @/cafekitsune

yandere! husband who has been in love with you since they first met you. what started out as a simple fascination developed into an unhealthy obsession until he finally got the courage to ask you out on an official date

yandere! husband who gets surprised when you accept his ask for a date, sheepishly smiling as you tell him that you found him pretty and had been building up the courage to do the same. who nearly fall into his knees right then and there with sheer nervousness yet also giddiness at your confession, finding the wobbly smile on your face endearing

yandere! husband who gradually built a stable relationship with you over time. there were moments where he thought of just drugging you up and stealing you away to keep you all to himself but he chastised himself for such thoughts when you have been nothing but loyal and honest. he thought of killing those annoying bitches and assholes who tried to hit on you or blatantly flirted with you in front of him, imagining cutting out their tongue and burning their eyes with scolding hot iron only to snap back to the present when your hand wound around his waist, introducing him as your lover excitedly

yandere! husband who got scared when you accidentally walked in while he was changing after a shower, terrified that you will leave him after having seen his top scars and cunt. who could hear his heartbeat in his own ears, rapidly beating like a frightened bird thrown into a cage while he waited your reaction. who try to apologize only to be cut off with your comforting words and accepting hug

yandere! husband who proposed to you first, getting on both of his knees as he presented you the ring in the box. who lets out a sweet laugh when you kneel down in return, showing your own ring that you bought for him

yandere! husband who definitely cried on your wedding, wiping away his tears silently as he turns his back to you, not wanting you to see him in such a weak and vulnerable state. turning back to you with the wet handkerchief still in his hand, who can feel the tears coming back once again as he sees your knowing look and comforting smile

yandere! husband who is happy with your married life. the new adventures of moving into a new house, decorating it to your liking and modifying your rooms being an exciting life for him. he loved the moments where you two put paint of each other’s faces instead of painting the walls, choosing the colors on complete random with an eeny, meeny, mini, mo game, dancing with you bare feet in the kitchen as you both wait for the water to boil for the cup ramen at midnight. he would want to hold your hand in his own, the wedding rings clicking against each other softly as he giggles

yandere! husband who wants to try for a baby after years into the marriage. it was a surprise to him how he managed to wait patiently for so long after your marriage. while he wanted desperately to get himself knocked up at the night of consummation of your marriage, he understood your wishes to wait until the perfect time. finally, he thinks it is the perfect timing, after years of protected sex and daydreams of feeling his cunt get filled, tells you of his plan

yandere! husband who purposefully poked a tiny hole into every condom there is at your home, who huffs a fake annoyed noise whenever the material tears as you try to put it around your strap. he may have a pout on his face and talk about trying it raw on the outside but on the inside he is fucking giddy. he wants to feel your cock constantly pushing into his wet pussy walls so bad and he couldn’t help but curse silently under his breath when you take out a lone condom that was thankfully reserved in the pockets of one of your pants

yandere! husband who suggests on riding you instead of taking it as usual. a sudden change in your usual sex life but you didn’t mind trying new things out. laying on your back, you watch and let out occasional groans and low moans as you see how his sweet pussy swallows you whole, the fat of his ass higgling every time he bounces himself on your strap, asking you to slap and squeeze it. which you do gladly, lightly slapping as the jiggling flesh, making your husband giggle

yandere! husband who gets annoyed as the feeling of the condom around your cock, skillfully bouncing himself until he ‘accidentally’ slips your strap out. he swears it was the amount of lube you used, grabbing your cock with his hand and tapping his dripping pussy with the tip. your husband who makes a show, wiggling his hips as he slides the tip inside and sinking down until he feels full again. not yet, he thinks to himself, knowing that you would get suspicious if he tries his plan too early on

yandere! husband who keeps ‘accidentally’ slipping your strap out of his gushing cunt, whining until his patience finally ends. the next time it slips out, his fingers pinch at the tip of the wet condom, pulling on the material with a pout and a mumbled “it’s in the way..” until it comes off with a lewd pop!

yandere! husband who disregards your frantic words of protection and taking a second for you to put on another one, turning around to face you now as he sinks down onto your strap with one move. the feeling of your own cock, without any annoying latex in the way making him cream around your fat cockhead instantly, a drawn out satisfied whine falling from his lips

yandere! husband who clenches around your strap on purpose every time he moves. his hands guiding yours to touch his chest, the top scars that healed beautifully and to squeeze and fondle his nipples “u-until i sta—anngh ah haagh mmgh♡︎! start to lactate, just like your sweet baby momma uungh♥︎!!” while his pretty pussy squeezes your strap like a vice, unwilling to let go or not even daring to think so. he wanted to feel your cum, hot seeds painting his walls white and making his legs shake

yandere! husband who silences your weak protests for a protection with a messy kiss. noses knocking together, tongue immediately pushing into your mouth and wanting to ‘connect’ with you on a deeper level. he wanted everything you have to offer and seeing the small trail of saliva left behind as you pulled back for a gasping breath made him giggle deliriously

yandere! husband who increases his pace when he hears you struggling to talk, words of cumming together coming out in a jumbled mess as he sits himself fully in your lap. pushing your pelvises together until no gap was between them, throwing his head back with a satisfied mewl when he finally feels it. that warmth he’s been craving so long, filling up his womb, mixing with his love juice as the excessive mixed cum drops down your strap

yandere! husband who gets pushed into his back, legs pushed up and over until his knees were beside his head. put into a mating press with your annoyed face staring down at him just made him clench around you, a drunk giggle of your name falling from his lips. he gladly spreads his weeping pussy open further, with you still inside him, letting you see the mess you two made

yandere! husband who drops his act entirely, wiggling his hips with heart shaped pupils as he asks you to breed him. cum inside him as many times as you want, he wants a baby with you, it’s about time you two take your relationship to the next level. “i’ll be a good baby momma… and you’re already a wonderful lover who would become a wonderful parent. come on [name], breed me full of your seeds♥︎”

yandere! husband who gets fucked thoroughly to his wish. crying out all sorts of filthy words every time your cock sinks back into his cunt. thin drools on his chin, old tear stains constantly being replaced by new ones as his pussy clenches around you for the nth time, forcing you to cum earlier than you usually does. overwhelming amount of your mixed cum wetting the bedsheets, your thighs and his own as well as his butt. not like he cared, he wanted to make sure he gets knocked up, that you get him knocked up as he creams around you again, creating an even thicker halo of white around your strap

yandere! husband who shows his filthier side, holding your head against his chest and asking you to suck on his nipples, who place your hand over his tcock, telling you to “s-stroke! my cock too ahh haagh♡︎ mgh n-not fair that mmuungh uunghk my cock is being left alone♡︎!”

yandere! husband who lets out one last hoarse wail, the wetness of his cunt making you groan as your strap cums inside him for the nth time that night before collapsing on top of him. he had passed out, tired from the continuous pounding he received as he lay there peacefully with flushed red cheeks, tearstains and drools on his chin and cheeks while pretty bruises and lovebites cover his skin. the most notable bruises being the ones on his hips and thighs, making you grimace at the painful wound you saw. but hey, the small bulge in his belly from your excessive cum inside his womb made you happy. it definitely made him happy too

yandere! husband who occasionally regains consciousness during your aftercare for him. who groans and refuses to let you pull out for bath, straddling your lap inside the warm water filled bathtub. he couldn’t help but slur out a “noo… don’t pull out” as you push his pelvic away from yours, feeling the cum inside his pussy to drip down his legs

yandere! husband who now eagerly wait for the signs of pregnancy with a full boxes of pregnancy test at his side of the nightstand, who still poke secret holes into your condoms because when did he said he wanted only one baby with you?

⇨ characters i think fits: jing yuan, dan feng, yingxing, sunday, aventurine, argenti, dan heng il, gepard, sampo, luocha, caelus, luka, jiaoqui, itto, baizhu, ayato, thoma, childe, pantalone, dottore, kaeya, kaveh, lyney, neuvillette, sethos, heizou, venti, rubedo, aalto, xiangli yao, scar, yoriichi, haganezuka, douma, kaigaku, jyugo, uno, kiji, honey, trois, kenshirou yozakura, musashi, houzuki sanzou, ruka gojou, seitarou, tsukumo, mitsuru, sinbad, sharkkan, spartos, koumei, titus, muu alexius, sphintus, rafayel, mammon, asmodeus, mephistopheles, diavolo, belphegor, simeon, solomon, satan + anyone you like

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

HCs: Ken meeting a Human!Fem!Reader who owns a ranch

Wanted to write something for this movie bc it’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past two days. So enjoy, lovelies! 

I’m taking requests for this movie so don’t be shy <3 

[SPOILERS AHEAD]

...........

After going back to the Real World to find a purpose for himself, Ken runs into you, a country girl who left the Mattel company to take care of your ranch.

You just stopped in the city to find new outfits..and instead found him rollerblading through the park, immediately recognizing him as a Ken.

You may not be in the company anymore but you just knew (especially with his vibrant outfit giving it away).

You two hit it off right away and eventually you go shopping together.

He gets a new cowboy outfit and is bashful when you pay for it (to which you reply that you..really didn’t have a choice in the matter, as he had no money).

He’s like “ohh that happened before when I was with Barbie..we got arrested for the second time that day :D”

You’re very concerned and decide that he should stick with you from now on (not that anyone at Mattel would ever care about a Ken running around to begin with...you just didn’t wanna have to bail him out of jail).

On the truck ride back to your home, you mentioned owning a ranch and Ken’s in a w e

You tell him more about it, and he’s so intrigued and can’t stop staring at you the entire time, especially as you go on about how a lot of women in your world are cowgirls and how they aren’t represented enough.

He bluntly states that he once believed “patriarchy” was all about the horses and you nearly laughed, but he seemed sad about it, so you assure him if he wanted to see horses, he made the right decision coming with you.

You introduce him to one of your favorite steeds and he’s SO overjoyed to actually see one in person. Like petting its mane and asking dozens of questions like an excited kid.

“Are you sure Barbieland didn’t have any horses of their own?”

“No, we just have the ones on sticks and our imaginations.” He pouts, mimicking the way he rode invisible horses with his hands. “But this? This is WAY cooler!!”

He tries mounting your horse, envisioning himself riding off into the sunset, free as a bird while shouting “yeehaw” at the top of his lungs-

Only for it to rear its head up and nearly stomp on his foot, with you having to calm it down as he snaps back to reality, looking utterly distraught and stressed over upsetting it.

“Alrighty. Ken. If you wanna ride a horse..the first step is earning its respect. Thought you would’ve learned about that in those books....but if you’ll let me, I’ll show you how to properly mount one. Luckily this one here’s accustomed to double riders.”

His face lights up and he listens to every instruction you give him, from placing the saddle on its back to climbing on, and finally how to control the direction he wants it to go.

For this one time, however, you take the reins and let him sit behind you, hugging you a bit too tightly for your liking, but you allow it as you show him around the rest of your ranch.

He just likes the closeness fr and you.

By the time the day’s over, your horse got better acquainted with Ken and let him ride around for a little while before you gotta put it in the stable for the night.

Before he could worry about where he was gonna go, you tell him he can stay with you as long as he wants.

He’s so happy he just,,,,breaks down ugly crying into your arms.

Though he quickly apologizes, admitting he’s still getting used to crying freely and being more emotional and-

“It’s okay, Ken.” You reassure him. “We need more guys like that around here who ain’t afraid to shed a tear or two.”

“Th-Thanks...Barbie told me it’s an amazing feeling. And honestly..it kinda is.”

After that small heart-to-heart talk, he gifts you his horseshoe necklace as a sign of his appreciation, that dopey grin returning to his face when you take it and wear it right away.

Yeah, you’ve only met each other for a day and he’s smitten the moment you started treated him as an equal. You let him have his own room, bed, wardrobe, etc. (and in time he'll have his own horse too).

All you ask is that he helps you manage the ranch, but at this point he’s willing to do anything for you now.

Finally, he realizes this was his dream all along.

One that Barbieland couldn't provide, but that was alright.

Patriarchy is overrated, anyways. This was all he wanted.

[merlucide]

SEA’S SECRET ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Notes: um.. I did it :3 KIRA WORLD BUILDS! NOT CLICKBAIT!

pairings: merman!chigiri x mayor’s daughter!reader

wc: 1.9k

warnings: reader is fem, thalassophobia(?), the best thing I’ve ever written

chpt: 1 2

(pls imangine pirates and the Caribbean vibes!!) inspo hehe

You often find yourself walking up and down the seashore. It’s a place of solace for you, the sound of the waves and the salty breeze never ceased to bring a wave of ease over you. The seashore was a stretch of golden sand that curved gently around the bay, bordered by rocky cliffs. Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves singing a calming tune. Small crabs scuttled across the sand, and seabirds called out to each other as they wheeled in the sky above. You like to look around for shells and pearls. When you find one, you take them to the sailors for them to tell you what they are.

The sailors would tell you mystical tales of the sea. You loved their stories—you knew they weren’t real, but you liked to pretend they were.

They’d tell you about the legends of the sea, stories about ghost ships, the kraken, sirens, and mermaids. The tales always made you eager to explore the vast ocean. You knew that wasn’t realistic, after all, you were the mayor's daughter. Your life was prim and proper, with not an ounce of adventure. You had many marriage proposals, but you turned them all down. Your father warned you that if you didn’t decide on a suitor, he would have no choice but to arrange a marriage for you.

It angered you to no end. Your life had barely begun, and everything had been decided for you. Your father’s warning had been the final straw, pushing you to the brink of rebellion.

That’s when you ran off to the shore, your heart pounding with a mixture of anger and desperation. You had snuck out of your estate at night, very careful not to draw any attention to yourself. The town was quiet, the usual hustle and bustle of merchants and sailors replaced by the soft lapping of waves and the occasional call of a bird. Lanterns flickered in the windows of the small buildings, casting a warm, glow on the cobblestone streets.

You headed towards the docks, looking around for a small rowboat you’d seen the fishermen take. You found it sandwiched between two sailboats, their tall masts swaying gently in the night breeze. You grabbed the oars and looked around to make sure no one was watching you.

You stepped into the boat, slowly lowering yourself down until you were stable. You pulled the oars, gliding into the water. You continued until you were far away from the dock. The moon reflected off the water, giving it an enchanting feel. The water was rather still, with only gentle ripples disturbing the glassy surface.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you were alone with your thoughts, away from the suffocating expectations. The sea was your sanctuary, a place where you could be free, even if just for a night.

It wasn’t fair. You had dreams, desires that went beyond the confines of your father’s mansion and the expectations of society.

You sighed peered over the side of your little boat, looking at the stars through the water. The surface was calm, reflecting the moonlight like a mirror. As you gazed into the depths, you thought you saw a glimmer, a flash of something that wasn’t quite right.

Then, you saw them—two luminous eyes staring back at you from the deep. They were unlike anything you had ever seen, glowing with an otherworldly light that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your heart raced as your mind scrambled looking for an answer, perhaps you were seeing things? But the eyes were unmistakable, fixed on you with an intense, almost curious gaze. You opened your mouth to scream, but no sound came out at first. Then, a second later, you found your voice and let out a piercing cry, jerking back so violently that you lost your balance.

You screamed and jumped back, losing your stability and tipping over, falling into the dark deep ocean. You kicked your legs, remaining afloat as you attempted to set your boat back up. The panic surged within you, fear of what was lurking below making your heart race. You continued to try to flip your boat, but with no success. Your breathing was heavy as you desperately pleaded for the boat to flip.

You felt ripples hitting your leg and frantically looked around for whatever caused them. Suddenly, your boat flipped over with a big splash. You desperately tried to pull yourself up, which was rather hard since you were in the water. Hands grabbed onto your calves, pushing them up. You screamed, grabbing onto the boat and finally pulling yourself inside. You hunched down and clutched the sides, trying to calm your racing heart.

Once you had caught your breath, you desperately looked around for the mysterious eyes you saw. “Who’s there?!” you yelled. “Hello?!”

You held on tightly to your oar, the other one most likely sinking below. Your eyes were heavy with tears when a trickle came from the end of your boat.

You snapped your head over to the sound. The eyes you were met with previously stared back at you. You couldn’t make out much of its appearance due to the night, but its eyes were reflective, standing out in the dark.

“W-What are you?” you stammered, your gaze wide.

“…I… I am…” its voice hesitant “..a merman.”

Your eyes were as wide as they could possibly be. You couldn’t believe what you had heard. It wasn’t possible. There’s no way. But, considering the position you were in, you had no other choice but to believe him.

“…A mermaid?” you asked yourself.

“…..I’m sorry for scaring you… I didn’t think… you would be able to see me,” the merman apologized, his gaze lowering.

You repeated the word “mermaid” a few times until he swam closer to you. You clenched your oar, ready for whatever might happen.

“..I will get you to the shore, alright?” His hands perched on the side of the boat, and you could almost see him now. He had raspberry-colored hair across his face, styled into a half braid. His eyes were a magenta color with cat-like pupils. He had shimmering scales littered on his cheeks and larger fins on the sides of his head. He was… enchanting.

You nodded your head with a soft “alright.” He returned the nod and swam to the back of the boat. Hands on the ledge, he pushed the boat through the water.

You sat hunched in the small boat, drenched and trembling, your breath coming in shaky inhales. The cool night air bit at your skin, but you hardly noticed, consumed by the shock of the encounter. Your heart pounded in your chest, the rhythm erratic and wild.

You clung to the sides of your little boat, the wood rough under your fingers, trying to ground yourself in the midst of this surreal experience.

It was silent aside from the sound of water. You headed towards the town, but not toward the docks, instead toward the shore by the cliffs.

You finally arrived at the beach. The water was up to your bust. He stopped pushing the boat.

“This is as far as I can go,” the merman told you.

“I- thank you,” you said and looked at the shore.

“..I will be off now,” he told you, backing away.

“W-Wait!” you impulsively yelled out.

He stopped and turned toward you, caught off guard.

“I- ah… will I, see you again?” you asked. You had just met a merman. They were supposed to be just some sailor’s tale, and here you just met one. You needed to see him again, to know if he really was real.

The merman’s mouth opened slightly, then closed.

“Perhaps… if fate allows it,” he replied quietly.

“I- Tomorrow, here at sunset?” you hesitantly asked.

He pressed his lips together before nodding. He ducked back below the sea. You watched the ripples spread across the water.

You hopped out of the boat into the water, walking to the shore. You dragged the boat onto the sand and collapsed to your knees.

You couldn’t believe what had just happened.

As you laid there, the events of the night replayed in your mind. You had come out here to escape the confines of your life, to find a moment of freedom away from your father’s demands.

And then, you had encountered a being of legend— a mermaid. The very idea seemed impossible, and yet it had happened. His eyes, so alien yet mesmerizing, haunted your thoughts.

Who was he? You didn’t even know his name. The realization struck you with a sudden urgency. The merman had saved you, had spoken to you, and yet you knew so little about him. What was his world like beneath the waves? The sailors’ tales had always painted mermaids and mermen as dangerous and unpredictable, yet he had been gentle, almost hesitant.

You lifted your head, staring out at the dark expanse of the ocean. The water was the same as you boarded your boat, as if the encounter had never happened. But you knew it had. You had seen and felt things that couldn’t be explained, things that made your heart race with excitement rather than fear.

Slowly, you rose to your feet, your legs shaky. You looked back at the boat, then turned towards the town. Each step was heavy, your wet nightdress clinging to your skin and the weight of the night’s events pressing down on you. As you walked, the familiar streets seemed strange, as if you were seeing them through new eyes.

The town was quiet, the occasional flicker of lantern light casting long shadows on the cobblestones. You passed the houses of neighbors and friends, their windows dark and their occupants asleep. Everything seemed so ordinary, so mundane.

Would he really be there tomorrow at sunset? The thought filled you with a mix of hope and uncertainty. You wanted to see him again, to prove to yourself that it hadn’t all been a dream. You wanted to know more about him—his name, his world, and the mysteries that lay beneath the waves.

By the time you reached the gate of your estate, your thoughts were a tangled mess. You slipped inside quietly, careful not to wake anyone. The grand house loomed before you, a reminder of the life you were expected to lead. But now, with the promise of the sea and the mysterious merman.

You climbed the stairs to your room, tomorrow, at sunset, you would return to the shore. You had to know if the merman was real, if the world held more than the life laid out before you. As you crawled into bed, your wet dress clinging uncomfortably to your skin, you clung to that thought. The ocean had given you a glimpse of something extraordinary, and you were determined to see where it would lead.

You needed to understand the world that had been hidden from you for so long. The longing for adventure, for knowledge.

Sunset couldn’t come soon enough.

next part

taglist: @gigiiiiislife @sharkissm @luvingshidou @kurona-theshark @soleilonthesun @duckydee-0 @rinitoshisgirl @someprettyname

HOLY SHIT. YALL?! I DID IT!!! OMG PLS THIS TOOK ME SOSOSO LONG TO FINISH?!? I HATE WORLD BUILIDING. BUT I DID IT!!? OMG AND I USED FANCY WORDS YALL SHAKESPEARE WHO??? I’m so happy w/ how this came out omg pls lemme know what you think!!

also uh should I make a pt2 ..?

made June 20th 2024

[too-much-tma-stuff]

In the Light of Day (part 9)

Previous | Masterpost | Next

In the two weeks since the raid on the GIW base Jason and Danny had been receiving regular updates from Tim about how Ellie was doing with the Teen Titans. She seemed like she was settling in well, and recovering from everything that she had been through slowly but surely. In a way Danny was really glad she hadn’t been entirely stable, the GIW hadn’t been able to do much to her before she started destabilizing. It was bad enough of course, and she had plenty of lingering trauma, but she hadn’t been broken in the same way he had. She hadn’t reached out yet, but just knowing that she was out there and she was okay soothed his broken edges tremendously. 

