#but that would require at least us riding the train alone and i am a small east asian girl who never looks up from the floor ever

[the-void-writes]

"Why wasn't I good enough for you?"

Hello and thank you!!! I am so sorry this took like a year to answer 😅 This was just going to be something small, but then I kept getting ideas, and now it’s getting way too long. So I figured I’d do what I did last time and post it all in segments. Again, thank you so much for this ask!

Freaks Of Preston - A Real Hero

Summary: Will is taking the subway to see a new doctor. Along for the ride is Jason, his godfather and guardian, and Isaiah, the birth father who hurt him. Tensions rise between the two dads, for everyone’s viewing.

WC: 1.1k

TW: Mentions of past child abuse (and maybe a brief present depiction because Isaiah shouts at and forcefully grabs his son). There’s also a quick description of a train crash.

———————————————

The subway ride was suffocating, for more reasons than just the size of the car. Will could have cut the tension in the air with a knife. He sat on the left-most part of the bench, with Jason placed firmly between him and Isaiah. Every half a minute, Jason would stare daggers into the larger man, hands twitching whenever Isaiah so much as scratched his neck.

They were heading into Hazelton for the day to meet with a new doctor. Will’s debilitating health was an absolute mystery to the physicians in Preston— they were likely covering up for Vesely, who seemed to have an extensive reach into many businesses’ wallets. If there was any hope for a cure, it would have to be from outside of town.

Will’s mother was stuck at work, and the doctor required at least one of Will’s legal parents, so they had begrudgingly called Isaiah. His charges had been dropped— again— though Will could sadly understand it this time, seeing as he had crushed Isaiah’s arm in an act of blind rage. An eye for an eye, Vesely had said, a necessary exchange, but Will couldn’t believe that. It was a miracle that the boy hadn’t been locked up, though Will suspected that Jason had something to do with that. Any time they passed an officer in Preston, they stiffened as though Jason was an army general, coming to chew them out for a mistake.

That natural intimidation was working on Isaiah, as well. He never laid his eyes on Will, out of fear of what Jason might do to him. Instead, he made a bigger mistake by trying to talk.

“You didn’t have to come, you know.”

Jason flicked his eyes towards Isaiah swiftly, like a sharp stab to the chest. His voice was smooth and cold.

“There’s no way I’ll ever leave Will alone with you again.”

Isaiah closed his eyes. “I know, but you’re putting yourself at risk. The two of you in the same area could draw more attention—”

“I don’t know if it’s come to your attention, but I don’t care if people know what I am. Gabe has hurt us more than your people ever could.”

He stared ahead at the brick walls flying past them through the window, gripping the bench tightly. Will knew that his stress came from more than just Isaiah— the subway itself was a nightmare for Jason. Ves Corp had a similar system for their monorail, and it broke down nearly every week. That was how Will discovered his godfather was claustrophobic. He gave Jason’s hand a gentle pat, getting him to slowly relax his grip.

As their uncomfortable journey continued, Will looked at the passengers around him. There was a young couple on the bench across from him, dressed like they were heading for church on Easter, even though it was autumn. On the bench next to them, there were three tall people in identical pinstripe jackets, with their lips pursed in unison as they looked over their planners. Further down past some older businessmen, there was a woman holding a young boy, who talked excitedly to the elderly couple across from them about his day at the park.

They were ordinary citizens, nothing particularly outstanding or noteworthy, but Will was so happy to see them, because they didn’t even look his way. The nicest part of going to a new city was that people didn’t immediately know he was a Freak. They didn’t stare at him, or call him names, or try to trip him on his way to his seat. He was just a normal kid on a subway— Well, a normal kid with a sickly appearance, a duffel bag full of medical devices, and what looked to be two fathers in a silent argument.

“So,” Isaiah said, lowering his voice, “it’s a parasite?”

A smile formed on Jason’s face, though it was anything but kind. His eyes held pure contempt for the man beside him.

“Bravo, Isaiah. You actually showed interest in your son’s condition.”

“I don’t need the sass.”

“And your son didn’t need his head split open.”

Isaiah rested his head against the window. “I get it, I’ve messed up, but—”

“Messed up? Is that what you call it?”

“I’ve made terrible mistakes.”

“You threw your fever-stricken son down a staircase. You’re past the point of ‘mistakes.’”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Let the whole car hear, for all I care! You’re a monster, Isaiah.”

“Which one of us trained children for war?”

Jason clenched his fists. “I already hate myself for that. I don’t hold myself on a pedestal the way that you do.”

Will tried to speak up, but Isaiah cut him off, gaining the attention of everyone nearby.

“I never asked for Preston to treat me like a hero! I wanted a normal fucking life with my family! William is the one who destroyed that for us.”

Finally, Will was able to get a word in. “How, damn it? How did I ruin your perfect life?”

“You exposed yourself to the public.”

“I did it to save Mom! Why don’t you realize that? Why is everything I do wrong in your eyes?”

In an instant, Isaiah grabbed the collar of his shirt with his one good hand. “You doomed us all, don’t you get it?!”

The other passengers stood up in alarm, some trying to push Isaiah away, while Jason tore Will from his grasp. The conductor even rushed down and pulled Isaiah away from the seat. Will gripped his sleeves as his power swelled in his wrists, overwhelmed by the chaos that surrounded him. His heart pounded in his ears like a symphony of drums.

“It was a mistake to bring you,” he heard Jason say somewhere over the noise. “You may share blood, but you’ve lost the right to be his father.”

“I’ve got news for you, Jay: He’s not your kid. You’re a backup choice, an afterthought. You’re not a real part of this family.”

“Sir,” the conductor yelled, “that’s enough!”

Isaiah struggled against him as he tried to pry him away from his son. Will felt too dizzy to speak, as though his brain was rattling around in his skull. As he rested his hands on the bench, he realized that it was the motion of the train throwing him back and forth.

A loud rumble and the screeching of metal caught everyone’s attention, followed by intense shaking as the subway jumped off of its track. Then, in the blink of an eye, the world began to spin. Passengers flew every which way, flailing and yelling as their car violently fell on its side. Finally, the shaking and sliding stopped, and everyone was still.

Will blinked rapidly, trying to make the world come back into focus. The window he had landed on was splintering under his weight. He couldn’t concentrate enough to push himself away. Both of his arms— which were already weakened from testing, disease, and past abuse— burned with pain. Eventually, Will had to give up on moving, and he closed his eyes.

[sharkpupsblog]

😨 Lost horse! 🐎

A Sabine x GN! Reader fanfic!

One req started!!! 😈😈😈 this is going to be multipart bcs I couldn’t find a way to shorten my writing to just one part 😭💔 I write too much 💔 its a blessing and a curse 💔 this part is to set the plot down 🗣🙏 I wrote so much for this part 😭 I have also started all the other reqs I have and . All of them will be multipart as well 😭❤️ once this req is done the next will come out and then the next! Then I think I will take a short break from writing to prevent burn out and to work on some other things! :D also for this req reader is not a soul rider! But Avalon’s kid! This is my second fic using Avalon as a dad 🙏 I care him 🙏 I didn’t want to make reader a soul rider but still wanted a way for them to be involved in druid stuff so the story would make sense so I made Avalon a dad again 🙏🙏🗣🗣 Anyways ty @ barricade-moonriser for the req! Enjoy! :D ❤️❤️❤️

Summary: You and your father visit Wildwoods and you find a lost horse

Warnings: Foul language, animal injuries, talk of an explosion and injuries caused by it.

“I’ll be back soon I promise!” You yelled to your father who watched you from the doorstep of Kora’s home. “I just have to deliver these to Rowan!” You showed him a bunch of papers in your hand. Rowan had you design some flyers for a trail ride, and now you were going to deliver them. You were already on your way to do the delivery, but you were stopped by your worried dad before you could even get on the trail to the ranger base. The man frowned he didn’t want you to go alone. Mistfall was dangerous there were wolves in the forest. Your father worried you might come across them. You also did not have a horse, if you got into trouble you would have to deal with it alone. He shook his head deciding it was best not to let you go “come back!” He yelled back to you. You were a bunch of feet away from him, so you both had to yell back and forth. “I am almost done talking to Kora! Wait for me and we can both go together!” Your father started walking towards you. You loved your dad you really did, but you also loved time alone. You walked to him as well, so you could speak and not yell. Once you got close to him you said “dad I can do it alone.” You wanted some alone time you hoped you could convince him to let you go. “I’ll be fine the ranger base is just down the road” you moved the papers in your hand towards the direction of the base. “If I get into any trouble, I can handle it alone” you grabbed your father’s hand giving it a comforting squeeze. “Go back inside and enjoy your tea with Kora I’ll be fine” you smiled when your dad squeezed your hand back. “Plus I’ve been around Mistfall many times and I have never seen a wolf” today would be no different. At least you hoped it wouldn’t. You brushed the thought away not wanting to accidentally manifest a wolf. “Can I go now?” You let go of your father’s hand. The man nodded, and you went wide eyed as he pulled you into a bone crushing hug. “Be careful” he said to you, and you managed to huff out an “I will!” Your dad was old you wondered where he got all that bone crushing strength. He was a druid his job did not require any psychical strength... Or did it? You didn’t really know what he did, he kept it all a secret from you. Maybe he was sneaking in some training sessions into his busy druid schedule to beat the shit out of Garnok himself. When your dad let you go, you took a deep breath in, and you said goodbye to him heading back to the trail. Your father headed back inside to speak to Kora leaving you alone. The walk to the ranger base was boring. You couldn’t use your phone it was low on battery, and you needed to save it. You looked around you trying to keep yourself entertained. You had seen all of Mistfall thousands of times. You had been up and down all the trails. The bad thing about having explored the whole forest was that there was nothing new to look at. You prayed to Aideen for something new. Maybe you should have allowed yourself to accidentally manifest a wolf. A nice wolf of course, so you don’t get mauled. As you walked you continued to look around. It did not take you long to notice that the forest was quiet. No birds were around. No rabbits or frogs either. No sounds as well. You were starting to feel uneasy. Why was the forest so quiet and still today? Your fear made your walk turn into a jog. You wanted to get to the ranger base quickly. It took a few minutes to get to the base and once you got there your fear grew as you saw that the base was empty. The lights were off, and the horses and people were gone. On the door you could see a paper taped to it. You walked over to the door reading the paper it said ‘Out investigating. Be back soon!’ You sighed wondering what to do. You needed to drop the papers off now while you were in Mistfall. You looked around for somewhere to put the papers. While you looked you thought about what the rangers were investigating. You heard some townspeople in Dundull say they heard an explosion last night. That same explosion was the reason why you and your father were in Mistfall.

When you asked your dad about it, he told you it was “classified druid business.” Whatever caused the explosion must be magical if your father was involved. You ended up finding a mailbox, and you neatly put the papers into it. You wished Rowan would have told you that they were going out. Maybe they could have picked the papers up from Kora’s house instead of making you come all the way out here. You reached for your phone in your back pocket. You were going to send Rowan a text saying you left the papers in the mailbox. When you touched your phone, you heard a shrill neigh. You stood still with your hand on your phone looking like an old timey western cowboy getting ready to draw. Did you imagine that neigh? You waited a few seconds, and you heard it again. It was coming from the trail leading to Wildwoods. The neighs echoed and bird calls followed after the neighs. You watched as birds quickly came flying out of the entrance. Rowan must be coming back now. You started walking down the trail to Wildwoods to meet Rowan there. The entrance to Wildwoods was covered by a bunch of bushes and vines. Some of the bushes looked like they had thorns, you would have to be really careful. As you walked into the entrance you carefully walked around the bushes with thorns. Some of the thorns came close to touching you but none of them actually did. The neighs got louder the deeper you walked into the entrance. You had never been inside the entrance of Wildwoods. It was all new to you, and it was amazing. You wished for something new while you were walking to the ranger base and you got it. You were so distracted by your surroundings that you didn’t realize you had gotten to the source of the neighs until you heard them again. You snapped your head towards the neighing. You moved your head so fast it hurt. You would have rubbed your neck in an attempt to soothe the pain, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t move you were shocked by what was in front of you. In front of you was a black horse with multiple wounds and damaged tack. Was this a new horse of the rangers? The horse neighed and bucked, and you noticed that one of its legs was not moving correctly. You feared the horse’s injuries caused lameness. Slowly you walked towards the horse “where is your rider?” You whispered to it not wanting to scare it. The horse turned to look at you, and you put a hand over your mouth quickly coming to a stop. The horse had red eyes. Blood red eyes that seemed to glow. You wanted to run you wanted to scream, but the look the horse gave you stopped you. It looked so sad… Could horses look sad? Were you imagining it? You didn’t have much horse experience. It had been a while since you last rode or had been around horses. The steed snorted, and looked away from you looking at the leg that did not move. You followed its gaze looking to its leg as well. You looked it over sighing in relief when you saw a vine wrapped on the horse’s leg. The horse was trapped that is why it wasn’t moving it was not lame, just trapped. You started moving again whispering “it’s okay” and “stay calm” to the horse. Some of those words were for you too. You were scared shitless, and you were trying to calm yourself down. The horse watched you as you walked towards it. Its red eyes watching you scared you more, and once you got close enough to the horse you slowly squatted down. “Please don’t kick me” you begged the horse, and it nickered. You hoped it was saying it would not kick you. Gently and slowly you grabbed the horse’s leg waiting for any indication that it was comfortable before proceeding. Once the horse relaxed its leg you began to try your best to remove the vine without further hurting the horse. You wanted something interesting to do today and you got it. If only the interesting thing would have been discovering a new kind of butterfly or a nice wolf and not a red-eyed horse in the woods. The vine slipped off the horse’s hoof, and you quickly moved to the side not wanting the horse to trample you.

You expected the horse to buck or to bite you or just do something crazy once it was free, but it just stood there. It snorted again, and it lowered its head to you sniffing your hair. The horse still had a medieval style bridle on it with an interesting symbol on the middle. The symbol looked like two snakes? You grabbed the reins of the bridle holding the horse still as you stood up. You examined the bridle. You hoped to find the owner’s or the horse’s name. You ended up getting lucky you found a tag on the bridle badly scribbled with sharpie that said ‘Khaan.’ You read it, and then you said it “Khaan?” The horse’s ears perked up, and you smiled “That’s your name? Khaan?” The horse neighed, and you pet them “where is your owner, Khaan? Can you lead me to them?” The horse did not move it just stood still watching you. With all the luck you were having today you expected the horse to move, and begin to lead you on some epic quest to save its owner. Luck must have run out. You thought about what to do, and while you thought it over you pet the horse. You stood there for a few seconds thinking about what to do while you patted the horse’s neck. Should you wait in place for the owner? Or go straight to the Dundull vet? Maybe report the missing horse to the rangers and hope they can find the owner? You didn’t know what to do, you were getting stressed. Khaan went stiff when he heard your name be called. It was your father he was calling you. You had taken too long, and he worried for you, so he came to find you. You panicked, you needed to find a way to hide the horse’s eyes. You looked at Khaan seeing his braided mane. He had a forelock it had been braided too and it looked long. You reached up undoing the braid. Khaan huffed as his forelock was spread evenly onto both sides of his face covering his eyes. You thanked his owner for growing out his forelock. You gently tugged on Khaan’s reins “can you walk Khaan?” The steed answered your question by taking stiff steps. The wounds on him hurt each time he took a step. You frowned, and you began to lead him out of the Wildwoods entrance “poor horse.” You pat his side “me and my dad will get you to the vet it will be okay.” Khaan nickered he trusted you to lead him through the entrance. His mane obscured his vision he was putting a lot of trust in you right now. Normally he would be very distrusting of a stranger. He would bite and kick, but right now he needed help, so he decided to trust. The ranger base was right outside and at the base was your dad. When he saw you he waved he stopped when he saw you were not alone. The man walked to you with his jaw open in disbelief “where did-.” You interrupted your dad wincing when you saw the upset look on his face “I’ll answer questions later right now we need to get this horse to the vet.” Your father saw the wounds on Khaan, and he understood your rude interruption. The horse looked… Familiar to him… Where had he seen it before? As you said before there was no time for questions, only time to help the horse, so he refocused. He could always think about where he saw the horse later. “Wait here” he said to you “I rode Kora’s horse here I’ll ride to Dundull and I’ll bring a trailer back with me.” Your father did not want the injured horse to walk further. You thanked your dad, and you watched him run back to Kora’s shire. Your dad wasted no time. He quickly got on the shire and you watched as he rode down the trail like he was in a race. Today was… Eventful you could not wait to go home and lay down. You smiled when you thought about bringing Khaan home. You knew he wasn’t your horse, but you were still excited. “You’re going to love staying with us Khaan” he huffed shaking his head to try and get his mane out of his eyes. “Don’t worry it won’t be forever” you fixed his forelock moving it away from his eyes. “Just until we find your owner… I hope they’re okay” You let out a little huff as Khaan laid his head on your shoulder.

He missed his owner, and he hoped she was alright. The explosion was bad, and from what Khaan saw his rider got the worst of it. You put a hand on his forehead, and you closed your eyes trying to provide some comfort to the poor horse.

TY FOR READING! :D ❤️🐎

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Reflection: A Malevolent Fanfic

Hastur plants some dangerous seeds with intent let them grow to fruition.

Or: They can have a little divorce, as a treat.

(Takes place in the Surrogate series, after Aftercare)

AO3

------------

Purpose aside, Outer-God cautions aside, desperation and pain aside… this new game is fun.

Stage one certainly is, anyway.

[“He is not eating enough.”]

And oh, the way Arthur flinches as John is spurred into abandoning English again, the way Arthur curls down over his untouched encebollado de pescado…

John does not know. Yet.

[He’s eating fine! Leave him alone.]

Arthur clenches his spoon.

Wonderful. And awful, at the same time. Like those two marks, Hastur is of two minds when it comes to Arthur’s pain; but he knows which mind is his.

[“He eats less than Faroe, John.”]

John seems shocked, looks down at the soup, registers how little Arthur’s actually put in his mouth (and he would not have if not for Hastur), and growls. Fucking hell, Arthur, will you just eat the damn soup?

“I’m not hungry,” Arthur mutters, and if it is slightly more like his old self—just a tiny edge, just the barest hint of defiance—Hastur can forgive that.

Arthur isn’t… healing, exactly; not yet. But between John’s mark and Hastur’s, he is bolstered—spiritual bones set, in a position where he can.

And John does not know. Yet.

Arthur! Eat the soup.

Arthur sighs and dips his spoon.

Hastur retreats. For now.

#

Stage two is even better. The soil is turned, and now, Hastur plants.

[“John. He requires more water.”]

[What?]

Arthur plays, shoulders tensed at the familiar, gravely sounds of a language he cannot comprehend.

Arthur has stopped asking what John is saying because John refuses to answer.

And Hastur knows why. John feels guilt for talking to Hastur so much, for communing with the enemy—but John has to.

They need each other. Neither is whole.

Hastur will not let him forget that again. [“He drinks too little. He is dehydrated.”]

[How can you tell?]

[“John… can’t you feel it?”]

John can’t remember how. He can’t remember how to use the mark, to access all that Arthur is, thinks, feels, does.

But Hastur can. And he will hold that out like the most tantalizing lure.

Arthur. It’s time to drink some water.

“What?” says Arthur, confused.

Water. Now.

John bullies him until he drinks. (So unnecessary. John could sway him, if he remembered how, but he does not.)

At least it’s John’s attention. Arthur drinks that too, parched.

John still does not realize.

Hastur retreats. For now.

#

It’s been five weeks since marking.

Stage three is well underway. The watering: John is, at this point, easy to enrage. All Hastur has to do is talk about Arthur.

About things in Arthur that John can’t see. About things in Arthur that John can’t feel.

About Arthur, good or bad, and he has John’s full attention, and if it is good to have that (not whole, not yet, but closer), neither of them have to say, because what would be the point of speaking it out loud?

And if it is good that this makes Arthur feel isolated, well… there’s no need to say that, either.

Out the window, Faroe is learning to ride—a tiny, white-clad spot upon the back of a dragon, held in place by Dis. Faroe looks like she’s having the time of her life.

Arthur does not know because John forgot to tell him.

[It was a magnificent piece, you absolute bastard,] John is saying, irritated because Hastur put down the first of the owed jubilees.

[“It was not one of his best. He still owes me two more, and then the third current jubilee, besides; they need to be better than that. But you misunderstand; I am not accusing. I know he can’t help it; he’s not well.”]

John’s tremor is a beautiful thing, and Hastur cannot wait to feel it inside him.

He cannot wait to be whole.

Outside the window, Faroe’s happy squeal travels right to them, and Arthur lifts his head. “What’s happening out there?”

She’s training.

Hastur is so glad John hasn’t been more reasonable about this.

“She… she sounds happy, though, she—”

Not now, Arthur. [What the fuck do you mean, he’s not well?]

And Arthur slumps back down, aching to see his daughter do whatever made her so happy, aching to at least know what she does, but left, still, in the dark.

[“He’s weakening. To be fair, part of that is my fault.”]

[Part!]

[“The prison pits were not kind to him, and that damage has not been addressed. What we are looking at now, John, is that in a few years, his heart will have trouble; his kidneys already do have trouble. He barely moves, and his calorie deficit has led to muscle degeneration. John, you should know this. I shouldn’t have to be telling you this.”]

John is puffing like a bellows again. [Then why the fuck are you telling me?]

Which is a funny sentence to hear, because for whatever reason, John uses “fuck” in English, in the middle of an otherwise alien sentence.

And because it’s fun, Hastur tells him outright what he’s doing: [“Because, while I loathe him, you don’t—and I want you to come home. If taking better care of him is what I have to do to earn your trust, then so be it.”]

John goes quiet.

[“John… if you will let me, I can help you.”]

[Let you! You hold all the damn cards in this.]

[“True. But working with you instead of against you is better for us both—and for Arthur. Don’t you agree?”]

Out the window, Dis has decided Faroe’s seat is good enough that the dragon can leap. Not fly; not quite yet. But for one amazing moment, they are off the ground.

Faroe laughs wildly.

“John,” whispers Arthur. “What’s happening?”

Arthur, not—

“Faroe is learning to ride,” says Hastur, using the syrupy voice he has of late every time he addresses Arthur in private, because that, too, is part of the game. “She is on the back of a dragon.”

Arthur sits right the fuck up and drops his spoon. “A dragon? Is that safe?”

She—

“Oh, yes. Her trainer is there, holding her from behind; the dragon is on the ground, not flying, and is the gentlest breed. Three times the size of a horse, long old enough that her fire is quenched, she is completely safe to ride. Faroe is dwarfed on the old mare’s back; her simple white linen is stark upon the mottled red of the aged beast, and the laugh you heard came as she turned her face toward the sun for joy and freedom and the exultation of youth.”

John is silent. If he had a mouth, it would be hanging open.

Arthur’s mouth is open. Oh, that face.

(And Hastur is of two minds regarding that blissful expression, the shiny eyes, the tremulous smile, but he knows which mind is his.)

Fuck off! John declares.