She was getting along well with Superboy, they were supporting each other well and Superboy had taken on an almost brotherly role with her. She was getting into chaos with Impulse, and generally… having a good time. Danny had even seen some pictures of her which had made him cry again while Jason held him.

Tim had also used a secure line to ask Danny some clarifying questions about the information on the USB he’d given him. Danny had been as open about everything as he could without sending himself into a panic, and didn’t hear back from Tim for a few more days before he suddenly showed up in crime alley one night dressed as Robin. 

“Your family has a habit of unscheduled visits huh?” Danny commented to Jason over the coms as he headed to intercept Tim. Jason couldn’t do it because was finishing up his work, and waiting to hear what Tim wanted to see if he actually needed to leave early or not.

“Ya,” Jason agreed with a slightly sheepish laugh. “Boundaries are not something this family has ever been good at. We can try to enforce them more if it’s bothering you?”

“No, that’s alright. I’m glad you have a better relationship with them now and I like them well enough too,” Danny assured before launching himself off one rooftop, flying across the gap between buildings and half tackling Tim making him yelp. They rolled across the roof as Danny gave a play growl and Tim grappled with him for a few moments. 

It had spooked Tim the first time Danny had done this, because he thought Danny was actually mad at him, but now he understood that it was just in play. Indulging it made Danny happy so Tim didn’t really mind, it was part of the way he bonded apparently. If Danny was actually mad Tim didn’t like his chances honestly.

“So, what do you need?” Danny asked once Tim had tapped out (he rarely won these little wrestles, and when he did it felt distinctly like Danny had let him win).

“I want to talk to you and Red Hood about something serious,” Robin told Danny with a little frown. “Do you have time tonight, or I can come back later.”

“Hood? Can you get away tonight?” Danny asked, tapping into the com.

“Ya, give me an hour. Take the baby bird home and put the kettle on, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Jason confirmed. Danny passed the message along and Tim nodded distractedly, following Danny home and accepting a cup of tea which he didn’t actually drink.

He was quiet as they waited for Jason to get home. Tim had a way of sitting unnervingly still in moments like this, it was almost like he was on pause. He didn’t start moving again until Jason arrived and had been handed a fresh cup of tea by Danny. 

“So, what did you want to talk about Tim?” Jason asked and Tim unpaused with a blink and a little shake. 

“I’m working on a presentation for the Justice League about the atrocities committed by the GIW and the anti-ecto acts that enable them,” Tim said bluntly. 

Jason put down his mug abruptly with a clatter and Danny let out a startled snarl. They shared a look of concern and suspicion and then looked back at Tim. They were willing to hear him out, even if it was an uncomfortable topic.

“I would appreciate it if you would look over the presentation, or maybe let me practice it on you, before I give it to them to make sure it’s accurate and respectful. I would also consider it a personal favour if you would come to the meeting yourselves, as representatives of the people who’ve been affected by these laws. Obviously, you don’t have to, but Ellie already agreed to come with us and I thought you might want to be there for her.” 

“I’ll go,” Danny said immediately. He hadn’t wanted to, but if Ellie was going then he wasn’t going to leave her to face this alone. She was a very brave and capable girl, but she was technically only about five years old, and Vlad hadn’t exactly done a perfect job cloning her so her knowledge and capabilities could be... patchy. He wasn’t going to leave her to face this alone, even if going to this meeting and facing the Justice League was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Well, I guess if he’s going I have to too,” Jason sighed begrudgingly with a shrug. “You and Big Wing will be there?” Jason asked Tim, who nodded. “Good, where will the meeting take place?” 

“Probably the Watchtower,” Tim admitted with a little shrug. 

“Is that the one that’s in space?” Danny demanded excitedly. The abrupt change of tone took Tim off guard but he nodded. “Awesome! Are there observation rooms? If there are, I demand time there if we’re going to see! I want to see SPACE!” 

Tim gaped at Danny a little and Jason laughed fondly. Danny seemed to realize he’d gotten a little too excited and blushed a little, smiling sheepishly at them. 

“Sure, I can probably arrange that,” Tim agreed with a little shrug. 

“Great, let us know as soon as you have a date for that. I want as much time as possible to prepare for it, and I refuse to agree to anything besides a non-aggression pact beforehand,” Jason told Tim firmly who just nodded absently. 

“Ya no worries, you don’t have to agree to anything, Dick and I are planning to smuggle you both in anyway,” Tim said, nodding absently. 

“Better to ask forgiveness than permission?” Jason asked with a snort of amusement. Tim gave him a conspiratorial smirk and nodded, making Jason laugh properly. “You know, if you’d lead with the fact this would piss off Bruce I would have agreed right away,” Jason joked and Danny cackled.

“But that’s not the purpose, that’s just a bonus,” Tim said with an impish smile.

“I like you kid. Ya, we’ll be there to support you,” Jason confirmed without hesitation this time.

----------

Danny had corrected a few things in Tim’s presentation for him, mostly about ghosts, or ecto-entity’s, behaviour and culture. He obviously wasn’t telling Tim everything that he knew, but it was enough that if the Justice League came into contact with them through all this they wouldn’t cause terrible offense or get themselves killed. Tim questioned how Danny knew all this but he had just given an enigmatic smile and refused to answer the questions. Tim had sighed and accepted the secrecy, hoping he could get Ellie to tell him later.

Only once both Elie and Danny had approved the presentation did Tim go ahead with requesting a meeting with the full JL about something urgent, but not so urgent it couldn’t be worked into peoples schedules in a week or so. As soon as he knew when it would be (Thursday at 3 pm) Tim told Jason and Danny, just like they’d asked.

They found out that knowing was a double edged sword. On one hand it was more time to prepare, on the other it was more time to panic, and Jason could tell Danny was panicking. Jason wasn’t looking forward to it either, but he was not freaking out the way that Danny was, so he set his own nerves aside and focused on helping his boyfriend. Including calming him down from three panic attacks! 

Jason was fairly used to Danny’s panic attacks, and knew they ranged from sobbing, trembling breakdowns to violent outbursts. His outbursts were more controlled then Jason’s at least, he would hate to see what true pit madness would look like with Danny’s power. Just the taste from facing the GIW was more than enough.

Jason had learned how to deal with all of Danny’s episodes over the course of their relationship, but three in a week was more than he’d ever seen Danny have and Jason didn’t know how to help. He knew how to get Danny through his panic attacks themselves of course, but he had no idea what to say to actually make Danny feel better and stop having panic attacks. It seemed like this was something they just needed to weather, though Jason wasn’t happy about it.

He understood completely why Danny was scared of course. He was going to have to face a lot of traumas in this, and ones he couldn't just smash, kill, and blow up like the GIW, complicated ones. At least they wouldn’t be alone, and being reminded Dick, Tim, and Ellie would be there to back them up if needed did seem to make Danny feel a little better at least. 

The night before the meeting they were laying in bed together with Jason half sprawled on top of Danny like a weighted blanket. Jason had bought him an actual weighted blanket, but he still preferred Jason when he was available. Maybe because Danny produced very little body heat on his own and Jason was a walking furnace, but probably just because he loved Jason. 

“So, are you ready for tomorrow?” Jason murmured, nuzzling into Danny’s neck and breathing in his scent, like freshly fallen snow and lighting infused air. 

“No, but I’ll manage,” Danny sighed back, carding his fingers through Jason’s hair. 

“Is there anything I need to know before the meeting?” 

“Maybe,” Danny conceded. He didn’t continue right away so Jason stayed quiet, giving Danny the time he needed to arrange his thoughts before sharing them. “I don’t think it will come up, but just in case… I’m technically the crown prince of the Infinite Realms.” He sounded almost sheepish. 

It took Jason a moment to process what Danny had said and then he sat up abruptly, looking down at Danny in disbelief. He gave Jason a nervous smile, looking a little ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry, what?” Jason tried not to snap at Danny, he winced anyway.

“Ya, the crown of the Infinite Realms is passed through Trial by Combat. The previous king Pariah is an asshole who was bound in the coffin of Forever Sleep ages ago, but all the ancients had to work together to do it so they couldn’t actually take the crown. Since it has to be single combat, you know? When I was 16 my late bastard of a godfather released Pariah from the coffin and I defeated him one on one. I escaped taking the crown by a technicality because I forced him back into the coffin instead of ending him, but everyone expects that when I’m older and more stable I’ll go back and defeat him properly and take the crown.

“Like, there’s a prophecy about it, that the true king would be a halfa? That’s why Pariah killed them all in the first place. I’m not king technically, but plenty of ghosts already swear loyalty to me whether I want them to or not.” Danny looked sad, and scared, Jason took pity on him and lay back down with him, pulling him close. 

“You don’t have to be king then, right?” Jason questioned, since it was obvious Danny didn’t want this. “You still have a choice.”

“Not really,” Danny admitted with a sigh, looking away. “Someone will let Pariah out of his coffin again eventually, and when he does I’ll be the only one able to defeat him. So when that time comes my options will be to beat him myself or let him take over the world again. I guess I could force him back into the coffin again to try and delay it further, but the Council would probably start getting antsy and let him out themselves to try and force the issue and I’d still only be delaying the inevitable. It’s very unlikely that anyone as strong as me will come along in the next… millennia.”

“Damn…” Jason breathed, turning that over in his head for a moment before he let out an incredulous little laugh. “Well that’s one hell of a trump card to have in your back pocket if anyone tries to give you trouble. I mean you probably have diplomatic immunity or some shit.” 

The comment startled a laugh out of Danny as well. “Ya, I guess so! I hadn’t thought about that. Well, I still won’t say anything if I can help it but I guess that’s a card I can keep up my sleeve if we need it,” Danny allowed with a half smile. 

“I know you said you’re not ready for the meeting, but I know that you are. It’s going to be hard, but you are ready, and I’ll be there with you. You can do this for us, can’t you?” Jason asked, knowing that Danny was more inclined to push through if he wasn’t just doing something for himself. 

“Ya, I can do that,” Danny promised, nuzzling into Jason’s hair. He seemed more relaxed now thankfully. 

“Good, now get some sleep,” Jason directed and smiled a little when Danny snuggled closer and closed his slightly luminescent blue eyes. “Sweet dreams Moonlight, I love you.”

“You got it Boss. I love you too,” Danny sighed contentedly.

The next morning was an early one for them. Mostly because once they woke up neither of them could get back to sleep, so even though they hadn’t gone to bed until almost 2 am (thank you vigilante schedule) they were both up by seven. Brewing strong coffee in the kitchen and making scrambled eggs and toast since Jason couldn’t be bothered with anything fancy. 

With several hours till the meeting and nothing to do, they settled for rewatching some of their favourite movies and comfort eating some junk food. It was too early to go out and cause any real mayhem anyway. Finally it was time to suit up and go meet Dick and Tim so they could smuggle Red Hood and Hyena into The Watchtower. It was easy enough, Batman had gone in early and Hood already knew exactly where the Batcave was, so they just met up there and used the zeta-tube.

It had been a long time since Jason had been on one of those things and Danny never had, so they approached it with some trepidation. Danny in particular was eyeing the machine with wariness bordering on fear. Jason heard him mutter; “Cool, ya, I’ll just get into the giant metal tube, as if that didn’t kill me last time,” so he could guess the zeta-tube resembled whatever had killed him before, good to know. 

Dick went first, cheerfully saying it was to make sure the coast was clear, though Jason suspected it was really because he had noticed Hyena’s nerves and wanted to prove it was safe. Once he’d texted Tim that everything was fine Jason grabbed Danny’s hand and walked with him into the tube confidently. Danny was reluctant, but he let Jason tug him along, and since he could have easily stopped them both, that was good enough consent.

Jason felt a familiar swoop in his just as they were swept away in the beam, and caught Danny when their feet hit the floor again and he stumbled. “See? Not dead,” Jason joked to his partner as he held Danny close, feeling his slight trembling subside quickly. 

“Are you sure?” Danny joked weakly, looking a little paler than usual. 

“You’re not going to be sick are you?” Jason asked worriedly. 

Danny took a deep breath and shook his head; “No, I’ll be fine.”

“Good, then let’s get out of the way so Robin can Zeta in,” Jason promoted. 

Reminded that they were still in the tube Danny practically dragged Jason out. To his surprise it wasn’t just Nightwing waiting for them, but all of the Teen Titans, including their newest member. 

“Little Star,” Danny breathed, his eyes wide above his mask. Phantasm looked shy, shifting from foot to foot with barely contained nervous energy. Danny smiled behind his mask and lifted his arms, which she threw herself into immediately, clinging desperately to her template. Danny hugged her back just as tightly, squeezing his eyes shut as he clutched her to his chest.

“Why didn’t you come to visit me? I missed you,” Phantasm questioned tearfully. 

“I missed you too, I just wasn’t sure you’d want to know me like I am now,” Danny explained softly. 

“Of course I do! We’re family,” Ellie said, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Then you’re always welcome where I am Starlight. I still can’t take care of you properly, and I think you should stay with them. But come visit me whenever you want, whatever you need,” Danny promised her gently.

“I will,” Phantasm agreed, finally letting go of Danny so she could wipe the tears from her face, sniffling a little. “I know you can’t have me stay with you right now. I can feel…” She trailed off, glancing around them, remembering they had an audience and reconsidering what she was going to say. Danny appreciated that since he was pretty sure she was about to bring up his cracked core. “I know you have a lot of healing to do too, so you can’t be worrying about me all the time.” 

“I’ll always worry about you, Phantasm, you’re basically my daughter,” Danny laughed, and let her lightly wack his arm for it. “I just can’t… support you right now.”

“I understand, it’s okay,” Phantasm reassured him with a sad little smile. 

“Great, are you guys ready for the meeting now?” Tim butted in a little callously, earning a glare from Dick. “We’re a bit late so everyone else should be there by now.” 

“Sure, let’s do this,” Danny agreed, grabbing Jason’s hand again tightly. "It's time to get all this shit out in the light of day."

[the-kr8tor]

What is Normal for the Spider is Chaos to the Fly

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.7 k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader, CW violence and gore, CW blood, TW death, CW guns, CW food mention.

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

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CHAPTER 3 >>> CHAPTER 4

Eyes closed, you breathe in the fresh spring breeze, the first of many this season. Pollen makes your nose itch, bees buzz around the field of flowers, yellow dots kissing the soft petals. A babbling brook sits near you, perfect spherical rocks worn down by the waters makes you want to skip them across the transparent clean water where fish lie and swim right under the currents.

The bright sun above shines down on you, its light fighting through your eyelids and through the canopy of the oak tree. Its strong trunk provides the perfect back rest, the wood is stable and protective of your relaxed form. Like the softest carpet, the green grass below is splayed under you. Blades of grass and wildflowers swaying amidst the wind just like how your lashes flutter with every soft blow of the cool air.

“Why'd you stop?” Hobie asks from below. You crack open your eyes to see his lopsided smile, jade eyes crinkling in the corners. His head is resting on your lap, fingers absentmindedly playing a tune on the beaten up guitar on his chest. There's flowers in his hair, courtesy of you. “C’mon, lovie, I was just starting to fall asleep.”

You chuckle, and he smiles wider. The sun bathes you in its glow, a halo of light around your head, a heavenly sight for a mere mortal. “You're spoiled you know.” You realize your fingers are in his hair, soft fingertips paused on his skin. Your vision goes blurry, with a blink, everything shifts back. “So spoiled.”

“Says the one who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth.” He says it with no ounce of malice.

“How'd you know about spoony?” You joke, he laughs, a sound better than anything you've ever heard of. “How was work?”

“Lonesome, you didn't come by.” You tilt your head, lips pursing into a soft smile. “Do I still smell like gunpowder to you?”

“No, you smell like flowers.”

“Is it too late to say that I'm allergic to ‘em?”

You giggle, “No you're not. You haven't even sneezed.” Grabbing a daisy from his hair to wiggle it under his nose, his face scrunches up comedically, and then he fakes a sneeze. The loudness of it startles the birds nesting by the branches, wings fluttering rapidly further away.

“Good job, you scared the birds.” You look down at him, hand inching closer to the daisy ring you've made a while ago.

“What? I can't sneeze?” His eyes are glued to you, the sun paints a pretty picture of his viridescent eyes shining in the light.

With a deep inhale, you take his hand away from the guitar, slipping the flower ring you've been itching to place on his finger. Hobie seems to freeze up either in your touch or the sight of the makeshift ring. You show him your hand, an identical white flower whose stems are wrapped gingerly around your middle finger.

“Ta dah.” You say shyly. The tightness around your chest clenches at his silence. “I'll take it off, I'm sorry. I thought—”

Hobie quickly reaches up to shield the ring away from you, “No, don't—it’s brilliant. Thank you.” You beam at him as he intertwines his fingers around your own, the rings in full display. “Suits me, I think. But it looks better on you.” You inhale, the comfortable warmth is replaced by icy air. Everything shifts.

The breeze is colder now, the grass is frozen under your feet, frost clinging to each blade. The canopy is no more, only dark angled branches with tiny leaves hang off the precious oak tree. A puff of smoke billows out of your dry lips, Hobie hugs you closer, hand rubbing up and down your arm, body heat shielding you from frost bite.

“Cold?”

“Yes, very.” You shiver, and he holds you closer. “This sunset better be worth it, Hobie, I had to put down a really good botanical book for this.” You say, cheek pressed atop his chest, breath warming his neck. You'd choose him over any book.

“First sunset of the season, love. It's worth it, I promise.” Without a second thought, he takes his coat off to place it over your shivering shoulders. You huddle closer, wrapping yourself around him. Sharing your warmth.

Blue slowly ebbs away as he pulls you closer. The clouds part ways for red and orange, pink splashes across the sky, a watercolour painting that leaves you gasping for air. Or was it his lips upon yours for the first time that has you heaving for air?

Hobie kisses you with the gentleness only a lover could provide, yet with the tentativeness of someone who isn't sure you'd kiss back. The pads of his fingers brush along your jaw, ghosting over your flustered flesh. With a sigh and a pull on his jacket collar, you kiss back. Lips pecking the corner of his own, clouds of smoke mixing in, hands warm on your searing cheeks— he slowly leads you towards the same oak tree. Your back hits the wood with an almost silent thump, his hand protecting the back of your head. Eyes closed, you memorize his lips by kiss alone. Your hands knead at his nape, he shivers not from the cold.

“I'm in love with you.” He says it confidently, like he's been saying it to himself for years. He feels like he has.

“I've been waiting to hear you say that.” Your eyes meet his own in a dance. Eyes flicking down to his lips, jade eyes looking between your blown out eyes and your quivering lips. “I've been in love with you. For a really long time.” You feel his lips open, mouthing the three words back against your own. It's barely above a whisper but you know that he'll scream it if you asked.

A flash of his warm hands around your own, a glimpse of a knife carving yours and his initials on the wood that you both call home. A muffled promise lingers in your ears, soft, just like his lips on yours.

You open your eyes and you see him above you. Hobie pinches your nose with a laugh, calloused fingertips squeezing lovingly at you, emerald eyes swimming with affection. The warm air passes by, humidity stuck in your nose. The sweat of your brow is quickly wiped away by him.

“Stop sayin' that, yeah?” You don't remember what you said. “You're bloody gorgeous, she doesn't know real beauty even if it hits her powdered arse.”

“Hobie!” You laugh, hands planted on his hips, the fabric of his shirt is hitched up for easy access. “She's still my aunt, and my legal guardian.”

“Unfortunately.”

Your smile agrees with him, but if you say it out loud you're afraid that the ground will swallow you alive and Hobie will be ripped away from you.

“It's a nice day today, you plannin’ on gropin’ me the whole afternoon?”

“Yep!” You look down at where his hands are placed, palms cupping you right above your ribs. “You planning on doing the same to me?”

“Say otherwise and I'll take my hands away from you—”

“No!” You say quickly before he could finish.

Hobie guffaws loudly, face leaning closer to yours. You close your eyes, expecting the expected. Instead, his head falls on the crook of your neck, blowing warm air into your skin.

Your laughs echoes around the clearing, fading into the sound of leaves crunching under your footsteps.

Orange leaves fall down on you like rain, a puff of breeze settles in your muscles, rattling your bones. Despite the cold, you inch your way closer to him, his smile beckons you over, grassy spring coloured eyes lighting up at the mere sight of you. His back resting on the strong oak tree that carries both your names.

“You know, we could always meet up at your place now that you're the up and coming associate.” You hold your hand out towards him, his fingers slide on your palm so naturally that you think you're made for eachother. “We can stop sneaking around now thanks to you.”

Hobie feels like he can finally breathe once he has his hands on you. He twists your wrist gently, leaning down, he presses a quick kiss on your pulse, eyes meeting your own. Years of being together, and he still makes your heart race.

Warm lips on your skin, he pecks it again for good measure before leaning away and pulling you closer. His hands are around your hip, while you wrap yours over his shoulders. “We could. But even after all my hard work, your aunt still doesn't—won't approve of us together. I'm me and you're you, love. What would they say when they see their heiress skulkin’ around the harbour, hm?”

“They won't say anything because I'm good at skulking around.”

“Or they'd say you're hurtin' your prospects of a good husband.”

“Fuck them! You and my garden are all I need.”

He calls your name solemnly, “we have to face the fact that—”

“What? That I'll be stuck in a loveless marriage in the near future?” You shake your head. “I refuse.” A humourless laugh breaks through.

“Good thing you said that or this will be awkward.” Hobie takes out a pair of gold rings from his pocket, it shimmers in the sunset, cold metal upon his warm trembling hands. “It took me a hundred days to save up for them, they're scraps from the factory. All melted together to make a pair.”

“Y–you're stealing from us now?” You could barely finish your joking sentence with the sob fighting to escape your throat.

Hobie laughs, a breathy one that has you mentally making up another joke just to hear it again. “Been at it since they hired me.” He hands you one, not sliding it down your finger, no, he places it right in the middle of your palm. “Remember those daisy rings you made years ago?” You nod, eyes brimming with tears. “I've made ‘em real this time. But the next one would be pure gold, none of the mixed ones I've melted with it.” He bounces on the balls of his feet as you glance at the gold ring that is a hodgepodge of different shades of yellow gold. Some seem to be darker, some lighter. “You deserve real ones.”

“You could make me a ring out of grass and wood, and I'll still wear it everyday.” Taking the ring, you slide it into your middle finger, a promise, he says in your ears, a promise, you repeat against his lips as you slip his own ring around his finger. A promise you both carved out into the tree and into your hearts, a promise that you'd carve out into your skin if you could.

The smell of burning wood wakes you up with a start, You've woken up with tears trapped in your eyelashes.

Your eyes open to a boiling pot of brown liquid. It's familiar, awfully so that you've hated it, it reminds you of someone you'd rather not remember. Looking up at the sky that is darkened to a pale blue, turning the orange and green plains into its royal colour— The roaring open fire is the only bright thing in sight, a yellow glow amidst all the bitter blue.

The amber flames screams among the dead silence and the vast emptiness, ‘Someone’s here! Someone’s alive over here!’ yet, you don't feel like you are.

You cough from the cold, throat itching from dryness. Lifting your hands up to tug the blanket further up, you now notice the deep crescent moons left on your palms. Some even bled through the night, dried blood decorating the lines on your palms and under your fingernails.

“You're awake. Good.” Hobie's voice hits you like a carriage, sleep ridden mind still hazy. For a second you thought that you're still dreaming of him. But his solid form and smoke from his cigarette resting on a stone says he's real. Your mind can't dream of something so tethered to reality like this. “You want some?” He rattles the now empty tin cup, brown liquid dripping from the rim to the ground below.

“You're offering me a cup?”

He furrows his pierced brows. “‘course, there's plenty.”

“No, thank you. Do you have something to eat instead? Or water?” Sitting up, you wipe the sleep off your eyes. Your joints hurt, stomach gurgling, and ankle aching. You hate it here, he's the only one that's making everything bearable even though he looks like he'd rather be anywhere else than be with you. It still hurts, thinking that he does.

“Yeah.” Standing up with a groan, it seems like sleep didn't agree with him either. There's bags under his eyes, worsened by the shadow from the brim of his hat. Taking something from his pack on Buckeye, who still slumbers quietly, he holds out a canteen and a piece of dried meat wrapped in cloth. “‘ere.” The familiar scar on the back of your hand has him reeling away. He remembers the day you got it, he remembers how his hand trembled as he stitches your hand back together.

“Thank you.” You say, stiffly smiling. He nods, returning back to his seat.

Breakfast went over fast, with dawn turning into morning, and the crisp air warming down, you take the blanket off your shoulders. Bucky trotts on the road, coyotes chirp on your left and a tumbleweed passes by on your right. It feels like you and Hobie are the only people on the road, or even in the whole world.

You clear your throat, attempting to break the quiet after riding for hours in absolute silence. “So…are you an outlaw? A mercenary for hire, or even a trapper?”

“‘m one of those things, yes.”

“So mysterious. You know you're still an open book to me.” Looking over your shoulder, he grabs your chin to make you look away and to keep your eyes on the dirt road. To which you laugh at. “Yep, still an open book.” It's true that you still know him for the man that he was, but there's missing pieces of him in your mind. You intend to dive to find the pieces so you could piece together who he is today. Before you go home, before you part forever again.

“How would you know?” Hobie tamps down a smile even though you won't be able to see it. “Maybe I've changed in those five years.”

“Oh you have.” You'd know. “But I can still see through you. I know you, Hobart Brown. Or did you also change your name too?”

“It's Larry now.”

“You serious?” Looking behind, you see him sporting a smirk. A smile spreads across your lips at his playfulness, a semblance of the Hobie you once knew.

“For example?” He asks, something he might regret. “What do you see through me?”

“Well, you put this big bad façade up because it's what everyone expects you to be. But in truth, it's so you could survive here. I bet it's working well since you're still here breathing.”

“I don't care what anybody thinks, Y/N.”

“I know that too. But you still do it because you don't want them talking to you, coming close to you. I remember how hard it was to even get you to speak to me.”

“I was a kid, we were children, and I was new in town.”

“I got you to talk though. Still proud of myself that I got to see the real you.” You puff out your chest. “This place is just like our old town, you know. Harsher, yes, but this time you don't bother to try, not like last time.” Your voice lowers into a murmur. He knows why he doesn't bother, because there's no one out here that could get him out of his walled up shell just like you did. There's no one like you. “I still know you, after all these years. Even if you think I don't, or at least the version of you that you left me with.” The sky gets darker, grey clouds floating next to white fluffy ones, and you still remember how he held you the first time you shared a bed. “You've changed and I confess that I barely know this side of you. I don't know what happened to you in those five years but could you let me try to get to know you again? Just like last time?”

The clouds above darken his green eyes, something passes by them, something that has his hands gripping tighter around the reins.

“It's goin’ to rain.” Is all he could say. “We should hurry and find shelter, there's a shortcut I know.”

You inhale the sharp familiar smell of petrichor, letting it settle in your lungs, letting it drown you, letting it seep through your skin so you can focus on it rather than the flatness of his voice that lacks what you're used to.

“Sure,” you swallow thickly, nails digging into your hemp bindings instead of your flesh.

Hobie clicks his tongue thrice, a sharp almost whistle, and out runs Bucky faster on the sandy lonesome road. Hooves thudding like the rumble of the heavens above, a lightning storm races behind you, sparks of light flashing and clashing on the mountainous rocks of the west.

“Hold on,” Hobie whispers close to the shell of your ear, goosebumps spreading through you like poison ivy on skin. He leans forward, leather clad body shielding you from the harsh howling winds that approaches quickly. “This storm's comin' in fast.”

Wind whips your cheeks, cool air making you narrow your eyes into slits to protect it from the dusty debris. A silhouette of a person appears at the end of the road, you feel Hobie stiffen up from the suspicious man. Arms cage you in, the mysterious man's shadow gets closer and closer as Bucky whines and halts to a stop. Hobie hides your hands with his own, a small act that brings your mind a minute of peace.

“State your business.” Hobie says in a practiced tone, commanding like the one he used with the man who snatched you.

The old man walks with a twisted cane, a makeshift one made from an old branch. His eyes are dull and almost silver, blue rings around his irises, eyebrows thick and white, beard bushy and hair almost gone. Right behind him lies a dip in the road, a chasm from where you sat, a deep gorge from what you surmise. Right next to the road sits a dingy solemn cabin, roof looking like it's about to collapse under its own weight, hinges creaking, window shutters opening and closing harshly from the wind. A border collie barks at you, mismatched eyes unwavering, warning you of something to come.

“Just ‘ere to warn you, son.” The old stranger trembles, either from the cold or from his bad leg. “Anyone who come ‘ver down that road doesn't come out unscathed.” He wipes his face with the sleeve of his yellowed shirt. “Just tryin' be a good samaritan.”

“Yeah? Penance for the war then?” You give Hobie a look. He glances over to you in return.

“I was on yer side, son. I won't be out ‘ere warnin’ you and the missus if I wasn't now eh?”

“Thank you for the warning.” You pipe up, the brief silence has made the whole situation more awkward. “We'll try another route then—”

“No,” Hobie stands his ground, “just like she said, thank you for the warnin’ but that's the closest route to Strawberry.”

The man takes his hat off even with the intense shaking of his hand. He then places it on his chest like he's already mourning you. “Safe travels. Don't say I didn't warn ya.” With a whistle, the dog runs over to him before helping him walk home.

“Wait!” The man stops in his tracks, even the dog turns around to face you. “A storm's coming, you'll be cold. Here.” Sliding your hands away from Hobie's, you take the blanket from your lap.

“My eyes are bad but do I see you givin' me your coat?” He smiles toothily.

“Y/N—” Hobie warns.

“Yes, but it's a blanket, not a coat.” The man chuckles deeply, cheeks red and warm.

He whistles again, and the dog walks over to you. “Give it ‘ere to ol' Nellie.” The dog wags her tail, tongue lolling.

“Hi, Nellie,” you giggle as you lean down to place the fabric in her mouth. “Take good care of it. Good girl.” Hobie's hand is holding your waist, single handedly preventing you from falling over.

He remembers your kindness, how you don't falter when you see someone you can help. You're unequivocally kindhearted, a stark contrast to himself, and what he has become in those five years he wasn't by your side. He remembers how much he loved and longed for you. He needs to know who sent the letter on his behalf, but it can wait, maybe he'll thank them when he does find them.

You don't notice him look at you with the same expression he had years ago.

With a happy wag of her tail, Nellie skips over to her owner, handing him your blanket. “Thank you, miss, you've got a kind soul.” There's warmth in your chest, nodding towards the man. “You take care now. And you.” He looks over your companion. “Better watch her back and protect her kind soul eh?”

“Get inside, don't want you gettin' my blanket drenched.”

A laugh billows out as he waves you away. Entering his humble abode with a loud bang of his door.

“I think we should listen to him.” You say above the winds.

“We'll be fine,” Hobie's voice is softer. “I've been ‘ere before. Just listen to me, yeah?” He kicks gently, and Bucky takes his cue to run in the same direction again.

“If I listened to you back there then the poor man would've shivered from the cold.”

“And now you'll be the one shivering from the cold.”

“He needed it more than I did.” You almost scoff as you hold on tighter around the horn of the saddle while Bucky trudges downward on the slope and into the gorge.

“Don't expect me to get you a new one.”

Now you scoff. “Then don't.” Yet, your chest clenches from his words.

Buckeye finally slows down halfway through the gorge. Hobie inhales deeply, jade eyes flicking above the rocks. The walls seem to close in on you, fifty foot tall walls of ancient stone looming over you. A stream runs along the path, murky brown water splashing with every movement.

“Why'd you slow down—?” Your eyes widen at the moving figures above. “There's people up there.” You whisper as you watch them observe you. The bows on their back gather your attention, eyes piercing through you than the sharpest of arrows. Hobie suddenly grabs your chin, still gentle but with a sense of urgency this time. He turns your head towards the road, rough leather sliding from your chin to your hands.

“Keep your eyes on the road. And keep your mouth shut.”

“Will they let us pass?”

“Yes.” He says immediately.

“Do you know them?”

“Yes, now keep quiet.” Tipping the brim of hat in respect, you do as you're told. “Or they'll be the one askin' me questions. And we don't have time for friendly banter.”

When he says those words, you hear a whisper of his name from above, then a bout of laughter echoing downwards. Subtly looking over your shoulder, you see him crack a small smile.

You turn back towards the road, a soft morose smile on your lips from how much you've missed from his life. You want to know what happened to him in those five years, to be told stories of his adventures under the campfire. To be part of those stories once more, not whatever you're in with him. An afterthought, a burden.

You're starting to feel all the love he once gave you was just from your mind. Made up by you, dreamt and imagined.

—

The cave you've found shelter in is perfect. It's big enough to house you and Hobie, even Bucky rests inside, dry and happy while his dark eyes follow you— as if trying to keep an eye out for you. The cave protects you from the hammering rain outside and from the lightning that pierces the clouds. You lean on the rocky mouth of the cave, hands reaching outside to cup the rain and feel the sharp water droplets drench your skin. Lifting your head up, you watch the sky. The storm has no end in sight, yet, there’s a bit of light passing through the grey, a ray of sunshine that brings hope, blue peeking in between the dark clouds.

Water splashes against your flesh, cleaning the tiny gashes and dried blood that you're not sure is all from your body. The rope that binds you is soaked, weighing heavy around your wrists like steel bracelets.

Wind howling, lightning cutting through the sky like a bullet through skin— You don't feel his heavy gaze on you.

The roaring fire behind you provides warmth just like the man tending to it. And like the fire he's tending, he realizes that his affection for you still burns him inside out no matter how he tries to snuff it out.

The fire crackles, you watch your shadow dance with the flame's movements. You still don't feel his heavy stare on your back.

With a forced smile, an idea pops in your head. You let the water on your palms fall, flicking away the droplets, making your own patch of rain.

“I've got a proposition.”

“Come eat, smelly” You both speak at the same time, amusement flashes behind his precious emerald eyes that's illuminated by the embers.

"I don't smell." You laugh in between, loving the fact that he seems to be in a better mood. Sniffing at yourself, you scrunch up your nose from the smell. "That much. You're not any better.”

Hobie shakes his head, hiding the curl of his lips with the brim of his hat. He places a can of peaches in your direction. “We'll be in Strawberry by late afternoon. There's an inn there where we can rest and bathe.”

Sitting down next to him but still giving him enough space, you tuck your legs under you, wiggling your hands in front of him.

“Can you untie me now? I'm not going to run, Hobie. Where will I go?”

“Tell me about your so-called proposition.” Hobie raises a brow, teeth biting down and clenched around the leather before fully yanking his glove off. You suddenly feel hot when he unties your hands without another word.

There's no identical ring around his finger. Your happiness is snatched away at the sight of his empty finger. What was once a promise is now gone from his flesh that you used to trace with your own hands.

Clearing your throat, you watch the shadows on the cave walls flicker behind him. “W–we take the scenic route. I want to see the sights the new world has to offer. Before returning.” You don't even want to call it home anymore.

“The new world? You sound like a grandma.”

“You saying ‘state your business’ wasn't any better, grandpa.”

Hobie's eyes meet your own, green eyes aglow. A remnant of the Hobie five years ago. You could get used to this, his warm gaze that soothes you from the inside out, something that you never took for granted before but never thought you'd miss dearly. You welcome it back with open arms. Even if it was brief.

A flash of bright lightning hits outside your cave, startling you, free hand placed on your quaking chest.

“It's just lightning, love.” A freudian slip, a term of endearment that travels you both back in time. Now that he said it once more, he finds that it still fits you like a warm hug on a cold winter's day, or a first kiss, one of many.

Slowly turning your head, your lips tremble, eyes watering from a silent cry. You try to reach for him, but he deflects your touch by twisting around on his seat, taking a swig from his canteen. The only one that he has.

Quietly eating, your insides are yelling for you to hold him close, to be near him, to hug him until the screaming stops. You can't satiate the feeling, it bites at your bones, chewing, eating at you, going hungry, starving. You stand up, leaving the can of peaches on the ground, returning to the mouth of the cave so the feeling will ravage you alone once again like it always has for the past five years. You've survived this long, but there's barely anything left of you now— a husk, barely a speck, so you cry and cry, sobs muffled by the rain.

You don't feel his gaze on you. He feels the same gnawing feeling in his belly, crawling up to his chest, eating what's left of his heart like a vulture that carries all his grief and guilt.

—

You're back on the road again, the ground is wet and muddy. Clay and grass sticking to Bucky's hooves as he trudges along the soil. You purposely don't remind him about the missing rope around your wrist. Loving the freedom the lack of it brings, you brush your fingers through Buckeye’s hair; dark wavy tresses that reminds you of fine silk.

“You take good care of him.”

“You said that already.”

“I know, I'm just saying it again for emphasis. I hope you're taking care of yourself too.”

You feel him shift in his seat, fatigue rattling his bones that's exacerbated by the rocking movement.

“Do you feel alright?” You ask, looking over your shoulder. His eyebrows are furrowed, sweat dribbling from his forehead.

“‘m fine.”

“You don't look fine. Riding bareback this long hurts, we can switch places—”

“It would be better if you had your own horse.” Hobie groans, stretching his shoulders. Buckeye seems to notice the conversation, huffing and staring back at his rider. “‘m not replacing you, Bucky. Not yet anyway.”

The dark horse neighs, a high pitched sound that makes you laugh. “He was not happy with that.”

“He's not happy with anythin'” Hobie shakes his head at the horse, you're amused by the whole situation. “Picky eater, always demanding sugar cubes instead of a carrot or an apple. Fuckin' spoiled.” Bucky neighs again, louder this time, clearly annoyed.

“Just like his rider.” You giggle, Hobie stifles a roll of his eyes, a ghost of a smile on his pierced lips. “Careful with your comments or he might buck you off and have me as his rider instead.”

Hobie's amusement fades, his eyes hardens, a sight that has your heart thrumming loudly, a sight that you're very familiar with back at home.

“I‘m sorry— I–I didn't mean to.” You frantically apologize, shaking your head, hand reaching for his own, palm hovering over his gloves.

“Look ahead.” He gestures forward. “Nothin' to apologize for, love.”

“Are you sure?” You can't seem to slow down your breathing.

Hobie notices, blinking, he tentatively takes your hand in his. Squeezing once, jade eyes searching your hurt face. Guilt passes through him.

He should've come back for you.

“Yes,” he swallows thickly, slowing down Bucky's steps. “Breathe for me, yeah?” You nod, inhaling and exhaling. “Good, keep doin' that.” Inhale, exhale, “atta girl. Now listen to me, I need you to hold on tight, and do what I say.”

“What's wrong?” Did you do something wrong again? You hold on tight just like he asked.

“Eyes up front, sweetheart.” The floodgates open, he can't stop himself from calling you those honeyed names. And you can't stop looking at him. With a gentle hold to your chin, he carefully moves it forward. You see five people waving you over further down the road. They're accompanied by a broken down carriage, three wheels missing, no oxen in sight, just a few horses hitched near them.

They call you over, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh thank God!” You hear them say, their forms getting closer and closer.

“They need help.” You say, Hobie's hand around the reins tightens.

“And we're not goin' to give it to ‘em.”

“What? Why?”

“That's bait, we're not fallin’ for it.” His eyes don't leave the strangers’ hands.

“Bait—? They genuinely look like they need help.”

“We're close to town, and they have horses. They could've gone over there instead of flagging down an armed stranger.”

“I'm not armed.”

“Yes, but I am.” With a swift kick, Hobie guides Buckeye to a mad dash. Your back hits his chest from the sudden momentum. A dull ache on your spine, a tingling sensation on his ribs.

Buckeye passes by the broken carriage, leaving dust in their eyes. “C’mon, Bucky! Get us out of ‘ere, boy!”

Wind in your eyes, you look behind, your heart falls in your stomach when you see them follow immediately on their horses, guns drawn, aiming at Hobie.

“Oh fuck!” A bullet whizzes past your head, missing you by just a few inches. You feel it's hot searing metal fly past, “they're shooting at us! Why the fuck—!”

Hobie twists, with one hand on the reins, and the other on his gun, he shoots down one man with precision. The bullet hits its mark, right in his heart. A fountain of crimson splashes from his wounded body, his feet still strapped in the stirrups, flinging the now lifeless body around like a window shutter in a storm.

Hobie shoots again, a horse falls, another bullet, and one gets iron in their gullet. And another and another, one on the leg and one on the shoulder, but they still ride on. Until Hobie's gun clicks, its chamber now empty, in slow motion, you see the remaining survivors use the opportunity to aim at Hobie's head. With quick thinking, you twist uncomfortably, body stretching behind to grab the hunting rifle strapped on Bucky's back. Within a second, you sit upright with the barrel pointing at them.

Hobie sees it all happen while he frantically reloads. His gun jams from carelessness, heart beating like a snare drum, fingers frantically trying to fix it. The sun is in his eyes as he sees you cock your head over his shoulder, the long barrel of the rifle is placed atop his leather jacket, finger itching to press the trigger.

“Duck.” Your voice is calm as Hobie follows through your command, the firing pin ignites, sparks fly, the smell of gunpowder permeates the air, bullet whizzing and hitting your mark— Right in between the eyes.

Gore explodes from what used to be a head, then a scream from the remaining target. Hobie steers Bucky, whilst you fight. Fight for him, and for yourself.

Pulling the bolt handle, without missing a beat you release the shell with a clink of metal. The remaining man looks at his dead companion in horror, still riding on next to him, now missing a head. Just like they did, you use the opportunity to reload, hand reaching for Hobie's gun belt, taking what you need, reloading with an expert hand. You pull the bolt to place the bullet, pushing it in, you aim once again. At the same time, the man screams, aiming at you. But you're faster.

Inhale. You shoot, hand steady, eyes focused.

A wet squelch can be heard, then a body thuds harshly on the ground as a horse neighs, crying and trotting wildly. You finally exhale. Hobie reins Bucky in, hooves digging in, he stops.