“Thank you,” whispers Arthur, imagining the scene (far more accurately than he knows), treasuring it.

“The offer stands,” Hastur says, having won this round quite handily.

And Hastur retreats. For now.

#

It is time for stage four, the longest stage, the tending stage, and that begins with mirrors.

Arthur wakes.

Oh! John says in that way he does.

“What?” Arthur stretches, tired—he never feels rested, no matter how long he sleeps—and gets out of bed.

There’s… there’s a… oh!

Arthur goes still. “John.”

Mirrors, says John.

“Mirrors?” Arthur says, baffled.

John stares at him. Stares at his face, at the dark circles under his eyes, at the gauntness of his cheeks. M… mirrors, he says weakly. They’re everywhere. Just… everywhere.

“Everywhere?” Arthur is so confused (and his face is a journey, an epic of expressions that fly from confused to annoyed to uncaring to concerned). “Why?”

Fuck if I know. I’ll ask him at breakfast.

And Arthur’s face… falls.

John didn’t expect that. Doesn’t understand that. Arthur?

“What?” Arthur sounds normal. Gets up. Works his way toward his washroom.

You… are you… all right?

Confusion, followed by some kind of sorrow, loss, maybe grief. “Yes. Why?”

You… I just… I need to be sure.

Arthur sighs. “I’m fine, John. It’s all copacetic.” He runs the water.

Sure. There are mirrors in here, too.

John has never seen Arthur’s body fully naked—not from outside of it, only ever from Arthur’s point of view.

The scars are—

His ribs are—

Fuck, says John quietly.

“What?” says Arthur, soaping up.

Hastur did something to the mirrors in here, because they’re not steaming up. John can see everything so clearly.

Arthur startles as John takes the soap away. “Um. Is there a problem?”

Let me do this, okay?

“Sure?” The confusion is kind of adorable, or would be on a face less haggard.

John takes his time. Inspects as he goes, tries to determine just how bad it is, how far it’s gone, what else he’s missed.

Arthur sort of zones out and lets him.

John couldn’t tell. Hastur was right; he should have been feeling all of this. Arthur can’t be well.

What else does he not know?

John is quiet as Arthur dresses, as Arthur steels himself for yet another meal with his enemy and his child (and now John can see that process across his shockingly expressive face).

OH!

Arthur freezes halfway out the door. “What?”

Mirrors. Fucking hell, he can see Arthur from every angle. He looks so small in the hugeness of this place.

“All right,” says Arthur, confused; then he shakes it off and heads toward breakfast.

Seventy-three steps to prepare.

Seventy-three steps to ready himself for whatever’s waiting today.

Seventy-three steps in which his face changes from pain to anticipation to fear to resignation and the barest hint of steel that remains beneath the cracks.

John had no idea.

What else does he not know?

#

Step one was getting John to view Hastur’s interference as positive; step two was getting John to consider that the only way to keep Arthur safe is to become whole. Step three was watering, encouraging growth, ensuring the soil was just right.

Step four is envy.

This will require time to take root. Hastur isn’t going to make the same mistake he did when he used Faroe to break Arthur.

After all, he’s finally sure where he went wrong. The finale came too soon. He hadn’t given John time to wrestle with the fact that his mule was broken, and so John hadn’t been ready to leave.

Hastur won’t repeat that error. No, John gets to linger, to dwell in the reality that without Hastur, he cannot care for Arthur. To realize on his own that without Hastur, Arthur would be dead.

To realize that Hastur can do for Arthur things John could never dream.

To feel that envy coursing through his veins.

“Good morning,” he says to them, tentacles waving, languid as if in deep water.

“Hi!” Faroe proclaims, and sneezes. She sniffles.

“Gesundheit,” Arthur says.

Faroe falls to giggling. “Gass-oon-tight?”

Arthur’s smile is beautiful; it’s barely there, barely peeking, and in the mirrors, John can see it. It’s like the hint of coming dawn, light from a sun that has yet to fully rise. “It means ‘good health’ in German. You say it when people sneeze, hoping they aren’t sick.”

Faroe spends much of breakfast practicing the word to get it right. (She doesn’t.)

She also spends much of it sneezing.

“Is she getting sick?” Arthur asks as she finally goes.

“There is a minor cold making its rounds among my humans,” says Hastur. “I have protected you from it.”

Arthur bristles (John can’t take his eyes off the sight). “But not Faroe?”

“Her immune system needs to be built up; the antibodies she forms will be valuable to her as she grows. You, on the other hand, are in no shape for illness, and if you did catch a cold, it would likely go straight into your lungs.”

Arthur’s frown is like his smile—it��s barely there, but real, a hint of his essential self still unable to poke leaves above the soil. “I’m not that fragile.”

“You are,” says Hastur. “I am telling you for the Piece’s sake.” And he pauses with great import. “For John’s sake.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. John sees it. “What, he’s graduated from ‘Piece,’ now?”

Hastur is so pleased. Arthur is smart enough to play the game, even if he doesn’t know he’s doing it. “Yes. It was my mistake, lessening him so; though it is true that neither of us are… what we ought to be, he is his own person, and I must respect that.”

Arthur’s faces are magnificent. Bafflement; outright disbelief; suspicion (kind of a cute look, if Hastur were honest, so shady). “Right,” says Arthur slowly.

What the fuck are you doing now? John demands. [Whatever you’re doing to him, you fucking well better—]

“John,” says Hastur. “Look.”

John looks.

Arthur has hunched. The moment John spoke his own, native tongue, Arthur hunched, white-knuckled over his food, jaw tight.

John is baffled.

A sneeze filters through the window from outside, followed by an overenthusiastic, shrill, Gas-oon-tight!

Arthur really smiles.

It’s not a thousand-watt smile; it’s still sad, still under eyes that grow too shiny, but he smiles, and it’s real, and his cheeks gain some color.

For her.

We’re done. Arthur, get up.

“What?” says Arthur. “What, you’re not going to force-feed me this morning?”

Music. We’re late. You’re behind. Go.

Arthur shakes his head. “Fine. Whatever you want, John.” He stands.

“Curious,” says Hastur.

What? John demands.

“That you do not see what hurts him.”

Arthur’s look is sharp. “What? Nothing hurts me.”

[“I can feel it. Clearly, you cannot—but can you at least see?”]

[What the fuck are you even talking… about…]

Watching Arthur’s face fall stops John in his tracks.

John still hasn’t figured out why. Good.

Hastur abruptly stands. “Come, Arthur. John. Let us retire to your music room.”

“What?” says Arthur, staggering back slightly.

Hastur picks him up.

Arthur curses (so does John), and struggles for two seconds before freezing like a rabbit.

What the fuck are you doing?

“I believe it is time to make a point,” says Hastur, moving down the hall considerably faster than Arthur ever could, but not so fast that John can’t still see his face in every surface.

John will always see his face. Hastur’s made sure of it.

The music room is vast, designed for entire orchestras to practice.

Arthur has no orchestras. The musicians who play his music do so without ever having met him.

Hastur floats through the dust motes, through the beams of light from mullioned windows, and places Arthur at the piano. “Play your latest work for me.”

Arthur is so confused.

What are you doing? John demands.

“Play,” says Hastur, low, and casually as anything, sways Arthur to obey.

It doesn’t take much. Arthur would rather be playing than talking, anyway.

The new jubilee’s music is going to break hearts. It’s gorgeous; it’s grief-ridden. It’s haunting, beautiful, and so moving that in any other circumstance, Hastur would be swept away by it, riding on these wild and weird emotions.

(Good enough that, were Hastur to come across this musician in the worlds somewhere, he would have taken him. But that bears no further consideration.)

Arthur finishes, hands deep in the keys, head down, sniffling, and not due to a cold.

“John,” says Hastur, softly. “Can you feel him?”

Hastur knows he can’t.

There is a silent moment of struggling. No, John says, and it is haggard.

“Look.” Hastur touches Arthur’s chin to raise it.

John looks.

John sees, in the mirrors, sees that Arthur wears the heart’s cry of that music on his face.

John makes a small sound.

“I do this now not for myself, and not for you,” says Hastur, making sure they both hear him, “but for John.” And he picks Arthur up again.

Horrible. No, it is. Really.

(It’s not.)

Arthur stiffens.

Hastur brings him up to his mask-like face. “Think of John,” he murmurs, encouraging Arthur to do so through the mark on his soul.

Arthur stops being stiff.

John sees. John watches, unable to avoid it, not wanting to avoid it, staring at the reflection on the ceiling and on the walls as Arthur goes still, his expression smooths out, and—

Keep them open for me, John says, his voice gone husky.

Arthur does, though he wants to close them in relief.

He’s forgotten who is holding him. Hastur knows how to use a damn mark.

Wh… why…

“Because you can’t.” And Hastur stands there, waiting, until mere exhaustion takes its toll, merging with relaxation (forced or otherwise, it’s rare), and Arthur falls asleep.

So softly now, speaking only to John, “He needs much healing.”

John sounds choked. I can’t do this for him.

“I can. For you. Not for him—I hate him, John. But you… for you, I will be your arms. Your touch. I will be your eyes, for when you cannot see him clearly.”

And it is the stupidest cheesy line in all of creation… but it works.

John makes a sound Hastur’s been angling toward for weeks: a quiet sob. A concession.

Damn you, John says.

That is not a no.

“Explain to him when he wakes. I will not be there for that.” And he carries them both back to Arthur’s room and just leaves them on the bed. And now… he just has to wait.

Hastur retreats.

#

Arthur wakes feeling… rested?

Almost rested.

Peaceful. Muscles lacking the ache that comes with constant tension, stomach not roiling in anxiety, calm.

He lies there for a moment, soaking it in. Then, he freaks right out.

“John, what the fuck?” he says, and sits up.

Arthur.

Arthur hasn’t actually panicked in some time. He can’t do it fully, even now—adrenal glands too exhausted, emotions too strained—but he can be upset.

He is definitely upset.

“What the fuck was that?” he says, voice cracking. “He… I couldn’t… John!”

He used the mark to influence you, says John, still subdued, and in doing so, gave you the best sleep you’ve had in… I don’t even know how long.

Arthur lunges from the bed and paces, breathing hard, clutching his hair. “What the fuck,” he says. “What the fuck, what the f… John, I couldn’t… John, he was in my head.”

He’s in it now. So am I. Even lower, bitter, but apparently, not the same way.

“John, what happened?”

John sighs. He was right. That’s what happened. All this fucking time, he was right.

“About what?”

How to take care of you.

“What?” Arthur is totally lost. He’s pacing again, teeth bared.

He’s been telling me for weeks that you’re not well.

“What?” says Arthur. “When?”

When we’re talking. Nearly every damn meal.

Arthur stops dead in his tracks and sputters. “You… you’ve been talking about me all this time?”

Yes. He’s been saying that—

“Why the fuck couldn’t you tell me?” Arthur snarls.

Snarls.

So that’s confusing as fuck, because it’s absolutely incredible to see such intense expression on him, to hear it in his voice, and John would have given anything to make that happen—but unfortunately, it seems he did make that happen, and Arthur is mad at him, and John isn’t sure what he did wrong, and it feels pretty awful that the first surge of real Arthurian anger John’s seen since they got here is pointed his way.

I—

“You let me stew, and fear, and tumble around in the miserable reality that you were fucking leaving me too, and all this time, you were talking about me?” Arthur almost yells.

Huh? Arthur’s lost him. You what? You felt what? Why?

Arthur’s mouth hangs open. He throws his hands in the air and storms for the door. “I have music to write.”

Wait just a damn minute. What are you talking about? We need to talk about this!

“Oh, we do?” says Arthur. “Now, we do? It’s been weeks, John! Weeks of… she’s gone doing lessons, and that’s fine, but you’ve barely fucking talked to me! And you… you two have been talking, all the damn time, over my head in words I can’t understand, and when I asked you, you got so damn secretive, and dismissive, like… like…”

(John desperately wants him to continue, wants him to feel these things.)

(Is terrified he’ll continue, is terrified Arthur hates him out of the blue.)

“Like I'm nothing! A nobody, hardly privy to the machinations of kings, and… and here you’ve just been… talking about my diet, or something, for weeks?”

Well… yes, actually, but that’s not why I -

“Fuck you!” Arthur slams his bedroom door and snarls his way down the hall. His eyes are wide, pupils blown; his teeth are still bared.

He almost looks fierce. If he also didn't also look like a drowned cat.

Arthur!

“No. No! You don’t get to talk to me now. Not after all this. After… after… did you plan that? Did you tell him to do that? Was that a…” Arthur’s voice breaks. “He was in my head. I could only think what he told me to. He… he was…”

Arthur…

“Fuck you, John. Just shut up. I have music to write.”

Arth—

“SHUT UP!” And Arthur pants.

So he must be healing, because this would have been unthinkable a week ago.

And it’s pointed at John.

John is silent.

Arthur stalks over to the piano, misjudges slightly, and bangs his shin on the bench. “Ow! That’s your fault.”

Fuck’s sake, Arthur.

Arthur sits down and begins to play.

The second jubilee is not going to be the same.

This one is angry. It’s fire, waves of thick chords and repeated octaves, pounding torrents using the whole piano’s range like some deadly storm.

It’s so much more than he’s felt, obviously, clearly, in a long time, and…

John can’t feel it. He can see, watch Arthur’s face, watch his hands fly, but he can’t feel it for himself.

He knows, without even having to ask, that Hastur feels every bit.

Something in John’s heart twists.

Arthur finally finishes, and he’s breathing hard. Hands tight in the keys, arched like claws, the scribble of magical nib on paper recording every note he made for the sake of the musicians who will play it in a week.

Arthur.

“I’m not ready to talk to you, John.”

That something twists more. All right.

Arthur goes back to practicing the first jubilee’s songs. He has to perform tonight, after all.

#

Apart from directions, John doesn’t speak until it’s over.

Arthur played the sad jubilee, and though John would have predicted his new mood ruining its grief, it did not. It heightened it.

The undercurrent of darkness, of somehow betrayed rage, only made the sorrow stronger, made it richer, added a knife-point sparkle to the whole bloody thing, and when Arthur is done (again, breathing hard), and the instrumentalists are finished (many of them shaking, a few with tears), there is a moment of stunned and awful silence in Hastur’s ostentatious ballroom.

The applause begins from the back somewhere, started by someone daring to defy Hastur’s open mockery and unspoken command, and it immediately catches fire. Everyone is applauding, murmuring, sniffling.

Arthur wipes his face (on his right hand, completely avoiding his left), and sits there, glaring at the keys, not even standing to acknowledge the praise.

John can see him in the reflection of the lacquered wood (did Hastur enhance that, too?), and it is a deeply hurt look.

John is vaguely aware of Hastur speechifying the situation, taking credit, moving things right along.

It’s his moment. They may not get another moment all night, if Hastur decides to parade Arthur around as he sometimes does with mockery.

I’m sorry.

Arthur swallows. John watches his Adam’s apple bob.

I’m sorry, Arthur. I didn’t… I didn’t realize how much that hurt you.

“You’re all I have, John.” It’s barely audible, but John can hear him, can watch his lips tremble and move. “Truly, all I have.”

John can’t help it. What, not even your precious Faroe?

“Faroe is… my heart is hers. But she’s his. She’d be sad if I went, but it wouldn’t… interrupt her life in any way at all. I love her from afar. John, you’re all I have, and I was… I’ve been losing you.”

Losing me?

“Every damn day, you grew further away. That’s how it felt. Excluding me from communication you’re having inside my own damn head. Not telling me how you feel, or anything. Not even telling me why you’d suddenly… demand I eat, or drink some water, or go lie down. None of it. You made me feel like a burden, John. Like a… a project.” His voice drops further. “As if I’m unaware that that’s what I am. I already know that. You don’t have to… you didn’t have to make it worse.”

Well, fuck. Arthur, you’re not any of those things.

“I am. I have been since we got here. Since she came back. I’m not stupid, John. Whatever you… whatever I was that made you change, that helped you grow… that’s gone. I’m not that anymore, and I may never be again.”

John is sure he will be again. His anger today enforces that hope—but now is not the time to bring it up. I don’t care.

Arthur wipes his eyes.

In sickness and in health. That’s what you humans say, right?

Arthur’s laugh is weak and surprised, but at least it happens. “John, that… that’s a wedding vow. We’re hardly a couple.”

So? I can still make that vow to you. I think I already did, anyway. In sickness and in health. You’re sick right now. That doesn’t mean I don’t… that… that doesn’t change anything.

“In sickness and in health,” Arthur whispers. “You whacko. All right. Have it your way.”

The anger is gone. His brow has smoothed out. The sorrow is back, by itself, but now it looks like calm waters, rather than a sucking void.

John takes his hand.

Arthur squeezes it back.

John wishes he could take Arthur in his arms like Hastur. He wishes… so many things. Are we good?

“We’re good. Don’t do that to me again, though. Ass.”

I won’t. He dares: Prick.

Arthur’s lips quirk. “Bastard.”

John could cry. When did they last play like this? Jerk.

Arthur laughs again, so soft—

“There he is!” booms a new voice, and a truly unnerving number of tentacles come slithering in from the right like fast-moving smoke.

Arthur gasps and hurls himself out of them, off the bench in the other direction, trips on his cape, and lands on the floor.

A being hovers there, and it is a horrible huge eye. Green-irised, pupil split, it drips with tentacles and some clear, smoking fluid, and its voice makes the air between them tremble and contort. “The man of the hour! Hello, little one.”

The guests don’t talk to Arthur. They don’t dare, after all Hastur’s done. “Uh,” Arthur says.

John’s voice is tight. Get away from it. For it to be defying Hastur this openly is—

“I’m currently in negotiations to buy you,” says the thing. “Your sorrow is exquisite! I just wanted to know if you could tell me what you’re so sad about. I’d love to have a supply of it on hand, whatever it is, and if it requires time to obtain, well! No use letting the grass grow under one’s… feet.” The thing laughs, hovering a meter off the ground, tentacles quivering with its humor.

Arthur’s reflection goes pale.

Liar, says John. Liar!

“Well?” says the being, who cannot hear him.

Arthur shuffles back, getting caught on his cape, unable to stand. “Hastur,” he whispers.

“Pardon? You’re sad about Hastur? Well that’s very—”

“Hastur!”

And John feels that through the mark.

Hastur arrives.

He doesn’t land with the architectural mayhem he did before; does not come in fire, or explosions, or crawling black mist of flesh-eating power. Oh, but he is there, and present, and pushing the floating eye back by dint of pure anger. “Cyäegha! Well, I hadn’t invited you, as I recall—what a pleasant surprise.”

Arthur, says John. Get up and leave. They are going to fight.

“Now?” Arthur says, finally turning onto his hands and knees to find his feet.

This is a challenge. Move.

“Go on, Arthur,” says Hastur, not turning around. “Cyäegha will wait until you are gone.”

“Oh, will I?” says Cyäegha, and now the air in the whole room is warping.

Go!

Arthur runs.

#

He’s out of breath by the time he reaches his room, hands shaking, badly sweating, but all his sounds are hidden by the terrible noise behind.

Gods fighting is not a quiet indoor activity.

Fucking asshole, John is muttering. I remember that guy now. He shows up every millennia or so.

Arthur can’t catch his breath. “He… he what?”

He’s got a temper a mile long, and I… John pauses. You know, I can’t remember what I did to him to make him so mad. Whatever it is, he remembers, and keeps coming around trying to settle the score.

“He wasn’t going to buy me.”

Hell no. He said that to upset you. To see what you’d do. If you wanted to get away from Hastur, it didn't matter, but if you wanted to stay—if being bought would upset you—then hurting you might hurt him.

Arthur rubs his face. “That’s… stupid?”

He’s all temper. Hastur’s got this. Don’t worry.

“Even though he’s not whole?”

John goes quiet.

“Sometimes you slipped,” says Arthur, peeling off his sweat-soaked uniform. He still hasn’t caught his breath.

Slipped? That’s as small as John’s voice ever gets.

Arthur sighs. “You want to be whole. I heard you. You could’ve just fucking told me, you know.”

No wonder Arthur had thought John was going to leave him. I thought… I…

“Does it hurt, John?” Arthur is still, uniform half off, staring at nothing—but Hastur’s mirrors are fucking everywhere, and John can see his face.

See the openness there, the readiness for whatever John says, even if it is painful. A weary anticipation.

Yes. John decides lying is a bad idea now. It does.

“I’m sorry.” Arthur finishes stripping and leaves his clothes in a sodden pile. “So that… that actually had nothing to do with me?”

John is wondering how Arthur called for Hastur through the mark.

John is wondering what that was, because the power of the mark goes one way.

John is wondering, because he hasn’t been able to feel anything from Arthur—and then the one thing he had felt is impossible.

No, it didn’t, he says. Though I have a bad feeling more like this is coming. You’re becoming noticeable.

Arthur snorts.

You are. You… you’re noticeable, Arthur. That didn’t come out right. I mean… you stand out.

“Thanks?” says Arthur, expression absolutely dry.

John huffs. Fucking forget it. I’m glad you’re okay.

Arthur still hasn’t caught his breath.

John stares at him as he gets in the shower. The paleness. The bones. The scars. This has to end. We’re going to switch things up tomorrow.

“Are we?” Arthur is exhausted.

John helps him wash his hair. Yes. No arguments.

“Sure, John. No arguments.” Arthur has checked out.

John’s not surprised. Today was a lot.

More than Arthur’s been through in…

In a while.

I won’t hide things from you again. I’m never leaving you. I’m sorry you felt like I was.

That got his attention. Shower or not, John can tell Arthur’s eyes are filling. “In sickness and in health, eh?”

In sickness and in health. Now let’s get you to bed.

-----

NOTES:

We have no shame.

I picked the Robot Devil and @sepiabandensis dressed him up. Um, ta-da?

[wixelt]

The way actualization works needs to have some established rules behind it, since as it stands there are possibly two components laid out, one established and one somewhat assumed but left unsaid. You said for sure that learning player things from players is required, presumably continued study over a long period. although this alone would apply to anyone from Hop Pop to The Core. Grime, Tritonio, Valeriana, Andrias probably, Gary. The odds of half the population of Wartwood becoming Players exponentially as time passes and the concentration of Hermits increases. At the very least, this includes the IT gals, Dr. Jan, and Terry. At some extreme end, this could mean the US Military starts training unaging magic super soldiers.

But the second component limits this a good amount. It's kind of implied that a genuine, deep, probably pointedly positive, connection to a player is required for actualization. This cuts the numbers down quite a bit, we likely won't get a missive influx of super powered side characters, no matter how hilarious as that image is and how much it may fit Wartwood's canonical status of army of cryptid country bumpkins, as well as removing Gary, The Military, and The Core for sure. The IT gals come down to how ride or die Xisuma is to them, but they may not have long enough for it to set in. The same applies to the other earth squad characters.

I have only really thought of one more setting rule but I may also have a potential narrative rule.