“Holy shit.” Hobie stares at you with a growing smile, cheeks aflame, not from the adrenaline nor the fight. “You can shoot.”

“You taught me.” Your eyes doesn't leave the violence you left behind.

“Yeah, but not like that!” He laughs in disbelief. His heart hammers in his chest, and he remembers all the times he held your hand in his while he teaches you the basics.

“What do you think I've been doing since you left?” You swallow thickly, nerves catching up, hands trembling around the rifle. “My books can only take me so far until I've read the entire library.”

Hobie holds your cheek, face concerned, thumb running along the tear you don't notice slide down your cheek. “Can you look at me, lovie?”

Slowly but surely, you turn your head. “We manufacture guns, Hobie, it's important for me to learn.”

“I know, but shootin’ it at people is different.” He would know, he worked at the same place. “Are you alright?”

“Now you ask me that?” You hand him the rifle, breath shuddering. “Can we go now, please?”

Hobie could only nod, hand itching to hold you again.

—

You finally reach Strawberry, it has a sweet sounding name but it's anything but sweet. The streets are thick with mud, the smell is much better than the other town but it still makes your nose itch. The place is situated on the foot of a mountain, the air is cooler with heavy winds persisting. Rows and rows of establishments lie along the road, a saloon with a balcony on your right, a doctor's office on your left. Convenient, you think.

A brothel sits next to the saloon, women gathered around on the porch, smiling and hollering at the people who pass by. Hobie garners their attention, (who wouldn't be?) despite riding with you on the same horse. He doesn't give them any attention, a disappointment on their part. His eyes are too busy looking over your profile and the inn that's situated on the hill.

You flick your eyes over to him, as if he has a sixth sense, he stares back. “What?”

“Nothing.” You whisper.

Hobie hides a small smile over your shoulder. He stops Buckeye at the front of the inn, hopping off, he hitches his horse first before giving you a hand, surprising you.

Without a second thought, you take his outstretched hand, bare against his leather clad one. You land carefully on the soft ground, cringing at the wet squelch of mud on your shoes.

“I need a bath,” you stomp over towards the porch and out of the mud. Hobie's hand finally leaves your side once you step foot on the steady planks. “And a nice bed.”

“That's why we're ‘ere.” He says while he takes his pack from Bucky's back. Giving the horse a pet and a much deserved sugarcube. He whispers something to the horse, to which Bucky neighs in reply. Stepping on the porch right next to you, the dark horse nods at his rider.

You laugh at them. “What'd you tell him?”

“I promised him a place at the stable so he could get a proper rest. ‘m gonna take him once you're inside.”

“Are you gonna leave me here?” Panic sets in your stomach.

Hobie furrows his brows, “no, ‘course not.” I'd never do that. He thinks, but he already did, years ago. “C’mon.”

Bucky neighs to you this time, tail swishing behind him. “G’night, Buck.” You give him a small wave. “You did a good job today.”

Entering the inn, the smell of pine and something fruity catches your nose. Its walls are all wooden, lined with old photos and animal furs. There's a fireplace in the common area where a couple of people sit and chat by the fire. The place is cozy, it's the first time you feel like you can finally have a nice comfortable place to sleep in since you landed in America.

Hobie knocks on the reception desk, leaning on the table, clearly tired and weary. Whilst you try not to think about what you did earlier, you roam your eyes everywhere in an attempt to push all the thoughts away, to kick the gore you saw, and the act that you've executed far far away from you. Your hand trembles at the sight of a deer head hanging on the wall. Then you remember the man whose head you blasted to pieces. Heart beating faster, breath stuck in your throat, Hobie suddenly takes your hand— squeezing, reminding you to breathe.

Before he could comfort you further, a middle aged man appears behind the desk. Shoulders broad, mustache well maintained and curled at the ends. Blue eyes wide and full of wisdom.

“Welcome to Strawberry inn.” He says in a comfortable yet deep tone. His eyes flick towards your intertwined hands, lips smiling faintly. “The name's Finn, room for one?”

Hobie clears his throat, taking his hand back on his side. “Yes, two beds.”

“Ah, a conservative couple eh?”

“Sure,” Hobie acts, nodding along.

“Name?”

“Larry Smith. And baths for the missus and I.”

Finn nods, showing him a sign on his desk. “three dollars for a regular one, five for a deluxe bath.”

“Deluxe?” You ask, curious.

Hobie beats Finn to the punch by explaining it himself. “It's when a woman helps you scrub down.”

You blink twice in quick succession. “Oh.” Cheeks warm, you awkwardly bounce on your feet. “A–are you going to take the deluxe one, Ho–Larry?”

“I might.” He says with a smirk, eyes shining.

“Okay.” You crane your neck towards Finn, “what's our room number?” Your tone inches towards something that has Hobie amused.

“Uh, three—” You're already snatching the keys from him and then quickly speed walking up the stairs. You turn to the right, Finn calls after you. “Left side, ma’am.” Frustrated, you walk the other way. He then turns towards Hobie with a shake of his head. “Happy wife, happy life, english. Don't tease her like that or you'll end up sleeping in the stables.”

Hobie bites his tongue so he couldn't laugh. “I know that now, thanks, mate.”

—

You feel nice, nicer than you should be after what you did. There's a pebble inside you that keeps growing and growing in the pit of your stomach right next to the boulder that has resided there for years. You have no idea what is, but you want it gone just like how you disappear under the tepid water of the tub.

Hobie has laid out clothes for you, it sits on the chair in the corner. A white work shirt that smells like him and a pair of clean socks. Your skirt hangs on the doorway, days worth of dirt and dust clinging to it. The walls are thin, you hear the hinges squeak in the next room, the arguing couple above; and a child's cry from below. The water laps at your chin, now cold and icy on your slowly freezing skin. Like muscle memory, you hold your hand up, the jagged long scar across the back of your hand has you tracing the remnants of the injury— what he used to do to remind you that he's there, that you're safe. But when he left, when he disappeared into the night, leaving you to the horrid predetermined life, you had to do it yourself. You had to carry yourself everyday with the heavy boulder in your heart, surviving each day without him, hurting, rotting in that damned empty mansion you never asked for.

You thought you could finally take the boulder out of you and place it down once and for all when you saw him. it's still there, weighing you down like a hundred ton steel of grief and longing. You don't resent him for what he did, running away, leaving you when the night before he promised you sweet words, words of freedom, words of an escape. No, you don't hate him. Yes, there's days where you would curse his name, but it never lasts. It never does, even now. You still love him even when he doesn't feel the same way anymore.

Your eyes prick from all the unshed tears, everything makes you cry nowadays, even the old lonesome man you met on the road brought a tear to your melancholy eyes. But you can't seem to find the courage to cry in front of him, to let him see your salty tears flow out of you like a raging river of sorrow. And moreso, you're afraid, afraid of home, afraid of what's waiting for you at the end of the road. Whether it be a coyote with its maw opening to lunge at your neck. Or a rattlesnake ready to strike silently at your open wound.

You're not afraid of him, you're afraid to lose him again to the coyotes and rattlesnakes.

Lifting both hands, you watch the blood that collects within the lines of your palms. Rubies ebbing into your life line, your love lines, and into your death— you'd carry the life you've taken until you're six feet underground, decaying, milky bones turning to dust, food for the worms. And yet, the blood in your hands would stay there, even when your hands are eaten by the soil, brought back to where you once came.

Hobie's right, this place changes you. Molds you into something that can survive its harsh environment, just like the plants you once read about. And just like the coiling vines, the flowers that wait and bite their prey; the leaves that kill when cut— you intend to survive the harshness of it all.

With a deep inhale, you leave the metal tub. Water splashes across the floor as you stand up, the even colder air leaves goosebumps in its wake. You dry yourself and dress like an automaton, movements rigid, eyes blank.

Opening the door with a creak, you're met with Hobie standing in the hallway, just across from you. His hand still lingers around the doorknob, viridescent eyes blinking slowly at you.

For a second that felt like hours, you watched each other. How his eyes flick over your form and over his work shirt that you wear. How water still clings to his chest, soaking parts of his white shirt. And how his finger twitches around the doorknob whilst steam escapes from the slits in the doorway. He observes you with vigilant eyes, how your lips are slightly parted, chest breathing heavily. And how much your legs are begging to run towards him, feet pointed in his direction, heels lifted up slightly, but you don't. You don't run to him, instead, you toss him the keys to the room before he could ask for it himself. He catches it with ease.

“You're closer to the room.” Walking closer, you rub your arms for warmth.

Hobie sniffs, hand wiping a stray droplet from his forehead, pack slung over his shoulder. He unlocks the door that's a few steps away, with a click, he opens it for you.

“You look like you're about to pass out.”

You push past him, trying to smile, but you fail. “I feel like I will in a second—” pausing by the doorway, you sharply inhale. “You asked for two beds right?”

“Yeah— fucker.” Hobie clicks his tongue at the sight of the single bed standing in the room. “I'll go get our rooms changed.”

“I'm fucking tired, Hobs.” You lumber your way towards the inviting bed, too tired to even check the room and its sparse décor. “Complain tomorrow. It's not like we haven't shared a bed before.”

“That was different—”

“How is it any different?” Shucking off your shoes, you blink at him through tired eyes. “It's just sleeping next to each other. We were doing anything but that back then.”

He curses breathlessly under his breath. “Fine, don't hog the blanket.”

“Don't kick in your sleep.” You smile for the first time since you pulled the trigger. Slithering inside the warm covers, you lay your head on the lumpy pillows. Heaven to you after sleeping but nothing on the ground or hay for the past few weeks.

“I don't kick in my sleep.” Hobie does the same, laying next to you, giving you enough space in between. “You're the one who kicks in your sleep. Like a fuckin' donkey.”

You lay on your side, inching closer to him. “Please, I'm more of a mustang, not a donkey.”

“Back then you were more like the rider than a horse.” He jokes with a smug smile across his lips.

Your cheeks are aflame, laugh creeping up your throat. The heaviness in your chest subsides, the blood in your hands thins. “You wanna bet?”

Hobie's joking expression is replaced by something else. Flustered, amused, and a mix of an emotion that he has only felt for you. “Fuckin' hell, love.” He turns away from you, lest he lets his thoughts get to him. “Good night, you fuckin' minx.” He hears you laugh, immediately he wants to turn back around and meet you face to face, just like before. But he doesn't.

You're met with his back. The feeling comes back, like a cockroach that wouldn't die even with how much you try to stomp on it. It was foolish to think that he'd love you forever. It was foolish to think that he'd greet you with open arms after years of being apart. How foolish, they'd always whisper to you, naive, and stupid, always standing on the edge of the crowd, eyes always looking for something, someone. Someone that lays before you now.

“Good night, Hobie.” He mouths your next words like clockwork. “Only dream of good things.” You refrain from doing the next thing, a kiss for sweet dreams, a whisper of the three words to remind him of you in the dreamworld.

Hobie silently wishes you did.

Soon enough, soft snores can be heard from behind him. Peeking over his shoulder, he makes sure you're asleep before quietly standing up. Sheets rustling, he tiptoes over the noisy planks, breathing silent. Hobie takes a chair from the corner, propping it under the doorknob, shaking the chair, he makes sure that it's locked up tightly. He can never be sure with the simple singular lock on the door.

Once he's sure that it will hold up, he takes his gun from the hanging gun belt, checking the chamber, he keeps it on the waistband of his trousers. After checking all the windows and the fireplace, he finally joins you back in bed. Gun placed on the bedside, ready to be used just in case. Laying on his side, he faces you, observing how the moon shines just across your face. You look peaceful, relaxed, and he remembers how much he has missed you. Like an impossible itch. A craving that cannot be satiated. Incurable, until you're within reach.

His tired eyes stare at the glaring scar across the back of your hand. Hobie remembers how you got the scar on your hand, it was warm that day, searing hot whilst you ran into the woods frantically to meet him. As a result of your unmindful actions, a sharp branch takes a chunk of your skin; leaving him to sew it close for you. He reminisces of how your face contorts to pain with every suture, and how you grip his shoulder to tamp down your screams. He wasn't careful, or even thinking about how it would scar, he just wanted to get it over with so you'd stop hurting. He held you for hours after, held you more after your great aunt saw the damage. She called you broken that day.

He blinks and he's back to the present. He can never go back. You can never go back. So he inches his hand closer to yours, pinky brushing along your skin. Finally, he curls his pinky finger around your ring finger. Linking his life line to yours. Just like he always does to the identical hidden ring around his neck. Your scar peers from the side, a reminder that everything that happened before was real. That all those saccharin touches and words were flesh and blood. He wishes he could go back, to take you away the moment she called you broken.

In his sleep he dreams of you.

[dairy-farmer]

Is me~ back to haunt you Ask Box o/ because I just had A Thought(tm)

What if~? The OPPOSITE of my Magic Sex Toy idea? Uno Reverse?

But how would that even work? You say. Tim would very obviously notice!

Oh ho ho~ ye of little Faith! *slaps my "join the Church of Civilian Tim" poster I obviously made myself* CONSIDER! Not a cape! Semi-stable schedules!

We open our scene with stalking. As ya do. Tim would prefer you call it "bird watching" or "observing the night life" but... let's be real here. Stalking. He's getting them NICE Premium Pics for his Definitely-Not-A-Stalker-Shrine. There's a newbie on the scene. A gaudy robe wearing mofo.

3 guess what HIS shtick is. First two don't count.

But! Thing is? Tim is no long a wee baby faced pre-teen. He is a Man(tm). Legally, twice over. And well... you find a LOT if Neat Late Night Shops running after the bats. He may have been persuaded by CERTAIN libidos that maybe he should check them out. Who can say? You can't prove ANYTHING. These bags are groceries and no you can't check..

Where was he? Ah, right, Pics of the Nightwing booty. *click*

Tim forgets Rule Number 1.5: ALWAYS keep an eye on what the villian is doing.

By the way... what that bright light? Oh, just a SPELL BOLT. Fuckin DODGE, MAN!

He fails to dodge.

🥺 H-His camera... Night-booty... Also why does he feel? Tingly? He doesn't stick around to figure it out. Grabs his TRAGICLY dead camera and bolts. Not getting caught at the scene of the stalking TODAY, no sir! Batmans definitely gonna check the area and he SHANT be there! Early night it is!

He gets back to his apartment. Still feels tingly... but less? Maybe those charms he looked up how to make protected him after all. Still, shouldn't push his luck, you know? He settles in for the night. Gets a warm shower.

Comes out and eyes the bags he dropped by the bed... and... well...

He DID wrap up early~ Maybe treat for Timmy time. He digs them out.

Weird.

They? We're already pretty life like (it's why he bought them) but... when he TOUCHES one? He swears it gets MORE life like? He really should look this up or something... suspect toys in Gotham and all... but on the other hand? Horny. And the boxes WERE closed. It's fiiiiine.

But which one? It's kinda been a while. And he doesn't want to be sore tomorrow. This one!

So Tim lays back. Let's himself enjoy working himself open. Then works the fake(?) Cock inside himself. And oh~ it's WARM. Twitchs. He let's himself enjoy a slow, lazy session. Get really sloppy and relaxed before finally finding juuust the right angle aaaand~

Across the city, the current Robin, Damian Wayne, is shaking APPART on a roof top. Sweat pouring down his temple, thighs trembling as he tries ro stop himself from rutting up into empty air. It won't help. Won't make the damnable TEASING go any faster. Wet and tight and PERFECT around him.

Came out of NOWHERE. One second he was patrolling, the next barely catching himself from falling. Stumbling into an alchove on some god forsaken roof. Hands fumbling to turn off his comms. Absolutely not. They could NOT hear him like this.

Panting into hands pressed tight over his own mouth to stiffle the sound he wants to make. Beg and demand that magnificent heat go FASTER. Plunge him DEEPER. But he CANT. Because there's no one there. Just him and the slowly increasing pressure in his balls, begging for relief.

Then, like prayers answered, it DOES. He could WEEP. Can't stop the aborted jerks of his hips as he chases his relief. Soon is trembling like the virgin he ISNT anymore as he spills into... into SOMEONE.

They take it so well. So perfectly.

He's RUINED. His hand will never be enough after this. And Tim has no idea.

Sure, he's not stupid. He didn't buy toys the fake cum. (So to be safe plan B it is) But? In the cold like of day? Prooooobably magic sex toys. Eh. It's Gotham. Not the weirdest thing to happen. Tim's keeping them.

And using them.

Thus begins the "phantom lover" incident, as Bruce will insist on calling it. Because "we were haunted by random fuckings" sounds... unprofessional. And he's a Dramatic Bitch at heart.

Damian, obviously, told NO ONE. Patrol? Utterly normal. Mind you business. But Bruce? Uncomfortable conversations for EVERYBODY~☆

See, Tim has a long day. His new camera isn't gonna be in for a WEEK. There is no point in going out. So his evening stretchs long and empty before him. Which... SPEAKING of things both long and things empty... >.>

He remembers. There was an absolute UNIT that he bought. It also has that base... which mean he could put it on the sex pillow. Try riding it... oh he's GOTTA, now.

Lucky for Bruce, he's not even in the cave when it hits. Unluckily, it is a cock teasing hell. Nothing to hold. No body to press close. No skin to run his hands across or ears to whisper filthy praise. So TIGHT. Fluttering and fighting to take him. Sinking little by little. Can't even HEAR him praising them. He can't even distract them, rub their clit and sooth them as muscles relax.

Can't hold them by the hips and work them up and down. They way he knows will work best. At angles that will make them SOB. Just nothing, nothing, nothing. Trembling and eager around him but so SLOW. Pausing again and again to adjust. Can't thrust in, can't pull out, only TAKE it. Let himself be teased.

But OH. When they finally, FINALLY get a rythme? He knows they can hear a word he says. Not yet. But the FILTH he growls. The audacity of what they're doing. He's GOING to find them. Going to pin them done and-

Tim spend the next day sore, but happy. Definitely not an "every day" sort of toy, but holy shit the orgasm. He hasn't slept this well in a WHILE. Though... when he wakes up? The Bats are acting weird. Violent, hyper-focused, seemly shaking down leads with a single minded enthusiasm. Weird.

Speaking OFF. Now he's wondering... does the possibly fake cum... TASTE like real cum?

One way to find out.

And... look. Dick may have been warned, but it's one thing to hypothetically get your bits milked dry and another to be doubled over seeing the face of god. He would gladly kill a man for the ability to grab hold of whoever is doing this and ram home. The mouth on him is a thing of wonder and it keeps TEASING the tip. They keep running soft, pampered, little hands up and down his length. God he wants them to feel him in their GUT. Fuck their face and their ass and any OTHER holes they have til everything is sloppy and wet and-

Yep! From the tast flooding Tim's mouth, that's real cum. Good his he got his shot. But it begs the question... whoms't exactly is he fucking? Tim's not sure he's comfortable with random hook ups. What if, Gods forbid, it linked him to the JOKER or something!? He'd have to blow up the city and everyone in it.

He considers this as he resumes his sta- he means, BIRD watching. Newly be-camera-d. Weirdly enough, now Nightwing is acting off too. What is going ON? Also... he could of SWORN he saw the Red Hood a second ago. Did he leave? Aaw D:>

.....what's that sound?

*boss music starts playing* That would be the Red Hood. Owner of the mythical Common Sense gene. HE immediately phoned a friend! And by THAT we mean he beamed up to The Watchtower to get poked at by magic users until he had a scanner.

Beep beep, mother fucker. You have explaining to do.

OR, counter argument.... Tim makes a run for it. Doesn't GET far. But he Sure Did Try! Jason is unamused. Consent is sexy, kids. And he has the gun to explain that. But! TIM has the panic babbling to explain his horny stupidity and innocence.

Fair enough. He's confiscating them though. If you get horny, just fucking ask.

Wait.... really? Does Jason really mean that?

And... two things. Cute Horny Idiot knows his identity. And.... he never said HE wasn't also apparently a horny idiot. Sure, why the fuck not.

He confiscate the magic contraband... then bends that twink in HALF. Comms off, back into it. Tim can barely breathe, pressed down so tightly to the bed as his guts get re-arranged, callused hands holding his legs spread, his childhood hero rumbling FILTH into his ear as hips snap against his, again and again and AGAIN. The world is hot and fuzzy around the edges and... AND-!

Jason's pretty damn smug that HES not only the one who found mystery twink, but them fucked him incoherent. He seriously considers just... not saying anything. Whoops! Nothing to find here folks. To bad the Watchtower is a fuckin snitch.

So obviously Bruce finds out. And wants to "talk to him". Which inevitably ends with Tim, pressed close to his front, held still as he "fucks him properly". Which as far a Tim is concerned is a god damned excuse to EMPALE him on his monster of a cock. Work it deeper and deeper, all while holding him like a lover, as he absolutely DESTROYS Tim's poor puss. Makes him lose count of how many times he's gotten off. Until everything is too bright and hyper sensitive. Til it's nearly hurting but not quite there and all Tim can think about, as he whimpers and drools, is SLEEP.

Oh... and THEN he wants to talk about how Tim knows their secret identies. Ask him in the morning or Tim WILL cry at you.

He wakes up in Wayne Manor. He did not go to sleep in Wayne Manor. He can't move his lower body with out pain. Bruce is clearly pretending he planned that. Liar.

Then? Karma. His horny chickens come home to roost. Has Bruce introduced you to his sons? This is Dick and Damian. They remember you. And would like a "word".

(The word is sex and they would like it as soon as possible)

👀👀👀!!!!!!!!!!!! a reverse magic sex toy!!!!!!!!!!!!! where tim tortures the other bats by fucking his little pussy with their cocks while they're forced to just suffer and endure it until he's finished. more than once they almost scream from frustration because tim finishes before they do and he pulls them out of his warm, slick little hole. 👀👀👀👀

[bekolxeram]

I have a lot of thoughts about Tommy being a part of the emergency landing rescue, just not shown on screen. If you read my blog regularly, you would know my stance for the past months.

I really want to write missing scene fics, but as you know, I'm not good at writing fiction. So here is something that's kind of a fic, but doesn't even come close to all of the hc I have for Tommy's role in the plane disaster.

Enjoy? And perhaps I would write more about it in the future.

I apologize for any OOC or general bad writing.

Everywhere he sees, is calm, static, empty and strangely menacing.

To the average person, the airport goes to sleep with the rest of the city, but to Tommy, the bustling cacophony of cargo aircrafts have been keeping him company in the dead of night ever since he transferred to Harbor. Adjusting from being a regular firefighter to a firefighting pilot was a difficult one for him. In his first year at Harbor, he often found himself staring at the ceiling at night, mind racing with the idea of all the doubts his father had instilled in him and all the people he hurt when he was deep in denial. The sole remedy to his wandering mind, was the soothing noise of jet engines powering up, carrying precious messages and memorabilia to the other side of the earth, bringing a piece of home to those who felt as lost as Tommy did.

But now, Tommy hears nothing but ocean waves and the occasional breeze from the shore.

Humans are not meant to fly. It’s through sheer ambition and stubbornness that people strap giant fans powerful enough to suck air down and away into submission, and be propelled into the air, thanks to Newton’s third law. Everyone who has been kept aloft by an iron bird knows, silence is deadly. It means there is no longer any machine in place to keep you airborne, you are about to fall out of the sky like a dying autumn leaf.

Tommy hears nothing but the looming sense of danger…

And the ground personnel trying to refuel his helicopter.

“Sorry, I’ll get out of your way.” Tommy takes his tablet from the chopper and starts walking towards the maintenance hangar, which is currently housing a fourth of LAFD’s total equipment. He takes a look at the ADS-B Exchange tab on his device, still showing a straight, stable flight path, sign of the sophisticated autopilot flying the aircraft to safety. With a more optimistic state of mind, Tommy walks towards his colleagues near the 217 engine, when suddenly, he spots the 118 truck right next to it.

“Hey, Captain Wilson! I heard Gerrard is in the hospital?” Tommy asks.

“Yeah, we haven’t heard from Presbyterian yet, but who cares? As long as he’s not dead, he can stay there as long as he wants and leave us alone.” Hen waves her hand, clearly dismissing any possible concern for Gerrard.

“I’m hoping for an early retirement.” Howie adds, still sarcastic, but not as cheerful as his usual self.

“So where’s Evan?” Tommy looks around, “I saw his texts about doing something bad and putting Gerrard in hospital, then nothing, I can’t reach him at all. Is he… suspended?”

“Not at all. For what it’s worth, he saved Gerrard’s live.” Eddie chimes in, “He’s probably stuck in traffic. Rush hour is always a nightmare.”

“Why would he be stuck in traffic, shouldn’t he be here with you guys?” Tommy frowns, trying to piece together what is going on.

Eddie, Hen and Howie look at each other, like they are trying to communicate with eye contact alone, who is going to break the uncomfortable news. “Buck went to get Bobby from the TV show set.” Hen says. Before Tommy can ask another question, Hen continues, “Athena is on that plane, she’s flying it.”

Tommy instinctively closes his eyes, and says a silent prayer. He has seen his fair share of pilot incapacitation induced talk-down landings in his career, but they have all been on light private aircrafts, never a commercial airliner. He takes a glimpse at his tablet again, Athena’s plane is still flying steadily towards due north, away from the ocean. That should be good news, right?

“Don’t worry. Modern airliners have so many flight computers that they basically land themselves.” Tommy tries reassuring the 118, “if there’s anyone you want on that plane, it’s Athena. That woman has survived the worst disasters and come out to tell the tales. She’s so resourceful. If there’s anyone who can bring the plane down safely, it’s her.” He points to Athena’s flight, tracked by satellite, on his tablet.

“Or… you? You’re a pilot, you can land that plane, right?” Eddie asks.

“I fly helicopters, Eddie.” Tommy states with a blank face, like it's a matter of fact.

“But you fly planes too, yeah? Buck told me you took him to Catalina on a plane the other day.” Eddie presses on.

“That was a single engine propeller plane, this one is a twin engine jet airliner with engines the size of a firetruck. It’s a completely different kind of flying…” Tommy stares at Howie, “… altogether.”

“It’s a completely different kind of flying!” Howie echoes, while the other two seem utterly confused.

“Really? Airplane?” Tommy gasps, unsettled by the fact that Eddie and Hen have never seen this cinematic masterpiece.

“Come on, you’ve never seen Airplane? It’s the greatest comedy of all time!” Howie cannot believe it either.

“Anyway, have you guys been able to get a hold of Evan? I’ve tried calling him many times, but he isn’t answering.” Tommy waves his phone around to get his point across.

“Maybe he’s driving, I wouldn’t worry about it. If we can’t reach him, I doubt you would be able to either. His phone is probably on silent” Hen replies.

“Oh, that’s not an issue for us. He has a special notification set up for me.” Tommy says.

“Does anyone still use ringtones or notification sounds in this day and age?” Eddie asks, innocently.

“Who says anything about ringtones?” Tommy smirks, “you know there are different patterns of vibration for silent mode, right?”

“Ah, smart,” Eddie puts out his hand for a fist bump, “Wait… uurrgghhh eww….”

“It’s a sex thing, right? I love you guys, and I support you, but I don’t want to imagine my best friends getting freaky… It’s weird.” Eddie withdraws his fist and puts his hand on his face instead.

“Sorry,” Tommy shrugs, peeking at his tablet again, “I should probably get going. The plane is making its final descent. Everything looks good so far, but you should be prepared anyway.”

Jogging backwards, Tommy makes one last comment to comfort the 118, “Hey! Howie, remember 2005, when you first joined? We all got called to the airport for a sideway landing gear wheel, but it turned out so well, no one was injured, not even a scrape. It’ll be alright this time too, okay?”

Tommy thinks he sees Howie giving him a thumb up, but duty calls, he has to focus on his job from now on.

[miirshroom]

The Moon of Nokstella - The Language of Elements

A while back I counted the gemstones and found that the sides of the moon of Nokstella are not equal. I did this because I had a thought that it might be a kind of dot diagram for an atom surrounded by electrons. It's not the only item where I speculate this, there are many shields where similarly I am interested in counting the rivets. So the assumption here is that there is a story around the synthesis of element 38 from elements 34 and 4.

Element 34 is Selenium, which was named for a Roman goddess of the moon. It is a dark silvery metal. This immediately seems to confirm my suspicion considering the dark moon theme of the talisman.

Element 4 is Beryllium, which is a component of the Beryl gemstone. These are all Beryls:

If it is assumed that the 34 surrounding gemstones are also beryls for consistency then they have a good colour match with aquamarine, while the 4 quadrant Beryls resemble maxixe. The colour of aquamarine is generally stable (it is made by trace amounts of iron), though it can be intensified with heat treatment. The colour of maxixe is artificial due to radiation and will fade over time. Clear goshenite is the mother of all beryl's because it can treated to re-colour it to the others.

Aquamarine and Bloodstone are the two birthstones for March. The corresponding zodiac signs would be Pisces and Aries assuming Western astrology (sun signs) or Aquarius and Pisces by Vedic astrology (moon signs).

Element 38 is Strontium. It is a soft metal that is silvery but rapidly tarnishes to a dull yellow when exposed to air. It burns red in a colour similar to Elden Ring's bloodflame:

It was named after the Scottish village of Strontian (Sròn an t-Sìthein), which means "nose of the fairy hill". The overall color of the talisman recalls that there is a nebulous blue fairy and/or dancer in the lore. And "Siofra" means "changeling" in reference to the fairy creature.

Combine with the above knowledge of Aquarius, the fixed air sign that sweeps away the past to make room for something new, and this implies that a fairy changeling was created by the power of the metallic moon and stone. And that was the beginning of the ancient wolf-and-sheep themed blood dynasty.

Fragments and updates from my earlier speculation about the creation myth(s) of the Lands Between. Presented in format of trumpet sounds to herald what is to come in the following astrological sign:

Scorpio: An existing world ruled by what would eventually come to be known as the God of Rot. 1st trumpet - hail and fire mingled with blood thrown to earth. Scorched 1/3 of the Earth.

Ophiuchus: 1st Day: "Let there be light". Memory of grace. Light of the rising sun reflecting on the water 2nd trumpet - great mountain burning with fire, 1/3 of the land turned red.

Sagittarius: 2nd Day: Creation of the Firmament (i.e. the heavens and the sky) 3rd trumpet - star called wormwood poisons 1/3 of fresh water sources (wormwood is also called "absinthe sage"). This star is quite likely the Elden Beast, but could be an Astel.

Capricorn: 3rd Day: Creation of dry ground and plants. Likely creation of an Erdtree, or a certain species of tree in general. 4th trumpet - 1/3rd of the light from the sun, moon and stars goes dark.

Aquarius: 4th Day: Creation of sun, moon, and stars - creation of a black moon? Or representing a moon cycle - the emergence of an illuminated full moon from the previous new (dark) moon? 5th trumpet - the first woe. A star falls from heaven, with Scorpion-like tail. Creatures are eradicated unless they have a certain sign on their foreheads. The Scorpion-like tail again may reference Astel, more likely than the Elden Beast.

Pisces: 5th Day: Creation of birds and sea creatures - Creation of sea life could be re-contextualized as eradication of all sea-life that does not fit within a strict definition (considering how rare it is to see true sea creatures in the game and especially the lack of fish). Creation of birds likely corresponds to creation of the Twinbird, considering that Pisces is associated with two fish moving in different directions, or with the swallow bird in the Babylonian zodiac. 6th trumpet - the second woe - 4 angels released from binds in River Euphrates.

Aries: 6th Day: Creation of land animals and humans - created with a Cardinal fire sign. Origin of bloodflame, probably, for the warm blood that is poetically considered the animating source of life for humans and mammals. 7th trumpet - the third woe - kingdom of the world becomes kingdom of the Lord. Presumably Placidusax, the first Elden Lord.

Moon of Nokstella

This legendary talisman is a treasure of Nokstella, the Eternal City. Increases memory slots. This talisman represents the lost black moon. The moon of Nokstella was the guide of countless stars.

At my current guess, I would place the mythical black moon of Nokstella as dating back to the ancient era of Aquarius. For context of what that means relative to other points on the timeline, I expect that the era of Scorpio corresponds to the desolation of Rauh and origin of the ancient God of Rot (scorpions and all). The Abyssal Serpent (Ophiuchus) arrives being "hail and fire mixed with blood" that "scorched 1/3 of the earth". And is followed by the Primordial Crucible - a giant fiery volcano - in the mutable fire sign of Sagittarius as heralded by the 2nd trumpet and demonstrated by the presence of Crucible Knight Denovia with the centaur Aspect of the Crucible. The wing of Astel is a curved sword such as those used by the Warrior character class who resembles the folkloric dancer in blue, and Astel itself has the appearance of a monstrous blue fairy - thus the Ancient God of Rot was also sealed at this time of change represented by Pisces.

And this weaving of chemistry, astrology, birthstones, Abrahamic creation myth, Christian book of Revelations and fairytale folklore is one example of how the timeline is complex, but it's possible to assemble a shape for even the more nebulous earlier points by identifying and dissecting the mythology inspirations. There are certainly other layers relating to the creation myths of other cultures, but this is as far as I intend to speculate based on the Moon of Nokstella alone.

[nidhi-writes]

Avalathu Kalvan (VanMozhi one shot)

Vaanathi, the princess of Kodumbalur, sat by her palace window in Thanjai, the capital of the Chola Kingdom. She gazed out, lost in thought, remembering her teenage years when she faced relentless bullying.

Her vision transformed into the memory of her first time in Pazhaiyarai.

She was a young girl sitting on the riverbed, tears streaming down her face. Her parents had passed away, leaving her orphaned. The other children taunted her, calling her an "unlucky princess" and shunning her from their games and conversations. The loneliness and despair weighed heavily on her young heart, and she often found solace in the quiet company of the river.

As Vaanathi recalled those painful memories, she felt a deep sadness wash over her. Despite her royal status, she had known great sorrow and hardship. But she also remembered the inner strength that had carried her through those dark times, which had helped her endure and persevere.

As she sat by the Ponni River in Pazhayarai, the gentle water flow calmed her nerves, and Vaanathi felt a familiar anxiety creeping in. She had barely arrived and already met the kind Chola princess Kundhavai, who had welcomed her warmly. But amidst the new surroundings and the friendly faces, Vaanathi couldn't shake off the fear of the unknown.

She was anxious about meeting Arunmozhi Varman, the youngest royal of the Chola Kingdom, who was adored by all. She had heard so much about him, his kindness, and his charisma. She couldn't help but secretly admire him from afar, though she had never seen him.

"What if he doesn't like me?" she thought, her heart skipping at the mere idea of meeting him. She knew she had to make a good impression, but her nerves got the best of her as she sat by the river, lost in her thoughts.

As the evening sky started to darken and the birds began to bid goodbye, Vaanathi's heart thumped with the possibility of doing something wrong. 

As she was lost in her thoughts, Vaanathi suddenly heard the sound of hooves approaching. She turned to see a teenage boy riding his horse towards her with admiring eyes. Startled by the sudden interruption to her solitude, Vaanathi quickly stood up. She felt disappointed that her peaceful moment by the river had been disrupted abruptly. The boy looked at her with a warm smile, his eyes reflecting the fading light of the day. He dismounted from his horse and approached her, his gaze never leaving her face.

"You looked like a beautiful nymph, lost in the beauty of the evening sky," he said softly, his voice hinting at admiration.

Vaanathi felt her cheeks flush at the compliment. She had never been compared to a nymph before and wasn't sure how to respond. She looked down, feeling suddenly shy under his gaze.

Vaanathi quickly let go of her shyness and stood straight, reminding herself of her status as a princess. Despite her initial shyness, she tried to sound harsh when she asked the boy who he was. However, her innocent voice came out more like a kitten meowing.

The boy, amused, laughed but quickly composed himself. "I am a stable boy working in the palace," he replied.

As Vaanathi heard the boy's explanation, her eyes narrowed. For a stable boy, he looked remarkably polished and well-kept. She couldn't help but admire how he cared for himself, even in his role.

"I see," Vaanathi said, trying to maintain her composure. "As a stable boy, you seem to take great pride in your appearance."

The boy smiled, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Appearances can be deceiving; sometimes, things are not as they seem."

Curious, the boy asked, "And who might you be?"

Vaanathi hesitated momentarily before replying, "I am Vaanathi, Princess of Kodumbalur."

"Princess," the boy repeated with a hint of surprise. "It's an honour to meet you, Princess Vaanathi."

Vaanathi slightly let go of her fake seriousness and smiled as she relaxed at the boy's gaze before her. She sat down and looked at the space beside her, indicating that he would sit beside her.

The boy understood the silent invitation and sat beside her, leaving a respectful distance between them. They sat silently momentarily, watching the river flow gently past them.

"It's peaceful here," the boy said, breaking the silence. "I often come here to escape the hustle and bustle of the palace."

Vaanathi nodded, enjoying the tranquillity of the moment. She opened up to this stranger despite knowing very little about him.

"I come here to find solace," she admitted softly. "Being a princess can be lonely at times."

The boy looked at her with understanding in his eyes. "I understand. Even though I'm just a stable boy, I often feel the weight of expectations on my shoulders."

They sat in companionable silence, each lost in their thoughts. Despite their different backgrounds, Vaanathi felt a connection with the boy beside her, which went beyond their titles and positions.

"But what's troubling you, princess, if you don't mind me asking?" he said, looking at her face admiringly, taking in her eyes, lips, nose, and everything about her.

Vaanathi exhaled slowly, relieved to confide in someone. She closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath before speaking.

"From the time of my birth, I have always believed that I bring bad luck to the people I love," she admitted her voice barely above a whisper. "My parents passed away when I was young, and I have always felt responsible for their deaths. I fear anyone close to me will suffer the same fate."

The boy listened intently, his gaze soft and understanding. He reached out and gently took her hand in his, offering her comfort and reassurance.

"It's not your fault, princess," he said softly. "Bad things happen to everyone, but that doesn't mean you're cursed. Sometimes, we have to believe that things will get better."

Vaanathi felt a warmth spread through her at his words. For the first time in a long time, she felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, her luck was about to change.

"So, as a Kodumbalur princess, what brought you to Pazhayarai?" he asked, his curiosity evident.

Vaanathi raised an eyebrow at his question. For a stable boy, he sure did talk a lot. She decided to indulge him with an answer.

"Well, I am here to meet the royals, and I've already met the princess," she replied. "But I am nervous for tomorrow, as I will meet the two Princes of Chola Desam."

The boy nodded, understanding her apprehension. "Meeting royalty can be intimidating, but I'm sure you'll do just fine."

Vaanathi smiled gratefully at his words. Despite his humble station, the boy's words were comforting, and she felt a sense of calm wash over her.

"Thank you," she said softly.

The boy smiled back, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well, I am just a stable boy, but if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."

Vaanathi hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "I am nervous because this is the first time I will meet Arunmozhi Varman, whom I am meant to marry."

The boy's eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly recovered and smiled at her. "Why nervous if you are going to marry him?" he asked.

Vaanathi sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "What if he doesn't like me? I am not the strongest nor the most beautiful. I am just an orphan princess with nothing else to offer."

The boy gently took her hand, offering her comfort. "You are more than your titles, Princess Vaanathi. You have a kind heart and a gentle spirit. Prince Arunmozhi will see that and cherish you for who you are."

Vaanathi smiled, touched by his words. Despite being just a stable boy, he had a way of making her feel valued and understood.

The stable boy reached into his bag, which he always carried, and pulled out something that caught Vaanathi's curiosity. She watched closely as he turned around, asking her to open her palm and close her eyes. She did so hesitantly, feeling something round and cold placed in her hand.

"Open your eyes," he said gently.

Vaanathi opened her eyes to find a beautiful golden ball in her palm. She gasped, her eyes widening in surprise. This looked expensive.

The boy smiled at her reaction. "I crafted this from bits of gold I collected since childhood," he explained. "I always carried it with me. It brings me calm and serves as a lucky charm."

"You should keep it for tomorrow, for good luck," he suggested, noticing Vaanathi's apprehension about the upcoming meeting with the Chola princes.

Vaanathi shook her head, hesitant to accept such a precious gift from a stranger. But the boy persisted, his eyes filled with sincerity.

"I insist," he said softly. "It's just a small token of my appreciation for your kindness and for sharing your story with me."

Vaanathi looked at the golden ball in her hand, feeling touched by the boy's gesture. Despite his humble status, he was willing to give her something precious. She closed her fingers around the golden ball, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort wash over her.

"Thank you," she said softly, her voice filled with gratitude.

The stable boy smiled at her and slowly bid her goodbye. As he turned to leave, Vaanathi couldn't help but ask, "How can I meet you again to return this golden ball to you?"

The boy turned back, his smile warm and reassuring. "I will come before you when I want it back," he said cryptically.

With that, he left, disappearing into the fading light of the day. Vaanathi watched him go, her heart filled with hope and happiness. She knew their paths would cross again, and she looked forward to the day when she could return the golden ball to him.

As the next morning dawned, Vaanathi got ready for the day ahead. She dressed in her finest attire, the golden ball safely tucked away in a pocket close to her heart. Just as she was about to leave her chambers, Princess Kundhavai entered, her face beaming excitedly.

"Good morning, Vaanathi!" Kundhavai exclaimed. "Are you ready for the meeting with the princes?"

Vaanathi nodded, returning Kundhavai's smile. Together, they made their way to the royal court, where the meeting would occur. Vaanathi's heart fluttered with nervous anticipation, but she felt a sense of calm knowing that she carried the golden ball with her, a reminder of the kind and hopeful encounter she had with the stable boy by the river.

As they entered the royal court, Vaanathi held the golden ball tightly, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. She thought of the stable boy and his kind smile, finding comfort in the memory. Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by someone clearing their throat.

Startled, Vaanathi looked up to see a tall boy a few years older than her looking down at her with a smirk. "Please don't be Arunmozhi, please don't be Arunmozhi," Vaanathi prayed silently, but the boy seemed to hear her and chuckled. Kundhavai, who was beside her, laughed as well.

"Don't worry, this is not Arunmozhi," Kundhavai reassured her. "This is Aditha Karikalan, my and Arunmozhi's elder brother."

"Sorry to disappoint you, my dear princess," Aditha joked, extending a hand to welcome her. Vaanathi smiled sheepishly, relieved that it wasn't Arunmozhi.