The first setting rule would state that only 'mature' Players can transmit their power. Player Maturity takes a long ass time. I'm leaving it up to you but I was considering anywhere between a lifetime and their first few centuries. this avoids both the plot hole of why Players aren't exponential in number and by extension the retconning of the backstory of this setting's Amphibia.

The narrative rule, that I will only be proposing, is one I call 'The Hop Pop Standard.' It is a rule that, for the purposes of maintaining thematic coherency with Amphibia and imposing a hard limit on where the line for who becomes a player in-story. This rule may need to be reevaluated later down the line depending on how the AU develops because if things change it has a high chance to stop functioning.

Simply, this rule would state that Actualization would have to maintain rules and caveats that insure that Hop Pop becoming a Player would be breaking the established world building. More broadly, a line should be drawn to prevent parental figures of Amphibia's main cast members from becoming players, for the purpose of keeping the rules strict enough that the number of characters capable of Actualization is appropriately small, as well as keeping a tangibly permanent reflection of Amphibia's themes present in-story.

As interesting as exploring Andrias eventually achieving a true form of immortality as a reward for his redemption and recompense would be, succeeding with kindness where his ancestors failed with cruelty, I'm willing to give it up if doing so ended up giving precedent for an ever expanding list of characters becoming Players. He himself is not a parental figure for any of the girls but allowing him in may bring up questions of why him and not people closer to the girls.

I am opposed to blocking Ivy from eventually Actualizing, mostly for Sprig related reasons, but that does mean she needs a bonded hermit, and this ask is already long so I'll put my nomination in another ask.

(Sorry for the wait, but I wanted to be in the right mindset first. :D)

I don't know for sure that player-to-player knowledge is an absolute requirement of actualisation, but its for sure one of the most common components. And - more importantly - its likely the only common component available for prospective players in our AU.

The need for player "maturity" - I'd say it takes a human lifetime on average, but varies based on a player coming into their own - helps keep the numbers down. Retcon averted.

It makes sense a "newborn" player lacks the experience to help another on their way.

As you say, though, this could apply to most characters if that was all it took, & there'd be exponential growth with how populous Amphibia & Earth are. Also, villains - from as of-the-week as Gary to as terrifying as the Core - aren't folks you want acquiring immortal power just by doing the reading of False's mind.

There's got to be more to it.

But that's where the inferred 2nd component of at least this method (as noted, there are others - the multiverse is big) comes in: the positive relationship. It wasn't something I'd consciously decided, but it does make sense that you don't attune to a new existence just by understanding the theory. It takes deep bonds with those already of that ilk.

Ivy has Joe. Maddie has Cub. Polly has Cleo.

Sprig has Grian/Stress/Ren/Doc.

Ally & Jess might have Xisuma (X likes them but this would be based on how much he interacts with the IT Gals post-Invasion).

Marcy has Mumbo.

Sasha has Scar.

And Anne has False.

So it tracks. And while the lack of a superpowered Wartwood resistance is a missed glory, I think its worth it to deprive the villain side of things - and Mr. X, as much as I love him - of easy power.

Besides, have you seen Wartwood? They're already OP as is!

And the 'Hop Pop Standard' works as a starting baseline for eligibilty, even if we have to change it later. It wouldn't feel right for his character for Hop Pop to be a "Player", so using him as a benchmark for someone not qualifying to keep numbers down & Amphibia's themes intact is sensible.

For him - & other primary parental figures, as mentioned - I imagine its not because he lacks the bonds, but more because he's fine where he is in his life & chooses not to advance despite his intelligence.

And yeah, even accepting his eventual redemption, I don't see Andrias getting actualisation as a karmic reward. I wouldn't give him this even if the rules were more relaxed, as it feels more in his nature to shy away from such ideas now he's free of his family burden.

If Hop Pop isn't going to wake up one morning with a suddenly there inventory full of light grey glass, neither is the former King.

[the-technicolor-whiscash]

good evening! you describe yourself a geologist! this has brought me joy and excitement both. would you care to expand? i am taking geology rn and love it so far

(Sorry for the delay I was waiting to answer this until I could answer from desktop lol)

Hell yeah I am a geologist! Or at least I have a degree in geology with a minor in anthropology. I graduated in 2022 and uh I haven't found a job in the field yet but it's fine

What my interest is in geology is earth history and petrology, which is the microscopic study of rocks to determine the mineral composition as well as the history of the rock. I've done research posters for volcanic tuff (from one of the yellowstone supervolcano eruptions!) and a variety of asbestos.

Specifically, I've used polarizing microscopes to study what's called thin sections of rock, which allows you (in relatively simple terms) to identify the minerals within a thin slice of a rock by cross-polarizing the light that passes through it. Most minerals have distinctive characteristics that allow you to identify them if you've got a trained eye and a $75 100 page textbook. I really like it cause I love trying to puzzle out how a rock was formed and the story behind it, and not to brag but I was pretty good at it. Also minerals look wicked cool under xpl and there is an untapped market for artwork of minerals in thin section cause it is truly beautiful. This website has a lot of good examples, but I'll share an image of one of my favorites, Muscovite mica

It's so fantastic to me, the fact that nature can create such beauty on a microscopic scale. Geology is often thought of in the macro, spanning billions of years and covering large swaths of land, but even on a microscopic scale you can find colors that resemble a sunset if you blast light rays through a rock. I love that.

With the fact my minor is in anthropology, I hope to one day go into paleoanthropology and study fossil human ancestors. There's so much we don't know about life before like, the bronze age and there's so much to learn about the history of human evolution, and I've always been enchanted by how we came to be. Regular paleontology is very fun too but I really love the study of humans. When you look at a skull and know that 40,000 years ago, someone like you was living a life not quite so different from yours. Sure they didn't have laptops or tv or modern healthcare, but humans had community. They cared for each other. We've been caring for each other for as long as we've existed, because when you have to fight a bear to get your food, you are not winning alone. You have to work together. Just like Judi Dench says in the beginning of spaceship earth. "We are alone, struggling to survive until we learn to communicate with one another. Now we can hunt as a team and survive together." I don't think it worked quite like that, but you get the point. (Yes, Spaceship Earth is one of my favorite theme park rides and sometimes I'll just sit and listen to the audio lmao)

Anyway that's my little spiel about geology and paleoanthropology. I really enjoy them both and would looooove to yknow get a job in my field but that would require grad school and grad school requires money and also very few grad schools offer paleoanthropology degrees so. That's a bridge we'll cross in a few years.

Thanks for the ask!

[doberbutts]

Oh, to be clear, I am saying that I think breed clubs should be more like the UDC in being dedicated to providing this to their breed, rather than saying "make it work with what we have", and my frustration about people campaigning every weekend and driving long hours but then complaining they can't do the same is *entirely* throwing shade at dobe people. It is very annoying to hear someone whine that they can't possibly make it out to the incredibly accessible (by comparison, to other breeds) options we have and in the next breath talk about how they're going to drive from RI to KS to show at the specialty. Like, you can't drive 2.5 hours to the temperament test literally invented to be easier for your dog to pass and supposed to require 0 training, but you can drive almost 24 for a four day show? Really?

Because I do think at its heart it's a breed club issue. If the breed club is not prioritizing ensuring that ALL factors of a breed are supported, then it will inevidibly leave some behind and you will have the issue you are currently having with your mudi. If there is no herding to be found then how can the breed club better support you? One answer is that the breed club could offer their own herding tests and move them every year to different regions to make sure everyone gets at least one chance to try within a dog's typical lifetime (UDC does this with their national for exactly this reason), or could work with what herding folks do exist locally to make sure it's offered fairly to all herders (gsd clubs often do this because people get weird with shepherds on stock), or could offer money pulled in from club dues to members to support them getting stock in exchange for allowing other members to work their dogs on said stock (the swissy club does this because a lot of people get weird about drovers on stock).

Tldr I feel strongly about this because it is my opinion that the breed club needs to be supporting you in this. You have named the problem, and you are not alone in that frustration. But I also think it becomes a self-defeating cycle- it is difficult in your region to herd with a mudi, so people don't do it, and so because people don't do it, no one offers it, and so because no one offers it, people don't do it, etc. If the club could provide even a smidge more support and make it happen that even just instinct tests are more accessible, more people would do it (as you have just said if the barrier of transport and time cost was removed, you'd be interested), and if more people do it, more people offer it, making it even more accessible than before.

When I first started Creed in Mondio, there were 3 other dobe people in this country loudly participating in the sport, which was also fairly uncommon. Nine years later and the amount of clubs have at least doubled and there's a dobe or two in most. As a result my travel time turned from a 10 hour ride to a 4 hour ride. I used to not even be able to do that, and now I can. I used to not be able to afford it and with my heart problems that long of a drive was incredibly dangerous. My situation has changed, and I have more ability to do this. But then, I was not trying to breed when I had Creed, and thus lies the original point.

A breeding dog from a breed intended to work should be evaluated on its ability to do said work. Otherwise how do you know if the dog you breed to compliments your dog's working temperament? How do you know if your dog is going to pass on "I would rather kill the sheep than herd the sheep" without making sure your dog does not want to savage the sheep? How do you know if your dog is going to pass on "I am terrified of the sheep and will desperstely try to escape the pen" or "I do not care about sheep but I do care about rolling in poop"? Breeding to a stud or bitch that has their HIT doesn't stop making this a gamble- if you don't know the total picture of what you're putting into the pot, you don't know what kind of soup you're gunna pull out either.

But, again, this is why your breed club needs to be doing something about this. This is not "use what you have and don't complain" but "why is your breed club not putting on these tests since the people in your local area refuse to be friendly to novices" and "people who complain about barriers existing that magically don't exist when they're doing something else are being hypocritical (largely dobe people)". As said, instinct tests should not require lessons, should be pass/fail, and should be offered at the *least* at the specialties put on by the breed clubs. Same with novice titles, honestly, but those take training. Breed clubs are supposed to be leading the way in preserving and bettering the breed. So why can't they help their members make sure that's actually happening?

Also, not sure if it's clear, but I'm also not saying that you can't show confo unless you get these instinct tests and novice titles (that *is* how UDC does it, you must pass the temperament test held in the morning of the show before you can do confo in the afternoon, unless you've already passed it at a previous show, but again that's waaaaaaaaaaay more accessible than things are for a lot of breeds right now) but rather that confo is a single piece of the puzzle.

In UDC, you need confo, temperament test, and a novice title to get a CH. You don't need to do it all the same weekend. A friend of mine got two of three required CCs for her CH and her temperament test last weekend. She got her BH last year. She needs one more CC to get her UDC CH and she should get it easily at her next UDC event. The dog is 3 and has been to 2 total UDC events, so not running out of time at all. It is possible to do it this way and not screw everyone over. The breed club just needs to actually support its members.

Dobe friend had a post of basically "share your controversial dog show opinions" and mine were as follows:

Breeds that require crop/dock should allow naturals to show next to them. At this point much of the world has it banned so by refusing to allow European or otherwise dogs to show alongside the Americans, all you do is further split the breed. Manmade decisions regarding ears and tails change nothing about the dogs genetically and thus should not be seen as a fault or DQ.

Breeds intended to do some form of work should have even a minor level of title or temperament test as a requirement for a CH. If your herding dog cannot pass a herding test, it doesn't matter how well it fits standard or moves or has correct angles. If it's really about breed preservation, then we need to address the problem of show dogs that can't work.

There should be written critiques. It is not helpful when the only knowledge you get is that the judge pointed at one dog and not the other. Give competitors more than "I guess the judge liked this dog". What made that dog better than all the rest? Show your work!

[the-bau-quinjet]

I Can Do More

Summary: Request! The team underestimates Y/N's strength until one day when her powers save them all.

Warnings: slight violence and mention of injuries

Word Count: 2717

a/n: You're basically the avatar in this fic. You're welcome :) lol

Masterlist

"What am I supposed to do?" You asked as Steve finished explaining everyone's role for the next mission.

Tony and Sam were air support, meant to keep on eye on the perimeter and notify the ground teams of any surprises. Bucky and Nat were approaching the west entrance, Steve and Wanda the east, and finally Vision and Peter the north. The quinjet would be parked on the south side, where the building had no entrances.

"Guard the quinjet." Steve answered automatically.

"But, I really think I can help with more than just-" Your attempt at arguing for more responsibility was interrupted by nearly everyone in the room.

"Y/N, you're not ready." Steve's voice echoed louder than the rest, although nearly everyone murmured in agreement.

It was the same for every mission you went on. If it was a short mission, like the next one, you were meant to guard the jet. If it required multiple days in a hotel, you were on surveillance. No matter how simple the mission, you were basically told to "wait in the car" every single time.

You officially joined the avengers 8 months ago when you prevented a sinkhole- caused by a new Hydra weapon- from killing civilians in a small town in Europe. Despite only gaining more control since you began training with the team, almost none of them seemed to think you were capable of actually joining a mission.

"But, I've been training-" Again you were cut off.

"Trust me, it's better to wait until you've got complete control. Otherwise people could get hurt." Wanda's eyes seemed to hold a sadness as she spoke, but you weren't given time to further inquire.

"We leave in half an hour." Steve announced to the room before departing to make final preparations.

You slid down in your chair like a child, if they were going to treat you like one you might as well act like it. Hell, you're a fully grown adult capable of creating a tsunami, but everyone acts like you're a toddler who still needs training wheels.

With a final huff of annoyance, you got up to get ready for the mission. It felt like a waste to get fully dressed in the uncomfortable tac gear when you wouldn't even be leaving the jet, but you did so anyway. No need to give them more reasons to leave you behind.

The ride in the quinjet was filled with whispers, each sub-team going over their plan of attack. You sat in the back alone, watching as everyone else prepared to fight. As Steve landed the jet, you tried your hand one more time.

"Cap, are you sure I can't do anything?" You asked again, trying your best to not whine. To your surprise, Tony answered before Steve could finish his typical dad sigh.

"Y/N, right now all you need to do is stay here. Got it?" He sent you his patented glare before flying out the door. Sam at least had the decency to direct a sympathetic smile your way before following.

"He's right. Just wait for us to come back." Steve secured his shield before descending the ramp, Wanda at his side.

"We'll be back soon, doll." Bucky squeezed your hand before leaving. Unfortunately for you, not even the physical contact and pet name from your not-so-secret crush could lift your mood.

You and Bucky walked a fine line between friends and, well, more than friends. The flirty comments, pet names, and not so innocent touches were common place, yet the two of you still doubted the others feelings.

"Sorry, Y/N." Nat grimaced at leaving you behind. At least you had one of them on your side.

You watched as the rest of the team moved into position, leaving you to watch the feed Tony projected onto the monitors of the jet.

Each team of two flawlessly executed their plans, infiltrating the base at exactly the same time. Everything seemed to be going smoothly until all of the video feeds you had access to cut out.

"Tony, the video's gone. Is everything okay?" You tried to spot him or Sam from the ground outside the jet, but neither flyer was visible.

"Tony? Cap?" You asked into the comms again, panic slowly rising.

You were about to ask again when a sharp cry blasted through your ears. There was no way to be sure, but it sounded like Peter.

Without another thought, you ran from the quinjet towards the base. If your team was in trouble, then you couldn't just sit and watch.

You ran through the woods until the base was in clear view. Scanning your surroundings, you spotted three pairs of guards making rounds on the perimeter of the base. With a few simple hand movements, you knocked them out with various flying rocks.

After another quick scan, you made your way to the closest entrance on the West side of the building. Various guards were laying strewn about the area, dead or unconscious, you couldn't be sure.

The door creaked slightly as you opened it, but luckily nobody was waiting on the other side. Twirling your finger, you created a ball of air to float you down the corridors, preventing alerting anyone of your presence via footsteps.

It also made it easier for you to hear when Hydra agents were approaching. You incapacitated each agent with a swift bolt of lightning to the heart, easing them to the ground with pillows of air to prevent any noises from giving away your position.

You slowly made your way to the center of the base, listening intently for any sign of your team.

About 15 minutes, and 30 hydra agents later, you could hear Tony's familiar sarcasm.

"Well, if I could reach it, I wouldn't have asked you!" He whisper yelled.

You scoped out the room as best you could, but since Tony was talking it was easy to assume it was currently void of any enemy combatants.

"Tony! Sam!" You dropped to the ground in front of them, clearly surprising them with your entrance.

"Y/N! What the hell are you doing here?" Tony's volume rose slightly, but Sam was quick to shush him.

"The video feed went down and nobody was replying on comm's." You moved to untie him, but halted when he whisper yelled again.

"You're supposed to be in the quinjet! It's not safe in here." His glare only fed your anger, but you didn't have time to fight with him on this.

"No shit, you're tied up." Your response earned a snort from Sam and another glare from Tony.

Before you could move to untie him again, the doors swung open. You retreated to the shadows, again floating on a ball of air.

A group of twenty Hydra agents lead Steve, Bucky, Wanda, Nat, Vision, and Peter into the room. Wanda and Vision were both rendered unconscious. The rest had clearly taken a beating, but were awake. Steve's shield was thrown into the corner with Tony and Sam's suits, and Bucky's arm rendered immobile with an electromagnet.

The Hydra agents quickly tied up the rest of the team, leaving you to wonder what the hell happened that got everyone caught. It was easy for you to see that Tony and Sam were trying to clue the rest of the team as to your whereabouts, but with so many agents in the room they couldn't get the message across without giving you away to everyone.

With bated breath, you decided you needed a plan. First, you had to free everyone from their bindings, including Bucky's arm. Next, they needed their weapons. Then, you need an escape plan. If there are twenty agents in this room alone, getting out with such a large group was not going to be easy.

You looked around the room for anything that could help, eyes focusing on the skylights in the roof. Clearly, this room was not meant for holding prisoners.

With a plan in your head, it was time to act. Luckily, your tac suit is equipped with elemental weapons.

You reached for the stones in your belt that were sharpened to act as knives. With one hand, you weaved the stones around the room, cutting through the thick ropes binding the avengers. At the same time, you sent bolts of lightning through all the hydra agents in the room.

As soon as they fell, more agents were piling in. Following through the steps you outlined in your head, you created balls of air to carry the team's previously discarded armour and weapons to them. One whip like blast of air separated the magnet from Bucky's arm, rendering it operational again.

Both sides watched with varying expressions as you controlled the elements to free and arm your team. As more agents poured in through the various entrances, you shouted to Tony.

"Did you get what you came for?"

With wide eyes, the man nodded.

"Looks like we're out then." You flung rocks through the skylights, before creating balls of air for your team. Each member quickly flew through the new holes in the ceiling, escaping from the assault of bullets from the Hydra agents.

Once outside, you set down anyone who could walk, maintaining the balls of air for Vision and Wanda. You lead them toward the jet, signalling for the rest of the group to follow. As you ran from the base, you shot blasts of fire into the main gas lines, not turning back as the base exploded.

Once back to the quinjet, Steve immediately took off while you slowly lowered Wanda and Vision to the beds in the makeshift medbay onboard. Wanda appeared to be knocked unconscious from a blow to the head. The rest of the team watched in starstruck awe as you hooked her up to the vital machines, sighing with relief at a steady heartbeat.

Vision had some sort of device attached to the mind stone, appearing to put him into a coma like state. With careful movements, you used whip like motions to separate the device from his head, another sigh of relief escaping when he woke up.

"Wanda, where's Wanda?" He questioned immediately. You gestured behind him, where Wanda was recovering.

"Y/N..." Tony spoke first, eyes still wide. Steve was now looking at you as well, having set the course for the jet to return to the compound.

You turned to look at the rest of the team, each member wearing matching expressions of awe and surprise. Bucky's eyes looked the softest.

"Sit down." You commanded to them. They complied instantly, still shocked at everything that happened.

You grabbed the first aid kit, working your way through the various gashes and scrapes each avenger had received. You cleaned up wounds on Tony, Sam, Steve, Peter, and Nat before finally making your way toward Bucky.

You took a step toward him, stumbling slightly from exhaustion.

"Carefull, doll." He caught you, helping you into a chair. You closed your eyes briefly, humming in agreement to Bucky's command.

When you opened them again, everyone- barring Vision, Wanda, and Peter, who was now taking a nap- was still staring at you.

"What?" You grimaced, slightly uncomfortable with all of the attention.

"What? What!" Bucky exclaimed incredulously from next to you. "Y/N, you just single handedly saved all of us! From at least 50 agents!"

The rest of the team nodded, still at a loss for words.

"Well, I told you I was ready." You huffed, still miffed from their dismissal of your abilities.

"Damn, straight. Should've let you in first." Sam quipped, eyes beaming at you.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry." Steve's apology rang clearly through the near silent jet. Tony followed immediately with an apology of his own.

"Me too. Kid, I'm sorry we doubted you." Tony stared at the ground, guilt radiating off him in waves.

"I, for one, never doubted you." Nat cut in. "I didn't, however, know you could do that." She smirked, eyes twinkling with pride.

"Thanks, Nat. And apologies accepted." You smiled at everyone, too exhausted to hold a grudge. "But, I think I need a nap." You yawned through the words, leaning into Bucky and instantly falling asleep.

-

When the jet landed it jostled you awake. You were still leaning against Bucky, his metal arm wrapped protectively around you while his flesh hand ran through your hair.

"Hi." You gave him a sleepy smile, blinking repeatedly to wake up. "Oh!" You suddenly remembered Wanda being unconscious. "Do you need me to get Wanda inside?"

You turned to look at her, surprised to see she had already woken up. Even more surprising, she immediately embraced you in a hug.

"Thank you. Clearly you have complete control." She gave you a small smile.

"Of course, anything to help you guys." You smiled at the team, finally feeling as if you were one of them.

Everyone left the jet, grumbling about food and showers. You and Bucky walked slowly behind them, arms swinging next to each other.

Suddenly, Bucky grabbed your hand, pulling you to a stop just outside of the jet's entrance.

"Y/N, you fell asleep before I got to say it, but thank you. And, I'm sorry too. I should've stuck up for you. Clearly you're more than capable of helping us on missions." He spoke clearly, but refused to make eye contact.

"Buck, it's in the past. You all know now, so I'll never have to babysit the jet again." You smiled happily, grin widening when he chuckled.

"I mean it though. Thank you... Watching you was incredible. I don't know how long it took you to plan everything, but clearly you can think on your feet because we weren't in there for more than five minutes before you had us flying through the ceiling." He laughed slightly, clearly still in awe of your powers.

"It was nothing. Any of you would've figured out a way to free everyone." You shyly muttered back, still unused to the praise.

"No, Y/N. What you did was amazing. Yeah, maybe we could've found a way out, but you freed us and nobody was seriously injured. Plus, you still managed to complete the mission." He finally met your eye, clearly waiting for you to just accept the compliment.

"Thank you." You still smiled shyly, but there was no use in arguing.

"You amaze me more and more each day." He whispered, so quietly you almost missed it.

"What do you mean? You've never seen me use my powers before?" You furrowed your brow, tilting your head in curiosity.

"Christ, you're adorable." His hand moved to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over the soft skin. "Even without your powers, you amaze me. You've always been the kindest person here. Always willing to help someone, even if you're in the middle of something yourself. You're beautiful, and smart, and funny, and just... incredible." His words trailed off, voice thick with emotion.

"Bucky..." You looked at him with wide eyes, lip quivering from trying to control your own emotions.

"Can I kiss you now, doll?" he asked, moving even closer. You nodded, breathing out a soft reply before closing the distance between you.

You could've spent forever kissing him under the stars if the sound of someone clearing their throat hadn't disrupted you.

You broke apart to find the one and only Steve Rogers staring at the ground with a blush on his cheeks.

"What do you want, punk?" Bucky held you close, eyeing Steve with a playful glare.

"I, uh, I left my shield on the jet." He gestured behind the two of you to the entrance you were partially blocking.

Wordlessly, you stepped to the side, pulling Bucky with you. Steve nodded in thanks, still blushing as he boarded the jet.

"Well, that moment was officially ruined." Bucky sighed, hand running through his hair.

"I think it was pretty perfect." You smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. He groaned when you pulled away.

"C'mon, Sergeant. I wanna watch a movie and cuddle." You pouted, pulling his arm until he followed you.

"Anything you want, doll. It's yours."

From the jet, Steve smiled to himself, knowing Bucky would follow you across the world if you asked.

Permanent:

@averyhotchner

@jesuswasnotawhiteman

@strawberryspence

@sebastnstn

Marvel:

@leyannrae

@livstilinski

@justreadingficsdontmindme

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Going back home {Chapter 2}

Summary: Claire never thought she would be back in the town she grew up in. But after her fiancé broke off their engagement, leaving her 5 months pregnant and alone she found herself calling Frankie Morales in the middle of the night, one of her childhood friends who insisted that she booked the next flight out. Trying to fix her life with a little help from her friends she would find out soon that going back would be the best decision she ever made.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Claire Beck

wordcount: 2k

Warnings: pregnancy hormones, pining

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Taglist in reblog

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

“You know your childhood home is for sale?” Claire sat on the patio next to Pope who had decided to catch up with her.

“Seriously?” she asked and he nodded.

“Yeah. It looks bad though.”

“Like every house in this area that’s currently on sale,” she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah there are not many people moving down here, though there seem to be getting more in the last few years.”

“I mean it’s beautiful here,” she let her eyes wander over the landscape. She had always loved it here. Whole summers were spent on the Morales ranch when she was younger. Could have to do with the fact that Pa’ Morales made the best BBQ ever.

“Yeah it is. Better for your girl to grow up here, than in the big city huh?” he asked. She looked at Pope. He had gotten older. The lines around his eyes deeper than before. He always loved to laugh.

“Yeah. Though I didn’t picture it like that. I…” she sighed, feeling silly for the tears in her eyes. Fucking hormones.

“Hey. It’s okay. You gonna be fine,” his hand came down on her knee, squeezing it in comfort.

“Yeah you all keep saying that but it’s not you who has to push a baby out of your vagina without the father being there. It’s not you who has the responsibility to take care of a helpless kid for the rest of your life. I just… why? Why does he get to decide to walk out of this? It’s my pill that apparently didn’t work but it was him fucking me without a condom. He should take the responsibility just as much as I have to. Fuck…” she let her head fall back.

“Fuck him,” she looked up, hearing Frankie’s voice.

“Fuck him. He’s an excuse of a man. You don’t walk away from the woman you love. From the woman who’s carrying your child. Fuck… I was going through rehab while Liz was pregnant and I didn’t walk out…” he kneeled down next to her. She sucked her bottom lip in.

“I just feel so… so…” she shook her head.

“I know. But you’re not alone. You got me,” he looked at her. He was planning on taking her out for lunch when he walked in.

“But it’s not your job to take care of me Frankie. You got your own family.”

“You are family,” Pope said, now standing behind Frankie. “And if you want us to kill him, just say the word,” he teased and she had to laugh at that before she looked at Frankie again.

“I told you. You don’t want a hormonal woman living with you,” she joked and Frankie chuckled.

“I can take living with a hormonal woman,” he reached up to brush away her tears.

“Now what do you say? Lunch?” he asked and she sighed before she nodded.

“I gotta head out. But i’ll bring the house offers I found over tonight, okay?” Pope asked and she nodded. He smiled, leaning down to kiss her cheek before he left.

“I mean it. You’re family. Don’t ever think you’re a burden or alone. We’re here for you. I am here for you, okay?” Frankie said. Claire breathed in deep and nodded.

“Gotta get used to people caring. I was pretty lonely the last few years I guess.”

“Yeah. Better get used to it quickly,” he winked before he helped her out of the seat.

“Gotta get dressed I guess,” she shrugged.

“And I gotta shower. I can smell myself.”

“Yeah. You stink,” she grinned before she walked past him, leaving Frankie head shaking on the patio.

“Lunch is on you,” he called after her and she gave him the finger, making him laugh before he followed her inside to take a shower.

“So what made you open up a gardening business of all things, Morales?” she asked, sitting in the old diner they used to spend so much time in when they were younger. It might be lunch time but she couldn’t wait to have her ordered pancakes.

Frankie shrugged.

“I like being outside, keeps my mind off things.”

“You any good?” Claire teased and Frankie huffed.

“Let’s just say if you need any gardening I won’t be able to help you before the end of the year,” he winked.

“Impressive. I’m happy for you. Even though I still wanna hear the story as to what exactly happened in the last two years…” she said quietly, hearing Frankie sigh.

“Only when you tell me your story.”

She sighed and smiled sadly.

“We have a lot to talk about huh?” she asked.

“Yeah. But in time. Now we gotta eat and then we got to head to the store. Still need some stuff for the BBQ.”

“Fuck how many people are coming to this BBQ? I only have like 5 friends left here and I already met 4 of them,” Clarie groaned, leaning over the shopping cart as Frankie loaded another six pack of beer in.

“Pope kinda invited everyone over he knows so you can get to know everyone.”

“Because I like hanging out with people so much?” she asked, letting her head hang, earning a chuckle from Frankie.

“You and me both. But they’re all okay. Promise,” he squeezed her shoulder in comfort and she smiled a little, bumping her shoulder against his as he came to stand next to her.

“So what else do we need?”

“I got everything. Anything you need?”

“Ice cream?” Claire asked after thinking about it. Frankie only nodded as he grabbed the cart from her and pushed it towards the freezers with the ice cream. Like he had done it a million times before he walked towards the freezer, picking up Claire’s favorite Mint & Chocolate Chip ice cream and threw it in the cart.

“Still your favorite?” he asked as he saw the surprise in her face. She only nodded, a small smile playing at her lips.

“But pick up the mango ice dream too. Been craving that lately,” she grinned and Frankie nodded only before he reached for the biggest container.

The car ride to Frankie’s was quiet, both of them hanging on to their thoughts. It was strange how they seemed to fall back into their old dynamic as if no time had passed. It made Claire aware of just how much time she had spent with him when she was younger.

“This house is for sale,” Frankie said quietly as he stopped in front of the house just down his road.

“Charming…” Claire made a face and Frankie laughed. With lots of imagination she could see herself living here. But not within the next 4 months. This would be harder than she thought it would be.

“Maybe I should have stayed in New York…” she groaned to herself, her head falling back against the seat. She felt a hand on her thigh, her head tilting towards Frankie, unable to see his eyes behind his dark aviators.

“It’s been one day since you got here. We gonna find a house for you,” he squeezed her thigh and she sighed before she looked out of the window again. Frankie felt a weird feeling wash over him, his eyes dropping to the swell of her belly, before he released his hand from her to bring it back to the steering wheel, driving the car the short distance to his farm. A part of him wondered if the choices he made earlier in his life could have prevented some of the stuff he had gone through. Maybe he should have at least tried to go to college. Maybe he would have had a job that wouldn’t have required him leaving for months at the time. Maybe he would have had the guts to tell Claire that he wanted to be more than friends before he left for basic training. But he had found out that she had slept with Santiago, shattering all kinds of hope he might have had, that there was something more between them. To this day he wasn’t sure if maybe there had been more all these years back. He had always been too scared to tell Claire, scared that this would ruin their friendship. A friendship he had missed in the last years. He had wasted years on sleeping with women he never called after until it was a woman, Liz, calling him to tell him that she was pregnant. And he tried to make it work, he really did. A part of him loved Liz, because she was the mother of his child. But that was nothing compared to how he felt when he looked at Claire.

“Is it okay if I take a nap? I’m dead on my feet,” Claire asked as he stopped the car. He blinked at her, so lost in his thoughts. She yawned and he found himself smiling at her.

“Of course. As long as you make your guacamole later?”

She laughed, shaking her head with an eye roll.

“Wake me in two hours?”

“You got it,” he got out of the car, opening the door for her, helping her out. He had noticed her struggling to get out of his truck before.

“Thank you Frankie,” she kissed his cheek before she turned around to walk towards the door. He looked after her until she disappeared inside the house, shaking his head to himself.

“Get it together, Morales,” he whispered to himself before he unloaded the car and got inside himself.

Claire was in the middle of explaining to Frankie how to open an Avocado without killing himself worked, when the door flew open and the Miller brother’s barged inside.

“You got problems with your pipes?” Ben grinned at Claire and she snorted.

“In your Dreams, Miller,” she seasoned the avocados. Frankie shook his head.

“Come on, I show you my pipes,” Frankie teased, making Ben gag while Claire laughed loudly.

“You okay Claire?” Will asked, sitting down at the kitchen island in front of her, after he put the steaks in the fridge. Claire sighed.

“Didn’t think it would be this hard, but Frankie’s a big help,” she smiled a little, tasting the guacamole she was making. She reached for more salt.

“Yeah, he’s awesome. But be gentle with him. The whole custody thing is still pretty fresh,” Will said quietly.

“He hasn’t talked to me about it.”

“He will, I’m sure he will. Just… I mean you probably know him better than I do…”

“I’m gonna take care of him. Promise,” she whispered with a soft smile and Will seemed relieved as he nodded at her.

“Miss Beck. Your pipe problem has been solved,” Ben announced coming back soaked through his shirt back into the kitchen. Claire tilted his head, nodding approvingly at the muscles she could see through his white shirt before she looked up into his eyes with a teasing grin.

“I’ll make sure to preach about your plumbing services, Mr. Miller,” she winked and could swear she saw him blush for a second.

“Enough with the puns, we got a BBQ to prepare. Claire your shower is working,” Frankie emerged from the hallway, pulling a fresh shirt over his head and now it was Claire’s turn to blush before she became very invested in the guacamole in front of her while trying not to think about Frankie’s sunkissed skin on his chest, the little tummy or the dark trail of hair she most certainly didn’t want to lick.

She didn’t see Will’s knowing look before he got up from the seat to follow his brother outside.

Claire was so focused on the guacamole she only saw Frankie’s hand in the last second, slapping it away as he tried to steal a taste of the guacamole.

“Mean,” he pouted.

“Good things come to those who wait,” she grinned before she picked up the bowl to put it into the fridge, bending down to open the freezer for her mango ice cream. Frankie bit his lip as his eyes wandered down her body, averting his eyes before she turned around.

Fuck he wished that good things would be coming to those who waited.

Chapter 3

[ot7always]

My Fair Lady

Word Count: 8.1k

Pairing: Crown Prince!Taehyung x Captain of the Guard!Reader

Genre: Historical/Fantasy AU, fluff, smut, angst

Warnings: Sparring (swordfight/fistfight), I’ve literally never fenced in my life I’m sorry for any errors, pining, mentions of battle scars, angst angst angst, angsty sex, crying during sex (and not in a sexy way), unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, it’s super angsty but I promise it’ll be okay

Rating: 18+

Summary: His brother unable to spar with him that day, Crown Prince Taehyung comes to you in need of a partner. 

A/N: This fic was such a wild ride of a writing experience, and I literally lost chunks of writing because of my laptop crashing multiple times. But this fic is my baby, please let me know what you think!

Huge thanks to @wwilloww​​ for beta reading for me, and also @peekaboongi​​ for crying with me as I wrote.

Tagging @moonmintrails​​ @ppersonna​​ @irissilujm​​ @dee-ehn​​

Masterlist

--

You gaze swept across the palace training grounds, hands clasped firmly behind your back. You watched as your soldiers trained, whether it be alone or with each other, and kept an eye out for any glaring errors – incorrect form, weak footwork, and the like.

As the youngest Captain of the Guard in history, it was your duty to ensure each of your soldiers, men and women alike, were in prime condition. Though the position was not passed through bloodlines, you had taken over from your father following his retirement from duty. He was a very well-respected man, and you were determined not to disappoint him. You would continue to prove time and time again that you deserved the honour of your place.

You kept your eyes forward even as you sensed a tall presence settle beside you, taking on a similar stance to your own.

“My Lady,” a deep voice greeted. Your nose crinkled at the title. While it was true your family was of noble station, you much preferred to be addressed as “Captain.” You sought to distance yourself from your cousins who enjoyed hosting fancy balls and tittering about the latest messenger visiting from overseas.

You gave the man beside you a brief once-over, eyes quickly returning to your soldiers in the field. The Crown Prince was looking particularly fresh today, white cotton shirt laced neatly and tucked into black pants that moulded to him like water. His dark curls appeared freshly washed, small tendrils swaying in the wind, having escaped the small tie at the nape of his neck. He smelled suspiciously of lavender. Perhaps he had been delving into his sister’s perfumes once again.

“Your Highness,” you nodded curtly, ignoring the pang in your chest at his appearance. While you tried to put up a good front, you were not immune to the Prince’s charms.

“You know I don’t like when you call me that,” he smiled bashfully at his feet before turning the entirety of his attention to you. “I am in need of a favour,” he continued, gaze imploring.

“What can I do for you, Your Highness?” you responded, suppressing a smirk when you heard him sigh at your words. Having grown up around him, even sharing lessons and training together before you surpassed his abilities, you would consider the two of you friends – more, even. However, you had an image to keep up, barriers that needed to be kept in place lest anyone question your ability to prioritize the royal family’s safety without distraction.

“I require a sparring partner.”

“Do you forget yourself, Your Highness?” you grinned at the notion. Not many dared to challenge you to a fight, and the last time Taehyung matched you in skill he was perhaps a foot or two shorter.

“I beg of you, Captain. My brother is feeling out of sorts and I am in need of a distraction. I have been meeting with courtiers all morning and I cannot begin to express how tiring-”

“He’s taken ill?” you cut in, eyes wide and tone laced with concern as you finally turned to give the Prince your undivided attention. His younger brother was only 15, and you had developed a soft spot for the boy over the years. The plague which tended to come and go from your Kingdom was no joke. While many recovered, many more slowly but surely lost their lives.

“Don’t worry yourself too much, My Lady. Our doctors have assured us it is simply a minor ailment.” His heart warmed at your obvious affection for his brother, knowing how much you cherished his younger siblings. He wondered whether he himself held a similar place in your heart. “Let’s not concentrate on that which will resolve itself quickly in time. Rather, I am still in dire need of a partner. Please?” he appeased, giving you his best impression of a pout. You tried not to crack a smile at the resemblance to his sister.

Your hesitation did not last long – you found it difficult to deny Taehyung anything, not that he asked much of you very often. “Very well, then. Though, we are not exactly dressed for the occasion, are we?” you chuckled, meeting his eyes. It was true. Having only recently left a meeting with those who would accompany Their Majesties to town the next day, you were dressed in a white blouse, dark leather bodice laced on top. While your leather boots allowed for sufficient footwork, the suppressed movement of your torso was not exactly ideal for a fight.

“We both know that you are more than capable of fighting in such attire. Come,” he said, giving you no time to refuse before you were led to the central combat ring. The ring was often used to host friendly tournaments and was clearly visible from any spot in the field.

“Are you so keen to showcase your defeat to my entire squadron?” you teased, shooting the Prince a grin as you caught the foil he tossed to you. Light, thin, and dull, it ensured you did not cause any serious injury lest you accidentally hit him. Cotton, after all, was not the most ideal material to prevent bruising. As for you? Well, you didn’t plan on getting hit anyway.

You took up your position opposite him, bent slightly at the knee, sword in hand, opposing hand clenched comfortably behind your back. You watched as Taehyung settled into the same posture. You clicked your tongue in disapproval upon seeing his form. Shoulders tense already, you sighed. Well, you would just have to see if he fixed his error later on.

“Ready when you are, Sweet Prince,” you smirked, exhaling a laugh as his face flushed. It was a nickname given to him by the men and women he’d seduced and bedded over the years. Even if he’d invited them into his bed only once and never again, they never stopped singing his praises. A part of you was desperate to know what he did to impress them.

“I don’t have all day, Your Highness,” you called out, smile slowly lighting up your face at his embarrassment. A lie, of course. If he asked you to stand there and wait for hours while you simply stared at each other you would do it. You liked to tell yourself it was because of your royal duty, but in reality you had never been able to say no to him, even in your childhood. There was something so charming yet shy, so mature yet naïve about him, that had you wishing for his happiness at every moment. He was a walking contradiction you wanted nothing more than to solve.

Having collected himself, Taehyung launched himself at you quickly, sword flying its way toward your shoulder – easily parried. You figured the two of you would ease into a proper match. After all, neither of you were properly warmed up, and you refused to listen to the Prince’s complaining of sore muscles if you could avoid it.

You remained light on your feet, focusing solely on defending against his basic lunges rather than attempting to retaliate. That would come in time. It wouldn’t be so enjoyable if you didn’t toy with him just a little, right?

After several minutes of rather simple steps, you figured you were ready to break a sweat. The next time his blade swung at you, you batted it aside and thrust your own at his chest, tip poking into his shirt before he could even blink.

“Come now, Your Highness. Shall we see what my father taught you?” you taunted, backing away to your original position. Your heart warmed when you saw the fire light in his eyes at the challenge, his playful expression temporarily replaced by sheer focus. You couldn’t conclude which was more handsome.

The next time he flew at you, it was with newfound ardour, the clink of metal on metal a familiar symphony to your ears. The Prince was skilled, you would give him that. Not that you were surprised – you recalled a time in his youth when he dedicated himself fully to training in this exact spot.

You gave yourself fully to your reflexes, blade swinging left, right, and circling round as you blocked his attacks. Quickly side-stepping a stab toward your neck, you grinned. Despite your original hesitance, you were enjoying yourself. Seeing the sweat form on Taehyung’s brow from his effort, you were happy to see him dedicate himself to something so completely. His technique focused on agility over power, something well-suited to his long limbs and lean muscle. You were the same – fight smart, not hard, your father used to tell you.

Backing away suddenly, Taehyung pouted slightly as he caught his breath. “I can tell that you are going easy on me, Captain. At least try to hit me, I swear to you that I can handle it.” You chuckled at his words.

“Very well, Your Highness. Though if I may point out, perhaps it would serve you better if you relaxed your muscles more. How can you expect to hit me when your shoulder fails to follow through?” you chided. Taehyung bit his lip at your words.

“My apologies, Captain. I find it difficult when I am near you.” Your brows furrowed, unsure whether you heard correctly. He has trouble relaxing around you? You preferred not to pick apart such a statement.

In answer, you lunged at him, a tide of satisfaction flowing through you when he moved immediately in response. You allowed him to continue on the offensive, though this time you followed up every few parries with a riposte, ensuring you never actually hit him with your blade.

Steel was flying through the air so fast it was a blur, your focus lying solely on the flurry of blades between your bodies. You quickly lost track of time, though based on the slight burn in your calves the activity must have gone on for quite a while.

It became almost like a rhythm – feet dancing, you blocked thrice, circling around for a responding thrust. Little did you know, in your focus you missed Taehyung’s wistful glances as he took in your appearance – gaze sharp, hair around your face flying as it escaped your tight knot at the back.

While you did your best not to make contact, your efforts were not perfect. Because as the Prince stepped left rather than right as you had expected, your blade made full and hard contact with his abdomen, confirmed by the faint oof that accompanied the motion. Broken out of your trance, you stared wide-eyed. “My apologies-”

You let down your guard for only a moment, but it was enough for him to swipe your blade aside, his own resting right between your collarbones. Raising your eyes to meet his own, you found only a grin, no sign of pain. That little-

“KIM TAEHYUNG!!!” you bellowed, ignoring the nearby gasps at your blatant show of disrespect. The eldest soldiers only shook their heads in dismay, having become used to your antics over the years. You whipped the side of his blade with your own, force enough to send it flying out of his grasp. “I was worried about you!” you shouted, stalking your way over to his retreating body, met only by a full-bodied laugh and hands raised to defend himself.

He took hold of your shoulders, keeping you at arms’ length as you glared up at him. The look only sent him into another fit of laughter. “The look on your face was magnificent, Captain,” he snickered, ignoring the betrayal on your face. “I’m perfectly fine, also. You needn’t worry so much-”

“Oh, you will not be fine by the time I’m done with you, Your Highness,” you seethed, picking up his discarded blade only to chuck it at him with just a little more force than necessary. “If you wanted a fight, Kim Taehyung, you’ve found one. I will pray for your recovery.”

Taking up your position for the third time of the afternoon, you scanned his features opposite you. He had no blaring weak spots, though you would be surprised if he did after all his years of training. He was fast, though you would bet that you were faster. Defeating him at his full capabilities would not be extremely easy, but if you gave it perhaps 80% you supposed you could be done within minutes.

“Any last words?” you goaded, grinning at the fleck of worry that crossed his face. “You look afraid, Your Highness.”

“It is perhaps in my best interest to remain a bit afraid, My Lady,” he chuckled lightly, eyes keen as they awaited your first movement. The narrowed your eyes, taking him in, planning your actions. He’s not wrong, you thought. Everyone in this field was just a little bit afraid.

Taehyung jumped when your blade made contact with his own, a high-pitched screech ringing out as he fought you off. You gave him no time to contemplate his own actions before you lunged relentlessly at him, delivering strike after strike without pause. He was forced to remain on the defensive, putting in his full effort to parry and step away in time.

Despite his struggle, you were impressed he was able to keep up with you as well as he was. He’s been training more, you noted. His improvement was clear compared to the last time you fought only several months ago. However, in a game of stamina, you were sure to win.

The top of your bodice dug sharply into your chest as your breaths quickened, but you were no stranger to discomfort. Over time you had learned to put aside such trivial things. Aches and pains were part of your job, and you’d be damned if you didn’t do it well.

Unwilling to let go of your pride, your steps quickened, Taehyung’s blade moving frantically to keep up but inevitably slowing slightly as you did not give him time to breathe. If you hadn’t focused all of your energy into this alone with no distractions, you perhaps would have poked fun at him.

When his sword arm lagged only slightly behind, arms slightly too wide, slightly too open, you struck hard. Batting his blade to the side only centimetres above where he held it in his grasp, you simpered, watching his shocked face as his blade went flying. His eyes darted between you and the blade, metres away, seemingly contemplating whether to give up or to pounce on it.

“What now, Little Prince? If this were a battlefield, would you simply cower in fear?” you coerced, eyes predatory. Perhaps it was sadistic of you, but you relished in the look of dismay in Taehyung’s face. He’d been thoroughly defeated – it was only a matter of how long you would draw it out.