Kundhavai then asked about their brother, and all heads turned to the footsteps behind them. Vaanathi's eyes met with familiar ones, the eyes that made her feel calm and safe, the face that made her blush. Standing before her was the stable boy. Before Vaanathi could speak to him, Kundhavai looped her arm through his and brought him closer.

"Vaanathi, meet my little brother, Arunmozhi," Kundhavai introduced.

Vaanathi's heart raced. How could the stable boy be a prince? Her anxiety soared, and her vision started to blur. Before she could collapse, Arunmozhi caught her, his smile warm as he gently caressed her hair.

Flashback Ends

The now slightly older Vaanathi chuckled at her memory as she rolled the golden ball between her palms. "What made my queen so happy?" a voice called out. She looked up to see her husband, the great King Arunmozhi Varman, standing tall and strong with a face filled with love.

"I was thinking about a stable boy who captured my heart," Vaanathi replied, smiling at him.

"A stable boy?" Arunmozhi feigned hurt. "Where is this stable boy? I will have his head!" he joked, and they both laughed as they cuddled each other.

"Careful, my King," Vaanathi teased. "I am currently pregnant with his baby."

Arunmozhi gasped jokingly. "What?!"

Vaanathi Nodded as she laughed at her husband, to which ArunMozhi wiggled his eyebrows.

'What?' Vaanathi questioned. ‘Well, I am waiting for the princess to return the golden ball. She borrowed it from the stable boy," he said, and Vaanathi shook her head, stating, "The princess has now become queen, so her rules, as she has already given heart." She whispered as she closed their distance, and their lips met.

She knew they were destined to be together no matter where their journey started, ruling their kingdom with love and compassion.

Ohh! I am in love with the above AI art; it just gives me a peek at the romance that post-marriage VanMozhi would have had.

@whippersnappersbookworm  @harinishivaa @thelekhikawrites  @willkatfanfromasia  @yehshuhua  @arachneofthoughts  @vibishalakshman @nspwriteups  @thirst4light  @hollogramhallucination   @celestesinsight ​  @curiousgalacticsoul  @themorguepoet @tranquilsightseer @nature-writes29

[animatorweirdo]

Luthien and Thingol as horses

(This dwells into Thingol's and Luthien's disappearance mystery, so it's a bit different from others, but I finally thought this deserved some attention. I apologize if my writing has downgraded a little. I had a rough holiday. )

Warnings: Some mentions of depression, anger issues, family drama, Thingol going missing, Luthien being energetic, mentions of drugs, Melkor being creepy, spooky mythical things, and an unsolved horse mystery.

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- You wished you knew how it happened. First, Thingol, your beloved horse, goes missing for a whole year, and then you find him and end up caring for the unordinary foal he had sired. 

- You are an experienced cross-country jumper and a teacher at the Doriath’s wood stable, but things began to go south with your personal problems and when your dear horse went missing in the middle of the night. 

- You had Thingol as long as you could remember. He was a sweet giant, and him suddenly going missing did not do well for your already deteriorating mental health. 

- You remember going through the woods thousands of times looking for him, crying and calling out to him in desperate hope. 

- You do not even know how he went missing. He was in his pasture when you were finishing things up at the stable, and when you were about to fetch him inside, he was nowhere to be found. 

- He liked to stay near the stable, so he wasn't the runaway type, but there was also no damage done to any of the fences, so you do not know how he even got out of the pasture. It was like he simply vanished into the thin air. 

- You suspected horse poachers or Melkor since his riding school was near and he was known to trick riders into giving up their horses, but it wasn't him since he allowed you to look around his stable and Thingol wasn't there. So, all you could do was to set missing posters, but even they proved useless. 

- For a whole year, Thingol was missing. You gradually accepted that he was dead. 

- You were a wreck to say the least. You were struggling with your depression and had grown a shorter temper as you would easily snap toward anyone if they annoyed you or made a mistake. It grew so bad that Yavanna forced you to attend therapy and take a break from the stable, which helped you very little.

- Till... the day when Thingol went missing arrived. You were loitering at the fence of the pasture, staring and imagining Thingol standing there, eating grass and trotting over to greet you. The moon was full in the sky, and you could hear the nightingales singing in the forest. 

- You saw something shining in the forest. It was subtle and quick, so you didn't get a good look at it but saw it. It looked like some kind of light. 

- You jerked up when you heard a distant neigh of a horse and saw something moving in the forest.

- Despite the better judgment of never going alone in the woods in the middle of the night, you grabbed a flashlight and went to investigate. 

- You ventured through the woods, watching as the nightingales and other birds were acting weirdly, and flowers were blooming despite it being night. Something spooky was going on, but despite the goosebumps and the creepy feeling of being watched, you continued when you heard a whine. 

- After minutes of walking and searching, you came across your gray stallion. 

- "Thingol!" you exclaimed as you approached him. 

- Your gentle giant stood patiently as you came to him, recognizing you and allowing you to stroke his mane as you took in his state. His mane was mantled, and his hooves were slightly overgrown. His ribs were showing, so it was obvious he had not eaten well in a long time. 

- "Where have you been, boy? I thought you were dead," you questioned as he brushed his head against you. 

- You felt happy to see him, but then shock settled in when you saw something move in a pile of leaves. 

- It was a newborn foal with a coat darker than night. On its forehead, you saw a strange mark that resembled a flower and a star. It was unlike any other forehead markings you had seen. 

-The foal loudly whined, and the birds went crazy above you. 

- You didn't know what to think. You first looked around for a mare, but when you saw nothing. You took out your phone and called for help since the foal was shivering. 

- With the help of a friend, you brought Thingol back to the stable and carried the foal in a large basket. 

- You had Thingol fed and placed the foal in the warmest box possible. You dried the foal with a towel and made some warm bottled milk. 

- The nightingales and some of the birds had strangely followed you inside the stable, watching and chirping as you fed the milk to the foal, which she devoured in a minute while struggling to stand with her shaking legs. 

- The foal was a lovely little filly. Thingol was cautiously observing you and the foal, so you didn't need to guess if it was his. The real question was. Who was the mare? 

- After the night, you had a vet check on Thingol and the filly. Doriath didn't currently have a mare to act as a substitute, so you had to care for the filly and make sure she got the food she needed. 

- You had some people look around the forest in hopes you might find the mare, but it proved pointless as there weren't even hoof prints to follow. It was like the mare just came and disappeared when you found Thingol. 

- You decided to leave it be and focus on getting Thingol back in shape. You got his hooves trimmed and shoes redone as they had fallen off during his time of wandering. His mane was ruined beyond saving, so you had it cut short and let it grow healthy again. You also focused on helping him regain some weight while wondering what to do with his new foal. 

- Oddly, you felt bonded with the little filly. Despite being born two days ago, she was already running around and whining playfully to get either you or Thingol to play with her. And when she was near, you felt peaceful and even filled with joy. It was like the anger that had crippled you from within for the past year had vanished entirely. 

- As your heart was filled with love for her, you decided to name her Luthien for her beauty and that it was a full moon when she was born in the forest. 

- Caring for Luthien proved to be a challenge. She was a dear and ate her food when it was time to feed and never wandered too far from you or her father. However, she had a great love for playing games. It would take hours before she would get tired and odd things started happening around her. 

- The nightingales had stayed around and even played with the energetic filly. It was like they were there to watch her and you. It was a bit unsettling when they would look at you from the trees, but you somehow managed to ignore it. However, the strangest thing was the trail of flowers Luthien would leave behind in the pastures. 

- She would run happily in a straight line, and flowers would grow behind her, attracting butterflies and birds. You first believed that you had accidentally taken horse medicine and started hallucinating, but when you saw the flowers continuously growing behind Luthien and other people took notice. You finally believed you did not accidentally take horse drugs. 

- It was now clear that Luthien had some kind of magical powers. You have never been a believer in magical things till now. 

- "Thingol... I need to ask," you said as you two watched Luthien run around, growing flowers and plants wherever she went. "Was the woman you banged some kind of fairy?" you glanced at him, and your stallion only looked away. 

- You felt worried if letting Thingol be in the same pasture as Luthien would be a good idea, but your concerns vanished when you saw how gentle he was with her. He proved to be a good help, keeping Luthien in sight and calling her back whenever she wandered too far.

- Luthien grew beautifully and was as playful as ever. However, her looks and strange abilities began to attract attention. 

- You had been successful in convincing Yavanna and others to keep her abilities a secret, but her looks gained the attention of those who were willing to buy her. You turned them away as you had no intention to sell her, but when Melkor came to you. Things began to grow even more creepy. 

- Luckily, Luthien seemed to know how to control her abilities, so she seemed like an ordinary horse. However, Melkor appeared like he knew something about her. He tried to be a smooth talker. He congratulated you on finding Thingol before trying to pique your interest in selling Luthien. 

- You were angry as you didn't trust him in the slightest, and despite you wanting to punch him in the face, you continued refusing his offers till he finally left. He did tell you something unnerving, which made you fear for Luthien's safety. 

- Yavanna assured you that Melkor wouldn't dare to do anything despite her assurance. You considered training Luthien some basics, or some enoughts that would help her stay away from Melkor. 

- Luthien was incredibly smart for a horse, and she seemed to know whenever your mood was down, so she did things to cheer you up, like bringing you a flower she either grew or found or nibbling your hair to make you giggle. 

- You couldn't lie that being with her helped you cheer up, and the anger and anxiety vanished in her presence. As time passed, you felt more assured that she would be fine. 

- The mystery of her mare mother was never solved. Some people at the stable tried to come up with theories about the mare, but none really came near to a convincing truth. One particular theory about Luthien's mother being some kind of mythical horse became the number one theory. 

- You called it bullshit, but since Luthien had strange powers, you couldn't help but lean into the theory. 

- Well... your doubts about the theory vanished one night when you were finishing things up at the stable. You had Thingol and Luthien fed and prepared to leave home. 

- You closed the doors and then saw the nightingales you had seen around the stable act weirdly again and fly toward the forest, where you saw the light and something standing at the edge of the forest. 

- It was a horse, and it was glowing with strange light. The nightingales and the birds flocked around it, singing and chirping. You could see vines and flowers growing out of its mane. Its eyes were glowing green, staring at you. 

- You were frozen in your place as you were both enthralled by its beauty and frightened as the creature looked like a ghost. It was standing at the edge of the forest, but you could see the same mark on its forehead. It felt like hours as you couldn’t look away from the beautiful being, but then the horse disappeared, leaving nothing behind as all turned to normal. 

- You found yourself able to move again and you pondered explanations on what you just saw and the possibility if the horse was…Luthien’s mare mother. They both bear the same forehead marking.

- The night being late and being tired yourself, you decided to leave it be and go home to rest.

[confetti-cat]

Each, All, Everything

Words: 6.5k

Rating: PG

Themes: Friendship, Self-Giving Love, Romantic Love

(Written for the Four Loves Fairytale Retelling challenge over at the @inklings-challenge! A retelling of Nix, Nought, Nothing.)

The giant’s daughter weeps, and remembers.

—

She remembers the day her father first brought him home.

It was a bit like the times he’d brought home creatures to amuse her while he was on his journeys, away on something he called “business” but she knew was “gathering whatever good of the land he wanted”. Her father had brought back a beautiful pony, once—a small one he could nearly carry in one huge hand. One for her, and not another for his collection of horses he kept in the long stables. She wasn’t as tall as the hills and broad as the cliffs like he was, so she couldn’t carry it easily, but she heaved it up in both arms and tried nonetheless. (And—she thought this was important—stopped trying when it showed fear.) She was gentle to it, and in time, she would only need speak to it and it would come eat from her hand like a tame bird. She’d never been happier.

(The pony had grown fearful of her father. Her father grew angry with anything that wasted his time by cowering or trying to flee him. There was a terrible commotion in the stables one day, and when she sought her pony afterward, she couldn’t find him. Her father told her it was gone, back to the forest, and he’d hear no more of it if she didn’t want beaten.)

(There was a sinking little pit in her stomach that knew. But when she didn’t look for the best in her father, it angered him and saddened her, so she made herself believe him.)

The final little creature he brought one day was so peculiar. It was a human boy, small as the bushes she would sometime uproot for paintbrushes, dressed in fine green like the trees and gold like her mother’s vine-ring she wore. He seemed young, like her. His tuft of brown hair was mussed by the wind, and his dark eyes watched everything around him, wide and unsure and curious.

When he first looked at her from his perch on her father’s shoulder, he stared for a long moment—then lifted a tiny hand in a wave. Suddenly overwhelmed with hope and possibilities (a friend! Surely her father had blessed her with a small friend they could keep and not just a pet!), she lifted her own hand in a little wave and tried to smile welcomingly.

The boy stared for another long moment, then seemed to try a hesitant smile back.

“This,” boomed her father, stooping down in the mist of the morning as he waved away a low cloud with one hand, “is what I rightly bargained for. A prince, very valuable. The King of the South—curse his deceitful aims!—promised him to me.”

“He looks very fancy,” she’d said, eyes wide in wonder. “How did the king come to give him to you, Father?”

“How indeed!” the giant growled, so loud it sent leaves rattling and birds rushing to fly from their trees. He slowly lowered himself to be seated on the weathered cliff behind him and picked up his spark-stone, tossing a few felled trees into their fire-basin and beginning to work at lighting them. “Through lies and deceit from him. When he asked me to carry him across the waters I asked him for Nix, Nought, Nothing in return.”

The little boy shifted, clearly uncomfortable but afraid to move much. Her father scowled, though he meant it as a smile, and bared his yellowed teeth as he laughed.

“Imagine his countenance when he returned to find the son he’d not known he’d had was called Nix, Nought, Nothing! He tried to send servant boys, but I am too keen for such trickery. Their blood is on the hands of the liar who sent them to me.”

Such talk from her father had always unsettled her, even if he said it so forcefully she couldn’t imagine just how it wasn’t right. Judging from the way the boy curled in on himself a little, clinging meekly to her father’s tattered shirt-shoulder, he thought similarly.

“Nix, Nought, Nothing?” She observed the small prince, unsure why disappointment arose in her at the way he seemed hesitant to look at her now. “That is a strange name.”

Her father struck the rocks, the sound of it so loud it echoed down the valley in an odd, uneven manner. He shook his head as he worked, a stained tooth poking out of his lips as he struck it again and again until large sparks began alighting on the wood.

“His mother tarried christening him until the father returned, calling him such instead.” He huffed a chuckle that sounded more like a sneer, seeming to opt to ignore the creature on his shoulder for the time being. “You know the feeling, eh, Bonny girl?”

The boy tentatively looked up at her again.

The fire crackled and began to eat away at the bark and dry pine needles. A soft orange glow began to creep over it, leaving black char as it went. With a sudden, sharp breath by her father, a large flame leapt into the air.

“It is good that she did so. He is Nix, Nought, Nothing—and that he will remain.”

—

Nix Nought Nothing grew to be a fine boy. Her father treated him as well as he did the prized horses he’d taken from knights and heroes—which was to say that the boy was given decent food and a dry place to sleep and the richest-looking clothes a tailor could be terrified into giving them, which was as well as her father treated anything.

Never a day went by that she was not thankful and with joy in her heart at having a friend so near.

They spent many days while her father was away exploring the forest—Nix would collect small rocks and unusual leaves and robin’s-eggs and butterflies, and she would lift him into high trees to look for nests, and sometimes stand in the rivers and splash the waterfalls at him just to laugh brightly at his gawking and laughing and sputtering.

Some days she wished she was more of a proper giant. She wasn’t large enough for it to be very comfortable giving him rides on her shoulder once he’d grown. She was hesitant to look any less strong, however, so she braided her golden curls to keep them from brushing him off and simply kept her head tilted away from him as they walked through the forests together.

He could sit quite easily and talk by her ear as they adventured. Perhaps she would never admit it, but she liked that. Most of the time.

“I’m getting your shoulder wet,” he protested, still sopping wet from the waterfall. He kept shifting around, trying to sit differently and avoid blotching her blue dress with more water than he already had. “I hope you’re noticing this inconveniences you too?”

“Yes,” Bonny laughed. “You’re right. I hope there’s still enough sun to dry us along the way back. Father won’t be pleased otherwise.”

“Exactly. Perhaps you should have thought that through before drenching me!” he huffed, but she could hear the grin in his tone even if she couldn’t quite turn her head to see it. He flicked his arm toward her and sent little droplets of water scattering across the side of her face.

Her shoulders jerked up involuntarily as the eye closest to him shut and she tried to crane her neck even further away, chuckling. Nix made a noise like he’d swallowed whatever words were on his tongue, clutching to her shoulder and hair to steady himself.

“You’d probably be best not trying to get me while I’m giving you a ride?” Bonny suggested, unable to help a wry smile.

“Yes. Agreed. Apologies.” His words came so stilted and readily that she had to purse her lips to keep in a laugh. As soon as he relaxed, his voice grew a tad incredulous. “Though—wait, I can’t exactly do anything once I’m down. Are you trying to escape my well-earned retaliation?”

“I would never,” she assured him, no longer trying to hide her smile. “I’ll put you in a tree when we get back and you can splash me all you like.”

Somehow, his voice was amused and skeptical and unimpressed by the notion all at once.

“Really? You’d do that?” he asked, sounding as if he were stifling a smirk.

She shrugged—gently, of course, but with a little inward sense of mischievousness—and he yelped again at the movement.

“Well, it would take a lot of water to get a giant wet,” she reasoned. “I doubt you’ll do much. But yes, for you, I would brave it.”

He chuckled, and she ventured a glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Bonny and brave,” he said, looking up at her with a little smile and those dark eyes glimmering with light. “You are a marvel.”

It would probably be very noticeable to him if she swallowed awkwardly and glanced away a bit in embarrassment. She tried not to do that, and instead gave him a crooked little smile in return.

“Hm,” was all she could say. “And what about you?”

“Me? Oh, I’m Nothing.” The jest was terrible, and would still be terrible even if she hadn’t heard it numerous times. “But you are truly a gem among girls.”

If by gem he meant a giantess who still had to enlist his help disentangling birds from her hair, then perhaps. She snorted.

“I don’t know how you would know. You don’t know any other girls.”

“Why would I need to?” His face was innocent, but his eyes were sparkling with mirth and mischief. “You’re the size of forty of them.”

The noise that erupted from her was so abrupt and embarrassingly like a snort it sent the branches trembling. She plucked him off her shoulder and set him gently on the ground so she could swat at him as gently as she could—careful not to strike him with the leaf-motifs on her ring—though it still knocked him off his feet and into the grass. He was laughing too hard to seem to mind, and she couldn’t stifle her laughs either.

“Well, you are really something,” she teased, unable to help her wide smile as she tried futilely to cast him a disapproving look.

That quieted him. He pushed himself to sit upright in the grass, and looked out at the woods ahead for a long moment.

“You think?” Nix asked quietly.

She smiled down at him.

“Yes,” she laughed softly. “Of course.” When he looked up at her, brown eyes curious, she held his gaze and hoped he could see just how glad she was to know him. “Everything, even.”

A small smile grew on his own face, lopsided and warm. He ducked his head a bit and looked away from her again, and embarrassment started to fill her—but it was worth it.

It often weighed on her heart to say that more than she did. She supposed she was the type of person who liked to show such things rather than say them.

She had a cramp in one of her shoulders from trying to carry him smoothly, but the weight on the other one—and on his—seemed far lighter.

—

She remembered the day her father came home livid.

She couldn’t figure out what had happened. Had he been wounded? Insulted? Tricked? He wouldn’t say.

He just raged. The trees bent under his wrath as he stamped them down, carving a new path through the forest. He picked up boulders and flung them at cliffsides, the noise of the impacts like thunder as showers of shattered stone flew in all directions.

She was tending to the garden a ways off—huge vines and stalks entwined their ways up poles and hill-high arbors made from towering pines, where she liked to work and admire how the sunset made the leaves glow gold—and suddenly had a sharp, sinking feeling.

Nix was still at his little shelter-house at their encampment. Her father was there.

Dread washed over her.

“Riddle me this, boy,” her father boomed, in the voice he only used when he wanted an excuse to strike something. “What is thick like glass and thin as air, cold but warm, ugly but fair? Fills the air yet never fills it, never exists but that all things will it?”

There was silence for a long moment.

...Silence. The answer was silence. Her father was trying to trick him into speaking.

Her hands curled around the bucket handle so weakly it was a surprise she didn’t drop it. Her father could crush him if he felt he had the slightest excuse.

Hush, hush, hush, her mind pleaded. Her hands shook. For your life and mine, hush—

There continued to be silence for a moment—and then, Nix must have answered. (Perhaps in jest. He tended to joke when uncertain. That would have been a mistake.)

There came the indescribable sound of a tree being ripped from its roots, and the deafening thunder of it being thrown and smashing down trees and structures.

Her whole body tensed horribly, and all she could see in her mind’s eye was nightmares.

No, she thought weakly.

Her father kept shouting. But not just shouting, addressing. Asking scathing rhetorical questions. She felt faint with relief, because her father had never wasted words on the dead.

I should have brought him with me. The thought flooded her body and left room for nothing else but dread and regret. I could have prevented this.

The stables were long and broad and old. Once, they had housed armies’ steeds and chariots. Now, they were run-down and reinforced so nothing could escape out the doors. The roof was broken off like a lid on hinges at intervals so her father could reach in to arrange and feed his horses.