Tossing your own foil to the side, you stretched your limbs before beckoning him over, fists positioned in front of you. It was a petty move and you knew it, for soldiers were much more well-versed in hand-to-hand combat than the Crown Prince, who was known to favour his swords and bows.

Taehyung had no complaints, however. A fight was a fight, after all. As he came after you with one, two, three jabs to your chest, you danced aside as you evaded easily. The difference in speed between his punches and sword thrusts were clear, the former much less practiced than the latter.

You unfortunately had not thought this idea through, because your options for victory without injuring the Prince were limited. While you were aware Taehyung would not mind, it would not be the best image for you to beat the life out of the Kingdom’s Crown Prince in open view of a squadron sworn to protect him.

“Are you so eager for my company that you would draw this out?” he joked, a weak punch toward your face easily shoved out of the way by your forearm. “Or perhaps you find pleasure in cornering me, My Lady?”

“You think so highly of yourself, Your Highness. Is it so disconcerting to find yourself put in your place every so often?”

“Quite the opposite, I think. I’ve never enjoyed myself so much,” he beamed, eyes shining. “I’ve quite missed you, Captain.” You faltered at the admission. While you loved to give him a hard time, you knew he was well aware of your fondness for him. However, you don’t believe you’ve ever said something so forthright to each other, and the statement awakened something in you that you thought you had buried deep.

Noting your slightly frozen state, Taehyung charged at you. However, you would not be fooled twice. The audacity of this man-

Twisting your arm to grab hold of his, you leaped forward. Suddenly taking the force of your full weight, Taehyung had nowhere to go but down, groaning as his back thudded against the canvas floor. Knee digging itself into the Prince’s ribcage below you, you sighted your previously discarded blade nearby. Grabbing hold of it, you held it to his throat.

“Yield,” you whispered, words escaping you much softer than intended. He made no effort to move, only staring up into your face with unspeakable emotion.

“And what if I am happy where I am, My Lady?” he murmured, taking in your appearance. Chest heaving, escaped hair wet with sweat, blouse crinkled – you were perhaps the finest sight he’d ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on. Though his words might have been taken for humour, you saw the look on his face. He didn’t even attempt to mask the desire, shameless through and through.

Before you could even think to respond, smatterings of applause broke out across the field at your victorious display, though they could not even begin to understand what was happening between the two of you. Moment broken, you quickly hopped up, helping Taehyung to his feet but avoiding his gaze. You were afraid to admit how much your heart fluttered when you heard his words, afraid of how much it would hurt when you would be forced to walk away and never speak of this moment again.

It was for the best.

“Y/N,” he called out softly, hands reaching for your own, but maintaining a respectful distance. Your eyes flew up to meet his, unused to hearing your own name in the palace nowadays. The look he gave you was honest, sincere. “Do you feel this too?”

You paused. Though he didn’t quite say what this meant, you could guess. In fact, his knowing gaze told you he only wanted you to admit what he already knew. The man had always been perceptive, and you had more memories with him than with your own family. You were certain he was familiar with your every expression. After all, you could write novels about his face – the way his eyes shone in his passion, the way the corners of his lips twitched when he was repressing a scowl.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Pleading ignorance was the best defense. Admitting to your desires was foolish, and would not change your circumstances. You knew this was deeper than physical desires, but that just made it all the more impossible. Princes were destined for arranged marriage – nobody could simply form a relationship with a future King, least of all the soldier who has pledged her life to his parents. No, a proper relationship was not within the realm of possibility. But neither could you lay with the Crown Prince in good conscience – how would the public trust you to put the King and Queen’s safety above all else if you were warming their Prince’s bed?

Every option to act on your desires was fated for failure.

Taehyung’s hands moved from your palms to your wrists, his thumbs pressing into your pulse firmly. “Your heart is racing,” he murmured, eyes staring into your own as though he knew your every secret. “Why do you hide it?”

“You know why,” you stated, voice soft. “Of course I feel it, but it matters not.” The admission coming from your own lips shocked you. You had danced around each other for years, orbiting each other like binary stars, but you’d never admitted your attraction to him.

“It matters to me,” he whispered, thumb stroking at the soft skin of your wrists with care. “Come to my chambers after dinner.”

Your brows shot up at the suggestion. This was not a light request. You were no longer children, no longer laughed in his company until the maids shooed you away, chiding you for making so much noise.

This was real. As much as you grew to accept your desires, you had never even fathomed acting on them. Not when you knew it couldn’t last – not when your reputation, perhaps even your position, were at stake. “Your Highness, I couldn’t possibly-”

“Please,” he begged, staring into you with an expression you would liken to a puppy begging for scraps. You attempted to turn away, but he only followed. “Please,” he repeated, noting your conflicted expression. It was hard to deny him anything when he was looking at you like that, but even harder to deny yourself when every part of you wanted nothing more than to say yes.

“Very well,” you breathed, sealing your fate. “I shall come when the clock strikes eight, Your Highness.”

--

You couldn’t do it. As much as your heart craved him more than anything, you couldn’t. He was untouchable. If you were any other person, if you were just a court lady, you would jump at the chance. It wasn’t a secret that the Prince has had many partners, and nobody gave it a second thought. But to be with you?

It was improper. Impossible. How could you be trusted to do your duty fully and objectively if you’d laid with the Crown Prince?

After bathing, you made your way to his bedchambers, clad only in a loose blouse and cotton pants, hair flowing freely around your shoulders, still wet. You could not join him in his bed, but he at least deserved a rejection in person rather than your absence.

Knocking lightly on the door, you were startled when it swung open, your arm still raised. He gave you such a sweet smile it was almost painful, still dressed in his earlier attire but hair loose around his face. You stepped into the room, taking in its appearance, having not seen the room in years. It smelled of him, of vanilla and lavender and musk, a scent you would breathe for the rest of your life if it was possible. The room was exactly as you remembered it, mostly barren if not for the set of throwing knives on display – a gift from your father for the Prince’s coming-of-age.

“I’m so glad you came-”

“I’m sorry,” you cut him off, turning to face him. “I came to put a stop to this before it’s begun, Your Highness. You're trying to start something that will be too painful to cease.” Your words struck him, and it physically pained you to see his face transform from excitement to distress.

“But I am not imagining what we have, am I? I have longed for you for years. Am I wrong to think you have too?” he pleaded.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Your Highness. We can’t possibly do this – think about it. Not only that, I cannot have the palace thinking I earned my position through your bed. There are so many reasons we cannot – I want you but I cannot have you!” You didn’t mean to raise your voice, but you couldn’t help it in your grief. Eyes brimming with unshed tears of frustration, it hurt to look at him standing so close, and yet so out of reach.

At your anguish, Taehyung reached for your face, thumbs wiping away the tears you didn’t even notice had fallen. His tenderness only sent another wave of sorrow through you, chest heavy. “I’m sorry. I know it was selfish to call you here. I know this is easier for me than you. Please forget I ever asked.”

“I know it’s wrong, but...”

“But?” he urged gently.

“Is it so foolish that I want it anyway?” you whispered. You looked at him wide-eyed, gaze pained, searching his face as if it held the answers to the universe. For you, perhaps it did.

“Y/N...” he begun, the sweet sound of your name coming from his lips the final nail in your coffin. Denying that you wanted this more than anything would be the greatest lie you’ve ever told. It was brash, and stupid, and irresponsible, but you wanted to feel this at least once. You wanted to indulge in his touch, his affection. You needed to feel his hands on you, his mouth on your skin, and you didn’t know if you would ever be brave enough to accept him again if you didn’t do it now.

“It can only be once. Nobody can know.” You couldn’t risk the noblewomen catching on to your activities. They were unusually observant, and you didn’t doubt their abilities to discern your relationship with even the faintest of hints. Taehyung knew better than anybody that the palace ladies treated gossip as currency, and word traveled especially quickly on matters involving him. He nodded at your words, but the grave look on his face told you he wished things were different.

“I will cherish our time together, My Lady” he breathed, but his conflicted expression spoke volumes. “We don’t have to do this-”

You shook your head, closing the space between you until your chests were pressed together. Stomach in knots and chest tight, you ran your fingers along his broad chest and down to his abdomen before wrapping them loosely around his waist. You would savour every touch, make note of every expression, save away every delightful noise from his lips, and you would pray for it to be enough to satiate you for a lifetime. Because it had to be.

Tilting your head back to meet his eyes, your heart nearly leapt from your throat at the look on his face. The adoration, the warmness – but most of all, the pain. This was torture for both of you, and you knew it. It was selfish and self-destructive, but the two of you always seemed to bring out both the best and the worst in each other.

Without speaking, you reached up to grab hold of his head, yanking it down to smash your lips together without ceremony. He responded with fervor, moving against you, arms tugging until there was not even a millimetre of space between your bodies. You tried not to think about the desperation in your movements, the saltiness of the tears still present on your face. You dragged your hands over the planes of his chest and down to his biceps, nails digging in slightly when he bit at your bottom lip.

Harshly tugging his shirt from his waistband, you traced your nails up his bare skin, relishing in the uneven breath he let out in response. You would dedicate yourself to memorizing every inch of him. Every dip, every curve would be ingrained in your mind for eternity, your hands tracing patterns into his skin like a brush on canvas.

He did the same to you, his large hands finding their way beneath your blouse and chemise, lifting them both above your head to toss them to the floor. You were bare underneath, having planned to leave for your own bedchambers only minutes after arriving. He sucked in a breath at the sight of you on display entirely for him. His careful fingers traced the scars on your abdomen, accumulated through years of training and fighting on the frontlines. While ugly, you were not ashamed – these were proofs to others and to yourself that you would put your Kingdom above all else.

Bending at the knee, he traced his mouth down your jaw, down your throat, kissing you reverently as he continued his path. Passing over your breasts, he moved lower to mouth gently at the scars littering your belly, his gentle presses causing new tears to spring to your eyes. Was this how it felt to be worshipped? To be loved?

Taehyung took in the sorrow painting your features, but did not comment. There was nothing to be said – he understood perfectly. Perhaps if he pressed his face more firmly into the softness of your skin, he would spare you having to see the twin look of despair he was unable to hide.

Sliding a hand into his hair, you softly brushed it away from his face, gently pulling his chin up to look at you. Your heart wrenched at the sight of him, eyes looking at you as though you were a treasure, as though you weren’t the thing causing him so much pain. As though you wouldn’t leave him alone after this.

Tugging lightly at the collar of his shirt, he quickly got the memo, shucking it off in a direction you didn’t see, too focused on what was just revealed to you. If not for the honeyed gold of his skin, you would have been convinced he was carved of marble. You traced the lines of his body, a tiny smile breaking through at the shudder he gave when your nails scratched over his nipples. Though your actions were slow, he did not rush you. He only watched the awe in your gaze, eyes wide as though if you blinked, he would disappear. The childlike wonder in your face warmed his heart, pleased that you would let your guard down here with him.

You blinked out of your stupor at the sensation of a warm hand on your cheek, the sight of Taehyung’s soft grin at your antics lighting a small fire of embarrassment in you. “Bed?” he asked lightly, nuzzling his face into your neck. The hot breaths near your ear sent a shiver down your spine, tugging him ever-so-closer as you nodded in response.

Pulling away from him, you tugged lightly at the drawstrings to your pants, biting your lip when you saw the Prince follow your every movement. Taking his hands into your own, you brought them to your waistband. “Help me,” you breathed, heart racing at the knowledge that you would soon be laid bare to him.

He took a deep breath before releasing the knot at your waist, tugging your pants ever so slowly down your legs. He knelt at your feet, removing the fabric from your ankles until the only cloth left on your body is your underwear. Eyes falling on your face, he thumbed the waistband, looking up at you in question. At your quiet “please,” he removed that too, your folds revealed to him, shiny with your arousal.

Groaning at the sight, Taehyung latched onto your clit before you could even process the movement, the sudden pleasure making you weak in the knees. He sucked at your bud lightly, taking pleasure in the way you sunk your hands into his hair to ground yourself. When you wobbled slightly in your bliss, his left arm rose to hold you steady at the waist.

When his other hand rose to thumb through your folds while his mouth continued its ministrations, you moaned out. Eyes falling down to observe the Prince, the sight brought a small whimper to your lips, your hips grinding down onto him. He looked absolutely sinful, his eyes heavy-lidded as he delved into your heat with such abandon, focused entirely on your pleasure. When he inserted a finger into you, quickly followed by another upon feeling your wetness, you were sure you would have fallen if not for his arm holding you steady.

“What-” you started, but ended up cutting yourself off with a loud moan at the sensation of his fingers scissoring inside you. “What happened to going to bed?” you managed to get out, utterly breathless.

You let out a gasp when he pulled from you abruptly in response, picking you up at the waist and throwing you onto his mattress. You had no time to reprimand him before he was spreading your legs, mouth and fingers returning to you as he joined you on the bed. Any words were stolen from your throat at the stretch of a third finger, your hips bucking up to get closer to the source of your pleasure.

“You taste so good,” he moaned out, panting. You didn’t miss the way he grinded his clothed crotch into the sheets, heat shooting through you at the sight. When his fingers curled inside you, the heat spread throughout your whole body, abdomen tight and walls clenching tightly around his fingers. You were so close to the edge, it would take only one breath before you fell over.

“Give it to me, please,” he pleaded, tongue flicking over your clit as his fingers continued to nudge that spongy spot inside you. Needing no more encouragement, you fell apart, moans forced from your throat, hips grinding against him as he worked you through your orgasm. When a dull ache begun to replace the pleasure, you pulled away from him, pushing him onto his back.

His arousal was clear, his cock straining in his tight pants enough that it must have hurt. Though, his face held no complaint, only dazed wonderment clear on his features, almost as if he still couldn’t believe what was happening. He let out a sharp hiss as your nails traced the outline of his cock, his teeth biting furiously at his bottom lip.

Deciding not to torture him after the ecstasy he brought you, you tugged his pants and underwear down in one go, Taehyung groaning in relief as his cock sprung free. The tip was angry and red, the slit leaking precum. After freeing him of his clothing, you reached out a hand to pump lightly at his cock, noting the way it twitched in your hold. It looked almost painful, the vein running up the underside big and angry.

You began to lower your mouth to him, eager to return the pleasure he gave you, but were halted by a gentle hand on your cheek. “Please,” he begged, “I can’t. I need you,” he expressed all in one breath, eyes pained and needy.

Taking mercy on him, you rose, shifting until you were seated in his lap, mouth seeking his out. He cried out into your mouth at the sensation of your slick folds rocking against him, grinding down onto his cock. Hand reaching down to position him at your entrance, you pulled your face away to watch his as you sunk yourself slowly onto his length. The moan you let out at the stretch was crude, and it didn’t appear that Taehyung was faring any better, his breaths coming in pants, eyes screwed shut.

He’s beautiful like this, you thought, your own eyes wanting to badly to flutter closed, but your need to take in his every expression won out. Your head tipped back in pleasure as you seated yourself fully, moans escaping as you rocked against him, his pelvis pressing into your clit.

Losing yourself in the sensation, you fell forward to bury your face into Taehyung’s neck, his scent only adding to your pleasure. His hips rocked against your own, thrusts shallow, both of you letting out low moans at the movement. The friction against your clit had your abdomen tightening again, his tender hold on your body the best thing you’d ever felt. But as the pleasure reared in on you again, it was at that moment you remembered the totality of your situation.

You would never get this again.

The thought was like ice-water thrown over your head. How could you have forgotten? His cock deep inside you, his hips rising to meet your own, his hand clutching at the small of your back, his moans – it was all temporary.

You shoved your face tightly into his shoulder, hoping your sob would disguise itself as a moan. But at the shaking of your shoulders, Taehyung paused his actions, hand rising to cradle your head. “Y/N?”

“Tae,” you cried out, heart wrenching. It wasn’t lost on him that this was the first time he’s properly heard his name from your lips since your promotion – no teasing, no games. His heart broke at the sound, your sobs guttural, and he wanted nothing more than to take the pain away. The gravity of the situation brought tears to his own eyes, unable to suppress the emotion any longer.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he whispered, your head lifting to meet his glassy eyes. Your eyes were red-rimmed, your lips quivering. This was an agony that only the two of you could ever understand.

“Taehyung, I-” you faltered, choking on a sob. I love you. You couldn’t say it. What good could it bring you now? But your eyes spoke volumes, the emotion clear on your face. He knew how you felt just as much as you knew how he felt.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he repeated, tears finally escaping his eyes as he tugged you closer. There was no way to be more intimate than this, arms cradling each other as you cried, his cock still nestled inside you.

It would have to be enough.

As your bodies shifted minutes later, the friction against you had you shivering, remembering the position you were in. You pulled your head from his neck to gaze at his face, his eyes meeting your own. It hurt, but there was sad acceptance in your eyes, mirrored in his own. You tried to force a small smile onto your face, but you were unsure whether it appeared as a grimace. You instead elected to press a soft kiss to his lips, eyes falling closed as he returned it.

You rocked your hips together slowly, relishing in the light sighs and quiet moans of the other. Your movements were tender, careful, full of love and affection you would never get the chance to verbalize. When you felt your release creeping up on you again, you arched your back, grinding into his pelvis. Wanting to help you along, Taehyung grabbed hold of your hips, holding you steady as he thrusted up into you, every so often holding himself deep, grinding against you. The emotion of it all had your breath caught in your throat, your orgasm washing over you in gentle waves as you writhed against his body.

You could tell he was coming undone, his thrusts erratic, breaths heavy as he pulled away from you to leave open-mouthed kisses on your collarbone. You moaned at the overwhelming sensation of his movements so soon after your orgasm, but you wouldn’t dare rob him of his pleasure. Not now, not like this.

Groaning loudly, you felt his cock twitch inside you as he continued his thrusts, feeling the warmth of his release coating your walls. He shook in your arms, and you couldn’t bring yourself to confirm whether he was overwhelmed with pleasure or sorrow.

Letting out a whine as you pulled yourself off him, you wiped the mess between your  legs on his sheets. His maids would clean for him come sunrise, and you were anxious to escape the room before you lost yourself fully to despair.

You allowed yourself to bask in his presence momentarily, laying alongside him for several minutes before you rose to get dressed. You kept your back to him, unwilling to show weakness despite your vulnerability only moments ago.

“Stay,” he begged, his voice still husky from the passion you’d shared. Your heart sunk at the suggestion. You wanted nothing more than to stay, but every minute you spent here knowing the outcome only shattered you a bit more.

Fully dressed, you made your way to the door. You could still feel where his hands touched you, where his lips pressed against you, where his cock had been inside you. “I’m sorry,” you breathed, misery colouring your tone. You turned to him, taking in his bare appearance for the last time. You stared, hoping to burn the image into your retinas.

“I know,” was his only response. What more was there to say? Your eyes swept over each other, locking this moment away in your hearts forever. Finally, you turned back to the door, turning the knob and stepping out into the hallway without looking back. The sound of the hinge falling into place behind you felt like waking up from a dream, the period at the end of a sentence.

Your tears fell freely and silently as you made your way back to your chambers. Your heart ached a bit more with the increasing distance, every step leaving a piece of you behind.

It’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? You supposed whoever could claim such a thing had never loved like this. Because walking away left your heart in a million pieces, the only glue that could piece you back together still staring at his empty sheets, the dip from where your body once laid still warm to the touch.

--

Months went by without speaking of that night. The tonic you’d taken upon returning to your room had worked well, your body having bled weeks later. You had still talked to Taehyung – you had to; your duty required it. But the pain never ceased, only dulled. You told yourself you would move on, that there was no use in dwelling. But the heated glances you caught him directing at you, desire and heartbreak in his eyes, always took you right back to that night.

He hadn’t been with anyone since – not that you were listening. You couldn’t help but to overhear the palace ladies gossiping, spreading word of the Crown Prince denying their advances. You didn’t know what to do with the information.

Having just returned from mapping out Their Majesties route to a neighbouring city, you returned your horse to the stables. While not necessary, you much preferred to prepare yourself for every possibility of attack, taking note of any weaknesses in visibility along the path. Every second counts when you’re under attack, after all.

“Captain!” a voice called out to you urgently. Having just handed off your horse to the stablehand, you turned to meet the man, his hands on his knees as if he had just run a mile before coming here. “I have been looking for you everywhere, Captain. Their Majesties have requested your presence in the throne room.” Unusual, since you had met together only this morning, but you would not keep them waiting.

“Thank you, sir. I will head there now.”

--

You went directly to the throne room, pausing outside to nod to the royal family’s assistant stationed outside. He smiled to you briefly before pushing the door open.

“Captain Y/N to see you, Your Majesties.”

“Let her in, thank you,” a kind, feminine voice rang out.

You stepped inside quickly, taking a knee until the King gestured for you to stand. “I deeply apologize for my appearance, Your Majesties. I had just returned from planning our route for tomorrow and thought it better not to leave you waiting.”

The King smiled at you, the warm-hearted expression reminding you of Taehyung’s. Your chest ached at the thought, but you kept a blank expression. “Hard at work as always, I see. We had something we would like to discuss with you.” At his words, you noticed that not only were the King and Queen present, but Taehyung was stood off to the side as well. Your heartrate increased slightly at the sight of him.

“Your Highness. Forgive my disrespect, I had not seen you there,” you bowed respectfully, ignoring the heat that rushed through you at his appearance. His hair was loose, his outfit form-fitting. He was beautiful. You tried not to think too much on what he looked like beneath the clothes. “What can I do for you, Your Majesties?”

“Captain, my son came to us earlier today with quite the startling proposition,” he began, and your brows furrowed in confusion. When he failed to elaborate, you spoke up.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean, Your Majesty.”

“You see, he came to us in a frenzy and asked, ‘Father, what would you say if I wanted to marry the Captain of the Guard?’” You froze, eyes wide. Marry? You? Taehyung? Your heart pounded violently at the notion.

“Sire, I promise you this was not my idea. I apologize-”

“My dear, do not panic. We are not angry. But we wanted to ask your thoughts.”

“Your Majesties, I couldn’t possibly marry your son.” You made effort not to look at the Prince, lest your composure fail. “I have no lands to offer. No gold, nothing. I cannot offer you any alliance, I cannot bring anything to your family,” you turned to Taehyung, his expression unreadable. “You cannot marry a soldier,” you whispered, heart breaking once again as the possibility was dangled in front of you, lingering just beyond reach.

“Captain, do you know that the people adore you? That they sing your praises when we pass through their villages?” the Queen asked, a bright smile painting her features. Your face grew hot at the mention. “Your soldiers respect you. Your hometown throws festivals in honour of your birthday. Dare I say that you’re more popular than us?” she joked, giggle chiming lightly through the room. Taking in her appearance and mannerisms, it was no question why Taehyung was as handsome and as loved as he was.

“Ma’am, of course not,” you responded, hand raising to awkwardly scratch at your head. You were unsure where she was going with the statement.