Her father had seen no reason to keep the stalls clean. When one was so packed with bedding it had decomposed to soil at the floor level, the horse was moved to the next unused stall. There were so many stalls that she barely remembered, sometimes, that there were other ways of addressing the problem.

“The stable has not been cleaned in seven years,” her father boomed. “You will clean it tomorrow, or I will eat you in my stew.”

She couldn’t hear Nix’s response, but she could feel his dread.

Her father stormed away, more violently than any storm, and slowly, after the echoes of his steps faded, silence again began to hang in the air.

That night, it was hard to sleep. The next morning, it was hard to think.

She did the only thing she could think to do in such a nervous state. She brought her friend breakfast. His favorite breakfast—a roast leg of venison and a little knife he could use to cut off what he wanted of it, and fried turkey-eggs, and a modest chunk of soft brown bread.

When she arrived with it, he was still mucking out the first stall. There were hundreds ahead of him. He was only halfway to the floor of the first.

“I can’t eat,” Nix murmured, almost too quietly to hear and with too much misery to bear. “I can’t stop. But thank you.”

The pile outside the door he’d opened up was already growing too large. Of every pitchfork-full he threw out, some began to tumble back in. He was growing frustrated, and out of breath.

Why would her father raise a boy, a prince, only to eat him now? Her father was cunning; surely he’d had other plans for him. Or perhaps he really was kept like the horses, as a trophy or prize taken from the human kingdoms that giants so hated.

Was this his fate? Worked beyond reason, only to be killed?

Pity—or something stronger, perhaps, that she couldn’t name—stirred in her heart. A heat filled her veins, burning with sadness and a desire to set right. Would the world be worthwhile without this one small person in it?

No.

This wouldn’t end this way.

She called to the birds of the air and all the creatures of the forest. Her heart-song was sad and pure—so when she pleaded with them, to please hear, please come and carry away straw and earth and care for what has been neglected, they listened.

The stable was clean by the time the first stars appeared. When she set Nix gently on her shoulder afterward, he hugged the side of her head and laughed in weary relief for a long while.

—

She remembered the lake, and the tree.

“Shame on the wit who helped you,” her father had boomed. He’d inspected the stable by the light of his torch—a ship’s mast he’d wrapped the sails around the top of and drenched in oil—and found every last piece of dirt and straw gone. Had he known it was her, that she could do such a thing? She couldn’t tell. “But I have a worse task for you tomorrow.”

The lake nearest them was miles long, and miles wide, and so deep that even her father could not ford it.

“You will drain it dry by nightfall, or I will have you in my stew.”

The next morning, soon as her father had gone away past the hills, she came to the edge of the lake. She could hear the splashing before she saw it.

Nix stood knee-deep in the water, a large wooden bucket in his hands, struggling to heave the water out and into a trench he’d dug beside the shore.

When she neared him and knelt down in the sand, scanning the water and the trench and the distant, distant shoreline opposite them, Nix fell still for a moment. She looked at him, hoping he could see the apology in her eyes.

“Can I help?” she asked.

He shook his head miserably.

“Thank you. But even if we both worked all day, we couldn’t get it dry before nightfall.” He gave her a wry, sad smile, full of pain. “The birds and the creatures can’t carry buckets, I’m afraid.”

It was true. They could not take away the water.

But perhaps other things could.

She stood and drew a deep breath, and called to the fish of the rivers and lake, and to the deep places of the earth to please hear, please open your mouths and drain the lake dry.

With a tumult that shook the earth beneath them all, they did. The chasm it left in the land was great and terrible, but it was dry.

Her father was livid to see it.

“I’ve a worse job for you tomorrow,” he’d thundered at Nix as the twilight began to darken. “There is a tree that has grown from before your kind walked this land. It is many miles high, with no branches until you reach the top. Fetch me the seven eggs from the bird’s nest in its boughs, and break none, or I will eat you before the day is out.”

She found Nix at dawn the next day at the foot of the tree, staring up it with an expression more wearied than she’d ever seen before. She looked up the tree as well. It seemed to stretch up nearly to the clouds, its trunk wide and strong with not a foothold in sight. At the top, its leaves shone a faint gold in the sunlight.

“He is wrong to ask you these things,” Bonny said softly. Her words hung in the air like the sunbeams seemed to hang about the tree. There was something special about this place, some old power with roots that ran deep. “I’m very sorry for it.”

“You needn’t be,” Nix assured her. His countenance was grey, but he tried to smile. “But thank you. You’re very kind.”

She looked up the tree again. Uncertainty filled her, because this was an old tree—a strong one. Even if it could hear her, it had no obligation to listen. “Will you try?”

He laughed humorlessly. “What choice do I have?”

None. He had none.

He could not escape for long on his own—he could not be gone fast enough or hide safely enough for her father not to sniff him out. The destruction that would follow him would be far more than he would wish on the forests and villages and cities about them.

She, however, bit her lip.

She slipped the gold vine-ring off her hand, and rolled it so that it spiraled between her fingers. It was finely crafted, made to look like it was a young vine wrapping its way partly up her finger.

“This is all I have of my mother,” she said quietly. “But it will serve you better.”

Before he could speak—she knew him well enough to know that he would bid her to stop, to not lose something precious on his account (as if he weren’t?)—she whispered a birdlike song, and pleaded with the gold and the tree and the old good in the world to help them.

When she tossed the ring at the base of the tree (was it shameful that she had to quell a sadness that tried to creep into her heart?), it writhed. One end of it rooted into the ground, and suddenly it was no longer gold, but yellow-green—and the vine grew, and grew, curling around the tree as it stretched upward until it was nearly out of sight.

Nix stared at her with wide eyes and an emotion she couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, it made her ears warm.

She smiled slightly and stepped back, tilting her head at the vine.

“Well?” she said. He was still staring at her with that look—some mix of awestruck and like he was trying to draw together words—and it made her fold her arms lightly and smile as she looked away. She quickly looked back to him, hoping faintly that her embarrassment wasn’t obvious. “You’d best hurry. That’s still a long way up.”

He seemed to give up finding words for the moment. Nix glanced up the tree, now decked with a spiral of thick, knobby vine that looked nearby like uneven stairs.

“Give me a boost?” he asked with a bright grin. “To speed it up.”

She laughed and gently scooped him up in both hands. “A boost, or just a boost?”

He beamed at her. “As high as you can get me,” he declared, waving an arm dramatically.

She laughed and shook her head. ”Absolutely not. Ready?”

Nix nodded, and she smiled thinly and poured all her focus into a spot a good distance up the tree. With a very gentle but swift motion, she tossed him upward a bit—and he landed on his feet on the vine, one shoulder against the bark, clutching to the tree for support as he laughed.

“A marvel!” he shouted down to her as he climbed. “Never forget that!”

The sun was nearly setting when he descended with the eggs bundled in his handkerchief. He was glowing.

He triumphantly hopped down the last few feet to the ground.

A moment after he landed, a soft crack sounded. He froze.

Slowly, he drew the bundle more securely into his arms against him and looked down. There, by his foot, was a little speckled egg, half-broken in the grass.

She put a hand over her mouth. Nix clutched the rest and stared.

A grievous pain and numbness slowly filled her heart, and she knew it was filling his too.

His shoulders began to shake, and his eyes were glassy.

“Well,” he laughed weakly. ”...That’s it. That’s... that was my chance.” The distress that overtook him was like a dark wave, and it threatened to cover her too. He only shook his head. “I’m so sorry. Thank you for—for helping me.”

For everything, she didn’t give him a chance to add. He was looking at her with the eyes of one who might say that. She couldn’t afford to be overcome with the notion of saying goodbye now.

“No,” she said. Her voice was quiet, at first, but it grew more resolute. “It won’t end this way.”

He blinked up at her, still clutching the other eggs to his chest. She looked down at him, then across the stretch of forest to their home.

Without a word, she gently picked him up and set him on her shoulder. Her jaw tensed as she strode quickly through well-worn paths of the forest, walking as fast as a horse could run.

Once home, she set him down. He was still looking at her questioningly. Her heart beat faster in her chest, and she hoped he couldn’t see the anxiousness rising in her and battling with the excitement.

“I will not let him have you,” she announced firmly. The trees and hills all around were witness to her promise. “Grab what you need. We’ll leave together in the hour.”

—

She‘d barely had time to fix her hair, grab her water flask, and decide it would be best this time of year to go south.

Her father’s footsteps boomed closer across the land.

—

They fled.

They ran, and ran, and struggled and strove, and she called for the help of anything she could think of that would have mercy on them.

Her comb grew into thorns, her hairpin into a hedge of jagged spires. Neither stopped him. Her dress’s hem was in tatters and sweat poured from her brow when they were finally safe.

Her flask lay behind them, cast down and broken, its magic used up.

Her father—her father—lay stretched out motionless in the flooded plain behind them, never to rise again.

—

There was a tiny spark of hope they had that they clung to. A hope of a future, of restoration, of amending the past and pursuing peace—of a life worth living, perhaps far, far away from things worth leaving behind.

(“I’ll go to the castle,” he’d said, his voice brimming with nerves and hope and uncertainty and sadness and an eager warmth. It made her heart try to mirror all those emotions alongside him. “I can tell my mother and father who I am. I’d still recognize them, even if they don’t know me. They’ll take us in, I’m sure of it.”)

He set out into the maze of village streets, assuring her he’d ask for directions and be back promptly. She stayed back by the well at the edge of the town so not to alarm anyone, too exhausted to go another step, but full of hope for him. She would wait until he returned.

(And wait. And wait. And wait and wait and wait and dread—)

The castle gardener came to draw water, and—as if she weren’t as tall as the small trees under the huge one she sat against—struck up a conversation with her about the mysterious boy who’d fallen unconscious across the threshold of the castle, asleep as if cursed to never wake up.

(The spark didn’t last long.)

—

She remembered when he could move.

“Please,” she whispered, as soft as her voice would go. “Please, if you can hear me. Wake up.”

(“Oh, dearest,” the gardener’s frail wife had murmured to her when the kind gardener brought her home to partake of a bit of supper. “I’m afraid they won’t let you in as you are. Would you let me sing you a catch as you eat?”)

The gardener’s wife was frailer by the end of it, but her heart-song could change things, like her own. Instead of towering at the heights of the houses, she was now six feet tall by human reckoning, and still thankful the castle had high halls and tall doors.

(Their daughter, a fair maiden with a shadow about her, had watched from the doorway.)

Nix Nought Nothing lay nearly motionless in the cushioned chair the castle servants had placed him in. His chest rose and fell slowly, like he was in a deep sleep.

He was still smaller than she was, but not by much. He seemed so large, or close. She could see details she’d never noticed before—his freckles, the definition of his eyelashes, the scuffs and loose threads in his tunic.

The way his head hung as if he could no longer support it.

She held him gently—oddly, now, with both her hands so small on his arms and an uncertainty of what to do now—and wept over him. She sung through her tears, her heart pleading with his very soul, but to no avail. He did not wake up.

He didn’t hear her—likely couldn’t hear her. All around him, the air was sharp and still and dead. Cursed.

Still, her heart pleaded with her, now. Try, try. Don’t stop speaking to him. Remember? He never stopped trying.

“You joke that you are nothing," she said, with every drop of earnestness in her being. "But I tell you, you are all I had, and all I had ever wished for.”

There was power in names. She knew that. But was his even a proper name? It really wasn’t—though it was all he had.

It was all she had as well. She had exhausted everything else close to her. There was nothing left to call on, to plead with, but him.

“Nix Nought Nothing,” she said softly. “Awaken, please.”

Her voice, no longer so resonant and deep with giant’s-breath, sounded foreign in her ears. It was mournful and soft like the doves of the rocks, and grieved like the groan of the earth when it split.

“I cleaned the stable, I lave the lake, and clomb the tree, all for the love of thee,” she said, her voice thickening with tears. A drop of saltwater fell and landed on his tunic, creating another of many small blotches. “And will you not awaken and speak to me?”

Nothing.

—

She didn’t remember being shown out of the room. Her vision was too blurred, and her mind was too distraught and overwhelmed. The next thing she could focus on enough to recall was that she was now seated on a stiff chair in the hall. Someone had been kind enough to set a cup of water on the little table beside her.

The towering doors creaked softly behind her, and at last, someone new entered. She looked over her shoulder, barely able to see through the dry burning left behind by her tears.

A man and a woman stood in the door. They were dressed in fine robes, and looked like nobles.

"What is the matter, dear?" the woman asked, looking over her appearance with eyes soft with pity. She came close, and her presence was like cool balm, gentle and comforting. "Why do you weep?"

The gold roses woven in the green of the woman's dress swam in her vision as she dropped her gaze, unsure what to say. These people seemed kind. But were they? Would they send her out from here, unable to return to him?

They would be right to do so. She was a stranger here, and Nix could not vouch for her like he'd planned.

"No matter what I do," she finally said softly, "I cannot get Nix Nought Nothing to awaken and speak to me."

In one moment, only the woman stood there—in the next, the man was beside her. The air was suddenly still and heavy like glass, and it felt as though there was a thread drawn taut between them all for a moment.

"Nix Nought Nothing?" they asked in unison, their voices full of something tense and heavy and sharp. When she looked up, nearly fearful at the sudden change in their tone, their faces were slack and pale.

Something stirred in her heart. Look. What do you see?

Green and gold. Their wide eyes were a familiar warm brown.

—

Now, things are changing.

According to the servant who'd been keeping an eye on him, all from the kingdom had been offered reward if they could wake the sleeping stranger, and the the gardener's daughter had succeeded. It was a mystery how it had happened—by whom had he been cursed? Her father? Then why could she not wake him, but a maiden from the castle-town here could?—but now, with the King and Queen hovering beside her and unable to stay still for anticipation, no one cared.

The gardener's daughter was fetched, and bid to sing the unspelling catch for the prince. (Prince. He was a prince, while she was a ruffian's daughter. She kept forgetting, when she was with him.) It was a haunting one that grated on her ears, as selfishly-written magics often did—and as if bitterness still crept at the girl's heart at the sight of all who were here, she left as soon as it was finished.

Nix Nought Nothing awoke—he awoke! He opened his eyes and sat up and looked at her as if seeing the sunrise after a year of darkness, and how her heart leaps high into her throat at the sight—and true to form, only blinks a few times at her as he seems to take her in before coming to terms with it.

"You look a bit different," he remarks, tilting his head slightly. "Or did I grow?"

She chokes on a snort.

"Hush," is all she can say. What had been an attempt at an unimpressed expression melts into a wavering smile. "Are you done napping now?"

He opens his mouth to retort, but a grin creeps onto his face before he can. He snickers. "Have I slept that long?"

"Nigh a week," the Queen says—and when Nix turns his head and sees her, his eyes grow wide. The Queen's smile grows broad and wavers with emotion, and the King's eyes are crinkled at the edges, and shining. "It has been a long time."

Her own father had never shown love like this—like the way Nix tries to leap from his chair at the same moment his parents rush to hold him, all of them laughing and sobbing and shouting exclamations of love and excitement and I-thought-I-would-never-see-you-agains. So much joy rolls off of them that she thinks she could have stood there watching forever and been content.

The first thing he does, after the first surge of this, is turn and introduce her to his parents, who had barely finished hugging him and kissing him and calling him their own dear son.

"This is the one who helped me," Nix says, already gesturing to her in excitement as he looks from her to his parents. "She sacrificed much to save me from the giant. Her kindness is brilliant and she blesses all who know her."

She tries not to look embarrassed at the glowing praise as Nix comes and stands beside her as he recounts their blur of a tale to his parents.

"Ah! She is bonny and brave," says the King. By the end of Nix's stories of their escapes, they're smiling warmly at her with such pride that she dips her head and smiles.

Nix Nought Nothing glances sideways up at her and raises a brow, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

"I've tried to tell her that," he agrees. "I don't think she's ever believed me."

She purses her lips and glances down at him. "I'll believe it the day you believe you are not nothing."

"Alright." Simple as that, he folds his arms and raises a brow at her. "I believe it. Fair trade?"

"Fair enough," she decides, with a crooked little smile. He beams, as if she's done something worth being proud of, and looks to his parents, who indeed look proud of them both.

"We would welcome you as our daughter," the King declares heartily, and both the Queen and Nix brighten, which makes her too embarrassedly fixated on the thought of family? Starting anew? to register what comes next. "Surely, you should be married!"

Nix looks at her, arms still folded, his eyes twinkling. There's something hopeful in his eyes that makes her certain this diminutive new heart of hers has skipped a few beats.

"Should we? Surely?" he asks, as if this is a normal thing to be discussing.

She works her jaw and swallows a few times, unable to help how obviously awkward she still likely looks. A flush tickles her face, and the queen seems to put a hand over her mouth to smile behind it.

"I... don't... suppose... I would mind," she manages, and—with those bright eyes so affectionate, and on her—Nix starts snickering at her expression. It's rude, but so, so warm she can't mind. She only discovers how broadly she's smiling when she tries to purse her lips and glare at him but is unable to. "Oh, go back to sleep!" she chides, too gleeful inside to truly mind, even as she makes a motion as if throwing one of the chair-cushions at him.

"Never!" he declares, pretending to dodge the invisible pillow. He makes broad gestures that she presumes are meant to emphasize how serious he is about this. When he stands straight and tall and sets his shoulders, she thinks that the boy she's explored the forest with really does look like a prince. "I have my family and my love all together in safety at last. We have much to speak of, and much time yet to spend with each other." He's a prince, but of course, he's also still himself. He immediately gets a mischievous glimmer in his eyes and puts a hand to his chest nobly as he does what he's done for as long as she's known him—jokes, when his emotions rise. "I shall never adhere to a bedtime as long as I live!"

My love, her heart still repeats every time it beats—as payback, likely, for her calling it diminutive. My love, my love, my love.

She doesn't let it out, for she doesn't know what it will do. But the words weave a song within her, so vibrant and effervescent and strong, brighter and clearer than any she's had before.

"I am glad to see you are certainly still my dear son," the Queen says, her own eyes twinkling. "I'm certain you both need fed well after such a journey. Come, perhaps you both can tell us more of it as supper is prepared."

They fall into an easy tumble of conversation and rejoicing and genial planning, and her heart is so light she thinks it must be plotting to escape her chest.

On the week's end from when she brought him here, Nix Nought Nothing and his family welcomes her into their home. It feels natural. It feels warm, and homey, and so pleasant and right that she often has to stop tears of weary joy from welling up as she considers it all.

Once upon a time, she thought she'd known happiness well enough without him. She had known what it was like to be without a friend, and without love.

Now, it’s hard to remember it.

[scionshtola]

i pray you won't stop looking at me like that

pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul summary: When the celebration at the Crystarium becomes too much for Corisande, they seek time alone at the rookery. Y'shtola finds them there, and has a better suggestion for how they might spend their time. word count: 3071 | rating: Explicit | read on ao3 notes: spoilers for ShB. also PLEASE note the rating!!

The stars are still shining bright against the dark night sky when Corisande slips away from the celebration. It is not an easy thing to get away—a few people call out to them as they pass, and though guilt tugs heavily at their conscience, imploring them to turn around, they feign ignorance and continue on their way. The past few hours have been a decidedly loud blur, music and shouting and people coming up to them to shake their hand and thank them effusively. More than one person burst into tears at their feet, and one couple declared they would name their first born child after them.

They only need a moment to themself. A moment for their blossoming headache to subside, to restore their worn down nerves, and then perhaps they can return to the festivities. A party full of people who simply want to thank Corisande for restoring to them the very night sky they celebrate under.

She sighs. The danger, the sleepless nights thinking only of the nigh impossible problems before her, the near deaths experienced by both herself and those closest to her, are far easier to grapple with than the acclaim that follows. She is not likely to ever be comfortable with the recognition that comes with being the Warrior of Light—or Darkness, as it were—particularly when it comes in the form of hours and hours of conversation with strangers.

The rookery is quiet though, and blessedly devoid of other people, just as they hoped. The chocobos and amaros are still roaming their pen, their Zun caretakers likely caught up in the celebration before stabling them for the night, but they do not seem to mind. Corisande forgoes the gate and seats herself on top of the fence, her legs dangling inside the pen. Most of the animals are asleep, though a few still mingle about, plucking at the piles of hay or dipping their beaks into the trough for a drink. A chocobo ambles toward them, poking its beak into the back of her hand.

“My apologies, but I did not come bearing treats,” Corisande says, lifting their hand and stroking the bird’s head. “You will simply have to make do with hay like everyone else.”

But he seems content enough with attention, and the stress of the past few hours begins to ebb away as she pets him. She is just beginning to wonder if she ought to check the stables for a grooming kit when the chocobo’s kweh alerts her to quietly approaching footsteps. Corisande straightens, steeling themself, plastering on their best smile and readying their excuses—I was just on my way back, the Crystarium is so large, I got lost searching for a bathroom, I thought I saw something but it was only an amaro.

“I thought I might find you here,” Y’shtola teases, coming up behind them. Corisande sighs in relief at the sound of her voice, letting their shoulders sag. They glance over their shoulder as she leans against the pen and tilts her head back to meet their eyes, her gaze warm.

The tender feeling between them is as familiar to Corisande as she and Y’shtola are to each other, a feeling shared between them almost as long as their friendship has existed. But it has only been a day since the first kiss they shared in the aftermath of the battle against Hades, and there is a new undercurrent of excitement with every familiar look and touch. One that makes their cheeks warm at the soft affection written in her expression and their heart beat faster as her lips curve into a smile.

“What gave me away?” Corisande jokes, already feeling better for having Y’shtola at their side. The chocobo, likely feeling ignored, butts his head against their arm.

Y’shtola shrugs. “After several hours of celebration, I had grown quite tired of the crowd. I desired more particular company, and suspected you might feel the same. I sought you out but once I realized you had already departed, the rookery was the next logical stop. If there is some kind of stable around, ‘tis usually where I can find you.”

“There were a lot of people,” Corisande murmurs, with considerably less irritation than she might have only moments ago. They turn back to the chocobo, hiding the smile that came with the rush of affection at being so well known, and scratch its chin, the motion soothing for both her and the bird. “And a lot more crying than I was prepared for.”

“Urianger mentioned as much when I came upon him during my search. I am sorry, Corisande. It sounds…overwhelming.” Y’shtola’s soft voice is a balm to the frayed edges of their nerves, as is the gentle touch of her hand to their elbow. She glances at the chocobo they are still petting. “I can leave you with your thoughts, if you prefer. You seem to have found more than acceptable company.”

“You know your presence is always welcome,” Corisande says with a smile. Indeed, perhaps the only thing more perfect than the solitude she sought was sharing that solitude with Y’shtola. She shifts, twisting her body until she faces her. “Please, stay.”

Y’shtola smiles and tips her head back, staring up at the stars that she cannot see, and Corisande’s gaze is drawn down the line of her neck. Across the latticework of laces over her chest, down to the swell of her breasts just above the furred neckline of her dress.

“’Tis a rather pleasant night, is it not?” Y’shtola says. Their gaze snaps to her, only to find her already watching them, the quirk of her lips telling her she knows exactly where their eyes lingered. She reaches for their hand, tangling their fingers together, tugging them back to the ground and reeling them into her space.

A tiny thrill courses through her at the realization that this is the first time they have been truly alone together since their kiss—the first time she can do anything about the pull she feels toward Y’shtola, the desire that has simmered so long beneath her skin. She puts a hand on her waist, thumb gliding over the black fabric that clings to her full curves, pulse racing at her proximity.

“If I may make a suggestion, however?” she continues, touching Corisande’s cheek and guiding them closer, until her words ghost across their lips. “Mayhap our time would be more pleasurably spent in my quarters at the Pendants.”

“I was going to return to the party,” they murmur, surprised they can even muster a thought for the celebration with Y’shtola’s hand on the back of their neck, with the perfect view they have of the hunger in her gaze, with the heat of her body pressed against theirs.

Y’shtola hums. Only a whisper of space between them. Her eyes drop to their lips as she says, “I prefer my idea.”

Corisande closes the gap, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, and Y’shtola rises on her toes, pressing herself closer, closer, her fingers twisted in the lace of their lapel. When they part, chests rising and falling rapidly, lips swollen, Corisande says, “I like your idea, too.”

Y’shtola’s soft laugh is sweet to their ears, a familiar sound they never grow tired of hearing. She kisses the back of their hand, and tugs them toward the Pendants. The chocobo kwehs after them and Corisande turns around to wave goodbye to their friend before hurrying after her.

They are hardly through the door of Y’shtola’s quarters before their lips find each other again. They kiss as they tug off boots and socks, pull at laces and buttons, hands slipping under hems and breastbands. In the silver light of the moon pouring through the open balcony doors, Y’shtola’s dress pools at her feet and Corisande pauses, gaze drawn by the expanse of bare skin, the last parts of Y’shtola she has neither seen nor touched before. An excited tremble rolls down her spine—after tonight, there will be no part of each other they do not know.

Y’shtola catches her hand, kisses her knuckles, and leads her to the bed. Corisande follows, pressing parted lips against any bit of Y’shtola’s skin they can reach. The back of her hand, the round of her shoulder, the top of her spine. They do not stop when Y’shtola pushes them firmly onto the bed and climbs into their lap, kissing a line down the side of her neck, across her chest. They wrap their arms around her waist and shift her higher, pressing their lips to the skin between her breasts.

Y’shtola tugs gently at the end of the ribbon holding back their hair, pulling it free and sliding her fingers into the newly loose strands. She tips Corisande’s head back and kisses her, mouth open, warm, inviting. Both of their hands roam, cupping, caressing, pulling each other closer. Each kiss, each touch, each soft gasp elicited only feeds the flame of their long-simmering desire, until it boils over into a desperate need for Y’shtola.

She is not alone in her desperation. Y’shtola pushes at her shoulders, guiding her onto her back, and her breath catches in the brief moment that she hovers above her. Limned in silver moonlight and gold from the low light of the bedside lamp—switched on for Corisande’s benefit, and full glad she is for that—she is so impossibly beautiful that for a moment she thinks she must be dreaming.

They are brought back to reality by Y’shtola lying between their parted legs and pressing searing kisses over their chest that set their skin aflame. Her hand glides over the inside of their thigh, presses against their center in a way that makes their hips jump, desperate for more. They slide a hand into Y’shtola’s hair and try to tug her mouth back to theirs but she resists, devoting her attention to their breasts instead.

They would laugh, were they not otherwise preoccupied. They know this side of Y’shtola well, devoted to the task at hand, unable to be swayed from her purpose until she found what she sought, and curious above all else. They give in to Y’shtola’s questing fingers, the testing touches and kisses as she seeks the spots that make their back arch, their hips chase, their fists curl in the sheets and her name escape their lips in a moan, until their whole body quivers with pleasure.

She trails kisses across Corisande’s belly, over the curve of her hip. She pauses between their thighs, her breath ghosting over them as she holds them apart. They push themself onto their elbow and glance down, thinking Y’shtola seeks permission they are only too happy to give. But the moment their gazes meet, she dips her chin, eyes never leaving theirs.

The firm swirl of her tongue over their clit elicits a low moan, the heat of her mouth almost too much on their already heated skin. Her hands, her tongue, her lips—Corisande cannot keep track of which touch causes which pleasure, her body taut and aching with need. It is not long until Y’shtola pushes her past the precipice, kissing her through the throes of her climax.

Like any competent academic, Y’shtola seeks to replicate her results, mouth still moving over them even as they still. But Corisande guides her away with a gentle hand in her hair, and this time she lets them. With a hand around her waist, they shift them both onto their sides, close enough that their warm breaths mingle.

Y’shtola’s fringe is matted to her forehead, her lips shiny, cheeks rosy and warm under their hand as they brush her hair away from her face. There is a fondness in her gaze—not new, exactly, but different, her feelings laid bare in a way Corisande has not been privy to before.

“I hoped for this for so long,” Y’shtola says between kisses, so softly Corisande is unsure if she is meant to hear. She tucks herself into them, her next words barely more than a whisper against their skin. “I ached for this—for you.”

“How long?” Corisande asks, without really meaning to ask, still caught up in the bliss of the night, of Y’shtola in her arms. They trail the tips of their fingers over her back, enchanted by the way she melts into their embrace.

Y’shtola hums against their neck, silent for so long they think she will not answer, but eventually she says, “Years.”

Her teeth graze their collar bone, and she follows the slight sting of the bite with a gentle kiss. Corisande’s hand stills, their heart skipping a beat. Just how long had they spent ignorant of Y’shtola’s affections?

She cups Y’shtola’s cheek in the palm of her hand, and Y’shtola covers her fingers with her own, soft and warm and gentle. “I am sorry for making you wait,” she whispers. How much longer could they have had, if only Corisande noticed?

“There is no need for apologies, love. There is no blame to be laid at anyone’s feet, except perhaps Fate’s, for it’s continuously horrible timing.” Y’shtola’s smile is gentle, almost wistful. She squeezes their fingers. “We are here now, no matter the arduous course we walked to arrive.”

Corisande kisses her, slow and deep, fingertips pressing into her skin to hold her close. They trail one hand over her chest, her side, cupping her rear and sliding their hand along the underside of her thigh, hitching her leg over their waist. “Are you certain you want no apologies?” she asks, her hand finding its way between Y’shtola’s legs, fingers stroking the small, pale patch of hair before dipping lower.

Her eyelids flutter closed when they brush their fingers featherlight across her sex, a soft gasp escaping her that they catch with a kiss. Her fingers scrabble at their shoulders, her tail flicks frantically over their calves, and her kisses grow desperate, sloppy and wanting, as their hand moves against her, inside her. She moans against their lips, and the new sound delights them equally as much as it quickens their own desire. She wants to hear it again, over and over, the same as her laugh.

Y’shtola breaks the kiss, dropping her forehead against their shoulder, her rapid breaths hot and tickling across their collarbone. Corisande kisses her hair and holds her flush against her, feeling her chest, her soft belly, move against her with the slow roll of her hips seeking their hand, nothing left to separate them but a thin sheen of sweat.

Y’shtola has wanted this for years, but how long has Corisande wanted this? Does she even really know? Can she pinpoint a moment in time when her feelings for Y’shtola had grown into a desperate yearning to know her in all ways, beyond the pale of dedicated friendship? It was not the first time that she had been blind to her own romantic feelings for another and with Y’shtola the lines between platonic and romantic had blurred so quickly, so early in their friendship, it was difficult to say exactly when the feelings had grown.

And how had she gone so long without it? Without Y’shtola’s lips on their skin, without her hands stoking the flames of their desire, without every inch of her body pressed to theirs atop silky sheets? Without knowing the taste of Y’shtola on her lips, without hearing her whimpers and curses as they touched her, without knowing the soft feel of her bare hips beneath their hands? The idea was inconceivable to her now. She wanted to know all of it, every spot that made her toes curl, every twist of her fingers that drew a moan from her lips, where she could kiss and touch that made her tremble and gasp.

They feel her climax roll through her, pressed together as they are, her hips jerking, her fingers digging into their waist. When she comes down, she slides her hand into Corisande’s hair and kisses her sloppily, so unlike the focused way she had drawn out their pleasure. She smiles into the kiss, pleased at the way Y’shtola has come undone under her touch.

“Apology accepted,” Y’shtola mutters against her lips, and Corisande laughs.

They move, straddling Y’shtola’s waist. She looks as gorgeous stretched beneath them as she did leaning over them: skin golden in the low lamplight; wet, parted lips; skin marked where their hands and mouth have touched her; silvered eyes watching them. She pushes herself up when they lean over her, meeting them with a kiss until they guide her gently back onto the bed with a firm but gentle push on her shoulders.

She trails her hands down her body, delighted by the shiver that runs through her at the whisper of a touch, and follows the path with her lips. Y’shtola tries to watch but her eyes fall closed when their tongue flicks across her nipple, their hand cupping and kneading her other breast. They press their smile into her skin as they kiss over her soft stomach, lower, lower.

“I am not quite done apologizing,” Corisande says, and seeks her forgiveness between her thighs.

The stars are fading, the dark night sky giving way to the purple beginnings of dawn, when they collapse into each other’s arms. Corisande folds herself into Y’shtola’s embrace, resting their head on her chest, their long ears laying comfortably flat as she trails her hand gently through their hair.

She has not known this kind of contentment in years, and she basks in the warmth of it, exhausted but satisfied. She tilts her head, resting her chin on Y’shtola’s chest so she can look into her eyes.

“Was it worth the wait?” she teases.

“I have always known you were worth waiting for,” Y’shtola answers, sincere, and they do not hide their smile that follows the love and warmth that tides through them. It seems to Corisande the sort of answer that she would normally be embarrassed to give, uncomfortable with emotional displays as she is. But what room is there for embarrassment between them now?

Corisande reaches over and switches off the lamp, and Y’shtola pulls the quilt over their shoulders. They close their eyes, warm and happy, and let the slow rise and fall of Y’shtola’s chest lull them to sleep.

[ramenwithbroccoli]

the little birdie lore. hand it over. (plz and thank u and here is the creetur that comes w the ask 🐦)

I'M GLAD YOU ASKED (and here, have some snacks for the bird 🌾)

Little Birdie in a silly little hat

To start our analysis, we have to do what one's doing when listening to Little Birdie - imagine birds in hats. So here are some of them:

Prety fabulous, right? These birds sure do look good in their hats. What's stopping them from wearing them all the time?

The answer is: physics.

When we put a bird who flies in a fancy hat with the rim, it's deemed to lose it - it only takes one blow of the wind or wing motions to send it out into the sky never to be seen again. And when it comes to rimless (it's that even a real word?) hats like beanies, it would be hard to keep them from simply sliding off, due to birds being so aerodynamic.

Losing a hat would not only be sad, it would also be difficult to retrieve it. Even if it's possible, there's one pretty big problem: birds don't have hands. So they can't really do this.

I know, disappointing. But what does that mean to us?

Little Birdie is working with someone

There is someone - probably a human - working with Little Birdie to keep his hat in place. While this could take a form of putting it back on his head whenever he flies back teary eyed, holding it in his beak, I'm pretty sure we all figured a way better solution.

A ribbon (or maybe a thread or a cord of some sorts)

Simply tie it around your bird's neck and boom! Peace and love on planet earth. However, as mentioned above, birds don't have hands so they can't really tie it themselves. Even with a ribbon being quite stable, somone still would have to check up on it, periodically, to see if everything is still alright. Seems like much of a hassle, right? So why would anybody do that?

I'm pretty sure most of us have seen this post somewhere (wanted to link it but it turns out op deactivated so here's a screenshot)

While it may not be true for every bird - various posts point out that only ceratin species of birds feel butterflies in their stomachs when their mate can wear some colorful accesories - it's still an interesting fact that might help with our investigation.

But why would someone do this for Little Birdie?

Sure, we love birds, but why give this particular bird an unfair advantage? The answer is simple: the hat is a payment for service. At first i thought that Little Birdie works by gathering and selling information - after all we all heard someone say "a little birdie told me"- but that wouldn't make sense, as the hat is easily noticable so it would be quite a disadvantage when you have to sneak around and eavesdrop.

Then it hit me - the hat isn't only a reward, it's also a storage space. Little Birdie might just work in transport, right? Nothing malicious. However...

Little Birdie as a dealer

There isn't much space under the hat of a bird. Even if your thing is small, it also can't be heavy as to not cause too much discomfort, so you can't really get your tungsten cube delivered that way. That's leaving us with transporting light, small things. Someone would put them in a hat, secure it on Birdie, and then the person who the thing was delivered to would take it out and also adjust the hat again.

But why would they use a hat instead of a bag with bigger carrying capacities? Not only would it be more comfortable, it's also profitable because you could carry more stuff in there. That might be because a hat raises less suspicion. When you see a bird with a bag, or perhaps a pouch, you'd know that something is carried there. But a hat? Maybe a bird is just a little silly. Maybe its head feel cold when he flies so high in the sky (Why does he fly so high? To avoid someone detecting him?). You don't think about it too much, you just leave it be.

Another point is, Little Birdie can't really take the package out of his hat himself, which would be easier with a bag. When it comes to valuable transport - let's say, rare seeds from some rare fruit from another part of the world - he can't just reach in there and sneakily eat one without anyone noticing. He could take his hat off to do so, but he couldn't put it back on, meaning he would be just an ordinary hatless bird again.

But why would Birdie do that? Is it all a job? An unresolved part of shady past? Does he even know what he's doing? That questions might never be answered. I just hope that one day, Little Birdie might be carefree once again - with or without his silly, little hat.

[sailorsenshishitposter]

V x Reader

V:

You're that theatre kid in your group, love the goth lifestyle or suffer from anemia.

First Date:

It turns out Vergil had another fit of rage and stabbed himself again. This time it was because he was arguing with Dante about who had the better lawn. Dante used Ifrit on Vergils garden and destroyed his twins happiness yet again. Vergil then decided that he would just make all of Red Grave his garden and split himself in two so he could grow the world's biggest (apple) tree? You didn't really care at this point. Vergil had turned back into Kylo Ren for a third time and you thought you couldn't do any worse so you agreed to go out together.

The only problem was that he was two days old so he couldn't drive or go anywhere that served alcohol. You doubt he could even sneak into a PG rated movie without causing a disturbance. As you sat there, V thought he could entertain you and started to play the air violin like a mime would. No sound could be heard and he stopped when he noticed you staring strangely at him. This wouldn't do.

He decided to show off his tapdancing skills but forgot that he was wearing sandals so all you could hear was the scrape of his shoes against the ground which was painful on your sensitive ears. V was too lost to the rythmn to notice your discomfort as he was busy getting his groove on. Sadly for him, sandals are not a stable shoe so his foot slid out from under him and caused him to crash into the pavement.

"V Are you alright!?" you shouted, but you saw him cradling his knee to his chest and groaning in pain like when Peter fell after getting his golden ticket. You ran to him but he raised his hand and said "Tis alright my love. I shall mend my wound.". You were confused and were right about to take him to the hospital until there were flashes of lighting and then suddenly three strange figures appeared. One was a giant sludge monster, the second a black panther but the third was the most puzzling. It was a giant talking bird, but even stranger was that it was feeding V as if it were it's baby. The creature was vomiting chewed up red orbs into your boyfriends mouth.

You felt sick to your stomach. You said "Sorry, I don't think it's going to work out...." and you ran to the nearest bathroom to heave your guts out. Suddenly there were multiple earthquakes but it turns out that it was just Urizen and he wanted V to take him back. They couldn't kiss with the height difference so they decide to do the fusion dance like in dragonball z and they reimerged as one whole being. Vergil then began to dance with his doppelganger and sang stronger than you.

[fourseasonsfigs]

New Year Joint Special Project - Bedema Lake

At long last, I'm posting about the final set in this amazing series! It's been a long time coming.

This is one set in a collaborative series of six among five fig makers that were designed for the Lunar New Year 2022. This project launched on February 22, 2022, and included 4 Wenzhou sets and 2 Junzhe sets:

If you ordered during the early bird period, you would get a piece of a magnet which formed part of a larger piece of art. If you got all 6 magnets, you could complete the whole art piece.

My first post in this series was back on October 6, 2022, with the Armory set. I received this final set in the warehouse right around December 2022, but I had some delays of my own sending it out from the warehouse, and then I've been holding off on posting it until I had enough time, since this is gonna be a long post.

This was the fig set I was most excited about all of them (and I was very excited about them!), because the Episode 6 lake raft scene is 1) epic, and 2) so active it seemed incredible we could get a fig of them in motion.

This was not an easy set for the fig maker to make, either. She was displeased (to say the least, her text messages berating the factory boss for changing the specs without asking her were hilarious) with the factory's initial run of the lake water, as they modified it significantly from the sample. She had it re-run, and then had the factory include the version she rejected since it had already been made. After seeing the two versions, I really appreciated her care and thoughtfulness as to detail, because she was right - her original IS way better.

You can see all the pieces here. There's a lot of them! The fig maker helpfully posted a step by step guide to putting it together. The lighter plastic lake base on top is the one the factory initially made - it's just a light clear water colored plastic. The one on the left side is a much, much heavier, thicker piece of solid resin (? I think it's resin?) that not only looks way better but is much more stable. The figs are there in their sealed foil bags, and the lake raft together with it's bottom logs are in pieces around them. I usually have the warehouse toss the glue (it's restricted) for mailing, but this appears to have accidentally slipped on through.

Here's the logs attached to the bottom. I tried museum putty first...and then museum wax...but neither was strong enough for the weight of the figs. I had to end up cleaning all of it out and just using my glue. Funny I didn't even think to use the glue that was sent - I just pulled out my trusty industrial strength glue. You can see where the thin rectangular slot at the bottom fits into the lake base. I just flipped it over and glued it in.

A better comparison of the lake bases. You can see even more clearly here how much better the top one is in every respect. I'd make a horrible pun that the bottom one should be called Badema Lake, but we're all better than that.

We're gonna forget that pale imitation lake ever existed. Here we are with the real deal! You can see the peg up there on top for Lao Wen, and it's a bit hard to see, but there's an indent down at the base for our temporarily-still-Hobo-Xu.

By the way, I never knew this lake even had a name before this fig set, much less that it was called Bedema Lake. I feel like we're all better prepared for SHL quiz trivia now.

Here's Lao Wen with his balancing foot ready, and A-Xu with a very sturdy wide stance. No one told him when he was practicing martial arts that one day he'd be doing horse stance on a raft, fighting off weapons-grade flirtation.

Lao Wen would be delighted over this picture, since it looks like A-Xu is chasing him! I love the expressions on their faces - A-Xu looks wary, and Lao Wen looks absolutely, delightfully incorrigible.

Here we go with A-Xu getting fitted out for his pose...

...and Lao Wen landing as light as feather on the raft end!

Here's the best angle to see how both of them attach to the base.

Alright, we're going to go for a spin around the lake raft. This was a bit of a hard set to photograph, with the phone focusing on some areas and leaving others blurry, but please don't mind the amateur work. Here we go!

Looks like I'm going to use up all 30 of the allowable pictures per post for this one! Let me get one last angle...

And last but not least, the box cards and box:

Absolutely delightful, isn't it? I like the dog on the raft, and the cat just peeping out of the bushes. Too cute.

Material: PVC (figures) and resin (lake)

Fig Count: 283

Scene Count: 22

Rating: The pinnacle!

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]