“You’ve earned the Kingdom’s trust, Captain. You’re perhaps the most loyal person I’ve ever laid eyes on. Might I also add that you are not just some nobody? Your family has served ours for generations. You are of noble birth,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Do you consider yourself so unworthy?”

You paused at the question. It did not seem to be a trap, and the Queen was certainly not one to be malicious. Glancing around the room, you noted the King and Prince were observing your reaction expectantly. It was not an environment good for your nerves. “A soldier is not fit to be the future Queen,” is the statement you settled for, attempting to maintain a mask of indifference.

“My dear, do you remember what you told me only a few years ago? When I asked you if you were afraid of trying to accomplish what nobody else in history has?” the King’s deep voice rang out. Your gaze snapped up, knowing exactly what he was about to say. Oh no...

“‘Damn history. I will write my own history,’ I think it was.” Chuckles broke out across the room, the Queen tittering, Taehyung snickering. You’d never told Taehyung about that encounter, embarrassment flowing through you every time you thought about it. You focused your gaze on your feet, face burning at the reminder of your words.

“I have since learned to control my words, Sire,” you muttered ashamedly, fingers tangling together.

“Y/N,” the King’s voice called, grabbing your attention once again. “You have guts. Daring. You’re smart, well-trained. And there’s nobody I would trust to guard my life more than you.” You bit your lip at the praise, struggling to hide a proud grin. Being praised by the King was a feat not many experienced. “It would be an honour to call you our daughter.”

You stared, slack-jawed, processing his words. You didn’t notice Taehyung approaching you until his fingers laced with your own, his opposing hand moving to raise your chin. The open affection on his face, the love - it was everything you’d ever dreamed of and nothing you’d ever dared hope for. Your breathing quickened as he sank to his knees in front of you.

“Please,” he beseeched, vulnerability clear on his face. “Spend eternity with me, together. Will you marry me?”

Tears filled your eyes, but for once they were tears of joy, not tears of despair. You dropped to your knees to meet him, arms thrown around his neck. He barely had time to catch you as you threw yourself at him, bodies the closest they’ve been since that night in his bed. Raising your head to lock your eyes on his, you knew the same love you had for him was written all over your face.

“Yes,” you cried, hands raising to cup his jaw. “Yes.”

[avengershumanresources]

blood 1 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, eventual smut (like, wayyy down the line), adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

Masterlist 

Chapter Playlist

1 - an empty grave

Cast:

The Royal House Stark:

King Obadiah Stark (Obadiah Stane)

King Anthony Stark (presumed dead)

Queen Virginia Stark (Pepper)

The Late Queen Alexandra Stark (your mother)

Princess Stark!Reader- you

Prince Peter Stark (Peter Parker)

Princess Morgan Stark

Knights:

Sir Samuel Wilson

Sir Steven Rogers

Sir Clinton Barton

Spellcasters/Master Sorcerers/Sorceresses:

Stephen Strange

Wanda Maximoff

Master Wong

Loyal to House Stark:

Natalia Romanoff (Natasha)- Assassin

James Barnes- her partner

Prince Thor- of Asgard, United with Stark’s kingdom

Prince Loki- of Asgard

Lady Brunhilde- of Asgard

Lady Sif- of Asgard

King T’Challa- of Wakanda

Princess Shuri- of Wakanda

(---) 

In a final twist of irony, the day of the funeral was bright and warm. 

You’d stood quietly while the priest recited his words, while candles were lit, while the Queen trembled silently next to you. You held Morgan’s hand, you listened while the choir sang, the ominous sound reverberating through your chest. 

The mourners in black whispered while the royal family walked up to an empty coffin. You touched the polished wood, fist tightening at your side. Pepper bowed her head, reciting a quiet prayer. 

How stupid. All of this was stupid. Praying to an empty box, crying over nothing. 

You kept your eyes down, lest you betray your own thoughts. Now wasn’t the time for rebellion. Not when your queen step-mother was relying so heavily on tradition and ritual to get through the day. It’d be borderline cruel to start antagonizing her in this way. 

No, you’d wait. 

Peter, your half-brother in blood but full brother in heart, touched your elbow, pulling you from your thoughts, and guiding you away from the coffin. He kept his eyes forward, expression stoic while he lead the family back to their positions in the massive cathedral. 

“They’ll pay for this,” he murmured low into your ear, as if reading your mind. The words were laced with a malice you’d never heard from the normally cheerful prince. 

You didn’t reply, instead you grabbed your younger brother’s hand and gave it a tight squeeze. A silent agreement. 

The attack had been a betrayal of one of the kingdom’s oldest allies, a neighboring kingdom ruled by someone your father had once trusted with his life. 

Apparently nothing was sacred anymore. 

The funeral ended somberly, mourners murmuring amongst each other, ladies fawning over Pepper, though the queen looked none too pleased with the attention. 

You searched the crowd for a pair of familiar of blue eyes, finding their owner tucked away from the crowd in a secluded corner. He was speaking quietly to the sorceress, Wanda, his eyes flicking up to meet your gaze. With a small nod, he signaled you over.

Weaving through the mass of people, you slipped into the conversation with Wanda regarding you, frowning in sympathy.

“I’m so sorry, your highness,” she whispered, bowing her head. “Your father was a good man, and an honest king. The realm is less for this loss.”

“Thank you,” your tone was colder than you’d intended, a reflection of the bitterness taking form within. Clearing your throat, you tried again, softer and more agreeable this time. “He truly was the best of us.”

Stephen sent Wanda a quick glance and the sorceress excused herself, parting the hall in a hurry.

“You’re angry,” he noted quietly. 

“Am I?” you hummed, quirking a brow up at your friend. “I thought I was supposed to be sad?”

“You’re allowed to be angry,” he replied, folding his hands behind his back. “It just means you understand the injustice of it all.”

“Peter wants revenge,” you stated, mimicking his motion and staring out at the sea of royals and court members. 

“Understandable,” he murmured. “I imagine a number of officials feel similarly.”

“He isn’t old enough to take the throne,” you supplied. “We can’t go to war without a seated leader.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time an heir succeeded in an unorthodox manner,” he noted before turning his head to look at you. “How are you, truly?”

You opened your mouth to reply, words catching in your throat. You felt hollow. You felt like you wanted to scream until you woke up from whatever nightmare you were caught in. Your heart felt like it had been ripped from your chest and stomped on. 

“I’m not certain,” you finally confessed, hands straining against each other behind your back. “Part of me wants to ride through the night and kill that traitor. The other wants to curl on the ground and fill the empty grave myself.”

He nodded in understanding.

“Grief is a powerful thing,” he replied softly, scanning the room before turning and giving you his full attention . “Would you like hide in the observatory a while?”

You looked up to him in surprise. The room was still full of mourners, citizens, and members of the court. Your duty would be to talk to everyone as they passed, pulling the burden off of Pepper.

“Can we?” you asked, voice cracking at the thought of having to converse any further.

Stephen gave you a mischievous smirk, nudging you toward a side door of the church. You followed his lead, slipping out of sight and tucking yourselves away from the crowds inside a small alcove. 

“They’ll want to focus on Peter and the queen anyway,” he noted casually, drawing up a portal with his fingers. “No point in dwelling. I’ll tell anyone who asks that you fainted from the stress and required immediate medical attention.”

“I’m sure they’ll all believe it,” you retorted with a matching grin, taking his hand and letting him help you through the portal with all of your heavy mourning apparel. 

The observatory had been a new addition to the palace after Stephen had arrived as its master sorcerer. Before, it’d been an abandoned archer’s tower, last used by the late king’s father, Howard, as a means of defense against the previously antagonistic kingdoms. 

After King Anthony had taken the throne and negotiated trade and peace treaties with the nearby kings, the reinforcements had largely been forgotten. 

Stephen had suggested it as an ideal place to study the cosmos above, and after some urging on your part, your father agreed to let the two of you repair the small space. When the foundation had been fixed to his specifications, Stephen added another enchantment to increase the size internally.

From there, the two of you worked to fill the space with objects of learning and interest. 

The walls had been lined with stacks of books, maps of the universe, and healing runes. Tables had been set with with all sorts of alchemical experiments, glowing amulets, and charmed quills. A small greenhouse had been established on one of the many turret balconies, where you helped tend to some medicinal herbs and enchanted florals. 

It was a place of peace and knowledge in a world of chaos and ignorance and in it, Stephen had taken the time to teach you the secrets of the universe. It was one of the few places you knew you truly could belong without judgement. 

“I’m not convinced this isn’t sabotage,” he stated once you were alone, the glowing orange portal snapping shut behind him. 

“What makes you say that?” you asked, lifting a book, flipping through a few pages in an attempt to distract yourself from his blunt words. You agreed there was some kind of malice involved in the attack, but sabotage suggested someone within the kingdom had betrayed your father. For such as honest and good your father was, your heart couldn’t handle such a reality.

“Whispers in the village,” he answered tersely. “Wanda was giving me her report when you approached. She is traveling to the next village over as we speak.”

“Rumlow betrayed his alliance,” you replied bitterly, refusing to look up from your book, though you couldn’t tell what the thing was about. Plants? Chaos magic? “What more is there to discover?”

“Why did he do it?” he asked. “What motivation does he have to sever one of the strongest military alliances in history?” 

“Greed? We’ve had a surprise in economic activity since the scholar agreement with Wakanda,” you guessed with a shrug. “This isn’t a smart man we’re dealing with. I’m met him once before. He’s ambitious and motivated, but not particularly clever.”

“Peter is almost of age, your father has prepared him for his new role thoroughly,” he continued, pacing the space. “It doesn’t make sense. Everyone is well aware he will be of age to take the throne in six months time, and now this just ensures his placement.”

“Not everything does,” you reminded him. “You taught me that. Or don’t you remember?”

You paused after a moment, peeking up from the book after letting his words settle.

“Maybe he plans to use Peter’s inexperience against him?” you suggested quietly. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but even with the training and learning, Peter was a different person than your father, perhaps not in morals but certainly in other areas like strategy and planning. 

“I intend to get to the bottom of this,” he stated, his hand tightening at his side. You’d never seen Stephen so inflamed before. “At the very least, I can try to retrieve his body. Negotiate a dignified exchange.”

The words pierced your heart far more painfully than you’d anticipated, your hand gave a jerk and you dropped the book you’d been fidgeting with while he spoke. 

The mental image of your fathers head on a pike outside of Rumlow’s keep was enough to make you nauseous. 

“I’m sorry,” Stephen’s tone shifted at your reaction. “I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“Don’t apologize,” you assured him, clearing your throat and composing yourself. “You’re just doing your job. It’s why he trusted you to the position. You’re asking the questions that need to be asked.”

He watched you pluck the book off the ground and toss it on a nearby table with a low sigh. This was a precarious position he found himself in. 

On the one hand, he’d been appointed as the Master Sorcerer of this castle and this realm. He had an obligation to serve that role and ensure the safety of the kingdom’s inhabitants. Not to mention, his obligation as a peacekeeper in his position as Sorcerer Supreme at Kamar-Taj.

On the other, you were his dearest friend and companion, and the obvious hurt you were suffering made his other duties nearly impossible to focus on. It was no wonder Kamar-Taj frowned on intimate attachments, they did provide a distraction from the ambivalent roles sorcerers and sorceresses were bound to play. 

He wanted to serve as an unbiased judge in this troubling time, but his heart wanted him to seek justice and bring peace to your troubled mind. 

His eyes drifted to the telescope at the edge of the room and an idea hit him.

Perhaps a distraction was best for the time being? A small respite to pull away from the doom and gloom of the immediate future.

“Do you remember that star cluster I showed you last week?” he asked, hooking and arm over your shoulder and guiding you toward the window. “There’s a fascinating change that’s been occurring.”

It was still relatively bright out, though with the sun was just starting to dip over the horizon, there was enough darkness to point out the phenomena he’d discovered the night before. 

“Let me adjust-,” he tinkered with the measurements before signaling for you to lean in. “Do you see it?” 

“They’re changing color,” you noted with a small gasp of excitement. “That’s a promising omen, isn’t it?” 

Your expression had brightened considerably when you looked up at him. 

“It is,” he nodded. “The specific colors suggest a period of tranquility and prosperity after a short struggle.”

“Then maybe it isn’t all terrible,” you tried voicing optimistically. It sounded strange, like you still weren’t entirely convinced, but the evidence was clear before you. 

Stephen knew the stars never lied and had taught you as much over the time you’d spent together. 

You sighed sadly, giving the stars another peek and shaking your head when you pulled away. 

“I miss him,” you murmured, looking up at Stephen miserably. 

The sorcerer frowned sympathetically, before he moved toward you and pulled you into a tight embrace.

You pressed your cheek against his chest and allowed his arms to wrap around you. 

“I know,” he replied softly, resting his chin on your head. “Just know he loved you very much, and wouldn’t want to see you so hurt on his behalf."

That seemed to break something in you, and you buried your forehead into his chest, shaking with suppressed sobs and held back tears until finally you choked out a wave of emotions all at once.

He spent an hour sitting with you while you cried into his tunic, yelling about how angry you were to how miserable all of this made you feel. He listened, offering a handkerchief and when you started to calm down, summoned a fresh pot of herbal tea.

“We will find answers,” he stated, blowing gently over the steaming cup in his hand. 

“You sound so sure,” you noted with a bitter chuckle, eyes swollen and red from your tears.

“I’ve tampered with seeing the future from time to time,” he replied cheekily. “Perhaps I’ve had a vision?”

“And what did that vision show you?” you pressed, playing along with a ghost of a smile behind your own cup. 

“We win,” Stephen replied firmly, his expression falling serious.

“Doesn’t feel like it,” you confessed quietly. 

“Victory seldom does,” he watched you take a sip of your tea. You closed your eyes and relaxed your shoulders with the calming scent.

You opened your mouth to ask him a question when a knock at the observatory door broke the small spell of peace that’d fallen over the space.

“I’ve got it,” he gestured for you to stay seated, moving toward the door and slowly peeling it open. 

It wasn’t that he was overtly concerned for your safety, but given recent events, Stephen didn’t want to be lax in covering all possibilities. The world had gone mad and he wouldn’t put an assassin with a dagger outside the realm of potential visitors.

“Is the princess here?” Loki, Prince of Asgard, asked with a tone laced with annoyance upon Stephen’s appearance. 

“Loki?” you must have heard his voice and stood, setting your cup aside. “Stephen, let him in. It’s okay.”

With a glare at the prince, Stephen stepped aside and allowed the emerald clad royal through. 

He didn’t like outsiders in the observatory. Especially when you were around. 

It made him especially uneasy inviting another magic user inside, where they could potentially measure its wards and security for later aggression. 

“Peter mentioned you might be here,” Loki glanced around the room, arms folded behind his back. “I apologize if I’m intruding.”

That last part was directed toward Stephen with the smallest smirk. 

“No, it’s okay, we were just having tea,” you replied quickly, gesturing to the steaming pot on the table. “Could I make you a cup-?”

“No-,” he cut her off and cleared his throat apologetically. “I’ve come to say farewell. My father is ordering the borders to Asgard closed until Rumlow’s nation offers an explanation to this… tragedy.”

“I see,” your expression fell at the news. 

Certainly Asgard closing its borders was a worrisome sign. They were the kingdom’s greatest allies and largest trading partners. The effects of such a move would be felt for quite some time, both in security and in the local economy. 

“I’ll write,” he promised with a curt bow. “Don’t fall behind in your studies. I’ll be testing you the next time we meet.”

You smiled before he took your hand for a brief kiss on the knuckles. Rolling your eyes, you pulled away and threw your arms around his shoulder in a hug. 

“What a sad parting,” you laughed at his bewildered reaction. “And you’re going to kiss my knuckles like we haven’t known one another for years? On the day of my father’s funeral? Unacceptable.”

He barked out a small laugh, reciprocating the embrace with an arm before pulling away. 

“Stay safe,” he urged her before looking up at Stephen with a steely gaze. “Do well to keep her protected, Sorcerer.” 

“Always,” Stephen answered tersely, a little offended at the prince’s casual disregard for his abilities. He’d always kept you safe, and had absolutely no intention of letting that guard slip now. 

“Travel safely,” you called after him and he gave a final wave before pausing in the doorway when Stephen moved to close the door.

“Keep her close,” Loki warned quietly, the smirk disappearing completely. “There are whispers in the village of treachery and assassination. Do not let anyone have the opportunity to take advantage of the situation.”

“My associates are building wards around the castle and her quarters as we speak,” Stephen replied in agreement, a quick glance in your direction to ensure you weren’t listening. 

“The tea was a nice touch,” Loki noted with a hum. Stephen nodded curtly. 

The tea had a protection enchantment included in the mixture of herbs. Something small, but effective if you found yourself in danger without him, Wong, or Wanda nearby.

“Be well,” Stephen closed the door once Loki was out of sight, turning and finding you digging through his trunk of cloaks at the back of the room. “What are you doing?”

“I want to see Natalia and James,” you answered, pulling out a large blue cloak and holding it to your shoulders. 

“Absolutely not,” he crossed his arms. “Your father was just killed, possibly murdered. You’re not going to the village unprotected.”

“That’s why you’re coming,” you threw a crimson cloak in his direction, fastening the blue one over your shoulders. 

“Did you miss the part where I said murdered?” he asked in disbelief. 

“Then it’s a good think I’m friends with assassins,” you chimed back, pulling the hood of the cloak over your head. “They might be able to tell us something.”

“I’m sure Wanda and Wong have already talked to them,” he shot back, folding the cloak over is arm. “You should stay at the castle, at least for tonight.”

“You already know I’m going to go regardless,” you replied. 

“Because you’re a headstrong idiot,” he sighed, reluctantly pulling the cloak over is shoulders. “Who clearly has a death wish. What if your family comes looking for you?”

“They won’t,” you answered with a confident grin. “Mother is going to be with Morgan and Peter is going to lock himself away in the armory or training fields until the knights give up and make him retire to his chambers.”

“You’re so confident in your knowledge of the castle,” Stephen snorted, tying the cloak around him. 

“It’s what happens when you’re the eldest daughter of a king,” you replied, patting him on the shoulder. “You see everyone, but no one sees you.” 

“Poetic.”

“Also, you owe me an ale for enchanting my tea,” you quirked a brow toward him when he stammered back a response. “Didn’t think I would notice?”

“I’m losing my touch,” he sighed, waving a hand and summoning a bag of coin.

“No, you’re just turning into a fussy mother hen,” you grinned, the smile looking far more relieving than the grief he know you wore on the inside. “It’s endearing.”

Wha danger was a short outing for the evening? It was arguably safer in a crowd than alone in her chambers, especially while Wong was still working on the wards.

Besides, the assassins you’d found friendship in would do well to keep threats away as well.

And while Stephen pondered this thought, you were already part-way out of the room and headed toward one of the hidden passages in the hall. 

(---)

2 - a night at the pub

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[norimiya]

Assigning haikyuu boys to-

Songs in my playlists, plural. Italics are the playlist names.

It’s four am I am not proofreading until later in the morning.

Warnings: cursing and terrible playlist names.

OIKAWA- Keep Your Head Up By Andy Grammer, Absolute Bangers.

“Only rainbows after rain, the sun will always come again.” Loss is something constant in Oikawa’s life, volleyball or relationships. After prelims he would sit alone in his room, mumbling the lyrics to himself before you try to cheer him up.

TSUKISHIMA- Green By Cavetown, idk a breakdown at 2 am?

Yeah cavetown, basic for tsukki but at least it isn’t lemon boy. Something about the line from the chorus, “You looked so good in green. I hope you’re well, And you look so good with him” screams relationship-unready tsukishima for some reason. The artist said that they were new to love and I think it fits Tsukishima well.

BOKUTO- Big Night by Big Time Rush, Liked Songs

First of all, yes I listen to big time rush. Secondly, I just think that someonewould play this during practice as a joke once but it’s stuck as their hype song and they just laugh about it afterwards. Plus I think the lyrics fit bokuto so well. “It’s gonna be a big night, we’re gonna have a good time.”

Alternatively, Terushima.

KUROO- Na Na Na By My Chemical Romance, emo me ??

I have zero explanation for this whatsoever, BUT- I can say that the energy of this song fits kuroo in some way. He is SHOUTING the lyrics after the game against Nohebi. And of course on the bus ride home the team is backing up with the (Na Na Na Na’s)

DAISHOU- Personal By HRVY, Absolute Bangers pt.2

Listen, listen, I am a Mika Stan 100% but, this song and daishou will live in my mind rent free. “I was young and she was my first love. So they say that you live and you learn.” You know?? It fits him, I don’t have an analysis.

TENDOU- Hayloft By Mother Mother, K.

I believe in Tendou listening to mother mother agenda. I know what the song is ‘supposed’ to mean, but I genuinely feel like this is a song on his “pre-game playlist”

OMIMI- Blue Bird from Banana Fish, anime playlist

Omimi playing piano as a relaxer for when he’s stressed about school and/or volleyball. If you were to ever ask him to play for you, he knows you’ll like this song, thigh pressed against his with your eyes closed as he plays.

SAKUSA- Training Wheels By Melanie Martinez, 8:08

It’s a love song. The boy is scared of commitment and his partner wants to ‘take the training wheels off.’ Kiyoomi hasn’t experienced true love within his years, of course he’s afraid, he’s silently pleading for you to wait for him.

FUTAKUCHI- Lava Lamp By Cuco, Inconsistent

I see him as a person who claims to not have time for love. But in reality he only uses it as an excuse because he doesn’t want to tell people he hasn’t found the right person who’ll treat him how he treats them. He just knows someone’s waiting for him and he hopes he finds you.

TERUSHIMA- The Wanderer By Dion, “oldies”

He’s been classified as a playboy, doesn’t deny it but feels the smack on the back of his head when someone says he’s only gotten one ex to humble him. In contrast to the song talking about a guy who roams around picking up girls fits him in a way, though in a following song it tells of the wanderer getting his heart broken.

That’s a terrible analysis goodbye.

IWAIZUMI- Hey There Delilah By Plain White T’s, 2/17/19

Iwa’s first timeskip spoiler! But really, do I need to explain here? Long distance relationship, he’s in California, you’re in Japan, he’d probably pick up guitar just to sing this to you and I will now cry at the thought.

SUNA- Ugotme By Omar Apollo, yk, those vibes.

Suna denying his love for you and then bluntly telling you he’s “so in love with you.” In a second flat after you bring him his favorite snack after practice. He’s a lil dork, pat his head why don’t you?

AKAASHI- Cómo Te Voy A Olvidar By Los Ángeles Aszules, dad’s in the car

Listen I know it’s in Spanish but Akaashi calling his s/o Amor?? Hello??? This 😺 talk English Spanish and French. ANYWAYS, from what the translator,, said the lyric that screams Akaashi to me is “quiero que me vuelvan a mirar tus ojos” basically saying "I want your eyes to look at me again"

Correct me if I’m wrong, the translations are somewhat accurate sometimes...

KENMA- Cannon in D By Johann Pachelbel, CLASSICAL MUSIC HEHE

You know that vine or sum of the guy playing this song on a keyboard and he’s singing “go suck a dick suck a dick” yk that one? Yeah I hc that Kenma plays piano to do something that doesn’t strain his eyes and is relaxing and requires minimal body movement. But if he ever plays this song in front of the team, they are singing “go suck a dick.” Excluding Teshiro, Shibayama, and Kai. Yes fukunaga is singing.

KAGEYAMA- Lookalike By Conan Gray, On repeat

Hello old idea from a few months ago. AHEM. Ex! Kags seeing you with cough oikawa- and he swears you have a type or you’re just trying to spite him, the thought of you genuinely liking Oikawa outside of him being relatively similar never crosses his mind. At night he wonders if you really love Oikawa, or his lookalike.

LEV- Out Like a Light By The Honeysticks, repeat rewind

An unreviewed annotation says that this song is about a guy not being able to move on completely after a breakup. Imagine Lev trying to mend the broken string between you two, desperately clinging onto hope that you still love him like he does you. Imagine.

[realcube]

sleepy haikyuu headcanons 💤

pairings: nishinoya x reader, tendō x reader, kageyama x reader

tw// swearing, violence(?), she//her reader, angst, overthinking, fluff 

Yū Nishinoya

midnight pillow fights with Noya 💓

i could leave at that but i shall elaborate 

whenever you sleepover at his house (or vice versa), every time y’all say that you are gonna pull an all-nighter and have chaotic fun

but it never works because being chaotic requires a lot of energy, so you both end up falling asleep at like 2AM-ish 🥱

the closest that y’all have gotten to an all-nighter is 5AM

anyway, it’s not a tradition - more like something that just ends up happening every time Noya is over, perhaps a curse lol

but at some time of night, you’ll say something to irk Noya and he’ll throw/hit you with a pillow 

not to intentionally start shit but just as playful ‘shut up’ sorta thing

but something about the sharp impact of the pillow just pisses you off and you instinctively launch a pillow right back at him and it’s always a bit harder than you meant for it to be  

thus, a pillow fight ensues  

Noya had always envisioned a pillow fight with a female as a playful, sensual experience 

but there was absolutely nothing playful or sensual about the way you powerbombed him and then proceeded to suffocate him with your pillow 

you would both be feistily beating each other with the pillow, the room filling with your battle cries and screams ╰（‵□′）╯

and this would only end once both of your harsh, quick hits turned sloppy and tired 

eventually, you’d both just drop unconscious during the fight and wake up in the weirdest positions 

Satori Tendō

he is the self-certified ‘worst cuddler’ (ಥ _ ಥ)

not only is he extremely sensitive to temperature, he’s also filled with too much energy to just stay in the same position with you for god knows how long 

it’s not that he didn’t like to cuddle, though. 🥺 i mean, nothing made him feel more safe than you in his arms but he was just unable to stop himself from getting restless when he did it for too long 

but there were some nights that he wasn’t as fidgety, though

most of the time, it was after a big volleyball game or a hard day at practise and he was absolutely exhausted (_　_)。゜zｚＺ

he’d literally just detours to your house to catch up like he usually does but his demeanour clearly isn’t the same when he’s worn out so you invite him in for a few minutes and he’d gladly (and gratefully) accepts 

he’d just flop down on the couch beside you, his arms just automatically finding your waist and thoughtlessly pulling you against his chest as he laid back, staring at the ceiling

he found himself muttering random things about his day when you asked him, but nothing he said seemed to be in chronological order - unless he brushed his teeth during volleyball practise, which - now that you think about it - doesn’t sound too out of character for him.

his hand found it’s way into your hair and started caressing your scalp, slowly drifting off as the little tune you hummed into his shoulder sent relaxing vibration throughout his body (￣o￣) . z Z

and this wasn’t a one-time thing either, whenever he comes to your house drained from practise, a similar chain of events always end up happening 

the only difference being that sometimes it was in your bed rather than on the couch 

Tobio Kageyama 

i feel like bb has nightmares, like frequently 🥺

i mean, if i was him i’d have nightmares too; he has so much important shit riding on his performance - it’s a miracle that this man can even sleep with how much stress he must be under 

like, he’s kinda failing school/ he doesn’t have the best grades and if he doesn’t do well on tests then his opportunity to go to camps and train volleyball could be taken 

speaking of volleyball, he probably is so stressed from being a part of a team and having people rely on him - not the mention that he clearly isn’t very good at processing his feelings considering that he expresses most negative emotion he feels towards Hinata in the form of anger   

then there is the pressure of keeping his relationships and not naturally distancing himself from the people he loves

like you, for example

he goes to bed with all these horrible thoughts in his head and whenever he tries to think positive, it  always backfires

he’ll be like ‘i’m the worst person to be around, it’s clear nobody likes me.’

then he kinda shakes it off like, ‘wait, no. don’t think that. i know that (Y/N) loves me and i love her back.’

but his mind never leaves him alone, ‘am i even sure she loves me? i mean, i act so stand-offish towards her - yeah, she probably barely tolerates me. and she was talking about hinata’s spike yesterday, she’s probably going to dump me for him.’

it was a heart-wrenching thought but what could kageyama do? 

for now, he’d just lie down beside you on your bed as you scrolled away on your phone, completely unaware that he just mentally rehearsed how he was going to react when you broke up with him

“goodnight, kags. love you.” you hummed, turning around to place a kiss on his cheeks like you always do when he sleeps over

kageyama nodded, trying to act cool and collected despite the fact he was internally nervous as hell, “night, (y/n).” he paused, trying his best to lift the corners of his lips into a kind - rather than intimidating - smile, “love you too.”

‘look, i called her by her first name - i’m so romantic.’ that was probably the nicest thing he’s thought to himself all day

with that, you both try to get some rest 

aaaannnndddddd cue the part when he wakes up in a cold sweat, shivering slightly as he looks over to you with wide eyes to reassure himself that your not gone 

his heavy breathing alerts you that he is awake so you pry one eye open to look at him, “not again, tobio.” you said wearily, forcing yourself to sit up and attempt to wrap him in a hug but he just jerked away from your touch

you sighed, “what happened?”

kageyama blinked rapidly, darting his gaze around the room before it finally landed back on you

“i- the walls- and you were almost d-” he began coughing, resulting in you immediately reaching over to your nightstand and handing him the bottle of water you had lying there

he took a few gulps before letting out a refreshed ‘ah’, his stare glued to your lips the whole time

eventually, he was able to grumble “it was nothing.” (⊙_⊙;)

upon hearing his evidently fake answer, you shoved out your bottom lip and whined, “shut up, tobio. i was obviously something; why won’t you tell me?”

“because it was nothing.” he said without missing a beat, then he proceeded to lay down so he could fall back asleep - as if this time it’d go better for him

“Kageyama!” you barked, resulting his eyes jolting back open, “You always have nightmares at my house; I’m starting to wonder if you’re scared of me or something.” 

kageyama shook his head before nonchalantly responding, “it’s the cherry blossom air freshener - maybe use vanilla or something next time.” he joked, unable to resist a smile as you playfully punched his shoulder.

you sighed, clearly not going to get an answer out of like every other time you’ve tired, so you just decided to  try fall back asleep and try reclaim the little bit of sanity you had left

“(y/n).” kageyama grumbled, wanting to make it seem like he was half-asleep but he was far from it as he pulse was still going crazy as that nightmare shook his to the core. “are you going to dump me? because if you are, now would be a good time.” 

he spoke, praying to every deity he could think of that you wouldn’t say yes - but if you did, now would be a good time as he could storm out and since it was dark outside, the streets would be deserted meaning that nobody would be there to witness the tears streaming down his cheeks as he sprinted through the night 

you rolled your eyes, “is that what this is about?” you didn’t mean for it to come off so harsh as you actually felt a great amount of sympathy for kageyama but just unable to express it in the way you desired

“stop crying.” you hissed, making kageyama quirk an eyebrow.

“I’m not crying-” he replied until suddenly, he realised that your comment was directed at yourself as you hastily buried your head into his chest and he felt something soak through the fabric of his shirt. 

“I’m not going to break up with you kageyama, you stupid moron idiot!” you snapped against his shirt.

don’t ask why that nickname made kageyama’s heart flutter

“get those crazy ideas out of your head or i’ll have to take them out for you 🔪--” you could barely even finish your sentence before both you and kageyama burst out laughing

it was probably just the ambience of being cozy under a blanket with each other in a freezing cold room that reeked of cherry blossom but some how you both some how fell even harder for one another

although what you said wasn’t the most moving or motivating, your intention was clear and from then on, kageyama was a lot more upfront with you💕 

he’d tell you if he ever felt uncomfortable or if he was ever worried and you’d either make him feel better or make him laugh and then insist that he goes to talk to suga or daichi

also after that night, (and once you ditched the air freshener and started burning vanilla essence) he only had ‘sweet dreams’ whenever he stayed over at yours 

(or at least that is what he said whenever you asked him. in reality, his dreams were about volleyball and tsukishima chasing him through the mall on a velociraptor but whatever, it was a step up from the nightmares anyway. 🏃‍♂️ 🦖 )

[qqueenofhades]

What weapons were used during the Crusades? I remember something vaguely about bows/crossbows being important but nothing else. Thank you :D

Nonnie, if you are (as I suspect) asking this for Very Important Fic Research Purposes, let me just say: you, my good gentleman/lady/nonbinary pal/mineral/vegetable, are Extremely Valid, and I salute you utterly. Let us just quietly assume that is in fact what you are doing. Buckle up, because yes. You have to consider individual and collective weaponry, differences in Christian vs. Muslim armies, tactics, and their development over the crusades. Never fear, I am here to make it entertaining (ish) for you. Let’s start with the individual warriors.

How To Arm Your Crusader: Nicky Edition

First! Nicky is from Genoa, which was most notably involved in the First and Third Crusades. I mention this because if you’re deciding to place him among a contingent of his fellow countrymen, it’s useful to know where you can most easily do that and where it would be most realistic to have them fighting. It will also make a difference for what he’s armed with. You are correct about crossbows being one of the major weapons of the crusades; indeed they were so effective in medieval warfare generally that the church tried to ban them, at the Third Lateran Council in 1179, from being used on fellow Christians. (Muslims were still fair game.) Longbow archers were used occasionally (though it wasn’t until the 13th century, mostly after the end of the crusades, that they became a major battlefield force), but Nicky would definitely be a crossbowman or at least know how to use one, because we have multiple mentions of Genoese crossbowmen in the sources. (Me in the shower this morning: YOU IDIOT OF COURSE HE’S A CROSSBOWMAN! YOU SEE HIM WITH A LONG RIFLE AND EVERYTHING!). Notably, Richard the Lionheart fought the Battle of Jaffa (1192) with 54 Genoese crossbowmen, about 100 knights, and 2 horses. It is up to you if you decide to use this fact or not, ahem.

Crossbows are easier to learn how to use than longbows, but require strength to wind the mechanism and launch the bolt. There is also a more powerful version called the arbalest, which had a frame made of metal instead of wood. These also had a longer range, so they were in fact a bit like the assault rifles of their day. Unlike a rifle, however, you have to have enough time to fire the weapon (which takes a while) and therefore it’s not as useful if the enemy is right on top of you. They’re most helpful in attacking an enemy in a more stationary position (such as, say atop a tower or a wall) and where you can have enough space to reload without being overrun.

We see that Nicky has a broadsword, which would also be a fairly standard weapon for a crusader. Most boys started their training at the age of 7, and the value in achieving the rank of knighthood would rise steadily over the course of the crusades, complementing the development of the ethos of chivalry. At the time of the Norman Conquest (1066), we could still have “free” or “unfree” knights, and it was a mark of military service rather than a distinct social rank. But with the popularity of chivalric literature in the 12th century, the ideas and prestige associated with knighthood skyrocketed. I know I’ve written some posts about this somewhere, which I’m too lazy to go find right now, but you can possibly find them in my medieval history tag. In essence, chivalry means martial prowess. It has a more romanticized aspect, of course, but it’s mostly about kicking ass, though it does prescribe certain codes of conduct for combatants (on both sides) and for noble-born women, as well as a strong religious aspect. If you do want more info on this and how to avoid the stereotypes of a chivalric knight, let me know and I’ll go dig up my old stuff.

There’s also a big difference between fighting on foot (infantry) and fighting on horseback (cavalry). All the footsoldiers were a lower or more common rank, and if you had a horse, you were almost certainly a knight or a professional soldier. Footsoldiers usually were pike (spear)men, since even if you only have long spears and a shield wall, you can throw together a pretty awesome defense. (At the Battle of Hastings, English fyrdmen with just pikes and shields almost defeated multiple Norman heavy cavalry charges.) Plus, a spear doesn’t take too much special training: just poke the sharp end into the other guy, as Jon Snow might say. Hence it was easier for non-professional soldiers or citizen conscripts to use it rather than the more specialized skills for knights.

The best warhorses were known as destriers. They were specially trained to kick, bite, and raise as much hell as their masters in battle; they were expensive and prized. A fast, strong horse often also used for war or for fast travel is a courser. A horse for non-battle or basic transport situations would be a palfrey or a rouncey (though lower-status men-at-arms could also ride one in battle). We can decide whether or not Nicky has one of these.

Armor! The Christian crusaders wore steel (chainmail) which was a major advantage in close-quarters combat. This is not the plate armor you may be thinking of, since full-body armor didn’t get used until around the 14th century at the earliest and came into full vogue in the 15th/16th century (by which cannons had often made it obsolete and dangerous). Chainmail is no joke: it weighs at least thirty pounds and boys had to wear it from childhood to know how to stand up in it, let alone move. (I.e. all those movies where anyone just slaps it on and is fine are liars.) You would wear several layers: first an undertunic, then a padded leather gambeson, the steel hauberk itself (often thigh-length), and then a cloth tabard on top, which displays your badge or flag or your cross, if you’re a crusader (though these were far from ubiquitous and sometimes color-coded by country). That way people can also tell which side you belong to. You wear a helmet on your head (obviously), vambraces and gloves on your arms, and greaves on your legs, over heavy leather boots. Now imagine all that coming at you with a spear on a charging warhorse.

.... what I’m saying is, medieval knights could kick your ASS.

You can also use daggers, hatchets, and other small arms (morningstars are cool, but alas, were never really used in the field). A knight sometimes carried a special blade known as a misericorde, which had the gruesome but necessary purpose of finishing off a wounded enemy (or friend) who hadn’t died immediately from their injury but wasn’t going to survive it either. Welp.

And with that:

How To Arm Your Muslim Warrior: Joe Edition

So we’ve got Nicky sorted: what about his More Than Boyfriend mortal enemy? Well, for the most part, it will look something like the above. Christian crusaders of the period would have called Muslims “Saracens,” which was the name for them, along with less flattering things (heathens, infidels, etc) but when in doubt, if writing from a crusader POV, you can just use Saracens. Actual Muslims obviously never use this word to refer to themselves. They did not have crossbows, but rather shorter and more mobile bows that were designed to be used from horseback. Arabian horses were smaller in stature than European destriers, but faster and more maneuverable, and had a legendary reputation for speed and temperament. Muslim forces would also sometimes ride to the battlefield and then dismount to fight.

We see that Joe has a sword with a shorter and wider/slightly curved blade in comparison to Nicky’s long, straight broadsword. In my fic, I call this a saif, which is just the Arabic word for sword and is how Muslims of the period would have referred to it (the word “scimitar” is from an Italian name for it and wasn’t used until at least the 16th century). It can mostly refer to any Islamic sword in this style, though there are different names for regional variations. If you want to give him a really cool and culturally significant weapon (especially since I headcanon him as a Fatimid Shia Muslim from Egypt), you could give him the zulfiqar, which was a double-pointed sword used by Ali ibn Abi Talib, a cousin of Prophet Muhammad and one of the main figures in Shia Islam. It is often represented on flags and in battlefield invocations. The actual zulfiqars that exist are more often dated from the 16th/17th century with the Ottomans or from 19th-century Persia, rather than from the crusades, but hey, you can always say that Joe had something to do with that. Sidenote, research the differences in the various Muslim dynasties of the crusader period, as they’re definitely not one size fits all (especially in re: the prominence of Sunni sultans in the later crusades, and how Joe might have thought about that).

As noted, the Muslims didn’t wear steel armor, which was a disadvantage to them in close-quarters combat with crusaders. Their armor was made of boiled leather and lamellar scales, designed to be light and good for long-distance riding rather than a heavy battle. They would also have helmets (in various shapes and styles), gloves, etc. An archer would have a quiver and have to think about using, reclaiming, or mending arrows after a battle (the Never Ending Quiver in every movie ever: ALSO WRONG).

I will confess that I don’t know as much about Islamic warrior ethoi comparable to chivalry as I should. However, the crusades were taking place against the backdrop of the Islamic Golden Age, in which the culture, sophistication, and scholarly study in the Islamic world was at its height, and there are plenty of artists, poets, mathematicans, and philosophers that Joe would be familiar with, that would guide his actions in the way that chivalry might for a knight. Such as, for example, Avicenna (Ibn Sina) from Samarkand, or the Banu Musa brothers of Baghdad. There would also obviously be the Qur’an and the ahaditha (sayings of Prophet Muhammad) and other religious texts and traditions. Obviously if you’re going to use any of these, be respectful, do your research, and present it in a positive way.

And then of course there is the:

Big-Ass Cool Weapons of Major Boom

So what else do we have on a large scale, aside from the individual warriors? For a start, we have (on the crusader side) siege engines, such as mangonels, trebuchets, towers, etc. These are not comparable to the Return of the King-esque “break off a chunk of the city with every hit,” but they were pretty damn effective; during the Third Crusade, one stone from a trebuchet was reputed to have killed twelve people in the market in Acre. Richard the Lionheart also hauled along a lot of high-quality stone from Sicily to make better missiles than the soft crumbly sandstone of the Holy Land. There’s a reference to a “cat,” which seems to have been a tower containing multiple compartments for crossbowmen, which could be pushed up against city walls. There are also battering rams and other blunt-force weapons, since sieges were a main part of every crusade. (In fact, commanders tried to avoid open battles as much as they could, though there were also usually at least one on each crusade.) Defensive strategy included digging deep ditches around walls, to prevent your opponent’s siege engines from getting too close, or just throwing stuff down at them as they tried to climb with scaling ladders. With this, we also have....

Greek fire! It’s semi-similar to wildfire from Game of Thrones, even if not quite as effective, but still a pretty cool weapon. The Muslims used it first; it didn’t enter Christian warfare until Geoffrey Plantagenet introduced it in 1151 (his grandson, Richard the Lionheart, also got to be rather fond of it). It was a long-burning liquid explosive that could burn even on water and couldn’t be put out by regular means; it was very feared and very effective. So if you were under siege and had some of that stuff to pour down on the defenders, it would be useful (along with boiling pitch, oil, or other more ordinary substances). Your enemy might plan for that or try to defend against it by using hides soaked in water or some other kind of shield.

Anyway, I’m sure there is more I could say here, but this is already MORE than long enough. I hope it is helpful to start with. And inspirational. Ahem.

[olivinesea]

Space Is Only Noise If You Can See

a/n: I don’t know why I’m doing this. Maybe it’s because I handle change & uncertainty extremely poorly and that is all my life is rn. Maybe I just need to find out the extent of my evil powers. Regardless, you’re about to experience something unpleasant. TW major character death, suicide mentions, guns, violence, you name it, it’s happening. Only positive is I actually outlined the whole thing first this time so I know where we’re going (it’s not good). ~2.8k

Mr. Scratch surrendered. Or did he? Discuss.

It was always the smell that got to him. The sickly sweet scent of decaying flowers. He wondered who had made the decision to flood all funerals with the same noxious lilies. Didn’t that smell make anyone else feel ill? It lingered in the back of his throat, fogging his vision. He scowled at the offending arrangements—ostentatious wreathes shaped like hearts with hollow messages in a stock cursive font. He had been to so many funerals at this point he was reluctant to admit he sometimes got confused about where he was, who he was mourning. He tried to focus on the portrait of the deceased, but the outline kept shifting.

He blinked hard to settle his contacts, tears always had a detrimental effect on their usefulness. He needed to remember to wear his glasses to the next funeral. A twisted laugh threatened to slip, gallows humor at its finest. No matter how hard he tried, there would always be a next funeral. He wondered how many more before it was his turn, before he no longer had to be the one staying strong for everyone else, pretending the smell didn’t make him choke. He looked again, determined to figure out when he was before he was required to do anything, before he let on that he wasn’t fully present.

The coffin, shiny and black, occupied center stage. Where he thought he’d seen people solemnly walking up the aisle to say goodbye, there was only empty space. He realized he was unnervingly alone. Yet the coffin was not, it was flanked on either side by identical shapes, the light reflecting from their polished surfaces dazzling his vision. He stumbled to his feet, gripping tightly to the smooth wood of the pew in front of him. He rubbed his fingers against it, distracted by the grain, worn down by decades of touch. He looked again and there were six coffins, the once open space crowded and bent to accommodate so much loss.

He swayed, confused, it must be the damn flowers. The whole room seemed to tilt and he fell into the aisle, landing hard on his knees. He looked up just in time to see the coffins, doubled, tripled in size, rolling toward him, shuddering as they picked up speed.

Hotch gasped as he woke up on the jet, gripping the armrest tightly as he scanned the area around him. No one noticed the slight disruption, he knew well how to stay still, how to disappear in response to distress. Everyone was dozing or lost in their thoughts, drained from long days on the road. He counted their heads to check that everyone was accounted for. They were coming back from another case, he wasn’t quite sure from where. His hands shook from holding the seat too tightly so he put them in his lap, absently running his thumb across his other fingers.

He pulled out his phone to check the time and, more importantly, to check the date. He’d been struggling ever since the Scratch case to keep the details of time in order. It was embarrassing and he did his best to hide these lapses in awareness. The disorientation was always worse after one of these dreams. Though he was too practiced to show he was having nightmares, this one was starting to get to him. It had been coming back again and again since that night when he watched his team die. One right after the other, unable to stop it, unable to even be sure it wasn’t himself pulling the trigger. Though they were safe, were still alive at least, he couldn’t shake the fear. It had been so real. And it had been his fault.

He tried to tell himself to let it go, that it was only a hallucination brought on by a chemical attack from a psychopath. A man who was now in prison, successfully captured by his very alive teammates while he sat uselessly on the floor, afraid to trust his senses. However, he couldn’t quite escape the nagging fear that Scratch didn’t surrender, that in the mess of it all he had gotten away. When he let himself think about it, it never made sense that a man so calculated, so many moves ahead of them, would simply give in. He couldn’t be sure that the surrender wasn’t one of the false memories.

There was no way to distinguish between them, the real and the nightmare. He could only convince himself that his team was alive by watching carefully as they breathed whenever they weren’t looking. By their heated bickering over who would ride where. Lately he had even relinquished the driver’s seat, worried that his loosely tethered mind might sweep them all off the road. He fixated on their little habits, certain that these were things his mind couldn’t make up, proof that his family was really there in front of him. The orange fingerprints on case files and every single coffee mug disappeared from the kitchenette, lost wherever Reid set them down before forgetting, caught up in some exciting train of thought. Things that might have frustrated him before became lifelines to reality, the reality he hoped with all his heart was true.

In the immediate days after the attack, he would ask Dave, quietly, for assurance that Peter Lewis was locked up, unable to harm his team. Dave was understanding, remembering how he had been that night, eyes full of loss. But the looks he gave Hotch grew longer and more worried with each repetition of the question. Now, again unsure, he was too ashamed to ask.

It had been so hard to keep things straight in his mind. For awhile he had been writing himself notes: “Peter Lewis is in prison.” Except he would find them again later, letters added, message changed, unable to tell if it was still his handwriting. It didn’t make sense for it to be someone else, fuck he kept these notes in his pockets, in his desk drawer, in his medicine cabinet. He couldn’t remember changing them though. Maybe that was what he had written in the first place. The confusion of the notes started making him feel worse so he stopped writing them. Every time he found another one, he tore it into tiny pieces, all the while trying to convince himself nothing was wrong with his behavior, nothing was wrong with his mind.

*

On Saturday, rare in its lack of crisis, Hotch was sitting on the couch, finally free to read a book while waiting for Jack to get home. He had been invited to a movie with some school friends. He started thinking about how relieved he was that Jack had friends to do normal things with and lost track of the story. As he scanned back, a little surprised how far he’d read without absorbing any information, his phone rang. His lungs constricted. Fear was always the first reaction to the phone ringing. He leaned forward to pick it up from the coffee table, brushing away his irrational feelings. It was Spencer. That was a little odd but not unheard of. Sometimes Spencer learned a new fact that only Hotch would appreciate and couldn’t wait until they got back to the office to share it. He smiled as he answered, anticipating an excited rush of speech. Instead there was silence.

“Hello?”

Nothing. He listened hard, not sure if he could hear breathing. There was some rustling, muffled and indistinct. Maybe Spencer dialed him by accident. He hung up and tried calling back. It rang without answer. He tried one more time but got the same result, the voicemail picking up quicker the second time. He told himself there was a mundane explanation but anxiety crawled like a spider up his neck. He was about to make another call, was trying to decide who was most likely to be helpful. Penelope? Derek? But then Jack walked in the door, hyped on candy and popcorn and wanting to repeat every joke from the movie. He let it go, if it was important Spencer would call back.

*

Monday morning and Spencer wasn’t in the office. Hotch had been there since 6 am, buried in paperwork, perpetually stuck in a state of catching up. He didn’t notice the absence until JJ came to ask him if he had any update from Spencer.

“Hmm? No, I haven’t heard from him. Update on what exactly?”

“Oh well he was supposed to come over for game night on Saturday but he said he wasn’t feeling well.” She assumed he was still sick, that he had called out. It was very unlike him to skip out on work, though perhaps he was just very unwell. Images of Spencer, pale and shaky, in the depths of his addiction, flashed through both of their memories and they exchanged looks. It had been so many years, and he did such a good job of pretending it never even happened, but they still remembered. It always came back whenever some uncertainty with Reid popped up.

“Have you tried calling him?” He tried to be logical, not everything needed to be the end of the world.

“Just goes to voicemail.” She raised her eyebrows at him, the silent question—what do we do boss?

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He looked at the files covering his desk, he’d already put in several hours today, he could use a break.

“I’ll go check on him.”

She started to offer to go with him but he waved her off. If Reid was sick there was no reason for both of them to be exposed. If it was something else, well, it was probably better if Hotch was alone for that too. Just as he got to the elevator, Derek caught up with him.

“I hear you’re going to check on pretty boy,” he was trying to sound light-hearted.

Hotch made a noise in response.

“I’m coming with you.”

Hotch looked over at him and saw the steel behind the statement. He wasn’t asking. Neither one needed to say aloud the worry laying just beneath the surface. That dreaded what if that swam around in the back of all their minds. He gestured for Morgan to get in the elevator ahead of him.

*

They got to Spencer’s apartment with still no word from him. He didn’t answer when they knocked on the door and though neither wanted to admit it, they were starting to panic.

“He better be passed out on cough syrup,” Morgan muttered as he flipped through his keys to find Reid’s spare, still trying to mask his fear. When they got the door open the apartment was cold and empty. The blinds were closed and the room was dark. Once they flipped the lights on everything seemed normal though unoccupied. The apartment was relatively neat, stacks of books and papers operating as some kind of decor.

“Reid?” they called even though they could tell he wasn’t there. They wandered through the small apartment, checking for signs of their friend.

“Hotch!”

Hotch caught the edge of the door with his shoulder and swore as he hurried out of the bedroom to respond to Morgan’s distressed call. He was standing in the small kitchen, looking at the counter. On it were Reid’s keys, phone and wallet. They could have been tossed there upon his arrival. But wouldn’t he have taken them if he had gone somewhere?

“Where is he?” Morgan’s voice was tight.

Hotch shook his head, this didn’t make sense. He picked up the phone and saw the list of missed calls from the office, from JJ, from him. He unlocked it and checked, heart sinking as his fear was confirmed. The last call was to his own phone on Saturday evening.

“Call Garcia,” he said, checking Reid’s messages.

“What’s going on Hotch?” Morgan couldn’t take his eyes off Reid’s phone, the frantic way Hotch was scrolling through it.

He stopped and looked up. “I…I don’t know.” The images from his dream, his nightmare were threatening to envelop him. Reid crumpled on the ground, a gunshot still ringing, dark wood with rounded edges cradling his lifeless body. The phone screen blurred when he looked at it again and he dropped it on the counter, using his hands to hold himself up.

“Hey man, are you ok?” Derek started to move closer but Hotch turned away, effectively closing himself off.

“Call Garcia, we need to start a search.” And I need to get a grip, he thought as the world around him shifted disturbingly. If something was as wrong as it seemed, they would all be looking to him to solve it. He certainly couldn’t do that if he wasn’t even sure if he was clinging to the counter or the floor.

*

It was hours later when they finally got a lead. It was not the lead that they wanted. There was a report of a body matching his description at a morgue one town over. It had been pulled out of the river in the early hours on Sunday, spotted by a couple of unhappy fishermen. There had been no wallet, no ID, no way to figure out who he belonged to. They had put him down as a John Doe, a presumed suicide and he was being held until they could get around to trying to match dental records. Garcia teared up as she relayed the information to the rest of the team.

“That can’t be him! Are you sure?” Morgan spoke more harshly than he meant to, nerves frayed by hours of fending off worst case scenarios.

Garcia hesitated, holding a folder. “They sent pictures but…I can’t look. I’m sorry.” She started crying in earnest now.

“Oh baby girl,” Morgan put a hand gently on her shoulder and pulled the file away. He was reluctant to open it as well. Hotch saw this and quickly took the folder and walked to the other side of the table where he flipped it open. His mouth formed a grim line and he didn’t have to say anything for them to know. He was glad he took it, happy to spare them the sight of waxy pale skin, the only color a deep purple beneath his closed eyes and his startlingly blue lips. It looked like he was wearing make up, like this was just another Halloween look Spencer was testing out. Hotch stared at the picture a moment too long. This is real, he told himself.

“Aaron?” Dave tried to pull his attention back to the room of anxious agents. Even though they knew, there was still the tortured hope that if he didn’t say it out loud, it wasn’t true.

He sighed, “It’s Spencer.”

Garcia let out a sob and turned into the hug that Morgan wrapped around her. JJ, sitting at the table stared into the distance.

He tried to organize the facts, solidify them in his mind by repeating them silently to himself. He ran his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he normally suppressed to avoid having it sticking out wildly.

“I’ll go formally identify the…” He couldn’t call Spencer a body. “I’ll go see when we can get him transferred to us.”

“I can come with you,” Dave offered but Hotch declined. Looking at the others he felt like they needed someone to stay with them that would ward off anything too impulsive. They were all stunned at the moment but the feeling in the room was unsettled.

“You’re wrong.” JJ spoke without looking at him, her gaze still fixed at a spot on the far end of the table. “Spence wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.”

He realized she was crying and felt a weight start to crush his chest. With effort he moved to where she sat, unable to find anything to say. He touched her hand but she jerked away, suddenly standing and glaring at him.

“You’re wrong,” she repeated before leaving quickly.

There was a hand at his elbow, squeezing gently. “I’ll go talk to her in a little bit. You should get going, it’s already late.”

He tried not to pull away too quickly as he nodded his thanks at Dave, who looked at him curiously.

“Are you sure you don’t want someone to come with you?”

“No, no. I’m fine. I can do it.” He hoped Dave would ignore the shake in his voice. He was fine, he could do this, he didn’t have a choice. He walked to his office to get his things, stopping for a moment to pull out Reid’s phone again. He needed to check the calls one more time, to confirm what he thought he remembered. Sure enough, his number remained the last outgoing call. He didn’t know if it was better or worse that it was real.

~Part 2~

[otherworldseekers]

Something’s Gotta Give: chapter 2, scene 1

Let’s kick this road trip off with... an argument! 

The Warrior of Light has been in many unexpected, dangerous, even nigh impossible situations in the past three years of her life as an adventurer. But as she stands in the center of Revenant’s Toll, the early morning light streaming through the plaza, a crowd gathering around to spectate, she thinks to herself that this must surely be one of the more bizarre of her experiences. Mere weeks after her victory at the Praetorium, she never could have guessed that she would be having a public argument with Nero tol Scaeva, a man she had defeated and assumed dead in the ensuing destruction. Yet here they stand, facing off in front of the chocobo stables. 

And all because of a far-fetched plan to gain access to the Crystal Tower that requires a specially designed device and parts that can only be made by the Goldsmiths in Ul’dah. 

“I am not riding that thing.” The former tribunus of the XIVth legion looms over the slight Au Ra woman. 

But Severia Zetsuen can not be easily intimidated. “This is all they have available. You’ll ride it or you’ll stay behind and I’ll make the trip to Ul’dah without you.”

“I have my own transportation.”

“Nero tol Scaeva, you cannot ride a Magitek Reaper across Eorzea!” Severia is reaching the end of her patience, and her patience was legendary. 

Only the previous day she had been convinced to escort Nero to Thanalan to secure a needed bit of machinery that would help NOAH progress further into the Crystal Tower. Of course, this means going the long way since even if he had somehow been attuned, a pure-blooded Garlean cannot use an Aetheryte. Three days in the saddle, there and then back again, dragging a war criminal through Eorzea is not something she was expecting from this expedition, but even Cid agrees that it is vital. 

Eight suns at least alone with this man. Severia feels her nerves beginning to fray already and they haven't even left Mor Dhona. But she refuses to back down. An instinct is telling her that if she lets Nero win a single battle he will be completely insufferable for the duration.

“You have a whole plethora of beasts at your beck and call, do you not, Warrior of Light? Surely you could spare one.”

“No,” she answers without hesitation. Logically, this is exactly what she should do. Logically, there is no reason Nero can’t ride on her personally trained chocobo or even one of her several horses. She has no reason to deny his reasonable request, especially since the last chocobo left in the Toll’s stables has the foulest disposition she’s ever seen. She is not normally this confrontational. 

“You would put the whole expedition in jeopardy out of misguided stubbornness?” Nero accuses her.

“You would put the whole expedition in jeopardy for the ragged tatters of your pride?” 

A wave of appreciative whispers sweeps through the crowd that has been steadily gathering over the last several minutes. Naturally, the residents of the Toll are all rooting for the Warrior of Light over the Garlean. She is their hero, after all, just as much if not more than she is the hero of the Alliance. But Nero stands his ground.

“This is getting us nowhere and every moment Xande gets closer to realizing whatever it is he has planned for this land,” Nero hisses in a low voice that their audience cannot not overhear.

“Cid gave me a copy of the schematic. I can get this job done so much faster without you.”

“You know perfectly well it has to be me that oversees the manufacturing. I designed it. I’m the only one who can ensure that it works as intended.”

“That sounds to me like an excuse. You refuse to share your data and you insist only you can understand your device.” She pokes him in the solar plexus. “But you want something from the Tower and that makes you just as much our enemy as Xande. I’m here to see you do not get it.”

To Severia’s surprise, a grin spreads across Nero’s face as he leans over her. “Good. Give me a challenge, hero.”

His smile taunts her as she feels heat rising to her cheeks. She wants to punch it off his unbearably smug yet handsome face. How dare he cause such a reaction in her? 

In a voice she almost doesn’t recognize as her own she yells, “Ride the fucking chocobo, Nero, or I’m leaving without you!” 

She turns away from him and whistles for her own mount. Moments later she is swinging herself into her Kirin’s saddle. 

The crowd of hardened adventurers and survivalists has begun to back away from the scene, leaving Nero standing more isolated than ever. Only the stablehand who has been patiently holding the chocobo’s reins, waiting for a decision, remains nearby, and she is trembling. 

“He made the Warrior of Light lose her temper,” one woman mutters in amazement.

“That just don’t happen. Not outside the battlefield,” her companion whispers. 

“Mama, is he going to get killed?” a Doman child says in a shrill voice. 

Nero’s glance sweeps over the crowd and he begins to think that it would be better to back down. The hero is already riding toward the gate, leaving him behind. Nero eyes the chocobo with distaste. The bird glares back with equal repugnance and claws at the ground. Grudgingly Nero grabs the reins from the stablehand, and climbs awkwardly onto the creature’s back. 

“Bloody savages,” he grumbles as he tries to find a comfortable way to sit. The task appears impossible and the bird squawks angrily at him. Nero struggles with his chocobo for several minutes but the bird does not want to follow directions. It runs around the aetheryte several times, scattering bystanders, before finally and probably by accident following the Kirin toward the gate. 

“Don’t pull on the reins so hard and grip with your knees,” Severia instructs as she waits for him to catch up. “You’ll get used to it.” 

“This would not be a problem if I could use my Reaper,” he says irritably as they move on.

“You can’t solve all your problems with Magitek.”

“Is that so? You’ve evidence to support that assertion, I assume.”

“Twelve’s sake, Nero, it’s no wonder Cid doesn’t want to deal with you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Just shut up and ride!”

[howlingday]

About Jaune ships...

I have opinions. You may not agree, but they are mine. They may change in time, but not now.

LANCASTER ( RUBY X JAUNE )

The old tried and true. I mean, what's not to like? Cute girl falls for first guy she meets at Beacon? Classic romance trope, and after reading how much Ruby loves romance stories (I consider certain parts in the manga canon), it makes sense. In fact, after Arkos sank (A moment of silence, please . . . Thank you), many moved to Lancaster, which isn't bad. Happens all the time in fandoms. Sad thing, though, is far I think she'll last. If we're talking Volume 5 or earlier, then maybe. However, I feel if Ruby were to have an endgame in romance, it would be RoseGarden (I have opinions on that as well, but today isn't the day to discuss that), mostly because Oscar bumped Jaune's role from male lead to male side. Not to mention that while Jaune is becoming a beast in his own right, Ruby is a different creature altogether and evolving her character more rapidly and chaotically than anyone else (Must be all that screentime).

TLDR: I want it to be canon, but I might just be hoping.

WHITE KNIGHT ( WEISS X JAUNE)

Doofus in tin foil meets princess who hates daddy (Am I in the romance section of the library? You know, the corner for adults only?) No, but I do like this ship. I'm always a sucker for the fantasy genre, and using a zero to hero male makes it relatable. I also kind of ship it because the same reason I ship NaruSaku in the Naruto fandom: he likes her and he's willing to go the distance. But enough about that; instead let's talk about canon. Will they hook up? It's a soft maybe for me, for two reasons. 1. Rosegarden is most likely to be endgame, and after Ruby and Pyrrha, I'd say Weiss is Jaune's next to be his love interest. 2. Weiss has warmed up to Jaune. Sure, not lover or crush level (Yet), but she's definitely changed her opinion on him. In Volume 1, Jaune was bugging her, like all the time, which I could see as him getting mixed signals on (Exhibit A: Tall, blonde, and scraggly). When Volume 5 came around, everyone jumped onboard because he saved her life (Don't lie, because I'll admit that I did it, too). Not the best reason, but still reason enough, I'd say. Then in Volume 7, she hangs out with him and Oscar to the movies (It was either that or awkward Bumbleby all night. I feel ya, sister). Nothing romantic happens, but it does show how much their relationship has developed. If Weiss is Jaune's endgame, then they have set the pieces up perfectly to do so.

TLDR: High likelihood to be canon and I'm a sucker for Knight/Princess ships.

KNIGHTSHADE ( BLAKE X JAUNE)

This is the part where I say definitely not. Not in a million years, but I'll explain why I like the ship, though. As for why it won't work, the answer is Bumbleby. They haven't kissed yet, but you know they're going to eventually (Because if they don't, the fans will attack like a swarm of hornets). But here's the question you might be asking now: why do I ship this? Well, it's part of the allure of "opposites attract" ('Cause I'm dressed like a cat!). Blake is an intelligent, outspoken, and agile ninja with a criminal history of terrorism who spends her free time reading novels. Jaune is a B at best on his tests, soft-hearted, and ground-based knight who's worst crime is fraud (Still a crime, but peanuts compared to literal terrorism) and spends his free time hanging out with his team. Day and night. But they also tried that with Sun for a season and a half and it didn't last (BECAUSE BEES).

TLDR: Not even a snowball's chance in the summer sun, but so much story potential if you do (Which I do)!

DRAGONSLAYER ( YANG X JAUNE )

This, I would say, is the opposite of Knightshade, where Jaune is the day and Blake is night, here Yang is the Sun and Jaune is the Moon (Like their crests! Remember those? Y'know, when they were relevant?) Will it work? Even less so than Knightshade. However, it does open up some interesting paths considering how... provocative Yang can be, and Jaune, compared to the other guys, is the nerdiest, geekiest dude at Beacon. It's like the cheerleader/nerd romance, except the cheerleader is the captain of every sports team... and rides a motorcycle. The Volume 8 preview introduced us to Yang and Jaune riding motorcycles and we went nuts over it. Yang was back in her element, roaring down the street, riding on walls, popping off tricks with Oscar riding- Back to what I was saying, people were asking, "How did he know how to ride a motorcycle?" and the elementary answer is "He didn't." He almost fell off his bike from a small box in the road. True, anyone would, but look at how he reacts: he stiffens, he refocuses on the road. This kid literally started riding at breakfast, and I DARE you to prove me wrong. But hey, great fic material right there, though, eh?

TLDR: Never gonna happen, but I don't care. All I care about is writing that they love each other. And they also fu-!

ARKOS ( PYRRHA X JAUNE )

I'm sorry, I need a moment. . . . Alright. Do it for her. This ship... was perfect. Probably the best ship out them all. I legit almost cry every time I think about Volume 3. Pyrrha was everyone's favorite. Her background, her interactions, her choreography, everything! But, of course, like everything in our lives, she was too good to be true. But let's honor her memory by talking about her ship, Arkos. Pyrrha was the champion of the world, the Brothers' and Oums' gift to Remnant. She could do no wrong and she HATED it. Her plight was with how she was seen. Everybody knew her! Everybody, except Jaune. And he only figured out she was "a big deal" was because Weiss had to spell it out for him! As time went on, they became the best of friends, two peas in a pod, the perfect odd couple! They worked together and trusted each other, they cared for and supported each other, they lo- No. No, I can't say it. It's been years, and it still hurts. So, I'll explain something else: the reason why Jaune SHOULD NOT be shipped right now. That reason is Pyrrha. Jaune was helpless to save her. He's suffering from survivor's guilt and he's still grieving. In Volume 4, he would sneak away and train until late at night to scroll recording of her. In Volume 5, he confronted Cinder and got Weiss almost killed because he let his grief for Pyrrha take control of him and let his emotions run wild. In Volume 6, he finds the Pyrrha statue and he... I don't know how to say this, but he let's go. He accepts that Pyrrha is gone and he's starting the healing process. He's finally ready to move forward.

TLDR: T.T I never felt that it was wise to wish too much~

MARTIAL ARCS ( REN X JAUNE)

I'll be honest, I don't really ship it. Yeah, it's cute, and it falls perfectly into the "if I had to pick a guy" part of me, but to be honest, I don't ship it. 10% because Renora and 90% it just doesn't click with me. They both just seem too soft, too quiet, too introverted. Best friends? Yes, definitely! But lovers? Eeeeeh, not really.

TLDR: I will only ship as neccessary.

NORA'S ARC ( NORA X JAUNE )

I've only just got in this deep with the fandom only recently, so I don't know if a lot of you know me. Heck, I'm probably just some RWBY fan you happen to spot as you move through your dash. However, old or new, I want to be made absolutely positively clear on this. Of all the ships here, this has got to be my-

O T FUDGIN' P

Wow! Never thought I'd feel so strongly about a crack ship like this. And yes, as sad it is to say, this is a crack ship. Renora was planned from day one, so it can't be helped. At least it didn't blast me in the face all of the sudden (OH NO, NOT THE BEES! AAAAARGH! THEY'RE IN MY EYES!). But why this ship? Well, for one thing, it's that whole opposites attract thing with Nora as the bubbly, outspoken, airhead powerhouse and Jaune as the soft spoken, introverted, nerd tactician. But wait, there's more to this trope, because it can go deeper: Order VS Chaos! Who makes all the messes? Who cleans up those messes? Who follows all the rules? Who makes their own doors? It's just. So. Damn! GOOD! One sad thing about this ship though is that it's not only not canon because of Renora, it's anti-canon because Renora. Every fan fic of Nora's Arc requires an explanation for Ren and Nora to not be together-together, like you have to write a formal apology to the FNDM for liking something that's different from what is canon or commonly accepted. If that's the case, then I'll be the anarchist here!

TLDR: I LOVE IT! What's that? Not canon? Who gives a damn?! I just explained why Jaune won't be shipped anyways! Now, if you'll excuse, I have some fan fics to find.

ARCFALL ( CINDER X JAUNE )

Oh, here it goes! Now, if we're talking ships that'll never happen, this is where we find better reasons than "it's not canon" and "character development". No, this... This is a declaration of war. Allow me to explain. Cinder Fall is evil. Like, down to her core. She wants power and she'll cut through anyone to get to it. Including Pyrrha. This woman sank Arkos by means other than "X and Y kissed, so..." She killed X, leaving Y alone. And her interactions with Jaune tell me she wouldn't even be worth a hate-bang. But, as Momma always, there's a thin line between love and hate. This is where the appeal comes in. Cinder is evil with no past, which leaves the previous chapter's of her life story blank to be filled in. Jaune is good with a troublesome, albeit easy past, but untapped potential for more. It's another opposites attract, but different from INTRO VS EXTRO and CHAOS VS ORDER; this is GOOD VS EVIL. Who will win this battle of wills; will our hero purify the tainted heart, or will he slip deeper into darkness, never to return to the light?

TLDR: Should be a NOTP, and yet the allure pulls me in.

What do y'all think? Do you agree? Let me know!